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stsgooo · 9 months

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The Moonlight Goddess.

✩࿐ summary: the toy that got tucked away, would eventually come back out to play.

warning(s): chapter 48.2 manga spoilers, unedited. wc; 3.2k

pairing(s): jinshi/fem!reader

a/n: caught up on the manga, feeling incredibly deranged. i will Not be speaking about chapter 65 as that was the craziest experience i've ever had at 1 am. also, i'll be reading the light novel soon :)) anyway, i hope you enjoy this random thing i cooked up.

part ii m.list ao3

WHEN MAOMAO SUGGESTED JINSHI TAKE THE PLACE OF A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN, YOU WEREN’T ENTIRELY CONVINCED.

Sure, your master was a beautiful man who had won the lottery of genetics. But you weren’t sure if he could convince beautiful western women that he of the same level, if not above, as them. It wasn’t a slight towards him. A lack of confidence in his abilities. But the mere fact that this issue itself was presented as nonsense. Achievable for a god, perhaps. But not for someone as simple as Jinshi.

It’d been 50 years since the last time the convery had last visited and spotted this beautiful woman. Surely, these girls were aware of the effects of time and how… unkind it could be to some?

It all smelt bad.

“Uh, Maomao, are we sure this is the absolute best approach for this matter?” You had asked as the three others had come to some general consensus amongst each other.

Maomao had stared at you flatly and, for a moment, you ponder if she even knew who you were. “Have you ever dealt with unruly women, Y/N?” She asked in her usual monotonous manner.

You blinked, expression equally as flat as you regarded the younger girl for a beat. Her time at Jinshi’s home had been spent, primarily, with you and Suiren. It was fond to look back on, but the two months had been stressful and the girl was rather difficult to work with. She drug you around on one or two of her little investigations. Much to the disdain of you both. The only compliment she paid you in that time was that you were quick on your feet and able to keep up with. Something that you guessed wasn’t common.

Yes, you are rather unruly, Maomao. Was the reoccurring and unkind thought that passed through your mind.

“I’ve dealt with my fair share of unruly people.” You opted to answer instead.

The girl raised an eyebrow, “Women?”

You deflated, “Many.”

Unfortunately, being Jinshi’s maid had meant you had your encounters with women who, blinded by their fondness for him, would attempt to make random walk-ins. Something strictly forbidden unless it was the upmost emergency. Despite them being the ones in the wrong, it was usually you who suffered the brunt of their abuse until Gaoshun finally decided to inquire what was wrong.

You were quite used to unruly women.

Unknowingly, you'd guaranteed your place in Maomao's plan.

She placed her fingers against her chin, eyes squinted on you. "Do you use makeup often?"

You blink, a weary frown on your lips. "What?"

"Are you familiar with makeup and hair, Y/N?"

"Of course I am." What did she take you for? A lazy uneducated lady?

Maomao grinned, something that was dark and twisted, and you felt like you had somehow stumbled into a terrible trap. "Wonderful, you'll help with Jinshi-sama's makeup!"

"Wha- no, I-I have my--" You attempted to decline, but were quickly cut off.

"That's a great idea," Jinshi spoke up, looking rather delightful as his eyes moved to you. "No one I would trust more with this."

Seeing the glint in his eyes and the kind smile, you knew you could no longer remove yourself from this plan. With a bowed head, you turned to Maomao, prepared to receive your duty.

You suppose this is how you ended up here. Maomao and Gaoshun out to find an outfit that would suit the Moonlight Goddess. And you awfully close to Jinshi's face as you carefully apply the eye makeup.

Silently, you were thankful that he had his eyes closed, as his violet eyes endlessly and innocently staring back into yours would surely make your heart stop. The work had been silent for the most part. The both of you uttering only what was needed: close your eyes, please look up, tilt your head to the side. It was the easy back and forth you both fell into.

It made you realize that most of your companionship with Jinshi had primarily been in silence. You simply deciphering exactly what he wanted from the twitch in his brow or the look he would shoot. It'd never really been on your mind before. Although, it had always been an easy agreement between you that shouldn't be brought to question or pondered upon too much. Ever since the both of you were children. Ever since you were just being trained for the duties that would be carried out in the rest of your adult life. You'd both just been in this tiptoe waltz that carried you through life.

He didn't pry too much into your personal dealings and you never questioned his demands as your master.

Life was, in all ways, easy.

But still, you felt as though this plan was toeing a line. Asking too much, underestimating the intelligence of another.

You supposed Maomao was like that and Jinshi would easily follow her word.

Maomao. Jinshi. Maomao and Jinshi.

They are quite the duo recently. You knew it would be nothing good the moment he'd called for her in Lady Gyokuyou's with that glint in his eyes. The eagerness and curiosity similar to that of a child. The way he sought her out at any given opportunity. If you had to guess, you would say Jinshi is rather fond of dear Maomao.

It made you sigh heavily, your eyes narrowed on the liner that looked a little wobbly.

"Any mistakes, you can just retry, don't stress yourself." Jinshi spoke, assuming that your sigh was related to the unsteady line rather than the trail of thoughts plaguing your mind.

You blink, eyes focused on the kind smile that stretched over his lips. A slight pitter-patter took your chest. "No worries, Jinshi-sama, I won't ruin your looks." You shoot back, softly.

Jinshi's eyebrows raised, a soft snort released. "Oh, really? Are you teasing me now?"

"I do have the ability to joke here and there, sir."

"You barely do anymore. Joke, that is." Jinshi observed, a subtle frown on his lips as you applied a bit of glimmer to his eye lids. "You're very serious now, very on edge."

"These are serious times, Jinshi-sama." You replied back smoothly, feeling an indescribable ache in your chest. "I'm sorry if I'm not entirely entertaining."

Jinshi's frown seemed to deepen. And, suddenly, his fingers were wrapped around your wrist and his eyes were open to reveal the clandestine violets that glimmered into your very soul. His hold felt warm and all encompassing, a disorienting welcoming feeling that made you falter in your work. Frozen, you offered him your undivided attention as he appeared to struggle with himself. gave him your undivided attention. His brows were furrowed and the frown on his lips was entirely too childish for the man he claimed to be. His lips parted and he released a sound akin to frustration. He huffed and huffed and huffed. Then he stared into your soul-- still, he couldn't seem to find the proper words for his thoughts.

One of the many things that Jinshi struggled with often is that he simply had a greater outlook on life while being so terribly confined. A childish optimism that should've left him once he was grown, clung to his soul desperately and gave him a more bountiful outlook on people and life. He knew the risks, he knew the dangers, he knew the nastiness of the world, but still stayed kind.

You know it was one of the many things his mother tried to change about him. That and his attachment to things. That was something you'd encountered first hand.

"You have your reservations about this, I can tell."

When he spoke, you weren't entirely sure what he'd say. There were times he was too insightful, too smart for his own good. It used to amuse you, now you only worried when it'd come across as unseemly.

Jinshi stared up at you, glittering eyes kind and approachable, his fingers squeezed gently around your wrist. "I don't want you to feel like you can't speak your mind." He continued as if he had no idea who you were. What you were. What you were to him.

Your gaze bounced between his own, a small frown breaking the perfect exterior you always desperately kept up. Maybe he was still stuck in the past. Maybe he was still enchanted by who you both used to be to one another.

The past was usually more lovely than a future unseen.

"I'm actually told not to voice my mind."

"By who?"

"Everyone."

There's a moment where Jinshi looks as if he's remembering something. Something distinct and obvious. Something that he had completely disregarded in the back of his mind for whatever reason, for however long. It must be pleasant, to not be constantly reminded that the people around you are paid or contracted to be by your side. Must be nice to have a choice.

Master. Servant. Master and servant.

That is all you and Jinshi shall ever be.

"I see," He uttered, eyes briefly tracing the tiles on the floor before fluttering back up to you with a new spark of determination. "But I'm ordering to speak your mind! Freely!"

You stared back flatly in return. Was he oblivious what freely meant? Ordering me and then saying it's of my own volition can't both be true.

Jinshi would put you into early death.

"Well, I, uh," you found his eyes to be too vibrant, to be staring too intensely and too welcoming. You turned your gaze away, desperate to grab some type of bearings over yourself. But, alas, his hand was still wrapped around your own. His skin scorched yours, tainted it with the warmth that was all his. "I think that this plan will not go entirely as you all hope."

"Is that so?" His voice is like a smooth honey, soft and all too endearing.

You hum, nodding, "Yes, uh, I believe they want you to fail, sir. And to have a rather unsavory thing to report back." Jinshi simply hummed in response. You could feel his eyes almost stroking against the side of your face. "I just think that they won't react the way you and Maomao hope they will. This is no slight to your or her intelligence, of course. Just a mere observation."

"I know what you mean, no worries." Jinshin's thumb was now slowly and softly stroking the butt of your palm. A soothing action that brought your eyes back to him. Captured in the way he serenely observed you. "What exactly about this makes you uneasy? Maybe I can ease you."

It didn't sound like an offer, but a promise. If his words weren't enough, his eyebrows were drawn together in careful contemplation. He wasn't going to walk away from this conversation without you both reassured in some capacity.

"What if they want to talk to you?"

Jinshi might had fair and delicate features, and a soft voice, but it wasn't nearly feminine enough to pass. If anything, they'd grow more suspicious. Then they'd report back about what a joke they all were and then Jinshi could suffer some type of punishment for his embarrassment. It wasn't that you were too pessimistic or didn't believe in the little group, but that the women's request felt bad all around.

A set-up if anything.

So, you took a deep breath and focused on that reassuring circle being drawn into your skin as Jinshi contemplated this for only a moment.

"Then I'll have the apothecary cover for me." Jinshi smiled, all too bright and all too reassuring. "We've already decided that I'll swim across the pond-- give me a vanishing effect and she'll deter them elsewhere."

You furrow your brow, all too worried, but bow your head instead of voicing such. "Of course, I have no doubt in you, Jinshi-sama." You reassure.

There was a beat of silence, then, "You're my oldest friend, you know?" You tense. Frozen into you bow, your wide eyes stare endlessly at his feet. His tone is tender, soft, almost hesitant, as if he wasn't sure if he should be speaking these things aloud. Yet, he continued. "You're the only one, beside Gaoshun and Suiren, that has stuck by me without judgement or doubt. I thank you for that, but I also fear that we've grown apart."

"I suppose we have." You uttered, trying to ignore the clench in your chest.

"Even as children, we started to grow apart." He continued to observe.

Because of your mother. Because of her fear that you'd end up like him, like your father. That disgusting and vile man. How could she not know you'd never be like him?

There was a day, a very distinct day, that you and Jinshi had been separated for "his own good". Your birthday. You had waited him eagerly in the main courtyard, being able to slip away from your duties out of kindness from Suiren. You waited and waited, until Gaoshun had approached. His expression downtrodden and dark. He informed you that it was no longer proper for you to play around with the boy you so dearly adored. Said his mother commanded it.

If he plays with a toy too much, take it from him.

You used to be bitter, resentful, and angry over it. Only eight-years-old, you had clung onto any companionship you could and he had given the illusion that he'd be there forever. Until he wasn't. Until you were a toy to be tucked back into the chest, forever forgotten with time.

He would be there forever, but you only merely a pawn for him to use as he pleased. To do work and to never grace the same level as you had when you both were only children, not yet exposed to hierarchy. Pure and innocent.

Now, you were mere servant and master.

Finally, you willed yourself to pull away from his hold, turning around to pick through various hair products. "It's been a long time, Jinshi-sama. We're no longer children."

"Hm."

As you reached for a brush, he pressed against your back. His hands coming to rest against your own with a delicate, featherlike touch. He was suddenly surrounding your ever sense. His warmth enveloping you into a hug that was almost earth shattering. Your lips parted and your eyes wide, you tensed as his lips brushed against the top of your head.

"I think of you often," his words are a whisper against you and your eyes, if possible, widen further as you almost lean back into him. "I sometimes wish I could just reach out and...and hold you, like we used to. Is that so bad?"

"Jinshi-sama, this is rather inappropriate!" You whisper back, not daring to look back at him in fear for how quickly you'd crumble.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating from his chest into your back and sending various chills down your spine. "If I'm making you uncomfortable, then please, tell me."

You don't open your mouth, as much as you wished you would deter him, you were rather eager to keep this up for a moment longer. To have something to think about and something to cherish later. Surely, this wouldn't happen again.

Instead, your attention goes to keeping your heart steady as Jinshi gently turns you around. His eyes heavy as he stares at you earnestly, lips quirked up barely. Your hands came up to clutch his forearm, gently squeezing as he did the same with your shoulder. You felt your heart stammer and a sweat collecting on your brow, this was definitely something frowned upon. To be so close and to breathe his same air-- as he exhaled, you inhaled the rich oxygen.

Suddenly, Jinshi's eyebrows furrowed and his fingers reached out, gently tucking some hair from your face. "What did they teach you to make you tremble like this?" He whispered it to himself but, thanks to your proximity, you heard it.

It made your ears redden, your lips pressed together. Did he really not know?

Before you could even speak, the door to his room were opened. Both your heads snapped to the door where Maomao and Gaoshun stood, both varying degrees of expressions on their faces that brought shame to you both. The four of your frozen in your respective places, staring at one another dumbly. Your hold on your master slackened and Jinshi took that as a sign to move first.

Jinshi made a rather odd noise, jumping away from you, face red and wide awkward smile to the two at the door. "Did you find the goods?" He asked as he approached, nervous fingers moving about.

Maomao, bless her soul, decided to ignore whatever it was they had walked in on, moving forward with a bundle of things in her arms. "Yes, Jinshi-sama."

You nervously pulled yourself from the table, turning your back to the three, hoping to conceal the red hue on your face. You really, really, hoped that no one would say anything.

Your hopes were tarnished as Gaoshun stepped up beside you.

The man was family. He'd been there for every milestone, or the rather unruly years when you found yourself in trouble more often than not. You'd grown accustomed to reading into his expressions more than his words. He was more open there, his only weakness.

That's why you withered when you saw that aghast expression on his face. The glimmer in his eyes that said it all-- he knew what was happening.

You ducked your head at the same time you heard Maomao ask, "Why isn't your hair done?"

You mustn't get ideas above your station. You are there to serve your master. Nothing less, nothing more.

That is the first thing that they taught you when you were "of age".

You are to give your life to your master. Any inappropriate behavior will be punished, severely.

That's the second thing they taught you.

There were many things that contributed to your regression. That made you cower away from who you used to be. Going from a loud troublemaker to the polite, obedient lady that lived to serve her kind master.

But as you watched Jinshi, or more correctly, the Moonlight Goddess dance elegantly at the edge of the pond. As you witnessed the light hit just right an illuminate him in a way that would send even the most beautiful angel into a rage. You realized one thing.

You would never tell Jinshi of those things.

Someone as beautiful and perfect as him, untouched from the life that you lead, shouldn't be exposed to the things he confined you to.

All you could do was gaze upon the Moonlight Goddess, utter your most daunting praises and wants, and tuck it all away.

You mustn't get ideas above your station.

You were a lowly maid after all. Someone so dignified and beautiful wouldn't settle for you.

"My hair is still wet!" Jinshi's voice bounced off the walls, a scowl etched on his face.

You bowed your head as you entered, towel tucked in your arms. "I have a towel for you, Jinshi-sama."

As you ruffled his hair with the towel, watching his shoulders relaxed you thanked the Moonlight Goddess.

A coward like you would never belong with a Goddess like him.

#jinshi x reader #apothecary diaries #apothecary diaries x reader #jinshi #Kusuriya no Hitorigoto x reader #Kusuriya no Hitorigoto #jinshi x you #jinshi x y/n #✩࿐ t writes

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to-the-stars8 · 6 months

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The Wayne's Nanny

Batfamily and Reader/ Bruce Wayne x Reader Chapters Ao3

9 to 5 (Metaphorically)

You had been working for Bruce Wayne for two weeks, and could for sure say that the kids were sweet, though a little out of touch with reality. Whether that was due to their father being the absolute weirdest man on the planet or from how rich they were— You didn’t know. Nonetheless, the days were long and tiresome. You wondered how you ever got through it.

8:15

First and foremost, you had to get up extremely early to see the kids off to school.

You fixed Cassandra’s headband on her head, making sure she looked perfect, before moving to fix Duke’s tie. Turning on your heel, your pink bathrobe swaying as you did, you quickly stopped Tim from pulling Jason’s hair.

“What did I tell you about pulling hair, Timothy Jackson Drake?” You put your hands on your hips.

With pink cheeks, he mumbled, “That karma will make me bald.”

“That’s right, and the last thing we want is to look like Lex Luthor, right kids?”

“Right!” They all mumbled.

Upon his approach, Mr. Wayne seemed pleased with how you managed the kids, even if it was in a less-than-professional way. When you fully turned your attention to him, you grinned, showing off his children. They looked good and healthy—Just as they did before your arrival, the only difference was that he wasn’t as tired.

“Okay, sweet babies, give daddy a kiss before Alfred takes you to school,” You ushered the kids toward their father.

Dick offhandedly said to Alfred, “Did I miss the wedding?” You lightly swatted the back of his head while Bruce was kissing the other children goodbye.

Slowly, the kids trickled out of the door, all of them saying goodbye over their shoulders. Now, you were left alone with Bruce and Damian, who sat securely on his hip.

The moment you turned to the two of them, Damian broke out into a bashful smile. You cooed to him, calling him the sweetest boy on the planet. Finally, you noticed Mr. Wayne again, “You should just leave him here with me. We’ll have such a fun time, huh, buddy?”

Bruce smiled at his boy, pushing his black locks back before addressing you. “No doubt, but I want him to socialize with other kids. The preschool at work is a fine one, too, and today is ice cream day.”

“Oh, my, then don’t let me hold you back! Let me get a kiss real quick,” A surprised look crossed Bruce’s face, but he slowly started to lean his cheek toward you. You swatted him away, making Damian giggle. “Not you!” You blew a raspberry against the boy’s cheek, causing a shrill laugh.

Before you could just snatch the little boy from his father’s grasp so he could stay with you, Bruce adjusted him on his hip before addressing you again. “You have enough to do for the day?”

You waved a dismissive hand at him, most of your attention still on Damian. “Oh, sure, my schedule is booked.”

9:50

Secondly, you made yourself presentable.

No one wants to see their employee running around in their slippers and bathrobes—Plus, Bruce already got onto about not dressing appropriately when some company had come over earlier that week. Luckily, being employed by one of the richest men in Gotham meant one thing; You could finally afford the champagne taste you had.

The only drawback? Beauty took time, so you spent a good chunk of the morning just making yourself ready to be ready.

You had to go through your entire skincare routine (of course, after lounging around in the big bathtub with the jets) before you finally went to your closet to pick out your clothes. Once you had something you decided did finally move on to your makeup. Not that you needed any, you thought, but there was no harm in adding beauty to beauty.

Eventually, the process of actually looking presentable came to a close and lunch was just around the corner. So, getting up, you looked at yourself one more time.

It was hard work being beautiful, but, damn it all, if you didn’t do a good job of it.

11:45

Of course, after you got ready you had to eat something, so, while Alfred meal prepped dinner, you sat while dishing out all the latest gossip.

As you shuffled a sandwich in your mouth, he told you all about Mr. Wayne’s previous relationship with someone named Selina and how it ended in absolute heartbreak. Supposedly, Bruce had been so heartbroken that he could hardly get out of bed and remained a recluse for months afterward. Alfred’s words, not yours.

“Oh, so not much has changed?” You asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Alfred tried to hold back a laugh and leaned forward to quietly add, “This was three years ago.”

You smiled. “So I was right, not much has changed!"

Alfred snickered, turning to peel some more potatoes, and you took the opportunity to tell him your woes with love. It was a deep, tragic tale that could jerk the tears from any eye.

Except for Alfred’s, apparently.

When you were done, he filled you in on an even better story. One about the richest of the rich in Gotham, and every word he said had you hanging on by a thread. If you hadn’t met Alfred before, you would have never guessed that he was the kind of man to eavesdrop or have a big mouth. But, damn, if you weren’t thankful for it.

It certainly was the most entertaining and interesting part of your job.

1:30

After lunch came the hardest tasks. Usually, you cleaned the gaming room for the kids, did some laundry—mainly yours since the kids’ clothes were already washed— and watched TV. Again, it was all in a day’s work.

After vacuuming the rugs, you put away the kids’ toys, wondering momentarily just how much money Mr. Wayne spent on them. Looking at the designer clothes they wore, the latest toys, and gaming devices, you assumed it was well more than what you made in a year. When you had enough of staring at their expensive toys, you ventured into the laundry room.

Luckily, there wasn't a lot to wash, only some towels along with Dickie’s gymnastics clothes. When you had done the last load, you found yourself settling into one of the lounge chairs in the movie room.

This was your favorite part of the day, where it lulled just enough for you to relax again. The kids wouldn’t be home for another hour due to traffic, so you had to whole place to yourself.

Alfred sometimes joined you with a bowl of popcorn, but, since it was so close to picking up the kids from school he had to opt-out. At home, you would have been watching one of those usual daytime soaps, but Alfie had started to put you on EastEnders—claiming it was better than any other trash American daytime TV show. It was only after one character had a whole dramatic flare over the smallest inconvenience, did you started to see why it was his, and Bruce’s too, favorite show. He made you watch so much of it that you had started to pick up some of the British slang, which did not amuse him or Mr. Wayne.

You watched until an idea popped into your head. The kids would be hungry once they got home, as they usually were, so you decided it would be nice to make them their special snacks.

Happily, you put it all together, and, when the kids came home, you were excited to see their reaction.

3:45

It was almost like clockwork the way they always managed to arrive home exactly at the same time every day.

You greet all of them with a big hug as you tell them about the treats they had waiting in the dining room. Excited, they were pleased to see that, while Alfred was out picking them up, you had gone out of your way to make their favorite treats.

Tim grabbed his plate and exclaimed loudly that you were by far the best nanny they ever had. A few of the other kids agreed, and you tried to not let it go to your head so quickly. Yet, you couldn’t find it in yourself to disagree with them.

They told you all about school, which, ultimately, just turned into a PG gossiping session. Tim told you all about this one kid, who was almost two years older than him, who always called him names and pulled his hair. Almost instantly, based on the last little detail, did you figure it out. Turning around, you looked at the second eldest Wayne who, despite being so sweet, could be devious and a little mean from time to time.

“Jason Peter Todd, you need to stop being mean to your brother. And what did I say about hair-pulling? At your age, you should know better!”

Jason gasped, looking around to gain some sympathy. “Why do you think it’s me?”

You cocked an eyebrow and that’s what made the cookie crumble. He confessed that maybe it was him and that he wouldn’t do it again. The rest of the table took their time calling him the future Lex Luthor, much to his annoyance.

You thought yourself lucky to be the nanny of such sweet kids, even if they were a bit weird. It brought back some happiness in your life that you didn’t know you were missing.

As the plates started to stack, you clapped your hands together and said, “Alright kiddos, once you’re done with your snacks, get your homework out. The faster you get it done, the faster we can all go play games.”

5:00

Finally, Mr. Wayne came home.

When he did, the entire house seemed to be in a clamor to get to him first. At least, the younger ones did. Dick and Cassandra seemed more interested if he had brought home any treats for them. When there was none, they turned on their heels and retreated into their respective tasks. That didn’t seem to discourage him though, and he was almost playful with the rest of the children.

When Bruce had thrown Duke over one shoulder and Tim over the other as Jason trailed after them, you took Damian. He had a pout on his lips, and tears in the corner of his eyes. When you asked him what was wrong, Damian informed you that ice cream day had been canceled because, in his words, the teachers were mean.

“Fair enough,” You said, taking him to the kitchen. “How about this, we get some ice cream and watch some TV, huh?”

Damian was close to crying, probably just as exhausted from the day as you were, but nodded his head. You gave him another kiss and let him rest his head on your shoulder. After you plucked a little ice cream sandwich from the fridge, the two of you went to join the rest of the family in the gaming room.

Bruce was there, tie and jacket abandoned, sitting on the couch playing Dick in Mortal Kombat. It didn’t look like Mr. Wayne knew exactly how to play, but he was getting the hang of it. Now and then, when there was a particular point he didn’t understand, Duke, being the sweetest yet odd kid ever, whispered to him what to do. Why a six-year-old knew how to play a game he was far too young for, you didn’t know.

Looking down at Damian, it was clear to see just how sleepy he was and you started to get up to put him in his room when Alfred stopped you. He offered to take the boy up and gestured over to Cassandra, who was looking at you with her big brown eyes.

“Hello, sweet girl,” You said as soon as Damian was gone.

Cassandra, who was sitting on the floor with a ballerina Barbie in hand, walked on her knees over to you. “Can you braid my hair?”

You grinned, looking at her pretty black hair. It was short, cut just below her shoulder, but you could make something work. She plopped down right in front of you and immediately you began to play with her hair.

Amidst playing his game, Mr. Wayne looked over in your direction to admire you and Cassandra. When you caught his eye, you winked and smiled. Bashfully, he looked back at the game. Unfortunately for him, Tim saw the whole interaction and started to loudly poke fun at his father.

Ultimately, that’s how the day went. It was a lot of work, and, again, you didn’t know how you did it. Yet, you were glad that it almost always ended so happily.

It wasn’t exactly a nine-to-five—It was better.

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askinkiskarma · 1 year

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𝕄𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕟 𝕄𝕖 | ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕀: 𝕎𝕙𝕪 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝔾𝕠𝕥𝕥𝕒 𝔹𝕖 𝕊𝕠 𝕍𝕚𝕔𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤

Pairing: Neteyam x (f)Omaticaya!Reader

synopsis: you and Neteyam are the two prodigies of the Omaticaya, and while that unmoving fact brought you together as children, now, as adults, it brings you to your knees, as each day is just another opportunity for you to hurt each other in any and every way your minds could conjure up.

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, enemies-to-lovers, strong language, mentions of violence, blood, neteyam being an absolute dick, mentions of reader being choked (not in the fun way)

wc: 5.4k words

a/n: after a much longer wait than anticipated, my enemies-to-lovers fic is officially here, and I'm so excited to start a new series. As much as I love the one shots and the requests and the drabbles, I am a series enthusiast at heart, and this is something i'm really looking forward to, as I find this whole idea very challenging and hope i do it justice. pls enjoy besties, and as always, thank you for every like, reblog, reply, it means the world x (thank you very much to @cinetrix for her amazing Neteyam art ily bestie x)

na'vi compendium: syä - bitter, rumaut - cannonball fruit tree, tanhì - bioluminescent freckle, parultsyìp - children

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I tried to look for the best in the worst, but like, fuck me, that caused a commotion

You're lucky I'm a private person, I’ve quietly carried your burden

And everyone thinks you're an angel, but shit, I would probably use different wording

“You know, syä, one day, I’m going to be better than you at this, and that day, you will have to swallow your words, and I think that’ll be very hard for you to do.”

“You know, Lo’ak, if you one day do beat me at anything, then I’ll be more than happy to swallow my words. I’ll even swallow my tongue, if you want.” You chuckled as you propped yourself onto a thin branch of a rumaut, maybe 50 metres from the target on the ground, and dangling from it, upside down, you took aim, focusing intently with one eye closed. Breathing in, you took the shot, and watched as it landed straight in the middle, right next to your last arrow, very far away from Lo’ak’s arrows, which were buried somewhere so obscure, you couldn’t even spot them anymore.

“You suck.” Lo'ak puffed, rolling his eyes annoyedly. You laughed and reclaimed your spot next to him, nudging him softly with a hand.

“No, skxawng, you suck. That’s why we’re here.”

These little training sessions have become one of your favourite things to spend your afternoons doing. They started a few weeks ago, when Lo’ak came by unannounced to your tent, his tail sheepishly between his legs. He hated that he had to ask, his enormous pride wounded and scarred, but he figured finally building up the courage to ask you to train him in his bow and arrow practice was better than asking his brother and once more proving the chasm between their skill level true. You were cocky and arrogant on the surface, but deep down, Lo’ak knew you had a heart of gold and wouldn’t judge and, at the end of the day, would do anything for him, and for his whole family.

Well, almost his whole family.

You found the oldest Sully sibling by his tent, masterfully skinning a yarik from his latest hunt. Just like everything else Neteyam did, he excelled at it. He looked peaceful and deep in thought as he worked, expression which quickly melted into annoyance when his lips pursed in a tight line and his eyes hardened, as soon as they spotted you making your way towards him. You smirked when you noticed the change, loving to see him so on edge whenever you invaded his personal bubble, which happened to be all the time, since you were as good as Neytiri and Jake’s adoptive daughter.

You loved Neytiri and Jake. You owed them everything you had, everything you were. After your parents’ death, they provided you with the support and love and care needed to not fall into the pits of despair that came with being orphaned, with being all alone. They saw something in you, ever since you were a child, and trained you side by side with their oldest son, Neteyam. Quickly, it was obvious to everyone who paid attention that you were a prodigy, just like he was. Neteyam liked you when you were kids, and you liked him, too. You loved him, in fact. He was your best friend, and you were his. It was hard not to be each other’s best friends, when you spent so much time together, when you shared every blister, every bloodied gash, every muscle cramp from practice. You shared the good and the bad, and it was just the two of you. Nobody else knew what you went through or could possibly understand, nobody else had to spend their whole childhood being honed into the perfect warriors, the future of the Omaticaya strength. Kids played and kids laughed and kids held hands splashing in the nearby river, but you and Neteyam cleaned each other’s wounds and gave each other words of encouragement, and soft, shy smiles as your eyes met across the practice field.

That was all in the past. Very far in the past. So far so, it was hard for you to conceptualise that it happened in this life, and it wasn’t some sort of fantasy you made up in your head, because there was nothing left of the warmth or the camaraderie you once shared. Whereas before he was a warm shelter from the storm in your life, now he was the storm, cold and ruthless, out to get you and to hurt you, to turn your limbs cold and your heart numb. You don’t know when this happened. You just know that at some point around when you were 12, Neteyam started pushing you away, until one day you were so far away, you were just a dot in his life, so far removed from the vast, centre-stage line you used to represent, a line between his past and future, between a friend and something more, something better, something permanent.

It’s been 7 years since. Seven years since Neteyam was more or less a stranger, albeit an annoying, aggravating stranger. Because a stranger, you could ignore. A stranger, you didn’t have to see every damn day, in practice, in stings, in battles, at breakfast, lunch and dinner. A stranger might have ignored you, or pretend you don’t exist, but not Neteyam. Neteyam was determined to make your life a living hell, to make you feel as unwelcome and inadequate as humanly possible, and so you resigned yourself to returning the favour, because you very rarely ever lost to him, and you weren’t planning on starting any time soon.

When you and Lo’ak approached, you watched as he sized you up, his eyes travelling down your body, lingering for just a second longer on your chest, covered in flowy, silken fabric, your signature look. You loved the beads, and the feathers that usually concealed Na’vi bodies, but what you loved even more was the feel of the luxurious, soft material that you took great pleasure in making yourself from a secret, coveted technique your mum taught you as a child, before she died. You tried to ignore how his stare made you feel, how the tingling that always appeared on your skin matched the bubbling feeling in your stomach, and you pushed it down, choosing to believe that’s just the feeling of hatred, of deep, intense dislike, that you didn’t feel for anyone but him.

“If you’re not actually going to contribute anything of use to the clan, you might as well train instead of wasting time and dragging Lo’ak to your level. Are you not in enough shit with father as it is, baby bro?”

You didn’t even look at him as you walked past, opening the flap to the Sully family tent.

“Well, Neteyam, not all of us have to try so hard all the time to keep up. Some of us are just naturally better than others.” You say with a sly smirk, almost able to hear the steam coming out of his ears, before you entered the tent and closed the flap behind you.

“The two of you will kill each other one day, you know that, right?”

You rolled your eyes at Kiri, who was dutifully making healing pastes by mixing it in a small pot on the fire, and removed the bow from around your torso, tossing the quiver on the ground and sitting next to it, warming your hands off the heat emanating from it.

“Or fuck each other, one of the two.”

“Lo’ak!” You and Kiri hissed at the same time, and you threw a small rock you found on the ground at him, hitting him right in the middle of his forehead. You smiled, satisfied when he yelled in pain. You never missed.

“Ow?! You’re so mean sometimes, no wonder he doesn’t like you! I’m just saying, you guys always have sexual tension, and I’m definitely not the only one that thinks so. Spider says so, too.”

“Oh, well if Spider says so, then it must be true! It couldn’t be that you’re both children, and your mind hasn’t left the gutter since you first had a girl let you into second base.”

“Ah… Mira… she was something, wasn’t she? Haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Yeah, she’s hiding from you.”

Lo’ak returned the rock in a pointed throw, that you dodged effortlessly, smirking in his direction.

“See? Mean.”

Walking through the village in the late afternoon, you are pleasantly surprised at the still bustling atmosphere, all the men, women and children contributing in their own respective ways to the clan’s prosperity and success. People were returning from hunts, crafting arrows, sharpening knives, preparing new garments for the warriors that will be leaving for a new mission early in the morning. It filled you with a sense of wonder, this clan, despite having lived and breathed in it your whole life, it never ceased to amaze you, how beautiful, how grand, how unified it was. It made you determined, more and more each day, to fight the fight, to never give up or give in, to always strive to be better, stronger.

