#but she moved far away like halfway through the year

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐝?

a/n: parts of this (especially when it comes to the red room) are inaccurate/not canon compliant; either because of plot reasons or simply because i don't know better lol

summary: you and nat meet in the red room — years later, you reunite. named after the taylor swift song, but not really based on it. just thought it's fitting as the title

warnings: implied sexual contents, abuse, trauma, forced hysterectomy, descriptions of blood (brief); as always — if you notice anything else, tell me!

word count: 15.7k (yes, this is a long one, but i didn’t want to start another series)

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You're 12 when you meet her again.

Blood under fingernails and girls huddled together in a dark room. Dirt on cheeks, thin clothes, the air way too chilly for a November night.

Natasha's back. Again.

A mission in Ohio had made her believe in something entirely too good to be true. A fantasy, a pipe dream.

Family, warmth, safety. None of it real, all of it temporary. She allowed herself to sink into the feeling anyway and, foolishly, got used to it.

She should've known it'd end eventually. Part of her didn't want to believe it, though. And now she's back here, being delivered to the Red Room. They drag the girls out separately before moving them inside. When the doors open once more, she clings to Yelena. Her sister's body shakes violently.

This is the moment where they part again.

When the girls walk into the dormitory, it's dead silent. Merely the quiet footsteps and the groaning of the door's hinges cut through the quiet of the night. Rows and rows of bunk beds accommodate two dozen girls, covered by threadbare blankets. They barely stir — at this point, they're too used to this routine to care.

You, however, are awake. The door opening causes the dim glow of the hallway light to seep into the otherwise dark room, and you peek at the door. A handful of the girls, most of them ignoring you and heading straight for the few empty beds.

Only a pair of green eyes meets yours.

The first thing you notice is her blue hair. Then, you dare glancing at her face.

I know her, you think before looking away.

Bedsheets rustle. Natasha climbs into the spot above yours.

. . .

You should've known better than to step out of line.

The Red Room doesn't want you to show mercy, or take it easy on your opponents. It wants you cold and ruthless, not soft and sweet. If there's a gun in your hand, you shoot. If you have someone pinned to the ground, you deliver the final strike.

But you never, ever hesitate.

The instructors were furious. Not only did they haul you off the ground and shove you into the sensory deprivation room, but they also took away your food rations for the day.

The result?

Sitting in a cafeteria full of girls, who all have a tray of food in front of them. Bland chicken, overcooked vegetables, some bread. Dry, soggy, stale. Far from fine dining, but at least it'll fill their stomachs up about halfway.

You keep your eyes glued to the table in front of you, fingers drumming against your thighs.

Suddenly, a slice of bread is slid across the metal surface of the table. You look up, if only briefly, and meet the same pair of eyes you saw last night.

Natasha.

Your mouth opens, then you close it abruptly. No talking — you almost forgot about that rule. But she looks like she doesn't want you to thank her, either. Her face is stoic, apart from the ever so slightly furrowed eyebrows. She looks at her tray again, at the white piece of chicken, and cuts it in half.

You don't even think about what kind of risk she just took, as you're too hungry to focus on the do's and don't's of the Red Room. You just grab the bread and quickly eat it by tearing it into small pieces.

Somehow, no one notices.

"Thank you", you whisper that same night. No response comes from the bunk above yours.

. . .

Rustling of bedsheets and a bunk mate that won't stop tossing and turning.

Natasha glares at the ceiling, her arms crossed over her chest. The blanket is thin and worn, the room cold. Almost everyone else is asleep, at least judging by the quiet breathing and the silence of unmoving bodies.

Of course, everyone but the girl sleeping in the bed beneath hers.

It's been an hour since you started, and there's no sign of you stopping anytime soon. You're caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, your body restless and your mind exhausted. The images in front of you keep switching between dream and reality.

Natasha shifts again, pressing her palms against her eyes. You have training in the early morning, and if she isn't well-rested, it could lead to mistakes. She really doesn't want to get punished.

Why won't you sleep?

A soft whimper makes her glance down at you. Your body jerks, your face buried in the pillow. Natasha pauses and watches your expressions. Is it a nightmare? It wouldn't be your first. God knows she's suffered from those before as well.

Another toss. Another turn.

She can't stand it any longer. It's the middle of the night and she needs to sleep.

The bed creaks underneath her when she sits up. She stays still for a moment to make sure she didn't wake anyone, then she slides off the top bunk and silently lands on her feet. Crouching down next to you, she places her hand on your shoulder.

"Hey...", she whispers, quietly but sharply, and then struggles. Your name. What was your name? "Wake up", she continues, not bothering with the formalities. "Wake up."

Her voice cuts through the mess in your mind, but you don't wake up. Your face scrunches up and you shake your head, hand fisting the sheets underneath you.

It's frustrating, how nothing seems to work. Whatever you're dreaming about seems to have a tight grip on you. Maybe she should leave you alone — but you're being loud, and she doesn't want anyone else to wake up. Not like this. Not over something so...human.

"Wake up", she repeats, shaking you. You suddenly jerk away, and for a moment, her breath catches. Eyes wide with alarm, the fear on your face raw and instinctual. Your body has tensed up, muscles coiled tight like a snake's. You want to recoil, but you manage to make out the features of the person in front of you.

Blue hair, green eyes.

First, confusion. Then, realization. You slump into the bedsheets again, exhaling shakily. Natasha watches. At this point, she's barely breathing. The look in your eyes reminded her of something — of her, of Yelena, of every girl who's woken up in this place.

"Goodness", you finally mumble, and her stoic facade cracks for the first time in days.

"You were loud", she states.

You blink at her, then close your eyes in exhaustion. "I woke you up?"

"No. Couldn't fall asleep to begin with."

"Because of me?"

Natasha shrugs, the loose fabric of the tank top hanging off her slender frame. "You kept tossing."

You shake your head and cover your face with your hands. This should be embarrassing, at least for most people, but you feel like you have bigger problems than accidentally keeping your bunk mate awake at night. Like the fact you have combat training early in the morning.

"Did any of the Madames notice?", you ask, voice muffled and tired.

Natasha hesitates and looks at the door. Locked, of course. A faint strip of light is visible through the narrow window at the top.

"No", she says. "Not that I saw."

You nod, body relaxing slightly with relief. If any of them had noticed, you'd be paying for it by now. Nightmares are seen as a weakness — which you, 12 years old and more reasonable than the adults in this place, realize doesn't make any sense. Not many people can control their dreams.

Natasha doesn't move right away. She stays crouched next to your bed, studying you. You peek at her through your fingers and her expression doesn't waver. After a moment, she exhales sharply through her nose and shakes her head.

"Go back to sleep", she whispers and gets up. She grabs the metal frame of the top bunk and steps on the ladder.

"Natasha?", you say.

Her shoulders stiffen. It's the first time you've said her name.

She doesn't respond or look at you, but she hesitates. For you, that's enough.

"...Thanks."

Again, no response. She swings herself up onto the top bunk and curls back into the sheets.

Your breaths slow down gradually. You fall asleep at the same time.

. . .

'Don't form bonds.' 'Don't get attached.' 'Don't let someone else make you soft.'

Those are rules you aren't sure you'll be able to follow.

Music pulses through the air, but your heartbeat is louder. It echoes in your ears like a drum as you struggle to keep your movements precise.

Ballet lessons in the Red Room aren't any less harsh than the other types of training you go through. It's intense, physically demanding, just as draining as everything else. There's no space for missteps — only perfection is tolerated.

Natasha is more tired than usual. She's skilled, more so than most of the girls who've ever stepped into this place, but above all, she's human.

Sweat over her eyebrows, movements stiff but practiced. Pirouettes that get shakier with each repetition. When she stumbles, it doesn't take much thinking for you to reach out and steady her. She freezes under your touch. Her eyes flicker to yours, in them a mixture of confusion and something else. It's only there for a split second, but you notice anyway.

You quickly pull your hand away from her back. The warmth of her lingers on your fingertips.

"Sorry", you mumble. "I just- I didn't mean to-"

You don't get much further, as one of the instructors grabs you and yanks you away from her. She barks something in Russian — no touching, no helping, do you want to get punished? This will have consequences.

You don't resist as she drags you away from the others.

Natasha doesn't move, doesn't react. She just stands there as you're pulled away, her expression carefully blank.

You know better than to look back at her, but you feel her eyes on you. Watching, calculating, trying to figure out something she isn't sure exists.

The punishments of the Red Room never happen immediately. They stretch across the next hours (and sometimes days), they linger, they let this feeling of imminent doom hover in the air like a silent threat.

Again, a dark room. Something spiky they make you kneel on. Later, a corner in the cafeteria. Your back faces the other girls, who are eating silently. Nobody dares to look at you. Nobody but Natasha.

When you return to the dormitory that night, exhaustion has settled in your bones like a weight. You don't expect anything from anyone. Certainly not from her, who still looked at you with that cold detachment in her eyes.

But when you lift your blanket, you find something wrapped into a napkin. Half an apple, turning brown around the edges already. Still, it's something.

Your fingers brush over the fruit, then you slip it under your pillow. You look up and see Natasha's back. She doesn't turn, doesn't speak, and you don't, either.

Eventually, you lie down and eat the apple in silence.

Nothing seems to change, but somehow, everything does.

. . .

A room that smells like sweat and metal. Your feet hit the ground, the sharp sound echoing through the room. The Madames and the other girls stand in a circle around you, watching you like hawks. If you falter, you get punished.

