#but now they're thousands of miles away :( | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ln444 · 11 months

Text

my english love affair

cw: MDNI+18, f!reader, strangers to lovers, soulmates au, fluff, smut, maybe slight angst? depends on how you see it lol, fingering (f), penetration, soft dirty talk, a lot (like a lot) of kissing and sharing long gazes, whipped lando again bc im obsessed sorry.

now playing: english love affair by 5sos, let me by zayn.

notes: omg this took so long 😭 i'm not really confident abt my smut, i feel like i'm writing fluff way better but i hope you like it!! i might write a part 2, let me know if you like this one! enjoy🤍

requested by anon | requests open!

______________________________________________

“when the lights go out, she's all i ever think, i can't forget my english love affair, today i'm seven thousand miles away”

the thought of finally going back to his f1 driver life fills lando with excitement. sure, lando loves england — it's his home, after all. but nothing can compare to the rush he feels when he's in an f1 car, traveling all around the world and meeting his fans.

for his last night town, lando's friends convinced him to hit the club. normally, he prefers staying in to rest before the start of the season but a little fun doesn't hurts, right? he won't have much time to do it during the grand prix.

despite his fame, lando still gets surprised when someone recognizes him, especially at the club. he knows he's known for his looks, and he's aware of the attention from admirers, but it still catches him off guard in real life. sometimes, the attention can be overwhelming, especially when he just wants to have a good time with his friends and ends up with some overly clingy girls.

lando decides to excuse himself, seeking some fresh air. the pressure of the coming season is getting to him, and the situation doesn't help. he finds a quiet spot with a few people smoking and making out, leans against the wall, and closes his eyes for a moment, letting out a relieved sigh.

suddenly, a voice startles him from his thoughts, "did your friends force you to come here too?" his head jerks towards you, and you're standing beside him, out of nowhere. he takes time to answer, surprised by your unexpected presence. after realizing that he left you without any response, he clears his throat, a bit confused, "nah, just needed some fresh air" he mumbles, a small smile forming on his lips. you chuckle slightly, and comment "not surprised, having so many girls fawning over you must be exhausting", there's a small hint of tease in your voice that makes lando's smile grows.

finally, as he turns to study your features under the soft glow of the night lights, lando finds himself entranced by your captivating beauty, the grace of your features leaving an indelible impression on him. he can't help but get lost in your eyes shining in the dim illumination, making it difficult for him to look away. it takes him a good minute to quickly look away, thanking the night for hiding his rosé cheeks.

he gazes at the sky, trying to think of something to say that doesn't sound awkward — and also trying to get his shit together. he suddenly feels the need to make a good impression. "i mean, it's not that i don't appreciate the attention, but wow, they can be quite persistent."

his hands find their way into the pockets of his jacket, and his eyes avoid meeting yours, fearing he might get lost in them again. "yeah, i know. they're my friends," you say with a small chuckle, not because he's making fun of them, but more because of the use of the term 'friends.'

lando's eyes widen, and he turns to you, 'i'm sorry, i didn't mean to-' but he stops himself, looking down, feeling too embarrassed to find the right words. you laugh softly and move closer to him, your shoulders brushing and lando can feel his body tense up due to the closeness.

"hey, it's okay. i don't really consider them my friends, anyway," you say nonchalantly and lando lets out a sigh of relief, a smile slowly spreading on his face. "wow, that's nice for them", you both laugh and lando doesn't miss the way you subtly lean into him, your shoulders finally touching. he turns his head away from you, clearing his throat once more, trying to control the warmth spreading through his body.

"hey", you suddenly call out after a minute of tranquil silence and lando dares to meet your gaze, instantly regretting when he's captivated by your radiant eyes. he finds himself unable to look away and you both share an intense, unspoken connection, as if you've known each other for years. everything feels perfectly right at this moment.

"wanna get out of here?" you finally suggest, your words barely more than a whisper, your focus entirely on lando's mesmerizing eyes. you take his hand, both fitting perfectly like two puzzle pieces and you let him drag you in the dark streets.

after a walk filled with stolen gaze and silly conversations, you found yourself on lando's couch, engrossed in his f1 souvenirs and you have never felt so much passion, feeling your heart soften every time your see that sparkles in his eyes. lando never thought that his night will end up like this. sure, he might ended up with a girl from the club like he usually do, but this time was different. he never really experienced this; having sweet and innocent conversations with a stranger from a club. the atmosphere is tranquil yet there's a subtle tension in the air.

lando couldn't help but be his flirty self, playfully teasing you from time to time. however, your responses makes him somewhat nervous — it's a new sensation to him, having a girl making him feel this way. perhaps it's the way you gazes at him with patience and attention, your lovely smile that you share generously with him or how closely you listen to his random f1 stories. lando and you end up scrolling through photos in his phone, with him recounting the stories behind each one. he couldn't help but feel his heart melt your reactions; your smiles, your laughs, and your curiosity as you ask for more details and share your own anecdotes.

a soothing silence descended, and the two of you sit beside each other, thighs and shoulders lightly touching. lando struggles to contain the fluttering feeling in his stomach when you turn to look at him. he dares to meet your gaze, trying to focus on your eyes rather than your enticing lips. lost in each other eyes, you can't tear your gazes away. a brand new emotion envelops both of you, one that's strangely familiar yet undeniably unique, as though destiny has brought you together in this very moment and lando can't help but wonder if soulmates might actually exist.

you finally speak, after what feels like an eternity, in a soft voice, "you can kiss me, lando", you whisper like it's a secret. lando stomach tighten and he don't even take the time to answer, gently placing his hand on your cheek to pull you for a shy kiss. your lips discover each other, timidly and your hands instinctively slides around his neck to pull him closer.

you can't seem to get enough of each other, savoring every moment as you explore each other's mouths. lando's hand venture on your hips, and the chill of his touch sends shivers down your spine, as you suppress a soft moan in your throat. the kiss grows more intense, both of you yearning for more. without the need for words, you share an unspoken understanding of each other's needs, as if you've been intimately connected for ages. out of breath, you both finally pull away, foreheads touching, sharing a playful gaze, giggling and blushing like teenagers experiencing their very first kiss.

after one last sweet peck on the lips, lando takes your hand and stands, guiding you towards the bedroom, careful not to stumble due to both your impatience and the lingering dizziness of that passionate kiss.

not wasting time, he gently guides you onto the bed, positioning himself on top of you. he can't resist the urge to pause and admire you, your eyes shimmering in the soft glow of the dim lights. before he gets lost in that gaze, his eyes roam to study every detail of your face, causing you to blush and squirm beneath him. your arms tighten around his neck, and you chuckle, bringing lando back to the present. "like what you see?" you whisper, stealing a smile from him as he draws closer, his lips teasingly brushing against yours. "oh, absolutely," he murmurs before capturing your lips in a kiss. this time, it feels different; electrifying.

lando's hands slips, beneath your dress, and this time a whimper escapes your lips, making lando smirk through the kiss. his hands dares to explore the skin of your thighs, creating an unusual feeling in your stomach — and making your pussy slightly throb. your fingers finds their way into his curls, gripping onto them as the kiss becomes messier; your tongues dancing together.

"just take it off already" you huff and puff, seeing lando struggling and he lets out a chuckle "damn, someone is impatient", he says, teasing you, before finally taking your dress off. his eyes travel your body, and you've never felt so vulnerable, your cheeks burning. lando let out an unwanted groan, completely loving the view and he stares a bit too long until you pull him for another kiss to put him out of his thoughts. he takes a moment to kiss you back and it's your turn to slide your hands beneath his shirt, playing with the lines of his abdomen, making him moan softly against your lips.

after a good minute of kissing and touching, you finally take off his shirt and his pants, on the way, leaving you both in your underwear. lando leaves kisses along your jawline, going down to your chest, his hand sliding in your back to unbutton your bra and the way your boobs bounce out of it makes lando groan, feeling his erection grows. your grip on his hair gets tighter as you watch him play with your nipples, flicking it and licking it and the view drives you crazy.

you moan his name softly, pulling on his hair to make him look at you and you share a long stare, full of lust, both craving for more. you pull him for a sloppy kiss, trying to show how impatient you are and lando gets the message, pulling down your panties and getting rid of his boxers.

lando's mouth leaves yours and is replaced by his fingers, stealing a whimper from you. your eyes meets his as you suck on his fingers and, if they could, his eyes would burn holes into yours. lando found himself getting more and more impatient, the way you suck on his fingers with that irresistible look making it harder for him to contain it.

pulling out his fingers out of your mouth and without leaving your eyes for a second, his two fingers found your hole, slipping gently in it and you throw instinctively your head backwards, a moan escaping your mouth. lando take a good look at you in that position before taking the opportunity to leave kisses on your exposed neck, fighting the urge to suck on it to not leave marks, not wanting to overstep your boundaries.

"feeling okay?" he whispers softly, his breath hitting your skin, making it difficult for you to fight the whimpers escaping your mouth. lando takes a minute to look at you, to make sure that you don't feel any pain or discomfort.

"mmh'yes, you can move, please oh my god" you desperately says and lando can't help but pull you for another messy kiss. his fingers start moving in you, stretching your walls and you become a moaning mess, your eyes closing and lando takes advantage of it to admire you, his moves getting faster and faster.

"are you close, princess?" he murmurs close to your lips, feeling your body trembling and hearing the way your moans gets louder. you can only shake your head; feeling the bottom of your stomach getting warmer and the nickame almost make you choke on your moans. lando slows down to make scissors movements, his thumb rubbing your clit to help you reach your climax. he can't take off his eyes of you, inspecting every aspect of your face; the way your face crunches and your mouth is slightly open to let multiple sounds out of it. he could almost come just by this sight, his own crotch getting bigger.

with a loud and long moan, you finally climax, arching your back and lando plant soft pecks on your neck, whispering sweet words to you and telling you how good you're doing. breathless, you absently stroke his hair and close your eyes for a moment trying to calm the beat of your heart but lando makes it hard; his hands traveling your body and his lips attached to the skin of your neck.

the sudden emptiness when lando pulls out his fingers make you whimper and he lift his head to meet your gaze — he lost count of how many times he got lost in your eyes tonight. your hand make its way to his cock and the sudden touch makes lando slightly startle, a groan leaving his mouth. before you start stroking it, his hand comes to stop you immediately and you look at him, confused and with a hint of worry; silently asking him if you did something wrong.

"wanna fuck you now or i might go crazy", he says, almost whimpering and you slightly laugh, pulling his face closer to yours. "someone is impatient huh", you tease, a small smirk forming on your lips and he can't help but mirror that smirk. "how can i not when you look at me like that?" he takes your bottom lip between his teeth before kissing you again, his body getting closer and his cock brushing on your pussy makes you both moan through the kiss. you take his dick, once again, in your hand to guide it through your hole this time. and slowly, he penetrates you, a long groan escaping his lips at how tight you feel around him and you break the kiss to moan loudly.

"so fucking tight, baby, just for me", he mumbles close to your lips and you can't even answer, too overwhelmed by the way he's filling you — and his dirty words. when you finally adjust, he doesn't waste any minutes and start moving. you both moan in unison, holding into each other like your life depends on it. he watches you go crazy over his cock; the way your eyes gets watery, the way you hold into the sheets — your other hand too busy pulling his hair —, the way you can't control the continuous moans, his name slipping out of your mouth from time to time and encouraging him to go deeper into you. and he does go deeper, slowing down the pace to thrust into you as deep as he can, reaching your sensitive spot.

"right here? like that, baby?" he moans, feeling you tightening around him. his voice makes it harder for you to hold your growing orgasm. your hand leaves the sheets to hold onto his shoulder, your nails crawling into his skin. lando suddenly feels the urge to look at you in the eyes — maybe because his orgasm is getting close too. his hand finds a way to your neck, his fingers wrapping around it gently "look at me, angel", he says in a husky voice that could make you come at any moment. struggling to keep your eyes open, you try your best to hold his gaze, the way he's looking at you making you insane.

his thrusts gets faster and you can't control the sounds escaping from your mouth anymore. you look away for a moment, too overwhelmed and lando's hand travels to your face, cupping it gently to keep it straight "eyes on me, love". you obey, meeting his gaze and it's all too much for you.

you don't even have to use words for lando to understand that you're getting close, the way your eyes gets watery and your body shakes is enough. with his hand going back to your throat, lando accompany you into your orgasm, enjoying the way you scream his name and you manage to hold his gaze. his own orgasm comes a few minutes after yours and he makes sure to pull out before ejaculating, his groans echoing in the room. he immediately falls besides you and you both just stay like this: his leg over yours, your hand still in his hair as you try to catch your breath. lando uses his last drops of strength to grab a tissue from the nightstand and clean his fresh cum on your stomach.

he pulls you close again, linking your legs together and letting you play with his hair. the silence is so peaceful; the warm of your bodies making you both relax immediately. a smile unconsciously forms on lando's lips at the sight of your tired face, your eyes shining in the almost dark atmosphere of the night. you look back at him, smiling back and giggling, making lando raise an eyebrow in confusion.

"what's so funny?" he says, fighting the smile growing on his lips. "i just slept with the lando norris", you tease and lando groans, hiding his face in his arm. "i knew you were a fan!" he replies playfully, playing along. you laugh in sync and lando's heart feels at peace; all the worries about the incoming season completely forgotten. your hand gently plays with his curls as you absently stare at the ceiling, an unbeatable smile on your face.

lando, on the other side, can't take his eyes off you, watching you slowly fall asleep and enjoying your fingers in his hair. and just before you completely close your eyes, you turn to him, offering him a last kiss; so tender and passionate that your hearts both might burst out of your chests. pulling out, lando watches you fall asleep, not fighting the smile on his face anymore.

he usually struggles to sleep before an important day but this time, his mind is only filled with you and this night spent by your side. and just like that, it's lando's turn to meet the sandman.

with a groan, lando struggles to reach and silence the blaring alarm. the morning sunlight aggressively shines through the curtain, making him shield his face with his arm, staying in half asleep state for a minute as he gradually gets out of it.

then it suddenly hits him; you're no longer beside him.

lando suddenly starts to panic, jolting him into full wakefulness. he springs out of the bed and desperately search for any signs of you in every room of his apartment but you're nowhere to be found. he mutters curses under his breath, passing a hand to his messy hair — the thought of you messing his hair last night making him even more frustrated. defeated, he returns to the bedroom, his gaze falling on the tousled sheets where everything happened. as lando realizes that he didn't even ask for your name, frustration festered within him, causing him to clench his hair.

however, amidst his self reproach, a small piece of paper on the nightstand catch his attention, and he immediately rushes to it.

"we will meet again, i promise. you're going to kill it, lovely boy. y/n, x"

lando can't even fight the smile creeping on his lips, his heart softening — it was beating way too fast just by the thought of not even knowing your name. he sinks back onto the bed, your smell immediately hitting him and making him even happier. he reads those few words repeatedly and his hands falls onto his chest, holding the paper close to his heart as he whispers your name again and again, savoring its melodious sound. lando can't help but tell himself that soulmates might exist.

"i am going to kill it,", lando murmured to himself, a foolish grin etching on his face.

______________________________________________

part 2?:p join the tag list here!

masterlist

#lando norris x reader #lando norris #f1 x reader #f1 #f1 fluff #f1 imagine #f1 angst #f1 smut #lando norris smut #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagine #lando norris drabble #lando norris fanfic

1K notes · View notes

elodieunderglass · 2 years

Text

the first chapter of Moby Dick rewritten in tiresome modern idiom

CHAPTER 1. Loomings.

Call me Ishmael. Some years ago - it's none of your business how many - being mostly broke, and bored with the land part of the world, I thought I would sail around a little and look at the watery part of the world. I'm probably the most mentally healthy person you know. Whenever I feel my face getting grim; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself accidentally reading the ads in the window of funeral homes, and following funeral processions through traffic; and especially when I'm hangry, and only my extremely strong moral principles stop me from deliberately going out in public and methodically slapping people's earbuds out - then I know it's high time to get to sea, ASAP. This is my substitute for getting in fights. I'm too mentally healthy to kill myself; I quietly and considerately put myself on a ship and sail myself away instead. There is nothing surprising in this. Everyone feels exactly the same way, and if they don't, they're lying.

You think I'm lying? Exhibit A: a city. Go to your local coastal city. Everyone is looking at the water. They drive over from other neighborhoods just to come to the water. They make a day of it. They're not doing anything, they're just staring at the ocean. Why? Is it because they all work office jobs? No! Here come more of them! They cram themselves up to the edge of the water and stare at it. WHAT DO THEY WANT? WHAT ARE THEY LOOKING AT. Perhaps the ships themselves all packed together, each one with several compasses on it, creates some kind of critical mass - all of the small compass-magnets on all the ships in the harbor combining into one really big magnetic field - and the people get sucked into the field and trapped there. That's science.

Exhibit 2: the countryside with lakes in it. Every path you follow in the countryside brings you to some water, such as a stream. There is magic in it. If you take your standard fool with ADHD dissociating in the middle of a supermarket and put them outside and give them a shove, they'll automatically lead you to water (if there is any nearby) (try it). Another good experiment to try is to get lost in the great American desert in a caravan supplied with a metaphysical professor! Try it in the great American desert at home!

Yes, as everyone knows, meditation and water are a match made in heaven. Married forever. That's science.

Here's an artist who wants to paint you the dreamiest, most enchanting landscape. What does he put in it? Trees, meadow, cows, a cottage with smoke coming from the chimney, obviously. He will probably put a path in it and make lots of triangular mountains in rows and have them be different shades of blue (naturally.) But there's gotta be a stream in it. Go visit the prairies in June, and wade for forty miles through knee-deep through tiger lilies. What's missing from this picture? Water!

If Niagara Falls was made of sand instead of water, would you travel your thousand miles to see it? Why would a guy given a handful of cash have trouble deciding whether to buy a coat (which he needed) or go to the beach? Why are all the best, healthiest, sexiest and most mentally healthy people obsessed with the sea? (You get me.) When you were first on a boat, did you not succumb to VIBES? Consider ancient Persia. Consider ancient Greece. They understood about vibes, and also gods.

SURELY ALL OF THIS IS NOT WITHOUT MEANING.

And still deeper the meaning of that story of Narcissus, who because he could not grasp the tormenting, mild image he saw in the fountain, plunged into it and was drowned. But that same image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans. It is the image of the ungraspable phantom of life; and this is the key to it all! You get me! You understand it now.

Now, when I say that I am in the habit of going to sea whenever I get weird, don't you dare imply that I buy a ticket and get on a boat. I have never had money in my life. How dare you. Anyway I don't go as a passenger - that's bougie, and something boring people do. Passengers never have a good time. And although my C.V. is incredible - I go to sea SO MUCH, you guys, I have lots of experience - I don't go as a boss, or a cook. That sounds like far too much work. Hard work. Disgusting, respectable, bougie, and far too responsible. I can literally only look after myself. Do not ask me to look after ships or shit. In fact, I have only a vague idea of what a ship is. There's so many different kinds of ships - don't get me started and DO NOT GET INVOLVED. Also, I'm allergic to glory.

It's kind of attractive to go as a cook. I mean, I'm allergic to glory and there's some glory attached to the position of the ship's cook, but, like, you're not management-track and so it's still credible. But I don't really want to cook (say) roast chicken. I really fucking love to eat roast chicken. I'm one of the best at doing it actually. I really appreciate when people go out of their way to butter, season, baste and roast a chicken for me. Picture a roast chicken and I am Looking Respectfully at it. Maybe something more, maybe I'm worshipping it. Don't make this weird. If you want to get weird about my relationship with roasted chicken, why aren't you getting weird about the ancient Egyptians? They ate roasted hippos (look it up) and the pyramids were basically pizza ovens. So it's pretty hypocritical to think that I'm being weird about roasted chicken when I've never made mummies out of chickens or built a religious pizza oven dedicated to honoring them: check and mate, haters.

Anyway - I like to go to sea as a manual laborer. A simple sailor. Salt of the earth… er… sea. Yeah, true: as a job it sucks. They make you jump around, order you around, treat you like shit. They expect you to jump around the boat like a grasshopper. And yes, at first, this sucks. It's degrading, especially if you come from a middle-class family. Worse, it's awful if you've already had some kind of professional job before signing on to be the dirt on the boss's boots - like, if you went to college and worked as a teacher and actually got kids to pay attention to you, really feeling this connection to work/teaching/identity or some shit, and now you are just literally the scum on this captain's boots, in the lowest possible job in the world. It hurts! It hurts your dignity. But the hurt, and also the dignity, both wear off in time.