It was a big one tomorrow, a big train filled with guns and supplies, protected by 10 helos and armed guards, that were needed to the clan and would constitute a big loss for the humans. A win-win, as Jake would sometimes say. You couldn’t even remember when the first one of these missions started. It’s been more than 5 years since the humans have returned, 5 years since life as you knew it changed forever, 5 years since death and hurt followed you everywhere you went, since every day felt like a battle for survival, for your clan, and your people, and your world. Back then, that first mission terrified you, it ate at your soul and your body, manifesting itself in chills and shakes, in crying eyes and trembling lips.

You remember that day like it was yesterday, you remember how you and Neteyam were the youngest in the war party, how for the first time in years, you felt a connection to the boy as your eyes met on your respective ikran, and you saw in them pain, and fear… and yearning. For a second, he was your friend again, and the future you dreamt about as a kid, one where it was just you and him, facing this harsh world together, came back in full force, taking the breath out of your lungs. But the second passed and so did his gaze and his vulnerability, and his walls never diminished, but only got thicker and more fortified in time, and yours did too, as a result. It hurt you, his behaviour, how sudden the change had been and how drastic, how he pushed you away with no goodbye, with no chance to defend yourself, how no matter how much you tried to mend it, it just ended up making it worse. So after a while, you gave as good as you got, and blow by blow, your relationship died like soldiers on the battlefield, broken and bruised, rotting away, only the beautiful memory of what used to be left behind.

Training was still in full force at the edge of the village, in the big clearing fortified by trees and a waterfall where Jake now taught you all how to use human weapons. You didn't really need the practice, not anymore, having mastered every weapon he thought fit to throw at you years ago, but still, you went, because you may not need it, but one person you wanted to see did.

You smiled as you saw him, struggling with a Y70 Bullpup Rifle, a deep frown on his face and a small pout on his lips, and your heart swelled at the sight. O'ì'en Te Äfawoo Ìrauyon'itan was many things, all good and pure, all sweet and kind, a good balance for you, all fire and ice, no sense of balance or middling emotions. He was a mighty warrior, and a needed shelter from the new storms in your life. You've known him your whole life, but have started spending more time with him recently, as you started subbing for Jake as a mentor and a teacher, in days he was too preoccupied or otherwise engaged with one of his other many Olo'eyktan duties. He found the human weapons particularly strange and difficult to understand, so you weren't surprised now, finding him like this, struggling as he was, still trying to understand how to put it back together, how to make it work again.

You snuck behind him, careful not to make a noise, and he startled as your hands reached around and found his chest, that you caressed, tracing his defined pecs and abs, laughing as the weapon almost dropped from his hands.

"Tanhì, you scared me. What are you doing? People are watching."

"So? Let them watch." your eyes found Jake, who was eyeing your interaction curiously, an eyebrow raised and an amused smirk on his face. You brought your hand to your forehead and greeted him with a smile, and he waved at you, another human gesture he found it hard to part ways with. He made his way towards the pair of you, enveloping you in a big hug, and you almost suffocated in between his swollen, muscular pecs.

"Woah, Jake, you're gonna kill me right before an important mission." he laughs again, and you feel the deep rumble in his chest, reverberating in the forest surrounding you.

"I see you, ma Olo'eyktan."

"I see you, O'ì'en. Is the gun giving you trouble? I'm sure my little spark here can help you out. Seems you two are... close enough that she might consider it." you rolled your eyes and removed yourself from his grasp, and his knuckles made contact with the top of your head, putting pressure and twisting until it hurt, in yet another human habit you hated, that he called a noogie. He said it was affectionate, but you weren't so sure.

"Good luck." and with a wink, he was gone, focusing on the other Na'vi who needed his help and guidance.

You got on your tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

"Right. So this part is the underslung grenade luncher and it goes -"

It was late at night when you made your way back to your tent, smiling to yourself at the tranquility and joy of your evening, so far removed from the morning that was waiting for you and all you stood to lose when it came. Worry enveloped you like a shroud as you approached, and haunting thoughts tugged at your mind, but they didn't have time to fester, not as soft moans and breathy names percolated in your ears instead and took their place, names and voices you recognised. You circled your tent to the tree that rested right behind it, and you found exactly what you thought you would, exactly what you didn't want to ever see in your life. Neteyam's back shielding his little annoying girlfriend's naked body propped against the tree, with her legs around his hips, as he rutted into her.

You hated Neteyam in that moment. You knew he was doing it on purpose, you knew there was no other reason why he would choose this spot to do this, other than the knowledge that you would be coming to bed soon and the satisfaction he knew he would get from your reaction. But you wouldn't give it to him. The satisfaction, that is. He was good, at the little mind games, at knowing what buttons to push to drive you to the point of considering whether your love for the Sullys was greater than the desire to remove his head from his shoulders, but in time, you learnt all his little tricks, and in time, you learnt how to beat him at his own game.

You cleared your throat, your voice sweet and docile as honeycomb as you spoke.

"Neteyam, I just came from your family's tent. Mo'at was looking for you, she said you've been missing you treatments for your genital warts." You let out an affected noise, trying your hardest to sound sympathetic and concerned. "I'm sure it's fine, though. I'm sure the elders are wrong when they talk about how it makes fungus grow out of your vagina if you're infected by it." You almost broke your composure when the girl let out a pained yelp, but otherwise pushed through.

"Oh, well! Have a good evening!" And with that, you took your leave, grinning from ear to ear as all you heard when you entered your tent was screaming and Neteyam trying to hush her and defuse a newly-chaotic situation.

The mission and the aftermath went as well as could be expected, and you were proud of your contribution that never went unnoticed in the clan, or among the Sullys, much to Neteyam's dismay. He was still enraged about your little stunt, and you were happy that despite his continuous stink eye, you killed 5 humans, and secured the perimeter at all times, keeping the war party safe throughout the duration of the mission. The praise from everyone in the village meant the world to you, it meant everything to you, and by the afternoon, you felt on top of the world. The feeling didn't last, though, replaced with more anxiety than you knew what to do with, as Mo'at asked for your immediate presence by her side, as a matter of urgency.

You were nervous as you made your way to the Tsa’hik’s tent, unsure of why you would have been summoned there in the first place. You were going to see Mo’at for dinner shortly anyhow, so whatever it was she had to tell you was definitely too important to wait, and well, let’s just say you had a bad feeling. The bad feeling worsened when you finally pushed past the flap of the marui and found Neteyam sitting on the ground, the same kind of muted confusion visible on his face, that quickly changed into his signature “you” look as soon as he noticed who it was that walked in. You brought your fingers to your forehead and bowed your head to your Tsa’hik.

“I see you, Mo’at.”

She returned the gesture with a smile, and you sat down in front of her.

“Is something wrong, ma Tsa’hik? Why are Neteyam and I here?”

Mo’at circled the pit of fire that resided in the middle of her tent and placed a hand on one of your and Neteyam’s shoulder, a big smile on her face.

“It’s great news, ma parultsyìp. My latest communion with Eywa brought forth visions and guidance from the our Great Mother. Visions of you, my children.” Her smiled dropped a little and was replaced by a more serious expression, which accompanied her tone of voice.

“I know you two haven’t seen eye to eye for a while now. I know a lot of it is our fault, pushing you both to be the best versions of yourselves and pushing you apart as a result, but you used to be best friends, you used to hold each other close in your hearts, and Eywa thinks that can happen again… that it should happen again.”

Mo’at’s words scared you. She was being vague and the direction of the conversation made you uncomfortable, sending shivers down your spine. You looked at Neteyam, who was watching you already and you stifled a grimace at the way he turned instantly, like the thought of meeting your gaze was too unbearable to even be considered.

“Grandmother, what are you saying?”

“Eywa has chosen the new Tsa’hik, grandson. You two are to be a mated pair, and Neteyam, you will be one of the finest ruling pairs the Omaticaya has ever seen.”

Your mouth fell agape in shock and your brows furrowed as your mind was assimilating the influx of information, the way that your life instantly changed in so little time, in as little time as it took Mo’at to say the words out loud. Mated pair? Tsa’hik? You and Neteyam? Too many contradictions, too many oxymorons when said altogether for it to make sense to you. You looked over at Neteyam, hoping that for at least a second he’d let you in, he’d look at you, so you could work through this together, so you can navigate it together… so you can handle it together. But all you saw was anger and his composure coming apart at the seams, his tail shaking furiously and the tip of his ears a deep purple.

“Absolutely not. This has to be some sort of mistake, grandmother.”

Your own ears twitched and fell backwards at the unfairness of it all, at his booming tone and furious demeanour, at the way it was inconceivable to him that you'd have to spend your life together. It stung, the needles of hurt piercing your skin like a tattoo, marking you, how Neteyam never said no to his family, to his Tsa’hik, but decided to break that rule for himself just to reject you. It’s not like you wanted him, either, definitely not, but there was something about his antipathy towards you, unshaken and unwavering, even after all these years, that will always get under your skin, in the way that only he ever managed to. If there’s one thing you were good at, though, is matching him blow by blow.

“Yes, Mo’at. He has his standards set much too low to allow me to be his mate, and I have mine set way too high for him to be able to do anything but limbo under them.” yet another word you learnt from Jake, that seemed appropriate now, too appropriate to go to waste.

“That’s enough!” Mo’at was no longer in a joking mood as she looked at both of you, a stern disposition about her that you knew better than to cross. “Eywa’s decision is final, and she’s never wrong. I was just as shocked as you are, and I don’t know why she chose you, but she did. We will talk shortly about the ceremony. You can leave now.”

You sighed, your head falling in between your hands as you heard Neteyam scoffing and getting up, and the air that hit your back as he opened the flap of the tent and rushed out of it without another word.

“Mo’at… please. This has to be a mistake. I’m not fit to be Tsa’hik, you know this. I am a warrior, I have been a warrior my whole life. There’s much better suited people for the job, much better girls, I -“

Mo’at silenced you with an affectionate pat on your head. “I think you’d be better fitted than you think. Now go, I’m sure there’s better things you could be doing than sitting here, fretting over a done deal.”

The water in the lake of your secret meadow, your favourite place in the whole world, was colder than you were used to, a welcome respite in a sea of flames that felt like it was engulfing every corner of your mind and body, as you were processing the calamitous conversation you shared with the woman. What was she thinking? What was Eywa thinking? You and Neteyam? The man hated you. And you hated him. What kind of mateship could this ever be, other than one filled with pain and suffering. What kind of leadership could this be, other than one that was disjointed and chaotic. This was a mistake. You would tell Mo’at as much the next time you saw her.

You could at least try to reason with Jake and Neytiri first. They always listened to you, they always took your opinions into consideration. You would tell them that Neteyam has a girlfriend and an intended mate, that you were too young for such eternal commitments, that there was no productive resolution to this, as long as this was still to go ahead. You would do this and it would work. It had to work, because what was the alternative?

A little calmer and with a plan in mind, you swam your laps, enjoying the cold crisp feel of the water against your burning skin. You did this for hours, until you eventually tired, now peacefully laying on the soft grass, looking up at the stars. You have always been able to escape this sometimes harsh reality in the safety of your mind. But harsh reality always had a distasteful way of creeping back in, and it did so now in the form of the one person you never wanted to see, the one person whose presence had the power to burn you and turn you cold all at the same time.

“Leave, Neteyam.”

“No. We need to talk.”

“Oh, what could we possibly have to talk about, Neteyam?” You said sarcastically. Of course he’d want to talk now, finally coming with his tail between his legs. You might put him out of his misery if he was nice about it, if for the first time in years he found it in his tiny, little heart to apologise and talk to you like an actual person, if he came to you with some semblance of humbleness and communicated fairly and honestly. Maybe you could finally come to a mutual understanding. This would benefit both of you, so there had to be a way to finally learn to be civil to one another and put your difference aside.

“Stop being coy, it doesn’t suit you.” You rolled your eyes. This wasn’t off to a great start.

“Stop being a dick if you want to talk to me.”

“You have to go talk to my parents and tell them you don’t want this. Tell them you’re in love with that loser boyfriend of yours, tell them you’ve mated with him already. Tell them you don’t want to ever be tied down, that you don’t think the title of Tsa’hik would suit you. I don’t care what you say, just do it. You and I both know this can’t happen. It won’t matter what I say to my parents.” He looked down to his feet and mumbled mostly to himself. “It never does.” He collected himself quickly, before he continued.

“But they care about your opinion. I have to be Olo’eyktan, you don’t have to be Tsa’hik. So go talk to them.”

You rose to your feet and faced him. Your blood quickly started boiling in your veins at his words and tone, at the way he barely looked at you or acknowledged you, at the way he continued to treat you like a plague or disease to be sneered at, to be demeaned, to be avoided. You wanted to scream at him, to take him by his shoulders and shake some sense into him, and hope that this way the Neteyam you used to know, whose memory you still cherished despite all the horrible, unhappy, strenuous years that followed, would just return to you. But being vulnerable around him is something you’ve learnt the hard way you needed to avoid at all costs, so in the matter with which you’ve been accustomed, in a half-sneer, half-growl, you spoke.

“I have to give it to you, Neteyam, you definitely have some nerve. Coming here, demanding that I take one in the chin, yet again, might I add, and be the one to go and talk us out of this predicament, and not even being civil about it, when it’s you asking me the favour. You’ve always enjoyed letting me do all the dirty work, while you maintain the golden child title you clearly value so much. The mighty warrior. The perfect soldier. We both know, deep down, you’re just a fucking coward.”

You watched as his expression darkened, an edge to his face and beautiful features you’ve very rarely, if ever, seen before. But you were angry, so angry, so done protecting his feelings, so over trying to maintain a semblance of decorum for the sake of the love you shared in the past and the love you still share with the rest of his family, for the peace that you once hoped to protect. No one could make you angry like he could. No one got under your skin as well as he did, nuzzling there and making a home of the warmth of your bones, there to stay, until you were willing to forcefully remove him, until you were willing to finally break free from his unyielding grasp his presence had on your mind. It was finally time, it seemed.

“You sit there and act like this is an inconvenience to you. I’m going to be stuck being Tsa’hik forever. I’m one of the best warriors in this clan. I stood by Jake and Neytiri my whole life, just like you. Why the hell should you get to lead the people in battle, while I have to stay behind, and forsake everything I have ever worked for, all the sacrifices I made and all the years I gave to stand behind and heal your wounds? I should be Olo’eyktan between the two of us, and I think you know that, Neteyam. I think it eats at you at night, the thought. I think that’s the reason you have treated me like dirt since the second you realised this very fact. I think you’re scared your own parents prefer me. You’re scared that comes push to shove, that little bimbo girlfriend of yours might only be with you for the prestige that comes with fucking the future Olo’eyktan, and that if by any chance she finds this out, she’d dump you faster than a banana fruit on a sunny day.”

You knew it was a step too far, and definitely felt it as soon as Neteyam’s fingers wrapped around your throat and squeezed and your breath hitched in your throat with nowhere to go.

“You’re such a little bitch. Take it back.” There was no light in his tone, no levity, just pure rage, burning wildly in his eyes and manifested in his bared teeth, threatening fangs fully on display, the low growl blooming in his throat felt deep within you, and for the first time in your life, you were scared of the man sitting in front of you. You felt yourself becoming dizzy and disoriented as the lack of oxygen was taking over your mind, but you refused to give in to his desires, not when he was hurting you, not when he crossed a line, not when you could be hurting him. You smirked instead, and tried to focus enough to get the words out.

“You’re… a coward. You’re weak, Neteyam. Threatened by a little girl, so you pushed me away and continue to treat me like dirt. I have never thought I am better than you, Neteyam, until right now, that is. I realised something today. I don’t think I’m better than you. You think I’m better than you.”

With all your might and the last of your power, you kneed him, as hard as you could, straight in the groin, and exhaled in relief when his hand dropped from you throat and went to his loincloth, growling in pain. You groaned as you felt the marks he left on you, that will definitely bruise, and struggled to find your balance, as you walked slowly away from him.

“I’m just as unhappy about this as you are. But you crossed a line, Neteyam. The next time you lay a hand on me, I will make you pay, and I promise you that little girlfriend of yours will have to make do without offsprings.”

You left the spot that meant so much to you, that was now tainted forever, rubbing his finger imprints off your now sensitive, raw neck, heart full of deep anguish and mind filled with all the ways you were going to make him pay, and that started with one simple step: forsaking the plan to get out of this little arrangement.

taglist: @fanboyluvr @theycallmesia @afro-hispwriter @soleilmoon @crazy4books1 @bakugouswaif

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xxnghtclls · 7 months

Text

Flickering Lights

Chapter 1: Flickering Lights

Chapter (2)

True Form Sukuna x fem!reader

Warning: Graphic Depiction Of Violence!

Tags under the cut and will be updated over the course of writing!

Summary: On a sad friday night, you’re finishing your last email for your job, as suddenly The King of Curses appears through a rip of space in time in your office. A change of everyday life perhaps?

Notes:

Welcome to Flickering Lights!

I hope you will enjoy <3

The -play- cues or underlined texts are linked to the specific songs she’s listening to, however I didn’t time the songs with reading time, since everyone of us reads at a different pace. I hope you’ll have fun anyway. :)

Tags:

clack clack clack clack

The harsh sound of your fingers hitting against the keys on your keyboard is reaching your ears, as you’re finishing the last email for the day.

The day, which will end in about 10 minutes.

It’s friday, 11:50 p.m. and you’re still in the office tower you work in.

Alone. An odd occasion, since this situation is not unusual in your field of work. Harsh deadlines require overtime.

Often.

Too often.

But today, your co-workers must have had something better to do. It’s friday after all.

And you wish you had the guts to do that, too.

Flickering lights from the illuminated advertisements from outside the streets are dancing in the corners of your eye. Your only company tonight.

And you blink. With a sigh, you look to the window to your right, having Tokyo looking right back at you.

Sometimes, you wish you would have the time to flee this place, your office, your life. To actually enjoy those lights, to experience something. To not give your life up for your job.

To feel not as lonely. Lonely in this city of millions.

A longing deep in your heart.

But-

I gotta pay my fucking bills, you think, as you sigh another time, before turning back to your computer. The light on your desk makes your eyes tired and before you finish your email, you go into your music library on your phone and put on your headphones. A ritual you almost do on every overtime night. It gives you energy. Almost a prayer to whoever listens. Someday something must happen.

Right?

-play-

How can you see into my eyes like open doors?

Leading you down into my core

Where I've become so numb …

Your blood starts pumping and the hairs on your body stand up, as the song crawls through your veins.

Without a soul, my spirit's sleeping somewhere cold

Until you find it there and lead it back home …

Your body starts moving on its own, you move your head and lips in sync to the song. It gives you energy to finish this last fucking email before the chorus hits.

And you slam your middle finger on enter.

Send!

(Wake me up) wake me up inside (I can′t wake up), wake me up inside

(Save me) call my name and save me from the dark

Oh my god.

You feel it. The song hits your core so deep and you turn the volume even louder. Singing both parts at the same time in your head, you let yourself go.

(Wake me up) bid my blood to run (I can't wake up) before I come undone

(Save me) save me from the nothing I've become

Flickering lights hit the corners of your eyes, bass in your heart, as you lip sync quietly, but passionately, while you close all your remaining applications on your desktop.

You would not want to risk someone, anyone, to actually hear you singing.

Suddenly the bass gets unusual heavy, but you love it. You feel the song even harder.

Adios Bitchatchos. See you on monday, you think to yourself, as you notice a glitch on your desktop.

Another one.

And another one.

The light on your desk flickers as well. You frown in confusion, but brush it off as a “monday me” problem and shut down your computer. Standing up, still moving and lipsynching to the song, you lean forward to turn off the monitors, as the bass grows even heavier.

Weird. Those headphones only cost me like 5000 yen-

Wrrrrmmmm!

Suddenly the ground vibrates and your knees give in. You grab yourself onto the desk, as an energy pulls you down. Pulls you down to your knees and almost cuts the air off your lungs and nose. You gasp, as the ground starts to vibrate and jitter even harder. Bring Me To Life still pounds into your ears, so dramatically, as you feel your vision blurring and glitching, as the light on your desk finally says goodbye, leaving you in total darkness of the office space. Looking around you don’t see anyone, start to get scared.

What’s happening?? An earthquake?

The vibrations are sent through your whole body, your blood tingles in your veins, just in time for your favourite part of the song.

Frozen (frozen) inside without your touch, without your love

Darling, only (only) you are the life among the dead …

Just in this moment, the technology of your cheap ass headphones gives in and sends an incredibly loud beep to your ears, distorting the wonderful voice of Amy Lee.

Fuck!

You yell in pain and yank the headphones off your head, just before a loud grunge noise echoes through the room, makes it vibrate even more, makes you push your hands over your ears. All the other monitors are shutting on and off and on and off and glitching and blinking.

Zschhhh!

Suddenly a blue glowing light crawls into the air in the split of a second, like a lightning strike and it starts to tear apart. A gap ripped into the air of the office space, just a few desks next to yours.

What the fuck?

You don’t believe your eyes, as a tall shadow starts to appear in the gap that just opened, before it steps forward, red eyes glowing through the dark, while the rap part starts to roar through the headphones in the background.

All this time, I can't believe I couldn't see

Kept in the dark, but you were there in front of me

I′ve been sleeping a thousand years, it seems

Got to open my eyes to everything

Without a thought, without a voice, without a soul

Don′t let me die here, there must be something more

Br-riing m-m-me t-tt-to l-lifeeee-…

And with this your headphones die, leaving you alone with…

Who is this?

Tap.

Tap. Tap.

Feet step into your office and you slide beneath your desk. The vibrations grow harder, the energy heavier, as the gap seems to close back up, almost pulling you completely to the ground.

Whoom!

And suddenly-

it’s all silent.

Quiet.

Calm.

You don’t know what to do.

Hide? Say something?

Still on the ground, you let your hands leave your ears and watch below the desks. Two massive feet, covered in tabi socks and wearing ancient looking sandals, quietly walk into your direction.

Flickering lights dance upon the ground and onto the moving clothes. Your heart is racing and you put your hand upon your mouth to be as silent as possible, as the person walks closer and closer. Another step and they will pass your desk, will see you sitting there like a little baby, not knowing what the fuck just happened.

And finally he walks into your vision, not even offering you a glance. A tall man, a black cloak around his shoulders, covering his upper arms and parts of his chest. A white hakama sitting on his waist. Pink hair, four red eyes, simple tattooed lines on his face and wrists and chest. A mask is covering the right side of his face.

Why does he look like a villain?

Your eyes widen at the man in front of you.

He’s built like a tank.

With a smug smirk, he steps in front of the window facade, looking down onto the streets of Tokyo.

“Keh Keh Keh.” he giggles.

Such a devious voice.

You watch him suspiciously, watch how the lights illuminate his face, unsure if he’s seen you yet or knows that you’re here.

His eyes roam around the streets and his expression grows excited. So excited.

“What a view.” he quietly smiles, before he taps against the window with his nail.

Tap. Tap.

The glass sounds firm.

He looks up, musters the framing and cocks his eyebrow and pouts his lips.

You frown at him. Confused, because he looks like he’s never seen a proper window before.

“It’s shatterproof glass.” you suddenly say quietly, still curled up beneath your desk. He freezes, as his left ear twitches, before his eyes and finally his head slowly move and turn to look at you and your eyes meet.

Silence.

Shit.

He glares at you, looking like an evil villain indeed. His red eyes glow in the dark and pierce right at you, as you feel his demon-like energy reach you, looking right at your soul, so deep and intimidating, as if your eyes are truly only a window to your mind.

And you’re about to pee your pants.

“You uhm.” you point your trembling finger at the glass. “You can’t fall through it… b-because it’s. You know… shatterproof.” you stumble quietly, before you crawl out from beneath your desk and grab your jacket, phone and dead headphones. “It… doesn’t sh-shatter.”

He stays silent, so silent, as suddenly a second pair of arms reveal themselves from under his cloak and cross in front of his torso.

And you can’t help but to stare in shock and confusion at his arms, tattooed chest and his flexing muscles, as you’re being hit by his degrading energy at the very same time. You are so overwhelmed by anything and everything, that you can’t help but to think that-

It’s almost as if-

He rolls his eyes and turns his face back to the window. The silence crushes you and the look on his face is still so intimidating, as he suddenly flicks the finger, that previously tapped against the glass.

BrrshhZschinnggg!

The glass of a window shatters into a thousand pieces and with an incredible force, like an invisible blade, the energy cuts through everything in it’s way, leaving a track of loud destruction and cuts a furrow into the floor, your computer and the wall a few yards behind you.

Bamm!

So close to you, that you even think you lost some hair. You feel the impact shatter in your bones.

“Is that so?” he grumbles in a deep, unimpressed voice, with his left bottom eye watching you. Your heart almost stops- waiting for the alarm to go off…

but it doesn’t.

Yup, out we go.

Before he can do anything more your body moves on its own.

A breeze from outside and the sounds of the street are blowing in through the broken window. You twitch a forced smile at him, before you tipple your way between the desks and out of the office space.

With a racing heart you run to the staircase, as the lights in the dark hallway flicker above your head, fighting to get back on. But they don’t. They die down again, leaving you in utter darkness. With a hitching breath, you pull out your phone and turn on the flashlight, as you tipple your way to take the stairs. Not just because the elevator is probably down as well, but to calm down. No elevator ride could soothe the adrenaline in your body right now.

Tap.Tap.Tap.Tap.Tap.Tap.Tap.Tap

Down the stairs, five stories, until you arrive at the entry hall, seeing the security guard at the reception table in the dark. Cursing under his breath, his face is illuminated by a flashlight on his desk, while he’s being busy to tap onto his monitors and to smash on the keyboard to get the cameras back on screen.

That creature must’ve caused a total blackout.

The security guard doesn’t mind or even notice you walking by, so you take the chance to quickly walk to the front door with no air in your lungs and sweat in your armpits. You catch a look onto the still busy streets.

Did someone from outside notice?

People are walking, no one is looking.

Sigh.

Thank god.

You carefully slip through the front door and see a few broken glass pieces onto your left. Quickly, you cross the street, melting into the groups of people, vanishing behind many faces, looking down to your feet and hoping nobody from outside caught you leaving the building. To calm your panic, you first buy yourself a coke on the next vending machine.

Psssshh.

Sip. Sip. Sip.

Sigh.

Better.

You inhale, before you slowly turn around, looking up to your office on the fifth floor, where you were a few minutes ago, curious what the fuck just happened there.

Flickering lights and advertisements mirror themselves on the remaining not-so-shatterproof glass, leaving a black hole on the one that indeed shattered. You can’t see him.

He might be gone.

But… it wasn’t a dream, was it?

You put on your headphones and try to connect them back to your phone.

Maybe the building got struck by a lightning, while I was knee deep into feeling Amy Lee’s voice.

No. Nothing.

Dead.

Shit, you think to yourself as another rush of adrenaline flows through your veins.

That was exciting…

You bite your lip.

Maybe my prayers were heard.

344 notes · View notes

ckret2 · 5 months

Text

Chapter 48 of human Bill Cipher slowly dying inside for 24 hours straight with no signs of stopping anytime soon:

The Eclipse: Part 6

Over a month since his death and after nearly 50 chapters, at long last, the moment you've all been waiting for:

Bill has a complete physical and mental breakdown.

Unfortunately there's only one person available to deal with it.

They landed near where they'd camped last night. While the Pines climbed out, Bill stared at the sharp gray rocks beneath the cliff. The blood was gone. It took him a moment to process that Ford was speaking: "We can pack our tents, return Tate's boat, and borrow a phone to call Stanley for a ride."

Bill numbly climbed onto land.

Their tents were in disarray, but more or less where they'd left them the night before. While Ford and Dipper dealt with the largest tent and cleaned up the campsite, Bill methodically attempted to fold up the tent he'd slept in.

He couldn't make sense of it. There were too many plastic rods with too many little joints and too many fabric flaps, he couldn't parse the geometry of it. This should be easy, he'd watched Dipper assemble the tent last night, how hard could it be to do the same in reverse?

But it wasn't working. His hands were shaking. The joints were bending wrong, the joints were bending in directions that shouldn't exist, in impossible dimensions, shrinking and expanding perversely as they twisted in alien foreshortening—

Bill let out a gasp so loud and sharp that Ford and Dipper immediately whipped around to face him. Ford asked, "What is it?"

Bill couldn't speak. He just stared down at his awful human legs.

"Bill?"

Voice very far away—but impressively calm and flat—Bill said, "I have to sit down."

"Why? What happened?"

"My legs aren't working. I can't feel them."

His knees buckled. He tried to grip them to keep them straight, but found only one arm responded. "And—my left arm." He dropped to his knees in the mud.

And suddenly he was the center of attention, two humans moving around him in a dizzying flurry, all grotesque limbs and fabric: "Hey, are you okay?" "What happened? Are you injured?" "Think we should get help?" "Maybe he needs food—"

Too much. He closed his eyes, but there were still fingers on his arm and shoulders and back. He swatted at them with his functioning hand. "Don't touch me don't touch me DON'T TOUCH ME!" His shriek startled the birds from a nearby tree. He attempted to bite somebody, he wasn't sure who—this was what he'd been reduced to, no legs, no strength, no power, he couldn't even protect himself from being touched, all he had left was his teeth—but he misjudged the distance and bit only air. But it was enough to make the humans back off, shrinking into the distance.

"Don't touch me. Stop trying to move me. Don't ask me why I can't move. I don't know. This—this—" he gestured frantically at his body. He was moving too fast, talking too fast. "This—corpse—human body—is stupid. It's just being stupid! I need to sit. Leave me alone, I need to sit. I need to sit, and—look at nothing, and breathe." He was talking far too fast, breathing too fast. "I need it so much. Go away."

No matter how hard Bill tried to imagine the humans spontaneously ceasing to exist, they did not go away. Ford knelt in front of him, studying his face. "Try to smile."

Bill forced a smile. "Good. Good, good. Positive thinking."

"No. I'm trying to see if you're having a stroke." He sat back. "Your face muscles are still working symmetrical."

Bill decided to keep smiling anyway. He thought it might help. Happy happy happy.

"You say your can't feel your legs."

"Yes."

"Or your left arm."

"Yes."

"Did you feel any pain beforehand? Tingling in the limbs, or...?"

"No—no, no. They were working fine and then they were gone. They just—disappeared." Bill laughed. The laugh went on too long and sounded too high and too nervous.

Ford nodded. "Okay. Drink this."

A water bottle materialized in Bill's field of vision. It took a couple of tries for Bill to manipulate his hand through three-dimensional space to grasp it. He shakily drank as much as he could. It tasted like drowning.

"Dipper, run to the bait shop and call for an... The nearest hospital is at least twenty miles outside Gravity Falls' weirdness barrier, Bill can't get there. Call for a doctor and I'll stay here to—"

"No," Bill snapped, "no no no, don't call a doctor. I don't want—" He didn't want to be seen like this. He didn't want somebody picking him up and helping him into an ambulance like he was too weak to move himself. He didn't want Mabel to know. Bad enough Ford and the brat did. "I don't need it. I'm fine."

"Fine?!" Ford gestured at him in disbelief. "Three fourths of your limbs aren't functioning—!"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Something's wrong with the body. It's got nothing to do with me. I'm fine, I'm just in it." He shut his eyes and tried to breathe. "Just—just let me sit."

"Let you sit and then do what?"

"Give me time. It'll come back. Don't tell anyone and—stop looking at me."

There was silence. Bill didn't want to open his eyes. He heard Ford stand and walk away.

####

"Do you think he's faking?" Dipper murmured.

Ford hated that that always had to be the first question. "I can't imagine what he'd stand to benefit from pretending he can't walk." Bill had been desperate to get back inside the last two days. If he'd now decided to—what? maybe take advantage of his freedom to try to escape?—then why hadn't he done that when they got separated in the lake, or in the caves where Bill could see in the dark and Ford hadn't known how to call the geodites? If he was trying to separate Ford and Dipper from each other so he could kill them one by one—why hadn't he just let them die?

It was hard not to think about how he really had saved them for no clear reason.

"He's spent two very stressful days hardly eating, sleeping poorly, and hiking through half the mountain. I'd say he needs food and rest. And probably more water." He'd gulped down two thirds of Ford's water bottle.

"Seriously? He can't feel his legs, is—is that normal for like a day without food and sleep?" Dipper asked. "People can go longer than that, right? You've gone longer."

"It's not a 'normal' symptom of exhaustion, hunger, or dehydration. But I think he'll fight us if we try to get medical help. Let's deal with the immediate problems first and—see where we are then. Even if it doesn't help, at least then he won't be paralyzed and starving."

Dipper nodded uncertainly. "What do we do if he's dying?"

The boy catastrophized at the drop of a hat. In a way, Ford supposed it was a good thing—having been through his fair share of catastrophes, he knew it helped to be prepared—but Dipper was so young. "Get him to a doctor as soon as we can; and, if that isn't enough... hope we're lucky." In other words: hope Bill stayed dead.

