#dawn harbour

[huariqueje]

Hamburg  Lights I    -   Martin Köster

German , b. 1988  -

Oil on canvas  , 23.62 x 31.49 in      60 x 80 cm;

[thunderstruck9]

Otto Nückel (German, 1888-1955), Morgendämmerung am Hafen [Dawn at the Harbour], 1932. Oil on wood, 80.4 x 72 cm.

[tcr55]

Do Aussies outside of Sydney care about my weather comments, let alone global viewers?

This morning has a couple of showers about, but they are said to clear to a sunny 25 degrees day.

A perfect late winter Saturday!

Harbour Bridge at dawn under wet clouds.

[oneleggedflamingo]

15.09-24

More of these pigeons.

- Vivera Rossi

[latinokaeya-moving]

i’m trying to figure out the theoretical journey to take from sumeru to get to mondstadt based on random estimates/reasonable assumptions and i’ve come to the conclusion that if you were travelling by land then there’s no way you would be getting there in anything less than a week’s time

[myoldsox]

Granite Harbour (TV Series 2022– ) - IMDb

New series just out on BBC....very good

[posdataps]

Puerto de la Duquesa

[josephquinnswhore]

disarmed - joel miller x female reader.

Summary: you’ve been travelling with Joel for months, harbouring feelings for one another. Tommy helps the two of them realise how they feel.

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: mutual pining, fluff, mentioned a few times that joel is still grieving Sarah, jealousy, possession, age gap. Joel is in his forties and reader mid-twenties. Post outbreak fic. Reader had some dirty thoughts about joel.

Note: I’ve been awol for three months. Hello friends!! @katiexpunk Part two > testament to you.

"Ain’t gonna give up on me are ya?"

Joel calls out, checking over his shoulder to see if you're still behind him. You two have been travelling for hours, with the crunch of your boots against the snow that began to fall on the previous evening—the first official day of winter. They needed to reach Jackson before a mound of snow covered the area, or otherwise they would never know how long they would be there in this endless stretch of open space. With the possibilities of being stuck in a snowstorm, it dawned on them; the pressure to get to their destination.

Joel's crooked, uneven, scowling facade did nothing to keep you out or to halt your innate desire to preserve yourself by desperately attempting to make a connection with him, but for some reason, you had managed to accomplish what no one else could.

Make him feel affection, which of course, came with the pure unbridled fear at the thought of something happening to you. A fear he had not felt since..

“Not long to go now,” he murmurs, trying not to think about his past, his voice softening as he waits for you to catch up, he can see you are making the effort to keep up, your legs picking up their stride in an attempt to match his pace. Even so, at this rate they wouldn’t make it to Jackson before nightfall.

The weary look you give does nothing to comfort him either, internally, he cant stop any thought about you, wanting to know what you were thinking, what you were feeling, other than the pure exhaustion he could feel radiating from your pained expression and lame movements.

They were nearly at Jackson, to Tommy, after months of travelling and struggling for food, fighting against raiders and infected, Joel had made it his personal mission to keep you safe, to get you to Jackson. They had to make it today, before the sun fell, they were struggling for rations, between them, they had a can of baked beans left, two decades old and barely edible, it's clear to Joel that you’re losing hope.

“I know, not long, right?” You manage to reply after a few moments of thinking to yourself. The two of you had been surviving on scraps for weeks, you couldn't remember what it was like to eat a proper meal. For your stomach not to grumble and ache in hunger.

“When we get to Jackson they’ll have a bed for us, a real bed, probably a proper shower too, an’ food. Somethin’ for us to look forward to.” He glances your way, attempting to lift your spirits.

A crack of a smile stretches your lips, thinking about hot water, a real warm meal. “I don't remember the last time I had a real shower.”

“You’ll be able to finally wash that grease out of your hair too,” he mutters under his breath with a cheeky grin. He could only wonder how bad the two of them must smell at this point. Hes probably grown accustomed to the smell of his own putrid stench. A mix of grease, gunpowder, blood, dirt and body odour. You never complained though.

“Like you can talk, the stench coming from you is foul, old man.” A playful jest comes from you, one that makes joel smile, before feigning offence, he brings his hand to his chest as he scoffs. “Like you're any better.”

His lips turn into a genuine smile as the two of them share a light hearted moment, something that feels like it had been weeks since had happened – he can't help but admit to himself that.. it feels nice. That he enjoys seeing this side of you, that he could be the one to make you happy.

The playful smile on your face slowly slips into the same tight line it had been for weeks on end. The monotonous expression Joel had become so accustomed to.

“Whats on your mind? Somethin’ botherin’ you?” Joel asked, sensing that something was off with you.

“Hm? Oh, no I'm good, just get stuck in my head sometimes I guess.” You manage to excuse yourself.

He knew very well what that was like, he himself spent a lot of time stuck in his head, they were more alike than he had anticipated. “That’s alright, I understand.” He reassures her.

You can't help the way you feel something for him, noting the way his hazel eyes always softened when he looked at you, his voice soft. But the constant fear nagged you, about the age gap, he was in his forties, and you only in your mid twenties. Did he see you as a kid? Did he see you as a woman?

Joel always tried to remind himself that you weren't a little girl, even with the evident age gap between the two, he still saw you as a capable, beautiful woman. He couldn't deny the way he felt when he was the one to make you laugh, those beautiful eyes of yours and how expressive they were. He couldn't deny he felt something for you, which puzzled him, it was a feeling he thought he would never experience.

The snow begins to fall heavier, and with how long they had to go to Jackson, Joel knew it would be best if they stopped for the night, to try and find some shelter for them, for her. As if an otherworldly god hears their thoughts, a small cabin comes into the near distance. You hope wordlessly that Joel would offer to stop for the evening. If not, begrudgingly for a few hours, at least.

He motions for you to follow him, in the direction of the cabin. “That looks like a safe place to camp for the night, whaddya think?” To Joel, this was an easy decision, he was tired of seeing you shiver when you camped outside, clutching to the sleeping bag for a sliver of warmth, the thin material never did much to sooth your chattering teeth. He doesn't want you sleeping outside ever again, if he had any say over the matter.

“You think it’s safe?” Your eyes scan the area, it looks abandoned.

Joel nods as he cracks open the door, scowling as the door creaks open loudly. He leads the way inside the empty cabin, he does a quick scan of the place before he steps inside, out of the snow. Its a fraction warmer inside, something you can appreciate as you close the door behind you.

“Stay close.” He whispers, keeping an eye out, the cabin was clear after searching for a few minutes, it’s a small area, a broken lounge in the same living space as the kitchen. The floorboards in the corner are starting to rot due to a leak in the roof, some of the snow falling through to the inside of the cabin. “Looks like we're all good in here, I’ll look around and see what I can find, we’ll sleep here for the evenin’.”

You shrug off the heavy pack that had been clinging in the same sore spot for hours on end, shoulders aching dully as you roll them, reaching your hands back to massage the sore spots. Your fingers are cold and stiff as you unclip your sleeping bag from your pack, setting it up in the small kitchen area, away from the corner that has a small leak in the roof.

“This place ain't so bad, better than most places we been sleepin’.” Before Joel can relax, he eyes a bookcase, it's large enough to cover the front door, with one push it topples over, with a grunt, the bookshelf falls securely over the front door, keeping them safe inside.

You look around a little in the kitchen, seeing some old trinkets covered in a thick layer of dust, a windchime, it creates a beautiful twinkle as your fingers caress the cold material, clanging against each other. Going through the draws, you have a look at a faded image, picking it up to inspect it, your heart drops, the image depicts a young family, two parents and a small baby, all smiling into the camera, in this very kitchen where you stood now.

You can’t help but wonder how long ago they resided here. If they were still alive.

“Must’ve been a family’s cabin…” His eyes glance at the photo as he leans down to rummage through the cupboards, finding a few cans of veggies that had been left behind, he sets it down on the bench next to you. “We made out pretty good on food this time. Are you hungry?”

Shakily, you return the photo back to where you found it. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

“You okay?” He asks, sensing the uneasiness in your voice. He grabs the tin cans of food and skillfully pops the lids open with his knife, handing a can of food to her. He nods towards their sleeping bags and they both sit down on the floor, he can't ignore the ache in his back and knees as he stretches his legs out on the floor. He tried not to think about it, sitting here with you on the hardwood floors eating out of a two decade old can of veggies was nothing worth complaining about, compared to the hell you two had endured over the months.

They were together at least. They made it this far.

“Yeah, I guess. Just doesn't get easier, you know? Thinking about it. They had a baby.” Hesitantly, you start eating with Joel, who seems silent.

He eventually nods in agreement. “Not everyone makes it.” He speaks quietly, even after all this time, he still mourns, he's been reminded of his loss time and time again, the image of the family was no exception.

They eat in silence, and you set the empty can beside your sleeping bag, sighing as you snuggle into the little warmth it provides. “Try and get some rest, we’ll head out at first light.”

“Goodnight Joel.”

He watches you settle, a small grunt escapes him as he keeps his rifle close, he leans against the wall. “Goodnight darlin’.”

“I'm sorry about your daughter Joel.” You whisper, before sparing him a glance and rolling over away from him. Joel watched you, the words pierce him, memories of his daughter haunt him, but he can't blame you. “Yeah, me too.” He mutters under his breath.

Joel stays awake, he's too restless to sleep at the thought of Sarah, losing her, relieving the pain and anguish of twenty years without her. Yet, the pain was as palpable as it was the night it happened.

The sun rises, and Joel rolls his sleeping bag, clipping it onto his pack. He notices you stirring awake. “Mornin’.” He grumbles tiredly. He stretches his neck, a loud crunch fills the air. “We should get goin’. I want to get to Jackson before midday.” He groaned as he stood, his knees clicking into place, worn and aching, the cold didn't help.

You wipe the sleep from your eye and pack the sleeping bag up quickly, not wanting to make Joel wait, he seemed pretty restless. Joel shoves the bookshelf off the door, opening it and takes a weary step outside into the daylight. He couldn't wait to see Tommy, he couldn't stop thinking about a shower, and a decent meal. They had been surviving in the wilderness for so long, Joel wasn't sure what he would do being back in civilization.

You pause in the doorway, watching Joel walk outside, his worn boots crunching in the fresh snow. “Just.. just wait a sec.” You wearily call out to him, looking back inside the cabin.

“What is it?” Joel asked, stopping in his tracks, turning to look back at you, a confused look on his face. You take a few quickened steps back into the cabin, pulling the drawer out to find the photograph of the family, before rushing outside to meet Joel. “Someone should remember them.”

Joel looks between you and the cabin, wondering what on earth you were doing. “Whaddya mean?” He asked, his voice gruff and full of confusion. He stands there for what felt like forever, watching as you return with the faded photograph in your hand. He stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable.

You shove the photograph into the back pocket of your jeans. “Ready to go?”

Joel looks at you, a serious expression on his weathered face. “Yeah.” He motions for you to continue walking, he tries to push behind the thought of the family as they walk from the cabin. For some reason, there was a warmth in his chest, at your actions, something so miniscule could show the kind of person you were. Perhaps not all hope was lost with someone so compassionate like you left in the world.

It was relatively quiet between the two of you for the rest of the trip, only a few miles, the snowfall had come to a halt overnight, so the snow wasn't much of an obstacle, being so far away from any town, there were near to no infected, nor other people.

Finally, ahead, there it was. They had finally made it to Jackson, to Tommy.

“Shit. This is Jackson?” You ask in wonder, taking in the heavily fortified walls, the men patrolling on the walls with rifles. A haven.

“Sure as hell looks like it.” Joel felt himself finally relax, for the first time in months, even if only for a moment, they had made it. “C’mon, we can get inside before the snow starts comin’ down again.” He picks up his pace towards the gate.

“Are you sure they'll let us in?” You knew Tommy was here, but the anxiety of being turned away was palpable. Joel glances back, reassuring you with a small smile. “Dont worry darlin’, Tommy knows we’re comin’.”

The gates open, and the hinges whine in protest.

“Joel, you ugly bastard is it really you?” A southern voice calls out, as the gate opens, and you watch as a man embraces Joel, similar in looks, if anything, less grey hair. “The hell took you so long?” The man asked, a joyous tone in his voice as he embraced Joel.

“Yeah, were not easy but we made it.” Joel huffed out a laugh. Tommy waves his hand, a brief gesture for the pair to follow him inside. Tommy looks over Joel’s shoulder as they walk. “Who’s this?”

You stand behind Joel, a meek smile on your lips as you introduce yourself. Tommy smirks at Joel. Joel's face reddened, his younger brother’s stare made him heat up.

“Just get us set up Tommy.” Joel muttered, avoiding the amused gaze from his brother. Tommy’s wolfish grin doesn't slip. “Sure thing, follow me.”

The odd interaction does not go missed as you watch the pair, following them to a house that Tommy had organised specifically for Joel. Tommy lets them into the house to look around and Joel speaks up. “We've been out in the wild for a long while, and we're happy to finally be able to settle down for a bit.” Joel explains, looking at Tommy.

“I can imagine. Well, i'll leave ya alone to settle in for now. Were havin’ a get together later tonight at the hall, you should come. It’ll be good for you to spend some time away from each other for a bit.” Tommy jests.

You look between the two men, confused. “So where am I going to be staying?” You knew that Joel would probably want to be away from you, now that he had done his part in bringing you here safely.

Joel's head snapped in your direction and he stared at you for a moment. “With me.” He said, a little too quickly. “You'll be staying with me, here.” Joel’s eyes dart back to Tommy as if he was warning him against some smart arsed response. He looked a little embarrassed.

It didn't take an idiot to notice the glance you and Joel shared. Tommy smiled ear to ear as he watched the interaction between you two. “Alright.. Well you two can get settled here. Holler at me if you need anything, alright?”

As Joel nods, Tommy steps outside the house, leaving the pair alone again. Setting your pack down, you admire the house. “Nice place..”

Joel hums, nodding in agreement, setting his pack down next to your own. “Its alot nicer than where we've been campin’. And there's electricity.” Looking at the light Tommy had flickered on when he walked in.

“You mean we can shower?” Joel grins in amusement at your sudden excitement. “Hot water and all princess, why don't you go on and have the first shower?” The bathroom itself was simple, but it felt surreal to have electricity and running water.

“Are you sure?” Joel nods, “I can wait, its all yours.”

Joel closes the bathroom door behind you, and explores the bedroom, ruffling through the closet as he decides what to wear to this stupid get together tonight.

The hot water feels incredible, soothing the aches in your body, as you lather the vanilla scented soap, spreading the suds to wash the grime off your body. The colour of the water that runs down the drain is appalling, dark brown from grease and dirt. The shampoo is fruity, and a divine smelling scent you hadn't ever smelt in your lifetime. Lathering the clear concoction, you take your time to scrub the grease and disgusting things that stick to your strands of hair and scalp.

Its almost painful to shut the water off, but you know that Joel deserves to experience the hot water too, stepping out, you run your hand over the fogged up mirror, and hardly recognise yourself.

You slip on the clothes that had been provided for you, dark wash jeans and a long sleeved, tight fitting brown shirt. It accentuates your body shape wonderfully.

You look like a brand new woman as you emerge into the bedroom seeing Joel sitting on the edge of the bed. “Hey.”

Joel looks up at you, his eyes widening as he takes in your form. You were even more beautiful than before, you looked radiant. He quickly stood, clearing his throat and he tried to keep his composure. “Hey darlin’.” He manages to utter out, his voice a little low.

Your cheeks warm under his intense gaze, hazel eyes roaming your body. “You gonna have a shower before we go?”

Joel glances down at himself, he now looked completely filthy compared to her, realisation sinking in.

“Y-yeah I think I will.. I can wash up in a minute.” As he looks back up at you, he notices your lingering gaze on him.

Were you checking him out too?

The tension is broken as Joel walks to the bathroom, taking his turn for the shower. Your mind wonders as the water runs, wondering what Joel looks like under all those clothes, if the hairs on his chest travel all the way down his torso, wondering if his tanned skin is the same delicious colour all over. A soft groan echos through the bathroom, gartering your attention, ears perking at the wonderfully intimate noise.

