#puzzles in plain sight

[flieslikeamoron]

Whoever made the nytimes connections puzzle yesterday was going through it.

[mononijikayu]

strip poker — gojo satoru.

You leaned in a little closer, your voice dropping just enough for only him to hear. “Alright, Gojo Satoru. Since you’re so persistent… How about we make this interesting?”  He raised an eyebrow, a playful grin forming on his lips. “Oh? I’m listening to you, doll.” he replied, clearly intrigued by whatever you had in mind. You took a sip of your drink, letting the silence hang between you for a moment, watching as his eyes remained locked on yours, his curiosity practically radiating off him. “Strip poker.” you said finally, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Just you and me. What do you say?”

WARNING/s: NSFW (R18+), Fluff, Romance, Love at First Sight, Strangers to Lovers, Pet Names (Doll, Boy, Baby, Etc), Profanity, Stripping Clothes, Oral Sex, Fingering, P to V Sex, Kissing, Making Out, Humor, Flirting, Teasing, Mention of Stripping, Mention of Body Parts, Mention of Sexual Acts, Mention of Alcohol, Depiction of Sexual Acts, Depiction of Nudity, Depiction of Alcoholic Beverage;

WORDS: 7.8k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: lately a lot of my works were really long, so i realized people need a refreshing thing from me than my long story formats. i thought about this during a writing block and i just thought that maybe, satoru would be the type to enjoy something like this, you know? and i think shoko and suguru would just try to make gojo greet all the guests and he'll be pouty. unless its reader, because reader is loved by gojo a lot (he just met you at this party) but anyway, if i posted this, it means the majority poll meant gojo won. but anyway i hope you enjoy this!!! i love you all~ 🫶

ADDENDUM: with an hour left in the vote and the gap being wide — gojo does win 🙂‍↕️

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if you want to, tip! <3

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HE WAS LOOKING FOR SOMETHING EXCITING. Gojo Satoru leaned against the doorway, his drink swirling lazily in his hand, the dim light of the room casting playful shadows across his face. His eyes, those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see everything and nothing at once, were fixed on you. You were standing with Shoko and Suguru, laughing at some private joke, and he couldn't help but wonder how he had never noticed you before.

It was strange. He knew everyone worth knowing, especially those who moved in Shoko's and Suguru's circles. But you... you were different. Your laughter was genuine, your smile bright, and there was a certain ease to the way you carried yourself—a confidence that wasn’t showy but quietly powerful, drawing people in without even trying.

As you spoke, he watched the way your lips curved into a grin, the way your eyes sparkled with mischief. He could see that Suguru was captivated, leaning in to listen more closely, while Shoko rolled her eyes with a fond smile that suggested she was used to whatever game you were playing. Satoru couldn't quite hear what you were saying from where he stood, but he caught snippets of your voice, warm and inviting, tinged with a teasing edge that piqued his curiosity even more.

"How is it," he muttered to himself, "that someone like you has managed to slip under my radar?"

He took a sip of his drink, his gaze never wavering, trying to piece together the puzzle that was you. Maybe you were new to their circle, or perhaps you had always been there, hidden in plain sight, and he just hadn’t been paying close enough attention. Either way, he was intrigued, and that wasn't something that happened often.

When Shoko glanced over and caught his eye, she raised an eyebrow, smirking as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. He gave her a playful wink in response, but his attention quickly returned to you.

Suguru, noticing the shift in focus, turned and followed Shoko's gaze, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. "Satoru, come here." he called out, motioning for him to join. "Why are you lurking over there like a ghost at a party? Come say hi."

Satoru grinned and pushed himself off the doorframe, making his way over with a casual, easy stride. "I wouldn’t call it lurking, Suguboo." he said, slipping effortlessly into the group, his gaze still locked on you. "Just... observing."

You turned to face him fully, and for the first time, he felt the full force of your presence. Up close, you were even more intriguing—eyes bright and challenging, a playful smile dancing on your lips. "Observing, huh?" you echoed, clearly amused. "Is that what they’re calling it these days?"

His grin widened, loving the way you didn’t shrink under his scrutiny but seemed to meet it head-on. "Well, you know, doll." he replied smoothly, "I like to get a feel for things before diving in."

Shoko snorted softly, rolling her eyes. "Translation: he likes to watch before he pounces."

"Careful, Satoru." Suguru added with a chuckle. "You’re starting to sound like a creep."

Satoru laughed, the sound light and carefree. "Maybe I am, Maybe I’m not." he admitted, his gaze still fixed on you. "But I like to have some good surprises for the interesting ones."

Your smile widened, clearly enjoying the attention, and you leaned in slightly, closing the distance between you. "So, am I interesting to you, Gojo?"

He felt a spark of electricity at the way you said his name, the way it rolled off your tongue like you’d known him for years. “Oh, definitely.” he replied, his voice dropping to a low, playful drawl. “Interesting enough to make me wonder how I've missed you all this time.”

You laughed softly, a sound that sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. “Maybe you just weren’t looking hard enough.” you teased him. “Maybe you need to have a better look, don’t you think?”

He leaned in closer, his smile turning sly. “Oh, I’m looking now.”

There was a beat of silence, charged with unspoken words and possibilities, and Satoru could feel the air between you crackle with an almost tangible energy. He was used to this game, the dance of flirtation, but there was something about you that felt different—like you were two steps ahead of him, and he was enjoying every second of trying to catch up.

“Let’s see if you can keep up.” you said, your eyes glinting with challenge. “Because I’m not that easy to catch, Gojo.”

His grin widened, excitement bubbling up in his chest. “Oh, I do love a challenge, doll.” he murmured, taking another sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving yours. “And trust me, I’m very persistent when I sense something good for me.”

“Then am I good for you?” You grinned at him, eyes full of amusement.

He returned your grin. “Why, the moment I saw you, doll — you were good for me and all of my lifetimes.”

Suguru and Shoko exchanged glances, their amusement clear as they observed the growing tension between you and Satoru. Shoko's eyes sparkled with mischief, clearly enjoying the unfolding drama, while Suguru's smirk spoke of his own quiet amusement at the game Satoru was now fully immersed in. They didn’t need to say a word; their silent communication conveyed everything—this was going to be entertaining.

Satoru, however, was oblivious to their silent exchange. His focus was entirely on you, his mind buzzing with possibilities. The playful challenge you’d just thrown at him had ignited a spark of curiosity and interest that he couldn’t ignore. As he watched you, the way your eyes sparkled with mischief and your smile held a promise of excitement, he found himself drawn in even more.

You leaned in a little closer, your voice dropping just enough for only him to hear. “Alright, Gojo since you’re so persistent… How about we make this interesting?” 

He raised an eyebrow, a playful grin forming on his lips. “Oh? I’m listening to you, doll.” he replied, clearly intrigued by whatever you had in mind.

You took a sip of your drink, letting the silence hang between you for a moment, watching as his eyes remained locked on yours, his curiosity practically radiating off him. “Strip poker.” you said finally, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Just you and me. What do you say?”

"Are you serious?" Satoru chuckled, his grin spreading wide across his face. The light overhead cast a gleam on his white hair, making him look even more striking under the dim glow of the room. 

"Dead serious, darling." you replied, eyes glinting with a playful challenge. "Unless, of course, the great Gojo Satoru is afraid of a little game."

His grin only widened at the bait. "Afraid? Not exactly my style. But I've got to admit, it's not every day someone proposes strip poker to me the first time we meet." He took a sip from his drink, eyes never leaving yours, scanning for any sign of bluff or mischief.

You shrugged, leaning against the table with an easy confidence that only intrigued him more. "What can I say? I like to keep things interesting. And you looked like you could use a little excitement."

He laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained. "So, what's the catch? I lose, and you get a fun little story to tell your friends? Or do I win, and...?"

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Who says I intend to lose? Besides, winning isn't everything. It's the fun in between, Satoru."

He blinked at the use of his first name, a small surprise evident in his expression. Most people would hesitate to use it so casually, but coming from you, it felt oddly natural—like it had always been meant to be spoken by you. There was something about the way you said it, with that hint of mischief and confidence, that made it feel less like an invasion of personal space and more like an intimate invitation.

For a moment, Satoru’s gaze flickered around the room. It was then that he realized Shoko and Suguru had somehow vanished. The two had a knack for disappearing at precisely the right moment, leaving him in a situation that was both intriguing and precarious. Typical of them, really. They always seemed to know exactly when to make their exit, leaving him to fend for himself in whatever delightful predicament they had orchestrated.

A chuckle escaped his lips as he looked back at you, his eyes twinkling with both amusement and a hint of challenge. “Well, it looks like we’re on our own.” he said, his tone light but laced with a playful edge. “I suppose that means we get to make our own rules now.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the turn of events. “Seems like it, glasses.” you replied, your voice smooth and teasing. “So, what do you say?”

He grinned, the playful glint in his eyes growing stronger. “I think we should make the most of this opportunity, doll. Let’s not waste time,” he said, stepping closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “After all, it’s not every day I get to have a game of strip poker with someone as intriguing as you.”

His words were laced with a mix of flirtation and eagerness, his tone smooth and inviting. The term “doll” came out with a casual intimacy, making the moment feel even more charged. You could feel the heat between you intensify as he closed the distance, his presence commanding and electrifying.

You met his gaze with a confident smile, your heart racing a little faster. “Alright, Gojo.” you replied, your voice low and sultry. He pouts. You returned to calling him by his last name. You liked teasing him, he thinks. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“You better watch it, doll.” he said, setting his drink down and crossing his arms over his chest, still grinning. “I’ll bite. Let’s play. But don’t expect me to go easy on you. And don’t think for a second that I’ll be the one taking off anything first.” 

You laughed, a sound that made him feel strangely lighter, more at ease. “Oh, I’m counting on it.” you said, your voice full of playful confidence.

His grin widened, the challenge lighting up his expression. “You’re so interesting, doll.” He chuckled, clearly delighted. “Where have you been all my life?”

You tilted your head slightly, enjoying the way his words seemed to both flatter and intrigue. “Well, you know….” you replied, your tone teasing. “Maybe I’ve been waiting for the right moment to make an entrance. And tonight, it looks like the stars finally aligned.”

Satoru’s eyes sparkled with genuine curiosity and admiration. “I have to say, I’m glad they did, doll.” he said, leaning in a bit closer, his voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “Because you’ve definitely made this night unforgettable.”

“You’re quite the flirt.” 

“Gotta shoot all the shots to win, doll.” He winks at you.

You shrugged, your smile teasing. “Well, you say this now….but you’ll lose to me too.” 

He laughed, a carefree, confident sound that made Shoko and Suguru glance over with a raised eyebrow from a distant space. “Oh, I never lose.” he replied, leaning closer, his voice a low, tempting drawl. “Especially not when there’s something I really want.”

You rolled your eyes, but your grin didn’t fade. “Then prove it.” you said, nodding toward a quieter, dimly lit room down the hall. “Let’s go.”

Satoru, for his part, didn’t hesitate. He set his drink down with a casual flick of his wrist, his bright cerulean eyes still locked on yours as he pushed off the wall. He reached out and took your hand, his grip warm and confident.

“Lead the way, doll.” he said, his voice dripping with playful challenge.

You felt a rush of excitement at his quick agreement, and you couldn’t help but grin. You felt a thrill of excitement as you led him down the hall, the dim lighting casting soft shadows and adding an air of intimacy to the moment. With every step, the noise of the party grew more distant, replaced by the soft thrum of your heartbeat and the electric tension between you.

As you reached the door to the quieter room, you glanced back at him, a teasing smile playing on your lips. Gojo Satoru’s gaze was unwavering, his bright eyes reflecting a mixture of anticipation and admiration. He could feel the adrenaline in him. This was exciting. And he liked it. He liked you.

You pushed open the door, revealing a cozy, dimly lit space that felt almost like a secret hideaway. The room was furnished simply but comfortably, with a plush carpet and a few scattered cushions. It was the perfect setting for the game you had in mind.

He looked around, a playful smirk still on his face. “Alright, doll.” he said, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto a chair. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

You grabbed a deck of cards from a nearby table, shuffling them with a practiced ease. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you, Gojo.” you teased, dealing the cards out between you.

Satoru sat opposite you, his posture relaxed, but his gaze was intense, locked onto you with an almost predatory focus. “I think I’ll take my chances, doll.” he replied smoothly. “And please, call me Satoru. Gojo is too formal for your gorgeous lips to mouth.”

You smiled, enjoying the tension that hung thick in the air between you, the game already beginning before a single card was played. "Alright then, Satoru." you said, your voice dripping with anticipation. "Let’s see who’s getting undressed first."

He chuckled, picking up his cards and leaning back comfortably. “Oh, it’s on now.” 

And just like that, the game was set—a battle of wits, charm, and maybe something more.

You watched as his long legs folded with a graceful ease that didn’t quite match the competitive glint in his cocky blue eyes. He grabbed a deck of cards from a nearby table, his movements fluid, almost theatrical as he shuffled with deft, experienced hands.

You sat across from him, the distance between you feeling both vast and electric, like an unspoken challenge hanging in the air. The way you held his gaze, unwavering and unyielding, only made Gojo Satoru more intrigued. He wasn’t used to people looking at him like that—like he was just another person in the room, not just some role people fit upon him or a man with a reputation that preceded him.

“So, doll….” he began, dealing out the first hand with a practiced flick of his wrist. “How do you know Shoko and Suguru? And why haven't we met before tonight?”

You picked up your cards, smiling slyly. “Oh, I’m sure they’ve mentioned me. I’m just good at staying under the radar… when I want to.” 

He leaned back, considering your words. “Mysterious. I like that. But I'm pretty good at picking up on secrets. Better watch out.”

You chuckled softly. “I think I’ll take my chances.” 

The game began, and with each round, you both played with a mix of strategy and daring. He tried to read you, his eyes narrowing whenever you made a bold move, but you held your own, bluffing with an expertise that surprised him. His usual smug grin faltered slightly, and you could tell he was trying to decipher the mystery in your gaze. The room seemed to shrink with the tension between you, each card dealt heightening the stakes.

Satoru leaned forward, his gaze never leaving your face, a playful yet challenging spark in his eyes. “You’re a lot harder to read than I thought.” he murmured, the corner of his mouth curling upward in amusement. “But I like a good mystery.” 

You smirked in response, feeling the heat of his stare, knowing he was trying to unravel you with every glance, but determined to keep him guessing. You were sure that soon enough, a pile of discarded clothing would grow between you steadily. But so far, there has been little, with your little ties. All you had removed were little, like a hair tie or a necktie. 

You agreed it was still part of clothes. But then again, you just both wanted it to last a little longer. One after the other though was tossed aside with a flick of your wrist or a slow, deliberate grin from him, marking the razor's edge between victory and defeat. 

The room little by little crackled with tension, the air thick with challenge and heat, and every turn of a card seemed to bring you closer, like magnets drawn together by an irresistible force. The game had become something more than a little fun thing — it was a dance with a Russian roulette where every bluff was a whispered confession, every raise a daring promise. 

Your pulse quickened with every sly smile he threw your way, every calculated tilt of his head, and his eyes bore into yours, gleaming with a hunger that was impossible to ignore. The stakes climbed higher with every move, the line between a win and a loss blurring into something electric, something tantalizingly close to dangerous. 

You could feel it in your bones — this was no longer just about cards or luck; it was about who would yield first, who would surrender to the inevitable tension simmering in the space between your bodies. And you like winning. But so did he. Winning was after all, a different sort of drug to be enjoyed.

Neither of you spoke, but the room was filled with a silent conversation, an exchange of glances and gestures that spoke volumes. The game wasn’t just about winning — it was about who could push the other further, who could tease out the truth hidden behind those guarded eyes. Neither of you wanted to lose, not when the real prize was so tantalizingly close. And as another card fell, you knew this was only the beginning.

"You're not bad, doll." he admitted, his shirt still firmly on but with a hint of pink on his cheeks, likely from the alcohol. “But I’ve been known to turn the tables.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested this game if I didn’t think I could win, Satoru.” you replied confidently, leaning forward. The playful spark in your eyes never left, and it only seemed to fuel Satoru’s competitive spirit further.

Round after round, pieces of clothing slowly came off. A shoe here, a sock there. He was still confident, leaning in closer as he laid down another hand. "Full house." he declared, his grin downright wicked now.

You glanced at his cards, then backed up at him with a raised eyebrow. "Nice." you said, sounding impressed, before laying your cards down with a flourish. "Straight flush."

He blinked, then laughed—a genuine, delighted laugh that came from deep in his chest. "No way! You little—"

“Looks like someone’s going to lose a little more than just their pride, Satoru.” you teased, enjoying the way his grin faltered for a moment, his confidence taking a tiny, amusing dip.

He leaned back in his chair, pretending to think deeply, then slowly began to unbutton his shirt. “Alright, alright. I’m a man of my word, doll.” he conceded, though his eyes never left yours, sparkling with mischief. “But don’t get too comfortable. The game’s not over yet.”

As he shrugged out of his shirt, you found yourself momentarily distracted by the unexpected sight—his lean, toned frame catching the dim light. Satoru noticed, his smile turning sly. “See something you like?” 

You shrugged, keeping your expression neutral. "Just waiting for my next win."

He laughed again, a sound that seemed to fill the room, light and unburdened. “Oh, this is really crazy. I like that.” he murmured, leaning in closer, his voice dropping slightly. “I like you.”

You raise your glass, meeting his gaze with a bold smile. "The feeling might be mutual, but don't think for a second that means I'm letting you win."

For the first time in a while, Gojo Satoru felt a genuine thrill that had nothing to do with curses or danger. Just the electric spark of a moment, a challenge, and the intriguing mystery of the person sitting across from him, daring him to come closer.

The game continued on, the air thick with anticipation, each round upping the stakes. Satoru was completely absorbed now, his usual nonchalant demeanor replaced with focused intensity. For every card dealt, every sly smile exchanged, he found himself more drawn into this unexpected encounter. 

As the rounds progressed, it became increasingly clear that you were holding your own. The playful banter between the two of you had turned into something sharper, more personal. It wasn't just a game anymore; it was a test—a test of wills, of understanding, of reading between the lines of every look and laugh.

Satoru tossed his next set of cards on the table. "Three of a kind." he said, tapping his fingers lightly against the table, eyes flickering with amusement. "Not my best, but not bad."

You looked down at your own hand, considering your options. "Hmm…." you hummed, tapping your chin thoughtfully before placing your cards down. "Four of a kind."

His mouth fell open in exaggerated shock. "No way! You’re cheating!” 

You laughed, a carefree sound that seemed to light up the room. "Maybe you just need to step up your game, Gojo Satoru."

He tilted his head, pretending to look hurt, but his smile was as bright as ever. “Oh, I see how it is. You're trying to humble me. I can't let that happen. I have a reputation to uphold.”

He reached for his belt, starting to unbuckle it with deliberate slowness, making a show of every movement. "You really want to play with fire, huh?" he teased, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper. "Careful, you might get burned."

You met his gaze head-on, your smile never wavering. "I think I can handle the heat."

He chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re something else, you know that?” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, close enough that you could feel the faint brush of his energy, his presence suddenly more intense. “But I’ve got a feeling you’re not here just for a game, are you?”

Your eyes sparkled, the corners of your lips curling up just slightly. “Maybe I’m here to see what all the fuss is about. People talk about you, you know… like you’re this untouchable legend.”

He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest with a playful smirk. “And what do they say?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Oh, you know… that you’re the strongest, the smartest, the most arrogant—”

“Hey!” he interrupted, laughing. “I’m not that arrogant… just very self-aware.”

You laughed too, feeling the tension between you soften into something warmer, more familiar. “Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

His grin widened. "You think I’m a show-off, huh?”

“I think,” you said slowly, leaning in just a little closer, “that you like being the center of attention. And I think you’re not used to people seeing through that.”

Satoru blinked, the playful glint in his eyes dimming just slightly, replaced by something more genuine, more intrigued. “And what do you see when you look at me?”

You paused, considering your answer, letting the silence stretch just long enough to keep him guessing. “I see someone who likes to keep people at a distance. Someone who hides a lot behind that smile.”

He tilted his head, his expression softer now, almost contemplative. “And you think you know what I’m hiding?”

You shrugged. “Not yet. But I think you might want someone to try and figure it out.”

For a moment, he was quiet, watching you with those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see everything and yet reveal nothing. Then, slowly, he smiled—a softer, more sincere smile than before. “Maybe I do.”

The tension in the room shifted again, this time to something less tangible, a mix of curiosity and possibility hanging in the air between you. The game had become secondary; it was clear now that something deeper was at play. Satoru leaned back, his grin returning, though his eyes were still searching for yours.

“Alright, doll.” he said, voice vibrant and light. “One more hand. Winner takes all.”

“All?” you echoed, arching an eyebrow. “And what exactly is ‘all,’ Satoru?”

He leaned forward again, his smile turning mischievous. “That’s the fun part—we get to decide. Maybe it’s another game. Maybe it’s just a walk under the stars. Or maybe…”

“Maybe?” you prompted, leaning in as well, feeling the pull between you tighten.

“Maybe, doll….” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper now, “it’s just finding out who you really are, and why you make me feel like I’ve met you before, even though I’m sure I haven’t.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected honesty in his words. This was not the Gojo Satoru you’d expected, not quite. But maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something neither of you had anticipated.

“Deal.” you said finally, holding out your hand for him to shake.

He took it, his grip warm and firm. “Deal.”

You felt the warmth of his hand linger longer than necessary, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. Neither of you pulled away, your hands still clasped together, as if testing each other’s resolve.

“Are you trying to distract me?” you teased, but your voice came out softer than you intended, betraying the flutter of anticipation building in your chest.

Satoru’s smile widened, a hint of something darker and more thrilling sparking in his eyes. “Is it working?” he asked, his voice low and velvety, closer now, his breath brushing against your skin.

You held his gaze, feeling the air between you grow thick with tension, the kind that made your pulse quicken. “Maybe a little.” you admitted, and his grin grew even more wicked.

He didn’t release your hand, instead using it to pull you closer across the small table, until you were only inches apart. “Good.” he murmured, his voice a husky whisper that sent a thrill down your spine. “Because I’m curious… What else could I do to distract you?”

Before you could answer, his free hand reached up, his fingers lightly tracing the line of your jaw, his touch gentle but purposeful. “I’ve got a few ideas.” he continued, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, his eyes following the movement like he was memorizing every detail. 

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest as his fingers moved down, tracing the curve of your neck, his touch feather-light but sending sparks of heat through your veins. “You talk a big game,” you whispered, barely able to keep your voice steady, “but can you back it up?”

His eyes flashed with amusement and something else—something darker, hungrier. “Oh, I think you’ll find I’m very good at keeping my promises.” he replied softly, leaning in until his lips were a breath away from yours. “Especially the fun ones.”

And then, without warning, he closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that was soft at first, almost teasing, before deepening with a sudden intensity that made your head spin. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, and you felt the world around you disappear, leaving just the heat of his mouth, the press of his body against yours.

You kissed him back with equal fervor, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under your palms. His lips moved against yours with an urgency that sent a rush of heat through your body, your skin tingling everywhere he touched. 

He broke the kiss, just enough to murmur against your lips, “You’re full of surprises,” before diving back in, his kiss rougher this time, more insistent. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you onto his lap in one swift movement. You gasped against his mouth, feeling the firmness of his body beneath you, the heat of his skin through the fabric of your clothes.

Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging just hard enough to elicit a low groan from him, a sound that sent a delicious thrill through you. “Satoru.” you breathed, his name slipping from your lips like a secret, and his response was a grin against your mouth, wicked and knowing.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice a low rumble in his chest, his hands roaming up your back, sliding under your shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that left trails of fire in their wake.

You didn’t answer, just kissed him harder, pressing your body against his, feeling the heat building between you, the tension coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap. His lips moved to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made you gasp, your head tilting back to give him more access.

He chuckled softly, his breath hot against your neck. “Sensitive, are we?” he teased, but his voice was strained, as if he was barely holding himself back. His hands slid lower, gripping your hips and pressing you down against him, letting you feel exactly how much he wanted you.

You let out a soft moan, your fingers gripping his shoulders for support. “Maybe,” you whispered, your voice breathless. “But I think you like that.”

He laughed, a low, husky sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Oh, I do,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “I like everything about you… so far.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes, seeing the raw desire there, the need that mirrored your own. “Then maybe, Satoru, baby.” you whispered, leaning in to brush your lips against his, “You should stop talking and show me.”

He grinned, a wicked, knowing grin that made your heart race. “Challenge accepted, doll.” he said, and then his lips were on yours again, his kiss consuming, his hands exploring, leaving no part of you untouched, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of you. 

You looked at him and grinned. “Let me make you feel good, boy.” 

“Make it happen then, lovely.” He steps out of his pants and you sink to your knees on the plush carpet beneath you, licking your lips as he frees his member.. Your eyes meeting him.

You held his gaze, your grin widening as you saw the anticipation flicker in his eyes, a mix of mischief and hunger that mirrored your own. “Oh, I will,baby.” you promised, your voice a low purr that seemed to send a shiver down his spine.

You let your gaze trail down his body, taking in the sight of his lean, toned form before letting your eyes settle on his length, now freed and hard. A spark of excitement danced through you, and you licked your lips, feeling a wave of heat wash over you as you dropped to your knees on the plush carpet, every movement slow and deliberate, keeping his attention locked on you.

Satoru watched you, his breath hitching, and you could feel his intense gaze on you, almost like a physical touch. Your hands reached up, fingertips brushing lightly against his thighs, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palms as you leaned in, your breath ghosting over his length. His eyes widened slightly, a soft exhale escaping his lips, and you could tell he was already on edge, trying to maintain his composure.

You looked up at him through your lashes, meeting his gaze with a wicked grin. “Ready, Satoru?” you teased, your voice soft and sultry, letting the anticipation build for a moment longer.

His eyes darkened, a soft growl escaping him. “Stop teasing, doll.” he muttered, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders, his fingers tightening slightly, betraying his eagerness. “Do your worst.”

Without another word, you leaned in, your tongue flicking out to tease the tip, tasting the salty bead of pre-cum that had formed there. Satoru sucked in a breath, his hips jerking slightly at the contact, and you felt a rush of satisfaction at the effect you were already having on him.

Slowly, you wrapped your lips around him, taking him inch by inch into your mouth, savoring the weight of him on your tongue, the way he filled your mouth completely. His hand moved to your hair, fingers threading through your strands, not pushing, but just holding, grounding himself in the sensation of your warm mouth around him.

