#then you can do so by following some of the traditional steps. But in this video

[yandereonepieceimagines]

Hey, can I request a yandere scenario done separately with who's who, ulti, sasaki, king, and jack, where the reader is a regular citizen of wano? Wano probably follows old courtship traditions like sending poems, gifts, tea ceremonies, or dinners, so it would be interesting for them to try to court the reader this way.

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I like this request, and I believe Wano does have these customs within its borders.

I can totally picture Who’s-Who really getting into it, though…

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Jack the Drought

You lived a life of quiet anonymity nestled deep in one of the smaller mountain villages of Wano. Not important enough to be caught up in politics, not remote enough to be forgotten. You sold paper charms, hand-pressed and brushed with ink prayers, by a modest shrine tucked into the woods.

That was until the earth trembled.

The trees bowed. The air grew thick.

And then he arrived.

Jack the Drought.

His presence was cataclysmic. The road cracked under his boots. Mountains seemed smaller. The villagers scattered, hiding in root cellars and beneath floorboards, whispering prayers to ancestors long dead.

But not you.

You stood still. Because he stood still. Looking at you.

A silence settled, broken only by the sound of wind chimes on your porch and the heavy groan of strained wood above the earthen path and from beneath his weight. He didn’t speak. Not at first. Just knelt, shockingly gentle, placing a single haiku on your offering plate:

*Rock under soft moss. I do not know how to bend. But I’ll wait to learn.*

Each visit that followed felt like a natural disaster wrapped in ceremony. He would appear suddenly, massive frame crowding the entire path, holding offerings too large for your tiny shrine. A whole cedar tree with blossoms still clinging to its limbs, a boulder carved with your name, once even the entire roof of a nearby bandit’s den, gift-wrapped in silk.

He never asked permission.

When you stepped back, he bowed. Body creaking with the strain of restraint. He didn't speak much, but when he did, it was low, like thunder tucked behind mountains. "You're much too soft for all this filth," he muttered, the words rough like stone dragging through dirt. "Makes me want to crush everything that touches you."

When a local traveling merchant dared accuse him of threatening the peace, the man vanished. You never saw his shop on wheels again. When another suitor offered to walk you home, Jack followed. The suitor ran. Jack did not. The suitor never returned. Jack always did.

"I don’t need to crush anything," he murmured, crouching to meet your eyes more properly. "But I will, if it keeps others from breaking you."

The shrine was too small for tea ceremonies with him, so he brought one to you. Laying planks of rare wood in a ring around your shop, stacking crates of rare leaves, silks and bowls, all perfectly arranged despite his enormous fingers.

"I don’t fit here," he said one evening. "But I’ll carve out space until I do. Until you say yes."

And you believed him. Not because you feared him, though you actually obviously did, but because behind that metallic jaw and brutal history, there was something unnaturally solemn. As if the monster known only for destruction was, in some way, learning how to worship instead.

You brewed tea the next morning. Jack sat on the ground, arms crossed, waiting.

"I’ll wait as long as you want," he rumbled. "But I won’t wait quietly."

The mountain birds stopped singing that day.

But you poured the tea anyway.

King the Wildfire

You lived a quiet life on the cliffs of southwestern Ringo, the snowy side of Wano, the kind of life built around weathered wood, cold winds and smoke from a clay stove. Your small home stood beside a cooking barn used in warmer months. Or as warm as Ringo could get. The structure was closed on all sides, built sturdily with thick wooden walls and sliding doors to keep out the snow. A vented roof let the smoke rise, and lanterns hung from the beams inside, casting golden light over the floor mats. It had once hosted village feasts and festival gatherings, but now served only you. A quiet corner of warmth against the cold.

He came at dusk.

A towering figure dressed in black and fire, nearly thrice the height of any tall man you’d ever seen. Wings like charred banners hung from his back. He wore a mask, and no one in the village dared say his name.

You didn’t run.

The first time, he said nothing. Only looked. The second time, he left a small box. An ancient porcelain spoon painted in an unfamiliar style. Rare. Maybe extinct. Inside was a folded note in careful, angular handwriting:

*Even old things can still serve. I will not let this world forget yours.*

The third time, you met him at your gate.

“I would ask to enter,” he said, voice like distant thunder, “but your ceiling wouldn’t hold me.”

He turned his gaze to the barn-like structure beside your house, where mats still lay folded. “Could we eat there instead?”

You nodded.

He ducked under the frame with surprising ease, settling on the ground with the restraint of someone who knew his strength too well. When you brought him food, simple rice and simmered fish with local seasoning, he studied the tray for a long time.

His gaze flicked briefly to you, unreadable, then back to the tray as he slowly lifted his gloved hands to the clasps of his mask. He removed it without ceremony, revealing a face you didn’t yet realize almost no one else had seen. Not like this. You stared, unsure if you were witnessing something personal, or something even historical.

“I haven’t tasted something this honest in decades,” he said at last, haven taken in a spoonful.

He returned every week. Always to the barn. Always bringing something.

One night, a charred iron cooking pot inscribed with strange scripts. On another night, preserved spices from somewhere across the sea, carefully wrapped in heat-proof silk. And once a broken katana with your family crest embedded in the tsuba.

“I found it before others did,” he said. “Thought it should come back here. Where it was made.”

He never smiled. Never spoke more than needed. But his gaze lingered when you served him. When you adjusted the stove’s flame. When you offered a second portion.

He never flirted. His affection came in offerings and declarations silently spoken like edicts:

“I have watched kingdoms rot. But a meal; shared and remembered? That is harder to kill.”

One night, you found him already waiting, a table set with two bowls. One small, one large.

“I want you to eat with me,” he said. “Not for courtesy. But for history. Yours. Mine.”

You sat.

He watched you eat as if committing every movement to memory.

“Your hands preserve something I don’t know how to keep,” he murmured. “I’ve only ever known how to burn. But I can learn. For this. For you.”

You looked at him across the lanternlight, unsure what to say.

But you didn’t run.

And that was enough.

He came to you again.

And again...

Sasaki

Your family brewed sake in a quiet village southeast of the Kuri region. You’d been doing it since you could walk. Measuring the koji rice, turning barrels, testing scent, keeping the balance of fire and season. People came from all over Wano to buy your family’s blend. But you? You lived simply. And quietly. Until Sasaki arrived.

The first time you met, you thought he was lost. He towered over your storefront, golden horns glinting in the sun, cap askew like he barely noticed it was there. His shaggy green hair made him look wild, but his eyes had a lazy sort of mischief, like he’d already made a decision and was watching to see if you’d figure it out.

“Yo,” he’d said, too casually. “You the one who sells that sweet sake? The one with the plum finish?”

You nodded, heart pounding a bit too hard. He bought six bottles. Came back two days later for more. Then every day. Then twice a day.

He brought gifts. The first was a rock shaped like a fish. “Found it by the river. Looks kinda like your shop sign, right?”

The second was worse. A bundle of pickled radishes wrapped in an old Marine uniform. “The radishes are the gift. Don’t worry about the cloth.”

He was terrible at this. But he kept trying.

One morning, you found a jug of sake by your door. It was your own brand, but the label had been messily scratched out and replaced with one scrawled in charcoal: *Only the best for the future Mrs. Sasaki.*

You didn’t know whether to laugh or bolt the doors.

He began appearing at your brewing hut. Not asking to come in, just leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, sword sheathed, waiting. Sometimes he left haiku. They were... Not at all good.

*Strong like wild boar wine. You kick harder than an oni. Still, I'd like the taste.*

You didn’t know what he saw in you. But he saw something. And it made him unshakable.

When a traveling merchant flirted with you too long, Sasaki sat beside him at the inn and drank until the man passed out. You found a note the next morning slipped under your shutters: *Don’t drink with strangers. They’re much too weak for your kind of fire.*

You tried to tell him to stop. He listened, tilting his head like he was thinking.

Then he showed up the next day with a tea set... And a wolf skull, awkwardly set on a cloth.

"Look, I'm bad at this courting stuff, but I’m not bad at wanting things. I want you. That’s it."

His smile was lazy, fanged, and impossibly sure.

You brewed tea out of nerves, poured two cups, and watched as Sasaki drank his with both hands like he wasn’t sure what to do with something that delicate.

Then he grinned. “You’re letting me stay. That’s practically a yes.”

And honestly? You weren’t sure if he was wrong.

Ulti

You had always lived a quiet life in the Flower capital of Wano. A simple tea merchant with a modest shop tucked between the bustle of Kabuki performances and kimono stands, you were content observing the festivals, the parades, and the shadows of the powerful passing through.

That was until she came.

Ulti was chaos incarnate. Her sudden appearance in your life was as disruptive as a thunderclap. She had stormed into your shop one afternoon, flinging the doors open with a dramatic "Achiki wants tea, arinsu!" Her voice was too loud, a bit rough, too entitled and the power radiating from her too overwhelming to ignore.

She was striking. Even terrifying in her beauty. Taller than you and imposing, with large pinkish-violet eyes fringed by thick lashes, her lower face concealed behind a pink scalloped mask trimmed in white. Long blue hair fell to her back, streaked with vivid pink and a lone white strand over her left eye. Her blunt bangs framed her forehead, split slightly to the side, with a single ahoge that stood defiantly upward. Most telling of all were the bull-like white horns that curved sharply from the sides of her head.

She wore a long-sleeved, white pleated minidress with a blue bow beneath a pointed collar, the skirt flaring above her knees. A deep-blue fur-trimmed cape trailed behind her, and her red high heels clicked with every dramatic step.

You served her tea out of fear the first time. She said nothing about the taste, only stared. Intensely.

The next day, she came back. And the next. And the next. And the next...

At first, you thought it was just coincidence. But then came the letters. Folded delicately in silken paper, scented faintly of wisteria. Haiku, of all things. Crude, sometimes clumsy, but unmistakably hers:

"Fragrant steam rising. Your hands, graceful in light. Mine- all mine."

Then came the gifts. Clumsy arrangements of stolen silks and strange beast bones. She once dropped off a basket of dango with a note that simply said, *Eat. Or I will feed you myself. *

Your neighbors began to whisper. You tried to keep distance, remain polite, but Ulti never accepted polite refusals. She’d swing between pouting like a spoiled noblewoman from behind her mask. Tilting her head, fluttering her lashes, and speaking in affected tones, and snarling threats that chilled your bones and made even hardened samurai think twice. One time, you returned a gift, and she crushed the teacup in her hand until shards dug into her skin, blood trickling down onto your tatami floor like crimson ink. You tried to protest, but she just smiled with bloodied fingers and said, "My feelings don’t break just 'cause you’re scared of love, arinsu."

When you tried to hide for a few days, she found you. Burst through the paper walls of a friend’s home and dragged you out by the wrist in front of a full dinner party.

"You think you can run from love?! You think I care about your silly fear?! I like you, okay?! So you’re mine, arinsu!" she yelled, her cheeks flushed from more than just fury.

Then she bowed. Deeply. Hands trembling. She had waited for just the right moment, just after the shouting had ended, just when the quiet had returned to the narrow street. Her bow was deliberate, not just to you, but to the silence she had shattered moments before. A hush fell over the few townspeople who dared peek out from behind doors and shutters, their breath caught in their throats at the surreal display of violence turned ritual. It wasn’t just about being polite; it was a mix of asking and insisting, all dressed up to look like proper manners.

"So... Come to tea with me. A proper one. I'll wear the fancy kimono and talk nice and not break anything else. I'll even pour your cup first, arinsu. Please. Just one tea. Just... One."

And somehow, that frightened you more than her threats.

She arrived the next day wearing a short-cut, pale kimono, its sleeves trailing gracefully and marked with thin vertical stripes. The obi at her waist bore a delicate floral motif, a black and white ribbon tied tightly around it.

But you accepted.

Because you knew... If Ulti was this terrifying in love, rejecting her might bring the wrath of a beast Wano hadn’t seen since the last raid of the Beast Pirates.

You sipped tea with trembling hands as she smiled across from you.

"See? I can be elegant. Now, say you love me too..."

Who’s-Who

Your home sat at the base of an old shrine path, where the moss grew thick between the stones and the wind carried incense from the mountains. You sold charms and paper, writing prayers for those too ill or busy to visit the temple themselves.

You were quiet. Private. A speck of calm in the chaos that Wano had become.

Which, perhaps, is why he noticed you.

He didn’t speak the first few times. You saw him at a distance. An unnaturally tall man in a red jacket, standing in the trees just beyond the prayer arch, watching. His helmet glinted. His hair, like thick sakura petals, barely moved with the wind.

Then came the poems.

You’d find them tucked into your prayer box, or slipped under the sliding doors:

*I forgot myself watching your ink pull the light. A still blade in bloom.*

You thought it was a joke, at first. Maybe a monk playing a trick. But they kept coming. Lines that painted dreams in syllables, that knew how to twist longing into art.

Eventually, he left more than words.

A lacquered brush, perfectly balanced, wrapped in silk dyed the color of blood. A black tiger lily pressed in a folded sheet of rice paper. Once, a thin blade carved with a poem so small you could barely read it:

*Your breath cuts deeper than any steel I once held. Name it. It is yours.*

You didn’t know who he was.

Until he told you personally.

He sat waiting on your veranda one evening, one leg casually crossed over the other, the last of the twilight dancing in his smirk and reflecting off the red lacquer of his helmet.

“Who’s-Who?” he said, then tilted his head. “Yeah, I know. Sounds like a riddle. Real clever, right?” His tone was dry, amused by the irony of it.

You blinked, caught between confusion and a laugh you didn’t dare let out.

He leaned forward slightly, arms resting on his knees, eyes glinting from behind his yellow lenses. “You’ll figure it out. Names don’t matter much when the rest of the world wants to forgot them. But you? You’ll call me something else, eventually. Something better.”

The grin didn’t reach the eyes behind his mask, but the weight of his voice did. It wasn’t a threat. Far from it. But it made your fingers tighten around the tray like it had suddenly become your anchor to the ground.

“I was someone once. Important. But the only time I feel real now; sharp, like I haven’t rusted through, is when I’m writing about you.”

He tilted his head, watching your reaction with a flicker of interest beneath his yellow lens. “That’s not nothing. That’s the kind of thing people write histories about. Or eulogies.”

You said nothing.

He handed you another poem, folded with sharp precision into a tiger-shaped origami:

*Prayers are too soft. So I carved my heart sharper. And left it for you.*

He leaned in close, voice slipping beneath his grin. “Let the others bring flowers. I'll bring teeth. But I’ll wrap them in poems, and you’ll still taste them. You’ll read every one. You’ll get to know every line like a vow.”

You looked at the poem, still. He smiled, just slightly.

“I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to love me yet. But you’ll never forget the one who did.”

[techalertr]

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[thisisntmyrightera]

Together - CHO HYUN-JU x Fem Reader

Summary: Reader is scammed and abandoned by her boyfriend, leaving her alone in South Korea to her fate, so in desperate search of a solution to return to her home country she decides to join the squid games to get money, within the game she meets a couple of people who become her friends and could possibly be something more.

Warning: In this episode none!

In futures episodes: Violence, Strong language, female main character is considered heterosexual but she have feelings for a female (Cho Hyun-ju) and it is reciprocated, abuse for male characters.

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You were stupid, very stupid and naive, that was what you repeated to yourself every day since your ex-boyfriend scammed you and abandoned you in a country where you didn't know anyone, you couldn't even understand the language well and now you were locked up in a place full of strangers in a green uniform and with a headache you could barely bear.

Why were you doing such stupid things? You should have said no when that man approached you and offered you money, it was all for the damn money, otherwise how would you find another way to get home?

Barely a day had passed, you understood little of the first game where you saw one person after another die around you, what you had gotten yourself into, this wasn't a game, it was a massacre, as you sat cross-legged on the cold bed that had been assigned to you you could feel your hands shaking and you felt warm tears rolling down your cheeks.

Hey - a kind voice rumbled slowly but enough to wake you from your trance to look up and see a boy with long, slicked-back hair holding a small metal tray - I noticed you didn't come over for your food, I brought you some

His equally shaky hand moved a little closer to you, leaving the tray on the bed, staring at you, afraid you'd react

It's okay if you don't want to eat it, it's just that if we're going to keep playing you need strength for tomorrow - his kind but shy smile and his clear disinterest in leaving made you wipe your tears with the sleeves of your sweater, nodding taking a deep breath - Thanks - you told him, trying not to sound upset, because you really weren't and if you were it was only with yourself

My name is Dae-Ho, yours is… 144 - he looked at you curiously taking a bite of his food

Y/N… my name is Y/N - you sighed, hugging your legs uncomfortably and nervous

Hey, leave her alone - a loud and somewhat curious voice sounded behind Dae-Ho making the two look towards the sound - don't you see that you're making her uncomfortable? go away

I… I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, it's just that… - Dae-Ho looked at you embarrassed, walking away just a few steps

You don't have to give explanations, go away - the girl, a little taller than Dae-Ho, looked at him firmly, almost annoyed, following the man with her gaze as he walked away quickly and embarrassed, joining a group of men on the other shelf of beds

you can eat in peace - the girl looked at you kindly while you only responded with a slight nod and she walked away returning to her place two beds down on the shelf next to you

It was difficult for you not to go unnoticed and it was obvious that everyone wanted to get away from you, you weren't like them, you didn't share their nationality, their traditions, or their topics of conversation, you didn't even understand many of them what they were talking about, they all looked at you like a weirdo, like why a foreigner could come and want to steal their prize, it was unfair.

That's how you spent the first night, alone, trembling from the cold and fear, looking into the darkness while you cried silently and the gunshots echoed in your ears, it was a nightmare and that's how you were until sleep overcame you

The second day wasn't any better, you could barely carry yourself, you were tired, hungry and much more scared than yesterday, surrounded by hundreds of people in a courtyard with drawings of children and rainbows on the floor.

''Now, it's time to form teams of 5, you have 10 minutes'' the voice of the speaker sounded repeatedly before an alarm sounded and you saw how everyone ran looking for members for their team, but everyone seemed to avoid you like a plague.

They ran and pushed you but no one looked at you to join and if they looked at you it was to laugh and murmur

There she was again, standing in front of you with a sad look that barely met your eyes she looked at the floor and walked by your side.

Hey… - you murmured barely, only to her with fear and shame - if you still don't have a team… I can join you if you don't mind - she looked at you over her shoulder giving a sigh of relief nodding offering you her hand so she could walk by your side and not get lost in the crowd

Between your fingers you could notice the difference in size between your small and fragile hand and hers, it was big with a different strength and somewhat rough but still made you feel protected and confident

So you both walked almost in circles finding the fragile old woman and her son and then the little girl with bangs forming a team of 5

Again the games were confusing for you, you could identify some that resembled what you had once played in your country but fear consumed you making your hands tremble again

Calm down - her voice again fragile but somewhat thick made you look at her holding the air - everything will be fine, don't push yourself too much okay? Do you think you can take charge of throwing the rocks? It's just a matter of taking a rock, throwing it and making the second one fall, that's all you have to do - her voice was like a murmur trying not to interrupt the game of the first two teams that were participating

Should I just throw it? - you looked at her nervously, looking at her dark eyes behind her bangs

You just have to throw it, it's easy - she smiled at you giving you hope making you smile barely as you looked at the floor again nervously trying not to think about everything that was tormenting your head, in the background you could hear the screams and cheers that the other players made while the teams participated until a round of gunshots made you jump scared covering your ears and closing your eyes tightly - calm down, calm down nothing is happening - her arms surrounded you quickly, adjusting you against her chest, you could feel the strands of her hair on your face and a slight aroma of herbs coming from it - it's over, don't open your eyes until I tell you okay?

Your head barely nodded as you took a deep breath, the aroma of her hair made you remember the gardens where you walked when you first arrived in South Korea and her arms for some reason made you feel protected, nothing could happen to you

A couple of minutes (that seemed like an eternity) passed slowly, people were talking, some were crying and in the background you could hear the sound of the sirens of the forklifts that had come to pick up the bodies, one second after another it was a damn nightmare.

''Next team, you can take your position'' the voice from the speaker again

It's our turn - the old woman sighed getting up while you opened your eyes and stood up slowly with fear

The guards tied your ankles and after a shot the game for you began.

You walked counting the steps, being constant and fast in your tasks, first Ddjaki, the little girl with the bangs did well, then the flying rock, your trembling hands held it strong and letting out a deep sigh you threw it against the rock in the distance failing in the attempt

Girl concentrate, what's wrong with you! - the old woman shouted making your friend look at her annoyed and after her firm indication and walking as a team to pick it up the 5 of them returned to their position - don't fail, please girl!

We trust you… calm down, take a breath and throw it, you'll do well - Your new best friend looked at you smiling lightly giving you courage.

A sigh again, a fixed look at the rock and after throwing it it fell with a blow.

Everyone screamed, applauded and so on again until reaching the final task ''Team 2, you have completed your tasks'' you had never been so happy to hear that spooky voice on the speaker and once the guards untied your ankles they all ran screaming and laughing to the fence that separated you from the rest of the players, you could finally return to the dormitory and finally had survived another day.

Everyone was happy, so much so that all of you were jumping and screaming with excitement, your friend, the tall girl ran to you without wasting a second surrounding you with her strong arms making you spin in the air while both of you laughed

We did it, I told you, we did it right - she laughed jumping with you still in her arms making you scream when you felt the air on your face and your legs hanging in the air

Now, stop it, you're going to make her dizzy - the old woman laughed patting her back as a sign that it was enough until you heard gunshots in the distance again making the team erase their smile and remember the horrible place where they were

Come on let's sit down - her hand slowly and carefully took yours walking towards the bed shelves climbing up and sitting on the steps - are you okay?

Yes… I'm pretty well, thanks for helping me - you smiled rubbing your hands on your legs nervously

By the way, my name is Cho Hyun-Ju… are you? - she looked at you curiously

Y/N… my name is Y/N - you smiled shyly at her

You have a very pretty name - she smiled back shyly with her cheeks slightly tinted - thanks for letting me join you in the game you were the only person who approached me

You don't have to thank me, I think we are both rejected for certain reasons and that makes us unique in the crowd right? it's better to be united and be stronger than alone - your cheeks felt hot, the sign that they were red like cherries

You're right..

Part 2 ✨

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Thanks for reading, this is the first episode I've written about Squid Game and it was short since I have little time to update but I didn't want to go to sleep without writing the beginning of the story, I have ideas but I'd like to hear yours and write them down, just to reinforce the theme of this story the reader and Cho Hyun-ju will possibly have a romance so if these themes aren't to you please don't read it, I know you'll find something that suits your tastes. 🫶🏻

Again, Thanks for reading, I'll be back soon!

BTW: Happy New Year everyone 🥂✨

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Hello! For the christmas celeb request, may i request a bullet hc of the twst characters (1st years preferably and anyone else u want) reacting to you kissing them on the cheek cause both of you were under a mistletoe and immediately running away afterwards? Like pre-relationship and it was almost instinctive for u but you couldn't bear to see their reaction jfjsjfjsjjs thank u so much !!!

COMMENTS: Hi. I liked the idea! I thought it was really cute. ❤️ And since it's something short I made it for all the characters. And as a bonus I also made it for Rollo. ☺️

Hope you and all enjoy it. 💋

CHARACTERS: All NRC Students (Ortho is platonic) + Rollo

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Headcanons

WORD COUNT: An average of 100 words per character. 

Context: You told them a little about Christmas and the tradition of giving someone a kiss when the two people were both under the mistletoe.

I don't believe Christmas exists in Twisted Wonderland, so this is a tradition of yours. Some of the boys have been spreading sprigs of mistletoe around in the hopes that this will happen and you will give them a kiss.

This is their reaction when you kiss them on the cheek out of nowhere and run away.

Riddle almost freezes as he blushes. He needs a minute to process what just happened.

When he finally looks around, astonished and confused, he can't find you anymore.

He looks up, sees the mistletoe and remembers what you told them about it.

He concludes that the best thing to do (and what he wants to do) would be to kiss you back when you were under the mistletoe again. 

So he will try to be close to you and attentive for when this happens.

And when it does, he will walk up to you with a smile, but blushing slightly, and give you a sweet surprise kiss on the cheek, like you did to him.

“You were under the mistletoe.” He smiles. “Rules must be followed accordingly.” He gives you one last loving look and continues on his way.

Ace jumps immediately! And blushes a little.

You run away while he's trying to ask what was going on.

“Oh, no you won't!” He doesn't waste time chasing after you.

When he reaches you, he grabs you in a hug.

“Did you think you could get away without revenge?” And he kisses your cheek back.

Deuce half jumps, half stands petrified in confusion.

He blushes and sees you running away. “Wait! What was that? (Y/N)!”

He has no idea whether to follow you or just stand there. And he is struggling with this decision.

When he finally realizes that there was mistletoe over the two of you, he decides to try to do the same and return your kiss.

And when he does, it will be a kiss like yours, quick, shy and he will run away.

Cater tried to grab you before you could run away, but he was unsuccessful. However, he didn't run after you.

He was so sad to see you leave after that sweet kiss.

“Aww, why are the cutest ones always the shy ones?”

He will try to find you to return the kiss.

And when he does, it will be a casual but loving kiss. He will wink at you and walk away.

Trey will look at you right after the kiss and see you running away.

He just chuckles amusedly. But he'll be more attentive so he can be the one to kiss you back next time.

And when he does, it will be when you least expect it. He will simply walk past you, minding his own business, stopping to kiss your cheek and moving on as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Leona can predict your steps, herbivore. Do you really think you could surprise him?

As soon as you turn to try to run away, he grabs you and pulls you back to him.

He gives you a lazy but loving kiss on the cheek and only then does he let you go.

He will enjoy watching your reaction with a smirk on his face.

If you stood there blushing, he'll say: “What? The herbivore wanted to play and can't even handle a counter-attack?”

Jack jumps and looks at you in amazement as you run away.

It takes a few seconds for him to process what happened.

But as soon as he notices the mistletoe above him, he realizes what happened and runs after you by instinct.

When he reaches you, he stands in front of you and cushion the shock.

He starts to blush when he realizes he's practically hugging you and lets you go.

“I... I just want to pay you back.” He says as his tail wags. He kisses you on the cheek and runs away like you did to him.

“Oi! Wait a minute!” Ruggie immediately runs after you without thinking.

As soon as he reaches you he grabs you in a hug.

“Shye hee hee. Do you really think you'll stop me from retaliating your attack by trying to run away from me?”

He kisses you on the cheek affectionately.

Azul is absolutely shocked! And confused. He sees you running away with a perplexed and blushing face.

Only then does he look up and see the mistletoe. “Damn it, now I'm in debt.” He never liked a debt so much.

He'll kiss you back even if he has to put a sprig of mistletoe right on the door of the Mostro Lounge VIP room.

And when he manages to attract you to where he wants you: “So, it seems you have made me indebted to you. Something dangerously bold, I must warn you. Fortunately I like to be merciful to you.” He kisses your cheek as quickly as you kissed his. “The deal is fulfilled.”

Jade simply looks at you running away with his eyebrows raised in surprise.

After realizing that it was because there was a sprig of mistletoe above the two of you, he chuckles.

He will follow you stealthily to pay you back in kind.

He will continue to follow and observe you until he finds the perfect and most fun opportunity.

And when that happens, he'll first enjoy watching you getting flustered and then give you a kiss on the cheek with the same intensity as yours and leave with a smile.

“Hm?” Floyd will look curiously at you running away.

And if he was in a bad mood, you just cheered him up.

He doesn't even care if it was because of the mistletoe. Now he wants to play tag with you.

He will follow you and wait for your guard to be down so he can surprise you with a hug.

“Bah~!” He kisses your cheek playfully. “This was fun. Let's play again!”

Kalim is surprised and when he looks at you he sees you running away.

He smiles very happily at your gesture, but he’s confused.

Only then does he look up and realize that you were under the mistletoe.

“Oh! I should try to do the same to them and return the kiss.”

The problem is that he will eventually forget to do it.

It's only when he meets you again and happens to be the one who sees the mistletoe above you first that he remembers: “Oh, yeah! I almost forgot. There's something I want to give you.” And he kisses your cheek playfully, but affectionately.

Jamil noticed you approaching, but since it was you he let it go.

However, he wasn't expecting to receive a kiss. So he quickly looks at you in shock and sees you running away as he blushes.

He puts his hood up to hide his face, and only then does he look up and see the mistletoe. And now he wants to pay you back.

He will mentally record all the places he sees where mistletoe is placed. And when he sees you near one he will find a way to put you where he wants you.

And when that happens: “Ah, (Y/N). I was looking for you. I need to give you something.” He kisses your cheek, says goodbye to you and continues on his way with a smirk on his face.

Did you just kiss Vil Schoenheit on the cheek? Without formal permission?! How bold! How daring!

He sees you running away with a mix of amazement and shock on his face. And with that hand on his chest like ‘Excuse you?’

The fact that he knows it was because of the mistletoe above you doesn't change the fact that he believes an act like that cannot go unpunished.

The next time he meets you: “You have no idea how lucky you are that what you did to me wasn't witnessed by someone who could sell it as scandalous gossip.” He tells you annoyed. Then he sighs. “You need to be more careful.” He smiles smugly. “And you need to make it up to me.”

He makes you agree to carry all his bags the next time he goes shopping.

“Oh, and one last thing.” He says, still looking angry, but then he kisses your cheek in a skillfully affectionate way. “You were under the mistletoe, dear.” He smiles and goes on his way.

“Wha?!” Epel gets startled and says something in his dialect before looking at you and seeing you running away. “What in tarnation was that?!” He blushes a lot.

He looks around trying to understand what just happened until he sees the sprig of mistletoe above him. This only makes him blush even more.

He doesn't really know what to do about it, but he knows he really wants to kiss you back.

However, it is fate (or Rook) that makes you meet again under the mistletoe.

And this time he is the first to realize it and quickly but passionately gives you a kiss on the cheek and runs away like you did with him.

Rook looks at you with one of the biggest smiles on his face, but sees you running away. “Oh non, Trickster. Why so shy?” He says with pity, but then he smiles with that hunter's look. “This way you leave me no choice but to go after you.”

And that's what he does, carefree and having fun.

He stalks you until he finds the perfect spot. Where the two of you will be completely alone and isolated.

You are startled by an arrow sticking out of a tree above you, with a sprig of mistletoe on the tip. And then by his voice.

“Aw, Trickster.” He says in a velvety voice and approaches you. “You left before I could thank you for the beautiful gesture. I was so happy to be able to feel your lips on my skin. Allow me to repay you.” He comes very close and kisses your cheek slowly and passionately.

Idia jumps and gives that high-pitched scream of his. He gapes at you as you run away. “YOU are the one who is running away? I'M THE ONE WHO WANTS TO HIDE!” his hair almost exploded in pink.

And that's what he does: he hides in his room for the rest of the day. Or almost, if it weren't for Ortho taking him out of there and convincing him to do the same to you with his help.

It takes a long time to convince him, but the two end up forming a plan.

They will lure you to a strategic point in Ignihyde where the two of you will be isolated from other people.

And Idia will appear out of nowhere behind you with that evil smile. “Very cowardly of you to hit and run. I thought you were braver, but it looks like I would lose that bet.”

Even though the tips of his hair are pink, he feels confident being alone with you and seeing you flustered as well.

He comes closer and gives you a cute kiss on the cheek. “There, we're even.” He turns around and practically runs away from you.

It was just a platonic kiss, so you didn't feel the need to run away. It was like kissing a little brother.

Ortho looks at you smiling with his eyes.

“Oh, this Gear doesn't allow me to return a kiss. Can I give you a hug instead (Y/N)?”

You just made Malleus fall in love with you (again).

He sees you running away, which makes him confused.

He didn't realize there was mistletoe all over you and that doesn't interest him either. Only you interest him.

He doesn't need to follow you, he transports himself to where you are.

“Why did you run away? Is that part of your tradition?” He asks a little sadly.

You will have to admit that you were embarrassed because you were afraid of his reaction and he will listen to you.

“Afraid?! Did you think I would punish you for this?” Now he is sad and worried.

You explain that you were just afraid he wouldn't like it because he might not like you back. And he laughs heartily.

“You needn't to worry about that, Child of Man. I can assure you that the feelings are mutual. Which makes me conclude that I should return the kiss.”

He kisses you on the cheek gently. And after that... he won't leave your side for the rest of the day.

You probably did it while Silver was sleeping, so you end up waking him up with your kiss. (the irony)

He looks at you confused as he has just woken up and sees you running away.

He is unsure whether you were part of his dream or not.

So when you meet again he doesn't talk about it.

But a little bird appears above you holding a sprig of mistletoe in its beak.

He ends up remembering the tradition you mentioned and asks if he could give you a kiss.

You accept and he kisses you softly on the cheek.

Sebek almost goes into a defensive position, but stops himself for knowing that it was you.

He sees you running away and for a second he is undecided whether to follow you or not. He ends up not following you because it wasn't an attack.

He will deny with all his might that he was blushing.

However, he feels he owes you the same in return, or that he must pay you back in kind.

The next time he sees you and you happen to be walking under another mistletoe he will shout: “HUMAN!” and will walk decisively towards you.

“You have a lot of nerve to do what you did and run away. At least stay and deal with the consequences properly!”

He quickly kisses you on the cheek with extreme affection and then straightens up while blushing.

“Here! The consequences of your actions.” He turns and walks away with every muscle tense.

You didn't surprise Lilia, but he pretended you did.

He lets you kiss his cheek and watches you run away, amused.

“Khee hee hee. Ah, shy youth, it's so cute. I should return the gesture.”

He will follow you until he finds the best opportunity.

He will appear right next to you, hovering upside down and give you a sweet kiss on the cheek as a surprise.

He will laugh in amusement at your reaction.

“Next time we're under the mistletoe, it'll be your turn. Khee hee.”

Rolo looks at you and freezes in that position, following you with a wide-eyed gaze.

It takes him a second to realize he's blushing a little and hide his face with his handkerchief.

“What rude impudence!” He says to himself, irritated that he liked it. “Forcing me to participate in such a ridiculous tradition. They should be punished for such disrespect.”

He won't try to kiss you back. Instead he will avoid you as much as possible. He doesn't want you to make him feel that way again. It's not... appropriate.

If you dropped in here out of the blue and want to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[ari-ana-bel-la]

omg can you write one for Lewis where he makes a special helmet with some of the drawings his daughter has made for him, his helmet ends up having stars rainbows etc

A Helmet full of Art

The moment Lewis became a father, he knew nothing would ever matter more to him than his little girl, Yn. At just three years old, she had already captured his entire heart, filling his life with laughter, tiny hugs, and endless chatter about her favorite things. She was a bright little spark—curious, loving, and always eager to create something new.

And lately, that "something new" had been drawings.

Lewis had first noticed it when Yn would sit at the coffee table, her tiny tongue sticking out in concentration as she held a crayon in her chubby hands, dragging colors across the page with uncontainable enthusiasm. At first, her drawings were just a mix of squiggles and chaotic rainbows, but over time, they started to resemble actual things—flowers, cats, and even an attempt at drawing both of them together.

"Look, Daddy!" she'd exclaim every time she finished. "This one’s you and me!"

And every single time, Lewis' heart melted.

He was the kind of father who supported Yn in anything she wanted to do. If she decided tomorrow that she wanted to be an astronaut, he’d find her a tiny space suit. If she wanted to become a ballerina, he’d be at every recital. So when he saw how much she adored drawing, he went all in—buying her the best colored pencils, sketchbooks, and even a little artist’s apron.

But what he hadn’t expected was how much her drawings would come to mean to him. He kept every single one. The rainbow she had drawn with colors that didn’t quite follow the traditional order. The cat that had oddly shaped whiskers but still looked adorable. The one of them together, with his curly hair drawn way too big and Yn’s little stick-figure self holding his hand. The flowers and bees that she had proudly declared were for him because "you like flowers, Daddy!"

So when the time came for his first home race as a Ferrari driver, Lewis wanted his helmet to be special.

And there was only one thing that felt right.

The paddock was buzzing with anticipation. It was Lewis’ first home race wearing Ferrari red, and everyone knew he’d do something big. But no one expected what he revealed when he stepped into the garage on Friday.

"Alright, guys," Lewis said, grinning as he pulled the cover off his new helmet. "Meet my new favorite helmet ever."

The garage fell silent for a moment. Then—

"Oh my god," Charles breathed out, stepping closer. "Are these… Yn’s drawings?"

Lewis beamed. "Yep."

The helmet was a masterpiece. Instead of his usual bright yellow, it was now a canvas filled with his daughter’s art. Her rainbow stretched across the top, her wobbly cat drawing sat proudly on one side, the flowers and bees covered another part, and right at the back, a big, bold drawing of them together. It was messy, colorful, and absolutely perfect.

"You actually put them on your helmet," Carlos said, grinning. "Man, that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen."

"She loves drawing," Lewis explained, running his fingers over the helmet. "And I love everything she makes. I wanted her to be part of this weekend somehow, and this felt right."

Oscar, who had just arrived, let out a low whistle. "This might be the most wholesome thing I’ve ever seen in F1."

Pierre nudged Max. "Admit it, even you think this is cute."

Max rolled his eyes but smirked. "Yeah, yeah, it's cute. Not as cute as my cats, though."

Lando burst out laughing. "I swear, you and your cats—"

"But seriously," George interrupted, shaking his head in admiration. "This is incredible, mate. I bet Yn’s gonna freak out when she sees it."

"She hasn't seen it yet," Lewis admitted. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

And oh, he couldn’t wait to see her reaction.

Later that afternoon, after all the practice sessions, Lewis finally had time to call home. He was sitting in the Ferrari motorhome, holding his phone in his hands, waiting for the call to connect.

The moment the screen lit up, Yn’s bright little face appeared, her curls bouncing as she gasped.

"Daddy!" she squealed. "Hi hi hi!"

"Hey, baby," Lewis grinned. "I’ve got a surprise for you."

Yn's eyes widened. "A 'prise? For me?"

Lewis laughed, turning his phone camera around to show his helmet. "Look at this, baby. Do you recognize these drawings?"

For a second, there was silence. Then, an excited shriek.

"THAT’S MINE! THAT’S MY DRAWINGS!" Yn shouted, practically bouncing. "Daddy, you put them on your hat!"

"Helmet, baby," Lewis chuckled, his heart swelling at her excitement. "But yeah, I did! Now, when I race this weekend, I’ll have you with me."

Yn clapped her hands together, eyes shining. "I love it! I love it, I love it, I love it!"

On the other side of the call, Yn’s grandmother laughed. "Lewis, you’ve just made her entire year."

"That was the plan," he said, winking.

Yn leaned close to the camera, her tiny hands gripping the screen. "Win with my pictures, Daddy!"

Lewis smiled softly. "I’ll try my best, baby girl. Just for you."

When Lewis walked into the paddock on Saturday with his helmet under his arm, the cameras instantly caught sight of it. And within minutes, social media exploded.

@F1: Lewis Hamilton’s helmet this weekend is covered in his 3-year-old daughter’s drawings, and we’re not crying, you are.

@SkySportsF1: Lewis dedicates his home race helmet to his daughter Yn, featuring her personal artwork. A touching tribute from the seven-time champion.

The media went crazy over it. Every journalist wanted to ask about it, every interview started with the same question:

"Tell us about your helmet this weekend, Lewis."

And every time, Lewis proudly explained.

"Yn loves drawing, and I love everything she makes," he said during a press conference. "I wanted to do something special for my first home race with Ferrari, and there was nothing more special than this. It’s my way of carrying her with me on track."

The fans adored it. In the grandstands, they held up signs with her drawings, and Ferrari even arranged for a little sketchbook to be placed in the garage for Yn to "design" future helmets.

By Sunday, it wasn’t just a helmet—it was a symbol of love.

As Lewis strapped himself into the car, he ran a hand over his helmet one last time.

"For you, baby girl," he murmured.

And then, with the whole world watching, he raced.

He raced with his daughter’s rainbow on his head, with her flowers and bees bringing color to the Ferrari red, with her little cat keeping him company through every turn.

And when he crossed the finish line in P1, the first thing he did after climbing out of the car was point to his helmet.

That night, when he called home again, Yn’s excited squeal nearly burst his eardrums.

"You did it, Daddy! My pictures won!"

Lewis laughed, feeling his heart swell. "Yeah, baby. We did it together."

And as far as he was concerned, that made this the most special win of his career.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-💙🦋

[requiemforthepoets]

stickwitu ⟢ LN4

part one of the crazy rich asians au ⟢ part two part three

PAIRING: lando norris x female!asian!reader

SUMMARY: despite coming from a very wealthy and deeply-rooted traditional background—where family always comes first, your relationship with lando is fully embraced by most of your family, though the very complex dynamics of old-money family expectations often creates tension, causing lando to rethink everything.

REMINDER: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, reader is asian, foul language, minor mention of violence (punching), traditional family, google translated chinese, crazy rich asian inspired + plot, heiress reader, named character (except reader, names are mostly taken from CRA), asian culture & tradition, social status, high society, brief mentions of verbal abuse, anxiety, overthinking, and minor typographical errors.

WORD COUNT: 20.4k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: okay, before anything else, i wanted to say first and foremost that i’m asian (southeast girlie), so i’m not asian baiting 🥹 and i have many chinese friends to the point i’m familiar with their culture and tradition, but mostly the reference is from and follows the plot line of crazy rich asians—which is my fav book trilogy, but i also did insert my own preference and did my research so that i can properly write this fic better. this is a long fic, bc i added as much details as i could and this is not even finished yet, i still have 2-3 parts in my draft, but somehow i’m satisfied with the end, but let me know if you want me to continue this one. your comment/reblogs is very highly appreciated. okay, that’s enough yapping for me, i hope you’ll enjoy reading this!

You had just touched down in Dubai, the December heat had brushed against your skin as you stepped outside the terminal. It had been a hectic week—first, spending time in Switzerland with your family, soaking in the peacefulness of the snowy countryside, and now, diving headfirst into the chaos of Abu Dhabi for the final race of the 2024 season.

Honestly, there wasn’t much time to catch your breath. The car was already waiting for you to drive you to the circuit, while your bags will be brought to the hotel. You had reserved a separate room just in case, but knowing Lando, you both can sort out the details later when you return for the evening.

The drive to Yas Marina Circuit was uneventful, the familiar mix of nerves and excitement bubbling in your chest. Lando had texted you earlier, letting you know he was already in the McLaren garage preparing for the qualifying session. He knew your schedule had been tight and didn’t mind that you were running late, as long as you made it in time. Lando also mentioned you would be watching the session with his family—Cisca, Adam, and his youngest sister Cisca, who shared her mother’s name.