Something inside of you tingles in excitement at the thought, it's a hard thought to squash as you put your boots on. Joel's hair was damp, slicked back, the greying strands on his temple looked lighter than ever. The green and red flannel shirt hugged his torso and arms snugly, the jeans looked a size too small, clinging to his thick muscular thighs. His hazel eyes stared down at you as you looked him over, admiring him, he cant quite read the expression on your face.

Now it was your turn to play it cool, clearing your throat. “Ready to go?” Joel was still trying to come out of his haze as he stared at you, still trying to process the way you were checking him out. “Y-yeah…” He muttered, rubbing his jaw. “Yeah, let's.. Let's go..”

The hall is set up nicely, small bulbs hang from the ceiling emit a full yellow hue, there's an old record player, with vinyls underneath the bench it’s set up on, the melody of an old song echos through the hall as they walk in together, they gain some looks, from people dancing, young and old. Joel is brought into another hug by Tommy as he greets them. “Hey, look at you!” Tommy grinned. “You clean up nice.”

You silently agree, Joel looked as handsome as ever.

Joel's face runs hot as he hears Tommy’s tease, turning a rosy pink across his cheeks. He quickly brushed it off, rubbing the back of his neck as he attempted to maintain his composure. “Shut it, Tommy…” Joel muttered. Tommy grinned as he watched his brother's reaction, his eyes then shifting to you. “And you… look beautiful tonight.”

Joel watches your reaction to his brother's compliment, seeing you squirm a little. “Thanks Tommy. So… what exactly is this?”

Tommys grin remained as he motioned for you both to follow. “It's a get together, we do them to blow off a little bit of steam every once in a while, you know how it is.” Joel grunts in annoyance, not enthralled by the idea of being social, nor in the judgemental gaze of the community folk.

Your eyes follow the couples as they dance to the music. A sense of yearning overcomes you, wishing it were you and Joel dancing so intimately. It's something Tommy notices.

“What, you want to dance, girl?” He asked, a mischievous grin on his lips. Joel's eyes widened as he tried to get his attention. “Tommy…” He muttered in warning, his voice a low grumble.

You didn't decline tommys suggestion. “You offerin’?” Perhaps, if anything, you would be lucky enough to make Joel jealous.

Tommy nods, taking you by the hand as he drags you to the makeshift dance floor, away from Joel. “Of course.”

Joel could feel the annoyance bubbling up inside him. He wouldn't admit that he was starting to become jealous at the sight of his brother dancing with you.

You and Tommy dance, occasionally sneaking glances at Joel, who still looked unimpressed by the situation. Tommy laughs whenever he sees Joel’s scowling face, enjoying winding his brother up. Tommy took his turn to tease you. “So… what's it like travelling with my grumpy ass brother?”

“He's not grumpy with me.” You answer simply. This, Tommy raises a brow at. “Oh really?” He glanced over her shoulder at his brother, who was now glowering at the pair. “Looks real grumpy to me..” He teased, letting out a small chuckle.

“Only cause you're pickin’ on him.” You counter.

“You're probably right.” It wasn't uncommon for Tommy to tease his older brother like this, the more he saw how annoyed Joel was becoming, the more he wanted to keep this up.

“I like him, alot.” You murmur between the two of you. Tommy’s teasing expression dies down, shifting to an expression of empathy. He was quiet in thought for a moment before he spoke. “I can tell…” he glances at joel. “He's got it bad for you too.”

“Thats a lie if I’ve ever heard it, Tommy Miller.” You scoff.

Tommy’s brows furrowed a little as he scoffs as your disbelief.”You can't seriously tell me you're that naive, it's obvious he likes you, girl.” Joel's gaze darkens, eyes fixated on them from across the hall.

“He doesn’t like me.”

“Have you seen the look on his face? He's got this…” Tommy gestured to his own face. “...stupid look on his face since we've been dancin’. And he's lookin’ like hes seconds away from murderin’ me.”

You shrug. “He's just protective of me.”

“And how do you two interact?” Tommy asked. “Like, he dont seem too fond of me touchin’ you.” Joel's eyes flicker down to the way his younger brother's hand held your waist.

“I’m guessin’ you got some kind of plan, then, to prove me wrong?”

Tommy’s face lit up when you say this. “What do you think, girl? Are you up for it?”

A groan leaves your lips. “What’re you thinkin’?”

Tommy smirks, gently and suddenly twirls you, bringing you flush to his chest, the action makes Joel scowl. “We’re gonna piss him off just enough for him to come over. Sound good?”

You don’t miss Joel's reaction, maybe it did mean something..

“Okay, let's see what you got.”

Tommy grins, he pulls you close to him, dipping his head down to your ear, whispering. “You tell me if he gets too annoyed for yer likin’... I don’t wanna cross no boundaries.”

Tommy is an impressive dancer, you admit, and as nice as it is to be spun around the dance floor, your mind wonders what it would be like to dance with Joel, how he would hold you, where he would place his hands, how firm his grip would be.

Tommy dips you, making sure to keep a tight grip around your waist, and his body as close to yours as he could manage without dropping you, Tommy leans in, his nose close to yours. “Bit dramatic don't you think?” You mutter, eyeing tommy. There was a chance Joel would kill Tommy for this, and Tommy leans in, as if he was intent on kissing you.

That was it for Joel, he reached his breaking point, watching as his younger brother's actions grew more bold and more suggestive. As soon as he saw how close you two were, how intimate that moment looked, he pushed his way through the dancefloor, barging people that were dancing to get to them. Tommy’s plan seemed to work, getting the reactive reaction out of Joel, your eyes widened as Tommy straightens you up, the older Miller brother approached them.

“Now you've done it.” You mumble.

“Oh no, what have I done?” Tommy teases. Before he could say anything else.. Joel yanks Tommy’s shoulder, separating him from you.

Joel lets out a low growl, pushing Tommy further away from you. “What’re you tryna pull, Tommy?”

“Whoa, whoa.” Tommy protests, shrugging his shoulder out of Joel's grasp. “I’m not pullin’ nothin’. I was dancin’ with the girl, is that a crime?” Joel grits his teeth together, trying to stop himself from punching his own brother.

“He wasn't doing anything Joel.” You murmur softly, trying to calm the man down, but it seems to only agitate Joel that you seemed to defend Tommy’s actions.

His nostrils flare as he looks at you. “You're takin’ his side then?”

“Hey, come on, it ain't like that.”

His irritation grows, did you really think this was okay? That this was just friendly dancing? “You really think he was just dancin’?” He mocked.

Your brows furrow as you sense Joel’s rising irritation towards you, this wasn’t how this was supposed to go. “Yes, that's exactly what I think.”

Joel lets out an annoyed huff, crossing his arms in front of his chest, this was not going the way he wanted. “He was all up on you and you think this is innocent? You’re more naive than I thought.” He sneers, a low grumble leaving his lips.

It hurts, hearing Joel talk to you like this, and you shove past them before he can see the tears welling in your eyes. Tommy stops Joel from chasing after you.

Joel lets out an annoyed huff, turning to look at him. “Get outta the way, Tommy.”

“She likes you, Joel.” Tommy said, his hand not leaving his older brother's chest, needing him to listen.

Joel rolls his eyes, not believing that statement for a moment. “No, she doesn’t. She was just humouring you.” He tries to push past Tommy again.

“It was my idea joel. I thought if I turned up the heat a little you'd show her you're sweet on her.”

“...what?” Joel's face flushed pink hearing that. “You.. you were just trying to…” When he realised that this little stunt was all an attempt to show that they liked each other, it surprised him, was it so obvious?

“You know I wouldn't dream of makin’ a move on yer girl. Go on now, get her and tell her how you feel before she runs off on ya.”

Joel stares at his brother for a moment as his words sank in. Once it did, he nodded, understanding now that this was an attempt to try and make Joel admit his feelings for you. He didn't say another word as he turned out of the hall, rushing back to the home where he knew you would be.

You felt humiliated by the entire thing, by Joel being angry at you, he had never looked at you with that look of unbridled anger. It was always directed towards other people, the ones that had tried to hurt you. Never you.

Joel’s footsteps are heavy, easily recognisable to you. As he makes his way to you, where you’re packing your things into your pack, tears streaming down your swollen cheeks.

He calls your name, and you don’t respond, shoving things angrily into your pack, you know he’s at the bedroom door, watching you.

His heart sinks as he watches you, he steps closer to you, reaching his hand out to touch your shoulder, in an attempt to stop you. “Stop.” He muttered softly. “Stop packin’ yer things.”

When you don’t listen, Joel takes the pack from your hand and tosses it across the room, your possessions all spilling out into the wooden floor. “What the hell is your problem?” You snap.

“Would you just stop it?” He exclaims, frustration evident in his tone. He grabs your arm, firmly enough to garner your attention. Spinning you to look at him. “Why are you doin’ this?”

“You humiliated me!” You quip, voice trembling.

He exhaled, the warmth of his breath fans on your cheeks. “Listen..” he muttered. “Whatever you thought happened, it was the complete opposite. Tommy told me the whole plan, he was.. tryin’ to make me admit somethin’ to myself.. to you.”

Your cheeks warm as you realise Tommy snitched. “..oh.”

His large hands reach out to cup your face, turning your face upright, so your gaze would meet his own. “I care about you a lot…” he spoke after a moment, his expression softening. “I know I’m not real good at showin’ it, but I really..”

“I really do like you, darlin’.”

You sputter a response. “Tommy.. was right?”

Joel nods, his expression growing bashful as he tries to hide his embarrassment with a small snort. “Yeah.. stupid bastard was right.” He runs a hand through his hair, trying not to stumble over his words. “Have done since I saved ya all them months ago.” He confessed.

His hand runs through his hair again, something you’ve picked up as an anxious tick of his. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

It was a question Joel hadn’t really thought of himself, until now. “It’s hard for me to be vulnerable..” he admits. “I’m just… not really like that.”

It certainly wasn’t the first time he had trouble opening up about his feelings, but he wanted you to understand that he wanted to try, with you.

“Especially with.. the way the world is now.. I thought I shouldn’t get myself tied up in somethin’ that could just get me hurt later.”

The words that went unspoken, you understood. He was afraid of losing you. And suddenly, her eyes softened. “What changed? Seein’ me with Tommy?”

It was an embarrassing truth, one that he had to face. “Yeah..” he agreed, glancing away from you a moment. “It felt like someone was just punchin’ me in the guts. Seein’ you dancin’ with him I felt..” he groans. “Jealous.”

Unintentionally, you bat your lashes at him. “I was so convinced you wouldn’t like me, I made such a fool of myself.”

His brows scrunch together as he realises how his actions made you feel. He gently takes your face in his large hands, his thumb rubs your cheek in a soothing motion.

“Hey, you didn’t do any of that…” he murmured. “If anything I shoulda told ya ages ago.”

With his reassurance, you wrap your arms around his midsection, fisting the soft material of his flannel on his back. He doesn’t resist, although he relaxes from his tense stance, bringing his own arms around you. “How about we start over an’ I’ll do this proper?”

Your eyes widen, looking up at him. “Proper?”

He couldn’t suppress the smile creeping onto his lips, your words make his heart flutter. “Y’know.. with you as my girl…” he murmurs nervously. “If.. if you’d like that?”

“I would like that.” You accept without hesitation, your voice soft as Joel leans his chin on your head, his thumb caressing your cheek.

“Don’t ever try an’ run off again. I’ll hog tie ya to the bed if I have ta.” A soft laugh leaves your lips at his threat, and you raise a brow.

“That right? Maybe I’ll take off one day, just to test you.” Joel’s eyebrows raise, a daring look in his eyes, arms tightening around you as he lifts you off the ground effortlessly, tossing you onto the plush bed.

“Yer mine now sweetheart, ain’t letting you go, ever.” He murmurs against your neck, hovering over you, pressing a small kiss to the soft skin of your temple.

“Mine till the day I die.” He growled possessively, the tender touch was a concise movement, one that contradicted his possession.

Somehow, you had disarmed him. And from now on, Joel wasn’t going to fight it.

[frans-blok-3develop]

The Quay of Rijnhaven harbour in Katendrecht neighbourhood in Rotterdam, The Netherlands, by the light of the full moon, the dawn and the many city lights, on a morning in January.

https://www.werkaandemuur.nl/nl/shopwerk/Katendrecht-in-het-maanlicht/938154/132

[acupofqueercoffee]

“Beneath the Dragon’s Eyes”

Rhaenys Targaryen x Female Reader (+Meleys)

wc : 2700+

cw : older woman x younger woman // also, they make out in front of meleys, hence the name // a touch of fluff and a sprinkle of spice

finally took matters into my own hands muahahaha 😈 i love my red queens so gotta include both of them, and ofc, rhaenys speaking high valyrian 😮‍💨

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Zephyrs in Driftmark can be unforgiving at times, especially in the break of dawn. It crawls through little gaps from the castle’s stone walls, running its frigid fingers over every part of your body that is left exposed by your thick covers. One cursed touch of it, and immediately, the shivers come in a tidal wave, iciness crashing down your frame the way waves break the sandy shore.

Peeved to be so rudely awaken, you burrow deeper into bed, pulling the covers over your head to hide in your warm, little cocoon. Still, the trembling persists as though your early morning visitor has left a piece of itself behind in the very depths of your core, for coldness continues to swell from within. On your temples, your blood throbs so fiercely in your veins to the point that you think they may pop any moment now, an awful sensation that is well-nigh torture.

A part of you is inclined to believe that such is the punishment for the sin you have committed yesternight, but even if it is to be the case, the better part of you harbour not a dot of remorse. Why should you when there still lingers traces of her presence, subtle but certainly detectable on the delicate piece of fabric that is presently held close to your chest, a keepsake. Admittedly, not willingly given. Rather, stolen in a moment of irrepressible desire. But a keepsake nonetheless. The handkerchief is simply a square piece of cotton cloth, elegantly lined with lace, as white as milk, but her initials, in blood-red cursive, are embroidered on one corner of it.

Pressing the soft material to your nose, and drowning in the faint scent of sea breeze and firewood that is uniquely and so undeniably your Princess Rhaenys’s, conjure up memories from last night. Within the secrecy of your room, one of the privileges of being the Princess’s Handmaiden, with the stolen little piece of herself nestled over your nose, your fantasies have gone uncontrollably wild. Teeth biting lips, fingers journeying south, sweat blooming into beads, body writhing in ecstasy. Suffice it to say that by the time you drift off, you are thoroughly drained. Only the sea scented breeze catches wind of the name that sweetly, thickly drips down your lips in a sacred whisper, and the moon, the sole witness to the rivulets that shimmer on the inside of your thighs beneath its silvery light.

A cascade of warmness that envelops your body at the mere thought of your lady is all it takes to fend off the cold. Cheeks rosy and ears buzzing, you suddenly feel very feverish. By the side of the bed, a window sits on the wall, the clouds beyond the frame drenched in artistic reds and oranges at the hands of the slowly rising sun, and in need to cool off, your fingers curl around the latch to push it open.

Your respite is fragile, short-lived, shattering like a glass on impact, once an eddy of wind, strong and sudden, swirls into your humble dwelling. The intruder leaves everything untouched other than your little keepsake that is stolen right under your nose. Slipping through your fingers, it flutters akin to a bird preparing for take off, before being escorted through the window, and you watch, a gasp on your lips, while the relentless breeze sends the precious piece of your lady flurrying down, and down, and further down. Your heart drops along with the handkerchief by the time you realise where it has disappeared into.

In your haste to retrieve your prized possession, you have forgone, or rather completely forgotten, the decency to slip into something more suitable for the weather. With a simple nightdress precariously hanging on your frame, your bare feet pad through the winding halls and down the grand staircases as you slip past bustling servants, too engrossed in their respective works to pay you any mind. By the time you reach the entrance to the crypt, you observe from behind a pillar. Only when you have made certain that the two dragon-keepers are locked in an animated chatter do you emerge from your hidden spot, running past them in a blur of movements.

