#Speedboat Racing

[chanthaburi]

Longtail speedboat races at Makham weekend of 27-28 July 2024

[planeyboys]

Boats Master Post ⛵🚤🛥⛴🚢⚓

[moodboardmix]

C’est Normal 52R Hybrid Speedboat,

There’s no other dayboat like it out there, and it claims the title of “the world’s fastest RIB ever built.” Even in pre-delivery runs, the c’est normal 52R Hybrid broke the Rib World Record of 101.6 knots (116 mph/187 kph), “flying” at 104.2 knots (120 mph/192 kph).

Courtesy: Jon Olsson and Bernico Powerboats

[kply-industries]

[ssef17]

Speedboat

[milf-murdock]

Frozen (Ghost x Soap x 141!Reader)

Soap x Ghost x 141!Reader (Established Relationship/Established Throuple)

Summary: You, Ghost, and Soap were heading back to the safe house from a quick reconnaissance mission when you’re caught by a surprise ambush. Soap’s quick maneuvering saved your lives, but when you end up overboard in freezing waters, a whole new challenge presents itself.  Warnings: medical inaccuracies, I am clearly not a doctor and also not trained on what to do if you seriously are at risk of hypothermia. But getting naked and using the body heat of your two bulky lovers seems like a good place to start :-)  A/N: This was inspired by this scene in one of my favorite winter movies The Proposal!! I don’t know that it’s a “Christmas” movie, per say, but it’s snowy and wintery and I watch it every Christmas and @glitterypirateduck said that counts!!! So I’m also submitting this for their Holiday Challenge :) 

The speedboat was flying across the dark blue waters, bitter winds nipping at any exposed area of skin. A thick fog made navigating difficult, but you were in good hands as Soap lead the speedy vessel back towards the safe house. Perched on the cushion lining the back of the boat, you scooted closer to Ghost, both to escape the windchill and to hear him better, as you recapped what you’d seen. 

“We’ll need to put through a call to Price as soon as we’re back at the safe house,” Ghost stated, and you nodded in response, already mentally planning ahead to your next steps. With this intel, they’ll probably have you three hit the ground running by sunrise. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by a sudden shot ringing through the air. 

“They fucking tailed us,” Soap shouted from the wheel as he turned the boat in a different direction in an attempt to shake the pursuers. “Couldn’t see ‘em through the fog.” 

Ghost operated on instinct—up on his feet, weapon in hand before the final ring of the shot even cleared out. He had three shots fired by the time you were on your feet as well, trying your best to stabilize as Soap gunned the engine, sending you flying even faster across the waves. 

The pursuers were finally close enough to clear the fog, their boat’s impressive speed rivaling your own’s. Unfortunately for them, this made the assailants easy targets. Their element of surprise was no match for your and Ghost’s impressive sharpshooting skills. You watched with satisfaction through your gun’s scope as the last man fell. Their boat came to a stop in the middle of the water, quickly disappearing as you sped away. 

Except they weren’t all dead. No, one final shot rang out, a literal shot in the dark from a dying man out into the open air. 

Catching everyone on board by surprise, Soap jerked the wheel to the right to swerve out of any potential line of fire. Still standing, untethered, and unprepared for any abrupt action, Ghost stumbled back before catching his footing, all 250+ pounds of pure muscle knocking into you. Between the momentum of the boat’s turn and the pure mass of Ghost’s body, you didn’t stand a chance. Before a single shout could leave your lips, you were toppling overboard and into the frozen ice water.

Ghost turned to help stabilize you, panicking at the empty space beside him before recognizing your frantic form in the water as the boat sped away. “Fuck!” Ghost shouted. “Turn it around, Johnny, we’ve gotta go back! She fell over!” 

Soap glanced back to see you floating in the water and his heart nearly stopped. 

“Steaming Jesus,” her muttered to himself, quickly yanking the steering wheel to the left, turning the boat around.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Simon cursed as Soap navigated the boat closer to your form. These waters were freezing and with the current windchill, they’d be racing thee clock to get you back to thee safe house. The boat slowed as they approached your figure, and Ghost leaned over the edge of the speeder, both arms extended to grab you. 

“Come ‘ere,” he muttered, both hands clasping around your extended wrists to help pull you up. The boat came to a stop and Soap scrambled over to help bring you aboard. 

You were shaking. All the many layers you were bundled up in soaked completely through. Both men helped drag your shaking form onto the bench, immediately discarding their own jackets to help cover you. 

“What the fuck happened?” Soap demanded roughly, an edge of panic in his voice that he just couldn’t control. 

“She fell out,” Ghost’s gruff response could barely be heard over the chattering of your teeth. 

“D-d-didn’t fall,” you gasped out. “P-p-pushed me.”

“You fucking pushed her?” Soap looked up at Ghost, equal parts rage and concern flickering in his blue eyes as he pulled you into his arms, pressing his body heat up against your freezing form. His hands frantically rubbed your arms, trying to generate heat with the friction. He glared up at Ghost, who was breaking into a medpack to pull out the emergency thermal blanket.

“I didn’t mean to, obviously,” Ghost grumbled as he tugged you back from Johnny’s form just enough to wrap you in the silver material. You shaking was uncontrollable at this point, the cold wind whipping at your already freezing extremities. “Fuck,” he uttered, taking in the blue hue forming just at the edge of your lips. “We gotta get her back to the safe house, now.” His tone was authoritative. This was quickly turning into a medical emergency. 

Soap nodded, heading back to the dashboard and getting the boat back in motion. Ghost took your shaking form into his arms. “I gotcha, darling, no worries. We’re gonna get you back safe and warm in no time.” He looked down to see you pressed against his chest, eyes fluttering closed. “Nuh uh, none of that, love,” he gently shook your shoulder. “Look at me, gotta stay awake.” Your eyes blinked rapidly as you tried to keep yourself awake. Ghost moved to brush a stray hair out of your face when he noticed it was nearly frozen solid. This is bad. Without a second thought, he had the balaclava up and over his face and in his hand. “Here love, need to put this on.” The exhaustion that gripped your body was too much; you couldn’t even put up a fight as Simon slid the warm material over your head, the soft fabric warming your frozen face. 

Ghost held your body close as Soap drove the boat to safety, pulling up to the dock just outside the safe house. It was a small, inconspicuous cabin in a fairly remote area. Soap gave the area a quick once-over, making sure the coast was clear, as Simon lifted you into his arms—no easy feat as the many layers you had on were completely soaked through.

“All clear,” Soap claimed, one eyebrow raised at Simon’s bare face. It wasn’t anything you two hadn’t seen before; after all, once the three of you were back home in your shared flat, the mask seldom made its appearance until you three were back on a mission. But to see it removed here was just a little surprising. 

“She needed it,” Simon stated matter of factly, brushing past Johnny and quickly heading into the warmth of the cabin. Johnny followed quickly behind, turning the triple locks on the door as soon as the three of you were inside. 

“We’ve gotta get her out of those clothes,” Johnny commented, side-stepping Simon as he headed straight towards the fireplace to get the fire going. 

Simon laid your form on the couch. At some point between the boat and the couch, your eyes had fallen shut, your breathing shallow. You were so still in his arms it set his heart hammering in his chest. 

“Fuck, darling” Simon muttered, unzipping your outer layers and pulling them off of you, his hands shaking slightly in desperation as he stripped the frozen fabrics from your body. He pulled your boots off, sliding the outer layer of pants. Hey stripped you down to your base layer, a tight pair of thermal pants and long sleeves. His mask still rested on your face. 

Having gotten the fire started, Johnny was pacing the floor by the couch, watching as Simon discarded layer by layer. 

“She’s not waking up,” Johnny’s voice was tinged with fear. “Simon, why isn’t she waking up?” 

Simon’s hands held your own, trying to warm the frozen digits. He looked up at Johnny. “Oi, look at me, love,” his own gentle tone a stark contrast to Johnny’s panicked one. Soap couldn’t take his eyes off of you. “Look. At. Me. Johnny.” Simon’s staccato words had the full commanding voice of a lieutenant. On instinct, Johnny’s eyes darted to Simon’s, unable to control his response to that tone. Simon saw the light sheen of tears in Johnny’s eyes—he always was the more sensitive of the two—and his heart squeezed with guilt. This was his fault. But he was going to fix it. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Simon’s voice left no room for arguing, no room for doubt. Johnny could only nod in response. 

“Tell me what to do.” Johnny raised one hand to trail across  your cheek, fingers grazing the soft fabric of the mask. 

“We need to get her to the bed,” Simon ordered, his years of training kicking in. He knew exactly the best way to warm you up. He nestled one arm under your shoulders and the other beneath your knees as he lifted you off the sofa, striding to the one bedroom in the tiny cabin. Johnny followed close behind, anxiously watching your unconscious form as Simon held you in his arms. 

“Take off your clothes,” Simon ordered as he set you on the bed, pulling off the last of your layers until you were completely bare. He gingerly removed the mask, setting it flat on the bedside table for it to dry out.

“Si, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Johnny asked, his brows furrowing in concern was he unbuttoned his pants. 

“Trust me, love,” Simon shot Johnny a look meant to soothe as he pulled his own shirt over his head. “The best way to warm her up is gonna be with our own body heat. Anything warmer and we risk sending her into shock.”

Once both men were fully stripped down, they carefully climbed into bed. Johnny was in his typical spot on the right side of the bed, and he tucked himself around your body. “Steamin’ blood Jesus,” he whispered. “She’s cold as fuckin ice.” He held you closer, pressing every available inch of his body against you, even going as far as pressing the underside of his feet up against yours. Once Johnny had you safe in his arms, Simon joined in, pressing up against your backside. He swore to himself as he powered through the initial cold shock and made sure to encompass as much of your bare skin under his warm body. 

They stayed like that are a long while, strong hands grazing up and down your body in an attempt to coax warmth back into you. They pressed kisses all along your bare skin, muttering sweet nothings to bring you back to reality. Simon and Johnny continued to exchange looks of concern as the next few hours passed at a glacial pace. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you came to, eyes blinking open as you groaned. 

Johnny was the first to jump in, relief flooding through him as you stirred. “Hey Bonnie, take it easy, take it easy, eh?” His strong hand was gentle against your bare chest, gently pressing you down as you tried to sit yourself up. 