Dipper nodded again. "What's our strategy if Weirdmageddon restarts? Maybe... I wonder if that's what the Axolotl was trying to warn me—"

"Lunch first," Ford said. "Then we can plan for the apocalypse."

####

Bill knew they were going to make him move. They hated him. They would parade him through the streets to make a mockery of him, look at the alien loser in a malfunctioning corpse, washed-up puppeteer who can't even control a meat marionette, he's already dead and you can make his corpse in the forest a tourist destination—

"Okay," Ford said. "We'll give it an hour. Dipper's heading to town to get some proper food and call the shack."

The shack. Like a prison cell with an open door and a black hole inside trying to suck him back in. "Don't tell them—"

Dipper said, "I won't, I'm just letting them know we're not dead. And that we'll call again in a couple of hours."

No doubt so that Bill couldn't kill them without the shack knowing something was wrong. "Right."

"Do you... want any specific food?"

"Not hungry."

There was a pause. "Right. I'll just... grab something."

Bill didn't care what he did. As Dipper left the sound of each footstep was like a knife in Bill's ears. He just needed to breathe, needed to breathe and be normal and feel normal and happy—

Something soft landed on his head.

Bill opened his eyes.

There was an unzipped, slightly moist sleeping bag draped over his head and around his shoulders; and Ford standing several feet away, hands awkwardly clasped behind his back, looking somewhat embarrassed with himself.

Bill said, "What."

Ford cleared his throat. "It. Helped when you were, ah... had a hair cut. I thought—it can't hurt."

It took Bill a moment to figure out what he meant. "Oh." The towel. Ford had seen him hide under a towel. Right.

Ford winced and muttered, "Maybe it can hurt."

Bill croaked, "What."

It wasn't until he tried to speak that Bill realized he was crying so hard he couldn't breathe. His vision swam, his shoulders shook, his breath came in sharp hitches—no no no no, that wasn't okay, not in front of— Stop, stop, stop.

He covered his eyes with his hand. The water bottle slid off his thighs and spilled on the ground. Between gasping breaths, Bill forced out, "This's—this is—good. Good."

"How is it...?"

"It's a—hint. This—it's—prob... probably... ps-psycho—som—ss—"

"Psychosomatic?"

"Mm. Mhmm." He tried to get in a deeper breath and failed. "'Sgreat. Means—no inj—injuries. Flesh is—fine."

"So you're..." Ford's footsteps came closer, "saying it's psychological—?"

"No!" Bill let out a hysterical laugh. "I'm FINE! 'M happy. It's the body. It's—some hormone—hunger—exhaustion—just... s-synapses—and neurotrans—transmm—tr—"

"Easy. You can barely talk." He heard Ford sit next to him, felt the sleeping bag shift as he brushed against it. "Try to focus on breathing—"

"WHAT do you THINK I'm TRYING to—" Bill ineffectively pummeled Ford through the sleeping bag. "Move! Move, move, move! Don't t—touch—" He let out a frustrated scream that morphed into a humiliating sob, and had to clap his functioning hand over his mouth to smother the sound. He was not this body; he was a separate thing locked inside the body. This body was a prison, this body was a punishment. The legs didn't work, because the body was doing something to him. These weren't his tears, his grief, his fear. They were the body's. Which hormone was at fault? What could he blame other than himself?

He felt Ford's weight shift away from his side. "Okay, okay," Ford said. "Just... take it easy."

Bill socked him again. "Don't t-talk to me like a horse." He covered his eyes.

He didn't mean to risk his life for Ford.

Former friend, false worshiper, useless pawn, now enemy. Bill had just seen him floating out there and he'd done it—and he'd forgotten he could die.

In the Nightmare Realm he had saved his friends from peril billions of times before, because it was so easy for him, powers like a god, to see someone he was fond of and casually pluck them out of harm's way. It had been billions upon billions of years since Bill had been vulnerable to physical harm. He'd seen Ford in danger and he'd done what he always did and he'd forgotten he could have died.

He could have died. Eternally, permanently, last chance—he could have died.

And it would have been for nothing.

Bill was selfish. He had effortlessly saved friends billions of times but he'd also casually let them die just as many—assuming he didn't kill them himself. He saved friends because he liked them; but he didn't put himself out for ex-friends. Ford hadn't had one nice thing to say to Bill in years. Bill would never lure Ford back under his sway. Ford's survival endangered Bill's. But Bill had saved him anyway. He hadn't even stopped to think.

He didn't know. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to think about saving the human hellbent on killing him, he didn't want to think about almost dying, he didn't want to think about how peaceful it had been floating under the water, how easy it would have been to open his mouth and breathe in—he didn't want to think. He wanted to stop thinking. He wanted to empty his mind. He couldn't meditate through his hitching breaths and the way his stomach ached from struggling to keep his sobs silent, and his legs and left arm were gone.

He was fine. He was happy. He'd always been happy. Happy happy happy.

His entire body shook with sobs. He was dizzy—gasping between sobs for air he couldn't get. He was so lightheaded and crying so hard he couldn't stay upright. The edges of his vision went dark.

Ford wrapped an arm around Bill's shoulders and tugged him against his side. He held him up until Bill was too exhausted to cry anymore.

####

There was zipper noise, then a sound like shifting vinyl. Bill cracked his fingers apart to peer through them. Ford had unrolled the portable chessboard and was setting it up. "What?"

"It looks like we'll be here a while," Ford said, addressing his statement to the chessboard rather than to Bill. "It's... something else to focus on."

Bill wasn't sure what the emotion clawing its way through the grief-stricken haze in his mind was, but it felt very similar to relief. He nodded. "S—smart. I'm already—getting bored." His cheeks itched, his eyes burned, and his head was throbbing. As Ford set up the board, Bill closed his eyes and tried again to force himself to breathe more evenly. He was still dizzy from hyperventilating. Embarrassing—even a comatose human can breathe, and Bill couldn't even get that right. "Black?"

"I know."

Of course he knew. Bill always chose black. "First?"

"Fine." And Ford also knew, despite white traditionally getting the first move, Bill always moved first.

Bill waited in numb silence for Ford to finish setting up the board and sit on the other side. Moving almost automatically, Bill picked up a queen, hopped it over his line of pawns—

"Play it properly," Ford said irritably. "I put up with your cheating and lying for years, I'm not putting up with any more."

Bill gave Ford a look that he intended to be deeply offended, but immediately realized was probably just wet and pathetic. "Really? Now?"

Ford at least had the good sense to look a tad embarrassed, but he said, "I didn't set up the board to watch you move random pieces around like an untrained kindergartener."

"Three of my limbs don't work, Stanford."

"Are you suggesting your right arm doesn't remember the proper rules of chess?"

He wondered what Ford would say if he said yes. "I have a headache."

"You're probably dehydrated." Ford rummaged around in his backpack and offered over another bottle of water.

Bill reluctantly accepted it. He probably was dehydrated. "You owe me your life."

Ford fixed him with an unimpressed look. "You're trying to cash in a life debt... so you can cheat at chess?"

Bill opened his mouth; paused as he slowly thought that over; and dissolved into broken, hysterical giggles. "I don't know w-what I'm trying to do." He covered his mouth, squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to steady his breathing again.

Ford sighed. He waited until Bill had regained some control over himself; and then he said, "You can make up one new rule."

Bill considered the offer. "Total, or per game?"

"Per game."

Deep breath. "Fine. But I'm not telling you what it is. You have to guess it."

Ford considered it. "Three conditions."

"Mm?"

"One: you have to share what the rule was at the end of the game. If any of your illegal moves didn't conform to that rule, you automatically lose."

"Mm."

"Two: any rule you come up with has to apply to both sides of the board equally. Nothing that only advantages you or disadvantages me," Ford said. "Three: if I can figure out what your new rule is before the game's over, I can use it too. Obviously, you lose if I ask you about the rule and you lie."

Bill mulled over Ford's terms. His head was so foggy, he'd already forgotten the first one. "Deal."

"Deal."

####

Bill lost every game.

Badly.

He was clobbered. He was creamed. He was a faint red smear upon the pavement.

Back in Ford's dreams, Bill had won a good four-fifths of their games. Ford had heard during his travels that Bill was a mediocre player, but he didn't think he was so bad that all of those games had been won due to cheating. Even when he wasn't cheating, Bill had sometimes taken Ford by surprise.

But now, Bill was squinting at the board like he was struggling to see where the pieces were. Occasionally his fingers pinched down on thin air like he was trying to grab a non-existent piece. So Ford assumed the catastrophic losses were more a reflection of Bill's mental state than his skill level.

The option to make up rules didn't save Bill, but it at least made the games more interesting—and unlike the rest of Bill's abysmal playing, the new rules gave Ford a glimpse of the devious mind still buried somewhere in the traumatized human body.

The first round, Bill decided that the queen could leapfrog over pieces like a knight, and when Ford pointed out that would mean whoever had the first move could put the opposing king in checkmate in one move, Bill grudgingly amended the rule: the queen could leapfrog to an empty square, but could only take pieces in a straight line in the conventional manner. Ford had to maintain a phalanx of pieces jealously clinging to his king to guard against Bill teleporting his queen to the king's side. Bill managed to check him twice before Ford won.

One round, Bill decreed that rooks could only land on pieces the same color as they were sitting on, then smugly nestled his king on a white square next to Ford's rook on a black square; and then promptly lost the game when Ford pointed out both of Bill's rooks were currently on white squares, meaning he'd broken his own rule before he'd revealed it.

One round he decided that kings could move like queens, which Ford only discovered when he thought he'd checkmated him and then Bill zoomed his king across the board to take Ford's bishop; and then Bill lost a few moves later when Ford used his own king's newly revealed power to properly corner Bill.

One round Bill decided that once any back row piece was captured, it reincarnated in the body of the corresponding front row pawn. Ford genuinely liked the new rule—it meant you had to capture and checkmate both the king and the king's pawn before the game was over, and you had to be more cautious about what pieces you took since it could inadvertently set up a previously harmless enemy pawn to devastate your side of the board. But by the time Bill revealed that rule by jumping a pawn like a knight, Ford had already taken Bill's king's pawn and seen a way to checkmate him in two moves. It was a sore disappointment to end the game before getting to experiment with the new rule.

A few games were so short that Ford won without ever seeing Bill pull a nonstandard move. Round seven was one such game. Ford cornered Bill with a knight and a bishop. That had been the quickest match yet. Game over. "Checkmate."

"Checkmate," Bill said.

Ford paused, looking over the board, thinking moving his bishop must have given one of Bill's pieces line of sight to his king; but no, his king was perfectly safe. "What?"

"Checkmate."

"You can't mate me, I just mated you."

"I know. Checkmate."

Frowning, Ford said, "Explain."

"The extra rule this game is that both kings are wearing suicide vests." He tapped his king, "He's wired up with enough explosives to wipe out the whole board." There was a look of steely exhaustion on his face. He looked like the kind of desperate, hopeless man who would put on a suicide vest. "If I'm going down, you're coming with me."

Ford laughed so hard his stomach hurt.

It was petty revenge for losing seven games in a row. A frustrated child flipping the chessboard, but making a self-deprecating joke out of it: as long as we both know I'm going to lose anyway...

When Ford had recovered himself enough to look at Bill again, Bill was giving him a faint, grim smile that didn't quite make it to his one open eye. Still—he looked a little less miserable than he had for the past hour. Or the past couple days.

Ford said, "We'll call that one a stalemate."

"I'll take it."

####

After trying all morning and half the afternoon, Dipper had remembered part of what the Axolotl had told him. Just one phrase: sixty degrees that come in threes. He could hear the rhythm and rhyme of whatever the Axolotl said next, something something something -eez—it rhymed, he was sure of that—but the rest...?

It took Dipper over an hour and a half to get back to the campsite; he'd gotten lost in his thoughts, and consequently, gotten lost in the forest. He returned with a plastic bag of the kind of junk food they regularly saw Bill consuming in the shack, a few slices of gas station pizza, and a clear takeout container of nachos. Bill immediately went for the nachos.

While Bill was inspecting the circle-shaped tortilla chips with obvious disappointment, Dipper rummaged around in the plastic bag until he found a small jar of rainbow sprinkles and offered them to Bill. Bill took it without acknowledging Dipper, awkwardly untwisted the lid with one hand and ripped off the seal with his teeth, and liberally drowned his nachos.

"The gas station looks like an earthquake hit it," Dipper reported. "And most of the cars had popped tires. I guess they must've floated up and then crashed back down." He took a cheese pizza slice and offered the box to Ford. "Nobody I asked saw the Axolotl."

Ford glanced at Bill, expecting him to have some kind of comment on that; but Bill just grunted "Mm," focused on the chess game like he thought he'd be killed if he glanced away.

Dipper pointed out when Bill pulled an illegal move, Ford explained the new rules they were playing by, and Dipper settled down to watch. He tried to razz Bill the next time he lost; but Bill made such a pathetic figure that he couldn't even enjoy making fun of him and quickly gave up.

During the next game, Bill unexpectedly slid a pawn backward diagonally to take out Ford's queen. While Ford was silently fuming over the loss of his most powerful piece, Dipper hazarded, "Can pawns capture both forward and backward?" That would have been Ford's guess too.

But Bill simply said, "No."

Dipper mumbled, "Huh," lost focus on the game, and stared off into the distance, murmuring something under his breath. He kept getting lost in his thoughts today. Ford supposed nobody in this hiking party was in the best mental state.

Maybe pawns could move like bishops? But when Ford tried to slide one diagonally across the board, Bill said, "That's illegal," and Ford returned it to its original spot. There was some hidden condition he was missing. Maybe which color square the pawn was on? Or maybe it was like en passant, you could only capture an enemy piece backwards if that was the first time the enemy piece moved?

When the game was over—Ford won, but Bill had held out longer than usual—Ford asked, "All right, what was the new rule?"

"Pawns can capture forward and backward." While Ford and Dipper stared at him in mute outrage, Bill ignored them to casually shift his posture from kneeling—his knees had gotten sore—to lotus position, and said, "Next game?" as though he couldn't even be bothered to notice the humans' fury.

"But that's exactly what we said!" Ford snapped. "You lied to me!"

"No," Bill said, "I lied to the kid. I'm not playing against the kid. Why are you paying attention to what I tell him?"

Dipper demanded, "How is that fair? Anyone listening would think—"

But he fell silent when Ford laughed. "Of course," Ford said. "I should have expected that. Any loophole you can find. That's part of the game to you, isn't it."

Bill gave Ford an unsettlingly knowing look; and Ford supposed it was part of the game to him, too.

(Somewhere in the back of Bill's foggy mind, he kept count: three times. Before today, Bill wasn't sure he'd heard Ford laugh once this summer. What changed? What was Bill doing differently? Maybe Ford only liked him when he was completely broken.)

It took until halfway through the next game for Ford to realize Bill had moved his legs.

####

Over Ford's protests that they should wait until his strength was back, Bill insisted they get moving immediately. He'd rather be locked in the shack again than spend one more minute sitting by the lake.

"I hate being surrounded by trees. Why do humans like nature so much. This is miserable." Caked in mud, still wearing a towel like a skirt, teetering with exhaustion, Bill certainly looked like the most miserable camper to ever exist. "I cannot begin to tell you how sick I am of looking at pines."

Ford wondered whether the pun was intentional.

Bill's limbs were weak and uncoordinated. He could twitch his left fingers when asked, but his grip strength was nonexistent and the arm hung limply at his side when he wasn't actively trying to use it. His legs moved, but when he tried to get to his feet he collapsed back into the mud. But he thought he could probably stand with support. He ignored the hand Ford offered and crawled to the nearest tree to lean on as he got to his feet. Ford could see Bill's knees tremble.

"I don't need your help," Bill grumbled. "I can stand fine on my own."

Ford wouldn't argue with Bill's definition of fine. "But can you walk?"

"I could." He couldn't even make the lie convincing.

"Then be my guest."

"I'm saving my strength."

It would almost be funny if he wasn't being such an inconvenience. "Well, you're here and the boat is over there." Ford gestured. The shore was much further away than it had been yesterday. "If you can't walk, then you're either crawling or you're getting help. Which you'd prefer is between you and your dignity."

Bill's face reddened. "Don't talk to me about my dignity, like you've ever cared about my dignity..." He twisted around to inspect the tree behind him, tired gaze looking over the branches—maybe he was planning to break off a walking stick? He attempted to grab a thin branch that wouldn't serve as a walking stick for a toddler. He wasn't strong enough to break it off. He kept trying.

They were never getting to the boat. "Please let me help."

"Go jump in a lake. Again."

How did Ford handle this without prodding at Bill's bruised ego? "Consider it my thanks for—ah..." Ford cleared his throat. "For actually telling the truth about the eclipse. In spite of... what was no doubt immense temptation to lie like a cheap rug. Since we didn't believe you anyway." He had averted his gaze in embarrassment; he forced himself to face Bill like a man. Bill was actually looking at him again. "And for not chucking my gnephew's body off the cliff when you had the opportunity." The bar was so low it was on the ground, and yet it was still impressive that Bill hadn't found a way to dig under it. "And... for saving my life."

Bill set his jaw tight, as if he didn't like being reminded of his moment of decency; but he said, "Fine, get over here." He held out his good arm. "Help your hero and savior limp triumphantly off the field of battle."

When Ford offered his hand, Bill ignored it, and practically snarled when Ford tried to wrap it around his waist for support. Rather than putting his arm over Ford's shoulders, Bill seized a wad of fabric near the collar of Ford's t-shirt as a handhold to hang his weight from. Ford felt less like he was supporting Bill, and more like he'd just gotten in trouble and his father was marching him into the living room by his collar to give him a stern talking-to.

"First time you've ever thanked me for anything I've done for you," Bill muttered. Ford told himself he could drop Bill once they were on the boat.

Dipper was completely zoned out, waiting on the boat staring off in the direction the Axolotl had flown. He didn't react as Bill sat next to him, and Bill didn't acknowledge he existed. Ford started the motor, and they crossed the lake toward Tate & Backle's Bait & Tackle.

####

(You can't imagine how long I've been waiting to post this chapter. Hope you enjoyed, I'd love to hear what you think, and I hope those of y'all who have been waiting for Bill to cry like a baby are satisfied.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #grunkle ford #stanford pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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the-orange-tabby-cat · 6 months

Text

Wednesday

Joel miller x fem!reader

Summary: For the last 5 years, every Wednesday you watched a handsome man walk by your street with a lilac bouquet in hands. Except he doesn't stroll on your street this Wednesday, he shows up at your grief support group.

read on AO3 | fic masterlist | masterlist | next chapter

Rating: mature, allusions to sex (not yet in the series)

Warnings/Tags: No outbreak AU, Grief and its implications, Reader lost her mom, Reader's mom has a name (but no physical description), Group therapy, Grief support group, Parent grief, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Fluff, No use of y/n

Chapter Word count: 3,7k

Tabby note: For the longest time I've thought "What if Joel lost Sarah anyway?" and this became the answer to this question. I have no clue about how big this series will be, but I do know I want to explore grief and loss with these two in the most delicate way possible. Hope you enjoy it 🐾

I. LILAC

Coffee. Sketchbook. Balcony. Five years of waking up early on Wednesdays, grabbing a cup of coffee, and sitting near the railings to wait for him. Like a clock, at 8 am sharp he appears by the street corner with a lilac bouquet under his arm.

His strong profile will be the only thing in your vision for a few minutes as he walks by. You drew it so many times that you could do it with your eyes closed. The man will walk by at a steady pace without looking around (brows deeply furrowed in a “don’t fuck with me” kind of sign), focused on his way down the street.

Tall, dark hair and a patchy beard with a square jaw… He is dreamy, but also out of reach. Where is he going? Why the lilacs? Are they for a woman, his wife maybe? Every Wednesday at 8 am, never a minute late, both he and you.

As you took a sip of your coffee, you glanced over the watch marking 7:58 am, he would be here any minute. You prepared the table in expectancy, what outfit would he be wearing today? You hoped for the green shirt, but the blue one wouldn’t be as bad.

7:59 am. His hair is a little overgrown now, but you like the way his curls frame his face. The broadness of his shoulders and how tall he looks next to the other pedestrians. You aren’t sure of the color of his eyes from afar, maybe green or brown.

8:01 am and no signal of him. This is a first. Maybe you mistook the day of the week, check your phone, and… No, Wednesday still. You squirm in your seat, impatiently looking for him. 8:07 am, he never got so late. Should you keep waiting? You don’t even know his name.

At 8:30 am you give up. A wave of melancholy fills the air. Oh god, be for fucking real, are you really sad because a strange man and his stupid lilacs didn’t walk down your street?

“Don’t forget: 9 am at the gate”, you reread your grandpa's text.

You couldn’t be able to forget it, but deep down wish you could avoid it. Cemeteries aren’t your thing, the constant reminder of the death surrounding you. However, they are Grandpa’s way of dealing with it and who are you to judge?

The sketchbook is opened at the last page you drew, with the man staring in front of him fully angered. How did you end up with over 200+ drawings of a man you never met? The doctor said finding a hobby would help and so you did: drawing. “You see what no one else sees”, your mom used to say and you decided to take a test. Too bad your eyes landed on a strange man walking down the street, holding on tightly to a lilac bouquet. Even worse he had been doing the same path for five years right in front of your balcony. The only things in your sketchbook are his face, his hands, and the bouquet. This is your third one since you kept running out of pages.

As you put the sketchbook away, your mind drifted away to your mother’s (possible) commentary. “Don’t be silly, he will come by later, I’m sure something happened” and she, most likely, would be right. She was always right. 8:50 am and with your chest tightened from “talking” to her inside your mind, your feet landed at the cemetery’s gate.

“No flowers? Really? Who raised you, pigs?”, your grandpa said narrowing his eyes at you.

He, of course, was an impeccable mess in his hat, black coat, thin-framed glasses that gave him a Bond villainesque look. In his rugged hands a white rose bouquet, carefully made and held by.

“If I remember right, and I do remember it, we are talking about the same woman who said that flowers are for the living, not the dead.” He rolled his eyes in response but in good fun. “Why the flowers then?”

“My biggest mistake was to raise a woman a little too avant-garde, wasn’t it? C’mon, we don’t have the whole day,” he deep sighed while showing you the way.

You knew the path, but your feet seemed to avoid getting there, that’s why you followed Grandpa’s steps in the hope of not turning around and leave. It was a little ritualistic if you were honest: Grandpa would have some kind of gift in his hands that he would leave at the tombstone, and you would pretend to do not care as you deeply cared about it. She wasn’t there anymore, she hadn’t been for a long time.

Behind his glasses, you could see a lost man driven by grief. His hands shaking as he cleaned her name at the tombstone, the gaze avoiding yours. He would always wear black on cemetery days, as if the time never passed and it was the first visit yet.

“Want to go first?” He asked, you sighed in response. “Don’t know why I still ask.”

“It’s… Fine. You know she was a Buddhist, right? She believed in reincarnation. I feel a little silly talking to her,” you confessed while chewing the lip corners.

“Oh, trust me: I knew her the same amount as you, maybe even more. She was my daughter, for fuck’s sake.” Startled, you looked at him in shock at the rare occasion he would curse. Shit. “I’m not here because of her beliefs or lifestyle. Do you quote her inside your head? Because I do too, I too remember every small detail of her. I’m here because it’s how I tell myself she isn’t fully gone. So sorry if I’m too old-fashioned and feel like talking a few words at my daughter's tombstone with my grandaughter who, honestly? Could show a little more love towards her right now. I want to talk with her like we used to at the kitchen table on Sundays, I want to bring her flowers just like I did on her birthday and there is no Buddha, Allah, or a flying horse that can stop me. Now, can you open your fucking mouth and say something nice to your mom about your week?”

Silence took the space for a second before you simply replied with, “Better?”

“Yes, a lot. Thank you for asking, now go on, please.” He adjusted his hat and cleared his throat. You hummed, getting a little courage to look directly at the tombstone.

“Hum. I got a new couch last week, a velvety green one. A little too sexy, if I might, but you would probably say I need something sexy to attract someone even sexier. Am I rambling?” You asked, raising your eyes from the stone, but he made a motion for you to continue it. “Let me think, oh, the cat hunted a pigeon. It was somewhat disgusting because of the amount of feathers in my apartment…”

“Did the pigeon survive?” He asked, in his eyes with a slight curiosity.

“Yes, but by a thread. It was her cat, a little savage just like her!”

The conversation went on easily after it. Grandpa had found some old notebooks of your mom, including one with a cake recipe he would later send to you. You wouldn’t tell him, it did feel better not because you were speaking to her, but because you could watch him relax in his uptight perpetual state. In the blink of an eye, your mind wandered to the strange man and if he ever relaxed like that.

Grief is a strange thing. It took a little encouragement from your therapist and the need to move on, but you had started to go to weekly meetings of a grief support group at the local church (the only thing that made you enter that space). The first months were awkward, you went but avoided it at the same time. Slowly, it grew on you. Five years of not missing a single Wednesday, even on vacation.

Your grandpa tried once, but it just wasn’t for him. He didn’t want to move on or find a meaning for it, he needed to feel his grief as second skin. You needed it to stop suffocating you, to scream and shout about that weight in the hope of someone taking it from your back.

This Wednesday wasn’t any different. You entered the church's back door with some cookies in hand, even if you were well aware that most people couldn’t eat as they exposed their pain, it was more of a sweet gesture than a necessity. The white walls and the cross in front of you completed the scenario.

“Cookies? You never eat anything,” Henry questioned while taking a bite. His dark eyes staring suspiciously at you.

“My grandpa found an old cookie recipe from my mom. How does it taste?” You replied as you watched him bite. You couldn’t bear to try it first, too anxious about it.

“Your mom was definitely a writer, not a chef. Taste like an old sock.” His face contorted as he spat out the cookie. Well, you tried something new.

“Yeah, no wonder I survived out of Lucky Charms and BTLs.” Henry laughed as you let go of your shoulder’s tension a bit.

The grief support group had grown and shrunk over the years. Sometimes people would feel good enough to leave the support, those were the lucky ones: grief was a period of their life, not an everyday thing. In other cases, they would get too depressed and leave before making some actual change in their being. You, unfortunately, were addicted to bond with the pain part of it.

Well, you and them. Henry was the first you met, totally wrecked after losing his little brother, Sam, to leukemia. He almost left college due to the weight of grief but kept it together, you even went to his graduation a few years back.

Tess came later. First, her kid died and then, in a stroke of bad luck, she found out she had a terminal disease that would, eventually, kill her. She wasn’t there to deal with the death of others, but her own. She was slowly dying and it was scary as shit. Not that you would know it from the outside, she had more strength (both physically and mentally) than most.

Frank was the group leader, conducting the discussion and creating the safe spaces. Everything you had said while hugging him, no matter how bad, never came back to hunt you. Which was odd on its own, but even odder considering his grumpy husband, Bill, was the exact opposite. Everything you did said in Bill’s direction came back to hunt you right after it came out of your mouth.

People come and go, but you stay there. Grabbing your regular place at the circle, putting the name tag on your shirt, and drinking some water just in case you cry. Except today you have someone new seated across you.

His strong nose and patchy beard hint someone you do know. His square jaw tensed up, brows deeply furrowed in a “don’t talk to me, I want to go home” that you could draw with eyes closed. The name tag reads “Joel”. You were right, his eyes are brown.

It feels weird to look at him without a pen and paper in hand, but it feels just right to see his features up close. Tess brings him coffee - black, you noticed - and gives him an eye silently saying “Don’t fuck it up”.

The meeting starts, Frank asks who is there for the first time. Joel and a woman, Hannah, raise their hands.

“It’s tradition to introduce ourselves at our first meeting. You don’t need to tell the details of why you are here or who you are, just simple information that people can distinguish you from the rest of the group.” Frank explains to a tired Joel, who sighs in response while Hannah overshares who she is.

Of course he doesn’t want to be there. Nobody wants to. You wish you could leave every time you cross the door, but know that the moment the meeting starts to develop you will want to continue in that deep state of pouring your heart out.

“I’m Joel, my friend Tess convinced me to come. That’s it.” He simply states, loud and straight. You catch Frank laughing.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to push you a little on it. Why did you accept to come here?” Joel furrows even deeper at the provocation.

“I didn’t. She trapped me.” Tess raises her very blonde eyebrows at him, who snaps. “You did trap me. Call me saying it was an emergency, I go to your house expecting the worst and you lock me inside there until the time to come here after I said I wouldn’t go to a grief support group.”

“See? He is an asshole, he needs this.” She answers Frank, making sure he gets her points. Your mom was right, something had happened to him.

“So, Joel, why are you here still?” Frank subtly asks.

“I beg your pardon?” Joel’s eyes are softer now, getting caught off guard. He doesn’t have any argument for it.

“Yes Joel, why are you still here? I’m not trapping you in this char, nobody is holding you down.” Tess retorts her mouth in his direction, that scoffs and looks around the room. When his eyes look into yours, you smile coyly unable to retain yourself.

“Sir, please continue.” Accepting defeat, Joel crosses his arms around his chest, fully ignoring Tess's triumphant smile.

“You are free to leave at any point, no need to tell us why. But I guarantee that if you stay, you might learn we aren’t that bad.” Frank nods in his direction, gaining a hard sigh. “Let’s start. Before every meeting, we say out loud the names of those who have gone to allow ourselves to think about them without shame, remorse, or guilt. You know the drill, Henry?”

“Sam,” Henry says firmly.

“Abigail,” you speak loudly.

Another silly little gesture, but you do allow yourself to think about her after it. Every single time. It’s almost as if the weight of her, the one that you carry around all day and pretend isn’t there suffocating you, comes to sit by you, not on you.

“Teresa,” Tess points at her.

“Sarah,” Joel almost murmurs looking at the ground. His hands are fidgeting, his mind in another place.

You have been there, you know how strange it is to say it for the first time out loud after a while, sounds forbidden and partly awkward. You aren’t supposed to say it to strangers, it’s sacred just for you, and yet, here you are saying it to whoever wants to share this pain with you.

You wonder if Sarah liked lilac flowers.

Some people speak about how they dealt with grief during the week until Frank asks you how the cemetery visit went. The group knows that meeting your grandpa there gives you a chill up the spine.

“I think I forget that he is allowed to grieve as he needs. I know all these little parts of her, how she lived her life. I’m quick to fight because she isn’t here to defend herself. I’m not even sure she would like for me to defend the memory of who she is… Sorry, was. Of who she was.” You swallow dryly, trying to ignore the miswording. “He bought her flowers. She always said that flowers were for the living, not the dead, and yet, he bought her a bouquet. I got frustrated, felt like he was trying to put her in a box of who he wanted her to be.

“He put me in my place quickly, even said fuck.” Henry makes some noise in surprise, you nod agreeing. “Exactly, it dawned on me: the flowers are for him, not for her. Just like his grief and how he needs to express it is only for himself, not for me to judge. I think he misses her more than he tells me. If I could go back in time, I would have implored him to cremate her and stop this nonsense of going to her grave, checking her tombstone, giving her damn flowers.”

“Maybe the flowers are his way of saying out loud that he cares too. She was his daughter before being your mother.” Joel speaks out loud, getting your full attention. His arms are still crossed, but now his eyes are lost in thought, almost as if he didn’t want you to hear it.

“Maybe. I just wish he allowed himself to stop pretending she is still here. I want to think of her without feeling guilty that she isn’t. He is too busy missing her to notice that I’m missing him.” You answer locking eyes with Joel, who chews the corners of his mouth, once again deep in thought.

“Maybe he doesn’t know how to do it, need help.” His voice soft, just like his eyes.

“Maybe.” You give in, feeling that Joel isn’t speaking about your grandpa. You swallow as you remember the lilacs.

The meeting runs smoothly. The group finishes by drinking coffee before parting ways. Frank is chatting by the corner with Joel, who is running a hand by the nape of his neck. Curiosity gets the best of you and, before you can stop, you question Tess.

“Who is Sarah?”

“A million-dollar question, huh?” She teases as she sips her sugary coffee. Henry looks between you two, waiting for a response. “You both haven’t heard from me, I’ll deny til death that I’ve ever said it. His daughter, she died a few years back. He hasn’t been the same since. That motherfucker goes to her grave every fucking Wednesday.”

“He visits her every Wednesday?” The number of drawings of Joel walking down your street early in the morning with a lilac bouquet makes more sense. His face, his fast speed, how he ignored everyone that walked by, how he never noticed you at your balcony.

“Yes, she died on a Wednesday, he relives that event every week since.”

Frank walks in your direction, Joel right behind him looking everywhere, except your face. If he only knew how much you have looked at his face before.

“I recall you haven’t been a mentor yet, right?” Frank starts and you nod, curious about where he is going. “Amazing! You’ll have your first newbie. Joel, you’re in good hands.”

He leaves before you can say anything, whether yes or no. Fuck. Joel is confused as well, still looking like he would rather leave. You open your mouth and go grab your phone.

“Sooooo… How was your first meeting?” Flipping through your phone until find your own number isn’t a good move to show that you are smart, trustful and worthy but right now you only want to avoid his brown eyes.