The bowels of the castle are off-limits to many servants save a handful of guards and the dragon-keepers. It is after all home to Meleys, the Red Queen, Princess Rhaenys’s beloved dragon.

Amidst your descent into the foreboding darkness, the beast inside your chest pounds against its cage, wild and frantic. The air is thick, heavy with the scent of dragon, and there, in the shadowy depths of the cavern, you can outline the form of Meleys, her scales shimmering like rubies in the faint glow as she appears to be slumbering, coiled and relaxed. Granted, you have feasted your eyes upon the dragon from afar with no small amount of wonder whenever your Princess takes her out for a flight across the ocean, but it is only given that you will be hypnotised by such a spectacle right before your very eyes, the sheer magnitude and majesty of the Red Queen filling you with intense awe.

A sudden, swift whoosh of her tail sends something aflutter into the wind, and the sight of it spills ice along the length of your spine. Caught on a jagged stone, between you and the dragon, is your lady’s handkerchief.

You have just barely plucked the delicate fabric between your fingers when a low, rumbling growl, seeming to come from the very bowels of the earth itself, shakes you to your core. Slowly, you unstick your eyes from the ground only to find twin orbs of molten gold locked onto you, burning with such malice and ferocity that the force of it alone sends you stumbling back. She rises, hackles raised, and only when a person emerges from behind her large body do you understand why the dragon is being so alarmed.

“Daor, Meles!”

(No, Meleys!)

You are in equal parts absolutely terrified of the doom looming over you, and ridiculously enamoured of your lady’s mother tongue reaching your ears in a tentalising caress.

“Ryptēs. Lykiri.”

(Listen. Be calm.)

One colossal wing unfolds, a protective barrier shielding her rider from you who she deems a possible threat.

“It’s alright. She’s not a threat.”

You can see from where you sit in a sorry little heap, still frozen on the ground, that Princess Rhaenys’s hand has planted firmly against her dragon’s side, offering reassuring strokes that seems to effectively pacify the massive creature. Little by little, her red wing lowers to fold gracefully against her side, and in doing so, reveals to you your lady, comfortably dressed in her dragon-riding attire. There is a steely edge to her face, lips pursed, and gaze stormy when she turns to look at you.

“What, pray tell, do you think you’re doing here?”

So, she demands, and you stand before you answer, or at least, you try to, but the suddenness of it encourages a dizzy spell that has you wobbling on your feet. That has been your foolish mistake for you have offered the doom, that is silently, solemnly observing you, one wrong move, and one is plenty enough of a sign for her to finally descend upon you. With a snarl, scary and sinister, the red queen takes a step forward.

“Lykiri, Meles. Rȳbās!”

(Be calm, Meles. Focus!)

Helplessly, hopelessly, you swoon over your Princess, who has placed herself between her handmaiden and her dragon, her body a firm wall of protection before your own.

“Lykiri.”

(Be calm.)

Once again, the delicious pulse of her voice flows in the form of High Valyrian, gentleness and authority intertwined as she quells the anger of the dragon with a string of melody that effortlessly spills forth her lips, accompanied by a delicate touch of her fingers on the dragon’s impressive snout. Despite your circumstances, you cannot help but stupidly find the gesture endearing.

“Demās.”

(Sit.)

As oblivious as you are to what your lady is saying, you hang on her ever word, enthralled, and so, too, is Meleys if the way she stops her grumbling to instead sit down on the ground is anything to go by.

“Hegnīr. (Good.)” And with a press of your lady’s fingers, elegantly long and delightfully lithe, that are bestowing gentle caresses along the plane of her cheek, the dragon emits a sound, not akin to the growls from before but a happy noise, supposedly the closest thing to a purr she can manage. “Hmm…ñuhys meles darys. (Hmm…my red queen.)”

Once her dragon is settled, you become the focus of the Princess’s attention, or rather, the object of her ire. “You’re not supposed to be here.” She scolds, her stony-eyed gaze pinning you in place. “And what have you got there?”

Following her eyes, you find that they are resting on your hand, grip, white-knuckled tight as fingers curl around the handkerchief, her handkerchief, for dear life. “It’s- I- uhmm-” Silently, patiently, she studies you as you try but fail miserably to stammer out an explanation, for the words get tangled in your throat.

One footfall of her boots brings her closer to you.

One more and you will be able to feel her breath on your face.

Her gaze, although just as intense, has begun harbouring a touch of softness as those fingers, which have served as one of the focuses of your fantasies, lock around your wrist, thumb of her other hand tracing the embroidered initials. “This is mine.” She speaks matter-of-factly. “Why do you have it?”

Your eyes are cast to the ground, roaming over every bump and ridge of rock, anything but her face, and so, with her hand still fitted around your wrist like a snug bracelet, she tugs you, not unkindly, merely as a means to draw attention. “Eyes on me.”

How are you to resist a direct command from your Princess? A command to feast your eyes upon the mesmerising planes and valleys of her face no less.

It comes to you as easily as breathing, admiring the little lines bracketing her lips and the delicate crow’s feet below her eyes, and enjoying every moment of it, but not so much having your soul laid bare beneath her hot scrutiny. The brilliance of her stare gives rise to goosebumps on your body, the little hair on the back of your nape standing when you hear Meleys in the background. The dragon levels you with those twin suns of hers, pools of liquid gold that shimmer with curiosity, in return for the peek you have sneaked. Her stare is both mesmersing and terrifying. A strangled little gasp tumbles out of your lips, whereas a thrill that simmers low in her maw seems to vibrate deep within your bones.

“Fear not.” Your lady’s face gravitates towards you, but a whisker away. “Meleys wouldn’t touch a hair on your head unless I say so.”

“But me on the other hand, hmm,” Middle and fore finger touch a lock of your hair as she whispers in your ear. “I’m not quite sure.”

“I- I’m sorry, my lady. It smelt of you,” You swallow, warm and fuzzy. “-and it was so inviting, and I couldn’t help myself.”

A pad of a thumb traces the bone of your cheek, before opting to pluck your chin between forefinger and a thumb. Gingerly, she angels your face until your gazes collide. “Oh, I bet you couldn’t.”

She watches you intently, her eyes roaming over every feature on your face, and despite the cheeks that are dusted cherry red and the sorry little thing swelling painfully inside your chest, you glory in her attention, soaking every droplet of it.

Dainty and delicate in appearance, her lips call out to you, a siren’s song, and just as you are entertaining the idea of throwing all caution to the wind to chase after the forbidden temptation, they fall upon you.

No amount of wildest dreams can hold a candle to the real experience. Smooth and soft, her lips are the sweetest thing you have ever had the pleasure of consuming, but underneath it all is an addictive spiciness, you quickly discover, once a velveteen tip of a tongue licks the swell of your lips. No sooner has the delicate bud unfurled like a flower in bloom than the ravenous snake slithers inside in search of sweet nectar.

An arm has twined itself around your waist, pulling you against her body, kiss intensifying as teeth nibble and tongue tangle, and with a choked little noise, your hand descends upon your lady’s shoulder.

In the haze of it all, you cannot help but appreciate her hair, a cascade of white satin falling beautifully down her shoulders, which you braid every morning and comb every night. A knit appears between your brows. Clearly, her hair is fashioned. Although, you do not remember putting these particular braids on her head.

“You didn’t send for me to have your hair done.” Fingers toy with a lock of hair, perpetually drenched in moon glow. “Who did these, my lady?”

“I can manage a few braids myself, dear girl.”

A nip on the delicate underside of your chin proves to be a dizzying distraction.

Meanwhile, blossoms of her kisses have branched off to your neck, lips closing around the little notch on your throat. Like dewdrops blooming on leaves on a misty morning, specks of perspiration has appeared on your forehead. She sucks once, and your spine arches. Another, and with a trickle of gasps down your lips, your body curves deeper into your lady’s.

“You’re trembling.” She breathes into the hummingbird flutter of your pulse, voice throaty and hot, and you feel it on your skin more than you hear it. “Is it the cold?”

“No,” Her hand tugs one part of your chemise down, and doing so leaves your shoulder bare. “No, Princess. It is you.”

“Hmm.” Lips glide across your skin, planting firmly on the slope of your shoulder, and sucking the flesh into the hot cavern of her mouth until it is red and rosy and deliciously raw.

Then, she arises, thumb outlining the fleshy swell of your lips, dewy and kiss-swollen, before opting to cradle your face in the palm of her hand. A ghost of a smile that blossoms on her lips is such a sight for sore eyes. You drink it in like a parched man.

A beautiful mess, the Princess has left you, and she takes her sweet time relishing her masterful craft.

“Gevie.”

Her mother tongue makes a delightful reappearance, this time solely for your ears, and you are but butter in her arms, melting from the sultriness of her cadence alone.

“What does it mean, my lady.” Your gaze, doe-eyed and love-struck, finds hers. Her amused little grin is not easily discernible, but all too familiar with the nuances of the Princess’s expressions, you find it in those enchanting browns, in the soft little lines on her face that becomes just a touch vivider. “Beautiful.”

“I’ve found myself wondering what my touch would do to you-” Her gaze moves to the stolen keepsake that still resides within your grasp. “-if this flimsy, little fabric was capable of making you moan my name so reverently in bed.”

The knowledge that she is aware of your deed breeds excitement, sends tingles down your spine. A twinkle of anticipation has appeared plain as day in your eyes, and to your pleasant surprise, a chuckle spills forth her lips, deep and dizzying.

“But perhaps another time.” She drops a kiss atop the little arch of your nose, and your eyes slip shut, full of bliss. “And keep the handkerchief. I’m sure it’ll be more useful in your hands than it is in mine.”

A feather light touch has found home on your naked shoulder, a gentle flap of a butterfly’s wings against the deep purple bloom that her mouth has so exquisitely painted on your skin. With a hum, she fixes the chemise so that the evidence of her doing lies hidden beneath the fabric, away from prying eyes and gossiping servants.

“Come. Let Meleys rest. She has had enough entertainment for one day.”

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[hxnbi]

⸻ ₊˚Ꮺ ❝ REMEMBER OR FORGET ❞ ﹒﹒wind breaker boys

would they choose to remember or forget your relationship? ft. sakura, umemiya, suo, kaji, sugishita, togame x gn. reader

wanted to try something new and angsty 😅

To FORGET or to REMEMBER. It is a question that haunts our minds from dusk to dawn, from life up to death. It is not simply a choice between black and white. Not when the pain of your existence was ripped away from them…

Would they choose to forget the tenderness of your touch, the affection of your words, the warmth of your embrace on those cold, vulnerable nights? Or would they prefer to remember, to hold onto the bittersweet memories of what you both once were, even as it pains at their chest with every heartbeat?

To remember is to endure the perpetual ache of absence that of the once love that can never be again. But to forget… to forget would be to erase a part of your very soul, to lose the heart of what made him whole.

Each is a double-edged sword—both a blessing and a curse. But what if they had a choice? To chose to either remember or forget.

The clock is ticking. So, what's their answer?

SAKURA would choose to 「 forget 」

Hah... Why would he willingly subject himself to that same pain and loneliness once more? He knew that his life was a story to be made fun of—a game that fate continue to test him time and time again, and you were no different. The memories of you and him, a vivid dream that haunts him. Because, if only you were with someone else, you could’ve been even more happy… A nightmare fuel that persists only with time. Thus, he selfishly chooses to run away. If by some divine mercy was actually on his side this time, for once in this damned life, and allowed him to forget all those memories now that your soul no longer is here—all because of him—why shouldn’t he take it…?

UMEMIYA would choose to 「 remember 」

He's been through so much. Hardships, troubles, and loss, but nothing even came close to the heartbreak when the love of his life became but a fragmented memory. Nothing in his life was given to him, not without a price. But even so, those memories will not and can never ring hollow. To him. Never to him. They are what make him who he is today, and if he has to be the one to shoulder all those burdens alone, stacking them upon his weary shoulders, then so be it. All in the name of his devotion to you, in hopes that one day, someday, just maybe, he might cross paths with you once more.

SUO would choose to 「 remember 」

There is plenty that people don't know the true nature behind that perpetual smile of his, and likely will never know the true extent of what really goes on behind that carefully crafted mask of his. What remains hidden is always prone to resurface, but to Suo, it's only a matter of hiding it—the raw emotions of what makes someone human—all behind the veil of ignorance of those he encounters and his own willingness to tuck it behind closed doors. Through all the charm and snide is someone who harbours an aching pain he chooses to live with by himself and himself only. He chooses to remember all the times you laughed together, May the memory of his love last, even if your physical presence is gone. After all these years, who could possibly know? No one ever has, and never will.

KAJI would choose to 「 forget 」

He was utterly broken when he found out. Silence was all he could muster. Even the once serenity of music—your and his favourite music—his safe haven, became nothing but a horrid curse for him to endure alone in murmured silence. No longer were you there to share in the melody he once cherished with you, and the silence was deafening as it was harrowing. The silence was too much for him to bear. It destroyed him, it shattered him, when he realized the loud truth all along—he could never hear you again. So, without thinking, when given the chance, he chose the easiest way out. Even if that choice meant an erasure of your very existence in his life as he knew it.

SUGISHITA would choose to 「 remember 」

Sugishita is a loyal man, no person could ever doubt that. So, without hesitation, he chose you. To honour your memory and bring it to his grave. Your legacy is what drives him. But he is a loyal man as steel is silent. His remembrance of your life goes unspoken, even to those he truly trusts. Selfishly, Sugishita keeps for him alone to bear your remembrance. It hurts, it hurts so much, But that was never what hurt him the most.

TOGAME would choose to 「 remember 」

As painful as it might be, he chooses to live with it. To him, it is his divine punishment for ever getting close to you. Thus, he decides to suffer the consequences. The pain—a reminder of what he did to lose you. He chooses the route of hell because that is where he belongs. It to be his rightful place, the punishment he deserves. He is a broken soul that you once repaired, and though the cracks have shown once more, those memories will persist, even if he aches.

©hxnbi. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of my works.

[tcr55]

Sometimes the bleeding obvious has to be the shot.

On a cold clear dawn, tranquility on the harbour, the Sydney Opera House seems to float like a sailing ship as was part of Jørn Utzon’s imagining.

[eu-nicola]

the finish line part 2

summary: you are the girlfriend of Lando Norris, Max Verstappen's rival with whom the tension between the two is undeniable.

warnings: love triangle, forbidden relationship, tension, infidelity, etc

word counter: 8107

author's note: english is not my first language

mention: @drama-lama-mother @bunnies-p1tst0p

After an intense night, dawn came too quickly. Lando had to fly early to Qatar for his next race, and although you always tried to accompany him, this time your own commitments kept you in another direction.

You gathered your things and went down with him to the car that would take you to the airport. The journey passed in silence, and both of you clung to that last shared moment. Once at the airport, you took his hand and gave him a supportive smile. As you said goodbye, Lando hugged you tightly, as if he wanted to retain some of your energy for the days you would be apart.

“Take care and don’t forget to send me news,” he said, giving you a kiss on the forehead before moving away.

“Of course. And you, don’t forget to sleep,” you answered with a smile. “And to win, if you can.”

You both laughed, and after one last hug, Lando headed towards his boarding gate. You followed him with your eyes until he disappeared into the crowd.

Once Lando left, you headed to your gate. The flight to Monaco awaited you. You would spend a few days busy with your own obligations, but there was something about that little distance that also gave you space to reflect.

During the flight, you tried to focus on the tasks at hand, but your mind inevitably wandered to the race and to Max. The memory of the party was still fresh in your mind: his smile, his unavoidable presence in the lounge, and that spark that always lit in you, even when you didn't want to admit it.

When the plane landed in Monaco, you felt grateful to have a few days to yourself, although you also knew that you couldn't completely escape the thoughts you carried with you.