Once you arrived at the paddock, you pulled out the lanyard holding your pass, the one Lando had sent ahead before your trip to Switzerland. It had been very thoughtful of him to arrange everything in advance, ensuring your arrival would be seamless. As you walked through the entrance, you felt the familiar surge of attention—cameras flashing, fans calling out for you. Despite having attended very few races this season, you still weren’t used to the buzz surrounding the wags.

Fans of Lando waved enthusiastically as you made your way through the paddock, and you waved back shyly with a polite smile. A few asked for photos, and you happily obliged, pausing briefly for snapshots with those who looked the most excited. Some handed you small gifts like friendship bracelets, bucket hats, and a few letters addressed to Lando.

“We made these for him! Can you please give them to him?” one of the fans asked eagerly.

“I’ll make sure that he gets them.” you promised, and carefully tucking the items in one of the tote bags, then the fans thanked you profusely.

As you continued your way toward the McLaren garage, you spotted a familiar figure—Kym Illman, camera in hand. Kym had always been kind to you, and the two of you had exchanged pleasantries during the previous races. He raised his camera and motioned towards you with a questioning look, silently asking for permission to take a photo of you. Unsure of how to pose, you gave a small, slightly awkward smile. At that moment, a gentle breeze swept through the paddock, catching your hair perfectly. Kym lowered the camera and grinned, giving you a thumbs-up.

“It is a very beautiful shot.” he said as you passed by.

“Thank you.” you replied with a laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

The McLaren garage wasn’t far now. The hum of engines, faint smell of rubber, and buzz of team radios filled the air as you approached. You hoped to catch Lando before the qualifying session began.

When you arrived at the McLaren garage, the whole place was in full swing—mechanics fine tuning the car, and engineers analyzing the datas. Despite only attending a handful of races this season, the whole team knew exactly who you were. Smiles greeted you from all corners, with some of the team members even giving you a playful thumbs-up.

“Look who’s here! Lando’s lucky charm.” one of the members teased, earning a chorus of lighthearted laughs from the surrounding crew.

You couldn’t help but smile at the nickname that you had heard before. It seemed that your presence at races had coincided with Lando’s wins throughout the season—Miami, Netherlands, and Singapore. The whole McLaren team had adopted the idea that you brought him good fortune.

“I’m not sure about that,” you replied modestly and smiled, holding up the tote bag filled with letters and small gifts. “But I do come bearing express mail for Lando.”

The team chuckled at your remark, their fondness for you were really evident. One of the mechanics had jokingly asked if Lando had hired you as his personal courier, but before you could respond, you saw Jon calling out to him.

Lando was standing a few feet away, deep in conversation with one of the mechanics. At the mention of your arrival, his head turned instantly, and his face lit up in recognition. He strode over quickly, his race suit tied casually at his waist and his fireproofs clinging to his frame. Lando’s smile was warm and genuine as he closed the gap between you.

“You made it.” he said, tone laced with a mixture of relief and happiness.

“I did,” you replied, smiling back at him. “Sorry for cutting it so close.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Lando assured you, his voice soft. “You’re here, and that’s all that matters.”

“Is that…?” he added and squinted.

“Your fans’ stuff,” you confirmed with a grin. “Letters, drawings, maybe some snacks. They handed it over on my way here, and I promised that I’ll get them to you.”

Lando chuckled, the sound warm and relaxed. “Of course they did. Thanks for bringing it.”

“Anytime,” you smiled, and shifted the conversation. “Where’s your family? I should head over to them before quali starts.”

“They’re just outside,” he said, nodding towards the outside. “They’re excited to see you again, especially C. She’s been asking about you since Zandvoort.”

Lando’s fondness for his younger sister was clear in his tone, and it always made you smile. Before you could respond, one of the staff approached Lando, telling him that it was time to start gearing up.

“Here, I’ll help you.” you said as you stepped closer to Lando.

You instinctively reached for the half of his race suit, helping him pull the fabric up to secure it over his shoulders. You made sure that every strap and seam was in place, your fingers moving with practiced precision. You double checked the straps on his HANS device, ensuring everything was in place.

“Strapped in and ready to go.” you said softly, fingers brushing his shoulder as you stepped back.

Lando didn’t move away immediately. Instead, his hands found your waist, his touch was light but grounding. He leaned in slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a familiar warmth.

“Kiss for luck?” he asked, tone a little bit playful but sincere.

You happily obliged, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. As you pulled back, you added a second kiss to his cheek, your lips lingering just a moment longer.

“Good luck out there, my champ.” you whispered.

Lando’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a hug. His face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing.

“Stay close, okay?” he murmured, his voice barely audible above the garage noise. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” you smiled as you caressed his back softly. “Be safe out there, okay?”

You gently tapped his back to let him know it was time to go. Lando straightened up, giving you one last lingering look before heading towards his car. Jon appeared at your side, ready to escort you to where his family was waiting.

“Come on,” Jon said with a smile. “Let’s get you settled.” He led the way and you followed.

As you followed Jon, the faint hum of conversation and the clinking of tools fading into the background, he glanced at you with a warm smile.

“It’s good to see you again,” Jon said, tons light and genuine. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

You nodded, returning his smile. “It has. The last time was Singapore, I think?”

“That sounds about right,” Jon agreed, then chuckled softly. “You know, Lando’s been counting down the days since you told him you’d be here. He hasn’t shut up about it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at what he said, a mix of amusement and affection spreading across your face. “Has he, now?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Jon continued, a teasing glint evident in his eyes. “The second he got that text from you, he was grinning like a kid on christmas morning. Every day after that, it was, ‘Do you think she’s really coming? What if she missed my race?’”

You smiled fondly. “I told him I’d be here today, no matter what. I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

Jon nodded, his expression softening. “He knows that. Lando just really missed you, I think the last few weeks have felt longer than usual for him.”

There was this warmth that you began to feel in your chest, and you glanced down for a moment, feeling a bit shy under Jon’s kind gaze.

“I’ve missed him, too. It’s been a very busy year for the both of us.” you sighed.

Jon nodded knowingly. “I can imagine. Between your work and everything with your family, it must feel like you’re always being pulled in a hundred different directions.”

You let out yet again another small sigh, pace slowing just slightly as you responded. “It does get a bit overwhelming sometimes. My family always has something going on, and as the only daughter, well…let’s just say there are certain expectations.”

To those people who truly know you, there is no denying that you were born into a world of luxury and expectations, where wealth was not merely a privilege but a legacy. To the public eye, you are known simply as Lando Norris’ girlfriend, the quiet yet sophisticated partner of the Formula 1 star. A strikingly gorgeous young woman whose life seemed to orbit the vibrant universe of the McLaren driver. But to these people who moved in the shadows of high society, those who deeply understood the intricate web of power and legacy within Asia’s upper echelons, knew better.

You were an heiress to two of the most prominent and affluent families in Southeast Asia. A woman born not merely into massive wealth, but into legacy, responsibility, and the unrelenting expectations of old money.

Your father’s family were the pinnacle of Singapore’s old money elite. Their fortune, amassed over generations through banking, real estate, trade, and monopoly of palm oil, it had not only survived but flourished in the modern era. Your mother’s lineage, although equally stories and affluent, paled in comparison to the vast empire your father’s family presided over.

You were born the youngest and only daughter in a family dominated by male cousins and brothers, an anomaly in a lineage often associated with patriarchal values. This made you a darling in your grandmother’s eyes, a singular beacon of grace and femininity in a sea of potential heirs. They adored you, lavishing you with attention and grooming you from a young age to carry the family’s mantle with such poise.

Your life was a delicate balancing act. While your family taught you to embrace privilege, they instilled in you a deep understanding of responsibility. Money was not to be spent flippantly, power was not to be flaunted, and fame was to be avoided unless it served a greater purpose. Unlike some of your cousins—whose reckless behavior often flirted with scandal and making their privilege a playground, you were a model of decorum. Never appeared in any tabloid headlines, never indulged in public extravagance, and always carried yourself with the grace befitting a young woman of your stature.

He tilted his head sympathetically. “And you balance all of that on top of everything else? No wonder Lando’s so proud of you.”

Jon’s words had caught you off guard, and you felt your cheeks warm slightly. “He said that?”

“All the time,” Jon replied, his smile never fading. “He brags about you more than you probably realize. How hardworking you are, how you always seem to manage everything with such grace. Lando’s your biggest fan, you know.”

The sincerity in Jon’s voice brought a soft smile to your lips. “That really means a lot.”

“Well, it’s true,” Jon said simply. Then, with a gentle nudge towards ahead, he added, “and speaking of people who adore you, Lando’s family is just up there. I know they’ve been really looking forward to seeing you too.”

You glanced toward the familiar faces waiting to see you again in the designated seating area, feeling a wave of warmth and comfort at the sight.

“Thank you, Jon.” You said, tone sincere.

“Anytime,” he replied, stepping aside to let you continue forward. “Enjoy the qualifying, and don’t stress out too much, he’ll do great, especially with you here.”

You gave him a grateful nod before making your way towards Lando’s family. After the little talk you had with Jon, it made you feel a sense of calm as the conversation replayed in your mind.

As soon as you stepped into the designated seating area, Cisca—Lando’s youngest sister, spotted you and she smiled instantly. Her face broke into a wide smile, and before you could say a word, she was already rushing towards you, arms outstretched.

“You’re here!” she exclaimed, wrapping her arms tightly around you. “I’ve missed you so much!”

You laughed softly, hugging her back just as tight. “I’ve missed you too, C! It feels like forever since I’ve seen you.”

She pulled back slightly, still holding onto your hands as her eyes sparkled with excitement. “It has been forever! The last time was in the Netherlands, right? That was ages ago!”

“It really was,” you agreed, nodding. “How have you been? How’s everything at uni?”

Her expression turned slightly more serious, though her enthusiasm didn’t dissipate. “Busy, but good. I’ve been swamped with assignments, but it’s not too bad. It’s so nice to take a break and be here for the weekend.”

You smiled. “I’m glad you could come, I’ve missed seeing you so much.”

Cisca’s grin widened, and she squeezed your hands again. “It’s not the same without you here. Oh!” Her expression shifted slightly, as if she had just remembered something. “Flo couldn’t make it, though. She’s stuck in the UK with work stuff. She’s really sad about missing this race.”

Your shoulders slumped slightly in disappointment. “Oh no, that’s a shame. I was looking forward to seeing her too.”

“She said she’ll definitely call you, though!” Cisca assured you. “And she made me promise to give you a big hug from her, so—” she threw her arms around you again, squeezing dramatically.

You laughed, hugging her back. “Well, make sure to tell her I missed her too, okay?”

“Will do,” Cisca said brightly, looping her arm through yours. “Come on, Mum and Dad have been dying to see you.”

She guided you toward the rest of the family, where Adam and Cisca—Lando’s mother, were seated. The moment they saw you, their faces lit up with happiness, and they both stood up to greet you.

“Finally!” Cisca said, pulling you into a warm hug. “It’s been far too long, dear. How have you been?”

You smiled, returning her embrace. “I’ve been good, just keeping busy as usual. It’s so nice to see you again, though. I’ve missed you all.”

Adam was next, wrapping you in his own hug. “We’ve missed you too,” he said with genuine warmth. “It’s not often we get to catch up with you these days.”

“I know,” you said, pulling back to look at them. “It’s been way too long. How have you all been?”

“Busy as always,” Cisca replied, her tone light. “But we’ve been keeping up with Lando and with you, whenever he mentions you. He’s been so excited for you to be here this weekend.”

You smiled shyly, feeling a familiar warmth in your chest. “I’ve been looking forward to it, too. It’s such a big weekend for him, and I wouldn’t want to miss it for anything.”

“Exactly what he said about you coming,” Adam added, his smile deepening. “You’ve always been his lucky charm, you know.”

Your cheeks warmed at Adam’s comment. Cisca then motioned for everyone to sit back down. “Let’s sit and catch up before things get underway.”

Settling into the seat they saved for you, and the conversation began flowing naturally as they asked how you had been, about your family, and how your trip to Abu Dhabi had been so far. Their genuine interest made you feel at home, easing any nervousness you had felt earlier.

The qualifying had soon started, you could hear the roar of the engines and the buzz of the crowd filled the air as the qualifying session began, and you could not ignore the nervous energy swirling inside you. You are sitting with Lando’s family, your hands clasped tightly in your lap as you watch the screens displaying the lap times. Every sector Lando completed brought a new wave of anticipation.

Adam leaned closer to you, his voice low but reassuring. “He’s doing well, isn’t he? Look at those times.”

You nodded, unable to take your eyes off the screen. “He is, but it’s so close. Ferrari’s right there.”

Lando’s little sister gripped your arm excitedly. “Don’t worry, he’s got this. He’s been in such good form all weekend, he always does better when you’re here.”

You gave her a small smile, her confidence was comforting. “I hope so. This race means so much for McLaren, and for him.”

When Lando crossed the line with the fastest time in the final moments of Q3, the garage erupted in cheers. His name flashed at the top of the leaderboard, with Oscar right behind him in P2. A front-row lockout for McLaren for tomorrow’s main race. Relief and pride washed over you, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding.

“He did it!” Cisca cheered, jumping out of her seat. She hugged you. “You must be so proud of him.”

“I am.” You admitted softly, your voice filled with emotions.

Adam stood up, motioning for everyone to head down the barricades. “Come on, let’s go congratulate him.”

All of you made your way through the bustling paddock and found a spot at the side of the parc fermé, where Lando and Oscar had already parked their cars. Lando had just stepped out of his car, removing his helmet and running a hand through his damp curls. You could see the exhilaration on his face as he congratulated Oscar, the two exchanging words and pats on the back.

The media reporter quickly surrounded Lando for a post-qualifying interview. You waited patiently, your heart swelling with pride as you watched him speak confidently. His excitement was contagious, and you yourself couldn't stop smiling.

As soon as his interview wrapped up, his mother called out to him. “Lando!”

The reporter gestured toward the barricade where you and his family stood. Lando’s eyes immediately found you, his face lighting up even more. Without any hesitation, he walked over.

“Hi, Mum. Hi, Dad.” he greeted, pulling both of his parents into a hug. Adam clapped him on the back proudly.

“Well done, son!” Adam said. “That was brilliant.”

“Thanks dad.” Lando replied, grinning.”

Lando then turned towards his younger sister, who threw her arms around him. “Pole position! You’re amazing!”

He laughed, hugging her tightly. “Thanks, Cis. I couldn’t let you down, could I?”

Finally, his gaze landed on you. Lando’s smile softened, and stepped towards, wrapping his arms around you without a word. You felt his body relax against your as you hugged him back, fingers lightly brushing the back of his neck.

“Congratulations, my love.” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the noise around you.

Lando didn’t reply immediately, he just held you tighter, his face buried in the crook of your neck. The embrace lingered, and you heard his younger sister and mother giggling beside you.

“You two are so cute!” his younger sister teased.

Cisca was also quick to join. “Stay just like that for a second.”

You heard a faint sound of a camera click and already knew that she had taken a photo. Lando finally pulled back, just enough to look at you, his hand resting on your waist.

“Thanks for being here,” he said quietly, his eyes locked on yours. “It means everything.”

You smiled, brushing a stray curl off his forehead. “Of course, I wouldn’t miss it.”

Lando leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Before you could let out a response, a team member called for Lando, reminding him that he needed to go and receive the pole position award.

“Go,” you said softly, giving him an encouraging nod. “I’ll be right here when you get back.”

He smiled and gave your waist a quick and gentle squeeze. Lando turned and jogged towards Oscar, where they walked together to receive their award, leaving you with his family, who were all grinning from ear to ear.

Later that evening, you all went out for dinner. The dinner with Lando’s family was warm and celebratory, one that’s filled with laughter and easy conversation. After the plates were cleared and goodbyes exchanged, you and Lando made your way back to the hotel, his hand resting lightly on your lower back, guiding you towards the car.

The car ride back to the hotel was quiet, a comfortable silence that comes after a day full of emotions and celebration. Lando’s hand rested lightly on your knee, his thumb gently tracing small circles through the fabric of your skirt. He glanced at you, expression soft and content.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and warm.

You nodded, offering a small smile. “Yeah, just tired. It’s been a long day.”

Lando smiled back, squeezing your knee lightly. “I’m glad that you were here, though. Made everything all better.”

When you arrived at the hotel, the soft hum of classical music played in the background, and you approached the concierge desk to sort out your room. Lando stood beside you, both hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, watching as you spoke with the staff.

“Hello, good evening,” you began politely, offering a small smile. “I’d like to make a change to my booking. I’ll be staying with him instead.” You gestured toward Lando, who gave the concierge a friendly nod.

The concierge returned your smile. “Of course, Miss. Let me pull up your reservation.”

As the staff worked, Lando leaned in closer, his voice low and teasing as he put an arm around your waist, pulling you gently towards him. “You could’ve just stayed with me from the start, you know. No need for all this extra work.”

You turned to him with a small smirk. “I didn’t want to assume, Mr. Norris. What if you wanted your own space to focus?”

Lando chuckled, his hand gently squeezed your waist. “You’re my focus, you should already know that by now.”

The concierge handed you a confirmation slip, smiling as they spoke. “It’s all sorted, Miss. We’ve removed the extra booking, and your luggage will be sent up to the suite shortly. Is there anything else you need?”

“No, that’s perfect. Thank you so much.” You said.

His hand made its way to your lower back, as he began guiding you towards the elevators. “Shall we?”

You both made your way up in the elevator, the quiet hum of the machinery filling up the silence. The elevator dinged, and the doors opened to your floor. Lando led the way to the suite, unlocking the door and holding it open for you. The room was spacious and luxurious, with a view of the glittering Dubai skyline. Your luggage was already neatly placed near the wardrobe.

Lando removed his shoes and tossed them off somewhere in the room, and turned to you. “Home for the night.” he said, a hint of playfulness in his voice.

You smiled, stepping further into the room. “Not bad for a last minute arrangement.”

“Nothing but only the best for you.” he grinned. Lando wasted no time tossing himself onto the bed. “Finally. This bed feels like heaven.”

You set your bag gently on the table and slipped off your heels, wincing slightly as your feet adjusted. Lando peeked up from the pillow, watching you with a soft smile.

“Come here,” he said, stretching out his arms towards you, voice laced with exhaustion but still soft. “I need you.”

You chuckled at his eagerness, but the invitation was too tempting to resist. Padding over to the bed, you climbed gently beside him, and when you settled in, his arms wrapped securely around you, pulling you flush against him.

Lando buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin as his fingers idly traced patterns along your waist. The weight of his embrace was grounding, and you both simply stayed there, enveloped in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence.

For a moment, neither of you had said anything. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside and the occasional sound of his breathing. It was a rare moment of peace amidst the chaos of his race weekend.

“So,” he began, pressing little kisses on your shoulders. “How was Switzerland? Did you have fun?”

“I did, and it was wonderful. Dad was asking about you, actually.” you said.

“Oh?” Lando’s tone lifted with interest. “What did he say?”

You smiled faintly. “He wanted to know when you’d be joining us again because, and I quote, ‘I need someone under forty to keep me entertained on the golf course.’”

Lando chuckled. “I’ll need to work on my swing. Your dad takes it so seriously, and I can’t embarrass myself again.”

You laughed, the memory of their last game played in your mind. “He still talks about the time you hit the ball into the lake.”

“Hey, that was a strategic move,” Lando teased, tightening his arms around you slightly. “But it’s good to know that you had fun. What else did you do?”

You sighed, tone shifting slightly. “I got to see my nieces and nephews. They’ve all grown so much, it’s crazy how time flies.”

Lando tilted his head, sensing the change in your voice. “But?”

You hesitated, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. “It’s just, it felt different. Alexander wasn’t there.”

He did not say anything, not interrupting and letting you speak your thoughts as he held you close.

“It doesn’t feel right, you know?” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “The family’s not complete without him. It’s been years, but every time we’re all together, his absence is so obvious and I fucking hate it.”

Lando kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he softly said. “I know how much that hurts you.”

You nodded, eyes closing as you let yourself feel the comfort of his presence. “I just wish things could go back to how they were before. But I know that’s impossible.”

“He’s my brother, you know? No matter what happened with my Dad, he’s still family. It just feels so unfair, like he was cut out of all of our lives over something he couldn’t control.” you continued. “I don’t know, it’s just hard. Being with everyone in Switzerland reminded me how much I miss him.”

Your father’s family were notorious for their obsession with discretion. Your father had made it abundantly clear that the family name was sacrosanct, a legacy to be protected no matter what cost. Scandals—no matter how small, were intolerable, and your upbringing reflected this philosophy. Among your siblings, the family dynamic had always been a complex one, you and your three older brothers were raised with a rigid sense of propriety, each word, actions, and even the company you kept was scrutinized.

Your eldest brother, Harrison Jr., is a lawyer and married to Katherine Yeo, a member of the influential Yeo family, and a partner of Singapore’s most prestigious law firm. Your second brother, Christopher, is a renowned doctor and married to Isabelle Lim, a member of the influential Lim family, a family that has big influence when it comes to the field of medicine.

Then there’s Alexander. Alexander is your third brother, who had to bear the brunt of defying these expectations. His decision to marry a woman your father deemed a commoner or beneath your social status resulted in his disownment and disinheritance—a decision that greatly affected the whole family. Yet, he remained close to you, valuing your bond over the rigid expectations of your father.

From the perspective of an outsider, your father is a paragon of dignity and control. But within the confines of your family’s estates, your father is a strict and controlling patriarch, a man whose word is final. For him, every decision—no matter how personal, is weighed against its potential impact on the family’s image.

Relationships, in very particular, are heavily scrutinized. Your father despises out-of-wedlock unions and views any romantic involvement with someone beneath your family’s status as a betrayal of tradition and status. His stance is not merely theoretical, it is absolute. This was most painfully evident when your father disowned and disinherited Alexander for marrying a woman he deemed unworthy of your family name.

For a moment, Lando didn’t say anything, his hand still tracing comforting patterns on your waist. Then he spoke, voice steady. “You love him, and that’s what matters. Even if things aren’t perfect, even if your family isn’t whole, the love you have for him hasn’t gone anywhere. I’m sure he knows that.”

His words struck a chord, and you felt a lump forming in your throat. You nodded, not trusting your voice enough to speak.

Lando kissed the top of your head, his hand slipping up to gently cradle it. “You're amazing, you know that? Your family’s lucky to have you. Alexander’s lucky to have you.”

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped in his warmth, the weight of the day and the conversation slowly fading as his presence calmed you down.

The steady rise and fall of Lando’s breathing filled the room, grounding you as you stayed wrapped in his arms. His warmth and the way he held you so close reminded you of just how much you missed this—missed him. It was moments like these that made the distance and the time apart feel unbearable.

You shifted slightly, looking up at him. His eyes were soft, a little tired from the long day, but they lit up the moment they met yours. He smiles, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, voice low and comforting.

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers playing with the fabric of his shirt. “I’ve been thinking,” you began, voice quiet but steady, “about how much I hate being apart from you. It's just hard sometimes, you know?”

Lando’s expression softened even more, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. “I know,” he said quietly. “I hate it too. But we make it work, right? We always do.”

You nodded, taking a steadying breath before continuing. “We do. But it doesn’t have to be this way anymore.”

His brows furrowed slightly, curiosity and a hint of confusion flickering across his face. “What do you mean?”

You sat up a little, propping yourself on your elbows so you could look at him fully. “I was going to tell you earlier, but the day was so hectic, it completely slipped out of my mind,” you admitted, a small and nervous laugh escaping you. “But after the season ends, I’ll be moving to Monaco. To be with you.”

For a moment, Lando just stared at you, his expression blank as if he were processing your words. Then, as the realization hit, his face broke into the brightest smile you had seen all day.

“Wait—are you serious?” he asked, sitting up slightly, his hand framing your face.

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips as you saw the excitement in his eyes. “Yes, I’m serious. I’ve already made arrangements, and I’ll be moving after Christmas. I just wanted it to be a surprise.”

Lando did not waste another second. He pulled you into a deep, loving kiss, his lips warm and firm against yours. When he finally pulled back, his hands still cradling your face, and his grin was unstoppable.

“You’re amazing,” he said, voice filled with genuine happiness. “I can’t believe this. You’re really moving to Monaco?”

“Yes,” you confirmed, laughing softly at his excitement. “I want to be with you, Lan. No more long flights, no more months apart. Just us.”

He kissed you again, softer this time, as if he wanted to savor the moment. “This is the best news I’ve had all year,” he murmured against your lips. “You have no idea how happy you’ve just made me.”

You couldn’t help but smile, your heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. “I think I do,” you teased, resting your forehead against his.

Lando chuckled, his arms wrapping around you again as he pulled you back down onto the bed. “We’re going to have the best time,” he said, excitement still bubbling over. “I can’t wait to spend time with you everyday. Monaco’s going to feel like home for both of us.”

The two of you stayed like that for a little while longer, wrapped up in each other and the excitement of what was to come. But as the exhaustion of the day began to creep in, you both decided it was time to call it a night.

“Shower?” Lando asked, a playful glint in his eyes as he nudged you gently.

You nodded, stretching a little before getting up. “Only if you promise not to pull some sneaky shit.” you warned, earning a laugh from him.

“No promises.” Lando shot back with a grin, taking both of your hands as the two of you headed towards the bathroom.

The shower was quiet, the steam and warmth washing away the remnants of the day as you leaned against him, your bodies moving in sync. It was intimate and calming—a small but meaningful reminder of what you had to look forward to in the months ahead.

When you finally climbed into bed, Lando pulled you close once more, arms wrapped securely around you. “I love you.” he whispered into the darkness, his voice heavy with sleep but filled with sincerity.

“I love you too.” you whispered back, closing your eyes.

As you drifted off, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of peace. Tomorrow might be hectic, but tonight, you were exactly where you needed to be.

The morning air was full with energy, and the McLaren garage was a hive of activity—today is the last race of the 2024 season. Engineers and mechanics moved with precision, finalizing last minute checks, while the hum of engines in the background added to the excitement. You had arrived earlier with Lando, his family, and Lily—Oscar’s girlfriend. It felt good to be surrounded by familiar faces, especially Lily, whose presence brought a comforting sense of normalcy amidst the ongoing chaos.

You were a private person by nature, someone who valued the quiet and personal over the public and the performative. While the world of Formula 1 was filled with spectacle and exposure, you had always kept your life out of the spotlight, sharing only what was necessary and only with those closest to you.

This is partially the main reason why the majority of Lando’s fanbase found themselves really intrigued by you. Unlike many others in his orbit, you didn’t have any public social media presence, and there were only rare glimpses of you, often in the background of celebratory posts or candid shots captured at races.

The only social media platform you used was instagram, and even that was private. On it, you only followed a select group of people—your family, Lando’s family, close friends, and a small circle that included a few grid drivers and their girlfriends. Lando, of course, was at the center of it all. The account was not a place for you to broadcast your whole life, but instead, it was a way to stay connected with those who mattered, sharing snippets of your world through carefully chosen photos or stories.

Your appearances at races were rare—it wasn’t for lack of interest or support but dictated by your own commitments and the overwhelming nature of the events themselves. The previous year—2023, had been especially demanding for you as you were in your final year at Parsons School of Design, pouring your energy into completing your degree. Between assignments, projects, and preparations for your graduation, attending races had been nearly impossible. That year, you had managed to make it to only a handful of events, but you knew Lando understood, he always does.

The 2024 season has been no different in terms of your limited attendance. Out of the twenty-four races, you had been present for just three: Miami—where Lando had his first win of the season, the Netherlands, and Singapore. Those three races, however, had been unforgettable. Lando had won all of them, each one holding its own significance, but none more so than Singapore.

Lando’s victory in Singapore had been very deeply personal for you, not only that he won in your home country, but your family had also been there to witness his win, and seeing Lando celebrate with your family after crossing the finish line was a memory that you would always go back to.

While you were familiar with the paddock and the people in it, you never felt entirely at home there. It was vast and vibrant, but it could also be very overwhelming, even isolating. You were not someone who can easily mingle with large groups, and though you were polite and cordial with other people, you didn’t forge many close connections.

However, there were exceptions, of course. Rebecca, Carlos’ girlfriend, had become a friend early on, her warm, approachable, and easygoing nature made her one of the few people you felt comfortable around. Carlos and Lando’s close friendship meant you saw Rebecca often, and over time, your bond grew.

Then there was Lily, Oscar’s girlfriend. Similarly, Lily’s grounded and easygoing personality had drawn you in, especially with Lando and Oscar being teammates naturally brought you into her orbit. Much like Rebecca, Lily had a way of putting you at ease, and the two of them became your anchors whenever you were at a race, they were the one who ensured that you never felt out of place.

You really appreciated their presence more than you could ever express. Attending races, even with Lando by your side, often left you feeling out of place. It wasn’t that anyone treated you poorly, it was simply that the environment was so different from what you were used to. The noise, attention, and the sheer scale of it all—it could be a lot for someone like you. Rebecca and Lily understood this, and they had a way of making you feel less alone in the crowd.

As the garage filled with the chatter of team members and the faint cheers from the grandstands outside, you found yourself growing quieter. Your nerves had taken over, as they always did on race days, but this time, it was more heightened. The stakes were higher—this was McLaren’s chance to secure the Constructors’ Championship, a feat they hadn’t achieved in years. The weight of it pressed heavily on your chest, making it hard to focus on anything else.

Lily noticed your silence, her voice cutting through the noise as she leaned closer, whispering softly. “You okay? You’ve been awfully quiet since we got here.”

You managed a small smile, glancing at her briefly. “Just nervous. For both of them.” you admitted, voice quieter than usual.

She nodded, placing a reassuring hand on your arm. “I get it. It’s a big day for them, but they’ve got this, and hey, if anyone’s a good luck charm, it’s definitely you.” she added with a wink, trying to lighten the mood.

Lily’s words made you chuckle softly, but the nervous energy bubbling inside you remained. Your eyes drifted towards Lando, who was standing near his car, already suited up and listening intently to his engineers. Seeing him like that reminded you why you always believed in him, even on the toughest of days.

As the minutes ticked closer to the start of the race, you knew you had to wish him luck. With a deep breath, you stepped away from Lily and made your way to Lando, weaving through the controlled chaos of the garage. Lando noticed you immediately, his expression softening as you approached. He turned to face you fully, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Hey.” he said, voice low but warm.

“Hey.” you replied, hands instinctively reaching for his. His gloves were already on, but you held them anyway, thumbs brushing against the fabric.

“I just wanted to say good luck again. I know how much this race means to you, to the entire team. But no matter what happens out there today, you’re always going to be my winner. My champion.” you said, voice steady despite the nerves swirling inside you.

Lando’s smile grew, and he took a small step closer, his gloved hands holding yours more firmly. “Thank you. It means everything to me that you’re here.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the moment. “I’ll be right here waiting for you when it’s over. Always.”

His eyes softened further, and without hesitation, Lando leaned in, lips meeting yours in a tender kiss. It wasn’t long, but it was enough to steady both of you, grounding you before the storm ahead.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours. “I’ll see you after, yeah?”

You nodded again, reluctantly letting go of his hands as he stepped back. Just as he turned toward his car, Lando glanced over his shoulder, flashing you a small, reassuring smile before climbing into the cockpit. As he began to settle in, one of the staff members approached you, handing over a pair of orange McLaren headphones. You thanked them with a polite smile and made your way back to where Lily and Lando’s family were waiting.

Lily gave you a knowing look as you rejoined her. “Feeling a little better?”

“A little,” you admitted, slipping on the headphones. “I’ll feel a lot better once this is over.”

She laughed softly, looping her arm through yours. “Same. But we’ve just got to believe in them.”

You nodded, glancing toward the starting grid displayed on the monitors. The cars were lining up, the atmosphere was filled with anticipation. Lando’s car was on the front, with Oscar on his right.

The race began with a level of intensity that immediately set your nerves on edge. Fifty-eight laps stretched ahead, but from the very start, chaos seemed to unfold every turn. Lando, starting on pole, managed a clean getaway and led the race. However, everything behind him seemed to descend into pandemonium.

Your heart jumped when Max, attempting to take P2, tagged Oscar’s rear tire. The collision sent both cars spinning off course, eliciting gasps from the garage. Checo and Valtteri collided shortly after, forcing Checo to retire for the entirety of the race, and Charles—against all odds, surged from P19 to P8. Ferrari clearly had their sights set on closing the 21 points gap in the Constructors’, and the pressure was immense.

The commentators were relentless. Max received a 10-second penalty for his collision with Oscar, and then Oscar himself had been handed a penalty of his own after making contact with Franco, which resulted in Franco’s retirement as well. Oscar’s chances of scoring major points were essentially over, and it became painfully clear that all the weight was now on Lando’s shoulders.

Your hands were clasped together tightly, your nerves refusing to settle. Every lap was a test of endurance and felt like an eternity. You could hear the engineers strategizing, discussing pit stops, tyre degradation, and maintaining the gap. A critical two-second pit stop gave Lando the edge he needed to remain ahead, but Carlos wasn’t far behind. He was relentless, desperately closing the gap wherever he could.

Your mind flashed back to the Singapore Grand Prix. That had been a race to remember, where Lando had led from start to finish, dominating with a 20-second gap to Max. It had been a nerve wracking yet exhilarating experience, but today was different. The margin was razor-thin. The gap between Lando and Carlos hovered around five seconds, and it felt like the entire race was balanced on the edge of a knife.

Your clasped hands are now resting against your lips as you silently prayed. You didn’t care to speak, afraid to jinx anything. Each lap brought a fresh wave of anxiety. You watched as Carlos pushed harder and harder, the gap shrinking ever so slightly, then stabilizing. It was a battle of wills, and all you could do was hope Lando’s calm precision behind the wheel would see him through.

As the final laps approached, your heart was pounding so loudly, and you were sure that everyone around you could hear it. The garage was a mix of tension and muted optimism, everyone holding their breath for the outcome they so desperately wanted.

When Lando finally crossed the checkered flag in first place, it felt like the air was punched out of you. For a moment, there was silence in your mind, and then the world came rushing back as the whole McLaren garage erupted in cheers.

Engineers, mechanics, and all of the staff jumped up and down, fists pumping in the air. Lando’s race engineer came over the radio, his voice cracking with emotions as he congratulated Lando not just on the win, but securing the Constructors’ Championship for McLaren.

You could not believe it. The realization of what had just happened hit you like a tidal wave, washing away all the tension and anxiety that had built up over the past fifty-eight laps. Lando had won. Not only had he won the race, but he is a runner up in the World Drivers’ Championship, and most of all, he had delivered McLaren their first Constructors’ Championship in twenty-six years.

It felt surreal. The garage continued celebrating around you, but for a moment, you stood frozen, taking it all in. The cheers, shouting, hugs, and the overwhelming sense of happiness that filled the air. Then, almost instinctively, you joined in. Something came over you, a burst of emotion you rarely let out, and you found yourself jumping up and down with everyone else, unable to contain the sheer exhilaration coursing through your veins.

You could feel tears welling up before you even realized you were crying. Not just small tears either, but full, unrestrained sobs of happiness. You were crying so hard it was difficult to catch your breath, but you did not care. The weight of the moment was too much to hold in, you hugged Cisca tightly, burying your face against her shoulder as she squeezed you back. She, too, had tears in her eyes.

“He did it. He really did it.” her voice cracked.

“I’m so proud of him.” you managed to say between sobs, your voice trembling with emotions.

Cisca smiled through her own tears and cupped your cheeks for a moment, her pride mirroring your own. You turned next to Adam, giving him a quick but heartfelt hug before you turned to. Without a word, you wrapped your arms around her. She laughed softly, her own eyes glistening, and held you tightly.

“This is insane,” Lily whispered, shaking her head as she let out a breathless laugh. “He was amazing today.”

You nodded fervently, unable to articulate the storm of emotions inside you. Perfect didn’t even begin to describe it. Everything had gone right this week—no deleted lap times during qualifying, pole position won by a margin that silenced all doubts, led every lap of the race with a calm precision that made it look effortless, managing his tyres like a seasoned champion, even with Carlos breathing down his neck for most of the race, and most of all, staying composed under immense pressure, the kind of pressure that would have unraveled almost anyone else.

Your chest swelled with pride as you thought about it. Lando had brought back the crown to McLaren, a team that had not tasted this kind of glory in over two decades. Twenty-six long years since their last Constructors’ title, and Lando had done it, not just for himself but for the team, for the legacy.

This was not just a win. It was history, and you are here to witness all its glory. You felt overwhelmed by the enormity of it all, but beneath the tears and the adrenaline was an overwhelming sense of pride. Pride for Lando, who had worked tirelessly for this moment. Pride for McLaren, who had never given up, and pride for this race, this perfect ending to an unforgettable season.

You wiped your tears, a smile breaking through as you took a deep breath. Lando had really done it, and you could not have been happier to be by his side for it all.

The energy under the podium was incredible, sea of papaya erupting into cheers as the three drivers took their places. You stood close to Cisca, both of you craning your necks to get the best view of the podium. The wide smile on her face mirrored your own, both of you practically glowing with pride.

Charles stepped onto the third spot to a round of applause. Carlos followed, climbing to the second step, where the McLaren fans cheered for him too, though the cheers were louder, almost deafening, when Lando finally appeared. He bounded up to the top step, his face breaking into a wide, relieved smile as he took it all in—the crowd and cameras.

Lando looked happy, truly happy. For a brief moment, his eyes scanned the crowd below, and when they landed on you, his smile grew even brighter. Without thanking, you blew him a flying kiss, and you could see the subtle way his shoulders relaxed, grin softening into something so tender it made your heart skip a beat.

The British National Anthem filled the whole circuit, and everyone quieted down as they turned their attention to the podium. You stood there with your hands clasped, looking up at him as the British flag waved proudly above his head. Lando’s eyes stayed steady, his expression filled with a quiet pride, and you knew he was soaking in every second of this moment.

When the trophies were handed out, your emotions bubbled over again. As Lando lifted the winner’s trophy high into the air, you felt tears sting your eyes once more. You clapped so hard your palms began to sting, but you didn’t care.

“Yes, Lando!” you Found yourself shouting, your voice mixing with the cheers of the teams and fans around you. Beside you, Cisca let out a joyful whoop, and you both exchanged a quick, tearful hug.

“That’s our boy.” Cisca whispered, and you nodded.

Then came the Constructors’ trophy, a moment you had been waiting for all day. Zak stepped forward to receive it, raising it high above his head with both hands as the crowd erupted in cheers. The sight of that massive trophy, finally back in McLaren’s hands after twenty-six years, made your heart swell with pride.

It was time for the spraying of champagne, and Lando immediately did his iconic champagne pop, spraying everyone with abandon. You laughed as Lando and Carlos shared a grin, drenching Charles before turning on Zak. You couldn’t stop smiling, your cheeks starting to ache from the happiness as you snapped a few more photos of them celebrating.

Champagne drenched, Lando joined Zak once again at the front of the podium, and together they hoisted the winner’s and WCC trophy high. You quickly reached again for your phone, capturing a photo of the moment—the bright orange suits, glittering of the trophy, and ecstatic smiles on their faces. It was a moment worth preserving, a piece of history you would cherish forever.

It was pure happiness on that podium, and looking up at Lando, drenched in champagne, trophy in hand, and beaming like the sun—you felt like the luckiest person in the world to witness it all.

The crowd outside the FIA garage was still buzzing with post-race excitement. You stood among the throng, your eyes scanning the door every few seconds, waiting patiently for Lando to come out. It had been a whirlwind day, and while you understood the endless media obligations he had to fulfill, you were eager to see him again.

Rebecca caught your eye from across the way, standing slightly apart from the crowd, waiting for Carlos. Her tall, poised figure was impossible to miss, and a smile spread across your face as you walked over to her.

“Rebecca!” you greeted warmly, reaching out to give her a quick hug. “I’m so happy to see you! I feel like I haven’t seen you all weekend.”

“I know, it’s been crazy, hasn’t it?” Rebecca replied, her own smile lighting up her face. “But I’m so glad we could finally catch up. Congratulations on Lando’s win, by the way. What a race!”

“Thank you,” you said, feeling your cheeks warm at the mention of Lando. “It still feels so surreal, and congratulations to Carlos too. P2, that’s amazing!”

Rebecca laughed softly. “Thank you. He’s been working so hard for this, but honestly, today was all about Lando. He was just unstoppable out there.”

You nodded, your chest filled up with pride at her words. “It was such a tough race, though. My nerves were shot the entire time.”

“I can imagine,” Rebecca said, her tone understanding. “But he did it, McLaren did it. What a way to end the season, right?”

Then, the sound of cheers caught both of your attention. Carlos appeared, his hair slightly damp from the champagne, and a grin spread across his face when he spotted Rebecca. She immediately stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him in a hug.

“Congratulations!” Rebecca said, voice soft but full of warmth.

Carlos returned her hug, murmuring something into her ear before turning to you. “Hey! Did you enjoy the race?”

“I did,” you said, smiling at him. “Congratulations on P2, Carlos. You were amazing out there.”

“Thank you,” he replied, his grin widened. “But the day belongs to Lando, doesn’t it? What a phenomenal drive from him.”

You couldn’t help but smile again, the pride you felt for Lando practically radiating from you. “He worked so hard for this.”

Carlos nodded knowingly. “He deserves every bit of it. Oh, and by the way,” he added, “he should be out any minute now. You won’t have to wait much longer.”

“Thanks, Carlos.” you said, your heart skipping a beat at the thought of seeing Lando again.

Carlos and Rebecca began to walk off as you stayed put, eyes drifting back to the FIA garage door, your anticipation building with each passing second.

Then, the crowd erupted in applause and cheers the moment Lando came out from the FIA garage. You joined in, clapping enthusiastically with the whole McLaren team members, media, and fans as they all celebrated him—the man of the hour, but Lando’s eyes were immediately searching for one person—you.

Lando spotted you in an instant and, without hesitation, made a run towards you. You barely had a moment to process it before he wrapped you in his arms, pulling you into a hug so tight it left you breathless. You could feel his sweat, mixed with champagne warm against yours.

Before you could say anything, he lifted you up and twirled you around. He then put you down, tilted your face up, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss so filled with emotion it made your head dizzy. There was no shyness in the way he kissed you—it was all passion, relief, and gratitude.

You could hear the cameras clicking furiously around you, capturing every second of the moment, but you didn’t care. Neither did Lando, it seemed, as his hands stayed firmly on your waist. When you pulled apart, you were smiling against his lips, your heart swelling as he looked at you with pure adoration.

