#a truly unbreakable people

[oltammefru]

Some dots to connect:

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

Between Sonic and Tails, who do you think would end up confessing their feelings first?

Good question. Definitely depends upon the iteration and context, but for the most part (at least in my head) getting either of them to confess (and in some cases even ruminate on their feelings and admit to themselves the nature of them) is hard

Like, for example, I personally think that game!Sonic (and post sgw Archie Sonic and IDW Sonic) kind of take Tails' presence for granted in a way. To them, it will always be the two of them (Sonic and Tails). The ideal future is that they keep on hanging out and still fight side by side sometimes and that even if Sonic goes it alone he can always come back from his adventures to chill with Tails or crash at his place. In other words, in Sonic's fantasies of the future, things like getting married or raising families or anything like that are just kind of tacked on as something that will just kind of be true at best and ignored at worst. If he even considers a future where things are a bit different because Tails is together™ with someone, to him it's only natural that Tails would be in his life the same way and nothing would really change. And so to that end, even if Sonic DOES realize his own feelings, he probably wouldn't see any good reason to confess. It would make things more complicated, especially if Tails doesn't share those feelings, and he doesn't have to worry anyways because Tails will always prioritize the two of them and be at his side, right?

And then it's even worse for versions of Sonic more akin to, say, pre sgw Archie Sonic. This is because in addition to the already existing unwillingness to change things and the assumption that he doesn't ever have to worry about no longer being the center of Tails' world (or a major figure in it at least), there is some palpable internalized homophobia within that hedgehog with an added complexity. For Archie Sonic in particular, I think even if he realized that he wanted to even be with Tails forever in a strictly non brothers fashion, he would feel mixed feelings about that (perhaps that coming out about it would ruin things or make things weird, or that getting together with Tails at any point would deprive him of "normalcy", or that he'd pressured Tails into it, or even just weird or a bit creepy).

As for Tails, I actually think that most iterations of him have figured their feelings out by this point. In all honesty, there's only so long you can go on fixating on someone and admiring them, and structuring your life around them before you realize your "I want to be with them" isn't just about simply admiring them. It's just that Tails' main obstacle to me is the avoidance of ruining anything.

On one hand, there's Sonic's avoidance to being tied down. We've seen time and time again Sonic rejecting people who pursue him openly or looking uncomfortable with them. Archie Sonic in particular made it clear that this version of Sonic couldn't stand the idea of not being able to freely be himself or adventure. He couldn't stand the idea of having to tie himself down and taking on extra responsibilities and expectations simply because he's with someone. I can see Tails being afraid that by confessing, he could scare Sonic away. If he happened to confess and Sonic thought Tails meant to stifle him or Sonic felt uncomfortable by that open expression, wouldn't that risk their relationship? Even if Sonic wouldn't go so far as to drop him as a best friend (which he never would do that for the record), there's still real fear in making things weird or different between himself and Sonic.

And that feeds right into the other hand. On the other hand, Sonic probably doesn't see him that way, right? Though Sonic is special to him and Sonic also cares for him back, at best Sonic has never thought about it and never will, or he just wouldn't feel the same (in Tails' eyes). With Archie Tails in particular, even if Tails gets over his own interlized homophobia about it and recognizes his feelings for what they are, he probably feels that there's no way to be anything different than a brother to Sonic, and thus confessing would be a terrible move. If Tails confesses and Sonic doesn't feel the same, it also runs the risk of making things weird between them or (in Tails' eyes) ruining it.

All this to say that my general opinion is that as long as things stay exactly the way they are forever, even if they start spending even more time together, I find it hard to believe either of the two will opt into confessing on purpose

But, with that being said, a confession is not an impossibility. I don't think either of the two are immune to being put in a position where they finally confess (and no, with the state of things for them, simply saying "I love you" will not count as a confession). And if we barred situations where like. They're literally about to die or one can do anything they like without the other (or themselves) remembering the outcome, I actually can give you an answer

And honestly, if one of them had to confess eventually, I believe it would probably end up being Sonic.

Why? Well, out of the two, Tails actually sits back and thinks about his emotions more often than not. I think even before he figured out the exact nature of his feelings he knew he felt very strongly for Sonic. But, no matter which media you're touching upon, I feel as if Tails fits into that archetype of "person who has been in love with their best friend since literally forever, but knows their best friend will never feel the same". The longer Tails ruminates on these feelings, the stronger he feels them, the more he watches Sonic (especially as someone who cares about plenty of people other than him), the more time he spends with Sonic, the less incentivized he feels to actually confess. Especially if Sonic would never feel the same, the best Tails can hope for is that things stay the same between them and Sonic never replaces his role.

Or in short, Tails is so in his head about it at this point, it's very hard to convince him that confessing is ever a good idea or necessary.

But while Tails is more obviously attached to Sonic, Sonic is much less obviously attached to Tails and other people as a whole. With him being "free as the wind" and the kind of figure he is, he kind of benefits from having the persona of a guy who doesn't need his friends but (nevertheless) can be assisted by them. He probably seems cool for being so strong and independent while equally caring that people live. But this doesn't mean Sonic doesn't have attachments (far from it). Rather, for Sonic, his attachments to others seem to naturally grow. And the more time he spends with them, the more he grows used to their presence. And especially with someone like Tails, who has been around as his companion the longest, he doesn't sit around long enough to consider that Tails would ever leave his side. Once he grows used to that person, he doesn't have to recognize his attachment or even think about the nature of his own feelings because it is and always has been whatever it is. So, in other words, even if he becomes more and more reliant on the fact that Tails will always be around or that Tails will always assist him, he doesn't have to admit more than "This is what our best friendship is. This is what it's like"

All of this is to say that while my idea of present Tails would be trying to do anything in his power to stay with Sonic (as long as Sonic is willing of course), even if that means never confessing the exact nature of his feelings for the hedgehog, Sonic isn't already thinking about these things. This means that while Tails has very few pathways to confession, Sonic has plenty!...if you scare him well enough.

For example, Idw Sonic has been more clearly spending more time with Tails (even baseline just. Crashing at his place more often) after the metal virus arc. Couple this with post neo metal incident 2 electric boogaloo idw Sonic who just wants to have a break and live peacefully for a minute, this is a Sonic who has become scared enough to want to indulge in spending more time with Tails. I also think that post Sonic Prime Sonic is also a version of him who would start to spend more time with Tails than before after having already lost him and having to deal with the Tails shaped hole in his life once.

So, if you got a Sonic to the point where he'd fully accepted his feelings and he felt like confessing them would be necessary to secure the future he wants, then he'd confess. Honestly, the easiest way I'd see this going about would be a story where Tails is framed as leaving him to go do something or be somewhere else, away for Sonic, possibly indefinitely, or if Sonic actually has to spend enough time without Tails after initially telling himself his own feelings wouldn't matter so long as Tails is happy wherever he is. But, if it came down to confessing being something that might actually bring Sonic to his desired future (especially if Tails rejecting him is no different from prolonging the separation they already have if he says nothing), then I think he could work up the courage to do it.

And in the end...I think it has to be Sonic. Although I on occasion enjoy fantasizing about moments where Tails can't take it anymore and confesses, only for Sonic to realize his own feelings in the process, I think that Sonic would have to be the one who confesses his feelings/wishes for the future for Tails to even believe that his pipe dreams are a possibility. I think it's Sonic who would need to pull Tails out of his head, because the probability that Tails works up the courage to confess is more unlikely.

So...yeah. In my head, Sonic is driven to a point where he confesses and pulls Tails out of his head about it.

[donnatroyyyy]

When Mitski wrote “I will wash your hair at night/ And dry it off with care/ I will see your body bare/ And still I will live here” do you think she’d been thinking about Donna and Dick while writing it?

[dinarosie]

I've noticed something about Snape—one of his biggest red lines, the thing that truly pushes him to his limit, is when someone's life is in danger.

In those moments, he becomes the most vulnerable version of himself. He forgets everything��every grudge, every precaution, every defense mechanism—and his only focus is getting people out of harm's way, no matter the cost.

So vulnerable that hearing about Ginny Weasley's kidnapping forces him to lean on the back of a chair. So vulnerable and unguarded that while saving Harry from Quirrell’s curse, an eleven-year-old sets him on fire. So vulnerable that, in his attempt to manage the chaos of the Shrieking Shack—with children, a werewolf, and a supposed murderer—he’s disarmed by 13-year-olds. He's so reckless that he makes an Unbreakable Vow for Draco. So reckless that he chases a werewolf, without Wolfsbane, under the full moon near sunset. So reckless that he ventures into the Forbidden Forest to find lost children. So reckless that he roams the hallways in the middle of the night, in his nightgown, chasing the sound of a scream. So reckless that, as a Death Eater, he risks everything to warn the leader of the opposite side about Voldemort's plans to kill the Potters—and is willing to give anything to save them. He's so ungrudging that he carefully carries an unconscious Sirius Black. So ungrudging that when Black is captured, he checks on him immediately and alerts the Order of the Phoenix. So ungrudging that he risks his cover to save Lupin.

And I think these moments say so much about his humanity—things the books never fully explain.

[moonlitstoriess]

Unseen, Unheard, Unloved- Rhysand x fem!Reader (1/2)

Summary: She had given him everything—her heart, her trust, and now, the child growing within her. But as Rhysand’s attention drifts elsewhere, as excuses pile up, and as whispers of a mortal girl turn into something far more dangerous, she begins to wonder: Was she ever truly seen? Was she ever truly heard? Or had she been unloved all along?

See masterlist

Part 2

Warnings: angst, pregnancy, cheating, mentions of intimate scenes at the start but nothing explicit or smutty, clearly rhysand and feyre's whole mating plot was changed in some ways to suit the story

A/N: I'm back at doing what I am best at, which is making people cry lol. Please do consider the warnings mentioned before proceeding with the story. Thank you for reading<33

For fifty years, Velaris had been hers to protect.

Fifty years of waiting. Fifty years of silence. Fifty years of ruling in his absence, of forcing herself to wake up every morning in an empty bed, of standing strong for a court that had been left bleeding in the wake of its High Lord’s capture. Of holding Mor, Azriel, and Cassian together, when they had lost the most important piece of their family.

Fifty years without him. Without Rhysand.

She had not always been a ruler, had never even imagined herself becoming one. She had once just been a child, born to a father who had been a decorated Illyrian general and a mother who had been little more than an offering—a female from a lesser noble family of the Night Court, forced into a marriage she had never wanted. She had inherited her father’s sharp instincts, his love for battle, his stubbornness. And she had inherited her mother’s mind, sharp as a blade, her ability to wield words like weapons.

Her childhood had been spent in the Illyrian war camps, a place where females were taught their place—to be weak, to be silent, to bow. But she had never bowed. Not when they sneered at her for trying to train, not when they mocked her for thinking she could ever be as strong as a male, not when her father had died on the battlefield and left her mother widowed, forced to return to her family’s estate.

And she had not been alone.

She had met Rhysand before he had become the feared High Lord of the Night Court. Before he had been anything other than a cocky, silver-tongued boy who had hated the camps just as much as she had. And with him had come Cassian—wild and brash and unbreakable, a bastard warrior who had nothing to his name but his own strength—and Azriel, silent and shadowed and broken in ways none of them had yet understood.

They had been inseparable. Training together. Fighting together. Growing up together.

And somehow, in the midst of all those years, she had fallen in love.

Rhysand had always been hers. Not in the way of mates, not in the way that fate had written in the stars, but in the way that mattered most. In the way of choice.

There had never been a confession, never been a grand moment of realization. It had been a slow, inevitable thing, woven between stolen glances and lingering touches, between the nights they had spent lying beside each other in the grass, staring up at the endless night sky. It had been in the moment they had first kissed, hesitant and unsure, before turning into something desperate and consuming. It had been in the way they had promised—young and foolish and certain—that even if they ever found their mates, it wouldn’t matter. That they would never leave each other.

And for nearly three hundred years, that promise had held true.

Until the moment Rhysand had been taken.

She had known it was coming. Had felt the sheer, unrelenting terror in his mind as Amarantha’s spell had wrapped around him like chains. Had heard his voice in her head—his final words before he had been utterly ripped away from her.

"I love you."

Then, silence.

And silence had been all she had known for the next fifty years.

She had ruled Velaris in his absence, had kept its people safe, had ensured that the city remained untouched while the rest of Prythian burned. She had fought for her court, for her friends, for the family they had built together. And yet—she had spent every night wondering if he was still alive. If he was suffering. If he still thought of her.

Now, after five decades of waiting, of hoping, of wondering if she would ever see him again—he was finally coming home.

She stood on the balcony of the townhouse, staring out at the city below.

The Sidra was quiet, its waters gleaming under the light of the stars. The city still hummed with life, filled with people who had no idea that their High Lord was finally returning after half a century of being held captive under a tyrant’s rule.

Mor stood beside her, arms crossed over her chest, her golden hair gleaming in the moonlight.

“He’ll be here soon,” Mor said softly, though her voice was strained, as if she barely believed it herself.

She swallowed, gripping the stone railing. “I still don’t know if this is real.”

Mor reached over, squeezing her hand. “It is.”

And then—she felt it.

The familiar pulse of power in the air, the sudden, breathless pull in her chest.

And before she could even take a step forward, the night itself seemed to shift, the world bending—

And then he was there.

Rhysand.

For a moment, she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

He was real. He was here.

And then she was running.

He caught her in his arms the moment she crashed into him, burying his face in her neck, his body shaking violently. She was crying, sobbing into his chest as she clung to him, as if he might disappear all over again.

His hands trembled as he cupped her face, as he pressed their foreheads together, his breath ragged and uneven.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”

She kissed him. Hard and desperate and aching, pouring every ounce of longing, of love, of grief into it.

He kissed her back just as fiercely, as if he was trying to memorize her all over again, as if he couldn’t believe she was real.

Mor was crying. Azriel and Cassian had appeared, standing frozen in the doorway, their own faces filled with raw, unfiltered relief.

But all she could focus on was him. The male she had spent fifty years waiting for.

Rhysand was finally home.

And yet, she had no idea that this was only the beginning of everything that would break her.

That night, neither of them could bear to be apart.

After fifty years of longing, of aching, of waiting for this moment—she couldn’t let go of him. And he didn’t let go of her either.

He had carried her inside, through the halls of the townhouse, past the murmured voices of their family who knew, who understood, and who let them go without a word. They had disappeared into their room, the door shutting softly behind them, and then—

Then she had kissed him again, with all the desperation that had been building in her for five decades, all the grief and rage and sorrow and love she had bottled up in his absence.

Rhysand kissed her back just as fiercely, his hands shaking as they skimmed over her body, as he memorized her again, piece by piece, as if he was afraid that if he didn’t, she would disappear.

She should have noticed it then.

The slight hesitation in his touch. The way his body tensed in certain moments, as if something inside him was resisting, as if he was fighting some invisible battle.

But she had ignored it. Had convinced herself it was just the weight of what he had endured, the lingering ghosts of his time Under the Mountain clinging to him like a curse.

She had whispered his name, had pulled him closer, had kissed away his pain. And for that night, and the nights that followed, she had let herself believe that love was enough to banish the shadows that haunted him.

The days blurred together in a haze of passion and tenderness, of stolen touches and whispered confessions.

She and Rhys could not keep their hands off each other. Every moment was filled with longing, with the desperate need to make up for lost time.

He had barely left their bed that first night, had spent hours worshiping her like she was the only thing that could tether him back to reality. His lips traced every inch of her skin, his hands roaming over her as if trying to prove to himself that she was real, that she was still his.

And she had taken him apart just as much, had kissed away the pain in his eyes, had murmured how much she loved him, how much she had missed him.

It didn’t stop after that first night.

They could hardly go an hour without touching—without pressing against each other in dark hallways, without his hands finding her waist as she stood by the window, without her lips brushing against his neck when he passed by. They were insatiable, consumed by each other, as if making up for every second of those fifty years apart.

But she noticed it.

Even in their most intimate moments, she felt it—that lingering hesitation in him.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible. A slight pause before he kissed her. The way his grip sometimes faltered. The distant, lost look in his violet eyes when he thought she wasn’t watching.

And through the bond, she could feel it—the echoes of something unspoken, something buried deep within him.

Regret. Shame. Guilt.

She had asked him about it once, had touched his face in the quiet of the night and whispered, What’s wrong?

He had only shaken his head, had kissed her slowly, deeply, as if trying to erase the question from existence.

And she had let him.

She had told herself that he just needed time. That whatever haunted him, whatever had broken him, he would tell her when he was ready.

She didn’t push. Didn’t demand answers.

Because the thought of losing him again, of disrupting the fragile peace they had rebuilt—it was too terrifying to face.

So she convinced herself that love was enough.

That if she just held him closer, if she just kissed him harder, if she just loved him more—then whatever was haunting him would fade away.

But then, everything changed.

It started with the exhaustion.

At first, she had brushed it off as nothing. After all, it wasn’t unusual for her to feel drained after everything that had happened.

She had been running on adrenaline since Rhys’s return, had barely given herself a moment to rest, too consumed by the need to be with him, to make up for lost time.

But then, the exhaustion turned into something else.

Dizziness.

Moments where the world tilted around her, where she had to steady herself against a wall, gripping the edge of a table as she tried to catch her breath.

And then—

The nausea.

A deep, rolling sickness that crept up on her at the most unexpected moments, that had her pressing a hand to her stomach as if she could will it away.

The realization should have come sooner.

But she had been so caught up in Rhys, in the way they couldn’t seem to stay apart, that she hadn’t let herself think about it. Hadn’t let herself believe it was possible.

It wasn’t until Mor had walked in on her one morning, pale and weak and barely able to stand, that she had been forced to acknowledge the truth.

“You need to see Madja,” Mor had insisted, her voice laced with worry.

She had tried to argue, had tried to wave it off as simple exhaustion, but Mor wouldn’t hear it.

So she had gone.

And when the healer had placed a gentle hand over her stomach, when she had closed her eyes and let her magic sweep over her body—

The words that followed shattered her entire world.

“You are with child.”

Silence.

She had just stared at Madja, her mind unable to process the words.

With child.

She was pregnant.

She barely remembered leaving the healer’s chambers. Barely remembered making it back home.

The moment she stepped into the townhouse, everything hit her at once.

A child.

She was going to have Rhys’s child.

A shaky breath left her lips as she pressed a trembling hand to her stomach, as if she could already feel the life growing inside her. A laugh—disbelieving, breathless—escaped her.

She was pregnant.

With Rhys’s baby.

And for that moment, nothing else mattered.

The doubts, the hesitations, the unspoken fears—she shoved them aside, blinded by the sheer joy that swelled in her chest.

She imagined Rhys’s reaction, the way his eyes would widen in shock before softening with love, imagined the way he would drop to his knees and press his hands to her stomach, imagined the way he would whisper in awe about their future, about the family they were about to have.

She thought about telling Mor, about seeing Cassian and Azriel’s faces when they found out. She thought about the child itself—what they would look like, what kind of power they would have, what kind of life they would give them.

She was foolishly blind.

So utterly oblivious.

So caught up in her happiness, in the overwhelming joy of this moment, that she didn’t stop to think.

Didn’t stop to question.

Didn’t realize—

That Rhys might not react the way she expected.

That this child, this beautiful, miraculous child, might not fill him with the same joy it filled her with.

That the shadows in his eyes, the ghosts that haunted him, the things he had kept buried since the moment he had returned—

They weren’t just going to disappear.

The moment she found him—standing by the window, looking out over the city she had known, the city they had fought for, the city they had built together—she could feel her heart racing in her chest.

“Rhys,” she called softly, her voice warm, her smile bright.

He turned, his gaze lighting up when he saw her, but something in his eyes—something flickered. Just a moment, barely noticeable. He covered it quickly, replaced it with the mask he had become so skilled at wearing.

“YN,” he said, his voice warm but not quite as soft as she remembered. “You’re home.”

She approached him slowly, the news she was about to share making her pulse quicken with excitement. She stopped a few feet away, pressing her hand to her stomach as if to still the fluttering sensation there.

“I have something to tell you,” she began, watching the way his eyes followed her every movement. He seemed alert, even eager, but there was something else—a tension, barely concealed behind the polite smile he wore.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice smooth, controlled.

“I’m pregnant,” she said, her heart leaping in her chest. She almost wanted to laugh at how simple it sounded, how easy it was to finally say it aloud. “We’re going to have a child, Rhys.”

The room fell quiet.

For a brief moment, she swore she saw something in his eyes—something like disbelief, or maybe even fear—but it was gone before she could truly register it.

Then, he smiled. It was a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“That’s... wonderful,” he said, his words too rehearsed, too empty. “I’m so happy for you, YN.”

But it didn’t sound like he was happy.

It sounded hollow.

For you. Not for us but....for you.

She felt the bond between them—felt the way it seemed to shudder in response to his words. There was something off, something wrong. But she couldn’t place it, not in that moment, and not with the whirlwind of excitement that was consuming her.

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. “You’re not even going to ask how I’m feeling? Not going to pick me up and twirl me around like we used to do when we had good news?”

He chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m just processing the exciting news,” he said again, though his words seemed forced, like he was trying to convince both of them.

Her smile faltered for just a moment, a flicker of doubt creeping into her chest.

He wasn’t happy. Not in the way she expected.

She could feel it—through the bond, through the way his aura flickered with shadows of guilt and hesitation. But she pushed it aside, thinking that perhaps he just needed time to process. Perhaps he was still adjusting to everything that had changed, everything that had happened in the last few days.

“I know this is a lot,” she said softly, stepping closer to him, her voice gentle, “but I know we can do this together. We’ve always been a team, Rhys.”

He nodded, but his gaze flickered away from hers, his eyes focusing on the farthest corner of the room.

“Of course,” he replied, but the words were quiet, almost too quiet, as if he wasn’t fully hearing them himself.

“Rhys,” she whispered, her voice trembling just slightly, “it’s a gift. A miracle. And I know... I know we’ve been through so much. But now we have a chance to build something beautiful together. You and me. A family.”

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, finally, he nodded, his smile returning. It was better now, more convincing. But to her, it felt like a mask—a fragile mask that threatened to crack at the smallest touch.

“I’m sure it will be beautiful,” he said, his voice steady, but still... empty.

She watched him for a long moment, her heart thundering in her chest. She wanted to ask him what was wrong, wanted to demand to know why he wasn’t truly happy, why he wasn’t sharing in her excitement. But something inside her—some small part of her—whispered that it wasn’t the time.

He had just returned from being gone for so long, from everything they had fought for. He would come around.

She would make sure of it.

So, instead of confronting him, instead of asking the questions that were starting to swirl in her mind, she simply stepped forward, closing the space between them.

“I know you’re still processing everything,” she said, her hand resting gently on his arm, “but we’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

And though a small voice in her mind screamed that she was being foolishly blind, that she was ignoring the cracks in his facade, she smiled up at him, brushing the doubt aside once more.

For the moment, she was content to pretend that everything was perfect.

The evening air in Dawn Court was crisp, filled with a gentle hum of conversation. YN stood at the balcony, gazing out over the land. Her pregnancy, now just over two months along, was starting to show. Her once slender figure had softened, the slight curve of her bump a reminder of the life she was carrying, but there was something else—an unease. Rhysand hadn’t been the same lately.

It was almost as if he was a ghost, always present but never truly there. For weeks, his absences had become longer, his late-night disappearances even more frequent. She would lie in their shared bed at night, waiting for him to return, only to find him standing at the edge of their balcony, staring into the distance as if lost in his thoughts. His gaze was distant, unseeing, and every time she tried to reach for him, to pull him back into the present, he would retreat even further.

And then, when he would return, it was as if nothing had happened. He would smile, hold her close, kiss her forehead—but the bond felt... strained. It wasn’t the same. She could feel him slipping away, piece by piece, yet she didn’t want to admit it. She had tried to tell herself it was just the weight of the recent events, that he needed space to adjust to his newfound freedom—but deep down, she knew that wasn’t the only thing eating at him.

Tonight, however, was different. The High Lords had gathered in Dawn Court for the first time since the defeat of Amarantha, and there was an air of relief in the room, mingling with the light buzz of excitement. Rhysand had promised that they would attend together, but as the evening wore on, he had yet to appear at her side.

“YN,” Mor’s voice brought her back from her thoughts, a knowing look in her eyes. “Don’t worry. Rhys will be here.”

YN smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I know. He’s just... busy, I suppose.”

Mor didn’t buy it, but she said nothing more. Instead, she looped her arm through YN’s and led her back to the table. Most of the High Lords were mingling, some enjoying the informal dinner gathering, others discussing more pressing matters. Cassian and Azriel stood near the corner, deep in conversation with a few of the other soldiers. Kallias, the High Lord of Winter, stood off to the side, talking with Helion, but his gaze kept returning to YN. She felt a flicker of warmth in her chest when their eyes met.

Her bump was noticeable now, and the looks of congratulations and smiles from the lords were a welcome distraction from the silence between her and Rhys. Baron, of course, didn’t even acknowledge her presence, as usual, but the others were kind.

“You look radiant tonight, YN,” Kallias said, stepping toward her with a warm smile. He had always been one of the more reserved High Lords, his icy demeanor a product of his powers and his personality, but tonight, there was something in his eyes—gentleness, kindness. He reached out, carefully taking her hand in his, and she was surprised by how warm it felt, how soft his touch was. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” she replied, smiling at him, feeling a slight flutter in her stomach at his concern. “It’s been a long couple of months. Thank you for asking.”

“You’re carrying something precious,” Kallias said quietly, glancing down at her bump before his eyes returned to hers. “I can only imagine the strength it takes to bear such a responsibility.”

YN didn’t know why, but his words hit her in a way that made her feel seen. So often, Rhysand’s attention had been diverted, and it felt as if she was carrying this burden alone. But Kallias... Kallias made her feel like she wasn’t invisible. Like she was more than just the woman carrying Rhysand’s child. She was YN, strong, capable, and worthy of attention, of affection.

She had never spoken much with Kallias beyond the formalities of the courts, but there was something about him tonight—something different. He was engaging with her, making her feel important, something that Rhys had failed to do in the last few weeks.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice soft, almost shy. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear those words. “That means more than you know.”

Kallias gave her a smile—gentle, understanding, and somehow... safe. “You deserve to be treated with kindness, YN. You’ve been through so much.”

She couldn’t help but smile back at him, the warmth of his words melting some of the icy isolation she’d been feeling.

“YN, there you are,” Rhysand’s voice broke into the moment, and she froze. He had arrived, but there was something about his tone that immediately made her stomach tighten. He was smiling, but it was tight, forced.

His gaze flickered briefly to Kallias before locking onto her, and the change in his demeanor was subtle, but YN noticed it all the same. The possessiveness in his eyes, the way his posture stiffened just a fraction, how his jaw tightened. But when he smiled again, it was almost too wide, too practiced.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist in a gesture that felt more for show than genuine affection. His touch was tight, as if he was trying to hold her in place, but there was no warmth in it.

Kallias, ever perceptive, caught the slight shift in the atmosphere. “It seems like you’ve found her,” he said with a polite smile, but there was something in his voice that held a hint of challenge.

YN tried not to let the tension in the air affect her, but it was hard to ignore. Rhysand didn’t seem happy, and Kallias—despite his icy demeanor—had made her feel something Rhys hadn’t in weeks: seen. Rhys, however, took a step closer, his voice turning more possessive. “YN, you look stunning tonight. But if you’re done here, I think we should head back.”

Her heart squeezed at his words. She had expected joy, happiness—maybe even a little pride in his eyes, but all she saw was discomfort, an undercurrent of guilt. She could feel the hesitation through their bond, like he was holding something back from her, something important.

“I’m not ready to leave yet,” YN said quietly, her tone firm but gentle. She looked back at Kallias, who nodded his understanding, and for a moment, she felt like she was stepping into unknown territory, like the simple act of asserting herself was both thrilling and terrifying.

Rhysand’s smile faltered just slightly, and his eyes narrowed. “I think it’s time, YN. We’ve been here long enough.”