As soon as Lando landed in Qatar, your phone buzzed with his message. “Landed and ready to start the week. Missing you already,” the text read, accompanied by a couple of smiley emojis. The simplicity of the message brought a smile to your face and you responded without hesitation, sending him encouragement and reminding him that you would be watching every session of the race weekend.

However, during those days in Monaco, between relaxing walks and afternoons in cafes overlooking the harbour, there was something that disturbed the peace you were trying to maintain: the complete absence of news from Max. The last time they had spoken by text, the conversation had extended longer than you had expected. It had been casual, almost innocent, but a part of you had felt that something had been left hanging. That something, perhaps, could continue if one of you took the next step.

And yet, not a single message. Nothing. The days passed, and though you hated to admit it, every time your phone vibrated with a notification, a spark of anticipation would rise in your chest, only to die down when it wasn’t him. You kept telling yourself that you weren’t going to be the one to break the silence, that if Max wanted to talk, he would have to do it. You weren’t going to give him that privilege of knowing that you had been waiting for something from him.

Despite this, you couldn’t ignore the latent annoyance that built up with each passing day. Why had he shared so much in those previous messages if now it seemed to just disappear? It wasn’t logical. To push the doubts out of your mind, you immersed yourself in your affairs at home.

As the race weekend approached, you tried to convince yourself that this was all just a whim of your mind, that Max was just another driver in a world where competition and ego were always at the forefront. It didn’t mean anything, right?

Well, it did mean that, the sun was softly streaming through the window as you enjoyed a quiet breakfast on the small balcony of your apartment.

Suddenly, a notification lit up your phone screen. At first, you ignored the impulse to look at it right away, not wanting to admit that you were so attentive. However, curiosity won out and as you looked, your eyes widened a little more. It was Max.

"Why aren't you in Qatar?" the message said, direct and blunt. "I thought you would arrive a few days later. Aren't you coming?"

For a moment, the message left you unsure of what to respond to. After so many days of silence, it seemed like it was the most normal thing in the world. You bit your lip, trying to decide whether to ignore it or respond, and finally, the frustration you had been building up for days came to the surface.

"It's none of your business, Max," you wrote back, in an attempt to keep your distance, to make him see that his disappearance had been noticeable.

It was only a few seconds before his response appeared. It was almost like he had been waiting for a sign from you. “I didn’t know you missed me,” he replied, accompanied by a smile emoji, as if this was all a game to him. “Seriously, I thought you would come.”

You shook your head, trying not to fall for his game, but then a new text came through. “Maybe you’re not coming because you know what’s going to happen,” he wrote. “I’m going to win. Don’t you want to come watch? This time, it’ll be my new championship.”

You felt a pang of nerves mixed with something you didn’t want to admit. Still, you resisted. You didn’t want him to think that only his words could convince you.

“What makes you think I care?” you wrote back, trying to sound nonchalant.

“I know,” he replied immediately. “I felt it at the last race. And I know you felt it too.”

You took a breath, feeling those words land right where you didn’t want them. Your pride forced you not to answer, to let the conversation hang in the air. So you put your phone away and decided to ignore him for the rest of the day. You kept telling yourself that you weren’t going to fall for him, that his ego wasn’t your responsibility. However, as the hours passed, the phone continued to vibrate from time to time. Each message from him added a little spark of intrigue, and although you didn’t read them right away, you knew Max wasn’t giving up.

Finally, after hours of silence on your part, you opened the conversation. There were more messages, each one a little more persuasive than the last.

“You know I want to see you? I can’t shake the idea that you should be here,” one said. And then, another text, reading it almost as if you heard it: “Come to Qatar. Not to see him. Come to see me.”

At some point in the afternoon, Max became more direct, his words more forceful. “I want you to be there when I become champion. There is no other time like this, and you know you want to see it. And I want to see you.”

Those last words echoed through your mind, even though you wanted to downplay it. You were on the verge of doubt, trying to hold firm, but the intensity of his messages shook that resistance.

You didn’t respond, at least not that night.

The next morning, after a night in which your thoughts had kept you awake, you decided you could no longer resist. In an attempt to convince yourself, though, you chose your words carefully. You picked up the phone and, after a moment of hesitation, texted Max.

“I’m going to Qatar,” you began, keeping your tone neutral. "But not to see you. I'm going to get Lando."

The text went out and you stared at the screen, knowing that his response wouldn't take long. And sure enough, within a few seconds, the incoming message icon lit up your screen.

"Sure, sure," Max replied, and you could even imagine his mocking smile as you read. "Just for Lando, right? Let's just say I believe it."

You rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to respond to his sarcasm. It was frustrating that he was so clear about the effect he had on you, that he knew exactly how to play with words to provoke you. You decided that the best response was to ignore him, so without giving it another thought, you put the phone aside and focused on another important task before leaving: calling Lando.

Hearing his voice on the other end of the line calmed something in you. The simplicity and sincerity that Lando conveyed to you was a refuge, and that was exactly what you needed at that moment.

—Hey, how are you? —you asked, trying to sound casual.

—Well, a little tired after all the training —he answered, and you could imagine him in some room of the hotel, surrounded by the preparations for the race week.

—Listen… —you took a breath—. I've been thinking, and I'm going to go to Qatar. I want to see you. I miss you.

There was a small silence on the other end of the line, and although it only lasted a second, you felt it like an eternal heartbeat. Lando seemed surprised, and perhaps even a little nervous.

—Really? —he finally said, his voice sounding incredulous—. Well, yeah, sure… Come on, I'd love for you to be here.

It comforted you to hear it, although in some corner of your mind you felt that the main reason for this trip was not so simple. Despite everything, you wanted to be with him, and the idea of ​​​​cheering him in person while he competed excited you. Lando didn't need too many explanations, and you were grateful for that, because you weren't prepared to give them either.

—Perfect, I’ll see you soon then —you said, smiling through the line. He sighed, and though there was a hint of strangeness in his voice, he seemed genuinely excited.

—Yeah, I can’t wait —he replied, and after a few more words, you hung up the call.

You wasted no time. As soon as you got off the call with Lando, you sprang into action. You moved around the apartment almost mindlessly, gathering the things you would need for the trip. Fresh clothes for the scorching Qatar weather, something fancy for whatever evening event was coming up, and, of course, your race tickets. The excitement began to grow with each item of clothing you folded and packed into your suitcase.

When you went in to check the flights, you found that there was only one that would fit in to get you to the first practice the next day on time. It left at 3 in the morning, which meant you would barely get any sleep, but the thought of getting there early and surprising Lando at the track gave you the motivation you needed. You bought the ticket without hesitation.

The rest of the night was a whirlwind of preparations. You tried to go to bed early, but with every passing second, your thoughts became intertwined: the idea of ​​meeting up with Lando again and, deep down, the tingle of knowing that Max would be there too.

At 2:00 am, you grabbed your suitcase and left the house, feeling the mix of tiredness and excitement coming in waves. You arrived at the airport just in time and, while waiting to board, you checked your phone one last time. There was a notification from Max.

“On my way?” the message read, simple and direct. He knew you weren’t going to be able to resist going.

You pressed your lips together, debating whether to answer or ignore him again. But finally, with a sigh, you decided to put your phone away. If he wanted to know, he could just keep wondering.

You got on the plane and, although you tried to sleep, your thoughts wouldn’t let you rest. With each passing hour, you felt the mix of emotions increase: the anticipation of seeing Lando, and the intrigue of how you would feel when you saw Max in person, after that series of messages that had stirred you so much.

At 11:00 am, you landed in the hot climate of Qatar. You got off the plane and, while you waited for your bags, you wondered what would come next.

After collecting your bags, you quickly headed to the exit and raised your hand to call a taxi. You barely gave the driver the address of your hotel, you leaned back in the seat and closed your eyes for a moment, trying to calm the mix of emotions that invaded you. The ride was short, and soon you found yourself in the lobby of an elegant hotel, just a few blocks from where you knew Lando was staying.

Once you were in your room and put your suitcase aside, you took out your phone to send him a message. “I arrived. “I’m at the hotel I mentioned. Let me know when you’re free.” You took a few seconds before texting him the exact location, wanting to surprise him a little more. It wasn’t long before Lando responded.

“You’re here! That’s great. I’m pretty busy today, but I’m trying to make time to see you. I’m glad you got here safely.”

You smiled as you read the message, but you had barely finished reading when another notification popped up on your screen. It was from Max.

“So you’re here already?” his message read. “I’m right next to Lando, you know? I saw him checking his phone and I knew right away it was you. I’m coming to see you as soon as I can.”

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the rapid pace of your heartbeat. Even though you couldn’t see his expression, you could perfectly imagine the satisfied smile on his face when he knew you were in Qatar. He knew he was going to make it so you were there, which was part of what motivated him.

You decided not to respond right away and just let him wait. You left your phone on the bed, and went to take a quick shower, trying to cool off and clear your mind. But even the water didn’t seem to dispel the mix of emotions that were brewing inside you.

When you returned to your phone, you saw that there were no more messages from Lando, but Max had left another, short and to the point: “See you soon.”

The next day, the atmosphere at the track was charged with excitement and tension. It was qualifying day, and all the teams seemed to have the same goal in mind: pole position. You knew that this day was crucial for Lando, who had prepared every detail, every corner, every braking with precision. You had only received a couple of quick messages from him since you arrived, which was not unusual. You knew that when it came to racing, Lando completely immersed himself in his world, seeking perfection on every lap. You didn't want to disturb him or interrupt his concentration, so you decided to support him in silence.

Arriving at the McLaren paddock, you greeted some members of the team and took a place near the screens where you could watch the live broadcast and the times of each driver. Nerves invaded you as you watched the cars preparing to go out on the track, the roar of the engines increasing the adrenaline in the air.

Even though you had gone there to support Lando, a part of you couldn't help but think of Max. You knew he was also going for that pole with the same intensity, maybe even more, and you found yourself in a strange dilemma, unable to define if your expectation was for Lando, for Max, or for the confrontation between the two.

Qualifying began, and on the screen you saw the times go by quickly. Lando's car was fast, his times were among the best in each sector, and you felt the excitement and pride of his performance. You knew how much it meant to him to get that pole, and watching him fight for every tenth kept you on the edge of your seat.

But then, the screen showed Max's times. Impeccable, calculated and fast. He seemed to push the limits with every lap, and his name went up and down the scoreboard in a constant battle with Lando. You couldn't help but hold your breath every time their names changed positions.

Qualifying moved quickly. Q1 began and from the start Max made it clear that he was going to be hard to beat. On every lap, in every sector, his times stood out above the rest, marking a solid lead that everyone in the paddock noticed. Every time his name appeared at the top of the screen, you felt a mixture of pride and a strange uneasiness, as if you were witnessing something inevitable.

Lando was also doing an excellent job. His times kept him in the lead, securing his passage to the next round, but he couldn't get past Max. It was as if the track belonged solely to the Dutchman at that point.

Q2 came, and the competition intensified. The top drivers brought out the best in their abilities, and the times became tighter. Despite the pressure, Max continued to lead each lap with almost insulting ease. Lando, for his part, held firm, striving to close the gap.

The time came for Q3, the final round. The teams made their adjustments, and the tension in the air was almost tangible. This was all or nothing, and both Max and Lando looked ready to leave it all on the track. You watched intently as the first out was Max. His lap was flawless, every corner taken with precision, every braking at just the right point. The time he set was impressive, setting a pace that few, if any, could match.

Lando left shortly after, and the McLaren team held their breath as he completed his lap. The times were very close, but in the end, it wasn’t enough. Max kept his place at the top of the leaderboard, securing pole, and Lando was right behind him in second.

As the clock ticked down to the end of Q3, the result was final: Max would start the race from pole, with Lando beside him on the front row. All around you, the excitement in the McLaren paddock was palpable, but there was also a mix of frustration. You knew the team had gambled everything to get pole, and that Lando had given it his all. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a spark of excitement at seeing Max there, dominant, certain that he had achieved his goal.

As the teams began to pull out and the drivers prepared for interviews, you received a notification on your phone. It was a text from Max.

Max: “Are you going to be there tomorrow?” It would be a shame if you missed it.”

You read the message and couldn’t help but smile, although you refused to let him know the effect his words had on you.

After qualifying Lando wasn’t in the best mood at the end of the day. Although he had the satisfaction of starting in the front row, you knew that second place wasn’t what he really wanted. But while he was immersed in strategy and mental preparation, you felt that you needed a break too.

Back at your hotel, you tried to relax to clear your mind and prepare for what would be an intense day. You lay back on the bed, letting yourself be carried away by the soft tranquility of the room, when your phone vibrated. Unlocking it, you saw Max’s name on the screen. He had been the one to start the conversation that morning, and since then the messages hadn’t stopped.

“Everything ready for tomorrow?” he had written, with that confident tone that always seemed to surround him.

“That depends on who you ask,” you replied, keeping the conversation on safe ground.

“And you? Ready to see me win the championship?” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Max seemed so sure of his victory that, for a moment, you found yourself believing it too.

“So you’re that confident already?” you typed back, trying to downplay it.

“Of course,” he replied quickly. “I’m going to win, and the best part is that you’re going to be there to see it.”

A tingle ran down your spine, a mix of anticipation and the strange energy that only he seemed to bring out in you. You tried to hide your excitement, but his answer came before you could even type anything else.

“And I want you at the celebration, huh? No hiding. You’re going to party with me.”

You checked the message, trying to decipher the tone behind his words.

“I wouldn’t be so sure yet,” you finally typed, trying to regain control of the conversation. “The race can take many turns, you know?”

“You’ll realize,” Max replied. “Tomorrow, when I’m holding up the trophy, you’ll know I was right.”

For the rest of the day you spent in complete isolation, with those messages in mind, feeling their words repeating themselves in your head. With nothing urgent to do, you ordered room service and decided to stay in the room, in an attempt to clear your thoughts before the big day.

When the day of the race dawned, you prepared yourself with special dedication. You knew that the paddock would be full of stares and cameras, and you wanted to rise to the occasion. You chose a fitted white dress that highlighted your figure, with delicate gold details that sparkled in the sunlight. You looked at yourself one last time in the mirror, giving yourself courage to face what would be a long and intense day.

Arriving at the track with Lando, the excitement in the air was palpable. The energy and expectations made each step more exciting than the last. While he headed to a meeting with the team, you decided to take a stroll through the paddock, admiring the hustle and bustle and feeling the adrenaline that always filled you when you were surrounded by the cars and drivers. You had done this many times, and you always enjoyed exploring every corner of the place.

It was in one of those hallways that you saw him: Max was there, standing, talking to a woman you recognized immediately. Kelly. The same Kelly that there had been rumors that he was dating for months. The surprise was immediate, and before you could contain yourself, you stood watching them. Max and her were chatting away, and he, aware of your presence, barely turned his head and looked at you with a half smile. The spark of defiance in his gaze infuriated you even more.

You couldn’t contain the urge to look at him defiantly, letting him see in your eyes that you weren’t the least bit impressed. Or at least, that was what you wanted to convey. However, the mix of anger and jealousy was becoming more and more evident, so, before you let yourself be affected, you turned around and walked away quickly, feeling the heat on your cheeks. Max knew perfectly well what he was doing, and it bothered you to realize that he understood how you felt.

It wasn’t long before your phone vibrated in your hand. It was Max.

“Jealous?” the text said, with that mocking tone that you perfectly imagined.

You rolled your eyes, not intending to fall for his game, but your fingers moved quickly over the screen. “Please. I have better things to do than worry about that.”

“That’s what all jealous people say.” His response came in seconds, with a wink in the text that made you press your lips together, annoyed. “Do you want me to prove it to you?”

“You’re hallucinating, Max,” you replied, feeling your patience slipping away.

“I don’t think so,” he replied bluntly. “Because at the end of this, I’m going to have you, regardless of your little boyfriend.”

You stared at the message, unsure of how to respond to such a direct statement. It was almost as if he had already decided the outcome and was just waiting for the right moment to make it happen. The confidence with which Max spoke made your hands shake, and deep down, even though you refused to admit it, a part of you was tempted by his words.