You started to move, your mouth sliding up and down his length with slow, deliberate strokes, your tongue swirling around him, adding just enough pressure to draw soft, breathy moans from his lips. You glanced up at him, his head tipped back slightly, his mouth parted as he tried to keep his breathing steady.

“Fuck…..” he breathed, his voice strained, the hand in your hair tightening just a bit. “That’s… you’re good at this…”

You hummed around him, a low, vibrating sound that made his hips twitch, his fingers tightening in your hair. You felt a surge of triumph, your movements becoming bolder, faster, as you took him deeper, letting him feel the heat, the slick slide of your mouth, the way your lips tightened around him.

Satoru’s breathing grew heavier, and you could hear the soft sounds of pleasure escaping his lips, his usual confidence wavering under the intensity of your attention. His hips began to move with you, small thrusts that pushed him deeper into your mouth, and you welcomed it, matching his rhythm, taking him deeper still.

You felt his muscles tense under your hands, heard the low growl building in his throat, his fingers gripping your hair tighter as if he were holding on for dear life. “God… you’re driving me crazy, doll.” he muttered, his voice thick with desire, his control slipping. 

You pulled back slightly, just enough to speak, your breath warm against his length. “Good.” you whispered, your voice a husky murmur, “because I’m not stopping until you come undone for me, Satoru.”

He looked down at you, his eyes blazing with need, and you saw a flicker of surrender there, a flash of vulnerability that made your heart race. “Then don’t stop, doll.” he whispered back, his voice a low command. “Make me lose control.”

You grinned up at him before taking him back into your mouth, your movements faster, more deliberate, determined to bring him to the edge and push him over. You felt his body tighten, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his hips thrusting in time with your movements, and you knew he was close.

With a few more strokes, a few more swirls of your tongue, you felt him shudder, his whole body tensing as he let out a low, deep moan, his release hitting hard and fast. His hand tightened in your hair as he rode out the waves of pleasure, his breathing heavy, his eyes closed, his lips parted in a satisfied grin.

You pulled back slowly, watching him as he came down, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his skin flushed, his hair tousled. He opened his eyes, a lazy smile spreading across his face, his gaze soft and full of something you couldn’t quite place.

“Damn.” he breathed, still trying to catch his breath. “You’re… something else.”

You smiled, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb, feeling a flush of your own. “Told you I’d make you feel good.” you replied, your voice light, teasing.

He chuckled, pulling you up to your feet and closer to him, his hands resting on your hips. “I think you’ve more than proven your point.” he murmured, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss against your lips, his smile warm against your mouth. “But now… it’s my turn.”

A soft gasp escapes your lips as his touch moves with a deliberate, tender pressure. The sensation sends ripples of pleasure through you, making your breath hitch. Your back arches instinctively, your body pressing closer to his. Every touch, every movement feels electric, your emotions swirling in a beautiful, overwhelming storm.

His lips brush against the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. Each kiss feels like a spark, igniting a fire that grows with every passing second. His hands glide along your back, pulling you closer still, as if he wants to feel every inch of you against him. Your breath quickens, matching the rhythm of your racing heartbeat.

His gaze meets yours, a mix of tenderness and something deeper, something that makes your heart flutter. “I want to make you feel everything, baby doll.” he whispers, his voice low and filled with promise.

You feel a surge of anticipation, your senses heightened, every touch sending a shiver down your spine. He takes his time, exploring every curve and contour, as if memorizing you. You’re lost in the sensation, in the way he makes you feel cherished, wanted, and entirely his. The world fades away, leaving just the two of you in a cocoon of shared intimacy and unspoken connection.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and he responds with a soft, satisfied hum, his smile widening against your skin. “Stay with me, ‘toru.” you breathe, the words escaping almost involuntarily, a plea and a declaration all at once.

His hold on you tightens, and he nods, his eyes filled with an emotion so intense it takes your breath away. “Always.” he promises, sealing his vow with another lingering kiss that sends a wave of warmth through your entire being.

His hands roam down your sides with a deliberate slowness, tracing every curve as if savoring the feel of you beneath his fingertips. His touch is both gentle and insistent, a wordless reminder of the connection between you. As his lips move back to yours, the kiss deepens, becoming more passionate, more consuming, his tongue teasing yours in a dance that sets your nerves alight.

You can feel the heat radiating from his body, his warmth enveloping you like a blanket. Every movement is careful yet filled with an undeniable urgency. His fingers slip beneath the fabric of your clothes, his touch sending shivers of anticipation down your spine. Your breaths mingle, becoming heavier, the room thick with the electric charge of your shared desire.

He pulls back just enough to study your face, his gaze intense and filled with a hunger that sends a thrill through you. “You’re so beautiful, doll.” he murmurs, his voice husky with emotion. “Every part of you.” His hands move lower, caressing the sensitive skin of your waist, drawing a soft sigh from your lips.

You could feel the edges of your nails dig deep into Satoru’s back, leaving red marks once after another in the canvas of his supple skin. Each breath comes out in a shaky gasp, and you can feel him shiver beneath your touch, his skin heating under your fingertips. He groans softly at the sensation, the sound vibrating against your lips as he kisses you deeply, hungrily.

“‘Toru…baby….” you gasp out between moans, voice trembling with need. “You feel so good, goddddd…”

Your hips move instinctively against his hand, seeking that delicious friction, chasing the elusive climax that seems tantalizingly close but always just out of reach. You wondered where he has been all your life, where has this pleasure been all your life. 

He smiles against your lips, his voice a low whisper, almost teasing. “I’ve got you, doll.” he murmurs, his fingers pressing deeper, moving with a slow, rhythmic intensity that makes you cry out softly. “Let me take you there.”

Satoru’s thumb circles gently, adding a different sensation, his eyes fixed on yours, watching every expression, every shudder of pleasure that passes over your face. His other hand is firm on your waist, guiding your movements, coaxing you closer, pulling you toward that edge with a deliberate slowness that drives you mad. 

You feel the tension build inside you, every nerve ignited by his touch, his name spilling from your lips in a breathless whisper. “Satoru… baby....please…” you beg, the need in your voice is unmistakable.

He chuckles softly, his breath hot against your ear. “I love hearing you say my name like that, doll.” he whispers, his touch becoming more insistent, more purposeful. The heat between you grows, every sensation amplified by the intensity of the moment, his pace quickening, matching the desperate rhythm of your heartbeat.

Your body arches toward him, every inch of you attuned to his movements, and you feel yourself spiraling, that sweet ache within you growing sharper, hotter. His fingers find that perfect spot, and suddenly, you’re lost to the wave of pleasure that crashes over you, your body trembling, a moan of pure ecstasy escaping your lips as Gojo holds you close, his name a soft prayer on your lips.

“I’ll eat you out later, doll. I promise.” Satoru whispers against your ear, his voice laced with a playful promise that sends a shiver down your spine. “But right now… I need to be inside you.”

He positions himself between your spread legs, leaning down to tease the head of his member against your hungry, slick folds, rubbing himself gently against you. Each movement is torturously slow, spreading your wetness across both of you, the friction drawing a gasp from your lips. He watches your reactions with a smirk, his bright blue eyes darkened with desire.

Looking up at you, Satoru grins, his expression mischievous and full of intent. “Let’s do something else for now.” he murmurs, his voice low and inviting. He starts to push into you slowly, stretching you inch by inch, his gaze never leaving yours.

The sensation is overwhelming, your body instinctively arching to take him deeper. You can feel every part of him, the way he fills you perfectly, the way your body molds around him. His hands grip your hips, steadying you as he moves further, a low groan escaping his throat. “You feel incredible, baby doll.” he breathes, his voice rough with pleasure, his control hanging by a thread.

Your nails dig even harder into his shoulders as he continues to push in, stretching you, filling you completely. He pauses for a moment, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed against yours.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, his breath hot against your lips, his voice softer, seeking reassurance even amidst his own urgency.

You nod, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer. “I’m okay… more than okay, ‘toru.” you murmur, a breathy moan escaping you as he begins to move again, slowly pulling back before thrusting in, setting a rhythm that makes your toes curl.

His pace quickens, each thrust more intense, more deliberate, as if he’s determined to draw every sound, every sigh, from your lips. His name falls from your mouth in a mix of gasps and pleas, and he responds with a low growl, his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss.

Satoru’s hands wander, one sliding up to cradle the back of your neck, the other gripping your hip, guiding you into his rhythm. Every movement feels perfectly timed, perfectly in sync, as if he knows exactly what you need, where to touch, how to move to drive you to the brink of ecstasy.

“God, I love the way you feel, doll.” he murmurs, his voice rough and desperate, his forehead pressing against yours as his pace becomes relentless, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through you. Your body tightens around him, drawing him deeper, the heat between you building to a crescendo, and you feel yourself start to unravel.

“Don’t hold back.” he urges, his voice thick with need, his eyes locked on yours. “Let go, doll… I want to feel you come undone.” 

And with those words, everything inside you shatters in a wave of pure, overwhelming pleasure. Your body trembles, your breath catches, and you call out his name, your world reduced to the feeling of him moving within you, holding you, as you both reach for that beautiful, shared climax.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶

epilogue 

You were exhausted. But you still had a curfew and your mother would be looking for you by now. When Satoru heard that, he immediately jumped up and said he'll take you home.

As you both fumbled to put your clothes back on in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window, Gojo’s mischievous grin didn’t fade for a second. His white shirt was still unbuttoned, hanging off one shoulder, and his pants were inside out — not that he seemed to care.

You tugged your shirt over your head, smoothing down your hair with a breathless laugh. "You look like you got dressed in the dark." you teased, glancing at the ridiculous state of his attire.

Gojo chuckled, leaning in to nuzzle your neck, his lips brushing against your ear. "Well, to be fair, I was a bit distracted by you, doll."

Rolling your eyes, you gave his chest a light push. "Sure, blame me for your lack of coordination."

He winked and, with a dramatic flair, flipped his sunglasses back on, even though it was well past midnight. "Oh, definitely. It’s always your fault when I can't keep my hands to myself."

You both burst into laughter, the absurdity of the situation washing over you. Finally, Gojo took a deep breath, still grinning but with a hint of sincerity creeping into his voice. "So… now that I've seen you at your best — and, uh, at your most undressed — how about a date?"

You blinked, caught off guard. "A date? Like… a normal date?"

He nodded, his expression surprisingly earnest despite the disheveled hair and the inside-out pants. "Yeah, you know, the kind where I take you out, we eat something that isn't each other, maybe even talk about our feelings."

You snorted, trying to stifle your giggles. "You sure you can handle that, Satoru? The whole talking thing sounds like a lot of work for you."

He dramatically clutched his chest as if wounded. "Ouch, doll, that hurt. But yes, I think I could manage… if it means I get to see you smile like that again."

You pretended to consider it for a moment, then shrugged, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Fine. But I’m picking the place, and you’re wearing your pants the right way this time."

Gojo laughed, pulling you into his arms. "Deal. As long as you promise to wear something that makes me lose at poker again."

You smirked, leaning in close. "Oh, I think I can arrange that."

And as you both laughed, tangled in each other’s arms, the idea of a "normal" date didn't sound so bad after all.

[nelkcats]

Immortal Nanny

Bruce Wayne had never been a father. He knew what it was like to be a good father, and he knew what good fathers should be like, but adopting Richard was an impulse, a moment when he decided to give a child the comfort he needed, as he himself had needed in the past.

But just because he knew and understood didn't mean he could do it, or that he could become a good father instantly. Alfred would be a great help, of course, but it was he who had to raise the boy, Alfie was too old to start raising another child.

So, it was only natural that he forgot all about his busy life as "Brucie Wayne", adopting Dick hadn't stopped the million interviews or meetings, and while Alfred was extremely capable, Bruce still decided to hire a nanny.

Daniel Nightingale was a bit of an outsider (in a good way), he was studying at Gotham U, and was doing very well in his chosen career; though his records were strangely empty, Bruce knew he could trust him. His tired look and the shy smile he gave him upon arriving at the mansion was enough to calm his concerns.

Perhaps it was because he was just starting out as Batman at the time that he didn't investigate further.

Anyway, Dick loved Danny, from that first day, he used to tell Bruce about his "adventures" and how much fun he had. On one occasion he even told him they had a snowball fight (which confused him, because it was July but he was too tired to question the excited kid).

So, Danny became Dick's, and later Jason's, official nanny. He never complained and always smiled. The boy got along quite well with Alfred and would attend to any emergency, although he was never involved in the vigilante business.

It was only after Jason's death, when Tim arrived, that someone began to question Danny. Tim wasn't sure about Danny, there were a lot of things...that just didn't fit, and if the old photos of the mansion were any indication, the nanny wasn't getting any older.

Dick wasn't ten anymore and that was pretty obvious, but Danny looked exactly the same. Tim frowned, puzzled as to how no one had investigated such an oddity before. Alfred simply looked at him with an amused smile. He wondered how long it would take for the family to notice the (rather obvious) secrets of the elusive nanny.

Alfred couldn't blame the boy, the easiest way to hide something was in plain sight. And he knew the halfa would never hurt his family.

[juyeoz]

GOOD GRACES — YANG JUNGWON

026 ┆ disgusted (0.6k words)

The door to the nurse’s office opened, alerting the boy who rested on one of the beds. He was exhausted from walking around with his crutches all morning. 

It was a valid excuse to miss out on his fourth period.

Through the small gap of the curtain that shielded him off, he noticed the back of a familiar figure. He saw it almost everyday. There was no way he could miss it.

“Why are you here?” He asked, disgust hinted in his voice. 

The culprit who rummaged through the pill cabinets turned around at his words in haste. 

He was right. It was you.

However, it was weird. Normally, you would give him a scowl at anything he said, but that wasn’t the case today. You approached him with a soft expression. One he had never seen you make before.

“I’m just getting pills. What about you?” You said. 

For no absolute reason, your voice soothed him. It sounded nice and as if it was something he would want to hear every day.

“Resting.” He replied. Plain and simple.

“How come? Are you not feeling well?” You questioned while reaching out your hand to feel his forehead. 

“What are you doing?” Jungwon was quick to back away from your hand. 

“I’m checking your temperature. You said you weren’t feeling well, right?” He was confused by your words. Weren’t you the same person who swore to never touch a boy like him? What happened to that?

Nevertheless, for some reason, Jungwon obeyed your words. He didn’t shy away either. Instead, he was reminded of the day you two accidentally grazed hands at the corner store. The freezer you both reached into was cold, but your hand on his skin was soft and warm. 

Just like now. 

Your fingers gently pushed his bangs out of the way and felt his forehead. It was a soft touch. One that left Jungwon flustered. It was a basic act of kindness, yet he was turning red. 

He didn’t want it to end.

“I think you’re fine,” you said while removing your palm off of his head. Part of him wanted to reach out for your hand and hold it, however, the other part was disgusted by all of this.

It would be a lie if he said he still didn’t hate you. A grudge he held for three years straight couldn’t end that easily. It was only right for him to feel this way.

So why was his heartbeat rising by the second? Why wouldn’t his eyes leave yours when you felt his forehead? Most importantly, why was his gaze flickering between your lips and eyes continuously?

Nothing made sense to him. 

He only wondered how you were feeling at the sight of him if he felt this way for you. Did you still hate him the way he hated you? Did your heart race when you placed your hand on his forehead like his heart did?

“Jungwon? Are you okay?” You asked while searching his eyes in confusion. 

“Yeah,” he mumbled and cleared his throat. “I’m fine.” His gaze moved from your lips and back to your eyes after swallowing hard.

“Great! Now wake up. Lunch is starting.” 

What?

Jungwon stayed quiet for a moment with a puzzled expression plastered on his face as he watched your face turn into a blur.

Out of nowhere, a punch landed onto his shoulder and caused his eyes to spring open. He held onto his shoulder while letting out a pained sound. 

“Perfect, you’re awake. You’re so red.” A familiar voice said behind Jungwon. He turned around and was met with the sight of his teammate and close friend, Park Sunghoon.

“Here, your notes.” He handed the boy a notebook as Jungwon squinted his eyes at him, pain still evident on his face.

“Ah, let me help you get up!” Sunghoon exclaimed and rushed over to his friend’s crutches. 

Part of Jungwon was glad that everything that occurred earlier was all a dream. However, part of him felt disappointed. He was disgusted and flustered at the same time.

Was that even possible?

He had no clue why he felt this way. Was it because he never saw this side of you before? Hell, he didn’t even know it existed.

Whatever, he didn’t care anyways. For sure, he didn’t…

PREVIOUS MASTERLIST NEXT

NOTE — see guys… it wasn’t all that…

ENHYPEN PERM TAGLIST — @miumura @macapunoz @ch4c0nnenh4 @ancnymcnzjy

GOOD GRACES TAGLIST — @anuisamazing @garrdenwon @dreamiestay @starfallia @mrchweeee @mymelodyfanatic @getoxo @jiamini @imnotyizhuo @heartheejake @wonlluvie @theothernads @yvjw @riribelle @winuvs @shotaddicted @hollxe1 @pinknjm @en-dream @elegancefr @wensurr @enhaz1 @r1kification @sunghxxnie @unhakki @hoonieluv @veilico @ddolleri @ahnneyong @samyria @stvrriki @domfikeluva @mensisim @tasnemluvs @httpenhoon @sch1z0prenic @kazemiya @rairaiblog @enhypenlovre @starry-eyed-bimbo @cupidhoons @miyawwn @siekksjs @wonfused @renjuneoo @wildtigerlili @nishiriks @letwiiparkjay

© JUYEOZ

[pathologicalreid]

fluff masterlist

main masterlist

note: italicized titles denote requests

spencer reid x fem!reader

clue: in which penelope hosts a new year's eve party. with a murder mystery theme.

doctor and doctor: in which you add a degree to your repertoire

newly creds: in which the BAU team wants to see your newly issued credentials

nicknames: in which you meet the team for the first time, and receive your first nickname

attention: in which you attempt to get your boyfriends attention

fluorescent: in which spencer rambles about rocks and you get distracted

drop: in which reid seems to be there every time you drop something

occupational hazard: in which you and spencer have a discussion about the dangers of his job.

in sickness and in health: minutes before your wedding is supposed to start, spencer gets cold feet, and you have to find out why.

cryptic: you and spencer get a surprise beyond your wildest dreams

breakfast in bed: your boyfriend surprises you with breakfast in bed to celebrate spring break

in plain sight: your quick thinking (in an attempt to protect him) leads to a very thankful spencer

puzzling: trying to tell spencer you're pregnant, but he's too concerned with your well-being to fill out your custom crossword puzzle

red flags: spencer protects you from a drunkard

(lack of) convenience: the power of suggestion leads you to take a pregnancy test while you're on a case - and it's positive

three's a family: you and spencer are surprised to find out that you're pregnant, while you're already in labor (yes, this is a second cryptic pregnancy fic)

pure and applied chemistry: your boyfriend picks you up as a surprise at your chemistry lab (biochemist!reader)

separation anxiety: spencer's first case back from paternity leave involves children, so a concerned party reaches out to you

orange juice: you and spencer have an announcement to make, but you're not sure how to go about it

a special occasion: moving your daughter into a toddler bed brings about some interesting conversation

kindergarten crush: when one of your students goes missing, the BAU sends the A-team to question you

goads and goats: telling your dad (who's also your boss) you're pregnant ends in him giving spencer a hard time

a league of your own: when your boyfriend seemingly evolves, you resign yourself to the feeling of being left behind

fishbowl: you offer to bring spencer lunch when he forgets his at home, leading you to become an object of curiosity at the BAU.

dewey decimal system: in which spencer does the most spencer activity first thing in the morning - reorganizing your bookshelves

amorphous: your first ultrasound goes exactly how you'd expected it to, but not exactly how you'd wanted it to

sweet talker: in which french!reader gets caught using a special nickname for a particular genius

litmus test: in which Spencer needs your expertise to help solve a murder, but crime fighting is most decidedly not for you

blue ribbon: in which you and Spencer dedicate yourselves to helping your daughter with the best baking soda volcano the science fair has ever seen

first snow: in which you and Spencer experience the first snow in your new apartment together

xoxo: in which your daughter goes to the BAU to hand out her extra Valentines

christmas (baby please come home): in which Spencer isn't home to put his kids to bed on Christmas Eve, but they wake up to a surprise on Christmas morning

milk and cookies: in which you and Spencer try to bake gingerbread cookies with your daughter, the operative word being "try"

i'll be home for christmas: in which you, Spencer, and your toddler prepare for what will hopefully be your first Christmas together as a family

and it feels like home: in which Spencer confesses his love to you at the oddest of places - your sister's wedding

card trick: in which you broach a subject with Spencer that you're sure will be a dealbreaker - you don't want kids

safe space: in which Jack Hotchner comes to your classroom after spotting Mr. Scratch on school grounds

green-eyed monster: in which Spencer comforts your oldest daughter when she's jealous of the new addition to the family

hazardous materials: in which Spencer takes care of you after an accident in the lab

falling flat: in which you call Spencer for help with a flat tire, and he comes to help with you car troubles - and then some

spencer reid x gn!reader:

heatmiser: spencer takes care of you when he comes home to find you sick

running on empty: spencer makes a bet to go without coffee and ends up foregoing all caffeine

spencer reid x platonic!fem!BAU!reader

neophyte (2): in which dr. reid gives advice to help you cope with the requirements of your new job

[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (masterpost)

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

genre: friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; individual warnings for each part

current word count: 38.7k+

listen to 🎧: the playlist

updated: 08.01.2025

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / main masterlist / taglist / ko-fi

chapter index:

one: flutter / intro (2.3k) ⤷ neither of you owes the other anything at all.

two: in plain sight (4.9k) ⤷ “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you’re jealous of him.”

three: puzzle pieces (3.2k) ⤷ there’s something about today. some lines, blurred.

four: spring daffodils (3.5k) ⤷ your axis shifts. it’s overwhelming just how much you want to be good for him.

five: say what you mean (2.8k) ⤷ “did anything change for you?”

six: like lightning (4.9k) ⤷ it strikes you the same way lightning splits open the whole sky on a cloudless night, abrupt and unmistakeable.

seven: built to break (4.3k) ⤷ “time for yourself, or time away from me?”

seven.5: limbo (5.6k) ⤷ you were watching how it all reflected so beautifully in the rippling waters below. he was watching you.

eight: ships in the night (7.2k) ⤷ when you were young, it’s the moon that used to follow you everywhere. as you get older, it’s all of the things that keep you up at night.

...

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means.

[artficlly]

smog & spirits: lucky's choppery (series)

Marvel 1920s Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader

Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and he needs a witch to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, vague smut, implied blowjob, mention of abortion (not to reader), mad scientist tony stark, laboratory, mentions of gambling, alcohol, smoking, vague mentions of physical violence, angst, some fluff (?), criminals & crime, 1920s street gangs, witchcraft, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: wowee, i wrote this so fast (i already had the dialogue and some writing ready for like 80% of this chapter, so it was pretty easy to fill in the rest). hoping to at least get one more chapter out but no promises, beginning to feel a bit burnt out and my birthday is on sunday yippe. sorry for any typos - not proof read.

taglist: @nash-dara @sebastians-love @calwitch permanent taglist: @globetrotter28

main masterlist | series masterlist

The crowded sea of workers flooding out of the factories for the evening parted like a tide before Bucky, his strides purposeful, shoulders squared. The setting sun cast the Smokestack District in a haze of burning amber and ashen grey, the air thick with soot and the sharp tang of metal. Even here, in the industrial veins of Sootstone, men instinctively stepped aside lest they be trampled underfoot.

This Stark friend of his was apparently buried deep within the district, tucked away in whatever workshop or lair he called home. Even if their fathers had once been in business together, Stark seemed to have chosen a different path that didn’t dance as closely with the violence that pulsed beneath the city’s surface. You had no doubt that his work, whatever it was, still dipped into the murky waters of illegality. The Smog Boys and their associates rarely kept company with anyone clean.

You let your mind wander, dissecting the possibilities, if only to drown out the roar in your thoughts. For once, Bucky Barnes and his uninvited quests were a welcome distraction.

But no matter how much you tried to shove it aside, Becca’s revelation clung to you like a thorn buried deep beneath your skin. Her words would haunt you long into the night. You knew they would. You’d toss and turn, picking them apart, unravelling them until they unravelled you.

Your father—the man who had half-heartedly raised you, the man who had buried himself in drink and violence, the man who had driven your mother into an early grave—was not your father. Not the man you had thought him to be at all.

The realisation felt like a gaping wound in your chest. The years you had wasted on him, the countless excuses, the hesitant forgiveness. It was all for nothing. You had bent yourself backwards trying to make sense of him, trying to make peace with how he had broken you repeatedly. And yet, he was just another name to add to an already endless list of cruel men.

And your mother—gods, your mother. You had resented her for the life she had chosen, for trapping you in the Warrens, for binding you to poverty and suffering. You had never understood why she stayed, why she had chosen him, why she hadn’t run far from Blackstone and disappeared into the countryside. But now, it all slotted into place like the final piece of a puzzle you hadn’t realised was incomplete.

A sickness curled in your gut. You had hated her.

Your lip was raw from how hard you had been chewing it, and you forced yourself to focus on the roll of Bucky’s shoulders as he marched ahead, unphased, a cigarette hanging from his lips. You hated yourself for ever blaming your mother when she had endured atrocities. She had shown remarkable strength in escaping, in carving out a life of her own in the shadows of Sootstone. She had run from that wretched place, hidden in plain sight. Marrying your father…it must have been a last resort. Perhaps the only man who would take in a woman in her condition.

And she had never told you. Neither of them had. Did your father—no, the man you had believed to be your father—even know the truth? He had never spoken of the Church of Light beyond vague, half-drunken warnings, letting the weight of it gather dust in your memories. A ghost of something unspoken.

But you had never forgotten.

There was a plan forming in your mind—a quiet, insidious thing. A plan to destroy the Church of Light, to repay them for the cruelties they had stained your bloodline with. That day with Michael—gods, Michael— it had given you confidence, perhaps even delusion. You had power. Power strong enough to tear them apart, to bring them to their knees. But beyond any misplaced ideas of grandeur, you knew a truth. You couldn’t act alone. Not in such an obvious way. The Church was vast—multiple temples, hundreds of members. A massacre would not go unnoticed, and the coppers wouldn’t hesitate to drag you to the gallows. It had been a miracle you had escaped them as a teenager.