“Fuck,” you muttered. “I feel like shit.” You screwed your eyes shut, letting the two men fuss over you. 

“I know, love,” this time it was Simon’s deep voice that had you opening your eyes once more. “I am so bloody sorry. S’all my fault.” The guilt in his voice was palpable and you knew he’d be carrying the weight of this instance for a while to come. 

“It was an accident,” you soothed, turning over to face him. You winced—your body ached and your movements were stiff. 

“S’okay, Simon,” you cooed, striving to ensure he could see the forgiveness in your eyes. “M’fine.”

“We’re just so glad you’re okay, lass,” Johnny pressed himself up against your back, trailing kisses down your neck and shoulder. “Gave us quite the scare.”

“‘Course I’m okay,” your words slurred a bit as your lids grew heavy, finding it harder and harder to keep sleep at bay. “I have you two.” 

“We will always take care of you, love,” Simon’s voice was firm, more of a promise to himself than anything. 

“Now rest,” Johnny ordered, pressing a final kiss to the back of your head. “Ye need it.” 

You were asleep before he even finished the words. 

The relief in the air was nearly palpable as both men finally exhaled the collective breath they’d been holding, knowing that you were going to be okay. 

“I’m so sorry, love,” Simon repeated, this time looking at Johnny. 

Johnny reached across your sleeping form to caress Simon’s cheek. “S’alright, dear. We managed.” He smiled down at you. “She’s alright.” 

Simon leaned over to press a kiss against Johnny’s waiting lips. 

“ I love you,” he whispered. 

“I love ye too.”

Masterlist ✧ Ask Box

[szkunas]

SORRY, YOU LOST! ౨ৎㅤtoji fushiguro.

synopsis / premise ♱ㅤokay, toji needs to admit it. you’re magical, or something because he genuinely intends to change for you, as stupid as that sounds. unfortunately, he decides to go out to gamble one last time. when he returns, his worst nightmare comes true.

featuring ♰ㅤREDEEMED toji fushigiro X fem!reader.

warnings ♱ㅤANGST ! MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH ! no happy ending ! toji is a little ooc i guess ! BLOOD + DEATH ! assassination mentions ! violence + murder ! gambling addiction ! toji thinks about making you a housewife ! marriage mentions

author’s note ♱ㅤhi. im not dead, lol. just trying to post a lot of things together. i took a small time for myself, to rest, and now i think i can come back with writing with these posts and the event! <3 i hope you all like it, its my first time trying to write for toji

WHOEVER WAS THE IDIOT who invented pachinko, toji hates them deeply. it was probably some very bored and very greedy man. the world will become a better place when those tired, money-crazy expressions disappear. until then, pachinko machines and gambling games will squeeze every penny out of him. or not. no more.

there is a clear reason why some countries strongly prohibit betting shops and casinos: betting is one of the strongest addictions that runs through the sick and desperate, emptying them of their worries for a few seconds and taking the money from their wallets in exchange.

technically, gambling is prohibited both in japan and in many other places around the world: but pachinko, horse racing and speedboat racing, as well as casinos, exist through loopholes in the law. after all, everyone’s true god is money, and taking all of this off the market would shake the economy of the country that seems forgotten by any god in the eyes of toji.

he knows that spending a lot of money on bets is not the wisest decision to make, but he always has faith that he will win next time, when the next time never comes. however, he only has a percentage of his latest work. the rest was well sent where it would be safe: to you, who keeps the money safe and secure from a murderer addicted to gambling.

toji knows you want a lot. you want him to give up his life as the sorcerer killer, you want him to give up his stupid gambling habit, you want to settle down somewhere quiet and start a family. and he wants that too, even if his heart of stone doesn’t let him show it.

but, he hopes you understand that the mere fact that he lets you sleep next to him at night is a sign of trust. he trusts you not to open his throat with a knife while he sleeps, which says a lot about how he feels about you.

even though your relationship has lasted a long time by his standards, what scares toji is the fact that he doesn’t want to leave. he wants to stay, he wants to come back to you at the end of each mission. he wants to let you take care of his wounds, and he wants to dry your tears when you cry for him. in fact, he doesn’t even want you to cry unless it’s from happiness or pleasure.

which is strange.

he only knew love for one woman, and after her passing, he believed he would never again fall in love with anything other than the green notes that create his happiness and destroy his present simultaneously.

a dead wife and an abandoned child on his resume is not what any woman is looking for in a guy. his difficult personality, his history of lack of commitment, his disappearances for days and his addiction to gambling only make everything worse for him. women are drawn to toji like fish to a hook, but they don’t stay long. it lasts even less if they don’t have money or cut off this source of income from his life.

but when he hears the sounds and clicks of the surrounding machines, he can only think that he would stay with you even if you were living on an old mattress in a dark alley.

because love can be as intimidating as it is overwhelming. it can hit a man’s world with such force that it makes him rise from where he is. make him stop making bad choices and, little by little, improve to give you the life that the woman he loves wants. he looks at the nearest clock and sighs. one last game. one last time, he will spend some stupid change waiting for a prize that never comes.

and from there, who knows? and from there, who knows? stop this idiocy of gambling every last penny, work a little more so you can get by for a few months. maybe start a savings account so when you have kids things will be easier?

he waits, and stops. so many times he has seen the message of defeat on machines similar and different to this one. sorry, you lost. the most common phrase for someone who appreciates dopamine more than money in their pockets. but he is surprised when the winning pattern appears on the machine. a winning one.

toji immediately turns to an employee. okay, that was weird. he usually loses any and all bets. this is probably a sign that this is the right path. who knew, the advice of morally sensible people works. don’t use drugs (they don’t work in his system), don’t overindulge in alcohol (which also doesn’t do anything in his system), be responsible and have a stable job. he just needs to review what he achieves in that last part. sorcerer slaying is not exactly a stable job, which every wife dreams of having a husband working with.

wait, did he just mentally call you his wife? take it easy, clown. first, you have to get past your fifth dating anniversary.

but the idea is undeniably attractive. maybe if he gets some good, well-paying work beyond assassination, you can become a housewife. only if you want, of course. toji will drop dead before he forces you to do something you don’t want to do.

the idea is a little cute — really cute, actually. he loves seeing you coming home from work stressed. seeing you angry makes him strangely excited. it’s like getting turned on by playing with fire, and he just wants to make the flames burn hotter. however, he knows how to respect his space when things get serious. that’s one of the reasons he doesn’t want you in an office job.

reduced to a sad cubicle, an idiotic boss and customers as miserable as you, anxious for the time to leave or for him to pick you up. this is not the life he wants for you. okay, toji needs his own fucking car to pick you up from work. this goes on the list of what to start buying to have a responsible life.

as he changes the balls in the pachinko machine, he watches the prizes carefully. normally, it’s just junk that you sell in a random store to make real money. but there is a kind of golden pendant, a butterfly. he asks the employee and takes the item in his hands. he’s a bit of a muggle and extremely cheesy, in his vision, but it’s only fair that in his last bet, one of the few ones he wins, the prize goes to you.

you, the true angel that exists on earth. you, patient and caring, who accept his mistakes and didn’t abandon him when he gave you a thousand and one reasons to do so. you, who he would like to see at the altar and have children with. fixing his own life and making his life better, that’s what he must do now. for you.

waving to the employee who is already used to his presence — after all, toji doesn’t plan on seeing him again — he puts the pendant in his pocket and walks peacefully home, lost in thought. some idiot bumps into him in a hurry, but he’s so strangely happy he can’t even stay mad.

the guy in question looks like he’s on something, with his hands in his pockets as if he’s hiding a weapon and his pupils dilated. His paranoid face is looking in all directions, and Toji knows that look — he’s trying to run from trouble. probably fucked it up and attacked someone. toji shrugs.

well, it’s not his problem.

he just takes out his cell phone and presses the call button on your contact. toji wants to go directly home, but if you want some food or some other gift, he would like to know now. your profile picture is actually adorable, and he caught himself just a moment before smiling like a fool.

the nighttime streets of tokyo don’t stop as he presses the phone to his ear. cars go too fast, and night lights make the city seem more alive at night than in daylight. two rings, three. you don’t answer, and toji groans, checking the time before waiting a little longer. it is weird. usually you are the one who calls, or you are the one who answers almost immediately. and it’s too early, so you can’t be sleeping.

maybe you forgot your cell phone at home and went out to get something you forgot at the office. it would be just like you. he can already hear himself teasing you. airhead. he gives up calling when there is no answer after four tries. he doesn't want to look desperate.

his steps are lazy, light. he’s gotten used to walking quietly due to his line of work, but toji has his chest puffed out like someone who knows what he wants in life. this is a new and at the same time well-known occurrence. his second chance just fell into toji’s lap. not all men are that lucky. and he doesn’t intend to waste it, risk everything and lose everything again.

may his past have taught him the valuable lesson of staying close and protecting those you love.

that’s why, when he turns down the street and stops in front of your house (which has also been his house for almost two years), he freezes. there are some police cars parked in front of the door. okay, maybe some idiot tried to rob the house. are you okay? the idea of you getting hurt makes his blood boil.

but his heart sinks like a crushed animal when he sees the ambulance present. no. what the fuck is going on? he quickens his pace, not caring about the yellow tapes — oh, god, there shouldn’t be yellow ribbons. not here. not in your home, not in the safest and happiest place in the world. do not cross slaps him in the face, making his heartbeat increase. is that fear, in the back of his head?

he had goosebumps. not the good kind.

a police officer comes over to talk to him, explaining that he can’t be here, that this is a crime scene, sir. but toji is faster, his hand searching for the pendant he bought you through a stupid gambling game.

“sir, i’m going to have to ask you to leave—”

“this is my house, i live here with my girlfriend. what the fuck is going on?”

the police officer stops, as if he didn’t expect that kind of response. he checks something with another officer over the radio, and toji is about to punch everyone to go and look for you. what the hell is going on? he only left for three hours and about ten minutes. this shouldn’t be happening.

his green eyes stay focused on the ambulance, on the house that is being ransacked. your house, god, your wonderful house. he waits for you to come out from behind the ambulance, from one of the doors of the house, for you to come running and for him to hug you. but there is nothing like that. you don’t show up, and he suddenly feels like his throat is closing up.

the officer who owes him an explanation that keeps him calm and tells the truth at the same time — after all, a guy with the size of toji freaking out isn’t what anyone wants to face — gets his attention by gently clearing his throat. he looks like a newbie. excellent. you’re nowhere to be found, and toji is getting explanations from a damn newbie.