So what if some old bastard sea captain orders me - ME! - to get a broom and sweep down the decks? What does that indignity amount to, compared to the shit in the Bible, compared to the shit in the news, compared to the shit everyone else has to take. Do you think the archangel Gabriel thinks anything the less of me, because I promptly and respectfully obey that old hunks in that particular instance? Who ain’t a slave? Tell me that. We're all just serfs under capitalism, right, so why not just be honest about it: I prefer the honesty. Anyway, however the old sea captains may order me about - slapping and punching of course - I have the satisfaction of knowing that it's the same experience everyone else on Earth has, but more honest. Everyone else in the world is being served the exact same way. Either in a physical or a metaphysical way - sometimes people get the shit beaten out of them in person, sometimes online, sometimes emotionally, it happens to you in EVERY JOB, you sign on to get pushed around and slapped in the teeth: so the point is that when you're a sailor, it's a clean and honest slap. All the workers of the world share the same universal slap to the face that gets passed round, one slap passed all 'round the chain, like paying it forward, but it's a slap; and we should all accept this Universal Slap as the price of living, and then offer each other healing back massages, brother to brother, and slap each other and then kissed the places we slapped, and be happy.

I could examine that but I'm not going to.

Anyway: I always go to sea as a sailor. I've said that already. You're welcome. BUT THE POINT IS, they pay you. If you're a passenger, they don't pay you, at least, not that I've ever heard of [citation needed] (do they pay passengers?? Is there a job I can get where I can be a passenger and get paid?? Look this up.) Yeah so passengers have to pay. And there is all the difference in the world between paying and being paid. The act of paying is perhaps the most uncomfortable infliction that the two orchard thieves entailed upon us. (That's Adam and Eve. You get it.) But BEING PAID. GETTING PAID IS THE BEST. NOTHING COMPARES TO GETTING PAID. EVERYONE LOVES THAT SHIT. Which is surprising, since we also apparently believe that money is the root of all evil, and isn't there something in the bible about "no rich people can get into heaven," right? And yet it's universal, literally everyone loves payday. Ah! How cheerfully we send ourselves to hell.

Finally, I always go to sea as a sailor (I've said this already) because it's FRESH AIR AND EXERCISE. Okay so think about ships. Normally, bosses stand on the "bridge" thing, and because we're sailing a boat, the nose is going into the wind and the butt part of the boat is at the back. That's how wind works. But if you think about it, winds usually go in one direction more than other directions (unless the men have been eating beans and farting: it's Pythagoras, look it up) SO if you're a boss standing on the boss-deck, the wind is blowing FROM the sailors TOWARDS you, and YOU ARE ACTUALLY BREATHING THE AIR THAT SAILORS ALREADY BREATHED. The boss THINKS he breathes it first, but he doesn't. He gets the air at the BACK of the boat and sailors get the air at the FRONT. So it's better to be at the front of the boat (sailor) for health reasons. This is a metaphor for life and work, etc.

But I have smelled the sea lots of times as a paid sailor and WHY I should decide to go on a whaling expedition - ok so you know how there's an invisible police officer of the Fates who has me under constant surveillance, who secretly dogs me, and influences me in some unaccountable way? YOU get me. You know him. "The poor FBI agent tasked with reading my search engine history" YOU GET ME. Anyway, "Ishmael, why, after having a perfectly well-reasoned, and very smart of you, part-time job as a spontaneous random sailor, did you decide to escalate that to joining a WHALING EXPEDITION, which is worse in every way?" Well, ask my fucking secret FBI agent, he can answer better than anyone else. Including me. You get me. Also, obviously, this was predestined, part of the Universe's Grand Programme for its talent show, which was all scheduled way before our time. The concept of sending me on the whaling voyage comes in as a kind of interlude or solo between the main performances of the Universe's great talent show. I bet it was advertised llike,

"PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION OF THE UNITED STATES EMBROILED IN ONGOING LEGAL DISPUTE.

Whaling voyage by some guy called Ishmael.

BLOODY BATTLE IN AFGHANISTAN."

Like a commercial break in between the big acts. A filler episode. Lightens the load for everyone else. Though I can't explain why the stage managers - the Fates - chose such a shitty role for me, a WHALING VOYAGE of all things, when it feels like others were given magnificent parts in high tragedies, and short and easy parts in genteel comedies, and jolly parts in farces - it seems a little unreasonable at first. Why doth Ishmael get shat upon, etc. But then I think about all the circumstances, the plot points and motivations that were cunningly presented to me under various disguises - FBI agents, bouts of random hanger, gay awakenings, you get me - and you can see that actually, I was set up. And worse, between them all, these Fates and Circumstances conspired to make me believe it was all my own choice and good judgment. Is Free Will an illusion? Are my decisions bad? We will NEVER know because I, Ishmael, am just a little guy that the Universe plays head games with.

One of the ways the Universe tricked me into starring in this performance and then mocking me for it was the overwhelming idea of the great whale himself (whaling expeditions usually contain whales.) Such a portentous and mysterious monster roused all my curiosity. Then of course, if you have a whale, you have the wild and distant seas where the whale rolls around with his body-the-size-of-an-island; the dangers and nameless perils of the whale; whales are also found in interesting places I haven't seen; this all tipped me over the edge. Maybe normal people could've resisted, but I am tormented with an everlasting itch for obscurity. I hate everyone else's oceans. I want the forbidden seas.

You know The Horrors? Of course you do. You might be surprised that I, the most mentally healthy person you've ever met, a person who is self-aware enough to go to sea when they're at their fucking limits, a guy who likes fresh air and manual labor and normal things, is familiar with The Horrors. Well, you'd be surprised. I know what's good, I'm an extrovert. But I'm still quick to perceive The Horrors. And how I deal with the horrors is a very extroverted thing: I'm social with them, if they'll let me. It's smart to be on good terms with The Horrors. You should always be on good terms with your permanent neighbors. That's how extroverts deal with The Horrors, and I recommend it.

I think that's enough explanation for why I welcomed the whaling voyage. The great flood-gates of the wonder-world swung open, and in the wild figments of imagination that pushed me into doing it, the whales came marching two by two, hurrah, hurrah. They marched into my innermost soul in endless processions and occupied it, you see, I was quite helpless under this occupation - I consented to the haunting and the whales marched in to haunt me - and amidst them all was one grand shrouded white phantom, like a snowy mountain in the air.

You get it.

You know how it is, with whales.

(read the actual first chapter of Moby Dick here: https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2701/2701-h/2701-h.htm)

#mody bick

9K notes · View notes

thisapplepielife · 18 days

Text

Written for @steddiesmuttyseptember.

Ready For It?

Week #1 Prompt: Mile High Club | Word Count: 2589 | Rating: E | POV: Steve | CW: Sex Acts, Risk of Being Heard, Alcohol Consumption | Tags: Famous Corroded Coffin, Road Manager Steve, Established Relationship, Steve Will Make Good on an Old Promise, But The Guys of Corroded Coffin Don't Wish to Hear It

"Are you ready for it?" Eddie asks, standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Steve hears it creak, and rattle, under his weight. It's a door that's not made to be touched or used, only looked at, Steve's pretty sure.

"Don't lean on that. What's it?" Steve asks, not looking up from the binder that's on the desk in front of him. He has a thousand things to look over before they land, and he really doesn't have time for whatever nonsense Eddie's proposing.

And Steve knows Eddie well enough to know it really could be anything that he's trying to break Steve's concentration with. A tray of shots. A racoon he smuggled on board the plane. Or just his finger sticking out of the fly of his jeans, so he can pretend it's his dick.

Nothing would surprise him at this point. Between the four of them, he's seen everything twice at this point. Okay, maybe not the raccoon. But Eddie would, if he could just get one caught.

"It," Eddie stresses again, but not elaborating any further.

Steve finally looks up, "It, like, the clown? What do you mean, it? You love to talk, use your words."

Steve's sure he sounds snappish, and short-tempered. But he's always this way before a show, and Eddie knows it. He entered at his own risk. There's too much to do, and never enough time.

That's why Steve gets this back section of the plane, the only bit of privacy on board, unless he wants to hang out in the john. So, he squirrels away back here so he can work while they're flying from show to show. It's technically a bedroom, and there is a bed that any of them are welcome to use to sleep while Steve works, as long as they are fucking quiet about it.

Eddie's never quiet, though.

And today surely won't be the moment that changes.

Eddie laughs, amused and delighted, and it's a good sound, so Steve relaxes against his will, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Spit it out," Steve says, raising an eyebrow, then watches as Eddie pulls the flimsy accordion door closed behind him. It's not much of a door, more of a paper-thin screen, and Steve hopes whatever Eddie's about to say is something he's fine with the rest of the band hearing, because. Well. Door basically made of tissue paper and paper clips.

Lean on it, and you're definitely crashing through, as if you're the Kool-Aid Man, and that's why Steve just leaves it pushed open all the time. He's scared if any of them touch it, they'll destroy it and then they'll have to pay some ungodly amount of money to replace a shitty excuse for a fucking door.

Eddie flops on the bed, or what passes for one at the back of a small, private plane. For as much as this costs to lease, Steve really thinks it should be a little more sturdy in the furniture department.

Steve watches as Eddie then runs his hands over his body, down his chest, finally settling on framing his crotch with his hands.

"That's it?" Steve questions, trying not to laugh, but he's smiling. He can't not. Eddie's ridiculous. But he loves him.

"C'mon, you promised we'd join the mile high club. Let's do it now."

Steve had promised that, a long time ago, when it seemed highly unlikely that he'd ever have to make good on the deal. Eddie wanted to do it on a commercial flight once upon a time, and Steve preferred to not have an audience of three-hundred and an indecent exposure arrest on his record when the plane touched down.

So, he'd promised that when Eddie made it big, and had his own private plane, they'd do it then.

Fucker probably went and did it just to spite Steve.

But Steve smiles, "You can't be serious. They are right out there. They can hear every word we're saying-"

"We can!" Gareth yells from the other side of the sad excuse for a door, "And we are formally requesting that this not happen. We voted."

Eddie laughs, and shouts back, "You don't get to vote on whether I have sex or not! This is not a fucking democracy!"

"We do. We did. It is," Goodie says back, interjecting, not even raising his voice. He doesn't need to, nothing is blocking the sound, and Steve can hear all three of them cackling. He's sure they're each three drinks into the mini bar by now.

He really should go take it away. They've got a show tonight, and he needs everybody to be able to stand on their own two feet. Well, Gareth just has to be able to sit. But Steve's not gonna remind him of that. Give him an inch, he'll take a mile.

Eddie sticks out his bottom lip.

"You'll trip on that lip, if you keep it up," Steve says, looking back down at his tour bible.

"Steve," Eddie whines.

Steve closes his binder, and crawls up on the bed, until he's hovering over Eddie's face, whispering, "We will. I don't renegade on my deals, you know that. But not right now. Wait until we're at least halfway alone."

Eddie's about to argue, Steve can tell, he always can, when they hear an acoustic guitar plucking out the melody to Let's Get It On. Then it's followed by laughing, and Gareth drumming on something with his hands, and Goodie making bass noises with his mouth.

Eddie laughs, "Okay. Point taken."

And Steve's fucking thrilled, because those three already know more about their sex life than Steve would ever prefer.

"Alright, alright!" Eddie shouts, and they howl as they stop.

Eddie's big eyes are still pouting, but he nods, ever so slightly.

"Nap with me at least?" Eddie asks.

Steve looks at his watch, figures out the remaining duration of the flight plan, and decides he probably has enough time for a short nap.

"That I can do," Steve says, and crawls on the bed, curling against Eddie's side.

"I really wanted to join that club," Eddie says. "I wanna get my wings."

Steve laughs, "That's not how you get wings"

"It could be," Eddie stresses. And yeah, Steve supposes it could.

"Okay. You will," Steve promises. Just, hopefully when everybody else is knocked the fuck out.

They have almost no privacy from each other, as is, but doing that with them right there would be ridiculous. They'd never hear the end of it.

Eddie rolls off the bed, standing up, and starts removing his jeans. Steve's seen this move before. He knows the ending, and waggles his finger, shutting that shit down.

Eddie doesn't listen. He never does. And the jeans hit the ground, the heavy belt buckle reverberating as it lands.

Then he's standing there in his boxer briefs. Hand fondling his dick.

Steve shakes his head.

Eddie pantomimes jacking himself off, then points at his eyes, then at Steve, then at his own eyes again.

Steve rolls his eyes. There's no way in hell Eddie can stand there and jerk off with Steve watching, and stay completely quiet.

But if Eddie wants to embarrass himself, which probably isn't even possible, then he can go right ahead. As long as Steve doesn't have to be involved in any compromising ways.

So, Steve folds his hands behind his head, propping himself up, and crosses his legs at the ankle, getting comfortable.

Then raises his eyebrows, like, I'm waiting.

Eddie wastes no time, he steps out of his underwear, and strokes himself one, twice, then holds up a finger. Telling Steve to wait. Steve waits as Eddie bends over, bare ass mooning him, and Steve smiles.

He's never prepared for anything.

He finally digs around in his duffle until he comes up with the lube and raises his eyebrows, slicking up his hand, and going back to stroking.

He tilts his head back, exposing his throat, and Steve looks between that length of pale skin and his hard cock sliding in and out of his fist. The soft sound of his strokes, the sight of the head of his cock appearing and disappearing, his other hand on his chest, playing with the ring through his nipple.

Fucker.

It's working on Steve, of course it is, even if he's not gonna cave and get fucked right now. But he'll enjoy the show, and has to force himself to not give in and join in. He won't give Eddie the satisfaction.

Eddie adjusts his head back upright, and catches Steve's eyes. Then he looks down at his slick cock, gazing at his own hand as if he isn't the one doing it to himself.

And they both watch. The slide, the firm grip of his talented, calloused fingers, and Steve lets out a small involuntary noise.

That's all it takes. Eddie's gonna come. Steve can see it in the shudder that rolls through his body, can see it in the tension in his stomach, his forearm, as he slows his stroke as he looks around for something to come in, to not make a fucking mess. Unprepared, as always.

Steve takes pity on him, and sits up, scooting towards the edge of the bed, letting Eddie slot between his thighs.

Then he lowers his head, and opens his mouth.

Eddie keeps stroking, and then slips the head of his cock past Steve's lips, the underside of his length rubbing against Steve's tongue, as he thrusts in once, twice, shudders and bites back a whine as he pushes all the way in, coming.

Steve closes around him, bobbing slightly, and swallowing as Eddie chuckles. Steve lets go, and licks his lips.

Eddie bends down, slick hand finding Steve's cheek, and Steve can't even complain as he kisses him. Then Eddie's crawling onto the bed and falling face first into his pillow, sure to be asleep in a minute or less.

Steve slides back off the bed, wipes his face with Eddie's shirt, and goes back to work at the desk.

The show is textbook, running smooth and on schedule, and then they are wheels up again just a couple hours after. Off to the next one. The pace of this tour is faster than any other they've been on before.

Steve's balancing the books from the night, when Eddie very carefully slides through the flimsy door, slotting the accordion door into place behind him. Turning the lock that can only be decorative. Steve had heard them out there doing shots and playing cards, the noise slowly dwindling as they wound down, the adrenaline finally fading.

"Everyone's asleep," Eddie whispers, "Now? Can it be now?"

"Didn't we already check that off the list?" Steve teases him.

"That didn't count," Eddie hisses, eyes pleading.

Eddie had somehow conned the band into playing a metal version of Learning to Fly during their encore earlier, really stressing the "I'm learning to fly, but I ain't got wings" portion of the song. Steve had heard him loud and clear.

Steve looks at him, standing there looking so hopeful, and laughs, "Okay. It can be now."

Eddie smiles so fucking wide. He's adored by fans worldwide, he just stood in front of a roaring stadium crowd a few hours ago, for god's sake, but Steve knows it's somehow still him that Eddie most wants attention from.

And he'll damn well give it to him.

Steve's facedown on the bed, and Eddie's grinding into him so slowly, trying to not make any noise. Not that he thinks anything would wake the rest of them up at this point in the night, but still.

Eddie's doing such good fucking work that Steve wants to moan. To whine. To scream. He doesn't know how Eddie has the drive, the stamina, after a whole night on stage. He just never stops, and right now, Steve is the lucky beneficiary of all that boundless energy.

And he can't help it, Steve lets out a muffled whine and Eddie covers his whole back, pressing into him, "Be quiet, sweetheart."

Steve nods. He can be quiet. He can.

Eddie doesn't move, just stays laying on top of him, his full weight pressing Steve down into the mattress as he slowly grinds his dick right into Steve's prostate.

It's torture.

It's hell.

It's fucking goddamn perfect.

Just a slow, firm roll of his hips, pushing up into him, over and over, and Steve is gonna come.

The moan starts to escape his lips, and Eddie's hand is suddenly over his mouth, meant to silence him, but all it does is push him right over the edge. Body spasming as he comes into the sheets of the leased plane bed.

Eddie chuckles, thrusting another half a dozen times, before coming inside him. He releases Steve's mouth, and Steve sighs, Eddie collapsing on top of him. Still deep inside. Right where he belongs.

"Fuck," Eddie whispers, and Steve laughs.

Fuck indeed.

"Oh, gross," Steve hears, and opens one eye. Gareth is standing in the doorway of the bedroom, looking at them laying on the stripped bed, the dirty sheets balled up in the corner, on the floor.

"I thought I locked that," Eddie says, not even opening his eyes.

At least they aren't naked. It could be worse. It really is a fucking worthless door, though.

"Twenty minutes to landing," Gareth says, "You need to get your asses in seats."

"Says who?" Eddie mutters.

"The pilot, asshole," Gareth answers.

Eddie groans, not moving, but Steve rolls out of the bed. Cars should be waiting at the airport to take them to a hotel so they can get some actual rest, and showers, before the show tonight. He definitely needs one.

"Eddie," Steve says, "get up."

"No," Eddie says, and Steve laughs. Now he's suddenly too tired to do anything. His motivation clearly all dried up since he got what he wanted.

"Yes," Steve says, pulling his shirt over his head.

Eddie mutters and grumbles, but flings himself off of the mattress, falling to his knees on the floor of the plane, crawling around, grabbing at his clothes. Eyes still closed. Hands reaching out, patting around, like he's a little raccoon looking for food.

It's a method of getting dressed, Steve supposes. Not a good one. But a method, nonetheless.

Eventually, they slide into their seats and buckle up, just in time to feel the decent starting, and Steve looks at Eddie. Eyes closed again, already falling back asleep. He reaches over, and slides the needle of the pin through Eddie's shirt.

Eddie opens his eyes, and looks down to see what Steve's doing.

They are a pair of golden wings, like children get to celebrate their first flight. Steve had asked their private pilot if he had any when they landed earlier, but he hadn't. However, when they reboarded after the gig, Steve climbing the portable steps, the pilot had handed over a pair he'd scrounged up at the airport while they were gone to the gig.

Now, Steve has gotten to give them to Eddie.

"Your wings," Steve explains.

And Eddie just grins, covering the pin with his hand.

Steve shakes his head, and looks down at his binder, going over the schedule for the coming day, and the days after.

He smiles to himself, happy that Eddie's happy, and decides that maybe he needs to pencil a few more of these mile high sessions into the official itinerary, after all.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiesmuttyseptember and follow along with the filthy fun! 💦

Notes: Song from the encore is Tom Petty's Learning to Fly.