“You did it.” You whispered.

“I did it,” he echoed, his breath warm on your skin. Then he nuzzled his face into your neck, his hair tickling your cheek as he inhaled deeply, grounding himself in your presence. “God, I missed you out there.” He murmured softly, voice muffled against your skin.

You stroked the back of his neck gently, still holding him close. “I’m so proud of you,” you said, boice steady but thick with emotion. “You drove like a champion today. I can’t wait for next season, my love. It’s going to be your year, I just know it.”

Lando pulled back slightly to look into your eyes, his gaze soft but sparkling with determination. “It’s our year,” he said firmly, his voice low but confident. “None of this would’ve been possible without you. I love you.”

You felt your cheeks flush at his words, and your chest tightened with overwhelming affection. “I love you too.”

He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before intertwining your fingers with his. Lando held your hand tightly, almost as if he didn’t want to let you go, even as the media and McLaren staff began to encroach on his space.

“I have to finish the media stuff,” he said reluctantly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles and bringing it over to his lips, apologizing for having to leave you again soon. “But I’ll see you right after, I promise. We’ll celebrate.”

“I’ll be waiting.” You said softly, giving his hand a squeeze.

After a hectic weekend that included celebrating McLaren’s Constructors’ Championship win in Bahrain with the crown prince, attending festivities at McLaren Technology Centre, and dressing to the nines for the FIA Awards, you and Lando finally returned home to his Monaco apartment. The calm of the familiar space was a welcome change from the high-energy chaos of the past few days, even though you knew it would be short-lived.

The December calendar was packed—at least for you, and with Lando tagging along. There was little time to breathe before the next string of obligations began. You and Lando would be flying again soon to Singapore to attend the wedding of Colin Khoo and Araminta Lee, a lavish affair that had already been dubbed as Singapore’s wedding of the century.

The Khoos and Lees were families deeply tied to yours—Colin being your cousin Nick’s best friend and practically an honorary member of your family, while Araminta’s younger sister, Sophia, had been your high school classmate, someone you remembered fondly for her warmth and kindness. These connections meant that your presence was not just requested, it was expected, especially given how your families’ businesses were intertwined.

However, the wedding itself was not the only commitment pulling you to Singapore. You were set to arrive days before the ceremony to attend Araminta’s bachelorette party, while Lando had been invited to Colin’s bachelor’s party. On top of that, your Ah Ma had scheduled one of her signature dinner parties—a must-attend event. The December social calendar wasn’t just busy, it was a finely tuned balancing act, with every minute accounted for.

After Singapore, you would fly to the UK to spend Christmas with Lando’s family. Then, it’s back again to Singapore for the New Year’s Eve celebrations with your family, a mix of traditions and festivities that always made the transition into a new year special. It would be exhausting, but you were accustomed to juggling personal commitments and obligations that came with your families’ global connections.

Amidst the chaos, there was an underlying sense of excitement. December was always hectic, but this year, it carried a certain weight of celebration and happiness. Even with the endless travel, extravagant parties, and obligations, there was comfort in knowing that you and Lando were navigating it all together.

You and Lando have 24 hours to go before your flight to Singapore, and you both stood in the bedroom, surrounded by open suitcases and neatly folded piles of clothes. The room buzzed with quiet energy as the two of you packed, double-checking everything to make sure nothing essential would be left behind. Lando had his usual approach—casual, unbothered, and occasionally tossing random stuff into his suitcase. While you, you were methodical, going down your checklist and catergorizing every outfit and item for the busy schedule ahead.

As you neatly folded a pair of trousers into your suitcase, you glanced over at Lando, who was holding up yet another hoodie and contemplating packing it. You let out a soft sigh, setting your clothes aside.

“Love,” you began, voice soft but teasing, “I know that hoodies and sweatshirt are your favorite, but you do remember my Ah Ma’s dinner party, right?”

Lando looked at you with mock indignation, a playful grin tugging at his lip. “Hey, what’s wrong with being comfortable? Hoodies are versatile.”

You laughed lightly and shook your head. “You’re not going to convince Ah Ma that hoodies are versatile.”

“But she loves me, so does it really matter what I wear?” he looked at you, a boyish grin spreading across his face.

You let out a chuckle. “She does love you, but she’s still very particular about dress codes. Hoodies won’t cut it, no matter how much she adores you. Trust me, formal is the only way to go.”

Lando groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the bed. “Formal? Again? Haven’t I worn enough suits this past few days already?”

You playfully rolled your eyes at his silly antics, you leaned over him and gently squished his cheeks between your hands, making him pout slightly.

“It’s only for a few hours, babe,” you said with mock seriousness, planting a quick kiss on his puckered lips. “You can survive. Also, our fit for the wedding was flown ahead to Singapore already.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, his hands sliding to your waist as he pulled you closer. “Really? You had our outfits sent ahead? That’s very fancy of you,” he teased, voice warm and playful as his fingers lightly traced your waist.

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning into him. “It wasn’t my idea—it was my Mom’s. She didn’t want us stressing about anything last-minute, so yes, everything’s already in Singapore, ready for the wedding.”

“Alright, I’ll dress properly. For you, and your terrifyingly strict Ah Ma.” he said, voice muffled by your hands.

“Thank you.” you pressed another kiss on his lips, then wrapped your arms around his neck. “I promise that it’ll be worth it, and besides, our outfits go so well together. We’ll be looking extra cute.”

Lando pulled you closer. “That’s the only reason I’m agreeing to this,” he joked, pressing a kiss on your lips. “Because we’ll look cute.”

With everything packed, you stepped back and returned to your checklist. “Now, let’s go through everything one more time,” you said, grabbing the notepad from your bedside table. “We can’t afford to leave anything important behind.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, his tone laced with humor. “We? I feel like you’re the one in charge here.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” you replied, giving him a pointed look. “I love you so much, but you forget things. Like all the time. So yes, I’m in charge. Just let me do this.”

Lando raise his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, boss. Whatever you say.” but the warmth in his voice and the way his eyes softened when he looked at you says that he did not mind one bit.

The private jet touched down in Singapore just as the clock struck three in the morning. The hum of the engines winding down felt like a soothing lullaby after the whirlwind of travel. As the jet taxied to the private tarmac, you stretched slightly in your seat, trying to shake off the haze of exhaustion that clung to you live a heavy blanket. It had been days of nonstop movement. From New York to Dubai to Monaco, and now, to Singapore—you were running on fumes.

One of your family’s drivers was already waiting by the car as you and Lando stepped off the jet. The humid Singapore air embraced you like a familiar friend, but you were too tired to notice it fully. Lando, looking equally worn out but managing a faint smile, grabbed your hand to guide you down the stairs. The driver greeted you both warmly, holding the car door open as you slipped inside.

The ride to your home in the high-rise district was quiet, with the city’s nightlife slowly fading into the early morning calm. You leaned your head against the window, eyes fluttering shut as the car glided through the streets. Every now and then, Lando’s hand would squeeze yours gently, keeping you awake despite your jet-lagged haze.

When the car passed through your front gates and stopped on your front door, you stumbled out first, kicking off your sneakers as soon as you stepped inside your home. The plush carpet felt like heaven beneath your feet. Lando followed close behind, carrying a couple of bags despite his own fatigue.

You muttered something incoherent about needing to unpack but barely made it past the living room before surrendering to your exhaustion. With a small groan, you collapsed onto the soft white couch, burying your face into one of the throw pillows.

“I’ll just close my eyes for a second,” you mumbled, voice trailing off as sleep claimed you.

Lando chuckled softly from where he stood by the entrance, arms full of bags. “A second, huh?” he murmured, watching as you curled up tighter.

He set the bags down carefully, and crossed the room to where you lay. Kneeling by the couch, he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face.

“Out cold already,” he said quietly, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

Despite his own exhaustion, Lando moved with quiet determination. Slipping an arm under your knees and another beneath your back, he lifted you up effortlessly. You stirred slightly, mumbling something that he couldn’t make out, but didn’t wake.

“Come on, sleepy head.” he whispered, adjusting his grip as he carried you towards the bedroom.

Navigating the familiar layout of your Singapore home, Lando easily found his way to the master bedroom. He nudged the door open with his foot and carefully placed you on the bed, taking extra care not to jostle you. You sighed softly in your sleep, instinctively shifting to get comfortable as soon as you hit the mattress.

Standing back for a moment, Lando shook his head with a small laugh. “You really pushed yourself this week,” he said quietly to himself.

Tugging the duvet from beneath you, he draped it over your sleeping form before heading back out to bring in the rest of the luggage inside the house. Once everything was inside, Lando returned to the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, his hand resting slightly on your shoulder. You didn’t stir, and he just smiled to himself.

“Guess unpacking can wait ‘til later,” he said softly.

Standing up, he turned off the lights, with only the soft glow of the city filtering through the curtains casting a gentle warmth over the whole room. With everything settled, he changed into some comfortable clothes and climbed into the bed beside you, wrapping an arm protectively around your waist as sleep finally overtook him too.

The soft afternoon light streamed through the curtains when you stirred awake, slowly coming back to consciousness. Stretching lazily under the covers, you blinked a few times before turning your head. Lando was already wide awake, leaning against the headboard with his phone in hand, scrolling idly. The peacefulness on his face made you smile softly. Sensing your movement, he glanced down at you, a warm grin spreading across his lips.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he murmured, setting his phone down on the bedside table. Lando leaned down to kiss you softly, his lips warm and familiar. “Finally decided to join the land of the living?”

“How long was I out?” you asked, voice still raspy from sleep as you shifted to prop yourself slightly.

“Hmm,” he murmured, pretending to think as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “A solid eleven hours, give or take. I think that might be a record for you.”

“Eleven hours?” you said, eyes widening in mock disbelief. “Well, I deserved that. That’s the most proper sleep I’ve gotten in days.”

“You definitely needed it,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You’ve been running on fumes.”

Instead of getting up and getting started on unpacking your things, you nestled yourself against Lando’s chest, letting out a content sigh as his arm settled securely around you—your things can wait. His other hand picked up his phone again, resuming whatever he had been scrolling through.

“What are you looking at?” you asked curiously, voice muffled against his shirt.

“Just catching up on messages and stuff,” he replied, his thumb flicking across the screen. “Few banter with Maximilian. Nothing too exciting.”

The two of you stayed like that for a while, basking in the comfort of each other’s presence. The steady rhythm of his breathing, the way his fingers idly traced small circles on your arm—it was the kind of peace you hadn’t realized you craved after the hectic days leading up to this.

After a comfortable silence, you tilted your head to look up at him. “Don’t forget,” you reminded him gently, “tonight’s my Ah Ma’s dinner party. My family will be sending a car to pick us up at six to drive us to her estate.”

He groaned playfully, letting his head fall back against the headboard. “Already? I was just starting to feel human again.”

“You’ll survive,” you teased, reaching up to pat his cheeks softly with a small laugh. “Besides, you love Ah Ma.”

“That’s true,” he admitted with a grin. “But does she love me enough to excuse me from wearing a suit?”

“Not a chance, my love,” you said, shaking your head. “She might adore you, but rules are rules. No hoodies at Ah Ma’s dinner table.”

He laughed softly. “Fine, fine. I’ll play along.”

Satisfied, you let yourself relax against him again, savoring the calm for another thirty minutes before you decided it was time to get moving. You sat up, stretching your arms above your head before climbing out of bed.

You noticed that you were still dressed in your flight clothes, so you opened your closet and pulled out a pair of comfortable home clothes, quickly changing. As you tied your hair up, you glanced back at Lando, who was still lounging on the bed, scrolling through his phone again.

“I’m going downstairs to grab a snack. Wanna come?” you said softly.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, finally setting his phone aside and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. As he stood and stretched, he added casually, “oh, by the way, Chris dropped by earlier. He brought us some of your favorite food.”

“Really?” you asked, brightening at the mention of your second brother. “What did he bring?”

“Everything, I think,” Lando replied with a grin, following you out of the room. “Laksa, chicken rice, sambal stingray—it’s downstairs. He figured we’d be too tired to cook, and, well, he’s not wrong.”

“Chris is the best,” you said fondly, making your way towards the kitchen. “And he definitely knows you can’t cook to save your life.”

“Hey!” Lando protested, feigning offense. “I can cook!”

You shot him a skeptical look over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Babe, toast doesn’t count.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he wrapped an arm around your waist while you walked. “Good thing I’ve got you, then.”

“Geez, what would you do without me, huh?” you teased, and he just chuckled.

Lando helped you unpack the containers of food that Chris had dropped off, carefully setting everything onto the counter. You grabbed a few plates and bowls from the cupboard, handing some to Lando while you began separating the dishes. The aroma of spices and freshly cooked rice filled the kitchen, reminding you just how much you had missed authentic Singaporean food.

“Baby, careful with that,” you said, gesturing toward the sambal stingray as you placed it on a plate. “I already know you’re not touching this one.”

“Yeah, no chance,” Lando replied with a playful grimace, taking a step back as if the dish might bite him. “Fish and me, we’re not friends. You already know that.”

You laughed, setting the plate down and moving on to the chicken rice. “Well, I figured as much. I separated the chicken rice for you since it’s the only thing here you’ll actually eat.”

“You’re too good to me,” he teased, kissing you on the forehead and pulling over a chair, sitting down at the dining table. “Though, to be fair, I think chicken rice is objectively the best option here.”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you carried the food to the table, placing his plate in front of him and your own dish next to it. “It’s not that you don’t like the other options,” you teased, sitting down in front of him, “you’re just a picky eater, babe.”

Lando picked up his fork, grinning. “I’m not picky. I just know what I like.”

“And apparently what you like is the safest, most neutral option,” you joked, scooping a bit of rice into your mouth. The flavors were as rich and satisfying as you remembered, and for a moment, you closed your eyes to savor it. “God, I missed this so much.”

Lando watched you, amused. “I think Chris might love you more than I do with how often he brings you food.”

You smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Well, he is my brother.”

As the two of you ate, Lando paused between bites to ask, “is Nick coming tonight?”

You nodded, wiping the corner of your mouth with a napkin. “Yeah, he is. He arrived yesterday, and he’s bringing Rachel with him, too. He wants to introduce her to Ah Ma.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly in interest. “Rachel, huh? That’s a big step.”

“It is,” you said, nodding thoughtfully. “But I think it’s the right time. They’ve been dating for over a year now, and Rachel’s really nice—very sweet, actually, and you can tell how much she loves Nick. I think she’ll handle tonight well.”

“I remember her from New York,” Lando said, gesturing with his form. “The double date? She seemed lovely then.”

“She is,” you agreed with a soft smile, thinking back to the time you all spent together in New York. “I’ve grown to love her. She became like a big sister to me, and a breath of fresh air. Rachel is really good for Nicky. I just hope everything goes smoothly tonight.”

“Remember when I met Ah Ma?” he said with a teasing grin.

You laughed at the memory, shaking your head. “Oh, don’t remind me. I was so nervous about how she’d react. You were the first person I ever brought to meet her.”

“Well, it went pretty well, all things considered,” he said, taking another bite of chicken rice. “Though I think she was testing me with all those questions about my plans for the future.”

“She was,” you admitted with a grin. “That’s her way of showing she cares, and you passed with flying colors, obviously. Ah Ma adores you, she even calls you a nickname, she rarely does that unless it’s her grandchildren.”

“Guess I made a good impression, then,” he said proudly.

“Of course you did!” you laughed.

“But Ah Ma’s a tough crowd, though. Think she’ll approve?” Lando asked, finishing a bite of chicken.

You leaned back in your chair, considering. “I think she will. Rachel’s got that quiet elegance about her, you know? She’s not flashy, not trying to prove anything. Ah Ma values that.”

“Well, if she’s got your seal of approval, she’ll be fine,” Lando said confidently, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand reassuringly. “And hey, if anything gets too intense, at least you'll have me there to lighten the mood.”

You chuckled, squeezing his hand back. “That’s true. You’ve got a way of making everyone like you.”

“Except for the sambal stingray,” he quipped, shooting a playful glance at the slightly untouched plate on the table.

The moment you finished your plate of food, you stood up from the table and made your way over to the fridge, searching for something sweet to finish off your meal. As you opened the fridge, you noticed a small box nestled on the top shelf with a red ribbon wrapped around it and a handwritten note on it. You quickly recognized your mother’s neat and elegant handwriting.

“I hope you and Lando enjoy this sweet treat. Stocked up your fridge for your stay, don’t forget to eat well. Love, Mom.”

A smile tugged at your lips as you grabbed the box and headed back to the table. “Look what my mom sent us,” you said, setting the box down in front of Lando with a grin. “Durian puffs!”

Lando gave you a wary look, his face already showing a bit of hesitation. “Durian puffs? You know I’m not exactly a fan of durian,” he said with a playful tone in his voice. “That stuff is…intense.”

You laughed, knowing exactly what he meant. “I know, I know. But trust me, these are different. They’re not as bad as the whole fruit, and they’re amazing when done right. My mom’s been baking them for years, you’ve got to try at least one bite.”

His eyes flickered to the box with a mixture of curiosity and caution. “I don’t know, babe,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “The last time you tried to get me to eat durian…I wasn’t exactly sold on it.”

You raised an eyebrow playfully, knowing it would take a bit of coaxing. “It’s not the same,” you said, opening the box and revealing the perfectly golden, puffed pastries inside. The familiar scent of durian filled the air, and you could see Lando’s nose wrinkle a little. “Come on, just one bite. You won’t regret it, I promise.”

Lando stared at the puff for a moment, clearly reluctant but still amused by your insistence. “Okay, fine,” he muttered, finally giving in. “But only because you’re looking at me like that.”

You smiled and grabbed one of the puffs, holding it out to him. “It’s not bad, babe, I promise. I used to eat these all the time when I’m here, and I’ve really missed them. It’s hard to find one of these in New York.”

He took a deep breath and hesitantly leaned forward, allowing you to tear off a small piece of the puff for him. Lando looked at it as if it were a challenge, then took a tentative bite.

You watched his expression carefully, curious to see how he would react. At first, his eyes widened slightly, and he chewed slowly, processing the taste. “Okay, I’ll admit,” he began, voice reluctant but tinged with surprise, “it’s not as bad as I thought.”

You smiled, delighted that he was starting to come around. “See? Told you. It’s a lot better than the whole fruit.”

Lando shook his head, smiling despite himself. “Yeah, yeah, you were right. It’s not terrible, but I’m not sure I’m ready to eat a whole one on my own.”

You grinned, knowing that wasn’t a problem. “That’s okay, we can share. It’s a pretty big puff anyway.”

The two of you ended up sharing the durian puff, breaking it into smaller pieces. You were glad Lando had tried it, he may not have been a huge fan, but at least he hadn’t refused outright this time. There was something so comforting about the familiar taste of home, especially when it was shared with someone who, despite their initial doubts, was willing to try new things for you.

He looked at the remaining half of the puff and then at you. “Alright, you win. I’m not sure I’ll ever be obsessed with durian, but I’ll give you this one. It’s better than I expected.”

“Glad to hear it, babe,” you smiled warmly, happy that he had at least made the effort. “Maybe next time you’ll be the one going for the second puff.”

The moment the clock struck six, you were already standing in the living room, ready and waiting for the car your family had sent to take you to your Ah Ma’s estate. You smoothed the fabric of your black popeline dress, its cinched waist and delicate midi length giving you an air of effortless elegance, perfect choice for the evening. Lando stood beside you, impeccably dressed in his black suit with the two buttons of his crisp white shirt left undone, the effortless style topped off with a tailored black coat. He looks very dashing—confident, yet understated in a way Lando could only pull off. You turned towards him, giving his outfit a final once-over.

“Hold still,” you murmured, dusting off an imaginary speck on his shoulder. Your fingers lingered there for a moment, gently straightening the lapel of his coat.

Lando chuckled softly, watching you fuss over him. “I think I’m good, babe,” he said, voice low and amused.

“You look so perfect,” you admitted with a small smile, your eyes meeting his.

As you stepped back to admire the two of you in the mirror, a flutter of nervousness settled in your chest. Before you could dwell on it further, the sound of the car pulling up in the driveway broke the silence. Your heart skipped a beat as you heard the soft hum of the engine outside.

He noticed the slight change in your expression and reached for your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Lando leaned down slightly, pressing a gentle and quick kiss to your lips.

“You okay, baby?” he asked softly, his warm hand resting briefly against your waist, and eyes searching yours.

You nodded but hesitated before answering. “I don’t know why I’m nervous,” you admitted, voice barely above whisper.

Lando smiled, warm and understanding, and laced his fingers with yours. “Well, don’t be,” he said, his thumb brushing the back of your hand. “I’m here with you. It’s going to be fine.”

The way his hand fit so perfectly with yours instantly eased the tension you did not realize you were holding. You took a deep breath, letting Lando’s presence ground you, and smiled back at him.

“You’re right,” you said softly.

Together, you walked to the door, where the chauffeur was already waiting. You offered a polite greeting, and Lando followed suit. The chauffeur gave a respectful nod and stepped forward to open the car door. Lando turned his attention back to you, placing his hand gently above your head to ensure you didn’t bump it on the way in.

“Careful,” he murmured, voice low and attentive. He guided the folds of your dress to make sure it didn’t catch in the door.

Once you were in, Lando slid in beside you, adjusting his coat as he leaned back against the plush seat. The door closed softly behind him with a thud, and the hum of the engine filled the silence as the car began to move.

The car ride was smooth, the city lights of Singapore streaming past the tinted windows in a soft blur. You leaned forward slightly. “Is my family already at Ah Ma’s?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the chauffeur replied politely. “They arrived a little while ago.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Okay, thank you.” you replied, tone warm but measured.

“See?” he said softly, leaning a little closer. “Nothing to worry about.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his calm reassurance. “I guess you’re right,” you admitted, relaxing into the seat.

As the car turned onto Tyersall Avenue, the familiar sight of the estate’s discreet entrance came into view. There was no house number, no grand signage indicating its presence, it was just two white pillars framing the hidden driveway and a rusty, almost-forgotten sign partially obscured by overgrown foliage that read Tyersall Park. It was understated, nearly invisible to passerby, yet exuded an air of exclusivity and history.

The car slowed down as it approached the entrance, and the soft crunch of tyres on gravel indicated the start of the long, winding path to the estate itself. The path dipped slightly, then climbed up a small hill, where a second set of gates awaited. These gates were far more imposing than the first—ornate yet fortified, with a guardhouse attached.

The guards stationed in the second gate were not your ordinary security personnel. They were Gurkhas, known as one of the skilled and feared soldiers in the world. Their presence was a quiet but powerful reminder of the importance and prestige of the estate they protected. They moved swiftly and efficiently, conducting a quick check of the vehicle and exchanging a word with the chauffeur. Then the gates creaked open, revealing another path towards the estate.

Beyond the gates, an avenue lined with towering palm trees stretched out before you, their elegant fronds swaying gently in the night breeze. The avenue seemed endless, a perfect symmetry of nature and design, drawing the eye toward the glowing silhouette at the very end.

There, perched at the top of the hill, was your Ah Ma’s estate. It was as magnificent as you always remembered, illuminated softly against the night sky. The sprawling sixty-four acre mansion stood like a timeless monument, its intricate details and architectural grandeur untouched by the passing years. The sheer scale of the place was enough to leave anyone awestruck.

Even though Lando had seen it before, he couldn’t help but let out a soft exhale as the estate came fully into view. He turned slightly to glance at you, expression a mix of admiration and disbelief. You caught his gaze and smiled, already accustomed to the reaction the estate always elicited. The car began its slow ascent up the final path of the driveway, the palms on either side growing taller as you approached the estate’s main entrance.

Lando stepped out of the car first, then turned to offer you his hand. You placed your fingers gently in his, letting him steady you as you stepped out. The cool evening breeze brushed against your skin as the soft hum of conversations and the melodic sound of the live jazz band spilled from the open doors of the estate. Lando closed the car door behind you, his other hand naturally finding its place on the small of your back.

The grandeur of the evening was already evident. The driveway was lined with luxury cars, some of which you instantly recognized as belonging to your cousins. The valet attendants worked with practiced efficiency, guiding the vehicles into neat rows, their movements sharp against the backdrop of the estate's golden lights.

You had not expected this many guests for tonight’s dinner party. But as you took it all in, you realized that it was your Ah Ma who decided to throw the party. She never did things by halves.

Walking toward the entrance, you glance up at Lando, who offers you a small, knowing smile. The two of you ascended the short flight of steps together, and as the ornate doors swung open, the dinner party unfolded before you in full splendor.

The grand foyer was alive with movement and sound. Guests mingled in their elegant attire, their laughter and chatter blending harmoniously with the smooth melodies of the jazz band playing in the corner. Servers moved gracefully through the crowd, balancing trays of drinks and hors d’oeuvres.

You were greeted by a server offering a silver bowl filled with water to rinse your hands—a subtle nod to tradition. You dipped your fingers in, feeling the coolness against your skin, before drying them with the soft cloth that came with it. Lando followed your lead, his actions slightly tentative but seamless nonetheless.

As the two of you moved further into the house, your eyes scanned the room, searching for familiar faces. The dazzling opulence of the house was on full display tonight—crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, and the polished marble floors gleamed beneath the soft glow of candlelight.

Everywhere you turned, there were familiar faces—relatives chatting in small groups, family friends laughing over shared memories, and acquaintances dressed to the nines.

Still, the absence of one particular couple was glaring. You glanced around, expecting to see Nick and Rachel somewhere among the crowd, but there was no sign of them yet. But, you quickly spotted your parents standing near the grand staircase, deep in conversation with one of your family’s close friends and business partners. You nudged Lando gently, and together you made your way over to them.

The moment your parents saw you, their faces lit up. Your father greeted you first, his smile wide and welcoming. “Ah, you’re finally here,” he said warmly, pulling you into a brief embrace before turning his attention to Lando. “Lando! It’s good to see you again.”

Lando grinned, shaking your father’s hand firmly. “It’s great to see you too, sir.”

Your father wasted no time, immediately congratulating him. “That was an incredible race in Dubai—phenomenal drive! Congratulations on the win, both yours and McLaren’s. It's very well deserved.”

“Thank you. It has been an incredible season,” Lando replied, voice filled with modesty. “But it was a team effort, really.”

The two of them quickly fell into a deep conversation, with your father mostly asking about the race and McLaren’s celebration plans, clearly very eager to hear more.

You turned to your mother, who had been quietly observing the exchange with a smile. “Mom, where’s Ah Ma?” you asked, leaning in slightly to avoid raising your voice over the lively music.

“She’s still getting ready,” your mother replied with a knowing look. “You know how she is with these things, everything has to be perfect.”

You just nodded, though you couldn’t help but glance around the room again, taking in the number of people. “I thought this was only supposed to be a small dinner party,” you said, with a hint of surprise in your tone. “It looks like Ah Ma invited half of Singapore.”

She chuckled softly, a knowing twinkle in her eye. “Ah Ma decided to invite everyone. She said that it’s been too long since she’s hosted a big gathering. Besides,” she added, lowering her voice slightly, “her Tan Hua is going to bloom tonight. She wanted everyone to see it.”

The mention of Tan Hua caught your attention. It is a rare flower known for its elusive and short-lived bloom—a source of pride for your Ah Ma. It was not just a flower, it was a spectacle, a family event in itself. You smiled faintly, imagining her excitement as she planned this evening down to the last detail.

Your mother smiled knowingly at the look on your face. “Don’t worry, my dear, everything will be perfect. Your Ah Ma wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You had only been standing with your family for a few minutes when you caught sight of Nick and Rachel making their way into the house. Relieved and happiness washed over you at the sight of the couple, and with a polite smile, you gently excised yourself and Lando to go greet them. As you approached, Nick’s face lit up, and Rachel’s warm smile mirrored your own. You immediately pulled Nick into a hug, patting his back affectionately.

“Nicky! I’m so glad you’re finally here,” you said, stepping back slightly to greet Rachel. “It’s good to see you,” you said sincerely, your smile widening.

Rachel replied softly, “we wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

Before you could even mutter a new response, the unmistakable voice of your cousin Eddie cut into the moment. Inserting himself into the conversation with his usual air of self-importance.

“Nicky boy! Long time no see!” He clapped Nick on the shoulder, then turned his sharp gaze to Rachel. “And this must be Rachel! I’m Eddie.” he said, tone teetering on the edge of charming and patronizing.

Rachel, ever polite, offered her hand for a brief shake and smiled lightly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Eddie’s eyes flickered to you and Lando next, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Ah, I see you’ve already met the princess and her prince.”

The exaggerated emphasis on the titles almost made you roll your eyes. You didn’t bother hiding the subtle tilt of your head as you fixed him with a pointed look, but Lando only smiled faintly, his hand resting at your back.

Eddie was treading carefully. He always does whenever he’s around you, especially after the infamous incident when you were kids. You had punched him squarely on the face for saying something particularly offensive, and he had cried so loudly that half of the family came running to see what had happened.

That memory was enough to make Eddie measure his words around you now, though it did not stop him from occasionally pushing boundaries. Still, you knew he had nothing bad to say about Lando. Eddie, despite his many faults and flaws, respected wealth, and Lando’s background made him untouchable in Eddie’s eyes.

He shifted his attention back to Rachel, his smile tightening into something that looked more like calculation. “So, Rachel, from which Chu family are you from?” Eddie asked, the question clearly designed to assess her pedigree. “Chu Investments? Chu Shipping? Chu Constructions? Or maybe Chu Real Estate?” he rattled off with confidence, pausing after each one as if expecting immediate recognition.

Rachel, to her credit, handled it with grace. She shook her head gently at each suggestion, her polite smile never faltering. “No, I’m not from any of those families,” she replied, voice calm and pleasant.

Eddie didn’t seem deterred by her response. In fact, it only seemed to fuel his determination. “Really? Huh. Well, you must be from somewhere,” he said, leaning slightly as he named another family one after another, tone growing more insistent with each guess.

You watched the exchange with thinly veiled annoyance, your patience wearing thinner with every word out of Eddie’s mouth. You glanced at Rachel, who remained composed but was clearly growing weary of the interrogation. Nick, standing protectively beside her, shot you a look that said he was just as over Eddie’s antics as you are.

Eddie, oblivious to the awkwardness he was creating, pressed on. “Come on, you can tell us,” he said, as if her lineage were some kind of secret puzzle only he could solve. “Surely you’re related to one of the prominent families. There aren’t that many Chus of significance, you know.”

The annoyance just flickered greatly in your chest, not just for Rachel’s sake but for Fiona’s as well. Fionna, who stood a short distance away, casting occasional glance at her husband with that familiar expression of quiet resignation. You had seen that look too many times, the silent endurance of someone used to being overshadowed by Eddie’s insufferable personality. Events like this were her only reprieve, and whenever you were around, you made it a point to keep Eddie in check, and tonight would be no different.

“Eddie,” you said, voice calm but firm, cutting through his monologue like a knife. “I think Rachel’s already answered your question.”

Eddie faltered for a moment, mouth half-open as he turned to look at you. There was a flicker of something, annoyance perhaps, but it quickly disappeared and was replaced by his usual smug expression.

“Oh, of course,” he said smoothly, though his tone was anything but apologetic. “I was just curious, that’s all.”

“Anyway,” you said brightly, offering her a reassuring smile, and steered the conversation away from Eddie entirely, “I’m so glad you both could make it. Ah Ma will be thrilled to see you.”

Rachel returned your smile, shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. “Thank you.”

Eddie clearly sensed that his moment in the spotlight was over, he gave a small, self-important sniff and stepped back. You did not miss the way his gaze lingered on Rachel for a second longer than necessary before he excused himself, most likely off to find another conversation where he could insert himself.

“Thank you for that,” Nick muttered as soon as Eddie was out of earshot, voice quiet but sincere.

You waved it off with a small laugh. “It’s literally nothing,” you said lightly, though the underlying frustration lingered. “Eddie just can’t help himself sometimes.”

Lando turned to you, brows raised in curiosity. “So, has anyone ever knocked some sense into him? Or is he still walking around thinking he’s God’s gift to everyone?”

Nick, unable to contain himself, let out a laugh. “Oh, there’s definitely someone who knocked him out. Literally,” he said, motioning towards you with a tilt of his head.

“You?!” Lando exclaimed, laughing.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance, though you could feel the heat creeping up your neck. “In my defense,” you said evenly, “Eddie was much worse when we were kids. He’s always been a menace, constantly looking down on people, and giving all of his nanny a hard time. Someone had to do something.”

“And you did, all right.” Nick snorted. “He cried like a baby. I still remember his face, all red and snotty. It was priceless.”

Lando laughed, eyes gleaming with both amusement and pride. “I can’t believe I’m only hearing this story now. You never told me you could throw a punch.”

“I only did it because he deserved it,” you replied, crossing your arms lightly. “And don’t ever get any ideas. I’m not planning to make a habit out of it.”

Nick shook his head, still grinning. “Trust me, he’s toned it down around her ever since. Eddie might be insufferable, but even he’s smart enough to know not to push his luck twice.”

The conversation then shifted, with Nick and Rachel both congratulating Lando on his win in Dubai. “By the way, congrats again,” Nick said, clapping Lando on the shoulder. “That was one hell of a race.”

“Thank you,” Lando replied, tone modest but appreciative.

“We watched the whole race,” Rachel added, smiling warmly. “It was really incredible. You really deserved that win.”

“Speaking of race,” Nick grinned mischievously and turned to you. “The camera caught a great moment during the podium ceremony.”

You immediately knew where this was going and groaned. “Oh no. Don’t.”

Nick ignored you. “You should’ve seen her, Lando. The camera panned to her during the ceremony, and there she was, ugly crying like a soap opera actress.”

“It was actually really sweet. You could tell how proud she was.” Rachel giggled, covering her mouth.

You rolled your eyes playfully, though your lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “I was emotional, okay? It was a big moment.”

Lando glanced at you, his expression softening. “I thought it was cute,” he said simply, earning a playful scoff from you.

After a few more minutes of lighthearted conversation, Nick checked his watch. “We should probably go find Mom, I still need to introduce Rachel to her.”

You winced slightly but kept your tone encouraging. “Good luck,” you said sincerely. “I hope it goes well.”

Rachel gave you a grateful smile. “Thank you. Fingers crossed.”

Nick, ever the joker, winked at you. “Don’t worry. If it doesn’t, I’ll call you to change her mind.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as they walked away. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

When Nick and Rachel left, you and Lando wandered into one of the quieter corners of the house, a haven away from the bustling party. The dim lighting and the soft hum of conversation filtering through the walls made the space feel intimate and the warm aroma of desserts and dumplings filled the air, a bubble of calm amidst the grandeur of your Ah Ma’s estate. Lando sat close to you on the plush couch, dessert plates balanced on the small glass coffee table in front.

Lando picked up a delicate slice of kueh lapis with his fork and took a bite, humming appreciatively at the sweetness. “This is dangerous,” he said, leaning back comfortably. “Jon’s definitely going to say something when I step on the scales.”

You chuckled, leaning into his shoulders. “Oh, just wait until Ah Ma sees you. She’ll tell you to eat more and probably have the kitchen make an entire feast just for you.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Ah ma’s great, but I don’t think I can keep up. You saw how much food was at dinner alone.”

“Ah Ma loves feeding people,” you replied with a small smile, reaching for one of the dumplings.

Lando grinned, his aquamarine eyes sparkling with humor. He broke a piece of ondeh-ondeh in half, letting the green glutinous skin stretch slightly before offering you a bite. “Here, try this.”

You took the offered piece and bit into it, the burst of sweet palm sugar making you hum in delight. “I missed this,” you said, savoring the flavor.

He took the other half for himself, nodding as he chewed. “Not bad,” he said, swallowing. “Though I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the texture.”

“You're surviving,” you teased, reaching for a slice of steamed yam cake.

As the conversation flowed, the topic shifted naturally to your plans for 2025. “I’ll come to more races next year,” you promised, setting the plate down. “I want to be there for as many as I can, and we should also travel more too—there are so many places we need to see together.”

Lando smiled, expression softening. “I love the sound of that, and you moving to Monaco, finally. I’ve been waiting for ages.”

“Well, my apartment’s already sorted,” you reminded him with a small shrug. “But I’ll come over to yours everyday. You won’t even notice the difference.”

“Or,” he suggested, leaning in closer, “you could just move in with me.”

You laughed, lightly nudging him. “Nice try, Romeo. My parents bought the apartment already, remember? I can’t just ditch it.”

“Fine,” he said dramatically, throwing his head back against the couch. “But I’m holding you to that promise. I expect to you at mine every single day.”

“I promise,” you replied as you gave him a soft peck on the lips.

Then, a resonant sound of a cambodian gong echoed through the house, immediately catching your attention. Moments later, your mother’s voice, calm yet commanding, carried through the room. She stood with your Auntie Alix by her side, gracefully addressing the guests, tone filled with warmth and gratitude.

“Thank you all so much for joining us this wonderful evening,” your mother began, pausing to let her words settle. “It’s such a joy to have everyone here, especially on this special evening.”

Auntie Alix smiled, chiming in, “we’d like to invite everyone to the courtyard now, to witness the blooming of the Tan Hua. It’s a rare and special occasion, and it feels even more meaningful to share it with all of you tonight.”

There was a soft murmur of excitement as the guests began to make their way toward the courtyard. You turned to Lando, who was already grabbing your plates from the table. Wordlessly, you followed suit, stacking the dishes carefully and walking together toward the area designated for the dirty dishes. You discarded them neatly, brushing your hands off before turning back to him.

Lando reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours as he often did, a reassuring gesture that made your heart settle. Together, you walked through the wide open doors that led to the courtyard. The cool evening air greeted you, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass.

Ahead, the garden had transformed into an enchanting space, bathed in moonlight. The Tan Hua plant, placed on a pedestal under a canopy of soft lights, stood as the centerpiece. Its elegant, slender buds were illuminated in the gentle glow, and the pale moonlight seemed to highlight every delicate curve of the plant.

You noticed your Ah Ma nearby, two of her ladies-in-waiting carefully helped her into a chair that had been placed by the Tan Hua, with your Auntie Alix, your mother, and your Auntie Eleanor joining beside her. She moved slowly but with the dignity and grace that defined her. Faint murmurs of admiration around you quieted as everyone gathered closer.

The moment the first bloom began to open, a collective gasp rippled through the crowd. The petals unfurled slowly, revealing a pristine white flower that seemed to glow against the dark backdrop of the night. One by one, the other buds followed suit, their blossoms opening in a synchronized rhythm as though they were performing just for this audience.

You glanced at Lando, who was watching with quiet amazement, his eyes reflecting the glow of the flowers. You couldn’t help but smile softly at his expression, the wonder evident on his face. Around you, people whispered in awe, voiced hushed as though afraid to disturb the magic of the moment.

“It’s beautiful,” Lando said quietly, voice barely above whisper.

You nodded, squeezing his hand gently as your eyes returned to the blooming Tan Hua. Your Ah Ma, seated serenely in her chair, looked on with a contented smile, her presence leading an even greater sense of significance to the moment. The flowers seemed almost otherworldly as they completed their bloom, each one perfect and untouched, the rarity of the event settling in for everyone present.

The party had now shifted to the expansive courtyard, with the guests scattered around tables adorned with crisp white linens and glowing centerpieces. The soft melodies of the live jazz band, now situated under a canopy of string lights that filled the evening air, lending an elegant yet relaxed atmosphere.

You and Lando made your way through the crowd, hand in hand, weaving between clusters of chatting relatives and friends, until you reached the section where your family was gathered. Your Auntie Alix was the first to notice you. Her warm smile lit up her face as she pulled you into a gentle hug.

“Dear, it’s so good to see you,” she said softly. “You look so lovely tonight, and Lando, as dashing as ever!” you thanked her with a laugh, glancing at Lando, who nodded politely in return.

Your Auntie Alix always had a way of making you feel at ease, she’s kind and a very down-to-earth woman. It always puzzled you how Eddie could have turned out so…different, given how wonderful both his parents are. You turned to your mother and gave her another hug, then lastly, your Auntie Eleanor, who stood with a poised air, gaze sharp yet affectionate. She acknowledged you and Lando with a nod.

“Good to see you,” she said briskly before allowing a small smile to break through. “Lando, congratulations on a successful season. You’ve done very well.” Lando thanked her sincerely, and you exchanged a few pleasantries before excusing yourselves to greet the woman you had been searching for all night—your Ah Ma.

She was seated regally in an ornate chair that is adorned with soft cushions, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting and closest confidantes. As you approached, you greeted her in Mandarin, your tone very respectful and warm.

“阿媽，很高興見到你,” (ah ma, it’s so good to see you) you said, dipping slightly in a gesture of reverence. Her face lit up instantly, her wrinkled hands reaching out to clasp yours.

“啊，我珍貴的孫女,” (ah, my precious granddaughter) she said, voice steady but laced with emotion. Her eyes scanned you from head to toe, and she smiled approvingly. “今晚你是如此美麗。 這件衣服，很適合你。 像蓮花一樣.” (you are so beautiful tonight. This dress suits you perfectly. Like a lotus flower)

You thanked her shyly, and her attention quickly shifted to Lando, her smile widening even more. She extended her arms toward him, and Lando, ever the gentleman, leaned down to embrace your Ah Ma warmly.

“Ah Ma, it’s so nice to see you again,” he said gently.

She chuckled, patting his arm as if Lando were a favored grandchild. “Lan Lan. You look very handsome,” she said in her Mandarin-laced English voice. “Why are you so skinny? Do you not eat? Have you eaten tonight?” her sharp eyes scanned him critically, tone carrying both affection and worry.

You couldn’t help but laugh quietly, recalling your earlier conversation with Lando. He glanced at you, his lips twitching into a sheepish smile before responding, “Ah Ma, I ate earlier, and I’ve been eating tonight too. Don’t worry.”

She shook her head lightly, still unconvinced. “You need to eat more. Racing may be important, but health is more important.” her gaze softened further as she turned back to you both. “You must take care of each other,” she added firmly.

“Especially you,” she looked directly at you, her hand resting on yours, voice lowering in emphasis. “Take care of him, but also make sure you take care of yourself. Lando, make sure you also take care of her too. Always.”

Lando nodded earnestly, his voice steady. “I promise, Ah Ma. I’ll always take care of her.”

“Good,” she said simply, giving your hand one last squeeze before settling back into her chair.

Not long after, Nick and Rachel appeared, weaving their way through the guests until they reached your group. Your Ah Ma’s face lit up the moment she spotted Nick, her expression softening with a mix of happiness. She straightened in her chair, reaching out toward him as he approached.