And every power, every body in this realm, had limits. 

You’d never had the full opportunity to explore the depths of this cursed power you’d been gifted, this death that clung to your very being. You couldn’t know if you had what it took to destroy them all in one fell swoop without destroying yourself in the process.

Your gaze flickered back to Bucky. His expression was guarded, jaw tight, eyes locked ahead as smoke curled from the cigarette between his lips. Even now, with his muscles still taut from anger, he exuded a dangerous calm. A readiness to act, to strike.

You could use him.

You could use him, use the Smog Boys to rip the Church of Light apart. If it became a gang war, the coppers wouldn’t so much as bat an eye. They’d let the criminals handle their own if Bucky's name was attached.

And you would be protected—so long as you could keep his attention.

The thought twisted something deep inside you. Was it wrong to think this way?

Then again… had he not used you, too? Had he not sought you out for your power, for what you could do for him? Yes, he had paid you, but at what cost? There was no permanency in this. You were just another indulgence, another fleeting pleasure. He had told you himself—he didn’t think himself a man capable of love.

Maybe you could have loved him. But him loving you?

It would be foolish to think so. Foolish to believe he could care for you beyond lust, beyond the pull of your body against his.

Your thoughts twisted in on themselves, tangling like a mess of threads in your mind, squeezing, choking, refusing to come undone.

The streets of the Smokestack District grew narrower as you followed Bucky deeper into its labyrinthine alleys, the industrial skyline choking out what little remained of the evening light. Buildings leaned into one another like drunks in an embrace, their brick faces blackened with soot, their windows murky with grime. The air stank of coal smoke, damp rot, and something metallic—oil, or maybe blood.

At the end of a particularly filthy lane, past a crumbling row of tenements, you finally stopped in front of what appeared to be an unassuming butcher’s shop. A weathered wooden sign, its red paint peeling, hung above the entrance: Lucky’s Choppery. The display window was lined with thick cuts of beef and strings of sausages, though the glass was so smeared with grease it barely reflected the gaslights flickering in the street.

You eyed the butcher’s block just inside, where a cleaver had been buried deep into a slab of meat, its blade glinting under the weak glow of an overhead lamp. The floor, lined with well-worn tiles, bore the dark stains of years of blood and brine. 

Bucky shoved open the door without hesitation, the bell overhead giving a feeble jingle. A lanky kid behind the counter—maybe eighteen at most—jerked up from where he’d been counting money, his dark eyes widening.

You glanced around, taking in the place. “Your friend Stark… is a butcher?”

Bucky huffed, crunching his cigarette beneath his boot. “It’s a front, doll.”

“Good to know…” You exhaled slowly, shifting your weight as the kid behind the counter fumbled with the till.

Bucky stepped forward, tapping the counter with two fingers. “Parker. Here to see Stark.”

The boy—Parker—flinched, his expression tightening. “Stark—you’re supposed to say Lucky—”

Bucky’s brow creased. “Who the fuck is Lucky?”

“It’s the codeword—” Parker sucked in a sharp breath, pressing his lips together like he was already regretting this conversation. “Mr. Stark is busy, I’m afraid Mr. Barnes…”

Bucky gave him a flat look. “Kid, I’m sure he is. But do you think he’s gonna be pleased if he finds out you turned me away?”

Parker swallowed hard. His shoulders sagged, and with a sigh, he jerked his head toward the back. “Alright… come on through.”

You followed Parker behind the counter and through a heavy wooden door into the backroom. The temperature dropped immediately. The air was thick with the lingering scent of salt and raw flesh. Rows of bloodless animal carcasses hung from iron hooks, swaying slightly from the draft that slithered through the room. You stepped carefully as Parker led you toward a door set into the far wall. The door's surface was scratched and worn, but the metal handle was polished from years of use.

Parker pushed it open, ushering you both in. You winced as you were blinded by the buzz of lightbulbs hanging overhead, illuminating the space. 

A laboratory. 

It was a chaotic masterpiece of metal and magic, stitched together in an unholy fusion of science and the occult. Copper pipes ran along the walls like veins, some hissing with steam, others crackling faintly with unnatural energy. The exposed brick was scrawled over with chalked equations, half-translated runes wedged between calculations that looked like they belonged to some deranged engineer’s fever dream.

Workbenches sagged under the weight of strange devices—bronzed contraptions with whirring gears, delicate instruments of glass and silver, and something that looked suspiciously like a heart pulsing inside a vat of thick, viscous liquid. Along the far wall, a large metal figure loomed, wires and arcane sigils wrapping around it in a spidery embrace. A dull red glow pulsed from within.

And at the centre of it all, hunched over a mess of gears and copper wiring, was the man himself.

Stark.

He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His dark hair was a mess of careless waves, tousled as if he’d run his fingers through it a hundred times while deep in thought. A faint shadow of stubble darkened his sharp jaw. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, exposing forearms slathered with grease and soot. His vest, once fine, was smudged with oil and singed at the edges, and his half-buttoned shirt carried the distinct stains of burnt metal and something vaguely alchemical.

Perched on his nose was a pair of brass-framed goggles, their lenses thick and dusted with soot, the left one cracked down the middle. A tiny, flickering spark of blue danced across the metal frame as if whatever enchantment he’d woven into them was barely holding together. He had the look of a man who was equal parts genius and disaster, the kind of bastard who could build something to change the world but would probably set his own lab on fire in the process.

And, of course, he didn’t even look up as the door swung open.

“Who's this? A present for me?” His voice was rough. He finally glanced up, gaze narrowing as he studied you. “I see magic about her—”

“She ain’t for one of your experiments, Tony,” Bucky interrupted, stepping between you and the mad scientist. “She’s with me.”

“Huh.” Stark exhaled, leaning back against his worktable with an air of disappointment. “Shame. And touchy, too… I take it this is your infamous spirit-raiser?”

“What?” you muttered, stiffening.

“He experiments with magic and technology,” Bucky explained dryly. “Thinks he can… power metal with magic.”

“That’s possible?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

Stark’s expression turned downright wolfish. “Oh, it’s possible. Just needs the right conduit.” He stepped forward, his fingers twitching like he was already picturing carving something out of you to power one of his creations. “I mean… if I could just experiment with a drop of your magic, it doesn’t hurt, I promise… just a prick, bit of bleeding, long-term possibilities can include sudden death buuut—”

Your expression melted into something of horror.

“Oi, that’s not why we’re ‘ere, Tony,” Bucky cut in sharply. “I’m hostin’ a party. You’re invited.”

With a flick of his wrist, he produced a pristine envelope from inside his suit jacket, the deep red wax seal still unbroken. The contrast was almost comical—elegant, refined, and utterly out of place. You doubted Bucky had penned the invitations himself; the script was too precise and delicate. No, he’d likely had some poor girl painstakingly scrawl each one by hand while he barked orders from the corner of a smoky room.

Bucky’s expression remained flat, but his tone had an unmistakable edge when he added, “Preferably, you’ll keep your hands off my bird while you’re at it.”

You had to fight the urge to snap your head toward him in shock. His bird? Had one week tangled in your sheets left that much of a mark on him? The man hadn’t even taken you on a proper date—unless you counted brutalising a handful of Iron Rats as a romantic outing.

Stark paused, his keen gaze flicking between the two of you like he was dissecting a particularly interesting experiment. The glint in his eye was pure mischief. “Your bird, aye? Didn’t realise things were so… serious.”

Bucky scowled, jaw tightening. “Shut ya fuckin’ gob and take the invitation.” He flicked the pristine envelope onto Stark’s cluttered workbench, where it landed atop a mess of copper wiring, scattered blueprints, and a wrench smeared with something that definitely wasn’t just grease.

Stark picked it up, popping open the seal with ease. “Alright, alright.” His expression shifted slightly as he skimmed the contents. “This ain’t got anything to do with that Smokin’ Jacks business?”

Bucky smirked. “Somethin’ like that.”

Even with the vague way they spoke, you had heard rumours.

The Smokin’ Jacks were a gang of gamblers—slick bastards who ran their operations like clockwork, their fortunes made not through brute force but by sleight of hand. They had gambling dens throughout Blackstone, and their debts were written in blood.

The Smog Boys and the Smokin’ Jacks had long held a hesitant truce—so long as the Jacks didn’t turn their tricks on the poor bastards in the Warrens, there was no need for bloodshed. Their scams and schemes were reserved for the rich and reckless of the Flower District, the men who never knew the weight of a real loss.

But lately, there had been whispers. The Jacks weren’t keeping their word. Their debt collectors had started crossing into Smog Boy territory, leaning on the desperate and the weak, pressing them for coin they didn’t have.

Bucky didn’t take kindly to broken deals.

Stark folded the invitation with an almost exaggerated neatness, tucking it into the inner pocket of his grease-streaked waistcoat. His eyes gleamed, sharp and knowing, the kind of look that suggested he saw a game unfolding that only he knew the rules to.

“Guess I’ll be there, then.”

Bucky gave a short nod as if he had expected no less. He reached into his coat pocket, retrieving his cigarette case with a flick of his wrist. But before he could light one, you stepped forward, words spilling from your lips before you could stop them.

“You just wrapped up that business with the Iron Rats, and now you’re goin’ after the Smokin’ Jacks? Can you be any more reckless—”

Bucky turned his head toward you, exhaling slowly through his nose, cigarette forgotten. “Don’t make me remind you whose fault that Iron Rats business was.”

Your jaw clenched. “You’re the one who escalated it—”

“Yeah, well, you sure were into it, weren’t you?” His voice dropped, low and taunting, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “Sure fucked me afterwards like you did—”

Heat shot up your spine, equal parts fury and disbelief, and before you even realised what you were doing, your hand was fisted in the sleeve of his coat, yanking him toward you. He barely moved, only grinning down at you with that infuriating glint in his eye, like he was daring you to do something about it.

Behind you, Stark let out a low whistle, then a chuckle, clearly enjoying the show. “Well, well. You two are a real pair, aren’t ya?” He leaned back against his workbench, arms crossed, amusement dancing across his features. 

Bucky rolled his eyes and wrenched his arm free, though not before squeezing your wrist briefly—just enough to remind you who was stronger. “We’re leavin’,” he muttered, turning toward the door.

“Try not to start a war before the party, Barnes,” Stark called after him. “But if you do—” he grinned, “—make sure I get front-row seats.”

You cast one last glance at the chaos of the lab, the scattered notes, and the eerie hum of machinery before following Bucky out. You didn’t need Stark to tell you that. A war was already brewing.

—

Your front door creaked as you pushed it open, the familiar scent of candle wax and herbs greeting you as you stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, the only real light coming from the amber glow of the streetlamps outside, their hazy beams spilling through the lace curtains. You shrugged off your coat, glancing over your shoulder as Bucky followed you in.

Only, he didn’t move the way he usually did.

Gone was the effortless swagger, the quiet, calculated control he carried himself with. Instead, he lingered near the door as if he wasn’t sure whether to stay or turn and leave. The sight unsettled you more than you cared to admit.

“You stayin’ the night?” You asked, tone casual despite the tension between you. “Or are you gonna go over to keep an eye on Becca?”

Bucky exhaled, rubbing at his jaw before answering. “No. I’ll have Nat watch over Becca. Think I’m the last person she wants to see right about now.”

There was something distant in his voice. You had noticed a shift in him during your quiet walk back from Stark’s lab. You turned, leaning against the edge of the table as you studied him. His shoulders were taut beneath his coat as if he were bracing for something.

“Are you angry with her?” you asked carefully. “For what she said to me?”

His lips pressed into a firm line. He took a moment before answering. “Can’t say I’m not a bit upset, doll.”

You sighed. “I wouldn’t take it out on her. She was just tryin’ to protect you.”

His head tilted slightly, expression unreadable. “I can make my own choices.”

“Bucky… I just—” You began but you cut yourself off as the gangster finally spoke.

“I’m…” He hesitated.

You blinked. That alone was enough to unnerve you.

You had never seen Bucky hesitate, not like this. He always had something to say—sharp, sure, commanding. But now, something unfamiliar wove itself into his voice. Vulnerability.

“…Grateful.”

The word came quietly like he almost couldn’t bring himself to say it, and when you looked at him, really looked at him, you saw it—the slight furrow of his brow, the way his hands flexed as though he didn’t know what to do with them.

“For what you did for Becca today,” he finished.

You swallowed hard.

“Well,” you sigh, “I couldn’t have just left her there—”

“I’m serious.”

His voice was firm now, but there was a softness beneath it. He shifted his weight slightly, jaw working as he forced himself to continue. “I know she is cruel, but she is my blood. My responsibility.”

You let his words sink in, picking them apart in your head.

“I don’t think she’s cruel,” you murmured. “I think she’s a woman who’s built her walls so high to protect herself. Now she can’t tell a friend from a threat.”

Bucky huffed a quiet breath, barely a sound at all.

“I can tell you why she’s like that,” he said. “And I’m afraid I’m on that list.”

Your brows pulled together. “I wouldn’t blame yourself—”

“Sometimes I worry, doll.”

Something in his voice… a weight settled in your ribcage. It was lower now, rougher like the words were being dragged from some part of him he never let anyone see. His fingers twitched at his side, clenching once before flexing open again. His jaw went tight, and when he finally spoke again, the words came slowly, carefully.

“I worry that I am becoming my father.”

Silence stretched between you. You didn’t think. You just reached out, fingers brushing over his hand, grounding him, offering something—anything—before he could retreat behind the walls you could already see rising.

But it was too late.

His body went rigid, tension snapping through him like a wire pulled too tight. His hand twitched under yours as if instinct told him to grip, to hold on, but then…He pulled away. The moment his expression hardened, you knew. Whatever softness had been there was gone in an instant, buried beneath cold calculation and the armour he had worn for so long. “I should go,” he muttered, voice clipped.

“Bucky—”

But he was already turning, already stepping away.

The door swung open, and before you could say another word, he was gone, the night swallowing him whole.

You stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty space where he had been, his presence lingering like a ghost you couldn’t quite banish. 

—

Three days later, you made the—likely foolish—decision to deliver a care package to Becca. You knew you’d probably receive a tongue-lashing for it, but a small, wicked part of you wanted to be the better person. You had sourced some gin from the Flower Districts, strong, quality stuff that the upper-class women drank. A classier alternative to the harsh whiskey that the Smog Boys brewed and likely already lined Becca’s shelves.

The alley was dark and damp, the scent of piss and rotting wood lingering in the narrow space. Your breath curled in the cold air as you hesitated in front of her door, fingers tightening around the woven basket in your hands.

Maybe your presence wasn’t the best idea, given what she was recovering from. Perhaps it was best to leave the package and disappear into the night unseen. The message would be there, but you’d be spared the inevitable onslaught of curses she would toss your way. You imagined whore would be right at the top.

With a quiet huff, you bent to place the basket on the doorstep. Inside, nestled together, was the bottle of gin, a fresh loaf of bread, butter, and some cold-cut meats you had hunted down at the Sunday market. You knew Bucky and Nat were caring for her, but you wanted to be sure.

The door creaked open just as you straightened up.

Bucky.

He stepped out, locking up behind him, keys dangling from his fingers with an idle sort of ease. He was dressed in his usual suit—dark, well-fitted, with the coat buttoned up against the cold. The brass glint of his pocket watch chain caught the dim light as he turned to you.

For a moment, you thought you saw something flicker across his face. Surprise, maybe. Or recognition. But it passed too quickly to catch.

“You just can’t help yourself, huh?” His voice was low, edged with something you couldn’t quite place.

Your mouth opened before your mind could catch up, fumbling for an excuse. I was just making sure she’s alright. I was worried. I care. But instead, you settled for, “Sorry, I was just… ah. Care package. For Becca. Thought she’d need it.”

Maybe it wasn’t best to admit to your convoluted, backward scheme of making the woman feel bad through kindness. 

His gaze dropped to the basket at your feet, scanning its contents with a slow, deliberate look before exhaling through his nose. Without a word, he bent and picked it up, turning it slightly in his hands.

“She’s out with that Brackett kid,” he muttered, shifting the basket to his other hand.

You hesitated. “That’s… good?”

Bucky arched a brow as he pulled out the bottle of gin, tilting it slightly to read the label.

“Still gonna kill him,” he said flatly, setting the bottle back down.

You bit back a smirk. “Of course you are.”

He didn’t smile, but something about his posture loosened—just a fraction. The last time you had seen him, he had stormed out of your flat. You couldn’t tell if he was still feeling stand-offish, or if the sharpness in his tone was just habit. The keys clinked softly as he turned them over in his palm, watching you with that same brooding expression.

He placed the basket on the hallway table, pulling shut the door and locking it with practised ease. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon,” he murmured, voice measured, almost lazy. But there was something deliberate in it, like he was waiting to see how you’d respond.

You hesitated, shifting on your heels. “Didn’t think you’d want to.”

Something flickered in his gaze, just for a second, before he looked away.

“Yeah, well,” he said, slipping the keys into his pocket. “You keep showing up, don’t you?”

You exhaled a short laugh, though your pulse was a little unsteady. “Guess I do.”

Bucky made a noise in his throat, something between amusement and resignation. Then, with a tilt of his head toward the street, he stepped past you.

“Walk with me,” he said, not looking back.

It wasn’t a question. And, despite yourself, you followed.

The night air bit at your skin as you fell into step beside him. The streets of the Warrens were quieter in this part of town, though the distant hum of nightlife still clung to the air—rowdy laughter spilling from taverns, the occasional shout of a drunk stumbling home.

Bucky’s flat was deeper in the district, past the noisier streets, tucked above an old tailor’s shop. He didn’t say a word as he led you up the narrow stairwell, the scent of dust and mothballs lingering in the close space. At the top, he flicked the key between his fingers before unlocking the door, pushing it open without much ceremony.

Inside, it was… surprisingly nice. Not lavish like Becca’s, but well-kept—orderly. The furnishings were simple: a sturdy wooden table, a leather armchair that looked well-worn but hardly used, a small bar cart against the wall with only a handful of bottles. Unlike Becca’s place, which was decorated with velvet drapes, gilded mirrors, and delicate trinkets, Bucky’s was bare. Functional. You got the sense that he didn’t spend much time here.

He didn’t look at you as he shrugged off his coat, draping it over the chair. Instead, he reached for the bar cart, grabbing a bottle and two glasses. “Drink?”

“Sure.”

He poured the amber liquid out and slid one of the glasses toward you across the wooden table, his own drink resting loosely in his grip. You hesitated for only a second before taking the offered glass, the cool weight of it grounding you. The scent was rich and smoky, promising a slow, lingering burn.

Silence stretched between you for a long moment, the soft clink of glass against wood filling the space. Finally, you exhaled, rolling the whiskey between your fingers before speaking. “Are we going to talk about it?”

Bucky lifted a brow. “About what?”

“You storming out of my flat the other day?” You sighed, leaning back against the edge of the table. “Look, I didn’t expect a thank you if that’s what’s got you all wound up.”

His gaze flickered to yours, sharp and searching, something unreadable in the depths of his blue eyes. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips. “I’m not wound up.”

You scoffed. “You’re impossible.”

That pulled a smirk from him—slow, teasing. “Did you want me to stay?” There was a beat of pause before he huffed a quiet laugh, swirling the whiskey in his glass. When he finally looked at you again, amusement curled at the edges of his lips. “Did you miss me?” he drawled. 

“Maybe.”

Bucky’s smirk deepened, but there was something else beneath it—something you couldn’t quite name. His gaze flickered over your face, searching, considering.

“Careful, doll,” he murmured, tilting his glass toward you in a slow, deliberate toast. “That almost sounds like an invitation.”

He watched you as you lifted the glass to your lips. The first sip hit hard, burning its way down your throat and curling warm in your stomach. You coughed, barely suppressing a wince as the heat spread through your chest. Bucky smirked, tilting his own glass to his lips with far more ease.

“Shit, is this Smog Boys stuff?” You rasped, blinking away the sting.

“Off the market, yeah.” He hummed, stretching back as he pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sank into it with a sigh. “Some of it, we brew strong. Just for us boys.”

Your gaze flickered to his hands, the way his fingers idly traced the rim of his glass. He had settled into his seat with the ease, legs spread wide, confidence dripping from every lazy shift of his body. The sight of him like that, whiskey warming his blood, watching you with quiet interest—it sent a pulse of heat low in your stomach.

You tipped back the rest of your drink, hissing at the burn, then shrugged off your coat. The heavy fabric slipped from your shoulders and crumpled to the floor between his feet. Bucky’s gaze sharpened. You lowered yourself onto the discarded coat, knees pressing into the worn wood through the fabric, your hands smoothing up the inside of his thighs.

His body reacted before his words did. His legs spread a little wider, welcoming you in, his breath hitching just slightly. You nuzzled against the rough fabric of his trousers, blinking up at him through your lashes.

“What’re you…” He trailed off as your nails ghosted over the buckle of his belt.

His hand caught your wrist, and you smirked at him, tilting your head. “I wanna taste you.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, his fingers tightening on your skin for just a moment. Then, with a quiet curse under his breath, he tossed back the rest of his drink and set the empty glass down with a heavy clink.

“Shit, doll,” he muttered, his voice rougher now, lower, as his free hand went to his belt. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

From where you knelt, you could see the way his breath had quickened, the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers hesitated—just for a fraction of a second—before undoing his belt.

Your pulse thrummed in anticipation, thighs squeezing together beneath your skirts. Bucky exhaled sharply as you leaned in, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss against the fabric covering his length. His head tipped back, a quiet groan slipping from his lips, one hand smoothing through your hair.

He was always so controlled, always so composed—but now, beneath your touch, you could feel him unravel. And gods, you wanted to watch him fall apart.

[azullumi]

“lyra” ; dazai osamu

summary — the many times you felt loved by him and the one where a confession happened.

pairing — dazai osamu (w/ gender-neutral reader)

tags — fluff (kind of), utilization of the friends to lovers trope, slightly proofread, 2.1k words ; one-shot

tagging — @toorurs

note — i literally haven’t written for him for years now and i swear i lost my mind and pulled my hair,, i could have done this better !?

Dazai is unpredictable.

In more ways than one, he is erratic, able to conceal his intentions beneath that long trench coat of his, tucked in the loose parts of his bandages, hidden somewhere only he can see. He is the definition of an enigma, he is more than a puzzle, not just a paradox that continues to exist despite death being the only companion and comforting thing to him—a man of mystery that is better left unknown.

“My, you always look as ethereal and beautiful as a lotus blossom.” The dark-haired man says as he holds your hand in his, his finger delicately tracing the lines of your palm, and his eyes looked softer than usual, his gaze holding something that lies between the line of affection and seduction. Sparkles and flowers seem to bloom behind him, the background of the cafe fading and turning into a plain pink one with hearts that float around his figure.

(Flirty.)

He’s fluent in the language of amorous words laced with playfulness accompanied with gentle touches and slow caresses on your skin. He doesn’t hesitate in getting close, invading your space and going over the line, and maybe he’ll show that he is into you but only a fool would think of his words as genuine affection meant for you and only you.

“My eternal light to the darkness, would you be willing to—” However, he’s unable to finish his sentence as you take your hand back from him, offering him a smile instead as you subtly set a distance between the both of you—as if you were telling him to never cross the line, to stay at an arms’ distance.

“Good morning, Dazai. What brings you here to the cafe?”

Fortunately, you weren’t a fool.

“Ah, rejection again, I see.” The pink background that blooms behind me seemingly shifts into a dark one as the man’s expression contorts into a mix of sadness and disappointment, all displayed in an overly dramatic way; his form is slumped, faux tears brimming in the corners of his eyes, and his lips are in a pout. The sound of a short (mirth) laughter is heard from you—you’ve gotten used to this sight of him, of his dramatic expressions, and flirty approaches just to ask you something ridiculous.

“I’m here for you.” He says.

(And persistent.)

You have witnessed evidence of his persistence expressed in his words and actions every time he’s free from any of his work and he comes to the cafe you work at (his definition of free is escaping from his responsibilities and choosing to slack off). He’ll always take the opportunity to hold your hand, whisper such affectionate words only one would say to their lover, and he’ll kiss your skin so gently as if it was made from glass.

That was what happened in the first meeting between you and him—first day on your work in this cafe and just as you were serving the order of this loud group that the owner is acquainted with, you caught the eye of the man covered in bandages and dressed in a somewhat messy yet orderly way. Then you know how it went and from then on, Dazai doesn’t let the chance to bother you slip from his grasp.

But you don’t fall for it, never would you. You’re not supposed to and you’re not going to. He has said such similar things to other people who he deems beautiful or attractive, he has touched others and tainted them with his caresses the same way he did with yours, his lips have felt the softness of others’ skin, not only yours. You’d be stupid enough to think that there’s something more lingering in the depths of his voice, something different that tugs at his tone and threatens it to break.

The two of you are just friends, maybe even less than that.

“Where’s Kunikida?” You ask him, eyes roaming around to look for a single strand of golden but there was nothing. You failed to notice the falter in the expression of the man before you, tension seeping into his features for a moment before it eases at the mention of another man’s name. You continue, “Are you slac—” only to be interrupted by the sound of the door chime ringing followed by a set of heavy footfalls.

A loud shout of Dazai’s name is heard, echoing off the brick-patterned walls of the place, as Kunikida enters. There was a furious look on his face, nose fuming as he spotted the one he was looking for and as soon as he did, Kunikida smacked the back of Dazai’s head. There goes it, you know how this would unfold, how everything would happen—you’re used to it, having already seen this scene enough times to tell how it would end: Kunikida will scold Dazai, calls him with a new nickname (it’s President of Wasted Bandages this time), drags him outside but before that, he’ll apologize on behalf of his co-worker’s behavior, and you’ll wave at them as they leave.

“Why do you always come to ruin good moments, Kunikida? Do you not wish to see me happy?”

“Happy?! Maybe if you stop slacking off, you'll be happy.”

You could hear their distant argument and you heave out a sigh when they disappear from your sight, the smile fading from your lips as the loneliness looms over your figure. Silence rests heavily on your shoulders and you ignore the ache in your chest.

The cafe is located on the first floor where the detective agency is and you work alongside a waitress and a kind owner. Members of the agency are often seen frequenting the place, thus you’ve become familiar with their faces, memorized their names, and even learned some things about themselves. Honestly, it’s all simple for you; you have a nice and peaceful job (ignoring the chaos around you and the occasional disturbance from Dazai), and you’re being paid well. What else could you ever wish for? It was all serene for you.