“Pass.” You blink at him. “I won’t keep chit-chatting. Cut to the chase.”

“Oh damn, I thought you had softened a little with time.” He fights the urge to roll his eyes and you smirk at him, reading him like a book. “I’ll give you my number in case you need someone to talk to. And yes, you can call me anytime you want to. And no, I won’t get your number. You come to me or I won’t come to you.”

That entertains him a little. It was the first rule of your mentor, she made sure you would look for her and not the other way so you could understand when and what triggered you. Joel just nods as he saves your contact.

“When did you first contact your mentor?” He questions, sounding genuine in his curiosity.

“Diet Coke, couldn’t drink.” The furrowed brows are back, so you continue. “My mom would mostly only drink Diet Coke, after she passed away I would buy canes just to open and hear the sizzling. Couldn’t drink otherwise would vomit from stress. It was really hot and I craved one, made that call and drank it.”

“And you drank the whole thing?” His soft eyes are back and you feel a little foolish for thinking that he could have green eyes, not when the dark brown suits him so much.

“Yes and vomited right away. Still, it was worth the shot.” You smile and for a fraction of time, he smiles too.

He doesn’t call right after and neither shows up at the grief support group. You still draw him, but from memory, the last time you watched as he strolled your street it was three months ago. Something about his grief seems too personal and you feel awkward invading that space, instead, every Wednesday at 8 am you find another thing to do. It isn’t as easy as it sounds, ignoring his handsome profile and the lilacs on his hands, but you allow his privacy.

The only reminder of your favorite habit is the sketchbook at the table and the fresh lilacs decorating your balcony.

Time goes by slowly and too fast, the weight of your mom still at your back as the life surrounding you goes on its course. You almost forget about him until a Wednesday morning, 8 am sharp, your phone chimes and you pick up at the first beep.

“I can’t eat pancakes. I hate pancakes, but she loved it.” He softly says and you stop everything to listen.

“You made from scratch or store-bought?” You phrased it like it is an important question. He hums back on the phone.

“Store-bought, don’t know how to make the batch. She straight up bought only the mix.”

“Would you eat with her, despite not liking it?” Your hand slides the paper, creating his silhouette line after line.

“Yes.” He simply answered, as if it was the most common question in the world.

“What are you waiting for? Take a bite.”

And he does. The chewing sound from the other side fills the phone, your hand keeps drawing him in his overgrown hair, almost as if you could see the scene right before your eyes.

“So, was it worthed?” You ask looking at the draw as he finishes his plate.

“Still taste disgusting.” He soft replies after a second, you snort and he laughs. The sound is the most delicious thing you’ve ever heard. prev | next

#joel miller #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x original character #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfic #the last of us #the last of us hbo #wednesday series

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kpop---scenarios · 2 months

Text

Monster (8)

Pairing: Chan x Reader x Felix

Warning: Violence, Mentions of Blood etc

Word Count: 1.2k

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Everything Taglist: @wife2straykids @piscesrising01 @baby-stay92 @kisses-too-the-moon @dwaekkiiracha @rylea08 @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @satosugu4l @iovecb97 @lordmaahes-nsc @sailorkoss @pixie0627 @50-husbands @jinnies-muse @yaorzu-blog @joyofbebbanburg @number1jeonginstan @ambersnowxxx

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Previous Chapters

“Please!” You cry out. “Please don't!” Panic sets in as Seojoon walks closer to you, his hand gripping onto something. Your eyes are having a hard time focusing as you watch him get closer with each step, Mia standing off to the side giggling while she watches you trying to rip the chains from the ceiling. You're not strong enough, your shoulders ache so badly as you struggle, trying to swing your legs up to kick him as he stands in front of you. You look down, seeing a long whip in his hands and your stomach sinks.

“Please.” You whisper. “Don't. What do you want from me!?” You scream.

“Well.” Mia starts. “I'd like for you to start minding your goddamn business. If you're told to stay out of something, that doesn't mean keep meddling!” She shouts. Her fists clench as she stares at you. You look between her and Seojoon, he stands there chuckling, looking down at her hands.

“Hit her.” He says. “It'll help relieve stress. You'll feel better.”

Mia looks at him, she's surprised he even suggested that. She opens her mouth to say something but closes it, instead, pulls her arm back, swinging at you, hitting you directly in the stomach, knocking the wind out of you.

You hang there coughing, trying to catch your breath as she cocks her arm back again, this time hitting your face as you're gasping for air.

“Wow.” Mia chuckles. “It's working.” She smiles, raising her hand, slapping you hard across the face. Your stomach and face burn, you can feel blood dripping from your lip or nose, you have no idea which one.

“You gotta let me have some fun too.” Seojoon chuckles, setting down his whip. “This is gonna be for the three absolutely agonizing years I had to fucking suffer through with you.” He says, hitting you with a closed fist, directly in the nose. You scream out loudly as you begin to cry. You desperately prayed that Wonho told Chan what had happened, he was your only chance at getting out of here.

“God. So many times I had wanted to do this to you. Being with you was so insufferable.” He chuckles, grabbing a chunk of your hair, pulling your head up. “Look at me when I'm talking to you.” He scoffs. You try to focus your eyes but you struggle to look at him or Mia, your head is spinning.

“Please stop.” You whisper, spitting blood from your mouth.

“You know you wouldn't be in this position had you just listened to us.” He laughs. “I wish your father had asked me to be with you.” Seojoon smiles, looking over at Mia.

“You are now, that's all that matters.” Mia giggles, walking closer to him.

“That's right, baby.” Seojoon says, pulling Mia in for a sloppy kiss.

“He's fucking married.” You cough.

Seojoon hits you harder than last time. “Do you ever fucking learn?” He snaps. “Try minding your goddamn business.”

“I know he's married. I don't care.” Mia tells you.

“What about Felix?” You whimper.

“What about him?” Mia scoffs. “He's part of a job, nothing fucking more. Once Chan, Felix and Mr. Lee are out of the picture, Seojoon will leave his wife.”

Seojoon coughs, stepping back from Mia, looking through the tools laid out on the table. “Right?” She asks.

“Now's not the time for this bullshit, Mia.” He snaps. “Are you gonna let the wedding happen Y/N and stop getting in the fucking way?” He asks.

“You think…I'm gonna let Felix…marry that cunt?” You gasp. “Think again.”

“I say we just fucking kill her.” Seojoon spits, reaching in the waist of his pants, pulling out a gun. He cocks it, pointing it at your head.

“Mia?” You hear your dad calling.

“Don't say a fucking word.” Mia says to you.

“Coming daddy.” She yells, looking between you and Seojoon. “Don't do anything until I get back.”

You watch as Mia goes up the stairs, leaving you alone with the psychopath.

“What am I gonna do with you?” Seojoon huffs. “Clearly beating you isn't getting the message across…what is it gonna take?” He sighs. “Maybe…” He trails off, turning around. He grabs a knife from the tray, turning back to you. He grins as he jabs the knife into the fabric of your shirt, cutting it all the way up until it hangs open, exposing your bra. “You know, these really were the only good things about you.” He chuckles. “You've always had great tits.” He says, his hands resting on your waist.

“If you don't take your fucking hands off her, I'll blow your goddamn brains out.” You hear from the stairs. Your head snaps up, seeing the shadow of Chan through your blurry and swollen eyes.

“The fuck are you gonna do about it?” Seojoon scoffs, turning to look at you before back at Chan.

“You think there's nothing I wouldn't do to protect this girl?” Chan asks. “I've been to prison.” He chuckles, walking closer to Seojoon. “And I'm not fucking afraid to go back.”

Seojoon runs back the way he originally came out but Chan doesn't chase after him. He rushes towards you, grabbing a chair for you to stand on before he starts working on breaking the chains around your wrists. You sob as he releases one wrist, the relief and the pain was too much.

Chan gets your other wrist free, causing you to collapse onto him. He holds onto you tightly, picking you up and carrying you up the stairs.

“The wedding is in a few weeks…” You barely hear your father say before trailing off. “Y/N? Chan?” He gasps, rushing towards you. “What the fuck happened?”

“Why don't you ask your other daughter?” Chan growls.

Your father looks at Mia, who sits there trying to act innocent. “I told you a little bit!” Your father snaps.

“It was mostly Seojoon.” You mumble.

“Seojoon did this?” Your dad asks. His voice was calmer than it had ever been, and that was always so much scarier.

“Daddy… I can…” Mia trails off.

“My office, now.” He says.

Chan doesn't say anything, instead takes your limp body out of the house, placing you in the backseat of the car and peeling out of the driveway.

You must have passed out, when you came to, you were back in Chan’s arms, being taken into his house.

“What happened?” You hear a deep familiar voice.

“You're future fucking wife happened.” Chan snaps, taking you upstairs to his room. He walks in, closing the door behind him before laying you down on his bed.

“You saved me.” You mumble.

“Of course I did.” He laughs.

“Thank you.” You whisper, groaning as you try to get comfy in his bed. Your body ached and throbbed.

“I'm going to get you some medicine.” He whispers as you doze off, finally feeling safe.

Over the next week, Chan never left your side, bringing you everything you needed and wanted to help your body heal. Your bruises had almost faded, and the rest of your body was close to being fully recovered.

“How are you feeling?” Chan asks.

“So much better.” You smile. “I can't thank you enough.”

“For what?” He asks.

“For everything. For saving me…taking care of me, nursing me back to health… for it all.” You smile. “I've never had anyone care this much for me.” You say, as he comes and sits next to you on the bed.

“I'd go to the ends of the fucking earth for you.” Chan says. “I'd do anything you asked of me.”

“Why?” You whisper.

“Because I'm so fucking in love with you.”

116 notes · View notes

pennyellee · 7 months

Text

CHAPTER VII - mágoa

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, mentions of God, violence, bloodshed, history class on lacrimosa yall, nudity, blood, manhandling, slapping, mentions of suicide, gun use, genitalia cupping, gaslighting, anxiety, strong language, threats, misogyny, old social norms, lies-lies-lies, bone crunching, physical violence, suicide attempt

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 12K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

m.list CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VI CHAPTER VIII

mágoa (n.) a heartbreaking feeling that leaves long-lasting traces, visible in gestures and facial expressions

A pinch of sadness went through Y/N when she heard his words. She gave herself to him. Without any fight, simply accepting that this had to be done for her to build a strong base where he would trust her enough to let his guard down. After this day, her mind was barely holding up, therefore she went down the hill willingly rather than by force.

Her eyes were about to close slowly when he was taking the white sheet on which they consummated their marriage. Although her eyes were narrowed, she saw a significant portion of it being painted red with her blood. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she laid there, boring her eyes to the ceiling of the room rather than perceiving the reality.

The flames of the fire danced and flickered, casting a warm glow upon their entwined bodies. They laid there — he basked in the afterglow, and she in her own sorrow. He was caressing her hair while she laid on top of his naked torso where he moved her to rest just a moment ago, trying to not think about what had happened. She cared no more. Her mind and body were exhausted. Yoongi put a soft kiss on her forehead before he broke the serene silence.

“A bath, shall we?” Her body felt the mix of exhaustion and vulnerability as she went to get up, a soreness radiated in between her legs. Y/N could not wait till she would spread her limbs in the hot spring water. Yoongi gently swept her to his arms and carried her out of the room.

The corridor was softly lit by lanterns, their warm glow casting a gentle illumination. Paper windows filtered the moonlight, creating patterns of soft shadows on the wooden floor as he was taking her to the spring. He hoped it would ease her pain and relax her muscles so he could be a little more selfish and take her again and again until dusk.

Her naked nipples stiffened and reacted to the sudden change of temperature. Yoongi was yet again trying to control his urges to press her against the wall and take her from behind. But he knew better. She was sore, vulnerable, and he knew the time was ticking and soon a bigger wave of realisation would hit her.

The steam from the heated water mingled with the crisp air, creating a comforting atmosphere that embraced them. She could feel the cold wind hitting her body before Yoongi stepped inside the natural bath surrounded by ancient rocks, swiftly setting their bodies into the hot water. Y/N breathed out from the sensation of the water balming her sore muscles. She took a moment to embrace the peacefulness of her surroundings, momentarily forgetting the true nature of her situation and to whom is her naked body pressed to.

Her eyes snapped open when the nerve hit her senses, breath hitching in her throat, tears still struggling to dry on her cheeks. An epiphany. She tried to pull herself away from him, covering her chest when he pushed her against him even tighter.

“None of that, my love,” he whispered into her ear, nabbing at it and pecking her head. “You are finally doing so well, baby,” he spoke, his lips still pressed to her hair.

The soothing warmth of the water against her skin and the unsettling reality of her vulnerability in Yoongi’s embrace — it overwhelmed her from every perspective. His words, though tender, served as a reminder of the power dynamics that governed their relationship. She felt a surge of frustration and sadness, a silent plea for autonomy in a world that seemed determined to deny it and her resilience was coming back to life again.

“Yoongi,-” she said urgently, her voice carrying over the soothing sounds of flowing water. “When is it going to happen?” Y/N inquired, lifting her head up, her eyes searching for answers.

“It is already happening.”

The night had unfolded in shadows and whispers, and as the moon’s soft glow seeped into the bath, reality grew more elusive.

The infamous Yakuza, believing themselves five steps ahead of the Min clan, found their fortunes turned by the cunning moves of the young Kkangpae. The cards he tossed when luring out the enemy’s leader were not in their favour. Cut the snake’s head and it will die; Yoongi wished to see them all perish.

The headquarters of the Japanese clan, once a fortress of power, now stood vulnerable in the absence of its leader. Yoongi’s calculated manoeuvres had left them exposed, ripe for his seizing. From Japan to the north of Korea, with Hong Kong looming as the next conquest, the throne beckoned to him now.

The Kkangpae had played a dangerous game, and the stakes had never been higher. He realised this when the enemy held his beloved, poised to snuff out her life with vengeance. That urgency drove him to expedite matters. Within an hour, united soldiers of the Min and Wang houses moved to three different locations, armed and prepared for the Yakuza’s onslaught.

Yoongi knew the moment they set foot on his territorial grounds their intentions were not congratulatory. But one of the decoy. On that note, another three units secured warehouses, guarding the ammunition and the snow, as they called it, to maintain prosperity.

Y/N had underestimated him and the measures he would take to ascend the ladder. No man had dared challenge the Yakuza and lived to tell the tale, let alone dismantle the cruel syndicate over the span of a single lifetime.

The last of them were already en route to join infiltrators in Fukuoka, where all of Yamamoto’s warehouses lay, along with Tokyo’s headquarters. The command was clear: at the stroke of midnight — fire.

“Is Mother with Bó Chéng and Xiaoli, safe?” Her voice trembled. Y/N is no fool; her gut warned of temporary alliances and impending bloodshed once the Yakuza descended the stairs. This time, between Wangs and Mins. Yoongi never confirmed such a cruel assumption, yet, she knew.

He nodded solemnly, understanding her concern. “They are safe, love. I made sure of it,” he reassured, his voice a comforting anchor amidst the chaos. Yoongi’s eyes held a mysterious depth as he spoke, and the weight of his words lingered in the air.

The Kkangpae had unleashed a force that even he hadn’t fully anticipated, and the consequences were now playing out in real time. His vision was clear — The Min clan, a rising phoenix from the ashes, disrupting the status quo, plunging the city into disarray.

For years, no Korean clan had dared confront Japan’s Yakuza, the threat of annihilation keeping them in check. Hence, Korea’s underworld always stood divided until the former Kkangpae Min initiated revolutionary acts against both southern and northern enemies.

As the First World War unfolded, Yoongi’s father saw an opportunity to cover the blood traces left behind by the clans on the battlefield. The alliances formed, the battles fought—all of it became obscured by the larger narrative of global conflict. The revolution against both parties became a rallying cry for those long oppressed by the Yakuza.

The clan of Min knew if they wanted to succeed in this power play, attacking the northern foes was first in order before they could stand a chance over Yakuza and their international allies.

The war with its sweeping chaos and diversion, became a canvas for the Mins to redraw the lines of power. The world may be at peace now, the syndicate clans were nowhere near the fine line. A Cold War between the fighting clans arose and took its place now that they could not horrendously murder each other without drawing the attention of the upper world.

Not today.

His father’s revolutionary act set the stage, and Yoongi intended to finish it. With satisfaction, he watched as the wheels of change turned, irreversible.

The war ended over two decades ago and yet Yoongi still expected the unexpected. Hong Kong sought alliance with Tokyo. A marriage would seal it. Lineage was sacred, heavily valued. The syndicate, with its watchful eyes and ears attuned to the pulse of the underworld, murmured in speculation. Rumour was spread of Wang Zemo’s eldest daughter to be betrothed to Yamamoto Itsuki, the Yakuza’s heir.

Yoongi had just celebrated his 18th birthday when the murmur began. The girl, barely a decade old, promised to the Yakuza. No official betrothal could happen as she was still too young to be wedded.

Years went by and when she reached the 18th year of her life, Yoongi anticipated another bloodthirsty war to begin now that the arrangement could take place. But nothing happened. Holding her portrait in his hand, looking at the black and white photograph with a fresh cut on his eye, imagining how cherry red her lips must be and how he is going to drown in her eyes once he sees them for real. He saw opportunity, a golden ticket in this dangerous game.

Therefore, before her twenty-first birthday, Yoongi was already ahead of Yakuza, sipping tea with Wang Xiaoqing, the Triad leader’s older sister. His intention was clear from the beginning — the young gal in the portrait, undyingly beautiful.

Instead of wielding guns and knives at the northern enemy in China he was resolute in overthrowing the Triad by this calculated move of taking her and creating a powerful alliance in order to end Yakuza’s reign. He could have had any woman from his clan, but no woman ever spiked his interest as much as Wang Y/N.

He settled his mind on the path God presented him. He played his pieces, aiming for the Triad’s allegiance. The men of the Wang Triad, fiercely loyal to their established traditions, would not willingly follow an outsider — with or without war. To secure his grip on the Triad’s allegiance, Yoongi needed more than a coup; he needed a legitimate claim to leadership.

He played his pieces, aiming for the Triad’s allegiance. The young Kkangpae began his cockiness by taking the young woman to keep at his premises right before Yakuza would announce the engagement and followed the union.

Yoongi, the architect of this narrative, understood the power of perception. A move that seemed personal had far-reaching implications in the complex web of alliances that governed the criminal underworld.

The elderly woman was the smartest human he ever met. As she also held a mutual disdain for the house of Yamamoto that ran deep, an animosity fuelled by years of oppression and subjugation. The Yakuza’s supremacy over other clans, their unabashed acquisition of shares, land, and women, irked her. It was a political dominance that had cast a shadow over both Seoul and Hong Kong’s criminal underworld for far too long.

A shrewd strategist that Wang Xiaoqing was, recognised the potential for a successful revolution in Yoongi’s carefully laid steps — the blockade of docks, the seamless integration into the Yakuza’s business affairs, the subtle theft of opportunities, and the meticulous infiltration into their other operations—it was a game of chess played with finesse. Lastly, his determination on not letting Wang’s oldest daughter marry into Yakuza and form an alliance that could be a threat to his own kin.

Taking her niece would be a move that went beyond the surface, resonating with the desire to break free from the chains that bound them to the Yakuza’s dominance. Nobody dared to take what Yakuza claimed as theirs. Until him.

In the dimly lit warehouse where he was solely because the Luen’s shipment of ammunition to Taiwan got rampaged by Yakuza soldiers. Their attack on the shipment had disrupted his plans, leading him to intervene personally.

The captured Yakuza soldier, now a pawn in this unexpected confrontation, was brought before Yoongi for interrogation. The improvised setup within the warehouse served as the backdrop for the intense questioning that aimed to unveil the motives behind the Yakuza’s brazen attack that Yoongi already knew. It was their way of sending a message, a warning to the clans to not climb the ladder too high.

However, that’s not what aches Yoongi’s heart whenever he remembers that night. It was her, clad in her signature red qipao, in a dishevelled state, most likely chilled to the bone, lip split open.

The date on which Yoongi would arrive to collect her was settled two weeks from that day, but there she was, standing in the warehouse, most likely looking for a shelter from the cold.

In the silent exchange, Yoongi saw a glimpse of vulnerability and strength, a combination that both intrigued and captivated him. She looked straight to his eyes for what felt like hours without flinching away. The spark he felt that ignited between them in that warehouse would become the member of an unspoken understanding—a realisation that love, in its rawest form, had found its way to his heart.

He recalls how his breath stammered when he saw her for the first time. No matter how long she’s been running, no matter how the chilly wind ruffled her hair — she looked magnificent. All the love letters scribbled down that he had never sent to her were hidden in the drawer of his desk. He might give them to her one day once she will be ready to reciprocate his love.

Yoongi was convinced that it was destiny that she came upon the warehouse, as if God was leading her to his arms, where she belongs. At least according to the young leader of the clan. Y/N’s arrival to his land was unexpected and it certainly changed the whole trajectory. And that was one of the pivotal moments when he decided to rethink his steps.

This unforeseen encounter planted the seeds of a different kind of connection, one that deviated from the cold calculations of alliances and power and dark intentions loomed over the young Kkangpae Min.

Yoongi used to see marriage as a means to an end, a pragmatic choice made in the pursuit of power and influence. The emotions that typically accompanied such unions were to be set aside in favour of the greater goal at hand.

But her presence started to overshadow the original intentions of the alliance. How she fought him, stood her ground — all just made him want her more. As he found himself captivated by her company, the cold calculations of the former plan began to waver and he was decided.

The Yakuza’s move was thought-through, he did not expect any less—a challenge issued with violence and bloodshed and in the midst of celebration, chaos erupted. Min with his bride long gone to safety. Masked assailants, clad in the insignia of the Yakuza, stormed the hotel and one would think this is the end. But this conflict was nowhere near the grand finale.

At the time of the awaited attack of Yakuza men, echoes of screams of agony and crackling fire were far too loud. A clear symbol of the arising power of the Min clan. The two generations of Yamamoto's men, father and son, now lay as nothing more than ashes.

The night, which should have been a tender moment of intimacy, became the stage for a chilling chess move. As Yoongi and Y/N shared the vulnerability of their union, the Min clan, under his orders, descended upon the Yakuza with a relentless fury.

The sound of gunfire and explosions echoed in the night, a symphony of retribution that played out against the backdrop far away from their marital chamber. While Yoongi claimed the innocence of his wife, he orchestrated the downfall of those who dared to challenge his dominion.

The puppeteer of this grim performance, ensured that their legacy was erased, their power dismantled, and their grip on the criminal underworld shattered. In just one night, the war that lasted years ended.

Infiltrating the Yakuza was a meticulous plan, and his true intentions were hidden even from those closest to him. As the Min clan annihilated the Yakuza in cold blood, the night drew to a close and only those who would bend the knee and pledge loyalty were spared.

The night had witnessed the birth of a new order and the song of the dead echoed whilst the former empire shattered into pieces.

Morning arrived with a soft glow, painting the room in shades of muted light where Yoongi’s fingers traced gentle patterns on her naked back.

“Breakfast is ready,” he whispered, pressing a lingering kiss on her forehead. She nodded, wordless.

The table boasted an array of dishes, their enticing aroma filling the air. Yet Y/N could not eat yesterday nor today, the food simply did not go down her system.

Yoongi’s gaze remained fixed on her from time to time, while he was reading today’s paper the maid delivered together with the breakfast. His eyes, like a silent observer, bore witness to the aftermath of a night. Y/N’s eyes were bloodshot, cheeks stained with dried tears, her neck bearing bruises. Exhaustion weighed heavily upon her, yet he held onto the hope that all would settle now.

Yoongi sighed and reached into the pocket of his black vest.

“I have not read it,” said he once they finished eating breakfast and sat down in the lounge room. Y/N’s eyes moved to meet him, anticipating his next step. She did not want to speak to him. She did not want to look at him nor she did not want him to look at her.

“I appreciate that,” said Y/N, avoiding his eyes. Yoongi sighed again, reluctant to relinquish leverage over her, yet compelled to address the matter at hand. Deep down, he hoped the contents of the letter would bring her solace, perhaps even warmth towards him. Now, he stood as a fool in the pouring rain.

He carefully handed the letter, urging her to open it.

“Thank you,” she whispered, tearing open the envelope and extracting the yellowed paper within.

She looked at Yoongi one more time, and when she saw him spreading out the newspapers, she was glad he gave her at least some degree of privacy. Her eyes fell upon the cursive symbols of her beloved aunt’s handwriting.

The memories flooded back as Y/N read the words on the aged paper, transporting her to a time when life was less complicated. Yet, she remembers clearly the moment when the complications started to appear. She read the words, screaming at her whilst detailing Wang Xiaoqing’s declining health, her world halted.

The air grew heavy with a mix of medicinal scents and the weight of impending loss. Her aunt, a pillar of strength, lay frail on the bed, and Y/N’s heart ached at the sight.

As she recalls her last moments with her while reading the neatness of her handwriting Y/N finally sees the truth. Her breath caught in her throat, vision blurred by tears. Clutching the paper tightly, she read the words repeatedly, struggling to accept their meaning.

“I need you to understand, my dear,” her aunt’s voice, weakened but filled with determination, echoed in the room.

“There are things, things I have kept from you to protect your mind and soul.”

Her aunt reached for her hand, the warmth of their connection grounding them in that vulnerable moment. The intricate dance between clans, the bloodshed, and the sacrifice her aunt had made to shield her from the harsh realities of their world.

“But it seems that my judgement was clouded—” In that moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, as if bracing for the revelation that would reshape the very foundation of her understanding. The vulnerability in her voice resonated with the unspoken sacrifices made for the sake of protection. Or at least that is what she thought she was doing by allowing Min Yoongi to take her into custody and use her as a leverage over the clans in negotiation of dominance.

“We do not have much time I fear,” her aunt continued, urgency etched into her every word. Y/N held her hand tightly, afraid to let her go.

“Once you burn me to ashes, I need you to run and not look back, Kai will help you get away—” a strong cough interrupted her speech and Y/N rushed to get her some tea to ease her throat. A bony hand landed on her forearm, stopping her in motion. Her eyes watered again at the sight of the state God let her aunt get in. Her fingers were turning purple and Y/N knew what that means. Oxygen was leaving her body and the end was near.

“Auntie—” she went to protest, at the time not understanding why she needed to run in the first place. But she listened carefully to her aunt closely when her sore and painful voice mapped out her next steps.

Back then Y/N wanted to believe it was a sacrifice born out of love and the desire to break free from the cycle of violence that had ensnared their family for too long. And her aunt presented her a chance to not be in the middle of the fire.

Peace was a fragile illusion. Min Yoongi may be a titan among the outside world, yet within the confines of his own home, his dominion was about to face its greatest challenge.

Yoongi, engrossed in his reading, spared his wife the intrusion of his gaze, allowing her the solitude to grapple with the weight of her aunt’s revelations. Not having a clue what the dying woman could write.

The revelations echoed in the silence of the room, and when Y/N finally looked up from the letter, her eyes met Yoongi’s. The vulnerability in that moment transcended the complexities of their current situation, forging an unspoken false connection on his side rooted in pain and the unravelling of hidden truths. In a burst of fury, she lashed out.

“You’re a fucking liar.”

An anger radiated from her, the heat rushing to her head. Yoongi’s eyes locked onto hers; he didn’t flinch at the sudden eruption of anger — it was nothing he didn’t already get used to. Instead, he folded the paper with deliberate care, setting it aside.

“Am I?” His response was laced with a hint of amusement, a calculated provocation that stoked the flames of her anger.

The contents of the letter, as it seems, are not what he hoped for. Nonetheless, he wondered whether he would fight this battle. Sooner or later she would learn the truth. It’s the timing that was not perfect and he knew it’s going to be hard to put the fire out.

“You manipulated her into agreeing—” Yoongi sucked the inner side of his mouth and released it with a loud click of his tongue, trying to compose himself for what is to come as she now knows.

“—with a choice, dove. A difficult one, yes, but she made the decision on her own accord,” Yoongi interjected, his voice maintaining a disconcerting calmness.

“You lied to her!” A wry smile played on Yoongi’s lips as he met her accusing gaze. Y/N was hanging on the farthest end of the branch and soon enough she would fall. Yoongi’s gaze remained fixed on Y/N, his calm demeanour a stark contrast to the storm brewing within her.

“She would not have approved if she knew of your intentions!” Yoongi leaned against a nearby table after he stood up, his gaze unwavering. He realised that what she is implying is true. But he also knew that this is not the world where Wang Xiaoqing would be stupid enough to give him her hand. She knew what it would mean.

“Power comes with a price. Your aunt understood that and made the necessary sacrifice.” Y/N scoffed at his words, incredulous. Yoongi’s response was a wry smile, a silent admission of guilt that he would never voice out.

“And what of my sacrifice? What about the life I wanted, the choices I never got to make? You took them from me!” He reached out to her, his fingers gently tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. Yoongi looked at her trembling lips and caught himself thinking how good they felt against his last night.

Y/N, caught between anger and grief, searched Yoongi’s eyes for any sign of remorse. Yet, all she found was the unwavering resolve of a leader who had chosen duty over sentiment.

Her patience was wearing thin, her anger boiling over like a cauldron on the verge of eruption.

“I did what I had to do for the survival of our clan—” she struck out, her hand connecting with his cheek in a resounding slap. Her whole body was shaking with grief, anger and hatred.

Yoongi’s head pivoted slightly at the sudden intrusion he did not expect. Yet, even as she railed against him, hitting him repeatedly, Yoongi remained steadfast. All the curse words she sent his way were only bypassing him. He knows she wouldn’t do this in normal circumstances. But to stop and think for a second — there were never normal circumstances to begin with.

“You took everything from me!” Her voice was a plaintive cry, a desperate plea for justice in a world gone mad.

“I gave myself to you!” She screamed furiously. Yoongi’s eyes, usually calm and collected, flickered with rage. She glared back at him, tears streaming down her face. The reality of her situation sunk in, and Y/N felt a profound sense of betrayal.

“You’re fucking liar Min Yoongi. You never fucking needed to-” Yoongi’s jaw tensed, the anger in his gaze burning like a smouldering ember. His calm façade cracked, revealing the storm of emotions within while she aimed to hit his face again.

“Are you done?” He forcefully grabbed her wrists, stopping her, holding them tightly while he pulled her towards him. She shook her head, trying to break free from his grasp to make more damage. Y/N refused to yield.

“Fucking listen to me, Y/N,” he spoke through gritted teeth, his voice a low growl.

“Yes, I lied to your aunt because I knew where your ambitions lay and where she wanted you to be.” His grip tightened as he continued, his words cutting through the charged air. She shook her head in disbelief, struggling to break free from his hold as he violently pulled her back.

“I knew she would never give me her blessing to marry you!” Y/N’s eyes widened with a mix of surprise and realisation of his confession, confirming the contents of the letter.

“So you fucking tricked her,” she gritted through her teeth. Min Yoongi never intended to send her overseas, just like he promised the dying woman. All this time, she blamed her aunt for choosing her path, unaware of Yoongi’s manipulations.

“I could have slaughtered the whole Triad. Think of this as me being merciful.”

The weight of his words settled in the room, a heavy silence following his chilling revelation.

“You even fooled my father into thinking this is all my aunt’s doing,-” she whispered unbelievably, her voice laced with a bitter realisation. Yoongi’s expression remained impassive, but the truth lingered in the air like a haunting melody.

“You made a promise to her that I will be safe overseas, so why am I here, Yoongi?!”

“Because I fucking fell in love with you!” he exclaimed, his voice rising, his eyes searching for any kind of emotion that would show that she understands his doings. Of course she does not understand, after all, he does not understand how much damage he has done either. He is selfish and he always will be.

“You betrayed her trust!” Y/N’s eyes, on the other hand, searched for any sign of remorse, any glimmer of the man she thought she knew. He exhaled heavily, the weight of their tangled destinies pressing down on him.

“It was either marrying you and having a legitimate claim or bloodshed. Would you rather the worse option?” Y/N’s gaze wavered between anger and hurt, her surroundings fading away.

“You justify cruelty with some deluded sense of righteousness,” she said, her voice strained from the last vestiges of her strength.

“You’re part of this world, part of my world, whether you like it or not—”

“This was never about Yamamotos right?—” She looked right into his eyes, scanning the angry red scar that ran up in his brow that he now raised at her remark.

“—you are going to break the alliance with my father the first chance you get. That is what you mean by legitimate claim, am I fucking right Yoongi?!” He clenched his jaw, frustration etched on his face. Y/N had seen through his carefully constructed façade.

“You only fucking love yourself and your fucking clan!” He hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words but whence she decided that getting physical with him again is the answer — he snapped.

His hand forcefully clutched her jaw in a tight grip, just like when she first opened her eyes under his imprisonment. The wall met her back and she gave out a painful yelp. He closed the proximity to her face and spoke the words right to her ear while watching her struggle to get out of his grip.

“One of the things I love about you, dove, is your cleverness. But this little clever girl needs to finally learn her place,” he said, his words seething with control. She was whimpering in his grip that got tighter and tighter with each word he uttered.