You swallowed deeply, closing the conversation without answering, trying to focus on the real purpose of being there: supporting Lando.

When night fell on the circuit, transforming the track into a spectacle of light and shadow. The excitement of a night race in Qatar filled the air, and as you walked towards the paddock, you felt the energy of the place resonate in your chest. Everything was ready for the big moment; The cars had been checked, the teams were in position, and the atmosphere was so electric that you could barely contain your excitement.

As you reached the McLaren area, you noticed that the entire team was focused on their screens and communications.

From your spot in the paddock, you could see the starting grid. The cars lined up under the bright lighting of the circuit, reflecting the glare of the spotlights and cameras that captured every detail.

Time seemed to stand still as the traffic lights came on, one by one, until, finally, they went out, and the deafening roar of the engines filled the air. The cars launched themselves towards the first corner, and from the start, the fight between Max and Lando was fierce. Lando had had an excellent start, almost at the same level as Max, and in the first laps he stayed close to his rival, pushing whenever he could, looking for the perfect gap to overtake him.

In the tight corners, both drove to the limit, taking advantage of every millimeter of the track. Max did not give up ground, defending himself with precision and blocking each attempt by Lando. Every time Max closed the line, it was as if he was issuing a silent challenge, telling him without words that he wasn't going to give in. From the paddock, you could barely breathe, following every move with your heart in your mouth.

The tension mounted lap after lap. Max and Lando's cars seemed to dance on the track, in an almost choreographed showdown in which neither of them allowed the slightest error. As the race progressed, Lando tried several times to find an overtaking line, but Max anticipated every maneuver, frustrating all his efforts.

As they reached the halfway point of the race, Lando finally found a small opportunity. Taking advantage of a stretch of the main straight, he attempted an inside pass, going wheel-to-wheel with Max. From where you were, it looked like he would succeed; however, Max responded immediately, braking at the last second and forcing him to take a wider line into the next corner. The crowd held their breath as the cars nearly touched each other, and you felt the adrenaline keep you on the edge of your seat.

You knew this was the kind of rivalry that defined championships. Max and Lando weren't just competing for points; each was fighting to prove their worth, to prove who was the true leader on the track that night. And even though you were there to support Lando, you couldn't help but feel the same thrill every time you saw Max hold his own with that mastery of his. It was a combination of talent and confidence that was almost hypnotic.

In the final laps, the intensity reached its peak. The two drivers pulled away from the rest of the field, and every corner, every straight, was a battle of nerves. Lando stayed glued to Max, looking for any opportunity to snatch the lead. But Max, with the calm of someone who knows victory is within reach, continued to maintain his lead, showing why he was on the cusp of securing the championship.

Finally, the final lap arrived. Lando made one last desperate attempt to overtake him in one of the final corners, but Max, with an impeccable move, held the line and blocked the way. The cars crossed the finish line, and Max’s name appeared at the top of the screen as the winner of the race… and the new world champion.

The roar of the crowd filled the air as Max pumped his fist from the cockpit, celebrating his victory. Lando had driven a spectacular race, coming so close to victory, but the result was clear. You looked over at the Red Bull area, where Max's team was celebrating euphorically, and you were surprised to see yourself smiling, despite everything. You had witnessed an unforgettable race, one that would go down in history.

After crossing the finish line, Max's celebration was immediate. As soon as he got out of his car, he threw himself into the arms of his team, surrounded by applause and cheers. The members of Red Bull greeted him with hugs and pats on the back, some even with tears of emotion. The image was shocking; Max, with his helmet still on and his arm raised, had become champion once again, and the whole world was there to see it.

Meanwhile, you remained in the McLaren paddock, waiting for the trophy ceremony with the engineers and other members of the team. Although second place was not what Lando had dreamed of, you were proud of him. His effort on the track had been spectacular.

From your position, you could see Max take off his helmet and raise his arms towards the crowd, who responded with cheers and shouts. The smile on his face was radiant, filled with a satisfaction that he couldn't hide, and seeing him like that, it was impossible not to feel a mix of admiration and... something more. You shook your head, trying to erase those thoughts, focusing on the moment that was unfolding on the track.

The national anthems echoed throughout the circuit. First, the anthem of Max's country, which he listened to with an expression of almost solemn pride, looking towards the horizon. In that instant, everything seemed to stop; the whole world was focused on him. Then, the Red Bull anthem, as the team members cheered and applauded from below. Lando, seeing the presentation of the trophies and the cheers of the fans, smiled sideways, and although frustration was evident in his eyes, he was also grateful for the opportunity and the recognition of his great career.

You silently watched every moment, every emotion captured on their faces. When Lando received his second place trophy, he turned slightly to where you knew you were, giving you a quick glance that seemed to say, “I tried.” You smiled at him, your heart full of pride, giving him a small gesture of encouragement to let him know you were there for him.

The most anticipated moment came at the end, when Max raised his championship trophy, and a shower of champagne began to fall on the podium. The drivers opened their bottles, spraying each other and celebrating in their own way, while the audience continued to cheer. The emotion was indescribable; the lights, the sound, the applause, everything combined in an explosion of joy. Max glanced down, and although he was surrounded by his own teammates, you noticed that his gaze went directly to you, as if he were looking for you in the crowd. A mischievous smile appeared on his lips when his eyes met yours, and you raised an eyebrow, letting him notice that, despite everything, you were impressed.

The applause continued as the drivers left the podium, and you stayed there for a moment longer, taking in the mix of emotions that the race had left behind.

As soon as they stepped off the podium, the festive atmosphere became tense. Max, still in a state of euphoria over his victory, walked through the corridors of the paddock surrounded by his team. Lando, for his part, had taken his second place with the greatest possible dignity in front of the cameras, but there was palpable frustration in his gestures.

The two drivers met on the way to the locker room, and although their teams tried to distance them, friction was inevitable. Max, noticing the expression on Lando's face, gave him a provocative smile.

“Nice try. “You know there’s only one champion, though,” Max said, in that arrogant tone you’d heard so many times and that inflamed his rivals so much.

Lando stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes flashing with contained fury. He couldn’t stand the brazenness with which Max was trying to provoke him after all the fighting on the track. The teams around them began to notice something was brewing, and some came closer in an attempt to intervene before things got out of hand.

“Yeah, Max, congratulations,” Lando replied, his voice controlled but full of sarcasm. “Some only care about glory and winning at all costs, even if they don’t have anyone to celebrate with them, right?”

Lando’s words made Max’s smile freeze for a moment. You knew how direct Lando could be when something irritated him, and this time he had struck a chord. Max took a step forward, his expression changing from amused to defiant.

“Don’t talk to me about celebrations, Norris. I don’t need company to be the best. Some are just here because they want an excuse to impress, but they don’t have what it takes to do it.”

Lando narrowed his eyes, the tension in his body evident. His team tried to place a hand on his shoulder to stop him, but he pushed it away without looking.

“Next year I’m going to fight you to the end, and I won’t need your cocky attitude to prove it.”

The words fell like a challenge, and at that moment, Max took a step towards Lando, her face just a few inches from his. Their gazes met, two pairs of eyes filled with pride and ambition that weren’t willing to budge.

“Whenever you want to try, Norris. But in the meantime, enjoy being second,” Max whispered in an icy tone, still staring at him.

The tension was palpable, and right then, it seemed like the situation was going to escalate even further. However, members of both teams quickly intervened, pulling them aside before either of them took another step. They were led in opposite directions, though both continued to glare at each other defiantly, not giving in one bit of their pride.

Meanwhile, you had witnessed the entire scene from a distance, watching as the rivalry that had begun on the track continued in every gesture and word.

After that little argument, as the hubbub filled the place, the idea of ​​the party seemed increasingly distant for Lando. As soon as they returned to the hotel, you noticed that his silence became dense, almost sharp, as he avoided your gaze and his steps were heavy. You, trying to be understanding and wanting to ease the tension, tried to speak to him softly as the two of you went up in the elevator to his suite.

When you got to the room, Lando dropped his bag in the corner and collapsed onto the couch, letting out a frustrated sigh. You kept your eyes on him, knowing something was wrong. His gaze, lost somewhere on the floor, finally met yours, and his eyes reflected a mix of disappointment and something else that was harder to decipher.

“I’m not going to that party. I have nothing to celebrate today,” he said at last, his tone low and dry.

“Lando, you did amazing today. It was a hell of a race. Everyone knows you gave it your all,” you told him, trying to comfort him.

But your words didn’t seem to calm him down. On the contrary, he frowned and shook his head, frustrated. “And for what? I finished second, behind him again,” he muttered, full of resentment. You knew that “he” was none other than Max, and in that moment, you understood that their rivalry was affecting him much more than it seemed.

You tried to move closer to sit next to him, wanting to put a hand on his shoulder, but Lando pulled away, standing up and walking a few steps away. He looked nervous, and something inside you told you that this wasn’t just frustration from the race. There was something else, something that seemed to be building up between you for a while now.

“Lando, I know today was tough, but there are more opportunities. You’re an amazing driver, and second place is something you should be proud of…” you began to say, searching his eyes.

But he didn’t seem to want to listen. “Proud? Are you serious?” he interrupted you, his voice rising slightly. “Why are you telling me this as if you care so much? Sometimes it seems like you’re not here for me, but for… someone else.” His gaze was accusatory, and his words began to make your heart beat faster, in a mix of discomfort and a little fear.

“What are you implying?” you asked, not wanting to believe what you were hearing.

“I think you know exactly what I'm talking about,” he replied, crossing his arms and staring at you. “Every time he's around… every time Max shows up, it's like you tune out everything else. Even today, I saw you staring at him from the paddock. Why? What happens to you when he's around?”

His gaze was hard, full of reproach, and you felt the heat rise to your cheeks as you realized that you couldn't hide anything from him. You hadn't been entirely fair to him, you knew that. But you also didn't want him to throw feelings in your face that you hadn't even been able to fully understand.

“Lando, you're overreacting,” you said, trying to sound calm even though your voice was shaking. “I have been here with you, always supporting you. I came to Qatar to be with you in this race, to show you that I am on your side.”

“Really?” he replied, with a sarcastic laugh you had never heard from him before. “Because it doesn’t seem like you’re here just for me, to be honest. It seems like you stayed because you had something unfinished with Max, or am I wrong?”

His words hurt you, more than you wanted to admit. The tension between you had grown in the last while, and now it seemed like that bubble was finally bursting, revealing truths that you both tried to avoid.

“What do you want me to say? I can’t ignore that Max is here, I can’t pretend that he doesn’t exist, and you can’t demand that of me either,” you said, trying to keep your voice controlled. But Lando was too hurt to listen.

“I can’t go on like this. I need someone who is here for me, completely. I don’t want to be questioning whether my victories, my defeats, or even my own feelings, are being compared to someone else’s. If that’s what you feel, you better leave,” he said finally, pointing to the door.

The intensity of his words paralyzed you. He wanted you to leave. His eyes were filled with pain, and even though deep down you knew it hurt you too, you felt a deep injustice in how he was blaming you. But, after all, something in his pain was understandable.

Without answering, you took a deep breath, and turned around, moving towards the door. You felt the weight of each step, the rage contained in your chest, and also the pain of knowing that you had hurt someone you really cared about.

As you left Lando's room, a mix of frustration and pain accompanied you to the exit of the hotel. The argument still hovered in your mind, his words still echoing in every corner of your thoughts. You walked aimlessly, absorbed, until you finally took a taxi to your own hotel. You arrived, exhausted, but unable to relax. You dropped your bag on the floor and sat on the bed, staring out the window as the city vibrated with the night lights.

Almost instantly, your phone vibrated on the nightstand. It was a text from Max, asking if you were going to the party, as if everything between you was okay. His texts seemed harmless, but the situation with Lando was still too fresh and you weren't in the mood to deal with anyone else right now.

"I'm not in the mood, Max. I don't want to be disturbed tonight," you texted, trying to stay distant.

This time, Max didn't respond right away. You stared at the phone screen for a moment, waiting for a prodding that, for some reason, seemed inevitable. But there were no more messages. His silence was a kind of relief that allowed you to lie back on the bed, close your eyes, and try to relax.

Hours passed in a state of light sleep, with thoughts going back and forth between Lando and Max, between your feelings of guilt and what had just happened.

At 3 a.m., the phone vibrated again, and Max's name lit up the screen. You were surprised, and a mix of emotions washed over you when you saw the message.

Max: “Are you still awake? I want to go see you.”

You took a deep breath, and a part of you resisted answering. You didn’t want to see him; you felt like things were too tense and confusing, and the last thing you needed was to add to the complications. But, almost without being able to help yourself, you answered.

“No, Max. I don’t want to see you. It’s not the time,” you wrote firmly, hoping he would understand.

However, as always, Max insisted. The next message came quickly, almost as if he had already written it before you responded.

Max: “You know I want to see you, and I know you want that too. Come on, you have nothing to lose.”

You let out a sigh and, in the end, you let go of the resistance. Maybe the exhaustion of the whole situation was taking its toll on you, or maybe, deep down, you wanted his company. Without thinking too much, you sent him your location.

The message went through and, almost instantly, a sort of anticipation began to build in your chest. You knew that with Max, things were never simple, and that agreeing to see him right now, alone, at 3 a.m., would only add more complexity. But at that moment, logic seemed like a weak obstacle.

When Max arrived, the atmosphere was charged with a tension that you both understood all too well, but that neither seemed willing to fully cross. You shared a few intense kisses, with that contained urgency that had floated between you for so long. But every time Max tried to take things a little further, you stopped him. It wasn't the time; you still felt a mix of anger and confusion about what had happened with Lando. Despite his obvious frustration, Max respected your boundaries, settling for holding you while you fell asleep in his arms, feeling an unexpected comfort in his closeness.

The next morning, the light coming through the window gently woke you up. You opened your eyes and looked around, finding Max still asleep next to you. For a moment, calm seemed to fill you, as if the outside world didn't exist, as if everything was simpler than it really was. With a sigh, you reached for your phone to check the time, only to be met with a series of notifications that almost made you drop it.

There were dozens of messages and photos that your acquaintances had sent you. You opened the notifications one after another, and your shock and anger increased with each one. The images showed Lando with an unknown woman in his hotel, in a scene that left no room for interpretation. There were even several messages from him, written in a hurry and with a sense of panic that made your blood boil.

The impulse of frustration was so strong that, without thinking, you threw the glass on the nightstand against the wall, jolting Max awake. The sound of breaking glass echoed in the room, and he sat up quickly, looking at you in surprise and then with a sly smile.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, rubbing his eyes as he looked at the broken glass.

Without saying anything, you handed him your phone, showing him the photos and messages from Lando. Max stared at the screen in silence for a few seconds, and then let out a dry, carefree laugh, as if it all seemed ridiculously convenient.

“Perfect,” he said, his expression a mix of amusement and satisfaction. “Now we can both get out of here without any problems. You see, I was doing you a favor.”

The indifference in his voice made you furious. You pushed the phone away and looked at him with a cold expression.

“No, Max. This isn’t a favor, and I’m not going to take advantage of it. This could ruin us both, and I don’t want to be a part of that story.”

He raised an eyebrow, still with that spark of amusement in his eyes.

“Really? Because, frankly, it doesn’t seem like Lando is doing anything very different from you, am I wrong?” he replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Why are you so angry? He just did you a favor… He freed you from continuing to pretend that things were fine between you.”

You looked at him, feeling like every word was a blow. He was right, at least in part. It hurt you to admit it, but the difference lay in the feelings. Despite the tension between you and Max, the connection you had felt was something real and deep, something that, for some reason, felt authentic.

“It’s not the same, Max,” you said quietly. “Cause with you… with you, things are different. The difference is that I do like you, and he… he went and got himself someone.”

Max fell silent, his smile fading as he watched you. For the first time, he seemed to have understood the seriousness of what you felt, and his expression softened.