Not this time though.

It seems like luck has run out for you seeing that you’re bound on the ground right at this moment, becoming a hostage to a small criminal group. Everything that happened prior feels like a blur, you remember men suddenly entering the cafe with guns and threatening everyone, you remember them hurting the owner, and you remember being taken away. They want to use you as bait, a guarantee for the detective agency so that they will bite and get lured into the criminals’ trap, or whatever they were telling you earlier. You weren’t listening—maybe you were but their words just passed from one ear to another—, hands curled into a fist as it trembled, the cold floor felt like spikes stabbing into your skin, and as the rope dug into your skin.

Afraid? Perhaps you were. It’s not everyday you get a gun pointed at you and a man threatening your life. Is this how you’re going to die?

You try to distract and ease yourself by thinking of other things, your mind drifting to somewhere else instead of staying at where you are—the cat that you occasionally see across the street, the passing cars you’ll see outside the window, the music playing from the vinyl in the cafe, the ringing of the chime as the door opens, and the dark-haired man and eyes that reflect the earth. Dazai with his never-ending tab, with his continuous ridiculous offers, his dramatic expressions, his stupid whims, the way he would always annoy you as if it was a daily requirement, his messy bangs that frames his face, his words that poke and probe at your being, and his—

You are snapped out of your thoughts, a familiar voice calling your name, coming into the stream of your senses, and pulling you out of the daze that you are in.

“Dazai?” Something is drowning in the pools of his eyes, lurking in the depths, and the way he looks at you is different. The usual calm in his expression is disturbed by a mixture of emotions—like rain droplets on a surface of still water—, anger, worry, care merging into the gentle lines of his features. Your hands that were once bound were free, though your wrists are left with marks from the rope bindings and you could still feel the way it burns on your skin.

“What happened? Why are you here? Are you hurt? Did you come alone? How did you find me?” Many questions came pouring out of your mouth but your voice trembles as you speak, tone unstable as the words fall and shatter on the ground. Dazai only lets you, your form crumbling and he holds your pieces in his hand, and he assures you: “Everything is alright.”

He continues, taking off his coat to wrap it around your form, “Were you scared?” And you meekly nod, knowing that your voice will only betray you. Dazai doesn’t say anything and only pulls you close to him, embracing you in his arms (“I’m sorry I took so long.”). There was the scent of his perfume accompanied with a trace of gunpowder when you buried your face on his chest—you feel a sense of relief, comfort and warmth that makes its way through your thoughts and the feeling of suffocation slowly leaves you.

He draws small circles on your back as he tries to soothe you, “You’re safe now.” He whispers as he kisses the top of your head, his lips lingering for a few seconds as he inhales the smell of your hair. (You’ve never had him this close before, this soft, this warm. It feels like the man you have known him as before were all fabrications from your illusive mind and the one before you is a different person.)

He brings your hand towards his lips and he presses a kiss on your pulse, right where the marks of your wrists are, ever so gently, ever so sweetly, “Nobody will hurt you ever again.”

You descend down the flight of stairs leading to a basement—a bar tucked away and hidden in plain sight. You’ve only known of it all thanks to a certain blabbermouth, he said it’s his favorite place to go. When you arrive, the interior shifts to a dimly-lit one with warm lights illuminating the whole place in contrast to the dark and foggy street outside. There’s the sound of jazz softly playing in the background, setting the tranquil ambience the whole bar carries.

And there he is, the man of the hour, basking underneath the golden glow. Sitting on the stool by the end of the counter, he has a glass of whiskey settled in front of him.

“I didn’t expect for you to actually come.” Dazai speaks, his voice molding into the gentleness of the song playing.

“I was curious. Though I didn’t know you'd be here at the same time.”

“Come sit.” He pats the spot beside him and you follow. You order something to drink as you sit and a glass is served in front of you after a few minutes. Silence crept up to the both of you as you didn’t say anything—and you wish you could read his mind at this moment, to know the thoughts that plagues his mind—and the stillness was an unbearable kind;

You begin, “Do you always come here?”

Dazai takes a sip from his glass before he answers, “Just often.”

“I see.” And before the silence could last even longer, you spoke once more: “You haven’t been coming to the cafe lately.”

“Why? Did you miss me? Are you finally going to take up my—“

“No.” He muttered a small “aw” at your firm rejection. “You still have an unpaid tab.” And he groans at that while you chuckle, finding amusement in the way his expression crumpled.

The sound of your laughter dies down after a few moments, trailing off to a gentle mutter of an: “Thank you.”

“For?” He asks, even if he already knows what you’re talking about.

“For back then.” For giving you his coat as he noticed you shivering, for assuring you that everything is okay and you’re not going to be harmed anymore, for blocking your sight of the men’s bodies that laid like lifeless corpses on the ground, for protecting you.

It has been weeks since it occurred but you could still feel the warmth of his body against yours and maybe his scent will linger no matter how much you try to wash it, and maybe you’ll have to forever carry the thought, the wishful thinking that maybe there’s something more. And maybe it’s the alcohol making him light-headed but three words are whispered to the air that settles in the space between you and him.

“I like you.”

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[living400lbs]

"There is a container of chocolate candy in my living room and there are multiple pints of ice cream in my freezer. This probably sounds like a recipe for disaster or even like a lack of willpower, but keeping something in plain sight, viewing it as a neutral food, and giving yourself permission to have said food unconditionally is the actual food freedom recipe. Not to mention, of course, that eating all the food groups consistently helps with feeling the need to binge on sweets. There are many pieces to the puzzle of food neutrality, and acknowledging that I am wholeheartedly allowing myself to have these foods when I want is helpful."

- from Live Nourished by Shana Minei Spence

[kenziebluex]

Griffin

Hawks(Keigo Takami) x Reader

Story Description: 

Your lungs were constrained as you fled as fast as your legs could take you. You bulldozed your way into the forest while empty tree branches dug at whatever’s left of your clothes.

A screech tore into the air and your body stood frozen. He’s already found you. 

Finally posting Hawks for late kinktober... (18+) Dub-con

‘Just one more night…..’

Hawks mused while settling on his perch. A fine nest for a full grown griffin and his mate that he spent nearly eons fixing up. He snapped another branch in half and scattered the debris to make his resting spot more comfortable. He needed something…anything… to keep his mind busy while the knot in his groin swelled with each passing day. 

-The week before-

It was one night he was out for a hunt in lands forbidden for humans to enter. He chased a mountain lion to a waterfall that streamed down into a lake. He paused when he saw a human, you,  who trespassed on his lands and bathed within his water. He remembered that the humans made it a rule to not intrude on his grounds and he even marked his scent within a three-mile radius so animals wouldn’t dare cross it. 

Typically, Hawks would have killed you without a moment’s thought. However, he was hesitant because you weren’t the same as any human he encountered before. Many of the humans and even human leaders Hawks had seen were at most plain to the eye, fragile, simple and untrusting of creatures different from them. The only thing he respected about them was that they cowered to the powerful. 

Many of the other griffins had either left or died out with the presence of humans but only Hawks remained. Humans had often mistaken him for an deity because he was able to shift into a human-like body while his talons and red wings remained. A false idol; the human clan decided to treat him to sacrifices and in return, Hawks would serve as their protector…or protect a promise to not eat them. The sacrifices, as unremarkable as the humans that served them, would either die of fright or succumb to Hawks’ talons before they could let out a scream. This was their role in the food chain and he was their predator.

Other humans understood that, why didn’t you? The mountain lion was long gone as Hawks rested himself on a thick tree branch far enough from the bank of the lake but close enough for him to see you clearly. His crimson feathered wings bowed into him as he crouched. His chest tightened when his animalistic sight scanned the back of your naked body. He let out a low grumble. 

“Mine” he muttered haphazardly. He blinked twice. He wasn’t sure why he said that. He was even more confused as to why he felt no hunger in his stomach and instead, in his cock. This puzzled him. He’s never felt remotely attracted to a human before, not even when they mated near him. He never thought it was possible. He felt his knot bulging within him and tried to push it down with his hand. He concluded that he was probably feeling lonely while at the age where he should be looking to mate. 

‘I can’t mate.’ He thought. There are no more griffins left. He clicked his tongue in annoyance. A sharp gust of wind blew his hair back and your scent tickled his nose. His fangs emerged and a long moan escaped his lips.

“Ohhh….fuck…..” A shaky groan dripped from his lips. He allowed his aching cock to stand tall. Your scent tattooing itself in his mind and electrifying his senses. He took in a deep breath of the sweet and yet familiar scent. He purred. 

‘This changes the game…’ Hawks licked his fangs and examined your bare back with more intent. He gripped his cock with a newfound need to spill. A need to mark. Desperate pants escaped his lips as he slowly stroked his cock. Silent cries ripped from his lips as he mentally pleaded for you to turn around. He needed you to watch him, touch him, to take him.

Hawks imagined himself drinking the droplets of water that fell from your skin. He jerked harder, spine shuddering and thrusted his hips forward. A whine tore from his throat as he watched you, expecting you to save him from this torment. He had a whiff of your scent and now he was greedy for it. Precum budded at the top of his dick and he threw his head back while gasping for air. Suddenly, you rose from the water. Hawks’ eyes went wide as he took in the globes of your ass. He bit into his free arm to deafen his heated groan and his fangs drew blood. 

His mind went blank, hand yanking at his straining cock like a mindless beast. His breath heaved and he bowed forward. Images of you rapidly flashed into his mind of the talons on his hands piercing into your hips and his cock stretching you beyond your limits. He imagined filling your cunt to capacity with his seed and painting the rest on your back, marking you inside and out. His ear twitched as he listened for the sound that made him lose control. 

“Dammit! They found me!” You cried to yourself. 

The sound of your voice is what made him erupt. His mouth released his arm so he could grapple onto a branch next to him, breaking it. He spilled all over the thick tree branch he rested on. His head fell back against the tree trunk as he bit into his tongue to control his moans. Hawks’ hips twitched and shunted forwards as creamy seed flowed down his cock and coated his legs. His eyes were hazy and a satisfied smile coated his lips. When he looked for you again, you were gone. He didn’t worry because he knew as long as he had your scent, you could never escape him. He then wondered if the humans had decided on their next sacrifice and if not, he was going to change that. 

~~~~~~~

Your clan was due to serve another sacrifice to  him in the coming week. As fate would have it, the clan decided that it would be you as punishment for your family’s debts. They tell you that you should be grateful and any one would be glad to sacrifice themselves to the ‘oh so great’ protector of the lands. 

They can fool themselves into thinking the griffin that holds their town hostage is some kind of savior, but you knew better. You begged the clan leaders to allow you to work instead and offered yourself to free labor around the town. However, the elders claimed that there were too many mouths to feed and too little time to do anything about it as the colder months approached. 

You knew the real excuse for using you as a sacrifice was because you and your family were outcasts. Your family sought asylum in the clan while escaping the terrors of monsters that destroyed your homeland. The clan was reluctant but allowed your family to stay. The clan worked your family members into their deaths and you assumed using you as a sacrifice was their way of finishing the job. But you refused to become a suckling pig on the dinner table of a demon. So you ran. 

This wasn’t your first time running. When you were a child, you hated the clan and wanted to go back to your homeland and on your trek through the forest, you encountered a waterfall. It was the one area of peace that was surrounded by despair. 

Hidden in the shadows, a feather-like creature chirped in pain near the bank of the lake. It was not quite a bird and also not quite a feline. It suffered from a wound and clutched its injured wing protectively. You ripped a piece of your clothing and crushed some herbs that you often traveled with. The creature seemed too exhausted to move and allowed you to tend to it. After feeding the animal water, you heard the voices from your family in the distance. You prepared yourself to return to them and started making your way back to the path you came. You turned back towards the creature who carried a solemn yet unsettling gaze. Your heart raced. After another call of your name, you quickly retreated back to the clan, never seeing the creature again. 

Thinking back to that time, the strange creature reminded you of yourself in some way; feeling alone in a world full of misery. So you escaped back to the place that brought you peace. The hidden waterfall nestled against the foot of the mountain. A place just under the den of the griffin and yet still hidden enough to cover your tracks. You bathed in the water and allowed your tears to fall. You cursed the clan elders and wept for a future that no longer existed. You heard the click of a tree branch and jumped up from the water. You listened again and heard the rustling of leaves. 

“Dammit! They found me!” You spat while busying yourself to find your clothes. Once dressed, you disappeared into the forest and back into town with a clean body and a clouded mind as you marched to your ruin.

A week passed and the sacrificial ceremony was scheduled to take place early the next morning. You were expected to present yourself to the clan elders while they dressed you and prepared you on the altar to be taken and eventually slaughtered. But you had different plans. Tying up the rope that constricted your travel sack, you prepared your bed as if someone was still sleeping in it. The clan had placed guards at the front of your door, but you had already spent a week digging a tunnel with the exit in the back. You dress light to travel faster, betting on finding warmer clothes in the next town over.

Once the guards shift change happened, you made quick work climbing through the hole and emerging on the other side. You didn’t waste an extra second hauling yourself out of the hole and bolting for the nearest coverage of trees. Sticks jutted out from the branches to cut at your legs and arms but you continued to run. A chill traveled up your spine as fear pooled in your stomach.

You weren’t alone and you knew it.

You ran faster, losing some of the items from your travel sack. A frustrated cry escaped your lips and you wanted to turn around to retrieve it. But you knew that as soon as you turned around, the game was over. You kept running, you figured that if it was a guard, they would have called out to you by now. But there was just silence. Terror and confusion ate at you from within and you stumbled forward. You fell flat on your face as the contents of your back spilled onto the ground. You looked back into the empty darkness of the forest and wondered if you half lost your mind. A whistle of the wind echoed in your ears.

“Mate…” A haunted voice danced in the wind, tugging at the thrums in your chest. You scrambled to your feet. 

“No. No. No. No. No. No. No-.” You took off again, abandoning your bag and everything in it. Your goal was no longer to escape but to survive. What was chasing you was not human. You shrieked as a tree behind you rustled and cracked. Your vision was limited because you could only see what was immediately in front of you from the moonlight while the darkness up ahead ate up the rest.

Your heartbeat drummed into your ears. You let out a small cry when your shoes became entangled in the wooden roots carved into the ground. You discarded them to run barefoot. You ran into stray trunks and some decaying logs that slowed your pace. You could almost hear the monster laughing at your distress and he had a right too. Running is futile. 

Your lungs were constrained as you fled as fast as your legs could take you. You bulldozed your way into the forest while empty tree branches dug at whatever’s left of your clothes. A screech tore into the air and your body stood frozen. He’s already found you. 

Claws…no….talons gripped your shoulders and forced your knees to chest on the ground. Hot tears flooded your eyes as the predator swiped at your clothes, leaving your neck and back exposed. A heated breath fluttered against the nape of your neck and down your shoulders. You felt its nose, almost human-like, press against the back side of your neck. He took in a deep breath and expelled a heavy moan that vibrated against your body.

“My mate….” The creatures spoke that word again. His tone was low and almost affectionate, but you knew that it had to be one of the creature's tricks. You knew exactly what he was.

“Griffin.” You spoke attempting to act confident but failing. The creature pulled at your shoulder and turned your body so you were flat on your back. Facing him, your breath hitched. The creature didn't look much like a creature at all. He looked like a man with windswept ashened blonde hair. Thick blonde brows furrowed above piercing golden eyes that were accompanied by black bird-like triangles decorating the corners of his eyes. The animalistic markings on his face indicated that he was definitely not human. His wings were large, shadowy, as it covered everything in your sight. He was huge with one talon-encrusted hand being enough to cover your entire shoulder and upper bicep. It wasn’t until you ventured lower past his abs that you found out he was stark naked. His knot was swollen and the head was leaking with precum. You took in another breath with shock as some of it dripped down your leg. 

He hovered and allowed his tongue to mark from your shoulder to your jawline. 

“I finally caught you, bride.” His tongue felt like it was burning against your skin. His hand holding your body still against the ground. 

“Don’t…hurt me.” You uttered a senseless plea. When he pulled his head back, he met your gaze again. For a moment his expression seemed sad? 

He nuzzled his head into your neck and shook his head rapidly. His body and his throbbing core ground against you.

“I…don’t want to- I could never hurt you.” He sighed. His hands started traveling down your body. 

“But I need… mmmh…” His words spilled into a whine. Needed what?

“What…what do you need?” You asked hesitantly.

“I don’t want to scare you but I….nnngh!”

His hips violently jerked against your leg, smearing your knee and thigh with his precum, his engorged member looked painful. His body was hot to the touch. His wings flailed lightly and you noticed one of them carried a scar at the joint. A scar in the same place as the injury of the creature you treated when you were a child. You cupped his cheeks and forced his eyes to meet yours. He bit his trembling lips and his eyebrows creased as if he was in pain.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” You searched his gaze for answers. You became entranced with his face and your hand traced across his quivering lips and daringly skated across his fangs. He caught your hand and licked your inner palm. He teased his fang against the underside of your hand and then he bit down, hard. Your hand began to burn and your body flailed as you started to feel scorching heat all over. The pain from his bite traveled up your arm and set your body on fire. The griffin’s face went red, eyes focused on you. His expression, pleading but his orgasmic purrs rumbled into your wrist. Unfortunately, the heat from the bite was too much. Drowning in exhaustion and delirium, you lost consciousness. 

~~~~~~

You woke with a dizzying fever. You tried to tug at your clothes to cover up only to realize all of your clothes were gone and replaced with a flimsy blanket. You felt and massaged all over your body but found that other than the burning sensation in your wrist, nothing else had been done to you. 

Pushing yourself up, you were cushioned by a bedding of lush grasses and sturdy tree branches for a foundation. You were no longer in the forest but in a den etched at the side of the mountain. The burning sunlight from the early morning sunrise poured into the cave and over the shuddering griffin next to you. He looked like he was in worse condition than before. The griffin broke out in a cold sweat and gasped for air as if he was choking. You searched the area for any type of water and attempted to rise to your feet. 

A strong grip shackled your wrist to prevent you from leaving. You turned to see his eyes pinning you down. 

‘I think I know what’s going on. I’ve heard about it before…’ The symptoms the griffin suffered from were common in creatures who were of age and desired a mate. 

‘He needs to rut. He looks like he might die if he doesn’t.’ You concluded. You didn’t understand why a human and not to mention why you?! But at that point you had two options: go back to the town and face possible death and persecution or become the mate of a griffin. After all, he did say he doesn’t want to hurt you. He carried you out of danger and has not touched you since. 

You searched down his body and his cock was still jutting painfully. His lower half, soaked in sweat, lubricant and precum. You cautiously reached your hand down and started pumping him slowly. The griffin took in a sharp hiss and his grip released your wrist to grapple onto the one jerking his shaft.

“I’m going to help you, griffin.” You whispered softly. His ear twitched. Your thumb teased the head and pressed against the hole. His jaw falls open releasing a series of quick pants. 

“H-Hawks…*groan*...the locals call me Hawks.” The griffin choked out as your hand pumped faster, becoming more drenched by the minute. Hawks’ gaze was stormy. Golden irises followed your every move, darting from your face to the magic you were doing on your hand. He contemplated between taking you hard and fast or letting you come on to him as he had originally hoped. The latter was looking less likely. 

“Hawks…” You breathed. He snapped. He forcefully released your grasp and he pushed you onto your back. The cushion from the grass nest bedding prevented it from being painful. Hawks hovered over you and pushed one of your legs back. He released your wrist and sheathed his talons. 

His fingers traced down your open slit and he parted your lips curiously massaging your clit. He watched your face contort as he soaked his fingers in your warmth. His adventurous fingers moved slow.

“It’s warm…wet.” He acknowledged, whispering the last part out in a sigh. Heat flooded your cheeks. You took in a deep breath when he started pinching and exploring your crux. A heavy moan fell from your lips when he inserted a finger into your puckering hole. He pushed in deeper and your mouth fell open. He attacked your lips with his tongue bulldozing itself into your mouth, battling yours for dominance. He shifted his fingers in you rapidly, bathing his hand in everything your cunt had to offer. Your body convulsed and you curled into his chest. You groaned as your pussy fluttered against his fingers. He moaned into your mouth as a response while helping you through your orgasm. He planted light kisses from your jawline down your neck. 

“You smell so so good. You sound good…Feel so good… Damn. It’s like I was born for this moment.” His breath fluttered next to your ear and you were just coming down from your high. 

Hawks sat back on his knees and positioned himself at your entrance. He pushed his member up and down your slit, gathering your release and his lubricant. He opened your legs further apart to accommodate his size. He slowly pushed in and your body seized. White-hot pain scattered throughout your body. Your legs shot out and you shimmied your hips to escape it. 

It hurts too much. Too damn much! He was trying to force his knot into a hole that wasn’t originally designed to take it. Hawks grip tightened and his eyes were screwed shut. He clutched one hand on your thigh while the other held your hips down. He groaned at how you squeezed him. His wings flapped and shivered behind him in excitement. You grasped his shoulders and pulled him down into your chest. You bit into his shoulder.

“Mate…” Hawks grunted in a strained voice. He wrapped his arms around your body, perpetual purring thrummed from his chest against yours. He eased the rest into your aching hole, your cries growing higher with each push. He held still. Moments passed and the pain subsided. Your legs wrapped around his hips and you urged him to move as you felt the pleasure rapidly building. He listened, eyes still glued closed and sweat beading his eyebrows. He drew back and then shunted forward. His brutal thrust took the wind out of your lungs and your head fell back. 

His body quivered and at first he seemed too afraid to move. He was feeling too many things at once and too fast. He is a virgin after all. 

First, he started with shallow thrusts and then his confidence grew and he maintained a steady rhythm. Hawks groaned and whined into your neck, body still shaking and his arms tightened around your body like a life source. His wings curtained forward possessively and allowed you to look only at him, to pay attention to him. He wanted you to look at how good you make him feel. You mewled and sighed leaving kisses of encouragement on his temple and the side of his neck.

His hips trembled and froze. He knew he was close. After he issued a few uneven pumps and then impaled himself into you deep and hard. His scorching hot seed flooded into you and he released a long euphoric groan. You held him tight in reassurance accepting his release gladly. Still connected to you, he sat back on his knees once more. Watching his come seep out of you seemed to have flipped a switch in his head. 

His eyes went wild and the pupils of his golden eyes thinned. He pulled out of you and flipped you to your stomach. He pressed the small of your back and raised your ass upwards. He wasn’t remotely tired, in fact, he looked newly energized like something else had taken control of him entirely. 

This time when he re-entered you, the patience vanished. He skipped the hesitation and thrusted into you to his knot. You gasped a short and pained shriek from the stretch of his cock. He held your hips with punishing strength and started primally fucking you. The rough pull and push had you scrambling for something to hold on to. You opted to reach back to hold his forearm. He responded by locking your arm behind your back and slamming into you harder. His rough thrust kept your body at a fierce rhythm while annihilating you from the inside deliciously.  

He grew bold. Reaching in between your legs, he gathered his dripping release and used it to toy with your clit. The overstimulation drove you to squeeze his arm and pulse around his cock. Hawks’ head fell back releasing a series of pants and haphazard chuckles. When he came again, he watched himself throb inside of you and then hauled you up against his chest.

He continued pounding into you, allowing his release to crowd your pussy and stream down your legs. He nibbled at your earlobe. Breathlessly, he spoke into your ear. 

“We have to…work hard.” He hummed. His pace slowed while you felt him swelling up in you once more. He locked both your arms behind you and ground into you.

“As many times as we need to until you’re swollen with my young.” Hawks showed no signs of slowing, no signs of fatigue. The griffin kept growing bigger and seemed like he had more to give. 

When you took a break, you knew it wasn’t over. As soon as you entered his domain, you already lost because that’s how the predator deals with his prey.

divider by @cafekitsune

❀ follow for more ❀ ao3: kenzieblue❀

-kenzie

[whispereons]

Oracle!Reader Part 20

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 19, Part 21

1K special

Warning! This is yandere, sagau imposter au so expect lots of gore in the series. This chapter is tame in comparison to the others.

The moon glimmers in the starlit sky as a hand brushes against your newly scarred skin. Eyelashes fluttering, your vision begins to focus on the plain ceiling above you. 

A coarse groan leaves your cracked lips as you flinch from the sudden pressure on your stomach. The hand quickly retreats as a pale green blob comes into view.

"...are…eeling?" The voice is barely picked up as your ears ring. Squinting your eyes, you swallow the dried saliva tasting faintly of blood.

"W-Who?" The word is coughed out as your throat struggles to form the words. Before you can ask for water, a cup is brought to your lips. The cold water brings sweet relief to your parched body.

Your senses begin to sharpen and clarity is brought back to your vision. Baizhu stands next to your bed helping you drink from the cup, though Changsheng isn't wrapped around his neck like she normally would be.

The water runs out and he draws the cup away. "How are you feeling? Your body is technically healed of its major injuries but it's still trying to adjust. The pain will continue to persist for a long while."

"I feel better than before." The reply is automatic as your hand twitches in an effort to move your muscles. The recollection of what had even brought you to Baizhu's care is a slow trickle as you process his words.

Shenhe, Yelan, the treasure hoarders, the fall and Qiqi are slotted into your memory like perfect puzzle pieces. The small pitter-patter of footsteps coming closer to you and the sound of metal being set down goes unheard by you as you focus on sitting up.

Soreness and exhaustion are impossibly heavy weights as you struggle to lift your body a few inches away from the mattress. Gentle hands support your body, along with much smaller ones on your other side. 

"Thank you…" Your words are choked out between your bitten lips as a dull ache plagues your body. Clenching the blanket in your fists, you sigh in relief as a cold compress is applied to your bare back.

Wait, your bare back?

The strangeness is not lost on you as you look down at yourself. A thin hospital-like gown is all that you seem to be wearing with the blanket pooled around your waist. It takes a second for you to properly process what this means for you before you’re frantically reaching up to your face.

“No need to fret, your mask was left untouched during the treatment.”

It seems to be the truth, as your fingertips are met with cool porcelain and flaking blood. Not to mention the casual way Baizhu is speaking to you and the lack of Millelith guards swarming you.

Licking your chapped lips, you eventually arrive at the question: where do you go now? Ningguang would surely kill you if she finds out you’re still alive. Zhongli is still expecting an answer, god knows what Yelan would do and Shenhe is a wild card-

The thoughts racing in your mind are abruptly cut off as a metal tray is plopped onto your lap. A warm bowl of soup and yogurt with a soft pastel color greeted you. The refilled cup of water placed on your bedside is ignored as your mouth waters at the sight of the meal.