#steddie smutty september #week one #prompt: mile high club #steddie fic #steddie #stranger things #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #gareth stranger things #stranger things fic #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: smutty september

242 notes · View notes

leclerc-s · 3 months

Text

track two - 'cause i knew too much, there was danger

series masterlist

WINTER BREAK 2022

liked by maxverstappen1, alex_albon, logansargeant and others

ines_sainz a little winter break dump for those of you who are not thriving during the off season, like me. featuring a photo max took on my phone

view all comments

alex_albon he's going to kill you for getting a new cat.

ines_sainz he'll get over it alex_albon that's a big fat lie

user01 she spent the break in like three different places.

ines_sainz we broke into seb's home. we're having withdrawals user02 she's so real for that

user03 she's acting as if she isn't getting slandered in the spanish media right now.

user04 if it's not true she shouldn't care user05 knowing the sainz family, her excluded, they're probably lying

fernandoalo_oficial nano is a very good cat.

ines_sainz [redacted] would argue otherwise because he hid his left shoe from him yesterday.

maxverstappen1 YOU SAID YOU WERE NEVER GOING TO POST THAT PICTURE!

ines_sainz AND YOU SAID HE WAS NEVER GOING TO FIND OUT ABOUT 2017!

logansargeant i can't wait to meet the new kitty.

ines_sainz and honey can't wait to meet you!

patriciooward i'm committing crimes for your kitty

ines_sainz i would too o'ward, you're not special

user06 your honor, i love her.

georgerussell63 there is not a single thought behind that kitty's eyes. seems like it's father.

ines_sainz you are so lucky he can't comment on here. your ass is cooked in the group chat user07 this is all the confirmation i needed to know that they are gossip girls

ines_sainz posted new stories

not a single thoughts behind those eyes, she takes after her father. babysitting my favorite munchkin 🥰💞 pasta night, but only one of us is allowed to cook without supervision (hint, it's not me who needs supervision)

oscarpiastri replied to your story

oscarpiastri i can't tell if you're insulting me or charles ines_sainz it's actually both of you, you've both got that thousand mile stare down. oscarpiastri i actually hate you right now. ines_sainz love you too amor!

maxverstappen1 replied to your story

maxverstappen1 thanks again for watching her ines_sainz of course! she's a sweet kid, i'll gladly watch her again!

fernandoalo_oficial replied to your story

fernandoalo_oficial los tres ocupan supervisión. [the three of you need supervision] ines_sainz no es cierto! charles ocupa supervision, ocasionalmente oscar, pero yo nunca! [that's not true! charles needs supervision, occasionally oscar, put never me!] ines_sainz yo aprendí a cocinar desde pequeña! [i learned how to cook since i was a kid!] fernandoalo_oficial 🤓☝️ ines_sainz who taught you that?!

jensonbutton replied to your story

jensonbutton so now that you're not racing, you're babysitting? ines_sainz excuse me while i go scream in a pillow ines_sainz THE jenson button knows who I am?? jensonbutton kid, i've known you since 2015 when you used to barge into fernando's garage. i've also got a proposal for you. ines_sainz fire away mr. button, but yes, i'll babysit your kids if you ever need me too. i babysit fernando (please don't tell him i said that)

BAHRAIN 2023

liked by arthur_leclerc, theopouchaire21, liamlawson30 and others

ines_sainz once i fix me, they're gonna miss me (but i won't miss them)

view all comments

liamlawson30 how could you possibly go karting without me? do our years of friendship mean nothing to you?

theopouchaire21 OR ME? fredrickvestiofficial OR ME? logansargeant OR ME? arthur_leclerc OR ME? ines_sainz damn, it's almost like you guys miss me or something. liamlawson30 nevermind, go back to rotting with your boyfriend.

maxverstappen1 what's there to fix? you're great the way you are?

ines_sainz aww max, that might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me. maxverstappen1 he's holding me at gunpoint ines_sainz fucking liar. i know you like me bitch!

user08 I'M DYING TO KNOW WHO SHE'S DATING!! THE ANXIETY IS KILLING ME!!

user09 same here! but like she'll tell us when she's ready, she's not ready yet. user10 oh god, how i hope it's charles, just to see carlos' blood boil.

user11 SHE'S HAPPY AND IN LOVE!! REJOICE!!

georgerussell63 YOU WENT KARTING? WITHOUT US?

alex_albon gasp, do we, the twitch squad mean nothing to you? ines_sainz it was a date? logansargeant and you think we care?

user12 bro, who ever this guy is, thank you for getting her smile back.

charles_leclerc are you okay? it looks like he's eating your face off?

ines_sainz you're just jealous. your lonely ass wishes you had somebody. charles_leclerc what makes you think i'm single? ines_sainz you're bitching and moaning at 3am. i get that we're neighbors but please stop complaining.

user13 WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT THE SHADE??

user14 RIGHT?! SHE JUST BLATANTLY SAID SHE'S DOING BETTER THAN BEFORE?! SHE NEVER NEEDED THEM!! user15 SHE NEVER NEEDED THEM THEY NEEDED HER!! comment liked by ines_sainz

user16 listen, i know she isn't talking to carlos, we're all aware of this, but one would think he would use the comments to annoy her

user17 no cause i was wondering, why isn't carlos being a nuisance in her comments? ines_sainz other than the fact that our mother doesn't want him to make a 🤡 of the family name. i blocked him 💀. i don't need that negativity in my instagram comments user16 ICON!!! user18 it's too late to not make a 🤡 of the family name. no one takes them seriously anymore. they did this shit all on their own. ines_sainz amen to that sister

ines_sainz posted new stories

first day on the job, kinda nervous (jokes, not really) i've only waited since qatar 2021 to see father back on the podium couldn't be prouder of this silly old man 💚

JEDDAH 2023

¡taglist!

@minmira95 @lesliiieeeee @vroomvroommuppett @prongsvault @justtprachisblog @scuderiadevils @cataf1 @chezmardybum @formulaal @lilsiz @norstappenvibes @ironspdy @nikfigueiredo @hinamesgigantica @niniluvsainz @matchaverse @fakeikeastore @theseus-jpg @six-call @81folklore @emppusofi @luvsforme @nichmeddar @loloekie @luvpedro @donttouchthegnote @nothaqks @inferiusreggie @mochimommy2002 @rach3164 @clove08 @clove0 @lillysbigwilly @landonorizzz @jenxjar @blupblupfish @thereadinggremlin05 @meowiarty @magical-spit @camdensreg @laneyspaulding19 @ocyeanicc @yelenasloverrrrr @percervall @blushmimi @spilled-coffee-cup @moldyshorts1997 @michelleyw81

¡not taggable!

@ashlovestoread1411 @books-thingys-andstuff @nothanqks @yeanoskrrt @ale-522 @aandreea_2005 @Katness1 @mgmoore @Scott-McCall-could-lift-mjolnir @Greantii @xxx-betty @ietss @ririyulife

¡leclerc-s speaks!

violence is always the answer with this friend group. i won't be talking about every single race of the season 2023 season because that's just boring. we all know how the season ended anyways 💀 know the inés as a reporter was only done to terrorize d*nica, it's not permanent, i have plans. jenson and inés are about to form the hate d*nica club.

¡disclaimer!

this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

#leclerc-s #guilty as sin series #f1 instagram au #f1 x oc #f1 oc #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 #formula one #f1 fic #formula 1 fic #f1 x female oc #charles leclerc x female oc #oscar piastri x female oc

273 notes · View notes

luveline · 11 months

Note

Jade, if you don't mind, I'd love to see more of Spencer with a badass!reader who doesn't want to show much emotion bc it's a bit hard for her :)

Have a nice day<33

thank u!

cw graphic imagery + minor character death

The gunshot is loud. It's deafening. It's deja vu.

Spencer watches the body collapse in on itself with ears ringing, a pitching forward, a mess where a head used to be hitting the tiled floor. Barely a teenager, snuffed to nothing. You collapse onto your knees beside it, the sound of your knee caps connecting with the floor the only distinctive sound to his ears. He can't hear Hotch, rarely pissed, and he can't hear the sirens outside. He can't hear any of it.

Blood spray on your cheek transfers to his hand as he remembers himself, falling onto his knees beside you, gore sinking into his pants. It's hot in its pool, colder where it's painted your face, the spray metallic as he swipes it away from your eyelashes. "Are you okay?" he asks, trying to meet your eyes.

Your gaze is a thousand miles away. You won't look at him. He forces your chin up and it doesn't matter; you aren't present, no you behind your eyes.

He applies pressure to your face. Nothing cruel, enough to drag you back to the present as his thumb sets about stroking a soft line, the only softness he can offer right now. "Are you okay?" he asks again. He says your name.

You barely blink.

"Take her outside, Reid," Hotch says, pointless EMTs creeping into the room. They're there to confirm death. Nothing else. "Just take her out."

Spencer hooks you under the arms and drags you up against his chest. You're rigid, dead weight, and he has to plead with you to get you moving. "Come on," he says, his arm behind your back.

Morgan sees the struggle. He has questions of his own, but all his off-kilter teasing and pet names fall on deaf ears as the two men help you outside and onto a low flower bed wall. You seem to snap back into action, then, breath suddenly quick and hands stretching out to touch your blood slick knees. You visibly fret at the staining of your palms and wipe your hands down your calves, a bundle of harsh movements.

"It's okay," Spencer says.

"Does she need a medic?" Morgan asks. He sounds angry, somehow. Spencer knows it to be a manifestation of his worry for you in your reluctant friendship.

You turn to Spencer, eyes imploring.

"No," Spencer says, "just give us a minute."

Morgan squints. A minute, he seems to agree, and not a second longer. You're quick to anger, sure, but quicker to logic, and your shock is catching everyone unprepared. You've never reacted like this. Spencer has never seen you on your knees like that.

"I'm sorry," you say, touching his thigh. Your voice is barely your own, thready and hoarse. "I tried."

"I know you tried. I know you did, you have nothing to be sorry for." Spencer's reeling himself. They haven't had a case like this in years, and it hits the same. Another bullied kid failed by the people around him, who could've hurt hundreds of people, who could've killed them, and killed you. It's complicated but remarkably simple. "He was going to hurt you."

"We could've–" You choke on something, some suggestion of a what-if.

You don't let yourself connect to people on cases. You have sympathy for victims, empathy, but you don't react like this. You're like Emily in that you compartmentalise everything you can. You've never spoken about past cases and what you might change, never even suggested to him that you think about your failings after they've happened, until now.

"I don't know what happened," you say, your voice near whining, high-pitched and logged with panic as you stare down at your legs and cover your face, as though you don't want him to see you.

You turn away from him.

"It's okay," he says. He tries to be soft but his adrenaline is coasting, his reassurance panicked. You sound like you're in pain.

"I don't know what happened," you insist, covering the back of your head with your hands as you curl in on yourself.

You don't cry. Spencer wasn't expecting you too. You just panic, tensed, turned away from him, and flinch at his attempts to touch you. "Don't. I'm fine," you force out.

"You're not fine. You don't have to be fine," he stands up and you flicker, hands pushing down harder. Spencer covers them with his own and sighs. "It's okay. It's okay." He drops to a whisper. "It's okay, you're okay."

You're hard to comfort, but it's not impossible. Spencer isn't stupid. He knows if this were anyone else touching you, you'd have sprung from your makeshift seat or pushed them away, but he's lucky in that you seem to have this tender spot for him, a sweetness that never wanes. He drifts in closer and hugs your head to his abdomen, one arm covering your hands until they fall, the other across your back.

Your job is your job, but there is nothing wrong with needing comfort after seeing something horrific. "It's okay if you don't feel how you were expecting," he says, rubbing a half-circle into your back.

"It's hard… for me. This is…"

You don't finish. It doesn't matter. Spencer paused any action to hold you, his eyes shuttering closed, dumb to any sound beside the strange shudder in your breath as you catch it. You've always had a talent for removing Spencer from his surroundings; you've looked at him and snagged him out of time. He never knew it could happen like this, though. You struggle to fall apart and Spencer doesn't know if he should hold you together or let it hurt.

Whatever you do… "I'm here," he says, rubbing your back.

You wrap your arms around his waist.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

927 notes · View notes

hoshinasblade · 1 month

Text

hoshina found you in the rooftop of the training building.

the lights from the skyscrapers miles away from the base looked like beacons from this distance, hoshina thought to himself. you were however looking at the moon, crescent-shaped in the sky, dark clouds swallowing some of its luminescence.

hoshina knew he would find you here. he would have dropped by sooner, but the close-door meeting of high-ranking officials in the force took longer than he expected. even now, his top uniform unzipped and both his hands in his pockets, hoshina can still feel the tension and fatigue from the discussion earlier.

"i'm thinking of quitting." your face is indecipherable, but your voice betrayed the emotion swirling inside you. "i'm no good here."

the commanders of the anti-kaiju divisions met a few hours ago - an emergency session to discuss possible strategies on how they're going to handle kaiju threats going forward. it has not been a week since the attack in the tachikawa base where several officers in your platoon had died protecting each other. the image of people you'd trained with, worked with, even shared a meal with, dying under your command is forever etched on your memories, unable to be erased.

the truth is you cannot even stomach looking at yourself in front of the mirror without feeling like a complete, utter failure.

hoshina stood beside you, the cold breeze blowing the stray strands of his hair away his face. he wanted to offer his jacket to you but settled on putting his arm around you instead. "it wasn't your fault", he said, because it really wasn't. he faced the strongest entity in the horde of monsters that attacked the third division base that night and survived by the skin of his teeth. his only consolation is he didn't lost you in the whole ordeal.

you sniffled. "i'm not like you, soshiro. i'm not... strong." hoshina wanted to assert that what you said is a lie but decided against it. "tell me what i need to do," you pleaded, "cause i don't know anymore."

hoshina wished he could take away your pain even if it means he'll have to be the one to bear its burden.

"as your vice-captain, i am going to ask you to stay," hoshina said before turning to look straight at you. "we've lost a lot of people already, we cannot afford to lose any more." i cannot afford to lose you, he wanted to say.

your scoff surprised him. "and as my boyfriend?" you presented your follow-up question.

"as your boyfriend, i need you here," hoshina answered too quickly. he reminded himself to slow down; the last thing both of you need is an argument. he let the silence enveloped you for a few seconds, just enough to calm his own erratic heartbeat. hoshina, watching you from the corner of his eye, started to speak again. "you remember when you said you wanted to be a defense officer? we weren't even dating back then," hoshina pointed out. "i wanted to be one since i was little, but you, god, i have never met anyone else who wanted to protect people so bad like you do. honestly that's part of why i love you," he told you.

hoshina understands all too well how you feel - the horror of knowing you could have saved people who laid their trust on you but didn't. there are a thousand reasons why he wakes up each day as the vice-captain of an anti-kaiju division, and one of it is because he has to make it up for the people he's lost along the way - he's decided to continue on his mission of eradicating kaijus because if he stops he's scared everything and everyone he's lost will be in vain.

"look, if you really want an out, we know i can't stop you anyway", hoshina said matter-of-factly. "but if you stay, i'll be here for you." his hand lightly touched yours. "i'll protect you. i'll take care of you so you can take care of other people too. i'll protect you."

you did not reply. you did not have to.

#HOSHINA SOSHIRO THE MAN THAT YOU ARE #hoshina #hoshina soshiro #soshiro hoshina #hoshina soshiro x reader #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina x reader #kaiju no. 8 #hoshina soshiro fic #kn8 x reader

271 notes · View notes

illdowhatiwantthanks · 2 months

Text

The Jicama (The Surprise, Part 22)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: pregnancy times, health scares, hospital times, mentions of IVs and medication, explicit language, some sexual innuendo/conversation (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 2.9k

Summary: You've had cramp-like pains all day, and they're growing more and more frequent and more and more intense. But it's too early for the baby to be born. And Emily is a thousand miles away on a case. Surely, it's Braxton-Hicks, right?! Right!?

Week 32: The Jicama

You gritted your teeth as another wave of pain rolled through your body. They were getting harder and harder to ignore and, much as you hated to admit it, you were growing increasingly worried that they weren’t just Braxton-Hicks.

You lay on the couch, trying to breathe steadily, hands running over your baby bump. It felt almost like period cramps, but worse. More intense and in shorter bursts than the long, dull ache of menstruation. And your lower back felt as if a small, furious fire were building and building inside of you, shooting up your spine every few minutes.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You wanted Emily. You wanted to ask her what to do, to have her here to help you make a decision. Emily would keep you safe, both of you. But she wasn’t here. She was over a thousand miles away, in some tiny Iowa farmtown, hunting a serial killer with her team.

You knew that the moment you called her, the moment you let on how scared you were, Emily would commandeer the BAU jet and fly back, leaving… what exactly? The teenage girls of Iowa to be murdered? Her team to scramble without her? You didn’t want to call her out of the field, not unless it was an emergency.

And, well, maybe you were in denial, but you were really trying to avoid thinking of this as an emergency. You chewed on your lip, watching the tiny seconds hand on your iPhone clock icon swirl around, counting the minutes between contractions. Because you were pretty sure that’s what they were–contractions.

A stray tear dripped down your cheek and you dashed it away. “It’s not time to come out yet, sweetheart,” you whispered, rubbing your stomach.

You clenched your fists against another contraction, checking the time. You were at a little under ten minutes between contractions. They’d started at about every twenty minutes, but had nearly doubled in length, frequency, and intensity over the last few hours.

You took another deep breath and stared at your phone, determined. Emily wasn’t here. Yes, she often took care of you. Yes, she made you feel safe. Yes, you would feel so much better if she were here. But she was doing her job, an important job. And you were an adult. You were an adult who had spent years of your life taking care of yourself, on your own, before Emily. You did it before, and you could do it again.

You called an Uber, then gathered a few things to take with you to the hospital: phone charger, Kindle, laptop, etc. When you got into the car, you set a dish towel down on the seat before maneuvering yourself in, belly in the way. You hoped to god your water wouldn’t break. You didn’t know when that was supposed to happen, but things were already happening that weren’t supposed to. You didn’t want to take any chances with a stranger’s car.

On the way, you composed yourself, putting on your best no feelings affect, and called Dr. Delgado. As expected, she confirmed that it was not normal to be experiencing regular, frequent contractions at 32 weeks, and that you needed to get yourself to a hospital as soon as possible so they could attempt to stop premature labor.

Okay, so you were already doing the right thing. That made you feel a little better. Probably, you could have done it sooner, but you were doing it now. Better than never. But now you needed to make the call you dreaded most. You hated to worry Emily. You hated to interrupt her at work. And Emily would almost certainly answer because she knew you didn’t call her when she was in the field unless it was an emergency. You waited for her to call you.

You let out a shaky breath as the phone rang, then felt your heart drop when you heard Emilly’s voice.

“Y/N!?”

“Hey, Em…” you started, trying to soften the blow. Trying your best to keep your voice calm and steady, to let Emily know that you were okay, that you could handle it, that you could take care of yourself and take care of the baby. That she didn’t need to worry.

“Are you alright?”

Another deep breath to compose yourself. “Um… I’m not sure exactly. I’m on the way to the hospital?”

You grimaced, holding the phone away from your ear as Emily’s voice screeched out of it.

“What do you mean!? Why!?”

“I, uh… I think I’m in… premature labor.”

“Oh my god,” she breathed, and you could hear her voice shake. God, you hated to scare her.

“It’s okay, Em. I’m fine. The baby’s gonna be fine. I’ve got it taken care of.”

“Honey, it’s too early!”

And it was then and only then that you snapped.

“I fucking know that, Emily! Don’t you think I know that!? I’m taking care of her, okay!? I’m getting her to the hospital! I’m doing everything I can to make sure she stays safe and doesn’t get born today, alright?!”

The line was silent for a moment, and you immediately regretted lashing out at Emily. Emily who loved you so much, who was just worried about you, just wanted to keep you safe.

You bit back tears, trying to pull it together again, trying to bring back the no feelings facade.

“It’s gonna be okay, honey,” Emily said softly, as if she could see you, could see your eyes swimming, your teeth clenched with worry. “I’m on my way, alright? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Honey, you don’t have to–”

“Yes, I do. Don’t even start with me, Y/N. You’re my wife. He’s my child. If I have to fucking fly a helicopter there myself, I’ll do it. Okay? I don't want to hear anything else about how I don’t need to be there. You’re my family, and I will get to you. Understood?”

You nodded, then remembered she couldn’t see you. “Okay,” you whispered, voice shaky.

The Uber driver pulled up in front of the hospital, and you hoisted yourself out of the backseat. “I gotta go, Em. I just got to the hospital.”

“Wait!” she called. “Which one!?”

“GW.

“Okay,” she said, her voice shaking now, too. “Keep me updated.”

“I will.” Now was your time. It was your turn to be strong. Your turn to fight for your child’s life, and you would fight tooth and nail for her. “I love you, honey.”

“I love you, too. Be safe.”

Dr. Delgado had called ahead, so they were ready for you when you arrived. You were poked, prodded, measured (but not pap-smeared!), and hooked up to various machines.

When the on-call OB-GYN came in and glanced at your charts, he nodded, as if confirming something for himself, then turned to you.

“How are we doing today, Ms. Y/L/N?” he asked, grinning at you. And his teeth were so unnaturally white that for a moment, you didn’t even respond, just stared.

“Uh… well. I’ve had better days.”

“Sounds like it.” He nodded sympathetically. “So based on the charts and your reports, I’d say that you are in preterm labor.”

You sucked in a shaky breath, trying not to cry. “It’s really early. Will she… you know… make it?”