YN didn’t answer him immediately. She knew what she felt, what she had felt for months now. Rhysand wasn’t the same, and no amount of pretending could make her blind to it any longer. But as she turned back to Kallias, she saw the genuine concern in his eyes, the way he watched her with a sense of admiration that was foreign in Rhysand’s presence. It made her feel seen, and it was like a balm to a wound she didn’t even realize had been open for so long.

Finally, she nodded, but not to Rhysand. She nodded to Kallias.

“Thank you,” she whispered to him, before turning back to Rhysand. “Let’s go.”

But even as they left, Rhysand’s arm tightened around her waist, his silence growing heavier. And YN could only wonder what was truly going on behind his eyes.

It was a quiet evening in the House of Wind, the air crisp and fresh as the last remnants of daylight slipped behind the mountains. YN was curled up on one of the many plush armchairs in the sitting room, her hands resting gently on her slightly visible bump, her mind swirling with thoughts she couldn’t quite untangle.

But there was a coldness in the air tonight. A quiet tension that had settled in the room, and it was growing.

YN had been lost in thought when the sound of footsteps broke the silence. Rhysand appeared in the doorway, his presence as commanding as always, but tonight there was something off. His face, usually open and warm when he looked at her, was guarded. There was no smile, no greeting. He simply stood there for a moment, his gaze sweeping over her before he stepped further into the room.

But then, as quickly as he entered, he froze.

It was like the world itself stopped. His eyes went unfocused, his shoulders tensed, and before she could ask what was wrong, he disappeared—winnowed—with such suddenness that it took YN a moment to even comprehend what had happened.

She sat there, stunned, her heart thumping erratically in her chest. What had just happened? What could have caused him to leave without a word? Without a single explanation?

She rose from the chair, her hand instinctively moving to her stomach.

“Rhysand?” she called softly into the silence, but there was no answer. Nothing. It was as if he had never been there at all.

Her mind raced as she tried to understand what was going on.

She could feel it now more than ever—his discomfort, his uncertainty—but it was more than that. There was something else. She just didn’t know what.

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours before Rhysand reappeared, winnowing back into the room. He was disheveled, his hair tousled, his jaw tight with frustration. His eyes, though, were what struck her the most—they were shadowed with something unfamiliar, something that made her stomach twist in apprehension.

“Rhys, what happened? Where did you go?” She couldn’t hide the concern in her voice. The distance in the bond was suffocating, and she needed to understand.

He barely looked at her. “I—had something to take care of. Don’t worry about it.”

His tone was short, dismissive, and it stung more than she expected. Before she could respond, Cassian’s voice broke in, cool and calm, though his eyes were filled with something darker, like he could sense the tension in the room.

“Rhys,” Cassian said, standing up from his spot near Y/N. “You alright?”

Rhysand’s gaze flicked to his brother briefly, then away. He didn’t answer right away, and the silence grew thick, almost suffocating. Finally, with a flick of his hand, Rhys spoke again, but his voice was still clipped, irritated. “I’m fine, Cassian. Just... some things to sort through. I’ll be back later.”

YN opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Rhys was already striding toward the door, his back to them. “Excuse me,” he muttered, his words a little too sharp.

Cassian watched him go, his gaze lingering for a moment before he turned to YN. There was a look in his eyes, one that was almost apologetic, but his words were kind. He moved closer, resting his hand gently on her bump.

“Don’t worry,” Cassian said softly, his voice low and reassuring. “Rhys is... he’s just got a lot on his mind. But you—” He looked down at her belly and then met her eyes. “You’re not alone. None of us are, alright?”

YN nodded, though the confusion and worry gnawed at her. “I just don’t understand. He’s been distant lately. I don’t know what’s happening.”

“You’ll figure it out, YN,” Cassian said, giving her a small smile. “He’s a stubborn one. But you know Rhys—when it’s important, he’ll come to you. Just give him time.”

But time had already passed. And the longer it stretched, the more YN wondered if the distance between them was something that could be repaired—or if it was already too late.

The next day, the atmosphere in the House of Wind was strangely subdued, everyone waiting for Rhysand’s announcement. Mor and Azriel had come by earlier, and there was a quiet sense of anticipation hanging in the air. Even Cassian seemed to be on edge, though he hid it well.

It wasn’t until dinner that evening, when the Inner Circle was gathered around the table, that Rhysand finally spoke.

“I have a special guest joining us for dinner tomorrow,” Rhysand said, his voice lighter than it had been in days, though there was a hint of something... genuine in his smile. “Feyre will be joining us.”

There was a moment of silence before the room erupted into murmurs of surprise. Feyre, the mortal-turned-Fae, the one who had helped free them all, the one who had played a key role in the downfall of Amarantha. YN felt a sudden lump form in her throat, but she swallowed it down.

The room filled with questions, comments, congratulations—though most of the attention was on Rhysand.

“So, Feyre’s finally coming to Velaris?” Azriel asked, his tone neutral, though there was a certain curiosity in his eyes.

Rhysand nodded, his smile widening. “Yes, she’s been through so much, and I thought it was time she saw the city. I can’t think of a better place for her.”

There was genuine warmth in his tone when he spoke of Feyre, and it hit YN harder than she expected. She hadn’t realized how much he had changed since their first meeting, how much he admired Feyre.

“You must be excited,” Mor said, her smile both kind and knowing. “I’m sure Feyre will love it here.”

YN forced a smile, but it felt hollow. She felt as though the room had shifted, as if Rhysand was now fully enveloped in the idea of Feyre’s arrival. She hadn’t even noticed how much he’d changed until that moment. How much he had changed.

She glanced down at her hands, the light from the candles flickering in her vision. Feyre—the girl who had saved them all. The girl who had freed Rhysand from Amarantha’s cruel reign.

The girl who had, it seemed, somehow taken her place. But at the time Y/N was too oblivious to notice that.

The night carried on, with Rhysand now more animated than ever, speaking freely of Feyre’s arrival and plans for their dinner. But YN couldn’t shake the feeling that something—someone—was about to come between them in ways she never expected. She had been blind, so foolishly blind to the changes in Rhysand. But maybe, just maybe, it was time to confront what had been lingering beneath the surface for far too long.

The evening had come, but Rhysand still wasn’t home. The rest of the Inner Circle was gathered around the fireplace in the House of Wind, the warmth of the flames not quite enough to chase away the coldness that seemed to settle in YN’s chest. She was perched on a plush sofa, her hands once again resting on her slightly rounded belly, her gaze fixed on the crackling fire. The rest of them—Azriel, Mor, Amren, and Cassian—were scattered around the room, engaged in light conversation, but YN couldn’t bring herself to join in.

She felt the space between her and Rhys more keenly than ever.

Azriel, ever perceptive, moved closer to her. He sat down beside her, his posture gentle as he placed a hand on her back, his touch comforting but not invasive.

"You've been quiet tonight," Azriel said softly, his voice like a balm to her frayed nerves.

YN sighed, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the fabric of her dress. "I don't know, Az. Something’s wrong. Rhys… he’s so distant. It’s like I’m not even here for him anymore."

Cassian, who had been perched by the fireplace, took a step forward, his usual jovial demeanor subdued. His eyes softened with concern as he noticed the way YN was slumped into the cushions, her shoulders tense.

“He’ll come around,” Cassian said, trying to sound reassuring, but his voice lacked the usual certainty. He knew Rhysand better than anyone, and even he couldn’t deny the shift that had been happening.

But YN just shook her head, her voice quiet, barely above a whisper.

“No,” she replied, her eyes downcast. “It’s more than that. I’ve seen him these last few days, Cass. He’s not just distracted. He’s hesitant. Like he’s somewhere else entirely, even when he’s standing right in front of me. His smiles don’t reach his eyes anymore. He looks at me, but he doesn’t see me.” Her voice trembled as she spoke the words she had been trying to ignore, trying to pretend weren’t happening. “I try to soothe him, I try to be there for him, but I can feel the distance growing.”

Mor, who had been listening quietly, crossed the room and sat next to YN, her arm wrapping around her in a rare show of tenderness.

“I know it's hard,” Mor said softly, her tone filled with understanding. “But Rhys is... he's always had a lot on his shoulders. You know that. He’s the High Lord. And even when he has us around, some things he keeps locked up.”

“But this?” YN asked, her eyes wide with hurt. “It’s more than just the weight of the throne, Mor. He’s gone, even when he’s here. I feel it in the bond. It’s like he’s slipping away.”

Azriel leaned forward, his voice gentle but firm. “He’s not slipping away, YN. Rhysand is just… processing something. There are things he needs to work through. It’s not about you.”

“Isn’t it?” she whispered, feeling a knot of doubt twist in her stomach. “I’ve seen him shut down before, Az. But this time? It’s different. I don’t know how to fix it. I’m not even sure if he wants me to fix it.”

Cassian’s face darkened, his protective instincts flaring as he moved closer to her. He crossed his arms over his chest, his voice stern as he looked at YN. “Listen to me, YN. You’re doing everything you can. And you’re not alone in this. I’m not going to let you go through this by yourself. None of us are.” He shifted his gaze to her stomach. “You’re carrying something precious, and I’ll be damned if I let anything—” he stopped himself and softened, “I’ll be damned if you don’t get the care you deserve.”

YN blinked at him, the unspoken concern for her growing more tangible with every word.

“When was the last time you ate properly?” Cassian asked, his tone turning gentle but insistent. “When did you last sleep through the night?”

YN faltered, looking down at her lap. “I... I’m fine, Cassian. It’s just... I’m not hungry, that’s all. Rhys—”

“No.” Cassian’s voice cut through her words. “You’re not fine. You’re carrying Rhysand’s child, and he’s not here right now. But I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. You need to eat, you need to sleep. And we’re all here to make sure you’re taken care of.”

Azriel nodded in agreement, his hand still resting lightly on her back. “Cassian’s right, YN. We’re not going to stand by and watch you push yourself too hard. If Rhys doesn’t notice, we do. And we’ll make sure you’re okay. We’ll talk to him, too.”

YN swallowed hard, blinking back tears that had no business being there. “It’s just hard,” she admitted, her voice thick with emotion. “He’s not the male I knew anymore. And I’m scared, Az. Scared that maybe... maybe he never really was the male I thought he was.”

Before anyone could say more, the sound of wings flapping loudly outside interrupted the conversation. The group turned, and in the blink of an eye, Rhysand landed gracefully on the balcony, holding Feyre in his arms.

YN’s heart clenched at the sight of them, her thoughts a storm of confusion. She stood up from the sofa, but her feet felt heavy, reluctant. It was almost like she couldn’t move. She knew Feyre—had heard so much about her, the mortal-turned-Fae who had helped free them all. But seeing Rhys so effortlessly carry Feyre, with that smile that she’d only ever seen directed at her... it hit YN in a way she hadn’t been prepared for.

Mor stood by her side, watching as Rhysand approached the door with Feyre. Her hand on YN’s arm was gentle, a soft reassurance that YN was thankful for.

“Go on,” Mor said quietly. “You’re just as important here, YN. You don’t need to be scared of what’s happening. We are here for you.”

YN nodded, drawing in a deep breath as she moved forward, her steps uncertain but steady. As Rhysand and Feyre entered the room, she saw the way Rhys looked at Feyre—softly, protectively, and with an affection that, for the first time, made YN feel like she was no longer at the center of his world.

Feyre smiled at YN as Rhys gently set her down on her feet. There was a kindness in her eyes, a warmth that reminded YN of the girl who had sacrificed so much for them all. YN’s heart softened, and she stepped forward, reaching out.

“Thank you,” YN said, her voice thick with gratitude. “For everything. You—” She paused, her emotions overwhelming her for a moment, before she pulled Feyre into a tight embrace. “I know it’s because of you that we’re all here. That Rhys is here. I don’t know how to thank you for that.”

Feyre hugged her back just as tightly, her voice warm and kind. “I didn’t do it alone,” Feyre said, pulling back with a small smile. “But I’m happy to be here. With all of you.”

The group settled around the dinner table as the conversation turned to lighter topics. Feyre was kind and gracious, a perfect guest, while Rhysand sat with a rare relaxed air, laughing and joining in with the others. But YN, despite the smiles and easy conversation, couldn’t shake the feeling of being on the outside looking in.

She smiled when it was needed, nodded at the right times, but inside, she felt the gap between her and Rhys grow larger. The more they talked about Feyre—her kindness, her bravery, her role in their world—the more YN couldn’t help but feel that she was losing Rhysand to someone else.

It hurt in ways she hadn’t anticipated. But she kept her face calm, her composure intact, and though the knot in her chest tightened, she smiled through it all.

The night stretched on, filled with laughter and stories. But as they all ate, YN sat back, her thoughts swirling. Rhysand was no longer just the man who loved her; he was someone different, someone who had room in his heart for another. She could see it in the way he spoke of Feyre, the way his gaze lingered on her.

And YN? She was simply standing on the sidelines, trying to hold onto a love that seemed to be slipping through her fingers.

The night was long. But YN would fight for her place in Rhys’s heart—for their future. Even if it meant facing what she was most afraid of.

he House of Wind had become more than just a home for Y/N over the past few weeks; it had become a place of quiet, uneasy observation. At first, everything had felt like a blur—busy days and nights spent adjusting to the changes. Feyre’s arrival had been a shock, an unexpected whirlwind that shifted the delicate balance of their lives. Yet, it was not Feyre’s presence alone that unsettled Y/N. It was Rhysand’s shifting attention, his sudden and unnerving detachment from her.

Y/N had noticed it first in the small things—how he would spend hours in the study with Feyre, teaching her new things, showing her how to control her magic, his voice soft, patient. His lessons went on for hours, and there were times when Y/N would sit in the grand hall, reading, waiting for him to return to her, but he never did.

It was as if Feyre needed him now more than she ever had, and Rhysand was more than willing to give everything he had to her. She didn’t understand it—why did he need to give her so much of himself? Why did his lessons stretch on endlessly, late into the night, when there were so many other things to focus on, things that they could share as a couple, as soon-to-be parents?

Even when he wasn’t with Feyre, Y/N couldn’t reach him. When the day would finally end, and Rhysand would return to the House of Wind, he would often retreat to his office instead of coming to her side. He slept there for hours, the door to his office often left ajar, his figure slouched over piles of paperwork and forgotten responsibilities.

Y/N would lie in their bed, her growing belly pressing into the soft sheets, feeling the absence of her mate more profoundly with each passing day. She knew that Rhysand’s duties as High Lord were demanding, but surely, surely he could make time for her, especially now that she was carrying his child. But no. It was always Cassian, Azriel, Mor and Amren who hovered over her, their concern for her health and wellbeing growing each day. Cassian was the first to notice when she had trouble getting out of bed in the morning. Azriel was there, always in the background, quietly ensuring that she was okay. Amren and Mor took on the roles of mothers, watching over her, their comforting presence a constant reminder that she was not alone, even when Rhysand was distant.

She would often ask, “Have you spoken with him? Does he seem different to you?” and Azriel would only look at her with that familiar shadow of confusion in his eyes. “I don’t know,” he would say, his voice low, thoughtful. “Rhys has never been like this before. It’s like he’s refusing to talk about whatever’s bothering him.”

And Y/N? She tried to convince herself that it was just a phase. Maybe it was the pressure of ruling, the stress of keeping Velaris safe. Maybe Feyre’s arrival had triggered something deep inside Rhysand, something she couldn’t understand. It was foolish of her to think that she could make it through this journey unscathed. But deep down, she felt the sting of it. The weight of his neglect hung heavy on her chest.

She would tell herself that Feyre needed him. Feyre had gone through so much in her life—losing her family, fighting in the war, carrying burdens Y/N could never comprehend. Maybe it was only fair that Rhysand focus on her, that he be there for Feyre while she healed. Maybe she needed his support more than Y/N did.

The thoughts tasted like poison on her tongue, and she tried to swallow them down, but they kept coming back, lingering like a bitter aftertaste.

One evening, when Rhysand returned from another long day with Feyre, Y/N found herself staring at the door to his office, waiting for him to come to her. She could hear the sound of his footsteps in the hallway, and she tried to steady her breath, but when he didn’t knock on her door, when he didn’t even acknowledge her presence, her heart sank deeper.

Later that week, she overheard Rhysand telling Feyre that he would be taking her to the Illyrian camps. It was dangerous, he said, but necessary. They would stop at the Weaver’s house on the way, and Y/N couldn’t help the knot that twisted in her stomach. She tried to smile, to seem supportive, but when she asked, “Why? Why are you taking her there? That’s so dangerous,” Rhysand’s expression was distant, his gaze hard.

“I need her to retrieve something for me,” he explained curtly, but there was no warmth in his voice. He didn’t meet her eyes.

Y/N stood there, shocked, trying to process what he had said. She watched them leave, her heart heavy with the feeling that she was losing him, that whatever connection they had once shared was slipping through her fingers.

As Rhysand and Feyre made their way to the Illyrian camps, Y/N couldn’t shake the sense of betrayal that had begun to grow inside her. She would wait for them to return, but she wasn’t sure what she would find when they did. Would Rhysand still be the same, or would Feyre’s presence in his life change everything forever?

The house was quieter than it had been in weeks. The absence of Rhysand and Feyre had left a void, and the walls seemed to echo with silence. Y/n sat near the window, the early evening sunlight casting a golden glow across the room, her fingers gently tracing the curve of her swollen belly. She had been waiting—waiting for Rhysand’s return, for any sign of the distance between them to close. But all she had received was space. The quiet ache in her chest gnawed at her.

Amren, ever watchful, sat across from her, her expression unreadable. But Y/n noticed the tension in her gaze, the way she kept looking at her with something close to concern. It didn’t help that the others had been distant too—Azriel, Cassian, and Mor, all acting like they were hiding something, exchanging too many knowing glances and hushed conversations. It only deepened her sense of unease.

Today, however, was different. Gifts had arrived for her—thoughtful, generous tokens from several of the Highlords in honor of her soon-to-be motherhood. She’d been expecting them, but still, the small mountain of neatly wrapped parcels in front of her filled her with mixed emotions.

"Open them," Amren said softly, as if sensing her hesitation. "

Y/n nodded, the familiar rustle of paper comforting her in its simplicity. She picked up the first gift, a small, elegant box wrapped in a deep shade of red with a ribbon that shimmered like morning sunlight. She carefully untied the bow, lifting the lid to reveal a delicate silver bracelet, studded with tiny moonstones that glinted softly in the fading light. It was beautiful, simple, and elegant. She smiled softly, imagining it wrapped around her wrist as she cradled her baby.

"Oh, Helion," she murmured, the thought of the Highlord of Day bringing a warmth to her chest. She ran her fingers over the cool stones, letting out a sigh as she admired the craftsmanship.

"He's always been a thoughtful one," Amren remarked with a raised brow, as if she too had felt the affection Helion had for Y/n.

Y/n smiled faintly, placing the bracelet to the side. There were other gifts to open. She picked up the next parcel, this one wrapped in soft blue paper with intricate golden designs. It was from Thesan, the Highlord of Dawn, a court known for its refined beauty and grace. When she opened it, she was greeted by a set of hand-painted ceramic dishes, each piece vibrant with delicate patterns that seemed to glow with a warmth that reminded her of sunrises.

Thesan had always been attentive, and she smiled as she imagined the quiet, regal Highlord choosing each piece carefully. She couldn't help but appreciate the thoughtfulness, the way he considered her comfort and her child’s future.

But it was the third gift that captured her attention.

The parcel from Kallias, the Highlord of Winter, was wrapped in dark, rich purple paper. She carefully untied the ribbon, her heart beating a little faster, and opened the box inside. What she found inside was far beyond anything she could have expected.

A small, intricately carved wooden box. It was no larger than the palm of her hand, and as she ran her fingers over its smooth surface, she noticed delicate snowflakes and swirling designs etched into the wood. There was something magical about it, something that made her chest tighten. Inside, nestled among soft velvet, was a small crystal vial filled with a silvery liquid that shimmered like moonlight on snow. Alongside it was a small letter, written in Kallias’s elegant handwriting.

"To Y/n, with warmth and hope for the future. May this gift be a reminder of the strength within you, and the serenity you will find in the stillness of winter’s embrace. You are not alone, not ever."

Y/n’s breath hitched in her throat as she held the vial gently, the words from Kallias sending a ripple of warmth through her. His gift was not just thoughtful—it was deeply personal. It felt like an invitation, a message from someone who saw her, truly saw her, even when the others had become distant.

"He really thought of everything," Y/n whispered, her fingers tracing the small vial.

Amren watched her with a quiet expression, her eyes flicking between the gifts and Y/n’s reaction. “He did,” she agreed softly. “Kallias is a good male. He knows the value of compassion.”

Y/n nodded, her heart swelling with gratitude. The tension in the room was still palpable, but this small gesture from Kallias made her feel seen, reminded her that she wasn’t invisible in the midst of the growing chaos.

Before she could say anything further, a sharp knock echoed from the door.

“Rhysand and Feyre,” Amren muttered, already standing up. “I suppose the moment has arrived.”

Y/n’s stomach tightened, both with excitement and dread. She wasn’t sure what to expect.

As the door swung open and Rhysand stepped in, with Feyre at his side, something immediately shifted in the air. Rhysand’s usual confident demeanor was different—sharper, perhaps, but there was a sense of something unsaid between him and Feyre, an energy Y/n couldn’t quite place. Feyre’s smile was brighter than she’d seen in ages, but there was a newness in her eyes—a quiet certainty.

Y/n’s breath caught as she noticed their shared glances, the unspoken bond between them that hummed through the air like an invisible thread. She stood, feeling the weight of the moment settle into her bones.

“Well, look at you both,” Y/n said, forcing a smile, though it felt hollow. “Feyre, you look well. I hope the journey wasn’t too hard.”

Feyre smiled warmly, though there was a hint of something private behind her eyes. “We managed,” she said, the way she said it making Y/n’s heart clench. “And you, Y/n? How are you feeling?”

Y/n’s gaze flickered to Rhysand, his expression unreadable. “I’m getting there,” she said softly, and though it was true, it felt like an answer far too shallow for everything else she wanted to express.

As the evening wore on and everyone gathered around the table, Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong—something had shifted, and no one, not even Rhysand, seemed to want to speak the truth of it.

But she noticed the way Rhysand’s eyes lingered on Feyre, the way their quiet exchanges seemed to carry a weight that hadn’t been there before.

And she wondered, in the deepest part of her heart, if she had lost something she hadn’t fully realized was slipping through her fingers.

Y/n’s eyes fluttered open as an uncomfortable wave of pain stretched across her back, her large belly shifting uneasily beneath the blankets. The room, once warm and familiar, now felt suffocating, the walls closing in around her as she tried to shift positions. Her heart thudded a little too loudly, and the silence only amplified the emptiness in the space. Rhysand had not been by her side for hours, and at this point, it was becoming a familiar absence—one she couldn’t ignore.

A deep sigh escaped her lips as she sat up, the strain of carrying their child weighing heavily on her. She hadn’t wanted to wake him, but something inside of her yearned for the quiet solace of a midnight walk—anything to soothe the tightness in her chest. She slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Amren, who still slept soundly beside her. Y/n made her way to the door and stepped out into the cool, moonlit halls of the House of Wind.

As she walked down the corridor, her mind buzzed with a thousand questions. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed between her and Rhysand, even before he left for the war. The secretive looks exchanged between him, Feyre, and the others had only deepened her suspicions. The change in his demeanor when he’d returned had been subtle, but it was there. She just didn’t know what to make of it. Yet.

The soft sound of footsteps ahead caught her attention. Cassian.

He froze when he spotted her, his eyes briefly flickering with a flash of surprise before he tried to hide it behind a strained smile. “Y/n… What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice a little too high-pitched, like he’d been caught off guard.

Y/n raised an eyebrow at him, her hand resting against her rounded belly. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d make myself some tea,” she said, trying to act nonchalant. “Is something wrong?”

Cassian’s smile softened, his shoulders visibly relaxing. He eyed her for a moment before speaking in a quiet, almost tender voice, “Well, wouldn’t want a lady like you wandering these halls alone at this time of night.” His voice dropped lower as he added, “Let me join you.”

Y/n felt a sense of comfort in his words, the warmth of his easy-going nature wrapping around her like a blanket. She smiled at him, the bond they had forged over the years making this moment feel… safe, in spite of the turmoil in her heart.

They started walking together, Cassian keeping pace beside her. The halls seemed endless as they made their way to the kitchen, but the familiar company made the journey less isolating. Their conversation flowed easily, the lull of their voices filling the air between them.

“Have you had time to rest?” Cassian asked, glancing over at her belly. “You should take it easy, you know.”

Y/n chuckled softly, rubbing her belly. “I’m fine. The little one is kicking up a storm tonight. Can’t quite settle down.”

Cassian’s grin was easy, but there was a flicker of something else behind his eyes, something unspoken, as he leaned slightly toward her, trying to offer her comfort. “Don’t let anyone tell you that you shouldn’t take it easy. You’ve been through a lot.”

She tilted her head at him. “You’re always so kind, Cassian,” she said, almost teasing. “I appreciate it.”

“Anything for you,” he replied, with a wink that made her laugh. “But don’t get any ideas. I’m not looking for trouble.”

Y/n smirked. “Me? Trouble? Never.”

They continued talking, weaving through the halls, discussing small things—how the weather had been, how the training had been progressing with the armies—and the more they spoke, the lighter Y/n felt. It was like a brief escape from the gnawing uncertainty she carried.

But then, as they reached a corridor near Feyre’s room, Y/n noticed something strange.

A small light was spilling out from beneath the door.

She froze mid-step, and Cassian’s eyes narrowed. “That’s odd,” he muttered, glancing at her. “Feyre should be asleep by now.”

Y/n frowned. “Should we check on her? She might need something.”

Cassian hesitated but gave a tight nod. “I’ll be right back.” He took a few steps forward, his large form blocking the door as he cracked it open. But before he could slip inside, he froze.

Y/n, not one to stand idly by, took a small step forward, peering around him. “Cassian?” she whispered, her voice unsure.

But Cassian, his face hardening in a way she hadn’t seen before, quickly turned to her. “Y/n,” he said softly, his voice laced with concern, “please… Let’s go back. It’s—”

Before he could finish, Y/n pushed past him, her heart thundering in her chest. She entered the room, and in the dim light, her gaze locked on the sight before her.

Rhysand and Feyre. Together.

Rhysand had Feyre pressed against the wall, their lips locked in a passionate kiss, the intensity of their connection undeniable.

Y/n’s heart stopped in her chest, the air thick with the realization crashing over her. She blinked, disbelieving. This was not happening.

“Rhysand,” she whispered, her voice breaking as her legs threatened to give out from under her.

Rhysand’s eyes widened, and he immediately pulled away from Feyre, both of them frozen in shock. Feyre’s face flushed with guilt, but it wasn’t enough.

Y/n’s hands trembled, her thoughts spiraling as she processed the sight. All the doubt, all the pain, everything she’d tried to ignore—it was true.

Without another word, Y/n turned and fled, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. She didn’t even hear Cassian call after her, his voice full of anguish. All she could hear was the thundering of her own heartbeat and the sound of her feet pounding down the halls.

She was halfway down the corridor when she felt Cassian’s hand on her arm, pulling her back gently. “Y/n, please,” he said, voice low. “You don’t have to do this.”

But Y/n, in her shock, yanked her arm away. “Don’t touch me, Cassian!” she shouted. “How long? How long has this been going on? How long have you all been hiding this from me?”

Her voice wavered, breaking with every word. Her emotions were a storm. She didn’t care who saw it anymore. She’d been blind.

Cassian took a step back, his eyes filled with regret. “Y/n, please—”

Her hands trembled, but her words were sharp, cutting through the hall like a blade. "Why didn’t you tell me? Why?" She stepped forward, her gaze locked onto Rhysand, the male who had once been everything to her. "You made me believe in you. We built a life together! A family! And now… now I’m supposed to just accept this?" Her voice cracked as she swallowed the lump in her throat, the weight of it all almost suffocating her. "We have a child, Rhysand! You will be a father!"