“I took you for a wife so when I blow the brains out of your Sire’s head and take over his Triad, I will be unopposed, that is the truth, now—” Y/N’s eyes widened in both shock and fear as Yoongi’s words penetrated the air around her.

The force of his grip on her jaw made her gasp, the pain radiating through her face. The cold, unyielding wall at her back provided no escape, and she felt a surge of helplessness as his words sank in.

“Yet, out of the love I have for you, I have ensured your lovely sister will have her place within our clan and your mother will be taken care of. It’s the little boy you are afraid I might hurt, innit?” The mention of her family sent a shiver down her spine, and her eyes flickered with a mix of dread and anger.

“Well let us say, if you shall not force my hand by your shenanigans, I shall spare him.”

“You are a psychopathic monster,” she hissed through gritted teeth, her voice barely audible as his grip was not allowing her to speak properly. He chuckled, a dark sound that sent shivers down her spine.

“You were not saying that when I spilled all my love inside of your cunt, claiming you” his lips brushed against her ear as he whispered, cupping her womanhood with his free hand.

“You have no choice in this, dove. You are mine, bound by vows and blood. And when the time comes, you shall see I am the only one who can protect you—” his lips dangerously close to her ear now moved, laying a small peck on her wet cheek, right under her eye.

“—to provide for you,” his lips brushed upon her skin moving to lay another peck to her forehead. Tears streamed down her face.

“—to love you.” He finished, pressing his lips to hers.

“I wanted you from the very beginning. It was always you,—” She narrowed her eyes, a fire igniting within her despite the fear. The taste of his lips lingered on hers as Yoongi pulled away, his eyes fixed on her tear-stained face.

“—even if I would slaughter every member of your Triad, I would have spared you, my love.”

“I would rather die,” she spat at him, a small act of defiance in the face of his cruelty.

“Death is easy, dove. It’s the living hell I can create for you and those you love that should terrify you—” He traced a finger along her jaw, a sickening smile playing on his lips.

“Even the strongest wills can be broken, I still have some ways to make you obey and be a dutiful loving wife.”

“I will not become the submissive wife you fantasise about.”

But the scarred leader had a trick up his sleeve that only time will show whether she will need that kind of fixing.

“You are a challenging one, and I do love a good challenge. However, your defiance is only temporary,” he smirked, a predatory glint in his eyes.

Y/N recoiled, a sense of dread settling in her stomach. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to his plans, something insidious lurking beneath the surface. The scarred leader had shown a glimpse of a darker side, a side that made her shudder with apprehension. The voices in her head never left and now they were louder than ever.

“In the end, you will crave me,” his words echoed, each syllable dripping with a sinister certainty. “—And what a good life I can offer. I have all the time in the world to make you mine. Soul and mind.” He continued his monologue. She clenched her fists, steeling herself against the onslaught of doubt and fear.

“If my mind does not betray me, I told you what will happen once you disobey me again, did I not, dove?” her heart pounding in her chest as Yoongi’s words sent waves of revulsion through her. She fought against the oppressive grip on her jaw, her eyes ablaze with a mixture of defiance and fury.

“How exactly did I disobey you, hm?” she demanded, her voice rising with each word.

His chuckle resonated in the room, and he released his hold on her jaw. Y/N slumped against the wall, gasping for a deep inhale of air. The tears blurred her vision and her head seemed too heavy. Yoongi took the little bell on the side table, turning to Y/N, a cold glint in his eyes.

“I assume, the last time I disciplined you, was not simply enough.” He carried on without taking her comment to notice. She struggled to regain her composure, wiping away the tears that clouded her vision.

His fingers toyed with the small bell in his hand, and the room seemed to constrict around her.

The sound of the bell echoed, a disconcerting prelude to what awaited her. Yoongi’s gaze bore into her, a chilling determination evident in his demeanour.

“It seems you need a little reminder.”

Y/N’s pulse quickened, her mind racing with the fear of the unknown. She heard footsteps approaching the room and her head swiftly turned to follow the sound.

“Yoongi—” she pleaded. He remained unmoved. The approaching footsteps grew louder, and a sense of dread settled in the pit of her stomach.

“I hope this will be the final lesson, dove,” Yoongi said, the edge of cruelty evident in his voice. When she saw him reach for the walther in his holster, her pleas became more urgent.

“I am sorry, that’s what you want to hear right, Yoongi? I am sorry!” she implored, her voice shaky with a blend of terror and disbelief. “I will do whatever you want, just don’t—”

But her words were cut short as Yoongi’s hand gripped the handle of the walther. The room seemed to close in around her, the walls similarly closing in on the remnants of her hope. His gaze remained cold, his resolve unyielding as extended hand with the gun in his grip aiming for the incomer sliding the hanji paper door open.

Yoongi’s gaze shifted toward the figure entering the room, and Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. Panic surged through her as she redirected her plea, desperately trying to avert the impending danger. His finger hovered over the trigger. He patiently waited till the door slid all the way in before loading the gun that alarmed Y/N even more.

“Yoongi stop, let us talk—” he had to laugh at how quickly he can have her on chokehold, smothering the fire in her. He was having none of it this time.

But before she could act, Yoongi’s grip tightened on the gun, his finger inching closer to the trigger. The figure in the doorway froze, sensing the danger that lurked in the scarred leader’s cold gaze.

Y/N needed to think quickly, her gaze momentarily meeting the poor made, stopping to look her over, she gulped down. It was her. The young girl’s tears were already falling to the wooden floor once she slumped down to her knees and begged for her life, just like she did months ago near the koi pond that she almost drowned in.

“I told you the Lord has a plan—” Y/N closed her eyes shut tightly, trying to think of a way to save the girl’s life. She owes her so much already and she certainly does not deserve to die because the man cannot handle being rejected each time there’s progress within the messed up relationship he formed in his deluded head.

Her palms pressed to her eyes she breathed the air in. With a surge of determination, she stepped forward, her heart pounding in her chest. Yoongi’s gaze bore into her, his cold eyes reflecting the twisted depths of his obsession.

With a deep breath, Y/N made her move. Ignoring the fear that threatened to paralyse her, she closed the distance between them in a swift motion. Her hand reached up to cup his cheek, her touch gentle yet calculated. His gaze locked with hers in a silent battle of wills. It confused him. What does she think she is doing? The scarred leader was too selfish to stop her. Feeling her warm hand on his cheek made him lose his hardened features.

If he could rule with fear and violence, she can rule with the love he desperately wants her to reciprocate, even if it will be pretended. And pretend she planned to.

Y/N was not stupid, she knew he would not believe her one bit that she is going to be a pitch-perfect mafia wife overnight. But gradually, till she can think of a way to leave. A plan was already writing itself in her conflicted mind. For now, she needed to get the girl out of danger, and if she had to forget about where she was standing and with whom, she would. For a life that can be spared.

And then, without hesitation, she pressed her lips to his in a desperate kiss. It was a gamble, a risky move born out of necessity. But in that fleeting moment, as their lips met in a deceitful embrace, Y/N prayed it would be enough to distract him.

Her heart raced with adrenaline as she poured every ounce of determination into the kiss, willing him to succumb to the illusion of affection. She could feel the tension in his body, his grip on the gun momentarily faltering as she moved her lips against his.

Yoongi was too taken aback to react differently than kissing her back as if this was the last time he was. She used his own tactics against him, and for a fleeting moment, it seemed to pay off. Winning this round with flying colours as the gun with a swift motion was sent clattering to the floor. The sound echoed through the room.

When Y/N finally parted from him, her eyes filled with determination, Yoongi chuckled softly, the façade of affection slipping away. Yoongi took an estranged string of hair and tugged it behind her ear.

“I told you your defiance is only temporary.”

“And you just proved your threats are empty.”

She refused to let his words intimidate her, to succumb to the fear that threatened to consume her. She knew Min Yoongi’s weakness all too well.

Her — it was her greatest advantage now, and she planned to use it to its fullest extent. Her defiance was far from being temporary. One step at a time; she planned to win.

Y/N watched the falling snow from the Cadillac’s window, her mind swirling with the events that had transpired. Min Yoongi sat beside her in stony silence, still seething from their confrontation. He dragged her to the car kicking. His pride was wounded by her defiance. Again. But she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her falter, of breaking under the weight of his control.

This was not the right time for her shell to crack. He needed her composed and Y/N was not feeling like a puppet he has had made of her these past months. He overstepped the line with the knowledge that and in their world, truth can kill.

He dusted his coat and hat from snow once they stepped inside of the hotel they vacated not even a day ago. Y/N felt small once she walked by his side, not because he would intimidate her, that was never the case — her eyes creeped at the hallway where her body was pressed to the wall, strong hand on her neck.

A sense of unease settled over her. She raised her own hand to touch the still sore space covered by the neckline of her qipao, white fur coat draped around her shoulders.

His sharp eyes noticed it and for a fleeting moment he paused, his gaze softening imperceptibly as it fell upon Y/N’s form. Despite the coldness that often characterised his demeanour, there was a flicker of something akin to remorse in his eyes.

That is where Min Yoongi’s remorse lies. He did not regret taking her as wife, he did not regret all the lies, damage and deception he employed to achieve so, what he did regret was her getting physically hurt. He regretted listening to her sister when she said he should stay with the guests instead of attending to you. But as quickly as it had appeared, the moment passed, and Yoongi’s expression hardened once more.

She followed him into the dining hall, her steps hesitant as they walked side by side. The room erupted into applause once they stepped in. The sound echoing off the walls in a cacophony of celebration of the genocide they just performed.

The celebration was a mockery of the destruction they had caused, the lives they had taken in the name of power. Y/N scanned the faces in the room, searching for her family among the crowd. Relief washed over her when she saw Xiaoli, hanged on the arm of Kim Taehyung; she nodded, a silent reassurance that they were safe.

There is never a guarantee that ordinary civilians won’t be harmed as that’s how clan’s limit the possibility of attacking the headquarters which were strategically located in the heart of the city. Therefore, no assurances that innocent lives would be spared.

Her steps remained hesitant as they made their way through the crowded room. Number of men and women patted him on his back, congratulating him on the plan he orchestrated worked just right. And as she cast a glance at Yoongi, she couldn’t help but wonder whether they all would ever find redemption for the sins they had committed.

Yoongi raised his hand once they got in the middle of the dining hall, attempting to silence everyone. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to him expectantly.

But Y/N paid him no mind, her thoughts consumed by the dark undercurrents that lurked beneath the surface. She did not bother to pay attention to her so-called husband’s propagandic words to his blind worshipers. The voices in her head would outcry him or anyone else. For what little her ears caught, there was a sense of pride in his words, a conviction that they had done what needed to be done to protect their interests.

“We must remain vigilant,” he concluded, his voice a warning. “Our enemies may have been vanquished, but new threats will always emerge. We must stand together, united in our resolve to protect what is ours.” Yoongi’s gaze lingered on Y/N possessively. When his gaze fell back to the crowd, he saw his right hand man making a way to the centre, rather urgently.

“Excuse me,-” Yoongi murmured to those around him, his tone clipped as he stepped away from the crowd. He had little time for idle chatter, especially in the midst of their celebrations.

Namjoon’s expression was grave as he spoke, his words measured and deliberate. “There’s been a development,-” he began, his voice becoming too low to understand what he was saying. Y/N’s eyes flickered to all of them before they landed back on Yoongi and still whispering Namjoon.

Yoongi’s expression remained unreadable as he listened to Namjoon, his features schooled into a mask of stoicism. But as Namjoon’s words sank in, a flicker of something dark and dangerous glinted in his eyes. As Yoongi turned to face her, his gaze piercing and intense, she could not predict what was going to happen.

The scarred leader encouraged everyone to continue with celebrations with a big smile plastered on his face, his voice ringing out with false warmth and cheer. But the persona was long gone once he turned to face the group of his most trusted man.

“Tae, take Xiaoli to her room and come back, the rest, office now—” Yoongi ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

“I’m going to see Bó Chéng and Ma, Yoongi.” She announced, interrupting the stream of his command. Yoongi’s gaze snapped to Y/N, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before his expression hardened once more. He attempted to make a reasonable argument why she cannot go, but there was none, only his selfishness remained. Clutching his fist tightly, he spoke.

“Thirty minutes, then I need you downstairs.” Yoongi’s jaw clenched as he struggled to contain his frustration. Y/N nodded curtly, she knew that this is a rare occasion that he would agree without a fight.

“Dove?” Yoongi called when she turned to walk away. He hesitated for a moment, his thoughts racing as he searched for the right words. The darkness and possessiveness that loomed over him overshadowed any kind of sincerity he wished he would say instead.

“Do not make me come and get you.”

The atmosphere was heavy with tension as Yoongi sat behind his desk, his expression unreadable as he listened to the reports from his subordinates. The news of Chanyeol’s demise lingered in the air like a dark omen, casting a shadow over the room.

“Are you certain it was a suicide?” Yoongi’s voice cut through the tense silence of the room.

“They found him hanging in his cell,” Namjoon replied, his tone cautious. “No signs of foul play.”

Yoongi’s mind raced with questions. The absence of a trial meant that Chan-yeol’s fate had been sealed, his sins catching up to him in the most final of ways.

“His death was inevitable,” Yoongi murmured, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation. “But it serves as a reminder to all who dare to betray us.”

“He fucking deserved to have his balls cut off, Hyung.” The youngest member of the board spoke with venom in his voice. The sentiment was shared by many in the room, but Yoongi knew that dwelling on revenge would only serve to distract them from their true objectives. Nonetheless, he silently nodded in agreement.

“Are all our goods secured, Jimin-ah?” Yoongi shifted the conversation to more practical matters, his focus unwavering despite the weight of recent events. Their operations could not afford to falter.

“They’re secured, Hyung,” Jimin replied, his tone confident. “We’ve taken the necessary precautions to ensure our assets remain protected.”

“Good,” Yoongi said, his voice firm. “We can’t afford any mistakes. Keep a close eye on everything, and report any unusual activity immediately—”

“What is it, Yoongi?” The doctor’s voice resonated throughout the room. He was sitting near the fireplace, nursing a glass of liquor in his hand, his eyes sharp and thin while looking at his brother and leader.

The moment he stepped inside of the hotel, Seokjin knew something had happened that got under Yoongi’s skin. The only reason is still absent in this room, her time slowly waning.

Yoongi’s gaze flickered towards Seokjin, his brother’s interruption breaking the flow of their conversation.

“We have matters to attend to, Seokjin,” Yoongi replied, his tone clipped but not unkind. “Important ones.”

“Rumour has it—” he stood up, ignoring the scarred boy’s dismissal he had known forever, Seokjin’s eyes bore into Yoongi’s, a silent challenge passing between them.

“That while you celebrate the victory, your own household is on fire.” Yoongi’s jaw tightened, a silent acknowledgement of the truth in Seokjin’s words.

“So tell us what is bothering you.” Despite his efforts to maintain his composure, he couldn’t entirely mask the unease that gnawed at him. Reaching the spot where his bride imprinted her hand earlier, he spoke.

“She knows Wang Xiaqing did not give me any blessing to marry her.” He could visibly see his right-hand man pressing his fingers to the root of his notes and sighing loudly. The youngest could not help but chuckle at his leader’s words as he sympathised with Y/N to most. Not enough to help her out of this situation though.

Seokjin’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, his gaze locking onto Yoongi’s with intensity. The revelation hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the room.

“And how did she come to know this?” Seokjin’s voice was low, a mixture of concern and curiosity. Yoongi’s jaw tensed, his expression clouding over with frustration.

“I gave her the letter without reading it first.”

“Yoongi why the actual fuck you would do that?!” Namjoon’s voice cut through the tension in the room, his anger palpable. Yoongi’s gaze hardened as he turned to face Namjoon, his frustration simmering beneath the surface.

“Because she was making good progress, and I couldn’t deny it any longer,” Yoongi replied. Namjoon’s expression softened his features, reflecting a mix of sympathy and understanding.

“It does not matter, Hyung, she is your wife and that cannot be undone, right?” Hoseok’s voice carried a note of reassurance when he softly smiled at him.

Seokjin held up a hand, silencing the room. His pointing finger aimed at Yoongi next. “Yes, whatever happens, she is still your wife.”

“Yeah, well, go and tell her that, see if she listens.” Yoongi muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration, sinking back to his armchair. Namjoon exchanged a knowing glance with Seokjin.

“Does she know about your plans for her father’s Triad?” Namjoon’s question hung in the air, injecting a new layer of tension into the room.

Yoongi’s hand was pinching his lip when the question was raised. His eyes on neither of the men questioning him.

“She figured,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. Seokjin’s expression tightened, his gaze narrowing as he processed Yoongi’s words. Namjoon’s eyes widened in surprise, his brows furrowing with concern and the rest of the man reflected the same kind of emotions.

“Hyung, but you just said she made progress, right? All will be good.” Namjoon’s question hung in the air, injecting a note of uncertainty into the conversation. Yoongi’s jaw clenched, his mind racing as he considered Namjoon’s words. He had believed that Y/N understood her role in their world, but recent events had shaken that belief to its core.

“I thought she did,” Yoongi murmured, his voice heavy with regret. “But now, I’m not so sure.” The remaining six were staring at their leader, expecting them to fill him in. They needed to know the situation in case little Mrs Min attempted to ruin every ongoing operation by running away.

“Well then, humble her like you always do—” Namjoon began, his tone suggesting a ruthless solution to the problem. The rest of them were not as right with their brother’s drastic intentions. Apart from Seokjin, he knew the young gal enough to know that being soft wouldn’t move her. But Yoongi’s interruption cut through the air like a knife.

“She said my threats are empty.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of Yoongi’s words hanging in the air.

“Fucking show her they are not, Yoongi. You’re the Kkangpae, and she is your wife, goddammit.” Namjoon’s frustration boiled over, his voice laced with urgency. They needed her well, alive and here as an obedient and loyal wife.

Yoongi had given her the chance to do so willingly, he had even gone against his trusted men’s words when he suggested she be involved in the business however she liked. He tried to play nice numerous times. In his mind. Not in hers.

Yoongi shall never fully scope how much he took from her. He is selfish enough to never even accept the possibility of letting her go for the better course in their damaged relationship. He always ruled with fear and kindness was only recently added to his vocabulary once he fell in love with her. Deeply, quickly and too hard. Whether he was willing to make that sacrifice, to truly change the way he ruled his empire, remained to be seen.

He wanted to mould her into the perfect wife for a Kkangpae. But he also wished that she would reciprocate his love. He had demanded too much of her, without ever truly understanding the cost. And as he looked around the room at the faces of his most trusted allies, he realised that he was not the only one who had underestimated the strength of her will.

Every one of them thought this matter would be solved after the wedding and she would slowly succumb to what life they offered her. But if there was one thing he was certain of, it was this: he would do whatever it took to keep her by his side, even if it meant confronting the darkest parts of himself in the process.

“I can always fix her, Yoongi.” Yoongi’s jaw clenched as he processed the implication behind Seokjin’s statement.

“That shall be the very last option, aight?” Yoongi finally replied, his voice firm despite the doubt that gnawed at him.

They may not have agreed with his decision, but they recognized the weight of his words. And in that moment, Yoongi thought that he had taken the first step towards redemption. Only to fall back down for what he is going to do.

“You underestimate the power of discontent, brother,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “It festers, grows until it consumes everything in its path. You would do well not to ignore it.”

“I’ll handle it,” he said, his voice filled with determination.

The door creaked open, revealing a figure standing in the doorway. Fashionably late, she at least arrived after she made sure that her little brother and mother were safe and sound. She has put him down for his afternoon nap, promising him to make a snowman when he wakes up.

The men’s looks met her eyes with a hint of little something Y/N could not interpret.

“What is it?” She asked carefully, scanning their faces.

“We were just discussing some matters concerning the recent events.” Seokjin steadied his voice and fixed his tie.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at the tension in the air, but she forced herself to maintain a calm façade. She stepped further into the room, her eyes flickering between the faces of the men gathered around the table.

“Is there something I need to be aware of?” she asked, her tone carefully neutral.

“Chan-yeol’s dead,” said Yoongi coldly. She swallowed hard, trying to process the information.

The tension in the room seemed to thicken as the men exchanged guarded glances. Yoongi’s gaze bore into hers, searching for any hint of vulnerability. But Y/N held his stare, refusing to show any weakness in front of him or his associates.

Truth to be told, she did not know how to feel. The man was an accomplice in an act not worthy of heaven’s gate after death. The numbness that was creeping in her brain was spreading further and further.

“Does Daiyu know?” She gulped down the question, avoiding direct eye contact with any of the men.

“She knows. There will not be any funeral as he was a traitor to our clan.”

In their world, traitors were dealt with swiftly and without mercy. There would be no mourning for Chan-yeol, no funeral to honour his memory. He had chosen his path, and now he would face the consequences.

Y/N breathed the thick air of the room deeply in and licked her lips, her teeth scraping the bottom lip, a subconscious gesture of anxiety. The world of the Kkangpae was unforgiving, its rules and consequences absolute.

“Well, if you excuse us Buin, we shall take our leave.” Hoseok sensed that it was the right time to flee this room before more private and intense conversations could start between the man and his wife.

“Of course,” Y/N replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She watched silently as the men filed out of the room one by one, their expressions unreadable as they passed her by. Alone in the room with Yoongi, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that they will not have a pleasant conversation.

She turned to face him, searching his expression for any sign of what was to come. Their inner problems were never concluded, rather set on pause and Y/N had a hunch that Yoongi would not let her earlier shenanigans go.

“I want to speak to her, Yoongi.” She knew that asking to speak with Dayiu was a bold move, especially given the recent events and the strained dynamics between them.

“Why?” he asked, his tone betraying none of his thoughts or emotions.

“I want to express my condolences.”

“Condolences?-” he echoed, the scepticism evident in his tone. What kind of condolence she wanted to express when the very same man was an accomplice of such a sinistrous act.

“She lost a husband and the little boy lost his dad—” He knew Y/N well enough to recognise when she was being genuine and when she was attempting to manipulate the situation to her advantage. There was a flicker of something in his eyes, a hint of guardedness, perhaps even suspicion.

“Do you want to perchance tell her to run, dove?” Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at the directness of his question.

“I want to offer my condolences sincerely,” she replied, her voice steady despite the tension in the room. “Whatever may have transpired between us should not affect her, Yoongi.” Yoongi’s gaze remained fixed on Y/N, assessing her words and the sincerity behind them. She meant to say that whatever happens in their messed up relationship, Daiyu should never be used as bargain anymore.

“I agree. But you just won’t ever learn, will you?” Their eyes locked, each of them holding their ground in the midst of their complex emotions.

“Yoongi, you ruined my goddamn life. Please don’t expect me to play house with you.”

“I’m offering you the life of a queen and all I ask for in return is obedience, perhaps love in time.” She heard this kind of proclamation way too many times for it to waver her.

“Well, I certainly did not ask for it.” She clasped her hands together, aiming to leave the room and find her cousin.

“Sit your ass back down. I’m not done.”

Y/N froze at Yoongi’s command, her muscles tensing as she slowly turned back to face him. Despite her inner turmoil, she complied, sinking back into the chair with a heavy sigh.

“You needn’t tell her to run. I have no intention to hurt her in particular. She played her part.”

“What else do you want from me, Yoongi?” she asked, her voice laced with frustration and exhaustion, not believing a word he was saying. “Haven’t you taken enough?”

“You needn’t concern yourself with her fate. Focus on your own.” Y/N’s heart sank at his words.

“I want you to see that everything I do, I do for us. For our future.” Y/N’s eyes narrowed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. Yoongi’s jaw clenched, his frustration palpable.

“I won’t be a part of your game anymore, Yoongi,” she declared, her voice unwavering. “I won’t—” a knock on the double door echoed, interrupting her.

Yoongi’s gaze flickered towards the door, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his features before he composed himself.

“Come in,” he called out, his voice firm. The siblings came just in time. Afterall, the Kkangpae requested their presence.

Dayiu’s eyes were red and swollen, a testament to the grief she carried, while Kai’s expression was hardened, unknowingly walking to a trap.

She greeted the young Kkangpae with a respectful bow. Kai remained silent, his eyes darting between Yoongi and Y/N.

Y/N watched the interaction, her earlier confrontation with Yoongi momentarily set aside in the face of a new development.

The room teetered on the edge of chaos she obviously did not see coming, and the consequences of this confrontation were poised to reshape the dynamics in their relationship. For good, he hoped.

They exchanged small talk with their leader while Y/N sat there silently. Only now and then did she raise a sympathetic look Daiyu’s way. She did not have a chance to speak with her since Chan-yeol drugged her and sold her out just to betray the very same man months later.

Y/N wished to apologise for every single unpleasant discontent she caused to her because of the fire she burnt Yoongi with.

Leaning in close to Daiyu, Y/N whispered her apologies, her words a quiet admission of remorse for the pain she had inadvertently caused.

She reached out, squeezing Y/N’s hand in a gesture of understanding her desire to live her life the way she wants. Daiyu shares the same ambition now that her husband is no longer in the picture. But that is, of course, not going to be granted.

As she was not paying attention to what Yoongi and Kai are further discussing, a mistake on her part. The next shocked her to the core.

Kai went to stand up just to be sent flying to the ground by Yoongi knocking him down. Y/N’s heart lurched with horror.

“Yoongi, what the fuck!” Y/N yelled, shielding Daiyu with her body.

“Missus Park?” Yoongi called. “I would rather you not stay for the next couple of moments.” Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at Yoongi’s words.

“You see, Missus Park. I need to show my wife just how much my threats are not empty.” His voice was full of violence and Y/N’s heart pounded too loud and hard. She shot a concerned look at Daiyu, silently communicating her support and urging her to leave the room.

“Both of you. Leave, right now!” With a nod of understanding, Dayiu rose from her seat, casting a final glance at Y/N before quietly exiting the room. Panic surged through her veins as she watched Daiyu leave the room, her gaze fixing on Kai, struggling to stand up and run, his eyes reflecting fear.

Yoongi’s gaze locked onto hers, his expression dark and foreboding. She knew she couldn’t escape his wrath, not now.

“Yoongi, stop!” Her palms blunt against his torso, trying to stop him from proceeding further, just to be pushed back to the armchair, little too hard than Yoongi intended to. His mind and fists aimed at the younger boy’s face. Her words fell on deaf ears as Yoongi continued his assault, his rage unchecked and his fury unleashed.

The sickening sound of bone crunching beneath his blows and painful cries from Kai’s mouth was haunting the room. Yoongi dragged him to the nearest wall and pressed his head tightly to the concrete with his hand. The skin of his knuckles was torn and full of blood. Not as much blood as Kai’s face produced after being beaten numerous times. Kai’s painful cry got louder once Yoongi kept pressing his cheek to the wall.

With each crunch of bone and each agonised cry that echoed through the room, Y/N’s desperation grew. She knew she had to act, to do something to protect Kai from further harm.

“Yoongi, this is all me. Punish me!” She scrambled to her feet, her hands shaking with fear and adrenaline as she desperately tried to intervene, to stop Yoongi from inflicting any more harm on Kai. She did not expect him to take a hit on Kai, he followed his orders thoroughly, the younger boy even pledged his loyalty to him. Y/N's mind scratched his name from the list, another mistake on her part.

Y/N’s voice cracked with emotion as she made her desperate plea, hoping to redirect Yoongi’s rage away from Kai and onto herself. She knew she was risking everything by putting herself in the line of fire, but she couldn’t bear to see Kai suffer any longer.

“I was thinking you know—” said the scarred leader. With each passing moment, the weight of their situation pressed down on her, threatening to suffocate her with its overwhelming intensity.

“Forbidding you from this and that won’t work on you nor killing a worthless maid—”

Yoongi’s voice trailed off, his gaze turning back to Kai, whose head was battered and bloodied pressed to the wall, so painful that his consciousness was waning. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she waited for Yoongi’s next move, unsure of what to expect.

“—but hurting someone you care about...” His voice was chilling, the threat implicit in his words. Y/N’s blood ran cold as she realised the full extent of Yoongi’s intentions. He was using Kai as a pawn in his twisted game, manipulating her emotions to bend her to his will.

“His life and blood are on your hands, love.”

She looked into Kai’s eyes, seeing the pain and terror reflected in them, knowing that his fate now rested in her hands. Yoongi did not plan to kill him altogether, he just wanted her to succumb to submission and obedience.

“No, Yoongi, please!” she pleaded, her voice trembling with emotion. But Yoongi’s expression remained cold and impassive, his resolve unyielding. She felt as though her soul was being torn apart, torn between her love for Kai and her desperate need to protect him.

She had had enough. She had seen enough. And she was ready to give up her life to save his. Y/N thought about this option way too often lately. Whether her sacrifice would be enough to save Kai from further harm remained to be seen.

In that moment of desperation and despair, Y/N’s mind raced as she weighed her options. The thought of sacrificing herself to protect Kai from further harm consumed her thoughts, and with a sense of grim determination, she reached for the same unfortunate knife that saved her from her father’s wrath before.

With a steady hand, she withdrew the weapon, its cold metal glinting in the dim light of the room.

“Y/N…” he had to look back at her twice before he realised what was going on. Yoongi’s gaze flickered toward her, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes as he realised her intentions. But before he could react, Y/N pressed the blade against her own throat, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and resolve.

“Let him go Yoongi, or I swear I will do it,” she declared, her voice quavering but firm. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as they all grappled with the gravity of the situation. Y/N waited, her hand steady against her throat, her gaze unwavering as she dared Yoongi to make his next move.

Yoongi’s hand left the already fractured skull of his wife’s cousin, and Kai slumped down by the wall, grunting loudly. The scarred leader who thought is holding the young gal in chess mate was taken aback by the sudden turn of events.

“I let him go, baby, now put the blade away.” Y/N hesitated, her grip on the sharp letter opener tightening involuntarily.

The rush of adrenaline had drowned out her fear momentarily, leaving her with a fierce determination to stand her ground.

“No,” she said firmly, her voice tinged with defiance. Yoongi took a step towards her small form. Her eyes crimson red, tears streaming down as she said that.

“We can talk—”

“It always starts with a talk, Yoongi, doesn't it?” Y/N interrupted, her voice trembling with emotion but her resolve unwavering. She held the knife steady, its blade gleaming in the dim light of the room.

Yoongi’s expression darkened, a mixture of frustration and anger flashing across his features. He took another step closer, his gaze locked on Y/N’s determined face. He was afraid and the young leader was only afraid of one thing. Losing her.

“Love, fuck, please I beg you to put it down, baby.” Y/N shook her head again.

“I told you I am your weakness, Yoongi, now you see for yourself.”

For the first time in a long time, Yoongi felt truly afraid. Not for himself, but for Y/N. He knew that he had pushed her too far, that his actions had driven her to this desperate act. And as he stood before her, pleading to put down the knife, he couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that he had already lost her.

He had always prided himself on his ability to maintain control in any situation, but now, faced with the prospect of losing Y/N, he felt powerless. He made her go mad.

As Yoongi reached out his hand towards her, a silent plea in his eyes, Y/N knew she couldn’t back down. It is him who will never learn, not her. Pressing the knife tighter, piercing the first layer of the skin, painting the blade red. A thin crimson line trickled down her neck making Yoongi’s eyes widen in panic. She could not feel a thing through the adrenaline and post traumatic experience from the events that led her to close her mind and not feel, her eyes were still fixated on him and how terrified he looked.

“Y/N, please,-” he begged, his voice raw with emotion. Now it was her who remained unmoved, her eyes blazing with defiance as she held her ground.

“Say it, Yoongi.” She declared. Giving him the taste of his own medicine. And the dark sickening part of Yoongi knew that he had finally met his match. She wanted him to suffer just as much as he made her suffer.

“I’m so sorry, love,-” what he always forced her to say, thinking he is teaching her of accountability, now left his lips. Yet, he could never be accountable for his own actions, could he?

“You’ve taken my life from me!” her voice filled with bitterness and resentment.

“I know,-” he whispered, gulping down the lump in his throat. His voice was heavy with remorse that did not reach sincerity. “And I will spend the rest of my life trying—”

“Fuck you! You are like a broken record, a lying one!” She had seen through his façade, seen the darkness that lurked beneath his composed exterior, and she refused to let him off the hook so easily. But he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, couldn’t bear the thought of spending the rest of his life haunted by the memories of what he had done.

“I will do everythi—”

“But you will never let me go.”

For a moment, Yoongi was speechless, his mind racing as he grappled with the realisation that he had pushed her too far. There were no words he could say to make her put the blade down from her neck. The absence of words only confirmed hers.

“The only blood I shall have on my hands shall be mine.”

He immediately crossed the distance to reach out - to stop her - to tell her that he would do anything to make things right, but he knew it was too late for that.

“NO!”

With a desperate scream from his mouth, Yoongi watched as Y/N swiftly swiped the blade against her own skin, cutting deeper, painting the qipao embroidered with pink roses and green leaves she was clad in crimson red with her hot blood.