You've sparred against Natasha before, but it was never like this. There's a tension between you now, a silent understanding that's lead to a delicate truce.

You don't want to hurt anyone in this room, but you especially don't want to hurt the blue-haired girl in front of you. The bunk bed would feel utterly lonely without her, even if your interactions have been limited.

However, this is the Red Room. Any fight here is brutal.

Fists, kicks, blocks, dodges. She delivers a strike to your face, and you retaliate quickly. Movements become quicker and blur together. You block a punch, and the impact sends a jolt up your arm.

Another kick, which you dodge. But your feet slide across the floor and you lose a fraction of balance. Natasha's eyes flash — she's fast. The fight turns into blocking and countering, both of you trying to get the upper hand.

She steps forward again and you push back harder. Your movements are almost mindless at this point — that is, until a soft gasp makes you pause.

Natasha touches her bottom lip, which is now split in half. Blood drips down her chin.

You freeze for a moment. There it is. The line you crossed.

"Sorry", you immediately say, lifting your shaky hand. Panic starts to pulse through your veins. "Natasha, I didn't-"

But Natasha doesn't say anything. She doesn't look angry, either. She looks...resigned. She wipes her swollen lip with the back of her hand and glances at the smudge of blood.

She looks back up at you, eyes narrowed slightly as if she's expecting something else. You want to take a step closer, comfort her, apologize until your mouth goes numb, but one of the Madames' voices cuts through the air.

"Enough!"

Startled, you take a step back. It's just in time for the woman to grab both your arms and start dragging you out of the room. You stumble after her, not entirely sure where you'll end up.

"You will both learn", she hisses, pushing open a door, "that hesitation is a weakness."

Snow, freezing cold. The air immediately seeps through your clothes and into your skin. The woman pushes you both onto your knees and ties your hands together behind your back, then she leaves again.

After what feels like an eternity of silence, you dare glancing at Natasha.

Nothing. She stares at the brick wall in front of her, jaw set stubbornly, nose red from the icy air. Her lip keeps bleeding, the blood drying on her chin.

You turn away again and close your eyes. Your fingers turn numb within minutes. Your shins, buried in the snow, first burn before losing sensation as well. Your body goes stiff.

The Red Room teaches endurance, but that doesn't change the fact that your body — young, small — is not built to withstand this kind of extreme weather. The Russian winter has a way of humbling you.

You try to shift, but the rope cutting into your wrists makes it difficult. What's almost worse than all of this is the silence between you and Natasha.

You look at her again. She's always been a hardheaded thing. Tough shell, hard to break. You've seen cracks in it, but barely.

"You're bleeding", you murmur, eyes fixed on the clump of blood on her chin.

"Stop talking", she replies. She says it like it doesn't matter, like it isn't worth the effort. But you notice the way her fingers curl. She's cold, too. It's gnawing at her just like the pain and the never ending hunger.

You shift again and almost lose your balance. Natasha quickly moves her upper body to try and steady you with her shoulder.

"Careful. You don't want to lie in the snow, I can tell you that much."

You nod and exhale, the air making your lungs freeze. She's right. If you topple over, there will be no way for you to get back up. It'd be the quickest way to a lung infection or hypothermia, if that isn't happening already.

"About earlier", you say, struggling. Your breath comes out in puffs. "I'm sorry."

Natasha shakes her head. She knows the rules. She knows you need to follow them.

"Stop apologizing.”

"I didn't mean to-"

"I told you to stop", she says flatly. Her green eyes meet yours. The wind tousles her blue hair, the individual strands fluttering. "It's not like you have a choice, do you?"

No. You certainly don't.

By the time you make it back into the dormitory, you feel like a human snowman. Your skin is raw from the cold and your entire body is sore from the punishment.

No dinner for you tonight, which would usually mean an aching stomach. Tonight, however, you have different issues.

The room is dark and silent, save for the almost inaudible breaths of the other girls. They're curled up beneath the blankets already, getting what little rest this place provides.

You fumble with the ties around your wrists, your fingers stiff and useless. Your grasp keeps slipping, your mind is spinning. You're still freezing.

Next to you, Natasha pulls hers loose first. You glance at her and frown, determined to get the knots free. It's a difficult task, considering your hands are behind your back, but she managed to do it — why shouldn't you be able to, as well?

Another beat passes. You're still struggling when you feel her move closer. Then, a sharp tug and your wrists are free.

You turn around, but Natasha is climbing the ladder to the top bunk already. You don't thank her this time. You just lay down and close your eyes to try and fall asleep.

The blanket on your bed offers little comfort. The cold has settled in your bones, deep and unyielding, and you keep shivering. You shift, shiver, shift again. Your bedsheets rustle. Toss and turn. Shift again.

A long exhale from the bunk above yours. A pause.

"Stop moving."

You huff quietly and glare at the mattress above you, even if Natasha can't see it. You lift your foot and lightly kick the spot where you assume her back should be.

"Quit that!"

"I'm cold", you whisper.

"News flash: so am I."

You hesitate, then slide off the bed. Your joints protest as you make your way up the ladder. You reach the top and see Natasha, turned away from you so she's facing the wall. You hesitate again. Then, you move under the blanket with her.

Bodies curled inwards to preserve warmth, neither of you speak. You're still cold, but it's not as harsh and lonely now. What you're feeling is a sort of comfort you've been missing for years.

You bury your face against her bony shoulder. She sighs, barely audible, but shifts to be closer to you.

"Don't make this a habit."

You'll make it a habit.

. . .

Natasha glances at you during lunch. She listens to you breathe at night. She keeps an eye on you during training.

You go on missions together. You exchange looks and faint smiles. You let each other believe you aren't alone.

Maybe you actually aren't alone anymore, either. For the first time in years, it feels like you aren't.

Something like affection builds between the two of you, as childlike and innocent as the Red Room allows it to be. It's fragile, as everything that grows in this environment is, but it's there.

You don't talk much, but words aren't necessary. A glance across the table of the cafeteria. A nod before training. Watching each other's backs. She covers for your mistakes, and you cover for hers. If one of you gets punished, usually so does the other.

You learn the rhythm of each other's footsteps and the way you move when you fight. You learn how to make it look like you're not holding back, while simultaneously making sure never to hurt the other. You'd only end up splitting her lip one more time.

At night, she doesn't ask questions when you wake up from a nightmare. Instead she just scoots and makes space, anticipating your arrival. You climb the ladder without fail each time.

It's the same blanket as yours, the same pillow. Somehow, it feels warmer. You curl into her like a cat and tuck your face against her shoulder. It's beyond you how you never get caught, but you don't dare question this wonderful, reoccurring fluke.

Again, the Red Room is still a harsh environment. Beautiful things don't thrive here. Innocence doesn't thrive here. There's no room for softness, either — but somehow, you carve out a space for it anyway.

. . .

You're 15 when you realize that she means more to you than any person in this place should.

Two years have passed. Maybe three.

You're not really sure. The Red Room makes time seem like something fluid, something inconsistent.

When you look in the mirror in the shared bathroom, you can't pinpoint the exact differences. But something is different — you're taller, your hair longer (that is, before they cut it off again), your face still young but sharper.

What really shows you that time has passed is Natasha.

Before her, you never bothered to pay enough attention to someone to notice the changes that occur over the months and years. But with her? You can basically see her grow. It's a slow process, obviously, but it's there. It's graspable, real, how her hair is growing out and how she's suddenly grown — she's still smaller than you, but at least she's almost on eye level with you now.

Despite all that, time doesn't feel real in the Red Room. It slips through your fingers like sand, but it also stretches out endlessly. Days blur together, hours feel like they last an eternity. In the middle of it all, something shifts between you and Natasha.

The distance between you shrinks. It's barely perceptible at this point. There's no specific label for it, not yet at least. You're too young, too busy with other things to really think about it, but what you once had has turned into something sweeter.

At night, you climb into her bunk. It's routine by now, not something dictated by whether you have a nightmare or not. She scoots to make space, and when you're under the covers with her, she presses into you to seek out warmth just like you do.

And then, there are moments that catch you off-guard.

A glance that lingers. A knee that rests against yours, neither of you moving away. A hand brushing against your back during ballet.

The way her voice suddenly sounds softer when murmuring "goodnight". The way the detached look on her face disappears when looking at you. The way your heart rabbits in your chest.

Maybe you should've expected it.

You don't.

It happens at night, when everyone is asleep. You're wrapped into her blanket, the one that barely shields you from the cold. You both shift, though it's not clear why — maybe to adjust the blanket, or to get into a more comfortable position. Either way, it doesn't matter.

Natasha's head turns up the same moment you look at her. Her lips brush against yours.

It's everything and nothing at the same time.

A brief, clumsy contact, but an undeniable one. It awakens a swarm of butterflies in her stomach and makes your fingers tremble. You're both frozen for a moment. Face warm and red with something like shame and realization, you glance up at her.

"Shit", she mumbles.

"Yeah." You swallow, trying to catch her gaze. She keeps staring at whatever's right next to your shoulder. "I think that was my first kiss", you add dumbly.

"You're counting this as a kiss?"

You shrug, slightly confused. "What else could it be?"

No answer. Natasha chews on her bottom lip, trying to make the fluttery feeling in her stomach go away. It's annoying, how intense it is. She's never felt it before, and now that it's here, she can't get rid of it.

Her eyes meet yours again. Neither of you know what you're doing, but that's fine.

Her breath fans against your cheek when she exhales. It's almost a sigh. Then, she leans in again.

This time, it definitely is a kiss.

. . .