Rhysand flinched as if her words had struck him harder than any physical blow. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He reached for her, but her eyes hardened, her heart already too far gone for him to reach.

"Are you not ashamed of yourself?" she shouted, her voice growing louder, desperate for answers. The anger poured out of her like a flood, drowning everything in its path. "Is that it? You just gave it all up? How could you do this to me? To us?" She gestured between herself and her stomach, the child growing inside of her. "I gave you everything. I gave you my trust. My heart. And this is how you repay me? This is the price I pay for being so blind?"

Feyre took a hesitant step forward, her face filled with guilt, but Rhysand’s protective instinct flared. His hand shot out, catching Feyre behind him, his posture stiff and defensive. His eyes flickered with regret, but they held the painful truth.

For a split second, Y/n thought she might lose herself completely, but then the bitter laugh escaped her. It was harsh, mocking—disbelieving.

Because that was when it hit her.

These two were mates. Mates.

"So mates, huh? Is that what this is all about?" she scoffed. "I guess I should’ve known. I should’ve seen it coming, shouldn’t I?" Her voice was dripping with sarcasm now, the anguish inside her turning to venom. "But of course, you would protect her, wouldn’t you?" She looked at Feyre with contempt, shaking her head. "You didn’t even have the decency to tell me the truth."

Rhysand’s jaw clenched, but he remained silent. The pain in his eyes was evident, but he didn’t speak. He couldn’t, not when he knew the words he needed to say would only make things worse. His heart ached for her, but he had no idea how to fix what he had broken.

Y/n’s body shook with anger, the injustice of it all weighing down on her chest. She turned on her heel, ready to storm away, but that’s when it happened.

The sharp pain slammed into her abdomen, and her knees buckled. She gasped, her breath catching in her throat as her vision blurred with pain.

Azriel--who appeared out of nowhere--was at her side in an instant, his arms steadying her, but her body betrayed her. She clutched her stomach, her body wracked with pain that seemed to come from nowhere.

"Y/n?" Azriel’s voice was filled with concern as he tried to steady her, but she could barely hear him through the intensity of the agony. Cassian was on the other side, his hands gently gripping her arms, trying to keep her upright.

"Madja!" Cassian barked at Rhysand, his voice filled with anger and venom, "Be responsible and get Madja now!"

But Y/n didn’t hear him. All she could focus on was the agony coursing through her, the pain so sharp and overwhelming that it consumed her. She didn’t care about Rhysand anymore. She didn’t care about Feyre. She didn’t care about anything except for one thing: their child.

Her breath came in shallow gasps as she cradled her stomach with one hand, feeling the life growing inside her, the precious little one she had been so determined to protect.

"Please," she whispered weakly, her voice breaking as she looked at Rhysand. "Please don’t take this from me."

Cassian and Azriel exchanged a frantic glance, both of them moving into protective mode as they kept her steady. Y/n’s eyes were locked onto Rhysand now, her fury mingled with a desperate need for him to understand. To feel the weight of what he had done.

But it was too late. The damage was done.

Rhysand stepped forward, his hand reaching out to her, but Y/n jerked away from him, the sudden movement only worsening the pain in her abdomen. She gasped again, clutching her stomach as a new wave of agony hit her.

“Y/n, please—” Rhysand’s voice was low, broken, but she couldn’t listen. Not anymore.

"No," she choked out, her voice hoarse. "No more excuses, Rhysand." Her hands trembled, her body trembling, and she couldn’t hold back the flood of emotions any longer. She was done.

The pain continued to tear through her, her thoughts scattering, spinning out of control as she cradled her stomach tighter. The tears she had been holding back finally spilled, but they weren’t just from the physical pain. They were for everything she had lost in that one moment. The trust. The love. The future they were supposed to build together.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she sobbed, her voice breaking. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” She glanced at Feyre, her eyes hard, but her voice trembled with more than just anger. “How could you—how could you do this to me?”

But before anyone could respond, another wave of pain shot through her, and she screamed, her body collapsing into Cassian and Azriel’s arms. Her mind was a blur, only one thing clear—she needed help. She needed them to save the child.

Azriel's voice was low and commanding, filled with urgency. "Cassian, hold her. I’ll get Madja." He turned and moved swiftly toward the door, his wings brushing against the wall as he flew out into the night.

“Please, Y/n,” Cassian murmured, his voice soft but filled with fear. “Please, hold on.”

Y/n’s vision was swimming. She barely registered the words, the frantic chaos around her, her body failing her. All she could feel was the tight grip of the pain as it dragged her deeper into the darkness.

Rhysand stood there, torn between the desperate need to run to her side and the instinct to protect Feyre. He was lost. He had lost her. And in that moment, Y/n’s shattered words echoed in his mind: We have a child, Rhysand... You will be a father... Are you not ashamed of yourself?

And for the first time in his life, Rhysand had no answers.

Y/n slowly regained consciousness, the dull ache in her head reminding her of the storm that had passed through her body. She blinked against the bright light, her vision blurred for a moment before it cleared. The soft, cool sheets beneath her, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, it all felt so distant and overwhelming.

Madja's voice cut through the haze. "You're awake," she said softly, her tone warm but firm. "Good thing no harm was done to the baby, but you're under a lot of stress. I can feel it in your body, the strain on you."

Y/n turned her head slowly, seeing Madja standing next to her, the healer’s face filled with concern. Azriel was by the window, his posture tense, while Cassian hovered near the foot of the bed, his face a mixture of guilt and concern. Amren, ever stoic, stood off to the side, her eyes watching with an unreadable expression.

"Your baby is fine, Y/n," Madja continued, placing a hand lightly on Y/n’s arm. "There’s no danger of premature birth. Just take care of yourself, try to rest, and the baby will be fine. But your stress levels... they’re far too high." She gave them all a pointed look. "All of you."

With that, Madja stepped back, her eyes lingering on Y/n for a moment longer before she turned and left the room. There was a silence that followed, one that stretched out far too long for Y/n's comfort. Cassian was the first to speak, though his voice was unsure, quiet, the weight of his earlier actions heavy in the air.

"Y/n, I—" he started, but Y/n lifted her hand weakly, signaling for him to stop.

"How long?" she whispered, her voice fragile but steady with the hurt of it all. "How long have you all known?"

Azriel stiffened, and Amren rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Girl, don’t involve me in this mess," she said with a scoff. "I had no idea either. Though, it was kind of obvious." She glared at the two males as if daring them to argue.

Cassian ran a hand through his hair, looking down at the floor, his voice laced with regret. "We thought it would be best to wait until after the birth to tell you. We didn’t want to put you or the baby at risk."

Y/n's eyes flickered between them, too weary to say anything but the truth. "And that plan went to shit."

Azriel exhaled sharply, stepping closer to the bed. "Y/n, I am so sorry," he said, his voice raw with regret. "Rhysand told us all—told us that she was his mate after the journey. Feyre was mad at him, and... and then Rhys finally came clean to all of us. Told us everything." His eyes were filled with sincerity. "We should’ve told you sooner."

Y/n closed her eyes, shaking her head. "I trusted you all. All of you. And you kept this from me. You should’ve told me the moment you knew." Her voice cracked, but she didn't back down. She would not back down from this.

"I know," Cassian said quietly, his voice filled with shame. "We thought it was for the best. But you’re right. We should’ve told you. I should’ve told you." He ran a hand through his hair again, frustration flashing in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Y/n. I should've trusted you."

The room was thick with emotion, a painful silence hanging in the air when, suddenly, a piece of paper appeared in Y/n’s lap, its crisp edges catching the light. She blinked, a small smile pulling at her lips as she grabbed the letter. Her gaze softened as she read it, the others leaning in, confused.

"What’s this?" Cassian asked, his voice low. "Who’s it from?"

"Kallias," Y/n murmured, her fingers brushing over the letter’s surface with a sad smile. "The High Lord of Winter."

Everyone froze, their eyes widening as they processed the name. "Kallias?" Azriel repeated, his brows furrowed. "What’s he writing to you for?"

Y/n’s smile turned bittersweet as she looked up from the letter, her eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and something more resolute. "I wrote to him a week ago, asking if I could visit Winter. I needed a change of scenery. And he..." she trailed off, her smile growing faint. "He’s more than happy to have me."

The others stared at her, stunned into silence. The room felt as though it had shifted in an instant. "You... You’re going to Winter?" Amren asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Why now?"

Y/n’s smile faltered, but she didn’t hide it. "I already knew I’d leave sooner or later," she whispered, her hands trembling slightly as she folded the letter. "Just... not this soon. I guess my leave will be permanent."

The room erupted into chaos.

"Y/n, no," Cassian said, stepping toward her, his voice filled with desperation. "Please, you can’t—"

"Please," Azriel added softly, moving to her side. "Don’t go."

But Y/n held up her hand, silencing them all. There was a moment of stillness, a tension hanging in the air as they all waited. Slowly, Y/n swung her legs off the side of the bed, her movements slow but deliberate. She pulled her bag from underneath the bed, her gaze focused on the task at hand. "I need this," she said quietly, as though it was an understanding only she could see. "I’ve always needed this."

"Y/n, please," Cassian pleaded again, his voice rough with emotion. "You don’t have to do this."

Y/n’s gaze softened, but she was firm. "I do," she replied, her voice steady. "I do have to."

The room was quiet now, the weight of her words settling over them. It was clear there was no changing her mind.

"Now," Y/n said, turning to Amren, "will you please help me get changed?"

Amren’s expression softened slightly, but she gave a small nod. "Get out, all of you," she said, her tone more gentle than usual. "I’ll help her. And I’ve got advice for her."

The others left reluctantly, Cassian lingering at the door, his eyes heavy with unspoken emotions. Y/n caught his gaze and held it for a moment, before she turned back to Amren, the two of them sharing a quiet understanding.

Amren helped her get dressed, the quiet advice coming in fragments. "Take care of yourself, Y/n. Don’t let them hold you back. You deserve this peace. You deserve to find what you need. The rest will follow."

Y/n nodded, a weak but grateful smile on her lips. "Thank you, Amren."

When she was finally ready, Azriel appeared in the doorway, his expression unreadable. Y/n took a deep breath before moving toward him. Cassian, Mor, and even Amren stood back, their eyes heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Before she left, Y/n moved toward Cassian first. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close for a moment, her face buried in his chest. "I’ll miss you," she whispered.

Cassian hugged her back, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. "Please take care of yourself," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

Next, she turned to Mor, who embraced her with a tight, brief hug, her expression just as conflicted. "I hope you find what you need," Mor said softly.

Lastly, Y/n stepped toward Amren, who looked at her with a strange blend of pride and sorrow. "You’re stronger than you think," Amren said with a faint smile, before she too turned away, leaving Y/n to face her own path.

Y/n gave one last glance at the room before stepping outside. Azriel was waiting for her, his hand outstretched. Without a word, she took it, and in a flash of blue light, they vanished, leaving the shadows of the past behind.

And though Rhysand’s presence was absent, Y/n’s resolve was clear. She was moving on. She was taking the first step toward healing. Toward a future she would shape on her own terms.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[florestalio]

JUST FRIENDS — n.rk

albeit the lines of your friendship were quite blurred, it still confused you as to why riki was suddenly adamant on having your hair tie on his wrist at all times. given, you know, that it would be basically telling the world that the two of you were dating.

GENRE— fluff, highschool au, friends to lovers

WARNINGS— lots of touching, jealousy, mutual pining but they are both oblivious idiots, cursing, toxicity (they are huge haters imo), kissing, slight making out (?), let me know if I missed any!

WORDCOUNT— 6.4k

NOTE— fluff is my biggest enemy, so this was quite the challenge for me. bnd ver posted here!

YOU AND RIKI WERE CLOSE. Too close, according to the rest of your friends.

You both had been best friends since kindergarten, the story of your meeting never failing to tear a chuckle out of anyone who heard it.

You were three years old, having arrived at kindergarten a few minutes ago. You were scared to go and talk to the other kids — what if they were mean? What if they laughed at your pretty bows? What if they didn't want to play with you?

You sat in one corner, away from the other kids, playing with a small doll. Amidst your playing, you saw little feet approach you. You looked up, noticing a boy of your age. He stared right back at you, before pointing at you. “You are going to be my best friend!”

The boy had later introduced himself to be Riki, and you both had truly become best friends. The two of you were together through thick and thin, never leaving each other's side. There were no secrets between the two of you, the thought itself incredulous. You both were best friends, why on earth would you both hide something from each other?

Your bond was unbreakable, something that left many writhing in envy. How come you both were so close, never able to leave each other's side?

With a good bond, comes judgement. Judgement by others, assumptions about your true relationship.

While you both were close, not everyone knew that you both were best friends, right? To any stranger, you both were the embodiment of 'siblings, or dating?'.

While you both bickered and were playful enough to be termed as siblings, the way you both acted with each other, often left people confused.

See, your love language was physical touch, while his was acts of service. After spending so much time with each other for all these years, you both were bound to rub off on each other, weren't you?

His hand was almost always on your waist, or your shoulders — didn't matter where you guys were, or what you were doing — it was always there. If somehow he forgot to put his hand around you, you would loop your arm around his, or intertwine your hands. It was cute, definitely very cute, but — the extreme couple energy that you both excluded was insane.

It didn't help that you were often touching him, skinship being basically your second nature. You were always fixing his hair, his clothes, touching him while you were speaking to him, while you were laughing with him — how could you both expect anyone to believe that you weren't dating each other?

Not only that, both of you would often be seen giving each other random gifts, without it being a special occasion. You were often seen giving Riki a chocolate at a random time of the day, while he was often delivering milk to you. If anyone asked, he always had the same excuse: “She doesn't drink enough water, she needs to stay hydrated”, while you always said “he likes chocolates, is it so wrong of me to give chocolates to a friend?” Needless to say, they always backed off after that.

It was only after a certain set of incidents that everyone finally had something to confirm that yes, you both were indeed more than friends.

IT WAS A QUARTER PAST SEVEN IN THE MORNING, fifteen minutes left for the start of the first period. You and Riki had arrived at school just five minutes ago, with his hand around your waist as usual. The two of you were giggling at some tea you were spilling regarding a relationship between a senior and a sophmore, since you were physically incapable of keeping things from him. Just as you were getting to the good part of the gossip, one of Riki’s friends from the football team ran up to the two of you. Jake.

“Hey lovebirds!” Jake cheerily waved to the both of you, his tone teasing. You simply rolled your eyes with a smile, having gotten used to the antics of his friends. “Riki, dude, I'm gonna need a favour — one of our frontiers is absent, and none of the subs are available. Please help us out for today's match — I promise I'll make it up to you, even if we don't win. You will even have a customized jersey for the match, which you can keep with yourself permanently–!”

Riki hesitated, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. “I don't know, I was planning on leaving early with ___ today, to get ice cream and all…”

You immediately pinched his hand that was around your waist. “He means yes, we can always reschedule the hangout.”

Jake's eyes lit up. “Really?! Thank you so much, you have no idea how desperately we needed another player — I'll go tell the others now, you can come and practice with us during recess!”

Just before he could leave, you halted him, getting out of Riki's grasp. “Jake, wait–”

He stopped on the spot, looking at you with a confused gaze. “Something wrong?”

You stepped forward, brushing some hair out of his face gently, smoothing the slightly messy hair on top of head. You took a step back. “There you go, the mess was bothering me.”

He blinked, a faint red coating his cheeks and creeping up his neck. He was well aware of your touchy nature, but this was the first time he was on the receiving end of it, hence his flustered state. “O-Oh, thanks — I- I'll go now–”

He quickly turned on his heel and left, a light jog evident in his retreating figure. You turned back towards Riki, a smile on your face. “Let's go to class, or else we might be late.”

He nodded, his arm looping around your waist once more, guiding you around the busy halls, to class. You couldn't help but notice the slightly tighter grip he had on your waist, or the way his expression was different than his usual when you turned back towards him.

CLASS WAS BORING AS USUAL. The two of you sat at the back of class, messing around as usual instead of studying. Yet, there was something amiss.

Usually, Riki was a lot more playful, a lot more relaxed and free around you. Currently however, there seemed to be an air of hesitation, reluctance around him. His smile didn't exactly reach his eyes, his laughter feeling forced.

‘Maybe he just isn't feeling it today?’ was what you thought, so you didn't bother asking. You knew if something was seriously bothering him, he would have told you already.

Before long, the bell rang, signifying recess. You quickly held Riki's hand, pulling him out of his seat, and racing into the hall. You both had already eaten in class, — how you both never get caught, is a mystery you're both yet to solve — so he would have the entire recess to practice with the rest of the football team for the match that was going to take place later on.

You both quickly navigate your way to the football ground, spotting Jake and the rest of the team doing lazy stretches to warm up first. He spotted the two of you quickly enough, waving and rushing over to where you both were standing.

“Hey,” he began, a grin adorning his face. “I'm so glad you didn't change your mind — ___, you can sit on the benches and watch if you'd like, I'm sure the others won't mind! Also, coach got the customized jersey done already — no idea how he got it done so quickly — it's there in the locker rooms, so you can change into that right now if you'd like!”

You admired his ability to yap continually without stopping, making you smile a little. You nodded in his direction, nudging Riki to go and change already, before quickly walking over to the benches and taking a seat.

Soon enough, Riki was back, adorning the jersey, making your jaw drop. You couldn't take your eyes off him — you had never seen him in attire similar to that before, but damn, he sure did look amazing.

Your face flushed slightly, as you quickly tried to snap out of these thoughts. Nope, that's your best friend, you're not going to think of him in that sense.

You watched as they all played, Riki surprisingly being able to keep pace with them. You never watched him play before, the sight drawing you in like a moth to a flame. His concentration was — were you blushing?! 

God, what was wrong with you? Had you been single for so long that the sight of your best friend simply practicing in the field had you all giddy?

The rest of the recess went on smoothly, with you trying not to concentrate on Riki too much, lest someone caught you with your cheeks on fire. God, you really needed to get yourself together.

Once practice was over, Riki quickly went to you, his usual smile back on face. You handed him a bottle of water, quickly wiping his sweat off him. He started babbling while you were doing so. “Did you see that? I did pretty good back there, right? Jake said that he was confident we would win the match today, and said I was better than the guy I'm subbing for! Isn't that great?”

You let out a hum, finishing wiping off his sweat. “Yea, you were amazing. C'mon now, we need to run, or else we will be late for history — you know how ma'am gets when someone is even two seconds late.”

He nodded, seemingly satisfied with your answer. He didn't need to know that you weren't exactly watching much of what he was doing, or that you were only watching him.

AS SOON AS THE BELL FOR THE LAST PERIOD RANG, nearly the whole school raced to the grounds. All the players, including Riki, ran to the locker rooms to change, whereas the rest of the students quickly found the best seats possible.

You sat at the very front, a bottle of water and a towel already in your hands. You were a little tense for the match, since the opponent team seemed to be extremely well prepared. Still, you tried to not let your mind wander, focusing on Riki, as he came out of the locker rooms, into the field.

The match started. The opposing team was putting up a good defense, but Riki’s team was able to keep up. It was hard to watch, the many nearly-goals and nearly-fouls heightening your nerves. You tried to not let them get to your head, focusing instead on cheering for Riki.

Half time arrived soon enough, with both the teams having scored one goal each. Riki came straight to you, quickly taking the bottle from your hand, gulping it all down. He gave you a sheepish grin. “Sorry, I'm really nervous for the match. The opposing team is… starting to get angry. I don't think they expected us to keep up, so they were a little dumbfounded. But now they are simply pissed — they aren't exactly known for being the fairest when it comes to playing football, and winning.”

You bit your lip, wiping off his sweat with the towel. “But they can't use unfair means to win, can they? They will get a foul…”

Your words died down on your tongue once you noticed his grim expression. “If they somehow injured one of us, leaving us incapable of playing, what is one red card going to do? They have subs available, we don't. If one of us is out, the match would already be lost.”

You didn't know what to say in order to encourage or comfort him. You knew that the reputation of their opponents wasn't the best, but there was nothing anyone could do, other than to stay safe and try their best. So that's what you told him.

He gave you an amused smile. A teasing glint appeared in his eyes.“You sound worried. Are you scared that they might hurt me?”

You scowled at him. “This isn't a joke! They could actually injure you, can't you just give me your word that you will at least try to stay safe?”

He let out a small snicker, before giving you a mock salute. “Of course ma'am. Just do me a favour, will you?”

You tilted your head to the side. A favour? Now? You decided not to question it. “Sure I can. But it depends on what it is.”

He grinned at you, before pulling his jersey off him, revealing a plain white t-shirt underneath. That explained why he was sweating more than the others. Who even wears two layers to a football match?

He shoved it in your chest. “Wear it, and cheer for me.”

You gave him an incredulous look. “No way! It's literally drenched in your sweat.”

He pouted, giving you a pleading look. “Please? For me? It's only for an hour and a half, can't you do it? I'll feel a lot more motivated then. C'mon, just do it, please–”

You groaned at his incessant begging. “Fine! I'll wear it — just… ugh, help me out with it–”

The grin on his face grew, as he quickly helped slide the jersey onto you. He proudly made you twirl for him, with you hiding your face in your hands from the utter embarrassment of it — but complying nonetheless. Unbeknownst to you, a smug smirk adorned his face, as he locked eyes with Jake in the process, who quickly looked away, his ears turning red at having been caught looking.

The whistle sounded again, signifying the start of the second half. Riki quickly left, the hurried ‘good luck!’ that you threw at him bringing a smile to his face.

You watched as he advanced into the field with renowned vigour, the determined expression on his face soothing your nerves slightly. You made sure to cheer for him even louder than before, the grin that he threw your way making it worth the looks that were shot in your direction.

But the opposing team did not relent. Eager to match Riki's newfound enthusiasm, they changed their strategies. The brutality in every move that they made caused your anxiety to spike. 

Riki's team, however, didn't let it deter them. Everyone was determined to win, to not succumb to the team that always tries to get their way through unfair means.

Speaking of unfair means, the attempts at making foul moves increased ten-fold. Many of the players in Riki's team were almost injured, but somehow they managed to avoid it at the last second. Why the referee wasn't giving any yellow cards, was beyond your imagination.

The clock was ticking down. Not a single goal had been made. The audience was starting to lose hope, the enthusiasm in their cheers starting to fade. You made sure to continue screaming, cheering them on as best as you could. In the midst of it all, Riki glanced at you. Upon seeing the expression on your face, he made it his personal mission to win. He had to, for you. He wasn't going to disappoint you, he swore to himself.

With a determined look, he surged forward, trying to get to the ball. Jake had the ball, and he locked eyes with him. Upon noticing the younger’s determined expression, he managed to pass the ball to him.

Riki caught the ball without any interceptions, quickly racing towards the goal. He skillfully avoided all the attempts to tackle him, running as fast as possible to the goal. The goalkeeper froze, upon noticing the expression on his face.

Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, he struck. With a sudden burst of strength, he kicked the ball, watching as it flew into the goalpost, the goalkeeper just narrowly missing it.

The sudden uproar that erupted was deafening to say the least. His teammates were hugging and whooping, patting him on the back. The exhilarating feeling that came from the win, made him feel lighter, as if he was on cloud nine.

His eyes searched for you, noticing you trying to get past the huge crowd towards him. He quickly navigated his way out of the crowd, making his way towards you. As soon as he was in front of you, he wrapped his arms around your waist, making you squeal, as he picked you up and spun you in the air. His grin was wide, your own grin almost as wide as his. “We won! We actually fucking won! Did you see my last goal? I looked cool right? I still can't believe I actually made the goal–”

In the midst of his yapping, one of your friends was wiping his sweat off for him. While you tried to not let it show, you couldn't help the jealousy that flared inside you at the intimate gesture. You were supposed to do it for him, not her. Riki didn't even seem to notice, too focused on telling you the details — as if you didn't witness it all by yourself.

Unable to bear the sight of her wiping off his sweat with a random towel, you grabbed his hand, pulling him away. You both set into a sprint, away from the people congratulating him.

As soon as you reached a somewhat secluded region of the school, you turned to him, your arms crossed over your chest. But before you could speak, he spoke first, his breathing coming in short pants. “Goddamn woman, I just won a match, you're already making me run again? Cut me some slack, will you?”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring his outburst. “Why did you let her do it?”

He looked at you, confused. “Huh? Let who do what…?”

You gave him an incredulous look. “Her. You let her wipe off your sweat for you — don't tell me that you didn't notice it at all?!”

He still looked confused. “Huh? Someone did that? I didn't even realise — I was talking to you, so I was distracted, I guess. But why does it matter?”

You gave him a pointed look, frustration evident in your eyes. Why wasn't he getting it?! “‘Why does it matter?’ Because I'm your best friend! I always do it for you, so why would you let her do it as well? If I'm your best friend, then shouldn't I get treated as such? Shouldn't I be treated differently from the rest of our friends? Why are you letting her do something that only I do to you?”

His eyes widened, before he frowned. “I didn't even notice her doing it… but if I should treat you differently from the rest of our friends, shouldn't you do the same to me as well? Why should this be a one-sided arrangement?”

Now it was your time to frown. “One-sided? How is this one-sided?! I always treat you differently, how have I ever treated you similar to the rest of our friends?”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, I don't know, maybe yesterday? When you fixed Jake's hair for him? Since when did you start fixing people's hair other than mine?”

You were at a loss for words. You simply opened and closed your mouth several times, like a fish out of water.

Riki spoke again. “How about this: I pay more attention to my surroundings, while you keep your hands to yourself? Don't go around touching other people's hair, that should be reserved for me only. Do we have a deal?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Fine. We have a deal.”

You usually didn't back down from fights that easily. But everything seemed to be different when it involved Riki.

TRUE TO YOUR DEAL, the two of you didn't treat others even remotely similar to how you treated each other anymore. Both of you grew much closer than before. People could easily pick up on the change in the air around the two of you, the shippers going slightly insane. When were the two of you going to announce your relationship officially?

Neither of you paid much attention to those silly rumours, always dismissing the teasing. Friends were allowed to be possessive of each other, were they not? Was it a crime to want some things to be just between you guys, and not for everyone else to know and judge?

Days went by the same, the teasing never stopped. But it was always there from the very beginning of your friendship, not just from classmates, but outsiders and family members as well. Both of you had grown used to it.

Recently, both you and Riki had noticed the trend of wearing hair ties on wrists. While it wasn't an uncommon sight for girls, it certainly was for boys. What do they need a hair tie for, when their hair is so short?

It was quickly discovered that the hair ties were actually of their girlfriends’, them wearing it on their wrists being a sign of commitment — and the general fact that they had a girlfriend.

Of course, it flared jealousy among those who weren't in a relationship — including you and Riki. Both of you glared in resentment at anyone who had a hair tie on their wrist, always greeting them with a bitchy eye roll. Both of you, like every other single person, loved to hate on couples, betting on when they would break up, if they were cheating on their partner, and whatnot. You both were always met with the same responses: ‘Just wait till you get into a relationship.’

Your responses were the same too. The same eye roll, paired with a pissed off comment, either mocking them, or talking about how neither of you would ever bother with dating anyone. Everytime, you both were met with an exchange of amused glances. Neither of you ever understood that they meant when you both would get together.

It started to get unbearable after a while, with almost everyone wearing a hair tie on their wrist. It was frankly starting to annoy Riki a lot, to the point that he snapped at his friends, which was uncharacteristic of him. It was only then that the guys gave him the obvious solution: to wear a hair tie as well.

Wearing a hair tie on his wrist was easier said than done. For Christ’s sake, he didn't have a girlfriend! Why would he wear a hair tie on his wrist, when he didn't have someone's to wear?

But then a crazy thought struck him. He may not have a girlfriend, but he definitely had a girl best friend. You. He could wear your hair tie on his wrist, right?

Turns out, you didn't share the same views as him.

“ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY NOT. Where did you even get this crazy idea from?!”