“Clear chicken carrot soup and fruit-flavored yogurt.” A child-like, monotonous voice comments with a deeper melodic voice following up. “I would have had food suited to your taste, but you hadn’t awoken until now. Are you allergic to anything?”

“Nope.” You replied by popping the ‘p’ before pulling the tray closer and picking up the utensils. Allergies didn’t concern your ravenous mind, as your dormant stomach awakened painfully at the smell of food. Who knows, maybe your creator buff will also prevent any allergic reactions.

An upside to being the creator was something you desperately needed after the saga of pure bullshit you’ve been through.

Baizhu gently directs Qiqi out of the room after instructing her a message you couldn’t bother to hear as you gulp down the food. When he returns, he sits next to you as the moonlight shines down from the window.

“Let me explain your previous and current state while you eat. Qiqi brought you in with multiple minor injuries, a few stab wounds, head trauma, elemental damage, with fractured and broken bones. That’s not even mentioning the severe blood loss and infections beginning to manifest on your poorly healed past injuries.” Each description is like a stab to the heart, with the visualization of your passed out body arriving to Baizhu on death's doorstep crystal clear.

“Thankfully your body reacted well with my elemental healing so the life-threatening wounds were healed, without infections, and your critical condition was toned down. That doesn’t mean you’re out of the woods yet.”

The soup and yogurt is picked clean, leading you to gulp down the water next. Looking at him, you open your mouth to ask for more food when he cuts you off firmly. “Don’t bother asking for food, the arrows didn’t hit your lungs or heart, but your abdominal organs weren’t spared. You’ll be stuck with light meals until I’m positive it’s safe.”

Resisting a scoff, you ask him. “So what’s my current condition? Will I have to stay here overnight? Hold on, can I even afford that? How much did this treatment even cost?!”

“Please calm down, Y/N.” 

“How did you-”

“Your name was etched onto the bag that Qiqi brought along. As for payment, there’s no need to worry. You had a rather generous benefactor that has given us more then enough mora to cover your total cost in every possible scenario.”

That was suspicious beyond belief, but you didn’t have a reason not to believe Baizhu either. Baizhu would have healed you even without payment, but not being in debt was ideal. 

This benefactor either wants something from you, wants to kill you themselves, or knows you personally. 

A few people come to mind that could fit your suspicions but with so little knowledge you couldn’t confirm anything. Instead, you asked. “Isn’t doctor-patient confidentiality a thing? Did they leave any message for me?”

If Baizhu was surprised, then he hid it well. “She knew your name and appearance, though I never confirmed that you were here. She simply left the money and a verbal message asking you to have dinner with her tomorrow at 1800 in Xinyue Kiosk. But please be aware that I’m not forcing this, whether you would like me to refund the money so you can avoid interacting with her or not is completely up to you.”

Shaking your head, you declined it. “I’ll go. Since everything is paid for by her, does that also include any medicine I have to take for whatever current injuries I still have?”

“That’s right. I’m mostly prescribing supplements for the blood loss and fluid imbalance. Some are for the bones that broke, even repaired they might cause problems, so calcium intake is also important. A simple drug for your immune system, as your body's defenses are relatively low from the wounds. As well as per needed fever and pain medications.”

… You didn’t want to imagine the cost of those medications, let alone the treatment. A dinner in the most expensive restaurant in Liyue within the city with an unknown woman isn't that bad. 

You've met people in worst locations and survived this long.

Pushing back the lingering worry, you focused on Baizhu’s explanation over what condition your body is in, what time to take the medicine and any other problems that could arise. It was boring, but you weren’t looking to get sick from your own stupidity.

The conversation had gone as you expected for a while until he brought up a strange topic. Flipping through a few papers, Baizhu steered the topic onto your- “Scars. Many of what you suffered from will leave new scars on your body. It’s the old scars that were peculiar.”

Knowing your luck, your scars must also be known to them. But you weren’t going to bring it up if he didn’t.

“They are imbued and cultivated with a power that is strikingly familiar, yet foreign. It actually perfectly correlates with my researched point of interest. I wanted to ask your permission on getting a sample of it before your discharge.”

That was a risky request. Your face stayed neutral as you thought to yourself. The consequences could be minor, but what if it became another situation of an accidental connection to the Creator again?

Looking back at the smiling snaked eye man, you opened your mouth to respond when he suddenly gave the fakest gasp.

“I almost forgot to mention that your old scar formations are the exact locations of the Creator’s real scars! This along with everything else I’ve seen is almost enough for me to report this to the Mille-”

“For fuck's sake just take it.” You could be excused for not playing mind games this time, being nearly dead should be enough reason for a day off. 

“I want some form of compensation, though!” Being stupidly tired is a different matter then being just plain stupid.

“That’s not a problem. I’ll most likely take the sample sometime tomorrow before your discharge. So please, tell me what you have in mind by noon tomorrow so I can fetch it in time.”

In hindsight, it wasn’t surprising that Baizhu would ask this of you. Your body has clearly undergone some changes as you lived in Teyvat and Baizhu is dead set on finding a way to be immortal. 

There was a time you had wondered if you might be immortal due to being the creator, so maybe Baizhu can figure it out with your sample.

“The last thing I want to address before you rest is-” Baizhu is cut off by a knock on the door. He glances at you, asking permission to open the door with his eyes before you nod firmly. Qiqi walked in earlier without knocking, so maybe it’s a visitor? But considering how late it is, maybe you were wrong…

“Come in Qiqi and bring the visitor in too.” 

The door opens slowly as you watch Qiqi walk in stiffly with a yawning girl following her in at a similar height. Long light brown hair is loose as the girl rubs her eyes tiredly. 

“Hello Dr. Baizhu, I came back to check one last time if the oracle- Oh!” Caramel colored eyes widen at the sight of you sitting on the bed, and the girl hurriedly gives a polite bow. A yellow plush bunny is smooshed in her arms in the process.

“Hello, pardon my rudeness. My name is Yaoyao and I was sent by my master to check on you! It’s my honor to make your acquaintance, Y/N, or would you rather me call you by the oracle title?”

The ‘little adult’ looks different without the decorative bells she usually wears in her tied up hair, but the bunny was a dead give away. You smile at the nervous girl while wondering just who told her about you being an oracle.

Baizhu was giving you a look that basically screamed suspicion.

“You can just call me Y/N. By master, you mean Madame Ping, right?” Yaoyao beams at that as she steps closer.

“That’s correct, we learned about you from the other Adepti and Xiangling.” You should have known. “When we heard that you were here, I was sent on my Master's orders and Ganyu’s concern. Visitors weren’t allowed earlier, but I wanted to check one last time.”

Ganyu too? That basically guarantees Ningguang, Keqing, Zhongli and even more knowing that you’re here. But more importantly was the fact that Baizhu investigated anything connected to the Adepti for his immortality quest. 

You could only hope that Baizhu would be happy with a basic explanation and the sample of your scar tissue as promised.

“Visitors was the last topic I wanted to address.” Baizhu smoothly joins as he gets up from his seat and heads toward a desk on the far side of the room. A small pile of letters and a pile of gifts sit on the table next to your bag. How didn’t you notice it before?

“After a patient here noticed you before she was discharged, she and her guardian left you a letter with a present. I believe she may have been the one to spread it, but I ask you to kindly not hold anger against her. She’s rather young.”

So the little leaker was a child? It could be one of the kids you saved, but none of them could really afford to go to Baizhu. Not that he would have denied them but most children in that situation don’t go unless on the verge of death or pushed by an adult.

“It’s okay, I’ll look through the stuff in the morning.” As if on cue, Yaoyao fails to hide a yawn as she walks to stand next to your bed.

“Auntie Cloud Retainer and the rest of the Adepti told Master what happened on Mt. Aocang. Master really wants to meet you, so if you have any time to spare, please pay her a visit here at the Yujing Terrace near the Yiyan temple.”

Nodding absentmindedly, you make a mental note of that before asking Yaoyao a question in return. 

“Just how many people in general know that I’m here? I know quite a few people and Qiqi being here must have been quite a spectacle… But surely it must not have been too much considering that it was the middle of the night.”

The nervous expression on Yaoyao face dashes away any hopes you had. 

“Sorry Y/N but a lot of the city was speaking about you. Even nature and the animals kept mentioning you! Though they were a little more vague. If it helps, most people know you as a masked person rather than your name.”

Sighing, you don’t even bother hiding the distaste on your face. Changing masks wouldn’t do much and you sure as hell can’t remove it either, leaving you with the sole option of leaving. 

Leaving before anyone else can attack you in this fast-pace city filled with greed and ambition. If you stayed here any longer, you’ll surely be pulled into whatever new situation happens and only get more attention. 

The dinner you had first worried about is almost miniscule compared to the threat of Yelan and Shenhe knowing your location. More so, Yelan as she has an obligation to get rid of you due to her job rather than Shenhe’s emotional motive. 

Your mind replays the last bit of your fight where you had touched the waypoint and- Oh fuck. Groaning, you dumped your face into your hands as Yaoyao watched you worriedly. Her worried calls rolled off you like waves as you remember how the teleport waypoint glowed in front of everyone.

That’s a complete group of people, treasure hoarders nonetheless, that saw you activate it. Yelan could use that information and the witnesses in whatever stupidly clever way she wants!

Yaoyao looks back at Baizhu confused as he shakes his head silently. Qiqi picks up a glass of coconut milk and begins to walk towards you with it before Baizhu blocks her way.

Fingers digging into your scalp, you resist the urge to pull your hair as you bite your still slightly bruised lips. The realization of what kind of ammo you gave Yelan was killing you. 

Baizhu takes the glass from Qiqi and puts it back down before handing her a glass of water. Qiqi stares blankly at Baizhu before switching the glasses again. As the two continuously switch cups, Yaoyao rummages in her bag.

A sting of pain begins to grow as you get dangerously closer to the recently healed head wound. The smell of something sweet yet earthy snaps you out of your stress-fueled self depreciation as small hands pry your rough ones away.

“Please be careful Y/N, Dr. Baizhu is a great doctor but you shouldn’t hurt yourself like this. Have a candied date, it's golden honey flavored and works great to get rid of the bitter medicinal taste that he prescribes.”

It didn’t smell too bad, so you hesitantly took it from her hands and glanced back at Baizhu in case he tries to confiscate it. With his back safely turned, you pop the candied date into your mouth.

It’s a nice taste and it does work well as a distraction from your worries. “Thank you Yaoyao.” Your hand reaches out instinctively and pats her head. “The Creator views you fondly and one day your fate will intersect with the creator’s just like it did with the Adepti.”

The lie flows smoothly from your mouth as she smiles brightly up at you. Her eyes move down to the blanket as she responds. “I still don’t quite know what that means, but I’m sure I’ll be able to properly appreciate it once I’m older.”

Qiqi joins you both and hands you a glass of water that you take from her gratefully. Your hand leaves Yaoyao’s head to rest on the bed, making Qiqi look away with a pout. Before you can question the unexpected reaction, Baizhu redirects the conversation.

“I understand that you hold some valid concerns over your safety, Y/N. This situation isn’t one we deal with frequently, but we do have measures in place.”

The look you send him speaks a thousand words as he sighs and adds. “Free of charge, of course, as it counts as patient confidentiality.” 

“Bubu’s Pharmacy has tight security measures and Millelith frequent the area due to it being near the Yiyan Temple and the Welkin Temple.” You were 100% sure that the second temple did not exist before you came here. “Me and Qiqi both reside here and as experienced vision holders, you’ll be in safe hands.”

Nodding in understanding, you can’t deny that it felt safer knowing you weren’t going to be left alone. Your body was still exhausted and in the midst of healing so you didn’t have much energy to defend yourself with if Ningguang were to send another person after you.

“Qiqi doesn’t sleep much, so she’ll keep an eye out for anything amiss.” And you were right back to feeling anxious. Baizhu was relaxed as he tidied up the room, while Yaoyao spoke softly to Qiqi.

Glancing at the zombie child, you repeated the mantra to yourself that anyone could be a DPS in Genshin. You just needed to check her equipment before bed.

Yaoyao turns back to you with a sleepy smile. “I’ll be taking my leave now. I wish you a swift recovery, and I look forward to seeing you again with my Master.” With a casual wave, you let that be your only farewell as you drink the glass of water Qiqi handed you earlier.

Baizhu pats his clothing down as he calls out to Yaoyao right as she opens the door.

“Oh Yaoyao, since you’ll be relaying the message to Madam Ping and Ganyu, please have Ganyu tell Ningguang about Y/N’s acceptance to dinner for me as well.”

The water you were drinking goes down the wrong way at those words. 

Coughing, you yank the glass away as you look back up to the surprised Baizhu. “Did you say Ningguang? Was she the one who paid for everything and asked for the dinner?”

Baizhu smiles pleasantly with little regard for your shaky tone as he nods. There goes every flicker of hope you had that Ningguang wasn’t your benefactor.

Every drop of blood your body synthesized to restore you back to normal is drained as you pale at the confirmation. Just how the hell did you manage to meet Zhongli, Yelan, and Ningguang!? 

They are all people you wanted to avoid, and you definitely shouldn’t have met, considering the fact that people pay to even get an hour with Ningguang, let along a whole ass dinner invite!

Was there some stupid rule that goes along with being the creator making you meet nearly every acolyte that exists?

So busy cursing yourself and the entirety of Teyvat out, you don’t notice how Baizhu corrals Yaoyao out of the room before heading to you, as Qiqi watches from the sidelines.

“My, my you’ve gone pale at the news Y/N.” Baizhu’s glasses glint a little from the flickering lantern illuminating the room. He smiles down at you with half-lidded eyes that stare at you strangely.

“I didn’t realize that I forgot to tell you who it was. If you decide to, we can always cancel it and send a priority letter before discussing a payment plan.”

Squinting your eyes, you shake your head ‘no’ as you try to read the simultaneously shady yet reckless doctor. It didn’t seem like he had any malicious intentions, as he very much did mean to hide it. But you can’t be sure that he had any good intentions either.

“That’s a shame, I was looking forward to discussing alternate ways of paying that don’t require mora.” …Yeah, no matter what way you put it or how clean Baizhu keeps his reputation. One can not simply not be seen as shady while going around saying stuff like that.

So not only is Baizhu showing signs of that strange attachment in a matter of hours, but Ningguang decided to suddenly switch her tactics. From ‘investigate and kill if deemed a threat’ to ‘generous wealthy person that totally isn’t covering up a crime’.

Could you possibly get Yanfei to sue Ningguang if you aren’t poisoned at the dinner?

Maybe, but that’s all riding on the chance that you aren’t killed in some coincidental accident before then. Waving away the pessimistic and slightly comical thoughts, you look up at Baizhu as he dims the lantern. 

“The pharmacy opens at 0900 in the morning. Are you willing to take visitors from that point on till your discharge at 1300?” Briefly looking at the letters and gifts, you nod silently.

Baizhu’s smile doesn’t waver as he responds casually. “Many people will be happy to hear that Y/N, you seem quite popular.”

He opens the door before kneeling to Qiqi’s height. “The last order I have for you tonight is to keep watch over Y/N and protect them if need be. Understand?”

Qiqi tilts her head at that and blandly states. “Order received. Order cannot be processed. Original intended function still active and in place.”

Baizhu frowns at that as you look at Qiqi curiously. His expression quickly smooths back to a calm smile as he stands up. “As long as the ending is the same, then I don’t mind.”

He glances at you one last time as the door creaks open to show the dark hallway. Slitted eyes meet yours, full of curiosity and intrigue. They almost glow as he steps into the hallway with Qiqi in tow before the door closes softly.

Sighing in relief, you flop back onto the bed and roll in the covers for a position that won’t put pressure on your aching muscles. Baizhu’s increasingly strange behavior slithers back into your mind as you close your eyes.

Just why didn’t he ask you about being an oracle yet? Is he planning on getting the Millelith? No, he would have done so much earlier. Maybe he’s trying to gather some blackmail on you? 

The possibilities torment your exhausted mind as you finally settle on just explaining yourself tomorrow when you get the scar sample from you. When you open your eyes, the flame has already burned away, leaving your only light as the moon. 

Staring at it, you think back to the waypoints. Are they finally fixed? Can you use them again? You couldn’t test it out now, but you could do so when you leave after the dinner with Ningguang. 

Which region should you travel to next? There was no may you could stay or go back to Inazuma, so it’s either Mondstadt or Sumeru as they are the closest. 

Closing your eyes, you try to imagine what traveling through the terrain would be like to arrive in the city. Frowning, you continue by imagining what it would be like traveling in that region for the weekly commissions.

It’s a simple decision really as Sumeru had a wide range of animals and poisonous plants to fight past. While Mondstadt had that sweet peaceful greenery from being the starter city with the lowest amount of treasure hoarders thanks to a certain Cryo user.

Deciding that you’ve picked your brain enough on the topic, you shut your eyes for some actual rest.

A moment passes, and then another, as the wind rustles the leaves on the tree outside the window. The faint sound of a sweet croon reaches your ears as you stubbornly keep your eyes closed.

As your mind is slowly consumed by the heavy exhaustion and the dimness of the room, two thoughts come to mind.

One, you forgot to check Qiqi’s equipment. Two, just what made you be locked out from the teleport waypoints if it counts as a game mechanic from Genshin Impact itself?

—---------------

“The moon is quite beautiful at this time of night.” A kind and knowing voice says as wrinkled hands pick out the bits of leaves from long white hair. The moonlight illuminates the silvery strands as it gradually is picked clean to its former glory.

“Child, just what has happened that you come to me out of all the Adepti for assistance?” A red rope is cut into perfect portions and tied to form the perfect braid. A Cryo vision sits innocently as the centerpiece, while a monochrome ornament adorns the top.

“I cannot advise you on the matter that troubles you if you do not speak, Shenhe.” Iridescent eyes finally move up from the ground to meet the elderly woman’s warm ones. Shenhe struggles to speak as her head dips forward.

“I… I hurt someone badly. But they hurt me too.” Shenhe holds her hands together in a prayer like motion as her eyes flutter close. “But at the end, they showed me something I couldn’t believe. No. That I refused to believe and even helped me.”

With a hunched back and patience learned over thousands of years, the old woman stays quiet. Giving the oh-so apathetic disciple time to put her thoughts into words.

“I don’t know what to do, and master isn’t the most adept when it comes to humans. But you, Streetward Rambler are, in more than one way. You constitute as a human more than me.”

Shenhe closes her eyes as she thinks back to her encounter with you. The truth you didn’t hesitate to spit in her face, the raw anger you expressed at her delusions and denial.

“I just want to understand these emotions. Are they a witch’s, an Adepti’s or a human’s emotions? Not even these ropes are stopping them!” Shenhe tugs at the newly bound rope in frustration but stops at the touch of light fingertips.

Madam Ping smiles warmly down at Shenhe. “None of those answers are correct child. They are simply your emotions. And I believe deep down, you already know what you feel. You just don’t know what to do with them.”

Shenhe looks at the ground with a mixture of guilt and self-loathing swarming inside her. It was true, wasn’t it? That day you spoke her feelings in the bluntest way possible, but here she was, still trying to deny it.

“Then what do I do? Is it really okay to love someone that hurt you? I don’t want a repeat of my childhood… I just want to treasure and use this new chance at connecting with my entire self that the Creator has graced me with.”

The hand that pats her head is familiar and warm. Childhood memories of her shedding those human emotions she once thought weak come to mind before Madam Ping’s voice brings her back.

“Trusting in the Creator and following the path they opened for you, no matter how scary or concerning, is always the right path. Follow me Shenhe.” 

Madam Ping is quick to walk away toward the two temples, as Shenhe follows her swiftly. The Yiyan Temple for the Geo Archon is laughably small in comparison to the huge Welkin Temple behind it.

They climb the stairs past the Yiyan Temple and enter the luxurious archway leading into the Welkin Temple. Decorations laced with jewels, paintings of the highest caliber, and statues of the rarest minerals are a common sight in it.

As Liyue Harbors sole temple, the city and its citizens spared no expanse in making sure it was top-notch. That included the deceased Geo Archon who left it in the care of the Liyue Qixing before his passing.

The pair walked through the halls as many people prayed and worshiped within the dead of the night without care for the passing onlookers.

Everyone gathered here at this time of night is here to do the same thing after all.

A couple of people amble past the determined Adeptus and disciple into the barren clinic as physicians begin to care for them. The blood, bone, and missing parts of skin are applauded before quickly being catered to. 

Madam Ping enters the hallway where many citizens wait outside the rooms for their turn. Yet instead of stopping like Shenhe expected, the old woman brings her to a hidden staircase around the corner.

The two climb up and up, till they reach the rooftop where an alter sits. Shenhe is well aware what she must do for the answers she desires. Kneeling before it, Shenhe gratefully takes the ceremonial spear handed to her by Madame Ping.

“You have matured enough to earn the privilege of giving a piece of yourself to the Holy One. I can only excitedly wait for the day my own disciples can have this honor.” With a calm yet cheery chuckle, Madame Ping moves away from the grave faced Shenhe.

“Oh Holy Creator, God of all that has lived, lives, and lives on. Listen to this acolytes prayer and grant me but a crumb of your wisdom. Though I am foolish and mortal, your mercy shines down on in the form of that person.” 

The spear is raised into the air as Shenhe stays kneeling and points the spear down.

“Please, Divine One, show this wretched girl just how I’m supposed to make it up to Y/N.”

The spear drives down and the crimson droplets stain the altar like a dazzling flourish of rose petals.

Well this took a long while. This time it wasn't school but just personal stuff. Between house hunting, family feud, car problems, and just trying to keep up with school. I haven't got much of a break. But things have finally calmed down somewhat so I used it to get this done. What also helped was making the outline for the 1k special. I think I should have it done for the next update instead of the regular chapter. But I did notice that a good chunk wanted regular chapters instead so I got a compromise. The special features Mondstadt (as most sagau start in Mond so I thought it would be fun) and it'll be a teaser to what Mondstadt has in store for you all. I'm not sure how many of you have noticed but each region has a certain theme when it comes to worship. Inazuma with sacrificing, Liyue with self mutilation, and Mondstadt will be hinted at in the special. My editor, @serpent-benediction, did this super late last night so props for once. But if there are claims to being anything more than an editor then don't listen. I keep basically everybody in the dark. Kinda feel like death so if you have any questions or comments I will answer them as soon as I can read again. Taglist: is open for anyone so just comment if you want to join <3

@vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl, @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma, @kwqsla, @undecidingfate, @ehjane, @game-savvy, @akiramirae, @liansh3ng, @fluffy-koalala, @formacoon, @sxftiebee, @khxii-i, @ursinaw, @chuuya-brainrot, @sweetbills, @kazuchaos, @snowfoxnix, @bluebelony, @shellofthewell, @pencil-of-ashes, @ghostlyintervention, @taiformaifoe, @goaudduck, @carminerin, @maddysflowers, @zenith-of-all-zenith, @crazydreamcat, @leafanonsforest, @grimreapersscythe, @leylanx, @sapphireknown, @help-whatdoimakemyusername, @zhonglisfruityass, @mer0n37, @victoria1676, @mochinessss, @sinnful-darling, @emilymikado, @pix-stuff, @esthelily, @luxie963, @emmbny, @millienolife @kbar1013, @xxblackroses623xx, @chxrlxtteee, @aludicpoet, @yandematic, @atrcclovsxoxo, @0lshadyl0, @esthelily, @t-rex-red, @ck123, @steadybreadbluebird, @118gremlin, @stratonia, @time-shardz, @farelady-fate, @valeriele3, @francisnyx, @byakuren100, @waveto-earth, @flyingpansaurus, @silverstarred, @iamapotatoe

[estebanbicon]

The F1 driver who takes every opening he sees

A mechanic’s son, Esteban Ocon took an unlikely path to an F1 driver’s seat. Now he’s fighting to keep it.

MONTE CARLO, Monaco — The mechanic’s son walks past women in bright dresses and men in fine suits, many of them sipping champagne. He breathes in the salty air of the Mediterranean, its shoreline neither rocks nor sand but dozens of mega-yachts.

The Monaco Grand Prix, held each May, is the global peak of sports opulence, less street race than picture postcard from high society: A-listers and royals toasting the good life in the richest place on Earth. Several Formula One drivers live here, their plain-sight hideaway amid a Netflix-fueled fascination with their sport. Among them are Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton — champions, multimillionaires and household names in a sport Hamilton has called a “billionaire boys club.”

Esteban Ocon, though, is not of this world. When Ocon was a karting wunderkind, other drivers would sneer at him and scoff, whispering that the only child of a dumpster-diving mechanic doesn’t belong. That the Frenchman, now 28, will forever be a [wanderer] playing dress-up in a place such as Monaco. Even after eight years on the grid, he remains an outsider.

Then again, an impressive finish here would change minds. It might even change Ocon’s, convincing him it’s possible to be born into one end of the economic spectrum and, with enough talent and moxie, reach the other.

He changes out of his jeans and into an Alpine race suit. He stretches the muscles on his thin frame and climbs into a $15 million super machine. The green flag drops. Ocon accelerates, 0 to 100 mph in 2½ seconds, trying to position himself and his team for an early chance at points. Over the years, he has proved himself as a skilled and fearless driver, aggressive sometimes to the point of recklessness.

With Monaco’s narrow streets and hairpin turns, passing is dangerous. Three-time world champion Nelson Piquet once compared it to riding a bicycle in your living room. And trying to pass a teammate? It simply isn’t done.

Before the race, in fact, Alpine instructed its drivers to avoid each other. Whoever is ahead after the first lap should stay there; the driver behind him is to protect his blind side.

Midway through the first lap, the cars are clustered. Pierre Gasly, Alpine’s other driver, is immediately in front of Ocon. On the eighth turn, just before the circuit’s famed tunnel, Gasly eases off the accelerator. Ocon sees his teammate drift left, allowing space between Gasly and the wall, creating an opening.

FIVE HUNDRED MILES NORTH, there’s a small French village built into the lush countryside. People in Évreux raise chickens, recycle batteries, mow their own grass. And the locals tell of a man north of town who could bring back the dead, so long as the corpse had four wheels.