©pennyellee. please do not repost

author's note: sheesh, here we go, i thought that no chapter will be hard for me to write since the last one, but this one did a number on me tbh. But more importantly for yall my beautiful chummers, if you feel like this is the end you imagined for lacrimosa and y/n, I strongly encourage you to not proceed to read the following chapters. Not every piece of media is meant for everybody and I totally respect if the way in which will lacrimosa continue won't be everyone's cup of tea or simply not the trope they wanted. I hold the pen and I love yall, I won't change the outline of lacrimosa I planned because of relativity tho. Therefore, those who are satisfied with this kind of ending - I love you, I'm grateful, and I thank you hundred times that you took the time to read this fic. Those who wants to follow the "couple" a bit more, stay tuned and patient for other chapters. I love you 🫧♡ ︎

shout-out to Bex, the queen @chaoticpuff17, for beta another chapter!

Love you all!! ♥

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not an expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction.

let's be friends chummers 🫧♡ ︎

lots of love, p.

tag list: @beautifulcloudfestival - @honsoolgloss - @jingerbreadoutofstock - @moscow778 - @januara26 - @dinosolecito - @yoongislatinagff - @xyahrinx - @hi12345567 - @nochuel - @deltamoon666 - @bbkissme99 - @darkuni63 - @nansasa - @sazsazsaz - @missmin - @strxwbloody - @royallyjjk - @jaiuneamesolitaiire - @shadowyjellyfishfest - @bbgniecyy - @elayne321 - @seojunandsoju - @bun-27 - @whipwhoops - @wobblewobble822 - @whofan88 - @haneyyyyyy - @lostgirlinthewoodss - @secfir - @btspurplesky - @elleflying07 - @pamzn - @megseungmin - @selenophileforlife - @idkjustlovingbts @seonghwaexile

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jrswritings · 16 days

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Tingles and Giggles - Chapter Seven - Tyler Owens x Reader

Get caught up with Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, and Chapter Six! Masterlist :)

Chapter Seven - Playin' Games

After driving for a half hour, your stomach decided to make an appearance by growling loudly just when the radio was switching songs. Your arms immediately covered your stomach, not like it mattered, you both knew where the gurgle came from.

“Food is only five more minutes away, think you can last that long or will you wither away into nothing?” He asked, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles.

“I think I’ll be okay,” you said, rubbing your belly, “I’m not sure about my stomach though.”

As soon as you rounded the corner, there was a cute little red barn-shaped building next to a little convenience shop. The outside sign read ‘The Barn.’

“Is this where we’re eating? It barely looks like it would fit 50 people!” You said, sitting up in your seat.

“Yep! My mom and I used to come here when I was a young kid and get breakfast on our way to Wyoming to watch my dad in one of the rodeos out there,” he said, “He started my love for riding but after so many accidents I had to switch to tornadeos.”

“We’ll have to go to one sometime, there’s plenty of them down in Salado,” you said, “They use one of my parent’s bulls.”

Once he parked, you opened your door and slid out of your seat.

“Little lady you get back in the truck and let me open that door for you!” Tyler said in a rush, getting out of the driver's side and jogging around the front of the truck to grab the door.

“Ty, I’m a grown woman and can open and close doors all by myself,” you said, patting his chest and walking by him.

“But I’m here so that means you don’t have to,” he said, catching up to you while you walked into the little diner.

“Let me be independent while also being a gentleman,” you said.

“Hello, kids! C’mon in and sit where ever you’d like!” The waitress called from behind the small wall of delicious pies.

Tyler led you over to a booth near a window, rolling up the shade slightly.

Another waitress came over with menus, silverware, and glasses of water.

“Howdy, my name is Brandi and I’ll be your server, is there anything else you’d like to drink besides the water? We have lemonades, sweet teas, and Coke products,” she said while setting everything down on the table and taking out a notepad.

“I’ll have a sweet tea, please,” you said, picking up the menu to start mulling over your options.

“I’ll do the same, thank you,” Tyler said, rubbing his foot on yours under the table.

“Comin’ right up, sugar,” she said and walked off to the counter with a little too much pep in her step. This started a little fire inside of you that you didn’t know could be lit.

Tyler saw your facial expression change over the top of the menu as you gave Brandi a slight glare.

“Calm down, baby girl,” he said softly, reaching across the table and putting a hand over yours, “You’re all I have eyes for.”

You sighed, looking up at him. “What are you getting?”

“Well, probably a burger,” he said, glancing down at their menu.

“I’ll probably do the same,” you said, closing the menu and setting it at the front of the table, “Burgers are usually my, what I call, safe meal. It’s hard to mess up on a burger and fries.”

“I get that, as a kid my meal used to be chicken tenders and fries,” he said, taking a drink of his water and looking at the menu.

The waitress came back over, setting the teas down on the table, “Alright you two, here are those teas and what can I get started for you?”

“Let my wife order first, I usually wait to see what she gets before ordering as I most times end up switching because she says mine looks better,” he said gesturing to you with a smile.

Hearing him call you his wife shocked not only you but the waitress as well. You looked over at him and he winked at you.

“I’ll have a California burger with no onions, fries, with a side of ranch please,” you said, trying your best to remain calm after being called Tyler’s wife when you two aren’t even dating.

“And for you sir?” The waitress asked, keeping her eyes on her notepad.

“I’ll have a bacon cheeseburger with fries,” he said, “Along with a slice of apple pie for us to share, it’s her favorite.”

“I’ll put your order in and it should be out in 10 minutes, would you like whipped cream on the pie?” She asked, grabbing the menus off the table.

“Honey, what do you think?” He asked, grabbing your hands on top of the table.

“I would love some, thank you, Brandi,” you said, smiling up at her and rubbing his knuckles with your thumb.

“Will do,” she said and walked to the kitchen.

“Your wife?!” You whisper shouted at Tyler. Granted, you didn’t fully mind as Mrs. (Y/n) Owens had a ring to it, but it was more so unexpected.

“I didn’t like how upset you got by her callin’ me sugar, so I had to improvise and that’s what I came up with,” he said, “Are you sayin’ you wouldn’t want to be married to this teddy bear?”

“Only time will tell, Owens,” you said, taking a drink of your tea.

“Playin’ games, are we now, honey?” He asked, leaning onto his elbows that were resting on the edge of the table.

“No, but need I remind you that this is technically our first date?” You asked him quietly.

“Nope, I just love seein’ you blush,” he said, reaching over and pinching your cheek softly.

You slapped his hand away playfully, “Okay Grandpa, you can quit pinching me.”

“But why? Your cheeks are just too cute,” he said, making his voice sound like he was 40 years older.

“Oh stop it, baby,” you said, noticing how smoothly that slipped off your tongue.

“See honey, by the end of the day you’ll be calling me hubby and all will be well in the world,” he said, a cheesy smile coming to his face.

“Don’t test your luck, Owens,” you said, wagging one of your pointer fingers at him.

“Alright, alright,” he said, holding his hands up as a surrender.

“Bacon cheeseburger for you sir,” Brandi said, sliding a basket in front of Tyler.

“That looks good,” you said, ogling over his burger.

“See? In five minutes we’ll have different baskets,” Tyler joked with the waitress.

“And a California burger with fries and ranch for you, ma’am,” she said, “I’ll be over with the pie in a few minutes. Is there anything else you two need?”

“This will be all, thank you,” he said, looking over at you and then at the waitress.

As she walked away, Tyler looked at you practically drooling over his burger basket.

“Do you want to trade?” He asked, nudging the basket towards you.

“No, no,” you said, “That’s what you ordered, I’ll let you enjoy it.”

“If you say so,” he said, taking a big bite of the burger.

You grabbed a few fries and dipped them in the ranch, then stuffed them in your mouth. As you chewed you did a slight wiggle in your seat. Tyler watched you do that while taking a few fries and eating them.

“Do you always wiggle after you eat fries with ranch on them?” He asked, using a fry to point to you, the fries, and the ranch.

“Just think of it as the negative, hangry mood leaving my body per se,” you said, taking a bite of your burger.

“Is it because you love fries and ranch?” He asked, smiling slightly.

You nodded and grabbed a few more fries while you finished the bite you just took, not wanting to look like you were starving and shoveling the food into your mouth faster than you could chew.

“I’ll remember that,” he chuckled, taking a big drink of his sweet tea.

“Here’s that warmed apple pie with whipped cream on top for the lovely couple,” the waitress that originally greeted you said as she placed the pie with two spoons in front of you.

“Thank you,” you said after swallowing your bite.

“Is there anything else I can get you, or is it alright if I grab the tab?” She asked, “You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like to keep out of the Oklahoma heat.”

“Maybe a box and to-go forks for the pie? The burgers have been more filling than I think either of us realized,” Tyler said, patting his stomach.

“Let me go put it in the container for you, hon,” she said, grabbing the plate and walking to the kitchen. She came back two minutes later with the pie in a styrofoam container, two plastic forks, and the tab.

“Thank you so much, we appreciate it,” you said, finishing the last of your burger.

“Of course, sugar! Thank you for choosing The Barn, please come back anytime!” She said, walking back to the kitchen.

Tyler left cash on the table for the bill and put his hat back on, then slid out of his seat after finishing his tea. He stood up straight, grabbed the container with the slice of pie, and then held out his hand for you. You sucked down what was left of your tea and grabbed his hand while sliding out of the booth.

“Have a great day!” The older waitress called out as you both walked out the door.

“Damn, you must have scared off the other waitress by calling me Mrs.Owens,” you laughed, “She never came back.”

“Good!” He said, giving you a wide grin while holding the door open.

Want more? Here's Chapter Eight!

Taglist: @fanboyswhore9 @faith719

#tyler owens #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens twisters #tyler owens x y/n #tyler owens fanfiction #glen powell #glen powell x reader #glen powell x you #twisters #twisters x reader #twisters 2024 #tornado wrangler

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biggie-chcese · 2 months

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RESULTS ARE IN 👍

i posted this poll as a joke but i got a little miffed at the makoto character assassination in the notes/ask box so now im giving my reasoning of why i think this fight is a hard 50/50 and not just an easy makoto win:

(btw, this isnt out of anger. im genuinely having a lot of fun ranting about this silly topic because i love these two clowns)

Rage: the biggest pro-makoto argument people had was that he was filled with pent up rage, which... okay, but i actually don't think it's that simple. more than anything, makoto is frustrated with himself. not his original, and, hell, not even yomi. the only reason he started beefing with either of them is because both were putting kanai ward in danger trying to reveal the homunculus info. otherwise, his original is a non-issue and yomi is nothing more than a nuisance. in the game, when makoto's carefully concealed emotions begin to trickle out, he is far from angry. he's sad, helpless, and broken. he's close to crumbling under the pressure of his own tower of lies, and he's not the contained rage beast yall think he is 😭 makoto has the conviction to fight with his all, but i genuinely don't think he's going sicko mode when angry.

yuma, on the other hand, is ROYALLY PISSED at makoto. this is the chapter 5 bathhouse!! makoto just put him in zombie hell and spent the last couple hours taunting yuma with the corpses of his friends! yuma may be a doormat but he's literally shown himself capable of snapping in anger before! if anyone here is falling into a rage-filled frenzy, it is not makoto

Stamina + Strength: all im saying is that one of these characters spends most of his time doing legwork, running from cops, and doing QTEs with a small level of physical competence, and the other one takes baths while plotting in his fancy penthouse all day

Strategy: makoto 100% has the edge in this one. he still has number one's memories, and yuma is also a little stupid. i can see makoto fighting using trickery. sand-in-the-eyes level stuff, yknow? i dont think number one himself was actually trained in close combat though. he's a shut-in who is always on the run from criminal syndicates, so i'd imagine most of his skillset lies in how to stay out of fights rather than win them. still, im sure makoto can come up with a few ways to put himself at an advantage, as long as he can take/avoid enough hits.

Patheticness: this is a joke stat but i feel like people forget that makoto is JUST as pathetic as yuma is. he's just better at hiding it.

Power of Friendship: also a joke stat i think it has no actual bearing on this fight lmao. though yuma may be motivated by the "deaths" of his friends.

that being said, i still think makoto could win! i actually fully expected these poll results! but i also think it depends on whether or not yuma's raw determination beats out makoto's trickiness... and even then, they're both coming out of this looking utterly beaten and bruised. anyway if you got this far, thanks for reading my manifesto on this shit lmao

#rain code #raincode #mdarc #master detective archives: rain code #yuma kokohead #makoto kagutsuchi #rain code spoilers #mdarc spoilers #master detective archives: rain code spoilers #btw in a perfect world they have this raw and visceral fistfight but in the end they're roughly making out on the bathhouse floor

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jeankluv · 1 month

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The forgotten boy - Suguru Geto | Chapter 06

words: 3k

summary: He made a deal with the devil, over 1,000 years ago. Just for the sake of his loved ones but the deal came with a condition. Everyone he met from that moment on, would forget about his existence within minutes, and will be like that for the rest of the eternity

Like that Geto Suguru lived for 1,000 years, being forgotten by everyone he met, not being remembered by anyone and being alone.

"You remember me?"

You nodded. “Of course I do.” You smiled. “You have been coming here for a few days now. Always at the same hour and always asking for the same coffee.”

tags: angst, fluff, fantasy au, different lifetimes, dual pov, use of y/n, fem!character, modern settings but also past settings, eventual smut, destiny, characters death (in the flashbacks), blood

notes: it’s been a long time since I posted, but here there is a new chapter ❤️

materialist | previous chapter | next chapter

Jujutsu Kaisen materialist | ao3

Suguru leaned against the lamppost in front of the building, waiting for the familiar figure to come out and go to work. According to the schedule he had posted on his refrigerator, he had to go to work at eight, so he would leave the house early.

Not even close to 10 minutes passed when Suguru saw his “friend” come out of his building with a shotgun. Allowing another 10 minutes to pass, to make sure that Nanami would not return, Suguru entered the building with a smile and went up to the floor. Although he had told you that he had lost the keys it was a lie, obviously, but that apartment didn't need keys to enter either. That was why it had been so easy for him to settle in that place.

Suguru got rid of his clothes and got into the shower. Letting the water run over his body, he relaxed and felt peace settle into him. He didn’t know how long he was under the warm water, but Suguru didn't care, he let the falling water take away the worries from his body, take away that disturbing feeling he had felt in the subway. He let it go down the drain.

With the towel wrapped around his waist and his hair still wet, Suguru left the bathroom and headed to the kitchen. The sun shone clearly in the sky and it seemed to Suguru that everything had much more color, as if the gray tones that had been accompanying him for so long were being painted in bright colors. And he knew who was responsible behind it.

“Wow… so this is the place you now call home?” A voice that passed through Suguru's body filled the silence of the house.

Suguru turned around in horror to confirm the owner of that voice. “Kenjaku…”

“Don’t look at me like that Suguru.” A smile was drawn on his face. “Haven’t you missed me? It’s been, how long since the last time 50, 60 years?”

“80.” Suguru said with his eyes narrowed.

“Oh yeah! 80 years, you were in Scotland at that time, right?” Kenjaku approached the fruit bowl and picked up one of the apples. “Back then the world was a mess, although now… humans are still just as useless.” Juice with the apple.

“Kenjaku, what are you doing here.” He demanded to know Suguru, as he crossed his arms.

“Checking on you. Lately you seem happy.” A shiver ran through Suguru upon hearing Kenjaku's words and he felt like his heart skipped a beat. “Don’t worry Suguru I won’t do anything, I was just curious.” He laughed.

“Stay away from her.” Suguru murmured with his fists clenched and his gaze sharp.

“Oh… yeah I will stay away.” He smiled, biting the apple. “Don’t worry.” Kenjaku moved across the kitchen and smiled at Suguru again. “Anyway, my dear Suguru.” He patted his shoulder gently. "We will see each other again."

A gust of wind came through the window causing Suguru to close his eyes tightly and by the time he opened them again the figure of that person, if you could call it that way, was no longer there. Suguru let the air out of his lungs and rested his hands on the kitchen island, looking for a foothold. His eyes then focused on the rotten apple that Kenjaku had left there.

The knot he had in his stomach became bigger and Suguru felt himself trembling at that moment. He knew Kenjaku well enough to know that many times his words and promises were empty.

Taking the apple, he threw it in the trash and leaned against the cold wall of the apartment, with his eyes closed and thinking about that blurry memory.

—1,000 years ago

Suguru was exhausted, he didn't even know how many days they had been in that place. But it seemed that the curses and everything that was before them could not be defeated.

He rested his forehead on his hand and sighed looking at the map of the territory where they were. They were far from the capital Heian-kyō but if those curses continued to advance at the rate they did, they could reach the capital before winter arrived and that would be catastrophic.

At 6 years old he didn't want to believe the stories of his best friend's mother, but 20 years later there he was trying to find a way to stop those monsters.

It had been 10 years since Suguru, along with Satoru had left their hometown and joined the ranks of the emperor's army as cadets, hoping to one day occupy the highest positions. The first great honor came when they were both 21, after defeating a high ranked evil spirit, the two best friends were received with honor by the emperor and promoted in their rank.

After that the two continued to achieve success and now at 26, Suguru was general of one of the divisions. Suguru's division was near Fuji, in fact the soldiers could admire how the mountain rose in the distance with just stepping outside their tents. Meanwhile the division led by Satoru was located near the capital, in the Owari area.

Suguru punched one of the map figurines and tilted his head back, letting out a big sigh in the process. He was tired of fighting so much, he just wanted to return home once and for all.

“General Geto.” A young voice interrupted his thoughts.

Suguru fixed his gaze on the young boy that was standing in front of him, he probably wasn’t older than 18 years but Suguru could tell his determination was strong. “Yes?”

“That monk is here again.” Suguru sighed and touched his temple, trying to calm down the pain on his head. “He wants to talk with you.”

Suguru resentfully nodded. “Let him in.” The boy nodded and left the tent.

No more than 5 minutes passed when that person that Suguru had already met, entered. The atmosphere inside the tent changed drastically and Suguru felt the hair on his entire body stand on end. He didn't understand why he let him enter or talk to him, when that person's entire aura screamed danger.

“Hello general Geto.” The monk smiled at him and a shiver ran down Suguru's spine, that smile did not bring him any good feeling.

“You have been trying to see me for the last three weeks.” Suguru composed himself and tried to look as rough as possible, without showing an iota of weakness.

“Oh just, you know these curses are really strong and I think my help could be useful.”

Suguru shook his head. “Can a monk do anything against those curses, specifically against the king?” Suguru replied.

“General Geto, I am not a monk.” A smile appeared on his face. “I am a sorcerer and of course I can help you defeat them.”

Suguru bit his tongue, the idea sounded tempting but he didn't like that person. He knew there was something in his aura that worried him and he wanted him away from there as soon as possible.

“We don’t need your help.” Suguru sentenced and pointed to the exit for that person to leave.

The person laughed and stood up walking towards the exit. “My name is Kenjaku.” He smiled. “When you need me, General Geto just call me and we can make a deal.”

And in the blink of an eye the one who had called himself Kenjaku disappeared from Suguru's sight as if he had never been there. Suguru dropped into his chair and touched his chest, hoping that his heart was still there. He did not understand what that meeting had been, nor that gloomy aura that he had felt. But he just hoped it was the last time he would have to witness it.

—Present day

With his hand again on his chest Suguru checked if his heart was still there. It was.

Suguru leaned back and took a deep breath, feeling how his chest was squeezing him and not letting him breathe. He didn't trust Kenjaku or his intentions, for 1,000 years he had made him suffer and he knew it wasn't going to end.

Suguru was afraid, he was terrified. For the first time in a long time he had found something that made him happy, that made him feel alive and he wanted to continue exploring it but knowing that Kenjaku's threat could harm you... Suguru wanted to continue being happy like those few days, he wanted to continue going to your cafeteria and be welcomed with your smile. He knew his heart could be full thanks to you, you would fill it with your voice and your warmth.

Suguru clenched his fists and a growl came from the back of his throat, he needed to clear his head and in that apartment, which didn't belong to him, he couldn't do it. Changing his clothes and preparing a small bag with some changes, he left Nanami's apartment.

Suguru left the building and began to walk, aimlessly, only knowing that he needed to clear the storm of anguish and agony that had formed in his mind with Kenjaku's appearance before him.

On the other side of the city, you moved behind the bar, preparing coffees and whatever they asked for non-stop. Apparently all the customers had decided to come to the cafeteria at the same time. You and Yuji had not been able to take a single break since you had opened the cafeteria that day and your legs were already feeling the pain.

“Hello!” A singing voice made you look up.

You smiled when you saw who it was, despite wearing her dark glasses and her mouth mask, you could identify your best friend anywhere. “Hime!” You greeted with a smile.

“How are you?” She asked.

“Pretty busy as you can see.” You looked around. “I don’t know why we have so many customers here today.”

“Yeah…” She laughed. “That might be my fault.”

You looked at her confused. “What did you do?”

“I posted a picture with one of your cups and…” She looked around and then at you shrugging her shoulder.

“I can’t believe you.” You sighed. “I mean thanks but isn't it a bit risky to come here?”

“Yeah but I wanted to see how you were handling things.”

“I’m a bit tired but… it’s okay.” You smiled.

“Tomorrow it’s your free day, right?” Utahime took your hand. “Let me invite you to a spa or something.”

“I can’t.” Utahime tilted her head confused. “I have a date.” You smiled shyly.

“What?!” She gasped with a loud scream.

Everyone on the place turned to look at both of you and it that moment you realize how fucked Utahime was, because it was clear that some people recognize her.

“Shit…” She whispered.

“Yeah…” You took her hand and guide her to the back where only employees could enter.

People began to crowd around with their cell phones taking photos of Utahime and shouting her name. Sometimes you wondered how your friend could endure all that, how she didn't get dizzy with the flashes and the screams of all the people.

“I’m so sorry y/n…” She said, taking off her glasses and mask.

“It’s okay, after all you are a superstar.” You smiled, not giving much importance to the matter.

“Still…” She sighed and sat down on a chair.

“Hime, don’t give yourself a hard time for this, it’s okay…”

Utahime nodded and then smiled. “Now tell me about your date.”

“Oh…” You chuckled feeling your cheeks burn. “Well, he is a customer that usually comes here.” Utahime was paying full attention to your words, with her gaze being completely focused on you. “We… well we actually went to eat lunch a few days ago and tomorrow we will be meeting again.” You played with your hands.

Utahime had her mouth completely opened, processing your words. “How come you didn’t tell me anything?”

“I don’t know, a lot of things happened.” You pursed your lips remembering what happened yesterday.

“Shoko told me.” Utahime said. “Those ugly bastards don’t know anything about art.”

“They are from an art gallery…”

“Still, they are tasteless. Your paintings are amazing, breathtaking, god they deserve to be exposed in the best museums.” Utahime said angrily. “You know that I can take them down, right?”

Of course you knew how powerful Utahime was and how her words were able to make others fall. “I know, but there is no need.” You sat on the chair. “I just need to become better… that’s it.” You sadly smiled.

“Y/n…” Utahime murmured.

“You know.” You stood up. “I should go out there, poor Yuji is all on his own.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She nodded. “I’m sorry for all that.” She pointed to the outside.

You shook your head. “Now maybe we’ll get more tips.” You joked. “You already know where the emergency exit is, right?” Utahime nodded. “Well, then I'll see you soon?”

"Probably." Utahime stood up. “I have some pending matters and I am starting to prepare the next album but we can meet.” She smiled. “Because I'm going to need to know more about that date of yours.”

“I know the three of you will give me a hard time.” You joked.

“Yuki is also seeing someone so, me and Shoko, we will be giving both of you a hard time.” She joked back. “Take care.” She hugged.

“You too Hime.” You waved goodbye at her and went back to work.

The place was so crowded and Yuji behind the counter seemed to be trying to make everything the best he could. You quickly started serving and attending the new customers, most of them were looking for Utahime or were there because of her post and asking for the same coffee as her.

Once the last customer was served, you looked at Yuji and sighed in relief.

“Y/n…” Yuji spoke and you hummed in response. “You know Utahime?!” He said out loud.

“Yuji! Lower your voice.” You said, noticing how the eyes of the customers were on you.

“Sorry… but for real, you know her?”

You nodded and Yuji gasped in response. “We went to high school together and she is one of my closest friends.” Yuji had his mouth opened. “Why are you so shocked?”

“It’s just… that wow, you know more famous people?” He asked and you shook your head. “Oh…”

“Why? Do you have a favorite celebrity or something?” You tilted your head scanning his face.

“Yes!” He smiled wildly. “I love Megan Thee Stallion.” You opened your mouth in surprise.

“I don’t know if she knows Megan personally, I could ask her and maybe get you something.” Yuji looked at you with his eyes wide open.

“You would?” You nodded. “Oh! I love you so much y/n.”

You giggled and shook your head. “I can’t promise you much but I will do what I can.” Yuji nodded enthusiastically and turned to keep working.

You did the same and with your mind set on work, your workday passed in a flash. You said goodbye to Yuji at the train station and like every day you stood near one of the large windows so you could see the views of the dazzling city.

Without being able to help it, your mind wandered to Suguru and the date you would both share tomorrow. Covering your smile with your hand, you left the station and began walking towards home. The atmosphere was pleasant, the trees were beginning to bloom and the days were slowly beginning to get longer, which filled your heart with immense warmth.

“Y/n?” You turned around to look at the person calling out your name.

When you turned completely you ran into a man you didn't know, he was about 40 years old and was wearing elegant clothes.

“Excuse me, you called me?” You said doubtfully and with the alarms set.

The man smiled, a smile that made your skin crawl. “Yes, but I just wanted to see your face more clearly. 10 freckles huh?”

After saying that, the man turned on his heel and began to cross the street. When you wanted to get a better look at him, he had already disappeared. You hadn't noticed how your breathing had become labored and you had to hold on to breathe properly again.

Who was that man? And why and how did he know your name? Turning on your heels you ran to your apartment and when you got there you closed the door with all the possible bolts.

Your entire body was trembling, that smile and look had left you completely paralyzed.

Blue approached you and began to give you affection, you smiled when you saw your cat and took her in your arms, feeling the warmth of your animal against you. You stayed on the ground hugging Blue for a long time, it wasn't until Blue started meowing for food that you had the strength to get up.

That disturbing feeling was still in your body and it seemed like it didn't want to go away.

You wanted to get up tomorrow and see Suguru. As crazy as it seemed, he gave you an unimaginable security and you wish that he was with you at that precise moment to calm you down like he did after you had that nightmare.

Dragging your feet as if you were carrying something heavy attached to your feet, you sat on your couch and picked up your sketchbook. You began to draw, first Blue, then the landscape that you could see from your window, then Suguru and then you began to draw the nightmare and finally the face of that man.

With another shiver running through your body from your feet to the last hair of your hair, you slammed the notebook shut and closed your eyes, trying to forget that image and sensation.

You laid down on your stomach and tried to sleep and prayed for that man not to appear in your dreams.

————-

Heian-kyō (平安京, lit. "peaceful/tranquil capital") = During the Heian era it was Japan’s capital, now known as Kyoto.

Owari (尾張国, Owari no Kuni) = Was a province in the area that today forms the western half of Aichi Prefecture, including the modern city of Nagoya.

— comment if you want to be tagged

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jessicaloons · 18 days

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E P I L O G U E - Invisible String

Masterlist - Previous

Hello lovely people, here it is, the Epilogue. Instead of a classic epilogue you’ll get to join Lizzie and Charles in their life together through the years.

I hope you enjoy reading this final part of Invisible String as much as I enjoyed writing it. The whole journey of Lizzie and Charles meant so much to me, finishing it is heartbreaking but relieving at the same time. I know I sent you in for a looong ride with lots of ups and downs with this one and I thank every single one of you who stayed from the very beginning to end now. But also everyone who joined in along the ride, thank you! And to the people who just recently started reading, thank you for taking time out of your day to start reading over 50 chapters of a fic, that started over a year ago! I loved every single interaction with you guys, the comments, reblogs, chats and anons, thank you so much for showing me/my story so much love!

There are a lot of people to thank, starting with my bestie who first was mildly confused by the fact that I was writing fan fiction, but then become obsessed and hated me when I hurt her precious baby boos (her words!) and literally gobsmacked me once or twice, when my "torturing went too far".

My lovely boyfriend fiancé who I met while being in the middle of writing this amazing story, who supported me and even read my story because he was curious, starting to get super invested in it.

And last, but definitely not least, a H U G E thank you to the person, without who this story wouldn’t even exist. Thank you, thank you, thank you @elisysd for not only writing my favourite fanfics, but also for motivating me to write and release my own! Thank you for being my torture partner in crime, thank you for always helping me out with title names, thank you for reading my new ideas, motivating me to continue and develop them into new stories. Thank you for all the conversations about our stories, new ideas, talks about the races, our shared views on certain people, and the talks about what is going on in the crazy whirlwind that is our life’s! I’m so very grateful that I found Cruel Summer (if you haven’t read it till now, DO IT! My favourite fic out there!) last year and that you started a chat with me, because life hasn’t been the same since then. So one final thank you, for literally EVERYTHING ♥️

And now I wrote enough! Some little blurbs, social media posts and a lot of time jumps are ahead, buckle in and let’s f****** goooo!

10th May 2026:

"Shhh Emmie, we don’t want to wake up mummy now, do we?" I whispered, tickling her tummy "I’m almost done, little princess."

I placed everything on the tray, and tried to lift it with one hand, before I picked up Emmie, making my way to our bedroom. Lizzie was still fast asleep, Arlo at the foot of our bed sitting up, looking at Emmie and me.

"Be a good boy." I looked at him and he laid back down, making no sound "Alright…" I sat down the tray on my side of the bed before I pushed the button to open up the shades, letting in the sun, a little groan letting me know that Lizzie wasn’t liking the light intrusion. Pulling the blanket over her head was the second indicator.

"Way too early…" she mumbled and I had to chuckle, Emmie clapping happily.

"It’s not that early…" I climbed into bed, Emmie in my lap, pulling the tray over.

"Everything before 9 is too early." Lizzie yawned, slowly scrambling up, her hair dishevelled. She took in Emmie and me, a big smile slowly spreading over her face "Good morning my beautiful baby girl." she cooed and our little one wriggled out of my lap, crawling over to her mum, cuddling into her side "Hi Emmie." Lizzie picked her up, cradling her to her chest, kissing her cheek, making our little girl giggle.

"Happy Mother’s day, cara mia." I smiled at them, pulling the tray close and turned a little to grab the bouquet of flowers from my night stand.

Lizzie made big eyes, looking from the breakfast on the tray, to the flowers in my hand to Emmie in her arms.

"Oh Charles… this is… this is wonderful." she whispered, leaning over, brushing her soft lips against mine "I honestly forgot about it… Oh god our mums!" she panicked a little and I cupped her cheek.

"They both get a beautiful bouquet and a bottle of the nicest champagne delivered today. Don’t worry. I talked to them, because I wanted to spend today with you and Emmie… it’s your first Mother’s day after all. Today is special." I smiled at her and she looked at me, glassy eyes and pink cheeks.

"You’re amazing…" she whispered and leaned in, kissing my cheek.

"It wasn’t just me, Emmie helped as well…" I said and Lizzie giggled, looking at our little girl, sitting in her lap and looking up at her with big eyes, smile on her face, eating everything up her mum said.

"You’re amazing too, Emmie." she kissed her chubby cheek.

"Ready to eat something?" I asked and she nodded.

"I’m actually starving."

"Perfect, because I made a lot…" I pulled the tray closer and Lizzie’s eyes widened.

"Watching Jamie Oliver and Gordon Ramsay made a real chef out of you…" she chuckled, grabbing a strawberry "Daddy is spoiling us, baby girl."

"Just wait for dinner and dessert." I wiggled my eyebrows, wiping some strawberry juice from Emmie’s chin.

"Ouhhh, I can’t wait!" Lizzie mumbled, looking through the options of food, while I fed Emmie another Strawberry.

"I was thinking we could do a little boat tour today, but because of the race next week it’s so full everywhere, I don’t want to navigate through it with you two…" I said, playing with Emmie while Lizzie munched on her cheese omelette.

"It’s Emmie’s first home race." Lizzie looked up from her plate, gently pinching Emmie’s cheek "You’ll see daddy race here in Monaco, baby girl. Daddy and his Ferrari."

"Rar-… rari…" Emmie babbled and I dropped the melon slice in my hand, Lizzie almost choking on her orange juice.

"Did she just?" I looked at Lizzie, her big blue orbs staring at our daughter "Princess did you just try to say Ferrari?" I picked her up, looking into her gorgeous face.

"Rari…" Emmie repeated, clapping happily.

"Oh my god Charles! Her first word is Ferrari! Well… almost… but oh my god!” Lizzie cheered "Emmie, baby girl, say Ferrari. Fer-ra-ri…"

"I don’t think it’s that easy, cara mia, you can’t just say a word and sh-…" I began but had to swallow my own words.

"Fr- fri-" Emmie chortled.

"Almost baby girl. Fer-ra-ri…" Lizzie tried again.

"Fr-rari…"

"Yes! You did it!" I chimed, littering Emmie’s chubby cheeks with kisses "My little genius baby girl! Ferrari! Your first word is Ferrari! Can you say 'Forza Ferrari'?"

"Okay, now you’re just reaching." Lizzie chuckled, but I ignored her.