“Nicky,” she said warmly, her voice carrying a slight tremble. “時間太長了。 太長了 你很幸運我還活着見到你,” (it has been too long. too long. you’re lucky I am still alive to see you) she added with a teasing yet heartfelt tone, eyes glistening faintly.

Nick crouches slightly to be at her eye level, taking her hands in his. “阿媽，我好想你,” (ah ma, I missed you so much) he said sincerely, his tone apologetic yet filled with affection. “對不起，我花了這麼長時間纔回來,” (i’m sorry it’s taken me this long to come back)

Your Ah Ma clicked her tongue softly, her grip firm. “重要的是你現在在這裏,” (what matters is that you are here now) she said, voice soft. “但不要讓我再等這麼久，明白嗎?” (but don’t make me wait this long again, understand?)

Nick nodded with a smile. “我不會的，阿媽，我保證.” (I won’t, Ah Ma. I promise)

Then, with a small glance over his shoulder, he gestured toward Rachel, who stood quietly beside him. “Ah Ma, I want you to meet someone very special to me.” he turned to Rachel, who stepped forward, expression poised but warm.

Rachel greeted your Ah Ma in Mandarin, her tone respectful and her words careful yet fluent. “阿媽，謝謝你邀請我去你美麗的家,” (ah ma, thank you for inviting me to your beautiful home) she said, dipping her head slightly. “尼克告訴我很多關於你的事，尤其是你的餃子。 他說你做得最好.” (nick has told me so much about you, especially about your dumplings. he says you make the best in the world)

Your Ah Ma’s sharp eyes softened at Rachel’s words, a small smile tugging at her lip. “啊，沒什麼,” (ah, it’s nothing) she replied modestly. “如果你喜歡，我可以教你如何製作它們.” (if you like, I can show you how to make them)

Rachel’s face lit up, and she responded earnestly, “我會很榮幸的。 尼克高度評價他們，還有你.” (i would be honored. nick speaks so highly of them, and of you)

“很好,” (good) she said simply. “但是你必須很快來。 不是今晚，有太多的伸長脖子，流言蜚語。 下次，當它更安靜的時候.” (but you must come back soon. not tonight, there are too many craning necks and gossiping mouths. Next time, when it’s quieter)

You watched the exchange with a faint smile, pleased to see how your Ah Ma was beginning to warm up to Rachel—she might even end up really liking Rachel. It was clear that your Ah Ma appreciated Rachel’s efforts to respect tradition and connect with her.

As Nick and Rachel excused themselves right after the conversation they had with your Ah Ma, you discreetly turned your attention to your Auntie Eleanor, who had remained silent during the interaction. She leaned towards your Auntie Jacqueline, who had joined the group just moments ago, she murmured in a low voice, her words clipped yet unmistakable.

“When children are away from home for too long, they forget who they are,” she said, gaze pointedly fixed on Nick and Rachel, who were now walking away, laughing softly and exchanging affectionate glances.

You caught the subtle disdain in her tone, her disapproving eyes lingering a second too long on the couple. They looked every but in love—completely engrossed in each other and blissfully unaware of the scrutiny that they were both under. Your Auntie Jacqueline hummed softly in response, neither agreeing or disagreeing, but her expression remained neutral as she sipped her champagne.

However, you on the other hand, felt a small flare of irritation at the remark, biting your tongue to keep from reacting, knowing it would only escalate matters. Instead, you turned your attention back to Lando, who gave your hand a gentle squeeze, as if silently reminding you to let it go.

The evening had stretched long, and though the party had been filled with laughter, music, and warmth of family, your energy was waning. As the guests began to filter out one by one, you and Lando moved through the courtyard, bidding polite goodbyes to your relative. Your Ah Ma gave you both a lingering hug, whispering for you to take care of yourself before letting you go, and by the time you reached your car, your social battery was completely drained.

The drive home was quiet, filled only with the hum of the engine and the occasional flicker of streetlights through the windows. Lando’s hand rested on your thigh, his thumb rubbing lazy circles against your dress, offering a wordless comfort.

When you finally arrived home, you sighed in relief, slipping off your heels the moment you crossed the threshold. The familiar sensation of the cool floor against your feet grounding you, and you wasted no time heading towards the bedroom, Lando trailing close behind.

As you entered the room, you turned to him and asked, “can you please unzip me?” your voice was soft, almost sleepy, gathering your hair and sweeping it to one side.

Lando stepped forward, his hands brushing lightly against your back as he found the zipper. But before he pulled it down, he leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to the curve of your neck. The warmth of his lips sent a shiver up your spine, and you let out a quiet giggle as it tickled you.

“Lan, baby, stop it,” your tone was playful, though you didn’t move away.

“Just one,” Lando murmured, grinning as he finally slid the zipper down.

You slipped out of the dress carefully, draping it over the back of a chair before turning to Lando. “The wedding festivities start tomorrow,” you reminded him as you grabbed one of Lando's oversized white shirts to pull over yourself. “Colin and Araminta’s bachelor and bachelorette parties.”

Lando flopped onto the bed, watching you as you moved around the room. “I told Nick earlier that I won’t be able to make it to Colin’s party,” he said, propping his head on his hand. “I’ve got a last minute important Quadrant zoom meeting with Max tomorrow. But honestly, I don’t think Colin will even notice I’m missing. That guy will be too busy enjoying himself.”

“Well, let’s just hope that Colin and Nicky will have fun with the party that Bernard Tai had organized,” you snorted, heading to your walk-in closet to grab one of your suitcases. “But anyways, Rachel was invited to Araminta’s bachelorette party. It’s three days at Samsara Island.” you added, opening the suitcase and began to fold clothes into it.

Lando raised a brow. “Samsara Island?”

“Yeah, it’s a private island that her family owns,” you explained. “Rachel’s going, and I’m going too. She’ll need someone to look out for her.”

Lando sat up a little straighter. “Why? What’s the issue?”

You sighed. “Some of the girls Araminta invited are…well, vicious. They have a way of making anyone they see as an outsider feel unwelcome. I’m not letting Rachel deal with that alone.”

He reached out, tugging you gently towards him so you were standing between his legs. “You’re a good friend,” Lando said, hands softly settling on your waist. “But don’t let them drag you into any unnecessary drama, alright? Just keep an eye on Rachel and have some fun too.”

You smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “I’ll try,” you said. “But someone has to make sure Rachel’s okay.”

“I know,” Lando said, voice light but sincere. “That’s why I’m glad she has you.”

You then continued to pack, and as you folded the last set of your clothes and placed them neatly into your suitcase, the room was filled with the quiet rustle of fabric and the occasional click of your luggage zippers. Lando was sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard, watching you thoughtfully.

”you know,” you began, glancing at him as you folded a light blouse, “I don’t think it went well when Nicky introduced Rachel to Auntie Eleanor tonight.”

Lando’s brows furrowed slightly. “Why do you think that?” he asked, tone curious but concerned.

You sighed softly, pausing to place the blouse carefully into the suitcase. “It was shown all over his face,” you explained. “Then when Nick and Rachel left after introducing Rachel to Ah Ma, I overheard her. She made a comment to Auntie Jacqueline about how children who are away from home for too long forget who they are.”

He shook his head, confusion evident. “But why?” he asked. “Rachel’s amazing. She’s kind, sweet, and educated, I don’t get it. Why wouldn’t your Auntie Eleanor like her?”

Straightening, you turned to him, leaning against the dresser for a moment. “It’s kind of complicated,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “It’s not about Rachel as a person—yes, everyone can see how nice, educated, and well mannered she is. But it’s more of where she comes from.”

Lando frowned, still not understanding. “What do you mean? She’s Chinese, right? I mean, that’s what matters to your family, isn’t it? That she shares the same culture?”

“Yes, she’s Chinese, sure. But she’s what some people here would call ABC—American Born Chinese.” you said. “She grew up in the states, and culturally, Rachel’s not the same as us. To someone like Auntie Eleanor, that’s a big deal. She sees Rachel as…not on the same level as our family.”

His confusion shifted to disbelief. “Not on the same level?” Lando repeated. “Why? Because she wasn’t born in Singapore?”

“It’s more than that. Auntie Eleanor is a very traditional woman, just like every woman in our family. To her, someone like Rachel doesn’t understand or respect our family’s values and traditions. And,” you hesitated for a moment, “she probably thinks Rachel is only with Nick because of our family’s money.”

Lando’s jaw tightened slightly. “That’s really ridiculous,” he said firmly. “Nick and Rachel clearly love each other. Even a blind person can see that.”

“I know, I know,” you agreed, letting out a sigh. “But Nick is the only child and son, and just like Uncle Philip, his father and Ah Ma’s only son—he's the presumptive heir to the family fortune. Auntie Eleanor wants someone for Nick who comes from the same kind of background, someone who’s good enough based on her standards. Kaki lang.”

“Kaki lang?” Lando repeated, head tilting at the unfamiliar phrase that caught his attention.

“It’s a Hokkien phrase,” you said with a small smile. “It means our kind of people. Someone who’s from the same world. In this case, someone from an old money family like ours.”

“So…is that what your family thinks about us?” Lando leaned back slightly, processing everything. “Do they think I’m not kaki lang?”

You closed your suitcase with a final zip and turned to him, moving to sit beside him on the bed. “Lan, baby,” you said softly, placing a hand on his arm. “Definitely not. No. My family loves you. Ah Ma adores you. You saw how happy she was tonight when she saw you. My parents think you’re wonderful, they’ve never said a single bad thing about you.”

Lando looked at you, his expression still a little uncertain. “But…with all these expectations about family and background, I can’t help but wonder what they really think. I mean, you come from an environment where family and tradition are everything.”

You reached up to cup his cheek, tilting his face toward you. “Listen to me, Lando Norris,” you said firmly. “You’re part of my life, and my family has welcomed you with open arms. You saw it tonight—the way my Dad was so happy for you after your win, the way Ah Ma hugged you and told you to eat more. If they didn’t approve of you, they wouldn’t treat you that way at all.”

“You’re sure?” he asked quietly, his gaze softened as he searched your eyes.

You nodded. “A hundred percent. You don’t have to worry about what anyone else thinks. You’re with me, and that’s all that matters.”

“Alright,” he murmured. “I trust you.”

You leaned in, pressing a light kiss to his forehead. “Good. Now, let’s get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

Lando chuckled softly. “Yeah, especially for you. I’ll miss you while you’re off playing bodyguard for Rachel.”

You laughed, the sound light and warm. “I’ll miss you too.”

[stevie-petey]

episode nine: the piggyback

“It’s always been you,” Steve whispers, lips pressed above your brow. “The six kids. The family I’ve always wanted. Traveling the countryside. My dream, it’s always had you in it.” You laugh, breathless and in love. “I know, honey.” Sickly sweet warmth cascades through you. Your lips find Steve’s, you kiss the smile off his face. He lets you. “I’ve always known it was going to be the two of us.”

Summary: operation save hawkins is a go. youre eagle one, steve is currently doing that, eddie is youd be lying if you said you havent thought about it, nancy is it happened once in a dream, robin is if you had to pick a girl, and dustin is eagle two. what could possibly go wrong ? spoiler alert: everything. literally everything goes wrong. might as well break a few promises while youre at it. for the plot. but at least its over, right? .... right?

Rating: general, some swearing, violence

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, cursing, weapons, blood, death and gore, injuries, lowkey suicidal thoughts

Words: 8.5k (we broke tradition where the last chapter is the longest but tbh this is probs for the best)

Before you swing in: oh my god this is the end. i am. very very emotional rn. this story is my baby and i dont know what im going to do now that its done. i cant even write an in between chapter because we still dont have season 5 content :((( im gonna miss writing this story, and i will absolutely go crazy waiting for season 5 so i can write again. these next few months will be ROUGH but !!!! thank you guys so so so much for reading. all your comments/reblogs/kudos/likes have meant the world to me. im truly the luckiest girl ever :') for now, and for the final time... enjoy !

–

It’s pitch black outside. All around you is darkness. The sun is long gone, its golden warmth no longer present, retreating into the treeline as if afraid of what the night will bring. 

You’re afraid, too.

Everyone stands around Nancy. The group is quiet as you await whatever she has to say. When she turns to face you, her voice is leveled, calm, but her hands shake. 

She’s afraid, too.

“Okay,” Nancy exhales deeply. “I wanna run through it one more time.” She looks at Robin, prompting her to recite everything back. “Phase one?”

“We meet Erica at the playground.” Robin responds. “She’ll signal Max and Lucas when we’re ready.”

“Phase two.”

You step forward. “Max and I will bait Vecna. When he goes after one of us, he’ll go into his trance. If he chooses Max, we’ll go onto phase three together.”

“And…” Nancy swallows, looking away. “And if he chooses you?”

It’s Steve who steps forward this time. He stands tall, brave, but his voice shakes. “Then I’ll stay with her, walkman ready, while you and Robin go on your own.”

You grab his hand, squeezing it. He squeezes back. 

“Speaking of phase three.” Dustin clears his throat, weary eyes never leaving you. “Me and Eddie wil draw the bats away.”

“Carefully,” you look pointedly at your brother. “Right?”

He rolls his eyes at you while Nancy continues speaking. “Okay, phase four.”

“We head into Vecna’s newly bat-free lair and…” Robin holds up a molotov cocktail. The liquid sloshes around. The scent of gasoline still stings your nose from when you helped her pour it into the bottles earlier. “Flambe.” 

“Nobody moves onto the next phase until we’ve all copied. Nobody deviates from the plan, no matter what.” Nancy reiterates, looking around the RV. Her eyes linger on you, cautious, almost doubtful. She trusts you. She knows she trusts you. But she also knows your heart and the lengths you’ll go to save others. 

Nancy has always admired your selflessness, but she’s also always seen it as your greatest strength and weakness. A coin, two sides. Now, tonight, she has to hope that you’ll follow the plan. Even if it means leaving Max behind if she’s the one Vecna chooses.

Your eyes harden when you realize what Nancy is thinking. Without saying anything, you nod at her. The jut of your chin tells her that you’ll be fine. That she needs to trust you. 

Eddie’s trailer is only a few yards away, but the walk to it feels like decades. Steve guides and Nancy is close behind him. You stay back, walking beside Dustin. Your shoulders brush. His presence grounds you, reassures you that you will make it through the night. 

Dustin, sensing your fear, reaches for your hand. He extends his warmth to you, silently promising you that he will always be here. There isn’t anything left to say.

Steve opens Eddie’s door, turning the lights on and tossing his backpack to the ground. He eyes the rope that connects the trailer to the Upside Down, getting ready for the part of the plan that you honestly really hate.

“Be careful, please.” You urge him, uncomfortable that he has to be the first one to return to the hell that is the Upside Down. It makes sense, he’s the only one able to climb the rope up, but still. You’ve had shit luck these last few days.

“I’m always careful, angel.” Steve winks at you, rolling his sleeves up. “Here goes nothing.”

He climbs up quickly, years of being an athlete being put to use. Everyone watches anxiously. However, when Steve crosses through the gate and lands with a cheesy flip, you and Robin share a disgusted look. 

“What, does he want us to applaud?” She scoffs.

You shake your head. “Sometimes I think he has an imaginary audience in his head.”

“Do you think they ever boo him?” “Not like we do.”

Nancy covers her mouth, muffling her laugh, and Robin snorts. You smile at the two of them, momentarily forgetting what’s to come.

“Alright,” Steve shouts up, tossing down Eddie’s old mattress. “Let’s go.”

You take a deep breath, steadying your nerves. Wiping your hands on your jeans, you place them on the rope and prepare for the inevitable torture that this will be. You’re pretty sure you’re bleeding again. 

“A little help?” You ask the others, motioning towards your injured leg and shoulder. “Sorta out of commission.”

Eddie grips your waist while Robin and Nancy gently hike your legs up. Together the three of them are able to carry you almost all the way up. Breathing through your nose, you grit your teeth and climb the rest of the way, wincing every few seconds. The pain is unbearable.

You really hope you don’t sound as pathetic as you look.

When you land on the mattress, small, black dots litter your vision. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

Steve is already bending down, helping you up with ease. “And ruin Munson’s tidy home?”

Woozy from pain, you bat Steve away and wait for the others to join. Nancy comes next, then Robin, then Eddie and Dustin. Weapons get tossed down. Bodies land on the mattress with finalizing thuds. 

Outside, it’s just as cold as you remember it. Eddie and Dustin stay in front of the trailer. This is as far as they’re going. They aren’t leaving.

Roughly you pull at your brother. His body lands against yours, but the kiss your press to his forehead is gentle. You haven’t done this since he was a kid. Dustin flings his arms around you, nearly knocking all the air from your lungs. He squeezes you tight, as terrified as you are, and you feel tears in your eyes.

“We’ll come home,” your whisper is hoarse, rough and desperate. You bury your face in his mess of curls and kiss his head again. “The house won’t be empty.”

Dustin sniffles, too weak to hide his tears. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Your throat burns. How can you possibly leave him? 

Vision blurry with tears, Eddie manages to catch your attention as you cling onto your brother. The teen nods, lifting his pinky in the air to wave it at you, reminding you of his promise to you. He’ll protect Dustin. He swore it.

Reluctantly, you pull away from Dustin and wipe your face. “Please don’t die. Who knows what Mews’ ghost would do to you?” Dustin laughs wetly, wiping his own face as well. The thought of your childhood cat haunting his grave is enough to lessen the sting of letting you go. 

“If things here start to go south, I mean, at all, you abort.” Steve breaks the remorseful silence. He doesn’t want anyone getting hurt. He doesn’t want you losing anyone else. “Draw the attention of the bats, keep ‘em busy for a minute or two. We’ll take care of Vecna. Don’t try to be a hero or anything.”

His tone is harsh, but you know Steve means well. You also don’t want Dustin and Eddie anywhere near danger. As long as they stick to the plan, they’ll be fine. They have the quickest escape route and the most amount of protection.

“What Steve is trying to say is that you two better climb back through the gate the moment anything bad happens.” You look at the two boys. They stare at you, grim faced. “I mean it, okay? Go through the gate, don’t try anything else.”

“We’re the decoys, we get it.” Dustin rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry. You and Steve can be the heroes.”

“Look at us,” Eddie nudges your brother’s shoulder. “We’re not heroes.”

Your stomach twists. You hate how Dustin views his and Eddie’s position. They aren’t just decoys, they’re heroes in your eyes. They’re facing an army of bats all on their own, but you don’t dare say this out loud, afraid to encourage them. 

“Just…” your mouth is dry. “Just be safe, alright?”

“We will.” Eddie swallows. Then he pauses, his gaze darkens slightly. Looking back at you, he breathes out, “And make him pay.”

You and Steve look at each other. So much of Eddie’s life has been ruined by Vecna. Even if you all make it out of here alive, killing Vecna, there’s no guarantee that Hawkins will accept him back into the town. You understand the anger that resides within Eddie. The desire to kill the very thing that has destroyed everything he loves. 

You bite your lip. You’ve never made a promise you haven’t been able to keep. But this time you’re facing something bigger than anything you could’ve ever imagined. All this time you’ve tried convincing yourself that you’ll win. That everything will work out.

But you remember last summer. 

The mall. The fire and the deaths. Hopper. Billy. The power Vecna seems to hold, his claws that have sunk into you and Max. His threat to Nancy. The danger that Hawkins is in, up above where your mother sleeps peacefully. Unaware of what you’re sacrificing for her.

This is more than anything you’ve ever dealt with before. But a promise built on an unsteady foundation is all you can give Eddie. 

“Well will,” you echo his earlier promise.

Eddie smiles at you. The one you’ve grown to like, even find charming. Slanted and mischievous. The glint in his eyes never dimmed, even after everything. Through it all, he remained kind.

This is how you’ll always remember him.

– 

The further you walk away from Eddie and Dustin, the harder you have to force yourself to keep going. Your body is heavy, the weight slowing you down, pleading with you to go back. None of this feels right.

Steve’s hand on the small of your back is the only thing keeping your heart from collapsing. Robin’s smile helps, too. 

“You’d think this place gets less creepy the second time around.” She says, stepping over a root. “But I’m still pretty damn creeped out.”

“It isn’t the most pleasant place.” You agree. 

Robin steps over another root, looking back at you as she does so. “At least I’m here to protect you, Y/N. Pretty brave, don’t you think?” “Hey,” Steve warns. “Watch it.”

You knock your shoulder against his and smile apologetically at Robin. “Like always, I think you’re the bravest.”

She smiles proudly, throwing her fist in the air in excitement. However, after stepping over a root for what feels like the tenth time, her heart starts to pound. Looking around, all the trees suddenly look the same. Have you been here before?

“Not to alarm anyone, but I swear we’ve seen this tree before.”

“That’s impossible.” Nancy dimisses.

You agree. “We’re in the woods. All we’re going to see are trees.”

Robin tries to calm herself down, but ultimately fails. There are so many components to the plan, so many ways it can go wrong. “I mean, that would suck, right? Veca destroys the world because we got lost in the woods.”

“We aren’t lost–” You try to reason with her, but Robin is already running away in a panic. You scream at her, terrified of losing her. “Robin!”

“I’ll be back!”

You start to stumble after her. “Why does everyone want to separate?” You huff out, nearly tripping. “There’s safety in numbers! Come back!”

Nancy, seeing your fear for your friend and horrible coordination skills, steps in front of you. “I’ll go after her. You stay here with Steve.”

And then she’s gone, disappearing into the mass of branches alongside Robin. 

“They’ll be fine,” Steve reassures you, grabbing your hand. “They’re tough, even if Robin may lose her mind sometimes when she’s distressed.”

“I think we’re all slowly losing our minds.” You laugh, bitter.

Steve tightens his hand around yours. The two of you walk in silence for a while. The thunder above you serves as a reminder of where you are. The darkness is a threat. But you’re here, together. That’s all that Steve cares about in the end.

“Did you really mean what you said? Back at the cemetery?” He asks, clearing his throat in unease. The question has been on his mind ever since he heard your pleas for Vecna to take you instead of Max. 

He thinks of how adamant you’ve been to protect her. How you’re only here with him right now because Max wouldn’t let you blindly walk towards your death. 

The question strikes deep guilt within you, yet an exhaustion follows. You’re ashamed of how desperately you pleaded to die. Steve and Dustin had to hear you beg for your death. Lucas, too. 

You’re ashamed. Yet you wouldn’t take it back.

“I did.” You finally say. “I wanted him to take me.”

Steve already knew you’d say this. He’d been expecting anger to follow, to be furious with you for sacrificing yourself knowing he’d be left to pick up the pieces. 

But seeing the way you set your jaw and stare ahead, seeing the resolve that masks your face, the acceptance of your decisions, Steve can’t bring himself to be angry. Not at you. 

This is who you are.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” Steve promises you again. He will always promise this to you. Over and over again, he will die saying these words to you. “I-I can’t lose you. I refuse to lose you.”

Your eyes remain downcast. 

“I know that this is how you love,” he grabs your jacket, begging you to look at him. “I know that I can’t let you lose the ones you love. Dustin, Max, Robin, Lucas, or El or Mike or Nancy. Hell, even Jonathan. I won’t let you lose them, but I won’t lose you, either.”

He understands, then. The selflessness within you and its selfish ways. Yet he doesn’t shy away or hiss at its venom. Steve opens his hands and allows the selfishness to stay there, warming it with his skin. 

You kiss him. Surprising both him and you, yet you melt together. Steve circles his arms around your waist, pulls you flush against him, and in the cynicism that surrounds you, there is still love. 

“Thank you,” you breathe against his lips. He’s wonderful. He loves you wholly, without any faults. Your kindness and its destructive ways; he accepts it all. “Thank you for understanding.”

And this, you believe, is the most selfless act a person can do. Steve’s understanding of why you need to do this, to sacrifice your life for Max’s, even if it means he risks losing you. 

“I should be the one thanking you,” Steve kisses you again, softer this time. Slower. 

You pull back, confused. “Why?” He pulls you in again. “I mean, I don’t know if you know this, but I was a pretty huge asshole back then.” You laugh softly, and Steve knows he’s exactly where he’s meant to be. “You saw this good in me that I didn’t know existed. Right off the bat you saw through me, expecting more from me than anyone else ever did. I wouldn’t be who I am now without you. ”

“Steve…”

“And I’m sorry for thinking you didn’t see a future with me.” He continues, unable to stop now. This is everything he’s wanted to tell you ever since you allowed him into your life. “I know it’s stupid now, apologizing for our fight a week ago after the hell we’ve been through since then, but…”

He can’t believe he almost let something as small as a misalignment of where you’ll be a year from now jeopardize what you have. There is a string that attaches Steve to you, it brought you to him and tied your heart to his. 

“I meant what I said, Y/N.” Steve’s forehead presses against yours. “I’d wait forever if it means I can have forever with you.”

His eyes shine down at you, brown and warm. The honey you fell in love with when he pretended not to know your name, all to get you to laugh. 

“When your head went under the water, that night at Lover’s Lake, I thought you were dead.” Your voice shakes, remembering the fear that choked you. “For those thirty seconds, I thought you were dead, and it almost killed me.”

It was then that you realized how truly you can’t lose Steve. You’ve always known this, but to have his soul ripped from yours so suddenly, so permanently, there are no words to express the agony that poisoned you. 

Losing him would be the one thing you’d never recover from.  

“I don’t ever want to live through those thirty seconds again,” you’re crying. Steve is, too. He wipes a tear that falls, strokes your cheek, and you can’t bear the thought of a world without his touch. “I want forever with you, too. We’ll figure it out, but I’m not losing you. You have to be in my life, in whatever capacity. Whether you’re in a small, cramped apartment with me in New York or in Hawkins, waiting for me to come home.”

Your breath hitches. To think that a childish argument almost separated him from you. 

“As long as we come home to one another, it doesn’t matter.” 

Steve is quiet after you’ve said all this, and for a moment you’re scared you’ve said too much. Revealed too much of yourself, convinced him he’s gotten it all wrong, but then he cradles your face. His hands are soft, tender, the weight of them familiar against your skin. 

He kisses your forehead, and you exhale the last of your uncertainty. All that is left within your lungs is love. 

“It’s always been you,” Steve whispers, lips pressed above your brow. “The six kids. The family I’ve always wanted. Traveling the countryside. My dream, it’s always had you in it.”

You laugh, breathless and in love. “I know, honey.” Sickly sweet warmth cascades through you. Your lips find Steve’s, you kiss the smile off his face. He lets you. “I’ve always known it was going to be the two of us.”

Steve smiles, wide and bashful, and you know that this is where you’re meant to be, too.

“Hey, guys!” Robin breaks through the treeline, running back with Nancy right behind her. “Awesome news!”

“We aren’t lost.” Nancy cuts to the chase. “We think the Creel house is up ahead.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” You step out of Steve’s arms, though your hand remains intertwined with his. “Let’s go face imminent doom.”

Nancy huffs out a laugh and Robin winces, though Steve squeezes your hand and is the first one to start walking. Together, the five of you descend deeper into the woods.

Unsurprisingly, the Creel house is even more terrifying in the Upside Down. Bats surround it, their screeches stinging your ears. Lightning flashes a deep, blood red and the thunder that follows causes your heart to drop.

You stand at the crest of the hill. There’s a light below you, its glow pure in the abandoned park where it resides. The same park that you told Erica to hide in as she waited for Max and Lucas to take their place. The light flashes.

It’s time for phase two.

– 

“Max is moving into phase two: distracting Vecna. Y/N, get ready.” Erica’s voice carries into the Upside Down.

Nancy, Robin, and Steve all turn to you. Grief and longing taint their faces. Your walkman hangs from Steve’s hand. He grips it tightly. Tension coats the air, nearly suffocating you; you can’t run anymore. 

No one says anything as you carefully lower yourself to the ground. It’s cold beneath you. Hard, unforgiving. You cross your legs, ignoring the deep ache of your wounds as you do so. You close your eyes. The storm is coming. 

“Take the bait, you son of a bitch.” You hear Nancy whisper. 

You or Max.

Take me, you silently beg. Take. Me. 

Silence settles over the group. Everyone waits with bated breath. No one knows who Vecna will choose. 

Steve stands nervously behind you, his hand on your walkman at all times. 

Just take me. Kill me instead of her. If you’ve watched me for so long, then just get it over with. Don’t make this easy, don’t be such a fucking coward.

The words echo in your head. Taunting Vecna, hoping their malice will be what saves Max. That he’ll choose you in the end, give you what you want. You’ll do whatever, say whatever you need, if it means Max will come home. 

Something pricks your skin. An uncomfortable, electric sensation coats your entire body. 

Vecna. 

For a moment you think he’s listened. You can feel his presence, the weight of him shadows in your mind. He’s here, he’s spared you mercy after prolonged cruelty. He’s chosen you and Max will survive. Her blue eyes will remain bright, her body alive.

Then it all comes crashing down.

“He chose Max. I repeat, he chose Max.” Erica says, voice cutting through the delusions you allowed yourself to get lost in.

Your ears are ringing. Somewhere in your body there is still oxygen that has not escaped you, but you cannot find it. He chose her. 

Robin radios Dustin and Eddie, you think she’s instructing them to move onto phase three, but her words are jumbled in your mind and you can’t hear anything besides the screaming in your head. 

He chose her.

“Y/N,” someone roughly grabs your shoulder. “Y/N, look at me.”

Nancy. She’s in front of you, kneeled down. She grabs your arms, her grip vicious. Her mouth moves. She’s saying something, the way her chest heaves makes you think she’s yelling.

Is she yelling at you?

“Y/N!” The ringing doesn’t subside, but you manage to look at Nancy. “We need to go!”

She’s right. You need to leave. There isn’t time to remember how to breathe. You know this. Somewhere in the distance there’s music. Guitar rifts through the wind, Eddie’s melody enrages the bats that swarm the Creel house. They’re gone in seconds, flying towards the sound, and you need to stick to the plan. 

Your head moves shakily, managing a small nod, and Nancy yanks you up with Steve’s help. She looks at Robin, and suddenly her and Steve grab your arms and force you to walk alongside Nancy. They aren’t aggressive as they do so, nor are they cruel. But you can’t afford to shut down. Not now.

Max won’t survive if you do. There’s no time to hesitate. No turning back.

You hope she finds the light.

Lightning flashes all around you, illuminating the Creel house as you stand before it. Steve opens the door first. The vines that cover the ground writhe at the disturbance. He shines his flashlight, his heart drops when he realizes just how infested the house is.

“Shit,” he breathes out. The floor is virtually impossible to walk across. “That’s not good.”

Then, because he has no other option, Steve starts jumping to any safe spot he can land on. He looks ridiculous as he does so, but for once you aren’t focused on that. Instead, you stare down at your injured leg and wince.

“Great,” your thigh is currently more blood than flesh. Jumping on it is quite literally the last thing you should be doing. “This is gonna hurt.”

“At least you have good balance?” Robin offers, though she doesn’t believe what she’s saying either. 

Nancy grabs your hand, then Robin’s. She looks at the two of you and smiles, trying her best to look reassuring. “It’s okay. You guys got this.”

The first jump hurts, setting the remaining nerves in your upper thigh on fire, but you can’t afford to scream or collapse. You have to remind yourself that the vines are interconnected. One wrong step, one miscalculated fall, and they’ll wrap viciously around you. 

It’s a slow, tedious process trying to get to the attic. The stairs are the hardest part. The vines twist with every step, slithering across the walls. Steve does his best to help you, offering you his hand for support, but you both hold your breath every time your foot slips. 

When you make it to the attic door, everyone readies their weapons. In one hand are your knives, in the other a molotov cocktail. Steve spins you around, digging into the backpack for an ax while Nancy grabs her gun. 

Your foot lifts, about to step forward, before the ground beneath you shakes violently. The entire house trembles, and Steve barely has enough time to catch everyone as all of you struggle not to fall. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You sneer, holding desperately onto Steve. This is all some sick, cruel joke. A poorly timed rupture in your rapture.

But then the house stills. Everything is quiet. You, Nancy, Steve, and Robin stare at one another, panting. Nobody moves. There’s a clarity in the air, a false sense of security. 

That’s when the first vine latches onto Robin. 

It folds around her ankle before tearing her away from you. She screams, so do you, and her body is thrown against the wall as more vines encase her limbs. They move fast, snake like, and everything unravels after that. 

“Steve! Y/N!” She screeches, terrified. “Nancy!” 

You’re at her side in a second, stabbing at the vines. Your knuckles are white as you grip your knives, your biceps strain. You aren’t letting them take Robin from you. “Hold on!”

Your teeth grit together in exertion, sawing as fast as you can. Steve and Nancy are on the other side, throwing their axes as hard furiously into the vines. But nothing works, they’re too thick, and you don’t realize that one of the vines has wrapped around your arm until it’s too late.

“Y/N!” Steve screams when your body gets lifted into the air. You try to fight it, to pry your arm away, but your legs give out and soon a second vine wraps around your other arm. Then a third, a fourth and a fifth. 

In seconds you’re pressed against the wall. 

“Steve!” Screams are ripped from your throat, you try to call out, to beg for your life, but the more you move, the tighter the vines constrict.

Steve calls after you, ramming into the wall as he tries to cut you loose. “I got you! I–”

The ax he’s holding gets yanked back by a vine. He’s launched into the air, body landing harshly next to yours several feet up the wall. He screams again, but his voice dies when a vine cuts off his breathing and chokes him.

Another vine coils around your throat and suddenly you can’t breathe. Your airway constricts. Sobbing, you try to reach out to Steve. You’re inches apart, his fingers are so close to yours that you can feel their warmth, but you can’t reach him

All you want to do is hold him. 

Nancy falls to the ground, the last victim. She gets thrown to the opposite wall, it all happens so fast that she doesn’t even have time to scream. 

Your vision blurs. You close your eyes.

This is how you’ll die. 

Far away from your home. No one will find your body down here. Dustin will come looking for you and he’ll face the same fate. He will die trying to find you. Vecna will destroy everything you’ve ever loved.

Your lungs burn, fighting for breath that they cannot get. Blood rushes to your head. You take your last breath. The sound of it echoes in your ears. 

Everything goes black. 

Your mother will be worried about you. 

I’m sorry.

– 

There’s a body beneath yours. 

It groans, gasping for air, but your vision is dark and you can’t see anything. Pain erupts in your wrist. You try to move it, but the sting makes you nauseous. 

There’s coughing all around you, but you’re too weak to suck the air back in. Everyone cowers for breath. The vines rescind, unwrapping themselves from your skin. There’s a body beneath you, and a gentle hand cups your cheek, you know it’s Steve.

“Breathe, angel.” His voice cracks, wounded. It hurts to speak, but he needs you to breathe. “Y/N, you have to breathe.”

Everything is numb. Your lungs are empty; you can’t remember how to fill them. Steve coaxes your lips open, blows air in your face, does whatever he can think of to get you to breathe, before finally, miraculously, you inhale sharply and begin coughing. 

“Are you alright?” Steve asks you softly, rubbing your back as you cough. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

Your throat is raw. It takes everything within you to speak, but you want to. You need to. There’s only one thing you want to say. “We have to make him pay.”

The anger is back, and Steve’s jaw sets. Vecna has hurt you. He’s hurt everyone you love. He’s chosen Max for his final death and your fury threatens to devour the sanity you have left. You’re tired of his shitty mind games.

It’s like what you promised Eddie: you have to make Vecna pay for what he’s done to you all.

“I don’t believe in a higher power,” Robin rasps, breaking you from your thoughts. “Or divine intervention. But that was a miracle.”

Nancy cocks her gun, already walking towards the attic door. “Then we better not waste it.”

“Phase four.” Steve says, steadying himself against you. 

“Flambe.” Robin finishes. 

You flick your knives out. “Let’s finish this.”

– 

Vecna’s body hangs in the attic, thick, gruesome vines attach him to every crevice. He’s unmoving, eyes closed, and seeing his body up close makes you want to gag. He’s a terrible, vile creature. 

But Dustin had been right: Vecna is in the same trance-like state that El goes into when she uses her powers. 

Without being told to, Robin sets down her bag. All the molotov cocktails are inside. Everyone grabs one, silent. Almost as if you’re all too afraid to break the spell he’s under. You only get one shot at this. 

Steve has the lighter. You hold the first cocktail up, and he looks at you, eyes shining. He asks you if you’re ready, if this is what you really want, and you nod. At your signal, Steve throws the cocktail into the air.

The bottle shatters against Vecna’s body. The flames engulf him, the impact of the blast so powerful that it knocks you and everyone else back. There’s an awful scream as Vecna’s vines begin to snap from the sudden heat.

Your screams mix with his, throwing another cocktail with every ounce of strength you have left in you. You’re bruised and bloodied and exhausted, but you think of Max. You think of Billy and Hopper. Eddie and how his life will never be the same again. You think of Chrissy, Patrick and Fred. All the innocent lives that have been lost for a cause that you despise. 

This is for them. For Hawkins. For your home.

The last of the vines die withering away, and Vecna’s body falls to the ground. He stands, body on fire, and stalks towards you. His eyes are only on you. 

Robin lights the final cocktail and the force of it sends Vecna stumbling back. It’s enough to break through his chest, and he’s weak. Weaker than you’ve ever seen him. 

“Shoot him, Nancy!” You cry, ready for this all to end. 

And she does.

The first blast pierces Vecna’s skin. The second, third, and fourth diminish him to ruined pieces. With every shot, Nancy steps forward, drawing him out, and you’re right behind her. Vecna releases a deep, furious roar. The sound of it sinks into your bones, but you no longer fear him. 

He isn’t worth your fear. 

Nancy raises her gun again. She deals the final blow, sending Vecna through the old, rotted wood of the house into the dark night. He falls, screaming, before everything is quiet. 

The roar of the fire that surrounds you is the only sound. You all stand in the attic, numb. None of it feels real. All that’s left of Vecna is a hole in the house, his body far below, sprawled on the concrete outside. 

“Did we…?” You’re afraid to jinx it, to somehow bring him back. But this has to be it. There isn’t any other way for this to end.

Nancy doesn’t say anything. Instead, she turns around, running back down the stairs. No one has to ask why she does this; you all know. There has to be a body. There must be tangible proof that you’ve won.

Everyone runs outside.

Vecna’s body is gone. 

The only indication that he’d been there is an outline of flames that molt the grass below it. But there is no body.

“No,” you run down the steps, kicking through the grass as you look around. You’re frantic, sprawling on the ground as if you’ll find him buried beneath the ash. “No, where is he?”

You killed him. He was on fire. Nancy put more than five bullets in him. He fell from the attic, a height that alone should’ve killed him. Where the fuck is he? You did everything right. Followed every step of the goddamn plan.

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Something is wrong, you just don’t know what. Steve and the others join you. They’re quiet, fearing what you’re refusing to even consider. Four deaths. That had been all Vecna needed. But you killed him. “None of this makes sense, unless… Unless he–”

No. 

A bell chimes. 

The sound sends you to the ground. Your knees give out, collapsing under the weight of it all. “No!” Your scream is loud, guttural. Tearing from your chest as it tears out your vocal chords. There’s blood in your mouth and you want it to choke you. 

It’s Max. 

He got her. He killed her. 

All of a sudden there are arms around you. Someone carries you back up the stairs, back into the house that has taken everything from you. Steve holds you to his chest as he, Nancy, and Robin stare at the grandfather clock before them. 

It’s alive.

“Four chimes,” Nancy’s voice can barely be heard above your crying. “Max…”

The realization settles upon all of you. You’re in hysterics, no one can calm you down. You’re crying so hard that you can’t breathe, but you don’t want to breathe anymore. 

Grief pours from you in cruel, bitter waves. All you do is cry, barely even registering the earthquake that follows your devastating loss. 

Steve has to set down your crying figure in order to stabilize Robin and Nancy. You curl into yourself on the ground, making yourself as small as possible. There is too much. It’s all too much. Your head digs into the floor beneath you, cutting you, and your tears mix with the blood. 

Over and over again the clock chimes. Like laughter. His laughter. 

He won. 

Steve holds onto the stairs as the earthquake worsens. He has to crawl over to you; you’re rocking back and forth on the ground, your cries heard even above the cracking of the earth. His hand wraps around your weeping body and he won’t let you go. Steve tries to shield you from fallen debris, the world is falling apart, but you don’t move.

You don’t care anymore. 

It’s always your fault in the end. You lose everyone eventually; you get them killed. You can never save them. You will never be able to save them.

She’s gone. 

Max is gone. 

– 

The days pass. You’ll come to remember them in fragments. 

Returning to Eddie’s trailer and finding Dustin crying over his dead body. Prying him away, your tears mixing with your brother’s when you have to tell him that something has happened to Max.

Finding Hawkins in flames. Seeing the deep gashes in the town you grew up in. Stumbling to the Creel house, racing side by side with the ambulances for everyone within the once quiet town, and collapsing again when you find no one there. 

Going home. Your mother’s arms breaking you. 

Steve. How he never left your side throughout it all. Holding Dustin’s hand, unable to stop crying. 

Visiting Max in the hospital the day after. The stench of sterilizer and surgical tools. Seeing her lifeless body still alive. The countless other bodies in the building that died due to your failure. 

When the news broadcasters announce Hawkins to be cursed. The burden that you can’t tell them that they’re right. The guilt seeing your baby brother’s limp. Another scar he will carry with him forever. 

All the hurt in the town. The pain. 

The collapse of your home; they’re calling it an earthquake. 

It all comes to you in flashes. 

Hawkins high school gets converted into a donation center for everyone dishoused. Visiting it is your idea. You can’t bear the thought of spending any more time inside your home knowing there are hundreds of others who no longer have a place to call home. 

“Anything else?” You place your old comics into one of the boxes you’re donating. 

Dustin shakes his head. “That’s the last of it.”

He hasn’t left your side in days. He still keeps your walkman on him, though neither of you know if it’s important anymore. Dustin is afraid that you’ll never put the headphones on again, even if it could save your life. 

You tape the boxes up, carefully writing down their contents on one of the flaps. Your fingers are scabbed. Your wrist is stiff, locking up if you move it too suddenly. 

Books.

Bedding. 

Clothing.

Anything you can offer, you’d give it all to Hawkins if you could.

Steve picks you up. He helps you put the boxes in the back of his car, gentle with you as always. “You guys ready?”

You nod weakly, and Steve kisses your forehead, careful of the cuts that litter it. He helps you into the car. Turns on your favorite songs. Tries to distract you from the wreckage that encases Hawkins as he drives; you keep your head down. You can’t look at any of it. 

Nancy is waiting in her driveway with Robin, a pile of their own boxes at their feet. They greet you kindly, warmly, with an air of fear that you’ll break, and you’re too tired to pretend. 