“So why are you still here?” he asked quietly, no trace of mockery. “Why stay with him if you know it’s not the same? Why stay with someone who doesn’t give you what you need?”

You fell silent, fighting your own thoughts. You knew there was truth in what Max said, but it all seemed too complicated. You were caught between what you felt and what you believed was right, in a situation where neither path seemed easy.

Without saying anything else, Max approached and took your hand, looking at you with a seriousness he rarely showed.

“I’m not going to pressure you,” he said softly, “but I want you to know that I’m here, if you decide that this,” he pointed to the space between you. “Is something worthwhile. It’s up to you.”

The intensity in his gaze made you feel a mix of emotions. You knew you had to make a decision, but at that moment, the only thing that was clear was that things would never be the same again.

[pxob]

angel eyes

Genya Shinazugawa x Fem!Reader

Word count: 5524

Category: Enemies to lovers, slow burn romance, angst and fluff.

Warnings: Manga spoilers (if you squint), mentions of death, blood and injury and swearing.

Prologue 

Kanae-sama and Shinobu-sama had taken you in as a child after a demon attack had brutally slaughtered your parents. From that day on, you harboured a deep resentment towards the foul creatures that had caused so much pain and suffering, not just to you but to countless others as well.

Despite the trauma you had endured, your gratitude towards the Kocho family never wavered. They had taken you in, provided you with a loving home, and helped you heal from the devastating loss of your parents. 

While Kanao was timid and obedient, you were more like a replica of Kanae-sama's personality - kind, loving, and easy-going, except when it came to your deep-seated resentment towards demons. 

Your bond with Kanae-sama was as tight as any sibling relationship could be. Shinobu-sama recognised your deep connection with her biological sister and would even let her strict personality slip around you. From dawn until dusk, you trained with Kanae-sama and shared meals with her every evening. You were inseparable, to the point where Shinobu-sama had to physically intervene to separate the two of you. 

Until she died at the hands of Upper Moon 2. The news spread like wildfire, and you threw yourself into training with tireless resolve, determined to become the Tsuguko that Kanae-sama had hoped for. 

Kanao and Shinobu-sama were worried about you day and night, and despite Kanao's silent presence, she never left your side. She was aware of the hole in your heart that may never be filled again after Kanae-sama's death. 

A part of you, gone. 

“You’re not going to like this,” Aoi said as a way of greeting. She was standing at the sliding door of yours and Shinobu-sama’s research room. 

“Aoi-chan,” you looked up at her from your microscope. “What are you unhappy about now?” You teased. 

“Oh, it’s not me who's going to be unhappy,” Aoi said, giving you a knowing smile. You raised an eyebrow in curiosity as you heard a pair of unfamiliar footsteps approaching. 

Aoi stepped aside and introduced you to the boy. "This is Shinobu-sama's Tsuguko," she said, "She'll be giving you frequent check-ups, so please treat her with respect." Her words dripped with venom as she added, "And if you don't, I'll poison your medication." 

The boy stood in the same spot where Aoi had been moments before, his impressive height looming over her. He donned the uniform of a demon slayer, and his muscular physique strained against the tight sleeves. As you observed him closely, you couldn't help but count the numerous scars that littered his body. 

You also couldn't help but notice the unruly, unevenly cut hair on his head that resembled a rooster's comb. 

“You’re fucken kiddin’ me,” were his first words. 

You smiled in realisation, remembering clearly where you first met this boy.

Upon reaching the mountain top, you both were met with the discord of yelling and bodies shifting aggressively on the cobblestone path. 

“This is for starin’ at me, ya yellow-headed freak,” the boy shouted as he grabbed the other young boy by his yellow kimono. 

The examinees were scattered, murmuring, yet none intervened. 

“I WASN’T STARING AT YOU!” He shrieked. 

Everyone held their breath, waiting to see what would happen next. 

“Ya were, dickwad,” the boy replied, his fist raised menacingly. 

Without hesitation, you swiftly made your way towards the boy, grabbing his wrist tightly. 

“It’s rude to assault strangers,” you said calmly, a smile plastered onto your face. 

"The fuck," he said aggressively as he tried to retract his wrist from your grasp, you tightened your grip even more. 

The yellow-haired boy fled the moment he saw an opening, tears streaming down his cheeks as he trembled uncontrollably. 

“Let go, bitch,” he spat out, face turning red. 

Kanao took a step toward him, a silent threat emanating from her. 

“It’s okay, Kanao,” you said kindly, “Some people are unfortunate to not have been taught basic manners.” 

The bystanders began to chuckle lightly. 

"One day, I hope he learns to be kind," you said, twisting his wrist firmly. "Otherwise, his attitude will be the death of him." You then took hold of his elbow, manoeuvring it into a lock and guided him towards the ground. 

A resonating thump followed as he hollered below you. 

“YOU FUCKEN BITCH I’LL SLAUGHTER YOU!” 

“Your attitude has not changed since then it seems,” you stood, slowly walking towards him. 

He had grown an incredible amount in the short time since you last saw him, a clear indication of Himejima's rigorous training regimen and, most likely, his constant consumption of demon flesh. 

"Thank you for bringing him here, Aoi-chan," you said, the boy was staring back at you with a bewildered expression. "You may go now," you added, dismissing Aoi with a nod of your head. 

“Please come in,” you said, turning and leading the way towards the working desk, where there were two chairs on opposite sides of the table. “Please take a seat,” you gestured towards one of the chairs, noticing that the boy was still standing by the door. 

"I'm not coming in," he declares, looking down the hallway, averting his gaze. 

"Why is that? I won't bite," you joke with a friendly smile. But the boy remains rooted to the spot. 

“What’s your name?” you asked politely. 

“None of your business,” he snapped back. 

“Okay, none of your business,” he scoffed at that. “I’m going to be putting my valuable time and efforts into you-” 

“That was your choice,” he cut you off rudely.

Classic 

“Himejina-san informed me all about your case,” You walked towards the cabinet, situated on the far side of the room, where you stored all sorts of medicinal concoctions. Your gaze scanned the shelves, searching for the specific one you needed, after a few moments of searching, you finally found the right vial and walked back towards him. 

As you approached him, you noticed he was watching you every step of the way. You held out the vial and said, "I've created this specifically for your special case. It's designed to help mitigate any extraneous effects that may arise." 

The boy's eyes narrowed sceptically as he glanced back and forth between you and the vial. He hesitated before finally speaking up, "What if you poisoned this shit?" 

"Don't worry," you said. "It's completely safe.” 

He took the vial and inspected it closely. "Should you ever feel overwhelmed with the powers of the demons you consume, this should help ease it," you explained. "I recommend that you drink a tablespoon every half day and come back to me every week to check in on your progress." 

You took a step back from him and flashed a teasing smile. "And maybe then, you'll finally feel comfortable enough to share your name with me!" 

His face contorted into an irked expression, and he turned to walk away upon hearing your comment. As he strode down the hallway, you noticed him tuck the vial into his pocket and observed his ears turning red. 

A few days later, a group of three new demon slayers arrived at the Butterfly Mansion and were granted the privilege of staying there. You recognised each one of them from the mountain top of the final selection. Among them was the yellow-haired boy named Zenitsu, who seemed to recognise you even more. He took a considerable liking to you, constantly fawning whenever he catches sight of you. 

But what surprised everyone was the presence of a demon among them. It was unprecedented to have a demon among the ranks of the demon slayers; however, despite this, you have taken a liking in investigating the demon named Nezuko. 

Kanae-sama had a goal of eventually living in peace with demons. If Kanae-sama were here, she would have loved Nezuko, a sweet young girl who can easily be seen as a younger sister figure to almost anyone. 

“Zenitsu-san, your drool is creating a puddle on the ground,” you said as you were training. 

He sighed dreamily, “You’re so radiant, etherial, powerful-” 

You promptly resumed your training as Zenitsu's words started to sound like white noise. 

As he continued to ogle over you, another presence approached the training grounds. He stopped immediately upon seeing you training, his eyes scanning over your movements with interest. 

He watched as you effortlessly destroyed every single bamboo target with just a few swings of your Nichirin blade. Your movements were so swift and precise, as if you were dancing through the air. He couldn't help but feel a tinge of jealousy and spite as he watched you move with such ease and grace. 

He wondered how many hours of practice and dedication it must have taken to reach such a level of skill. 

He could tell that you had been a Tsuguko for quite some time, likely honing your skills through rigorous training and practice. If you continued at this pace, he couldn't help but wonder if you might become a Hashira in a matter of months. And what was even more impressive was that you would be the second youngest among the Hashira, which made your potential all the more remarkable. 

The thought of someone else reaching such a high level of skill and potential while he remained stagnant infuriated him. It stung even more because he had always wanted to impress his brother, the only person he ever truly wanted to please. But seeing your abilities, he couldn't help but feel like he would never be good enough in his brother's eyes. 

You turned around, a smirk spreading across your face as beads of sweat rolled down your serene complexion. "Oh, didn’t see you there," you said with a chuckle. "I'm glad you came back."

Zenitsu's eyes snapped to where you were now looking and he yelped, "SCARY MAN!" 

The boy turned to face Zenitsu and said, "Piss off, creep.” 

His words made Zenitsu run to where his other two companions were within the mansion. 

You headed towards the engawa, where a carafe of water was waiting for you. As you walked away, he couldn't help but survey the damage you had done to all of your targets. It was clear that you had accomplished it all without using any specific techniques, leaving him in awe. "How did you do that?" he blurted out. 

As you finished gulping the water, swiping the rouge droplets from your chin you asked, “Do what?” 

He pointed towards the targets, now reduced to mere fragments joining with the dirt on the ground. 

You let out a small laugh, "How did I do it without using any breathing technique?" You walked towards his side, "You're quite observant. How about you tell me your name and I'll teach you a thing or two?" You teased. 

"Genya Shinazugawa," he replied straight to the point. 

You grinned and said, "I meditate for an hour every morning and night." 

He looked at you with disbelief and asked, "Ya kidding, right?" He visibly deflated and continued, "Ya tellin’ me you sit on your ass and breathe for two hours a day? That's fucken ridiculous," his tone laced with disdain. 

"You'll understand one day," you replied, a hint of amusement in your voice, and then pivoted on your heel. "Let's start your check-up, Genya-san." 

“Take off your shirt,” you instructed. 

Genya stuttered in surprise, “What?” 

As you reached for the stethoscope from the table drawer, you said, "I need to listen to your lungs and heart for any defects.” 

“Oh.” 

Respecting Genya's privacy, you continued facing the opposite direction as he removed his upper layers. You could hear the rustling of clothes and then the sound of them falling to the floor. Once you sensed that he had finished, you turned around to face him. 

You couldn't help but marvel at his physique. At his age, he was unbelievably ripped with muscles and scars that seemed to accentuate his sculpted form, as if he was crafted from the finest quality marble. You rubbed your eyes, pretending as if something had gotten into them and then looked at him, only to find that he was already staring back at you. 

“Please have a seat,” you gestured towards the chair beside the table. 

He complied, appearing to be more cooperative than before. You pulled a stool in front of him and noticed him tense up, every muscle in his body taut. 

You clenched your jaw, put on the earpieces, and carefully placed the stethoscope on his left pectoral, listening to the booming beat of his heart.

 "Why is your heart beating so quickly, Genya-san?" You prodded, looking up at him through your lashes. 

"Drank tea," he replied too quickly. 

As you removed the stethoscope from his pectoral and stood up, you noticed that he was staring out the window. 

"Are you nervous, Genya-san?" you asked, trying to provoke a response. 

He snapped his eyes toward you. "Fuck no," he said, his voice tense. 

You towered over him as he remained seated in the chair, observing the way his jaw clenched and unclenched and his hands balled up in fists. Maintaining eye contact, you slowly walked around to his back and brought the stethoscope above his scapula. 

“Genya-san,” you said softly. 

"What?" he said sharply. 

"Your lungs aren't expanding and contracting properly," you pointed out, a clear indication that he was holding his breath. "I'm going to need you to take some deep breaths for me."

Reluctantly, he complied and you listened carefully to his breathing. His lungs seemed to be contracting more than they should for someone at rest. 

You took a step back and removed the stethoscope, gaping at the size of his back. Quickly, you shook your head, trying to clear the improper thoughts that had crept into your mind. 

He hastily gathered the clothes lying on the floor and put them on. “Has the medicine been helpful to you in any way?” you asked. 

He responded with a grunt. 

“I need you to respond verbally, Genya-san,” you insisted. 

“Yes,” he snapped. 

"Very well," you said, making your way to the table and focusing on the array of ingredients on your shelves, trying to regain your composure. 

"You're healthy. I'll just need you to avoid drinking tea before our next check-up," you concluded. 

You heard the sound of the door sliding opening. "Please close the door on your way out," you said delicately, not turning around to face him. He did exactly that, saying nothing but walking out of the room. You swore under your breath. 

As he sped down the hallway, his mind raced and his heart pounded with a sense of urgency. 

He knew he couldn't deal with you anymore. The thought of being trapped within four walls with you made his stomach leap, a clear indication of disgust.

Your soft spoken voice, loving eyes and kind touches had a way of making him feel at ease. He couldn't help but notice how you treated everyone with kindness, even those who mistreated you. It was intoxicating and he couldn't comprehend how someone could be so selfless. 

Your angel eyes saw good in many evil, it was something that both repulsed and charmed him at the same time. He couldn't understand how you could be so forgiving and compassionate, yet he found himself drawn to it like a moth to a flame. 

As he rushed out of the mansion, he bumped into a red-headed boy, barely registering his presence. The boy yelled something after him, but all Genya could think of was getting away from you. He needed to breathe, to clear his head, because the more he allowed himself to be drawn towards you, the more his carefully constructed plan to reach his brother began to crumble. 

He knew he couldn't afford to let himself catch feelings for you. It would only make things more complicated and could jeopardise everything he had worked so hard for. But the more he thought about you, the more he found himself unable to resist your angelic nature. 

Genya's frustration boiled over as he ran his hands through his hair, yanking on his locks in anger. "FUCK!" he shouted, lashing out and kicking a nearby rock, sending it careening into the trees. 

Today was the day of another weekly checkup. 

You were prepared, steeling yourself to remain professional and composed despite the tension that lingered between you. 

As you waited for Genya's arrival, you reviewed your notes and made sure everything was in order. Despite trying to remain composed, you couldn't help but feel a tinge of anxiety in the pit of your stomach. 

It was a little late, later than he had previously arrived. You tried to push the feeling aside, reminding yourself that anything could have delayed him and it was better to wait patiently. 

The sun had already set and the night stars were becoming prominent outside your window. 

"Where is he?" you muttered to yourself, glancing at the clock on the wall. 

You couldn't help but wonder if he was deliberately avoiding the appointment, perhaps because of his stubborn nature or his reluctance to be confined in the medical room. 

So be it, Genya. 

Despite trying to distract yourself with training, your thoughts kept wandering back to Genya. It had been several days since you last saw him, and you couldn't help but wonder where he was and what he was doing. 

But you pushed those thoughts aside and focused on your role as a mentor to Tanjiro, Inosuke, and Zenitsu. You spent long hours helping them hone their skills and improve their techniques. Tanjiro, in particular, showed remarkable progress and you couldn't help but feel proud of him. 

"Tanjiro-san, you're improving at an astonishing rate!" You praised him. 

"It's all thanks to everyone here, including you," he replied with a grin. 

One of the things that made you happiest was being able to help others. You had a big heart and always went out of your way to offer assistance, even when it wasn't necessary. Seeing others improve and achieve their goals gave you a sense of fulfilment that was hard to describe. 

"You too Inosuke-san, well done!" You gave his arm a genuine squeeze, acknowledging his effort. 

Inosuke mumbled something behind his mask, but you could sense the delight in his tone. 

Zenitsu, on the other hand, couldn't help but interject. 

"But what about me,” he whined. "Am I improving too?" 

"Well, Zenitsu-san, you're definitely...trying," you said diplomatically. 