Cocooned in the warmth of her bed, the world around you suddenly doesn't seem to exist anymore.

You forget about the scars and bruises that litter both of your bodies (though that doesn't stop you from tracing each new bandage with your fingers, your eyebrows furrowed and your bottom lip between your teeth, even if Natasha keeps insisting she's fine). You forget about what waits for you in the mornings and what upset you in the evenings. You forget about the dried blood on your pillow, about the upcoming missions, about everything but her.

In the middle of pain and torture, you've found purpose.

At night, you climb into Natasha's bed. Sometimes, she climbs into yours.

You start to talk more. You find out things you can tell she kept secret until now.

Losing your family is something every girl in the Red Room has gone through. Natasha, however, lost two families.

She doesn't remember the first time, but the second time is burned into her mind. It haunts her when she's alone, when it's silent. When the lights turn off and she suddenly remembers being in that container again, when a girl crying sounds a little too much like her sister.

Yelena. She mumbles the name against your shoulder, her eyes closed. Unsure what to say, you lift your hand and brush her hair away from her face. Once blue, now red with blue ends.

"Younger than you?", you ask, your voice a whisper. You heard someone stir earlier, and you don't want to risk anyone waking up to you cuddled up like this. They probably wouldn't tell on you, but you're still cautious. You're young, but you know to protect what's close to your heart.

"She was six", she says, struggling. "I couldn't help her."

You close your eyes. You smell her scent, all soap and cotton, and nudge her forehead with your nose.

"Not your fault."

"She was a kid. A baby, basically."

"We're not much older."

Natasha stays quiet for a moment. She sounds helpless when she speaks again.

"I lost her."

There's not much you can say in that moment. Maybe you don't need to say anything, either. Maybe Natasha just needs you to be there — which you are.

You let your lips brush against her forehead. Your fingers ghost over her wrist, feeling the pulse beneath. Fast, steady. Most importantly: alive.

Her fingers curl around your hand, then squeeze gently. Barely there, but it means more than she could ever know.

"You didn't lose everything", you mumble, intertwining your fingers with hers. You're each other's anchor, even in a place like this. Especially in a place like this, maybe. "We'll find her."

We.

Natasha looks at you. Her chin tilts upward and she kisses you, lips warm and minty like toothpaste.

. . .

You feel the illness long before it really hits you.

It's nothing dramatic. A simple flu, complete with a fever, a cough, a runny nose. But your skull is pounding and your muscles aching, and when you open your eyes in the morning, you feel like you were hit by a truck.

It's still dark in the dormitory. Outside, the sun is barely peeking over the horizon, but you can't see it thanks to the lack of windows. You groan when a shiver racks through you, your throat sore and burning.

Natasha leans over the edge of her bunk bed. She left the feverish warmth of your bed as soon as she noticed your discomfort. It's the first time in two years that she didn't sleep by your side.

"Y/N?"

You look at her, then close your eyes again. This can't be happening. Being sick in the Red Room is one of the worst possible misfortunes that can happen. Rest is not an option here — not really, anyway. They grant you two days to get better, and if you still feel ill afterwards?

Tough luck. You have to push through.

Natasha doesn't say anything at first, but she watches. Her eyebrows furrow with worry when you sit up, clearly dizzy. With one, swift movement, she's jumped off the bed and landed on her feet silently.

Her hands grab your shoulders and steer you back to bed.

"Nat", you mumble dismissively, voice muffled.

"Sit down", she says, pushing you onto your butt. You sit and sneeze. "Bless you. Now stay in bed."

"We have training-"

"You get two days off", she reminds you. "You need to rest."

You scoff and cross your arms. Natasha leans in and presses the back of her hand against your forehead. You don't need her to tell you to know you're burning up, but the way her expression shifts tells you anyway.

"Lay down", she murmurs.

You look at her, sighing. "Come on."

Her face, for the first time ever, turns pleading. "Lay down. Rest. You can't push yourself too hard."

After another moment of hesitation, you lay down. Natasha tucks you in, her hands lingering.

At night, you drift in and out of sleep. Natasha is sitting next to you, legs crossed. You're too dazed to pay attention to your surroundings, but you hear the faint clicking of metal and her soft, muttered curses when her hand slips.

The hex nut is slippery and small between her sweaty fingers. She slides off the mattress and sits on the cold floor, where she uses the concrete floor to smooth the edges. She's completely focused, shutting everything else out. Tongue poking out between her teeth, eyes slightly narrowed to be able to see in the darkness. Behind her, you roll over and sniffle.

Natasha turns. You barely manage to make out her features in the pitch black of the room.

You want to say something, but sleep catches up again. Cheeks rosy and slick with sweat, baby hairs sticking to your forehead, you close your eyes. Almost lost in the haze of fever and half-sleep, you can feel her fingertips brush over your temple. When she pulls away, the absence of her touch nearly manages to wake you.

You let out a sleepy huff and relax into the sheets again. Natasha picks up the hex nut and keeps filing the sharp edges.

Every night, she sits with you like this. Working quietly, diligently, until you're feeling better again.

. . .

You're 17 when you realize you're in love.

Black Widows don't have a future.

At least not the kind of future other people expect for themselves. Normal people. The ones with nine to five jobs and two kids, dogs and cats, cars in suburbs and nights out in the city. The ones who have a choice. The ones who aren't completely, utterly messed up.

It's nice to fantasize, anyway. Whether it's empty beaches or bustling cities, small cottages or mansions so big they make the Red Room seem tiny — you like escaping from reality now and then. You like allowing yourself to be delusional, to pretend you actually have an influence on how your life will go.

How will it end? You can't know that yet. But you hope it'll be at least a little more like the outcomes your mind produces late at night, when you have Natasha tucked against your chest.

She fantasizes with you. You like her fantasies, her dreams and desires, more than your own.

Though, there isn't a particular thing she wishes for. She only wants to get out of this hellhole with you.

"We will", you assure her. You're on your back, eyes glued to the ceiling you can barely see. Natasha is a warm, grounding weight on your chest you don't ever want to miss. "Even if the outside world scares me."

"More than this place?"

An unnecessary question, and you both know it.

"No." You feel her lips brush against your collarbone. "I suppose it scares me in a good way."

"Idiot", she mumbles. The affection in her voice is louder than what she said. "I suppose. Who talks like that?"

"You're mean, you know", you mutter and pinch her side. She bites your collarbone to stop herself from letting out a noise. "Ow!"

"You pinched me!", she says, her words a whisper. You scoff and lean in to kiss the grin off her face. "That doesn't work on me."

"It works on me."

"You're just looking for an excuse to kiss me."

"I wouldn't be me if I didn't."

Natasha's lips quirk into a smile. You know that because you feel it against your mouth — the subtle curve of her lips, the way her breath puffs out in amusement, her nose brushing against yours. You taste her happiness and crave more.

"I'm glad you're you", she whispers, "but I don't need your crab claws all over my skin."

You don't say anything. You huff softly, your hand reaching up to brush some hair out of her face. Natasha stills, her eyes studying you in the dead of night. You can feel the thoughts form in her brain and radiate from her, and you swallow. Her full lips part. Her voice is the only sound in the room, the only sound that ever mattered.

"I love you, you know."

Simple, quiet, to the point. For a moment, you don't respond. Not because you don't feel anything, but because you feel too much.

"I love you too", you then whisper back. Words you haven't said that many times, but the second you utter them, you know you mean it. You've meant it for a while.

She smiles and leans in, forehead pressed against yours cheek. Her breath is hot on your skin. Then she shifts to adjust herself, and you feel her face buried against your neck. You wrap your arms around her and roll over so she's tucked between you and the wall.

"Now go to sleep before you start crying or something", she mumbles. You scoff and kiss her temple. "I mean it."

"I'm not going to cry." You run your hand under her top and feel her warm skin. You feel the scars, the little bumps and ridges, the imperfections marring her skin, and quietly decide that with Natasha, imperfections don't exist. "You know, we'll get there one day."

"Where?"

"There. We'll get out, and- and we'll do everything we're told we can't."

Her eyelashes brush against your skin. Her hand fists the back of your tank top. "You're talking nonsense."

"I mean it."

A pause. The room is silent and dark, save for the quiet breathing of the other girls. When she speaks again, her voice is soft and hesitant.

"What would we do?”

You're not really sure. All you know is that, somewhere in this picture of possibilities and risks and fears, Natasha is there as well.

"Anything. Everything."

. . .

You're 18 when Natasha starts to slip away.

There is a day that all girls in the Red Room fear. Nobody really knows what happens. There is no announcement, no explanation.

The girls who leave seldomly return. If they do, they're different — sharper, but also sadder. Like even that little bit of light they had got drained out of them.

It's lunchtime. You're all gathered at the long tables, with trays in front of you.

You've had a bad feeling all morning long. From the moment you untangled yourself from Natasha, to the second you stepped into the cafeteria. It's heavy, nauseating, resting in your stomach like a weight you can't get rid of.

She seems different, too. Withdrawn, defeated. You watch her fingers trace the edge of her tray, her mind elsewhere.

You aren't sure what's going on until her name is suddenly called.

"Romanoff."

The entire room goes silent. She hesitates for what can only be a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity. Her chair screeches as she pushes it back. Your hand reaches out automatically, then you retract it as if you got burned. Part of you wants to jump in and stop her, tell her to stay, but you can't. No one can.

She doesn't look at you as she turns around and leaves.

You don't see her for days.

It's late in the evening when she returns. Nothing is the same anymore.