“I found some more of your old stuff in the attic,” Mrs. Wheeler walks out of the garage, smiling despite the circumstances. “I think it’s lovely you’re doing this, Y/N.”

“We all just want to help,” you politely respond, staying near Steve’s side. 

Nancy picks up one of the stuffed animals in the box and pouts, seeing her old favorite toy. You’re about to tease her, try to laugh, when a pizza delivery van speeds down the block. 

“Someone order a pizza?” Mrs. Wheeler asks.

“Not that I recall.” You mumble, confused as your eyes follow the car. Every business in Hawkins is shut down right now. It doesn’t make sense for there to be a pizza delivery.

It parks in front of the Wheeler’s, and when you see who steps out, you drop the box you’re holding and run towards them. 

Will and El throw themselves around you, hugging you tightly. Dustin joins, and holding them again, having them here with you, makes everything okay for a moment. Your kids are okay, they’re safe. 

“Are you okay?” El asks you, pulling away slightly. Her eyebrows knit in concern when she notices the cuts on your face and how red your eyes are. “Did he get you?”

Somehow you aren’t surprised that she knows about Vecna. 

“I’m okay, sweetie.” Her hair is buzzed. Already you miss the long strands she once had. You don’t know what she’s been through this last week, but you hope, more than anything, that she hasn’t lost her kindness. “I-I’m okay.”

Your voice catches at the end, and immediately El understands that something else happened.

“We were worried about you,” Will doesn’t let you go. “When El told us what was happening, Jonathan almost lost his mind.”

Jonathan.

Hearing his name makes you remember everything. Instinctively your eyes find him. They always do. Jonathan has Nancy in his arms, but when he senses your eyes on him, he looks up at you. He will always be able to find you. Your heart stops, looking into his once familiar brown eyes.

Jonathan rushes towards you, as he always does, and his arms around you feel like home. 

“Bug,” he breathes against your neck, holding onto you tighter than he ever has before.

You melt when the nickname drips from Jonathan’s lips. It’s been so long since someone has called you that. It’s been even longer since you’ve held Jonathan like this. 

“God, what happened to you?” His eyes roam your body, catching on your bandaged shoulder and thigh. The cuts on your cheek. You try to ease his concern, grabbing his hands, but Jonathan starts to ramble. “We-we tried to get back to Hawkins as soon as we could. The second El told me you were in danger I–”

He inhales shakily, presses his face deeper into your neck. “All I could do to stay sane was think of your voice. Of our last phone call.”

You bury your face into Jonathan’s messy hair. You’re crying, but for what, you don’t know. His scent is bittersweet. His arms are reminiscent of what was once. You’ve missed him, but nothing will ever be the same again.

“I need to see her.” El’s raised voice causes you to let go of Jonathan. She’s standing in front of Dustin, arms crossed, and you know he’s told her the truth. “Take me to Max.”

“What’s wrong with Max?” Mike slings an arm over your shoulders, putting all his body weight against you in greeting. “Miss me, Henderson?”

You move his arm down, forcing him into a hug. You want to remember these next few seconds. The remnants of his childhood before it comes crashing down on him. “I did, Wheeler.”

Mike hugs you back, but when he sees the distress on El’s face, he lets you go and walks towards her. “What? What’s going on?”

Dustin is the one who breaks the news. Shamefully, you know it should’ve been you, but you haven’t been able to say Max’s name in days. There’s too much guilt, remorse, resentment that it hadn’t been you. 

It’s a mess of tears and panic when Dustin tells them. Will covers his mouth, holding back tears, while El storms inside the pizza delivery van as Mike demands that Jonathan take him and everyone else to see Max. They don’t believe any of it. El told them that she saved Max. 

“Are you coming, Y/N?” Jonathan holds his keys up. Everyone else, including Nancy, are already inside. A boy your age, you think his name is Argyle, waves at you from the passenger seat. 

So much has changed. Unable to form the right words, you shake your head at Jonathan. Yet even after months apart, he understands your unspoken words. You can’t see Max again. Not yet. It’s too soon, too much for you to bear.

Seeing her limp body once was enough. 

“We’ll be back,” Jonathan hugs you one last time, pressing a kiss to your hairline as he lets you go. “I promise.”

Steve steps forward then, wrapping an arm around your waist as he stands next to you. The two teens lock eyes, Steve gives Jonathan a cool, steely look. He remembers what you’ve told him. He remembers Jonathan’s words to you before everything collapsed. 

Sensing his anger, you squeeze Steve’s arm. Not here, you beg him. Not now.

Exhaling slowly, Steve offers you his hand. You take it, allowing him to walk you back to his car as the others leave.

– 

The donation center is packed. There are so many people inside, sitting on makeshift cots and pinning missing posters of their loved ones to a bulletin board. Nurses tend to the injured. Mothers cradle their children. The sight makes you ache. All these people, displaced by what they believe to be an earthquake.

You set the boxes down at the main dropoff table, and though the kind employee praises you for how organized the boxes are, you can’t help feeling that you should be doing more. 

In the hundreds of injured and grieving people you’ve seen, you’ve only noticed a handful of workers. 

“Is there any way we can help?” You ask the woman, looking around with a frown.

“Truly anything.” Robin says. “We just… we want to help.”

The woman seems surprised, and you wonder how rare it is for kindness to still be in a town that has known nothing but turmoil these last few years. 

You and Steve get placed sorting clothing while Robin is assigned to the food station. Dustin passes out cups of water for everyone. It isn’t much, but the work is meaningful and it eases the tension in your chest. 

“So…” Steve folds a t-shirt. “Can I ask about Jonathan yet?”

Picking up tattered jeans, you place them in the trash pile. “Might as well.”

“How do we feel about his sudden arrival? I mean, the giant pizza statue on the van was a little dramatic for me.”

He’s trying to keep the conversation light, which you appreciate him for, but you also know that Steve is doing this because he’s worried about you. And, you know, he’s unnerved seeing Jonathan. There’s still a lot left unsaid between you. 

“It’s… a lot.” You admit, struggling to find the right words to convey how you feel. “I’m relieved he’s okay, and I really am happy to see him again, but I… I understand, you know. If you’re upset.”

Steve scrunches his face. “I’m not upset, just… I don’t know. Annoyed with the guy.”

“So you’re upset.”

“Okay, no–”

“Is that Vickie with Robin?” You unintentionally cut Steve off, too surprised by the fact that mere feet away from you is Robin and Vickie making sandwiches together. And they’re laughing. “Are they talking together?”

Steve whips his head around, disbelieving, but lets out a low whistle when he sees Robin making easy conversation with Vickie. “Well I’ll be damned. Who knew our girl had it in her?”

The Jonathan talk lays forgotten as you and Steve admire your friend. You share a secret smile, remembering your own first awkward, bantering conversations together. There is so much pain in this town, and yet you watch as love still blossoms within it.

Across the room, you see Dustin talking to an older man. They’re deep in discussion and you notice your brother’s shaking shoulders. He’s crying. The older man is, too. You narrow your eyes, unsure if you should approach, but when Dustin hands the man Eddie��s old guitar pick, you realize who it is. 

“I’ll be back.” You kiss Steve’s cheek, excusing yourself. 

He tries to ask where you’re going, but you’re already gone. Your brother needs you right now.

Walking over, you stand to the side and allow Dustin and Eddie’s uncle some privacy. While there are so many things you want to say to the man, like how kind his nephew had been, how brilliant his mind was and how you’ll never forget the smile that never left his face, this is for Dustin and Dustin only. 

Eddie was his dearest friend. There is no greater loss than that.

Whatever Mr. Munson tells Dustin will be good for him; it will be the closure you can’t give him yourself. 

An arm wraps around you. You lean into the touch, knowing who it is without even having to look. You rest your head on Steve’s shoulder, exhausted, but content with the warmth he offers you. The two of you keep an eye on Dustin, ready to catch him in case he falls. 

Eventually Mr. Munson leaves, and you take his place next to Dustin. The second you sit down, the boy cries into your shoulder. Tears soak your shirt and your brother’s frail body shakes. “I-I had to tell him that Eddie died a hero.”

“I know,” your head falls against his.

“They’ll never know what he did for this town.” Sobs wrack Dustin’s body. “It isn’t-it isn’t fair.”

You rub his back, brush his hair out of his face. “None of it is fair, Dust.”

He cries even harder and you try to shield him from the world with your body. You try to block out the grief, the bitterness that follows death. How empty it can leave you. An emptiness that can swallow a person whole. 

You won’t let it happen to Dustin. 

“We’re gonna get through this together, alright? You and me, just like it’s always been. I promise–” Your words catch in your throat, tears forming in your own eyes. There’s so much you want to promise your brother, to swear that will come true, but you’re just as hurt and lost as he is. 

“I promise,” you make the words come out. “That everything will be okay. We’ll-we’ll be together, heal and do whatever we can to make everything okay. I-I’ll never leave you, you hear me? I won’t leave you again.”

Though Dustin still cries, his breathing slows. 

“Together. We’ll face this together.” As you talk, you notice a crowd of people swarming by the windows. They’re looking at something, staring and gasping. Your voice grows weak, anxious that something bad is about to happen. “It’ll… it’ll all work out.”

Dustin notices the crowd, too. He looks to you for answers, but you’re silent. You don’t know what’s happening. There’s a murmur in the crowd, hushed, urgent. It sets your skin on edge. Even more people get up now, some are even running outside, and every nerve in your body is screaming at you to run. 

Suddenly the room darkens, as if a giant cloud has covered the sky. Your stomach twists, and you get up, following after the crowd. Bodies shove each other, people blindly walk through the haze of whispers and uncertainty. 

When you step outside, all you see is ash.

The ash falls like snowflakes, beautiful and pure. There’s a softness to it, something delicate in the ruin it leaves. Dustin knocks against you, staring up into the sky with the same dread that you feel. The crowd is murmuring with glee, whispering excitedly about what they believe to be snow; but they’re wrong.

You’ve always won in the end. 

You’ve come to believe this to be a fact. You once told Steve that you believed you used up all your luck. Saving Will, closing the gate over and over again. The penance was the deaths from this summer for the greedy way you abused luck.

Steve had reminded you that there was still good leftover in the bad. That there will always be softness in the destruction, a reason for hope. That you will always find a way out, that luck and love were two sides of the same coin.

You’ve always won in the end. 

Yet, lost in the swarm of people, you watch as the sky begins to fall and Hawkins descends into the Upside Down. 

You no longer believe it.

[END OF SEASON FOUR]

-

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[ak319]

Dark A.M x fem!reader

-- ★ The Word of Claim ┃ ─𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏─

Syno: Word of claim, a tradition where a man fires his weapon outside a woman's home and speaks her name, and in that moment, she becomes his wife. Though deemed unlawful, a taboo… who cares? Outlaws never follow laws, do they? Warnings/MDNI: none. ✰ 8.8K tag list: @shackspossum @whalecage @nayykura

─concept m.list

Dutch and Hosea cackled as they stepped out of the saloon, the warm glow of lamplight catching the edges of their grins.

“That was so easy,” Dutch said, his voice carrying the smooth satisfaction of a man who always believed he was one step ahead.

Hosea nodded, slapping Dutch on the back. “Didn’t I tell you? Weekend nights are a gold mine.” He jingled the coins in his hand, counting quickly before slipping the money securely into his pocket. The night was brisk, the sounds of drunken chatter and distant music blending into the background as the two made their way to the horses.

But Dutch’s steps slowed, his attention snagging on something, or someone, further down the street.

“Hosea... you see that?”

Hosea followed Dutch’s gaze, his amusement dimming. A young girl, no older than nine or ten, stood motionless on the wooden sidewalk. Her wide eyes darted around, her expression a mix of terror and confusion. She was dressed too neatly for the dusty town, her clothes crisp and well-tailored, the kind of outfit only a wealthy family could afford.

“Hmm,” Hosea muttered, a note of unease creeping into his tone. “Poor kid looks lost.”

“Lost,” Dutch repeated, a contemplative edge in his voice. His sharp eyes studied her, taking in every detail, the way her hands nervously twisted the fabric of her clothes, the tear tracks streaked across her flushed cheeks, the way she shrank against the lamppost as if the world were too big and too dangerous.

“Dutch,” Hosea said quietly, sensing where this might be heading.

But Dutch had already started forward, his expression shifting into something softer, something almost kind. “Well, hello there, darlin’,” he called out, his voice warm and honeyed, the tone he used when reeling someone into his plans.

The girl flinched, her small hands clutching her skirt tighter. She didn’t respond, her eyes locked on Dutch as if trying to decide whether he was a threat or a savior.

Hosea sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Dutch, maybe we oughta-”

“She’s scared, Hosea,” Dutch interrupted, his gaze never leaving the girl. He crouched slightly, his tone coaxing. “Ain’t no need to be frightened, sweetheart. What’s your name?”

"I am not te-lling."

"Okay, no problem. Ain' prying. Where are you parents? We can take you to them , help you find em'"

“I--they’re gone... on a trip,” you mumbled, your voice breaking as tears welled up in your eyes.

“A trip?. Where to?”

“I--I don’t know!. I just wanna go home!” you cried, your small body trembling with the effort to hold back sobs.

Dutch’s expression flickered, something unspoken passing between him and Hosea. With a heavy sigh, Hosea stepped forward, his tone calm and measured. “Alright now, missy, let’s sit down for a bit. You tell us what you can, and we’ll see if we can figure this out, eh?”

It took some coaxing and the promise of something to eat, but soon you found yourself sitting on a park bench between the two men. Hosea handed you a crumpled handkerchief to wipe your tears while Dutch leaned forward, listening intently as your words spilled out in fits and starts.

Your parents, you explained, had left for a business trip to France. You had been left in the care of your uncle and aunt. But things had taken a dark turn. They had kicked you out of your own home, their jealousy of your parents’ wealth and status boiling over into spiteful revenge.

Dutch leaned back, his brow furrowing as he processed your story. This is some next-level low, even for him. Kicking out a little kid, from her own house? Over some family feud? But his brain conjured some good out of this too...

"So, she knows when her parents are gonna be back," Dutch began, a sly smile creeping across his face. "And I know they’re rich as hell, Hosea. So let’s help her, wait for their grand return, even better when they hang those posters and when we bring their little girl back..."

“We get rewarded?” Hosea deadpanned as he shot a glance at you, sitting a few feet away on the bench, quietly sniffing into the handkerchief. Mhm, not completely a bad idea...

Dutch’s grin widened. “Exactly.”

“I'm in.”

As they turned back toward you, Dutch crouched again, his voice soft but firm. “Alright, darlin’, here’s the deal. You come with us, and we’ll take care of you till your folks get back. Safe and sound. How’s that sound?”

You hesitated, your eyes flickering between the two men. “I don’t know... I don’t want to.”

Dutch’s expression hardened, the softness giving way to a sharper edge. “Well, let me tell you somethin’. Ain’t nobody else out here gonna take pity on you. You’re a kid alone on these streets. If someone don’t snatch you up to sell or worse, they’ll leave you to starve. That what you want?”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words sinking in. You shook your head slowly, clutching the handkerchief tighter.

“Then come on,” Dutch urged, standing and offering his hand. “You don’t have to trust us, but right now, we’re all you’ve got. And I promise, we’ll get you home.”

With no other choice, you let yourself believe him, just enough. You reached out hesitantly, placing your small hand in his larger one. Somehow, it felt like a lifeline.

❀˖°

That's how you ended up living with a gang, although you never imagined it would be for a whole two months. You understood the concept of outlaws...that they were terrible people. But these folks? They weren’t so bad… Well, most of them.

"HEY! IT'S MINE!"

"Not anymore." With that, John devoured your entire chocolate bar in one bite.

"AUNTY SUSAN GAVE IT TO ME!"

"Well, too bad. It’s gone. Now what? You gonna cry, little princess?-OW! OW! HEY-"

"Why can’t you leave her alone, huh?!" Arthur’s voice boomed as he stepped in, giving John a few solid smacks before pushing him away. "Idiot..."

You watched as Arthur turned to you, his expression softening. You immediately sat down in silence, instinctively becoming still. He could be kind of scary when he wanted to be, even at 15.

"Um... sorry for him," Arthur muttered, looking at you with an awkward smile. "Here, you can have mine." He pulled out another chocolate bar, but you shook your head, rejecting it.

"Please...take it."

You nodded and took it muttering a small thank you, still feeling too embarrassed to have accepted the gesture.

He gave you a small, understanding nod. "Just call me...if he bothers again. Alright?" Then, with a half-smile, he wandered off.

That's how you and Arthur began interacting. He was genuinely interested in learning about your life, curious about how others lived. At first, you were intimidated by him, but slowly, you began to share bits of your life when he asked, and over time, the two of you became friends.

He taught you things you didn’t know, how to clean a gun, the different parts, even use it, and how to properly care for a horse. You were fascinated by his patience, as he showed you step by step, making it seem so simple and easy. It was a peaceful and surprisingly enjoyable activity for both of you.

Arthur found a sense of home in the camp, a rare calm amidst the chaos. And for you, it became a momentary escape from the pain of missing your parents and the anger you felt toward your relatives.

He never had a female friend close to his age in this life, and it was refreshing for him to find someone who wasn’t afraid to speak their mind or laugh at the little things.

But then the time came, the time for your parents' arrival. Dutch decided it was appropriate enough to take you back, and so he, Hosea, and Arthur went along, though the boy wasn't entirely sure why he did. Maybe he just wanted to see where you came from, see your house.

When your parents saw you return, safe and happy, it was like they’d been revived. They were grateful to Dutch and the gang for taking care of you. You told them how these people had saved you, and, true to their word, they paid Dutch a generous amount for the trouble. All in all, it was a weary, yet friendly encounter. Dutch didn’t rob them, and your parents never suspected the gang's true intentions.

Your aunt and uncle had long been thrown out, so that was one relief. Of course, your father wouldn’t ever let go of the anger, but for now, everything seemed calm.

Arthur, however, was feeling something else. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he’d grown used to your presence in the camp. A new, refreshing friend in a world that had so little of that to offer. He couldn’t help but feel a little sad as you said your goodbyes to the three of them. He threw one last glance at your form, watching as you walked inside, safe and sound, where you truly belonged

But one day, Arthur decided to stop being afraid of something as simple as a friendship. He figured he'd visit you, and see how you were doing, but when he arrived, he found out you were gone. You had moved somewhere else, and no one seemed to know where.

With a heavy sigh, he turned and returned to camp. Perhaps it was for the better. What had he been thinking? What would the others have thought, your parents, especially? What was he even expecting? He couldn’t quite put it into words.

A nagging thought lingered in his mind. But he shook it off. Maybe it was just a momentary lapse that didn’t need to be dwelled on. After all, what did it matter?

❀˖°

The years passed by, and both of you were busy with your own lives. More than most, Arthur immersed himself in the gang’s work, the constant pull of jobs, and the weight of other matters. Matters like heartbreaks. Like Mary...

The twenty-six-year-old sighed as he shut his journal, his mind drifting back to simpler days. He leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the silence to settle around him, but just a few minutes later, Ms. Grimshaw’s voice cut through the quiet.

"Mr. Morgan, got a minute?" she called from the doorway. Arthur groaned internally, but he sat up, rubbing his face.

"What is it, Ms. Grimshaw?"

"Got to head to the town for supplies. You up for it? Shouldn’t take long."

Arthur thought for a moment. He could use a few things himself, some ammunition, maybe a new hat.

"Yeah, I guess. Let's go."

The dusty road to the town was a familiar one, the wooden buildings of Sable Creek rising ahead as they crested a hill. The town had a certain charm to it, despite the ever-present stench of horse manure and the occasional storms that rolled through. It was a regular stop for the gang. Supplies, people to talk to, and if you were lucky, a drink at the saloon.

Arthur and Ms. Grimshaw made their way into town, picking up what they needed without much fuss. She was quick and efficient, always knowing exactly where to find the best goods for the gang’s needs.

After they'd gathered what they came for, Arthur’s eyes fell on a poster pinned to a wall, the ink stark against the old wood. The name on it stopped him dead in his tracks.

It was your father's name, (F/N) (L/N). The same name that had once meant nothing more to him than a fleeting memory. But now, there it was, emblazoned across the poster, paired with an unfamiliar slogan about (L/N)'s Manor and Mercantile Services. Arthur’s heart skipped. He stared at it, his pulse quickening.

He approached the poster and ran his fingers across the faded paper. "What the hell...?" he muttered to himself.

Your father, he couldn’t believe it. That name, your name… it had come back to him in an unexpected way

He was about to walk away when he noticed a man leaning against the nearby post, whittling a stick. A typical town local, rugged and weathered, the kind who might know something about the area. Arthur walked over, his steps fueled with curiosity, the urge to know more, tipping his hat to the man.

"Hey. You know anything 'bout (L/N)’s...residence?

The man glanced up at him, eyeing Arthur with a mix of suspicion and indifference. "(L/N)'s? Sure, I know 'em. Big uh estate...just a few miles north of here. Fancy place. Always got something going on, business deals, functions, you name it. Real high-falutin'. You lookin’ to pay 'em a visit?"

"Just curious. Never been out there. Figured... I might check it out."

The man gave a short laugh, scratching his chin. "Not many folks 'round here who want to go there. But if you do, take the road north by the old mill. You can’t miss it."

Arthur nodded, thanks on the tip of his tongue. Before he could say more, Ms. Grimshaw called from a distance, waving her hand impatiently.

"Arthur, let's go! We're burnin' daylight!"

He turned to the man once more. "Appreciate it."

As he walked away, his mind was a swirl of thoughts. He hadn’t expected to find out anything like this today. He glanced back at the poster one more time before putting it in his pocket, his thoughts drifting to you and what had happened since he last saw you.

For now, he’d finish the supply run.

❀˖°

"Kay' wait here and I'll go ask."

Arthur stood still, watching as the guard disappeared inside the large, grand estate, his eyes scanning the surroundings. The estate was even bigger than he'd imagined, its iron gates tall and imposing, with carefully manicured gardens on either side. He couldn’t help but feel out of place, a simple outlaw in a world of opulence.

Minutes passed before the guard emerged again, walking toward him. Arthur’s gaze flicked over the scene, but something about the figure approaching him made his heart skip. He blinked in confusion, unsure of what he was seeing. And then, from the distance, he saw you.

You were walking toward him, your pace steady and sure, your eyes narrowing as you took in his figure. Arthur’s mind raced, this couldn’t be real, could it? It had been so long since that day he left you, since the gang had dropped you off at your parent's estate. And now, here you were, standing before him, looking different, yet somehow still the same.

"(Y/N)?" Arthur asked, his voice coming out almost as a whisper, unsure whether this was just a trick of the light or something else entirely.

You stopped in front of him, a small smirk playing at the corner of your lips. "Yeah... it’s me. Arthur?"

He took off his hat, his hands feeling awkward as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "You remember me?"

You stifled a laugh, your gaze sharp and assessing. "Of course, oh my God! I remember every one of you. How could I forget that time?" You paused for a beat, eyes softening just a fraction as if the memory made you nostalgic, or maybe something more. "How did you even find me!?"

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck as he avoided your gaze for a moment. "Saw a poster in town. Your father’s name. Thought it was a coincidence, but..." He shrugged, unsure how to explain. "Guess it wasn’t."

"A poster, huh? Guess that’s one way of tracking someone down." Your tone was playful, yet there was an edge to it, like you weren’t sure whether to welcome him or not.

Arthur took a moment to really look at you, your appearance had changed and matured...beautifully. You carried yourself differently, more poised, more... put together than he remembered. He looked away embarrassed praying you didn't notice him observing you.

“I didn’t...expect to see you here,” Arthur finally said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You smiled, a soft, knowing smile that made his heart stutter. "And I didn’t expect you to be looking for me." there was a faintest trace of amusement in your voice.

“I… I didn’t know what to expect. Thought I’d just see how you’re doing. Been a long time. So...how’s everything? Your folks?”

You sighed, your shoulders relaxing a little. “My folks are fine. Busy with their business. Nothing really changes, you know? And you? What’s the real story? You look… different, Arthur."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I’ve had a lot of time to change, I guess. Been around, and seen some things. I didn’t mean to disrupt anything. Just… curious. Wanted to know if you were alright.”

With a small sigh, you uncrossed your arms and nodded. “Well, I’m fine. I’m… alright. But what about you? How’s life for a man like you now?”

Arthur’s smile faltered, the weight of his own life pressing down on him. "It ain't easy," he admitted, scratching his jaw. "But it's life, you know? Just trying to keep my head above water."

You looked at him again, the faintest flicker of something in your eyes, pity, maybe, or understanding. It was hard to tell. "Anyway, come on in."

Arthur blinked, still processing the invitation. “I--inside? I mean... you do know who I am, right?” His words faltered, and he glanced nervously at the manor around him, feeling out of place. “And I’m sure your parents-”

You cut him off with a dismissive wave. “No, no, they won’t mind. My parents aren’t that strict, you know?” You gave him a quick, mock assessing look, one eyebrow quirking up. “And you sure aren't here to rob us, are you?”

Arthur let out a short laugh. “Of course not! I just-” He stopped, fumbling for the right words. “I didn’t expect this. But... uh, okay. I’ll come in.”

You grinned and waved him inside. “Then come on, I can’t stand out here in the heat any longer. We don't send guests away just like that.. Especially old friends!”

With a slight chuckle of his own, Arthur followed you toward the door. He handed the reins of his horse to a nearby stable hand, still bewildered by the whole situation.

As you led him inside, Arthur couldn’t help but glance around, eyes wide as he took in the lavish surroundings. The grand staircase, the polished floors, and the meticulously arranged furniture. It was a far cry from the dusty campsites and rundown cabins he was used to.

"Do you know I have a little brother now? Rayan. He's 10, but he's taking a nap right now. My father is actually gone for a few days, but mum is home - MAMA! Look who's here! Let's hope she remembers you." Before Arthur could protest, your mother's voice startled him, and he, despite being clearly visible, stood behind you, making you snort at the way he reacted. "Relax, she not gonna eat you."

"Who is this, (Y/N)?" your mother asked, her voice a mix of polite curiosity and a hint of panic. She stepped into the room, her gaze sweeping over Arthur, who had awkwardly remained behind you, practically peeking from over your shoulder.

"Um--Hi...Mrs. (L/N)..."

You quickly stepped forward, giving her a reassuring smile. "Mama, it's Arthur, Arthur Morgan. From back then, you know, from the camp. He was one of the ones who... helped me when I was lost."

Your mother's expression softened immediately as the recognition clicked. She paused for a moment, her eyes scanning Arthur once more as if confirming it for herself. “Ahh, yes... I remember now. I thought you looked familiar.” She gave him a small, polite smile, her shoulders relaxing. “I hope you’re well, son.”

Arthur nodded, his usual stoic demeanor now softened by the fact that your mother seemed to remember him. Your mother's warm reaction put him at ease, and he began to feel less like an intruder and more like... someone who had once been part of your life.

"I hope you are well too...Mrs. (L/N)."

"Well, make yourself at home, Arthur," your mother said with a slight bow of her head before disappearing back into the other room, leaving you and Arthur alone to continue your impromptu tour.

You immediately began ushering Arthur through the house. "Alright, let me show you around!" Your voice was light and almost giddy, as you led him from one room to another, more like dragging.

"This is the study!"

"This is the sunroom!"

"This is the snooker room! Nice right?."

You quickly moved on. “And this is my favorite piece.” You pointed at an ornate, vintage mirror on the wall, its frame carved in intricate patterns. “It was a gift from my aunt. She said it’s been in the family for years.”

Finally, you stopped in front of a door, and your grin widened. “And this is my room!” you said, throwing the door open with a flourish.

Arthur stepped inside your room cautiously, his hat gripped tightly in his hands, his gaze darting around the space as though he were intruding on something sacred. The room was spacious yet inviting, with soft, muted colors that seemed to reflect your personality. Plush furniture filled the space with warmth, while delicate paintings adorned the walls, their subjects peaceful and idyllic. A large window bathed the room in sunlight, framing a picturesque view of the garden outside. The books on the shelves and the papers piled neatly on your desk hinted at a thoughtful and busy life.

Arthur shifted awkwardly, his boots scuffing lightly against the polished floor as he lingered near the door. He had never so casually entered a woman’s room before, and the intimacy of it caught him off guard. His world was one of dirt and danger, rough edges and fleeting comforts. Here, in this quiet, cozy room, he felt like an intruder in a place far too refined for someone like him.

“It’s... uh, real nice,” he mumbled, his voice low as his fingers toyed nervously with the brim of his hat. His eyes flitted to the soft throw draped over the chair, the pastel tones of the walls, the delicate lace curtains framing the window. He couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed. It was a glimpse into a life he could only dream of, a life so far removed from the rugged chaos he was used to.

You laughed softly, your voice breaking the quiet spell. "It’s just a room, Arthur. You can come in properly, y’know. I don't have a pet snake here or something that's gonna jump on you. Well, I do have a cat, Suki, I'll introduce you to her too."

He glanced at you, a faint flush creeping up his neck."Didn’t mean to...well, just never been in a...in a lady’s room before. Feels kinda...uh, different."

You grinned, leaning casually against the desk. "Awkward? Mhm. I can understand." you teased, watching his unease grow in the way he avoided looking directly at you.

Arthur chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Maybe a little…but it’s nice. Real nice. It’s refreshing. Seein’ how you live, all the pretty colors and…just feels peaceful.

There was something almost boyish about the way he avoided meeting your eyes for too long, his shyness making him look as though he were caught somewhere he shouldn’t be. His eyes wandered again, lingering on the colors, the soft curtains swaying in the breeze, and the little personal touches, things he wouldn’t have noticed in passing but now couldn’t seem to look away from. It wasn’t just a room; it was a glimpse into your world, one he found himself inexplicably drawn to.

“Real beautiful though” he added, his voice a little gruffer, as if trying to mask the sincerity behind his words.

Just like you.

As you gave him your usual fast-paced rundown, commenting on the things you loved most, Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle softly. You hadn’t changed much since he last saw you, just as animated as he remembered.

He stood by the window, watching the light play across the room. “You’ve got a nice place,” he remarked quietly, turning to look at you as you animatedly continued your tour.

You gave him a cheeky grin. “Well, someone has to live the high life, right?”

Arthur smiled softly, the gap between your worlds feeling just a little smaller, a little less daunting. He was beginning to realize that maybe you hadn't changed as much as he'd thought. The girl he remembered from the camp, the one who'd walked into his life and captured his attention, was still there, but now surrounded by all of this...comfort, privilege, and light. A world that felt so far from his own. Yet, here he was, standing in the middle of it, feeling like maybe, just maybe, he could fit into your life again.

"Oh, my apologies, I didn’t even offer you any refreshments! Let’s go eat lunch in the garden. And while we’re at it, you have to tell me stories of what you've been doing all these years, alright?"

"Alright, alright. You are too kind."

He shared stories of the gang, of the jobs (he chose to tell about the less gory ones in fear of your reaction and didn’t want you to listen to his darker deeds), and of the things he had seen. You listened intently, your laughter filling the air when he mimicked some of the gang members' eccentricities. The sound of your familiar voice made his heart feel light, even if it was brief. Suki purred softly in his lap, his fingers instinctively stroking her fur as he listened to you speak. The knowledge you shared astounded him, whether it was answering business queries with sharp wit or the rise and fall of empires. you seemed to hold a wealth of understanding that captivated him.

But as the lunch came to an end and the moment of departure loomed closer, a quiet thought began to settle in his chest, heavier than any of the words exchanged between you both. When your mother came by to check on the two of you, everything seemed... easy. She was warm, welcoming even, in a way that made Arthur feel comfortable, almost at home. He expected some resistance, or at least for her to be a little wary of him, an outlaw, being here with her unmarried daughter nonetheless...maybe she's just good at hiding it.

Your mother’s voice interrupted the quiet moment as she stepped outside, her tone light but loaded with something Arthur couldn’t place. "Thank you, Arthur. It’s been good to see you again."

Arthur nodded, about to say something polite when your mother’s next words stopped him in his tracks.

"You know, it’s nice that (Y/N) has someone like you as a friend. She talked about you all so fondly and missed you guys. I always hoped she’d have someone like a brother in her life."

Arthur’s heart sank, the words cutting through the air like a sudden chill. He tried to mask the shift in his expression, tried to keep the smile on his face, but the cold truth settled heavily in his chest.

You , she, saw him as just a friend, someone like a brother, just another part of the past. And when you agreed with your mother’s sentiment, confirming it with your usual lighthearted chuckle and nod, something inside him broke.

He had convinced himself, for a moment, that maybe there was more to this reunion than just memories. Maybe there was something between the two of you, something that had never quite been given a chance before, something he could explore now, in this new life. But it wasn’t like that. Not at all. You were still the girl from the camp, the one who had felt lost and scared, but now you were a woman with your own life, your own world, and Arthur was just a piece of that world, a passing memory that would never be more than that.

The realization stung. It hurt more than he cared to admit.

"Take care, Arthur," you said, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you watched him. "It was really good to see you again. And you can send a letter anytime you want. I would love to chat and hear your stories."

Arthur paused, his hand on the reins, a lump forming in his throat at your words. It wasn’t the farewell he had imagined, nor the one he’d hoped for.

Send a letter anytime you want.

The kindness in your voice, the way you spoke so naturally, as if this was just a casual goodbye between old friends, felt like both a balm and a wound.

He took a deep breath, willing himself to keep his composure. A letter. It should have been enough, he told himself. It should have been. But it wasn't.

He turned back toward you, the distance between you suddenly feeling impossibly wide. He wanted to say something---anything---to ease the weight of the moment, but the words caught in his throat.

Instead, he tipped his hat to you, giving you a tight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I- I will. Take care, (Y/N)."

Just like with Mary...

The thought lingered, gnawing at him as the miles stretched out between him and your home. He had convinced himself that it would be different. That you were different. But he had been wrong.

The way your family had treated him, with that polite kindness, it had all felt so genuine, so warm. But now, with the weight of your casual farewell still heavy on his heart, Arthur realized it wasn’t warmth for him. It was warmth for the person they saw him as.

He had imagined so many different scenarios in his head, each one more foolish than the last, each one filled with hope he should have known better than to entertain. He wasn’t fool enough to believe there could be more between you two, not now, not ever.

With a bitter chuckle, Arthur let his horse trot faster, trying to outrun the feeling settling in his chest.

Just like with Mary.

The damn haunting comparison. But this one felt worse. Mary had been a distant dream, someone whose absence was long understood, a love that was never truly his, to begin with. But you... you were real. You were there, so close, yet just....out of reach. Your kindness, your warmth, your family’s welcoming nature, it had made him believe for a moment that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the same old Arthur Morgan to you. He felt accepted...but he had been wrong. Maybe your parents were just nice to him out of fear and gratitude...and harbored the same resentment behind closed doors. Perhaps...you too? No...no you are not fake, he can tell that for sure. Right? You trust him...he sees it in your gentle eyes. Those beautiful eyes...

❀˖°

The evening was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the house settling. You were curled up in the armchair by the window, a book open in your lap, the golden lamplight casting a cozy glow over the room. The story had drawn you in, its words painting vivid pictures in your mind, though the sound of your mother’s sewing needle punctuated the quiet like a gentle metronome.

“Darling,” your mother said, her voice cutting softly through the silence. She didn’t look up from her work, but you felt her gaze flicker in your direction.

“Hm?”

“About earlier, Arthur’s visit.”

The mention of his name drew you out of the book. You glanced up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Hm? What about it, Mama?”

She set her sewing aside and folded her hands neatly in her lap, a gesture that told you she was about to say something serious. “It’s not… proper, you know. A man visiting when your father isn’t home. Especially someone like him. You shouldn't have dragged him inside like that...and given him a tour. Use your senses dear.

You frowned, closing your book but keeping your finger tucked inside to save your place. “He wasn’t here long, and it wasn’t like that. He’s just… Arthur. He won't do something heinous like that. He's like a brother. You said so yourself."

“Arthur or not,” she continued, her voice calm but firm, “a young woman inviting...a man, much less an outlaw into her home, without her father here, will have people talking. And not kindly. I swear you are too naive at times. And the reason I said it , well, it was to make things clear. You understand?"

You looked down at the book, the words blurring on the page. "How can you even suggest me and him--God, look --I didn’t mean to cause any trouble, Mama. He’s kind of my friend, and I didn’t think it’d be right to send him away.”

“I’m not questioning his or your kindness, sweetheart. I’m questioning the situation. You’re a young lady now. People notice things, and they talk. Even if we live in a bit secluded area, there are still eyes. Our own servants for God's sake, dear. And having a man like him visiting when your father’s away… it just doesn’t look right. Also letters? I don't like the sound of that all. You better not respond."

You swallowed the knot forming in your throat and decided to ignore the comment about the letters, at least for now.

“Arthur didn’t mean anything by it. He just wanted to check in, that’s all. And I didn’t mean to drag him in, I just… didn’t think it was wrong. I mean I told you how they live...I just thought him being here would give him temporary comfort...y'know."

Her gaze softened slightly at your sincerity, but her concern didn’t waver. “I know you didn’t mean any harm. But next time, think twice. The world isn’t as forgiving as you might hope. And with a man like Arthur… well, his profession might bring more trouble than you realize. Be careful alright?"

You folded your hands in your lap, unsure how to respond. “I’ll be careful, Mama,” you murmured finally.

She nodded, though the worry in her eyes remained. “I just want what’s best for you, darling. That’s all. Also some reports just arrived from the office so why don't you go and check them. I had them put in your study."

“Right,” you replied, rising to your feet and stretching. “I’ll have some tea and snacks sent for.”

"Right away, darling."

❀˖°

Despite the sting of reality, Arthur couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t entirely silence the part of him that longed for more, more of you, more of the conversations, the stories, the friendship that had begun to feel like something deeper, something he wasn’t ready to admit to himself.

He started writing letters, even though he told himself he wouldn’t. At first, it was simple. A few words to pass the time. His handwriting was rough, not elegant like the letters of men who had been raised with the luxury of formal education. But somehow, it didn’t matter. He wrote about the mundane things that filled his days, the gang’s latest escapades, the horses he had worked with, and even the weather. He wrote about how much the work had been piling up, how his days felt long and endless. He wrote because, in some twisted way, it felt like he could still stay close to you, even if only in ink and paper.

He never expected a response, but he received one all the same.

A week later, came a simple reply, neatly written, not too long but full of warmth. You told him about your life, your family's health, and the weather at your home. You mentioned the garden, the books you’d been reading, and the gentle rhythm of your everyday life. Even sent gifts, not just for him but for others too, which he felt a bit spineless to accept but did so to not make you sad. He did love the coat. There were no big confessions, no declarations of longing.

Then, every Sunday became your day, a ritual of sorts. You would meet in a little café if both of you were free, which he tried his best to be, tucked away on the edge of town. A neutral place, quiet enough for conversation, warm enough to forget the world outside for just a few hours. Just eating and walking around the town really did more than he imagined. The peace...the comforting silence...your presence and most importantly the acceptance he felt.

The first meeting had been hesitant, a little awkward even. Arthur wasn’t used to sitting down with someone in such a relaxed setting, too used to the harshness of life in the gang, too used to avoiding anything that could resemble softness. But when you greeted him with that smile, with your gentle words, something inside him shifted. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. He began to crave the day. It felt like the beginning of something. Something fragile, something fleeting, but something nonetheless. If this damned friendship is all he gonna get, he might just live in the moment for now...

Arthur sat across from you, nursing his tea, while you picked at the slice of cake he’d ordered for you.

“Go on, eat it,” Arthur said, his tone gruff but amused as he watched you push the fork around the plate. “It’s not going to bite you.”

You shot him a glare, not at all deterred. “Yeah...I just...I’m just not that hungry y'know, I think I had a heavy breakfast,” you muttered, not looking up from your cake, still taking small nibbles rather than finishing the whole thing.

Arthur let out a huff, leaning back in his chair. “You’ve been at it for ten minutes now. The cake’s gonna go stale if you keep that up. You better eat it."

“It’s my cake, I’ll eat it when I feel like it.”

His lips quirked up slightly, though his gaze remained firm. “You’re actin’ like a child. It’s cake, not poison. Trust me, you’ll feel better once you’ve had it.”

“Pft. Right, right. You act as if you know everything.”

“It’s called common sense. Something you might want to try now and then.”

"Yeah well, I can perhaps get a bad stomach too, dumbass."

You made a face but finally picked up the fork and took a bigger bite, much to his satisfaction. "Mhm. Yum." Then your eyes lit up mischievously as a thought crossed your mind.

"Arthurrrrr, so you’re… what? In your late twenties, now? And still no girl in your life? That can’t be right." Your grin widened as you teased him. "Surely you’ve found someone by now. Or is there a special someone I don’t know about?"

Arthur froze for a moment, his hand hovering over his mug, and you caught the flicker of unease that passed over his face. He quickly recovered, though, leaning back in his chair with a slight scowl. "You think I’m just waitin’ around for some...woman to fall into my lap?"

You snickered, tapping the fork against your plate thoughtfully. "Well, I don’t know. You’ve never really said anything about anyone," you said, clearly enjoying the effect you were having on him. "You must’ve had a few crushes over the years, huh? Someone in the gang’s kept you company while you’re off doin’ your thing."

"Maybe.." he muttered, taking a slow sip of his tea. "But I don’t need you makin’ jokes about it."

Your grin only grew wider, leaning forward just a little. "Oh, come on, Arthur. If I won't then who will? Stop being lame. You can’t tell me that no one in your life has caught your eye. You're too... well, you know," you gestured vaguely with your fork, unable to find the right words but clearly referring to his ruggedness and that quiet charm he sometimes tried to hide.

He snorted, shaking his head. "I'm not exactly the type most women want to be around. Not with all the trouble I got goin’ on in my life."

"Well. Mhm, true. But. I’ve seen the way you care for your horses. That’s more than enough of a ‘gentleman’ for some girls, some even I know. All you need is a little push. I’ll give you the perfect match, just wait. Want me to...kickstart your romantic journey, mhmmm?"

He couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “I don’t know if I want you playing matchmaker. Couldn’t trust your judgment.”

“Oh, come on. What’s the worst that could happen? At least I’d be picking someone who’d treat you right. Also, I'd have some fun doing it! I did it for a cousin of mine, when I was like 18 and he's still grateful to me for finding him the perfect match. They are both so happy. HAHA! So take that."

Arthur chuckled, the moment's warmth easing the tension in his chest, even as something else, a strange ache, settled there. Why can't it be you then? He wanted to say but.... He pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the quiet joy of your company. Whatever it was, it was worth savoring for now.