Riki bit his lip, rubbing his nape sheepishly. “Well — the guys keep teasing me, so I got desperate, and… uhm…”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, closing your eyes, and sighing. “Riki, you're aware that only couples wear hair ties on their wrists, right? We,” You gestured between the two of you. “are not a couple. You wearing my hair tie on your wrist would be indicating that I'm your girlfriend. Which I'm clearly not. Let's not give everyone another incentive to tease us, yea?”

He let out a groan. “Oh, c’mon, who cares what others think? We can just — make an excuse — tell them that I'm wearing it because you keep losing your hair ties, so I'm basically your hair tie holder. How does that sound?”

You gave him an incredulous look. “No one will ever buy that shitty excuse.”

He scowled at you. “Oh, like you could come up with something better.”

You nodded enthusiastically, although it was completely sarcastic. “Of course I can! We forget this conversation! Because we both know what the hair tie would indicate. Not just to others, but between us too.”

He shook his head stubbornly. “I don't care. I'm going to wear one.”

You rolled your eyes. But before you could open your mouth to retort, Riki grabbed the hair tie that you used to meticulously tie your hair into a ponytail and pulled.

You watched in shock, as your hair came undone, your hair tie now in his hand. With a smug smirk, he wore it on his wrist, showing it to you proudly, before going off to his class. “Bye ___! See you after this period!”

Oh, he was definitely going to see you. Maybe two of you or even more, depending on how hard you punch him.

JUST AS EXPECTED, you both were on the receiving end of everyone’s teasing, becoming the new hot topic of your school. No matter how much you both tried to ignore it, it just didn’t work.

Questions about whether you both were secretly dating or not followed you both left and right, comments assuming the status of your relationship were thrown about casually — it was simply too much. None of your friends believed you either, their cheeky smiles and teasing comments following you both everywhere.

All because of Riki’s obsession with wanting to wear your hair tie.

At some point you both got sick of trying to clear up the accusations, just letting people think what they wanted to. After all, their assumptions and comments weren’t going to magically come true, just because they think a certain way.

Right?

THE TEASING HAD GOTTEN TO A POINT WHERE NEITHER OF YOU COULD STAND IT ANYMORE, causing you both to avoid people as much as possible. Did no one understand the concept of personal space anymore? Or did they forget that minding their own damn business would always be more fruitful than trying to gather tea about other people’s love lives, or lack thereof?

Most of the time, you both hung out in the library or rooftop, sometimes even resorting to taking refuge in the janitor’s closet, that’s how much you both were affected by the constant teasing. How come everyone was so damn invested in the love life of you both, when it didn’t even concern them in the slightest?

Today was no different. From the morning, all you both could hear were comments like ‘So when are you guys planning on making it official?’, ‘When will you both drop the bomb?’, ‘Don’t bother lying, it’s too obvious that you both are super into each other.’, etc., etc. Your fist was clenched tightly by your side, Riki’s grip on your waist also tighter than usual. The urge to punch them in the faces was extremely high. When were they going to get bored of teasing you both?

In order to escape them, Woohak steered you through the crowd, escaping into the stairway. The two of you quickly climbed up the stairs, going to the rooftop. You pushed the door to the terrace open, the cold wind whipping in your faces. Riki slammed the door shut behind him using his foot, his hand never leaving your waist.

You went towards the railing, leaning on top of it. Riki finally let go of your waist, leaning on the railing beside you. Neither of you spoke, simply enjoying the feeling of the cool breeze, and the majestic view of the cityscape beneath. The cars and people looked quite tiny from up there, like ants, which was to be expected, given that your school building was eight stories tall.

Suddenly, Riki cleared his throat. He spoke up, his voice low, eyes facing his front. “Do the rumours and the constant teasing bother you too much?”

You snapped your head towards him, your eyebrows furrowed in surprise. “Where is this coming from?”

He looked at you. “You know, the constant questions and comments that are thrown in our way? It just — it got me thinking: ‘What if it all bothered you too much? What if our friendship isn’t worth all the comments and excessive teasing we face?’ Just stuff like that.”

Your eyes widened in shock. “Oh my god — don’t you ever think like that, you hear me? Just because some people like to be annoying and poke their big ass nose in our goddamn business, doesn’t mean our friendship isn’t worth the trouble. Do you really care about other people’s opinions enough to end our friendship? Just like that?”

He quickly shook his head. “No no no, absolutely not — I just thought… actually, nevermind. I thought the rumours were making you uncomfortable, I’m glad I was wrong.”

A hint of a smile crept up your face, as you looked in front of you again. “A few silly comments can never make me break my friendship with you. You’re my best friend, aren’t you? Best friends are supposed to stick together, no matter what. Through thick and thin, all of our ups and downs Riki.”

He looked in front of him again, letting out a scoff, which was supposed to be an amused one, but it came out more bitter than intended. “Yea, best friends… that’s all we'll ever be…”

The last part was quiet, but you still heard it. The tips of your ears burned, a flush creeping up your neck. You quickly tried to change the subject. “L-Let’s try something.”

He furrowed his brows, looking at you again. “Try what?”

You bit your lip, quickly trying to think of something. “Uhm — let’s climb the railing and sit on it! Sounds fun, right?”

He raised a brow. “Absolutely not. That’s the stupidest, and most dangerous idea you’ve ever had, and that’s saying something.”

You pouted. “Come on, it’s not that bad — the railings are sturdy, we won’t fall.”

Riki firmly shook his head. “Nope. You want to climb it? Be my guest. But don’t tell me I didn’t warn you when you fall off and possibly break your leg. Or an arm. Or crack open your skull. Either way, I will say ‘I told you so’.”

You rolled your eyes, beginning to climb it up. “Oh shut up — I’m sure you would love to goad about it, if I fell off. You revel in my misery after all, don’t you–?”

You got cut off by a yelp of your own, your hand slipping. Riki immediately came to your rescue, pulling you off the railing. In complete and utter fear of the sudden momentary lapse of judgement that almost caused you to fall off the roof, you turned around, hugging him tightly.

He held you close, wrapping his own arms around your waist. He could feel your heart beating erratically in your chest, matching his own. He couldn’t believe how stupid and unaware of your surroundings you were.

He glared down at how you buried your head in his chest, in disbelief of your previous actions. You were shaking slightly in his hands, but he didn’t care. “Are you fucking insane?! You knew that was dangerous, why on earth would you still try to climb the damned railings? For the love of god, you could have fallen off and died!”

You meekly raised your head, preparing to retort, before freezing. He was so, so close. You could make out every single detail on his face, every freckle, every pore, every single blemish. Yet, he was so… mesmerizing.

Riki’s heart skipped a beat as he looked down at you. His voice took a softer edge, a gentle note evident in it. “Promise me that you will never…”

Too lost in his eyes, you didn’t hear him. His voice and every other noise faded to the background, your sole focus being on his eyes. They were pulling you in, drowning you in them. Like a siren luring an unsuspecting victim.

Your lips parted slightly, as you kept staring at him, his warm breath fanning your face. He swallowed hard, realizing exactly how close you were. The adrenaline pumping in his veins was fucking with his head, thoughts of what your lips would feel like against his filling his mind. His eyes flickered down to your parted lips, the urge growing, before they quickly darted back up to your eyes, meeting your gaze once again. “Promise me.”

The words seemed to be stuck in your throat, which suddenly felt parched. “I…”

His breath hitched, eyes fixed on your parted lips once again. His heart was still racing, the world seeming to narrow down to just the two of you, standing flush together on the roof. “You…” He whispered, leaning just a fraction closer without realizing it. “You what?” It came out softer than intended, just a barely audible murmur.

You swiped your tongue over your bottom lip, wetting it with your saliva. The words tumbled out of your mouth, without you even realizing it. “God, you’re so pretty…”

Riki’s world seemed to stop, his mind going blank. His grip on your waist tightened slightly. “What did you say?” He whisper-hissed, leaning just a tad bit closer. His gaze flickered down to your lips again. The shift in the atmosphere around the two of you was becoming impossible to ignore, becoming electric with unsaid words and unacted-upon impulses.

You blinked, biting down on your lip. There was no going back now. “You’re pretty…”

His heart skipped a beat, then another, then another. He could barely believe what he was hearing — no one had ever called him ‘pretty’ before. Sure, he had heard other words: handsome, attractive, stunning, eye-catching — but ‘pretty’? Never did he hear that one before. But damn, he would be lying if he said it didn’t make his heart race — probably more than the other praises ever did. It was a word typically reserved for women, but hearing it from you directed towards him? It made his brain short-circuit.

He asked you again, just to confirm. “Pretty?”

You nodded, no longer scared of his reaction. “Very much so.”

He felt his cheeks flush again at the unusual comment. He was blushing, and he never blushed. But everything seemed to be different when he was around you.

His mind was reeling, as he tried to process this new information. You, his best friend, thought he was pretty. He leaned even closer, his lips just a hair breath away from yours now. “You really think I’m pretty?” He whispered, his voice just barely audible.

You gulped, nodding. “Yea — yea, I do.”

His heart started pounding rapidly in his chest, his breathing shallow. He could feel the heat radiating off your body, the closeness of your lips, the way you were looking up at him. It was starting to all fade out into white noise, the sound of his rapidly beating heart in his ears. His eyes zeroed in on your parted lips, and something in him snapped.

Throwing all rational thought out of the window, he closed the barely there gap between your both, softly pressing his lips to yours. Your lips were as soft as a cloud, feeling pillowy against his. The kiss was brief, barely more than a whisper. It was nothing more than a peck, but it was enough to make his heart jump out of his chest, into his throat. When he pulled back, his eyes were as wide as saucers, surprised by his own boldness. “I–”

You didn’t let him complete his sentence. You grabbed his face, cupping it with both hands, pulling his face towards yours again. You kissed him again, with a lot more vigour, pouring out your pent up feelings into the kiss.

He was caught off guard by the sudden intensity of the kiss, but he melted into it. His hands pulled you even closer, as if trying to meld your body into his. He parted his lips, deepening the kiss, as he felt your arms wrap around his neck, pulling you even closer.

One of his hands came up to your face, cupping it, tilting his own to further deepen the kiss. The lack of air was starting to hurt, despite how addicting your lips were. He pulled back slowly, not before gently biting down on your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth, before letting go of it with a pop.

You felt a little dazed, but still smiled up at him, your eyes slightly hazy and unfocused. He chuckled at your state, planting a kiss on top of your head. “Pretty, huh?”

Your cheeks grew warmer at the teasing undertone in his voice. “Shut up. I meant it, you know.”

His grin grew wider, as he kissed your cheek. “I know. I hope this is a good time to say that I like you? Like, I really fucking like you, I was just scared to confess because of the recent situation… with the excessive teasing and all… and, well, the fear of rejection.”

You hit his arm. “You silly goose — if I didn’t like you back, do you think I would behave the way I do with you? Absolutely not. You’re lucky I put up with your antics, you know.”

He rolled his eyes, although there was a smile on his face, one which he didn’t bother hiding. “You know, the hair tie was just a ploy? I just wanted any potential suitors to back off of you, but I didn’t expect people to react like… that.”

You let out a giggle. “I figured. It was honestly a really cute, albeit smart move on your part. Certainly made everyone back off… only to approach us with a different reason.”

He smiled down at you, his expression utterly lovesick. His eyes were practically resembling hearts. “D’you think if we announced it officially they would finally stop?”

You shrugged. “Probably not. Hopefully yes. But — in order to make it official, you need to ask me first, you know? Learn to be a gentleman, Riki.” The last bit was just you teasing him, something that he caught on to pretty quickly.

He playfully rolled his eyes, before speaking theatrically. “Fine — would you like to do the honour of becoming my girlfriend, ___? Wait no, scratch that — would you make me the happiest man alive by letting me take the position of your boyfriend?”

You scoffed in amusement at his dramatics, before pretending to think. “Take me out on a date first, then I will think of it.”

He gave you a smug grin, a determined glint in his eyes. “Deal.”

PERMANENT TAGLIST— @senascoooop

[downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le]

As Brave As You Are (Newt x Reader) - A Maze Runner Story

As Brave As You Are (Newt x Reader) Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 12,051 Warnings: death, bloody wounds, fighting, mental and physical torture, guns, suicidal thoughts and actions Spoilers: no spoilers because the books and films came out ages ago

After helping Newt recover from his ankle injury, Y/N and Newt formed an unbreakable bond that always had them looking out for each other. When they escaped the Maze, then navigated the Scorch, they always had each other’s back. It isn’t until Y/N is captured alongside Minho by WCKD and Newt contracts the Flare that he realises how he truly feels about Y/N.

Problem is, will he rescue her in time to tell her?

Note: I'm back in my dystopian future era thanks to the new Hunger Games film so of course I had to write for my original YA crush. This piece is based on the movie series mainly. Don't get mad at me, I love the books more, but I can appreciate the storylines that came out of the path they took with the films. And if there is one thing the TMR fandom can agree on, it is that the film cast was the best cast ever for the series. So enjoy - not sorry that it's horrendously long, Newt deserves it xx

‘Medjack! Medjack, now!’

Y/N recognised it was Minho was calling for help. Clint and Jeff ran out of the med hut to see what all the commotion was. It wasn’t long before they were hurrying back inside, carrying Newt of all people between them, Minho and Alby in tow.

‘Clear the table,’ Clint ordered, and Y/N quickly followed through, practically throwing off containers, bowls and medical instruments to get Newt on there as quick as possible. Once Newt was up, Y/N finally noticed the unnatural twist in his ankle and it almost sent Frypan’s sloppy sweet potato soup right back up. 

She was still pretty new to her job as a Medjack, being the greenie and all. She was the only girl in the Glade of the current twelve residents, so she was intimidated at first as to what role she could play in the place. Medjack seemed the most suitable, and she seemed to have a knack for it, having stitched up some eyebrows and cleaned up knee scrapes with ease and precision. 

But even though she’d seen blood, dealt with displaced bones and joints, she still got queasy doing her job. It didn’t help that Newt was hissing through clenched teeth from the intense pain, an occasional sob passing through.

‘What happened?’ Y/N asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Minho said. ‘We split up for only five minutes. I thought we could cover more ground that way. And we’ve run that part of the Maze like a hundred times already. I thought we’d be fine…’

Clint held Newt down as Jeff and Y/N took a look at Newt’s ankle. Jeff only pressed gently with his fingers around the bone, but Newt’s responding howls confirmed the severity of the injury.

‘The bone is completely shattered,’ Jeff said grimly. ‘We’re going to need to reset his foot first though. Y/N?’

‘On it.’ She rushed to a shelf that held bandages, then to a cupboard with flat boards about shin length. She grabbed two of those before heading back to the table.

‘You’re going to have to hold him down,’ Y/N directed at Alby and Minho, gesturing to follow Clint’s efforts. Then she turned to Newt, whose face was slicked with tears and sweat as he continued to writhe in pain. ‘Newt. Newt, can you open your eyes for me? I need you to focus on me.’

To his credit, Newt opened his eyes and he didn’t look away from her. 

‘Good. Good, Newt,’ she said. ‘Now, we have to realign your foot. It’s going to hurt a lot. We’ll go on three, okay?’

In the short time Y/N had known Newt – which arguably was no time at all, as he ran every day and she was in the Medjack hut all day. They didn’t interact unless he or another runner got hurt, or at dinner if only to say hello. Even so, she had come to know he liked it plain and straight, no bullshit. So, despite his pain, he took two deep, calming breaths and gave her a nod to say he was ready for what they had to do.

Y/N nodded back, then looked to the others, who had their hands braced on all Newt’s limbs. ‘Ready?’ she asked, to which they nodded in reply. Y/N gently held Newt’s ankle, eliciting a quiet whimper from the boy. ‘Okay, on three. One, two…’ She cut herself off as she slammed her hands either side the ankle bone, causing a loud cracking sound as the ankle snapped back into place. 

Newt’s wail of pain must’ve been heard from across the whole Glade it was so loud. He writhed and pulled to sit up, but the boys held him down as Y/N and Jeff bandaged the two splints either side of Newt’s ankle. Jeff then dabbed a small dose of chloroform in a cloth and pressed it to Newt’s nose. Soon enough, the boy was unconscious, finally pain-free.

‘You guys go have dinner,’ Y/N said to Clint and Jeff a little while later as they were cleaning up the hut. Alby and Minho had left soon after Newt fell asleep, but it was almost dinner time now. ‘I’ll stay with Newt tonight.’

‘You sure?’ Clint asked. ‘We can do shifts if you’d prefer.’

Y/N shook her head. ‘I insist. You guys rest up. I can do this. Consider this my final test to becoming a fully-fledged Medjack.’

Jeff chuckled. ‘You have much more to learn, Greenie, but suit yourself.’

‘We’ll bring you back some food, Y/N,’ Clint said as he and Jeff left the hut, leaving Y/N to idly clean up.

Newt woke up from a dull throbbing in his ankle, which turned into a harsh pain, causing him to sit up in alarm. 

‘Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,’ a voice gently said as equally gentle hands pushed him back down.

‘My ankle,’ he said, voice hoarse and dry. ‘It hurts…’

The face of the voice finally came into view: it was the Greenie. Y/N offered him a small smile as he finally recognised her. In one hand, she held a needle with clear serum. Her other she offered to his leg. ‘May I? It’ll help, I promise.’

He hesitated for a moment, but the intense pain in his ankle broke his composure as he eagerly nodded. The painkiller worked immediately, and Newt sighed with relief as the throbbing eased significantly.

’There,’ Y/N said, wiping the needle. ’That should help for a bit. Sadly, we don’t have much left for me to give you more than once a day, but I’m hoping you won’t need it beyond the end of the month.’

Confusion clouded Newt’s mind as he tried to process her words. ‘What… What happened?’ But he answered his own question as images of the Maze flashed through his mind, and he remembered it all. How he bid farewell to Minho. How he climbed as high as he could along the Maze walls. How easy it was to let go. 

Then the pain fully encompassed him, and then it was just a blur. How Minho found him. How Clint and Jeff laid him on the table he realised he was still on. How angry and embarrassed he felt having his friends see him broken and miserable. 

Newt managed to pull himself into a sitting position, propping a pillow behind him to cushion the hut wall. ‘How bad is it?’ he asked glumly, eyes unable to lift from his injury.

He couldn’t be bothered with pleasantries. He was too tired, and, frankly, saw no point in keeping up appearances anymore. 

To her credit, Y/N seemed to pick up on his mood, saying, ‘It will heal to a point you’ll be able to walk again. But it won’t ever heal properly.’

‘You mean I’ll have a limp?’

‘Potentially.’

’So I can’t be a Runner anymore?’ Y/N didn’t reply, finally drawing Newt’s attention away from the source of his pain and to her. 

Newt had only interacted with Y/N on a few occasions. Mainly at mealtimes or the odd occasion he passed her by on the way back from a run, only talking as much as greeting and farewelling one another. As the only girl so far, of course he found her intriguing, but he never had time nor a reason to get to know her.

And while he’d come to think of her as the quiet and gentle Medjack in comparison to Clint and Jeff, he didn’t see an ounce of pity on her face as she looked at him. Only quiet contemplation, as if there could be any other answer but no to his question.

‘I guess that’s up to you and Alby,’ she finally said. ‘I mean, I know what I should say is no. I’m sure Clint and Jeff will say no. But it’ll more so come down to if you want to go back in or not.’ Her eyes flickered to his ankle, sadness glazing her eyes briefly before returning to him. ‘But I think I can take a guess as to what your answer will be.’

Newt’s gut twisted with guilt and shame that she’d figured it out, and his face flushed with embarrassment and anger. ‘So, you going to tell everyone?’ he asked, words thick  with hopelessness. ‘I mean, that’s your job, right? Diagnose me, then tell Alby, then the whole glade how pathetic I am?’

Y/N shook her head. ‘I think you give me too much credit. I’m not an actual doctor, you know,’ she said, coming to stand beside him. She inspected his ankle for a moment, then turned her gaze to him, and it shocked him to see such intensity in her eyes. It was as if suddenly he was the most interesting person in the world.

‘I can say it was a running accident,’ she finally concluded. ‘You can tell your truth when you’re ready. It’s not my place to take away hope when the others are so full of it right now. That includes me.’

He stared, stunned, as she packed up the last of her things by a spare medical cot at the other end of the hut. It wasn’t until she let out a loud yawn that Newt noticed it was dark outside. The silence of the Glade told him everyone else had gone to bed so it was late. Or early, he couldn’t really tell.

Y/N fluffed a sad excuse of a pillow and put it on the cot. ‘Now that I know you’re alive, are you going to be okay if I get a few minutes shut eye? I can stay up if you’d like.’

Now that the initial shock and embarrassment of the day’s events had subsided, Newt realised how exhausted he was still. ‘No, that’s okay,’ he said. ‘I think I should rest a bit more anyway.’

Y/N nodded and swung her legs up to lie down fully. Newt went to slide himself and his pillow back down to do the same when Y/N spoke again.

‘And Newt?’ she said, her voice soft and almost hesitant.

‘Yeah?’ he called back.

She was silent for so long Newt thought she’d gone to sleep. But then she spoke. ‘For the record, I don’t think you’re pathetic. For wanting it all to end, that is. I actually think what you did was really brave. You might be scared and maybe out of hope, but at least you did something about it. The rest of us can only hope to be as brave as you.’

Newt’s breath caught in his chest as it swelled with a mix of emotions. Brave? What he did was the act of a coward. Tears streamed silently down his face, both from a deep shame, but also a warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time.

The rest of us can only hope to be as brave as you…

Newt had lost all hope after a year of searching for a way out and finding nothing. But she didn’t know that, and neither will the next Greenie, or the Greenie after that. Even some of the boys already in the Glade didn’t know that. That’s why they waited every day for the runners – for him – to come back with news, with a shred of hope that they’d get out of there soon. 

Newt twisted himself so he could see Y/N, who was rolled away from him, her body rising and falling with the rhythm of sleep. Even if he thought it would all be hopeless in the end, some truly believed they would get out of here.

And maybe that was something worth fighting for.

~

Two years on and Newt and Y/N had managed to forge something akin to a friendship. 

Y/N had kept her word and said Newt had had a running accident, and he’d agreed with her for the sake of his worried friends. Y/N had also been right about his ankle; it healed to point where he could walk and do a decent jog with a limp. But he would never run again. 

He was transferred to work as a Track-Hoe in the gardens with Zart. But it wasn’t all bad. As more boys arrived – never any girls much to their confusion – Newt developed a knack for leading others, for diffusing hard situations, and for wrangling the boys into line. Because of that, he was promoted to Alby’s second-in-command, which gave him more meaningful work to do than just the gardens – stuff that might actually get him and the other Gladers out of the bloody Maze. 

It also meant he had more time to talk to Y/N. He would make sure to drop by once a day (and not just at mealtimes) to check in on her. For a time, he convinced himself he did that because it was his job as second-in-command to keep up group morale, and he would visit everyone in the Glade. Eventually, however, he realised it was because he genuinely enjoyed her company.

Since that night, Y/N had come out of her shell more. Still a little shy and apprehensive at times, but she would openly joke and play along with the boys’ antics. She was more confident in her work as a Medjack too, not afraid to boss Clint and Jeff around if she needed something from them.

Newt’s visits became longer, as they talked about any and all things. Aside from Alby and Minho, Newt considered Y/N one of his closest friends. And she must’ve felt the same – or at least in a similar fashion – as she entertained his thoughts about life beyond the Maze, and the rants he would go on thanks to whichever stupid shank put the fertiliser in the wrong place.

It was a friendship built on mutual respect and genuine care for one another, something that helped Newt convince Y/N to come with him and the others when they finally decided to leave the Maze. But he couldn’t help but feel a deep dread and guilt as he waited behind Thomas, knowing that Grievers were right around the corner.

While the others caught up, Newt turned to Y/N – who’d been helping him through the Maze with his limp – and offered her a spare spear he’d been carrying.

Her eyes widened at his offering. ‘I can’t take that. I can’t fight.’

‘Well, you can’t just go in there without something to protect yourself,’ he said, this time forcibly handing the spear over. Y/N clutched the spear awkwardly, and Newt saw the uncertainty in her eyes, in her trembling hands.

Newt felt bad for making her hold such a violent weapon. All her hands had ever done were help people, save them at times. Now he was asking her to kill. It was for the greater good they both knew, but to kill, nonetheless.

Newt placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and locked eyes with her. ‘Hey,’ he said softly, ‘you stay with me the whole time, do you understand? I promise you won’t have to use that unless absolute necessary.’

Y/N bit her lip to stop it trembling too, but she nodded, steeling herself in preparation for the fight ahead. Newt reciprocated the action and gave her shoulder a final squeeze before turning to face Thomas as he explained the plan.

They fought the Grievers, taking down a few while some of them took down Gladers. The Gladers were backed against the door that Teresa and Chuck were trying to open with a code. Minho shouted numbers at them as he, Newt, and the others fended off one last Griever.

Before he could finish, Minho was caught by a Griever, and Clint ran out to save him. But the Griever’s tail caught him, sending him over the edge of the walkway they fought on with one flick.

‘Clint!’

Before Newt could stop her, Y/N rushed out from behind him, spear drawn back and flying at the Griever in seconds. Not being a fighter to begin with, let alone a good one, the spear bounced off its metal leg without much effect. It did, however, alert the Griever to her presence, turning all its attention to her. Minho leapt to his feet, finally free, and ran back to the group. ‘Y/N!’ he cried as he ran. ‘Run!’

Y/N seemed to finally realise her situation, looking up at the Griever frozen with fear. The horrible creature raised its claw to end her, but Newt moved faster. 

He ran as fast as he could, limp be damned, past Y/N and threw his spear at the Griever’s head. It landed true, puncturing one of the creature’s bulbous eyes, drawing a painful screech from it. Newt didn’t wait to see what it would do next, as he grabbed one of Y/N’s arms and Minho grabbed the other and ran back to the group, practically throwing her behind the front line and against the door. 

Teresa finally got the door open and the Gladers tumbled in, Thomas throwing one last spear down the Griever’s throat as the doors closed. 

Lights flickered on to show they were in some empty room with a door on the wall behind them leading to a corridor.

Thomas looked at the group, taking heavy breaths. ‘Everyone okay?’

‘What’s left of us, that is,’ Winston said, his tone sad and regretful. 

As Newt eyed the group, he noted how many they’d lost, how little their group seemed all of a sudden. 

Minho stepped ahead with Thomas, pointing towards the door. ‘Well? It’s not going to open itself.’

As Minho and Thomas led the group to the exit, Newt turned to Y/N, whose eyes had a distant look glazed over them. ‘What were you thinking?’ he asked, bringing her attention to him. ‘I told you to stay behind me. You could’ve been killed.’

‘I-I know. I’m sorry,’ she stuttered out, tears teetering in her E/C eyes. ‘I just… Clint… It all happened so fast, and I was just kind of moving before I knew what I was doing.’ She looked down at her hands then, and Newt noticed a slight tremble to them. ‘I thought I could help, but I was too slow. And I put you guys in danger too. I’m just… I’m sorry.’

Newt’s guilt came back full force then. He placed a gentle hand over her trembling one, grasping her fingers to stop their shaking. When she looked up at him confused, he just said, ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pressured you into thinking you had to fight. You won’t ever hold a weapon like that again. I promise.’

Y/N opened her mouth to object no doubt, but Newt cut her off. ‘But you have to promise me something back. Promise me that you’ll let us protect you. You can help by keeping us alive, just like you always have. But you’ve got to listen to me, you got it?’

He used his authoritative voice this time, and it seemed to work as Y/N calmed down, her unshed tears now gone.

‘Okay,’ she said, quiet but strong. ‘I promise.’

Newt nodded. ‘Good that.’ He turned to see the others leaving through the door then turned back to Y/N. ’Do you think we’d be lucky enough not to face anything else beyond those doors.’

‘I think we should consider ourselves lucky for getting this far.’ To her credit, Y/N managed a small smile as she looked up at him. ‘But why should our luck run out now?’

There it was again; the glimmer of hope Newt had felt from her since the night he injured his ankle. Newt couldn’t deny that they’d made it this far – by design or by luck, they’d made it. 

And who was he to deny that things might be on the look up for them now?