“you mentioned you live here with your girlfriend, sir—?” the man inquires, and toji crosses his arms, irritated. “can i ask where you were earlier tonight?”

“fushiguro. i’m fushiguro, yeah, and i live here for, two years now. i was out. buying stuff ‘nd all. why do you need to know?”

the officer sighs, his face sad. “you will need to make a statement later, mr. fushiguro. however, this doesn’t have to be immediately, we intend to respect your time with…”

“with?” toji grits his teeth, nearly snapping. “c’mon. i don’t have all night. where the hell is my girlfriend?”

there are some voices shouting instructions in the background, and toji doesn’t pay attention until something appears in the corner of his vision. he turns his face away more quickly than ever, giving the nervous policeman no time to warn him that he shouldn’t do that. and the sight before him makes him freeze.

the paramedics are zipping up a black bag and putting away the equipment they initially brought. toji is no stranger to blood and dead bodies—his body count is high in more ways than one—but he swears he’s never felt so sick. the butterfly pendant falls from his hands and clicks against the floor, with a slight *clink*.

it’s your body. they are putting your body inside a black bag. god, he only got a glimpse, a second, but he’s sure it’s you. pale, motionless. declared dead.

you, dead.

bile rises up his throat thinking about a million things. If he had arrived earlier, could he have helped? he definitely wouldn’t let that happen, what took him so long with the pachinko machine? Was this random, was this chosen? did they kill you because of him, because of him and his stupid career?

he wonders if you suffered. god, the thought of you scared and screaming as you fight to defend yourself makes toji almost go insane immediately. this is— real. and it is not a nightmare, where he’ll wake up besides you, on the bed. you would smile and comfort him out of his scared thoughts. but no. you won’t ever smile anymore.

never again.

he is so out of it for a moment, it’s as if nothing else exists. his ears won’t stop ringing, and it’s like his head is going to melt at any second. he turns to face the officer, who has been trying to get his attention for apparently five minutes.

“we’re sorry, mr. fushiguro. there was a complaint from the neighbors. we’re still not sure what happened, but it was certainly a homicide. maybe random. as it turned out, someone broke into the house and—”

“murdered my girlfriend.” he completes, his hands clenching into fists. toji excuses himself — and the poor officer can see the pain he’s trying to hide with anger.

he’ll probably get called out for a dozen things. identify your body. give a statement, be ruled out as a suspect, god. like he would even touch you like that. the idea is so disgusting he can’t even process it. but it does not matter. it does not matter anymore. his new, peaceful life? fuck that. you are dead.

and so is his heart. again.

toji walks away from the prying ears of the police, and he hates the fact that his hands are shaking as he calls shiu. and old friend and trustful dealer, he needs to ask two things.

“hey, shiu. when you hear this, give me a call as soon as you can. i am serious. i need another job, as quickly as possible, also.” he pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose, taking deep, angry breaths. “i need to ask a personal favor. investigate something for me, and i want the name and address of every person involved. alright?”

he wonders what will he use when he finds whoever did this. a gun? a knife? it doesn’t matter, nothing matters anymore. he steps on the butterfly pendant as he stares at the sky and wishes for blood to pay for yours being spilled.

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. THANK YOU FOR READING <3

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Aftermath || LN4 {11}

Pairing: Lando Norris x widow!reader Summary: Lando just can't help himself, he's drawn to you even when he's supposed to leave you alone like the bachelorette party and before the wedding. Warnings: 18+ only, sexual themes, alcohol WC: 2.3k

F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten || Eleven || Twelve || Thirteen || Epilogue

The day could not have been more perfect for sailing along the Côte d’Azur as a warm breeze tousled your hair and the bottomless mimosas kept coming. You couldn’t think of a better way to spend summer break, and it was only going to get better.

You were surrounded by friends, both old and new. You had been afraid of reconnecting with the people you had ignored in your grief but the fear of rejection had been created in your mind and they had welcomed you back, grateful to have your friendship once again. As were you.

“Thank you for organising this,” you said to Maria as she refilled your glass and her own.

“You’re welcome, chérie.”

The captain had anchored the boat in a quaint inlet so some of the girls could swim but you had opted to catch the sun on the deck with Pietra. You had grown quite close to Max’s girlfriend when she came to the races with him and it was nice to have another female in the garage with you. As good as Max’s company was, it wasn’t the same as a female companion.

“It’s not too late to hire a male stripper,” Pietra suggested as she toyed with the rainbow umbrella spinning around her glass.

“No offence, but have you seen my soon-to-be husband?” you laughed with a shake of your head. “No man can compete with him.”

“It’s a bachelorette party, it’s tradition.”

You rolled onto your stomach and sighed as the sun warmed your back. “Nothing about our relationship has been traditional, why start now.”

Your eyes drifted shut as you listened to your friends laughing and splashing, music playing from the speakers and the smile on your face never faded until the sound of an engine grew louder.

“Sorry, boys, this bay is taken, find your own,” Maria called out and you peeked up to see a speedboat pull up, Lando’s smile growing when he spotted you.

“Oops, power failure,” he replied as the engine shut off and Carlos tossed an anchor into the water so they didn’t drift away. “Law of the sea, you have to save us!”

Lando’s best man was the first to dive overboard and make his way to the boat while Pietra went to meet him.

“He just can’t help himself,” Maria chuckled as she settled into Pietra’s empty sun-lounger and took your glass. “Go on, he’s not here to see any of us.”

You dove into the tepid waters as Lando bombed off the front of the sleek speedboat before resurfacing closer and shaking his hair out, sprinkling you with water drops as he swam closer. 

“Do you come here often?” he flirted as he pulled you against him and wrapped your legs around his waist. 

You shrugged coyly. “Just with my boyfriend.”

“Ugh,” he complained, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. “A gorgeous babe like you, of course you are taken. Is it serious?”

“Only enough to spend the rest of my life with him.”

You giggled as he nipped at your neck and pulled back with a smile. “Well, that’s a relief. I was totally prepared to dunk you if you said no.”

“Do you really want to start your honeymoon sleeping on the couch?”

His lips kissed down the line of your jaw before tracing his way back to your ear and admitting, “I don’t plan to be doing any sleeping, love.”

Your legs tightened around his waist in response and he chuckled knowingly as you asked, “Think anyone will notice if we disappear?”

“Yes. Do I care? No.” He was already paddling deeper into the water where the speedboat was anchored but a sharp whistle had you looking back to the yacht. 

“Don’t even think about it, mate!” Max shouted with a finger pointed your way.

Carlos joined him at the edge of the yacht and reached into the pocket of his swim trunks with a laugh. “I got the keys, cabron!”

“Bastards,” Lando muttered under his breath. “I can’t get out of the water now.”

“It’s a shame the water isn’t a little colder.” You kissed him softly before pushing away with a smile you couldn’t suppress. “I’ll see you on deck when you…calm down.”

“You could help me,” he countered as he started swimming to catch up.

“The water is crystal clear, you perv,” you said as you looked back with a laugh. “I’m not getting arrested today because you got horny.”

“It’s your fault,” he pointed out, grabbing you to stop your retreat to the yacht and wrapping his arms around your waist. “I take one look at you and lose my mind.”

“You don’t make it any easier by doing this.” You wriggled in his arms to prove your point as he groaned as it rubbed your ass over the prominent bulge in his swim trunks. “In fact, you make it hard.”

“Good thing I have a human shield,” he chuckled as he continued to the yacht with you held firmly in front of him. “I can still sunbathe with you on top of me.”

“Are you sure you don’t want the big white wedding?” You had asked Lando plenty of times but it was the last opportunity for him to change his mind. 

“I would’ve been happy to go to the courthouse last year, love,” he said with a laugh. “Plus, I’ve already stood with you in a church for all that before. I mean René was standing between us but…same diff.”

“Good,” you sighed in relief, “because it’s a little bit late.” 

“Can you open the door now?” 

You put your foot in front of it as the handle turned and you pressed your back to the cold wood so your hands were free to text Max to collect the wayward groom. “No, it’s bad luck!”

“Come on, mate, stop slipping your damn leash,” Max’s voice trickled through. “Leave the girl to get ready.”

“I just want to talk to my bride real quick. Would’ve seen more of her last night if it wasn’t for you.”

“Be lucky you got to gate crash the bachelorette party.” 

“I would have got lucky, if it wasn’t for you.”

You tipped your ear to the crack of the door as you heard Lando complain about tripping over Max in the hallway and they both heard your laugh. 

“Did you really sleep outside the bedroom door?” you asked.

“I take tradition seriously, thank you very much,” Max stated proudly. “And I knew this muppet wouldn’t be able to stop himself from finding his way to your bed.”

“I don’t sleep well without Y/N,” Lando murmured and he nearly fell into you as you suddenly opened the door.

Max threw his hands up with an exasperated groan as he saw you wrapping your arms around Lando but when you heard the longing in his voice you hadn’t been able to fight the urge to keep the door closed. He needed your comforting touch and you needed him.

“I got a crick in my neck for nothing now. I hope you’re happy.” Max took one look at Lando and he couldn’t help smiling at how awestruck his best friend was as he saw you in your wedding dress for the first time. With a clap on Lando’s back and a kiss to your cheek he retreated down the hall and gave you a moment alone with your husband-to-be.

“You look…whew,” Lando exhaled loudly. “Wow, I…”

“You clean up pretty well yourself,” you praised as you ran your fingers over the lapel of his suit and admired how perfect the tailoring was on him.

“Don’t look at me like that, baby,” he begged as he caught your hands slipping down his chest. “If I’m going to have you now, it’s going to be as your husband.”

You gently pushed back before you were too tempted to close the door and make the guests in the backyard wait. “Then what are you waiting for? Let’s go.”

When Lando said Daniel could be the celebrant you had thought he was joking. You couldn’t imagine the goofball, who never took anything seriously, being the one to lead you through your vows but he had taken the role seriously. 

“How did you get your celebrants licence?” you had asked him when you found him the next day. “Why?”