She doesn't speak, doesn't look at you. She curls into your side and puts her head on your chest. Her eyes stay open.

Concern washes over you. You dare looking down at her, at her top that has ridden up, and you feel something sour rise in your throat.

There's a bandage around her lower stomach, stained with dried blood.

You've seen many injuries in your life before — cuts, bruises, gunshot wounds — but this is different. This is deliberate, meant to keep her under control. You don't have to ask what it is.

The Red Room doesn't take kindness into account. It doesn't care about pain, grief, trauma. It doesn't care about futures stolen before they could even begin. Futures that may have never happened in the first place.

You wrap your arms around her and carefully pull her closer. You feel something warm and wet against your neck, slowly soaking into the fabric of your tank top. You don't say anything, because what are you supposed to say, anyway? That you're sorry? That you wish you could take her pain away? That this doesn't change who she is?

It doesn't change who she is. She's Natasha. But it still changes so much.

The damp area of your shirt grows warmer and larger. Her nose presses against your collarbone. You want to reassure her, comfort her, but you're not sure how. Nothing is going to give her back what was taken.

You bury your face in her hair and breathe in her scent. Soap, metal, something unmistakably her.

Her breath hitches. You can feel her suppress her sobs, making herself smaller. Her fingers twitch against your ribs, restless, not sure what to do. You're not sure, either.

Then, a sound. Small, pained, somewhere between a sob and a sigh.

"I don't feel real."

Some experiences haunt you for a lifetime.

. . .

You aren't aware of your lasts when they happen — your last kiss, your last 'I love you'. It isn't something you get to cherish, because you foolishly assume it'd happen again.

It won't. You just don't know yet.

The night before, she's in your bed. The scar on her lower stomach has healed by now. The next morning, she'll leave for a mission. Budapest, Hungary.

She doesn't want to go. It's always the same — violent, bloody, scary. At least she'll get out of the Red Room's confinements for a few days, which is the only upside she can think of.

You don't sleep much that night. Neither does she.

Her hands slide under your shirt, up to your ribcage. Fingertips trace your skin repeatedly, mapping out scars and ribs and birthmarks. She memorized the feel of you years ago. At this point, doing this is mere comfort. It's a quiet assurance that, no matter what, some things don't change.

Oh, how wrong she is.

"It's just a few days", you murmur. You can sense the anxiety radiating from her. It's not funny — obviously not —, but there's something ironic about someone as strong and resilient as Natasha being nervous about a mission. You both know that being in the Red Room is worse in many ways.

Maybe it's returning to the Red Room that worries her. Or not returning. Or always having to return. A never-ending cycle, perhaps.

"It's not about how long I'll be gone."

"I know."

Natasha looks up. Her eyes are exhausted, full of that same resignation you've been carrying for years.

"Then why'd you say it?", she asks.

You don't have an answer to that. Instead, you cup her face and kiss her. Not urgently, not desperately. Soft, slow, familiar like the feeling of your heartbeat under her fingertips.

By the time you wake up, she's gone. You won't see her again for years.

. . .

You're 31 when you get out.

Morocco's air is hot and full of dust. Yelena and you jump out of the window and land next to a woman. She turns and spots you, immediately going for an attack. You dodge her and wrap your arm around her neck. As she starts gasping, you see the vial, filled with red gas, in her hand.

"No!", she wheezes as you tighten your grip. Somehow, she manages to break the glass open right when Yelena stabs her. The powder spreads in the air and enters your airways and eyes, so you start coughing and let go of her — and the control that Dreykov had over you starts to fade.

For the first time in an eternity, you're yourself again. Or a version of yourself. You're not too sure. All you know is that the grip on your mind, your body, has disappeared. The thick haze through which you've been seeing life gets thinner and weaker.

Next to you, Yelena sneezes. You're too overwhelmed to react to that.

"What- what happened?", you stammer, letting go of the woman. Her limp body drops to the floor. "Fuck, did we kill her?"

"That...was that an antidote?" Yelena scrubs her hand down her dust-caked face. "Shit."

Confused, you start turning around to look at your surroundings. Right, Morocco. The mission. You remember getting here, but you also don't remember anything. Your memories don't seem to be your own. But they have to be, right?

Probably. You're not sure, though. Being freed from the Red Room's mind control is an odd sensation, and there are way too many things you're supposed to focus on.

You feel freedom. But it doesn't feel like you thought it would. You're...you. Just you. Suddenly, other parts of you have disappeared — parts that weren't yours in the first place, parts that they implemented in you.

Implement. They also implemented a gps-tracker. You grab a small blade and slice open your thighs to remove the small chips. You wipe your hands on your suit and get up, eyes scanning the area. For now, you're alone.

"We need to leave", Yelena says, throwing the trackers on the ground and crushing them with the sole of her boot.

"But Oksana..." You swallow as you glance at the woman lying on the dirty ground. "She helped us."

"She won't make it, Y/N", she says. "Seriously. If we don't leave now, they'll find us."

You give her a hesitant look, but Yelena looks resolute. She's about as stubborn as her older sister.

"Come on", she urges you, grabbing your arm. Her touch burns — you don't know how long it's been since you consciously felt another person's touch. You want to protest, to stay and see if Oksana's case really is as hopeless as Yelena is saying, but she keeps tugging you through the streets and into a dark alley.

A motorbike, flying down Morocco's roads. No idea where Yelena got that thing from — she suddenly made you sit on it without offering much of an explanation —, but you assume she stole it.

Wind that stings your face, whipping against your skin like punishment. You take a breath and taste dust. You cough and tighten your arms around her waist, quietly praying you won't fall and break your neck. Dying right after escaping from the Red Room would have to be the most embarrassing thing to happen in your life so far.

About an hour passes. The city flies past you, blurring like the thoughts in your head.

Yelena grips the handlebars harder and takes a sharp turn. You let out an undignified noise and bury your face against her shoulder.

"с��ка!", she curses when a guy, also on a motorbike, almost crashes into you. "Ah, fuck. They drive like lunatics around here."

"Are you kidding?!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" She cackles and stops in front of a gas station. You both hop off the motorbike, your legs shaking like jelly. You lean against the gas pump and groan. "Come on, that was nothing!"

"Screw you." You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand and sigh, glancing at your surroundings.

A gas station, tucked between two buildings with flickering neon signs. You smell gasoline, sweat (probably stemming from you and Yelena — you really need a shower), grilled meat coming from the stall across the street. A stray cat slinks past you, briefly looking up before losing interest. The only noise comes from a few cars passing by and a group of men loitering by their cars, laughing and talking rapidly.

Beyond the station, the road stretches into darkness. No Red Room agents, no looming threats—just empty space. It's peaceful out here, at least judging by what you can see and hear. But the paranoia lingers. You glance over your shoulder, waiting for something — someone — to come after you.

Yelena nudges your side. "Zoning out?"

"What?...no, I'm fine."

"Well, good. We still need to get some supplies." She jerks her chin toward the station and starts walking. "Chop chop!"

You sigh again, but ultimately follow her inside. Your days in the Red Room seem to be over, but peace isn't something you'll get acquainted with soon.

. . .

You awaken with a pained groan. Sunlight blinds you, so you turn your head only to be met with the sight of Yelena. She's not the most graceful sleeper — mouth agape, one leg hanging off the bed, her hand twitching in her sleep. But you're happy she's here, that you're not alone in this unfamiliar place.

You get up and stretch. The wound on your thigh stings as you step toward the window and look outside.

Early morning in Budapest is quiet but not silent. It's calm in a way you aren't used to. You still haven't gotten used to the fact you can sleep in (other than the woman snoring like a freight train), or that you can just go outside and buy bread. Or walk around the block. Maybe step into the park.

Because you're not used to it, you also don't do it. You're inside most of the time, only leaving the safe house when it's necessary. And even then you carry a gun with you, loaded and hidden under your jacket. It's a steady weight, providing you with a sense of safety. You're telling yourself it's a precaution, but deep down, you know better. The Red Room still has a grip on you.

Behind you, Yelena shifts and mumbles something in her sleep. Then, a sigh. A grunt.

You turn around and look at her. She peeks at you and rolls over so the sun isn't shining on her face anymore.

"Blinds", she mutters.

"Sorry", you say, closing the blinds. "Not going to get up?"

"I'm not crazy like you. But if you're up, you might as well make coffee."

You roll your eyes, but nod and put on your sweatshirt before padding into the kitchen. Right as you're grabbing a bottle of milk from the fridge, you hear someone fiddle with the lock of the apartment's front door.

You freeze.

Yelena may be lazy in the mornings, but she's not careless. Only you and her have access to this apartment.

The lock clicks. The door creaks open. Your hand instinctively touches your side, but you left your gun in the bedroom.

Steps, almost silent. Whoever it is, they're moving with the stealth of a cat. Only one person springs to mind, but your brain quickly pushes the thought away. Instead, you press yourself against the fridge.

You didn't expect them to find you yet. You found a spot that's well hidden, secure, thinking it'd grant you at least a few weeks to figure out what comes next. In the end, it's someone you never expected to see again.

A shadow appears in the doorway. When you look up, your eyes meet the ones you used to know like your own reflection.

They're the same. Time has had an impact on both of you, but her eyes? They never changed.

The bottle drops from your hand. Glass shatters, milk spills everywhere. But Natasha doesn't flinch. In fact, neither of you move.

You stare at her, trying to convince yourself this isn't real. That this is a dream, or she's a ghost, or maybe both. When you realize that's not the case, you silently start begging for her to leave again. Leave like she did last time, and never return.