Arthur finally broke the silence with a half-smile, leaning back in his chair once more. "Yeah, well, maybe. But for now, I’ll take my cake. And you’re too gonna finish that."

He hesitated for a moment before asking, his voice quieter. “What about you? You… got someone?” His grip tightened around the saucer in his lap, betraying his casual tone.

“Me?” You scoffed, almost offended by the mere thought. “Nah. I’m perfectly content with life, helping my parents with the business, going out with friends… and, of course, Suki." You petted the cat perched on the seat beside yours, causing the golden fluffball to purr."Don’t need anything or anyone else. My parents might have other ideas, though. Y'know, the usual talk about ‘finding a companion to grow old with’, all that sentimental crap. But you know what game I play with them?

Arthur raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite pushing the pang of jealousy aside. “Yeah? What? First off, finish laughing before you talk.”

His lips twitched as he watched your laughter bubble over, infectious as always. God, he loved the sound of it.

“Well...sometimes I let them think I’m ready. You know, like I’m open to meeting someone. So they get all excited and invite someone over for one of those discussions…”

Arthur tilted his head, already bracing for the punchline.

“And then I reject them. Every. Single. Time.”

Arthur couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing, shaking his head. “That’s downright cruel, you know.”

“Cruel?” you repeated with mock offense, leaning forward. “They’ll survive. It's a fun way to pass time you know. Besides, it keeps my parents off my back though. But I don't know for how long....”

How long....

How long....

Forget it Arthur, just get the thought of it out of your head.

Though he knew, it was easier said than done...

❀˖°

And just like that, a quiet, peaceful year passed, marked by letters and rare, cherished meetings. Arthur had moved farther from where you lived, making those moments together even more fleeting but no less meaningful.

But when the day of your usual meeting came again, you didn’t show. Arthur sat by the window in the café, watching the street for any sign of you. As the minutes stretched into hours, he tried to stay calm, telling himself you were likely sick or busy. He just hoped you were alright.

When you finally met again a few weeks later, Arthur couldn’t hold back. “You okay?” he asked, his tone casual but his blue eyes serious. “I mean, you missed our last meetin’, and your letters… They’ve been fewer.”

You smiled, but it was different now, thinner, softer. “Oh, I’ve just been busy with work and family,” you said lightly, waving a hand as though to brush his concern aside. “Nothing to worry about.”

Something was off.

What are you hiding from me?

He wouldn’t let this go. Not when it came to you.

Arthur nodded, but the unease stayed with him. Something about you was different, something he couldn’t quite name. You spoke less, and though your smile lingered, it didn’t carry the same warmth. And your laugh, he’d always loved your laugh, was quieter, restrained, to not draw attention.

Then there was the chaperone. Arthur noticed the older woman sitting nearby, her sharp gaze darting to the two of you now and then. You’d always come alone before, laughing off the need for an escort, but now she was here, a quiet, rigid presence that spoke volumes.

And it wasn’t just her. Arthur’s sharp eyes caught other subtle changes. Your gloves were gone, your hands bare even in the crisp autumn chill. He’d heard somewhere that unmarried women in polite society were expected to wear gloves when out in public. Then there was how you wore your shawl, which you always adjusted modestly as if to conform to someone else’s propriety.

But what struck him most was the absence of your laughter. The way your spirit seemed subdued. As if something, or someone, was pulling you further away.

“You sure it’s just work keepin’ you busy?”

“Of course. Just a lot going on, that’s all.”

Every small, unspoken detail gnawed at him. The chaperone. The clothes. The gloves. You hadn’t said anything, but your silence screamed louder than words. You talked less than usual, your words measured and cautious, lacking the easy rhythm he’d come to know.

Arthur’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He wasn’t one to jump to conclusions, but something was wrong. You weren’t just hiding something....you were slipping away.

So, instead, he did what he was best at, watching, waiting, and gathering the truth without words. He’d heard whispers about a function at your estate, a gathering.

The shadows were his allies as he lingered at the edges of the grand manor. The soft glow of lanterns and the gentle hum of conversation drifted through the night, and there you were, standing in the center of it all, radiant in a way that both drew him closer and crushed him inside.

Then he saw him.

The man by your side. The one who stood too close dared to touch your arm and waist as if it was his right. Arthur’s eyes locked onto the ring, glinting on your finger, catching the light like a cruel, deliberate taunt.

His chest tightened, his breath hitched. The air felt heavier, colder. His worst fear had materialized before him, and yet he couldn’t look away.

The man smiled at you, and you smiled back, polite and radiant enough to send a wave of heat through his veins, a fire that burned hotter with every passing second.

The gardener, a man with a weathered face and rough hands, had just stubbed out his cigarette, the glow of the ember fading into the night. He turned to head inside the gates, but before he could take another step, a firm hand shot out from the shadows. The gardener’s back slammed against the stone wall with a grunt, his breath knocked out of him.

Arthur’s face was inches from his now, his cold blue eyes burning with a fierce intensity.

“You know about the marriage,” Arthur growled, his voice low but dripping with menace. “When? Hm?”

The gardener blinked rapidly, panic flickering across his face as he stammered, his words tripping over each other. “I-I... I didn’t mean- I--don’t--don’t know anythin’ about no marriage…you can't do this-"

He shoved the gardener harder against the wall, his voice growing more dangerous with every syllable. That's when the man felt a cold metal touch the side of his stomach and when he saw it, he nearly had a heart attack. “Tell. Me. The. Fucking. Date. When is it? When is she marrying him?”

The gardener's face turned pale as he struggled to find his voice, his eyes darting nervously around as if looking for an escape. His breath ragged as he stammered, “It--it’s... next month. The fifth. H-here...at the estate.. that's all I k-know-"

Arthur released the gardener with one final shove, sending him stumbling back a few steps. His gaze remained icy, his anger simmering just below the surface.

“You better keep your mouth shut,” he warned, his voice deadly calm now. The gardener nodded frantically, swallowing hard as Arthur turned away, his mind racing.

Fifth.

Arthur sat in the dim light of his tent, the revolver spinning slowly between his fingers as his thoughts churned in relentless, punishing circles. Outside, the camp buzzed with life, the crackle of the fire, the faint strains of a harmonica, the murmur of laughter. It all grated on him, every sound digging deeper into the raw wound festering inside his chest.

He knew this would happen. He’d always known. You weren’t his to lose, not really. People like you didn’t end up with men like him, men who carried blood on their hands, who belonged to a world of running and killing and stealing just to survive. He should’ve been prepared. He thought he’d been prepared. But he wasn’t. He couldn’t be.

It felt like a betrayal. Like some unspoken promise had been broken. But no, there was no promise. That was the sick part of it. You’d smiled at him, written him letters, laughed with him, and somewhere along the way, he’d let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he could keep you. That you could be something different. Someone who wouldn’t leave. But now…

Now, you were slipping away, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

His grip on the revolver tightened as memories of Mary surged up, unbidden and cruel. Her soft voice echoed in his head, her face painted in regret. "It’s not you, Arthur. It’s just… my life. It’s not the life you lead."

He’d tried to believe her back then, to take her words at face value. But deep down, they’d festered like an open wound. What if it was him? What if it was always him, his life, his choices, his very existence, that made people leave?

The laughter outside grew louder, Dutch’s booming voice cutting through the night. Arthur’s gaze flicked to the tent flap, to the flickering shadows of the others moving in the firelight. Dutch, carefree as ever, with Molly by his side. Dutch always had someone. Dutch always had a plan. And Arthur? Arthur had nothing. He was nothing.

Why is he mad?

Fucking why?

This was what he expected, wasn’t it? The inevitable. The part where you, the one thing he couldn’t let go of, moved on and married another man. He knew you’d do it, he’d always known. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from showing up every damn time, shaved and clean, trying to look better than he felt, holding onto some pathetic sliver of hope. As if you’d suddenly look at him and say, "Let’s run away" or, "Y’know what, Arthur? I think I want to live with the gang. With you..." The idea was ridiculous, but it had kept him going.

But now that it had happened… why did it feel so fucking wrong? Why was his chest tightening with rage that felt almost like betrayal?

Because it happened a second time, that’s why. His own mind was a whirlwind of confusion, torn between the brutal truth of his life, running, looting, killing, and the desperate, hollow yearning inside him. Was this all he was? Was this what he deserved? The endless violence, the life without peace? He couldn’t even stomach the thought of it anymore.

And because he thought, no, he hoped, you might’ve been different. That you’d be the exception to the pain. Almost like compensation for what he’d endured with Mary. A balm to soothe the wounds she’d left behind. Almost as if fate owed him this one kindness, this gift...

"Is something wrong with...me?" The question tore through his mind, louder than the laughter, louder than the harmonica, louder than the blood pounding in his ears. It clawed at him, relentless and merciless. Why couldn’t he hold on to anything? Why couldn’t he have even a sliver of peace? A family? A future?

The world outside continued without him, Dutch and Molly spinning around in their reckless dance, but Arthur felt a chasm of isolation opening between him and everyone else. His heart thundered in his chest, the silence suffocating.

He replayed the vision of you and your man. A respectable man that wasn't him. His chest burned. It wasn’t just jealousy, not entirely. It was something darker, something heavier. Something that made him slam the revolver on the table.

Take it then.

Take her then.

Arthur froze, shocked at his own brain for voicing that out. He knew what it meant. He’d heard it before, and discussed it with you, in the past.

The Word.

He had dismissed it then, condemned it as if it were beneath him. You had both laughed about it, saying it was barbaric, unfair and a criminal practice. But now? Now, the idea didn’t sound so foreign.

Do the word.

Do it.

People still do it.

Why do you always gotta suffer? Get played like a fiddle?

Man up.

The voice inside him urged, persistent and dark, pulling at something primal in his gut. Why did it feel so right, so necessary, now? Why did the thought of it no longer seem like madness but like the only thing that made sense in this Godforsaken world?

Why didn’t it sound so bad now?

Arthur’s grip on the revolver tightened, his thoughts swirling into dangerous territory. The thought of you slipping away from him, and marrying another man, of losing you forever, made his blood run cold. But if he.....could make you his by this brutal, tradition, would he finally have peace? Would that give him the warmth he so desperately needed?

★ Next

─AN: To be in this fic's tag list, u can always comment below. The comments are always appreciated ^_^

[ghostieblr]

Peter's Vows

When Derek is born, there is an earthquake. Beacon Hills is many things, but it is not a place of earthquakes. This is an anomaly, this sudden shaking of the land, and Peter watches Talia go through the pain of birthing a cub, and he makes note of how her cries resonate with the moving earth. As the baby is brought to the world of the living, the earth shakes more; giddy, Peter thinks of the land. Giddy at this baby's birth. That's what it is.

The town reels with the destruction, however minimal it seems to be. It is the strangeness of the earthquake that has the people in a panic, and it takes two days of Mayor Yukimura calling for council meetings and community barbecues that they begin to somehwat calm down.

The baby is named Derek on the first day itself, born underneath the Nemeton, his pale blue eyes reflecting the moonlight in silver hues. Talia sobs with relief, Nathan beside her, stroking her hair. Laura is back at the pack house, safely tucked in the bed, the rest of the pack members keeping watch. Talia had wanted to bring her with them, fearing the worst of the anomaly, but their mom had convinced her to not do it. The birth of the Alpha's cub is a big deal, but it is also private: only the Mate, Emissary and Left Hand are allowed to be present, for comfort, safety, and protection, respectively.

It has been tradition since ages, and Talia is the last person to break it.

Derek is a calm baby. Sleeps through the night, doesn't cry for attention. Only does it for feeding, his survival instinct as strong as his lungs. Peter adores him, even if he may never admit it to anyone.

He is also curious about the boy. Why an earthquake? It cannot be a coincidence. Truly, he wonders how some people can be so dumb. Calling it a coincidence is insulting to the Powers That Be, which must have called upon such a natural reaction of the land for a reason. Derek is a special boy, and Peter vows to find out how.

Besides his incredibly compassionate heart, that is.

It is in his eyes, which have slowly turned into a kaleidoscope of colors, the kindness of him. Derek's trust is not so easily earned, but once it is, it is extremely difficult to dislodge it.

Derek is a boy destined to become a kind man, one that will be an Alpha with mercy in his heart but cunning in his mind. Peter sees the makings of it right from the beginning, the way the boy will procure solutions to his own problems as well as those he deems important to him. Laura is the first born and thus has the claim to being the next Hale Alpha, however Peter knows, somehow, perhaps instinctually, that Derek will be the Alpha.

Another piece of the puzzle falls in place when their emissary falls pregnant. She's an amazing woman, Claudia. Peter likes her wit and humor, and he enjoys the perspective of her husband, the deputy, and if luck is on his side, soon-to-be Sheriff of Beacon Hills. Peter is happy for the couple.

He is, also, astonished to see an almost five-year-old Derek climb onto Claudia's lap one morning, his small fists rubbing against his eyes, and his nose scrunching determinedly to find a scent.

Peter remembers the conversation well.

"Derek, honey? What are you trying to find?"

"Mine," is what Derek growls in reply to Claudia, and shoves his nose against her barely-showing belly.

Peter's laughing figure is shot out of the end of the couch and onto the floor by Claudia's impeccable throw of one of the decorative pillows from said couch.

Thereafter, it was peculiar but not unseemly to find Derek following beside Claudia, his whole little being focused on the life forming inside her. And when the night came, Peter wasn't at all surprised to witness the thunderstorm.

Claudia had plans of giving birth in the hospital, but due to miscalculated steps, or simply because of reasons not privy to them, the best possible option left for her seemed to be below the Nemeton.

John had lost his damn mind at the prospect. "It's raining! Heavily!"

"Talia gave birth in an earthquake," Claudia says through gritted teeth, "And the baby doesn't care, nor do I, John. It is—"

Her words are cut off by another scream, and she is right, of course. It is time.

Talia, John, and Peter are the only ones who should go with her, but Derek, the little sneaky wolf that he seems to have become, follows them. It isn't until halfway through that John, the human, realizes his presence first.

They move forward with the determined little boy, who is all sopping wet in his wolf onesie, and really, this is no laughing matter. Except it is.

Claudia is brought below the Nemeton, and the tree, big and branching and beautiful, hums in their presence. The canopy of it sheds them some, but not completely.

And so, under hard rain and sharp thunderstorms, Mieczysław Stilinski is born, his little body almost white under the moonlight, and his eyes, when they open, a shock of topaz, like a glinting jewel; a fallen angel, Peter thinks.

Derek carefully wraps the baby in the blanket Talia removes from the packed bag, her movements locked onto her son's and the baby's, while John tends to his wife.

Peter watches. He notes the way the baby is calmest in Derek's arms, the way Derek is mesmerized.

This is more than just being True Mates.

True Mates itself are the rarest of occurrences, but something tells him this is more than that. The earthquake, and this sudden rain, in April of all things, simply cannot be coincidence. There must be a reason, one that Peter must uncover.

In the coming years, he dedicates his time to the quest, and finds that, oh, this is something unique indeed.

Unique to the point of legend.

Of course, he gathers facts before telling anyone. Derek's control goes onto the list, as does his ability to switch between his shift as easy as breathing. Having such control at the age of seven is almost impossible, but he has it without the growing ego that would have inflated anyone else's with the amount of praise he gets.

Stiles, as Derek had nicknamed Mieczysław almost immediately post his arrival in the world, is no human. His mother's line has some pretty strong magical abilities, but the kind of power that this boy exudes surpasses imagination. Nobody notices at first, not even Peter, until Stiles is a couple of months past his third birthday. It truly isn't until Derek, almost nine, comes down from his room one day into the kitchen, says, "Which packet, Stiles?" that they realize it.

"Honey, he isn't a wolf. He cannot hear you," Nathan tells him, but Derek just shrugs.

"He is for today."

Peter hears the, "Blue one! Blue one! Blue is sooo pretty, Derek!" from Stiles, who is definitely sitting in Derek's room, upstairs.

Derek grabs the blue packet and goes upstairs, and Peter follows, followed by Talia and Nathan, who beckon Claudia as well.

Stiles sitting on the floor, a myriad of toys around him, while the packets of chips sit beside him, torn open, evidently by Derek's claws, who himself is playing with Stiles.

And they're both being fed flying chips.

The three wolves turn to Claudia as one. Her shaking head and awed face is enough to clue them in, and really, Peter thinks, this is fucking incredible.

Powers don't manifest as early as this in magic wielders. They're more of the puberty package, tied to emotions at the beginning rather than will.

This is... defying it.

Peter loves to see when the next piece of the puzzle will fall.

And it does oh so enticingly.

Years later, when Derek is fourteen and Stiles is almost nine, comes the first trial. The Alpha Summit & The Argent Treaty.

Peter doesn't believe Gerard's words to do no harm, so he sets up precautions in place. It pays off, because during the summit, he almost ends up blinding Deaucalion — something that could have turned super bad if left unchecked.

Gerard's attack is met with swift retaliation, but somehow, only his goons end up dead. Gerard himself remains free, and through sheer will, maybe, the old man manages to kidnap Laura.

By the time the adults sniff out their cub, they're too late.

Not in the sense of Laura being hurt, but in the terms of missing the action, somewhat.

When they enter the warehouse, they are faced with Gerard being held down by a black wolf, fangs around his neck, the eyes of the creature a deep, ruby red. Deeper than Talia's. At first, they all assume it to be one of the visiting Alphas, but then they realize Stiles' presence, too, and it clicks.

Stiles frees Laura from the painful looking electric rod, and comes back to Derek, coaxes him back to his human form as Peter and Nathan take care of the psychopath.

Laura lets Talia mother her, and then says, "We'll have two Alphas."

Talia looks at the now human Derek, and eyes shining with pride, she nods. "Come here, both of you," she beckons, and the boys run, Stiles' chattering a comforting sound for all of them.

A few weeks later, Derek admits to everyone he has a new friend, and talks about her often. Paige this, Paige that. Laura teases him, restrained in her words, trying not to upset Derek's control. Even Cora pulls back. Stiles, though, is almost worse.

He riles Derek to the point of him using his Alpha voice to shut up, and the whole Pack silences itself, even Talia. Stiles, though — an exception to all things sane — doesn't back down. The voice doesn't work on him, and Derek isn't phased by it. However, the smell of guilt filters through their home, and Stiles' sigh is followed by comforting words. There is no apologizing though.

Soon, they'll learn from Derek himself that he hates that everyone is walking on eggshells. That is why he kept bringing up Paige, so that someone would tease him, uncle Peter, Laura, Cora. Or that Stiles would rile him up.

"Why would he, though? He should be happy for you. I am." Cora's words are met with a laugh from Derek, and a groan of embarrassement from Stiles.

"He's weirdly possessive — don't push me, you know you are."

"Alright," Stiles sighs, "I am."

"And Paige is a great friend, but I don't nearly think about her as much as I might have let you all believe."

And that is when Peter sees it. The blink-and-you-will-miss-it purple flash of Stiles' eyes. Peter doesn't put thought into why now; he simply focuses on completing the puzzle.

And he does. True Alpha and Purple Eyes? That's easy.

That's legend.

Set in stone as the first Alpha and the first Emissary as well as Spark, who, arguably, also set in stone the sword of Excalibur.

That part of the legend has questionable sources, though. Sure, Merlin Emrys is, as per theories, the most powerful sorcerer of all time, and Arthur Pendragon the greatest ruler, the once and future king, but it doesn't have as much merit.

What Peter is sure about is that somehow, the Powers That Be decided that this is the pack to send these two to.

He watches Stiles argue about the best type of pasta with Derek, and thinks, suddenly, that perhaps this is their happy ending. What legends end happy? None. So this must be their time to be happy.

Peter vows another quest, then. To always protect Derek and Stiles.

[cursedcola]

Prompt: "Will You Marry Me?"- Proposal Headcannons Characters: Everyone :) Part(s): Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia (Pt.1 !) (Pt.2 Here!) Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Warning(s): None. I mean, unless you don't want to marry any of them. Just don't read if that's the case. ALSO SLIGHT SPOILER FOR CHAPTER 7 IN SILVER Note: These are all if he is the one proposing btw. Also, I went overboard. I had to break Diasomnia into 2 parts because I exceeded tumblr's character limit. I have favorites I guess :/

This man is a child masquerading as an adult. As in to say that he resists any illogical emotions until they bottle up and explode. The traditional pathway for finding a life partner typically follows: stranger -> acquaintance -> friend -> crush -> lover ->partner. You know, as it normally goes when bonds form.

Sebek....is not a textbook case in this regard. His path is a bit more customizable

stranger -> person he is forced to interact with -> acquaintance of Lord Malleus -> Acquaintance of Lord Malleus that Sebek approves of -> Friend that Lord Malleus approves of -> Repressed Crush -> Acquaintance that Sebek avoids at all costs -> Acknowledged crush -> Acknowledged crush that Lord Malleus approves of -> Respected individual with mitigated interactions -> Courting -> awkward situationship -> lover -> awkward situationship (with better communication) -> spouse

Enough said.

This process isn’t as complicated as it may seem on paper. While there are many steps, Sebek is fortunate enough to have people in his life willing to force commitments onto him. It also helps that he has blind trust in a select few. This makes him a bit naive and easily influenced. A boon in the right hands, and a bane in others.

In short, Sebek is emotionally constipated and only acts when there’s a driving force. Otherwise he just gets frustrated. This is extremely apparent at two stages: ‘repressed crush’ and ‘awkward situationship’. Scratch that. Three stages.

Beginning at ‘repressed crush’ - Sebek realizes that he likes you when you ask about how his training is going. He happened by your dorm during his morning jog, and was more than happy to go off on a tangent of the strict regimen developed to forge a perfect knight.

Except that’s not what you wanted to hear. You were more interested in his health and how he was enjoying himself rather than how his work was benefitting Malleus.

His heart fluttered, as if a shock of electricity thrummed through his body. Having never felt this before, Sebek mistakes it for a lapse in his strength and runs off at a much faster speed than before. Forget a light jog, he had enough energy to run 500 laps around the school track.

Don’t you get it human?! You were distracting him! His body was at rest too long. Now shoo, you’re hindering him from doing his duty.

He represses these budding romantic feelings and ‘misinterprets’ them as deviant behavior. He even goes so far as to blame it on ‘useless hormones’ and convinces himself that it’ll pass. He spares it no thought until his pining becomes apparent to everyone except for himself

Que the driving force. Despite Sebek believing otherwise, he does have friends and his entire love-life can be credited to their affectionate stupidity.

Simply put, Ace takes every chance to seamlessly flirt with you whenever Sebek is around. Not in a subtle way either - he's making some risky comments and trying to eat up every moment of your time. The others in your year are well aware of what he's doing too. Deuce thinks he's being unnecessary, but also agrees that Sebek needs a push so he lets it happen. Epel has his gripes with Sebek, but admires him for his manly tenacity. So he's 100% in support of giving an extra push and even tries to copy Ace. Except... yeah, he's pretty bad at flirting so he gives up after one try. Jack is against it at first, not wanting to hurt your feelings in the process but gets talked into it after seeing you get salty over Sebek being distant. Ortho, bless his innocent soul, thinks of it as a fun experiment. Lil guy just wants everyone to be happy.

You have no idea though, which is great because all of Ace's attempts fail hardcore. Sebek and his chivalrous ways (jealousy) won't stand by if you're being constantly bombarded with 'unwanted' romantic affections.

Nevermind that you don't seem to be taking Ace seriously at all. It is still not proper behavior! It would be a stain to his Lord's image if Sebek knowingly let Malleus' beloved friend endure such a hardship.

Every time Ace makes an attempt, Sebek shuts him down faster than you ever could. You have no idea how he does it, but Sebek is always around when it happens. The timing is honestly creepy....until you catch on to what's happening because the Ramshackle prefect isn't a dumdum.

"So....prefect, how about we go get dinner together tomorrow? Just you and me, what do ya say?" Ace slides into the seat to your right during breakfast. He leans in on his fist, eyeing you with a mischievous grin that crinkles the heart on his cheek. Just as he does, Sebek occupies the seat at your left and pushes Ace back with his palm.

"Do you ever rest?! They will do no such thing, now eat your meal before it runs cold. The chefs worked too hard for their efforts to be wasted by a delinquent!" Sebek answers on your behalf like clockwork. This event was not an uncommon sight to anyone, neither was Sebek failing to control his volume, so no other student paid the show any mind.

Normally you'd let them spit a few words at each other before returning to their own devices. Yet letting this continue just felt cruel, especially knowing that Ace was doing it to get a rise from your friend. Although Sebek wasn't innocent in the matter either

"Alright - Ace, would you knock it off? You don't even like me that way so quit messing with my head. I thought you were better than this," you say in between bites, side-eyeing your friend with a disapproving glare "And you!" you turn to Sebek, "I can answer for myself. Why do you even care? It's not like you're in charge of my love life. Just because someone wants to date me doesn't make them a delinquent...sheesh"

Why...why does he care? Sebek short circuits at your scolding, opening and closing his mouth to rebuttal yet coming up with nothing. Angered by his own turmoil, he grabs his meal and goes to sit with others from his dorm.

Stupid human. How dare you be so haughty and ungrateful? He was just protecting you from....from, what exactly? It's not like you going out with Ace would impact him in any way. It's not like you were in danger or upset with his advances. If anything. he was doing a good job at keeping your relationship professional for the sake of his liege!

Go ahead and date that childish hooligan for all he cares! Sebek won't be there to protect you when you're lost, or lend you a scarf on cold winter days. Ace can be the one to call you before bed every night, and keep your yearbook photo on his desk. Possibly keep his favorite candid photo as a bookmark for his diary, not that Sebek would know anyone that keeps a journal. He can have your birthday written in his calendar with a heart drawn around it, and have your picture in his wristwatch. He can set alarms to know when your classes end and walk you home. He can worry when you're sick and listen to your obnoxious prying....he can receive all your affections, and have your loyalty. Listen to your silly ramblings and receive those random 'i just thought of you' presents that Sebek always has a dilemma over what their purpose serves

You can be Ace's headache, and Sebek's heart will be lighter for it. These attachments he's formed were a lapse in judgement and will never be allowed again.

...

Sebek asks his lord for permission to court you. The next morning Malleus wakes to find the devotee bowed outside his bedroom, forehead attached to the floor and hands laid flat on the ground in reverence. Sebek proceeds to begin a long rant about how he's succumbed to his inner demons, and that he has sinned for letting another in his heart - Malleus cuts him off, happy to see love blossoming and interested to watch it all play out. He tells Sebek to take good care of you, before leaving. Meanwhile Sebek is sobbing at his lord's blessing

Once he's gathered himself, Sebek runs to your dorm and pounds on the door with fervor despite the early hour

Grim shakes you out of sleep, grumbling something about an 'annoying bastard' at the door before flopping back in bed. He shoves two pillows over his ears and tells you to fix the problem. That's when you hear the thumping, it's relentless and somehow sours your mood beyond what you thought possible. Mornings were not meant to exist on the weekend. So with an irritated groan, you slip on a robe over your pajamas and answer the door. A fist pauses in the air, moments from striking you. Sebek freezes momentarily, his body going ridged before coughing into his fist. A light blush dusts his cheeks.

“G-good morning, human. I apologize if I've disturbed your sleep, but I have an important announcement that cannot wait any longer" Sebeck studders, focusing on the door pane instead of your disheveled morning appearance.

“Alright" you sigh, resigning yourself to his whims, "what is it?"

Sebeck bows at the waist. "I am in love with you. Please accept my affections."

And so the motions continued on. A most unconventional pairing - possibly the hottest topic of the school year, in the words of Cater Diamond - was formed. Sebek was cautious of Ace at first, their previous spats leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. When he found out the truth, he was both appalled and grateful. So much that he scorned all his friends for weeks on end for pulling a stunt like that - but also thanking them. He apologizes for calling Ace a delinquent, and his heart changes a bit in response to their 'unique' display of care. Their intentions were good, and in the end it worked out. So he can pardon the indiscretion.

Life goes on until your relationship forms an 'awkward situationship'. The first time is brief. As it is with most cases of young love, the binding force that ties you to them crumbles. On earth it is highschool. In Twisted Wonderland it is NRC. Sebek knows where he's going - to serve the Draconias . The grey area is what you plan to do...because as much as his affections have grown, Sebek isn't willing to give up his dreams for you.

He's astonished when you decide to follow him to Briar Valley. He doesn't even have to breech the topic - arrangements were already being made without his input. You wouldn't be staying at the palace against his Lord's wishes. Instead a small cottage was built at a safe distance from the main city. Close enough for you to visit the castle, and far enough for you to feel comfortable and not out of place.

Seeing you taking his wants into consideration alters Sebek's perception of your relationship. You truly were lovers, and not a passing 'hormonal induced fling'. You loved him, and it's here when he truly begins to consider a forever. It was like the time when he first called your name, no longer calling you by 'prefect' or 'human'. He had done it many times in private, yet doing so to your face altered his brain chemistry. He loved the way your name rolled off his tongue, and the way your attention became his at the call.

Which leads us to the third and final major block-aid. Years have passed, and Sebek's well grown as an established knight for the Draconia family. He works alongside Silver, and many other comrades in arms. Everything is exactly as he dreamed. Malleus has become a beloved, strong king. Sebek is respected, and you are thriving as well. He didn't have much faith in your ability to last alone - it's not that he doubts your abilities, but he did doubt his people. When you first moved to Briar Valley Sebek was well aware that there were many like his past self - fae with a hatred for humans. He worried you would struggle to fit in.

Yet you surprised him. The tensions did exist against your kind, but you managed to card a space for yourself in Briar Valley with ease. You didn't even work in the palace, instead choosing to work towards becoming a children's teacher and work towards helping future generations of fae feel comfortable around humans.

His family adored you - with his mother in particular fawning over how Sebek fell down the same pipeline she did. His father offers you both advice on being an interspecies couple - and Sebek actually found himself listening.

Huh. Character growth. Is this what it's like to mature?

All is perfect, yet not. Sebek is forced to confront this when news travels that a human was attacked on their way to the palace. The dread that coursed through his veins was unlike anything Sebek's felt in his entire life. Under Malleus' rule, humans were slowly becoming more prevalent in Briar Valley. They hadn't mentioned your name specifically, but he jumped the gun.

Against his better judgement, Sebek abandons his post and rushed to the city's clinic. The injured human wasn't you, thank the seven, but the dread lingered. So he ran to the school you taught at and practically barged into your classroom. Luckily it was empty as the day was near end. Sebek hadn't known that yet still behaved recklessly.

He rushed to your side, talking faster than your brain could keep up with while checking over your body. He flipped topics like a teen trying to pick a college major - scolding you for worrying him, blubbering gibberish about how you'd no longer be allowed to walk alone, and myriad of other things.

Sebek was so shook, that he completely forgot about his knightly station. Malleus didn't punish him for abandoning his post. Not like it mattered, considering Sebek was already doing ample damage on his own. The realization hit him like a stone punch to the gut - there was a threat to his liege, and instead of focusing on apprehending the criminal he chose to find you.

Malleus' power or his dismissal of the matter meant little in the overall picture. Sebek failed. He's ashamed beyond belief.

and yet, he can't help but wonder what ight have been. What if you were the one attacked and he chose to stay? He would have failed you in that scenario.

He's surprised to find that the prospect his failure hurts just as much - if not more. His lord is powerful, and there are many to serve him. Your last moments could have been spent in a cold medical bed, surrounded by strangers. Fading away and taking Sebek's dreams with you.

............

Ah. Since when had that word become plural? His dream was always to serve Lord Malleus. Now there are more - he wants a family, and he wants to go to that play you were organizing with the valley's children next weekend. He wants to become a greater knight to protect the city that houses all the people he cares about. Again, plural. Lilia, Silver, his siblings and parents, all the human and fae who are loyal subjects to his most revered. You, and your decedents to come.

It's frightening. How valuable one's life can become. His always belonged to the Draconia bloodline to do with at they pleased - now Sebek's in pieces. Is he truly worthy of being a knight if he cannot give his whole heart?

He doesn't blame you for this. In his youth Sebek might have tossed your relationship aside in a heartbeat - that, or he might've demanded Malleus dismiss him and send him to repent in exile or whatever. Sebek has a problem with embellishing with dramatics.

BUT... he's more mature now. Mature enough to realize that maybe he can have his cake and eat it too.

So, he asks Lilia for advice. At this time the general merely lazes around the castle like a bat on the wall - acting as an advisor and observer. Surely he'd know what to do.

"There is nothing wrong with sharing a heart amongst many. If anything, the toughest decisions make us stronger. The more you have to lose, the stronger you will become to protect"

Preach it grandpappy. Lilia wants to see his grandkids so stop the slow burn already.

It's deja vu because Sebek wants to propose as quick as possible. Just like when he confessed, the man nearly runs to your home on impulse. You can thank Lilia for your proposal not taking place at 3am with your door being broke in two (Sebek is much stronger than he was in his teens, and sometimes miscalculates his strength).

Instead, Sebek finds himself anxiously clutching a ring in his pocket the following week. It was the night of a school play you were hosting - one he was looking forward to since you were so proud in your work. Ergo, Sebek felt pride as well by default.

How unfortunate that he can't focus on the show. With his mind reeling so much, it's taking all he has to sit quietly in the audience. His eyes follow your movements as you direct the kids, and for a brief moment you smile at him from the stage.

Zap. Alright. Don't clutch metal when you're a living thunderbolt. Duly noted. If anything the jolt of pain brings him back to reality.

When the play ends, and all the children have gone home with their families, he finds you back stage sweeping confetti. His plan was to congratulate you, and take you to a nice restaurant where he could do this properly.

Except he can't wait. When you turn around from putting the broom away, he's already taken a knee and holding the ring out. Those diligent gold iris' not pulling away for one moment, as he holds the ring out between two fingers and his other hand placed over his heart as if taking an oath.

"Before you say anything - You have sacrificed time and time again for my happiness - my efforts are insignificant in comparison. I have taken your patience for granted like a spoiled juvenile. There was a time when I found this kindness of yours unnecessary. I thought it a distraction - a test of my strength to fulfill my destiny. I see now that I was foolish”

Sebek pauses, grinding his teeth together in regret and anguish.

“I had not known fear until you. I have more to lose now than ever before. Last week I abandoned my post - my purpose- In that moment, all I could think about was if you’d been attacked, then my life would be over. You make me lose all sense of logic and reason…so I demand that you take responsibility and marry me!”

{A gold band with an obsidian base. Gold and silver flakes are sealed atop the obsidian plate using resin. Very practical, yet charming nonetheless. Humans typically wear matching bands, yes? Sebek sees no purpose in getting separate designs since the point is to show proof of partnership. He needs a practical shape that will not interfere with combat, yet also wants it to be an aesthetic choice. Sebek could care less about looks, but if he’s going to give you a ring then it will be the best possible option to match to your worth}

Silver is beautiful like still ocean waters. He's breathtaking - literally and figuratively. With the beauty of a fairytale prince, personality of a wise knight, and deadliness of the deep sea. It's easy to be sucked in when Silver seemingly has no flaws. So easy that at one point there were rumors of him being a living doll, created by the fae to be a perfect solider.

These perceptions all rely on his outward appearance: the knight in shining armor. Albeit so, being so perfect almost makes him unnoticeable. Compared to his rowdy peers with quirks and notable personalities - Silver truly is a doll. Like the complacent child praised for being more mature than their siblings. He is as easily forgotten as he is admired.

Some would say that this is a flaw in itself - because no one is naturally perfect. No one is so complacent and calm at birth. It's simply a desirable flaw. One that hurts him, yet has ben praised by others.

Silver is strong. Silver is diligent. Silver is beautiful. Silver is breathtaking and yet not the showstopper - like gold. Gold brings warmth while silver is cold. Imperfections in gold give it character, and can be seen as art. Imperfections in silver are seen as unsightly scratches.

Silver knows this, yet doesn't want to be gold. He doesn't deserve to be gold.

Silver doesn't deserve anything. He has already taken so much simply by living. He has a world to be grateful for, and not enough time to repay his debts.

He is content being Silver - if he could then he'd be copper. Lesser. Yet he is Silver, a reminder of the blood he carries.

He will remain unremarkable yet dedicated. He will dedicate everything to his family and friends - do whatever he can to break free of his sleeping curse and help others. He will give until he cannot give anymore. Then he will give more, to repay all he has received.

....For as much as he is content with this life, Silver still envies gold.

You are beautiful like a new dawn. Ushering in each day with a vibrant display that commands attention. People instinctively admire you despite the risk of hurting their eyes. You heal the world naturally, and help others simply by existing. People take you for granted, because inevitably the moon will rise, and the cold will inevitably return.

You were bathed in golden light. This Silver noticed the moment he laid eyes on you. He couldn't tear his eyes away.

Silver envies gold.

........

You envy Silver. His calm, his family, his dedication despite being limited by his crippling drowsiness. Out of the students from Diasomnia, he was the one you lingered towards more often than not. The freshmen revered him for his skills, and he was a true gentle soul. You at first couldn't believe that he was Lilia's son - how did such a kind boy come from a rambunctious tease? Revelations of his past brought much to light, and now you couldn't think of him being anyone else.

Silver was loved like the first snowfall. He had a family that loved him dearly, no matter how short his time with them would be. He was raised to bring happiness to others, and protect their hearts using his demure temperament.

Silver was modest, and silver glistened when you'd expect him to the least. As the wind caressed his hair during an afternoon siesta, or sparks lit in his eyes while swinging his sword. How the horses nuzzle his side after equestrian practice, showing full trust and affection. Even in the sweat dripping from his brow, shining as he easily finishes a set of push ups.

Yet nothing struck your heart more than the melancholy he'd emit when no one was looking. How quickly he'd fade into the background, only popping in when necessary or if someone gave him note. In these moments Silver gleamed brilliantly, yet a shadow put out his shine.

You thought the melancholy inviting. It felt so natural, so real. Except you believed it balanced dangerously between despair and serene. The larger question being which side would he evidently fall towards.

.........

Silver admires gold.

He couldn't stop the pull. He just couldn't. Not with how you seemingly watch him when no one else does. Who wouldn't feel special? With the way you take note of things he normally wouldn't think of, and recklessly delve into helping others with no regard for yourself. Whether you desire the trouble is beyond him - the matter is that you see every issue through. There isn't a soul who doesn't know of the ramshackle prefect.

Perhaps this is his torment to endure. To get a taste for what he could have been, and willingly be tied to it.

Silver stares into a vanity mirror, his expression neutral despite the growing emotions inside. A slightly tattered sheet is tied around his neck like a bib, covering his front and part of his back. A shiver runs down his spine as you comb through his hair, deftly trimming the edges with a pair of kitchen scissors with the precision of a professional. A shiver runs down his spine every time your fingers linger against his scalp, either from tucking stray strands or combing through layers with your fingertips.

Your expression is stern, eyes intensely focused as you cut around his ear, afraid to nick him in the process. He finds the expression adorable yet bites his tongue. Silver couldn't think those thoughts. Not when you offered to do this out of the kindness of your heart.

Nonetheless, his heart thrums. If it were possible he'd think the organ about to pop out at any moment.

"Finished!" you smile in satisfaction and tussle Silver's soft locks for good measure. In one fell swoop, you undo the knot around his neck and pull the makeshift apron off of him. Silver nods, a slight smile teasing the edge of his lips. He stands from the chair and steps over any hair on the floor, reaching for the broom to clean before you could think to. "Thank you. I no longer need to schedule with a barber. This will save much time," In truth he had no intentions for a haircut. Either himself or his father would trim the ends once they started interfering with his sight, but he was too busy as of late. You were the one to notice how his bangs hindered his vision, and offered to help. Silver couldn't bring himself to deny your kindness. "You really like it? Hehe. Y'know, maybe I should start a shop on campus? I only started doing this since there aren't any affordable salons....maybe with it I can finally afford to fix the guest room!" you cheer and prattle on about all the different possibilities. Occasionally you'll ask for Silver's input, or even give an off hand compliment about how he was the perfect 'test subject'. Your company is intoxicating, he realizes. Talking with you is as easy as drinking water. Before Silver realizes, night has fallen and you've fallen asleep on the couch. Despite his better judgement, he finds himself wandering the Ramshackle door. He compulsively cleans up the mess you'd both left behind during his visit, doing the dishes from dinner and rearranging things here and there. As he does so, Silver notes all the little improvements around the dorm. It feels more like a home than a school building. Then again you do live alone. He wonders how often you host visitors, and if you unknowingly ensnared them just as you've done to him. He covers your shoulders with a blanket and steps outside under the moonlight.

It’s cold.

...............

You wake up the following day to find all the windows shut, your living room clean, and a warm blanket covering your shoulders. Your eyes peer around for silver, yet turn up empty.

Of course. Silver has a dorm to return to and people that would miss him if he returned late.

Shuffling around the silent dorm, the rickey old floorboards creek underneath your weight. In manufactured motions, you brew a cup of tea and pour it into the only well-used cup from the cabinet.

As your cup brews, you sit at the table with the blanket still clutched tight over your shoulders.

The tea goes cold, yet you are warm.

................

Silver loves gold.

but silver and gold don't mix. The question always is: silver or gold? When deciding a piece of jewelry to match your skin tone, people will ask 'silver or gold'? The metals are not meant to mix because they clash. It's an outfit catastrophe.

Yet, Silver cannot help but wonder. As he lays with his head in your lap and the sun and silence coaxing him to slumber - what if an outfit existed to compliment both silver and gold?

"Silver..are you sleeping again?" you tap his cheek with one hand, and his eyes open instinctively. Despite his drowsiness he will always look for you. Yet right now he's never regretted the magnetic pull more. With the sun casting a golden overcast, you peer down at him from above with tender eyes typically reserved for one's child. Your glow is breathtaking, and he cannot help the sinking feeling in his stomach that he is unworthy. With such gentle hands combing across his scalp and eyes that look upon him so tenderly - he is afraid to steal your warmth. And yet… "You are beautiful," Silver lets it slip, his hand reaching to brush against your jaw as if under a spell. He feels unnervingly calm. Not in his usual way, where he is constantly observing and playing a game of mental chess. This is a true calm, and he knows now that this is a point of no return.

Silver is beautiful like a still ocean. You are beautiful like the rising sun. When combined, a perfect image is formed just waiting for an artist to stumble upon it.

Against his wishes, the world has granted the child of dawn another gift. The gift of true love. 'True love's kiss will break the curse' and while it is childish to believe so in this case, Silver does so wholeheartedly.

When with you, the days pass like minutes. He wants nothing more than to forgo need for sleep, if only to work harder towards becoming a man worthy.