"Fr-rari…" Emmie giggled when I kissed her nose "Fr-rari…"

"You’re just jealous that her first word was Ferrari, not Audi!" I smirked and Lizzie rolled her eyes "My precious little princess! I can’t wait to tell everyone about it!"

I cradled her to my chest, kissing her hair and she giggled happily. Lizzie leaned over, tucking some loose strands of her out of Emmie’s face, smiling at her, kissing her cheek.

"You want to try to say 'Audi'? Au-di…" she whispered and I pulled Emmie away.

"What are you doing, cara mia?" I laughed and she sat up, shrugging her shoulders.

"It was worth a try…"

"Even if she would say Audi, which is a way easier name by the way, so… unfair… but okay, her first word would still be Ferrari!" I looked at her and she was pouting a little, my eyes fell on her plush lips, before I looked in her eyes again.

"What about… we finish breakfast, put Emmie down and then we’re having a thorough discussion about what our baby’s first word was?" her voice sultry, lashes fluttering.

"Mhhh that does sound pretty good to me…" I leaned over, capturing her lips in a steamy kiss, biting her bottom lip a little when I pulled away "But it won’t change the fact that our baby girls first word was Ferrari…"

"Fr-rari!" as if on cue Emmie chimed in and I laughed against Lizzie’s lips, a soft smile on them.

"Ferrari it is…" she sighed.

"Ferrari it is…" I laughed.

"Fr-rari!"

7th September 2026:

"Food?"

"Check."

"Drinks?"

"Check."

"Decoration?"

"Check."

"Birthday cake?"

Silence. So I repeated it again.

"Birthday cake?"

"Umm-…"

"Charles! That was the most important thing! You said you would pick it up! I can’t believe you!" I groaned, walking inside, stopping dead in my tracks, the birthday cake sitting on top of the table.

"Birthday cake? Check." Charles chuckled and I puffed out some air.

"So not funny…" I rolled my eyes.

"Sorry, I had to, because someone is panicking a little… it’s going to be just fine cara mia!" Charles pulled me into him, kissing my cheek "Emmie won’t even remember this day, okay? Relax a little, pretty girl."

"Who says that she won’t remember today?" I cocked an eyebrow and Charles sighed.

"Are you serious? No one remembers their first birthday…"

"It’s just… I want this to be perfect…" I said quietly and he rubbed his hands up and down my sides "She’s one Charles, can you believe it? One!"

"Yeah… the last year went by in a blur… one day she was still in your belly the next we’re already celebrating her first birthday…" he replied and I looked around.

"We should take a picture of her. Before everyone is here and she’s too excited to sit still for a moment… just her, a balloon or two, her cake?" I said and Charles nodded.

"I set up a back ground and you get our little princess ready?" he said and I nodded, walking off, but then I stopped, turning around "You forgot something?"

"Yup…" I cupped his cheeks and kissed him "Thank you, for always calming me down… I love you."

"I love you more…" he whispered against my lips and I smiled "Now, get our little princess…"

I walked downstairs, opening quietly the door to Emmie’s room, pushing the button for the shades to open. I smiled when I saw that she was already awake, sitting in her bed, gorgeous smile on her little face.

"Hi baby girl, look at your little smiley face…" I cooed, leaning down and picking her up.

"Mama…" she said, her voice sweet like honey.

"Ready for your party?" I asked, sitting her down and she clapped happily "Yeah? You know that everyone is coming to see you?"

"Evy-one?" she repeated slowly and I nodded, brushing her wild hair.

"Everyone, that means… pops and gammy, granny as well. Your aunties Sissy, Charlotte and Shima. And of course your uncles Lorenzo, Joris, Daniel, Arthur-…"

"Tur!" she said excitedly almost jumping off the changing table.

"Yeah, Uncle Arthur is coming. And of course Liam and Noah." I smiled at her, kissing her cheek "Alright let’s dress you up and then go and find daddy?"

"Dada!"

"Yes, dada."

After putting her hair in a tiny bun, or rather a little palm, on the top of her head, dressing her into a cute dress I picked Emmie up, walking upstairs, where Charles arranged in the corner a little photo background.

"Oh look at my gorgeous girl! Hi princess." he cooed at her and she leaned over to him and Charles grabbed her, holding her close to his chest "Is that okay?" he looked at me and I nodded.

"I’ll go and get the cake…"

I watched Charles putting Emmie down, playing a little with our girl, and had to smile. He was born to be a father, like I always said. I took some pictures of them before I walked over, setting the cake down in front of Emmie.

"You have to watch her closely… I don’t want a foot in the cake… or hands…"

"I’ll take care, don’t worry…" Charles smiled "Ready?" he looked at me and I nodded, then he let go of Emmie and I took some photos.

"Alright. I think I’ve got it…" I showed Charles the results and he beamed at me.

"Perfect. Now let’s get ready for the party. They should all be here in the next minutes…"

And he was right, not even 20 minutes later the living room was full with our family and we gathered around, singing Happy Birthday for the very first time for Emmie.

February 2027:

"Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc! Are you serious?!" I sighed and Charles looked sheepishly at me.

"It looked so cute and I thought she doesn’t have one yet…" he said and tried to soften me with his smile.

"Charles! Her room slowly turns into the Ark of Emmie! She has a whole petting zoo full of stuffed animals!" I said as Charles crouched down and handed our toddler the stuffed panda bear. Emmie took it in her arms and cuddled it tight.

"Look! She loves it! As long as she loves it! Cara mia, she’s my pretty princess! Spoiling her is basically my job!" he said and I rolled my eyes.

"I used to be your pretty princess…" I fake pouted and Charles grabbed me by the waist and pulled me into him.

"Oh mon amour, you’re my beautiful queen! And she is our pretty little princess!" he said and kissed me tenderly.

"Mhhh I like the sound of that… my king…" I whispered against his lips, then kissed him again and pushed myself off of him gently. I walked away but stopped in the door "No more toys, Charles! She’s not even 1.5 years old and has already more stuff than 3 toy stores combined!" with that I walked out of the room, but I stayed in the hallway.

"You heard what our queen said, little princess. No more toys for you officially… but rest assured, I’ll bring you more, but that’s our secret!" Charles whispered and Emmie laughed and clapped excitedly.

"CHARLES!" I shouted.

"Oh shit…" he exclaimed.

"Oh shit…" Emmie repeated and I stormed back into her play room "Oh shit, mama. Oh shit, dada!"

"I’m so, so sorry!" Charles said and I glared at him.

"Mami? Dada a stupi io?" Emmie smiled at me and Charles looked flabbergasted.

"Emmie!" I sighed and Charles started grinning.

"No curse words in front of the baby girl I thought, cara mia? What happened to that rule?" he cocked an eyebrow and grinned at me.

"Someone was cutting the line…" I whispered.

"Road rage… I get it." he laughed and then picked up Emmie and pulled me in his arms too "My queen and my princess… I don’t know what I did to deserve this kind of magnificent luck…" he whispered and kissed my temple first and then Emmies cheek, she smiled her almost toothless smile, dimples showing just like her dads.

Bahrain 2027:

"Season opener for the husband on Sunday, charity race for you today with said husband, Max Verstappen, Lewis Hamilton, Jamie Chadwick, Doriane Pin, Maya Weug, Abbi Pulling, Carrie Schreiner and Bianca Bustamate. Excited to be back in the car?" Natalie asked Lizzie who smiled her most beautiful smile.

"Very excited. It’s only 10 laps, so I should be good, but yeah I trained a little with Charles the last weeks and I really hope that I’ll make it." she chuckled.

"First time little Emmie see’s her mummy race, how excited is she?"

"She made huge eyes when she saw me in the race suit and at the seat fitting she pulled at Charles leg and pointed at me, asking why I’m in the car and not he." Lizzie recalled and I had to laugh, thinking about Emmie’s face yesterday.

"So she’s talking now?"

"We’re getting there… but yeah, everyday a little more… if she’s like her dad, she won’t stop talking in no time…"

"It’s good to have you back here, Lizzie. All the best for the little family and of course good luck in the race later! And if I might say that, kick some asses in good old Lizzie fashion." Natalie smiled.

"Thanks, I’ll try my best, I promise!" Lizzie hugged her and walked off, a big smile on her face.

"So I’m the one talking too much?" I cocked an eyebrow and she laughed, kissing my cheek.

"But I love it when you’re talking…"

"Yeah, yeah… let’s go. The race will start soon…" I said, taking her hand, intertwining our fingers.

"It will be fine, you don’t have to worry…" she said, squeezing my hand a little.

"I know… it’s just- it was a risk that you finished your season 2 years ago… and now getting back in the car…" I sighed and she stopped.

"Charles, it’s only 10 laps… I’ll be fine, don’t worry! We talked with the doctor, I’m prepared, we did a lot of workouts-…"

"Mhh… that we did. I liked that." I whispered and she blushed, pinching my side.

"Get your head out of the gutter! We’re racing in 30 minutes!" she rolled her eyes playfully and I laughed.

"Prepare to lose, cara mia."

"Nope. I’m going to kick your ass. All my girls will kick your ass…" she smiled and I pulled her close, kissing her.

"May the best driver win…"

"So Max should win?" she cocked an eyebrow and I pinched her waist.

"Hey!" I pouted and she laughed.

"Let’s go, world champ."

"Did you let her win, because she’s your wife? Be honest." Max wiggled his eyebrows and I laughed.

"Yeah sure and never hear the end of it at home? How she beat me? Definitely not! You couldn’t catch up to her as well!" I looked at him and he scratched his chin.

"Maybe it’s better for us that she’s not in F1 anymore…" he shrugged.

"Yeah, I’m kinda getting used to winning titles." I joked and Max pushed me playfully.

"Yeah, yeah, Ferrari boy. Hold your horses, I’m this close of snatching the title away from you."

"Sure thing, slow bull."

"Ouch, what kind of conversation do I interrupt here?" Lizzie walked up to us and I pulled her in, kissing her gently.

"We just established that we’re pretty damn happy that you’re not in F1 anymore… we like winning and against you… well never mind." Max said and Lizzie laughed.

"Oh you poor boys… maybe I should give Felix a call." I chuckled and Charles shook his head, laughing.

"Please don’t."

"We’ll see." she laughed, walking off when Susie waved her over.

"But in all honesty, this was fun, we should do this more often." Max said as we walked back to the garages and I nodded.

"Definitely. It’s fun and for a good cause, we really-…" I began when a tiny little whirlwind in red ran towards me.

"Papa! Papa!" Emmie’s bright voice made everyone looking for the source of the adorable sound "Uppy!" she stopped in front of me, making grabby hands and puppy eyes.

"Hey my baby girl, you shouldn’t be running around here all alone." I picked her up and she immediately grabbed my face between her chubby, little hands.

"Pop!" she screeched and turned my head to the side, Juergen wiping his eyebrow, sighing relieved.

"And you shouldn’t make Pop sweat like that!" I booped her nose and she started to giggle hysterically, turning her head a little, stopping abruptly when she spotted Max.

"Hi Emmie." he cooed at her and she scrunched up her nose adorably.

"Say hi to Max, princess." I smiled at her and she looked between me and Max for a while before she turned to him, stretching out her hand, poking his cheek.

"Maxie." she said and he nodded.

"You can call me Maxie, that’s alright." Max smiled.

"Maxie…" she repeated and then looked at me "Charlie…"

"Hey! I’m not Charlie! I’m dad-" I began but got interrupted by her giggles.

"Maxie 'nd Charlie." she smiled poking first my cheek, then Max’ "Maxie 'nd Charlie."

"No, Emmie. I’m Daddy, Dad, Pap, Papa, Paps. But not Charlie. Okay? I’m not Charlie." I tried again.

"Charlie… Maxie." she said, nodding.

"Are you really trying to argue with her? You know who her mother is." Max laughed.

"Yep. That I know." I looked at Emmie and kissed her cheek "Thankfully she’s just as adorable as her mum, that saves her."

"Look at you, turned into a big, old softie." Max laughed when Emmie looked at him, a curious look on her face.

"Softie Maxie?"

"No, your daddy, girlie. He’s the softie!"

"No. Maxie softie. Charlie? Down." Emmie turned and looked at me, when she spotted Lizzie a few steps away. I sat her down and looked at her.

"Straight to mum, princess, okay? No detours!"

"Staight to mama." she nodded and bolted off.

I watched her hug Lizzie’s leg who bent down, picking her up. Seeing Lizzie back in a race suit, our daughter on her hip, made me feel all sorts of things and when Max started to laugh next to me, clapping my back I couldn’t stop the grin forming on my lips.

"Oh you’re so down bad for these two…"

"Oh yes… yes I am."

I watched the replay of the final overtake on the screen, Max next to me chuckling.

"Not gonna lie, after that move, I’m not even mad that you won." he said and I wiped my face with a towel.

"I had to try it, could’ve gone wrong as well…" I shrugged a little.

"Not today, you had an extra lucky charm with you." he nodded towards the screen, showing Lizzie with Emmie, wearing her little Ferrari hoodie, in her arms, standing right under the podium.

"Yeah… how could I not win with her around." I smiled.

"Little unfair advantage…" Oscar joked.

"Make your own lucky charm then." Max laughed.

"Hell no. I’m not ready for that!"

"Believe me. You’ll never be, it just works out magically…" I smiled when he was called out on the podium, followed by Max.

I took one last deep breath and stepped out, the cheering of the crowd almost deafening. But when I stepped onto the highest podium, I looked down. Lizzie and Emmie. Both smiling. Both beautiful. Both cheering louder than anyone else.

"DADDY! DADDY!" I heard her sweet voice carrying all the way up to me, almost jumping out of Lizzie’s arms.

I waved at her, blew her a kiss and her smile got even bigger.

"MY DADDY IS WINNER!" she continued and I felt tears well up. Happy tears.

Win or not today. I already won in life. Big time.

May 2027:

Emmie sat up and looked towards the door, her face lighting up.

"Dada!" she looked at me with her big eyes, clapping excitedly as soon as she heard Charles voice.

"Yes, baby girl, dada is home!" I smiled and she giggled happily, scrambling up on her feet, takings some cautious steps towards the door.

"Dada, I comes!" she screeched and made her way to the door.

I laughed and followed her into the hallway where I saw Arthur kneeling down opening his arms, Emmie slowly waddling towards him. The look on her face changed and she scrunched her nose adorably, realising that something wasn’t right. I heard her sigh and shaking her head slightly.

"You not dada." her voice full of disappointment.

"No, Emmie girlie, I’m not dada." Arthur chuckled "Can I still get a hug from my favourite niece?"

"Only niece." Charles said, appearing behind his brother and Emmie’s face lit up instantly.

"Dada!" she screeched happily, bolting towards her dad, ignoring Arthur’s open arms entirely.

"Ouch…" he mumbled and got up, watching how Charles picked up our little girl.

"Hey baby girl." he smiled at her but Emmie cupped his cheeks, studying his face intently, as to make sure that it was really her dada. Charles grinned, letting his baby girl turn his head to all sides.

"You dada!" she smiled after a while and Charles nodded, kissing her chubby cheeks. Emmie giggled and threw her little arms around his neck, cuddling him.

"Yes, I’m dada. I missed you so much, my little princess." Charles whispered, hugging her close, when Emmie pulled away, pointing at Arthur.

"You not dada!" she said accusatory and he sighed.

"No, Emmie, I’m not dada."

"You Arthie!" Emmie smiled a little and he nodded "My Arthie."

"Your Arthie."

"Dada… Arthie kissie." she looked at Charles with her big eyes and he laughed, walking towards his brother, so that Emmie could lean over, kissing Arthur’s cheek "Hi, my Arthie." she smiled and Arthur kissed her head in return.

"Only your Arthie." he smiled.

"But not dada." Emmie shrugged her shoulders, looking at Charles, smiling adorably.

"No. Not dada, I get it." Arthur shook his head and I laughed.

"Don’t be offended, as soon as Charles comes in, I’m forgotten as well. She’s such a daddy’s girl."

"Just like her mum, she’s crazy for me, what can I say?" Charles laughed, walking up to me, kissing me "Hi, cara mia. You look gorgeous today... you’re glowing!"

"Mama pwetty." Emmie chirped and Charles nodded.

"Mama super pretty, just like my little Emmie." he cooed at her, making her chubby cheeks turn pink "And now you’re blushing just like your mama." she giggled and hid her face in his neck and he sighed contently "You have no idea how happy I am to be back home."

I woke up from Emmie’s faint crying, hastily scrambling up, just to see that Charles was already leaving the room. I sat up, switching the light on, listening into the now quiet penthouse. A couple of moments later, the soft thuds of Emmie’s steps towards our bedroom made me smile. She poked her head around the corner, looking into the room, sighing happily when she saw me and then bolted straight for the bed. I pulled her up, sitting her in my lap and tugged some wild strands of hair out of her face, behind her ears.

"What is it princess? Did you have a bad dream?" I cooed and she nodded.

"Bad fishies…" she mumbled and I kissed her forehead "They meanies."

"What did the bad fishies do?"

"Didn’t lets me play."

"No! How rude!" I gasped and she nodded.

"Emmie?" Charles looked through the door and then smiled "Hey, I was looking for you. I’ve got your princess cup…" he walked over, handing her her little cup and she grabbed it happily, drinking some water "Come on. I’ll get you back to bed and then I’ll tell you what to do next time those fishies are mean!" he held out his hand but Emmie cuddled up into my chest.

"Nu-uh…" she shook her head a little, handing me her cup and I put it down on the night stand.

"Nu-uh?" Charles repeated and she pulled away, sliding down my lap, onto the bed.

"I sleeps here." Emmie patted the mattress next to her, already making herself comfortable.

"Yeah?" Charles asked and she nodded, pulling the blanket up.

"Lightses off." she said and I had to chuckle "Pwease?"

"Can I get in bed before mum switches off the light? I don’t want to stub my toe…" Charles walked around the bed, laying down "Alright." he pulled up the blanket and snuggled into the sheets before he pulled Emmie over, cradling her against him, making her giggle.

"Lightses off now?" her voice muffled.

"Lightses off now." Charles confirmed and I switched off the light, scooting a little closer.

"Good night, my cute little Emmie." I whispered against her head, kissing her.

"Nighty mama." she yawned and Charles kissed her forehead "Nighty dada."

"Good night, my princess." he whispered and then looked up, smiling at me "Good night, my queen."

July 2027:

Pregnant. The second test showing the same result. The mood swings, stomach bugs, my overly emotional state at times, it all made sense now.

"Whats dis?" Emmie asked, looking at the test in my hand "Is it toy?"

"No girlie, no toy…" I breathed out and she scowled a little.

"Why no toy?"

"Because not everything is a new toy for you."

"Dada always buys toys…"

"Yeah, because dada can’t resist your puppy eyes!" I chuckled, looking down at her.

"New puppy for Emmie?"

"No. Not a new puppy for you. It’s- umm well it’s… it’s something for mum and dad." I smiled at her "But you know what? It’s not a toy, but you’ll be able to play with it still in some time…"

She happily clapped her hands, beaming up at me.

"Tank you Mama for new toy."

"Not a toy, Emmie." I leaned down, cupping her cheek "A little brother or sister…"

"You’re pregnant?"

I flinched and looked up at Charles standing in the bathroom door frame, wide eyed, looking at me.

"Umm…" I grabbed the pregnancy tests and handed him the two sticks "Yeah…"

"We’re having another baby?" Charles breathed out, his eyes wandering between the tests in his hand, me and then Emmie on the floor.

"Looks like it…" I said quietly "Is that okay? I mean-… we talked about it… but never about the when…"

"It’s perfect, cara mia…" he stepped closer, cupping my cheeks "We’re having another little one…" he kissed me and Emmie got up, pinching his leg.

"Want kissie too." she pouted and Charles picked her up, tickling her belly.

"You’re going to be a big sister, princess. Are you excited? You’re getting a little brother or sister!" he cooed at her kissing her chubby cheeks.

"Big sis-sissie?" she tilted her head a little.

"Big sister, munchkin." I said slowly.

"Big sista…" she repeated and I smiled.

"That’s it. Well done pretty girl." Charles kissed her cheek again "You’re going to be an amazing big sister, I just know it!"

"The bestest!" she chirped.

"The best, girlie. It’s just the best."

"Na-uh… bestest." she shook her head and cuddled into Charles chest "Bestest, bestest, bestest."

"Okay… bestest is it- for now." he said and Emmie giggled, kissing his cheek, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Emmies always right." she said and I laughed.

"She’s 100 per cent your daughter!" Charles and I said in unison and then laughed even more.

"Daddy, down pwease." Emmie said and Charles sat her down "Arlooo… me’s a be big sista…" she shouted, running away.

"Ready for another one?" I asked and Charles grabbed me by the waist, pulling me close.

"Another little trouble maker? I can’t wait… I think we can handle two…" he kissed me and then leaned his forehead against mine "I love you, cara mia. You, Emmie and the little one in your belly… I can’t wait for another baby…"

"Then I call the doctor for an appointment…" I whispered and he nodded.

"I want to be here for the first ultrasound…" Charles whispered back and I smiled.

"I’ll make sure of it… even if it might take a little longer then." I pecked his lips and he smiled.

"And there… oh there they are!" the nurse said and my eyes widened.

"They?" I asked and Charles looked confused.

"Yes, here we have baby number one and here is baby number two. Congratulations, you’re having twins!" the nurse smiled.

"Twins?" Charles repeated.

"Yes, Mr. Leclerc, you and your wife are having twins!" she nodded.

"How?" he asked and the nurse laughed.

"Happened the same way like it did with your daughter…" she chuckled and got up "I’ll leave you alone. If you’re dressed come up to the front desk."

"Charles, hey? Pretty boy, are you alright?" I asked as Charles sat next to me, visibly panicking.

"Twins, cara mia! Twins! I barely kept Emmie alive! How am I supposed to take care of two babies at the same time?" he said with a worry laced voice.

"Did I miss something?" I chuckled and Charles looks at me confused "Am I leaving and you’re alone with them? Besides, 'barely kept Emmie alive'? Charles you were born to be a dad! You were so very good at it, you know how jealous I was at times!"

"Yeah for absolute no reason…" he rolled his eyes a little and I sighed.

"We both did good, okay? Emmie turned out just great and with these two it will be just the same…" I cupped his cheek, rubbing circles on it "It’s going to be fine… okay?"

"Twins, cara mia… can you believe it?" he whispered and I sighed a little.

"I’m going to get so huge… blue whale like…" I mumbled.

"Beautiful. You’re going to be so freaking beautiful. Like you always are, just with a little more-…"

"… fat on the ribs and basically everywhere?" I groaned.

"Hey, stop that!" he pinched my waist "I wanted to say just with a little more of that gorgeous glow you had when you were pregnant with Lizzie… you’re going to be the most beautiful girl out there cara mia… you and Emmie of course." he kissed me and I had to smile.

"Three little rascals…"

May 2031:

"Why do you look so nervous?" Lizzie asked and I shook my head slightly "She’ll be fine…"

"How do you know?"

"Because she’s our daughter?" she chuckled and I rolled my eyes "She’ll be fine." she said again, cupping my cheek "You taught her everything she needs to know."

"I hope so…" I said underneath my breath and watched as the race director waved the flag, signalling for the race to start.

I closed my eyes and took one last deep breath before I watched the race unfold before our eyes. Emmie was fearless as well as ruthless, making up 5 positions in the first few corners.

"Fucking hell…" Arthur let out next to me, his eyes widening in horror when he heard the loud gasp from Elio on his shoulders.

"Arthi said bad word!" he chirped and I glared at Arthur.

"Yes Arthur, you said a very bad word!"

"Fucking hell!" Enzo said proudly, leaning his back against Lizzie, swinging his dangling legs back and forth.

"Enzo!" Lizzie warned him and he rolled his eyes groaning "Mister!"

"Fucking hell…" he repeated and Arthur mouthed an apology towards me.

"Enzo Doetterer-Leclerc. Stop it." I picked him up from the banister he was sitting on, making him look at me "No bad words. And no bad attitude."

"Yous boring." he mumbled, poking my cheek "Arthi funny."

"Nope, little man. I said a bad word. We don’t say bad words. Mum and Dad are right." Arthur tried it and Enzo sighed.

"Yous boring too."

"And you’re a little menace." I tickled his sites, making him giggle.

"Stop! Paps stop!" he laughed but I kept going "Not saying bad wordses again! Pomis!"

"You promise me?" I stopped, looking at him and he nodded.

"Pomis."

"Okay, now let’s watch your sister…"

"… winning her first race…" Lizzie finished and I followed her look, watching Emmie starting her last lap, a huge gap between her and the rest.

The moment Emmie crossed the finish line and stopped her kart, she jumped out, running towards us, happily screaming.

"I won! I won! Did you see that? I wooon!" she pulled her helmet off, hairs standing up in all directions "I WON!"

"You did amazing, Ems!" Arthur pinched her cheek a little and she chuckled.

"Did you see that?" Emmie looked at me and I nodded, hugging her.

"You were amazing princess!"

"We’re so proud of you!" Lizzie bend down, kissing her cheek "So, so proud."

Emmie smiled and wiped her face with a towel Lizzie handed her and then grinned.

"I kicked the boys asses." she chuckled and Lizzie pressed her lips into a thin line, trying her best not to laugh "They didn’t even had a chance."

"You’re a menace too." I said and Arthur laughed.

"Look what you guys did. Created 3 little menaces to the society." he nudged my shoulder.

"That we did."

May 2033:

I watched the twins getting into their race gear. Both with a big smile on their faces, chatting overly excited with Arthur and Pops.

"Dad?" Emmie poked my side and I looked down at her "Mummy is looking for you. She’s talking to Maxie."

"Please tell me you said Maxie to him…" I chuckled and she grinned "Good girl. Go help your brothers we’ll be there any minute." I kissed her head and she sauntered off, pinching her brothers as soon as she was close enough.

I looked around, finding Lizzie and Max standing at the exit, talking away.

"Hi Maxie." I said, chuckling when he rolled his eyes.

"Your kids can call me that, you? Definitely not."

"Oh come on, Maxie. Don’t be a party pooper."

"Lizzie, tell your husband to stop." Max looked at her and she just held up her hands.

"I didn’t want to get dragged in between you almost 30 years ago, I don’t want to get dragged between you now. You two are big boys. Behave." she chided and I laughed.

"I’ll tell you something. I’m only allowed to call you Maxie if I win the title this year, equalling with your 5 titles."

"Deal." Max said with not hesitation and I cocked an eyebrow "Mate your car is… well it’s not shit like at some seasons in the past… god just think back at 2023-…"

"Or 2020!" Lizzie added.

"My point is. 8 races in and you won how many? One? Only Monaco… I mean…" he shrugged.

"Just out of spite I have to win now." I said and Lizzie laughed.

"Look what you made him do…"

"You should’ve just retired like me last season." Max said, scratching his chin but I shook my head.

"No, I could feel that I have one more title in me. And I’ll win it, to prove you wrong. And then I’ll call you Maxie all the damn time." I punched his arm and he laughed.

"Alright. If you say so… for now I want to see our boys race. Let’s go." he said and I nodded, taking Lizzie’s hand.

"Let’s just hope these boys are not like you two…" she chuckled and Max and I looked at her "What? You were track terrors… and whoever got caught in between you two? Yeah no…"

"You were worse than us!" I chuckled and Max nodded.

"Yeah… if all, we have to hope that they are not like you!" he said and Lizzie glared at us "Oh… there it is, the Lizzie-death-glare… I wish I could say I’m not scared but… that would be a lie."

"Yeah, now imagine being married to her!" I said and Lizzie pinched my side.

"If you boys are ready now? There are 3 boys about to race and I don’t want to miss that…" she stomped away and I sighed.

"You know that I’ll have to pay for that back at home…" I chuckled and Max laughed, following Lizzie.

I sat down next to Lizzie on the bleachers, Emmie, Arthur and Juergen in front of us. Max sat down next to us and we watched excitedly the race start. Enzo leading into turn 1.

"He’s really good." Max commented and I smiled proudly.

"That he is."

"Just like his dad…" Lizzie said, and I threw my arm around her shoulder pulling her close.

"And like his mum!" I kissed her cheek, watching Enzo increasing the gap "But damn he’s fast…"

"That’s because he’s fearless… look, he’s almost not braking at all in the corners…" Arthur said.

He was right. Enzo was fearless, going into corners almost at full speed, dive bombing later than anyone I’ve ever seen. He won the race by such a big margin that he already had parked his kart and got out when Max’ son, Eric, parked behind him, followed by Elio.

"What a race…" Max clapped his hands and got up, and we walked down to our sons "Arthur is right, you know? Enzo is fearless…"

"He is. Not sure I like that…" I replied and he chuckled a little.

"Yeah… I feel you…"

"But then again. If he continues like this? He could make it pretty far…" I said as we stepped on the track, Enzo, Eric and Eli joking around.

"Yeah, if he wants to." Max said, taking Eric’s helmet "Hey buddy, good race."

"Yeah, couldn’t catch Enzo though… he’s crazy…" Eric said and Enzo chuckled, handing me his helmet "You drive into the corners without braking!"

"That’s how you win!" Enzo shrugged his shoulders and I chuckled.

"Or end up in a wall." Elio said and his brother rolled his eyes.

"It won’t happen, your brother is not stupid." I said and Lizzie chuckled next to me.

"Yeah… he’s not his dad…" she said and Max and Arthur began to laugh.

"Very funny…" I rolled my eyes when the race director waved at us "Boys, you’re needed…"

I ruffled the boys hair and they ran off, stepping on the little makeshift podium. It was the seventh race of the season and already the sixth win for Enzo, who got better each week. He jumped excitedly up and down on the top step on the podium waving at us happily.

"Look at him… he reminds me so much of you…" Juergen said, standing next to me "Whenever you were on the podium you were super giddy and couldn’t contain your excitement."

"He loves it… racing, the speed, the adrenaline, winning… Elio on the other hand…" I began and he nodded.

"He loves it too, but for him it’s more a hobby… while for Enzo… it’s everything."

He was right. Elio had fun. He enjoyed karting. But apart from the track, his mind wasn’t occupied with karting, not like his brothers, who couldn’t stop talking about karting, or racing in general. Enzo lifted his trophy over his head and cheered happily, waving at us and I smiled.

"Look dad! Another one!" he screeched, running over to us.

"Soon you’ll need a whole trophy cabinet!" I said and he nodded.

"Or I can put them next to yours and mum’s trophies in your trophy room?" he looked at me with big eyes, when Elio joined us, smiling shyly, presenting his smaller trophy.

"I tell you what, both of you, and Emmie, get a shelf in our trophy room…" I said and they both beamed up at me, running off again.

"You have a trophy room? Like… seriously?" Max asked and Lizzie cocked an eyebrow.

"Where? In our penthouse? You mean your office/ studio/ storage room? Where all of our trophies are kept in boxes?" she asked and I laughed.

"I mean… we could turn it into a trophy room." I shrugged my shoulders and she laughed.

"Sure. You do that…" she replied and I groaned "Your idea, you told your kids, so you do that…"

"Pops?" I looked at Juergen who just chuckled.

"Sure, I’ll help you… and maybe you can put your fifth world champion trophy in at the end of the year…"

"Let’s hope so…"

June 2038:

I watched as Emmie practically beamed at him, hanging at his lips, soaking in every word he said. I groaned a little and Lizzie looked up from adjusting Enzo’s helmet.

"What?" she asked and followed my look, then she chuckled.

"Do you see how she looks at him? She’s too young for these kinda looks!" I muttered.

"Charles, she has a crush on him! At her age I already had a huge crush on you too!" she laughed but I shook my head.

"That’s different… we knew each other for almost 5 years at her age! And I wasn’t so… so…" I rambled and Lizzie laughed even more.

"So what?" she asked and I sighed.

"So slimy! God, look how he laughs!" I groaned.

"Enzo, you’re all good, why don’t you go to Arthur, he’ll help you with your kart…" Lizzie send Enzo away "Love? She’s 13. She has a crush on Nick. That’s it. They won’t get married tomorrow. So relax, please."

"He won’t marry her in 10 years either! Never. I don’t like that boy!" I huffed out and Lizzie rolled her eyes. Both watching as Emmie put her helmet on, walking towards Enzo and Arthur. "Alright. I’ll be right back."

"Charles! Be nice!" Lizzie whisper shouts at me as I made my way over to Nick, but I just waved her off. The boy was about to grab his helmet as I grabbed it first, handing it to him.

"Here you go…" I said and Nick made big eyes.

"Th-thank you Mr. Leclerc…" he stuttered and I smiled at him. As he put his helmet on and sat down in his kart I crouched down next to him.

"That’s a nice kart you’re having. Looks fast." I said with an overly friendly voice.

"My dad and uncle worked on it together." he said nervously and I nodded.

"I saw you talking to Emmie, yeah, you know, she’s a tough girl. Ruthless on track. Very talented. Fast." I stated casually, checking his engine out "But you see, no matter how old she is, she’ll always be my little princess… and if everyone were to hurt her, make her sad, god forbid, break her heart? Make her cry… oh well."

"I don’t know what you mean… Emmie is… she’s great… but I didn’t…" he began to ramble but I just held up my hand, making him stop abruptly.