“Chances are good that she’ll be perfectly fine. Babies born at 32 weeks have a 95% rate of survival, and usually only spend a week or so in the NICU.”

You didn’t love that 5% of non-survival, and your face likely gave it away.

“But we’re gonna do everything we can to keep her inside for a while longer, alright?”

You nodded as the doctor continued.

“We’re gonna start out by giving you fast-acting Nifedipine every fifteen minutes for an hour. That should hopefully start to slow things down. We’ll continue to Nifedipine as needed for the next 48 hours or so. Because your preterm labor progressed so quickly today, I’m gonna go ahead and prescribe a couple injections. One of those will be today, one will be tomorrow. They’ll help the baby’s lungs get stronger faster, just in case. And…”

He looked you over for a moment, and you looked back, trying not to appear as frightened as you were.

“I think I’ll go ahead and start you on intravenous magnesium, too. Just to be extra cautious. Alright?”

He clapped his hands together, as if we were breaking from a football huddle.

“Thank you,” you told him, running a hand over your baby bump, smirking as the baby kicked against it.

“You,” you continued, whispering toward the baby, “need to calm yourself. It’s not that exciting out here, I promise.”

You were on your third dose of Nifedipine, and the contractions were slowly tapering down, when you heard a familiar voice in the hallway.

“No, I’m standing in for family!” the voice protested, fluttery and determined. “I don’t care what your policy is! She’s family in spirit! And she doesn’t need to be all alone at the hospital!”

A few minutes later–the click of heels, an all-too-familiar whiff of cherry-vanilla perfume, and a whole lot of pink–and Penelope Garcia was grasping your hands in hers, looking more worried than you were.

“Oh my god, Y/N!” she squealed, looking you over. “Emily called me and told me what was going on, and, of course, I said yes I’d stay with you until she got here, but are you okay!? Is the baby okay!? What did the doctor say!? I mean it’s none of my business, I guess, but I just… really, really, really want you guys to be okay, you know!?”

You smiled at her, squeezing her hand. “I’m so glad you’re here,” you said, and you meant it. “They gave me a bunch of medicine to stop labor so… fingers crossed.” You shrugged.

Penelope physically crossed her fingers, grinning at you. “I thought maybe you could use a distraction, so I brought… this?!”

She pulled out her Nintendo Switch, and you grinned. “Mario Kart?”

“Mario Kart,” she confirmed, handing you a controller and propping the switch up on the end of your hospital bed.

You’d played nearly all the Grands Prix when you saw a very concerned, wide-eyed Emily stride past your door. You threw down the controller and called out, forgetting for a moment that you were connected to a machine and straining against the wires that held you in place.

“Em!” you yelled.

She doubled back and surged into the room, past Penelope, who watched you both as if she were watching the most adorable rom-com.

Emily grasped your face and kissed your forehead, pressing her lips together and looking worriedly at you as your eyes filled with tears.

You’d held it together all day. You’d done so well. But something about Emily being there, something about her presence–strong and sure and steady and just there–always made you fall apart, made you show your truest self at your most vulnerable moments. Because Emily saw you and knew you and loved you, and you knew that when she was here, there was no hiding. No pretending. No acting like you were okay when you weren’t. She knew. And she broke through all your walls, every time, just with those eyes–those eyes softly chastising you, softly telling you to let it go–until you were a teary mess, curled into her chest as she lowered herself into the chair that Penelope had quickly vacated. You were finally, finally safe enough to feel everything.

Penelope looked like she might cry herself, but instead stood, gathered her things, and blew you a kiss, squeezing Emily’s shoulder before creeping out of the room.

“Are you okay? Is the baby okay?” Emily whispered, trying not to interrupt your tears, alarm you.

You sniffed and nodded. “They gave me a bunch of medicine.” You raised your arms to show the IVs and monitors, as if in demonstration. “It’s working a little bit so far. They’re trying to get labor to stop entirely. I’ll probably be here for… a couple days at least.” You felt suddenly guilty again for uprooting Emily, not to mention leaving the rest of the BAU team stranded in Iowa without a jet. “I’m sorry, honey.”

“Hey,” Emily said, tilting your chin up so you had to look her in the eye. Her hands never left you. It was as if she was afraid if she stopped touching you, you’d somehow end up far from her again. Far away and scared and in trouble, and she wouldn’t be able to be there. “No apologies. I’m just glad you’re both okay.” She rubbed a thumb absentmindedly over your baby bump. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

And it was only then that you noticed that she was worried, too, worried out of her mind, maybe more worried than you. You took her hand and placed her palm on the side of your face, holding it there, just feeling her and letting her feel you.

You nodded. “I’m okay, baby.”

You sat like that for a moment, just the two of you and the beeping monitors and the buzzing lights. Emily shifted her hand so that she cupped the back of your head in her palm, and you leaned into her touch. And it was as if the touch said everything you couldn’t quite say: I love you. I love you more than breathing. In fact, I don’t think I’d be able to breathe if you weren’t here.

“How’s the rest of the team getting home?” you asked, exhaling shakily, trying to move away from the heaviness of the moment.

“Oh, the jet’s already on its way back to them,” Emily reassured you.

You giggled. “My carbon footprint grew exponentially today.”

Emily grinned. “I may have killed a few trees to get to you…”

“That’s a lot of emissions,” you told her, waggling your eyebrows. “Like, a Taylor Swift level of emissions.”

“Oh, no. God forbid.” Emily’s voice was sarcastic and warm, and you were just so happy to have her there. It was incredible, really, how much better you felt just having her there. Just hearing her voice. Just feeling her skin, even just her wrist, pressed up against yours. The knowledge of her presence in the room with you.

“Listen, Em,” you started. “I really am okay if you need to go back.”

She placed a finger lightly over your lips, as if to shush you. “No more of that. Listen, you don’t need to worry about the BAU, okay? They’re perfectly capable of catching bad guys without me.”

You raised your eyebrows.

“Alright, it might take them a little longer,” she conceded. “But they can do it without me. Besides, I’m not going back.”

“To Iowa?”

“To the BAU.”

Your heart dropped, and you threw a hospital pillow at her. “Emily Elizabeth Prentiss! You did not quit the BAU!”

“No!” she said, lightly smacking you in the face with the pillow you’d thrown, just hard enough to make you laugh. “I mean, I’m not going back into work until after the baby’s born. I told them I was starting parental leave.”

A concerned look crossed your face. “But, Em, it might still be weeks before the baby’s born. I don’t want–”

“Look,” she interrupted. “I read up on it on the plane, and even if they manage to stop labor and we can go home, you’ll likely need to be on some kind of bed rest until the baby comes.”

“But–”

“Ah!” she tutted, stopping you in your tracks yet again, this time with a quick but passionate kiss on your lips, one that left you flustered and red. “I like to take care of my wife. Let me take care of you. Got it?”

You nodded, your heart nearly exploding with love for this woman.

“I do have some bad news, though…”

You furrowed your eyebrows, taking her hand in yours as she looked sadly at you.

She sighed before continuing. “The articles I read said you almost certainly will need to be on pelvic rest.”

You scrunched up your face. “What the fuck is pelvic rest?!”

Emily pursed her lips and looked at you like she was about to personally murder a puppy. “No sex.”

Your jaw dropped. “NO SEX!?”

She shook her head. “Nope, nothing that would cause any kind of pelvic strain.”

Your brain scrambled. “Well… What about…? What about oral? I mean surely…”

Your voice faded as Emily shook her head.

You scoffed. “And you would follow through on it, too.”

She kissed you again, and you felt those familiar butterflies erupting in your stomach and pulled away.

“Don’t fucking start something you can’t finish, Prentiss,” you grumbled.

“Oh, I plan to finish it,” she said, staring at you so hard it made you blush. “As far as I’m concerned, the whole rest of the pregnancy and the weeks after while you’re healing– they’re just long, elaborate foreplay so that when I can finally fuck you again…” She lowered her voice now, so you could barely hear her. “...it is the best you’ve ever been fucked.”

You let out a deep breath, blowing out your cheeks. “Jesus, Emily.”

“I told you,” Emily grinned, brushing your hair lovingly behind your ear and winking at you. “I like to take care of my wife.”

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic

186 notes · View notes

seat-safety-switch · 1 year

Text

Ah, morning. Hot coffee in my favourite mug, a sun-dappled veranda on the balcony of my rural French palace, and a quick peek at the newspaper to see how my favourite NASCAR driver, Rusty "Piss" Trickle, placed last night. Now, just to take a big sip of scalding hot Blue Mountain before I read the results...

No, of course you know what I know. Rusty didn't podium. Hell, he didn't even place. He got, once again, ejected from the venue for trying to crush a full can of beer with his helmet-mounted GoPro at 180 miles an hour on the roval. Before the race had even started.

His utter collapse in the face of competition doesn't impact my life materially, although tens of thousands of motorsports fans across the world peg their emotional states to the success or failure of their favourite racists. And you can see why. In early childhood, we all want to have heroes. Originally, they're characters of fiction, or idealized representations of actual jobs. Firefighter. Paramedic. Home Depot guy who unlocks the saw when your mom needs to rip some planks.

This is innate to the human experience. We see folks doing exemplary things, helping their communities, getting glory, and we want to do that too. Maybe we start adopting some of their mannerisms. For a few weeks as a nine-year-old, I kept harassing my parents with the catchphrase of my favourite television star, the 1989 Lincoln Mark VII LSC. I can quote it now, to this day: "vroom."

As we age, those heroes often become specific people. We become invested in them, in an unhealthy parasocial way. For instance, I once sent Rusty ten dollars in Streamer Superchat® because he posted a livestream of himself driving across a cornfield in a stolen MG Midget. Ten dollars. I don't even give my actual human friends gas money for transporting my ungrateful ass across the country when I drop a cylinder liner. So you can see how folks go absolutely apeshit when their favourite football team scores an insufficient amount of touchdowns, or a hockey squad fails to behead the referee in time to prevent a power play.

Is there a cure for this sort of unhealthy fixation? Probably not. Becoming disillusioned with your heroes, or ruining your entire day because a bunch of millionaires failed to win a competition, is natural. Maybe it's best that we target folks far away from our communities, because the guy at Home Depot who works the saw gets real nervous when I carry a giant foam finger into the place and cheer on his rough cuts. And that creates a really dangerous situation, even if it makes it much more exciting.

551 notes · View notes

hussyknee · 10 months

Text

Libs are like, "YOU CAN'T LET TRUMP WIN JUST BECAUSE BIDEN IS COMMITTING A GENOCIDE! THIS IS NOT THE TIME FOR SINGLE-ISSUE VOTERS", when the fact is that people are already really fucking angry at him for funding two wars during a severe cost of living crisis. Biden's pet dog has already gotten Israel and the US embroiled in a steadily escalating conflict with Houthis and Hezbollah in Syria and Lebanon, and now Netanyahu is trying to ethnically cleanse two million Gazans by pushing them out of the country into Egypt, one of the countries the US gives billions of aid money to make nice with Israel and help them trap the Palestinians. Egypt is already mad about this (although Idk what they expected lol) and if Israel creates a border conflict with them, Iran might press their advantage and then the whole region descend into an all-out war in which the US is embroiled. At which point oil prices will jump, the US economy get even worse, more tax money funnelled into TWO wars, one of which is due to the genocide.

People might not care about Muslims living thousands of miles away, but they have some very strong opinions about putting food on the table. At this point there's a pretty significant shift in the Black community towards Trump because Biden has INCREASED funding for police, is supporting Cop City that someone DIED protesting, and hasn't made a dent in mass incarceration (the marijuana pardon was fucking hilarious in a depraved way). The right has also been weaponizing Black people's resentment against Latino "illegal aliens" and Biden's "concessions" towards them, when actually his immigration policies have barely been less draconian than Trump's all this time. The reason he's making those concessions is that he has to look more progressive than him, except he's also been slowly escalating ICE crackdowns, keeping kids in cages and building a border wall. So the Latin voters are entirely fed up with him too.

So far, he's lost the Muslim vote, the Latin vote, the Black vote, the youth vote (people of ages 18 to 35 are the most outraged at the genocide in Gaza), and they're hemorrhaging the working class votes. These are the extremely angry and betrayed people the liberals are currently working overtime screaming at about Trump "bringing the death of democracy", like democracy means anything to them compared to losing jobs, money, visas, family members, health (Biden's first and ongoing genocide is disabled people due to his COVID policies), social infrastructure and money.

Y'all said Blue Not Matter Who and elected a career racist and known incompetent who supported segregation, was an architect of mass incarceration, got Clarence Thomas elected to the Supreme Court and spewed rhetoric against Arabs so genocidal that motherfucking Menachem Begin was like "....bro." And you got exactly what you paid for. If Trump gets on the ticket next year he's going to win, and no amount of screaming at people online is going to change that. So I suggest you start organising now. The age of trying to create a revolution at the ballot box is over.

309 notes · View notes

hiraya-rawr · 2 years

Text

looking for your favorites 3 (sagau)

synopsis !! they can't possibly be your favorite character. . . right?

characters !! wanderer, scaramouche, chongyun, abyss prince aether, razor

note !! EVERYTHING WAS WRITTEN IN MY FREETIME bit by bit, hence why it sometimes sounds a little off i guess? i tried to fix it as much as i could ++ I'm honestly not sure if I can continue writing for the og sagau concept, I keep twisting it into something else eeh- heheheh

contains !! gn reader, mild religious themes, honestly the sagau concept is a little everywhere in this one, i couldnt seem to settle on one type, spoilers on sumeru's archon quest, scaramouche/wanderer spoilers

• • •

A Genshin Player typically has a variety of characters to choose from. Such options can range from free-to-play characters to limited five stars. Regardless of how much one invested in the game, they're bound to have at least a handful of options.

This is what all characters are aware of— that they are options among hundreds to thousands of vision holders across Teyvat, with every character being special and enticing in their own way.

There's no way they could be the favorite.

Right?

[x] WANDERER

He doesn't quite know who he is.

He doesn't understand what his purpose is either.

He just wanders, lost, nation to nation in hopes of maybe discovering a sense of fulfillment.

And with all the wandering he's done, he -of course- has heard about you. A special entity to this world. A small part of him wonders if you'd know the answers to his questions (or perhaps, you could make use of him? If he could be useful to someone like you, then surely he would feel fulfilled?).

Despite his quiet hopes, he wasn't in any rush to find you. Nor did he hope for you to actually make use of him. He just continued wandering, from the mountains of Liyue to the forests of Sumeru— all the way to where he is now. The barren desert, with nothing but sand for miles and miles to see (and perhaps that rather intimidating, flipped pyramid at a distance).

Needless to say, he wasn't expecting you of all people to follow his tracks out into the desert.

At first you were just a spech amongst the sands, then you became clearer with your approach, showing more and more the familiar features he once saw in passing amongst statues or paintings.

When you were finally within hearing distance, you raised a hand as if to call out his name, hesitating for a moment before deciding what to say—

"Wanderer!"

He tilts his head, pausing to face you as you walk closer. The sand around you stills, as if no longer fighting against every footstep you take, and instead assisting you to come closer.

"You are. . . the one this world was created for, right?" He asks unsure as soon as you were close enough

"I suppose I am?" You reply with a laugh, and he finds that he quite likes your laugh. "I tried looking for you, I'm glad I caught up before you got too deep into the desert."

"You tried looking for me. . ? Why?"

"Because how could I visit Teyvat without meeting you?" You smile softly. He looks away, it doesn't make sense.

"Meeting me, huh. . . then may I ask for a favor?"

"Anything you want."

His eyes catches yours -sunlight hitting them just right- and without missing a beat, "Can I be of use to you? Can you give me purpose?"

You freeze, hands to your side as you stare back at him. In truth, you were expecting something like this, but now? So soon on your first meeting? He looks back seriously.

"Sca– Wanderer," You begin, "You're doing this. . . to find out who you are, right?"

He nods. You sigh.

"Well. . . I know a friend back in the city who can help you. They're a traveler as well. In fact, you can say they're a friend of yours!"

"A friend of mine. . ?"

"Trust me. You'll love them. And shall we go back?"

Go back? He wonders. There's miles and miles of sand around you.

"It would be nightfall soon. I don't think we'd be able to make it back today. I'm sorry."

You turn to him, lips in a wide smile. There's something wrapped between your fingers as you hold it out for him to catch. He opens his palm, it settles down slowly— it's. . . an anemo vision. Glowing brightly.

"Why walk when we can fly?" You grin.

bonus :

"Don't you feel hot at all?" You whine, shielding your eyes from the glare of sunlight.

"I have a hat."

"I see. . . "

[x] SCARAMOUCHE

* It's conflicting, really. Scaramouche despises gods— their invisible influence taunting him like he was a defective product, like he should be ashamed to ever think he could stand on their level.

* You were... an oddity in his feelings towards such powerful beings. The world was made for you, catered to you, and people naturally adored you (just like how they adored the traveler you've shown your favor to).

* So when you, the being which his very world was created for your entertainment, landed in Teyvat, as human as any human could be— he didn't know what to expect.

* He didn't care. There are hundreds for you to meet, and he's not about to wait in line, dilly-dallying for your attention like a common peasant.

* But in the open halls of the Tsaritsa's palace, you approach with the quick pattering of your heels.

* The crowd of Fatui workers naturally part as soon as they noticed your approach. It's odd enough to hear that the player begged to go to Snezhnaya -land of nothing but barren snow- but to rush to Scaramouche's main headquarters? Unheard of!

* Yet there you were, face to face with a single option out of hundreds (the single option you chose).

"What in Teyvat are you. . ." He trails off, his face scrunched between irritation and shock. He doesn't know what to say, really. Would insulting you incur some sort of divine fury?

"I came looking for you!" You reply.

He thinks you're an idiot. He shouldn't call you that, right? Would it damn him to the abyss or something?

"Why. . ." He tries to form the words, "Why in Teyvat would you–" He pauses, looking around at the small crowd.

With a glare, the Fatui agents scatter away from the hall. It doesn't take much to scare them away like little rats. As he turns back to you, you look back unafraid, if not a little excited.

"Why are you here? Do you pity me, is that it?" He asks with a bite to his voice.

"Yes."

"I– what? So you admit it?" He scoffs, is there a limit to your shamelessness? Is this a trait natural to the gods? "Unbelievable."

"I pity you, everything you went through, but that's not the reason why I'm here! Isn't it obvious?" You say, a wide grin beginning to form, "You're my absolute favorite!"

He freezes. What? Absolutely. . . favorite?

As if understanding his speechlessness, you continue on, "I've been wanting to meet you since the very first event– ahem, first time I saw you!"

"You truly are an odd one." He mumbles under his breath because why him? Why the one who was abandoned and used numerous times? He's merely a puppet without a heart.

An empty vessel.

"And why should I believe you?" He says unconvincingly, arms folded. He notices the little chatter behind the walls, those darn recruits are listening in.

"Why would I be here if you're not my favorite?" You quip back.

He scoffs, "I don't know, but there's certainly something wrong with you in the head. You're not exactly what I expected."

"If you were expecting a certain level of power, then I could still do that. I can give you gifts."

". . . gifts?" He tilts his head.

"Artifacts, weapons, talents— they're all for you since the very beginning anyway!"

Artifacts, weapons. . . power? He thinks. Truly, if you were such an ultimate being, you could provide him anything? As if pondering over it, he suddenly pauses.

Yes, indeed you could give him these things.

But why him?

Because of favorites?

How could he be favored when he was once thrown away.

". . . Can you give me a gnosis?" He says, voice uncharacteristically soft.

"Um. . . we'll work on that. Maybe on the later arcs."

[x] CHONGYUN

* Despite modern Liyue's sovereignty from gods, it's still a nation that values traditions and piety. It's natural that with your arrival, you only deserve the best!

* That included invites from some of the highest ranking nobles and guilds. It's no surprise that Xingqiu, the second son of the largest Commerce Guild, makes an appearance to greet you in the Jade Palace, his brother and parents already done with their turns.

* Xingqiu expected a lot from you, maybe discussions of the arts (or perhaps you're even interested in novels?). What he didn't expect was for you to ask such a random question.

"Oh Xingqiu! You're here! Ah– but where's Chongyun?"

He only pauses for a second. Chongyun may be the son of a longstanding exorcist clan, but they're not much to boast about in terms of influence or wealth. Chongyun is... well, Chongyun. His dear best friend.