Zenitsu pouted, clearly hoping for more praise, but you knew he had a lot of work to do before he could truly become a skilled demon slayer. 

Despite his flaws, however, you couldn't help but feel a soft spot for him. You looked around the training grounds and realised you needed to get back to your research. 

"I'll leave you all to your training," with a wave goodbye, you turned and walked away while they bowed in response. 

As you strode, you heard the sound of yelling and pleading coming from inside the mansion.

Your curiosity piqued, you quickened your pace and soon noticed droplets of blood on the hardwood floor. Your hand instinctively reached for the hilt of your sword. 

Running, you followed the trails of blood and desperate cries, your heart racing with fear and anticipation. Finally, you skidded to a stop, frozen at the sight before you. 

Genya had always been aware of the risks that came with being a demon slayer. But this particular demon had been stronger than he had anticipated and had managed to inflict injuries that were more severe than he was used to.

Genya relied on consuming the flesh of other demons to heal his own wounds, but this time he had not been successful in consuming a single thing from the demon. This lack of regeneration made the wounds even more excruciating and difficult to deal with. 

Despite the pain, his first thought was to find you, the medical expert who could treat his injuries. He knew that he needed your help to heal and get back on his feet. With that in mind, he had managed to make his way to the mansion, gritting his teeth through the pain as he focused on reaching you. 

Naho, Kiyo, and Sumi trembled in fear as Genya strode through the gates of the Butterfly Mansion, paying no heed to his open wounds. 

He was stubborn to reach you. He trusted only you to treat him or even touch him. 

Blood dripped from his wounds, leaving a trail on the floorboards of the mansion as he made his way towards your office. He ignored the cries of the three girls, driven solely by the hunger to reach you. 

“You’re dripping blood on the floor, please stop!” Naho begged. 

“Let us help you, Genya-sama, it will only get worse!” Kiyo added. 

“Shut up,” he snarled. He didn't mean to sound so hostile, but he needed to reach you without distractions. 

The sound of the girls’ screams echoed in Genya’s ears as he shoved his way towards your office, ignoring the pain that shot through his body with every step. 

His hand left bloody smears on the door as he pushed it open, desperate to find you. But when he stumbled into the room, he found it empty. 

His vision was blurry, and he was seeing spots, the pain almost unbearable. He staggered backwards, using the wall to steady himself as he tried to call out for you. 

Suddenly, he heard the skid of someone stopping behind the three girls who were still screaming in terror. He turned his head, his eyes fixing on you as you stood there with your hand on the hilt of your sword. 

You were frozen in place, clearly shocked by the bloody and battered figure of him. 

“Genya Shinazugawa!” You gasped in shock, your hand instinctively flying to cover your mouth. 

You gently moved Sumi out of the way to reach him. As you got closer, you saw the bloody handprints on the door and the exhaustion on Genya's face. Your heart sank at the sight of his injuries. 

“Please prepare the first aid materials in the infirmary,” you commanded the three girls, they ran quickly. 

"Genya, what happened?" You asked, your voice trembling with concern as you took a closer look at him. 

“Demon,” he said softly. “In a lotta pain,” he added. 

You nodded, your mind already racing with what needed to be done. "Let’s get you cleaned up,” you said. 

You gently took Genya's hand and led him towards the infirmary, careful not to aggravate his wounds. Despite the excruciating pain he must have been experiencing, he stiffened at the sudden contact. You noticed this and quickly dropped your hand, apologising, "Sorry, I should have asked." 

Genya grabbed your hand and held it tightly. "No," he said, "I liked it." 

Your eyes widened at his bold statement, and a blush crept onto your face. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you led him into the infirmary.

After a few hours of tending to Genya's wounds, he finally succumbed to exhaustion and fell into a deep slumber. 

You sat by his bedside, watching over him as he slept. As you gazed at him, you noticed how peaceful he looked, with his breathing slow and steady. 

With your heightened senses, you slowly turned to catch a glimpse of a white-haired man standing silently by the door. 

He lifted his index finger to his lips, signalling for you to stay quiet. 

You nodded in understanding, still surprised by his unexpected arrival. 

He sat himself softly on Genya's bed and pressed a kiss onto his forehead. Your eyes widened as you pieced together the resemblance between the two of them. 

Sanemi Shinazugawa left a kiss on his brother's forehead. 

After Sanemi finished looking at his brother, satisfied with the amount of care given to him, he walked towards you and whispered in your ear, “Thank you.” He then walked out of the room. 

The next morning, you decided to bring breakfast to Genya, wanting to compensate for his sore body with a meal served in bed. As you entered the room, you found him sitting up and staring out of the window, watching the lush trees dance in the fresh air. 

"Good morning," you greeted him with a beautiful smile, holding a tray of food in your hands. 

"Mornin’," he grumbled, his voice still heavy with sleep. 

You couldn't help but feel a little flustered at the sound of his voice. 

"I brought you some food," you said, making your way to him. "May I sit?" you gestured towards the bed. 

"Feel free," he replied softly. 

You sat down next to him and placed the food on his lap, pouring a glass of water from his side table. Genya was about to grab a spoonful of food for himself, but you gave him a warning glance. 

"What?" he looked confused. 

You took the spoon from his fingers and guided it to his mouth, feeding him yourself. 

His face turned bright red as he promptly covered it with his large hand, grabbing your wrist. "I can feed myself," he whispered. 

"I know," you replied with a teasing smile. "But I can't help enjoy seeing you blush.” 

He stared at you intently, as if searching for something in your eyes. 

“You need to eat, Genya-san,” you reminded him. 

He opened his mouth and you brought the spoonful of food towards him. He gratefully accepted it and sighed in satisfaction after swallowing it. Then, you brought the glass of water to his cracked lips. 

Water escaped from his mouth and dribbled down his chin. You quickly wiped it away with your thumb, but as soon as your skin made contact with his, you felt a jolt run through you. You looked up at him and noticed that his eyes had clouded over and his ears were red. 

"I'M SO JEALOUS!" Zenitsu exclaimed loudly. 

"Shut up!" Inosuke swatted Zenitsu’s head. 

Genya turned his attention to the door, where Zenitsu, Inosuke, and Tanjiro were peeking in. 

"Get. The. Fuck. Out!" Genya bellowed, his patience clearly wearing thin.

"Nezuko-chan," you said while sitting on the engawa, gently smoothing out her hair. She was lying on your lap as the two of you basked in the moonlight. 

She let out an enthusiastic hum, and her small hands reached up to grasp yours, nuzzling her cheek against your palm. 

The gesture made your heart swell with warmth, and you couldn't help but think that this is how Kanae-sama must have felt when you were younger. 

You chuckled softly as you noticed Genya’s attempting to spy on the two of you from the hallways of the mansion. "Ganya-san thinks I can't see him spying on us," you said with amusement. 

He made his presence even more obvious by speaking up, "Ya know you got a demon on your lap, right?" he said. 

"I am most aware," you smiled at him. 

The moonlight highlighted your features even more, making you look ethereal. 

"Why do you smile," he asked, his curiosity piqued. "When you feel so angry all the time?" 

His sudden analysis caught you off guard, and you couldn't help but feel a little surprised. 

Nezuko gazed up at you, her eyes full of curiosity and admiration. You couldn't help but think of Kanae-sama and how she used to play with your hair in the same way you were now with Nezuko. 

Genya's words had stirred up memories of Kanae-sama and the pain of her loss came flooding back. Your throat started to tighten, and tears welled up in your eyes. "Fuck," Genya was taken aback by your sudden change in attitude.

Nezuko's sudden embrace took you by surprise. You cried hard on her shoulder, the memories of Kanae-sama and the pain of losing her flooded back to you. Your tears wet her kimono, but she didn't seem to mind. It was as if she understood your pain, despite being a demon. 

Genya watched with a mixture of confusion and concern. He had never seen this side of you before, and it made him realise how little he knew about you. He always saw you as the kind-hearted person with a beautiful smile on your face, always ready to help anyone in need. 

It was difficult for him to see you in so much pain, and he didn't know how to comfort you. 

He hesitantly placed a hand on your head, and you made a muffled sound of surprise from the sudden touch. You turned around and looked at him through your wet lashes, tears still running down your cheeks. 

“I got you,” he said, looking you in the eyes and giving you soft smile. 

He sat down next to you, allowing his shoulder to touch yours. You felt a flutter in your chest at the contact and didn't dare move, afraid the moment might end. 

You looked down to check on Nezuko, she had fallen asleep in your embrace.

Genya's took your hand in his, it was so warm in yours as he ran his thumb along your knuckles. 

You leaned your head on his shoulder, enjoying the feeling of being close to him as you both gazed up at the night sky. 

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” You asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Genya shifted slightly, looking down at you. "Yeah," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "So beautiful."

Two months had passed since Genya started his frequent check-ups, and your relationship had blossomed into something beautiful. You found comfort and joy in each other's company, and Genya seemed to have found a sense of purpose being around you. 

On this particular day, the two of you were sitting on the engawa, overlooking the stunning garden of the butterfly mansion. The fragrant scent of flowers wafted through the air, and the gentle rustling of leaves added to the serene atmosphere. 

You had previously mentioned to Genya that you would meditate for two hours a day, and he had expressed interest in joining you. 

Sitting in silence, Genya found it increasingly difficult to stay still. His legs were losing feeling, his nose was itching, and he was just so close yet so far from you. It was pissing him off that he couldn't hold your hand, kiss your forehead, or have you play with his hair. 

As he tried to resist the urge to sneeze, Genya's nose continued to twitch uncontrollably. He was growing increasingly uncomfortable sitting in silence next to you, struggling to maintain stillness during meditation. He wanted nothing more than to hold your hand, feel the warmth of your touch, or have you play with his hair. But he knew that any movement on his part would break the stillness of the moment. 

Despite his discomfort, he refused to touch his nose. He had noticed that you had an amazing sense of spatial awareness, and he didn't want to risk breaking the peaceful atmosphere with even the slightest movement. So, he tried to hold on as long as possible, hoping the sneeze would subside on its own. 

It did not, it only got worst. 

He slowly opened one eye, feeling a bit apprehensive about disturbing your meditation, but then he couldn't resist the urge to steal a glance at you. However, he quickly regretted it when he realised that you were already staring back at him, a small smile on your face. 

"Have you been starin’ at me all this fucken time?" he snarled. 

"Yep," you chirped. 

"You little-" Genya was about to say something but you jumped up, giggling, and ran towards the garden. 

As you both tumbled to the grass, laughter filled the air. You could feel the soft blades of grass tickling your skin as Genya playfully pinned you down, his weight making it impossible for you to move. You looked up at him, his chest heaving from the chase, his eyes burning with mischief. 

You playfully pouted, pretending to be upset that Genya had caught you, but your smile gave you away. 

Genya couldn't help but notice the pout on your lips, and his eyes flickered back and forth between your eyes and mouth. He hesitated for a moment, unsure whether he should make a move, but before he could do anything, you took the initiative. 

You pulled him towards you and pressed your lips against his. 

He was frozen at first, hands grabbing chunks of grass in an attempt to restrict himself, but he couldn't resist your allure. You whispered his name, which undid him, and he responded by deepening the kiss. 

As the kiss broke, both of you were left breathless. Genya looked into your eyes, his gaze intense and filled with emotion. Without a word, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you, while he pulled you onto his lap. 

For a few moments, both of you remained entranced in each other's presence, the world around you fading away as your hearts beat as one. 

[dragon-ascent]

Hope you don’t mind me rambling about an add-on to that idea of Zhongli’s luxury cave but like in the same vein of that imagine if in an AU where it’s ancient times (When Morax/Rex Lapis was worshipped as a god but way before Liyue Harbour was a thing) you somehow stumble upon that very cave, maybe you were trying to find shelter away from the cold, maybe you were being chased by monsters and just dived into the first hiding spot you saw, or maybe you just somehow got innocently lost and walked in, either way you’re now in this cave that is both gorgeous and somehow way ahead of its time and you’re blown away but also oh so very confused because “What the hell is all this stuff doing here???”. Oh also your dragon god REX FRIGGIN LAPIS is just in that cave and you have to face that too (most wild meet cute of all time lmao)

I don’t mind in the slightest! I’ll happily snowball this idea:

When you enter that cave, what throws you off is not just the sheer splendour of it, decorated with fine wares so eccentrically placed, but also the fact that there seem to be some kind of patterns along the walls. People around a fire, people working at the fields, people making use of the wheel for the first time…

“Do you like them?” a voice rumbles from the shadows, causing you to jump — and then nearly jump out of your skin entirely when you see that it’s Rex Lapis asking you the question, emerging from the darkness in all his draconic glory.

You immediately fall to your knees, scrambling for words. “My lord..! I didn’t mean to..!”

“Please rise.” He nudges you gently. “Forgive me if my sudden appearance has startled you.”

Gulping, you get to your feet quickly. “No, no. I…um, had gotten lost.” Fidgeting, you add, “Th-this is a beautiful cave.”

The god purrs in satisfaction. “Thank you. I have personally procured and arranged everything you see here, and those inscriptions on the walls are my doing as well.”

Before you know it, he’s taking you on a tour of the place, a story for each and every thing present within this cave. Honestly, it’s all in one ear and out the other for you – you’re more preoccupied with the thought that you’re in a secluded place with the god of your land.

“Ah, but I have gone on for far too long,” he finishes after what seems like an eternity, his gait a little more prideful after his stories. “I should be taking you home now.”

“You – you know where I live?”

“I have impeccable memory, little one. I remember where each and every human takes up residence.” He looks out the cave mouth, and you follow his gaze to the rising moon. “But it is quite late; I insist you spend the night here, and I shall have you home when dawn breaks.”

Who are you to refuse your god when he’s already placing you on his makeshift flower-woven bed? He uses his mouth to tuck you in, careful not to let his teeth hurt you. Then, he curls up around you. You look up at him, and he gives you a small nod, putting out the beautiful golden torches.

“Sleep. I shall watch over you.”

(He literally watches over you all night. Two glowing eyes just staring at you in the darkness like a figment of horror.)

[rahuratna]

In another universe, you and I ...

(But it's crack): PART 1

Summary: A short series in which the highly attractive sorcerers of JJK find themselves in an alternate universe with you (with a twist).

Part 1 includes:

Top Model! Gojo who meets you at a party. In spite of your instant chemistry, he harbours a dark secret ...

Naval Captain! Nanami, who has been hunted for years by his nemesis, the white leviathan who aims to show him his giant member. Will you stand by his side?

Genre: Humour, parody, crack

Warnings: sexual and suggestive content.

(I)

"You need a date."

"Mei Mei, I don't have a single free minute in my schedule at the -"

"Okay, let me rephrase that. You need to get fucked."

The coffee you've just taken a sip of diverts somewhere in the depths of your nasal passages, leaving you sputtering. Dabbing at your mouth with a napkin, you glance around the cafe while Mei Mei stirs her flat white, amused.

"Something wrong?"

"You know I'm not ... good at that kind of thing."

"A mystery, to be sure. You're an eyecatcher, even in that coat."

"What's wrong with my coat?"

"Listen." She leans forward, the crook of her lips conspiratorial. "I'm having a little get together at my new place. Kind of a housewarming. And I'm inviting some people I work with. You should come."

Mei Mei was an avante garde fashion photographer, known for her theatric sets. If she was hinting at what you thought she was, then ...

"You're telling me that you're inviting a ... bunch of models?"

"Some of my associates. So yes, models. And others. Just a relaxed little get together. What do you say?"

"I don't know ... I have to -"

"So you'll be there."

Her sly, red-lipped smile brooks no argument.

******

Tugging at the straps of the shimmering green dress Mei Mei had loaned you for the occasion, you took a breath before pressing the buzzer on the intercom that would give you access to the upscale compound. Mei Mei had pulled some strings to procure an apartment here, arranged by one of her well-connected clients in the fashion industry.

Gaining entry, you traversed the beautifully furnished foyer, with its black and white tiles and vintage lamps. The heels you wore were a lot higher than your usual choice, and you walked with the care of one who expected to twist their ankle at any given second. You hoped nobody noticed.