She abandoned you in the Red Room. There's no room for sympathy here — but she stays anyway. It feels like no time has passed, even if that's definitely not the case. Time has passed. Years, decades.

Finally, her eyes flick down to the milk seeping across the floor, curling around the shards of glass.

"What a waste", she says, almost quietly. Her voice is soft enough to infuriate you.

"What the fuck are you doing here?", you snap, stepping away from the fridge. She doesn't react, doesn't budge. Truthfully, you didn't expect anything else from a woman that's able to stay calm even while defusing bombs and hunting literal aliens.

"I could ask you the same thing", she says, reaching into the pocket of her jeans. You back away and bump against the fridge again, but it's just a few pictures. On them? Two little girls, one blonde and the other blue-haired. "You sent me this."

You let out a humorless laugh, but it's tinged with pain. Your eyes stay glued to the simple images that managed to revive decades old feelings. Feelings that should be long buried.

"I didn't send you shit. You thought I'd contact you?"

"Someone", she says sharply, "sent me this. It led me here. So it was either you, or-"

"Morning", Yelena says, yawning and stretching as she enters the kitchen. She steps over the puddle. "Who the fuck is yelling this early in the morning? Also, someone dropped milk." She looks at Natasha and raises her eyebrows. "Oh, finally. Took you long enough. You're slacking."

"You sent those?", she asks, crossing her arms.

"Huh?" Yelena leans over to peek at the pictures. "Oh, yes. Right."

"Why?", you snap. Yelena gives you a surprised look.

"What, 'why'?"

"Why'd you send those", Natasha says, sliding the pictures toward her. Then, she grabs a bundle of vials and puts them on the table. "This, too."

"Oh, right", she says, sitting on the counter. She stirs the cup of coffee in her hand and takes a careful sip. "Because of the Red Room, you know. So we'll go take it down."

"You...what?"

"What are you talking about?", Natasha says, frowning. "The Red Room is gone."

Two heads whip around at the same time to stare at her. Her words, simple as they may be, make your heart pound. But she truly seems to believe what she just said.

"Are you kidding?", you say, your voice rising. "Gone? Don't tell me you really believe that."

"Dreykov's dead", she says, frowning. "I killed him years ago."

"Ha! She really believes that." Yelena jumps up and avoids the shards to reach for the vials. "This is an antidote, you know. For mind control."

Natasha shakes her head. She didn't expect to find you here; she thought it'd be just Yelena. It'd be easier if it was just her sister. She knows how to deal with her. But you? God, it's hard when it comes to you.

When she ran from her past, she ran from you. Now she has to confront the one person who, at some point in time, wasn't only her past — but her entire future.

"Dreykov is alive", you say quietly, looking away from her. You saw the expression on her face, and it's too much to handle in that moment. "You really think he'd let anyone kill him?"

"Killing him was part of my defection to SHIELD", Natasha says stubbornly. She still sounds convinced. "It took destroying almost the entire city to get to him."

Yelena pours some vodka into her coffee. When you glance at her, she shrugs. "We don't have any milk left." She turns to Natasha. "Did you confirm the kill? Check the body?"

Natasha takes a shot of vodka, her eyes tearing up slightly. You see the faint redness in them, the moisture that matches the one in your own eyes. You're both tearing up, but for different reasons. She bites the insides of her cheeks and lifts her chin in a defensive manner. "There was no body left to check.”

"He's not dead", she repeats. "Ask me, ask Y/N. We'd know."

They look at you. You shake your head, the heels of your hands pressed against your eyes, and blindly take a step forward. Glass cuts into your sole, but you ignore the sudden pain, the blood mixing with the spilled milk.

You need to get out of this room. You need to get away from Natasha, just like she got away from you.

. . .

In the morning, you leave. All three of you.

You're in the back of the car, refusing to do anything other than sit there and stare out the window. The tension in the small space is thick enough to be cut with a knife, but Yelena doesn't seem to notice that. She's never been particularly good at reading social cues, which is something she has in common with her sister.

"You two are so dramatic", she says after an eternity of silence. "I should've brought popcorn, you know."

At her words, Natasha makes a sharp turn. You brace yourself against the door and bite back a retort. Instead, neither of you reply.

Yelena yawns and stretches. She rolls her shoulders until her joints pop, then reaches over to turn on the radio. Natasha bats her hand away.

"Don't."

"It's boring."

"Yelena."

"I'll start singing." She clears her throat and then begins belting out an off-key rendition of some song. Natasha white-knuckles the steering wheel when Yelena's voice fills the car. She's doing this on purpose.

"Get her to shut up", you mutter, kicking the back of Natasha's seat.

She grits her teeth, not replying to you. Then, suddenly, she presses the small button on the radio. Static fills the car before settling on some station playing a song from the 90's you vaguely remember.

A mission in rural Russia. You and Natasha, 16 years old and curled together behind the dumpster of a bar. Soaking up the minutes left before returning to the place you're now about to go take down.

Natasha's gaze meets yours in the rear view mirror. It's just for a split second, but you both seem to soften.

. . .

You leave the city behind. Winding roads and open stretches of land replace it, the world eerily quiet in the dead of night. The car is silent, but only because Yelena has fallen asleep — head resting against the glass and mouth open, you're surprised she hasn't started drooling yet.

"How much longer?"

"A few more hours", Natasha mumbles, glancing at the fuel gauge. "We need gas."

She pulls up in front of a gas station and gets out. You stay in the back for a moment, watching her refuel the car, then unbuckle. It's cold outside, so much so that goosebumps form on your arms. You lean against the car and wait.

Natasha keeps a close eye on the fuel display, watching the numbers climb. She lets go of the handle as soon as it hits the right amount, shaking the nozzle to remove any excess fuel. She steps around the car and looks at you.

You hesitate before following her inside.

It's a typical gas station, with a bored looking clerk leaning against the counter and shelves half-stocked with dusty snack bags. Refrigerators full of soda and water bottles, some porn magazines, newspapers, souvenirs. You glance at a stuffed teddy bear that's wearing a shirt with the word 'Hungary' printed on the front.

Natasha grabs a bottle of water. When she notices you eyeing the shelves, she pauses before grabbing a second bottle and a protein bar. She holds them out to you and you hesitate once more, but then you take them.

Yelena is still asleep in the car. You sit on the curb and unscrew the bottle to take a few sips. You feel her presence as she sits next to you, see how she plucks a cigarette from her pocket, how she lights it but doesn't take a drag.

Silence used to be comfortable between the two of you. Now, it feels like an eternity of discomfort.

Plumes of smoke curl into the air as she finally takes a hit. You glance at her, briefly, but manage to catch her gaze. Wordlessly, she holds out the cigarette.

You inhale a lungful and stifle a choked cough. Natasha's lips twitch.

"Careful", she says.

"I'm not used to it."

"Might be for the better."

Natasha flicks ash off the tip before taking another puff. You glance at her and see everything that wasn't there the last time you saw her.

"You're an Avenger now", you state. She looks at you, but doesn't say anything. "Was it worth it? Leaving, I mean?"

She averts her eyes again. The cigarette falls to the ground and she presses it out with her boot.

"We're adults now", she says carefully. "There's no point in pretending. Y/N, I didn't have a choice. It was either leaving or dying in there."

You nod, fingers fiddling with the loose cap in your hands. "You left us to die instead."

No reply, no arguing back. Just silence and the hum of the cars as they pass by.

Finally, she turns around. Her fingers brush against yours, cold yet familiar, as she takes the cap from you. You look up only for the ache in your chest to increase.

"I would've come back", she says. "I didn't think you'd made it."

"Only 19 in 20."

"Yeah."

You study her in the dim light that's cast by the neon signs above you. Green, lighter than her eyes but not nearly as mesmerizing.

"I wanted to come back", she starts, glancing at the cap between her fingers. "I couldn't. Clint, he- he told me it'd be too risky. I couldn't afford going back there. Not after making it out."

"Clint?" It sounds like a question, but really, you know that name. Another Avenger.

She shakes her head in dismissal. "You'll meet him."

You tilt your head. I will?

"Point is", she says, glancing away again, "I didn't have a choice. Not really. By the time I did, it seemed like it was too late. I tried to find you, but I couldn't. It seemed impossible without directly confronting Dreykov, or someone close to him."

You nod, exhaling slowly. Trusting her still seems impossible, no matter how plausible her story may be. Being left behind like that leaves scars. Most of them haven't healed.

"The others were impressed", you mumble, tugging at your loose shoelaces until they come undone. "Jealous, but also impressed."

Natasha manages a bitter smile. "And you?"

You hesitate and let go of the shoelaces.

"I hated you for it", you admit. "At first. Now I get it, I guess. Which doesn't make it right. But you were trying to survive. We all were."

"It never stopped being about survival", she mumbles. "Not without you."

You swallow, eyes squeezing shut. You try to find an answer beneath all the layers of pain and anger, but you find nothing. Her words cut deeper than anything else she's said tonight.

You're pulled back to reality by Yelena stirring in the car. You turn around right as she lowers the window. Her tired voice cuts through the silent night, through the tension.

"You two better not be making out back there."

"We're not", Natasha calls. Despite the irritation in her voice, her lips curl into a tentative half-smile as she looks at you.

"Good. Let me know if you need a room or something."

"I'll kick you out of the car", Natasha says, unimpressed, and gets up. She holds out her hand and you take it, letting her pull you to your feet. The simple contact of skin on skin sends a familiar flurry of electricity through you. You ignore it as best as you can.