"I apologize, I wasn't aware that you'd like to meet him as well. Chongyun should be. . . hmm around the harbor by now, perhaps." He stands straight from his bow, "We were planning on meeting after this, your Holiness, to look for haunted h— I mean, to stroll Wuwang Hill."

You already know what they're up to as you clasp your hands together.

"Excellent! I'll go with you!"

"Wait- what?"

* Oh poor Chongyun, he would be a frantic mess in disbelief. It was hard enough to believe that you suddenly went to Liyue, but to approach him of all people? Did you mistake him for someone else? Are you going to ask for directions? Did he do something wrong?

* The thoughts swirling around his head is enough to destabilize his yang energy as you helplessly reassure him that you're there because you want to meet him as soon as you could.

"Chongyun!" You rush up to him, arms wide in an embrace— the cryo allogene freezes in place, stares with his cat-like eyes in wonder because wait, wait, wait– is the one and only controller of this world approaching him for a hug?

"I- Wait, me?" He stutters, tumbling over his words as you smile. His arms are awkwardly raised, unsure if he should hug you back.

"Yes! I met Xingqiu a while back and was wondering why you weren't with him."

"You- you were looking for me?"

"Of course I have! I've always wanted to meet you in person like this!"

As you squeeze him in your arms, you feel him go limp as his face turns red in heat.

"Oh no! His yang energy!"

[x] ABYSS AETHER

Aether knew he was damned. The minute he resolved to see through everything till the end, despite everyone thinking otherwise, he knew no one would understand why he decided to do this.

Alone, is how he decided to do this. So he sits lonely on a throne in the nave of what seems to be a dark cathedral. The walls depicting menacing murals of an era where everything went wrong. The abyss mages that normally float in worship are no where to be seen, just the way he wanted it.

Until you appeared, the little soft patter of footsteps echoing down his aisle, the heavy doors moving back to reveal your underwhelming entrance. He sees you and he wonders if he expected you to come, to blame him or get angry because how could he stray so far from his oh-so-favored sister, Lumine.

Yet, you walk up to him with a look of what seems to be sorrow.

"Are you here to blame me?" He asks and his voice echoes against cavernous walls.

"Blame you? No. . ." You reply.

"Then do you pity me?"

"Aether, I just want to understand." You confidently say, finally by the foot of his throne. He doesn't feel comfortable looking down on you like this, not you, so he stands to approach your eye level.

"Shouldn't you already understand?" He questions, curious.

"I— don't. . . I don't know everything there is to this world."

Aether frowns. Maybe because he was hoping that you of all people -mortal or god- would understand why he's doing this.

"That isn't my problem. There are bigger things for me to think about." He turns away and just before he could take the first step;

"I don't know everything about this world but if it's you– then I want to understand. I'm sure you have your reasons. I trust you more than anything."

He pauses, face in wonder, because how could you trust someone so blindly?

With an exhale and a decision made, he turns to you, "Then follow me. If you want to understand why, then stay with me."

"Okay."

[x] RAZOR

It was a classic welcome— arriving in Mondstadt, touring around the city, greeting the characters you've always wanted to meet. Despite their initial formalities and decorum, you've managed to tone down the professionalism and started to treat each other as friends.

That didn't mean they weren't very open to the idea of you meeting the less. . . civil of the bunch.

"I'd like to visit Wolvendom." You tell the small group. It's another day in the city, enjoying drinks by the taverns under the sun. Lucky for you, the Cavalry Captain and the Outrider have their time off to enjoy with you.

"Oh? Is there a reason why?" Kaeya leans back, head tilted.

"To be honest. . . I wanted to visit Razor. I'm sure you know him!"

Truth be told, you just wanted to meet a certain good wolf cub hidden in the woods. While everyone has went out of their way to meet you, Razor kept to himself in Wolvendom. Perhaps he was too intimidated by the crowds pouring into Mondstadt, or maybe he just wasn't familiar about you, but Razor was nowhere to be seen since your arrival.

". . . Razor?" Kaeya says hesitantly, "Hmm while I have no problem with you going to Wolvendom to meet him, there is another issue. . ."

"What issue?"

"The knights decided not to let you meet Razor," Amber quips in, "I mean– It's not that there's anything bad about him, it's just that he hasn't learned his manners yet. We thought it might be disrespectful if he met you so soon."

"Disrespectful?" You voice out in shock.

"Of course we know that you're not strict about that now! But I guess we never clarified the situation with Razor. . "

You huff, standing up tall with new resolve, "That's it! We're going out to find Razor and give him the biggest hug ever!"

"We are?" They echo back in unison.

"Yes we are!" You hook both your arms around theirs, dragging them out the gates of Mondstadt.

ko-fi support || general m.list

1K notes · View notes

l-in-the-light · 11 days

Text

One Piece Chapter 1126 commentary

Fresh spoilers under cut!

Yes, Luffy, you're right. Anyone would be curious after 100 years. I just can't with Luffy sometimes. I still wonder if this serves as foreshadowing that Luffy will become immortal smh.

Such cheerful idiots. They remind me so much of Zoro and Sanji, and they also served as parallel to them all the way back in Little Garden too.

Just look at them. They love each other so much, my god. I guess in One Piece, fighting each other constantly means you just love them so much you can't refuse any opportunity to interact, geez.

Also it's so sweet that Dory and Broggy still keep it a secret that their weapons broke down because they helped Strawhats leave the island. They will take that secret to their graves, won't they.

This is so wholesome. Kuma's consciousness might be barely there, he can't even speak, but Bonney knows it's still her dad and wants to just spend time with him together <3

I admit this hit me right in the feels. Bartolomeo knows that if he asked for help, Luffy would run miles to him, but he just won't because he doesn't want to be a burden.

I don't think I ever saw Shanks doing that expression before... I wonder if Bartolomeo's words just hit too close to home.

Also hi Shanks, finally I get to see you more often than once every 200 chapters, about the effing time. Don't spoil me too much or I might expect seeing you more often from now on, and I'm not ready for the disappointment if that's not the case!

"Softer than I expected", oh, Bartolomeo, you have NO IDEA. He's so right though.

Oh. My. God. When was the last time I saw you smile like that, Shanks?? Must be a thousand years ago! All the way back when Ace visited you and thanked you for saving Luffy's life. And before that? Must be in East Blue with Luffy. It was way too long. Please smile more often, you doofus! Bartolomeo, honestly thank you for exisiting. You made this man smile like this again <3 also you're a chad Barto, please, you're great.

Also Shanks, you have no idea how many people are doting on Luffy! Lots of very nice people. I wish you could have met Law as well...

And boom, another young pirate crew got eradicated. Seeing Shanks reactions in this chapter though makes me more convinced that Kid will be fine and alive too. Narrator in One Piece is so unreliable lol.

Speaking of narrator in One Piece... who is it actually? Who is commenting the events for us? Is it you, Morgans?? Admit it, you stupid bird!!

I don't believe you even for a second Kuzan. Not after that trick you pulled off with Saul. You clearly did everything you could to SAVE Garp's life there. He was in such a bad shape too, after all. Garp's rep is insane btw. And he looks a lot like Ace locked away forever ago in Impel Down...

Big bro and Big Sis? Caribou, do you mean Devon and Augur by that? LOL. Or does Caribou actually have a big sis??

Hello, new adventure of Strawhats in a Lego land! God, how much I envy them! I also want to explore a lego land!

Okay, so what happened here. Did they shrink and now they're dolls in a lego house? Because this is not Elbaf. It's not like I thought it will be Elbaf anyway, I read a good theory that Elbaf won't happen yet, we're entering floating storyline arc. It might be wrong, because it predicted Strawhats somehow landing in G-14 base (which is supposed to be somewhat near to Egghead, that's where the kids from Punk Hazard are kept, as well as many Sword members are part of it).

But let's explore the possible explanations that were given to us in this chapter alone:

Robin's idea is a funny one. But Robin's ideas and visions are always wrong, that's like the repeated gag in One Piece lol. So I'm not placing a bet on that (also what sort of fish has a lego mansion inside it's stomach).

"There's a chance it'll make you hallucinate". Interesting. And it's called Green Fairy huh. We see Sanji, Zoro, Nami and Usopp getting seriously drunk with it. Coincidentally, those are the Strawhats that are currently missing in action (+Luffy and possibly Chopper as well?). Actually, the whole Sunny is missing. What could make a whole ship just disappear? I mean, it was even tied up to the Giants ship, wasn't it?

Yep, seems it was. Probably using Sunny's anchor. Which means, if a fish actually swallowed them up, it would be dangling on that anchor. But anyway I didn't buy Robin's comment anyway, no one should lol.

So someone had to undo that anchor for the ship to leave... and here's my most logical conclusion to that: it was Luffy. Luffy doesn't like to drink. For some reason he abducted them somewhere? I mean it's not exactly something impossible for Luffy to do. The crew also somehow pins it down on Luffy, just look at this:

Or, it was someone else capable of stealing a whole ship. There's one problem with this idea though. We were just watching reactions from folks all around the world about Vegapunk's broadcast. We basically know where everyone is and what they're doing (which excludes possibility that it was for example a prank from Shanks), besides literally a few exceptions, like most of Luffy's grand fleet. I can't help but notice Law is still missing in action too.

Right before the environment is revealed to us, Nami comments this must be all alcohol's fault. And that's indeed my guess on what's happening: Nami is experiencing a hallucination from drinking too much of Green Fairy. Which means she isn't a reliable narrator right now and what we're seeing isn't 100% accurate. I still envy her though. I also want to be in a Legoland <3

There's also the chapter's title: 落とし前 (otoshimae) which means: payback, return of favour, taking responsibility, but the most known association is with the yakuza's custom of cutting off a finger as apology for making a blunder. We saw one of such examples happen in this chapter: Bartolomeo had to suck it up because he messed with Shanks and Shanks couldn't let it slide.

I admit I thought it's gonna be a red herring plotline, but Oda actually delivered on that promise! I'm glad I was wrong, ha! This was delicious. Bartolomeo drinking a fake poison to show his loyalty to Strawhats was absolutely fantastic. And Shanks testing him in such a way is so disgusting but also awesome. He cares so much to make sure people around Luffy are actually good people... Shanks and Bartolomeo's encounter is basically two biggest fanboys of Luffy meeting up and it's gotta make this my most favourite chapter for a while now <3

Next, we could probably see "taking responsibility" also in what happened at the very end of the chapter. Strawhats got literally drunk, yeah, so they're literally taking responsibility now for it. But it could also suggest someone kidnapped them to either 1. give them payback 2. repay a favour (despite the ominous line at the end of the chapter, I think it might be the latter actually. But we will see). Wouldn't be the first time Oda uses subtle hints like that to let us know what's actually going on.

There's probably a few more tie-ins to the title in this chapter. Dory and Broggy still gonna continue their duel (it's also taking responsibility, right? Once said words can't be taken back), Bonney and Kuma (she took him with her so she's now taking care of him instead of feasting with others), Blackbeard and Kuzan (Kuzan kinda took responsibility over what happened and made up for the losses when he took Garp hostage). I'm not sure how accurate it is though, because I though otoshimae is related to "making up for some wrongdoing or a mistake", not just taking responsibility for your own actions (or collectively for the whole group). But it might be both, I guess?

But then we can't ignore a tiny callback to that line Zoro says in Water 7 here: "we need to take responsibility for accepting Robin into the crew and that's why now we have to decide: is she a crewmate or an enemy?" The word he uses back then is also "otoshimae".

I'm so into this story's development right now, I literally can't wait for the next chapter! I liked the lore in Egghead, but futuristic islands are just not my type of thing in general. Whatever is happening now, I'm so into it already haha.

#one piece #shanks #bartolomeo #one piece 1126 #one piece spoilers #not going to Elbaf yet :D #and my bet is: not any time soon either!#but Elbaf will come finally

85 notes · View notes

meownotgood · 1 month

Text

let us live, if we must die. / chapter three: eclipse

You are a witch, and since the purging of all magic, you've been forced to live a life of solitude and secrecy. Your destiny was always beyond your control — until, by a pure twist of fate, you unknowingly fell for the kingdom's only prince.

════════════════════

pairing: prince!aki x witch!reader

word count: 15.3k

tags: fantasy au, royalty au, reader is fem, reader has many Thoughts, hurt / comfort, aki comforting reader, angst, but don't worry they're figuring things out

notes: thank you for patiently waiting for this chapter, I hope you enjoy it!! the next chapter will be long as well, so I appreciate your patience again... love you and appreciate you

masterlist read on ao3 join the taglist here!

════════════════════

You always knew Aki was royalty.

In the time since you first hid away in this forest, you've learned to take necessary precautions. You track the whereabouts of demons each time you go out, drawing them away with spells, and watching for fresh footprints. You learned to attune yourself completely to the magic circle you created, to be sure you'll catch the faint waves of an unfamiliar aura the moment it enters.

Spells can summon certain books from a handful of easy to find materials, and those books can then be used to summon more. Your mother's grimoires, the few you managed to take with you when you fled the city, became your gateway into a world you'd never once known.

Deciphering magical tomes takes patience. It's a lengthy process, but it's worth it. You've learned the means to make valuable potions, and you've mastered spells that could save your life: invisibility, hypnosis, spell-shields. With so much time on your hands, and with the unbound freedom to do so, you have no reason to ever stop honing your magic.

You can always learn more, you can always be safer. You must be prepared for every situation, and you need to take all outcomes into account. No-one can be trusted; no-one but yourself. In the moment of truth, you can't afford to make any mistakes. You need to be ready. For anything, and everyone.

And so, when an inexplicable, elven, injured stranger comes knocking — and promptly passes out — at your door, the first damn thing you're going to do is check all his pockets.

It doesn't take the wisdom of a thousand year old wizard to know he was from the city. The kingdom is the only notable settlement for miles. There's small towns here and there. Farmland you'll pass if you're making your way to the gates. No offense to him — to Aki, right, you still need to learn his name — but he doesn't seem like a farm boy. Or an adventurer. Or royalty, for that matter.

You couldn't have known. Obviously, he'd be from the city, but royalty? An alleged demon-hunter and a man of royalty, how does that make any sense?

Staring up at the shadow-filled ceiling of your bedroom, you pull your blanket up to your chin, and rub your pained temple with two fingers. You can't seem to get comfortable, no matter how much you've been tossing and turning in your bed. The living room has been silent. Aki is probably asleep now. Your mind can't seem to stop racing, either, and perhaps that's why you can't catch any sleep.

The clothes he showed up in were simple. Racking your brain and snuggling into your bed, you bring yourself back to the moment you met him. You recall the discomfort in his expression, the crimson on his palm. The way moonlight framed him with dark hues and fuzzy edges.

You don't know enough about jewelry to be able to tell if the earrings on his pointed ears are the expensive sort. They're simple, black, and made with smooth metal. You remember seeing a gemstone you couldn't recognize, delicately placed in the center of a hanging star. Now that you're thinking about it, they could be worth more than your life, if you're unlucky. Or maybe they're worth nothing, you suppose. Just the sort of imitations they sell for substantial mark-ups at early morning markets.

After the mysterious stranger passed out on your doorstep, you dragged him inside and out of the rain. You didn't have a choice in the matter at the time, really. He was already limp and Gods, was he heavy. Setting up the cot and plopping him onto it was the true challenge.

Miraculously, you found no other major injuries once you inspected him. And thankfully, most of the plant life you collected that day is perfect for healing.

Thankfully for him, at least. You weren't exactly thrilled to spend your entire stock on someone else. You'll have to put your plans to practice potion-making on hold, you suppose. In any case, he came at just the right time. Thank the Gods for that.

The gash on his side was as dire as you thought. It was a jagged, clearly painful slice, no doubt made by the trained swipe of a demon's talons, and enough to make you wince when you removed his shirt to examine it. Demons usually aim for the throat, whenever possible. Aki is lucky he managed to throw one of them off its aim.

You tended to the wound quickly, cleaning it with fresh water, and salving it with herbs. Finally, you wrapped his torso in makeshift bandages, tearing off parts of your cape when you began to run out.

You rinsed his shirt, scrubbing what stains you could out of the fabric. Upon further inspection, you noticed his hands were covered in scrapes. His fingers are long and thin. Pretty, almost. His palms were calloused, rough to the touch. Dried blood was caked into his skin. Carefully, you scrubbed the blood from his palms and his knuckles, while you tried to keep your gaze from drifting up to his face. A pointless endeavor, in the end.

His hair fanned out around him, still slightly-damp. His brows were pinched as he slept. Warm firelight danced softly over his features: a sharp jaw, a straight nose, messy bangs. You forced yourself to look away, your face growing hot. You can't get distracted. Before he wakes, you have more important things you need to take care of.

Once you were all finished patching him up, you leant close to make sure he was still sleeping; his chest rose and fell steadily, he exhaled in slow, calm breaths. Then, you proceeded to rummage through what he had on him. If you couldn't pick his brain yet, your best shot at discerning who he is or what he's after would be to search his belongings — and that you did.

His pants had no pockets on the back, but two in the front. The left pocket was empty, save for one silver coin. Money means nothing to you, and so you returned it, right where it was. A promise to get out of your hair eventually was the only payment you needed.

The other pocket, however, did carry something. Something very, very terrible.

In the right pocket of his trousers, you found a small, gold medallion. It was smooth, circular, with a sparkling blue gem in the middle — reminiscent of the sea, and the color of his eyes. Intricate engravings surrounded the stone: runic text you couldn't quite make out in the low light, and the sun, the moon. Along with a winged dragon, curled around the empty space.

Your heart sank so deep in your chest you just about let it drown, and that's when you knew you were absolutely doomed.

This is the kingdom's symbol, the kingdom's royal crest. Commoners and knights are allowed to carry similar motifs, but only someone of great importance would have a medallion with this stone, and these exact symbols.

Sapphires are only meant to be worn by descendants of royal families. They're priceless. Imitations can rarely capture their luster, although creating them is punishable with prison time — and Gods, with the way this gem sparkles when you hold it close to the fire, your head is practically spinning.

You hold the medallion in shaky, unsure hands, unable to tear your gaze away. The room begins to twirl around you, and the gem inside shimmers, with a depth unlike anything you've ever seen. As though worlds upon universes are hidden inside it. Your throat feels as dry as a desert, and your heart won't stop hammering. You glance up. None the wiser, the man you've saved is still sleeping peacefully, his features soft, and his lips parted slightly as he lets go of faint, steady breaths.

Oh, you've really done it this time. Could you have crossed paths with anyone worse?

Perhaps he's a thief. He could have stolen the medallion, snatched it right out of the pockets of some oblivious royal advisor, and now he's hiding out here to avoid getting caught. As much as you want to believe that, as much as you want to imagine you don't have a man of importance in your cottage right now, that conclusion hardly makes sense.

This man, a thief? And one skilled enough to steal a royal medallion, of all things? With the way Aki came stumbling into your magic circle and onto your doorstep, you doubt he'd know subtlety if he was hit over the head with it.

He doesn't talk like how you imagined royalty would — Granted, how does a royal person talk? You always imagined some sort of overly flowery, fancy speech. Like the kind in the books you've read, about places and tales you'd much rather escape to.

Aki. You've never heard a name quite like his before. Just a few syllables, just a few letters. Kings and princes and squires usually have much fancier names, don't they? The knight in the book you've been reading is named Heinrich Vincent, and the princess is called Miss Edith Violet. Perhaps only the most important people have important names. Or perhaps, those books are just as you assumed they were: fairytales, and nothing more.

Aki is someone special then, he must be. That's your assumption — it's the only assumption you can come to, despite how the very thought makes your chest ache. He's probably a royal guard, someone with a bit of fighting experience, who thought he could stand a chance against a forest full of devils. Maybe he's some duke's distant cousin. He could be a mere knight, accepted as royalty after he became a princess' suitor.

Honestly, he could be anything, for all you care. Your magic is what caused him to nearly die out there. It was your spell, your doing that drew the demons together. You, heralding demons with your magic, like you're one of the archmages the history books warn about.

Your magic. Damn it all. The predicament you've found yourself in is so much worse than you ever could have imagined.

As the night stretched on and the rain battered your cottage, your more present problem helped to keep your worries at bay. You kept busy, preparing his medicine, and tending to the roaring fireplace. He mumbled in his sleep, occasionally. It wasn't really anything of note, merely fragmented sentences that barely made sense. Mumbled swears and slurred, barely-there apologies to no-one in particular.

When the man awakened, you held your resolve. You ignored the skip in your heart when his soft eyes met yours. You kept your unpracticed voice from wavering, and didn't shy away from any conversations.