Silver envies gold for it's effortless demand for love, yet he no longer wants to be gold. He no longer wishes he were born copper.

Gold loves silver, so Silver he will be.

And with time, both Silver and Gold will be ground to dust regardless.

He thinks of this on a winter evening while holding a ring up into the moonlight. It's cold outside, yet he doesn't mind. The chill atop his nose does nothing but tinge it a lovely rosy color.

He looks through the windowpane into a home masquerading as a school building. His reflection is familiar yet changing rapidly in comparison to his family. The years have aged him, yet not by much. Silver is stronger, his soft jaw a bit sharper. His bangs have grown long again, it would soon be time for a cut. Perhaps he'd enlist a 'barber' after relocating back to the castle in briar valley.

Inside you sit at the couch, sipping from a well-used mug with Grim on your lap and watching cartoons. Silver's bag rests on the armchair, unzipped with nightly necessities spilling out the side. A slightly newer baby blue mug sits on the coffee table, with steam evaporating into the air as it waits to be used.

Silver smiles, walking towards the door and walking inside. Heat warms his cheeks and he is calm.

"I know I am unworthy of you, the thought plagues me to this very moment. Yet I cannot help but love you - like wishing on a star yet knowing deep in the depths of your heart that miracles are made not granted. I've received many, so I would know. My father gifted me life through love - and with you I understand how it is possible. I cannot imagine life without you. I promise this, I will cherish you and protect you for as long as you allow it. Would you marry me?"

Months later a ceremony is held in a secluded forest, in the yard of a cottage where a child first learned love. As an adult, he joins his most precious in matrimony, offering his sword to be sworn faithful.

You are beautiful like the first breech of daylight - and for once, Silver is happy to be a man of dawn.

Silver and gold.

Silver and gold.

Everyone wishes for silver and gold.

How do you measure it's worth?

Just by the pleasure it gives here on earth.

{A ring forged from a silver band, gold leaf embellishments, and a moss agate core. Enough said.}

[cottonlemonade]

Dating You For A Bet [Part 2]

word count: 1756 || avg. reading time: 8 mins.

pairing: University AU!Matsukawa x chubby!Reader

genre: angst

warnings: bullying

[part 1]

The following days were miserable. Between dodging Matsukawa lurking outside your dorm and having to see him in most of your seminars and lectures it was hard to pretend that you didn’t care, much to the delight of the fellow students who apparently had nothing better to do or collectively lost their WiFi and were starved for entertainment. They threw glances between the two of you as if following a tennis match, although you were stubbornly pretending to follow the lesson while Issei just listlessly stared at his closed book.

He had tried to talk to you after lectures, during lunch, or when he ran into you at the convenience store but to no avail. You remained strong, frequently reminding yourself that everything from your first kiss to the first time sleeping together was solely done to win a bet. A bet! To him, you were nothing more than some easily manipulated, naive girl from a country he probably didn’t even know how to spell. The three crumpled notes from that day were still at the bottom of your trash can, unread, and now buried under more paper scraps, gum wrappers, and empty juice boxes. Your roommate hadn’t noticed or questioned why you didn’t leave in the evenings anymore to go on dates. Chances were that she had read about the whole thing online.

You were tired of it all. The initial burst of energy you felt, fueled by nothing but spite, had finally ebbed away and at this point, Christmas was drawing nearer and nearer and you ran on fumes. Having tried to deep dive into homework and assignments had left you fatigued and vulnerable, so it came to no surprise that a month after the break up you couldn’t take it anymore. You had figured that the other students would eventually move on to the next shiny thing but not so. A small group of boys and girls stood in front of the library with coffee cups steaming in their hands. You braced yourself inwardly. You just wanted to quickly return a book and then you’d be on your way again. When you approached them they interrupted their conversation to very obviously look you up and down as if judging your post-break-up fashion choices.

“I just knew there had to be a reason for him dating her.”, one of them said, deliberately loud enough for you to hear.

“Oh my god, I know right? I can’t believe she fell for it. I mean, what would someone like him ever see in someone like her.”, another piped up.

“Honestly kudos to him, I dunno if I could have gotten it up with her in bed.” They laughed.

You stopped on your way up the stairs. Matsukawa stood in front of you just coming out of the building, a tattered, well-annotated book in hand and his bag half-hearted slung over his shoulder.

The group of friends gasped quietly and hushed each other, waiting.

“Y/n…”, Issei said softly, then snapped at the others, “Don’t you have somewhere to be?!”

They laughed again but hurried inside.

“Y/-“

He couldn’t even finish the word. You had already turned around and walked away. And he would have let you get the space you needed if he didn’t see you cry. Readjusting his bag he slowly made his way down the steps and followed you, a couple of meters behind.

Whenever you missed your family he had tried to bring a bit of home to you with a traditional dish he knew you loved - that he usually messed up - or by watching a Disney movie in your native language while snuggling up on his bed under a blanket. But what had helped you most of all when you were upset was always a simple hug. And he never let go first. He made sure that you knew he would hold you as long as you needed. When you first told him you loved him he was wracked with guilt. He had since come to realize how messed up the whole thing was and tried to get out of it. He lied when his friends asked him if he had completed the bet but his roommate had only patted him on the back and accused him of being modest. And he, Issei, had forced a smile and accepted the money feeling like the most disgusting person in the world. The money still sat untouched in his sock drawer. He didn’t want to use it. He felt ashamed of himself but whenever he spent time with you he was weirdly glad that he agreed to the bet. Otherwise, who knows if he would have walked up to you as he had. Privately, to make himself feel better, he thought, of course he would have.

He would have noticed eventually how amazing you were.

He would have eventually seen how much you two had in common, that in all actuality you were his dream girl.

He would have. Eventually. Wouldn’t he?

Probably not, he had to admit. Ever since puberty hit him like a truck he walked around with a newfound level of confidence. This must have been what it was like for Oikawa back then - girls doing a double take and smiling when they saw him, little admiring love notes tucked quickly into his workbook when he wasn’t looking. All the attention slowly rose to his head and he became arrogant, leading to agreeing to a bet he would have punched his friends for in high school.

Hands in his pockets and breath forming little clouds in front of him, Issei’s heart broke all over again when he caught a small sound from you like a sniffle or a sob. As if on reflex his hand slid into the front of his bag to check for tissues, then remembered you probably wouldn’t accept them.

You finally came to a halt at a bench near your dorm. You spun around and stared at him icily through red puffy eyes.

“Stop following me. You know this is creepy, right?”

“I prefer to see it as romantic.”

You scoffed. “It’s only romantic if feelings are reciprocated.”

He swallowed hard. “… I deserved that.” Then he reached into his bag and retrieved a water bottle, walked a little closer, and held it out.

“Here, drink something. I can see you squinting like you do when you’re about to get a massive headache, come on.”

You had a retort ready to launch but your head was starting to pound from the crying so with a scowl you took it and gulped down a few sips.

“None of this makes what you did okay.”, you said, unwavering.

He nodded. “I know. - Can I hold you anyway? Just til you stop crying.”

His question made new tears well in your eyes and he closed the gap between you. Before he hugged you, he hesitated in case you would kick and scream if he did. When you only continued to cry he wrapped his arms around you. At first, it was like hugging a mannequin. Then he felt you shiver and sob harder and he squeezed you tighter.

This, the warmth of him, smell of him, soothing murmurs in your ear, made it all too easy to forget for a moment why he wasn’t yours anymore.

You subconsciously grabbed onto his jacket and he started slowly swaying from side to side. He missed you so damn much. His eyes began to sting.

And on reflex like he always had, he pressed his lips against your temple, then against your cheek, then your lips. You stiffened for a moment, then returned the kiss. With his heart swelling in his chest, he cupped your cheeks to wipe away the tears, but you were already pushing him away.

“No! You can’t just… this is not okay. You hurt me! You … you broke my heart! I feel embarrassed! And pathetic. And betrayed! Don't you understand?!”

His vision blurred and he lowered his head to stare at your shoes again to hide that he started crying as well. He just nodded at first, then took a shallow breath to calm down a little.

“I know.”, he said, his voice thick and raspy. He cleared his throat, “What I did was horrible. And immature. And there is no way I can take it back. But I do love you.”

“Tch.”

“So much. I don’t want to be without you.”

“Would you give me another chance?”, you asked suddenly.

He looked up. “What?”

“If you were in my shoes. If I did to you what you did to me. Could you just get over that? Imagine if someone way out of your league started flirting with you because they thought it was funny. Because they wanted to see if they could make you fall in love. For fun.”

“That’s not… I’m so so sorry, Y/n.”

“Stop saying that!”

“I don’t know what else to do! Please, tell me, I’ll do anything!”

“There is nothing you can do! I told you it’s over!”

“I refuse to believe that! Let me show you how much I love you! I know that some part of you still loves me, too. And I know you’ll forgive me eventually because you’re a much better person than I am.”

“I think you severely underestimate just how petty I can be and how much I love holding grudges.”, you retorted and the smallest smile twitched on his lips.

There was a pause in which his expression turned gentler again and he used the sleeve of his jacket to mop up the tears gathering on his chin. “Tell me what I can do.”

“Actually show me that you’re sorry? - And find better friends.”

“Done.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”, he said firmly, “You’ll see.”

“Hm hm.”, you said doubtfully and held out the bottle to him, “Thanks for the water. I should get going.”

“Book club tonight, right?”, he asked. It was still set as a permanent reminder in his phone’s calendar so that he’d come to pick you up afterward to walk you to your dorm.

“Actually… I have a date.”

You waited for a moment before you dared to look at him again. His face had fallen and he seemed at a loss for words. When you brushed past him you half expected him to grab your hand again, to try to talk you out of it. But nothing. He stood exactly where you left him and so you went inside.

tags because I genuinely appreciate all your comments and reblogs: @samoankpoper21 @garouaddict @gojoscloset @multi-fandom-fanfic @crazyyanderefangirlfan

[part 3]

[lunarw0rks]

I feel like Graves would end up with a really soft and innocent s/o just because he loves being the 'strong man' lol and even though they're maybe even smaller than him all sweet and shy- he is absolutely whipped for them! Especially if they can cook and be a lil housemaker for him??

♡♡♡ warning(s): nsfw + sfw, fem!reader

─── graves and his homemaker s/o ❤︎₊ ⊹

there's no one on earth more loved and adored by him, despite the stigma surrounding the dynamic you two have. he doesn't pay any mind to their judgements. in his heart, he knows how tender he is with you behind closed doors. and in yours, he hopes.

you never pictured it to end up this way. before, you were like any adult. busting your ass at work, ending each week exhausted and struggling to buy yourself groceries.

and then you met him. chivalrous and borderline self-obsessed. but you weren't being patronized when he acted with traditional courtesy. you weren't a body to be claimed or a trophy to hang on his arm.

you were merely his. all his within months of meeting, and that meant you were to be taken care of. spoiled rotten, some would say. what better way to have it? compared to your old life of hardship, it was paradise.

everything paid for, without a second of hesitation. what little savings you had idle in your bank account, untouched when he's around.

he can and will take care of you — in every way. it's in graves' nature to provide.

no different than he does for his men, only you've been appointed the privilege of seeing the gentler side of him, when the uniform of a commander is rid of his scarred body.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈nsfw under the cut!

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙˖⁺₊˚⊹♡ it's only fair, to be taken care of in every way possible. you've been so good to him, so good for him, right? there's no quicker way to his heart, than someone who enjoys being smothered with his praise.

what better sight, than opening the door and seeing you concerning with such trivial things. he spent the day making life or death decisions, and you're there; concerned with which centerpiece looks best on the dining table. some men would see it as a means for competition, or a degrade — but graves finds it irresistible.

the house smells divine; your scented candles, the fragrance you spritz, and whatever you have baking in the oven. he can practically feel the tension leave his shoulders, how his senses come alive when greeted with the comfort of your shared home.

you've dressed nice for him again, though he always gave no pressure for you to do so. clothes to match the summer heat, hair styled and pinned back to stay out of the way.

you, in your domestic, relaxed state — the one thing better than all the trivial pleasures in life, better than the house you were both standing in.

though you usual greet him, you're immersed in the centerpiece debate. you hold the two pieces up to him, "do you think I should go with the silver candle candleholders? or how about the brass ones?" it's a genuine question, but it's only met with an amused scoff — a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

graves sets aside his luggage, stepping closer to you and your very concentrated gaze. "why do you ask me, sweetheart? it's up to you. and if you don't like 'em, we'll go buy more." he examines the decor in your hands briefly, but his eyes end up back on you permanently.

"just want it to look nice in here," you sigh at his dismissal, turning away to resume contemplation. "we have that supper planned in a few weeks, don't we?" you add, setting the options back on the oak table.

as if the place could be more meticulously decorated. there was barely a trace of him in this house, except for his nightstand and office. you had free reign to adjust the home to your taste, considering you were the one who spent most of your time there.

a gentle chuckle rang from him, followed by a click of his tongue, "don't think it can get much nicer in here, darlin'. i reckon you've left a touch on just about every inch of place, haven't you?" you shoot a flustered look, even though his words are truthful.

it was a silly dilemma, considering not a soul would be criticizing your centerpiece decision. "oh, c'mon, don't do that face... my guys will eat anything you slide in front of them, you know that? could host the damn supper in the closet and you'd charm the daylights out of 'em." he says, soothing every worry down to a simmer rather than a hard boil.

he's definitely good at shutting you up. only, in the most embellished of ways. without fail, a charmed smile spread on your face — as did a surge of warmth. graves cupped one of your cheeks, running his thumb along it, "see? much better than a scowl. now, tell me, what's cooking?"

"you know the rules. i can't tell you until the timer beeps. besides, it's supposed to be a surprise." you replied, making a meek escape from his gentle grasp. displayed on the small screen; eight minutes remained.

with a hasty yank and then a stumble on your end, your back was against his chest. "i don't like surprises, do i?" you felt the sensation of his teeth nibbling along the side of your neck, all in the midst of his patterned kisses. when he was this close, he got deep whiffs of your intoxicating perfume, the freshly shampooed hair on your head, the detergent you insisted he buy. heart-stopping — like it was every time he pulled you close.

it was true, he hated them. the tickle of his lips made you squirm — a futile attempt to slip away and leave him hanging. that never worked, and you knew it. "we're down to five, time's a-wastin'."

somehow, someway, neither of you made it up the stairs this time. all he did to prepare was send the stacks of mail flying from the island; the one you found yourself sitting on. graves stood between your legs, his caressing fingers your means of preparation. though, by the times your legs were exposed to the breeze — you and your body were eager enough for him.

the minutes decreased no matter how hurriedly he moved, and he always stuck to his rules. if there was a time limit, he'd get it done before zero.

"been thinking about you all day," he breathes. "by the looks of it, you have too, sweetheart." his tip prodded at your slick entrance, while the other hand hooked around your thigh to keep it hiked up with ease. wasn't the first time he ravished you on the kitchen counters, it certainly wouldn't be the last. slowly at first, then all at once — he thrusted inside of you.

once he got situated, there was no stopping him. every rock of his hips was purposeful and deep, yet his kisses remained delicate and tender. your moans muffled against his mouth, his lips pinkish and coated with saliva as it roamed your warmed face.

soon, your back was flat against the island with your legs still hanging off and in his grip. with every methodical movement, your walls tightened around his length and edged him closer to a finish. by now, you were certain your appearance was faulty; either ruined by sweat or the constant hands graves had on you.

despite being close within the first few minutes, he had gotten carried away ogling you. your gasps, your squinted eyes, the teeth indents on your bottom lip from how harshly you sunk into it. however, now there wasn't any restraint left in him. the tight coil in his abdomen begged for release, no matter how much stamina that remained in his body.

as the clock struck zero, he bottomed out with the force of his whole body — spilling every last drop inside of you. the oven beeped three times, as if on cue.

a string of curses against your lips as he leaned down to kiss you, sneaking in a few sloppy thrusts afterward. "i'll make it up to you later, make it worth your while." he pecked along your jaw, adjusting the strap of your top that had slid down your arm.

"it was worth my while." you replied between catching your breath, voice still quivering slightly.

he chuckled, fingers still playing with the fabric, "so, what's cooking? have i earned my right to know?" he was right; you always told him once the meal was ready, and that's what it was right now. the aroma hit your nostrils, as intoxicating as he found yours.

your eyes flicked over to the digital screen, still flashing and urging you to remove the pan, then it beeped for a second round as a reminder. "just a roast your mom taught me. thought you would've recognized the smell by now." you uttered, tracing your fingers along his blond stubble.

"hm, something must've distracted me, darlin'," he ran a tongue along his bottom lip, now gazing with admiration rather than hunger.

then, his brow raised with interest. both in humor and intense dread he added, "you've been calling my mother?"

[bunnwich]

Gifts (Leona Kingscholar)🧡

Leona muses on the gift you leave him for Valentine's Day. (Based on the official merch twst 2024 Valentine gift messages)

Characters: Leona Kingscholar, Yuu/MC!Reader (Can be framed as platonic or romantic)

Words: 936 words, Leona's POV

Notes: Wanted to challenge myself to do something short and sweet in a few hours and was inspired to improve upon yet another dry official Leona gift message response.

--

Gifts.

They came easy over the years, like plucking an oversweet tart from a dessert tray. He was disliked, feared even, but lucky for him easy on the eyes — and still a prince to occasionally bow and scrape to. So many folks over the years were eager to oblige him and follow the traditions of the Sunset Savanna. Idolize the royals; the divine oligarchy. He was simply “lucky” enough to be born under that umbrella. That’s all.

Those gifts and attention fed him for a while, but if he was being honest, some part of him always remained hungry. 

After all, shiny trinkets were nothing like a dusty old book or the heady cedar smell of a well-used chess set. What was the value of pretty baubles to sit on shelves of his empty room or clothes that cost more than some folks' houses?

Pillars of sand.

Was it so damn pathetic and vapid to want something not given by his family's twisted obligations or plucked from the hands of a quivering servant?  No games. No more ulterior motives. 

Wishful thinking, maybe or a childish habit that he had dumped in the trash, like all those boxes of sweets that long went bitter on his tongue.

He reminded himself that others had suffered much worse than not being doted on in their preferred way. However, this reality failed to take away his distaste for each and every gift. Tch. How many times would he have to snuff out that damn sentimentality that he had been so “lucky” to inherit?

Leona’s eyes fell upon the small bottle vial in his palm and the wooden lion tag attached, tied carefully around the bottle. It had been nestled on the corner of his bed when he returned from Spelldrive practice this morning, all nice and wrapped in shiny paper.

His mouth crinkled and a small sound rumbled from his chest without his permission. Relief of some kind maybe. It had been one of the first gifts he received that was not for his birthday or from his family.

A friendly gesture or…somethin’ more insidious?

To think, someone who came to this world with nothin’ goin’ outta their way to get him somethin’...special.

But, “friends” weren’t something he kept. Instead, he had a collection of starry-eyed froshes, classmates, rivals, those few worthy of his respect. And then there was Ruggie of course but, would he be around if not for the understanding they had come to? Best not to dwell on it now.

Leona chuckled watching the amber liquid swish around the curved glass like liquid gold. How bold of them to choose a scent for him of all things. Beastfolk were sensitive to ‘em and he especially. But, they had been the brash and precocious type ever since they came to this school. Always skipping steps to pull off an advanced move.

Regardless of how big of a crowd he’d ever have cheerin’ at one of his games or how many brilliant trinkets he’d be gifted, nothing beat his chosen audience of one. Who, even after seeing firsthand all the grimy parts of him...still havin’ the audacity to stick around so long.

His eyes fell over to the chessboard at the corner of his desk. Brave little creature indeed, and brimming with Savanaclaw tenacity. A little pawn that made it to the other side of the board, ready to be crowned.

No way they knew the implication of such a small gesture, how important scents were to beastfolk, not that he was one for tradition, of course. Still, He brought the bottle to his nose for the umpteenth time as he leaned forward on his elbows. In an odd way, it reminded him of the gardens back at home when it rained, all those lonely hours pouring over books and chess games. 

Alone but…if he concreted enough, he was able to catch a whiff of the oil where their fingers touched the glass. Yes, in their note they had mentioned that this scent reminded them of him, but to his nose it was missing something. A key complementing note. A missing piece. 

The scent of a little herbivore turned into a formidable beast that he couldn’t get out of his head.

His brow furrowed as he glanced over at the small pile of notes, discarded by his boots. Then he tried again this time with more wit.

"Hey– Allow me to thank you for your generous gift. Heh. I can’t believe you actually picked out a halfway-decent fragrance. I might actually keep this. I thought about sending you something in return if the mood struck me, but this thank you note should do the job just fine, right?"

Leona kept it short and sweet. He knew they two were past formalities, but it was amusing to still play the game a little. He had been waiting for them to approach him in such a bold way, and finally, he had been rewarded for his saintly patience. Still, he wasn’t ready to show his hand yet, well-

He allowed sentimentality to win this time and flipped over the note, scrawling a little something extra for their eyes only. 

“P.S. If you were gonna treat your lion so nice…the least ya could do is make good on such bold intentions and show him some proper attention.”

He chuckled again as he let the paper slip from his fingers, finally satisfied with what he had come up with. Honestly, it didn't matter much what he wrote. Maybe he was becoming sentimental in his “old” age but he knew...that they would always find each other in the middle.

It was their move again.

Besides, it was only fair that he repay them properly. Etiquette and all that.

[sanyu-thewitch05]

Yandere Fairy/Fae x F! Human Reader

A/N: I had so much fun researching Beltane for this.

TW: Breeding kink, non-con, dub-con, spanking

Kofi: Ko-fi.com/cherie47467

You hated that he managed to trap you in his world. But, what you hated even more is that for a whole year, you had tried to escape this place before breeding day arrived. Instead, you're hiding in a closet, hoping your forced husband doesn't find you.

Damn! Why did I have to step into that fairy circle?!

It would've been fine under any other circumstance, but with the fae population declining, the current monarchy had decided to follow their old traditions again in an attempt to raise the rate of children being born before they went extinct. Which meant you were one of the many human women trapped in the fairy world.

"Sundrop, where are you? We need to get going and leave for the Beltane festival," Rae says, walking into the room, his aquamarine wings and golden skin glittering in the light. "Sundrop?"

You keep your head down, hoping he won't notice your hiding spot, only for the doors to open.

"There you are, Sugarplum. I thought you were over hiding from me. Anyway, I brought you the cute white uniform that the human women wear," Rae states, his purple eyes shining as he pulls you up and unbuttons your pajamas. "I'm going to hold back until it's our turn to jump the fire, but you can play with your little human friends at the Maypole."

Your uniform was a short, white, and lacy babydoll negligee that barely covered your ass and white lingerie. It felt nauseating to see Rae look so happy seeing you in such an outfit.

"You look amazing. You'll look so beautiful next to the other women," Rae muses, gently taking your hand and guiding you outside.

You sigh as you walk outside and see the rest of the human women with their partners wandering around as the festivities start. That's when you see your best friend making a flower crown. You sit next to her and start making a flower crown.

"So, how is it with Rae?" She asks, attaching more flowers to her crown.

"I tried hiding from him today. He found me like all the other times," You say, accepting the crown B/F/N gives you. "I know there's a way out of here. We just need to know where."

"Y/N, we've been here for a year already. It's breeding day, and at this point, they're going to fuck us. We're going to get pregnant and be stuck here forever. We might as well enjoy the festivities," B/F/N replies, finishing her flower crown.

"We can at least try."

You finish your flower crown and place it upon your head as you go with the others to the Maypole. You grab a ribbon and begin to run around with the other women. Your feet are covered in wet grass, and for once, you feel joy as you run around wrapping your ribbon around the pole. As the last of the ribbons are wrapped around the pole, your partners, pregnant women, and other fae cheer.

"You looked like you enjoyed yourself, Sundrop," Rae says, kissing your hand. "I brought some food for you. Do you want to eat it-"

"I'll eat later. I have to go to the bathroom," You say, walking away from your husband.

After walking out of the bathroom, you meet your best friend again and smile at her. You see the open woods nearby, and as the sun begins to fall, your chance for freedom begins to slip away. You grab your best friend's hand, taking off into the woods. Your feet are covered in dirt as you jump over thorns and bushes full of shiny berries. That's when you see a tree with a glowing base, and you hope that's your ticket out. The dark night covers the forest, making everything look less mystical.

"We're almost there!" B/F/N exclaims, holding your hand tighter.

You feel your body stop moving, then, you're flying backward until you hit something hard.

"I'm sorry my Sundrop influenced such bad behavior for your mate. I'll make sure to discipline her properly after we jump the bonfire," Rae says, turning to a tall, buff man with light blue hair, blue skin, and silver wings.

"Don't feel so bad. I'll be disciplining mine as well," He says, carrying your best friend away.

The two of you return to the village and line up with all the other pairs. With every couple that jumped the bonfire, they scurried off to their homes, ready to breed. As you got closer to the bonfire, the flames seemed like they were growing higher and higher as you neared the moans and mumbles of the other fae and human pairs in their nearby homes. Everything seemed to be closing in until you saw your best friend leap over the bonfire with her mate. He carries her to the noble fae housing where you live, and you see the look of utter defeat on her face. Then, it's your turn, and your heart drops as you're high in the sky as your husband holds you in his arms, the flames drying the mud on the soles of your feet.

When he lands on the ground, he flutters off to his quarters, his hands gripping your ass like there's no tomorrow. The halls are filled with moans and screams, and all you can think about is how your husband is going to discipline you. He locks the door, then places you on the bed.

"Your feet are so dirty. I don't want anything but me staining our sheets on our first breeding session," Rae says, wiping your feet with a moist washcloth.

You don't respond, and once he's done, you pull your feet away. You hear Rae sigh as he sits on the bed, then you feel him take your hands.

"Be good, and don't move while you're over my lap," Rae states, holding your back down with his forearm so your stomach is on his thighs. "I'm sorry I've been such a bad mate. If I had disciplined you more, you wouldn't have acted out tonight and dragged your dear friend into your bad behavior. Well, tonight, I'm going to fix that mistake for good."

Rae starts to knead your ass, sighing as his hands roam and grope your butt as if he's making a difficult decision. You feel a sharp sting on your left cheek, making your legs kick into the air.

"Ow!" You scream, making Rae frustrated.

"Didn't I tell you not to move? Gods, you're such a piece of work!" Rae rants, spanking you harder than before. "Don't move, or else your punishment will get worse!"

You sniffle and hold your legs as still as possible while Rae continues your punishment. He moves your negligee up a bit more, and he spanks you harder and faster.

"Do you know how embarrassing it was to lose my mate right before the bonfire? Do you know how humiliating it was to have someone else's partner tell me that you had run off with his mate into the woods? How dare you embarrass me like this! What part of there's no going back home without me do you not understand?!" Rae shouts, the intensity and speed of the spankings increasing with every word.

His hands leave you a tearful mess, sobs coming out of your mouth every couple of seconds. Eventually, he stops and you feel him lean over your back.

"I'm sorry, Sundrop, but I had to. You were out of control, and I had to punish you," Rae whispers, kissing and nibbling on your ear. "I'm almost done, so do me a favor and count for me."

Rae spanks your ass again, but this time he rubs the spot he hit almost as if to comfort you.

"One," You whimper, gripping the bed sheets.

"Good girl, you're taking it so well," Rae praises, stroking your neck and back.

Rae hits you again, and you say two.

"Three!"

Smack!

"Keep going."

Smack!

"Four!"

Smack!

"Five!"

"You're almost there, Sundrop."

Smack!

"Six!"

Smack!

"Seven!"

Smack!

"Eight!"

Smack!

"Nine!"

"One more to go, Sundrop, and you're done."

SMACK!

"T-Ten!"

"You did it. You got through your punishment," Rae says, rubbing your red ass. "All you needed was a firm but gentle hand to discipline you. Now you receive your reward."

Rae rubs your clothed pussy with fingers, enjoying the feeling of your moistness. His fingers circle your lips, occasionally pressing your clit, until he slips two fingers inside your panties, fingering you at a steady pace. You cover your mouth to prevent moans from slipping out, making Rae slap your ass again.

"Remove your hand from your mouth, or else I will tie your hands to the headboard," Rae states, fingering you faster.

"Ah-ah..yes-s, Rae," You moan, removing your hand from your mouth and placing them on the bed sheets. "Shit, I'm-"

"Good girl. Ah, I'm so happy you're finally starting to submit to me," Rae replies, taking your panties off and pulling out his cum covered fingers. "Now then, shall we get to the main event and have a successful breeding day?"

"Wait-" You exclaim, only to have your person stripped naked within seconds.

Rae strips his loose white clothing and pulls out his golden cock. Its aquamarine tip has precum flowing out, and it's twitching with anticipation. Your husband pulls open your legs and bends them until you're in a mating press. He quickly inserts himself, shivering from pure delight.

"I've saved myself for this day ever since you became mine one year ago, and now I can finally release all my seed into you," Rae moans, thrusting his dick into you. "Ha...ah...ahh...gods, your pussy is so good."

You hold your legs in the mating press position, moaning just like all the other fae and human mates in the noble hall. You don't know if it was fae magic, the magic of the holiday, or something they put into the food and drinks, but you feel like an animal in heat. You moan as Rae moves inside you, his golden skin shining with sweat.

"Faster, Rae!" You moan, feeling a coil of pleasure form in your stomach.

Rae uses his inhuman speed and thrusts his hips so fast it feels like he's rearranging your guts. His purple eyes roll into his head while his folded wings shake as he feels his orgasm nearing.

"Oh..fuck...I'm going to breed you so well-" Rae moans, his orgasm bursting through his body and causing his wings to unfold and burst open.

You feel Rae cum inside you and cum on his dick, your toes curling at the feeling.

"Oh...oh my..." Rae softly moans, spurting a year's worth of semen into you while slowly thrusting to ride out his orgasm. "You look so lovely beneath me."

Rae loudly gasps, and he falls on top of you, his wings drooping to his sides. You relax your legs and wipe a wet piece of hair from your face. Eventually, your husband comes to, his wings lightly fluttering, and puts a sweaty hand on your cheek.

"Happy Breeding Day, my Sundrop," Rae coos, pulling out of you and placing some sort of small cloth over your vaginal hole to keep his sperm from spilling out.

Rae kisses your lips, sweat rolling down both of your faces. He grabs the drinks you two got from the festival, smirking at you.

"You didn't think we were done, did you, Sundrop? Everyone breeds till we all fall silent with exhaustion. We don't care whether that's tonight or well into the next morning. So drink, and enjoy the most pleasurable hours of your life," Rae says, drinking from a cup.

You smile feeling your thighs close and rub together with anticipation of his next move. He takes another sip and kisses you, letting the drink go down your throat. Your legs wrap around his waist and the two of you become another sex-crazy couple within the village.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

I think of mc being very protective of her friends being a orphan and all. someone says the gaunts are all dark wizards? they are in the hospital wing for two weeks under strange circumstances. someone starts a nasty rumor about why Anne really left hogwarts? The worst tripping hex gets everyone who repeats the rumor. someone insults sebastian, you better pray that mc didn't hear about it she's coming for you

The Things We Do for Family | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

oh I loooooved this concept!!!! THANK YOU FOR THE ASK, ANON. I really hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it!! :')

Words: ~5,200

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Humor, Protective MC

There are things that Hogwarts students simply know—unchallenged truths, whispered warnings passed down from year to year.

The Forbidden Forest is dangerous. Peeves is a menace. The best snacks at Honeydukes sell out by Saturday afternoon. Don’t trust the staircases to take you where you actually want to go. Never accept Garreth Weasley’s offer to ‘test something out’.

And, under no circumstances, should anyone fuck with your friends.

It isn’t official, of course. There’s no school decree, no printed rule in the Hogwarts handbook, it's not carved into the walls. It’s just… understood.

It’s not like you’re some fearsome monster or anything.

You’re a model student, by all accounts. Brilliant. Sharp. Precise. A skilled duelist, a quick thinker, someone who turns in their assignments on time, answers when called on, and doesn’t cause disruptions in class.

You don’t start fights. You don’t pick pointless arguments. You don’t openly break the rules—not in ways that can be proven.

You play the part well.

Because that’s what you had to do.

You grew up alone. No parents. No siblings. No one to step in when things got hard, no one to defend you when the world was cruel. When you were small, scared, and helpless.

So you learned.

You learned that no one was coming to save you. You learned that fairness was a lie, that justice only existed when you carved it out with your own hands. You learned that people could be awful for no reason other than that they could get away with it.

But now? Now, you have a family. Not by blood, but by choice.

And when someone speaks against them? Bad things happen.

The Ominis Incident

It started, as most things did, with a careless remark.

A fifth-year Ravenclaw—smart but not particularly bright—thought it would be amusing to make a joke at Ominis Gaunt’s expense. A cruel one. Something about how the Gaunts were all inbred lunatics, how it was only a matter of time before Ominis ended up just like the rest of his family.

The words reached your ears in the library, drifting from a table not far from where you sat.

"You know I hear they torture Muggles for fun—it’s practically a family tradition. Gaunts don’t have hobbies, just a long history of inbreeding and Crucio."

Laughter followed, a few snickers from their table, hushed but not nearly enough. Not nearly enough to keep you from hearing.

Your quill stilled mid-word, ink pooling in place. Across from you, Ominis sat straight-backed, his expression unreadable, but you saw the way his fingers tightened around the book he was holding, knuckles whitening from the force of it.

He wouldn’t say anything.

Ominis had spent years perfecting the art of indifference. Of carefully controlled expressions, of blank politeness that masked far too much. He never reacted to comments like these.

But just because he wouldn’t didn’t mean you wouldn’t.

You exhaled slowly, carefully. Then, without a sound, you closed your book and stood.

Not a word. Not a glare in their direction. Just a smooth, effortless departure, as if you had suddenly decided the library was boring and somewhere else required your attention.

The Ravenclaws barely noticed.

But they would. They absolutely would. Because Potions class was a very dangerous place. Especially for people who talked too much.

The next day, you walked to Potions without a care in the world.

Sebastian and Ominis flanked you, deep in conversation about some essay Sharp had assigned, with Sebastian whining dramatically about how unfairly long it was, while Ominis countered that perhaps he should have started it earlier than the night before it was due.

You weren’t really listening, because you already knew what was coming.

And sure enough—just as you reached the dungeon corridor—

BOOM.

The floor trembled slightly beneath your feet. A deep, echoing explosion, the unmistakable sound of a cauldron detonating mid-brew, followed almost immediately by the frantic shouting of students.

Gasps. Choking coughs. Someone let out a screech of absolute horror.

Sebastian and Ominis startled.

Sebastian’s head snapped up, eyes wide as he looked toward the dungeon doors. “What the hell—”

Ominis twitched beside you, tilting his head, as if straining to listen.

You? Didn’t even blink. You just kept walking, calmly, like nothing was amiss, like you hadn’t been expecting it for the last twenty-four hours.

Sebastian noticed. His gaze sharpened, flicking to you with a knowing squint. “That was—”

He hesitated. Then narrowed his eyes further.

“Okay,” he said slowly, “I know that face.”

You raised a brow. “What face?”

“That’s your I-did-something-but-you’ll-never-prove-it face.”

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Sebastian scoffed and Ominis rolled his eyes, deadpan. “Uh-huh.”

Then the dungeon doors burst open.

A thick cloud of green smoke billowed out, sending students stumbling and coughing into the corridor. And in the center of it all, a group of very, very green Ravenclaws.

They clawed at their own skin, staring down at their hands in absolute horror. Their faces were the exact shade of an overripe toadstool, splotchy and uneven, and every time they opened their mouths, their tongues flopped out two inches too long.

Hysteria ensued.

Students gasped, some shrieked, others tried not to laugh. Professor Sharp stormed out after them, looking beyond exhausted, already massaging his temples.

“I told you,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “not to add the peppermint extract.”

“WE DIDN’T!” One Ravenclaw wailed, voice garbled from their too-long tongue. “I—I don’t know what happened! We did everything right!”

Sharp did not look convinced.

Sebastian looked at you, long and slow, a glint of admiration dawning in his eyes.

“Did you—”

“I did nothing.” You walked past him, as if the entire debacle were none of your concern. “I was with you all day, wasn’t I?”

Sebastian’s lips twitched. “Yeah, but—”

“No proof, no crime.” You gave him a cheerful smile before stepping into the classroom.

Sebastian grinned. “Oh, I love you.”

It was offhanded, thoughtless, a casual jest, but it sent a sharp, pleasant warmth down your spine.

You didn’t react, though. Just smirked, settling into your seat. Because the message had been sent.

And Ominis Gaunt would never hear a word against his name again.

The Anne Incident

Rumors at Hogwarts were a force of nature.

They swirled through the halls, slipping between whispered conversations and behind cupped hands, growing more twisted with each retelling.

Some were harmless—who was dating who, which professor had it out for which student, the occasional Did you hear Peeves stole all the ink from the Ravenclaws again? But some? Some were cruel.

And this one... this one was about Anne Sallow.

It started at breakfast, when you overheard a group of Slytherin sixth-years in the Great Hall. You weren’t eavesdropping—not intentionally—but you had a habit of noticing things, of hearing too much when you weren’t meant to.

"Did you hear about Sallow’s sister?"

"Yeah, I heard she went mad."

"Lost it completely. The curse must’ve rotted her brain."

"That’s why she left, isn’t it?"

"Yeah, I heard she tried to hex someone in her sleep—"

Your fork warped in your grasp. A slow, controlled bend beneath your fingers, the metal bending in your grip.

Across from you, Sebastian had gone still.

He didn’t turn. Didn’t react. Didn’t give them the satisfaction.

But you saw the way his jaw clenched. The way his hand curled into a fist against the table. The way his entire body had gone taut, locked in place by sheer force of will.

He wouldn’t do anything.

Not because he didn’t want to. Not because he wasn’t capable of it—because he was.

Sebastian Sallow could be ruthless. You knew that better than anyone. You’d seen it firsthand, the sharp edges of his temper, the way his rage burned hot and all-consuming, leaving nothing but wreckage in its wake. You’d seen what happened when he felt cornered, when he thought he was out of options.

But he wasn’t that boy anymore. Because you and Ominis had dragged him back from the brink. Because you had looked him in the eye, years ago, when the dust had settled and the worst of it was over, and told him:

"You still have a future. Don’t throw it away."

Against all odds, he had listened. And now, this was his last year at Hogwarts and he was going to be an Auror. He was going to start over. Prove that he wasn’t just some reckless, violent delinquent one step away from Azkaban.

So no—he wouldn’t react. He wouldn’t take the bait. Wouldn't defend Anne, no matter how badly he wanted to. Wouldn’t let himself be dragged down into the same pit he’d barely crawled out of.

Sebastian was playing the long game.

But you? You weren’t.

Your revenge on Anne's behalf started small. Almost imperceptible.

The first Slytherin—the one who had started the conversation in the first place—was walking to class when it happened.

A single misstep.

His foot caught on something—thin air, perhaps—and he staggered forward, arms flailing in a desperate attempt to right himself. It didn’t work. His books went flying, parchment scattered across the stone corridor, and a bottle of ink tumbled from his bag, shattering upon impact and staining his robes in an ugly, irreversible mess of black.

A small accident. An unfortunate case of bad luck.

No one thought anything of it—until the second one fell.

In the exact same spot.

And then the third. And the fourth.

By the time lunch rolled around, all four of them had tripped at least half a dozen times each.

It wasn’t just limited to the corridor, either. They stumbled on staircases, barely catching themselves before they could go tumbling down. They walked straight into walls as if the castle itself had turned against them. One even managed to trip over absolutely nothing in the middle of the Great Hall and landed face-first into his own soup.

The snickers started soon after. The sideways glances. The poorly hidden laughter from classmates who found their sudden clumsiness far too entertaining.

It wasn’t enough to be suspicious.

Not yet.

Not until the moving staircase.

The ringleader of the group had spent too much time lingering in the courtyard after lunch, chatting up a group of girls who barely tolerated his presence. He realized too late that he was running behind and bolted toward Charms, racing up the moving staircases with zero grace and even less caution.

And then his foot caught.

There was nothing there. No loose stone or shift in the staircase, nothing at all to explain why he suddenly lost his footing.

But he did.

He stumbled backward, arms flailing wildly, fingers grasping at empty air as the momentum carried him too far—

And he plummeted.

Three flights.

A blur of robes and limbs, a crash of bone against stone, and then a sickening thud as he landed in a groaning, crumpled heap at the bottom.

A hush fell over the corridor.

Then—

Shrieking.

His friends rushed down to him, voices panicked, eyes wide with horrified realization as they took in his bruised, trembling form.

A girl ran to fetch Madam Blainey.

By the time she arrived, he was whimpering, clutching his arm like it might’ve snapped.

Hospital Wing. Immediate bed rest.

No one could explain what happened. No professor could find a cause. Some students claimed the stairs had shifted unexpectedly. Others swore that they saw nothing—no trick step, no loose stones, just an unseen force pulling him down.

It didn’t matter.

The moment he was carried off, you finally allowed yourself to smile.

Not a smirk. Not a grin. Just the smallest, most satisfied twitch of your lips.

Sebastian caught it. Because of course he did. He had been standing beside you the whole time. Silent. Still. Watching from the moment that asshole Slytherin stumbled earlier that morning to the moment he was carted off for medical attention.

And now? Now, he just exhaled, long and slow, shaking his head as his mouth curved into something unreadable.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured, voice low.

You hummed, tilting your head in faux curiosity. “Am I?”

Sebastian turned fully then, facing you. His gaze searched your face, for guilt perhaps. For remorse. For something that might suggest you hadn’t meant for it to happen.

But there was nothing.

No trace of hesitation. No flicker of shame.

You were calm, collected, an completely unapologetic. Because nobody talked about Anne Sallow like that without consequence.

Sebastian blinked. Then, to your absolute delight, he grinned. Wide. Slow. A sharp, wicked thing.

“Yeah. You're very dangerous” he said, almost in awe.

Your stomach twisted. You ignored it. Instead, you just shrugged, voice as casual as ever.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sebastian’s grin deepened.

The Poppy Incident

Poppy Sweeting was one of the best people you knew.

Kind-hearted, patient, and too good for the world, really. She spent more time in the company of magical creatures than she did with most people, and honestly? You couldn't blame her.

Because people could be cruel.

You first heard it one afternoon in the courtyard. A group of girls whispering amongst themselves, giggling behind their hands. You hadn’t been paying much attention—until you heard her name.

"Honestly, she’s weird."

"I know, right? It’s like she’d rather date a bloody Hippogriff than an actual person."