"What I’m saying, Nick, is… that’s a really nice kart you’re having… if you want to keep it that way… you better be as sweet as honey to my Emmie…" I smiled at him and got up "Because during these karting races accidents happen so fast…" I gently closed his visor "Good luck, Nick!" I said loudly and Lizzie looked over, smiling at me.

She didn’t have to know everything that I’m doing.

July 2037:

I watched as the kids cuddled him, one by one. Scratching his ears. Showering him with kisses.

"What did the doctor say?" Lizzie whispered and gently stroked by back, holding my hand.

"He won’t make the night. He said we should give him all his favourite treats…" I answered, voice broken and hoarse.

"I can stay with you? Lorenzo and Charlotte can pick up the kids and I stay with you and then we’ll go tomorrow together…" she began but I shook my head.

"You should be with them, they shouldn’t be alone…" I whispered and Lizzie nodded, kissing my cheek, wiping away some stray tears.

She walked down the lawn, sat down next to the kids and cuddled Arlo. His ears immediately stood up, of course, his mum was there. After a while they all said their final goodbyes, coming back in, Emmie hugged me immediately.

"You’ll stay with him, right? He won’t be alone?" she cried and I nodded.

"He won’t be alone, no. Not a single moment." I kissed her head and the twins squeezed right into our hug.

"Will he be in pain?" Elio’s voice barely above a whisper.

"No, little one. The doc gave him some medicine. He won’t feel anything. He will fall asleep…" I began and Enzo cried out.

"And then he won’t wake up anymore?" he asked and I nodded.

"He won’t." I swallowed hard and Lizzie gave Arlo one last kiss, then walked inside.

"We have to go now, come on. Dad will take care of our good boy." her voice was laced with tiny sobs. The kids slowly pulled away and I kissed them one by one on the forehead as they headed into the foyer, grabbing their bags.

"Will you be okay?" Lizzie whispered, pulling me into a tight embrace and I felt tears streaming down both our faces.

"Yeah… I’ll see you tomorrow…" one last kiss and she left with the kids.

I took a deep breath and walked outside, sat down next to Arlo on the soft lawn, the setting sun shining softly above us. He held up his head, tilting it a little and it reminded me of the day where I brought him home to our old flat. How I couldn’t tame him and knew that he would be a piece of work. All those years ago. Lizzie’s eyes, when she saw him, lighting up. The tears she cried. Happy tears. So many happy tears. The moments when Lizzie was pregnant first with Emmie, later with the twins. How protective Arlo was. Always looking out for his mum. Always putting his head on her belly. I scratched him behind his ears and he closed his eyes. Laying his head in my lap.

"Good boy. My Arlo. You can rest now. You took care of your mum and the kids whenever I couldn’t be here. Thank you, my sweet boy. I love you." I leaned down, kissing his head. I could hear his breathing becoming more shallow with every breath he took. I kept on stroking his soft fur. Giving him belly rubs. Kissing his head. Thinking about all the memories our little fur baby gifted us with. "I will miss you, Arlo. I love you. So much!" I whispered after a while and looked down. Watching closely. He wasn’t breathing anymore. Realising that he was gone "Goodbye, my Arlo."

September 2041:

"What’s up?" I asked, looking at Charles who just walked in "You look like you’ve seen a ghost?"

"That was John… he offered me the position as director of the FDA… starting next season…" Charles said and Enzo looked up from his iPad.

"Oh wow! Congrats Charles!" I got up from the barstool and kissed his cheek.

"Thanks…" he mumbled and I looked at him.

"You don’t sound too happy? You don’t want to do it?" I asked, but he shook his head.

"No, of course I’m happy. It’s just…" he stopped and looked at Enzo.

"I have to work now even harder… or people will say that I only got into the FDA because of you…" he said and Charles nodded.

"But that’s ridiculous. Everyone can see how talented you are. Also, you’re only 13… you won’t make it into the FDA for the next two or three years anyways…" I said, patting his arm but he sighed.

"Your mum is right, Enzo. Also, just because someone is in the FDA, doesn’t grant them a seat in a car." Charles said and I nodded.

"Yeah… sure." Enzo smiled and got up, hugging him "Congrats dad." he then grabbed his iPad and left the kitchen.

"Hey? It’s going to be just fine, okay? He’s talented. One of the best, if not the best… no one will think otherwise." I snaked my arms around Charles neck, pulling him closer "I’m so proud of you, my pretty boy."

"Thanks, cara mia." he smiled and kissed him, then he leaned his forehead against mine and he exhaled loudly "He really is the best right now… if he continues like this? Prema is already interested, also Carlin…"

"See? And that all without your help…"

"It’s 50% of my DNA in him, so I’d say a little of my help…" he laughed and I shook my head.

"You’re an idiot… but a cute one… so, yeah… that’s fine…"

September 2044:

"Okay… what’s going on here?" Enzo asked after a while, looking at Elio then at me "You said that there is something important we need to talk about, now we’re sitting here for ten minutes and nothing happened… I could sit in the simulator, you know?"

"Enzo!" I glared at him and he rolled his eyes a little.

"Sorry. But-… whatever." he groaned, crossed his arms and leaned back in the sofa.

"Elio, sweetheart? What is it?" Lizzie asked him quietly, smiling at him and he looked at me.

"It’s okay, take your time…" I encouraged him and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes.

"Maybe not that much time, Nick is going to pick me up in… half an hour." Emmie said, looking at her phone.

"Nick?" I looked at her and Lizzie shook her head "And where are you and Nick going?"

"To Clara, she’s having a party with drugs and alcohol." Emmie rolled her eyes and I glared at her "We’re just going to the movies…"

"To the movies?" I repeated and she nodded.

"Charles? We’re here because of Elio, remember? So… focus." Lizzie said and I knew that tone.

"Can Elio then please speak up?" Enzo said and Emmie nodded.

"Yeah, I’m not done with my hairs yet…"

"Guys!" Lizzie and I said.

"I’m gay." Elio blurted out and the silence was loud.

He looked at me, then Lizzie, Emmie, both smiling, and lastly Enzo, who didn’t react at all.

"That’s wonderful, sweetheart. Thanks for telling us!" Lizzie got up and kissed his cheek, followed by Emmie, who hugged him.

"You’re damn brave, little bro." she chuckled and he smiled at her.

Enzo still didn’t react and I was about to say something, when Elio beat me to it.

"Zo?" he asked quietly.

"What? I thought you would tell us a secret or something?" Enzo replied and we looked at him.

"What do you mean?" Elio asked.

"You think I didn’t knew? We shared a womb, dumbass? I think I knew it before you knew it yourself. My point is. More girls for me, because now all the girls who like the tortured poet that is you, will come to me now… thanks for that, El." Enzo got up, clapped his brothers back and walked away "I’m in the sim… Singapore is next…"

"Unbelievable…" Emmie shook her head, kissing Elio’s cheek "Love you." then she was gone as well.

"Umm- I guess that’s it then?" Elio shrugged, following Emmie.

"That was…" I began but then shrugged.

"Well, they’re clearly your kids…" Lizzie chuckled "Or at least Enzo through and through…"

"Not gonna argue with that."

Monaco 2046:

"Why are you so nervous?" Emmie put down her headphones, watching Enzo anxiously replaying old videos from the Monaco Grand Prix "You know those streets better than anyone else? Dad used to drive the track with us almost daily when we were younger…"

"It’s not the same like in an F2 car! Especially after having 3 shitty races in a row… and after all it’s Monaco… not the easiest track for our family…" he mumbled and Charles rolled his eyes a little.

"Ooouuuhhh you touched there a sore spot, Enzo." I said and Charles glared at me "Oh don’t look at me like that."

"You should’ve never mentioned this stupid statistic…"

"First of all, I didn’t mention anything, it’s all over the internet and second of all, it’s not a statistic, it’s a curse-…" I began but he interrupted me.

"Curses don’t exist! You’re all too superstitious."

"Oh really? We are superstitious?" I cocked an eyebrow and our kids looked between us.

"Yeah, you are, curses don’t exist, stupid rituals or whatever don’t help… it’s just about you and the car and your abilities… nothing else!"

"Says the guy who wore red pants on every quali day because he wore red pants when he got his first pole."

"That was not because of that…" Charles protested but one look and he stopped.

"And then stopped wearing red pants on quail day because during a shitty season 2023, when nothing worked out for him he once didn’t wear red pants on quali day and got pole position… the next time he forgot them, he got pole position again and from then on he never wore red pants on quali day…"

"Whatever." Charles groaned and I had to chuckle.

"Just admit it, you were just as superstitious like the rest of us!"

"Nope." he shook his head.

"Oh come on dad, not even a little?" Emmie looked at him, big puppy eyes on full display.

"I mean… I just don’t believe in it…" he sighed.

"Maybe that’s the topic of my next podcast? Drivers and their rituals and superstitions?" she thought and I nodded.

"That would be interesting! You should talk to Arthur, he also had a weird ritual…" I smiled at Emmie and she already scribbled something down in her little notebook.

"Didn’t uncle Arthur also crash out in Monaco?" Elio asked, looking up from his phone and I nodded "But you didn’t? Not in F2 not in F1?… well maybe it’s just a Leclerc curse then… therefore Enzo you’re cursed."

"Okay, stop that now!" Charles rolled his eyes, glaring at me "Look what you’ve started!"

"Me? I didn’t start shit!" I said

"Language!" Enzo, Emmie and Elio said in unison, cackling away.

"Very funny…"

"Hey, you made us watch that old movie! What was it called? Aviators?" Elio asked.

"Avengers." Charles and I said and he grinned at me.

"Same thing." Elio mumbled.

"We kinda lose the plot here! Dad’s Monaco curse and Enzo shitting his pants driving here." Emmie wiggled her eyebrows at her little brother, who threw a bread roll at her.

"Enzo Doetterer-Leclerc! We do not treat food like that!" I reprimanded him.

"Sorry… but she’s egging me on! And it’s-it’s…" I saw how frustrated he was, but before I could react Elio already seemed to be having an idea.

"If it’s a Monaco curse and that only applies to Leclerc drivers… maybe you dropped the wrong last name then? Maybe for now you should go by Doetterer." he said matter of factly and I looked at Charles, his jaw clenched, a muscle ticking.

"If you want to drop my name, because you want to driver under your mums name? Fine by me. If you drop your name because of a stupid, not-existing curse… that’s something different…" he looked at Enzo who shrunk a little under his dad’s gaze.

"No one is dropping anyone’s name. You chose Leclerc, and I get it, shorter, easier to pronounce, the name of a five time world champion. Also 5 time winner of the Monaco Grand Prix! You studied the track, and now you get into your car and you focus on nothing else but the car and the track. Whatever happens then, happens." I said and Enzo sighed.

"I just want to make you guys proud…" he mumbled and Charles look softened, grabbing him by the shoulders.

"We are proud of you, Enzo! It’s not so easy coming fresh out of F3 and your fourth race in F2 is already Monaco, but you’ll manage, okay? And if not? That’s also not the end of the world… it took me years to even finish our home race…" he said and Enzo nodded slowly.

"It’s going to be fine, Enzo, you’ll see." I said and he got up.

"And if not, you’re just continuing a family tradition." Emmie laughed and walked away, dodging another bread roll.

"Don’t listen to her. Your mum is right, it’s going to be just fine." Charles smiled at Enzo who just sighed "Let’s watch the races together. Maybe I have some tips and tricks on what to do…"

"Rather on what not to do…" I chuckled quietly, a bread roll hitting me straight at the temple.

"You deserved that one…"

October 2046:

"Dad? What are you doing here?" he was surprised, I could tell.

"I wanted to see your work." I answered simply and he looked at me confused "Jo told me that you asked him for advice, what pictures to choose. And then I found the flyer in the rubbish bin. Crumpled."

"I mean, I know how busy you are with the FDA and Enzo in F2 now, preparing for F1 next season." he mumbled and I just shook my head.

"Elio, I’ll always make room for you and your passion. If I know about it…" I said and he nodded sheepishly.

"I know… it’s just that…" he began but then stopped.

"That what?" I asked and he sighed.

"I just thought that this is nothing that would interest you… I mean Emmie is studying sports journalism. Has her F1 podcast and blog, everyone loves her and she has so many subscriptions! Enzo is stepping right into yours and mums shoes, starting in F1 next year. And me? I’m not in any way like them. I like F1. As a fan to watch. But that’s it. I just thought that…" he said and now I sighed.

"You thought what? That I wouldn’t be proud of you, wouldn’t be interested in what you’re doing because it’s not F1 related?" I asked and he nodded and looked down "How many times do I have to tell you, that I’m proud of you, no matter what! Any passion of yours, is something I’m interested in, Elio."

He swallowed hard and looked up, then he turned a little, pointing behind him.

"Do you want to see my pictures?" he asked and I nodded excitedly.

"Did you know, when I was younger I was also really interested in photography! I just wasn’t as talented as you!" I said and he looked at me.

"I didn’t know that…" he replied and then pointed at the 5 pictures in front of us.

One showing Lizzie and me in our garden, another one was from Enzo as he was breezing past me and Emmie in the feature race of the last Monaco GP, the one in the middle a shot of an old F1 car engine, one from a wild and rough countryside, the last one a busy street in London, with Emmie in front, pointing at something.

"Wow Elio, these are amazing…" I whispered, taking a step closer.

The photographs were impressive. The colours. The contrast. The lighting. I loved every single one.

"Thanks dad… for being here…" Elio said after a while and I looked at him.

"This is what you should do, you know? I think you could be an amazing photograph…" I said and he smiled.

"Yeah… maybe I will one day…"

I left my office, heading downstairs when Stella, John Elkann’s assistant bumped into me.

"Sorry Stella, didn’t see you." I smiled apologetically.

"It’s fine Mr. Leclerc-…"

"Charles. I told you before, it’s just Charles…"

"Charles, of course. Umm do you have a minute?" she asked and I nodded.

"Sure, what’s the matter?"

"Mr. Elkann wants to talk to you. I sent you an invitation for a meeting next week, but we came here this morning on a whim and you know Mr. Elkann…" Stella smiled at me and I followed her.

"Yeah, if you can do it now, do it." I nodded "Do you know about what this meeting is?"

"Umm- I do… but it’s better if he tells you this…" she said shyly and I got nervous "Oh it’s nothing bad!"

"You sure? The big boss comes in just to chat?" I said and she smiled.

"You’ll see. He’s waiting for you." she knocked on the office door and opened it, letting me in.

"Charles, good to see you!" John got up from his chair and hugged me "How are you? The kids? Lizzie?"

"We’re all good, thanks." I smiled, still a little nervous.

"Enzo must be excited, now that he has a seat in F1 next year. It was only logical that we would want our best driver from the academy, soon to be F2 champion in our junior team in F1 next season."

"Yeah, he’s really excited. He is really grateful for this chance, I mean, we all are of course."

"He’ll make us proud, I have no doubt in that."

I smiled and nodded only.

"Okay, I make this quick, I don’t want you to have a heart attack. Charles, you did an amazing job as the director of the FDA, but now we think it’s time for someone new…" he began and I felt my stomach twisting "… because we would like you to step up and become the new team principal of Ferrari."

"Sorry what?" I was confused.

"We want you as team principal for the Scuderia Ferrari, starting next season."

"Me? As team principal? Ferrari. The F1 team?" I almost stuttered and he nodded.

"Yes. You’re the right one for the job. You know the team, the sport. You know how it works. We believe you’ll be amazing… so? What do you say?" John looked at me hopefully and I tilted my head a little.

"If I agree, I have one condition…" I said slowly.

"Of course. What is it?" he asked and I began to smirk.

"Monza. All black suit. All black car. And I mean all black. Not some weird grey patterns on black. Or some black car parts. All black. I’ve been deprived of it my whole career, when I wanted nothing more than to drive an all black car, wearing an all black suit…" I said and John looked at me for a moment before he laughed, leaning back in his chair.

"Oh how I remember the disappointment in your eyes when they showed you the suit for Monza 2025?-…"

"2024… and then 2027 again…" I added.

"… yeah. You hated the 2024 suit. And the livery…" he finished wiping tears away.

"I thought 2023 was bad… but that topped it I think…" I shrugged my shoulders.

"Alright Charles, Monza is black. But not every year, no? But the upcoming season for sure. Do we have a deal then?" he got up, buttoning his jacket close as I got up as well.

"We have a deal." I said shaking his hand.

"Well then it’s official, Charles Leclerc, new team principal of Scuderia Ferrari."

January 2047:

"Elio? There's a letter for you." I put it down in front of him, walking around the kitchen island "Are you coming to Enzo's first race?"

"Huh?" Elio looked up from the envelop in his hands "What?"

I chuckled a little, beginning to slice up some apples, watching him tilting his head a little reminding me of Charles.

"Are you coming to Enzo's first race? I know you're not that into F1 anymore, but I think Enzo wants you there.. it's also your dad's first race as team principal of Ferrari and I know for a fact that he would definitely love to have you there." I smiled at him, and he rubbed his neck, looking nervous "What's going on?"

"Oh umm-it's just… do you remember how I applied for the Parsons School of Design in New York? Studying there would be a dream, although... I mean, chances were little that they even consider me, comparing my photography to those of others? But... mum, they want me.. I'm in..." Elio whispered, and I dropped the knife "I mean... I applied there on a whim, I first need to cheek for scholarships because it's freaking expensive and-..." he began to ramble and I walked back around the island, stopping in front of him.

"I’m so proud of you, Elio. Wow! This is amazing!" I cupped his cheek, kissing it, watching him blush.

"Thanks mum, but it's like I said I have to check if they have scholarsh-…"

"You do know that your dad and I have a little money on the side, right?" I joked and he looked at me "You're going. No scholarship needed. It's noble from you, to think like that, but you don't need it. I'm sure, you would get a scholarship if you would apply for one, but someone might need it more than you..."

"Are you sure? It's expensive? Like really." Elio mumbled, and I laughed.

"Your dad is a 5 time Formula 1 world champion, Ferrari team principal, investor, founder and whatever of god knows what companies, I honestly lost count, and your mum, little old me, also managed to make a little fortune with clever investments and commercial deals and from driving 3 seasons in F1! So yes Elio, l'm sure. And even if not? We could always sell one or two of your dad's cars, I guess that would cover the tuition fees and everything else."

"Who wants to sell my cars for what?" Charles walked in, all sweaty, hair a mess.

"Elio has some big news..." I smiled at our son who nervously grabbed the envelop from the counter.

"Okay? Then shoot..." Charles opened the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water, looking at Elio.

"So umm-... I applied at some universities... and the Parsons School of Design, they have one of the best photography programs worldwide, they accepted me..." Elio said nervously and Charles eyes brightened in an instant.

"The Parsons School of Design in New York? Wow! Elio, I'm so proud of you! Incredible!" he exclaimed, storming over to our son, pulling him into a tight embrace "You worked so hard for this! You deserve this so much, son. I'm really, really proud of you."

"Okay, Mr. Sweaty, can you please take a shower and not smother your sweat all over our son? Thank you!" I pulled Charles away from Elio.

"Hey! I just ran 5 kilometres! Of course I'm sweaty!" he snaked his arm around my waist, pulling me closer "I have to stay in shape for you cara mia..." he then whispered, his warm breath fanning over my skin, eliciting goosebumps all over, before he kissed my jaw.

"Eww! Here are children! Behave for fucks sake!" Enzo walked into the kitchen, fake gagging "Things I don't want to see before breakfast? My parents making out in front of me like horny teenagers!"

"You're just jealous because I landed a pretty girl and you didn’t." Charles laughed, pinching my waist "I'm going to take a shower and tonight we're celebrating you Elio..." he ruffled Elio's hair and was about to leave when he stopped "I still don't know why you want to sell some of my cars?" he looked at me.

"And I don't know why we're celebrating Elio?" Enzo plopped down on the stool next to his brother, eating his cereals "What did you do?"

"You're brother was accepted at the Parsons School of Design..." I said and he made big eyes.

"Are you serious El? Fucking hell, that's one of the best schools! I know that because you talked about it for years now! Congrats little bro!" Enzo side hugged his brother who smiled shyly.

"Thanks, but hey, you're only 3 minutes older, Zo..." Elio rolled his eyes playfully.

"Semantics..." Enzo shrugged his shoulders and I continued cutting the apples.

"Hello? I still want to know why my cars are being sold?"

"It was because of the costs of the school. But don’t worry, I won’t touch your precious cars…" I chuckled and Charles tilted his head, coming closer.

"You could sell them all, just not the F40… that one is special…" he said and I rolled my eyes.

"It’s your favourite car, I know…"

"Yeah, that too… but you bought it for me… so no, that one won’t be sold ever." he whispered and then kissed me, before stepping away "I’m going to take a shower now."

"And I need to wash my eyeballs with bleach…" Enzo mumbled and I saw the mischievous look on Charles face.

"Care to join me under the shower, cara mia?" he said, looking at me challenging.

"Sounds like a good idea. It’s also good for our planet… it saves water…" I put the knife down, grabbed the plate with the apple slices and put it down in front of the twins "Eat your fruits kiddos."

"Let’s go pretty girl, let’s save our planet…" Charles grabbed my hand, pulling me with him.

"One day you have to pay for your children’s therapy!" Enzo shouted after us and we both laughed.

"That’s fine. We can sell a car for that."

Montreal 2047:

"Charles. Round 7 here in Montreal, 2 Ferrari wins, but also 2 Ferrari DNFs. What are your thoughts on the season so far?"

"I think we started out pretty well. The DNFs were unfortunate, but you have to put into account that one was due to a damage after a collision, so I’d say only our DNF in Bahrain, where we had a mechanical issue, is something we need to work on." I answered and knew already what the follow up question would be.

"The collision in Miami you mentioned, was between your driver and your son… how do you handle such a sensitive situation?"

"That’s simple. I don’t. Enzo is not my driver. He has a team principal who talks with him after the races. That’s not my job. My job as his father is to tell him he gave his all and it didn’t work out, the next time it will…"

"But he’s driving for your junior team, I’m sure you have a say as well?"

"No, I don’t. Not my team. Not my place to say something."

"So you don’t think, you should’ve said something to Enzo about his attempt to overtake your driver at a corner that simply isn’t made for that? Which caused your driver to retire from the race? Costing Ferrari precious and well needed points?"

"Again. That’s his team principals job. Not mine. I did my job as his dad and that’s it." I said with finality in my voice, hoping the reporter would understand that he wouldn’t get a different answer from me.

"Thank you, Charles."

I nodded and got out, already seeing Enzo and his group preparing for their press conference. He saw me and rolled his eyes a little and I shrugged my shoulders, walking off towards the Ferrari hospitality where Lizzie sat, going through some timetables and documents

"What a bitch!" her first words and I had to chuckle.

"What did you expect. The Spanish media never liked me… why would they start now." I sat down next to her "What’s all that?"

"That are Mira and Callie’s schedules for the next weeks… who would’ve thought that managing two Formula 1 driver and co-directing the F1 Academy was so difficult." she chuckled and I sighed.

"Yeah well… who would’ve thought that being the team principal of Ferrari would only be my secondary problem and my first one would be my son who’s not even driving for my team…"

"I’m sorry they ask you these kind of questions." Lizzie sat up, cupping my cheek "And I’m sorry that Enzo is a little… well he hates that he’s compared to you all the time, so he’s a little frustrated and you’re the one who…"

"I know. And I’m not even mad at him. I’m sorry for him. But more in a way like… I know what good of a driver he is, I mean… he didn’t win his championships for nothing, but F1 is different. The media is different, the expectations… everything. I just don’t want him to crack under all the pressure." I mumbled and Lizzie rubbed soothing circles on my cheek.

"He’ll manage, you’ll see. He just needs time… and a thick skin." she said and I nodded, right when I saw Enzo picking up his microphone and turned up the volume.

"Julia Andres, ESPN Spain, question for Enzo. Out of the 6 races of this season you already had 3 DNFs, and finished only once in the points. Do you think the criticism from other drivers such as Ward Benton or Paolo Vasquez is justified that you only have a seat in F1 because of your famous father?"

"Well, no it’s not justified, because I’m not just here because of my famous father… also because of my famous mother, who won in 3 Formula 1 seasons more races than Benton and Vasquez have won combined in over 11 seasons together." Enzo answered and some of the journalists laughed. Vasquez on the end of the right side of the sofa only clenched his jaw, glaring at him.

"So you don’t think it’s justified?"

"I worked my ass off to be here. I won every junior championship there is on the first attempt. Did I have it easier than others because I never had to think about the finances and never had to think about if I wouldn’t win the next race a sponsor might drop out and I wouldn’t have the money to continue? Yes. I know how privileged I am. I know that the chance that I have to race now in F1 is huge and I have to step up my game to prove that I deserve it. I know that better than anyone else. But to say I’m only here because of my famous last name? No. Not justified. Because right now my last name is more a curse than a blessing… everyone looks at my races, sees my name and asks themselves and that’s the son of Charles Leclerc and Lizzie Doetterer? So yeah… I know that my results aren’t promising, but I’m working hard on turning my season around…"

"Thank you Enzo…"

He smiled but I knew him better than anyone, I saw how defeated and frustrated he was, his shoulders tense.

"I want to go in there and hit them. All of them…" Lizzie was seething, seeing the pain in Enzo’s eyes.

"He handled that pretty well, better than I would have to be honest." I smiled a little and she nodded.

"Still. These kind of questions are unfair… and Benton and Vasquez? I want to hit them too…"

"It’s okay mama bear. I want to hit them too. Or run them over…" I joked and she chuckled a little, then threw all of her stuff into her bag "And now you’re leaving me to look after him… fair enough…" I got up.

"Mama bear has to look for her cub, no?" she laughed and kissed my cheek when she spotted something behind me and I turned around.

Between our motorhome and the Mercedes one all the drivers from the press conference and some more were standing huddled together, Enzo, Benton, Vasquez in the middle, looking at each other like they would kill one other any minute. I walked towards the exit and opened the door, but stopped when I heard the dispute.

"Just admit it, without your famous Dad, you wouldn’t even be here." Benton rolled his eyes.

"Yeah just that he’s a failed mini Leclerc, right?" Vasquez sneered.

"Mini Leclerc-Doetterer… and at least I’m having my parents last name, they weren’t ashamed of me�� can’t say that about you and your old man, never once world champion Carlos Sainz jr." Enzo smiled, everyone now staring at Vasquez "Oh right. I forgot. No one knew who your daddy was… well oops… now they know. Now they all know how you made it to F1… because let’s face it, without your dad and his influence in Williams, you wouldn’t be here… you didn’t even drive in any junior series. Straight from karting to F3 and then without a title nothing into F1. Where you drive now for 4 seasons, and only won one race because of a penalty and two disqualifications."

"I swear to god, Leclerc, shut the fuck up or…" Vasquez began when I cleared my throat, making all the drivers flinch.

"Charles." Marco, one of my drivers said and I looked at him "They were just about to go to our teams."

"Yeah… right." Benton said, pulling Vasquez with him, who glared at me.

"Tell your dad I said hi." I shouted after him and then turned around, only Enzo left, Lizzie behind me looking at him.

"Enzo Leclerc! Do you have anything to say?" she sounded mad, but there was something else in her voice, and if I wasn’t mistaken it sounded a little like pride.

"I’m sick of them asking me the same questions again and again! I’m sick of everyone saying I’m only here because of you!" he said looking at us but I shook my head.

"You can’t listen to that, Enzo. You have to ignore it. They will use that against you again and again."

"I know, okay? But it sucks still." he mumbled and Lizzie walked towards him.

"I know Enzo, believe me when I arrived in F1 I had to go through the same… but just because they have this opinion of you, doesn’t mean that they’re right, okay? Do the talking on track. That’s what I did. And your dad as well… just don’t give a fuck about them."

"Hey!" I pinched her side and she laughed "No curse words!"

"Whatever." she rolled her eyes.

"What I’m saying is, you made it this far because of your talent. You’re a damn good driver and it’s time that you finally see that yourself, don’t give a fuck about others, and just focus on yourself. Your race. Your team. You. Don’t listen to anything else." Lizzie nudges his shoulder and I nodded.

"Your mum is right. Always when I had a shitty season and I was too much in my head everything got worse, but the moment I stopped caring about others and started focusing on myself, it was always like the penny dropped and I was able to turn the season around."

"You know how uncle Danny always said fuck 'em all? Well… that’s the kind of attitude you need now… but please stay within the rules…" Lizzie chuckled and Enzo nodded.

"Alright… you’re right. I have to focus on myself." he said and hugged Lizzie, then me "I’m sorry dad, but Marco and Lucas won’t win this weekend. It’s my turn…" he winked once and then walked off.

"Well, I guess you have to talk to your drivers…" Lizzie said and I cocked an eyebrow "They have to watch out for Enzo. If he’s like you? He’s a menace and will force them into making mistakes that he will use to overtake…"

"That was more your field of expertise…"

"Congrats Zo! Damn what a race! Emmie and I woke up the entire hotel." Elio said and Emmie next to him nodded.

"You really kicked some asses today. I’m proud little bro. Seriously. The face of Vasquez and Benton? Priceless. I swear. I can’t wait to talk about it in my next podcast. You should be one of my guests!" Emmie said excitedly and Enzo smiled from ear to ear.

"If I can say whatever I want to? Yes. No PR trained answers. Just what I have to say…"

"Enzo…" Lizzie mumbled and I laughed.

"Maybe tone it down a little, you still have to race for a while with these guys…" I said and Enzo shrugged his shoulders a little.

"How’s New York? The campus? Tell me everything!" he asked and Elio and Emmie began to describe every single detail of their trip.

I looked at Lizzie, how she smiled at our kids, squeezed into Enzo’s side so she could see Emmie and Elio on the screen. She looked up and tilted her head a little and I nodded towards the door and got off the sofa, Lizzie following me.

"What’s up?" she asked and I grabbed her by the waist, kissing her "As much as I like that, something is going on in here…" she tapped at my forehead with her fingers and I smiled.

"Marco will retire at the end of this season…" I began and her eyes widened "John wants Enzo, but only if he proves himself… today was… today was amazing, but he needs more weekends like this."

"And you doubt that he will have them?"

"No! God, cara mia!" I said immediately, shaking my head "I just don’t want to put him under too much pressure. You know? But I also want him to race every weekend like today. If he continues like this? He’ll be driving for us next season."

"You won’t tell him, right?" Lizzie asked and I shook my head.

"I wasn’t even allowed to tell you… but we have no secrets so…"

"Don’t worry, I won’t tell him. He will do just fine, you’ll see. He doesn’t need our help. Not anymore. And if so, he knows he can always come to us…"

"You’re right. He’ll manage." I kissed her cheek and looked at the sofa, where Enzo was telling Elio and Emmie everything about his final overtake of Marco.

He would make it. He would prove that he deserves a seat at Ferrari. He would do just great.

Summer 2048:

"Here, cara mia." Charles handed me a glass of wine and sat down next to me "What are you thinking about?"

"Oh nothing…" I said quietly, but he pinched my side.

"We’re married for almost 23 years, together for more than 25 years, I know you for over 40 years… I know when something is going on in there… so spill the beans…" he pulled me into him, kissing my temple.

"It’s just… Charles we’re 50… our kids are successful young adults. Emmie’s podcast is in the top 10 of the most influential Formula 1 podcasts, one of Elio’s photographs was used in the newest National Geographic magazine and Enzo just won his first race in Formula 1… isn’t it crazy?" I said and Charles was quiet for a while, before he chuckled "What?"

"It’s crazy… you’re right. But it’s wonderfully crazy, don’t you think? Our kids are truly amazing, they go their own way, are their own people, but never forget where they’re coming from…" he said and I nodded.

"Who would’ve thought that this would be our life one day…"

"Me. From the moment I realised that I was in love with you. This was what I was hoping for. You and me. 3 kids. A wonderful house you made into our home. That was the life I was dreaming of…" he whispered and I turned a little, looking at him "I told you before that from the moment I met you, you were intertwined in my brain, my thoughts, my mind, every fibre of my body. You were it for me. I know I took a stupid detour, but at the end of the day it was just that, a detour, just a stupid bump in the road to my destiny. You."

"I always loved how you were able to say things like that out of nowhere…" I smiled at him and he chuckled.

"You’re the biggest inspiration there is." he cupped my cheeks and kissed me, time stopped and for a moment it felt like our very first kiss all those years ago in Miami, after I crashed out, after Charles confessed his feelings for me. I opened my eyes and looked at him. The little freckles on his skin, the gold speckles in his eyes. The boyish smile with his gorgeous dimples. For a moment it all came back and I saw the young boy I fell in love with all those years ago before my eyes.

"I love you, Charles Leclerc."

"I love you, Lizzie Doetterer-Leclerc."

"It’s you and me. Against the world…"

"…always."

The End ♥️

And that’s it. Again, thank you all for reading. It’s been one hell of a ride. ♥️

(Also, congrats Charles on WINNING Monza!!!)

Please leave a comment/ like/ reblog/ message and tell me how you liked it! I'm dying to hear your thoughts!

Last but not least, English is not my first language and although I tried my best: please excuse any mistakes I made!

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