It's been a very long time since you've heard someone else talk, especially this much. Those knights from ages ago only spared you a moment and a handful of words. Your own voice is comfortable, a melody your ears would gladly be wrapped in. You hate this, though. You despise the way you sound when your tone is threatening to wobble. The lump in your throat is all his fault; you can't think when he's speaking to you, can't focus on anything but the firelight as it flickers over his face.

And Aki's voice is smooth. Ridiculously smooth. He sounds assured when he speaks, his tone deep, words careful. You can't help but be hung onto everything he says to you, your spine tingling and your heart racing. It's strange, to hear a voice besides your own for once, and to have someone else filling the empty space in your quiet little cottage.

Aki's voice holds the ocean, every word plunging you into deeper depths, until he has warm waves rolling gently over your shoulders. Heat and exhilaration engulf you whole at the simplest of sentiments. Thinking to yourself, you toss and turn again, your worn, wooden bed creaking slightly from your movement. Even now, you can't help but think of him. You picture his voice, quiet and calm. You imagine the soft smiles he gave you, and your veins surge with a feeling you can't possibly describe.

You could listen to him speak forever. But Aki and forever are two luxuries you aren't afforded.

If he ever discovers who you are or what you've done, you won't even get a trial. He would hate you. You could never be allies, not with the secrets you hold. Not when he is royal, and you are a witch.

A man with such important ties to the kingdom, royalty or not, could make your fate whatever he wished. They'd schedule your execution for the very next morning, surely. The sooner you're disposed of, the better it is for the land. Hundreds would crowd the square to gawk at the witch a nobleman captured. Your poor mother would be frowning upon you from the heavens, as she watched her only child suffer her same fate.

Even as your eyes met those of your executioner, your hands tied behind your back with your wrists rubbed raw from the rope, and your head rested over a thick piece of wood, you wouldn't fight back. None of them would see an ounce of your magic, for better, or for worse. It would die with you, and everything would be your fault. You should have been more careful. Less kind.

Would Aki want to dispose of you himself? Could he be the one to bring his blade down on your neck? Would his normally-gentle expression be contorted in disgust, guilt, or conviction, as he whispered a deathly quiet I'm sorry to you, before his hands tightened on the hilt?

You aren't sure, nor do you want to know. If he ever proves dangerous, in order to survive, you would have to take matters into your own hands. He seems to trust you now, but if you became enemies, if you were ever forced to —

Aki's soft, slight smile drifts through your mind right then. In your dark bedroom, you can't help but groan, and cover your face with your hands.

No, you couldn't, you wouldn't. And it isn't just because it's him. It isn't simply because Aki is inexplicably kind and intriguing and the first person to speak with you in years. When you imagine him discovering the truth, learning who you are and deciding he hates you, a metaphorical knife twists into your gut. You'd rather he just take you to the kingdom and have you dealt with there, because even with your life on the line, you know you couldn't hurt him.

This man could very well lead you to your end. So why, why did you tell him to stay?

Death has always scared you, always haunted you. You've heard the stories they tell of mages, tales painting them as wicked beings who crush those who stand in their way under their feet. You want to be better. Pin you as soft, weak, or everything in between, you hardly care. Magic was meant to help, not harm. One day, perhaps far after your lifetime, magic and death won't walk hand in hand. One day, you hope you might be free.

And Aki — he would have died without you, you're sure of it. He might not be an adventurer, but you can buy that he's an experienced fighter. His body is covered in scars, in slashes left by devil claws or teeth. His palms are rough and calloused, which would make sense if he often wields a sword. He claimed to be a devil hunter, and when he spoke, the clearest sense of desperation present in his voice, you couldn't help but believe him.

You are a mage. A terrible, less than human blight, according to those in the kingdom. And Aki might be royalty. If you ever wound up following him to the city like he offered, you could be punished for even laying a single finger on him.

But were you just supposed to let him perish?

When you stood frozen in place at your door, clutching your heart as thunder broke through the night sky above, you were reminded of the kingdom. Of the death you witnessed there: the deaths of strangers, your acquaintances, your family. Your mind whirled with the image of the man you saw through the door's peephole. Chest heaving, blood dripping over his fingers; dull crimson, like the blade of an executioner's sword.

You've seen the way one looks when light is slipping from their eyes, with no hope left of clinging onto it. You imagined the sapphire spark to Aki's eyes fading into nothingness; crushed, and crumpling. Right then, your mind must have made itself up.

Aki doesn't deserve to die. Royalty be damned, he doesn't deserve to be eaten by those demons, left behind in an endless forest, afraid and alone. Trusting him here might wind up as the worst, most regrettable decision you've ever made. And yet, he has already trusted you with his life, hasn't he?

Your heart just needs to take the first, fatal step. Perhaps you need to let yourself trust.

Fucking hell. You need to stop your incessant thinking and let yourself sleep, that's what. Honestly, you've never felt this stressed in your entire life. How in the world are you supposed to handle this? Handle him?

He won't discover you're a mage, you'll make certain of that. You can't afford to be naive, no matter how you might be feeling. It doesn't matter how fast your heart is pounding right now as you lie in bed, sleepless, unable to keep your steady stream of thoughts from flowing back to him. Simply put, it's your fault he's in this mess in the first place — and you're going to be the one to fix it.

With a few small adjustments, you can make sure all of the magical items in your cottage are properly hidden away. You could heal him faster, if you were allowed to use magic. A potion would have him feeling better in no time, a healing spell could seal his wound almost immediately. Though, obviously, you'll have to work with the old ways for now. You'll need to make sure you're waking up early tomorrow to gather the necessary materials.

His wound will need to be tended to frequently, to keep it from getting infected. You'll prepare a concoction of herbs for him to take twice a day, and that'll help to keep his energy up. Rest will be important too, of course. There's plenty of normal, boring books strewn around your cottage, if he needs something to put him to sleep. As long as everything goes to plan, he should be fine to leave in a couple of days.

Right. Just a few days, and he'll be gone. The stranger you met by chance, who you saved on purpose, will fade into the forest until he becomes a fuzzy, unimportant blip in your memory.

Somehow, the thought doesn't fill you with the relief you would've expected.

In your cupboard, you still have some white-hazel left. Normally, the small, thin-petaled flowers don't grow during this time of year. You've decided to start keeping some extras as of late, just in case. White-hazel makes the mind foggy. The dried petals have to be sealed carefully in a jar, because the smell alone can get into your head. You would use small batches of it to ward away demons, before your distraction spells were perfected.

You doubt you'll ever be able to forget him. However, with a potent enough dosage, if you gave Aki some of those petals, you could erase every memory he has of you.

You'll allow him to stay, just long enough so he can recover. Once he's healthy, you'll send him on his way with a filled flask — a potion, infused with a hint of your magic. He'd only need to take a sip or two. Then, everything up until the moment he entered the forest would be lost. He wouldn't remember you, or your cottage, or the pain the demons brought upon him. It's better this way, really.

In the meantime, you must avoid growing closer to him. Revealing even the smallest of details could put you at risk, before you have the chance to make good on your plan. He doesn't have to know your name. Nor anything about you.

Aki is nothing more than a stranger, an unlucky coincidence, an empty promise. Ultimately, he will stay that way.

When you eventually drift off to sleep, it isn't until hours later. Your heart stays tied up in knots, and you dream of nothing but a cold, shuddering darkness.

—

One thing's for sure, if Aki is a man of royal blood, he certainly doesn't act like it.

He isn't… uncouth, as a fancy nobleman might call it. Actually, he's pretty damn polite. He always keeps his space in the living room tidy. His voice is gentle when he speaks to you, dripping with a thick sense of kindness you aren't at all used to. In the few days since he first started staying with you, he's been nothing but patient and respectful.

He's kept to resting, mostly. After the first night, you managed to move all of your spellbooks and magical items to your bedroom. By the second, you had properly concealed everything behind magic that should be impossible to detect. Although you weren't about to give him a reason, you finally made sure to mention he should continue sleeping in the living room, and avoid entering your bedroom under any circumstances.

When you told him this morning, Aki didn't question it. He flashed you a slightly amused look, while he tugged on the laces of his boots to tighten them, and plainly, he answered, Of course. It's your bedroom, obviously I wouldn't go in. Do you take me as rude?

Huh. No, he's far from rude, even though you never wound up formulating a response. He doesn't complain about the bitter herbs you have him take. He barely winces or grumbles while you tend to his wound, rewrapping his bandages.

Sometimes you'd find him pacing around the living room to stretch his sore legs, but otherwise, he's been getting plenty of rest in his cot — just as you'd instructed. He's so quiet some days, if you're reading or tidying things in your bedroom, you'll tend to forget he's even there. Aki is different from what you were expecting, that's all.

He's a good sort of different, though. Maybe it's your fault, for having such silly expectations in the first place. You thought people from the kingdom — especially people of royalty — were supposed to be stuck-up, selfish, boring. Overly-posh, and with nothing interesting to talk about besides themselves.

You admired those from the castle when you were younger. You wanted to be noticed by them, or maybe you wanted to be them. Now, you can only imagine royalty as bland and heartless. They spend their days cooped up in their castles, tending to dull affairs. And for their nights, they attend such fancy dinners and parties, while the commoners in the kingdom are left to rot.

Aki serves to defy all of those expectations.

Granted, the moments you've spent together since the night you first took him in have been few and far between. He didn't seem to notice how you initially avoided him, and he didn't protest when you'd leave for the entire day to forage. He doesn't comment whenever you stow away, the door to your bedroom shut tight, while you keep to yourself for hours at a time. It's difficult to find words whenever he's near. You get choked up inside, your heart pounds in your ears like that of a frightened rabbit, and you aren't sure if it's because of the lingering fear, or perhaps the proximity.

Tending to his wound shouldn't be the event your overthinking brain makes it out to be, but Aki sits so close, closer than anyone else has ever been. You can hear the echoes of his breathing, can feel his soft and scarred skin underneath your fingertips. His muscles tense as you press gently to the sore scrape on his side.

Can he hear the quickened edge to your breathing, too? You wonder if Aki knows he's already killing you from the inside; no-one has ever trusted you like this, just as you've never trusted another. It's relieving to know your foolishness is mutual.

Your conversations while you're patching him up are pleasant, albeit brief. They're space and silence fillers. Still, it's the only time where you truly get to talk to him. Where you can exchange more than a couple of words, at least. You know you only have yourself to blame, but you don't want him to realize you know more than you're letting on. You try to keep your time together and your questions to a minimum.

Aki explains that although he's found himself in plenty of scuffles with devils before, he hasn't been wounded like this in quite a long while. Weaker devils rarely faze him, but this time, he was distracted. It'll be relieving to finally recover, he says. He wants to be able to move, to fight again. He's been growing a little stir-crazy here, apparently.

In a hurry to leave, are you? You mumbled, while you carefully pressed a damp rag to his skin, your gaze focused on the task. The fireplace crackled from beside you, warming your limbs and chasing away the cold chill of the night. You miss the kingdom that much?

I don't miss it at all. Aki answered, not missing a beat. He shivered from the coolness of the cloth, a fire-lit glow pooling over his slightly-tanned skin. I just feel like I could be more useful. I'm not accustomed to… to this. You're the first person I've ever owed my life to. The sooner I recover, the sooner I can begin finding some way to repay you.

You wanted to reassure him repayment won't be necessary. In the end, you held your tongue.

Aki continued, and with nothing else to fill the air, you listened. He's quite a good story-teller, in your opinion. As your fingers curiously felt the ridges of another deep scar on his stomach, Aki recounted the tale behind it: he was far from the city. Miles and miles, in fact. The devil he encountered was three times his size. It had a body made of bone, with a wolf-like, hollow skull, illuminated only by red eyes that shone like glowing, flickering flames.

And you defeated it? You hum in slight disbelief, a brow raised; this time, you're looking up at him, bandages held loosely in your hands. All by yourself?

Yes, all by myself, Aki answers, tone smooth and unflinching. His expression can't be read, but you swear you catch a hint of a barely-there smile on his lips.

Defeating it was the easy part, He says, pointing to the jagged scar, Save for the blow it landed right here. I followed its trail into the mountains, and by the time I tracked it down, I was utterly lost. I slept out there for three days before I finally found my way back to the closest town. I showed up exhausted, hungry, and covered in every kind of scrape and bruise you can picture.

You smooth out his bandages and secure them with a tight knot. Sounds like how we met.

Yeah. Those townspeople weren't as kind as you are, though. They fed me river snails.

Right then, you can't stop yourself from laughing. You're chuckling through your words — he sounded so damn serious — and you're gazing up at him with a rather playful grin.

Snails? You question, Did they taste disgusting?

Aki is smirking slightly, a potent spark burning in the back of his sapphire eyes. They were awful. Way worse than any medicine you could ever give me. I guess the people there thought the snails had healing properties- It took me a whole week to recover, by the way. And the inns were out of rooms, so can you guess where they had me stay?

I'm not sure. Where?

A brothel.

When you freeze, your eyes going as wide as a full moon, Aki clears his throat, and he nervously glances between you and the fireplace. It was uneventful. Very, very uneventful. Definitely nothing like what you must be imagining- sorry. We should save the rest of those stories for another day. Right?

You remember rolling your eyes, before you breathed an amused exhale, and proclaimed that yes, it certainly sounds like a stupid story, but you would like that.

The logical side of you says you probably shouldn't. Aki isn't your ally, nor could he ever be your friend. Looking forward to the few moments you spend together is pointless, when the both of you will be forced to forget them in a few day's time.

Aki's experiences are enthralling. His voice is like a damn vice, lulling you into getting lost in him. You haven't been anywhere but the kingdom many ages ago and this forest. But Aki has seen towns, oceans, and mountains. In pursuit of the devils he's set out to slay, he's been to places you could only dream of. He is a dream you cannot have, a friend you must not make.

As the days stretch on and on, and as your forgotten dreams meld with the intricate stories Aki recounts for you, those little talks seem to stick inside your mind.

If only things were different. If only you weren't you, and he wasn't what you know him to be. A man of royalty, conversing with a witch.

Darkness will always be ruined by light.

For now though, you have to focus on the present. Aki has been healing well from his injury. In only a few days, he's recovered most of his energy. Although he still needs a bit more time before he can put a true amount of strain on himself, he's fine to walk, at least. Fine to leave the cottage, as long as he isn't wandering far.

And he's well enough that he can finally join you, as you venture into the depths of the forest to search for the belongings he left behind.

—

"Do you think my bag is still out here?"

Staring down at your feet, you breathe a light tsk at that, and you kick a pebble with your next step forwards to send it skittering in front of you. "Possibly. Demons don't tend to mess with human junk. What did you have in there?"

Aki hums in thought, his brows pinching. He attempts to count by using his fingers. "I had a notebook, a pen, some ink, some gold… some clothes, I think. Nothing too important."

"If they got into your bag, maybe they'd take the coins," You answer methodically, "But otherwise, everything should be right where you left it. Keep an eye out, and let me know if anything starts looking familiar."

The bright rays of the sun warm your bare skin, shining onto your arms and shimmering over the rippling, shallow water. You've been following the river's edge for a while now, walking along the path it creates while occasionally veering closer to the forest to look around. Aki couldn't recall exactly where he was attacked; not that you can blame him. That night was dark, stormy, and either way, every tree and bush and field of grass looks exactly the same. However, he did remember hearing the babble of the river nearby. Following it gives you the best chance of finding his things, you suppose.

Today, the sky is bright blue and cloudless. Gravel crunches under your boots. The river laps at the rocks, and morning songbirds chirp from the distant trees. With your hands shoved in your pants pockets, and your gaze focused on your feet, you make sure to take careful steps over fallen logs and twisted roots. Aki keeps pace beside you, following you more than he's following the river.

His hair is half-tied up like the day you met him, showing off his delicate earrings and pointed ears. He looks much different in the sunlight. More handsome, surely, spotted rays shining through the forest's canopy to paint amber patterns across his skin. The sleeves of his tunic have been rolled up to expose his scarred forearms.

He keeps a healthy level of distance from you, not straying too far or walking too close. He's glancing between the path ahead, the forest, and sometimes to you. You're glad. If he was any closer, you doubt you'd be able to keep your thoughts clear.

Demons — or devils, as he calls them — are few in number during the early morning hours, so you made sure to leave with Aki just after dawn. By now, you likely have two or three hours at most, before the devils start appearing from their dens.

You're already halfway along the river's trail. You should be able to finish searching, and you'll have plenty of time to head back to the cottage. You'll plan to collect some herbs and mushrooms on the way back. That way, locating Aki's belongings or not, this trip won't end up a total bust.

You'll find his things though, hopefully. This side of the forest was where you placed your distraction rune.

Aki has to walk a bit slower than you. Clearly, he's trying not to let the pain still left in his side show; he doesn't wince or falter much from the pace you've set. Although you don't mind, you aren't used to having to wait for someone else to catch up. You fall into a rhythm of skipping ahead, hopping over stones, and then stopping once you get a short way in front of him. Aki gives you an entertained look when you wait, turning back to glance at him. You decide to deliberately slow down to keep yourself at his side, and you try to ignore the heat you feel budding at the back of your neck.

The sun's warmth is calming. It shines sparsely through the trees, evoking a heavy feeling in your veins when it hits your skin. If it wasn't for Aki walking so close beside you, you'd probably have fallen asleep standing up. You roll your shoulders backward, and stretch your arms to the sky. Then, you yawn, trying to blink away the fuzziness in your vision. To no avail, unfortunately.

"Tired?" Aki pipes up. You hadn't noticed he was looking at you until his voice startled you awake.

You rub your eyes, shrugging. "Kind of. But I'll be fine."

If you instead were honest with him, with yourself, you are very tired. Your head feels weighed down by thick stones, as large and cumbersome as the ones in the river bed. Your limbs feel weaker and more sluggish than usual, as though they're actively working against you. Since Aki started staying in your cottage, you haven't slept well at all. Last night, you kept tossing and turning, thinking just to think some more. Your mind won't keep steady.

You hate not knowing exactly what you're supposed to do. You hate that you can't figure him out, no matter how much you think or try to pry information from him. Your messy plan could go awry a thousand different ways because of a thousand different things and —

Aki is still staring at you. Blinking, you turn away, hoping he didn't notice you zoning out.

"You sure?" Aki asks, a brow raised. Okay, he totally noticed. "That's probably the fourth or fifth time you've yawned in the past five minutes. We can take a break, if you'd like. I wouldn't mind pushing our search back to tomorrow."

"I'm okay, really," You scoff. You kick another pebble, and watch as it flies into the river, pushed by the current for a bit before it slowly sinks to the bottom. "Let's just hurry. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we'll be safe from demons."

For a couple of moments, you both fall into silence. The only sound to echo between you is your boots crunching the gravel. But still, Aki's gaze is on you: astute and sparkling. Even though you're staring at your shoes, you can clearly see him glancing at you from the corner of your eye, his mouth pressed into a focused line. He's pondering. Was it something you said?

You didn't mess up, did you?

Aki breathes a small hmm, and he calmly concludes, "You aren't familiar with devils, are you?"

Suddenly, you're stopping in your tracks. Aki freezes beside you. His expression is unreadable as you turn to face him, giving him a particularly annoyed look.

"What makes you say that?" You retort, hardly trying to hide the bit of harshness laced through your tone. You've been fighting the stupid creatures for almost your entire life, of course you're knowledgeable about them. Knowledgeable enough, at least.

"Well, you call them demons," Aki replies, sounding indifferent. "Pretty sure my great grandparents were the last ones to call them that."

"It's the same thing." You turn back to following the river, and continue walking while you speak. "I've survived out here for as long as I have, with demons lurking in every inch of this forest. And you think I know nothing of them?"

Demons. You couldn't recall what your parents might've called them, or what those in the kingdom knew them as. During your earliest days in the forest, you remember summoning a book on, to quote the book's title: Formidable Demons and Magical Creatures. The book must have been centuries old. At the time, you didn't have enough experience to decipher it. You flipped through the pages and memorized the illustrations of "known demons", before tucking the tome away on your shelf, to be read at a later date.

Damn. You have plenty of first-hand experience, but if most of your knowledge is sourced from some dusty old book you never actually wound up finishing, maybe he's right.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it that way," He apologizes, speeding up a bit so he can continue walking beside you. "I'm not knocking how resourceful you are, it's impressive. Perhaps I should have worded it differently. You're familiar with devils, yes. But I think your perspective of them might be much different from mine."

Your eyes narrow. Thinking, you cross your arms in front of you, and your gaze drifts back to the path ahead.