. . .

You're 32 when you take down the Red Room.

Somewhere between those moments in Hungary and the day you finally watch the place that stole your life go up in flames, you celebrate your birthday.

Truthfully, you have no idea what your actual birthday is — which is the case for most girls in the Red Room. It's a piece of information that's deliberately withheld from you, for whatever reason that may be. It's not that it'd be of importance, either. They don't celebrate your birthday. All you know is that you were born somewhere in the late days of summer.

Natasha used to celebrate with you. Handing you a piece of fruit or bread wrapped in a tissue, kissing your cheek, scooting closer. It only happened a handful of times, but every second of those nights is ingrained in your brain.

The motel you're at is rundown and small. It's unlike the ones you've seen so far, but it's not the worst, either. Considering your circumstances, you're happy with mold-free bathrooms and a somewhat clean bed.

You plop down on the edge of the bed, the mattress sagging, and untie your boots. Yelena is in the shower, leaving you alone with Natasha. She hasn't said a word since you got here.

When you're about to toe off your second boot, a rounded something wrapped in a paper napkin lands in your lap. You look up and are met with the sight of Natasha watching you.

"You know what day it is?", she asks.

You stare at her, caught off guard. "No?"

"Your birthday."

You hesitate and unwrap whatever she handed you. It's a small cupcake, crushed from being carried around. Vanilla, judging by the color of the frosting. "I don't have a birthday."

"Not true", she says, sitting on the bed next to you. The mattress dips, reminding you of nights in the Red Room. How the thin mattress would sink under her weight, announcing her arrival. How the first thing she'd do is press closer and seek the warmth you both craved. "Everyone has a birthday."

Touché. You brush your finger against the bottom of the cupcake, unsure what to say.

Natasha shifts, arms crossed and expression guarded.

"I didn't bake it", she states the obvious. "I found it at a gas station."

You let out a sound that's dangerously close to a laugh, inspecting the cupcake. "How did I not notice?"

"I made Yelena distract you."

This time, you let out an actual laugh. You peel back the wrapper and take a small bite. Dry, but yummy. A bit too sweet. Nice vanilla flavor, though. "Thank you."

You look at each other. Natasha hums, tentatively reaching out to brush a crumb from the corner of your mouth. It's a brief, light touch, but it makes you freeze. Silence suddenly fills the room.

"Happy birthday", she mumbles. She pulls back, arms crossed over her middle. You swallow and look at the cupcake again.

"Doesn't feel like much of a celebration."

"They didn't have balloons."

"Candles?"

"No."

You crack a smile and poke at the cupcake. "A song, maybe?"

She laughs and shakes her head. "Not even for you. Sorry."

Something flickers in her expression, mirroring your own. Before you can address it, the bathroom door swings open. Yelena walks into the room, towel-drying her hair and humming to herself. When she sees you sitting so close on the bed, she stops and squints.

"What's going on?" Her gaze falls to the cupcake in your hand. "Hey, nobody told me we had cake!"

"It's not cake", you say. "It's-"

"A birthday cake?", she cuts in. "Oh my god. Whose birthday is it?"

"Cupcake", Natasha says, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"My birthday", you add, glancing at the woman next to you. "According to her."

"Oh. Well then..." Yelena saunters over and inspects the sweet treat. "That's pathetic. I could've stolen something way better for your birthday."

"You did steal something", Natasha reminds her. "Lollipops. A handful of them."

"Yes, but those were for me." Yelena lets out a long-suffering sigh and plops onto the second bed. She stretches her arms and legs and yawns. "Worst birthday ever."

You smile to yourself and lick some frosting off your finger. Everything else seems to fade, at least for a moment — your past, your history with Natasha, the Red Room. It's just you, a small motel room and people that maybe do care.

You take another bite.

"It's not so bad."

. . .

With the Red Room gone, you're free.

Yelena leaves with Melina and Alexei (who she, embarrassingly, introduced you as Natasha's Любовница to — it took you ten minutes to assure them you definitely aren't lovers); they're about to be useful and help the girls you freed from the Red Room.

Natasha lingers by your side as the three drive away. You glance at her, allowing yourself to study the facial features that have changed so much yet are still the same.

"So", she finally says, suddenly twirling a set of keys around her finger, "Любовница?"

You roll your eyes. "God, I hate you."

"Come on." She nudges you with her shoulder, then starts to walk without waiting to see if you'll follow.

You do. Maybe you always will.

You have no clue what to expect, following Natasha blindly like this.

It's been 14 years. A lot can change in over a decade of time.

Examples?

The cost of homes has doubled.

Gas prices have gone from $1.36 per gallon to $2.10 per gallon.

Instagram has replaced MySpace.

Somehow, Natasha stayed the same. Even the way she walks — long strides that you can barely keep up with — is familiar. Her little smile as she glances at you, the glint in her eyes that remained from her so-called childhood.

"You're always the same", you say as she sits in the driver's seat. "Everything's different, except you."

The engine roars to life, and the black SUV pulls out of the parking lot. Natasha focuses on the road, so much so that you start to believe she didn't hear you.

"Yeah?", she finally says, absently, and glances at you. "Is that a good thing?"

"I haven't decided yet", you mumble, tilting your head. She smiles faintly.

"I think it's good", she says. "If you're as perfect as me, why bother changing?"

You know she isn't being serious, but a part of you knows very well that, once upon a time, you'd have agreed with the sentiment. Natasha was the closest thing to perfection you knew. She exceeded whatever it is you two had back then. A foolish, naive thought only a teenager in love can have.

She didn't change. She's still brash, self-assured, always pretending she's got everything under control. But there's a weight to her now, something that's been there ever since her graduation ceremony in the Red Room.

"You're not invincible", you say quietly. "Even you've got your cracks."

Natasha hums, her gaze briefly flitting over to meet yours. "Cracks aren't always bad", she says. "Sometimes, they let light in."

"Sometimes, they make glass shatter."

For a long few seconds, she goes quiet. Then she sighs, and you hear the exasperation in her voice.

"Alright, Shakespeare", she mumbles.

You laugh, but it's an unconvincing sound. You're tired, exhausted actually. You want to sleep. You want to rest. You want answers, but you also want to drown the whole world out. You want to cling to the one familiar feeling you know, but you're also scared that the same feeling — the same person — will suddenly leave again.

You don't voice your thoughts, your fears. You stay quiet and let the darkness of the night swallow you.

. . .

It takes an actual jet for you to get wherever the hell Natasha is bringing you.

In the end, it's all the way in New York City. Here, everything is alive — the bustling crowds, the neon signs, the cars. Music and chaos and hopes and dreams, all crushed into one place.

You can tell Natasha likes it here. You can tell it's become a home to her. It's so different from the Red Room, which is probably why she likes it so much.

This place is huge. From the city to the building, everything is ten times bigger. Nothing encloses you, nothing keeps you back. Freedom seems like an achievable goal out here.

She parks in front of the building. It's late at night, so there are barely any lights greeting you from the windows of the compound. Just silence and the lighting coming from the logo beaming above you — a big A, as in Avengers.

"Not too shabby", you mumble, closing the car door behind you. Natasha follows, her eyes holding something you can't quite place. "Must've costed a fortune."

"Probably", she says. She keeps pace with you, hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans. "I'm not the one who paid for it, though."

"Tony Stark", you say. She opens the front door using a keycard, her fingerprint, and a password. Something beeps and the door opens automatically. Inside, it smells like citrus.

"Yes, exactly."

You can barely hear her footsteps as she walks upstairs. You follow behind her, briefly studying her back. Her legs, the braided red hair, the leather jacket. You smell her perfume and avert your eyes.

Natasha walks you all the way to the end of a hallway and unlocks a door there, then she pushes it open. The room you enter is spartan, minimally furnished — a bed, a closet, a desk. Clean towels, folded and stacked, lay on a chair.

"I assume you don't have any clothes in your nonexistent suitcase", she mutters, disappearing into the hallway again. She returns moments later. "Here."

Pajamas, underwear, a bottle of water. Her fingers brush against yours. You curse your heart for doing that fluttery thing again.

You swallow, cradling the clothes to your chest. Natasha, leaning against the doorframe, watches you.

"You okay?", she eventually asks.

"Are you?"

Her lips twitch into a ghost of a smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. She nods at the bed.

"Get some sleep", is all she says. You listen to her leave down the hall, retreating to her own room. The door closes with the gentlest of clicks.

Being alone again, you allow yourself to relax. Or, in your case, try to relax. You sit down on the bed and take a whiff of the clothes in your arms. Laundry detergent and something distinctly not Natasha. Probably for the better.

The bedsheets are softer than anything you've ever felt before. You curl into them, letting them warm you up, but sleep doesn't come. Everything else seems to be more interesting in that moment — the moon outside, the crystal clear windows, the fact that, somewhere in this big building, Natasha is going to bed as well.

You find yourself wishing for the bunk beds again. She was much closer then. Now, she seems so far away.

You roll onto your side, fingers curling into the sheets. You miss the sound of her breathing. You miss how her cold feet would press against your legs, how she'd tuck her hand under your back.

Maybe she misses it too. She probably does.

You use that as an excuse to pad down the hallway and look for her room.

She didn't tell you which one it is. She didn't have to — the pair of black boots in front of the door tell you where to go. Your hand lingers on the doorknob before you turn it.

You don't need to look at her to know she isn't asleep. Her breathing is a telltale sign that she's wide awake.