He had grinned and sat back in the chair as he stared at the clouds overhead. “I love love. It’s beautiful to see and be a part of, so I thought why not. I can be more than just the class clown.”

You nodded at his sincere answer and leaned in. “Okay, good, ‘cause I could do with some help with my vows.”

The guests were spread across the back lawn admiring the petals and tea light candles that floated in the pool. Their light would only grow as the sunset later and the fairy lights would come on soon after when the party really began, but first you needed to gather the guests.

“Danny,” Lando called out the kitchen window and waved him inside, catching the attention of some of the curious guests. “A change of plans.”

“Okaaaay..?” he asked dubiously before you stepped into the kitchen too and he smiled brightly. “You look beautiful!”

“What about me?” Lando propped a hand on his hip and tossed his hair back. “I look good too.”

“Very dashing,” Danny laughed. “So what’s changed?”

“We want to start now. Everyone’s already here so just round ‘em up and skip to the good part.”

“The good part?”

“I do, she does too, you know, the good part.” Lando was growing more animated by the second, the excitement filling him from head to toe to the point he couldn’t keep from bouncing on them. “Can we?”

“It’s your wedding, bro,” Danny laughed, clapping him on the back. “You can do it however you want, or more accurately, as much as your girl lets you get away with.”

“I’m happy with whatever Lan wants,” you confirmed as the same excited energy began to flow into you and you knew it was time. “The sooner the better.”

“Alrighty then, follow me.” Daniel stepped out onto the back patio and stuck his fingers into his mouth to let out a piercing whistle that had everyone turning his way. “Ladies and gentlemen, come on, come on, gather round. I could do with a sheepdog to get the stragglers at the back.”

There was no separation between the groom’s guests or the bride’s, you considered them all family and it was only the closest people to you and Lando that had been invited to the intimate ceremony. The other F1 drivers and crew, the Quadrant members, Lando’s family and Maria, they all gathered closely at the bottom of the stairs waiting to hear what Danny had called them together for. The ceremony wasn’t meant to start for another half an hour.

“Since everyone’s here on time, which is a miracle in itself, these two want to crack on and sign their lives away,” Danny said, earning a round of laughs. 

“Ready, love?” Lando asked as he slipped his hand into yours and lifted it to his lips.

With your free hand you reached for the necklace you had clasped around your neck that morning and ran your fingers over the metal band that hung upon it. Your finger felt naked without the wedding ring but when you woke up there had been a sense of clarity wash over you and you had slipped it off for the first time since it went on.

Removing the ring didn’t change your past and it didn’t erase the memories. Those would always be yours to keep no matter what the future held. But today was about making new memories and that would start with a blank space for the ring Lando was itching to slip on. 

You let the necklace go and felt the ring settle over your racing heart. “I’m ready, are you?”

His smile grew but he didn’t answer with words as he stepped out onto the sundrenched patio and turned to watch you follow. You could see the future in his shimmering blue eyes, the promise of a life full of love and happiness. You could see it all as he waited for you to take the final step towards him. 

“I love you,” he whispered, his eyes darting down to see your shoe peek out from the floor length dress as you took a step forward.

“I love you too.”

The air stilled as if the world took a breath and only you and Lando existed in the moment. It hung suspended like the fairy lights around the yard and you could have stared into his eyes for eternity but eternity would have to wait just a few more minutes. 

Lando could sense the need and urgency to make your vows, to make him your and you his, as he pointed to Max. “Rings, rings, tell me you’ve got them.”

“Of course I’ve got them. What kind of best man do you think I am?” he said as he pulled the matching set from his breast pocket and placed them in your palms.

“The best,” Lando grinned before nodding to Danny. “The good part, yeah?”

“Someone’s a little eager,” Danny teased as he flipped through his folder to the last page.

“More than a little. I have been waiting for this moment all my life.” Lando turned to face you and shook his head like he still couldn’t believe he wasn’t dreaming. “Now would you please hurry up so I can call this angel my wife?”

Click here for chapter twelve.

Tagging: @yunnie-f1 @neiich @zendayabelova @stillbreathin @dr3lover @writerscurse @christianpulisic10 @alwaysclassyeagle @alexisquinnlee-bc @purplephantomwolf @lightsoutletsgo @pleasantducktimetravel @pierre-gasllllllyyyyyy @holy-macncheese-balls @belennasif @ophcelia @love4lando @ryiamarie @mickslover @tyna-19

[laflechebrisee]

Article by Gian Paolo Ormezzani, published on La Stampa on the 24th of august 1987, in honor of Didier's death, translated by me.

Didier Pironi was first and foremost a young man to be envied, envied ferociously we could say. Destiny had seen fit to beat his character to a pulp, crushing it under the weight of many misfortunes, torturing it endlessly. Quite the evil thing, which causes great suffering in the feelings of those who had been able to appreciate, in this boy from a very good family and social standing, the real man that had wanted and managed to do better than his lucky beginnings. Pironi was born in a rich family, from a father from Friuli who had a good business in the field of construction and commerce. Pironi lived in Saint-Tropez, and had been driving powerful speedboats and fast cars since he was young. He decided to become a grand prix driver, and that was easy from the start, or at least easier, and he could make a job out of it. Young, handsome, apparently happy. As happy as he should be, one might say, considering what life had been giving him: fame, which is the best sauce to pour on richness, due to the glory reached in what is possibly the most exalting setting of them all, Formula 1. And the call from Ferrari, in which he had managed to cut himself a space next to the already mythical Villeneuve. Didier was handsome, blonde, almost blessed. He got married, and of course it was a gorgeous woman (who would have later felt the call to “fly free” in the jet set, a normal occurrence in certain settings for some people). He won races. But he was so pleasant that no one dared felt envy towards him. He looked as if he was constantly busy repaying the debt he had by being born in a certain place, in a certain family. He was kind, humble even. When a young french doctor arrived in Formula 1 and asked for a guinea pig for his experiments on heartbeats during races, Didier Pironi was the first in line to get his chest covered in electrodes while almost all other drivers refused this small obligation. He lived and endured a deep rivalry with Villeneuve, a great driver already pampered by the myth that he was and the attention he received at Ferrari. He hurt himself, Pironi, and severely too, three months after Villeneuve’s death. Someone said he had risked a lot to show something. An important member of the tribe of those who feel the wind on their face, of those who have a great fire inside them, Didier had decided to become world champion in something. While the doctors debated on his leg to be rebuilt, he went on the water. Maybe someone will say that he was looking for death. But for us, he was looking for life, that special life that destiny had first assigned him and then taken away from him, and that he wanted to take back, even in small pieces.

[aoikitsunee]

Echoes of the Tides

"Haven't heard the sound of waves for a while..." Jin whispered to himself, his voice swallowed by the gentle splashing of the ocean against the pier. Every evening used to be theirs, driving out to sea in their speedboat, chasing the setting sun and sharing dreams under its warm glow. But now, the boat lay moored, untouched, a silent witness to Jin's grief.

She was gone. A vibrant soul snatched away in a cruel twist of fate that Jin could never forgive himself for. They had made a promise to witness the sunset together every day, and now Jin stood alone on the shore, the ache in his heart matching the fiery hues that painted the sky.

In the solitude of dusk, Jin's thoughts raced back to that dreadful day. If only he had hurried a little more, and arrived just seconds earlier, perhaps he could have changed the outcome. His mind tormented him with relentless questions and guilt that threatened to drown him in despair.

"Would she blame me?" Jin wondered aloud, his voice trembling against the salty breeze. She had loved him deeply, of that he was certain. But in the depths of his sorrow, he struggled to grasp the notion that she wouldn't hold his disappointment against him.

As darkness descended and the last embers of daylight faded, Jin's longing for reassurance grew unbearable. He closed his eyes, imagining her voice, soft and reassuring, telling him that it wasn't his fault, that she held no grudge, that he needed to forgive himself and let her go.

But the sea offered no answers, only the relentless crashing of waves against the shore, a reminder of the passage of time and the fragility of life. Jin clung to memories like a lifeline, seeking solace in the echoes of their laughter and the warmth of her smile.

Tonight, under a starlit sky that mirrored the depth of his sorrow, Jin whispered into the wind, "I miss you. Please forgive me." And as tears mingled with the salt of the ocean, he found a sliver of peace in the hope that somewhere beyond, her spirit whispered back, urging him to find forgiveness within himself.

Taken from one of Jin's summer voiceline: "Haven't heard the sound of waves for a while… Get the speedboat. I’ll drive.”

NOTES: My bad, I like hurting Jin the most :3 Here’s to more angst fic of Tokyo Debunkers! 🥂

posted on ao3 as well!

[chanthaburi]

Sunday 29 January 2023 at the annual Khamong speedboat races.

[planeyboys]

I was watching boat racing yesterday imagining that the checkered flag signals that it’s time to play checkers

[stlamb]

hundred bad bitches in the city lookin pretty with the ass and all the titties throwin 20s throwin 50s got the rocks and they be drippin stick they tongue out and they trippin at the pool house they be dippin they be speedboat water whippin kinda like em when they sippin ride around over the limit they're like, "cmon baby, get in" they know racing is my fetish so i vrooma vrooma vroomaaa purple lambo with the roof off in the mirror with the lipgloss me n her bout to link upppp

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

The Man From Y.I.L.I.N.G.

Chapter 7: "And There Was Only One Bed"

--//--

JIANG SHIPPING - YILING RIVER HARBOR

Jin Guangyao manages to find his center of balance as Nie Mingjue cuts a hard right and floors it, pushing the little speedboat until the engine whines in protest as he aims for one of the locks heading out into the open water. He hauls himself up next to Nie Mingjue and clings to the top of the low windscreen with one hand, gun still clutched in the other just to be safe. There’s more craft out on the water than just their shiny new boat, after all, and damn if these Jiang motherfuckers aren’t committed to going above and beyond to protect whatever it is their employers don’t want outsiders to see.

Their loyalty is admirable, but deeply annoying under the current circumstances.

Jin Guangyao grits his teeth as the gate they’re aiming for starts to swing shut, water frothing white around the rust-pocked doors as they close as quickly as they can against the river’s current. They clearly aren’t going to make it through; Jin Guangyao braces himself just in time for Nie Mingjue to jerk into a sharp left, hands strong and sure on the wheel as he hauls them around to head for the next gate further down the wall. Jin Guangyao chances another glance over his shoulder to find that more guards have already mobilized, larger boats than theirs bearing down on them while more peel away from their moorings to join the chase.