"Okay, so," You start, your words a bit less assured this time, "I know demons- devils- come in multiple forms. They feed off of fear, they're always carnivores, and they can only be slain, they'll never die of old age. There. Promise you'll cut me some slack if I missed anything."

"Don't worry," Aki hums, "That was perfect. Devils grow stronger in the presence of fear. I'm sure you already know as much. They become drawn to the fear people have for them, like a moth to firelight."

When you find yourself absently glancing back towards Aki, your eyes wind up meeting his own. Holding his gaze feels soft, as though you're falling into clouds. You examine the distinct, pointed shape of his ears. His earrings shimmer once they catch the sunlight, and sway slightly with each of his steps.

"Correct me if this isn't right, but I've heard demons love elves." Your brows form the slightest pinch. "Supposedly, their blood is ripe with magic."

Aki laughs. "Those stories about elves are just tales. My blood is no more delicious than yours. And either way, even if it was true, I'd wager devils haven't done a very good job at making me their prey."

"Makes sense. I guess those creatures don't care whose blood they're spilling, as long as they can get their fix of it."

"What else do you think of them?" Aki asks, his head tilted slightly in your direction. "Of devils, I mean."

You fall silent. Cautiously, carefully, you attempt to figure out what sort of answer Aki is wanting to hear.

The oldest tales, just as old as the ones you once read about elves and kings and long-gone magical creatures, say devils were born jealous of humanity. They envied the magic humans were capable of using — and so, they sought to extinguish it. Your current understanding would tell you devils don't care for magic, or humanity, or jealousy. All they desire is destruction, for common folk and mages alike.

The relationship between humanity and devils is reciprocal. Humans and elves are the only ones capable of destroying devils, but devils need people in order to grow stronger. Devils need their fear, their torment. Weaker devils will go after whatever they're capable of hunting, but intelligent devils know how to bend people to their advantage. They excel at manipulation. And as senseless as it might seem, devils do possess plenty of things humanity does not.

You fiddle with the straps of your backpack, running your thumbs over the smooth leather and gold buckles. In response, you can only think to offer the most simple, obvious of statements.

"I think anyone who chooses to make a deal with a devil is a fool."

Aki goes quiet. Then, he grins, and breathes something of a half-laugh, half-sigh. The gentle sound does well to put you at ease.

"Yeah," He replies, "Foolish, greedy, or desperate. Or perhaps all three. Careful-"

Nearly tripping, you stop when he does. You almost walked right into a large log, where the river bends and breaks upon the mossy wood blocking its way. Aki briefly extends his hand out for you to take, but you hop over without his help, taking a large step over the log before returning your hands to your pockets.

He's making that same endearing, pondering face again.

"You've probably already heard this story, but," He begins, speaking while you both walk, "They say devils came into existence the day the elves cast their first spell. Mankind was impure. The Gods made devils our punishment for casting magic ripe with impurities. When elves first discovered healing spells, devils began to appear with the ability to heal themselves of any attack inflicted upon them. Humanity discovered fire magic. Then came devils with fire-drenched skin. Their bodies melted metal, and they scorched the ground they touched, leaving an ashen trail in their wake."

You like the way Aki tells stories. He recounts them in such a deliberate way, as though he's reading directly from one of your fairytale books. This story is grim, and certainly one you've heard before. Yet, you can't stop the smile that begins to tug at your cheeks.

"Mhmm. And then, the devils slaughtered everyone and left the world in ruin," You tease, glancing towards him playfully, your hands at your hips. "Do you enjoy scaring children with that old story?"

"Occasionally. My version of it usually ends with humanity defeating the devils, though. You know, happy endings and such."

"Right. A happy ending sounds nice. Don't want to scare them too much."

Aki hums in agreement. "We could have one- a happy ending. That story isn't over yet."

His story, or yours?

You swallow, thickly and heavily. The trees above you whisper in the slight wind, and the river babbles, flowing steadily downstream. You try to keep your focus on the path ahead of you, instead of Aki walking beside you.

"It's just a story," You assert. "Maybe magic was the source of demons a thousand odd years ago, but it hardly matters now."

Aki's mouth forms the faintest pout, and he glances down at his shoes. "I'm sure it isn't much of a surprise, but I've never actually seen magic."

"You probably never will," You answer, your voice turning somber, resolute. "People believe magic and mages to be dangerous. As long as they continue to think anyone capable of casting magic is a devil themselves, you won't even hear an utterance of the word."

"Do you agree with them?" Aki asks flippantly, a brow raised.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Do you think mages are dangerous?"

Out of everything he could have said, everything he could have possibly mentioned, why would Aki ask you such a question?

Right then, you're sure your heart must have defied gravity and reason to drop directly into your throat. You nearly choke. Your spine prickles, unease running rampant through your system. You aren't sure how you manage to come up with any words in the first place, but somehow, you decide to talk without thinking.

Your shoulders feel tense. "Obviously. Magic could be used to level a city, to mind control a king, to win any war. Or to start one, for that matter."

Aki hums. For once, his smooth, persistently calm voice grows close to getting on your nerves. "It's difficult. Magic has already done so much harm, but it could do just as much good. When I think of mages, I just see… people. People who want to survive. They aren't monsters or devils."

You stop in front of him, and he stops with you. Aki's head tilts slightly. As though he knows you want to speak, he's just waiting for it.

"You know," You're starting, brows pinched, arms crossed, "Those sorts of statements could get you strung up for heresy."

"Good thing we're far from the city then, right?"

Nearly, in a hazy mix of confusion and exhaustion and fear and admiration, you almost form a rebuttal. Your arms drop to your sides, and your hands become clenched into fists. Your lips part slightly, to say something your mind hasn't quite decided on yet, just to close at the tightening of your jaw. He's messing with you. He must be.

Mages aren't people — You aren't like him, you are fundamentally different. Surely, he knows what mages truly are as well as you do. You were born with a spark in your veins and a fire at your fingertips. Humanity, and perhaps the Gods themselves are afraid of you. No-one can stomach you but yourself. Aki is but a man; a foolish, stupid mortal. And you were promised a cage.

Aki's gaze on yours appears to soften, his arms crossed loosely, his gaze flickering from the conflict on your face to your stiffened posture. Nervously rubbing your arm with your palm, you can't meet his eyes anymore; you can only look away. Your vision chooses to focus elsewhere, on anything but him. Fortunately, just beyond where Aki is standing in front of you, if you squint, you can spot something at the edge of the trees. A leather bag, partially torn open, resting in a patch of grass and tiny flowers.

"Hey, is that your stuff?"

Aki's eyes widen, before he turns to look in the direction you've started pointing towards.

"Well, shit."

—

The scene surrounding where Aki's bag lay discarded is true to what he previously described to you.

As you approach, and as Aki kneels down to gather his things, you glance around the area. You find his sword amongst the grass a foot or so away, steel separated from hilt, the blade tainted with dull blood-stains. The steel is chipped — from gradual wear or from a devil's fangs, you aren't quite sure. His bag is crumpled. A medium-sized hole has been torn into the side, certainly made from a devil's sharp teeth. For now, you slide your pack from your shoulders, and allow him to put his belongings inside.

There's no gold in his backpack, nor could he find any in the grass surrounding it, of course. There is, however, some rations, a spare tunic, a quill pen, and a notebook — still in his bag, so thankfully, the pages were kept dry from the rain.

Aki fussed over losing a jar of ink, but you assured him it wouldn't be a problem. It'd be best to head into the woods anyways, to find herbs for him and food for the both of you. Black Dragon flowers are common in this area, and when crushed up, they can be used to make ink. If either of you could find a few blossoms, you'd be glad to make some for him.

"In return," You said, as Aki rose to his feet, matching your gaze with a curious one, "See if you can find me some wood. A few branches might've fallen during the storm. I need something thick and sturdy. About this," You gesture with your hands — "Big."

"Ah." He dusts the dirt from his knees with his palms, and hands your pack back to you when you reach out for it. "For firewood?"

"No, silly. We have plenty. It's for carving."

Aki smiles, perhaps considering, or perhaps recalling the little sculptures made from wood that are strewn throughout the shelves in your cottage. "Right. Deal."

With a plan now in mind, you crammed what remained of Aki's bag into your own pack — to use for scrap material — and you ventured through the trees, and into the forest.

It's much easier to keep your mind from wandering with a task to occupy you. Gathering some mushrooms for eating and finding the flowers you mentioned doesn't take too long. Together, you and Aki head a short ways into the forest, staying careful to keep far from where the devils often make their dens. This area is relatively safe regardless, but it's still good to be on your guard. You let yourself forget about your previous conversations, while you quietly show Aki the difference between the herbs he needs and the fauna he shouldn't touch.

You don't talk much, only a few words at most, until you're busy gathering the last of what you need.

Aki comes over, a smooth piece of wood held in his hands. Rested on your knees, you grab the stems of a handful of herbs, and swiftly tug to pull their roots from the ground. You glance up at him as he leans down to hand the wood to you. The canopy of trees is much thicker here. Shadows dance across his face, his arms, his palms and his clothes — still dusted with dirt from searching through undergrowth with you.

Hardly befitting of royalty, isn't it? Isn't he?

You smile to yourself, and chase away the thought.

"Will this do?" Aki asks, turning the piece of wood over, while he runs his fingertips along its rough surface. "It's the best I've found so far."

"Mhmm, that's perfect. Thank you." You take it from him, and reach for your pack beside you, flipping it open to stuff the wood inside. There's little space left, but eventually, you're able to fit it carefully beside a few small pouches of mushrooms and herbs.

Aki stands. He hesitates, before he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck with his palm. "This… might be a stupid question. But it's still okay that I'm staying with you, right?"

"Of course it is- It's fine." You shrug, your focus kept on the foliage. With more carefulness, you gather a few of the thickest leaves. They'll be good for sealing his wound, for guiding it to fully heal. "Why? You want to leave that badly, huh?"

Aki tucks his hands into his pants pockets. "I don't want to intrude. That's all."

"I already told you, you're staying until you get better. No protests." Your tone seems to carry a familiar lilt of annoyance, but to his surprise, when you stuff a bundle of herbs into your pack and glance up at him once you're finished, your gaze is warm. You're donning the slightest, softest smile.

"And just so you know," You mutter, glancing between him and your backpack as you snap it's buckle shut, "Your company isn't unpleasant."

"Huh." Aki breathes a light-hearted huff. "Is that a compliment?"

"Partially."

Glancing away, looking towards the forest, he can't help but mimic your smile — shyly, almost. It's stupidly endearing. You hate how endearing he is.

"Your company isn't unpleasant either. I mean-" He stammers, "It's nice. I enjoy talking with you. I was thinking, if you'd like, when we get back, I could-"

Still staring into the trees just beyond you, Aki stops. An abrupt, nerve-wracking pause follows, long enough and silent enough to have your gaze flickering over him. His jaw is set. His eyes are wide, his face is slightly panicked. You swallow, freezing up. Slowly, without moving a muscle, you follow where Aki is looking — just in time to see the bushes a fair distance in front of you rustle.

The trees sway, whispering dark promises as the wind picks up, a sharp breeze gliding over your bare skin. It's probably nothing. No, it's surely nothing. The chance of a demon- a devil- traveling all the way out to this side of the forest without outside influence is slim. You know this, and yet —

You're fine. You have to convince yourself, you need to remember that no matter what, you're going to be perfectly fine. If it is a devil, the most important thing is to keep your cool. Level your head and breathe deeply, just as you've learned and practiced, like the books you read have instructed. In, and then out. You need to breathe.

It's fine. It might not detect you if you're able to stay calm. Perhaps you're panicking for no reason. You're exhausted, you're seeing things. Your weary mind is playing cruel tricks on you. The longer your stare lingers on those thick, rustling bushes and shadow-filled trees, the more your breath sharpens, the stronger your heart begins to thump — Fuck, why can't you just stay calm?

Stay calm, stay calm. This is stupid, you're acting stupid. There's nothing, there has to be nothing; no danger, no devil waiting to attack and tear the both of you in two. You won't need to defend yourself, you won't have to blow your cover. What if he already knows? With the way he brought up mages earlier, maybe he's going to run and leave you to be ambushed, maybe he planned this, maybe —

A gentle palm is placed on your shoulder, and you practically jump out of your own skin.

You whip around to look at the man you nearly forgot was even there; Aki eyes you with concern, never tearing his gaze from you as you scramble to unsteady feet. Standing close beside him, closer than you should be, you're focused on the forest again. Stress is present in your features, while an obvious shake lingers in your limbs.

"Aki-" You mumble, speaking on the edge of an anxiety-ridden whisper, "We need- Shouldn't we-"

"We're fine," Aki answers calmly, quietly. He reaches for your hand, and he grabs it softly. His palm brushes your knuckles. His fingers caress your skin as he squeezes faintly, and your heart pounds so hard it displaces your ribs. "Look."

He points, and you allow your hazy vision to come back into focus. Through the trees, approaching cautiously while hopping among the shadows, you spot the thin legs, patterned coat, and small horns of a baby Great Elk.

Aki hums, "I've never seen a baby one before." He murmurs low enough for only you to hear, in pleasant disbelief. "They never get this close. Sorry, are you-"

Suddenly, as he is turning towards you, you're pushing away, and yanking your hand away from his.

"I'm fine," You answer, taking a few steps back. At the sound of your voice, no longer hushed, the baby elk runs, scampering back into the trees. Aki watches uselessly as you retrieve your backpack and sling it over your shoulders. "Let's just go."

Your voice is unsteady. Your gaze is focused on your shoes. You clutch the front of your cape, the space closest to your heart, and you press one hand to the back of the other. Idly, your palm runs over the shape of your own knuckles, as your teeth nervously find your bottom lip.

You understand what it feels like to let fire dance in your palms, to have spell-spawned sparks flickering underneath your skin. This is far worse. The hand Aki touched feels as though it's burning.

"I'm sorry," He murmurs, "For a second, I really thought it was-"

"I said, let's go."

You're already turning, walking in a direction he'd never recall if you left him to be lost out here, and so Aki has no choice but to follow.

He sighs defeatedly. "Okay. That's alright. We can go."

As you and Aki walk back to your cottage, you make your way there with the most distance that's ever been between you.

—

"Hold still."

"Shit- Sorry. I'm trying."

Aki flinches as you carefully press a cool, damp cloth to his side. Squinting, using the dim light from the fireplace and the flickering candles to illuminate your task, you focus on cleaning what remains of his wound.

These past few days, although still a bit sore, it hasn't been bleeding much. What was once a large, gnarled gash has healed into a faint, red scrape. It probably won't leave much of a scar after all. He has your medicine to thank for his quick recovery. You weren't sure how the wound might fare after he spent the day traveling through the forest with you, but aside from a hint of discomfort, he seems relatively healthy. Still energized, even. After setting the rag aside, you grab a handful of fresh bandages, which you made from the scraps of his old, stained tunic.

"It's healed well," You comment plainly. You and Aki are sitting on the wooden floor, cross-legged, close to the fireplace. Close in proximity. The persistent heat of the fire flutters across your arms and your back, chasing away the cool night air.

Reaching into a wooden bowl, you use two fingers to smear a thick herbal mixture onto the inside of the bandages. Then, you swiftly begin to wrap them around his bare torso, taking note of the way his muscles flex.

You breathe a low, inquisitive hum. "Still seems tender, though."

"It is. A bit." Aki supports his weight with his palms, leaning back to give you more room. Firelight curves over his chest, his shoulders, his collarbones. "But I'm doing alright, thanks to you. I'm sure I'll be fully healed soon."

And soon, he'll be leaving.

You try not to think about it as you focus on the precise movements of your hands. There's far too many stressful things you still need to mull over, and now isn't the time.

Wrapping his bandages is a careful, but quick process; at this point, you're used to it. Aki keeps as motionless as he can manage while you tie the bandages off to keep them in place. You collect the wooden bowl in one hand, before promptly rising to your feet. He watches you snatch his spare tunic from where it hangs over the edge of his cot. He catches it once you toss it at him.

"I'm going to make dinner," You remark, "Stew probably, same as last time." Already, you're turning on your heels, heading into the kitchen. You set the wooden bowl aside, and Aki scrambles to pull his shirt over his head.

"Wait-"

He's rushing to come stand beside you, still straightening his tunic and fitting his arms through the sleeves, while you're plopping your backpack onto the counter. Aki reaches back, fixing his hair and pulling it from beneath his neckline. Busy focusing on opening your backpack, you give him a raised brow, a perplexed side-glance.

"Let's make it together," Aki says — and with how ridiculous his preposition sounds, with how unheard of it is to you, you can't help but laugh.

"That isn't necessary." You shrug, and turn back to your bag. You root around inside for a moment, before you find a small leather pouch, containing several bonnet-shaped mushrooms.

"I know," Aki replies; he's already reaching into your cupboards, wasting no time finding a couple of bowls and a cutting board. His mind has been made, apparently. "I want to make it with you, though. Can you teach me?"

Your eyes narrow. Your hands are shuddery as you pull the pouch open, briefly counting the mushrooms inside. Inevitably, you breathe a heavy sigh, your shoulders slumping from the weight of it. Aki sets the cutting board down, his gaze flickering over you, and you dump the mushrooms out onto the counter in front of him.

"Chop these up into small pieces. Knives are in the drawer to your right."

He doesn't need to be told twice.

Silence falls upon the kitchen as you and Aki prepare dinner together, side by side. His knife — your knife — echoes rhythmically against the wooden cutting board as he carefully chops mushroom after mushroom. You grind herbs to use for seasoning with a mortar and pestle. The fireplace crackles, and your foot taps against the floor just slightly. Too slight for him to hear, and not enough to calm your nerves.

Any slight lull makes you think too much. About devils, about the kingdom. About him, and what you're going to do once he's gone. At the very least, this silence is much more comfortable, compared to the prickling stillness that befell the both of you on the way back to your cottage. You're grateful you haven't yet ruined things.

Since then, you've barely managed to regain the faintest sliver of your composure. Your heart isn't pounding anymore, thankfully, despite how close the two of you need to stand to work together in the kitchen. You designed your space for one, not for two. The stove is in the middle of the counter, and in order to reach to dump ingredients into a pot, you need to lean so close to him your arms nearly touch.

Instead, your heart aches, twisting and pulling at your chest, sending blood rushing to your fragile hands and making them shake each time you remember the way Aki touched you. He grabbed your right hand. It still feels warm, in a way. Haunted by a touch softer than a flower's thin petals. Your mind swims, your grip on the pestle faltering slightly.

Gods, you're ridiculous. A more composed version of yourself would surely be scolding you right now.

First, you let a man you hardly know into your cottage, a man who happened to be royalty, of all things. Then, you panic over nothing, getting all freaked out over a harmless baby elk. Now, you're allowing yourself to nearly lose your damned mind over such a small, inconsequential, useless touch. Over Aki's touch.

Aki, who's life exists in a universe far removed from your own. Who is going to leave, who has a few days left before he will have to forget about you. You really, seriously need to get a grip.

"I'm sorry," You mutter, breaking the silence, your voice barely loud enough to be heard. Aki stops though, glancing in your direction, making it clear that he did notice. "Normally I wouldn't get scared like that. You know, when we were in the forest. I just- I'm stressed, that's all. Or tense, I guess. And exhausted."

"I knew you were still thinking about what happened earlier," Aki concludes, reading you correctly. He scoops a handful of chopped mushrooms into his palms, and places them into the already-boiling pot on the stove. "There's no need to apologize. I must have startled you. I was… scared too, for a moment."

Aki's knife swiftly hits the cutting board as he cuts the rest of the mushrooms, and you prop your head on your palm, your fingers drumming against the counter.

He's only partially paying attention to the task at hand. His eyes continuously and not-so-subtly keep drifting away from the cutting board, and back to you. You really wish he wouldn't. Your heart is already beginning to skip again; you don't need it running and tripping over itself while you're trying to thinly cut up some parsley.

"You're going to chop your finger off."

Aki stops at your words. Your gaze is focused on your bundle of parsley and scissors, but he still looks towards you anyways, breathing a slight, playful laugh. He elegantly twirls his knife in a circle before returning it to the cutting board — only this time, he makes sure to watch what he's doing.

"I cooked for my family a few times when I was a kid," He starts, chopping a mushroom carefully and slowly. "That was ages ago, though. I think I forgot everything I once learned."

You still remember your mother's cooking lessons like she taught them to you yesterday. Keep your knives sharp. Watch the stove, try not to use too much firewood. You can add, but you can never subtract. Were those moments the last time you shared the kitchen with someone else?