You walk on cold floor until your feet step on a rug made of wool. Your breathing hitches ever so slightly when your eyes meet in the near darkness of her room.

She stares at you for a moment. Then, without a word, she moves the comforter aside so you can lay down. You make sure to leave some space between you when you do.

You both roll onto your sides. You put your head on her pillow and smell the faint, lingering scent of her perfume. The fabric feels soft against your skin when you turn your head to bury your face in it.

"Reminds me of something", she murmurs. You can't stop the corners of your mouth from twitching into a faint smile.

"Bad habit."

Natasha's eyes trace your features. Beneath the sheets, her fingers brush against yours. Barely, just enough for your heart to start hammering. A test, maybe. Or a reminder.

Your first instinct is to scoot closer, so you do.

Your second instinct is to stay away, but this one, you ignore.

"I missed you", she says. "I really did."

"You had a funny way of showing it."

"I was selfish", she says. You scoot closer again. "I didn't want to be reminded of that place. Not even by the person who was there with me."

You give a small, bitter smile. Your fingers touch hers, and after a split second, you take her hand.

"Sometimes, I thought you were dead", you say. "Sometimes, I preferred that idea."

"Can't blame you for that, can I?"

Not letting go of her hand, you shake your head. You can hear the rain outside, but it's a sound you barely focus on. Her breathing is much more interesting than the pitter patter of the water droplets against the window.

Her thumb brushes over your knuckles. You look up and feel the impending kiss like a bad omen.

Before anything can happen, you turn your head. Ever so slightly, just enough for the tension to turn into confusion and hurt.

"Get some sleep", she says, after a long moment of silence. "I'll be here in the morning."

Natasha is a woman of her word.

. . .

You wake up at the same time. Her eyes linger on your face, then you catch them flit down.

You realize two things:

1) Your shirt has ridden up while you were asleep.

2) The faint scar, stretching along your lower belly, is on full display.

You pull down your shirt and sit up abruptly. Natasha frowns and follows in suit, scrambling out of bed.

"Hey, wait-"

"Coffee", you say, hurrying down the stairs. You hear her footsteps right behind you. "I just- I need coffee."

"Y/N, wait-"

You shake your head, round the corner — and suddenly see a group of people sitting around a table. The strong coffee smell tells you you're right here, but the amount of eyes that are watching you unsettle you.

Natasha comes to a halt next to you. She gently grabs your wrist and leads you away before anyone can say anything. As soon as you've left their field of view, their conversation continues. You don't hear it, though. You're shaking too hard to notice.

"It's okay", she starts, furrowing her eyebrows. She doesn't know what to say, either. "They're friends."

"It's not about them", you say, running your hands through your hair frantically.

"What's it about, then?"

You try taking a deep breath, but it fails. Shaking your head, you start pacing. Natasha stays still.

"Y/N", she says slowly. "Tell me."

Tell me. The way she said it makes it sound so easy — like you wouldn't be ripping open old wounds, wounds that haven't even properly healed yet. You almost laugh at the absurdity, but you're too focused on not losing that last bit of sanity you have left to do so.

"No", you snap, whirling around. Her eyes widen, but your brain doesn't register it. You're too focused on trying to breathe, which seems impossible in that moment. "No, I- fuck."

"Y/N..."

"No!" You step backwards, eyes darting across the room. Paintings, plants, polished marble floors.

A door.

Without reconsidering what you're even doing, you turn and bolt. Natasha freezes before following, but you're outside before she does.

The rain is louder than your thoughts, louder than her voice. It soaks into your clothes and hair, biting and unrelenting, weighing down your clothes and chilling you to the bone. Not nearly as bad as the Russian winter, but cold enough to make your teeth clatter.

You almost slip on the wet grass while trying to get away from Natasha. She runs after you, breathing heavily despite the fact her stamina is as good as ever.

"Y/N!", she yells. "You'll get hypothermia, you idiot!"

You don't hear her. All you hear is the pounding of your heart, the sobs ripping through your chest, the ringing in your ears. Your hand grazes against your shirt, right where the scar is.

Then, someone grabs your wrist. Pulls you closer. Another sob, your hands pressing against her chest to keep her away. But, as unrelenting and stubborn as you may be — this is a fight you can't win.

Natasha shushes you, her arms wrapping around your body. She's as drenched as you are. Your head drops against her shoulder, body still shaking and shivering.

She doesn't tell you that it's okay, because she knows it isn't. So she leads you inside, up the stairs, into the bathroom. You lean against the wall as she starts the shower, eyes slipping closed. Steam fills the room and warms it up.

You feel her fingers brush against your wrist. When you open your eyes again, she's rolled up her soaked shirt to reveal the scar that matches yours.

You've seen it before, of course. Back in the Red Room, after she disappeared for days. When she slipped into your bed and cried. The bloodied bandage, her sobs, the way something between you shifted.

You blink, looking at her for a moment, then you reach out and trace the line with your fingers. Natasha tenses, then relaxes. You slowly pull your hand away again.

"You should shower", she says, adjusting her shirt. "You need to warm up."

"You're wet, too."

"I'm fine."

"Join me."

She looks at the shower, hesitating. Then, her eyes meet yours again. She pulls her shirt over her head, the sound of wet clothes against skin louder than ever. Your hands tug your clothes off blindly.

It's warm in the shower. Not nearly as warm as her body, though. You feel it against yours.

“I’m sorry”, she says.

Your hands touch her face.

“I know.”

She kisses the side of your thumb. You push her against the tiled wall.

“You don’t have to forgive me.”

You press your lips to hers. Water fills the space around you, between you, replacing the emptiness that’s been growing for more than a decade now.

“This isn’t me forgiving you”, you say, then kiss her again. Her hands run down your back, her head tilts so she can deepen the kiss.

In the Red Room, you were never granted the freedom to go this far. Displays of affection were kept to a minimum — kisses, cuddles, fingers trailing underneath clothes but never quite reaching their destination.

Somehow, you know your way around each other's bodies anyway. It's a language in itself, one you didn't have to learn to be able to speak it fluently.

. . .

There is a reason why you always stayed in Natasha's bed. Even in a place like the Red Room, where doing so was risky, dangerous — a death sentence if anyone found out, basically —, you did it anyway.

Back then, you were both kids. You were nameless soldiers, no future or family in sight, but you were kids. Teenagers at most. Raised in a world of lies and betrayal, finding something real seemed impossible. Then, you found Natasha. Natasha, who was so human despite claiming not to be, who was more real than the hunger you felt or the prickling pain of snow on bare skin. Natasha, who was a constant, a fragile thread that connected you to life itself.

You were in a place that saw emotions as a weakness, a place in which connection was reason enough to get killed. In each other, you found something that wasn't just a weapon, or a tool, or something to be broken.

Things have changed since then, but the feelings remain. The safety, the comfort, the simplicity of it are still very real.

You used to slip into her bed every night. Suddenly, you find yourself doing the same thing all over again — but this time, there's no fear of being caught looming over you. No one's going to kill you for sharing a bed.

The other Avengers don't notice, or don't care. Either way — they don't bring it up, for whatever reason that may be. They're polite enough, possibly because Natasha threatened them to be. You find yourself getting along with them quite well. Despite that, you spend most of your time latching onto the one person whose every breath seems familiar.

You don't talk when you get under the covers at night. You feel her roll over, her cold feet against your legs and her hand under your back. You see glimpses of what could've been if you had met in a place other than the Red Room.

Sometimes, you wonder what would be different. Whether you'd be married, maybe with kids. Or maybe you would've broken up after a few years. Maybe you never would've fallen in love in the first place.

So many possibilities, and you can't decide which is the least painful.

You feel that she's still awake without her having to say anything. You aren't able to fall asleep, either. Something in your body is protesting the idea of sleep.

Instead, you roll over. You curl into her and feel the kisses she places on your face.

"Sleepy girl", she mumbles.

"Can't fall asleep, so not really."

"You can be sleepy without being asleep." Natasha wraps her arms around you and pulls you into her bare chest. You nuzzle her warm skin with your nose, her scent surrounding you. "Something on your mind?"

"Please", you mutter. Ever since you were a little kid, there's always been something on your mind. Not a day goes by where your brain isn't flooded with (sometimes irrational) fears and worries. She should know that because she can relate. She does know that.

Natasha realizes her mistake and runs her hand down your back. Her fingernails gently scrape along your spine. "Fair enough."

You hum and close your eyes, lips brushing against the side of her breast. Your lips part slightly, tongue flicking against her skin. She exhales, a nearly silent sound you should've missed.

"I just..." You sigh, turning your head again. Your voice is muffled. "None of this is easy."

"Y/N, it was never easy in the first place."

That's true. It's only gotten easier over the years, but somehow, it feels like the opposite occurred.

"It's not fair."

"It was never fair, either."

You look up, eyes squinting and lips forming a thin line. "You really do have an answer for everything."

"Years of dealing with the bullshit of five different men help", she replies. Her fingertips brush against your ribs, tickling you, coaxing a small laugh from your mouth. The sound makes her feel a fluttery something in the pit of her stomach. "It's not about fairness. If it was, you'd leave."

You go silent for a moment. Slowly, you lay down on her chest again. Her heart thumps against your ear.

Natasha knows she should shut up. Not enough time has passed for her to say things like this. Wounds haven't healed, scars haven't faded. But the words lie on the tip of her tongue like you do on her chest, so she lets them tumble out.

"I love you."

You close your eyes. Her fingertips draw shapes on your back.

"I think we missed our shot there."

. . .