"Wouldn’t be surprised if she actually has."

Laughter, sharp and mocking. Like Poppy Sweeting was a joke. Like she was less than because she chose kindness over cruelty, creatures over people who didn’t deserve her time in the first place.

You turned your head and watched as one girl—a Hufflepuff, ironically—rolled her eyes, shaking her head in exaggerated exasperation.

"Beast-lover," she muttered, nose wrinkled like the word itself was distasteful. "It's unnatural, really. No wonder she doesn't have any friends outside of her precious Mooncalves."

Something cold and sharp settled in your chest.

You had no doubt Poppy had heard it. She was standing just a few paces away near the fountain, hands clenched tight at her sides.

She didn’t react. Didn’t turn. Didn’t say anything. She just exhaled, slow and quiet, like she was forcing herself to let it go.

You wouldn’t.

The next morning, that very same Hufflepuff woke up covered in fur.

Not all over, just her face.

A thick, fluffy coat of golden-brown fuzz, soft as a Puffskein, sprouting in wild patches across her forehead, cheeks, and chin.

According to Poppy, the screams started immediately, and the entire girls dormitory had woken up to it.

The girl, who turned out to be a fifth-year, had flown into a hysterical panic, shrieking as she bolted for a mirror, hands frantically scrubbing at her face like she could rub the fur away.

She couldn’t.

It was a very specific hex. One that lasted exactly one week.

Professor Ronen was baffled.

Madam Blainey was thoroughly fascinated.

And Professor Howin, bless her, had cooed over her like she was the most adorable thing she’d ever seen. You had a front row seat to the entire thing during Beasts class.

“This is truly fascinating,” she’d said, holding the girl’s chin and turning her face slightly toward the light. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen transfiguration manifest quite like this! And so soft—feels just like a Kneazle’s coat, doesn’t it?”

The best part? It wasn’t harmful. It wasn’t painful. Just… humiliating.

You considered it a job well done.

When Howin had dismissed you for lunch, Poppy pulled you aside. She didn't say anything at first. Just stared.

You blinked at her, tilting your head. “Everything alright?”

Poppy squinted. Narrowed her eyes slightly. Huffed.

"You did that, didn’t you?"

You blinked again.

Because Poppy—sweet, gentle, pacifist Poppy—did not accuse people of things. Which meant she was completely certain.

You just smiled, giving her your most innocent expression. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Poppy just sighed, shaking her head. But then—just for a moment—she smiled.

Small. Subtle. Grateful.

Like she knew exactly what you’d done. Like she knew there was no use arguing, no point in telling you not to go to such lengths for her.

And then, without a word, she reached out and squeezed your hand.

The Natsai Incident

You had never liked Callum Thorne.

Seventh-year. Gryffindor. Arrogant. Loud-mouthed. The kind of person who had never been told no in his life and walked through Hogwarts like the world owed him something.

You’d tolerated him for years, mostly because you hadn’t needed to interact with him much. But this? This was different.

You were starting the day with Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Hecat had yet to arrive, leaving the class unsupervised and giving Thorne the perfect opportunity to make a scene.

Natty was speaking with Poppy near the front of the room, voice calm as she explained something about the Ministry’s policies on magical creatures in Africa compared to Britain. She wasn’t being loud, wasn’t even arguing, just explaining.

That’s when Thorne scoffed.

“Merlin’s sake, Onai, give it a rest,” he sneered from the back of the room, tossing his quill onto his desk with an exaggerated huff. “Do you ever get tired of standing on that bloody soapbox of yours?”

The room went still.

Natty turned, slow and deliberate, her expression unreadable, regarding him with that same poised, unshaken calm that made her such a force to be reckoned with.

“I was simply having a discussion,” she said smoothly. “No one is forcing you to listen, Thorne.”

“Right,” he drawled. “Except you never shut up about it. Always talking about ‘justice’ and ‘change’ like you think you’re going to fix the whole bloody world.” He smirked. “News flash, Onai—no one cares.”

A few of his friends chuckled.

Your fingernails dug into your palm.

Natty didn’t react—not outwardly, anyway. She just exhaled, slow and measured, and turned back to Poppy like his words had been nothing more than an inconvenience.

You? You were already plotting his downfall, and luckily, Callum Thorne was a creature of habit.

He always stayed out after curfew to flirt with whatever unfortunate girl he had chosen that week, and he always went up to the Astronomy Tower afterwards with his friends to play cards and drink whatever contraband alcohol they’d smuggled into the castle.

Which made him the perfect target.

That night, as the seventh-year tidied up the cards, stretching and yawning, likely already thinking about his warm bed waiting for him—

His legs froze in place. Not a Full Body-Bind. No, this was different.

A soft, subtle hex. A slow, creeping sensation, his feet adhering to the stone beneath him, then his calves, then his thighs.

By the time he realized something was wrong, it was too late.

He tried to step forward—failed. Tried to yank himself free—failed.

And then—with agonizing slowness—his entire body began to lift off the ground. No warning. No control.

He drifted upward, weightless, helpless, arms flailing as the stone ceiling came closer and closer—

And then, with a soft thump, he was stuck. Face-down, body pressed flat against the Astronomy Tower ceiling.

His screaming started immediately.

Loud. Panicked. A complete meltdown.

His friends, who had started their walk down the tower came bolting back up the stairs at the sound of his shouting.

“What the—?” one of them started, eyes wide as they gawked at the ceiling.

“Thorne?” another asked, dumbfounded.

You bit the inside of your cheek, holding back laughter as you hid beneath your disillusionment charm.

“GET ME DOWN!” Thorne bellowed, arms and legs flailing uselessly against the stone. “WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THIS?”

His friends stared, uselessly waving their wands, muttering counterspells that only resulted in Thorne spinning in slow circles, howling in distress.

When they realized they were utterly helpless, panic completely set in.

“What do we do?” one of them asked, looking between the others with wild eyes. “Should we get a professor?”

Thorne snarled. “NO! DO NOT—”

But it was too late. Because at that very moment, the Astronomy Tower door swung open once again, and a very tired, very unimpressed Professor Shah stepped inside.

There was a long, painful beat of silence.

Shah took in the scene.

The stack of contraband firewhiskey bottles on the table. The panicked seventh-years, wands still drawn, looking entirely too guilty. And Callum Thorne, still face-down, circling against the ceiling, hissing every curse word known to wizardkind.

She sighed, long and slow, as if she had simply had enough of this entire generation of students. Then, with an effortless flick of her wand, she cast a single spell.

And gravity returned. All at once. Thorne plummeted like a sack of bricks.

The landing was spectacular. A glorious, sprawling heap, limbs tangled, robes askew, one shoe missing entirely. His friends didn’t even try to catch him.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then—

“Hospital Wing,” Shah said simply, rubbing her temples. “Now.”

Thorne was half-carried, half-dragged down the tower steps, groaning the entire way.

And you?

You slept soundly that night.

By morning, half the school had heard the story.

"Did you hear about Thorne? Got stuck to the Astronomy Tower ceiling last night."

"He was crying by the time they got him down."

"Serves him right—bloke’s a complete asshole."

And you? You sat perfectly composed at breakfast, casually stirring your tea, listening as his friends panicked about who could have done it.

Sebastian, of course, knew.

He sat beside you, arms folded, lips pressed together, shaking with the effort not to laugh.

Finally, he exhaled, tilting his head toward you.

“You are actually unhinged,” he murmured, utterly delighted.

You simply sipped your tea. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Across the hall, Natty smiled.

Soft. Knowing.

The Sebastian Incident

You had been careful.

For years, you had woven your revenge into the shadows, never once leaving a trace of your involvement in the strange misfortunes that befell those who dared to insult your friends. You were precise, patient, undetectable.

But everyone has a breaking point. And yours? Yours was Sebastian Sallow.

It happened in the Great Hall when Scorpius Malfoy decided to idiotically open his big fucking mouth.

You hadn’t been paying attention to him at first. Why would you? People like Malfoy had never mattered to you. He was just another spoiled pureblood, another self-important waste of a surname who thought his words carried weight simply because he could afford to say them.

But then his voice cut through the din, and he said Sebastian’s name.

"No family name worth a damn, no money, no influence. Honestly, I don’t even know why the professors still put up with Sallow. And he’s an orphan, isn’t he?"

One of his friends nodded, grinning like this was some kind of joke. Like Sebastian Sallow’s entire life was nothing more than a punchline.

Malfoy snorted. "So he's got dead parents, a dead uncle, and a crippled sister who’ll probably never set foot in the wizarding world again. Wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up rotting in the same gutter he came from."

The words landed like a curse.

Sebastian had been mid-conversation with you, fork in hand, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he teased you about something inconsequential—some throwaway joke that would have normally earned him an eye roll and a shove.

But now? Now, he wasn’t moving. Not speaking. Not breathing. Just silent.

Rigid.

Like the weight of those words had turned him into stone.

And something inside you snapped.

It was almost funny, in retrospect, how much effort you had spent perfecting the art of subtlety.

Every step you had taken over the years had been measured, every spell carefully woven into the fabric of coincidence, every act of vengeance so meticulously placed that no one had ever been able to definitively trace it back to you. You had built a flawless reputation, balancing on the razor’s edge between brilliance and menace, justice and mystery.

But now? Now, as you rose from your seat, you weren’t careful at all.

You didn’t move like a shadow, didn’t cloak yourself in misdirection or the comfort of silence. No. This time, you wanted them to see you.

And the moment you stood, the Great Hall stilled.

Students stopped eating, stopped talking, stopped moving altogether. The clatter of plates and goblets faded into a thick, suffocating silence, as if even the walls of Hogwarts itself were holding their breath.

Your voice came out low. Cold.

"Say that one more time, Malfoy."

Scorpius turned lazily, like he hadn’t a care in the world. Like he hadn’t just spat on Sebastian’s entire existence for no other reason than because he could.

And he smirked. Merlin, he smirked. Like you were some insignificant thing, an insect buzzing too close to his ear.

“Oh?” he drawled, tilting his head. “Touched a nerve, have I? Which part got to you, I wonder? The fact that Sallow’s got no family? Or the part where I pointed out that he’s got no future either?”

You took a step forward. You could hear Ominis hissing at you to stop, to think about what you were doing before you got yourself deep into shit, gut you couldn't. Not when it came to your friends.

Not when it came to Sebastian.

Especially when he still hadn't moved. Hadn’t reacted. Hadn’t so much as breathed.

Your hand tightened around your wand, the weight of it comforting, grounding, an extension of the fury curling in your chest.

"You should tread carefully, Scorpius," you murmured, your voice smooth, edged with something lethal. "I know you think you're clever—that you can say whatever you like without consequence, just because you were born into the right family."

Your head tilted slightly, gaze sharp, cutting straight through him.

"But you should know something about me by now."

Malfoy’s smirk faltered just slightly. And then, before he could open his mouth again—

You flicked your wand.

Hard. Fast.

Malfoy's goblet exploded.

A concussive blast of magic sent shards flying, the remnants of his beverage splattering across his pristine uniform like spilled blood. A jagged edge of glass sliced across his hand, thin but deep, and he flinched, eyes snapping down to it with genuine shock.

"If you're going to run your mouth about my friends," you said coolly, watching him clutch his bleeding hand, "then you should be prepared to suffer for it."

Your next spell came before he could react. Before anyone could stop you.

A sharp twist of your wrist, and his mouth was gone.

Not silenced. Not muffled. Just… gone. Smooth, unbroken skin where lips should be, like his voice had simply been erased from existence.

The realization hit him immediately.

His hands shot to his face, clawing at his skin, a muffled scream—horrified, panicked—rising in his throat. He lurched backward, knocking into one of his friends, fingers digging at face like he could carve his lips back into place.

But you weren’t done. Not yet.

You needed something that would etch itself into the bones of this castle, into the minds of every single person watching in stunned silence. Something that told the whole goddamn school that if they so much as breathed wrong about Sebastian again, you would ruin them.

A simple hex would be too merciful. A standard jinx—something temporary, something easily countered—wouldn’t send the right message.

No, you needed something else. Something only you could undo.

Your wand rose, fingers tightening around the handle.

A familiar thrumming sensation curled through your bones, crackling at your fingertips, humming beneath your skin like a storm about to break. Ancient magic—the power that had followed you since the day you first stepped foot in Hogwarts, the magic that had made you different. You had never used it publicly. Never allowed yourself to tap into it in a room full of hundreds of witnesses.

Until now.

Malfoy’s body lurched.

Not by his own will, but by yours, by the ancient, crackling force curling through your veins.

The entire room gasped as he was wrenched upward, his robes twisting violently around him as though an invisible hand had grabbed him by the throat and hauled him into the sky.

He thrashed, or tried to, but the moment he moved, the spell struck.

A jolt of electricity tore through his body.

Not enough to kill. Not enough to cause permanent harm, but enough to make him scream. Or at least, he would have screamed—if he still had a mouth.

Instead, a choked, garbled sound tore from his throat, half agony, half suffocated panic, his limbs seizing as the current snapped down his spine, through his arms and legs.

And you let them watch, let the entire Great Hall bear witness as he hung there, suspended like some grotesque marionette.

And the moment he tried to move again, tried to scratch at where his mouth should be or flail his limbs, another arc of lightning danced across his body, snapping against his skin like a promise that any attempt to fight this would only make it worse.

And he knew. They all knew. He wasn’t getting down until you allowed it. But your arm didn’t waver, you held your wand high, like an executioner delivering final judgment.

Because this? This was a declaration. A statement. A message carved into the very bones of Hogwarts itself.

You do not speak against Sebastian Sallow.

You wondered if he realized that you would have done this a thousand times over. That you would have burned the entire goddamn world for him if he asked.

But before you could do anything more—before you could decide how far you were willing to take this—

A thunderous voice shattered the moment.

"THAT IS ENOUGH!"

The spell snapped. Malfoy dropped. His body crashed onto the table below, sending plates and goblets scattering, silverware clattering to the stone floor. He lay there, twitching, gasping, pathetically small as the last of the magic flickered out of his limbs.

And then—

"You."

Phineas Nigellus Black’s voice was pure ice.

You turned to face him—not a shred of regret, not a flicker of guilt in your expression.

But the Headmaster was raging. His hands were clenched at his sides, his teeth bared in fury.

The entire room was still. Waiting. Holding its breath.

"My office." His voice was low, lethal, like the words themselves were a curse. "Now."

A sharp inhale from someone at the Ravenclaw table. A hushed whisper from a terrified first-year.

No detention. No points docked. Just a direct order from the highest authority in the school.

But it was worth it, because now they knew. Every single person in this room knew.

And as you turned on your heel, heart still pounding with the remnants of power buzzing in your veins—

You caught Sebastian’s eyes one last time.

Still watching, still frozen in place, yet looking at you like you were the most devastating, impossible, extraordinary thing he had ever seen.

And then? The slightest smirk. The most faint, devastatingly admiring grin.

Like he had never, ever wanted anyone more.

[absurdthirst]

Fucking Fungus {Joel Miller x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: SEX POLLEN, dub con, post apocalyptic world, scavenging, guilt, shame, desire, Joel having a bad attitude, mentions of periods, rough sex, neediness, unprotected sex, cream pie

Comments: Coming across Wymore, NE, you hoped to find some much needed supplies for the coming winter but you find that the fungus has mutated in dangerous and frightening ways. Needing to insure that there are more hosts to infect in a very basic kind of way.

🎊🎉🎊🎉🎊🎉Happy Birthday @storiesofthefandomlovers!!!! I love you and hope you have the best damn day! In thotty tradition, here is a sex pollen to celebrate another year around the sun!🎊🎉🎊🎉🎊🎉

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Joel Miller MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The world has changed in the past twenty years. None of it for the betterment of humanity. The crunch of the dried leaves grinds under your boots and your head rotates left and then right as you watch, listen. Waiting for any sign of life or more importantly, danger. The weight of your rifle is heavy in your hands, although you hold it down, unassuming but ready to be lifted at a second’s notice. 

“I don’t know why you don’t just hook it over your shoulder.” Ellie snorts, her backpack bouncing slightly on her back from the steps that seem so unencumbered by worry. Why should she worry when there are two fully armed adults on either side of her. Her own personal guard in a manner of speaking. “There hasn’t been anything out here for daaaaaays.” She drags the word out like it's the most horrible thing in the world that it’s been peaceful. 

Joel snorts, rolling his eyes as you glance over at him and then look back out at the surrounding terrain. “Yeah, that’s why we are on guard.” He grunts, even though his own rifle is on his shoulder. His hand gripped the shoulder sling loosely but he had only just put it up there half an hour ago after you had taken your turn relaxing as much as you can. “it’s too fucking quiet.” 

He’s right. After the disasters that had been Kansas City, you had tried to avoid major cities, but even in the small towns, you had come across plenty of cordyceps and clickers. You hate the clickers with a passion.

The isolation can account for a lot of the silence. Miles stretching between remnants of civilization. The crumbling buildings and overgrown roads give the entire midwest a sense of peace. It’s unnerving. 

Your grip adjusts, head rolling around your shoulders slightly to try to loosen the knot that builds up in your shoulders after so long. The weight of your pack isn’t as heavy as it should be, the rations not exactly filling since you had to escape that one clicker in Du Bois, Nebraska. Your pack had been ripped and most of the food you had been carrying was lost. 

You glance over at Joel, noticing the way his shoulders seem to hang, almost a reflection of the way you feel. “We need to risk a larger town.” You murmur quietly, knowing that his first instinct will be to argue with you. You stumble slightly over a rock and hiss when you feel the hole in the sole of your boots. 

“Too dangerous.” Joel snorts, shaking his head even as he watches you regain your footing. “I’ve got some duct tape in my bag.” He reminds you, knowing that you should probably reinforce that shoe before you lose the sole all together. 

“It’s not just shoes.” You protest, trying to ignore the way that Ellie groans obnoxiously loud and stomps her foot. 

“Come on, man!” She throws her own arguments into the ring. “I need tampons! We could find them if there was jack shit out here, but there’s not. Do you want me to attract wild animals?” She presses, glaring at Joel who looks equal parts horrified and unconvinced. She cracks an evil grin. “Circling us in the wild as I just leave behind a trail of blood? Aaaaand tears.” She adds, lifting her brows. “Periods are really emotional things.” 

Biting your lip to keep from snorting, you watch as Joel; normally stoic, no bullshit Joel, can’t seem to string together the words to respond. His eyes slide over to you, almost pleading with you to say something. 

Your brows lift in question and he twitches slightly, his dark eyes unhappy with you not immediately jumping in to save him. “We could use the food if we can find any.” You rationalize, smirking when his brows pinch together and he looks like he had just been betrayed. 

“Clean underwear!” Ellie adds. “Or….cleaner. And a heavier fucking coat.” She shivers slightly and you can see that is the moment when Joel caves. He acts like a prick most of the time, but he’s got a soft spot for the kid. He won’t admit, maybe not even to himself, but he looks over at the faded and nearly rusted out sign. 

You continue walking, not pressing any more and you can hear the grumbling thoughts that are rolling through Joel’s mind. The now half hearted protests about why this is such a bad idea but you wait for the sigh. 

Almost even with the sign is when it comes, heavy and it sounds almost pained. Like he is going against everything he believes in. “Stop.” He huffs, shuffling to pull his bag off his back and kneeling down with a groan and the small pops of fifty plus year old knees. Unzipping the pocket where he keeps the Atlas and flips the worn pages to Nebraska. Glancing back at the road behind you and then at the sign before looking at the map. Tracing the route that you had already traveled before looking ahead at the towns that were on highway 77. 

Ellie doesn’t say a word but she practically bounces on her toes as she waits for his decision. You know that he’s going to agree, it’s just a matter of which town he chooses. He knows the truth of the situation. Winter is going to come quicker than any of you want, your food supply is low, you could probably all use a new set of boots, and all of you would kill for a halfway decent musty mattress to sleep on. Four walls and a hopefully non-leaking roof over your heads would be the icing on the cake. 

“Wymore is coming up in fifty-eight miles.” He taps the map and looks up at you to see what you think. 

Ellie shuffles slightly and instead of grinning, you crane your neck to look at the map yourself. “It looks like it’s bigger than the last few towns, but at least it’s not like we are running into Lincoln.” You hum before you nod. “I say we try.”

“Yessssss!” The teenager pumps her fist in excitement and she grins when Joel rolls his eyes. You’ve noticed that like any normal teenager, her favorite activity is annoying any kind of parental unit and pushing boundaries. This applies to Joel whether or not he likes it. “I want to find another joke book too.” 

Joel groans but you just turn around, grinning yourself as Joel mumbles under his breath, stuffing the map back in his pack and zipping it up. Joel and Ellie are alike in a lot of ways, especially their penchant for mumbling. 

You resist the urge to offer him a hand up, knowing he will be even more pissy if you do. For someone who complains about being older, he gets downright grouchy when he’s reminded of that same fact. “Well then, the quicker we get there, the quicker we don’t have to hear ‘are we there yet?’.” You snort, making Ellie grin shamelessly as she shrugs, knowing she will do exactly that. 

“So let’s get going.” She doesn’t wait for anyone, just setting off down the road and leaving the two of you to catch up with her. 

****

It takes you nearly three days to get to Wymore. All of you are tired, but Joel is the one who barely sleeps, even when you force him to lay down. It’s as if he cannot stop trying to protect Ellie, and also you, long enough for him to rest. He gets upset when he has to sleep, staying up until he is nodding off. The coffee supply has been exhausted and it’s probably a good thing. He would drink it all day to the point where his hands would shake from too much caffeine. Still he just wouldn’t trust you to make sure that no one snuck up on you for a few hours until he was past the point of being useless. 

The first signs of the town are a welcomed relief but it’s also an added source of tension. Each mile that you had traveled had added to the fear that this might be the time that you fail. That something goes wrong and someone else dies. The road here has not been easy and the losses have weighed heavily on all of you. Joel still won’t even mention Tess and you hate it when you wake up in the early morning hours to find him staring down at the broken face of his watch with a look that breaks your heart. 

Every approach into a new area can mean danger, either from the clickers or from humans and honestly you don’t know which one you fear more. Your gun is back in your hand, the weight of it familiar and comforting as you pass the first gas station, the windows busted out and dried fungus clinging to the building. 

“Fuck.” You hiss, uneasy at the presence of the fungal vines, even if they look like they aren’t active.

“I wonder why it looks pink.” Ellie frowns as she squints at the building. “It’s usually an ugly brown color, right?” She looks towards Joel for confirmation, but he’s busy frowning at the building himself. 

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea.” If the cordyceps have spread this far out of town then there’s a possibility there are still active branches closer to the supplies that you are looking for. 

“Come on man.” Ellie groans, kicking a dirt clod. “There’s nothing for miles. It’s probably all dead.” 

You know that Ellie is probably right, but it’s a risk. You bite your lip, looking over at Joel. “Why don’t we sweep the town and we can see?” You ask, knowing that if everything is dead, you could desperately use the rest. Cordyceps rarely return en masse when the vines have withered and died. It could be a safe place to recharge and for Joel to sleep for more than ten minutes at a time. 

You’ve stopped walking as you talk, Joel looking around as he contemplates your alternatives. To be honest, there aren’t many and both of you know it. Not without a lot of backtracking which none of you want to do. 

Joel sighs and you know that he’s going to agree. He turns to Ellie. “Don’t fucking touch anything until we say it’s alright.” He points at her for good measure, as if his finger would impress the importance of his words. “Got it?” 

“Got it.” She huffs. “Jesus, you act like we haven’t done this before.” You roll your eyes and look away, knowing you shouldn’t encourage her right now. 

It takes hours to make your way into the center of town. Not because you are blocked by clickers or avoiding humans, it’s because you are stocking up. It’s like the fungus took over this town and just let it rot. Nothing inside the first few blocks of town is disturbed. No looting has been done here, plenty of supplies to be had. 

Both you and Joel have been cautious but slowly optimistic as you’ve found boots and heavy jackets, gloves and hats. A new pair of clothes have been rolled into everyone’s bags and you’ve even grabbed another pack to fill with the mylar sealed packs of camping food from the sporting goods store. It was a miracle that nothing had been ransacked, but it makes you wonder exactly what the fuck happened here. Did the army sweep through and round up all the residents right away? It would make sense, but then why were there dead spores of the fungus here? You haven’t seen one body so far and it makes you nervous. 

“This place is a fucking gold mine.” Ellie grins like a kid in a candy store, perhaps because you’ve actually found candy and she has been sucking on the jolly ranchers until the top of her mouth is raw. “Now we just need to find a place to sleep. I want my own room.” 

Glancing over at Joel, you expect him to immediately tell her no, but he doesn’t say a word. Continuing to look around like he is expecting a clicker to pop out from the doorway of the local McDonald’s, now completely covered in that strange pink fungus. It’s like he doesn’t even hear her as he frowns at the building. 

She takes that as approval and immediately starts talking about how she’s going to spread out. Making you snort when she talks about sitting in her underwear for an hour. There hasn’t been a lot of privacy out here on the road, so you can understand that desire. 

“Joel.” You murmur his name softly, knowing that the best thing you can do is to find the motel and get settled down for the night before the sun sets. Even if this town is as safe as it appears on the surface, you would rather not be fumbling around in the dark . He doesn’t look over at you, still staring at the overgrown building as if it’s holding the secret. Maybe it reminds him of the Boston Museum, ominously covered with the tentacles of the fungus and the horrors that you had found inside it. “Joel!”

“What?” His head whips around, body tense as he’s ripped out of his thoughts. Relaxing when he finds you and Ellie staring at him. “We need to find the motel.” You remind him, nodding towards the sun getting lower in the sky. “I think we could all use a good night’s sleep.” 

He stares at you for a moment, his eyes searing your face, looking for some hidden meaning beneath your words before he glances over at an eager Ellie. “Yeah, sure.” He agrees, adjusting his rifle to sling it onto his shoulder and adjusts his now much heavier pack on his back. “Probably on the other side of the main drag.” 

His new boots thump against the cracked pavement. The roads leading deeper into the town is the guide towards what will hopefully be a comfortable bed and at least eight hours of sleep. 

Your own new boots feel pretty good, but maybe a day or so here, going through supplies and really making sure that you can take on the coming winter would be a good thing. Allowing you to break in the shoes without blisters. You’ll have to talk about it with Joel after Ellie sequesters herself for the night. 

It’s about another fifteen minutes before you get to the small motel that looks like it will be a good place to spend the night. Half the building is covered in another large cluster of the fungus, the pink hue looking particularly bright in the fading sun. 

“We’ll get some keys.” It will be better than breaking down doors, especially since the motel wasn’t equipped with the keycards that the high end hotels had started switching to before society came crashing down. 

The bad news is that the motel doesn’t have any adjoining rooms, so Joel and Ellie get into a small spat about her having her own room, Ellie eventually winning after promising that she will block the door with a dresser and he’s allowed to sweep the room before she locks herself in. Half the building is so overtaken by the vivid pink fungus that you swear looks like a big splat of bubblegum thrown over the walls. 

She doesn’t even want to have dinner with you and Joel, making the man go through the room and then telling you both goodnight and shutting the door in your face. Making you laugh as Joel frowns at the door, rethinking this entire situation. 

“Well, you can have a room to yourself too.” You offer, smirking as he cuts his eyes towards you. You know that Joel would rather everyone sleep where he can keep his eyes on them, so you getting privacy is off the table. 

“Shut up.” Joel grunts, walking down towards the next room and kicking it open, watchful even though you’ve both already been in the room and deposited your bags. It’s a nice room, two double beds so each one of you can stretch out and relax. 

You laugh quietly and decide to walk down the railing towards the portion of the building that has been overtaken by the fungus. Your curiosity about this variant is finally getting the best of you and you want to get a better look at it. 

It’s thick. The tendril that is draped over the metal railing of the second floor, wrapping around it and up the support column. You bite your lip, tilting your head when you see the withered remnants of some kind of flower. What kind of fungus sprouts flowers?

You jump when something touches your back, whirling around to find Joel behind you, holding his hands up. He smirks at you, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Fuck you.” You hiss, narrowing your eyes and he huffs. “What are you doing?” He asks. 

Turning back towards the fungus, you sigh. “This is different from any other kind I’ve ever seen.” You comment, stepping closer to it only to feel Joel reach for your arm to pull you back. “It’s dried out.” You remind him, jerking your head towards the husk of the cordyceps. “Have you ever seen anything like this?” You know that he spent a lot of time sneaking out of the Boston QZ, it’s possible he had seen it before. 

He grunts, relaxing his hold on you and he shuffles slightly closer, looking at the flower buds that extend from the tendrils. His own suspicions about anything fungus related is deep, but it’s dried. “I haven’t.” He admits after a moment, narrowing his eyes slightly and trying to think if there is any reason why this pink coloring has the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. 

“So it’s something new.” You bite your lip and lean in, feeling the disapproval radiate off of Joel in hot waves but you ignore him. Tilting your head and reaching out to touch one of the dried flowers. 

“Don’t-”

The second your finger touches the wilted bloom, it bursts open, spurting you and Joel behind you in a cloud of pink dust. You gasp, holding your breath but there’s no hope for not inhaling the pollen. 

“Fuck!” Joel coughs, shaking his head and backing up so quickly he hits the side of the building and reaches out to drag you away from the lingering cloud of dust and starts to practically beat it off the two of you. “We need- we need-” He leans over and starts coughing, obviously having inhaled just as much of it as you had. 

“We’re okay.” You gasp, shaking your head and brushing the dust off your clothes. “We- it’s dead. Right?” You hate that you are asking that, but you hadn’t expected that from a dried out fungus.

“It- we should clean up.” Joel blinks, the pollen making his eyes itch and that has to be the cause of the rush of heat that slides over him. It’s just adrenaline. Fear. Anything that would scare both of you would make the slight nip in the air disappear and make you feel like your skin is superheated.

The water is gravity fed. The large cisterns on the roof are still full and while it’s not warm, perhaps a cold shower might be better right now. Joel drags you both to the room and locks the door, although he doesn’t push a dresser in front of it in case Ellie needs you in the night. 

In the bathroom, you are shaking as you start to strip down, worrying about how stupid you just were and if you completely fucked yourself. The anxious fear covering the way your skin seems to burn and feel so sensitive to everything. Shuddering when your hand brushes over your thigh as you push your jeans down and kick them off before you pull your shirt over your head and remove your bra. 

Clean up. Get the pollen off your skin and cool down. Your body seems to be working on overdrive. Your nipple hard under the cold water and instead of gasping in shock, you moan softly. Enjoying the sensation and reaching for the bar of soap that is still wrapped in plastic. 

Hurry up, hurry up. Joel paces around the room, his hands curled into fists. Practically sweating even though the air is cool as the sun sets. His body feels like it’s on fire, like he is battling a sickness. 

Over and over again, he goes through the symptoms of the infection of the cordyceps, there’s no veining, he’s stopped and checked his eyes and reflection in the peeling mirror about twenty times in the five minutes you’ve been in the bathroom. And he doesn’t fucking think the fungus makes his cock harder than a fucking rock in his jeans. 

He’s not thought about sex in months. Nothing beyond fleeting moments of attraction to you that he swiftly buries under guilt and responsibility. Normally, it is when you’re bent over and your ass is presented to him in such a way that he thinks about sinking into you from behind, or when your shirt pulls tight over your breasts and he imagines cupping them in his hands as you sit on his cock. Immediately dismissed and ignored as he reminds himself of how he had failed Tess, he doesn’t deserve to find warmth and comfort in your arms. 

Now, it’s all he can think about. The urge to palm his cock makes his fingers twitch and he almost moves his hand over his crotch before he flinches back to reality and tries to examine his face in the mirror again, wondering if his eyes are bloodshot from lack of sleep or if he is infected. 

Scrubbing your body is nearly painful, wanting to stop and touch yourself, but you can’t. You need to get this done and get out so Joel can shower. Still, despite the cold water, you feel like you are on fire when you shut off the water and realize that you didn’t bring your bag into the bathroom. You will have to go out there in nothing because you can’t put those clothes back on. Not until they have been washed. 

Moderately dry, you hear Joel bang on the door. “Hurry up.” He growls, making you clench your thighs together at the raspy tone and hating how it spears through you. You know Joel isn’t interested in you, hasn’t ever looked at you like that and the crush that you had on the man had been buried deep. 

“I’m done.” You don’t have a chance to be embarrassed as you open the door and Joel practically shoves past you into the bathroom and slams it behind him. “Fuck.” Your annoyance cools the heat for a moment, but it’s only temporary. 

The water is icy, but still, Joel curls his hands into fists against the shower wall. He’s fucking hard. Harder than he had probably ever been in his entire life, even when he was a horny teenager and would have fucked anyone who let him between their thighs. He’s not felt like this ever. The need to touch himself builds to the point where his hips are rocking into thin air against the spray of the water. Want clawing up his throat and pooling in his stomach in a heavy knot. 

You don’t dress, you can’t. Crawling under the covers of one of the beds, you listen to Joel groan in the bathroom, it’s muted over the sound of the shower but it’s sexy. All of his sounds are sexy, from the low grunts he gives when he’s stiff and sore, to the huffs and groans of annoyance. It’s all sexy to you. The rasp of his voice when he’s not spoken for a few hours. 

Closing your eyes, it’s easy to give in, to let your hands drift over your skin. He’s not here, you can take care of this frantic need that is swirling inside you. You just need to slide your hand between your thighs and ease it. It wouldn’t take much more than a few swipes of your fingers against your pulsing and aching clit. 

Trying to fight it, you concentrate on your breathing, in and out. Inhaling slowly and holding it so you can exhale when the burn in your lungs tells you that you’ve reached your limit. It helps, but not much. Not when you’re imagining Joel in his shower. Touching him. Being free to touch him and having his hands on your body in return. 

Your hands slip over your breasts, squeezing them hard enough to moan softly and your legs shift to press together. Clenching around nothing and wishing that you were full while your hands start to move down over your stomach. 

The first touch is almost a relief, your entire core quivering as your fingers press against your clit. It’s overwhelming and not enough. You need more, fingertips pressing and rubbing around the puffed up bundle of nerves. You’re already soaked and can feel it dripping down your slit. 

Spurred on by that insatiable need, you slide your fingers around your entrance and start to press them inside. Biting your lip to keep yourself from moaning. Imagining that it’s more, that it’s a cock that is starting to break you open and fill that void that is aching. 

You are so caught up in the bliss of that first stretch of your fingers that you don’t hear the shower turn off. The quiet curses coming from the bathroom are muffled by the rush of blood in your ears, the feeling of relief coursing through your nerves and taking over. You don’t hear the click of the lock and the turn of the handle. The door opening doesn't even register as you plant your heels on the bed and push your hips up, needing to get your fingers deeper, not quite reaching the spot inside you that craves fullness. 

You don’t hear him until he chokes out a sound that is pained and low, like he’s injured. Your eyes pop open as you lurch up off the bed, your fingers ripping themselves out of your cunt hard enough to make you whimper. Fixed on Joel’s towel draped body, tented over his waist. 

“Joel, I-” “Fuuuuuck.” He growls, his eyes closing and his hands bunches into fists, one holding his towel and the other by his side. “I’ve tried to not think about you, about touching you.” His words are rasped out, strained against his vocal cords. “I’ve goddamn beat into my brain that you aren’t to be thought about this way and now, I can’t stop.” His stomach clenches and his body twitches as he struggles to keep still. 

Your chest heaves and you see his eyes drop down to your uncovered tits. His jaw clenching and his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallows. “I - I need to touch myself.” You admit breathlessly. “I - it hurts so bad and I need something inside me.” 

Joel groans again, shuddering so violently that you can see him shake from where you are. “I’ve jerked off in the shower twice and it's still hard.” He drops the towel, revealing his hard and leaking cock, making you whimper at the sight and clench around nothing. “I think that- that we- that the flower-” “I don’t care.” You moan, shaking your head and crawling to your knees and shuffling forward. Showing him all of you and so goddamn desperate to touch him that you think you are about to explode. “Touch me, Joel. Fuck, touch me, please.” You beg, your hands on your own body. “We-” He shakes his head and his face changes, morphs into pain.

“Fuck me.” You hiss, watching as his resolve breaks. His cock bounces as he lunges for you, hard and swift, driving you back to the bed with a bounce. Almost as if he is attacking you. 

He’s not gentle. His mouth finding yours in a harsh kiss, your permission unleashing the coils of restraint that he had tried to put on himself. His grip bruises as he hauls you up the bed and settles between your thighs. 

You’ve always attributed Joel with rough gentleness. The type of man who would make you ache and then hold you close. Groaning in pleasure when you find out that is exactly what Joel Miller is like. His hands spreading your thighs with a desperation that proves he is just as afflicted by this fungal pollen as you are. His cock hard and pressing against your folds as he rocks his hips forward to line up. Almost unable to find the hole with his eagerness to sink into you. 

“Joel, hurry.” Your hands shake, holding onto him and urging him closer to you, frantic with need now that you know that you are going to have him inside you. 

“Goddamn, I’m trying.” He hisses, hating to let you go so he can take his cock in hand. Rocking into his own grip as he shuttles his hips forward. “I’m fuckin’ trying, sweetheart.” 

You whimper when you finally feel him pressing against your entrance, choking out a sound of need that is animalistic. Only to cry out in bliss as he pushes inside you without another delay. 

He groans, eyes cinched shut as he slides inside you to the hilt, burying himself in your heat and feeling that coil in his stomach tighten even more now that your walls are around him. Immediately starting to move just as soon as he fills you, driving by that need and burning in his very veins. 

It’s exquisite, the pain and pleasure blending and fusing in your stomach, nerves alight and responding to every small movement. You can’t get enough of him, you need more. Wrapping  your legs around his hips, you rise to meet his harsh thrusts. Clenching down around him every time he hits that spot deep inside you that you couldn’t reach with your fingers. 

He shouldn’t be inside you, he shouldn’t be touching you, but now that he is, he can’t stop. Turning his head, he presses his lips to yours and slides his tongue into your mouth. Needing more. Kissing you like he had imagined a thousand times before. Giving into every urge he has had since the day he met you and repressed before right now. Snapping his hips forward sharply and pulling every groan out of your mouth to swallow down. 

Every thrust makes it better, eases that burning in your core, your cunt slick and squelching every time he drives into you. He absorbs every sound you make, almost greedy for them. His hips jarring as they slam into you. Rocking you both up the bed. 

“Oh god,” breaking away from the kiss, you moan into his ear. Closing your eyes as he pants and puffs while he fucks you. “So deep, so deep, Joel.” Your nails drag down his back, making him hiss in pleasure and pain. 

“Shit.” He groans your name, lost in the rhythm of his thrusts and the building pressure. “You needed this?” He growls, making you clench down around him hard and whimper his name. “Yessss.” You agree, nodding against the pillow. “Needed it so bad.” 

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” He huffs, burying his face against your neck. Continuing to pound into you, and not letting up even though his back is screaming in pain. His body won’t let him do anything but rock his hips. Driven by a need that overrides everything else. 

His words make you burn, making you even more desperate for him. Your hips rock up and legs tightening around his waist even more. Loving how his cock stretches you out and scrubs against every nerve in your cunt. Lighting up your body until you are gasping on the edge of that much needed orgasm. 

Every plunge into your body brings him closer to cumming, desperate to feel that emptiness, that wrung out filling once he has filled you. He shouldn’t cum inside you, he knows that, but he’s not going to be able to stop himself. He can barely pull back enough to rock his hips back into you. 

His arms have banded around you, holding you into place as he fucks you. Deep and primal, as if he is trying to fuse the two of you into one. His cock punches into the depths of your body that you never imagined anyone reaching, but he touches it with ease. Your body pulsing with that need to come apart. 

“So close, I’m so close, baby.” You whine, body starting to tremble underneath him. “So close.” Your nails dig into his shoulder, grounding yourself to him in desperation. “Joel.” 

“I gotcha.” He groans, eyes closed and his breath fanning against your skin. “I’mma take good care of you, sweetheart.” He promises. “You’re gonna cum all over my cock, ain’t cha? Just like you wanted.” 

His words throw you over the edge, that need built up so tight inside you that it busts on the next thrust. Lights careen and collide behind your eyes, bright and beautiful as your whole body ignites into pleasure like you’ve never experienced before. Crying out loudly and soaking  him in a wave of your juices. Cumming harder than you ever have before. 

Joel growls your name, his hips stuttering as you come apart around you. Unable to hold back any longer. He buries himself deep into your hot passage and paints your walls with sticks ropes of his seed. Panting against your lips as he empties himself body and perhaps his very soul into you. 

Both of you pant, relieved and exhausted from the pure exertion of need as you had taken from each other. Joel presses into you, trying to catch his breath, but the fire is still burning low in his belly, his cock still not softening as it twitches inside you. 

“Oh fuck.” You feel that same desire still curling in your stomach, not satisfied by the intensity of the orgasm that you are still coming down from. “Joel-” 

He huffs and shakes his head. “Don’t-” he presses his lips to your again, body screaming as he starts to move again. “Shhhhhh.” 

The need still burns and both of you are still locked in its fiery grip, not yet free from the desire that washed over you from a burst of pollen. 

****

“What the fuck man, open the door!” The thudding on the door finally penetrates the bone deep sleep you had finally fallen into. You don’t know how many time Joel fucked you, or how many times he had spend himself inside you as you blearily open your eyes. 

Joel grunts, slowly opening his own eyes and unwinding himself from the tangled together position that you had passed out in. The knocking on the door keeps on. “Joel!” Your name is also shouted, Ellie starting to sound somewhat panicked when neither one of you is immediately opening the door. 

“Fuck! I’m coming.” He drags the top blanket off the bed and wraps it around his waist before flinging the door opened to blink into the harshness of the sun. “What?” He growls roughly, making Ellie’s eyes blow wide with shock.

“Holy shit, what happened to you?” She demands, pushing into the room and stopping short when she sees you sitting up in the only bed that has been disturbed, the sheet anchored beneath your armpits. “Oh shit, you fucked.” She gasps, turning and shooting Joel an impressed grin. “Way to go, old man, you made a move.” Her grin quickly turns into an expression of mild disgust when she realizes that she’s congratulating you two on having sex. “Uh, I’m gonna go now.” She huffs, wrinkling her nose and pinching it. “It smells in here.” Waving her hand in front of her face, she darts back out the door and Joel just stands there for a moment before he rolls his eyes and goes to shut the door before he thinks better of it. Sticking his head out of the room, he shouts after Ellie. “Stay away from the fucking fungus!” 

You snort, grinning to yourself as your body starts to ache. Fucking fungus indeed.