Together, Y/N and Newt followed the rest of the Gladers to meet their makers.

~

‘I never thought I’d say this… but I miss the Glade.’

The group around the fire grew silent at the implication Frypan’s words had, the memories they conjured up. Y/N couldn’t help but agree as she looked into the dark sky above her, peaking from behind the crumbling pillars they took refuge under. 

The sky was always so clear back in the Glade, she recalled silently. But, just like their current situation, the sky was now obscured. 

The people who rescued them from the Maze were actually WCKD – the people who’d put them in the Maze in the first place. The past twelve hours had seen herself, Newt, Thomas, Minho, Frypan, Winston, and a boy named Aris find Teresa, break out of the facility, and enter the deadly Scorch. In their search for supplies, they’d been attacked by crazed, infected people, driving the group to hide where they were.

The Maze was dangerous, but it was familiar and the only home Y/N recalled ever having. Out in the Scorch, safety wasn’t guaranteed. 

She looked to Winston, who laid back, his shirt pulled up to expose the bloody bandage she’d wrapped his torso in. Y/N tried not to think about the infected scratch marks underneath, and more specifically what gave them to him. The Grievers were one thing, but the things that attacked them? They used to be people.

Not wanting to sit in her thoughts anymore, Y/N stood up, brushed off her pants, and grabbed knife from their pile of weapons they’d found in the abandoned mall. ‘I’ll take first watch.’ 

She didn’t wait to hear if anyone objected, already walking around the stone that covered them so she was on top. To her relief, the others let her go without argument, putting out the fire and quickly settling down to sleep.

After half an hour, Y/N decided to get up and patrol around the area, knife tightly gripped in her hand and her footsteps quiet despite the sand. 

There was so much of it,  the sand. The lady in white – Doctor Ava Paige – had said in her video that the whole world was just desert now. The thought made Y/N yearn for the Glade even more. For the grass, and the woods, and the bonfires they used to have, and the games they played. The boys – Clint, Jeff, Alby, Gally, Chuck. 

Y/N wasn’t a hateful person, but she clutched the knife tighter at the thought of all the loss they’d all suffered at the hands of WCKD. 

It’s why she didn’t hesitate to follow Newt when he’d found her in her room – for some reason, she hadn’t been allowed to stay with the other girls from the other mazes just yet. It’s why they were now braving the Scorch searching for people that Thomas didn’t know even existed. They wanted a better life out from under WCKD’s thumb.

The crunch of sand had her whirling around, awkwardly poising the knife as if to attack, but she relaxed at the familiar person standing there.

Newt raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘Whoa there,’ he said, the quirk of a smile on his lips telling her he was just joking. ‘You could do some real damage if you’re not careful.’

Y/N blew out in relief, the knife dropping to her side again. ‘Thanks, but we both know that’s not the case, Newt.’

Newt shoved his hands in his jacket pocket, shrugging his shoulders as he did. ‘I don’t know, I’ve seen you with a scalpel. Absolutely terrifyingly precise with that thing.’

Y/N chuckled softly, appreciative of the distraction. But her smile dropped as she looked out into the dark cityscape. The moon hid behind clouds so Y/N couldn’t make out anything. ‘Is it pathetic that I’m scared to see what the world has become?’ she asked, not daring to raise her voice above a soft mumble.

Newt stepped up beside her, his body radiating the last remnants of heat from the fire and it warmed her slightly. ’Someone once told me that I was brave for facing my fear,’ he said after some quiet contemplation. 

Y/N looked up at him confused, but he looked down at her with a knowing, smug smile. Much to her chagrin, she couldn’t help but chuckle and shake her head at him. ‘I don’t recall saying that specifically. But if that’s how you saw it, who am I to tell you that wasn’t what I meant?’

Newt hummed in agreement looking back out at the dark expanse, contemplation scrunching his brows together. ‘I’ll be honest with you, I’m scared too.’

That surprised Y/N. Newt, second-in-command, casual, leader Newt was scared? ‘You are?’

Newt nodded. ‘I’m scared that we’ve made a mistake. That Thomas is wrong and there aren’t any mountain people.’ He turned back to Y/N, the most serious she’d ever seen him. ‘I’m scared we’re going to lose more of us, and then what was our escape for? But… it’s not my place to take away hope when the others are so full of it. Including myself.’ Finally, Newt’s smile returned, and it warmed that cold pit of despair Y/N had been falling into ever since they left the WCKD facility. ‘Or, at least, I think that’s what someone very wise once told me.’

Y/N stared at him, awestruck. Hopeful. Newt was hopeful again. And she didn’t want to read into it, but she thought the knowing smile he was giving her told her that she had something to do with it. The thought alone strengthened her resolve, and she looked down at the knife in her hands, less afraid of it all of a sudden.

Y/N held it out to Newt. ’Teach me.’

He raised an eyebrow in a silent question. ‘What?’

’Teach me. How to fight,’ Y/N explained, eyes unwavering from his. 

Concern flashed across Newt’s face for a brief moment. ‘Y/N, I told you, you don’t have to fight if you don’t want to.’

‘If there is one thing I’ve come to know about WCKD is that it doesn’t actually matter what I want anymore. What any of us want,’ Y/N said, feeling the most certain she’s felt in a long time. ‘The one thing we have on WCKD is that we are defiant. We escaped, and are taking away the one thing they want most of all: a chance to find a cure. So, if we’re going to have any hopes of making it to the mountains alive, I’m going to have to know how to fight. So please – teach me.’

Newt contemplated her for a moment, and Y/N just prayed he wouldn’t say no. Or even worse, laugh. Instead of doing either, he took the knife from Y/N’s hand, his fingers brushing across her palm as he did. 

‘All right,’ he said, moving his feet apart to get into a fighting stance. ‘First of all, you’ve got to have a wide-ish stance, and stay light on your toes so you can control when you back away from your opponent.’ 

He demonstrated the movement by quickly shuffling away, always keeping his feet a certain distance apart and the knife gripped tight by his hip. ‘…and when you go into attack.’ He moved so fast Y/N didn’t see his footwork, her eyes locked on his as they bored into hers, knife poised at her neck as if he’d strike.

He stepped away and gave her the knife back. ‘You think you can do that?’

Y/N nodded and took the knife, and for the next hour Newt taught Y/N basic blocks and manoeuvres that he’d picked up from Thomas and Minho and just from basic instinct. Just like she’d been with her Medjack skills, Y/N was a quick study, performing move after move when Newt asked her to. 

She impressed herself. For a natural pacifist, she wielded the knife quite fluently.

They decided to finish the session on a quick sparring match. Newt took a swipe at Y/N, and she stepped back just like Newt had taught her. She then rushed in for an attack, to which Newt threw up his own knife in time to block. Y/N anticipated the pushback and twisted out of Newt’s way as he stumbled slightly forward. While he was disorientated, Y/N gripped his wrist that controlled his knife and pointed her own into his back. 

‘Looks like I win,’ she said, breathless but proud.

Y/N didn’t like the carefree scoff he gave her, followed by, ‘Are you sure?’

She doubted herself for a moment, loosening her grip enough for him to twist out of her reach, knock her knife away and bend to sweep her legs out from underneath her. Y/N landed hard, groaning at the pain in her butt as Newt looked down at her and laughed. 

‘I’m glad you find my pain amusing, Newt,’ she grumbled, rubbing her sore behind.

Newt laughed for a moment longer then calmed down. But his radiant smile remained on his face, brightening the darkness surrounding them. ‘I’m sorry, love,’ he said between remaining chuckles. To his credit, he held out his hand in an offer to help her up. ’But the surprise on your face was priceless.’

Y/N contemplated his hand for a moment, whether she should just push it away or take it. Instead, an idea came to mind, and she gripped his hand tightly then pulled him to the ground with her. He landed on his stomach beside her, getting a face full of sand.

Y/N let out a loud laugh before quickly covering her mouth to stifle the relentless laughter that wished to burst from her. 

Newt spat and coughed out sand as he made to sit up. ‘Well,’ he started, spitting out more sand as he looked up at Y/N, ‘I should’ve seen that coming.’

That just made Y/N laugh even harder, using now both hands to quieten the giggles. Goodness, when was the last time she’d laughed this freely? When was the last time she’d felt such joy? After everything they’d been through, Y/N was worried she’d forgotten what was like to laugh.

When she’d calmed down, she looked down to see Newt propped up on his arms looking up at her with an odd expression on his face. Like he was in awe, maybe. Whatever it was, it made Y/N acknowledge how handsome Newt had become. His baby features had faded since she’d first met him, being replaced by a lean figure and a toned jawline from working in the gardens every day for two years. And with his big brown eyes, tousled blond hair and funny accent, Y/N wondered how he had changed so much without her realising it. How she hadn’t realised he’d grown up.

The intensity with which he looked at her brought a heated blush to her face, and so she turned away into the cool night breeze, willing the blush to cool down. Newt shuffled to sit up next to her. They didn’t speak for a minute, until Newt suddenly stood up. 

‘Well, um,’ he started, and for the first time since Y/N had known him, he sounded uncertain about what to say. ‘I better let you continue with your shift. At least you know how to defend yourself now.’

Y/N hastily stood up as well, making sure there was at least a step between them. ‘Yes!’ she said. ‘Thank you for that. I’ll be sure to practice.’

‘Good that.’ 

They looked at each other for a moment, and even though Newt said he was leaving, he made no move to leave. Maybe he doesn’t want to, she thought, and the mere possibility of that being true warmed her heart.

But he took a step away, gave her a shy smile and a small wave farewell. ‘Goodnight, Y/N.’

‘Goodnight Newt,’ she said, those two words hanging in the air long after he’d left.

As she finally woke Frypan up for his shift, she clung to the knife and went through all the manoeuvres Newt had taught her until she fell asleep. 

Newt was unable to sleep until Y/N woke Frypan up to take the next watch shift, and laid down to sleep herself. Newt opened his eyes to see Y/N laying across the pit they’d dug out for the fire. She faced him on her side, and Newt noticed with curiosity that she held the knife she’d practiced with close to her chest. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically, and paired with her heavy breathing, Newt figured she was completely asleep. 

An odd sensation fluttered in his chest and stomach as Newt considered Y/N’s sleeping face. It was the same feeling that had fizzled in his chest when he’d looked up at her as she laughed. He couldn’t remember the last time any of them had laughed as freely as she had. 

And he couldn’t help but admire how beautiful she looked doing so – hiding her bright smile behind trembling hands, eyes narrowed but sparkling with joy. 

All because of him.

He rolled onto his back then, not wanting to give the thought anymore weight. There’s no point getting your hopes up, he reminded himself. But like a moth drawn to flame, Newt couldn’t help but tilt his head to gaze upon her peacefully sleeping. An ache carved itself deep in his heart. How had he not realised her growing up, changing? Being the only girl for a long time, of course he and the others found her pretty. But now that he looked at her – really looked at her, and wasn’t concerned with his life for just a split second – he realised just how beautiful she was. 

It was in her features, but also in her determination to be better for the group. It both hurt and impressed him when she asked for his help. He promised her she would never have to fight again, but things have changed drastically since the Maze.

It was in her ability to still find the joy in things, to still be able to laugh despite their situation.

It was how she believed in Thomas, in Aris, in the mountain people, even if she was scared. 

‘The rest of us can only wish to be as brave as you,’ he whispered into the night, a silent promise that he’d tell her that sometime. 

And with the fluttering in his chest finally easing into a calm warmth, he finally fell asleep.

~

Everything exploded with chaos as Y/N, Newt, Thomas, and Minho navigated their way through the Right Arm camp as guns fired and explosions went off. 

Teresa had betrayed them. Y/N couldn’t believe it when it was revealed in front of everyone, and she still couldn’t believe it as Minho pushed her head down, sheltering her from another explosion. Teresa truly believed WCKD could find a cure, but still at the expanse of Y/N and her friends’ pain. And just when Thomas was going to blow them all sky high, Jorge and Brenda had come in like a saving grace, and that’s when all hell broke loose.

‘This way!’ Thomas yelled over the din, beckoning them behind a weapons container.

However, Minho stopped suddenly and picked up a launcher. Keep going!’ Minho called over his shoulder as he shot at WCKD soldiers around him. ‘I’m right behind you!’

Thomas and Newt reached the container, but Y/N stopped and turned at the sound of a painful cry. ‘Minho!’ she cried as her friend fell, his body convulsing from a launcher shot. 

‘Y/N, no!’ Newt called after her, but she was already running back to Minho, grabbing at his jacket to drag him to safety. 

But Y/N was not strong like the boys, and certainly not strong enough to move Minho in any hurry. She looked up just in time to see a launcher fire at her, then her body felt like it was on fire. 

She was sure she was screaming, but she couldn’t hear anything as the electricity struck every nerve with a vicious bite. After what felt like an eternity of pain, she was granted a moment of peace as her vision went white, then in a flash was swamped by darkness.

Newt’s heart stopped when he saw Y/N shot. She convulsed as Minho had, then collapsed beside their friend unconscious. The second Y/N hit the ground, Newt found his voice again, feelings of anger and desperation clawing their way through every vein in him.

‘Y/N, no!’ His cry came out broken as he made to run to her, but a strong hand gripped the back of his jacket and pulled him back. 

‘No, boys,’ Vince shouted over the din, holding both Newt and Thomas back. 

‘Let me go!’ Newt protested, struggling against Vince, eyes darting between him and Y/N. ‘I need to help her! Y/N!’

But WCKD soldiers were already picking up Y/N and Minho’s unconscious bodies, dragging their feet through the red dirt and into a berg.

‘I’m sorry, son,’ Vince said, and Newt thought he sounded genuine. But that didn’t stop icy terror gripping tight on his heart as the doors began to close on Y/N, Minho, and other immunes from the Right Arm.

Thomas called for Minho, and Newt called for Y/N, but neither could do anything to help their friends as they were flown away. Back in WCKD’s clutches once again.

When the sun rose, the remaining survivors came out of hiding and began scrounging up supplies. They were moving on, Vince claiming there was nothing they could do but keep going with who and what they had left.

Newt couldn’t accept that, and neither could Thomas apparently, as he claimed he was going after Minho, Y/N and the others. Without hesitation or any further explanation, Newt was the first to sign up and join him.

And so, they went on a quest to rescuing Minho, Y/N, and as many immunes as possible. The train hijack was a huge success with immune numbers, but no Minho and no Y/N. Even so, Newt refused to accept that he’d never see either of them again. Even when they almost got killed by cranks. Even when he, Thomas, Brenda, Frypan, and Jorge were almost blown up by turret guns.

Even when he found out he was infected with the Flare.

He could feel it, his mind slowly slipping away as the Flare ate away at his sanity. He was usually level-headed and rational – it’s part of the reason he became second-in-command in the first place. Guilt and shame ate away at him as he sat on the rooftop of their hideout in the outskirts of the Last City, explaining to Thomas why he just bit his head off about being in love with Teresa.

Not that I’m one to talk, he thought as he rolled down as his sleeve, silence wrapping around him and Thomas comfortably. Newt could feel Thomas didn’t know what to say, and Newt didn’t like long silences so he broke it.

‘The crazy thing, though is…’ Newt started, a soft but sad scoff escaping him, ‘I’m not scared of dying. I used to be, back in the Maze. Because it felt like my friends were dying for no reason, without purpose. But…’ Newt looked over his shoulder, past Thomas, and to the peaking spires of the Last City. To where Y/N was being held somewhere.

‘I have something to die for now,’ Newt said, eyes never wavering from the spires.

Thomas came to sit beside Newt, a sad realisation drawing his brows and lips down. ‘You’re not just talking about Minho, are you?’ he asked.

It was how gentle and matter-of-fact Thomas spoke that had Newt’s chest tightening with fear and an immense pressure he’d been scared, until now, to acknowledge. His throat threatened to close on him as he spoke, rendering his words tight and uncontrolled. ‘I failed to protect her, Tommy,’ he managed to get out. ‘I promised I’d always protect her, and I didn’t.’ 

It surprised Newt how simultaneously hard and easy it was to speak about his feelings, and now that he had started, the words just flowed. 

’She’s just always been there, so I never saw it coming,’ Newt continued, a melancholic smile adorning his lips as he recalls the day he met you, how you helped him with his ankle. How, since then, you’ve always been by his side, growing with him, changing with him, supporting him and everyone else around you. 

’Saw what?’ Thomas asked.

‘I never saw that I could have a future after the Maze, after all of this,’ Newt explained. ‘That I would want a future… with Y/N.’ And with that, his tears finally spilled over, the pressure in his chest bursting into sobs that wracked his whole body. Newt was vaguely aware that Thomas was now holding him, and so he wrapped his arms tight around his friend, around his brother.

‘I love her, Tommy,’ Newt whispered over Thomas’ shoulder, his words obscured somewhat by his tears and holding back sobs. ‘And I’m scared I’ll never be able to tell her before I go.’

‘Hey,’ Thomas said, pushing Newt to arm’s length. He kept one hand on Newt’s shoulder and used his other to grip Newt’s neck, forcing their eyes to lock. ‘We’re going to find her – and Minho, and the other immunes. We’re going to get you that serum that helps with the Flare – as much of it as possible – and you’re going to tell her. You’re not dying. No one is dying. You hear me?’

No one could replace Alby, but the way Thomas was taking control of the situation reminded Newt of his old friend. How kind yet stern he could be. How hopeful yet pragmatic he was. It was something familiar that Newt was thankful for. He quickly calmed down, wiped away his tears and nodded at Thomas.

‘Good that,’ Thomas said, a small proud smile gracing his lips at his use of Newt’s common phrase. 

Newt couldn’t help a chuckle as well. ‘Good that, indeed,’ he agreed, and followed Thomas back inside the hideout to finalise their plan to get into the WCKD facility.

…and you’re going to tell her. You’re not dying. 

There was a nagging voice in the back of Newt’s head that was telling him not to believe Thomas. That Newt was going to die, or worse, turn into a crank and hurt his loved ones. That voice had followed him from the Maze, to the Scorch, and now the Last City. It was the voice that had driven him over the edge of the Maze walls all those years ago. But not anymore.

Newt had to keep hope, just as Y/N had taught him. He just had to be brave.

~

Y/N sat in the corner of her white-walled cell, hugging her knees to her chest as she rested her head on top. She’d sat there for hours, perhaps days. Y/N lost track of time after her first month in WCKD’s facility. 

There were no windows, and the lights never dimmed. She pressed her eyes into her knees in the hopes of downing out the incessant white light. Her eyes ached with sleep deprivation, but she refused to sleep. The nightmares were much worse to deal with, and they always came whenever she closed her eyes.

Images of her friends dying in the Maze and the Scorch, of Grievers chasing her, of her friends turning into cranks and attacking her. Images fed to her by WCKD. 

She knew they weren’t real, but she could never wake herself up in time to escape them. So, she stayed awake, knowing that she’ll have no choice but to face her nightmares when the doctors and scientists come to test on her again.

Y/N shivered at the thought of seeing another needle, of seeing her blood drained from her while WCKD turned her mind against her. When will it be enough? She might’ve lost track of time, but Y/N knew she’d been in the facility for a while now. If they hadn’t found anything by now, something told Y/N that nothing she gave would ever be enough. That included her life.

She knew Thomas and Newt would be dumb enough to come after her and Minho – that’s just the kind of people they were. Her heart ached at the thought that their efforts would be in vain. 

Y/N hadn’t seen Minho since they arrived, having been separated from each other and the other immunes. Something about how they were the most promising subjects, she overheard from a scientist one time. Y/N didn’t know if Minho was alive, and if he was, what condition he was in. 

But Minho was strong, the strongest of all the Gladers in Y/N’s opinion. If he was being tortured like her, he would be able to hold on. Y/N highly doubted she would last much longer.

The rest of us can only hope to be as brave as you…

Y/N wasn’t sure if Newt knew she was actually awake that first night in the Scorch, but she’d heard him, his words so soft she thought she’d dreamt it at first. But it had been real; Newt thought she was brave.

She was too dehydrated to produce tears, but an ugly sob desperately tried to escape her aching chest. She bit her lips instead, hard enough to draw a little blood, and the sob died out, leaving her body quiet except for her mind.

I’m sorry Newt, but I am not brave.

Even so, Y/N refused to crumble to WCKD anymore. They’d taken everything from her. Her life, her memories, her loved ones, her friends. Even her hope – something she so naively believed no one could take from her. They would not take her dignity.

She raised her head at the sound of her cell door unlocking, blinking a few times as bright light flooded her vision once more. Two WCKD soldiers and two scientists stood by the door, and Y/N spied a gurney just behind them. 

One of the scientists – young male, maybe in his early twenties – stepped forward. ‘Time for more testing, Y/N,’ he said in a cold tone. But he had the sense to look sympathetic as his eyes roamed over Y/N as she stood up, showing how pale her S/C skin had become, how dark the circles beneath her eyes were, how the cargo pants and grey t-shirt hung off her in areas where she used to fill.

Y/N knew it was useless, but still she ran for the door, pushing past the scientists with ease despite her weakened state. However, she hit the soldiers like a brick wall, unable to fight against them as they restrained her arms and pressed her against the wall. The male scientist recovered quickly and injected her with a serum that made her drowsy enough that she wasn’t in control of her body. She was conscious as the soldiers strapped her to the gurney and the four of them wheeled her down corridor after corridor, and all she could do was watch fluorescent lights pass her by as she stared at the ceiling. 

Soon enough, she was in a familiar room: the test lab. 

‘It hasn’t been that long since we last tested her,’ the other scientist – a female, about the same age as her co-worker – said, her words laced with worry. ‘We put her under again, we risk losing her for good this time.’

‘I didn’t make the call,’ the male said as he continued to set up equipment around Y/N. ‘When Janson says he wants a cure, I don’t question him. Do you?’

The female didn’t answer, switching her focus to helping her co-worker. Y/N could slowly feel the serum wearing off – it was obviously only a light dose, the scientists knowing they’d put her under when they began testing. 

But just as they unstrapped her to move her to the nightmare simulator, the room shook, sending Y/N rolling to the ground as glass and steel broke around her. 

Sounds were muffled briefly and her vision blurred in and out of focus. She couldn’t hear what exactly the soldiers were shouting, but she saw them run out of the room alongside other soldiers. That just left her and the scientists. 

Y/N flexed her fingers, the serum completely wearing off. Before she could stand though, two hands roughly grabbed her arms and hauled her to her feet. ‘Come on, Y/N,’ the male scientist said, pushing her towards the machine. ‘Just one more trip under…’

Fear electrified Y/N’s every nerve. No, not again. With a desperate cry, she shoved the male into the utensils table, sending him and the tools scattering across the ground. Before he could get up, Y/N straddled his upper body and slammed his arms into the ground.

‘Get off me!’ he yelled, struggling violently beneath Y/N. He managed to twist them both around until she was the one pinned to the ground. Y/N struggled but to no avail. She was significantly weaker than she was when she was first captured and he knew that.

‘You little brat,’ he spat in her face. ‘Ungrateful, selfish immunes. Your duty is to save us all! You–’

He was cut off when he suddenly went slack, falling unconscious on top of Y/N. She scrambled out from underneath him, then looked up from the floor to find the female scientist with a syringe in her hand. She looked between her unconscious co-worker then Y/N, a scared and disbelieving expression morphing her delicate features. 

‘Go,’ the scientist finally said, her voice shaky, but the resolve in her eyes told Y/N that she wouldn’t chase after her. The room – no, the whole building – shook again, and when Y/N looked out the window, she realised why.

The city outside was on fire. Buildings crumbled, and Y/n could hear the screams and cries of civilians through the broken windows. The scientist wouldn’t chase her because there was no point. 

This was the end.

‘Go!’ The scientist insisted, and Y/N didn’t think twice. She picked herself up, ignoring the cuts and scraps of glass it caused her, and ran out of the room.

She ran into the corridor, ignoring the cries of soldiers and other scientists who recognised her as a subject. She didn’t know where she was going, but this was the most freedom she’d had in forever.

Then a thought came to her – Minho. She had to find him, he surely had to be alive. She would run through every floor if she had to to find him. So she ran, looking into every test lab, every storage closest, every break room on the floor. 

‘Minho!’ she cried, uncaring at this point if someone heard her. She just wanted to find him. She didn’t want to die without a familiar face with her. ‘Minho, where are you?’

She rounded a corner, right into the chest of a WCKD soldier. He was caught by surprise, giving Y/N an opportunity to slam him into the wall. It was like her fear was giving her a boost of strength, as she kneed him in the groin, sending him to the ground. He dropped the pistol he was holding, and she quickly picked it up and smacked the butt over the back of his head. He fell to the floor in one last scuffle and laid unmoving as Y/N sucked in deep breaths.

‘Y/N?’

She whirled around at the familiar call of her name, only to find three other people had entered the corridor. Thomas, Minho, and Newt. Her eyes scanned over them all, heart aching with an intense relief it threatened to crush her chest. ‘Guys?’ Her voice was hoarse with disuse and exhaustion. She was surprised she even had a voice after all her screaming.

Newt stepped forward, a relieved smile gracing his lips. ‘Yeah, love,’ he said, sounding on the verge of tears. ‘It’s us.’

Y/N’s first instinct was to run into his arms, the only place she’d felt since leaving the Maze. But she took a closer look at him. He was paler than when she last saw him, almost sickly with how dark the circles under his eyes were. Crank.

She pointed the pistol at her friends, causing them to raise their hands in shock. ‘Whoa, Y/N, it’s us!’ Thomas exclaimed.

‘No,’ she said, her voice cracking ever so slightly. ‘How do I know I’m not in that simulator again? How do I know this isn’t just another test, another trial?’

‘What are you talking about, Y/N?’ Newt asked, worry crinkling his brow. 

’She doesn’t trust her mind,’ Minho said, as if in explanation. ‘Boy, they really did a number on her…’

‘Shut up!’ Y/N unlocked the safety and pointed the gun at Minho. ‘You’re just trying to trick me. Make me think everything is all right. But it’s just a lie. You’re not here. You’re not here…’

Newt stepped into the firing line. ‘We are here, love. I promise, we’re really here.’

‘Newt…’ Thomas warned, but Newt remained, eyes locked on Y/N’s.

Y/N couldn’t look away from Newt. He sounded so genuine, so much more real than previous simulations. But WCKD couldn’t be trusted, and they were wearing soldier uniforms…

Her hands shook but her voice was strong. ‘Prove it,’ she said. ’Tell me something only the real Newt would know.’

Newt swallowed thickly. ‘Okay, um… You cut yourself when you tried out being a Slicer and had to have Clint and Jeff fix you up. That’s when you thought being a Medjack would be a good idea.’

‘WCKD was watching us the whole time. They would’ve seen that,’ she countered, using both hands to grip the gun. 

‘Okay, okay,’ Newt said, looking away a moment to think of something else. When he finally looked back at her, he was calm once more, eyes genuine and sincere. ‘How about how I jumped off the walls of the Maze in an attempt to kill myself?’

The world around the four of them seemed to freeze, as if the world wasn’t collapsing outside. To Y/N’s knowledge, Newt had never told anyone the truth of what happened that day. It was the shocked and tragic expressions on both Minho and Thomas’ faces respectively that had Y/N loosening her grip on the gun slightly.

Newt took a small step closer, eyes never straying from her. ‘I had lost all hope of getting out of that bloody maze. So I did the one thing I could do to control the situation. But I failed.’ He stepped closer again. ‘I was embarrassed, ashamed. I was just a coward. But you healed me and told me something I will never forget. I have held onto it like a lifeline through the Maze, through the Scorch, and all the time I was looking for you.’

He took one final step towards her, unfazed at how the gun pressed hard against his chest. Now that he was so close, Y/N saw just how sick he was. He looked like the early stage victims of the Flare they’d seen in the decrepit city they’d lost Brenda and Thomas in temporarily. And while Y/N refused to believe Newt – her beloved, sweet Newt – was infected, his eyes were the same as always. Open, honest, and truthful.

‘The rest of us can only hope to be as brave as you.’