One of those locals, Marc Guillouet, still remembers the sound of Laurent Ocon’s air compressor bellowing at all hours as Ocon performed reconstructive surgery on another broken-down used car that had been towed through his gate. Then, hours later, another sound: the engine humming back to life.

“The way he refurbished it,” Guillouet says, “it was like new.”

Laurent was a self-taught mechanic who built his shop onto the back of the Ocons’ home, a single-car garage jutting out in yellow stucco. It was in the house’s rear, but it acted as the family’s entrance. Before school some mornings, young Esteban would see his father, grease up to his elbows, still trying to solve the previous night’s puzzle. When Esteban returned in the afternoon, he would watch Dad beamas he turned the key, listened and … there it was, that beautiful music.

“We live for that,” Esteban says now. “He wants to win, like me.”

Laurent’s passion was reviving machines. His son’s was maneuvering them. Esteban says he was 4 the first time he got behind the wheel of a go-kart, gliding around the track at an amusement park, through cones and around other karts as if it were second nature. His friend who came along drove straight into the wall.

Esteban kept driving, testing himself in bigger, faster, more complex machines. The families of some other 8-year-olds hired engineers, barked into radios and traveled with professional mechanics. But Laurent and wife Sabrina had no money for that. If Esteban’s carburetor failed or his torsion bar broke, it was Laurent who mounted a new one. Then they would return to Évreux from Ambourville or Rouen, often with Esteban cradling another trophy.

“We tried to protect Esteban from pressure as much as possible,” Laurent says, answering questions emailed by The Washington Post. “But unfortunately, the only solution is to perform.”

After one of Esteban’s races, a representative from a management company approached. The boy had the talent to make racing his career, the man said, but it wouldn’t be easy. Or cheap.

Thousands of European kids grow up dreaming of the Formula One life, waiting to pilot a rocket at circuits such as Monza and Silverstone and Monaco. Most never make it, and even those who only come close do so after millions have been spent on equipment, travel and engineering.

The families of many drivers commit hundreds of thousands before their child becomes a teenager, largely to get noticed by top feeder programs and driver academies. Among the hopefuls are the kids of billionaires and oligarchs, able to bankroll the pursuit of a nine-figure dream. A few even pay their way onto the F1 grid, with cash-strapped teams agreeing because it transfers the financial responsibility.

Most, though, spend years working their way up.

“Even if you are talented,” Esteban says, “if you don’t have the right people, you don’t manage.”

But all he had were his parents.

“If he really wants to do it,” Esteban remembers hearing Laurent say years ago, “we’ll give him everything we can.”

LAURENT AND SABRINA SOLD THEIR HOUSE and the family business, leaving behind anything that didn’t fit in a 21-foot motor home. They stuffed Esteban’s mini-kart into the rear of a van, surrounded it with tools and Esteban’s toys, then hitched the motor home to the van’s rear.

“Prepping,” Esteban’s parents told him, “for the rest of your life.”

With Évreux in the rearview, home now was a parking lot in Lyon or a roadside in Le Mans. Ten-year-old Esteban had his bicycle and the family border collie to keep him company. Sabrina outfitted the motor home with a fake fireplace and told friends it was their mobile chateau. Le Palais des Ocons had a living room and shared sleeping quarters, with views that were a mountain some days, a vineyard others.

Sabrina and Laurent convinced their son that each day was an adventure, each morning a chance for Esteban to open the door so he and their dog, Viper, could breathe in a dramatic new backdrop. He and Laurent sometimes went on long bicycle rides, where they talked about engines, racing, the future. Then the convoy headed to a nearby track, where the soft-spoken Esteban slid on a helmet, climbed into his kart and transformed into an assassin. There wasn’t an opening he wouldn’t hit, a pass he wouldn’t attempt, a throat he wouldn’t cut. Esteban wanted to win races, yes, but victory was about more than bragging rights.

In his 9-year-old mind, he says, it was the only way to repay his parents.

“I had weight on my shoulders very early,” he says. “There was never a Plan B in my head.”

In 2006, Esteban, then 10, won the regional mini-kart championship, which qualified him for a spot in the French Cup’s “Minime” division. He reached the final heat, and he and another young star, Charles Leclerc, angled for positioning on the last lap. Esteban went inside, trying to overtake Leclerc, and their tires touched. Leclerc spun out and hit the wall; Esteban recovered but finished outside the top five. The two boys spent the rest of the day crying.

The family returned to Évreux each winter, staying with family so Esteban could attend a few months of school before the new season. Otherwise, they kept moving, rarely in the same place for more than a few days.

Esteban won the French Cup in 2007, the “Cadet” title a year later, the junior championship in 2010. With every promotion came longer trips and more expensive gear. An entry-level “baby” kart costs about $3,000, not including registration fees and fuel, and a used mini-kart engine and chassis can be twice that.

By 2011, with a promotion to Winning Series Karting, the chateau was crossing borders so Esteban could race in Spain, Italy and Portugal. Entry fees alone were upward of $5,000 per race, with fuel and spare parts pushing the cost higher. All youth sports have their own unique cultures, and in this one, there is an established taboo: Kids don’t talk about their parents’ wealth.

But chatter happens anyway. Jos Verstappen, father of 14-year-old Max, used to drive in Formula One and spent $1 million bankrolling his son’s career. Leclerc grew up among the yachts and Ferraris of Monaco, and Lance Stroll’s dad, Lawrence, was a fashion billionaire.

Esteban’s folks?

Homeless, the other boys murmured. Sometimes, they said, they even saw his dad lurking near the circuit, waiting to pull other drivers’ used tires out of the trash.

IN 2014, OCON, THEN 18, won nine races and finished in the top three in 21 of 33 races to claim Europe’s Formula Three championship. But it was 17-year-old Verstappen, who had finished third, who was promoted seven months later and became the youngest driver ever to appear on the F1 grid.

“My dad always said it’s not going to be easy,” Ocon says now. “I didn’t really know what my future would be.”

He spent the 2015 season with Mercedes and Lotus — discussed alongside Verstappen, George Russell and Gasly as the sport’s next generation of starsbut still toiling in its minor leagues.

The next season, another young driver, Indonesia’s Rio Haryanto, won a spot with Manor Racing, a fledgling F1 team from Britain. F1 teams today operate under an annual maximum budget. Back then, though,the annual cost for a two-car team could reach nearly $200 million per year. Some teams have lucrative sponsorship agreements and investments from engine manufacturers, but others rely only on prize money and the potential share of a year-end financial pie that is distributed to the teams that finish in the top 10 in points.

Haryanto started the first 12 races that year before Manor dropped him — and not just because he never finished better than 15th. It was because Haryanto, initially backed by a $16.65 million investment from an Indonesian oil and gas company, ran out of money.

Manor’s own survival depended on performance, so in August 2016, it contacted the most talented driver available and told 19-year-old Esteban to get to Belgium. A management company had agreed to underwrite Ocon’s career, so with the motor home now retired, the family traveled by plane.

“A lot of emotions and relief,” Laurent recalls. “The culmination of 16 years.”

FOUR MONTHS AFTER ESTEBAN’S F1 DEBUT, with the sport itself at a crossroads, Manor Racing announced it was broke.

It was January 2017, and this was the first of several dominos to tumble.

The next was that Force India, a well-funded team and a new contender, offered Esteban a multiyear contract after its No. 2 driver, Nico Hülkenberg, defected for Renault. With an elite car, Esteban finished seventh in Russia, fifth in Barcelona, sixth in Montreal — valuable points for his team and proof he belonged.

Then, in Azerbaijan, Ocon saw an opening. He tried to pass Sergio Perez, his Force India teammate, before their wheels touched. A moment later, he went for it again, contacting Perez’s car and damaging both vehicles.

“What did Esteban do, guys?” Perez said on his headset radio. He later called Ocon’s behavior “unacceptable.”

Three races later, Ocon again collided with Perez in Hungary, and a week later in Belgium, Ocon tried to pass his teammate on the inside. The cars made contact, Perez’s front wing flew off, and the veteran driver’s anger exploded.

“Honestly, what the f--- is this guy doing?” Perez said. “F---ing idiot.”

High drama — which, considering the sport’s new ownership, was undoubtably welcome.

Long owned by a European private equity fund, Formula One had recently been purchased by Liberty Media, an American entertainment titan that parlayed its ownership of struggling assets, from satellite radio to the Discovery Channel and QVC, into ownership of the Atlanta Braves. It wasalready planning the all-access Netflix docuseries that would debut in 2019 — less than a year before the pandemic. When the sports calendar ground to a halt, “Drive to Survive” became a massive hit that sent each team’s value soaring.

Sponsors and investors were fighting for a piece of a sports gold rush. Not everyone could keep up, though. Force India’s owner, Vijay Mallya, defaulted on more than $1 billion in loans after his airline failed, before numerous banks accused him of fraud. (Mallya has called these accusations “rubbish” but, after fleeing India for England, is still considered a fugitive.) He sold his team to a group of investors led by Canadian billionaire Lawrence Stroll, who had made his fortune on the threads of Tommy Hilfiger and Michael Kors. And who happened to have a son, Lance, who drove, if not very well, for Williams Mercedes.

Just like that, it was Ocon being bumped, his dream blown to pieces by his own team. When the 2019 season started, he was out of a job. He blamed “politics.”

He joined Mercedes as a reserve driver, and during race weekends, he says, he would climb into a racing simulator and go through scenario after scenario until 4 a.m. On no sleep, he would go to the airport and travel to wherever F1 was because that’s also where Ocon could meet with potential investors, sponsors and engineers. Then, a week later, he would do it all again.

“I didn’t care because I said, ‘Let’s give it a full go,’ show the people how hungry I am,” he says. Failure, he told himself, would mean that his parents’ sacrifices had been in vain.

“I didn’t do all that just to sit on the side,” he continues. “Teams saw how much I was willing to give, how much I was willing to suffer. I wanted to show everyone that I’m willing to go further than anyone else. No sleep for three straight days, simulator day and night, I’m going to do it. And, yes, I’ve lost four kilos in that year and got sick seven or eight times, and the reality is, yes, I’ve suffered and it was tough. And I don’t want to be suffering forever.”

In late summer 2019, with the first season of “Drive to Survive” being filmed, Ocon’s phone rang. Renault was parting ways with Hülkenberg. The French team wanted the kid from Évreux to come home.

“A crazy moment,” Ocon says. “This was it. The tough times are over now.”

LAST YEAR IN MONACO, something happened that was highly disruptive: Ocon finished third. It was his third appearance on the podium and his best result since he won the Hungarian Grand Prix in 2021. In one of Europe’s nightclub capitals, the 27-year-old celebrated. Hard.

Fatigued, dehydrated and emotionally drained, Ocon again got sick. He was nonetheless due back on the grid in Barcelona four days later. He finished eighth in each of his next two races, then 14th, then didn’t finish the two after that.

Nobody weeps for the motorsports rock star, but a life spent in constant motion does take a toll. A year after signing with Renault, which rebranded as Alpine, Ocon was reportedly paid $5 million per year. He put Laurent and Sabrina on the payroll of “Team Esteban,” he says, assigning his mother administrative tasks and his father responsibilities such as renovating Esteban’s house. He could also hire a performance coach to keep his body and mind sharp — or as sharp as possible in a sport whose schedule features two dozen stops around the globe.

Now, years after Laurent and Sabrina tried shielding their son from many of racing’s pressures, it is Tom Clark’s job to act as Ocon’s conscience. To tell him it’s okay to sleep in on weekends, to grab a nap after practice, to avoid media and fans because more interactions mean more exposure to pathogens.To urge him to eat more lean protein and complex carbohydrates, stay ahead of time zones by wearing sunglasses to simulate darkness, use a light therapy lamp or glasses that emit a bright glow above the eyes. To encourage him to take it easy sometimes, especially when it comes to challenging teammates, and maybe to even think about gearing things down a tad.

“Let’s really just put a bubble around you,” Clark says he tells Ocon.

The problem is this is in conflict with the instincts that got Ocon here. Without deprivation and exhaustion, would he have ever left Évreux? If not for aggressive racing and a ruthless competitive drive, could he have even reached the grid? Especially when it comes to challenging teammates, can’t he gear things down a tad?

ON THE FIRST LAP at this year’s Monaco Grand Prix, there’s Gasly in 10th place. Ocon is 11th. Points are awarded to only the top-10 finishers.

The Alpine drivers have known each other since childhood, their hometowns just 20 minutes apart, friends scratching and clawing for better footing. When they were 12, both were in the same championship race. Gasly overtook Ocon on the last lap to win. “I kicked his ass,” Gasly told the Netflix documentary crew, “and he didn’t like it.”

Not long after, the French racing federation had an opening at its sports academy in Le Mans, a kind of Hogwarts for kid racers. It was Gasly who got the invitation, not the mechanic’s son. The friendship crumbled, just one more thing Ocon left behind as he boarded the motor home once more, looking to win races, yes, but also in search of acceptance.

“But look where I am now,” he says. “That has helped me to get through a lot of steps in my life. That’s what made me so competitive, I guess, from so early on.”

Ocon and Gasly hadcollided in 2023, too, in Australia, with both cars taking race-ending damage. After that, tension between the teammates boiled over when Gasly accused Alpine of coddling Ocon. Before Monaco, the team told the pair to cool it.

And they did, for all of 40 seconds. Now, seeing that narrow opening, Ocon goes for it.

His rear tire connects with Gasly’s front wheel once, then a second time, sending a bitter cloud of burned rubber into the sea air. Ocon’s car goes airborne before turning sideways, and though it lands on its wheels, the impact causes catastrophic damage.

“What did he do?” Gasly says into his radio.

Pieces of carbon fiber fly off Ocon’s car. The tire is punctured, the gearbox fried, the suspension arm broken.

“That’s it, guys,” Ocon tells his team. His Grand Prix is finished.

Needing repairs that will cost tens of thousands and with Ocon’s car due in Montreal in 10 days, Bruno Famin, Alpine’s team principal, publicly admonishes Ocon and vows “consequences.” F1’s governing body, the Federation Internationale de l’Automobile, penalizes Ocon after ruling he initiated the collision.

A week after Monaco, Alpine announces that, in 2025, it will replace one of its drivers. Neither had gotten a podium, and only Ocon had won a point for Alpine. But the team chooses to keep Gasly, meaning Ocon again will be set adrift, the [wanderer] seemingly destined to forever roam.

A FEW MONTHS AGO, Esteban and Laurent went for a long bike ride. The old man still lives near Évreux, operating a shop his son bought him. He still likes to work on cars and make music, albeit as more hobby than job, andprefers to traverse the countryside on an e-bike.

Even against his dad, Esteban can’t help himself.

“I still pull away,” he says.

First, though,during a quieter moment on a recent ride, Laurent told his son a story.

There was once another boy with talent and ambition, the story went, hoping to someday become a professional cyclist. He was as skilled as anyone, but the other kids had access to training and coaches that this boy’sfamily couldn’t afford. So lying in bed one night when he was 16, he succumbed to these economic realities and abandoned his dream, diverting his attention and passion into becoming a mechanic.

So, he went on, when that boy became a man and a husband and a dad, he and his wife agreed to do everything possible to position their son for success. To tell him about possibility, not limitation, and raise him in an environment that would eliminate regret.

“He had never told that story,” Esteban says. “That moment, basically, when he was lying on the bed like that, probably changed my life. They clearly gave more than what they could, and without them I wouldn’t be here.”

Esteban says he occasionally fantasizes about what it would be like to stay in one place: to stop moving, inhale, feel settled. Maybe someday, he says, but not just yet. In July, after Ocon was two months adrift, Kevin Magnussen announced he would be leaving Haas.

Haas, as it happens, is run by Ayao Komatsu, a former F1 engineer who had met and encouraged Esteban when he was just a teenager. A decade later, Komatsu came through. Haas offered Ocon not only a seat for 2025 but acceptance for all the things he is and is not.

“Esteban, he needs an environment that he knows the team is behind him, supporting him, listening to him,” Komatsu says. “No politics. I believe we can provide that.”

But what about the suggestion that Ocon doesn’t play well with others? That you can never take the Évreux fully out of the kid?

“If I was worried about that,” Komatsu says, “I wouldn’t sign him.”

After their bikeride, Laurent and Esteban turned around but kept talking over the wind. Farmland and hills blurred past, same as they did years ago, and a favorite memory of Esteban’s sprung to mind. It was morning, and the 12-year-old awoke in the motor home again with no idea where he was. So he opened the door to see blue sky, the slopes of great mountains, the shoreline of the Mediterranean.

Laurent had parked the van and motor home in Monaco, where yachts are moored and the best drivers live. Esteban remembers the feeling of that moment, the possibility, and his dad stepped out and said there was nothing to stop his son from racing here someday. Whatever came next would be determined by Esteban.

“There was no guarantee,” Esteban recalls his dad saying. But the boy had a chance to prove he belonged. Picturing the momentyears later, he inhaled, kept pedaling and let Laurent catch up as the two of them headed home.

[aviiarie]

˚ ₊ ‧ ♡ IN PLAIN SIGHT — feat. kazuha event masterlist.

synopsis. you know for a fact that your new next-door neighbour is a supernatural creature of some kind, and you're determined to prove it. warnings. mind control?? i guess???? notes. requested by @sailorstar9! siren!kazuha. gn!reader. 2.5k words. slight cliffhanger ending lmao.

It took one week, two days, seventeen hours, and fifty-five minutes to fall head-over-heels in love with your neighbour.

Although, even that estimate that might have an exaggeration. With the way your heart fluttered as soon as that easy smile fell over his lips, and a smooth greeting fell out, you might as well have fallen from the moment you met him.

“Kaedehara Kazuha,” he introduced himself, voice sweet and melodic like a song, carried by the wind. “But please, spare the formalities. You may call me what you wish.”

The casualness of his greeting did nothing to sway the effortless grace that he held; every movement was measured and precise, with the elegance of a swan and the gentleness of an autumn breeze. There was an almost glow that shone from his presence, dulling the world around him.

As he leaned closer to shake your hand, you caught the scent of maple clinging to his skin. The smell was sweet, almost dizzying, making you stumble over your own words. “U-Uh... I'm [Name]. It's nice to meet you, K-Kazuha.”

And then he had smiled, and your chest had soared. Love at first sight was a foreign concept to you, but if it was real then this was the closest you would ever get to it.

The next week was nothing short of blissful. Stolen glances were exchanged in the mornings when you happened to walk by at the same time, idle chatter that stretched on for what seemed like hours. Every time he opened his mouth, sonnets seemed to fall, captivating you over and over again.

You weren't the only one entranced by him either. Everyone in their neighbourhood was completely and wholly enamoured by the man, from the young couple next door to the old lady down the street. Asking anyone about him would result in gushing about how he was such a sweet and polite boy, always lending a hand. He was charming, he was handsome, he was kind. And yet, you never were able to get much more than a surface-level answer about him. When you pressed, no one could tell you any more about who he was, where he came from, or even what he did for a living.

He was a mystery; simultaneously known by everyone and still a stranger to them all.

Truthfully, you should have pieced together the peculiar puzzle long before you did, but Kazuha's charm had rendered you blind. The odd sparkle to his eyes, the song-like quality to his voice, none of it struck you as odd, until you started to notice just how much he affected the people around him.

'Love', as you'd naively called it, had afflicted more than yourself. There was an infatuation for the man that had spread like a disease, infecting almost everyone he came in contact with. And as soon as you started to notice it, you couldn't stop; that lovesick expression was present on every face you saw.

“Do you know Kazuha?” The question slipped out before you could hold it back, making the girls sitting opposite you pause. When you weren't in front of him, the fog over your mind seemed to clear, but it didn't stop him from creeping into your thoughts.

“Kazuha...?” One girl—Ayaka, she introduced herself as—echoed. There was a quiet, barely noticeable lilt that fell over her voice as she said the name. The sudden shift made something settle uncomfortably in your gut.

“Yeah, he lives next to me. Do you know him?” You pressed further, studying her expression.

“Kazuha...” Ayaka breathed, her eyes glazing over. A soft, almost spacey smile settled over her lips. “He's amazing, isn't he? I could listen to him talk for hours and hours and never get sick of hearing him. He's... he's perfect.”

“He's like... something out of a fairytale.” The other girl, Yoimiya, breathed. The spark of joyfulness in her eyes had been snuffed out, leaving them blank and glistening with bliss.

“…Right.” Something was off about their responses. It tugged on the part of your mind that was still fully conscious, unravelling the layers of infatuation that had clouded your thoughts. “What do you know about him?”

“Um… he writes. Poetry, I believe.” Ayaka’s smile widened. “He read me his poetry a while ago. It was breathtaking, it felt like… like he was casting a spell on me.”

She was oblivious to the way you froze at her words, blood rushing into your ears and drowning out the rest of her gushing. She didn’t notice the way your face contorted into something horrified, too caught up in her own daydreams to realize she had chipped away the last piece of what was blocking your mind.

Abruptly, you stood, chair scraping loudly. “I have to go. Thank you for inviting me out for coffee, it’s been a pleasure meeting you both.”

Yoimiya’s eyes widened in surprise, as she hurried to stand up too. “O-Oh! So soon?”

“Yes.” You nodded stiffly. “I’ll see you around. Hopefully we can be friends.”

“I would love that.” She smiled at you. “Say hello to Kazuha for me, won’t you?”

-----

How did you not realize it sooner? You were kicking yourself on the walk home, berating your own mind for being so weak-willed to fall for him so easily. It was so obvious in hindsight that something was off about him, but it seemed you weren’t immune to whatever charm he’d put the neighbourhood under.

With a steeling breath, you tried to steady your racing thoughts. You couldn’t let yourself spiral, not when the danger was so close. Your head was clear, so the grip he held on your mind had snapped—or at least weakened—but he was still present, lurking one house to your left.

When you got to your door, your heart stopped as you met a familiar set of crimson eyes, as if he was waiting for you.

“Ah, [Name].” Kazuha smiled, drawing out the sound of your name like he was savouring it. “I was just about to knock on your door.”

When your heart pounded this time, it had nothing to do with love. “Y-Yes... I was just out grabbing coffee.”

“At the cafe down the street?” Kazuha's smile widened. “They make a wonderful macchiato.”

“Mhm, I'd best be going.” With a forced smile, you push past him and slide your key into the lock, turning it with a click. “I'll see you around, I guess.”

But before you could leave, a calloused hand caught your arm.

“Would you like to join me for dinner?” Kazuha asked, the lazy smile still playing on his lips. For once, the sight didn't make your chest flutter. For once, the curl of his mouth seemed too sharp to be considered charming. There was something a little too eager in the grin, an almost-hunger that made your skin crawl.

You thought of sweet Ayaka, and her dazed expression; bright Yoimiya, her sparkling eyes dulled as soon as his name was mentioned.

Whatever twisted game he was playing, you wanted no part in it.

You pulled your arm away, shooting him a venomous glare. “No. Thank you.”

And with that, the door was promptly slammed in his face.

-----

After the initial shock wore off, your mind clicked into gear. It started with the locks, checking every door and window to make sure they were bolted shut—just to be safe. Then, the plan.

If being aware of his control over you was what broke you free, then you just had to make sure that everyone was aware.

“Isn't there something odd about that Kazuha?” You had brought up the topic as causally as you could, in the middle of a chat with your other neighbour, but she still froze.

“Oh, such a sweet boy he is,” The old woman gushed, as if she only heard his name.

“Yes, but he's a bit strange, right?” You pressed.

“Hm? I have no idea what you're talking about, love?” She frowned. “Are you okay?”

Soon, you switched tactics.

“Do you believe in the supernatural?” The question almost made you cringe as soon as you said it, but you didn't let it show. Your newest target—Heizou, who lived three houses down—stared at you blankly.

“Eh? Like spirits and demons, and stuff like that?” Spirits, demons, monsters... even if you didn't know what Kazuha was, you knew he wasn't human.

“Yeah.” You nodded stiffly.

He paused in thought. “Well, I suppose you can call me a skeptic. The possibility isn't ruled out in my mind, but I can't say I go looking for ghosts.”

“What would you do if you thought you had discovered someone you know is a supernatural creature? A spirit or demon of some kind?” You paused. “Hypothetically.”

Heizou raised an eyebrow. “...I'm not sure. Is this hypothetical creature malicious?”

“Not... outwardly.” Outwardly, Kazuha was the most friendly, polite, and perfect person you had ever met. That was the problem. “But I fear their intentions. There's no way to be certain if this creature will cause harm, and they've proven to be capable of it.”

“What an interesting hypothetical you have here...” Heizou chuckled. He saw right through you, you could tell that much, but he still seemed willing to entertain your questioning. “Tell me a bit more about this 'creature'. What are their characteristics?”

You hesitated. “They can... charm people, I think. It's like as soon as you talk to them, you're completely entralled without even realizing it. And by the time you do realize it, you're the only person who has, and everyone else has already fallen for him.”

“Sounds like a siren.” Heizou looked over them curiously. “This isn't a hypothetical, is it?”

You were silent.

“Thought so.” Heizou laughed, completely unconcerned by the idea of a monster in his vicinity. “Well, I would say there are two options here.”

“Which are?” You asked urgently.

“Confront him if you're concerned.” Heizou shrugged, his smile amused. “Otherwise just leave him be. I doubt you're in any danger, [Name].”

The problem was he had no intentions of leaving you alone. You'd tried, tried as hard as humanly possible to avoid him. You had even made yourself late to work, day after day, by delaying your exit from your house, all so you didn't have to walk past him in the morning. Somehow though, even when the street was empty, he would still manage to appear and draw you into a casual chat.

While you had naively assumed your blunt dismissal would be enough to scare him off, the rudeness only seemed to entice him into chasing after you.

“I'm busy, I have to go.” You said, each time angrier than the last. But he kept coming back, undisturbed by your rolling waves of fury.

“You fascinate me,” he admitted one day. “I've never met anyone quite like you.”

“Likewise.” You said through gritted teeth, before closing the door and locking it.

He did fascinate you, but not in the way he meant it. You were fascinated by him in the same way a fish was fascinated by shiny teeth of a shark. He was the predator and you were the prey, no matter how sweet his howls sounded to your ears.

It was scary how easily you were forgetting the danger he posed, how quickly you slipped up and found yourself craving the sound of his voice again. You had to remind yourself to keep him at arms length, until you could break his control over the neighbourhood.