Mei Mei's get together was a relaxed, but lively affair, the buzz of conversation and the clink of glasses audible above the scent of various flowers her guests had brought her. She greeted you at the door and introduced you to a few of her colleagues.

Sipping champagne and appearing to listen intently to the lighting director who seemed to have an odd fixation on nipples under spotlights, the slow dawn of another's observation prickled against your skin.

You turned and surveyed the room, and you saw him. He was not exactly the kind of person you could miss. Tall, eerily beautiful, the ripple of lean muscle evident along the rangy lines of his body, his eyes capture you before anything else does. Blue as the most crystalline mountain lake, as clear, his pale lashes framing their illuminated surface, he is watching you with undisguised intrigue. The snowy hair, artfully disheveled, and the promise of a cheeky smile form a devastatingly handsome collection of features that blend together in a most pleasing fashion.

There was no mistaking it. This was the Gojo Satoru, one of the rising stars of the modeling world, a man who happened to look effortless in each and every one of his lauded photo shoots, many of which had already won awards.

And he was looking right at you.

Mei Mei had noticed his scrutiny of you, and she edged in, her soft introduction delivered with a smirk. She is gone faster than your eye can track, and now he's standing right opposite you, examining you with that laser-lit stare.

Clearing your throat, you swirl the remaining champagne in your glass.

"Gojo Satoru. I saw your cover on last week's Men's Wealth. It was ... really something."

He grins, pearly teeth catching the light of the chandeliers.

"Yeah? Which part of it did you like the most?"

"Which ... oh. The composition of the second photo was quite ..."

"Ahh, that one. Yeah. They just handed me the baby oil and told me to go to town. Didn't know it would be that slippery."

You choke slightly.

"So they don't give you ... more direction than that?"

"Oh no. I guess it's unique to me. I know what works best in my shoots and I get it done."

"Sounds like an interesting work ethic. I bet there aren't many models at your level who can say the same."

"Nah. I know I can be the best. I'm gonna be traveling to the New York Fashion Week tomorrow, and I barely know what's in store. They don't even bother telling me anymore."

His easy admission would sound arrogant from anyone else, but the confident assurance in his voice tells you that this man is simply stating facts. A frisson of something warm filters through you. As if his looks weren't already enough.

"Are you good at everything you put your hand to?"

Oh boy. The champagne had decided to assert its control over your mouth. Gojo doesn't seem to mind. If you're not mistaken, something is kindling in those fractured points of brilliance in his eyes too.

"I guess you could say that. I do have one vice, though. Something pretty incurable."

You lean forward, keen to hear this.

"A vice?"

"Yeah." His voice lowers to a secretive huskiness that turns the conditions in your underwear as humid as the Amazon rainforest.

"I kind of have ... a terrible sweet tooth. Can't get enough. I see something sweet, I want it right away."

He winks and sips from his glass, which you can see contains a cocktail with a fair amount of grenadine. You lick your lips, and his gaze follows the slick movement of your tongue.

"Oh? And what specific kinds of sweets do you like?"

"The classic kind."

He isn't touching you, but with the way his eyes rake over your form, he might as well be.

"I like spun sugar, light as air. The creaminess of a panna cotta. The burst of flavour on my tongue from a berry coulis. Give me some of that, and I'm yours, fair lady."

The upward quirk of his mouth is practically irresistible. It's what keeps you glued to his side for the rest of the night, while he, shockingly, seems to be thoroughly enjoying your company too. At times, you catch Mei Mei watching you both with discreet amusement and satisfaction.

At some point, she approaches and makes sure to thank Gojo for his assistance in obtaining this apartment. You glance over at him in surprise.

"Oh, Mei Mei did talk about that. I didn't know her contact was you."

"Sure was. I live just one floor up, actually. Put a word in with the owners and got her the place, no problem."

"So you own a place here too?"

He slides a hand into the pocket of his designer jeans, the glance he shoots you over his tinted glasses a clear invitation.

"Wanna come up and see the view?"

******

You had no idea how it had come to this. This wasn't you. And yet, here you were, in his apartment, the soft chatter of Mei Mei's party long forgotten in the frantic pace of your lips against his.

You both were barely in the door before his hands were on you, groping, caressing, mapping out every part of you sheathed in that increasingly cumbersome green dress. At the first opportunity, his fingers had stolen their way along the zipper and the material had slid down your legs.

You couldn't remember where your bra had been shed, probably somewhere just outside the bedroom.

He was surprisingly strong for someone with such a lean build. The corded sinew of his arms and back clearly weren't just for show. You found yourself tossed breathlessly onto the soft surface of the bed, as he surveyed you with a hunger that had your hands creeping south between your legs.

Satoru pauses, and suddenly there is a shift in the energy within the room. His face takes on a serious cast and his glance bends floorward. You sit up slightly.

"Satoru? Is everything - "

Eyes flitting briefly up to you, his throat bobs slightly as he swallows.

"Well. I guess this is a first for me. I don't usually do this, but ... I kinda want to see you again. After tonight, I mean."

You breathe out reverently. You certainly hadn't been expecting this level of vulnerability.

"And I want to see you again, too."

"So ... if that's the case then ... you need to see all of me. I can't hide this if we're going beyond a one night thing."

You're paying close attention now, reaching for him. He laces his fingers with yours.

What could this perfect man possibly be insecure about?

He takes a bracing breath before relinquishing your hand, stepping back from the bed and approaching the nightstand. Reaching into his mouth, he fiddles a little before plucking something away and placing it in a small container stored there. Turning back to face you, you see what he has been concealing.

The pearly teeth that had reflected such brilliant perfection in the light of Mei Mei's home were gone. In their place were a series of ill-formed, browning and misshapen stumps, many of them worn down completely. Your eyes snapped up to his, widening slightly.

"Satoru ... how - "

"I told you that I had a sweet tooth. I ... indulged myself as a child and my parents never stopped me. They spoiled me rotten in more ways than one! And now I'm  ... I'm paying the price."

"That's ... but why didn't you - "

"I'm going to have surgery soon to ... permanently fix it. But even if I do, my sweet tooth won't go away! It'll be with me forever. I'm ... "

His shoulders slumped slightly.

"Caramel icing. Berry coulis. Soft serve and rock candy. Even liquorice! Toffee! I can't - "

His voice breaks and you find yourself lunging across the bed towards him, enfolding him in a tight embrace. His breath washes over you, the foul tang of decay now noticeable. You understand how he couldn't keep something like this concealed beyond a one night stand. Your voice, when you speak, is infinitely soft.

"Satoru ... all this time ... were you avoiding proper relationships because you ... "

"I - yes."

His arms come up slowly around you, as if he is unused to the gesture.

"I couldn't even ... make them breakfast if I wanted to. Because then ... we'd have to brush our teeth together and they'd see ... "

"Oh, Satoru."

You press your mouth fervently against his, undeterred, mapping out each stump and broken edge with your tongue. He tastes like old coffee, milk gone sour, the cloying overripe sweetness of a fruit gone bad. But this is irrelevant to you, because you're kissing him.

You break away from him, watching those magnificent features of his freeze in shock.

"Wait ... you still want to - "

"Of course I want to. Come here."

The merry tap of fork and knife and Mei Mei's self-satisfied smile on the floor below would escape the both of you, as wrapped up in each other you had become. You vowed to yourself, running your fingers through his incredibly soft hair, that every morning from now on, you'd stand beside him at the bathroom sink and brush your teeth together.

Satoru missed the New York Fashion Week, but gained something far, far sweeter.

(II)

They call you Ishizu.

It isn't your true name, but it's one you'd accepted when you joined this crew. As the ship's surgeon, armed with your family's repertoire of skills and remedies, you'd managed to earn some credibility in your field. You'd saved more than one sailor's life.

For the brave fishing crews that traversed the Sea of Ruin, the vast stretch of unchartered water between this continent and the next, populated by scores of deadly sea beasts and treacherous archipelagos, the sea was a perilous temptress. Those with the skill and courage, not to mention a healthy dash of insanity, could make a substantial profit within a short time before retiring.

Such was the nature of Nanami Kento, Captain of the Casse Croûte, one of the few living men who had sailed the seven oceanic planes in all three seasons.

The Captain was an enigmatic man, to be sure. He'd come across as cold initially, sticking to such rigid timings and sailing plans that you'd wondered how any of his crew liked him. And heavens, did they adore the man. He had the undying loyalty of every person on board, and whenever you'd asked about it, they'd simply smiled and told you that you'd see with time.

So you waited and observed. Gradually, you began to see the qualities the crew so prized in him. When the cabin boy, Yuuji, almost fell into the jaws of a large sea beast with grey, cross-stitch skin, the Captain had drawn his cleaver and struck such a heavy blow across its nose that the creature immediately lost interest in a fisherman-sized snack.

When Sailor Ino, eager to prove himself, had set forth on an expedition on an unchartered island, only to return covered in large insect bites and a raging fever, the Captain had stayed up with him every night until the fever had broken. You'd never seen such dedication to the welfare of the crew.

There were many other such instances, and slowly, you found yourself gravitating to the quiet, charismatic captain as much as the others did. He was also unmistakeably handsome, with his kind, tired gaze, gleaming blonde hair, tall, muscular frame and clean-cut profile. In spite of his injuries, a missing eye and the damaged hand, he was also a formidable man. You'd be lying if you'd claimed that this dangerously attractive man hadn't intruded on your nighttime musings more than once ...

And on one particular night, while the next watch took their positions at the bell and you sat in the small galley that adjoined your surgery, he'd come in, nursing a steaming coffee, and kept you company. Slowly, he'd opened up to you, speaking of his days as a sailor, before he'd become Captain of the Casse Croûte, and what came after.

Something heavier lay over the conversation, though, something he seemed on the verge of telling you. Eventually, you pried it out of him. As you'd suspected, it was to do with his terrible injuries.

"Have you ever heard of the white leviathan?"

Swirling the coffee in his cup, his single eye glances up at you under dark lashes.

"I ... have heard some tales, yes. He's a legend, according to some."

"A living legend."

Seeing your eyes widen, he nods.

"Made off with a portion of my arm, and I'll never watch the sunrise with this eye again."

You exhale heavily.

"Captain ... I had no idea you'd encountered such a creature. What ... exactly happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"You should ask. After all, as long as I remain in command of this ship, he may yet make another appearance."

"What do you mean?"

"The white leviathan, also known as a Gojoverian Satorunus, is the strongest of its kind to be born in centuries. Normally, they keep to their distant isle, within the Lightning Archipelago, where few venture. He, however, roams the seas in an eternal quest."

"I've heard that legends call him the Meibi Dick. Is there ... a reason for that strange nickname?"

The Captain hisses through his teeth, one hand raising to his eyepatch, as if just the mention of that moniker has sunk a harpoon into his flesh. You hurry to apologise.

"Captain, I'm so - "

"Please. No need. Let me explain. That nickname ... was a direct result of my encounter with him."

"It was?"

"Indeed. It was a gloomy day, I remember. Rain was pelting down. We'd put out the sails, because the sea was quite still.  At that time, we came upon a wreck, out at sea. The ship had washed up on a great reef, and there it hung, a spectre of former glory."

You were now hanging on to Nanami's words like a crow with carrion.

"And the white leviathan had caused this?"

"Indeed, although we didn't know it at the time. I ordered some of our skilled divers to check the wreck for any possible survivors. There were none, but one of the divers came back with something. A large piece of purified ambergris, said to smell and taste as good to leviathans as the sweetest nectar. Its call to them is so strong, that it may even drive them into heat, causing mating events in their population when they come across it. In my folly, I took it on board for its great value."

"And what happened then?"

"That night, the white leviathan, which had destroyed the other ship for the ambergris, came for us. The scent had laid such claim to the beast's mind that its mating mark had bloomed on the skin near its head, which it displayed to us."

"Its mating mark?"

Reaching into his pocket, Nanami drew out a small notebook and charcoal stick. He sketched something on one of the blank pages before passing the book over to you. Your eyes widened as you took in the drawing. It looked like a crude, stylized penis with the testicles sketched in just below.

"Is this ... "

"His frightful member. Indeed. He was attempting to show us his intention in order to lay claim to the ambergris."

"What did you do?"

"I knew we stood no chance against him. Foolishly, I thought to outrun him. It was futile. He boxed us in at every turn, his plaintive, terrible cry echoing across the water to us. Eventually, I ordered for the ambergris to be thrown overboard. It only served as a distraction. The beast consumed it and resumed his chase. Due to how long I'd evaded him, he'd come to associate this ship, and me, the Captain, with the ambergris."

"But Captain, that means ..."

He nods grimly, and you are sorely tempted to reach across the table and take his hand.

"He will hunt this vessel to the ends of the earth. Why do you think I plan every stage of our voyage so carefully? I'm always one step ahead of him, monitoring and studying the tides, the currents, the beast shoals. As long as we stick to the plan, we have the ability to outrun him."

Hope flares in your chest, in spite of your growing fear.

"I have faith in you, Captain. So does this crew. We'll be beside you, if the white leviathan ever makes an appearance."

This time, you do take his hand in your warm, tentative grasp, watching as his eyes drink in your countenance in the dim light of the galley. He squeezes your fingers in return.

**********

The seasons at sea come and go, and its a full seven months and three days before Captain Nanami's perfectly timed schedule is threatened. A storm, the likes of which you've never encountered before, strikes with unpredictable ferocity. The ship is blown completely off course, and although it will take a few days to rectify, Nanami's dire mood is palpable.

If you didn't have full faith in your Captain, you might have considered this an overreaction on his part. But you knew better. You knew that his concern came from long experience.

A well-founded concern, as it turned out. The white leviathan made an appearance a mere two days after the storm, spotted far to starboard by the lookout, and gaining fast.

Captain Nanami forbade any of the crew joining him in his task of slaying the beast, but this was one occasion where nobody would follow his instructions. You all loved him too well. Come hell or high water, you would all be by his side.

And the leviathan approached, its size alone boggling the mind. The waves slapped and beat against the hull, the slow rise and dip of the deck more and more pronounced as it came closer. Nanami stood on the prow, facing the creature, the large harpoon readied by Yuuji in one hand, his trusty cleaver in the other.

Then, you heard it. The terrible call of the creature, booming across the water to batter at your ears. The grotesquely formed words were difficult to make out, but to your astonishment, they formed distinct speech that you could understand.

"Naaanaaamiiiin, letttsssss .... gooooooo oouutttt."

The Captain gritted his teeth, his own reply loud on the wind.

"Never, you foul creature!"

"Sompppthin .... impooorrtant .... talkkkkk tooooo youuuuuu .... "

"You've been chasing me for years! There's nothing this important! Begone!"

"Iiiiiiii .... havvveeennn'tttt...... saiiiiddd nyythiiing ... "

"I refuse!"

That groaning, awful cry had come closer and closer, forcing you to your knees, hands clasped over your ears. The Captain stood firm, even as the giant, pale form broke the surface of the sea beside the ship, the giant, electric blue eye surveying the vessel with the glee of a long awaited victory.

"Naaaanaaaaminnnnn .... "

And then, you saw it. The mark the Captain had spoken of, the giant member and testicles that appeared as scrawled marks from beneath the skin of the beast. It had not forgotten! And now, as the beast called out again, it dawned upon you in a flash where it's dreaded nickname had come from.

"Naaaanaaaamiiinnnnnn ... maaaaayybbeeeee  ... diiiiiiicckkkkkk?"

You lunged toward the Captain, grabbing at his leg to keep him steady as the deck pitched violently before the amorous leviathan. You saw Nanami looking down at you, that beautifully courageous gaze trained on your water-streaked face. He turned back to the monster.

"I will never accept your dick, you all-ruining, unambitious fish."

You grasped his leg harder, willing all of your strength into his good arm as his body uncoiled and the harpoon flew true through the eye of the storm.

Part 2:

Demon Lord! Geto and Fireman! Kusakabe