It wasn’t the fact that he knew the exact words – again, WCKD had cameras everywhere in that Maze, they would’ve heard it. It was instead the emotion tied to the words. She felt them, felt the lifeline they’d created for him in his darkest moment. He wasn’t lying, and that meant he was real.

Finally, she allowed the sob to break free as she dropped the gun and threw her arms around Newt’s neck. He breathed out in relief, bringing her closer to his chest, face pressed into her H/C hair.

‘It’s really you,’ she whimpered, grasping tighter to the person she’s always been able to rely on. The person who has always protected her and brought out the best in her. Her closest friend, her safety net, her home. 

‘It is, love,’ he said into her hair, breathing her in deeply. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you before.’

‘It’s okay,’ she said, pulling away to look up at him then to the other two. ‘I can’t believe you came after us.’

‘I know right,’ Minho said, punching Thomas’ arm lightly. ‘Dumb shanks.’

‘You can berate us later,’ Thomas said, rubbing his arm. ‘Right now, we’ve got to get out of here before Lawrence brings down the whole city.’

Y/N went to ask what he meant but gripped onto Newt instead as the building shook again.

‘Come on, let’s go,’ Newt said, grabbing Y/N’s hand with one hand, and holding a launcher in the other. Together, the four of them ran to escape WCKD once and for all.

~

‘Brenda!’

Y/N didn’t care about the rain of bullets and walls of fire around her as she ran for the berg. After hearing Teresa’s broadcast, she needed to get the cure back to Newt fast. Leaving him was one of the hardest things she has had to do. He wasn’t in great condition, but Thomas insisted that he’d take care of Newt. But the medicine Thomas had given Brenda all those months ago didn’t just buy her time, it had cured her completely. It could do the same for Newt.

If she could make it in time.

‘Brenda!’ Y/N cried as she spotted her friend. ‘The cure! I need the cure!’

Brenda understood, immediately retrieving one of the extra capsules Mary had made from Thomas’ blood before WCKD raided the camp. ‘Here,’ she said, passing over the injector. 

‘Thanks!’ Y/N said, already sprinting back into the war zone before anyone could stop her. 

She could feel it, the exhaustion, the strain she was putting her body under. Underfed and under trained, she was struggling. But she refused to stop. Newt had come all this way to find her, risked his life to get her out of WCKD’s clutches when he could’ve been administered the temporary cure and been safe on the berg already. No, Y/N refused to let him die without trying.

Minho, Brenda, Frypan, and Gally – Y/N was still shocked about that revelation, but that was for another time to discuss - followed around her, covering her with guns and other weapons as they ran through the war zone.

After an eternity of running, the group rounded a corner to find a sight that made Y/N feel like she was back in the nightmare simulator. Newt was leaning over Thomas with a knife aimed at his chest.

‘Newt, no!’ Y/N cried, running towards the two boys without thought. 

Newt faced her at the call of his name, and she froze as she saw his black eyes. Dark veins branched over his skin and black blood dribbled from his chin. He was a full-blown crank now. 

He raced at her, snarling as he swung the knife at her throat. She ducked just in time and rolled away as he slammed the knife down where her neck was. She quickly jumped to her feet, and despite her fatigue, muscle memory took over her legs, then her hands. That first night in the Scorch came to mind, how her and Newt sparred. The injector was her knife, and Newt her proper opponent.

‘Newt, it’s me,’ she said, slipping into her Medjack demeanour – calm and steady. ‘It’s Y/N. Please, snap out of it for a moment so I can help you.’

She thought he would run at her again, but his brows crinkled with concern and he looked at the knife in his shaky hands. He looked back at her, and the voice he spoke with broke her heart. It was a mixture of his sweet accent and a gargled croak where blood clogged his throat. 

‘Y/N…’ he started. ‘Run away… Before… Before I kill you.’

The scene reminded her of the time he came in with his injured ankle. How desperate he was to fade into nothing because he was scared and ashamed of what he’d done. But just like then, she refused to be scared of him. 

Y/N shook her head. ‘I’m not leaving you, Newt,’ she said. ‘None of us will.’

Newt seemed to realise there were more people than just her and Thomas, turning around to see the others. The sight of them seemed to distress him, though, as he snarled angrily and charged at her. She shuffled back as he swung at her again and again, but as she stepped back again, she tripped on something. She fell onto her back, knocking the air out of her lungs. Before she could gather herself up, Newt was on her, straddling her similar to how he had Thomas pinned before. Newt raised the knife to bring down on her but was tackled by Thomas.

They rolled for a little, then scrambled to their feet as they fought once more. This was Y/N’s only chance. She pushed herself up and ran for the boys, injector at the ready. Newt was bringing the knife forward in a wide arc that would gut Thomas when Y/N threw herself in between them, slamming the injector into Newt’s arm.

Right as his drove the knife into her stomach.

‘Y/N!’ 

She wasn’t sure who called her name, because all she could focus on was Newt as some of the blackness in his eyes cleared and she saw some of his gorgeous brown eyes. She also felt her body finally giving up. As if it knew that this was the end. After all the torture and pain, she had stayed alive so long for one reason. To save Newt – the boy who had been there from the start. So much so she hadn’t realised until he wasn’t there how much he meant to her. How he’d wormed his way into her heart and consumed it without her even knowing. 

She gripped his hand that held the knife in her stomach, unfurled his fingers from the handle, and brought them to her chest where her heart was slowly slowing down. Her weak legs gave out, and she brought Newt down to his knees with her. She could’ve been imagining things, but she swore she saw recognition in his half-black eyes which made her smile as tears finally fell from her eyes.

‘It’s okay, Newt,’ she whispered. ‘It’s okay because… I love you.’

Her vision blurred and she finally let go of Newt as the both of them collapsed to the ground. Her breaths were short and sharp as the pain made itself known. A rush of feet thumped around her, and she had the slightest awareness that someone was moving her, but she didn’t care. She was finally at peace as darkness, at last, consumed her.

~

Y/N woke to the sound of waves rolling over on sand. The first thing she saw was grey canvas, then rolled her head around to see she was lying on a cot in a small tent with tables and medical supplies similar to how her Medjack hut looked. But she wasn’t alone.

‘Oh my God.’ Brenda’s face came into focus as the girl crouched by Y/N’s cot, disbelief and relief morphing her gentle features. ‘You’re awake! You’re finally awake!’

‘Ow,’ Y/N clasped at her head at the sudden loudness. ‘Could you lower your voice please?’

‘Yes, right, sorry,’ Brenda said, but her lips split in a bright smile as she helped Y/N sit up. ‘I’m just so happy you’re okay.’

‘What happened?’ Y/N asked, all she remembered was being stabbed then falling unconscious. She pulled up her fresh linen shirt to see her wound bandaged. ‘I thought I was done for.’

‘So did all of us,’ Brenda admitted, her tone sombre as she pulled up a seat beside the cot. ‘We got you to the berg as quickly as possible and Vince got you stable, but you just weren’t waking up. It’s been a week.’

‘A week?’ Y/N made to get up but sat back down as her wound pulled in an unpleasant way.

‘Whoa, where do you think you’re going?’ Brenda asked stabilising Y/N back in her bed. ‘You’ve just come out of a coma induced by physical and mental torture. Not to mention you were stabbed.’

‘I’m fine. Trust me, I’m trained… somewhat,’ Y/N said, this time able to swing her legs over the side of her cot. Brenda didn’t try and stop her, but she did have to help Y/N when she stood. ‘Now, where is Newt?’ Brenda didn’t answer right away, and tears threatened to pool in Y/N’s eyes at what her silence could mean. ‘Brenda… Is he… Is he alive?’

Brenda, again, didn’t answer, and her face didn’t give anything away either. Instead, she just held back the flap of the tent and motioned for Y/N to exit. Y/N took cautious steps forward as she followed Brenda into a completely new place that had her staring in awe.

It was a bustling camp where sleeping quarters and other spaces were mapped out by canvas strung up on carved wood pillars and posts. Y/N spied a kitchen area where she swore she heard Frypan laughing with some others. 

There was a gathering area where a giant stone stood in front of the seats. There were names carved into it, like what they used to do in the Glade. Y/N tried to make out if a certain blonde’s name was on it. She caught familiar names like Alby and Chuck, Clint and Jeff. 

‘Y/N?’ 

She swung around to find Brenda smiling as she was joined by Thomas, Minho, and Jorge. The three of them ran at her, arms wide open to capture her in a hug.

‘You crazy shank, Minho said, laughter on his lips. ‘Look who finally decided to join the living again.’

‘And here I thought I was the lazy slinthead for sleeping for so long,’ Thomas said jokingly, pulling Y/N in for another hug. ’I’m so relieved.’

‘Welcome back, hermana,’ Jorge said, a warm smile gracing his lips as he gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder.

‘Good to be back,’ Y/N replied, smiling at the three males. ‘What happened after I thought I’d died?’

Thomas went to reply, but Minho cut in. ‘We’ll explain later. Right now, I think you should go say hi to someone else.’

Confused, Y/N followed Minho’s gaze to Brenda, who stood atop a hill and was staring over the other side of it. Y/N quickly reached Brenda’s position and followed her gaze to a large garden that people were working on. But her breath caught at the sight of a familiar blond at the edge of the gardens talking and pointing in all directions to people.

‘Hey, Newt!’ Brenda called out, causing the blond to turn around and look up. At first, he saw Brenda, but his gaze soon fell on Y/N and his whole face changed into disbelief.

With the other gardeners forgotten, he started climbing up the hill, and Y/N couldn’t wait another moment so she started walking down the hill. 

They met in the middle, with Y/N standing at Newt’s height on the uphill. Neither said anything to begin with, both in disbelief and awe at who stood in front of them. Y/N looked over Newt, noting he still looked pale and somewhat sickly. But the dark veins were gone, as was the black blood and his black eyes. And the sun shone so brightly that his hair looked golden. It was as if he was never infected to begin with.

With a shaky hand, she reached out to rest her hand over his beating heart. ‘You’re alive,’ she whispered, too scared to voice it too loudly in case this was also another nightmare. 

But he proved her doubts wrong as he rested his own hand on top of hers. ‘I am,’ he said, and the usual warmth of his voice truly convinced her he was real. 

His face pinched suddenly with concern and guilt. ‘I’m so sorry, Y/N,’ he said, his hand tightening slightly over hers. ‘I hurt you. I almost…’

‘It’s okay,’ she interrupted, using her free hand to cradle is cheek and keep his eyes on her. ‘You didn’t. I am here, too. Looks like we both saved each other.’

To her relief Newt smiled. It was a genuine, happy smile, something she hadn’t seen on him in a long time. He nuzzled into her hand briefly, before bringing it down with his free hand so he held her hands between them. 

‘Before I passed out,’ he started, ‘I remember you saying something.’

‘Oh.’ A blush heated upon her cheeks, but she refused to look away from him. ‘Right. I did say something.’

She was trying to play it cool, but as soon as his deep brown eyes fixed on her, she knew he could see right through her. But he didn’t smile smugly, he didn’t tease. He actually looked scared as his jaw clenched, fighting to find the next words to speak. 

‘You said you love me,’ he finally said, words tight but hopeful. ‘Is that true?’

Y/N’s mouth dried up suddenly, constricted by all the things she wished to say but couldn’t say all at once. It’s not like she was scared, she just never thought she would live long enough to have a future, let alone one with love. One with Newt.

But she had – she had survived WCKD’s cruelty, she had survived the terrors of the old world, she had survived when so many of her friends hadn’t. And it was her duty to live her gift of a life to the fullest.

‘Yes,’ she finally said, and it was like breathing in fresh air after being underground for so long. ‘I love you, Newt. I don’t know when or how it happened, but I do. I love you.’ 

There was a second of hesitation, but then Newt broke out into a wide smile, and Y/N swore she saw tears brim in his eyes. He suddenly reached one hand up to cradle her neck as he pulled Y/N in for a sweet kiss that simultaneously knocked the air out of her and breathed new life into her. He held her neck and hip, and she pressed her hands against his chest, satisfied to feel his heart thundering beneath her hands. The heart that almost never beat again, the heart that had saved her over and over again. 

The kiss was short but was no less breath-taking, and when they pulled apart neither could stop the smiles on their faces. 

‘I love you, too,’ Newt said. ‘If that wasn’t already obvious.’

Y/N threw her head back in a hearty laugh. She slung her arms around Newt’s neck, a cheeky grin dancing across her lips. ‘I’m not so sure. Maybe we could try that again to make sure?’

‘Cheeky bugger,’ he murmured as he pressed his lips to hers again. Y/N sighed into the kiss, grasping the baby hairs at the base of his head. 

They pulled apart at the sound of their friends whooping and clapping atop the hill. Y/N felt her face erupt with embarrassed heat, to which Newt laughed as she ducked her head into his chest. 

‘All right, come on lovebirds!’ Minho called out. ‘Dinner’s almost ready.’

As they walked down out of sight, Y/N went to follow but was stopped by a loose grip on her wrist.

‘What is it?’ she asked as she turned back to Newt.

‘I just…’ Newt turned to the gardens below, then to the water, then to the sunset that bathed the whole camp in beautiful hues of orange, pink and purple. When he finally turned back to Y/N, she thought he couldn’t look any more handsome with that pure sunshine smile and sparkle in his eyes. ‘Thanks.’

‘For what?’ she asked.

‘For teaching me how to be brave,’ he answered.

Y/N gave his hand a squeeze. ‘You were always brave, Newt,’ she said. ‘It’s how I learned how to be brave in the first place.’

Newt squeezed her hand in return, then they walked hand in hand back up the hill and down to dinner to where their friend awaited them. 

Where the lives they never imagined they’d get a chance to live awaited them.

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐭'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, Valyrian blood (dragon rider), and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: APPARENTLY THIS IS A GUY NAMED DAVOS BLACKWOOD. But he literally IS Bloody Ben. So he's staying Bloody Ben.

P.s. I'm ageing Benjicot up so he's around 24 or whatever age you want him to be that's over 18 <3

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・It wasn't an arranged marriaged. No, not by any means.

・You had been sent by your Queen to remind the Houses of Westeros their pledge to her. And Rhaenyra had chosen you to go to the Blackwoods.

"I expect you will be welcomed warmly," her Grace said with a warm smile.

You bowed your head and returned the smile.

・You always felt safe around Rhaenyra, she was someone very close to you. Someone who you would fight to the death for.

・The first time Benji saw you, his heart stopped...which was a very fair reaction as you were atop your fearsome dragon, The Cannibal.

・You bonded with the wild dragon when you were 13 - it was the first day of your periods and you were sick and tired of being without a dragon.

・It was in your blood. And you were done waiting.

・Your first flight with Cannibal was difficult - although the blood magic seemed to be strong between the two of you.

・You were the exact person he was waiting for.

・So when your duty came to aid Queen Rhaenyra; she did asked for you to unite with a House through marriage

・That was heavy - a big duty that you did not think would need to happen, since you bonded with Cannibal. Wouldn't you be put on the front lines straight away? Her answer was no.

・But you knew the realities of war and faced your duty head on (you know Cannibal will always defend you)

・Your marriage was a significant one. All the Blackwoods were invited, and Rhaenyra was there to oversee the ceremony.

・However, having all of your family there would have been another Red Wedding, so only a few choice people from your side could be invited.

・Nonetheless, it was absolutely beautiful.

・Dragonfire lit the skies, chasing away the dark. Even Cannibal was having a good time. There were tributes made to him - sheep, cow, goats galore. You swore you saw him smiling.

・What you absolutely weren't expecting was Benji to INTERACT with Cannibal...

・He brought up a bull from the biggest hoard they had. Benji watched as the dragon practically gulped the animal down. However, he wasn't scared - he was impressed. And intrigued.

・You were absolutely moved by Benji's act. Truly. Because it showed his bravery. His daring. And of course his caring. You knew, you could feel the way Cannibal was feeling - and he trusted this Blackwood.

・So you decided to give him a wedding present. A fly.

・By doing so, you broke down every single one of Benji's walls and he knew you were the one for him. His wife. His firt and only one.

・After a tough day, and you both go to your chambers; he'll grab your arm and kiss your wrist. A physical way of saying "I'm so glad you're alive and mine."

・Learns High Valyrian for you. He wanted to surprise you with it. And surprise you he did.

・You call each other: Ñuha jorrāelagon (my love), Ñuha prūmia (my heart),

・ A very particular sentence that Benji says a lot is: Nyke pendagon nūmāzma ao everyday (I think about you everyday)

・Of course he knows you can protect yourself; but that doesn't stop him from defending you. You're his world now. You mean so much to him.

・No body thought this union would work as well as it had.

・So, Bloody Ben & The Rider of Cannibal became a formidabble pair that made men tremble wherever they went.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Like Calls To Like

The Gomez & Morticia Adams

"Think they'll try us?" x "Fuck I hope so."

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Unbreakable Bond

Growth through Adversity

Bickering and Banter

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Please Please Please by Sabrina Carpenter

The Politics & The Life by Daniel Pemberton

O Verona by The City of Prague Philharmonic Orchestra

𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞 No one under the age of 18 past this point, makes me feel weird if you read it.

・Gives you complete and utter respect both in and out of the bedroom.

・Has never and will never push you to do anything you don't want to do

・The first time you were together, it felt like your bodies were on fire. Meant to burn together. The words kept replaying over and over in your head as he touched you. A deep yearning overtook you and suddenly time stopped.

・His lips were warm, his hands cold but when he took off his clothes, you couldn't help but grin.

・There's such desire between you two that even your mount can sense it.

・Your sex life is very active - at least once a day. Maybe you're in your Honeymoon period, but you cannot keep your hands off one another when you're alone

・And when you're at feasts, Benji's hands find their way down your thigh, and slowing inching inbetween them.

"Really, here? Now?" You asked n a hushed tone, trying not to draw any attention to either of you.

"Yes. Here, now. Or we can go into the hallway and I will ravish you there. Upto you, wife."

[comicaurora]

Recently with Arcane ending and the backlash/critics the second season received I've come to feel like it's even harder to start writing and creating art (as in, "if even people on that level aren't perfect, what chance do I have of making something truly good?"). How do you deal with this feeling, to start creating, knowing all the mistakes you're gonna have to make?

Well that's an interesting question. I think Arcane is actually a really good example for this. Because as far as I can tell, everything Arcane did with its story was, from the creators' perspective, a success.

I didn't see any glaring mistakes in Arcane season 2. I just saw a lot of decisions that served the themes they wanted to explore - love being unbreakable even when the participants have hurt each other unfathomably, sisters and sister cities falling naturally back into care and alliance when faced with an outside threat, the blinding allure of vengeance and rage and how it's a trap that must be actively escaped.

I think it's always important to meet a story where it's at. "I wanted the story to be a different story" is never a useful criticism. A storyteller needs to tell the story they think should be told. I think Arcane is throwing some people because season 1 in isolation looked like it could have been setting up some different threads - I was expecting them to more thoroughly explore the class divide in Piltover and Zaun and how they could navigate mending their relationship after so many atrocities and injustices inflicted on Zaun, but instead they used the sister cities as a mirror for Vi and Powder, and Vi and Powder are two people who love each other and have hurt each other and despite that will never stop being sisters, so that gets reflected back into Piltover and Zaun. I don't think that's a perfect analogy, but I do think it's the analogy they were going for.

A story cannot be every story. They picked the story they wanted to tell and executed it in the time they had, and I think they did good. That's a lesson we can all internalize as artists; my art, once created, cannot contain every possibility it held before it existed. And even if I fulfil my vision as closely as possible, some people are going to wish I'd done something else. And if those people have such a strong vision of the story they wish I'd told instead, it sounds like they should probably tell that story, since it's already taken shape in their mind. "I wish this story had scrapped its plans and themes and explored this OTHER idea" isn't useful as a criticism, but it is a very powerful artistic motivator.

[so-scarlet-it-was-maroon]

Good Girl - K Flay

I had one girl but she left me

Spent three months in a bedroom daze

I know three versions of true love

But still four corners in every maze

I feel five senses within me

I got six people inside my mind

I drank eight bottles of whiskey

I kissed nine people I barely like

Everybody say “Be a good girl”

Everybody say “Live a good girl life”

Everybody say “Be a good girl”

But I’m getting tired of being nice

//

Find a place to cry

I wanna die with all my friends

I need to make a few mistakes

And probably make ‘em all again

I found a needle in the hay

I want a movie for a life

I thought my mind was truly free

But everything comes at a price

//

How come this bad, bad world

Makes all these good, good girls?

[schattencat]

One thing I love about Solas is that HE IS A LOSER. He keeps fighting impossible battles and keeps losing. He lost his friends, the Evanuris. He lost Mythal to death. He lost Ghilan'nain to betrayal. At the end he lost his rebellion, his beloved land elvhenan and his people he sought to protect through creating the veil.

Waking up from Uthenera, he lost his magic and the foci. His people lost truth to history. He lost his spirit friend to the ignorance of the uncaring. He lost friendships formed during the Inquisition by his owning doing. He is now stuck in the Fade with nothing, no ritual dagger, no eluvian, and not a single person who trusts him.

Yet he endures, He Who Hunts Alone. He holds that ancient and vast pain deep in his heart, and he always fights back. There is no divinity claimed, only the unbreakable will of a single, mortal man.

"How small the pain of one man seems when weighed against the endless depths of memory, of feeling, of existence. That ocean carries everyone. And those of us who learn to see its currents move through life with their fewer ripples."

He embodies the essence of Suledin - finding strength in enduring loss or pain. I truly hope his endurance leads him to a happy ending 🥺

[voidsylus]

we always remind sylus that he is worthy of love

no matter how many times sylus falls into that dark place of low self esteem, questioning if he is truly worthy of love and happiness after everything he has been through, especially when fate has it out for him

i truly appreciate how lately the dialogue has improved and we will always be there to pull him back into the light

it genuinely breaks my heart to see the weight of his past still lingering in his eyes, the pain of all he has endured making him wonder if he even deserves the warmth and joy that others seem to embrace so easily to a point where he says things like this nonchalantly

but to us sylus girlies as evident in the game dialogue, his presence is more than just something we cherish—it is a source of comfort, of solitude, an unbreakable bond

we will always remind him, over and over, how much he means to us with quality time and words of affirmation (our love language). all this to prove to sylus has people who cares about him (in a romantic sense) and he is worthy of love

[capquinn]

Two Hearts | Q. Hughes

summary: you and quinn drift apart, only to be drawn back together, held by a quiet, unspoken pull that lingers even after the breakup. it’s a constant ebb and flow, where the pain of separation and the comfort of reunion blur together, making it hard to truly let go. pairing: reader x quinn hughes content: lovers to exes, angst, just super sad in general word count: 8.3k note: i've been listening to birch by big red machine and what's left of me by grace vanderwaal a lot at the moment and the next thing i knew i was writing a breakup fic. anyway, godspeed! ↪masterlist

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

When you first met, it was like falling into step with someone who already knew the rhythm of your heart. You were always together, moving through life side by side, sharing the little moments and the big ones, too. He was your person, the one you called with every piece of news, good or bad, the one you turned to without a second thought. And for a while, it felt like you’d found something unbreakable, a connection so strong it seemed like nothing could touch it.

But slowly, things changed. There wasn’t a single moment or a reason you could pinpoint, just a gradual drifting apart, like you were both holding onto something that was already slipping away. You both knew it, but neither of you wanted to say it out loud, as if giving voice to the growing distance between you would make it real, would make it impossible to ignore. So, you held on, hoping that things might shift back, that the comfort and ease you’d once shared would return. But it never did.

Eventually, you both knew what had to be done. The breakup wasn’t loud or dramatic; there were no screaming fights or betrayals. It was just the painful acceptance that something that once felt infinite had an end. You’d sat across from each other, trying to find the right words, but all that came out were half-smiles and empty reassurances, promises to stay friends, to still care. The kind of promises you both knew were hollow, meant to soften the blow but only making it sting more. 

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The bar is buzzing, a steady hum of laughter and clinking glasses, your friends leaning into the evening with carefree energy that you’re trying your best to match. You’re at a table near the back, surrounded by people, but the only thing that holds your attention is the TV mounted high on the wall, where the Canucks game plays on in vivid colour.

You hadn’t planned on watching, had spent the past few weeks avoiding his games entirely ever since the break up, even changing your route to work to bypass Rogers Arena and the massive banners that displayed his face. But here, in this bar, the game is impossible to ignore. 

You’re nursing a drink that’s lost its chill, your eyes drawn back to the screen again and again, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

Maybe it’s the few drinks you’ve had, or the way your friends seem preoccupied with their own conversations, but for a moment, you let yourself lean into the pull.

You scan the bench, looking for the familiar outline of his face, the way he used to smile just before the game started, that quiet confidence you knew so well.

And then, as if the universe heard your silent plea, there he is.

The camera lingers on him, and he’s just sitting there, helmet off, wiping the sweat from his face with a towel. The sight of him after so many weeks avoiding him is so sudden that it hits you like a punch to the chest, the pain of missing him crashing over you in relentless waves. He looks good — strong, steady, like the man you fell in love with. 

You sink further back into your chair, your chest tightening, and you feel the sting of tears welling up, but you blink them away. The last thing you need is for your friends to see, to ask questions, to try to distract you with shallow reassurances that you know won’t help. You’re here with them, but in this moment, you feel impossibly alone, wrapped up in a silence that even the loudest crowd can’t break.

It’s strange, this hurt. You thought time would soften it, would dull the edges, but instead, it feels sharper than ever. You’re hit with memories of all the times you’d cheered him on from the stands. The pride that would swell in your chest as he skated out onto the ice, the way he’d look up at you after a win, his smile saying more than words ever could. And now, here you are, watching him from a distance, a stranger in a bar, trying to reconcile the person you knew with the one you’re seeing now.

One of your friends nudges you, pulling you back to the present. You manage a smile, nodding along as they talk about something trivial, something that barely registers as you try to focus, try to be here with them. But it’s useless. The only thing you can feel is the cold, empty space where he used to be, the sense that you’re still tethered to him, still bound by a connection that won’t let you go, no matter how hard you try.

You glance at the screen one last time, watching as the camera shifts, capturing him from a different angle, and it’s like he’s right there, close enough to touch, yet impossibly far away.

You pull your gaze away, focusing on your drink, trying to steady your breath, trying to shake the feeling that you’ll never really be free of him. Because no matter how much time passes, no matter how many miles or weeks separate you, it feels like he’s still there, a constant presence that haunts you.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Quinn drops his duffel bag by the door, letting out a long, slow breath. He’s just come off a stretch of back-to-back games, all of them wins, and the rush of adrenaline from the ice still lingers, though it’s beginning to fade now.

The apartment is dark and silent, and it feels colder than he remembers. It’s the first real stretch of time away since the season started back up and since the breakup, and the silence feels more profound than ever.

This is the part he used to look forward to — coming home, dropping his things, feeling the weight of the road lift from his shoulders as soon as he crossed the threshold. 

But now, that sense of relief is nowhere to be found.

He flips on a light, and the glow seems almost too harsh, too bright against the empty space. It wasn’t like this before. He’d come home from these trips and find you there, waiting for him, a warm smile on your face and something simmering on the stove, like you’d been anticipating his return all day. The routine was one he hadn’t even realised he’d come to rely on. He’d walk through the door, and the world outside would fall away, replaced by the comfort of you, by the way you’d wrap him in your arms and hold him tight, as if to say, you made it back. You’re home now.

But tonight, there’s no one waiting for him. Just the echo of his own footsteps and the faint hum of the fridge. He heads into the kitchen, out of habit more than anything, and opens the cabinet. There it is, your favourite mug, still in its place, untouched since you left. He closes the door, pushing down the ache that rises in his chest. The space is the same, but it feels foreign without you there, without the sounds and scents that made it feel like more than just a place to sleep between games.

He moves to the couch and sits down, staring at the blank TV screen. There are still traces of you everywhere, even though it’s been months. He hasn’t had the heart to remove them, as if by keeping these small reminders around, he can pretend, just for a moment, that nothing has changed. But it has, and he feels it in every inch of the apartment, in every corner that once held your presence, now empty.

He closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the cushion, and tries to breathe through the quiet. He’s used to routines, to schedules, to the grind that keeps him going, but no amount of preparation could brace him for the silence that waits for him here. 

The season is in full swing, and he’s supposed to be focused, sharp, ready for every game. But sitting here, with the emptiness pressing in on him, he wonders if he’ll ever really shake this feeling, if the apartment will ever feel right again.

He knows he should get up, unpack, settle back in, but he can’t bring himself to move. Instead, he sits there, letting the silence stretch out, knowing that it’s just another part of what he has to face now.

Another piece of you he has to let go.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It’s a chilly evening downtown, but the bar is warm, buzzing with people, laughter, and the steady thrum of music. Quinn is surrounded by his buddies, all of them relaxed, sharing drinks and catching up like they used to. It’s the first time in months he’s felt something close to normal. The weight he’s been carrying seems to have lifted, and for the first time since the breakup, he can feel himself starting to breathe again. He even catches himself laughing, really laughing, at something one of his friends says, and it feels good. He feels almost like himself again.

As the night goes on, his friends nudge him, pointing out a girl at the bar — a brunette, leaning casually against the counter, a slight smile playing on her lips as she looks his way.

“She’s cute,” his friend says, giving him an encouraging nudge. “Go talk to her, man. It’s about time, don’t you think?”

Quinn hesitates, glancing over at her. She is cute, and a part of him wonders if maybe he should. Maybe it’s time to try, to start moving forward for real. He takes a breath, thinking he could do it, just walk over and strike up a conversation, let himself take a step into something new.

But as he watches her, a strange feeling begins to settle in his stomach. He feels off, like something isn’t right, like he’s crossing a line he can’t quite see but knows is there. He looks down, his fingers tapping against the side of his glass as the ache starts to creep back, that dull, familiar ache that he thought he’d left behind. 

It doesn’t feel right. It feels like betrayal, like he’s letting go of something he doesn’t want to lose, even if he knows it’s already gone. And suddenly, you’re there, filling his mind, your laughter, your smile, the way you used to look at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. He realises he’s not ready — not for this, not for anything new. Because it still hurts, even if he thought it didn’t. It still feels like he’s leaving a part of himself behind.

He shakes his head, offering his friends a small smile. “Nah, I’m good,” he says, pushing away from the bar. “Not tonight.”

His friend raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t press, just claps him on the shoulder, his expression softening. “Alright, man. No rush. You’ll know when you’re ready.”

Quinn nods, grateful that his friends don’t push it further. He stays with them for a while longer, listening to the conversations, trying to immerse himself back into the lightness of the evening, but it doesn’t quite work. The feeling lingers, a quiet ache that sits heavy in his chest, and he knows he can’t ignore it.

Later that night, when he’s walking back to his apartment, he pulls out his phone, his fingers hovering over your name in his contacts. He knows he probably shouldn’t, knows that reaching out might only reopen old wounds, but he can’t help himself. He needs to know if you’re feeling it too, if maybe, somewhere in the silence between you, there’s still something left.

He types out a message, keeping it simple, but the words still feel heavy, loaded with everything he can’t quite say: Hey. Just wanted to check in. Hope you’re doing okay.

He hesitates, his thumb hovering over the send button, wondering if it’s a mistake. But in the end, he sends it, letting the message fly out into the silence, hoping that somehow, it finds its way to you, and maybe, just maybe, you’re thinking of him too.

As he walks the empty streets back to his apartment, Quinn's phone buzzes in his hand, lighting up with a notification. He stops, heart skipping a beat as he reads your name on the screen. He hadn't expected a response — not tonight, maybe not at all. He'd half-convinced himself that you were moving on, that the silence between you was something you both needed, even if it was painful.

But there it is: your message. His chest tightens, relief and trepidation flooding through him as he swipes to read it. 

Hey, I’m doing alright. Thanks for checking in. Hope you’re okay too. 

It’s simple, almost too simple, but he can feel the weight of it, the way it wraps around him, bringing back memories he’d been trying so hard to push down.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, his grip tightening on the phone as he reads your words again. He can almost hear your voice saying them, that familiar tone that used to bring him so much comfort. 

Quinn leans against a lamppost, the cold seeping through his jacket, but he barely feels it. He’s lost in the past, in flashes of you laughing beside him, your head resting on his shoulder, the way you’d curl into him like you belonged there, like you always would. The distance between you has been unbearable, and as much as he’d thought he was moving on, your message reminds him just how deep the ache goes, how much he misses you in ways that he thinks no one else can fill.

He thinks about replying, about saying something that might bridge the gap between you, something that might crack open the door that he knows is probably better left closed.

But his fingers hover over the screen, unsure, caught between the pull of wanting to say everything and the fear of saying too much.

Getting there, he types, pausing as he considers the truth of those words. Then he adds: I miss talking to you.

He sends it before he can overthink, and as he waits for a reply, a nervous energy builds in his chest. The night feels colder now, lonelier, as if the silence between you is stretching even further, more pronounced. The moments pass, each one a reminder of what he’s hoping to find in your response, and he knows he’s standing on fragile ground, balancing on the edge of everything he’s been trying to let go.

The phone buzzes again, and he glances down, his heart pounding as he reads your reply. 

Yeah, me too. It feels strange not having you around.

Those words hit him like a punch to the gut, the raw truth in them piercing through the layers of resolve he’d tried to build up over these months. He looks up at the night sky, the city lights hazy in the distance, and he wonders if this is how it will always be: an endless loop of trying to move on, only to be pulled back to you, back to the place where everything feels right but is so undeniably broken.

He feels a shiver run through him as he reads your reply, the simple admission that things feel strange without him, that you miss him too. It's enough to reignite that small, flickering hope he’s been trying to ignore, the one that tells him maybe, somehow, there’s still a way back.

He types out a response, his fingers moving almost on their own, trying to capture the words that have been caught in his chest for months.

I thought I was moving on, but I still miss you. More than I want to admit, he writes, his thumb hesitating over the send button. But then he sends it, and the words are out there, suspended in the space between you, a bridge he can’t cross back over now.

He waits, his phone clutched in his hand, eyes glued to the screen. The minutes tick by, the cold night air biting at him, but he doesn’t move. He keeps checking the screen, hoping to see the familiar three dots, a sign that you’re there, that you’ve read his message and maybe, just maybe, you’re willing to give him something in return.

But the dots never appear, and as the silence stretches on, the hope begins to fade, replaced by a creeping sense of dread.

He reads the message back to himself, the rawness of it hitting him harder now, and he realises that he’s laid himself bare, offered up the part of himself he’s been keeping close, only to be met with silence.

He tells himself that maybe you’re busy, that maybe you’ve fallen asleep. That there’s some reason you haven’t responded. But deep down, he knows. He knows that sometimes, silence is its own kind of answer. It’s own kind of goodbye. He knows that if you’d wanted to respond, you would have. That maybe, despite everything, you’re trying to move on in a way he’s not ready for.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The back-and-forth between you and Quinn has been a fragile line, a balancing act that neither of you seem quite ready to step away from. It’s like you’re both holding onto opposite ends of a rope, loosening your grip just enough to let a little slack, but never fully letting go.

Since the breakup, you’ve exchanged a few messages, each one carefully crafted, as if testing the waters of where you now stand. 

At first, there was the occasional check-in. He’d reached out to wish your mom a happy birthday, a thoughtful gesture that tugged at old memories. You’d replied with a simple thank you, feeling a strange mixture of comfort and unease. A few weeks later, you found yourself wishing him luck for the hockey season, the words feeling heavier than they should. He replied quickly, but there was a hesitation you could almost feel in the silence that followed, an echo of all that was left unsaid. 

And then there were the spontaneous moments — the TikTok you sent one night, hoping it would make him laugh the way it used to, or the photo he’d shared of a sunset from his apartment window, captioned only with, thought you’d like this. These small, seemingly insignificant messages were like tiny threads, keeping you tethered to each other, never fully apart. You both knew the connection lingered, an unspoken acknowledgment that some bonds don’t break so easily.

In the spaces between these moments, you’d both tried to create new routines, to carve out separate paths. You stopped going to the places you used to frequent together, started exploring new spots with friends, hoping it would help you move on. You’d heard through mutual friends that he was doing the same — choosing different haunts, finding new ways to fill his days. 

You’d both done well to avoid each other for the most part, but you knew it was only a matter of time before your paths would cross again, as if the universe was waiting for the perfect moment to throw you back together.

And then it happens. You’re leaving your favourite coffee shop, the one you’d almost forgotten you shared, tucked into a quiet street just far enough from the city’s usual hustle. You’re caught up in a joke your friend just told, the warmth of laughter still lingering as you push open the door, balancing a cup in one hand and a bag in the other. But when you glance up, there he is, walking towards the door, his eyes finding yours in an instant. The laughter fades, replaced by the hollow thud of your heart in your chest as you both freeze, caught in a moment that feels both inevitable and surreal.

Neither of you move, and for a beat, the world narrows to just the two of you, standing face-to-face in the place that once felt like your own little corner of the world.

It’s awkward, disconcerting, like an unexpected reminder of a past that still holds you both in its grip. And as you hold his gaze, you realise that despite all the little steps you’ve both taken to move forward, you’re both still here, tangled up in the threads of a something that feels far from over.  

He’s alone, a few stray raindrops clinging to his jacket from the drizzle outside. There’s a split second of something unreadable in his expression — surprise, maybe even a little hesitation, before he recovers, offering a small, polite smile. It’s so painfully familiar, that half-smile of his.

Your friend shifts beside you, sensing the change in the air, and gives you a quick, curious glance. You manage a strained smile in return, glancing back at Quinn as you exchange awkward hellos.

“Hey,” he says, his voice just loud enough to cut through the ambient noise, yet soft enough that it feels intimate. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” you reply, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, aware of how forced your tone sounds. “How about you?”

“Yeah, can’t complain,” he says with a shrug, his hands sliding into his pockets, and for a moment, he looks like the Quinn you used to know. The one who was always a little awkward, a little unsure. 

There’s a brief pause, a tension hanging between you as you both struggle for words. He clears his throat, glancing toward the barista before meeting your eyes again.

“It’s been a while,” he says, his voice a little too even, like he’s carefully measuring each word. It feels strangely formal, like you’re two strangers making small talk instead of two people who once shared everything.

“Yeah,” you nod, shifting awkwardly. “It has.”

The conversation stalls there, the weight of what neither of you are saying settling uncomfortably between you. It’s weird, this distance — how you can be standing so close to someone you once knew inside and out, yet feel miles apart.

You don’t know where to look, your eyes darting from his face to the floor to the cup in your hand, as if it might hold the answers you can’t seem to find.

He shuffles slightly, one hand still gripping the coffee shop door, the other hovering at his side like he’s not sure what to do with it. His mouth opens as if he’s about to say something, but the words don’t come, and you can see the same uncertainty reflected in his eyes, the same hesitation that’s keeping you both on the edge of this awkward dance.

The silence stretches, and in the back of your mind, a question gnaws at you, growing louder with each passing second: Do you still miss me? It’s the only thing you really want to ask. Because I still miss you. But you can’t bring yourself to say it. Neither of you can.

Instead, you both linger in the spaces between, skirting around the edges of what you really want to say, pretending this is just a normal, chance encounter and not a painful reminder of what’s been lost.

Your chest tightens, and you can feel the ache creeping in, the unrelenting pull of everything that was left unresolved.

“It’s good to see you,” you finally offer, your voice quieter than you intended, the words feeling hollow, insufficient.

“Yeah,” he replies, his gaze softening for just a moment, and you swear you see something flicker in his eyes — something like longing, or maybe regret. “You too.”

Another beat of silence passes, heavy and thick, and then, almost simultaneously, you both step aside to let the other pass. It’s a messy, awkward shuffle, both of you trying to avoid making it worse, and for a second, your hand brushes against his. The contact is brief, fleeting, but it sends a rush of emotion through you that you’re not prepared for. 

You step back, swallowing the lump in your throat, wishing you had the courage to say what you’re really feeling. But instead, you just give him a tight smile, and he nods, stepping past you toward the counter.

As you walk out the door, the familiar sound of the coffee shop bell ringing behind you, you can’t help but wonder if he feels it too — the strangeness, the heaviness. The way this brief, awkward exchange only seems to deepen the ache.

And though you know the moment has passed, the words you didn’t say still echo in your mind, reverberating like a question left hanging in the air.

Do you still miss me?

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It’s a rainy evening, the kind of night where you’d rather stay home with a book or a movie, something comforting to fill the quiet. But your friends convinced you that it was time to get back out there, that you deserved to have a little fun, to meet someone new.

You sit there, trying to muster up an interest in the conversation, but everything about the date feels off. The sushi restaurant is beautiful, the lighting warm and inviting, though you feel strangely out of place.

Your date is nice — polite, even a little charming, but there's something about him that feels hollow, like you’re both playing parts in a scene that doesn’t quite fit.

He smiles, asking about your work, your hobbies, the little details of your life, and you respond automatically, going through the motions as best you can. He’s handsome, with an easy laugh and a quick wit, and you know, objectively, that he’s a good guy. But as he talks, you can’t help but compare each small gesture to Quinn, feeling the disappointment settle deeper each time he falls short.

When he leans back in his seat, his posture casual, he doesn't reach for you, doesn't offer that familiar brush of his knee against yours. You realise that you've been waiting for it, anticipating a touch that never comes, and with each passing second, the absence grows more glaring. With Quinn, there was always an unspoken connection, a natural pull that kept you close, like your bodies knew how to find each other even in a crowded room. But here, with this stranger, there's only an empty space that feels too wide and too cold.

You remember how Quinn would glance at you between bites, his eyes softening as he leaned in just a little closer, the quiet smiles that would pass between you like a secret language only you two shared. He had this way of making you feel seen, of making even the smallest moment feel significant. But tonight, everything feels forced, every word an effort, and you find yourself retreating further into memories of Quinn, of the way he made even the most ordinary dinners feel like something special.

Your date tries to fill the silence, laughing as he tells another story, his voice rising with enthusiasm, but it only makes the space between you feel more hollow. With Quinn, you never had to fill the silences. They were easy, comforting, a shared understanding that allowed you to simply be, without the need for constant words. But now, the silence feels heavy, a reminder of everything you’ve lost. 

He catches your distant expression, tilting his head with a look of concern. "You alright?” he asks, his voice gentle, and for a moment, you feel guilty, like you’re betraying him by not being fully present, by comparing him to a past he can’t compete with.

You force a smile, nodding. “Yeah, just…tired. Must be the weather or something,” you say, but even as the words leave your mouth, you know they’re not quite true. It’s not tiredness; it’s the ache of missing Quinn, of sitting here with someone else and realising that the bar had been set so high, you’re not sure anyone else can reach it.

The date continues, but it feels like you’re moving through water, each word weighed down by the memories you can’t shake. When he offers you a bite of his food, finally, you want to feel grateful, but even that feels off — like a poor imitation of the way Quinn would share his plate with a grin, his eyes lighting up as he watched your reaction, his hand lingering just a little longer than necessary.

And as the night wears on, you start to feel a strange sadness, a quiet understanding that you’re not ready for this, not yet. Maybe it’s too soon, or maybe it’s that you’re still carrying Quinn with you, a weight that makes every interaction feel too forced. The date ends, and he offers to walk you to your car, but you decline, needing the solitude, the chance to step out into the rain and let the cool air clear your mind.

You slip into your car, the familiar hum of the engine a small comfort as you pull out onto the quiet streets. You could head straight home, but the thought of returning to an empty apartment feels too daunting right now. Instead, you take the long way, winding through the city with no real destination in mind, just the soft glow of the streetlights and the rhythmic sweep of the wipers cutting through the drizzle.

Quinn is all you can think about. It’s strange, this pull he still has on you. You wonder if it’s supposed to be like this. If this ache is a normal part of moving on after spending so long with someone who became a part of your world. You had shared so much — the good and the bad, the mundane and the beautiful. He had seen you at your best and at your worst, and now, even the smallest things feel out of place without him. You’re not sure if you’ll ever feel quite normal again, and if there’s ever a way to fill the space he left behind.

You find yourself circling back towards your neighbourhood, the rain picking up again as you pull into your driveway. The car is quiet now, save for the soft ticking of the engine cooling down, and you sit there, letting the weight of the evening settle over you. 

You sit there for a while, the rain tapping softly against the windows, and before you know it, you’re reaching for your phone. You don’t want to tell him about the date, about how out of place you felt — there’s no point in bringing that up. But you can’t shake the urge to reach out, to bridge the distance with something small, something that feels familiar. 

You type out a simple message, something that feels safer, something that isn’t about the night or the ache it left behind:

Just wanted to say hi. I hope you’re doing well.

It’s casual, almost impersonal, but as you read it over, you feel a tiny sense of relief. It’s enough to reach out, and to say something without opening wounds that haven’t quite healed. You don’t want to give him too much, but you can’t keep holding onto the silence, either. You hit send, feeling your heart quicken as the message goes through.

The rain continues to fall as you wait, unsure if he’ll reply. You know he might not, that he’s probably moved on in ways you haven’t yet. And you know that whatever comes next, you’ll have to face it, step by step, without letting him fill the spaces you’re supposed to fill yourself. 

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It’s late, and the city is wrapped in the soft glow of Christmas lights, the streets lined with decorations that should feel festive but instead make the loneliness press down harder.

You wander back to your apartment, past shop windows filled with ornaments and garlands, through a crowd of strangers bustling with bags of gifts, their laughter ringing out like echoes of a life you don’t quite belong to. The air is crisp, biting at your cheeks, and with every step, you feel the emptiness settling in deeper, gnawing at the edges of your heart.

You reach your building, climbing the familiar stairs, and as you push open the door to your apartment, you’re greeted by the silence. It’s the same stillness that has greeted you for months, but tonight, it feels heavier, more oppressive. You set your keys down, shrugging off your coat, and glance around at the empty rooms, the walls adorned with a few half-hearted decorations you’d put up in a moment of optimism. But they only serve as reminders that you’re here alone, far from the warmth of family, from the comfort of familiarity.

You sit on the edge of your bed, your phone in your hand, and before you even realise it, you’re scrolling through your contacts, your thumb hovering over his name.

Quinn.

You can almost hear his voice, the way it would ground you, steady and reassuring, cutting through the quiet like a lifeline. He’s been your person, the closest thing to family in this city, and though you know you shouldn’t, you know that calling him will only complicate things, you can’t shake the longing, the ache that’s been building all night.

You take a deep breath, your fingers trembling as you press call, and the ringing fills the silence, each tone making your heart race, a mix of anticipation and regret. But there’s also a strange sense of relief, a fleeting comfort in knowing that he’s just on the other side, that he’ll answer, because he always does. You know it’s selfish, reaching out like this, when you’ve both been trying so hard to move on, but tonight, the loneliness is too sharp, the absence of him too much to bear.

He picks up on the second ring, his voice soft and familiar, and in an instant, the loneliness fades, replaced by the warmth that only he can bring.

You close your eyes, leaning back, letting the sound of his voice wash over you, anchoring you in a way that nothing else has since you left. You make small talk, the words simple, but there’s a comfort in them, a reminder of all the late-night conversations you used to have, when he was the person you’d always call, the person who made you feel like you weren’t alone in the world.

“Hey, everything OK?” he asks, his voice soft and warm, as if he can sense the tremor in yours, the way the silence on your end stretches a beat too long.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, though the words feel thin, fragile, as if they might shatter at any moment. You hesitate, searching for the right words, but all that comes is the truth, raw and heavy. “Just... wanted to hear a familiar voice. The holidays feel different this year, y'know? I’m away from my family and…” You pause, the words catching in your throat, the unspoken weight of everything you’re holding back pressing down on you. “I miss you.”

There’s a silence on the other end, but it’s not empty. You can feel his presence through the phone, the way he doesn’t rush to fill the space. Doesn’t need to because he understands. He’s always understood. He doesn’t even have to say it, but you can feel it in the quiet, in the way his breath catches ever so slightly, in the way you’re both suspended there, clinging to the edge of a past that neither of you can quite leave behind.

“Would you…” He starts, his voice hesitant, as if he’s weighing each word before letting it slip into the space between you. “Would you like to come over? Have dinner? I could use some company tonight, too.” His voice is low, steady, but there’s a vulnerability there, a longing that mirrors your own, as if he, too, has been holding onto this moment, waiting for the chance to bridge the gap that’s kept you both apart.

The offer hangs in the air, filling the empty spaces in your heart, and you realise that this, more than anything, is what you’ve been needing. Not just a familiar voice, but him — his warmth, his presence. The way he knows you without you having to explain. It’s more than you had hoped for, and yet, in that moment, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

You nod, even though he can’t see you, the word slipping from your lips before you can second-guess it. “Yeah,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath. “I’d like that.”

There’s a quiet relief in his response, and though he doesn’t say it, you know that he’s missed you too, that he’s been feeling the same hollow ache. The same pull that’s brought you back together tonight. It’s a fragile peace, this shared loneliness, but it’s enough for now. 

The air is biting as you make your way to his building, the chill cutting through your coat, but you barely notice. Your thoughts are tangled, a mess of anticipation and uncertainty as you stop to pick up a bottle of wine — a peace offering, an excuse, something to occupy your hands and steady your nerves.

By the time you reach his door, your heart is pounding, and you almost consider turning back, slipping away before you even have to face him. But then the door opens, and there he is, with that same steady gaze, the one that has always been able to calm you and unravel you all at once.

You step inside, and the warmth of his apartment wraps around you, the familiar scent of him, of the space you once shared, filling your lungs and pulling at memories you’ve tried to bury. You look around, and it’s like nothing has changed. The walls, the furniture, the soft, warm lighting — all of it is just as you remember, a snapshot frozen in time. But then your gaze drifts to the empty spaces, the subtle absence of things that once belonged to you, and the weight of it settles in your chest, a reminder that this isn’t your home anymore.

Your favourite mug, the one you’d always reach for first thing in the morning, is gone from its home by the kettle. The cosy pair of slippers you kept by the door, ready for nights when you’d settle in and make this place your own, have vanished too. You hadn’t expected them to stay, hadn’t imagined that he’d keep these remnants of you around, but somehow, seeing the empty spaces where they once were makes it all feel final, the quiet confirmation of what you already knew: it’s over. 

And suddenly, the regret hits you, sharp and unforgiving. You shouldn’t have called. You shouldn’t have come. This is only going to make it harder.

Quinn takes your coat, his fingers brushing yours as he hangs it up, and there’s a brief, awkward pause, a silence heavy with everything you both want to say but don’t. He gestures toward the kitchen, and you follow him, the bottle of wine clutched tightly in your hands, your heart pounding in your chest as you take a seat on the stool by the island. He moves around the kitchen with that same easy grace, his focus shifting from the stove to the countertop, to the little tasks he always made look so effortless. You pour a glass of wine, taking a long sip, letting the warmth spread through you, settling your nerves as you watch him.

The quiet between you feels heavy at first, stifling, as if you’re both waiting for the other to break it. But then, slowly, you feel the familiar rhythm return, that easy flow you once shared, the quiet comfort of simply being in each other’s presence. He chops vegetables, stirs a pot, reaches for spices, and it’s like slipping back into an old dance, one you both know by heart, even after all this time.

You find yourself talking, sharing little bits of your day, your voice filling the space between you, and he listens, nodding along, his gaze softening as he glances over at you. There’s something so natural about it, the way he tilts his head when he’s listening, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. It’s a rhythm that feels almost instinctive, and before you know it, you’re leaning into it, the awkwardness fading, replaced by something warmer, something almost comforting.

As you sit there, watching him cook, sipping your wine, you feel a flicker of something that almost feels like peace. The familiar hum of the kitchen, the scent of food filling the air, the quiet, unspoken understanding between you — it’s all so familiar, so intimate. And yet, there’s a bittersweet edge to it, a lingering sadness that tugs at the corners of your heart, reminding you that this is temporary, that you’re only borrowing this moment.

Quinn gives the sauce a stir, tasting it with a spoon, and you lean forward, squinting at him with a familiar look of playful skepticism.

“Are you sure you’re not overdoing it with the garlic?” you ask, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

He raises an eyebrow, smirking as he shakes his head. “I thought you loved garlic.”

“Yeah, but I also like to taste the rest of the dish,” you reply, laughing softly. “Remember that time you made pasta, and the entire apartment smelled like garlic for days?”

He chuckles, the sound light but carrying that old warmth. “Hey, I didn’t hear any complaints back then ” he says, turning back to the stove with a grin.

You shrug, resting your chin on your hand as you watch him. “Maybe I was just being nice.”

He throws a glance over his shoulder, his smile softening as his eyes meet yours. “You’re always nice,” he says, almost under his breath, and for a brief second, the room feels like it used to — filled with that easy, comfortable rhythm that was yours alone.

For a moment, it’s like the past few months slip away, and you’re both just there, together, sharing space like nothing ever changed.

You take another sip of wine, watching him as he moves around the kitchen, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you let yourself pretend. Pretend that nothing has changed, that the empty spaces don’t matter, that you haven’t been living separate lives. Because in this moment, with him just a few steps away, his gaze meeting yours, you feel like you’re home again.

And then when you take a seat at the small dining table, a quiet smile lingers on your lips as you watch him bring over the plates, setting one in front of you with that same familiar care. It’s a simple dinner, but the warmth of it, the way he moves around the room with such ease, makes it feel like more. 

You glance around the room, your gaze landing on the bare walls, the empty spaces where twinkling lights and garlands used to hang. There are no Christmas decorations, none of the usual signs of the season that used to fill the apartment with warmth and light, and it feels strange.

“You didn’t put up any decorations this year,” you remark, trying to keep your tone light, though the words carry a weight you hadn’t intended.

You know how much he used to love transforming this place. How he’d indulge your excitement with a grin. How he’d string lights across the windows and set out little ornaments, creating a space that felt so alive, so full of holiday cheer. You hadn’t thought much of it until now, but seeing the absence of it all hits you harder than you expected.

He shrugs, looking down at his plate, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. I didn’t see the point,” he says softly, and there’s a vulnerability in his voice, a quiet sadness that tugs at your heart. “I only ever did it because you were around. I’m not really here much over the Holidays, and if it’s just for me… It just seems sort of pointless.”

The confession hangs between you, fragile and raw, and you feel the air shift, a connection sparking in the space between you, as if something unspoken has finally found its way to the surface.

You’re both quiet for a moment, letting the words sink in, letting the weight of them settle around you. There’s a warmth building in your chest, a tenderness that you’d thought had faded, but here it is: lingering, soft and undeniable.

Without thinking, you reach across the table, your fingers brushing against his, and he meets you halfway, his hand warm and familiar in yours. The touch is gentle, hesitant, but it feels like a step back into a place you both thought you’d left behind. He squeezes your hand, his thumb tracing a soft, slow circle against your skin, and you can feel the pull, the quiet magnetism that’s always been there, drawing you closer, even now.

After dinner, you linger in the quiet warmth of his apartment, neither of you ready to say goodbye just yet. There’s a fragile comfort in this old rhythm, a sense of normalcy that feels almost like it belongs to a different lifetime. The conversation drifts between light memories and familiar silences, and you feel yourself clinging to each moment. To the ease of it all, knowing it’s only a temporary reprieve.

You’re both leaning against the kitchen counter, a faint smile playing on his lips as he talks about something inconsequential, something that makes you laugh even as you feel the weight of the evening pressing down on you.

You’re both a little tipsy, the warmth of the wine clouding your judgment, softening the edges of everything, and when he stops talking and looks at you, really looks at you, there’s a beat of silence, a tension that feels both familiar and terrifying, and without thinking, you lean in, and he meets you half-way, closing the distance between you.

When he kisses you, it’s almost hesitant, as if he’s afraid that you’ll pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you lean into him, letting the warmth of his touch wash over you, letting it chase away the cold that’s settled in your bones since you walked out of his life. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close, and in that moment, it feels like everything is slipping back into place, like you’re finding your way home again. 