But you couldn't escape him, not when he lurked in every corner, and especially not when his interest seemed squarely fixed on you. It was only a matter of time before you slipped up, before—

“I've been looking for you everywhere.” The sound of his voice sent a shiver down your spine. You dug through your bag, searching desperately for your house key with your back still turned to him. “I thought you were avoiding me...”

So he noticed.

When it was clear your keys were not there, you forced yourself to turn and face him, grimacing at the amusement in his eyes.

“I wrote a poem for you, [Name].” Kazuha finally smiled. “Do you want to hear it?”

Your chest seized. This was it, then. The moment that he ensnared you for good. You knew as soon as his sweet, melodic prose reached your ears, you would be too far gone to resist him.

“N-No!” You stumbled backwards. “No!”

There was a brief flash of alarm that flickered over his expression, before it shifted to a frown. “[Name]? Are you alright?”

“Stay away from me.” You hissed, back pressed against the door. “I know what you're doing, and it's not going to work on me!”

“What I'm doing? I have no idea what you mean. Are you feeling okay?” Kazuha asked, that familiar care in his expression that hurt to pull your eyes away from.

“I-I know what you are. The rest of this place might be under your spell, but I'm not, and I'm not gonna let you entrance me again!” The words were spilling out before you could stop them, like the floodgates had been opened and all of your pent-up anger was flowing out. “You think I would just ignore the effect you have on me a-and everyone else? You're a siren, or—or some kind of demon, or—”

“Really? And what effect do I have on you?” Kazuha's tone was curious, perhaps even surprised.

“You... know what I mean...” The anger was fizzling out the longer you talked to him, leaving your shoulders slumped and your head dizzy.

“Do I?”

The longer you spoke, the more... absurd it all sounded. How could you have let yourself come to such a ridiculous conclusion, when Kazuha had been nothing but kind... polite... charming...

Within seconds, the sticky feeling had tangled its way back into your head, melting your thoughts together into a Kazuha-filled fog.

“I meant what I said,” He said quietly, almost a whisper. “You truly are fascinating.”

Kazuha stepped back, leaving a healthy amount of space between you. Some distant part of you screamed at the loss of closeness, but it was lost to the sound of your heart pounding.

“And by the way” He paused, fishing through his pocket to pull out a familiar set of house keys, with a small piece of paper tucked into the keyring. “You should keep better track of your keys. Wouldn't want to get locked out... who knows what kind of people are lurking.”

In a half-witted daze, you managed to catch the keys, staring dumbly as Kazuha turned and left. It was only when he had disappeared from your vision that you had the thought to shove the key into the lock and let yourself into your house.

In your hands, the piece of paper slipped through your fingers and fell to the floor, the words glaring at you in bright red ink.

Bright, clear, steady eyes,

Staring straight through howling storms,

Keep your senses sharp.

🏷️ taglist: @tragedy-of-commons, @mollzaj, @wystiix, @mikashisus.

© aviiarie 2024. do not copy, repost, translate or use my work to train ai

[porcelain-feather]

Many years went by after the Princess had been remade. Most of the time, she went about maintaining her small estate, building upon what she had one brick at a time. Many nobles would look down their nose and scoff at such meager holdings, especially one without any maids or servants to speak of, but to the Lady it was home. She had made a few key connections to other local nobility that gave her a foothold here, but just enough and nothing more.

Then came the day when a maid arrived who did not serve any known acquaintance. For that matter, she did not serve anyone at all - it was as if she had come into existence there on the Lady's doorstep mere moments before the door was opened. She bowed politely, and though she did not speak, she explained in writing that she had come to aid the Lady with her services. Given her current status, the Lady was in no place to decline such eager and generous help, and so she took in her first maid. Little did she know that this was not a maid, not truly - it was a Witch shaped like a maid, and now she was hidden in plain sight.

Over the years, the Lady's glamour had frayed at the edges and begun to fall away in pieces. She had noticed that there were some oddities about herself, but mostly ignored them rather than investigate further. Her heart still beat, so surely everything must have been fine enough. The new Witch politely and privately disagreed with this - most Witches are burdened with a crippling inability to leave well enough alone - and decided that with each passing week, she would tug another thread loose and wait to see what happened. One at a time, like a puzzle played in reverse, she made her moves and waited to see how long it would take for the glamour to completely unravel and reveal what truly lay beneath. One month, two, three…

The ninth month was the final move in this game. Suddenly, the magic fell away and the Lady saw herself for the first time as she truly was: not a human, but a Doll with pretty porcelain skin and bright eyes. A pair of black feathered wings unfurled from her back like a flower blooming in springtime, and most curiously of all, her heart continued to beat steadily in her chest despite the fact that a creature like her certainly did not need one of those.

After a moment of surprise, the shock set in and sent the poor thing scrambling away from the mirror in fright. She looked down at her hands and saw the ball joints, the glassy sheen of ceramic, and most of all, the truth of what she was. When she raised her eyes to the mirror, she saw a second truth - her loyal Maid was, in fact, a Witch all this time. Though she had no voice to speak with, the look in her eyes spoke volumes for itself.

Now you see the game, my Lady. It is your move~

[itsfheang]

IRON & EMBER

Ok first time writing a fic in over a decade, please be nice TT___TT Chapter Desc:

Post arcane explosion, the rune sends Jayce and Viktor to an alternate Runterra, one where magic and the arcane are much much more rare. Jayce, who showed up a year earlier in this new world, helps Viktor put his life back together.

Tags

Rating M (eventually, ch 1 is mainly fluff) / Jayce x Viktor / Post Arcane / Fantasy AU / Mage Viktor. / Knight Jayce / 8k words / Part 1 of ??

[ PLAYLIST ]

Chapter 1

Is this death?

It must be.

That’s okay though.

It’s for the best.

The thought comes with surprising ease, slipping into place like a puzzle piece Viktor hadn't realized was missing. There is no pain, no weight, no breath. Only silence. Only white. Viktor’s mind drifts, unmoored, floating in an empty expanse where time does not exist. 

He let the thought settle, as heavy as he imagined his body once was. More machine than man.

The world is better off without me, without the destruction I nearly brought upon it. He should feel regret. He should feel something. But there is only a dull acceptance, a surrender to the nothingness.

And yet… a pressure builds, faint at first, then undeniable. His mind feels heavier, his thoughts sluggish, as if something is dragging him down, back into something tangible.

Then—

A flicker.

A sensation he felt he had long forgotten: the weight of his own form. The slow return of limbs, of skin, of breath in his lungs. His eyes flutter open, or at least, it feels as if they do. The white is still blinding, but now it shifts, breaks apart, revealing something beyond it.

The world around him falls into place.

I am not where I should be. I am not where I was.

Dirt presses against his palms as he shifts to an upright position. The air is sharp, fresh, carrying the scent of damp earth and wild grass. Rolling plains stretch behind him, their golden hues bending with the wind. But ahead—

A forest, dark and looming, its trees tangled in shadow.

Piltover is gone. The towering spires, the hum of machinery, the city of progress—all of it is nowhere to be seen. Instead, in the far distance, a smaller city stands against the horizon, unfamiliar and crude in its design. 

This is not my home. This is somewhere else entirely.

Viktor finally turns his attention to himself, his breaths still unsteady as he takes in his form. He is draped in a familiar blanket, the dark blue fabric worn but soft between his fingers. Jayce’s blanket. The one he gave Viktor after he emerged from the Hexcore’s cocoon, fragile and unsteady in a body that had changed beyond recognition.

His fingers trace the fabric absentmindedly, a pang of regret tightening in his chest. He has no right to long for that moment, not after everything. Not after what he became. What he did. The rift he carved between himself and Jayce feels insurmountable now, though whether time or space has severed it, he cannot say.

But the thought crumbles as he catches sight of his hand—and freezes.

Gone are the mechanical augmentations, the cold metal that replaced his flesh, the rigid precision of steel fingers. In their place is warm, living skin. Real. Human. His breath hitches as he turns his hand over, flexing his fingers, pressing his nails into his palm as if pain can prove this is real. There is no faint hum of power thrumming beneath his flesh.

Yet, he is not untouched.

Faint traces of shimmery purple and gold run along his skin, subtle veins of color embedded beneath the surface. The deepest hues cling to his fingertips, darkening the skin like an ink stain, fading as they trace their way up his arms. He hastily checks the rest of himself, tugging at the edges of the blanket, inspecting his legs, his torso—everywhere is the same. Faint glimmers of unnatural energy linger beneath his skin, but no sign of the machine he once was.

His heart pounds in his ears as his hands shoot to his face, feeling along his jaw, his cheekbones, his neck. No cold plating. No mechanical reinforcements. His hair now falls in tangled waves past his shoulders, still blonde at the tips. He tugs at the strands, disbelief sinking deep into his bones. How long has he been gone? How long has he been floating in that endless void?

His mind reels, memories still sharp as a fresh wound. Piltover. The Hexcore. The chaos that unfolded. It all feels as though it happened only moments ago, and yet… his body tells a different story.

He exhales, slow and measured, forcing himself to still the trembling in his hands. Whatever happened to him, he is still alive. 

Viktor pulls the blanket tighter around himself, its familiar weight both a comfort and a reminder of all he has lost. He hesitates before attempting to stand, uncertainty gnawing at him. The Hexcore had reinforced his failing body, and had given him strength where his own had faltered. But now? Now, he is human again. Fragile. Mortal. He does not know if the ailments that once plagued him have returned.

His fingers search the ground until they find a sturdy enough branch, smooth and thick enough to serve as a makeshift cane. Bracing himself, he grips the stick tightly and pushes upward. His breath catches as he rises, expecting the familiar pain to bloom in his chest, expecting his lungs to burn from the effort. But the pain does not come.

Relief floods through him.

He exhales, pressing a hand against his ribs, half-expecting to feel the weak flutter of a failing heart, the sharp sting of overworked lungs—but there is nothing. No struggle. No ache. He is still healed.

Mostly.

His bad leg protests as he shifts his weight, a dull soreness lingering there, but it is nothing compared to what he once endured. He adjusts, steadying himself, and takes a tentative step forward. He can manage this.

His gaze drifts toward the distant city. It is his best chance to get answers. Staying here, on the side of the road, waiting for someone to pass by, is too great a risk. He does not know this place, does not know if he will be met with kindness or hostility. But he cannot remain still.

Adjusting the blanket around his shoulders, he starts forward, his walking stick tapping against the dirt with every step. At first, he leans on it out of caution, out of habit. But the longer he walks, the more he realizes he does not need it as much as he once did. His body, while different, is capable.

The city remains a distant mark on the horizon. Time stretches, the sky above shifting ever so slightly as the sun moves. He does not know how long he has been walking when the first sound reaches him.

The steady rhythm of hooves against packed earth.

Viktor stops, his grip tightening around the stick. There are several—four, maybe more, from the cadence of the steps. His heart quickens, uncertainty curling around him. He turns his gaze up the road, squinting against the light, and soon enough, the figures emerge.

Four riders, their forms imposing atop large, powerful horses. Their armor gleams in the daylight, polished steel catching the sun.

Knights.

His mind races. Demacia? It is possible. He has never set foot in the kingdom, but he knows of it—its rigid laws, its deep-seated distrust of magic. If that is where he has ended up, he must tread carefully.

His fingers tighten around the blanket as he waits, standing motionless on the side of the road. The riders draw closer. Soon, there will be no avoiding them.

The riders slow as they approach, their armored figures towering over Viktor from atop their horses. The two at the front pull their reins, bringing their steeds to a stop directly in front of him, effectively cutting off his view of the other two behind them. The metal of their armor clinks softly as they shift in their saddles, their faces obscured by helmets.

One of them, the knight on the left, speaks first. His voice is deep, steady—neither hostile nor overly welcoming.

“You seem lost, traveler. Do you require assistance?”

Viktor hesitates. His appearance is already suspicious enough—a lone man on the side of the road, dressed in nothing but a blanket, with only a crude walking stick for support. If he admits he does not know where he is, if he tells them the truth, there is no telling how they might react.

He forces a careful breath and offers a slight nod. “I lost my way during my travels,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “I was making my way back to town.”

The knight tilts his head slightly, studying him. The moment stretches longer than Viktor would like, and for an instant, he wonders if they will press further, demand answers he does not have. But before the knight can speak again, the second rider, the one at his side, leans toward him.

A woman he deduces based on her smaller stature.

Her voice is low as she whispers something Viktor cannot quite make out, but her eyes flick toward his hands where they clutch the blanket.

She has noticed.

The faint shimmer of purple and gold along his skin—subtle, but undeniable. The remnants of whatever he has become.

His fingers tighten around the fabric instinctively, pulling the blanket more securely over himself. His heart pounds, but he keeps his face carefully neutral, unwilling to betray his unease.

The male knight does not respond immediately. Instead, his gaze lingers on Viktor, unreadable beneath the shadow of his helmet. Then, after a long pause, he exhales and straightens in his saddle.

“The city is still a fair distance from here,” he says, his tone measured. “If you are lost, we can escort you.”

An offer. But is it kindness or suspicion?

Viktor forces a small nod. “That would be appreciated.”

The woman’s eyes remain on him for a moment longer before she, too, straightens, pulling lightly on her reins. Behind the two knights blocking his view, Viktor hears the creak of leather and the heavy clink of armor as one of the riders dismounts. His eyes flick briefly past them, catching a glimpse of red and gold along the knight’s armor, but his focus remains on the two in front of him.

Before he can process what is happening, the third knight moves—swift, determined. Within moments, they step between the two still seated on their horses, standing directly before Viktor.

The knight hesitates for the briefest moment. Then, with a sharp motion, they rip off their helmet.

Viktor’s breath catches. His entire body locks up as his eyes widen in shock.

Jayce.

For a moment, he cannot breathe. Cannot think.

Jayce still sports the longer, shaggy hair Viktor remembers from their final moments together, now damp with sweat and clinging to his forehead from the heat of his helmet. A rough beard still frames his face, more unkempt than Viktor recalls, but there is no mistaking him. The strong jaw, the sharp but warm eyes, the presence that commands attention even without trying.

Is it really his Jayce?

Jayce stares at him as if he has seen a ghost. As if Viktor standing there, alive and breathing, is beyond belief. His lips part, his voice hoarse with disbelief as he breathes his name.

“Viktor…?”

The knights beside him stiffen at the reaction, their heads snapping toward Jayce in surprise. One of them, the male who had spoken first, turns in his saddle. “Sir Talis?” he questions, his tone laced with confusion. “You know this man?”

But before either of them can respond, before Viktor can find words that refuse to come, Jayce moves.

Without hesitation, without a second thought, he steps forward and sweeps Viktor into his arms.

The embrace is crushing, unyielding. It is the same as before—just as fierce, just as desperate—as the moment Jayce had embraced him after emerging from the Hexcore’s cocoon, holding onto him as if he were something precious, something he had nearly lost. And Viktor, for all his doubts, for all his uncertainties, cannot bring himself to pull away.

Viktor’s breath trembles as he is held up by the man before him. His mind is still struggling to accept what his eyes are telling him. This cannot be real.

“Jayce…?” His voice is barely above a whisper, shaky with disbelief. “Is it really you?”

Jayce tightens his hold for a moment, as if to reassure them both that this is real, that neither of them is imagining the other. Then, slowly, he pulls back, his hands settling on Viktor’s shoulders. His gaze roams over him, taking in every detail—his face, his hands, the shimmer of gold and purple still faintly tracing his skin. His brows furrow, not in anger or suspicion, but in wonder.

“You’re…” Jayce exhales, shaking his head as if he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. “I wasn’t sure if I’d ever find you.” His voice is thick with emotion, something raw and unguarded. “I’ve been searching for over a year. Any trace, any sign that you might still be out there.” He swallows hard. “I was starting to lose hope.”

A year.

Viktor barely registers the words. A year. For Jayce, an entire year has passed. But for him, it was moments ago that he stood in what was almost Piltover’s ruins, moments ago that he believed he was letting the rune consume him, moments ago that he accepted his end.

Jayce is still talking, his voice rushing with the weight of all the things he wants to say. “I have so much to tell you—I don’t even know where to start, but—”

Viktor isn’t listening. He can’t.

Because none of this makes sense.

Jayce should not be looking at him like this. Like he is relieved. Like he is grateful to see him. There had been no hesitation when he saw him, no fear, no hatred—only warmth, only longing.

Why?

After everything he had done, after the monster he had become, why isn’t Jayce trying to end him? Why isn’t he disgusted by him?

The weight of it is too much. The walls of his mind begin to close in, his breath coming too fast, too shallow. His chest tightens. His vision blurs at the edges. He cannot breathe. He does not deserve this. He does not deserve this reunion, this kindness, this affection.

Not after all he has done. All he almost did. 

His hands tremble as he shoves Jayce back—not violently, but desperate, the same way he had pushed him away in the arcane.

Jayce stumbles a step, caught off guard, his expression flashing with concern. His fellow knights watching, not sure what to make of the situation, but deciding not to intervene… yet.

Viktor clutches the blanket tighter around him, fingers digging into the fabric, the only thing anchoring him to the present. Falling to his knees, his mind is screaming, spiraling, drowning in everything he cannot begin to process.

His voice shakes as he finally forces the only question that matters past his lips.

“Why?” His gaze locks onto Jayce, searching, pleading before dropping back to the ground, unable to accept the way Jayce looks at him. “Why do you not hate me?”

Jayce’s expression softens as realization dawns—Viktor is spiraling, barely holding himself together. His breath is shallow, his shoulders tense, his fingers clutching the blanket as if it’s his only lifeline.

Without hesitation, Jayce kneels in front of him, the weight of his armor settling heavily into the dirt. He reaches out, his gloved fingers carefully hooking under Viktor’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“I’ve had a year, V,” he says gently. His voice is steady, certain. His amber eyes burrowing into Viktor’s soul. “A year to think over everything that happened. The whys. The hows.” His thumb brushes lightly against Viktor’s skin before he pulls his hand away. “And after all that time, all that thinking, I realized only one thing mattered.” His lips quirk in something between a smile and something infinitely sadder. “All I wanted was to find you.”

Viktor stares at him, eyes wide, his chest aching with something he cannot name.

He doesn’t deserve this.

And yet, Jayce is still here. Still looking at him like he is something worth holding onto.

His vision blurs, tears threatening to spill over. He bites the inside of his cheek, willing himself to stay composed, but it is difficult. Impossible.

Jayce stands, his armor shifting again with the movement. He extends a hand, waiting, offering.

“Come with me, V,” he says, voice warm. “Let me fill you in on everything.”

Viktor looks up at him—his friend. His partner.

Jayce looks down at him as if he has found something irreplaceable, the missing piece to a puzzle long left unsolved.

How could he say no?

Swallowing thickly, Viktor wipes at his eyes before reaching up, hesitating only a moment before taking Jayce’s hand. Jayce’s grip is firm and familiar as he helps Viktor to his feet, steadying him when he sways slightly.

Jayce turns back to his fellow knights. “If you’re okay continuing patrol, I’ll take him back to town. This is an old friend of mine who’s been missing.” He glances back at Viktor, something unreadable in his gaze before turning forward again. “I’ll take full accountability for him.”

The lead knight, the one who had first spoken to Viktor, considers this. His eyes flick between the two of them, lingering for a moment on Jayce’s expression before he finally nods.

“I want a full report when we return, Sir Talis.” His voice is firm, but there’s no real argument in it—just duty.

Jayce nods back. “Yes, Captain. Of course.”

Viktor watches the exchange, caught off guard by how naturally Jayce fits into this strange place. He carries himself differently—not as the brash, ambitious man Viktor once knew, but as someone seasoned, someone respected.

Jayce had a year to figure things out.

A year to build a life here.

Viktor pulled the blanket closer around him. He does not know what lies ahead. He does not know if he will ever understand how Jayce can forgive him.

But for now, he follows.

Because Jayce is here.

And after everything, that is enough.

The other knights clicked their reins, their horses moving forward in unison, continuing their patrol and leaving Jayce and Viktor behind on the dirt road. The air felt quieter without them, the distant sounds of hooves fading into the wind.

Jayce turned to his own horse, his lips curving into a childish grin. That same boyish, unguarded look Viktor had seen countless times before.

“Ever ridden a horse before?” Jayce asked, a teasing lilt to his voice.

Viktor eyed the creature warily. He had seen illustrations, mechanical recreations, even automatons designed to mimic their gait, but never a real one. Horses were unheard of in Zaun and rare still in Piltover. He had never been close enough to one to even consider riding it.

“No,” Viktor admitted, his voice edged with hesitation.

Jayce chuckled, the sound deep and rich, amused but not mocking. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

He said it with such sincerity that something in Viktor melted.

Jayce moved with ease, securing the reins before helping Viktor onto the saddle. Viktor tried not to tense, gripping the blanket around his shoulders as he settled into place. The horse shifted beneath him, unfamiliar and slightly unsettling, but before his nerves could get the best of him, Jayce swung himself up behind him, settling in close.

Viktor exhaled as warmth enveloped him. One of Jayce’s strong arms wrapped securely around his waist, the other taking the reins. The gesture was practical—meant to steady him—but it was grounding in a way Viktor hadn’t expected. He felt his nerves ease, his body instinctively relaxing against the solid presence behind him.

Jayce urged the horse into a steady trot, keeping the pace smooth and even. Not enough to jostle Viktor too much. Maybe for Viktor’s sake—or maybe because this way, they had time to talk.

For a while, silence stretched between them, the rhythmic clip of hooves against the dirt the only sound.

Then, finally, Jayce spoke.

“Where have you been, V?” His voice was quiet, cautious, as if afraid of the answer.

Viktor stared out at the horizon, eyes fixed on the distant city. “I do not know, Jayce.” His fingers curled slightly against the blanket, his mind struggling to piece it all together. “One moment, I thought the Rune was going to be the end of us. The next, I was just... a consciousness.” He swallowed. “And then I woke up here. Everything that happened in Piltover—it feels like it just happened.”

Jayce remained silent, absorbing his words. His hold on Viktor subconsciously tightened, his grip around his waist growing just a little firmer. Protective.

Viktor hesitated before asking the question that had been gnawing at him since Jayce first mentioned it.

“Has it really been a year for you, Jayce?”

Jayce let out a long, weary sigh. “The longest year of my life.”

Viktor leaned back slightly, resting against him. Letting the answer settle.

“Where are we?” he finally asked.

Jayce’s hesitation was brief, but Viktor felt it in the way his muscles tensed ever so slightly.

“Runeterra. Piltover.” A pause. Then, more carefully, “Just… not our Piltover.”

Viktor stiffened.

Piltover. But not theirs.

His mind reeled, connecting possibilities faster than he could process them.

The Rune hadn’t just taken them—hadn’t just displaced them in time.

It had taken them to another world entirely.

How is this even possible?” Viktor wondered aloud, his mind already racing through potential calculations, desperately searching for an answer.

Behind him, he felt Jayce shift slightly in the saddle. “It’s only a theory,” Jayce admitted. “But I believe I took over the body of the version of me from this reality. When I came to, I woke up in the middle of a training ground.” He let out a quiet chuckle. “Nearly got myself stabbed.”

Viktor turned his head slightly, glancing at Jayce over his shoulder, eyes wide in shock.

Jayce continued, unfazed. “I started searching for you once I began piecing things together. But…” He hesitated, his voice growing heavier. “There was no record of you at the academy in this world. Actually, the academy itself is vastly different here. The Rune Wars never happened, magic is so rare, and Piltover never had a reason to advance as quickly as ours did.”

He fell silent for a moment, as if weighing his next words. Then, more carefully, he added, “I went to all the orphanages in Zaun, hoping they’d have some record of you.”

Jayce let out a resigned sigh. “I don’t think you survived your illness in this world.” His voice was quiet now, almost reluctant to say it. “The medical technology that kept you going… it was never invented here. Only one orphanage even recalled a boy with a limp, but they claimed he succumbed to his illness before ever getting adopted.”

The world tilted.

The air around Viktor felt too thin, his vision narrowing as his mind spiraled. He had died in this world.

Was that why he hadn’t appeared here at the same time as Jayce? Because there had been no body for him to inhabit? No version of himself to slip into like Jayce had? But then… why was he here now?

The questions swarmed, growing louder, suffocating, drowning out all rational thought.

Jayce must have sensed his turmoil because, without hesitation, he leaned in, resting his chin gently on Viktor’s shoulder. The warmth of the contact, the solid weight of him, keeping his mind steady in a way Viktor hadn’t expected.

“It’s okay, V,” Jayce murmured, his voice low and steady. “You’re here now.” He squeezed Viktor’s waist just slightly, a silent reassurance. “I’m not going to mess this up again. You're safe here.” 

Jayce’s words snapped Viktor back to reality.  

“How on earth is any of this your fault?” he demanded, his voice rising with disbelief. “I’m the one who caused everything. I’m the reason you’re stuck in this world, ripped away from everything you ever knew. And why? Because I thought I could solve all the world’s problems—my problems with the world—on my own.”  

He could feel the frustration bubbling up, the sharp edges of guilt pressing into his chest. He was rambling, spiraling, but he couldn't stop himself.  

“Viktor.”  

Jayce’s voice cut through his thoughts, grounding him. Viktor swallowed hard, but remained silent.

“You may have started down the path,” Jayce said, his tone careful, deliberate. “But I was the catalyst.”  

Viktor stilled.  

Jayce exhaled, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “You told me I had been touched by the arcane, but I never got the chance to fully tell you how it happened.”  

Viktor remained silent, waiting, sensing the weight behind Jayce’s words.  

“The memories I showed you—the future if you continued down that path—the anomaly at the hexgate sent me there.” Jayce hesitated, his throat working around the words. “That version of you tasked me with stopping you. But being stuck in that world had made me so angry, so bitter. In my mind, the only way to stop you was to kill you.”  

His voice was strained, raw with regret, as if even speaking the words caused him pain. “If I had gone a different path, showed you those memories sooner, you wouldn’t have needed to make such a drastic transformation. Maybe all of this could have been avoided.” He clenched his jaw, inhaling deeply before adding, “I had promised to stop you, and I failed you in the process.”  

Viktor couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. What even could he say?

He had never considered it like that before. In his mind, the fault had always been his own. His obsession with progress, with fixing what was broken had led him down that road. But Jayce… Jayce had been carrying his own burdens, his own regrets, all this time.  

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.  

Then, quietly, Viktor said, “You didn’t fail me, Jayce.”  

Jayce glanced down at him over his shoulder, startled.  

Viktor let out a shuddering breath, “We both made mistakes. But we’re here now.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “What matters is what we do next.”  