And, Jin Guangyao is thrilled to discover, even the fucking boats in this place are armed with automatics. The Jiangs really just have too much money to throw around, that’s what it comes down to, and it seems it’s high time he helped liberate some of that wealth for the common good.

Later though; for now he’s a little preoccupied.

He ducks down into a half-crouch on instinct as machine gun fire rips through the night behind them, any thoughts he might have had about returning fire with his woefully inadequate pistol quickly flying out the window when Nie Mingjue jerks them to the right and then back left again in a too-fast serpentine in an attempt to dodge the onslaught from their pursuers. 

Jin Guangyao hears him swear under his breath and when he looks forward he realizes precisely why.

“There are only three exits to the river and now two are closed!” Nie Mingjue shouts. He course-corrects again, another sharp zag that sends them careening towards a retaining wall jutting a few hundred feet past the ends of the jetties and out into the artificial harbor.

“Well I’d at least recommend turning before you hit that wall!!” he shouts back.

“The last thing I need is your help!!”

Jin Guangyao has never in his life been more tempted to smack someone on the back of the head, and at such an inopportune time as well.

He ducks again and slips a bit on the soaking wet wood as they jerk to the right and speed straight past the bow of a guard boat still shooting at them for fucks’ sake, and he has an admonition for Nie Mingjue to be more careful all ready to go, right on the tip of his tongue. It gets knocked down a peg in favor of shouting, “You’re not gonna make it!!”

Nie Mingjue is racing headlong towards the final open gate without showing any sign of turning aside despite the fact that this one is closing just as quickly as the first two had, and though Jin Guangyao thinks his warning seems fairly obvious they’re still flying at the gate at top speed, wind and water whipping past him quickly enough to sting his face.

“Just shut up and watch me work!”

Jin Guangyao is all ready to unleash that scathing retort now, but before he’s even said a word Nie Mingjue swears again, hauls on the wheel — and Jin Guangyao yelps as he’s flung straight out of the boat, air whistling past his ears, to crash into the water that feels only mildly softer than the concrete of the quay had.

When he surfaces again with a gasp, he swims out of the way of the floodlights aimed down at the water and stays there treading choppy water in the shadows for a moment, catching his breath. As he watches from the comfortable distance of ‘not directly in the line of fire’, Nie Mingjue zooms past going the opposite direction, hunched over the wheel and entirely focused on his goal — whatever that might be — as three of the guard boats hurry to course-correct and resume chasing after him.

Fine. Nie Mingjue wants him to watch him work? He can do that.

Jin Guangyao shakes his wet hair out of his eyes and swims for shore, hauling himself out onto a patch of close-cropped grass with irritated grumbling. He glances around to get his bearings and quickly spots a truck parked at the top of a little grassy knoll between the water and the paved road ringing the complex. 

That seems as good a place as any from which to watch the show he’d been promised.

Jin Guangyao sticks his hands in his pockets to stroll up to the truck whistling something tuneless, utterly ignored as gunfire explodes through the night behind him. Funny, it’s not nearly as alarming when it’s not being aimed at him.

The driver’s side window is rolled down enough for him to slip his arm through and reach down to unlock the door, so he does just that and pops the door open with a cheerful little, “Ah. Lovely.” Jin Guangyao climbs in and settles down behind the wheel, checking his immediate surroundings for the key; it falls right out of the visor when he flips it down on a whim. (He can’t help but shake his head for the shoddy security around this place, at least when said security doesn’t have anything to do with chasing down perfectly innocent intruders, guns blazing.)

The truck starts with a little cough of the engine, the radio in the dash lighting up and spouting static into the cab once the engine settles into a rumbling purr. Jin Guangyao scrolls idly through a few of the channels; most of them return nothing but more static as he slowly turns the dial, watching the little painted ticker move up and down the line of numbers. He settles for a moment on a station playing a song he recognizes from sometime around the war before it cuts off for a CPBS announcement, and he sighs as he flicks to something else.

Nie Mingjue shoots past the patch of the harbor he can see again just as the signal clears into something rich and romantic — in Italian, he’s startled to realize. Must be one of the stations for foreigners. 

Jin Guangyao turns the volume up and settles in with a little sigh to watch Nie Mingjue work, precisely as instructed.

There is, on the seat next to him, a woven bamboo bento-style box covered by a handkerchief. The handkerchief serves nicely for drying his face and ruffling through his dripping hair to dry the worst of it, and when he glances down at the box to replace the cloth he pauses.

It sure would be a shame to watch such a good show and let the beautiful meal just sitting in here waiting to be eaten go to waste. It would be downright ungrateful, since someone clearly packed the food so nicely. It deserves to be appreciated.

Jin Guangyao tucks the handkerchief into his collar and starts with uncorking the bottle of nice clear baijiu with his teeth, taking a long swig and chasing it with a bite of soft, dense sweetbread as he watches two speedboats chase the wake off the back of Nie Mingjue’s boat, searchlights trained right on him as they corner him between themselves and another pair of guards.

He reaches down into the lunchbox again to pick out a particularly fluffy steamed bun — lotus paste, he realizes — and eats over half of it in one bite, washing it down with another little sip of the floral wine as, through the windshield, Nie Mingjue’s boat bursts into flame. He can only assume a bullet has pierced the fuel tank, the spark of metal on metal to blame for the blaze.

Well now, that can’t be what he intended.

Jin Guangyao sighs and stuffs the rest of the bun in his mouth, dusts his hands off against each other, and puts the truck in drive. Down in the water, the guards are circling the flaming remains of the speedboat quickly sinking beneath the surface; they don’t even spare him a glance as Jin Guangyao pulls out onto the service road to trundle along toward the main gates. He honestly hadn’t expected such a golden opportunity to fall into his lap, one in which he can follow his father’s instructions to get rid of Nie Mingjue as soon as convenient, and to do it in such a way that he can’t even be blamed for it, really, so this is actually sort of perfect.

Oh no, how tragic, the Jiangs got him right at the end and only Jin Guangyao managed to escape thanks to Nie Mingjue’s noble sacrifice. So sad.

Oh.

Hm.

That’s…actually sad.

God damn it, he’s going to have to save him isn’t he?

Jin Guangyao gives himself one more beat to consider just leaving and washing his hands of the situation, but it’s really more for the principle of the thing than a real desire to leave Nie Mingjue to his miserable death. He sighs deeply and turns the truck towards the water instead of the exit, shaking his head at himself as he lines up the nose of the cab with the nearest guardboat. The last little bit of Nie Mingjue’s stolen craft is sinking without a hint of the man himself to be seen amongst the spots of fuel still burning on the surface of the water, so Jin Guangyao steels himself before he mashes the gas pedal down straight to the floor to jerk forward and launch the truck straight into the water.

Well, more accurately, onto the nearest boat in the water.

The truck slams down right over the top of it and the craft immediately begins to sink as the guards jump ship with frantic shouting — not his problem anymore then, they can’t fire guns from underwater. He rolls the driver’s side window up nice and tight with a few cranks of the lever as water starts lapping at the windshield, and within moments he’s surrounded on all sides by churning black water and a profusion of bubbles as truck and boat sink together.

The headlights struggle on when he flicks the switch and he peers through the gloom as water starts pouring into the footwell, up to his ankles in seconds. By the time it’s knee-deep he’s spotted him — Nie Mingjue is little more than a hulking, unnervingly still shadow through the water (backlit from overhead by flames and searchlights), but that’s enough.

Jin Guangyao rolls the window back down — all the way this time — to let the water in, and the moment the cab is full he pushes off from the seat to swim out through the window into the river and make a grab for the barely-visible target of Nie Mingjue’s outstretched hand.

Growing up in Yunping, Jin Guangyao hadn’t had nearly as much leisure time to play as other boys. There was always something to do, some chore to help his mother with or some errand to run for the madam or a customer in exchange for a coin or two to squirrel away with his mother’s meager savings. But he doesn’t think there’s a single boy alive who grew up on the river (this same river, actually, just further down than anyone cares about) who didn’t learn how to swim — and to swim well.

It’s a skill he’s had ample opportunity to practice in recent years for one reason or another, and that’s a very lucky coincidence for Nie Mingjue. Jin Guangyao takes him by the hand and only needs a few powerful frog kicks and an extra haul around Nie Mingjue’s waist when they’ve neared the surface to drag them both above water. He takes one second to breathe deeply for himself before he hauls Nie Mingjue’s unconscious form up onto his shoulder, his dominant arm still wrapped around his partner’s waist and the other hand cupped carefully under his jaw to hold his head tilted back well away from the surface of the river as he jerks at his diaphragm. It takes a few tries jamming his fist against the muscle to force Nie Mingjue to cough up the water he’d swallowed and he adjusts his grip to wrap around his chest once he does, his cheek pressed against Nie Mingjue’s ear as the man gasps for a clear breath.

“Stay quiet,” Jin Guangyao cautions as Nie Mingjue coughs again, shuddering against him and going slack in his hold, though it seems more like relief than unconsciousness. “You’re alright, I’ve got you.”

-... .-. . .- -.-

Nie Mingjue closes his eyes against the floodlights overhead and their harsh reflection on the choppy water around them, trying to breathe quietly past his burning throat and not cough out a waterlogged lung. Jin Guangyao holds him steady around his chest and rubs his thumb in small circles under the hinge of his jaw as Nie Mingjue speeds through processing the fact that he’d just nearly died. (He’s been doing this a long time, he’s a fair hand at compartmentalizing.)

It’s only a minute or two later when he nods and extricates himself from Jin Guangyao’s arms as the man murmurs a quiet, “Come on, follow me,” to do as instructed. The pair of them swim for shore through patches of light and shadow, silent and unobserved. Nie Mingjue half expects someone to spot them again and resume the chase, but Jin Guangyao leads them around the perimeter of the harbor until they reach a part of the quay with rusty metal rungs rooted in the concrete and they climb out to stand dripping and panting for breath on dry land, and he can’t see anyone around to stop them at all.

God Nie Mingjue has never been happier to stand on scummy concrete in his life.