The kiss is soft, tentative, but it quickly deepens, and for a moment, you lose yourself in it, letting the warmth and the memories wash over you. It feels so easy, so natural, like slipping back into a dream, and before you know it, you’re in his bed, lying beside him in the dark, your heart pounding as the reality of it all settles in.

He falls asleep with his arm draped over you, his breathing steady and slow, and you lie there, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the weight of everything. It’s so familiar, the feel of his body next to yours, the quiet intimacy of sharing a bed, but this time, it's different. It's more painful, more final, as if the weight of the breakup is settling in all over again, sharper and more relentless than before.

He had held you with a tenderness that was both familiar and agonising, his hands tracing the curves of your body, his lips mapping paths across your skin. For a moment, it was as if nothing had changed, as if all the pain, all the distance, had melted away beneath the heat of his touch. You felt needed, wanted, loved in a way that you’d almost forgotten, and you let yourself sink into it, surrendering to the comfort, to the longing that had been building for months. It was intimate, but not in the way it used to be. 

His touch had been gentle, yet filled with an urgency, as if he, too, was trying to memorise the moment, to hold onto something that was slipping away even as it unfolded.

His fingers brushed your skin, sending sparks through you, the warmth of him pressing into you, grounding you in a way that felt both right and utterly wrong. You closed your eyes, letting yourself drift on the wave of pleasure… on the feeling of being close to him… of feeling his heartbeat against yours. 

But now, lying beside him in the aftermath, you feel the full weight of what you’ve done, the painful clarity settling in. It felt so nice to be held, to be wanted, to be wrapped up in him again, but now the emptiness is stark, the regret deeper. You’re left with the cold reality that no matter how close you get, no matter how intimately your bodies fit together, there’s a distance between you that can’t be closed. An ache that physical closeness can’t mend. 

He shifts in his sleep, pulling you closer, and it only makes it worse. The familiar weight of his arm and the closeness of his breath against your skin a reminder of everything you’ve lost, of everything that can never be again. You know that this was a fleeting comfort, a brief return to something that once felt like home.

But now, the sweetness of the moment has faded, replaced by a hollow ache and by the realisation that this isn’t the way back. 

In the quiet, you feel the tears slipping down your cheeks, the warmth of his body beside you a painful reminder that what you shared tonight wasn’t reconciliation — it was a goodbye that neither of you could speak aloud.

And as you lie there, his steady breathing filling the silence, you know that no matter how much you both wanted to hold on, some things can’t be undone.

Some things can’t be saved.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

[hwaslayer]

the space between us three (jyh) | two.

⇢series masterlist | series playlist

⇢summary: while juggling the demands of life, yunho continues to do his best to raise his independent 11 yr old daughter, seora. throughout the years, they've built a strong foundation, an unbreakable bond— one that consists of late night talks and food runs, father/daughter dates, and sideline cheerleading at her basketball games. so when you unexpectedly come into their world, things shift. despite the uncertainty and the fear of stepping outside of their comfort zone, yunho and seora eventually learn how to open their hearts and learn how to rebuild a home where three can thrive together.

⇢pairing: single dad!yunho x f. reader

⇢genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, single dad au | fluff, angst, eventual smut

⇢word count: 4.3k

⇢chapter content/warnings: cussing, the cliché coffee incident pls forgive me lol, parents pushing expectations, honestly not much but an intro to y/n and her family - bit of a filler chap!

"Can you visit mom and dad this weekend with me?" You nibble on the rest of your ramen while you wait for your brother to respond. You're currently sitting on a table outside near the trees, taking your lunch under the shade.

"Can't. I have plans with the boys."

"Wonwoo." You sigh.

"What? I promise, I'll head up there the weekend after. You can come with if you want. Sorry. I just planned this ahead of time and can't go back on my word now."

"Fine." You sip your water and toss your trash onto your tray before standing and throwing it into the appropriate bins.

"What, has mom and dad been on you again about us not visiting?"

"Kinda, yeah? You know how they always make passive aggressive comments because we don't come to see them often." You grab another cup of coffee, taking your time mixing it with half and half and some sugar. "It's always 'you two are always too busy for your parents!' or a 'it doesn't even take long to visit your parents!'" Your younger brother sighs as you quietly hand over some cash to the mobile coffee shop attendant.

"I know, but they also don't understand we've got our own things going on, too."

"I guess, yeah." You lick your lips and take a small sip, being careful enough to not burn your tongue from the scorching temp. "We really should do better, though."

It's not that your parents were bad. In fact, your parents were amazing. They had brought up both you and your younger brother comfortably and happily, sending you both to the best schools and supporting you until you two were able to fully walk on your own two feet, soar high with your own two wings.

It truly was just life.

You had gotten busy; always working at the hospital, growing from the bottom up, barely taking any of your vacation or sick days. If you did, it was because you had to or else you'd reach your max, or because you truly were rotting away in your death bed from a bad flu or food poisoning.

Otherwise, you were always at work. You were always with your girls. You were always going to lagree or bootcamp style studio classes. You were always doing something to occupy your time— mainly work. And the same thing goes for your brother, younger than you by 2 years.

He's just a boy.

But, he's your brother and you're incredibly close to him. He was always listening, was always good growing up. Would always protect you, especially from dumb boys and fake friends. He got good grades and went to college overseas before moving back home and settling down. Since then, he's always learned how to be on his feet— barely ever staying stationary. He, too, was always out with his boys. Working as a full-time software engineer, working out. Traveling when he gets the chance. Dating every now and then. But, you do love that he's living life and spending time with good people. He seems to have a good balance between his work and personal lives, which makes you happy.

It's just unfortunate that you two can't seem to manage slipping in more time with your parents. You both had agreed to do better about it, especially with your parents getting older.

"Are you still gonna see them this weekend, or are you gonna wait for me?"

"Yeah, I'll pop in for a second. I already told them I'd swing by."

"Hm." He hums. "Tell them we'll stop by for longer next weekend."

"Yeah, after I get the earful first." 

"They won't." He clears his throat. "So, how's work been? Ate lunch well?"

"Yeah, I did. Work's been kinda crazy. They're opening this new department at the main hospital and it's expanding into the pediatrics side, too. We've been gearing up for it."

"Oh, really?" You nod as if your brother can see you.

"Yeah. They've been working with adult patients for their two studies, but they're going to start their pediatrics study soon. Pending on the IRB approval. But, once that's all good, they're hoping to secure their first patient, and we need to have everything ready to go."

"That's pretty cool."

"It is, but kinda hectic. Too many moving parts and people involved. It's a lot to keep up with."

"I'm sure you'll handle it well. You always do." You let out a small sigh before checking your watch and slowly walking back towards the peds hospital. 

"Hope so. Work's been okay for you?" He chuckles.

"Same old! Nothing much has changed. Not like that, anyway."

"I see. So, what happened to that one girl you were seeing recently?"

"Uh, we're just better off as friends."

"Better keep that to yourself before mom starts setting you up on blind dates."

"Same goes for you. She'd probably go for you first. Been tryna marry you off." You roll your eyes.

"It's not my priority and she doesn't get that."

"She wants a grand baby and lowkey, I kinda want a nephew or niece to spoil, too." 

"You're no help." He snorts. "Anyway, I gotta head back to my office and get some work done, I got a big meeting for that new department later today."

"Alright. Well, text me when you get home and try to take it easy."

"I will, you too, punk." Wonwoo chuckles. "Love you."

"Love you too!" And with that, the call ends. Your eyes are glued to your phone as you continue to walk back towards the hospital. The weather isn't too bad today, a slight breeze hitting your skin to balance out the warmth from the sun. You continue to switch between keeping your eyes in front, back down to your phone as you scroll through social media to catch up to things you've missed over the past few hours. When you finally get into view of the familiar building and the side lobby entrance, you slip in and head straight to the elevator without paying much attention— especially when it dings and slides the doors open for the individual behind to step out. You feel a soft thud; your body slightly coming into contact with theirs, causing some of your coffee to spill out of the opening on the lid. 

"Oh— oh shit, I'm so sorry!" You look at the tall figure, wide-eyed as you survey his outfit to make sure your coffee didn't spill everywhere on his jacket.

"You're good." He says, eyes coming down to his jacket. There's a few drops of coffee dripping down near the zipper, but nothing that can't be fixed.

"I'm soooo sorry." You repeat as you dab a napkin at his jacket.

"No, seriously. It's fine. You're good." He laughs, brushing you off in a friendly manner. "Nothing laundry can't fix."

"Still another piece to add to your load." You look up at him and slightly pout. "Sorry."

"Maybe just be careful next time?" He gives you a small smile before he brushes past and out of the elevators. You realize he's got his large hand still propped up to prevent the elevator doors from closing on you, and you can't help but feel extra embarrassed. You do a tiny nod before he lets out a small chuckle and walks away, allowing you to be in your peace as you slip into the elevator and watch the doors close in front of you.

It just had to be him.

you: i almost spilled my coffee on a really cute guy ☹️

wonwoo: he'll def never come near you again. way to go sis 💗

you: you're a piece of shit

wonwoo: 🥰

You click your teeth and sigh as you step out of the elevator and onto your floor. You had been working as project manager supporting the pediatrics unit for about a year and a half now, starting at the hospital a few years ago as an admin associate and slowly working your way up.

"What? What's wrong, hun?" Your coworker and also one of your childhood bestfriends, Noeul, chimes in. She works as an HR manager, but her team sits nearby— giving you two the numerous opportunities to chit-chat and catch up in between meetings and tasks.

"I almost spilled my coffee on some really cute guy." She purses her lips together before giving you a toothless smile.

"I mean, you didn't, right?"

"No. Maybe a few drops. Now he'll have another piece of laundry to add to his load. All because of me."

"That's a good way to be memorable." You sigh. "I'm sure he wished he got your number."

"Wow, you're the complete opposite of my brother and I love that." She laughs.

"Of course, I'll always support you."

"How'd your meeting go?" She shakes her head.

"I don't know. So many sensitive issues. I think they only keep escalating and getting worse."

"Are you still dealing with that one manager and her staff member that weren't getting along?"

"Yup. That's exactly the thing that's getting worse."

"Sheesh. I hope they find middle ground soon, or at least find new avenues so they don't have to work with each other."

"Hope so too!" She looks at you. "When's your big meeting with the hospital people?"

"Hm." You hum and check your watch. "In the next hour." You settle at your desk and she follows along, sitting on the edge of the corner. "My inbox blew up over lunch so I gotta take care of a few things before I head over." You sip on your coffee.

"My busy bee." You give her a look. "Goodluck! Let me know how the meeting goes. I've gotta file a few reports and hop into a few other meetings myself. I'll see you later for a quick break?" You give her a small smile.

"Goodluck to you, too." She blows you a little kiss before she's prancing away to her desk, greeting people on the way over. You busy yourself before you need to start packing up and heading over to the main hospital, drowning in a few urgent emails that came in over your lunch break. Time sure flies when your brain is scattered everywhere, your to-do list seemingly never-ending and tossing you in a million different places at once. 

You gather your things about 10 minutes before the meeting, which, doesn't give you much wiggle room in case you get lost. You don't go to the main hospital often, and you're not even sure if you have access to the room or how all of this would work. You are familiar with a few people also attending the meeting, but they're equally just as busy and are probably coming from other commitments. 

You let out a small breath as you power walk over to the main hospital, happy you're at least getting your steps in for the day. You trickle into the huge lobby along with others, turning towards the left where the elevators are located. You press the button, waiting alongside a visitor as the elevator makes its way down from the 6th floor. You step in and patiently wait off to the side, checking your work calendar on your phone to make sure the meeting was indeed today.

Why does it feel like you're the only one heading over?

Were you the only one late at this point?

You step out of the elevator once you make it up to the 7th floor, pausing in your steps because— where the fuck do you go now? It was such a maze in this hospital, you didn't know whether to go left or right; the numbers on the doors skipping from one number to another. You turn to you right just because you go with your gut, hearing a trail of soft voices as you finally see a group of people heading towards a huge conference room further down [and definitely closer to your left had you just turned that way]. You pick up your pace, nodding and sending soft smiles to the familiar faces that catch you through the window of the room as they settle into their seats. Rushing over, someone is stationed at the door— probably waiting for you to make it inside.

"Thank you— oh, hi." You look up at the same, tall figure you damn near spilled your entire cup of coffee on.

"Hi." He gives you a toothless smile as he holds the door open for you. "Well, at least you aren't ramming into me with your cup of coffee this time." He jokes and you can't help but feel the heat rise to your cheeks.

"Yeah, mm'sorry about that still." You wince and slightly pout.

"I'm just joking. No worries. It happens." He smiles down at you, waiting for you to walk into the conference room. You give him another subtle, short bow before slipping into a chair on the opposite side of the table. You watch as he greets people coming into the room, a bit confused as to why he's still standing by the door until he finally sees the face he's been looking for. 

He's got some kind of wit, some charm. Can't deny it's pretty attractive.

And to your surprise, he plops down in the seat next to you, followed by one of his team members [the said face he'd been looking for] you assume.

"Hope you don't mind."

"No, not at all." He gives you another toothless smile before eyeing your badge. 

"Nice to meet you, Y/N." He puts out a hand for you to shake. "Yunho."

"Nice to meet you as well, Yunho." You shyly respond. "At least I don't have to call you the guy I almost spilled all my coffee on anymore."

"Yeah, no." He laughs. "This is Taehyun, my team lead. Taehyun, Y/N." You and Taehyun give each other small, curt bows just as the higher ups step in and settle at the front of the room. 

"Hey everyone! Thanks for meeting. I know everyone is super busy so it's much appreciated." Yoori says as she flips her laptop open and pulls up the agenda slide on the powerpoint presentation. The meeting kicks off with small introductions around the table since a lot of people hadn't worked together like this, especially you and a select others mainly supporting pediatrics. When Yunho introduces himself, you find yourself enjoying the way he speaks. He's got a deep tone, but nothing off-putting. He speaks lightly and positively, chuckling in between statements.

Yeah, he's def got a witty charm to him.

When it's your turn to speak, you can feel Yunho's eyes from the side. He's paying attention and listening closely even if these are quick introductions to the team. He notices the way you shyly smile at those around you, still managing to speak clearly and concisely despite your nervousness that's physically manifesting in the way that your hands tug on the material of your jeans, fiddling with your fingers underneath the table in between the conversation.

Cute.

Then, after the light, airy introduction portion, the presentation gets a lot more technical, and you find that you're actually more involved in this than you expected. You're being asked to oversee the development of the clinical trial room in the pediatric wing, along with scheduling biweekly meetings to discuss updates. Making sure all required attendees are at the meetings and driving things forward. Coordinating across calendars, providing updates every step of the way.

And things seem to be picking up, moving real fast. Things were stalled and slow just a few months ago; now, it's all gas, no brakes.

When it comes to dealing with the ordering structure and IT developments, Yunho takes the lead and discusses the current updates and how they're still figuring out a few tweaks. Yoori is diligently taking notes on her own laptop, along with everyone else who is clarifying through questions of their own.

"Y/N, can you please work with Yunho and his team and the clinical informatics team to make sure the patient ordering enhancements will be taken care of and pushed through? Along with securing the data storage and network? I'll send you the list of required attendees that need to be at each meeting to help push these efforts forward. Let's prioritize this and try to get that done within the next week." You nod, glancing over to Yunho afterwards. He's got his chin resting on the palm of his hand and his eyes dart down to you. His brows perk up before he gives you a tiny, toothless smile. You feel your hands get sweaty from the look alone, so you divert your attention back to your laptop— typing up the rest of your notes on the side. Yunho can't help but glance over at your incredibly organized notes and the way your emails are categorized; all the folders within folders. 

Never-ending folders.

Definitely Type A. 

He does like that, though. Can't help but feel a little endeared by it. 

As the hour long meeting progresses, you feel yourself getting slightly overwhelmed by your growing task list. You can't help but feel an itch to get to your desk to scribble in your planner and get your thoughts organized. 

And as soon as the meeting ends, you cut out with quick goodbyes before rushing over to your office. Yunho was hoping to catch you afterwards to talk a little more, but he watches as you leave, the opportunity now a long gone thought. 

"Where'd you go?" Sian, your other good friend, asks. She's in the finance department, and typically comes over to check in with you and Noeul, especially when she has to drop off some mail for the peds hospital. "You and Noeul were both gone."

"I had that meeting, remember?"

"Oh shit, yeah. How'd it go?"

"I don't know." You plop onto your desk and let out a huff, pulling your planner from your bag before pulling up your notes in the cloud on your desktop computer. "So many things to do and everything feels so urgent." You've already got a few people to meet, along with pushing the operational aspect of this huge project. You've got your hands tied.

"Wow, they're moving fast with this."

"Yeah, very." You shake your head as you write out your thoughts, suddenly pausing to look back up at her as she fiddles with the figurines on your desk. "Hey, do you know the IT managers well?"

"Most of them, yeah."

"Do you know Yunho?"

"Jeong Yunho?" You shrug since you didn't really catch his badge on him. "He's the only Yunho I know of. How could you not know him?"

"Girl, I'm mostly on the peds side, I rarely come to that end." You giggle.

"He's handsome as hell. Tall. Super nice and helpful. Him and his team are so good about coming to the rescue ASAP." Sian nudges you and wiggles her eyebrow. "He's a single dad. I believe his daughter is 10? 11? Probably 11."

"Mm, dad of a pre-teen girl."

"Hey. He's making it." Sian shrugs. "Heard he's a really good father despite losing his wife years ago. I'm sure it must have been incredibly hard." You nod.

"Yeah, I can only imagine."

"He's good friends with Park Seonghwa from marketing. I think they're besties or something." You nod. 

"I only know Seonghwa from the one interview I did with him when we did the remodeling project at the peds oncology unit. After that, barely have spoken a word to him."

"He's a little hottie, too. But, I heard he's got a thing going on with Yoori."

"Yoori? Like.. Director Yoori?" Sian nods.

"They're so weird about it, though. Definitely not known publicly, but people have seen them out together a select few times. Or, seeing Seonghwa go to her house."

"Nosey." You laugh.

"Well, it's definitely a small world around here." 

"Hm." You hum. "So interesting, especially after I just saw her. I would have never suspected."

"What about Yunho, though?"

"First, I almost spilled my coffee on him this morning." Sian nods.

"Why am I not surprised?"

"I'm not that clumsy." 

"Mmkay." Sian laughs. "How much coffee?"

"A few drops." You make a face. "And then he ended up being in the meeting and sitting right next to me." 

"See, big hospital but small world." You chuckle. 

"Feels like college."

"Yeah."

"Speaking of Yunho." You furrow your brows when you see a little notification pop up in your Slack app.

yunho: hey! 

you: hi there! you found me!

yunho: 😀 sorry, i tried to catch you after the meeting but you rushed out. 

you: oops, yeah. i just had a few things to catch up on. 

yunho: all good! do you wanna schedule some time to meet before scheduling the wider meeting with everyone else? i can walk you through everything so we're on the same page.

you: sure, yeah! that'd be helpful. i'm pretty free next week. i just prefer not to schedule anything over lunch if it can be helped. 😅

yunho: i'm the same, don't trip. lol. i'll send you an invite for early next week. what time do you get in usually?

you: mm, around 7:30-8am.

yunho: hm, wanna do 10am on monday then?

you: good with me. ☺️ thank you, yunho!

yunho: sure thing!

"Aw, he even went out of his way to message you." Sian watches you exchange messages from behind.

"Girl, please? We need to talk about getting the patient ordering system together and fixing all the infrastructure for the peds unit." 

"Sounds like you'll be working with him closely? I'm actually kinda surprised his team is on this. Not saying they aren't great, but they're a bit smaller and support other departments." Sian ponders for a bit. "The other IT teams are pretty swamped though, now that I think about it. They probably have the best bandwidth right now."

"Who knows. But, yeah. I guess so. His team lead was also there."

"Maybe you'll get close to Yunho."

"Maybe I won't and just get my job done while minding my own business."

"Y/N. You're single and he's single, don't be so quick to cut him off just because he has a kid. You should put yourself out there again." She teases and you roll your eyes.

"Get out." She snorts. You hate that she's a little right about it; it had been awhile since you were in a serious relationship. You might've messed around with an old college classmate a few times, but it was so casual it ended up fizzling out all by itself and that was that. It's not like you had any bad relationships, either. They just weren't a fit, but you didn't hold any bad blood towards each other. Your mom was tired of it, though. She was hoping you'd finally stay in a serious, committed relationship— one where you'd end up walking down the aisle, settling down in a nice family home, one or two little ones running around [or more, she wouldn't be mad about it]. Maybe that's why you also dread visiting home, because she never fails to remind you that she's waiting, and that time doesn't wait for anyone. She gives Wonwoo a piece of it, too. 

Just not as much as you.

It's always this game of comparison, trying to one-up her friends in some fashion. It's frustrating to deal with. She didn't understand that you were good with where you were at. And even if you did long for a partner and affection in that sense, it's not like you could wish for it to happen and change your life overnight. These things take time. These things need to develop naturally, wholeheartedly, genuinely;

It wasn't your time yet, you guess.

"Anyway, are we still having our little girls night at your place tomorrow?"

"Mhm. Just gotta visit my parents first then I'm all yours."

"Ah." She nods. "Is your brother coming along?"

"Nope. Next weekend, though."

"Goodluck, sweets. Tell us all about it when we come over." Sian looks at her watch. "I was gonna try to wait for Noeul, but I guess she got caught up in some things. I should head back." You nod. "See you tomorrow, my love."

"See you." She smiles before giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze and turning on her heel to take her walk back over to the main hospital.

As the afternoon rushes by, you're able to dock off a few more things on your list before feeling satisfied enough to call it a day. You decide you're a little too tired and worn out to be driving elsewhere for food, so you'll pop into the main hospital cafeteria.

wonwoo: did you spill your coffee on anyone else today?

you: no 🫥

wonwoo: [sends money]

wonwoo: go get a massage or something dude, relax

you: are you serious?!

wonwoo: yeah. 🙄 got a lil bonus from work, so if i'm eatin, you eatin too i guess.....

you: best brother award 😭

wonwoo: u don't mean it

you: i do!!! ily!!! 💕 i'll never call you bighead again!

wonwoo: yeah u def don't mean it

You giggle to yourself, feeling comforted by your brother even at a distance. The thing about your relationship with Wonwoo is that you two were always sharing in each other's ups and downs— good days, bad days. There was never any competition or need to feel like one had to do better than the other, thankfully; and this was a prime example of how close you and your brother were. You truly can't wait to hang out with him next week. You adore him to bits.

As you head back to the main hospital to grab food for dinner before leaving for the day [you definitely prefer the food there], you catch Yunho speaking to one of the nurses on her way out. She's blushing, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear while she laughs. Yunho looks nervous, but he's keeping himself pretty composed by the way he's smiling and laughing along with her. You brush past them quickly, and you aren't sure if Yunho noticed you or not— not like it matters, anyway. 

He was definitely asking her out. And by the looks of it, she said yes. She had been wanting to say yes for awhile. 

Welp, there goes the really cute guy you spilled coffee on. 

It wasn't your time yet, you guess.

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[ironyadays]

I'm just thinking about people who say Snow despises Katniss because he sees Lucy Gray in her...but what feels more painful to me is that Katniss (and Peeta to a certain degree) not only embodies the qualities that the capitol despises the most regarding the districts, but Snow can see so many people involved with those 10th hunger games tributes in her:

He sees Lamina looking at Marcus in pain and killing him out of sheer mercy in Katniss shooting Cato as a mercy kill.

He sees Reaper Ash's burial and defiance by giving his fellow districts a dignified death and sepulture when Katniss remained by Rue's side and decorated her grave with flowers.

He kind of sees Coral, albeit in a much more ironic way, this girl who was ruthless and embraced such violence with the purpose to protect herself and her district partner, the one she nurses back to health and refuses to leave behind, with the wish to have either one of them survive the games, only to realise it was all for nothing once she loses him and is about to die, when she loses her frail little sister at the hands of District 13.

He sees Sejanus standing for the revolution and fighting for others in detriment of his own safety, maybe not even taking the best judgement at times, in Katniss and not only her protection of Peeta, Rue, Mags, Wiress, but also her general place in the rebellion and restless pursuit of saving Peeta.

He sees Lucy Gray, who stood by Jessup's side until his last breath and refused to abandon him, that never conformed to what the capitol expected from her, and her long lasting and unbreakable heritage and print in Katniss' during the entire saga, but especially in the song that haunted him once as a reminder of the monster he truly is, and that came back to haunt him again in his downfall.

But most importantly, he sees himself, a man defined by his sense of survival, by his practicality and selfpreservation, in this less than 18 year old girl, and that's what terrifies him the most about that district 12 girl: the fact she forces him to confront that he caused so much pain out of a hunger that was never justified, that he could have made SO many things differently, and that most importantly, different to what he would try to say to himself, there was always another choice, and he might have not chosen the correct one every single time it came to deciding what path to take.

[ghostlyferrettarot]

★Pick a Picture:🧡🫂Your next best friend🫂🧡

•Pile 1 •Pile 2 •Pile 3

❗️This is a collective reading, take what resonates and leave the rest❗️

✨️Paid Services ✨️ (Natal charts and tarot readings) Open!

🫧Join my Patreon for exclusive content!🫧

🐯If you like my work you can support me through Ko-fi. Thank you!🐯

🧡Masterlist🧡

🐯Pile 1: The Sun, Ace of Wands and 8 of Pentacles.

This person is truly charming and caring, and I have a feeling that they will be your antithesis in many ways, which will make you two complement each other incredibly well. The connection between you two could come about in a totally unexpected way; perhaps you'll find yourself in a situation that forces you to spend time together, which could lead to a strong and long-lasting friendship. This person's loyalty will be unwavering and their authenticity will shine through in every interaction you have. Their presence in your life will bring a dose of optimism and kindness that will allow you to appreciate the beauty in simple things, especially if you've had difficult experiences with friends in the past. Their way of being will remind you that not everything is complicated and that there is light even in dark times.

This person is undoubtedly unique and will become a friend for life. The connection you develop will be special, full of meaningful moments and shared laughter. As you get to know each other, you'll find that their sweetness and outlook on life will inspire you to open up more and trust in friendships again, creating a bond that will last over time.

🐯Song:

🦊Pile 2: The Star, 5 of Wands and Queen of Swords.

This person is really a lot of fun. I have a feeling that you'll find yourselves in a place where you can enjoy and relax, like a nightclub, where the music and atmosphere allow you to let go and put your worries aside. It's the kind of situation where you feel free to be yourself and enjoy yourself to the fullest.

When you're together, you become the center of attention, as if you were the life of the party. People around you notice the joy you have, and everyone wants to be around you to share that positive energy. It's as if your laughter and good humor are special and thay cant help but feel drawn to you.

The connection between you is so strong that you seem inseparable, almost as if you were family. There is a special chemistry in the air, an authentic and sincere energy that reflects the deep relationship and loyalty that they share. It is truly beautiful to see how they support you and how their friendship has become an unbreakable bond with you.

🦊Song:

🦁Pile 3: Knight of Pentacles, 9 of Cups, and The Hermit.

This person tends to be quite serious in their way of being, but you will have the ability to transform their way of seeing things. The chemistry between you will be remarkable, and although some may think that you are a peculiar duo, there is actually a deep and sincere friendship that unites you. This special connection will allow you to enjoy unique and fun moments, creating memories that you will treasure forever.

As you spend time together, you will both experience significant personal growth. The relationship you develop will be so strong that you could even embark on a joint project that will bring you great benefits. The trust and understanding you have towards each other will allow you to face challenges and take advantage of opportunities, turning your ideas into something tangible and successful.

What they have goes beyond a simple friendship; it's a family. You consider each other family and know each other so well that they can anticipate each other's thoughts with just a glance. This connection is powerful and unique, and will allow them to support each other every step of the way, further strengthening their bond and leading them to achieve new goals together.

🦁Song:

🧡Thanks for reading and tell me if it resonated🧡