Jayce studied him, then, with the ghost of a smile, nodded. “Yeah. You’re right.”  

The tension between them eased, just slightly. The road stretched ahead, the unfamiliar world surrounding them. But for the first time in a long time, Viktor didn’t feel entirely lost.  

Jayce and Viktor continued toward town in silence, but it was no longer strained or awkward. The steady rhythm of the horse’s hooves against the dirt road filled the quiet, a grounding sound amidst the whirlwind of emotions.

As they neared the town, Viktor began to make out the buildings more clearly. It was much smaller than the Piltover he knew, lacking the grand towers and intricate mechanisms of hextech, but it was not as crude in design as he had initially assumed. The buildings were constructed of sturdy stone, their architecture simple yet practical. Wooden beams framed the structures, and sloped roofs suggested accommodations for heavy rain or snow. It was a world apart from the gleaming brass and glass of his home, but there was a charm to it—an unassuming warmth that made it feel… lived in.

Jayce shifted behind him, adjusting his hold on the reins. “Not what you were expecting?”

Viktor hesitated before answering. “No. But it is… pleasant.” His fingers absently traced patterns against the blanket wrapped around him. “Where exactly are we heading?”

“My home,” Jayce said simply. “It’s not much, but it’ll do for now. You need time to adjust. We’ll get you some proper clothes, get you settled, and then figure out a plan.”

Viktor nodded slowly. The idea of staying in this world still unsettled him—he didn’t belong here, and yet, neither did Jayce. But for the moment, he had nowhere else to go.

Jayce urged the horse forward, guiding them toward the heart of the unfamiliar city. The dirt road gradually faded into paved cobblestone, the rhythmic clatter of hooves echoing off the surrounding buildings. The afternoon had melted into early evening, yet the streets remained alive with movement and chatter.

Market stalls lined the sides of the road, vendors calling out their wares to passing customers. The scent of freshly baked bread and sizzling meat drifted from a nearby restaurant, mingling with the faint spice of something sweet. Viktor took it all in, his analytical mind cataloging every detail, every difference from the Piltover he knew.

It was strange—this place lacked the towering spires, the hum of machinery, the constant pursuit of progress that defined his city. And yet, as he watched the people—children dashing between carts, merchants laughing with customers, travelers exchanging stories over tankards at a small inn—he realized that despite the lack of innovation, there was no sign of struggle. No desperate clamor for resources, no clear divide between those who had everything and those who had nothing.

Even with all its advancements, Piltover had never quite looked like this.

Jayce’s arm remained steady around his waist as he steered them through the streets. “Strange, isn’t it?” he murmured, as if reading Viktor’s thoughts.

Viktor hesitated before nodding. “It is… different.”

“Yeah,” Jayce agreed, guiding the horse down a quieter street, away from the main square. “But different doesn’t always mean bad.”

The road eventually opened up to a sprawling structure of stone, a fortress that loomed over the surrounding cityscape. The barracks was an impressive sight—an imposing castle-like building with high, fortified walls and towering spires. Several large archways led into different sections of the compound, and beyond them, Viktor could see an open courtyard serving as a training ground. The rhythmic clang of metal rang through the cool evening air as knights sparred in practice bouts, their armor gleaming under the fading sunlight.

To the side, a row of stables stretched along the outer perimeter, their wooden doors left open to reveal well-groomed horses inside, some being tended to by stable hands. A faint scent of hay and leather mingled with the crisp evening breeze.

“You live here?” Viktor asked, tilting his head as he studied the structure.

Jayce chuckled. “No, but I can’t exactly take the horse home with me.” He leaned against Viktor to pat the beast’s neck before swinging down from the saddle with practiced ease. ”I’d also rather get out of this armor. I live just a short walk from here. Plus, I can get you something to wear in the meantime.”

Viktor turned his gaze back to their surroundings as Jayce led the horse toward the stables. He watched as Jayce moved with familiarity, greeting a stable hand with a nod before removing the horse’s tack and ensuring the animal was settled comfortably in its stall.

Satisfied, Jayce returned to Viktor’s side, gesturing an offer to help him down. Viktor hesitated for a moment before placing his hands on Jayce’s shoulders, feeling the warmth of Jayce’s large hands at his waist as he was effortlessly lowered to the ground. Viktor’s balance wavered, momentarily falling against Jayce. Jayce’s hands lingering a moment longer than necessary on his waist, as if to make sure Viktor was steady before finally releasing him.

With the horse taken care of, Jayce led him toward a smaller side entrance, away from the grand doors of the main hall. The interior was modest compared to the imposing outer walls—simple stone corridors lined with wooden beams, torches casting flickering light along the way. A few knights passed by, offering brief nods of acknowledgment but paying them little attention.

Jayce pushed open a door, revealing a modest yet well-kept living space clearly meant for the stationed knights. A few bunks lined the walls, though they were empty at this hour. A sturdy wooden chest sat at the foot of one of the beds, and Jayce made his way to it, crouching down to rummage through its contents.

“These are going to be a little big,” Jayce said, pulling out a folded tunic and a pair of pants, “but they’ll do for now. Tomorrow, we can get you something that actually fits.” He shot Viktor a grin. “I know a great tailor in town.”

Viktor took the offered clothes, glancing down at them before looking back at Jayce. He had so many questions still, but for now, he simply nodded. One step at a time.

Jayce excused himself to change, leaving Viktor alone to slip into the oversized tunic and slacks. The fabric was soft but hung loosely on his slim frame, the sleeves nearly swallowing his hands. A quick search through the chest yielded a simple sash, which he wrapped tightly around his waist to keep the tunic in place. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do.

Settling onto the edge of one of the bunks, Viktor kept the blanket in his lap, his fingers idly running over the worn fabric. It was ridiculous how much comfort it brought him, but in a world so unfamiliar, it was the only thing that still felt like home.

His gaze drifted around the room, taking in the details. Oil lamps lined the walls, their soft glow casting flickering shadows. There were no electric  lights, no humming generators—just simple flames keeping the darkness at bay. The walls bore portraits of decorated knights, men and women in full armor, their faces solemn, their names engraved on plaques beneath their likenesses. Between the beds stood weapon racks, some filled with swords, others empty, likely taken by their owners for the night’s patrols.

No electricity. No tech advancements beyond what he’d seen outside. It was strange to see Piltover—or rather, a version of it—stuck in what felt like another era entirely.

The door creaked open, and Viktor turned just as Jayce reentered, now dressed in something far more casual than Viktor was used to seeing. A fitted tunic, its laces slightly undone at the collar, tucked neatly into slacks that actually fit him. The material hugged his form, emphasizing the toned physique Viktor had grown accustomed to seeing beneath polished suits and tailored Talis house colors.

He swallowed hard and quickly averted his gaze, heat creeping up his neck. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t noticed Jayce before—how could he not? But here, without the weight of their past pressing down on them, without the chaos of their world tearing them apart, he was struck by just how different this Jayce was. Or maybe, how much he’d never let himself look before. Not like someone like Jayce would ever think of him in the same way. 

Jayce, oblivious to Viktor’s sudden need to look anywhere but at him, stretched his arms over his head with a satisfied groan before sitting down on the bed opposite him. “Gods, that armor is heavy after a long patrol.” He ran a hand through his hair, shaking out the tangled bits. “Much better.”

Viktor hummed in response, focusing very intently on the blanket in his lap.

Jayce tilted his head. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Viktor said quickly, perhaps too quickly, before forcing himself to look up and meet Jayce’s gaze. “Just… adjusting.”

Jayce smiled, warm and easy. “Yeah. I get that.” He leaned back on his elbows, studying Viktor for a moment. “We’ll take it slow. Figure this all out together.”

Together.

Viktor tightened his grip on the blanket, nodding. 

Jayce stood and offered Viktor a hand. "Shall we get going? It would be best to get back before dark."

Viktor hesitated only a moment before accepting, ignoring the way his thoughts betrayed him. This rugged look suited Jayce far too well. He glanced away, focusing instead on steadying himself as he stood. Hours spent on horseback had left his legs stiff, and without his makeshift cane—abandoned on the dirt road—his usual limp felt more pronounced.

Jayce must have noticed, because he casually offered his arm. "Here," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Viktor hesitated again before slipping his hand around Jayce’s forearm, using the support to ease into his stride. He hated feeling weak, but the warmth of Jayce’s presence, the unwavering steadiness he provided, made it easier to swallow his pride.

The walk to Jayce’s residence was only about twenty minutes, as promised. The city streets had quieted some, the last remnants of daylight casting long shadows along the cobblestone paths. Jayce talked the whole way, telling Viktor of all the places he wanted to show him, then food Viktor needed to try, the sights that were a must see.

 When they finally reached their destination, Viktor took in the sight before him—a quaint little house nestled between a shop on one side and another home on the other. A small, well-maintained garden adorned the front, nothing elaborate, but cared for. It was a stark contrast to the lavish apartments they’d once known in their Piltover.

Jayce pushed open the door, revealing an interior shrouded in darkness. Viktor stepped inside carefully, hearing the sound of Jayce rummaging for something in the dimness. A second later, there was a triumphant hum and the unmistakable click of a lighter. The warm glow of an oil lamp flared to life, chasing away the shadows.

One by one, more lamps were lit as Jayce moved about the space, revealing the home in full.

Viktor had expected something more… disorganized. A cluttered mess, perhaps. But the space, while modest, held an undeniable warmth. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with well-worn tomes, some stacked haphazardly, others neatly arranged. A sturdy workbench occupied a corner, its surface strewn with notebooks and half-finished projects—notes scribbled in the familiar sharp, precise handwriting Viktor had seen countless times before.

Touches of Jayce were everywhere, and yet this life he had built was something entirely new.

"You’ve been busy," Viktor murmured, stepping further inside.

Jayce chuckled, setting the lighter down. "Had to keep myself busy when I wasn’t on duty. The shop next door lets me tinker whenever I have the time." He ran a hand over the worn surface of the workbench, a hint of nostalgia in his touch. "Building and fixing things kept me grounded… especially when I started losing hope of finding you." His voice softened, the weight of past loneliness slipping into his tone.

Viktor ran his fingers along the edge of the table, glancing over the scattered blueprints and sketches. Some designs were simple, others ambitious—attempts to recreate pieces of the world they had lost.

"You never could sit still," Viktor said with a faint smile.

Jayce grinned. "And you never could stop trying to figure out how everything works."

There was something unspoken in the air between them. 

Jayce led Viktor down a short hallway to a modest yet well-kept bedroom. The space was simple—wooden floors, a sturdy dresser against one wall, and a plush bed neatly made with a thick quilt. A single window overlooked the garden, the evening light filtering through sheer curtains.

“My mother comes to visit a few days a month and usually stays here,” Jayce explained, “But you can use it in the meantime. Make yourself at home.”

Viktor nodded, running his fingers over the soft fabric of the quilt. The idea of having a place to stay, even temporarily, settled something uneasy inside him. It had been too long since he had a space that felt safe.

“I’m going to run out and grab some food before the shops start closing down,” Jayce continued, already heading for the door. “Shouldn’t take long.”

Viktor barely had time to process the statement before the door clicked shut behind him. Left alone in the quiet house, he stepped back into the main living space, drawn to the bookshelf lining one of the walls. His fingers trailed along the spines, scanning the titles. Most were history books, geography tomes—logical choices for Jayce, considering his need to orient himself in this new world. A few volumes on engineering and blacksmithing were stacked among them, likely the best scientific texts he had been able to find in this less technologically advanced Piltover.

But as Viktor crouched to examine the bottom shelf, he paused. A small collection of books in the corner stood out from the rest. Their covers and gilded titles hinted at something unexpected. He pulled one free, eyeing the dramatic cover art before flipping it open.

Romance novels.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he turned a few pages. Jayce, the hopeless romantic? The thought amused him more than it should have. He settled onto the couch, curiosity piqued, and let himself get lost in the pages. The steady rhythm of the words, the easy escapism of fiction—it was a welcome distraction from the overwhelming reality of his situation.

The front door swung open sometime later, and Viktor barely glanced up from his book as Jayce entered, his arms loaded with parchment-wrapped bundles. But Jayce, on the other hand, froze in place, his face going a deep shade of red.

Viktor quirked an eyebrow, lifting the book slightly. “Did not expect you to be the type,” he teased.

Jayce cleared his throat, setting the food down on the small dining table with a thud. “I, uh—” He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Viktor’s amused gaze. “I actually bought those for you.”

Viktor blinked, surprised.

Jayce shifted his weight. “Back when we first met, I visited your apartment that one time,” he admitted, a soft, nostalgic smile playing at his lips. “I remember seeing your own little collection of romance books tucked away between your science journals.” He chuckled. “You tried to hide them, but I might have noticed them.”

Viktor stared at him, the warmth creeping into his chest unfamiliar and unsettling. He had long since accepted that no one had ever really paid attention to him outside of his research. And yet, Jayce had noticed something as small as that.

He glanced down at the book in his hands, then back up at Jayce, whose blush hadn’t fully faded. Viktor smirked. “You are blushing still, you read them didn’t you?”

Jayce groaned, running a hand down his face. “Shut up and come eat.”

Viktor only chuckled as Jayce busied himself unpacking the food, his embarrassment obvious. But something about it made the unfamiliar space feel a little more like home.

Viktor moved to join Jayce at the small dining table, the scent of fresh bread and dried herbs filling the air. Jayce let out a small, sheepish laugh as he finished unwrapping the last of the food.

“Not exactly a grand reunion feast,” he admitted, gesturing to the spread. “Most of the shops were closing, so I had to work with what I could find.”

Viktor glanced over the selection—dried meats, salted fish, an assortment of cheeses and fruits, and to his surprise, a bottle of wine. A deep red. His favorite.

Jayce, ever the surprise.

“This will do just fine,” Viktor said, settling into his seat. “Besides, it is more than I have had in... well, quite some time I suspect.”

Jayce gave a satisfied nod and poured them both a glass of wine before they fell into easy conversation.

Jayce recounted the last year—his frantic confusion upon waking in this world, stumbling into a life that wasn’t his own, trying to pass as the version of himself that had once lived here. The struggle of learning to be a knight when all he had ever known were blueprints and hammers. He laughed as he told Viktor about how the people had initially thought he was suffering from amnesia, some calling him mad when he asked the “wrong” questions or failed to recognize familiar faces.

Viktor listened, fascinated by the strange path Jayce had taken in this world. It was surreal, hearing how his friend had adapted, how he had fought to find his place, all while searching for him.

The wine flowed easily between them, loosening the weight in Viktor’s chest. It had been so long since he had felt something so simple, so normal. Laughter came easier, the tension of the day fading into the warmth of old companionship.

By the time they finished the meal—and the bottle of wine—the room was lit only by the soft glow of the fireplace, the oil lamps long since burned out, the night pressing in around them.

Jayce stretched, rolling his shoulders. “We should probably turn in,” he suggested. “I need to report to my captain in the morning and request a few days of leave. After that, we’ll figure out a plan.”

Viktor nodded, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. He rose from his seat, pausing only briefly before making his way toward the guest room. As he reached for the door handle, Jayce’s voice stopped him.

“Viktor.”

It was barely above a whisper.

He turned, meeting Jayce’s gaze. There was something raw in his expression, something unspoken lingering between them.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” Jayce said, his voice quiet but unwavering. “I really did miss you.”

The sentiment struck something deep within Viktor, a warmth settling in his chest. For a moment, he could only stare at Jayce, taking in the sincerity of his words.

Then, a soft smile crossed his lips. “I’ve missed you too.”

And with that, they both turned in for the night, the weight of the past finally giving way to the promise of tomorrow.jfv

[selineram3421]

Shit fuck, fucking shit fuck-FUCK!

Late Valentine's Day gift.

I Desire Your Affection

Oneshot

Alastor X Human Reader

Warning? ⚠

⚠ starring 🔥arson cat🔥, fluff, Italics = thoughts, mention of murder, implied cannibalism, heavy suggestive/implied,😳 its the Gif's fault, friends to lovers ⚠

Your friendship with the Radio Demon was...strange.

Him being the demon you accidently summoned from an entirely different universe, and you being a fan of him and the show Hazbin Hotel.

It would be stupid to try and deny that you had any romantic feelings for the Overlord. As time went on, you realized that your feelings were more complicated than you thought.

Love, affection, and desire swirled within and you didn't know what to do with it. You were sure Alastor wasn't interested in anything sexual and you didn't know if he wanted anything to do with a romantic relationship. Plus, he was real.

He was a person who had flaws, hopes, dreams, ideas, and concerns. He was beautiful.

[He was also a demon but ya know...]

In the end, you felt a little hopeless.

You liked your friendship but it felt bittersweet. After many, many thoughts, you thought that maybe it would just be better if you didn't say anything at all.

You really did value your friendship with him.

The Radio Demon.

Alastor.

.

It's been two years, now going to three since he was summoned to this other version of Earth. The human that brought him to it was kind enough to let him stay, even though they knew he was a demon.

At some point, they became friends and he was quite glad for it. As he spent his time with them, he learned that he quite liked the human, enough to kill a stalker that they didn't know about. He did enjoy the meat and learned something interesting out of it too when he showed his host. But that's a story for another time.

When they told him about the animated show, Hazbin Hotel, he was a bit shocked.

Some strong magic must have been used but they haven't told him what spell they were trying to do. The human was quite secretive about it, looking a bit shy whenever he brought it up.

Though he was curious, he let it be for now. You might have the courage to tell him at some point in time.

Or....he could learn by snooping around.

With a simple plan in motion, bribing the little arsonist of a cat the human had as a companion, Alastor was allowed to look around their bedroom for a short amount of time. At least until the furry creature was done causing chaos wherever they went.

He looked almost everywhere in the bedroom, not finding what he wanted, he turned towards one of the closed doors in the room and opened it.

A bathroom.

He moves on to the next door and opens it, finding a closet with only three empty hangers, the rest filled with clothes, and some boxes.

Is that all? Where is their altar? Room of conjuring? Or "prayer" room?

Then he stopped to think.

It must be hidden away like a prayer room..

Closing the closet door, he looks around with a little more attention. Listing off the places he's already checked around the human's home.

Even listing off his current bedroom and closet.

Somewhat given up, he walks to the door and pulls on the handle to close it. Just as he's about to leave he notices something stupidly obvious, something he's already seen once.

The wardrobe.

Not just any wardrobe but one that the human was able to stuff all of their creative tools in. Paint, colored pencils, fabric, ribbons, and more.

Looking at the clock on the bookshelf, he takes note that he has a few more minutes until the cat must return home.

Going over to the wardrobe, he opens it to find it a familiar mess of colors and doodles on the wooden doors. The drawers are filled with many random things and paint, but he ignores all of that. What he's looking for is hidden in plain sight.

Somewhere.

Curse their love of hidden rooms and puzzles..

He spends a minute or two just staring. Which annoys him more than he cares to admit.

Where? Where is it? They brought out multiple tools from somewhere. So where is it?

He knows he's running out of time, but maybe he could use that to his advantage..

Deciding to enter the hidden room another time, he closes the wardrobe and exits the room. Bringing the cat back with a snap of his fingers.

Little thing was covered in ash and soot, but it seemed to be pleased by what it had done, purring as the creature rubbed itself on the side of his leg.

"I hope you burned down something interesting.", Alastor grinned.

All the cat does in response is meow.

.

You got back from work tired.

It was around that time of year when people called out a lot, which left most of the work on other workers, one of them being you.

Something that did cheer you up was the new merch you saw on the Hazbin Hotel website. A cute Valentine's Day Alastor keychain that said "love yourself", the deer demon dressed handsomely in a suit.

You purchased it without a second thought on your phone.

"Welcome home dear!"

Looking up, you find the said Demon that occupied your current thoughts standing in the entryway with you.

"Hi Alastor.", you smiled and put down your book bag on the bench near the door. "I hope you weren't too bored today."

"Nonsense darling.", he says and helps you take off your coat. "I'm enjoying myself in your little abode. Why, I even went out and got groceries for dinner."

"You didn't kill anyone today, right?", you asked.

"No, sadly I did not.", he reassures you, hanging your coat on the hooks mounted on the wall.

"Never hurts to check.", you shrug and follow the deer towards the kitchen.

It's been a little complicated trying to get him back home. The spell you used was a type of calling, and well... It was a little embarrassing to admit, even to yourself.

It was supposed to help your "true love" find you.

But to your surprise, Alastor, The Radio Demon, showed up.

How am I going to get him home? He shouldn't be here. I've messed up everything. Sure, the show is continuing but the Alastor on the screen looks different and everyone just accepted the redesign, the new voice actors, but you're panicking, and you need to think of a way to fix everything-!

You take a breath.

Focusing back on the present, you smell the spices the deer demon is putting in, watching as he stirred the food in the pan.

"It'll be ready in no time, why don't you rest for a moment? I'm sure you'd like to lie down or sit on the couch.", he suggests and glances over at you. "Perhaps some light reading?"

That didn't sound like a bad idea at all. Maybe I could figure out or find a spell to send him back home.

"Sure, thank you Alastor. I'll come to set the table in a bit.", you nod, turning towards your bedroom.

Entering your room, you don't notice the shadow that follows close behind you as you close the door.

You change into something comfortable, a loose t-shirt and shorts before walking over to the wardrobe. You open the painted doors and lift a hand to trace over the phases of the moon painted on top, pressing down on the full moon. A familiar click is heard and you pull out the drawers by a handle, making it go further out, revealing a little passage.

Stepping through, you enter your "office" room that you turned into your personal hide away. Bookshelves stuffed with knick-knacks, old grimoires, and that one random fake skull for fun.

You named it William.

"Ok, lets find something useful today.", you mumble and walk over to the bookshelf near your desk before taking a book out. "When in doubt, try the oldest book in your collection.", you go and set it down on the desk, flipping it open to start reading.

The shadow is looking at everything, finding a board full of papers with a list of herbs, sigils, and other little things. Taking note that it's all for one spell. Alastor quickly takes the shadow's place and reads what you have before letting out a chuckle.

You jump at the sudden noise and turn to find the Radio Demon staring straight at you.

"Is this why you wouldn't share the spell you did that night?", he says walking over to you. "Too shy to reveal it was a spell for true love?"

"I-I don't know why it brought you here though.", you managed to get out. "But I promised to send you home, so as your friend that's what I plan to do."

"Friend?", he tilts his head at that. "Yes, I suppose we have grown our relationship to be as such.", he tutts as he gets closer.

You didn't know if he wanted to kill you or not. You were honestly a little scared but you just decided to trust your friend.

"Why not tell me dear? What made you hesitate?", he asked, now standing in front of you. "Tell me."

"How could I?", you answered, looking up at him with furrowed brows. "I ripped you away from your world for just wanting to meet someone who would love me completely, but I shouldn't have ripped anyone away. I didn't want that. I-", you looked down at your feet in shame. "All I could do in the end was lend a hand as a friend. I didn't want to push anything onto you."

"But you haven't pushed anything~", he lifts up your head with a finger under your chin. "That's the problem."

"What?", you looked up at him confused.

How was that a problem?

"To put it simply darling-", he took a step closer.

Too close.

You bumped into the desk behind you and you placed a hand down onto the wooden surface to keep yourself upright, his chest pressed up against yours. The book you were reading now forgotten, having been knocked off of the desk.

"I desire your affection.", his eyes softened as he lifted his hand to caress your cheek with his knuckles, then his sharp fingers before he held the side of your face with his warm hand. "I desire you."

A shiver ran down your back after he said that.

He suddenly lifted you up and sat you on top of the desk, hands now resting on your thighs.

"Wait-", your breath hitched when he leaned forward and kissed your neck. "D-Dinner is still on the stove-! The cat!", you felt yourself start to get a bit light headed at his actions.

"My shadow will take care of everything.", he murmured against your neck, rubbing has hands up and down your thighs. "What I need to know..", he pulls himself away and gently pushes you until your back meets the desk. "..is if you want this? May I, as your true love, make you mine?"

Your heart was pounding.

The Tumblr post about asking "May I?" in a relationship was right on the fucking nose. It was hot.

With shaky lips, you say what you've wanted to for a while.

"Yes."

Your eyes widened as the deer demon grew larger as he leaned over the desk, leaning over you, his hands on the wooden surface as he caged you in, his smile growing wider as he did so.

"Tell me my dear~", he started, pressing his lips against the shell of your ear. "How often have you imagined us in this position?", he asks and moves his left hand off of the desk, finger slowly gliding up your leg until it reaches the side of your knee.

Then he moves his hand under your knee, lifting your leg so that your calf touches his shoulder as he moved down.

"How many nights have you ached to have me beside you?", he leaned over slightly, his cheek touching the skin of your leg. "To touch you.", he moved closer and kissed your thigh. "To kiss you.", his nose brushed against your inner thigh as he nipped at your skin. "To devour you."

A whine left your throat, which made you blush madly once you realized what noise you made.

"I'm.. I've never done this before.", you look away and bring your hands up to cover your face. "I only read about it. I'm-"

"Come now my dear.", he takes a hand away from your face and kisses the palm of it. "We have time to learn more together. Though this isn't something I'm interested in all that much, I would like to connect with you in this way on special occasions. It's a first for me as well."

"Ok.", you nod, gathering your nerves. "Can we move somewhere more comfortable?"

Something told you that a hard surface wouldn't be so fun after everything was said and done.

"Of course.", he lifts you up and takes you to the bedroom.

As soon as you're on the bed, he's kissing you, touching you, and slowly lifting off your clothes. Being extra careful with his claws on your skin.

"That's it, relax.", he says while undressing, his scars no longer hidden. "Ignore these unsightly things-"

"No.", you quickly say and lift a hand to trace a scar on his chest with your fingers. "They are beautiful."

"Thank you.", he said softly.

You smile when noticing his flushed cheeks.

"May I kiss you?", you ask him.

"Yes, you may. You needn't ask darling."

Placing your hands on his shoulders, you pull him closer and place a soft kiss to test the waters.

His smile widens and he follows your kiss with another.

When you first cast the spell, you didn't expect things to turn out like this. You just thought that you might meet your special someone while grocery shopping or at the park. Instead you summoned them in your living room.

It didn't matter now, as both of you were together.

"Alastor..", you sighed out.

Everything was warm and fuzzy. The oxytocin in your brain was high.

"Let me love you dear."

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Arson cat burned a very important building and it was on the news.

If you know, you know.

~Seline, the person.

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The keychain that slipped through my fingers 😭