Jin Guangyao clears his throat after a long moment and Nie Mingjue looks down at him, dripping wet and a little ragged around the edges but alive, and, he hates to admit it, the man who saved his life. He should…probably say something?

“So…I watched you work,” Jin Guangyao says with delicate disdain.

“I’m going to strangle you.”

There. That’s way better than having to say ‘I’m glad I didn’t accidentally get you killed’ or ‘thank you for sticking around to drag my half-drowned ass out of the water’.

“Sure, Big Red. Just do it after we get back to Yiling, the Jiangs are definitely going to come after us for this and at least one of us needs to make it back to A-Huan alive.”

Nie Mingjue resists the urge to take a deep breath in (his lungs still feel raw and he’s not exactly keen on giving their position away with a coughing fit) and nods, sharp and quick. Jin Guangyao returns it with one of his own and then darts away into the dark without another word, Nie Mingjue hot on his heels.

He keeps watch while Jin Guangyao hotwires the first vehicle they come across, and while Nie Mingjue would absolutely prefer one of the nice big transport trucks he can see about half a li away, there’s also something to be said about the zippy little motorbike they’re stealing instead. It’s a lot less conspicuous, he supposes, and the night is mild enough that it isn’t miserably cold to let the wind do its best to dry his hair and clothes.

He feels absolutely nothing at all about holding onto Jin Guangyao’s warm, narrow waist the entire ride back to the resort.

... -.-. . -. . / -... .-. . .- -.-

监理处 LUXURY RESORT

Jin Guangyao pulls the motorbike to a stop just inside the mouth of the alleyway at the side of the resort and leans around the facade to peek at the front entrance — where Jiang Yanli, dressed to kill in a floor-length silk gown, is just getting out of a sports car with a couple of bulky guards in tow to head into the lobby with sharp clicks of her stilettos on the stone.

He swears under his breath as Nie Mingjue hurries to help him back the motorbike up behind the safety of the building again before they ditch the thing to duck through a service entrance just behind them. Jin Guangyao takes the lead through the labyrinth of old servants’ corridors through the building and only barely manages to resist reaching back to take Nie Mingjue by the hand to do it. Their path ends at a door with charming little ruffled curtains that opens out into the front half of the lobby near the front doors and (more importantly) the staircases that lead to the guest suites.

Jin Guangyao peers around a decorative pillar, Nie Mingjue leaning forward to do the same just over his shoulder, and catches sight of Jiang Yanli asking the concierge in honeyed tones to ring his room. He waits until the guards turn to watch the man do as asked before he and Nie Mingjue duck out of their hiding spot and make a break for the stairs, quick and as silent as they can be just as they hear Jiang Yanli say sweetly,

“I’ll take the key, please.”

-... .-. . .- -.-

The click of Jiang Yanli’s heels on the marble floor echoes after them as they split ways on the stairs, Nie Mingjue launching upwards two and three stairs at a time, Jin Guangyao flying down towards the basement levels so quickly his feet barely seem to be touching the steps. Nie Mingjue bursts into his and Lan Xichen’s suite, wild-eyed and abrupt enough that Lan Xichen sits up straight with a startled little yelp.

“Mingjue what in the world-?!”

Nie Mingjue pays him no mind for the moment, instead dropping down to his knees next to his side of the bed to stick his arm under it and fish around for his hardtop ‘toiletry’ suitcase that is, in actuality, the main receiver for his small army of listening devices.

His hand hits nothing but the plush pile of the rug beneath the bed and he pops up enough to see Lan Xichen blinking owlishly at him, leaned over ever so slightly to try to see what he’s doing.

“My case – where is it?” he asks, still out-of-sorts, adrenaline pumping. Lan Xichen blinks at him again and then leans over still further to look down at his hands under the bed.

“Your what?”

“My case!”

“I don’t know, ge! What’s going on, what happened?”

Nie Mingjue’s searching fingers finally bump into the leather case (not missing then, just a tad further back than he’d expected) and he pulls it out with a clatter to stand and take it over to the table, Lan Xichen hurrying out of bed to follow him. Lan Xichen gasps quietly when he opens the case to reveal its contents – and smacks him on the back of the head.

“You bugged him again?” he hisses. 

Nie Mingjue shrugs. “I bug most people, he’s not special.”

“Oh for god’s sake!” Lan Xichen laments and covers his eyes with a world-weary sigh as Nie Mingjue flicks the main switch on the board and picks up the little portable receiver to tune it to the correct frequency, the long antenna in the top of it extended as far as it can go in an attempt to accommodate for the fact that he’s trying to pick up a signal from the basement.

There’s a moment of static, a hint of feedback from another listening device close by, and then –

Well.

“Oh,” Lan Xichen says into what Nie Mingjue wishes was complete silence. “That…That isn’t A-Yao, is it? He said he wasn’t –”

“Is there a…reason you two are listening to my brother having sex?”

Nie Mingjue looks up sharply from the receiver in his hands – currently emitting the very clear sound of a woman moaning and rustling sheets, both with a very distinctive rhythm – to find Jin Guangyao leaning against the open door to their room, looking a little harried but not like he’d just had to fight for his life to escape. Nie Mingjue refuses to acknowledge the way something tight in his chest unclenches at the sight of him safe and sound.

-... .-. . .- -.-

Jin Guangyao pounds down the stairs and absolutely refuses to allow himself to think about how much it feels like falling. He’s jumped out a window tonight and dodged death too many times to count, he won’t let his (completely rational) fear of stairs undo all the work he’s done to make it back here safely.

He practically flies into his room just as he hears the elevator ding down the hall and he holds both hands up to placate Jin Zixuan, who fumbles to re-holster the gun he’d pulled on him in his surprise.

“Listen to me – I’m fine, but Jiang Yanli will be here in approximately 20 seconds. Don’t tell her I’m here.”

“A-Li?” Jin Zixuan asks, wide-eyed and, Jin Guangyao is dismayed to see, blushing. “What’s she doing coming here?”

“I may have just broken into her highest security vault and caused quite a lot of property damage and possibly some serious-to-fatal injuries during my daring escape.”

Jin Zixuan blinks again and shakes his head a bit, clearly trying to wrap his head around the concept of actually, you know, working and going on dangerous missions, which he hasn’t done in quite some time — far longer than he’s been playing househusband in Yunmeng. Jin Guangyao shoves the bitterness of that thought aside as he hears a key in the lock and he darts over to where he’ll be hidden by the door when it swings open.

In the split second before the door does just that, he hisses, “Just distract her for me!” He doesn’t even dare breathe as Jiang Yanli steps into the room mere inches away from him, separated only by the thin wood of the door.

“A-Li!” Jin Guangyao closes his eyes and laments the fact that his brother is, without a doubt, one of the most awkward people on the planet. Perhaps it’s for the best that he never actually has to do much espionage — there’s no doubt he’s the darling of the organization mostly based on nepotism, and suddenly Jin Guangshan’s threats from last night seem more than a little hollow. If the Jins end up having to rely on Jin Zixuan (with Jin Guangyao entirely out of the picture, as threatened) they’ll fold within a year, and there’s no way Jin Guangshan is so blinded by love for his son that he doesn’t know that perfectly well.

“A-Xuan! What…What are you doing here?”

Jin Guangyao leans forward ever so slowly to peek around the edge of the door just in time to see Jin Zixuan compose himself — and lean back on the narrow bed, legs extended and crossed at the ankle as he props his weight up on one elbow in what could reasonably be a suggestive pose if only he were a little less wooden about it.

But still, the intent is…there.

Oh gag.

“A-Li, do you remember how I mentioned I have..siblings?”

“I do.” Jin Guangyao desperately hopes he’s imagining the new note of interest in her voice. If Jin Zixuan uses his existence as a way to seduce his girlfriend –

“Oh good! Well uh…Meng Yao is actually one of my brothers, I came to check on him after what Hong-laoshi said to him at the party but he uh…he had to go…see some friends?”

Jin Guangyao can’t resist the urge to cover his eyes for just a moment to continue to despair his brother’s dismal lying skills. If only Qin Su was interested in the family business. At least she’s got a good head on her shoulders and a decent talent for making sure people overlook her just enough to hear their useful gossip. They could really use someone like her around Lanling.

“Hold that thought,” Jiang Yanli says, a little breathless. “Just…stay there.”

Jin Guangyao darts back behind the door fully again as her footsteps approach, and he leans back enough to peer through the crack between the hinges and the doorframe to find that she’d brought her guards all the way down the hall with her from the elevator.

“False alarm, go find a phone to check in with A-Cheng and Qing-meimei,” she whispers to them in a rush as she curls an elegant hand around the free edge of the door. A glimpse of her deep purple nail lacquer and the faintest whitening of her knuckles is all the warning Jin Guangyao gets before she’s swinging the door shut, and he’s immensely relieved that she turns her back to him in the same motion; as she struts towards the bed, she doesn’t see him catching the handle on the door before it falls completely shut.

Jin Guangyao makes his escape just as he hears the distinctive slither of silk-on-silk and fabric hitting the floor as she drops her dress, and he pulls the door shut behind himself silently with a sigh of relief (and a little shudder just for good measure). Jiang Yanli’s guards are already heading towards the stairs without so much as a glance backwards and so Jin Guangyao heads for the elevator unhindered. He doesn’t even care that he’ll have to crash with Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen for the evening – anything to get away from having to be a witness to any part of his brother’s sex life.

He makes it up to Suite 191 to find the door already cracked open, and his heart leaps into his throat — what if they didn’t get back in time? What if something happened to Lan Xichen while they were both gone? What if Nie Mingjue didn’t —

Jin Guangyao leans against the door frame and exhales the last of his shivering tension when he finds both Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue standing in the little sitting area of their suite, crowded together around what looks like a portable radio receiver —

A portable radio receiver that’s currently emitting some distinctly feminine moaning that he can all-too-easily guess the origin of, when taking into account the Wen-made bug he’d pulled out of his shoe just this morning.

“That…That isn’t A-Yao, is it?” Lan Xichen asks, sounding thoroughly scandalized. Or maybe more…dismayed? “He said he wasn’t –”

“Is there a reason you two are listening to my brother having sex?” Jin Guangyao asks over whatever it is Lan Xichen is about to call into question about his character.

“A-Yao!” Lan Xichen yelps. “You’re here!”