It's a bit difficult to get used to. You keep expecting to have more work, you still feel surprised when you turn to see someone standing next to you. But it feels calming. A crisp, fluttering feeling you can't quite put your finger on — not that you want to, you'd rather not face it. You've decided it's nice to make dinner with him, simply sharing your space, even though you aren't doing anything too special. For the first time in what might be forever, you aren't alone.

Perhaps you should be savoring this.

"I did too," You reply, pausing the movement of your scissors for a moment. "But when I was a kid, I hated cooking. I cut my hand once, the first time I tried to peel potatoes. My mom bandaged me up. From there on out, I would cry every time she asked me to cook with her."

Aki breathes a slight hmm, and he reasons, "You were scared of getting hurt again."

"I suppose so."

"Did you ever end up cooking with her?"

"No. I remember some of what she tried to teach me, but… I mostly taught myself," You answer, briefly hesitating. "This is the first time I've tried to cook with someone else since then, I think. I like it. I like your company."

Too honest, perhaps. Your mother might have told you to keep on your toes in this situation, to avoid giving away too much information. But your heart is already beating fast, and the words have already left you before you've thought about them.

Aki glances at you, your gaze staying focused on your hands, on your work. You seem lost in thought. He finds it difficult to read the blank expression on your face.

"I understand. I think I get how you feel, honestly." His voice is smooth, calm. Drifting through you, until it sparks within your chest like a brand new star. "My mother never got the chance to teach me much. She was busy working, or busy tending to my younger brother."

"Your mom," You answer quietly, "Do you miss her?"

"Yeah. And you?"

Your jaw tenses, your teeth uncomfortably grinding together. You place the parsley into the pot, and dust your palms over the counter. "Of course. You always miss the family you've lost."

He's long since finished chopping up the remainder of mushrooms, but Aki's grip tightens on the knife, and he idly taps the tip of the blade against the firm cutting board. He hums a slight mhmm in agreement.

"My mother always said cooking was one of the most important skills one could learn," Aki continues. "I thought she'd have more time to teach me. She would tell me, 'You need to be prepared if you go off on your own, you won't always like what other people make for you.' Something like that. I'm not sure I believed her, at first."

"Uh-huh," You raise a brow. "And then you were forced to eat river snails."

Oh. Realizing your change in tone only after the fact, you look at him immediately, your nerves prickling, your skin heating up with embarrassment. Truthfully, you haven't had much practice with conversations; Aki is the first. You've said more to him in the past few days than you think you ever have.

Perhaps you should've thought more before you spoke. It's one thing to say something you might regret, it's another to raise tensions with him. He was serious, and you just made some stupid joke that sounded flat enough to be a rude comment —

But Aki smirks, he laughs wholeheartedly; the sound rings through you, tender and burning. You feel a reassuring wave travel all the way down your spine.

"Okay, I think I would've had to try those regardless," He hums, exhaling another amused huff of breath. He drops the rest of the mushrooms into the stove pot, and with nothing else to do but wait for the stew to be ready, he swiftly reaches for a rag, and begins wiping down the cutting board.

"They were supposed to make you heal faster, or not get sick- or something, I'm not sure," He continues, "They never actually did anything. Trust me, if I was cooking for myself, I wouldn't have opted to include those."

"At least you tried them," You reply, shrugging. "Now you've got a good story to tell. Besides, there's plenty of things that might look awful even though they taste pretty good."

"Truffles," Aki says through a groan, "Gods, how I refused to eat those. It drove my parents up a wall."

"What's that?"

Propping your head up with your arm once more, you glance at him, diligently looking at him up and down, giving him all of your attention. Aki smiles, and he sets down what he's holding to turn towards you fully. Matching your gaze, he rests his elbow on the edge of the counter.

"They're these shitty little black mushrooms," He says straightforwardly, and you can't help but chuckle. "Apparently, they're hard to find, so… my parents would be furious with me for wasting them. My dad, he was the one who taught us to be frugal. He made me try this chocolate. Super fancy, expensive chocolate. It was similar to the mushrooms, and my dad decided to tell me they were the same. He said, 'You know those are truffles, the mushrooms you hate, right?'"

Aki lets go of a small, breathy laugh, and he glances away as he recalls the rest of his story. "It wasn't. They're only called the same thing, but they're completely different- the chocolate, and the mushrooms. He got me to try some the next time we had them, though."

"Hm," You reply, "Did you like them?"

"Nope. I didn't finish my first bite, I spat it out."

Smirking, your gaze meets his own expectantly. "Your dad was probably mad, then."

"Definitely. But I was expecting chocolate. Those mushrooms are good, but you're supposed to savor them. They are the complete opposite of sweet."

"What's chocolate?" Your eyes squint as you think, trying to remember if the name is something you've heard before. In a book, maybe. It certainly sounds familiar. "Is that a mushroom too?"

Aki stares at you, surprised. "You've never had chocolate?"

"Nope."

"It's- damn." His hand comes to hold his chin, his brows pinch with faint frustration. "It's sort of difficult to describe. It's sweet. It melts in your mouth, if that makes sense. There's a lot of vendors who sell chocolate in the kingdom. When we get there, I'll buy you some."

Suddenly, as he seems to catch himself, Aki clears his throat. He stutters and glances away, "Er- if you wanted to go with me, that is. There's no need to make any decisions right now. It was just a suggestion."

The room grows silent. Aki's gaze flickers to check on the stove, before traveling back to you. To your eyes, to your mouth. When your gazes meet again, you find it impossible to look away, despite how much your quivering heart desperately begs you to.

Finally, you look down at your hands, and mumble hesitantly, "You'll be leaving soon." You press your thumbs together, nervously fiddling. "Right?"

"That depends," Aki answers, "When do you think I'll be healed enough?"

"Soon. Probably within the next few days, at the earliest. Your wound looks fine. You should keep resting, once you're feeling energized and no longer sore, then…"

You trail off, unable to finish your sentence. Aki doesn't fail to notice how you're no longer looking at him, your voice becoming uncertain and much quieter.

Aki takes a deep, long breath, and he speaks calmly, gently. "Whenever you tell me you're ready, I'll leave. There's no pressure to come with me, and I won't force you to make a decision. I don't have any problems with leaving alone. I'll be alright, you won't have to worry about me. Please, don't forget that."

It should be fine, to let him leave alone. You'll follow your original plan. The next time he's asleep, you'll prepare the potion to alter his memory; you could have it done by tonight, easily. If he follows your directions, he shouldn't have a problem with making his way out of the forest safely. As foolish as he is, Aki is resourceful. He wouldn't let himself get caught out again. This is what should happen, to keep the both of you safe, and apart.

So why do you feel so hurt?

For longer than necessary, you're silent. In the corner of your vision, you catch the way Aki peers at you worriedly.

"Are you alright?" He asks, his words taking you a bit off guard.

Reflexively, you nod — but oh, how he is making this so much harder. You're fine, you were fine, until you heard his soft voice check up on you. Now, you feel like a dam on the edge of bursting. He noticed, of course he would notice. You're standing close enough for him to see your little tremors, for him to hear when your breath starts to hitch. You had made up your mind about your future long before you met him, but Aki had to go and change it all.

Perhaps you hadn't realized how much it truly hurt until he'd spoken. Those are words you haven't heard before, you've never felt a sensation so suffocating. Your throat is dry, your heart is encased in thorns — but you're alright. You have to be. You have to tell him you're fine.

"I'm alright," You answer quickly with a swallow, leaving it at that.

"You sure? Your hands-" Aki murmurs, his gaze flickering down to them, and then back up. "You were doing that earlier."

Ah. You were, and you are. Both of your hands have moved to timidly clutch the front of your cape, your thumb running over the grooves on the shiny front button.

Sighing, you forcibly let your arms fall. You still can't look at him, so instead, you keep your focus on the dirty ends of your shoes. "I promise, I'm fine."

You're sure you don't sound very convincing.

The pot on the stove bubbles, the stove top's low, orange flame flickering faintly. Aki stays silent, considering his next words carefully.

"You still don't trust me," He decides, his voice quiet and assured. It's a statement more than anything; he knows you do not trust him. He knows it's a fact he cannot change. "But if there's anything- something I did, or something you want to tell me, you can. I'll listen."

As if you could ever tell him.

It'd be foolish to let him see this different side to you, regardless of how much you already trust him — more than he realizes, clearly. More than logic and everything you've learned should dictate. Unfortunately, you can no longer keep your thoughts quiet. You've got a battle raging within you, and those aching waves of stress are pulling, pushing, and growing closer and closer to drowning you underneath.

Aki can't stay. You shouldn't even entertain the thought; what the hell are you thinking? Aki is a stranger, he's dangerous. If he truly is royalty, you could be punished for ever thinking you were allowed to look at him, let alone speak to him.

The kingdom isn't as far as you'd prefer it to be. His wound is healing. You are helping him get back on his feet. You're guiding him closer to leaving, little by little.

Deep in your foolish, pounding heart, you want to believe Aki would trust you as much as you want to trust him, regardless of your best-kept secret. Yet, if anyone questioned him upon his return, if he was at all seen as suspicious, they could find out about you. His intentions wouldn't matter then. Protecting you or even himself wouldn't be an option. There's only so much he can do to bend the rules around witches. Royalty or otherwise.

You hate this. You hate that Aki could discover the truth at any moment. He could look at you differently, with less kindness and more revulsion, once he realizes he's supposed to hate you. He is fucking supposed to, to hell with thinking mages are people, those words can't be trusted, he isn't meant to be trusted. With how distracted you've been, he could kill you, if he truly wanted to. But would he?

The pit of your stomach swirls with a shadowy sense of dread and anxiety. You hate how you've become closer to him, you hate yourself for letting your guard down, even though you swore you wouldn't. Above all else, you hate how these sharp, never-ending feelings are becoming far too much.

It hurts. There's a hundred thoughts gnawing at your mind, a thousand rapid beats of your heart to keep track of, and a million pins and needles under your skin, running up along your spine with a painful, oppressive intensity.

You're worried. You're scared, scared of what will happen, scared of him, and everything. Scared of losing him, as awful as it sounds. Your cottage would become so lonely. You would fall into suffocating silence once more. Aki is different from the men you met before, from the people you've learned to fear. He is someone worth keeping.

Each sensation — the stress, the longing — pushes at either side of you like two stone walls closing in. Closing and crushing and swallowing you; your hands are trembling, and Gods, you're exhausted. When was the last time you slept properly? Was your mind ever working as it should be to begin with?

And why can you never seem to stop thinking about what it felt like to have your hand in his?

In the end, it doesn't matter.

None of it matters, your attempts to hang onto yourself and your wavering composure are rendered useless. He blends out of your focus as the world grows blurry around you. You grip the front of your cape tighter, your shoulders tensing before they tremor. Your breath is short, your throat feels tight, and your thoughts are fatigued like a string pulled taut. Fragile tears are beginning to fall down your cheeks, and you can do nothing to stop them.

Aki freezes up completely, eyes wide, gaze locked on you.

"Sorry," You're babbling, shaking your head, willing the tears to stop — although you know they most certainly won't. Your chest aches, your throat hurts. Small droplets fall from your face to hit your fingers and knuckles. You're so stupid, so weak. "I just- I don't want to-"

Without an ounce of hesitation, Aki shifts closer. He's slow when he reaches out to you, giving you plenty of time to move away if you'd prefer to. You don't. Glancing down at you, his warm palm finds your cheek, his touch slight and delicate, as though he's still expecting you to flinch away. Carefully, his thumb swipes underneath your eye to catch a tear before it falls. His touch caresses you softly, far too softly. And finally, you break.

He could hurt you, he could destroy you if he knew what you truly were. Instead, the fear all melts away, because he chooses to be gentle.

Your shaking hands hold onto your cape as tight as you can manage, while your tears turn into hard sobs that shake your entire figure, and make his heart want to splinter and shatter. Aki mumbles something low under his breath, words you barely catch despite how close you both are: an earnest mixture of shh, and it's okay.

In this moment, you have never been weaker. Not since the day you first left the kingdom behind you, and began to cry, when you believed you were meant to be alone. It's been years of isolation, since then. Is it so wrong for you to know you have needed this?

For once, leaning into his touch feels right; it doesn't burn, it isn't nerve-wracking. It's everything you've ever needed — it is so much more as you press your hand to the back of his, keeping him in place so he won't pull away. You focus on the warmth of his touch, tenderness surging all around you, your heart pounding to a fierce, unsteady rhythm.

It could be wrong, it could be reckless, to believe this is the safest you've ever felt. To know that if you were to pull him close like you've been wanting, you might not be able to let go. You want to embrace him, to have someone hold you, after ages and ages of feeling nothing against your skin and at your back but the whispering wind.

Aki's arms around you would be far too overwhelming — to have him hold you tight while you breathe in the scent of firewood on his clothes, and listen to each beat of his heart, your head pressed to his chest. No, you wouldn't let go, not until you've memorized the sound. The thought alone could bring you to tears, if you weren't already breaking down in front of him, sniffling and holding onto your cape with a grip tight enough to make your fingers ache.

"I scared you earlier, didn't I?" Aki says, his voice low, as calming as it always is. His breathing is slow, and yours tries to calm down to match. "I'm sorry."

Maybe he did, but you've already forgiven him. Aki can't know the true reason why you're crying, or any of the multitude of built-up reasons. They'd be impossible to say, far too difficult to talk about. You can't tell him you might miss him if he leaves you behind, even though it's what you planned to let happen in the first place. Even though someone like you has no right to want to follow someone like him. To the kingdom, no less. You'd be shunned. Imprisoned. Or much, much worse.

Aki is kind and thoughtful, his presence alone makes you want more — your tides pulled in his direction, an ocean of uncertainty reaching up to a bright, brilliant, unreachable moon. His touch is warm light, shining through thick darkness. Your darkness, illuminated wholeheartedly.

"You're safe," He murmurs. His voice barely registers. "I wouldn't let anything hurt you."

He couldn't, he has no idea you're a terrible, filthy liar. Aki is a good man. He reminds you of those knights in your stories — unwaveringly good, no matter the danger they're presented with. And you? You are nothing more than a witch.

Thankfully, Aki doesn't need to know.

He doesn't have questions, he simply continues to brush his thumb over your cheek, tenderly and rhythmically. His touch is slight, overly gentle in an attempt to keep you comfortable, but it's more than enough to gradually help you relax. You can't recall the last time you cried like this. Nor the last time you let anyone touch you, you never planned to allow this. You can't become overtaken by emotion, holding your focus is much more important. Perhaps you needed a way to finally let go of your budding stress.

Aki seems to think so. He holds your face in his palm as you cry, never pulling away, grounding you with his presence. Ever-so patient, he stays, while you fully succumb to everything washing over you. Until the waves slowly subside, allowing you to breathe again. Your sobs begin to calm, your tears start to dry up. Your whole body tremors as you breathe a long, shaky sigh.

Still, he keeps his pretty palm on your cheek. It belongs there, you think.

"How are you feeling?" Aki says softly, after a few beats of silence. "Mad? Upset?"

At first, you don't answer. You try, although you know it's futile; your mouth opens, but your voice is weak, your throat is sore. No words come out. You're feeling a thousand things, even if you could voice them, you aren't sure where you'd start. You swallow, and to your disappointment, Aki takes his palm away from your cheek, abruptly reaching for something.

In a rush, he hurries to turn off the stove, swearing quietly under his breath. You hadn't realized how much time had passed — how long have you been crying? Long enough to make your nose stuffed and your throat sore, and enough to let the stew boil over, evidently.

Aki leaves it, for now. He reaches over you to grab your backpack, briefly putting your bodies unbelievably close. He roots around inside until he finds your flask, still half-full with fresh water, and he sets it on the counter, allowing you to move at your own pace. You sniffle, and wipe your eyes with the back of your hand first, before you grab it, unscrewing the cap, taking a few sips.

You want to tell him. You want to feel his soft touch again, you want his words of reassurance, and his trust, and his kindness. How could you fear him, when Aki is tenderness incarnate? As soft as the sky, as earnest as an echo. And as necessary as it is, you're already sick of lying; you don't want to hear his voice, look him in the eyes, and know you are lying to him.

Though, you can't say a thing. Your voice is weak, your body and mind are exhausted. And so, this time, you resist.

Aki breaks the silence first. "You're allowed to be mad at me. I wouldn't blame you if you were."

"I'm not mad," You answer, screwing the cap back on the flask, setting it down on the counter right where it was. You aren't meeting his eyes, but your voice sounds clearer, less strained. "I'm okay. Just tired."

Your shoulders shrug weakly. Aki's next breath seems to shake, his arms crossing around his chest frustratedly, his gaze traveling down.

"I shouldn't-" His jaw clenches, before he lets go of an exasperated sigh. "A devil wouldn't have snuck up on us like that. We would've known- they aren't small, and they make much more noise when they're approaching. I shouldn't have worried you. If you think I should… head for the kingdom, I will. I could leave tonight."

Your throat feels dry again. "It's fine."

"No," Aki counters, his voice wavering; it never wavers, "This is my fault. To see you hurting so much, when I know that I- maybe I just-"

"Aki."

You glance up at him, and your abrupt utterance of his name forces him to meet your gaze. Your eyes are still red, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion, your cheeks damp from tears. Your expression is earnest, hiding a thousand emotions he couldn't begin to make sense of. But he wants to try.

"Don't go," You murmur, softer this time. Close to breaking once more. "I've already forgiven you. Thank you. For being here."

For showing you a kindness you aren't used to, for comforting you without asking questions. For finally making you realize that you aren't meant to be alone. You want to say his name a thousand times more.

Honestly, you aren't sure what Aki takes away from your words. He seems to hesitate, but after a moment of thought, he reaches for the bowls he'd grabbed for the two of you earlier. One for you, and one for him.

"You should get some sleep after we eat," He suggests, his tone nice and gentle, laced with concern. He places your bowl in front of you, on your side of the counter.

"Mhmm…" You nod in agreement, and search through a drawer on your left to find a wooden ladle. "My head hurts."

Completely serious, Aki replies, "Do you want me to stop talking?"

Genuine and soft, you break into a laugh — a sound he is more than glad to hear — and you smile to yourself, while you pour some stew into your bowl. It warms your palms, steam brushing against your face. When you pass the ladle to him, he's instantly caught on the faint sparkle in your gaze. Hook, line, and sinker.

"Absolutely not." You hum playfully, an eyebrow crooked. "It would be far too quiet. Besides, I like your voice."

Aki fills his own bowl, and with the warm, pleased look that encompasses his features, you swear he almost seems flustered. "I hope you aren't implying I talk too much."

"Nope. If anything, it's not enough."

You reach into a drawer to grab silverware, and Aki heads over to the dinner table. He's already sat down across from your usual seat, and once you're able to follow, you notice your chair has been pulled out for you.

Your conversations lull as the two of you eat together, once again enjoying the simple comfort of company. The warm stew soothes your throat. It has your body and your limbs relaxing, calming. You exchange a few words. Aki compliments your cooking, and you politely thank him for his help. You comment how you rarely see baby elk, they're normally so skittish. It was cute. It would be nice to see again, under different circumstances.

Everything returns to normality. The same way it always was, when words shared between him and yourself become as natural as breathing. Once again, it feels right.

The next time you speak, it's after you've stood and both rinsed your bowls, just before you're about to head into your bedroom.

Aki clears his throat. He sits on the edge of his cot, his hands placed uniformly in his lap, the fireplace's low flame flickering over the sharp angles of his face.

"Do you really want me to stay?" He asks, as he already has. Perhaps he's expecting the answer to change.

You consider, drumming your fingertips over your bedroom's door handle. Then, at last, you answer. "Is it so wrong if I do?"

"It isn't. I was thinking, actually, I… I don't think it's a good idea for me to leave," He says, glancing at you. "My wound is- it could reopen. It'd be better not to take any risks, to rest for another week or so. Or maybe two weeks. Or- I don't know. We'll see." His next words are entirely unsure, a shot in the dark, a question and a plea wrapped into one: "What do you think?"

As one would expect, he'd leave it all up to you.

Your hand grips the door knob tighter. You take a slow, gradual breath, and hope he doesn't notice your newfound reassurance.

He isn't leaving. Not yet. Thank the Gods.

"Of course," You murmur, without turning to look at him. He'd see the small smile on your face if you did. "You can stay."

#aki hayakawa x reader #aki x reader #chainsaw man x reader #aki hayakawa x you #aki x you

118 notes · View notes