Jin Guangyao steps into their suite to shut the door behind himself and give the radio in Nie Mingjue’s hands a pointed glance. It takes a moment for his meaning to register, but when it does Nie Mingjue fumbles to click the device back off and smash the comically long antenna back into its casing before he sets it aside with embarrassed grumbling, if the flush on the back of his neck is anything to judge by.

“Yes, I’m here. As you’ve heard, my room is…otherwise occupied by my brother for the evening.”

Lan Xichen glances between him and the radio on the coffee table before his brow crinkles ever so slightly. “What is your brother doing having sex in your room?”

“That is apparently his preferred method of keeping Jiang Yanli from wondering about the fact that I’m not actually in my room as I should be. As far as distraction tactics go it’s not the worst, but still not exactly what I’d been hoping for I have to admit.”

Nie Mingjue snorts and snaps the lid of his little suitcase shut, harder than necessary. “I told you the Jins were like this,” he mutters to Lan Xichen on his way into the sleeping area to throw the closet open and start pulling out clean clothing to change into. Jin Guangyao can’t stop the spasm of fury that he feels twist his face before he forces himself to regain control.

“Mingjue,” Lan Xichen cautions. Jin Guangyao plants himself right in the doorway between the two halves of the suite before he can think twice about it, arms crossed over his chest and a sickly sweet smile on his lips.

“And shall I tell Xichen what your brother is up to in Qishan?” he threatens, Nie Mingjue’s shoulders going predictably stiff where his back is still turned. “Will I tell him what the Nie method of self-preservation would seem to be according to young Nie-gongzi?”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about–”

“Like hell I don’t! No one knows better than me what someone will do to save their own neck; is it so different for you and your brother because you’re that much better than me? You think you’re so far above any trick I might have up my sleeve because you were born wealthy?!”

Nie Mingjue whirls around, teeth bared and a feverish light in his eyes as he reaches for his gun that is (thankfully) at the bottom of the Jiangs’ harbor — and Jin Guangyao finds himself eye-to-shoulder with Lan Xichen’s back.

“That is enough,” Lan Xichen snaps, cold as ice. “You’re both exhausted and you reek of adrenaline. Calm down before one of you says something you’ll regret. No matter how much you disapprove of the reason, we will all have to share this room tonight, and I for one have no interest in sharing it with whatever tension this is between you two. Mingjue, go take your shower and just leave him be.”

Nie Mingjue is silent for a long moment in which Jin Guangyao can’t quite bring himself to peek around Lan Xichen’s shoulder to see what’s going on. It wouldn’t matter anyway; a beat or two later, Nie Mingjue brushes past them both to storm off into the ensuite, and while they’re still standing there frozen in the following quiet he turns the shower on with a squeak of the knob turning, the old pipes rattling in the walls.

Lan Xichen exhales slowly and turns to face him then, and Jin Guangyao tries to school his expression into something a little less...touched. Judging by the softening around Lan Xichen’s eyes, he doesn’t quite succeed.

Lan Xichen seems to search his face for a moment before he flicks his gaze up towards his forehead and asks, “Were you aware that you’re injured?” The non-sequitur is surprising enough to knock some of the ragged edges off Jin Guangyao’s temper.

“Am I?”

“Mn. You didn’t notice when it happened?”

Jin Guangyao nearly laughs aloud at that; when was he supposed to notice something as minor as a bump to the head in the midst of everything else? But he supposes it’s a reasonable question to ask for someone who has no idea what they’ve done tonight, so he just shakes his head ‘no’ and decides he’s earned the chance to let Lan Xichen fuss over him.

Just a little.

Lan Xichen clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and reaches up to brush his hair back from his forehead so carefully Jin Guangyao barely feels it. (Physically, at least. Emotionally speaking it’s a bit of a different story — one that he will not be examining at this point in time, thank you very much.)

“Come sit down at the table, I think I saw a first aid kit around here somewhere.”

Jin Guangyao does as instructed and settles himself on the floor at the coffee table, carefully pushing Nie Mingjue’s radio receiver case to the side while Lan Xichen putters around, locating first a small container of first aid supplies and then a bottle of blue label Stolichnaya from the bar. Lan Xichen settles down next to him close enough that their thighs brush, and then he’s reaching out to put a gentle hand under Jin Guangyao’s chin to coax him into tilting his head for better access.

Lan Xichen works in silence at first, pouring a splash of vodka neatly onto a folded cloth bandage to press it against the cut high on his forehead, almost on his temple. Jin Guangyao doesn’t wince for the sting but Lan Xichen murmurs a soft apology anyway, almost unbearably gentle (especially considering how sharp Jin Guangyao has had to keep himself lately; not just tonight, but for…months. At least).

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier,” Lan Xichen finally murmurs when he pulls back enough to wet a different spot of the bandage with another dash of alcohol. “It was..unkind, and I regretted it the moment I said it.”

Jin Guangyao shifts a little, uncomfortable under so much attention being paid to him when he can’t look away; can’t deflect.

“You’d hardly be the first person to…assume.”

“I hope you realize that doesn’t make your being treated thus any better.”

Jin Guangyao shrugs slightly, not enough to dislodge Lan Xichen’s gentle hands as he wipes his forehead clean of the last few traces of dried blood.

“When you were here earlier, you said that you’d learned that Jiang Yanli is seeing someone who could help us,” Lan Xichen continues after a long moment, eyes fixed on his work that can’t possibly need so much attention. Jin Guangyao keeps his thoughts on that to himself, though. He’s not going to complain.

“Mhm.”

“Your brother, I presume.”

Jin Guangyao sighs and nods a little. “Zixuan-ge has been on an extended holiday for the last few months,” he explains. “Apparently that ‘vacation’ has been in Yunmeng and he’s been passing the time with Jiang Yanli. He had no idea we’d be here investigating her, purely a coincidence, but a helpful one anyway. Unfortunately this is standard for him — accidentally helpful right at the end.” Jin Guangyao bites off the conclusion of that thought, which is that it means Jin Zixuan always gets the credit as well. He doesn’t want to poke at that particular wound when it isn’t one that Lan Xichen can help soothe with his soft hands.

Lan Xichen seems to ponder that for a moment as he pulls the damp cloth away and tilts Jin Guangyao’s head left and right, examining his work so far.

“Does he believe she’s dangerous?”

“He doesn’t seem to, no. And for his sake I hope he’s right; he’s probably going to try to marry her within the next half a year.”

Lan Xichen raises an eyebrow at that, the tiniest hint of a smile tucked away in the corner of his mouth. “Oh?”

Jin Guangyao clears his throat delicately and glances down at Lan Xichen’s (flat, of course) stomach with a meaningful little twitch of his eyebrow.

“Oh! Oh my,” Lan Xichen chuckles, the tips of his ears lightly flushed. He apparently deems his clean-up job good enough as he sets the blood-pink bandage aside to start rooting through the supplies for something to use to cover the cut properly. “Well. In that case I hope that you and Mingjue find that you have been wrong about her. Of course it would be lovely if you were wrong about her even without considering your brother’s new entanglement, but it would certainly be a shame to start a family with her in the circumstances you and Mingjue suspect her to be working under.”

“Mhm.”

Lan Xichen finally seems to find what he’s looking for as he pulls out a sheet of little butterfly bandages and carefully begins to unpeel one from its backing.

“There’s something else I’ve been meaning to ask you, A-Yao.”

Jin Guangyao forces himself not to tense. “Yes?”

“The name you use, your alias…You also used it when we met in Yunping.”

Jin Guangyao watches Lan Xichen warily, but he’s still attempting to unstick the first bandage with far too much concentration.

“That isn’t a question.”

Lan Xichen smiles and gets a blunt nail under the edge of the bandage to peel it up carefully. He turns to apply it with gentle pressure to Jin Guangyao’s forehead as he says, “I was simply wondering where it came from, as it seems to be one you use repeatedly. You don’t seem the type to do anything without a purpose, I’m curious to know if it’s special.”

Jin Guangyao takes a deep breath in and wonders if there’s even a good way to answer such a loaded question.

Is it special?

There are many that would say his new name, the one given by his father, is the special one. He had certainly thought it was, at first.

And then he’d done his first mission for his father after a few months of training following his rescue from prison. He’d been instructed to give an alias that wouldn’t tie him in any way back to the Jin, and it had simply slipped out. His own name, now a mask for him to wear so that if things should go wrong he won’t be immediately traced back to the family that barely tolerates him — so they can disown him (silence him) in a heartbeat, should he fail them.

His father’s shame, kept even further in the dark than he already is whenever possible.

“Yes,” he answers. Lan Xichen wisely doesn’t comment on the way his voice is suspiciously tight around the edges, he just hums softly in encouragement. “It’s mine.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes, when he forces himself to meet them, are somehow confused and understanding at the same time – like he doesn’t quite know what he means, but whatever he does mean won’t change his opinion of Jin Guangyao one way or the other.

“It’s who I was before my father…recruited me. I grew up with my mother in Yunping, and my name was Meng Yao.”

The confusion in Lan Xichen’s gaze clears, but the soft understanding stays precisely where it is.

“That’s how you were able to get behind the wall to come find me.”

“I have all the right papers, and if I wanted to I could blend in well enough. No one ever looks at me twice.”

Lan Xichen hums softly and turns to peel up a second bandage. “I don’t know if I’d say you blend in, A-Yao. You’re far too extraordinary to fade into a crowd.”

Jin Guangyao can’t help but smile – a real one, softer than any of his others. “I appreciate the sentiment, but that’s not really for the best in this line of work, Huan-ge.”

Lan Xichen’s laugh is a reward he hadn’t even realized he wants until he suddenly has it. Lan Xichen leans in with the second bandage, still smiling, and presses it carefully to his skin, smoothes it over with the pad of his thumb. “Alright, I see your point. Perhaps it would be better said that others don’t notice you, yet I can’t do anything but.”

Well that’s just…that’s not playing fair.

The door to the ensuite opens and Jin Guangyao tenses, dropping a carefully neutral mask over his expression as he looks back over his shoulder at Nie Mingjue emerging from the bathroom, damp and steam-flushed in a soft cotton shirt and pajama trousers that pool around his ankles despite his height.

“Do you feel better, da-ge?” Lan Xichen asks; Jin Guangyao wonders just when the hell Nie Mingjue had become ‘da-ge’, but that’s a question for another time. He watches Nie Mingjue’s reaction carefully, wary of more anger, but after a moment of peering at Lan Xichen through narrowed eyes he just sighs deeply and nods. He crosses the room to toss his dirty clothes down near his suitcase and buries himself in the closet to rummage around once again.

Jin Guangyao starts tidying up the little first aid station Lan Xichen had set up, overcome by the need to do something productive right now. He’s just standing with the bloodied bandage and the capped bottle of vodka in hand when Nie Mingjue suddenly appears again, hands full of loosely folded clothes.

“Here,” he says, gruff and awkward but not angry anymore, if Jin Guangyao can read him right. “Go take a shower, you were in the river just as much as I was. You’ll feel better.”

Jin Guangyao blinks up at him for a long moment before he spurs himself into motion, setting the vodka down quickly on the bar counter and juggling the clothing he’s being offered with the bloodied bandage. He chances a glance up at Nie Mingjue once he has them safely in hand, and he might be insane but he’d swear there’s something like an apology — like a truce — in the stern set of his mouth, in the barely-there loosening of his brows.

“Thanks, Mingjue.”

Nie Mingjue just nods and turns away again to go turn down the covers on the bed. Lan Xichen shoots him a relieved smile and a nod of encouragement, so Jin Guangyao heads off to take his turn in the bathroom, unsure what to do with being taken care of by both of them at the same time, in their own ways.

Maybe the shower will help clear his head.

-... .-. . .- -.- 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Lan Xichen asks him — so gently — the moment Jin Guangyao starts up the shower. Nie Mingjue takes a deep breath in and closes his eyes against the sight of the luxurious bed beneath his hands, fists clenched around the plush covers where he’s just starting to turn down the duvet.

“There’s not much to talk about. Wen Ruohan has my little brother in Qishan, he periodically threatens A-Sang to keep my leash short, hurts him if I fuck up in any way, and Guangyao found out about it. That’s all there is to it.”

Lan Xichen makes a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat and drifts closer. Nie Mingjue forces himself not to duck away from the hand the other man lays on his shoulder.

“That’s plenty to talk about, if you’d like. But we don’t have to.”

Nie Mingjue swallows and shakes his head.

“I’d better not. What..what did you do while we were gone? Anything?” As far as subject changes go, it’s far from his best, but Lan Xichen lets him have it anyway.

“Not much. Oh, but Shufu called just a little bit ago, he wanted to apologize to you but I told him you’d stepped out. He wants to take me to lunch tomorrow, just me and him. He didn’t say what for, other than he has something he wants to talk to me about.”

Nie Mingjue catches a note of something he can’t quite identify in Lan Xichen’s voice and he looks up at him to find that he looks a little nervous as he sits down on the edge of the bed.

“He didn’t say anything else?”

Lan Xichen shakes his head and wraps an arm around his middle, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment before he abruptly stops and taps a fingertip against his mouth as if he’s used to being chastised for the habit.

Nie Mingjue frowns and fluffs up Lan Xichen’s pillow a little more aggressively than strictly necessary as he starts figuring out the best way to play this. “Do you think he’s heard something from your brother?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so unless it just happened in the hours since the party, but there’s no telling the cause when Shufu gets like this,” Lan Xichen says. He lays a gentle hand on his to get him to stop with the pillow. “Will you and A-Yao be able to be…nearby? I don’t…I’m not afraid of Shufu, but I..”

Nie Mingjue promptly abandons the pillow to step between Lan Xichen’s knees and take his face (so carefully) between his palms to coax him into looking up to meet his eyes.

“Hey. We’re here to look out for you, of course we’ll be there. It’s hard to know who you can trust right now, I get that, but I swear you can trust me and Guangyao. Alright?”

Lan Xichen’s tense expression doesn’t fully relax, but he does smile ever so slightly and tilt his head to press his cheek a little harder into Nie Mingjue’s palm, so he’ll take it.

“How badly did that hurt?”

“Did what hurt?”

“Saying that I can trust A-Yao as much as I can you.”

Nie Mingjue snorts and lets him go again to go pick up his dirty laundry and actually tuck it into a separate pocket of his suitcase instead of just leaving it in a heap on the floor.

“More than a day of training too hard, less than weeks of torture,” he replies perhaps a bit too flippantly. “Don’t tell him I said it either, we have an agreement.”

“Oh?” Lan Xichen sounds more amused than anxious now. Nie Mingjue relaxes automatically in response. “And pray tell, what is this agreement that I don’t know about?”

Nie Mingjue shrugs; how does one put into words an agreement that…hasn’t actually been agreed upon? Especially for something as silly as continuing to antagonize each other no matter what else happens. Something tells him Lan Xichen won’t be too thrilled to hear it when he seems to be upset by their disagreements that go anywhere beyond mild sniping at each other. (Not that Nie Mingjue can blame him, he supposes, when he and Jin Guangyao are both highly-strung and heavily armed most hours of the day.)

“It’s complicated,” he settles on, and ignores the skeptical hum Lan Xichen offers in response.

Nie Mingjue finishes sorting his laundry as Lan Xichen gets settled in bed behind him, and the last of the tension in his shoulders left after his shower starts to dissipate into the calm of it, the strangely domestic quiet that they’re sharing soothing him in a way complete silence wouldn’t. Jin Guangyao reemerges from the bathroom a few minutes later and Nie Mingjue makes the grave mistake of looking at him. He’d given the man a set of his own sleep clothes, of course; what he’d forgotten to account for was how much they would swallow Jin Guangyao’s slight frame (and how much he would like it).

“Oh,” Lan Xichen breathes behind him, quietly enough that Jin Guangyao doesn’t seem to hear him as he sets his neatly-folded laundry on the decorative little key table beside the door, his various holsters all balanced on top of it.

“Hm...Mhm.” Nie Mingjue glances back at Lan Xichen over his shoulder and he’s relieved to find him looking as floored as Nie Mingjue feels, judging by the slightly glazed look in his eyes and the flush in his ears.

“Alright – who’s on the sofa?” Jin Guangyao asks, apparently oblivious to the effect he has on them as he puts his hands on his hips and stares them both down. Nie Mingjue glances down and finds he can’t even see Jin Guangyao’s feet as the pajamas (cinched as tightly as they can go around his tiny waist) are so long on him, approximately 6 inches of cuff pooled on the floor.

Cute, his exhaustion-stupid brain supplies. Not helpful.

“What?”

“The sofa, Mingjue,” Jin Guangyao gestures impatiently at the sofa in question — i.e. the sofa that’s only two cushions wide and absolutely not at all meant for sleeping on, no matter someone’s stature. “We’re not all three sharing that bed.”

“Why not?” Lan Xichen asks, vaguely plaintive.

“That sounds like a really great way for one of us to end up stabbing someone else in the middle of the night.”

Nie Mingjue blinks at that and glances at Lan Xichen again, who looks as nonplussed now as he’d looked overwhelmed just a few moments ago.

“Are you planning to stab someone, A-Yao?”

Jin Guangyao exhales a humorless laugh as he tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling for a moment. “I don’t plan on it, no, but I will be armed and…you know. You never know.”

Nie Mingjue hides a sigh in turning to slide into the bed next to Lan Xichen; there’s plenty of room on the other side, and he meets Jin Guangyao’s eyes again when Lan Xichen flicks the blankets on that side further down in an obvious invitation.

“Just come to bed, Little Viper, no one’s sleeping on the sofa,” Nie Mingjue says. “And get the lights on your way.”

Jin Guangyao stares at them both for long enough that Nie Mingjue fully expects him to just bolt, or to at least stubbornly attempt to sleep on the couch anyway purely on principle. Not that Nie Mingjue isn’t above going over to pick him up and bring him to bed once he’s asleep, but considering he doesn’t think Jin Guangyao was bluffing about being armed and willing to stab someone if need be, it just seems better not to risk it.

“Come on, A-Yao. It’s alright. You’re hurt, you should sleep comfortably,” Lan Xichen adds, and that at least seems to get him moving. Jin Guangyao takes a visible deep breath before he hits the light switch and Nie Mingjue clicks on the bedside lamp instead so he won’t trip. Jin Guangyao pauses next to the empty side of the bed for a long moment before he seems to brace himself and climbs into it with barely a rustle.

With a click of the lamp key, Nie Mingjue plunges them into darkness again and lays back with a rustle of blankets and pillows, all bravado gone without a trace now that they’re laying together in the dark with nothing to distract them from each other.

“Lan Qiren is taking A-Huan to lunch tomorrow,” he says when the silence, save for their out-of-synch breathing, becomes unbearable.

“Oh?”

“Mn. He called while you were gone,” Lan Xichen murmurs, soft in the darkness. “I don’t quite know how I feel about all of this. He said he wants to take me somewhere just the two of us to discuss something but he didn’t say what.”

“Jiang Yanli asked me at the party to come to their Yiling office tomorrow to meet with her and Jiang Wanyin,” Jin Guangyao hums, “but due to her current situation, A-Su said Jiang-guniang hasn’t been holding meetings in the mornings for the last few weeks. I’m sure I can come along to help Mingjue monitor things before I go to meet with them — is that the plan?”

“That’s what A-Huan wants, yes. What ‘situation’?”

“Ah…apparently Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan are expecting,” Lan Xichen answers with all the genteel delicacy Nie Mingjue has come to expect from him. “A-Yao assures me that the overlap in interests was completely unintentional.”

Nie Mingjue sighs and rubs at his forehead to attempt to alleviate some of the tension creeping back in between his brows.

“Your brother got Jiang Yanli pregnant? How the hell did he manage that?”

Jin Guangyao clears his throat in the way that Nie Mingjue is quickly learning means he’s about to say something unbearably dry that will probably make him flustered (or angry, or both), and he braces himself just in the nick of time.

“Are you…asking for a practical demonstration?”

Lan Xichen chokes on a shocked laugh and Nie Mingjue smiles under the cover of the darkness even as he snaps, “No! Go to sleep!”

Nie Mingjue tries and fails to stop smiling as he listens to Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao chuckling in the dark beside him, bass and tenor overlapping. It’s far from the worst sound in the world to fall asleep to.

[shit-ultrakill-imagines]

Imagine ferryman speedboat racing

.