You're 33 when you do something you'd regret for the rest of your life.

Your relationship is a push and pull. You find that, even in the Red Room, knowing what you want was easier. Now, the decision seems unnecessarily difficult.

You may stay in her bed, but you don't join her before the hallways are dark. You kiss her, but not where anyone can see. You feel that you love her, but a part of you protests the mere idea.

Natasha notices the pattern, but she chooses not to comment on it. At least not at first — too big is the relief of having you back, of feeling something that comes close to what she last felt more than a decade ago. Things are hard, but they’re harder for you.

Still, there is a breaking point for everything.

You know she's back home without having to see her. You hear the Quinjet landing, the footsteps, the muffled voices. The Avengers are returning from a mission you didn't go on.

You glance at the live feed display of the security cameras and see a bunch of now-familiar people — among them, Natasha. Her suit is a bit torn, there's dirt on her cheeks, her hair is a mess, but she looks like she's fine. You get up anyway and open the door for them. They spot you from about 40 feet away, but your eyes are on her. When you realize they're all looking at you, you turn your head and step aside to let them in.

Natasha lingers by the door. Tentatively, she puts her hand on your side. You don't pull away from the contact, but don't lean in, either.

"Hurt?", you ask, searching her face.

"I'm good", she says, squeezing your waist. "Nothing a few painkillers can't fix."

You hum, still staring at her. She smiles faintly and kisses your cheek, but you unconsciously slip out of her embrace. You realize what you've done as soon her smile, small to begin with, fades.

"Am I doing something wrong?", she mumbles.

"No, I just..." You hesitate, unsure how honest you're allowed to be. "No. You're not doing anything wrong. This is about me, not you."

"No", she says. "It's about both of us."

You frown at her. Steve, who has been crouching in the hallway and cleaning his shoes, glances up before slowly leaving the room.

"What are you talking about?"

"In case you haven't noticed", she says, starting to unzip her suit and walk up the stairs, "there's two of us here."

You follow her, hand sliding along the railing and eyebrows furrowed. "Wow, newsflash."

She doesn't say anything. She walks into the bathroom, door almost closed, and doesn't react when you enter after her. She peels her suit off and reveals skin covered in scars, most of them healed, and dirt mixed with blood. You lean against the wall, trying not to stare.

"I want to shower", she suddenly says.

"I've seen you naked."

"Y/N."

You ignore her, and she ignores you. Her back is turned to you as she begins doing mundane things — test the water temperature, prepare a rug to put in front of the shower, pick which body lotion to use. The muscles on her back flex, on full display thanks to the sports bra she's wearing, but even that doesn't snap you out of your thoughts.

You don't know what to tell her because you don't know what you're feeling, either.

It's not that you don't feel anything — it's the opposite. After so many years, you still feel too much.

Her bra comes off, then her underwear. She takes her hair out of the braid. Stepping forward, you run your fingers through the tangled strands. She freezes before her shoulders slump.

"Are you going to keep punishing me for the rest of- of whatever this is?"

You stop, fingers still buried in the red locks. Is it a punishment?

Maybe. Not a conscious one, though.

Water flows, steam rises, hearts pound. Neither of you dare to move for a moment that lasts way too long.

"I'm not punishing you", you say, slowly moving your hand away. She exhales.

"Then what the hell are you doing?", she asks, stepping into the shower. You almost follow before realizing you're still fully clothed. Letting out a noise of frustration, you take off your shirt. "No, don't."

"No, we're talking." You let your sweatpants pool around your ankles and step out of them. Natasha swallows when she sees you half naked. "This is bullshit."

"What?"

"It's bullshit that we were better at figuring stuff out at 17 than we are now."

You join her under the water. She bites back a quiet whine.

"It's bullshit that we can't just pick up where we left off", you add. "It's bullshit that everything feels the same when it clearly isn't."

"It feels the same to me", she says defensively.

"It's not. It hasn't been since you left."

"Y/N", she says, voice low. "I know it isn't. I know what I did. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

(She would.)

"You can't make up for some things", you reply. Her sides, her breasts, her arms are warm and slick to the touch from the water. You feel the slight roughness of her scars, the contrast of smooth and scarred. You feel the muscles beneath, the gentle thump of her heartbeat. You wish you could take it all in and not have the weight of your past press down on you.

Natasha leans in, forehead resting against yours. The water falls in a steady cascade, enveloping your entwined bodies, blurring the space between you. Scents of sea salt and orange, the tiles slippery beneath your feet. You've never been closer, but you've never felt further away. Her lips brush against yours, promise and plea at once.

"Let me try", she mumbles before kissing you again. You feel the tears form in your eyes. Her lips travel to the corner of your mouth, along your jaw, down your neck. "We got out of the Red Room. We can do everything else, too."

You want nothing more than to believe her. But her words can’t undo the years of separation and silence.

"Natasha." A soft sob rips from your throat.

She kisses your collarbone, your chest. You run your fingers into her red strands of hair and grab them for purchase. Her head tilts up so she can look at you. "Please, Y/N."

Breathing ragged, you can do nothing but stare at her. Natasha gets on her knees, her lips finding the scar stretching along your lower stomach. The faded line feels hot when she litters it with slow kisses.

"No", you whisper, voice thick and shaky. "No, Nat. It doesn't work like that."

Her kisses stop. She buries her face against yours stomach. You feel her unsteady breaths against your skin, her fingers curling into the soft skin on the back of your thighs. Your thumbs brush against her temples.

"Get up", you plead. Natasha hesitates. For a second, you think she might fight for this moment with you.

But then gets to her feet. Once she's on eye level with you, you cup her face and kiss her. Firmly, deeply, apologetically. You step away, out of the shower, wrapping yourself into a towel and leaving without looking back.

There is both a first and a last time for everything.

. . .

It's been months since everything was somewhat normal.

Conversations are short, clipped, impersonal. Eyes don't linger. Her bed is a place you don't visit anymore, not even at night, when the silence is suffocating.

She doesn't initiate anything. She doesn't try to change your mind, doesn't try to fix things. She thinks it's better this way, that maybe the space will allow you to heal.

She's still making up for what happened years ago, but it's small, quiet, and you find it hard to notice it when the walls between you are this thick.

One morning, as you pad into the shared space downstairs, you see Natasha in the living room. She's wearing her suit, her hair pulled back into a braid again, and there's a backpack on the coffee table. Next to it lie guns and her Widow's Bite.

You frown. Nobody said anything about a mission.

"What?", she asks, not having to look up to know you're watching her.

"Nothing." You glance at the weapons that are neatly arranged in front of her. "You didn't...“

"No."

"Right.“

Natasha looks at you. She puts the taser aside. "Won't take long. A few days."

"Okay." You hum, briefly sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. "Not that it concerns me."

"It doesn't", she just says. Her eyes don't look away from yours. You shift under her gaze, the history between you like a weight in the air you can't escape.

"Be careful", you say.

"I always am."

"Liar."

There it is — the subtlest twitching of her lips, the almost-smile you've been dying to see. Amusement glints in her eyes, and she blinks it away.

"Go eat something", she says, focusing on her weapons again. "I made waffles. ...They're a bit burnt, though."

You want to tell her it's fine, that you'll eat them anyway. But nothing is fine. It hasn't been for a while.

"I'll pass", you say, briefly shaking your head. Natasha hums and glances at you, then she puts the weapons aside before walking into the kitchen. You follow her without needing to be told to.

A plate of — indeed burnt — waffles is handed to you. You inspect them, smelling the slight char, and look up at Natasha. The helplessness in her eyes is unfamiliar, and your chest tightens.

She's trying. She's always trying, even when you make it hard for her.

"Thank you", you manage to say, looking at the plate of food again. "I'm sure some syrup will help."

"It won't", she says, leaning against the counter. "I tried it, too."

"Sugar?"

"Nope."

"I could scrape off what's burnt."

She laughs, but the sound isn't as genuine as you hoped it'd be.

"Don't bother", she says, walking to the freezer. She pulls out a box of Eggo waffles. "Just heat these up. They'll taste better."

You glance at the yellow box. Not a bad brand — you've eaten them for breakfast a few times since getting here.

"No", you say, sitting at the kitchen table and ripping one of Natasha's waffles into two pieces. "I prefer these."

She watches you for a moment, a bunch of unsaid words lying on the tip of her tongue. Then she turns around and puts the Eggo waffles into the freezer again.

You watch her grab her stuff. She returns to the kitchen, her backpack slung over her shoulder, and studies you.

"I'll be back."

"I know."

"You can call me. If you need anything."

You smile faintly and reach for her hand. You squeeze, feeling the fabric of her fingerless gloves. "I'll be fine."

"Good." Her lips brush against your hair. "I love you. Be back soon."

One truth, one lie.

. . .

Hours after Natasha's death, Clint knocks on the door to your room. You wipe your eyes and look up, glancing at the little velvet sachet he's carrying. You two look at each other for a long moment. You see the redness in his eyes, how swollen they are. You know his pain because you feel it too.

He walks up to your bed and puts the sachet in your open palm. It's light, which doesn't make it any less confusing. Your fingers wrap around it.

"For you", he eventually says. "From her."

You frown and look at the sachet again, brushing your finger over the soft fabric. "I'm supposed to open it?"

"It'd defeat its whole purpose if you didn't."

You nod, opening the sachet and taking a look inside. What you see doesn't give you the explanation you desperately crave. What could be important enough for Natasha to give it to you from the afterlife? Not a hex nut, certainly.

"Try it on", he says. "If you want."

You put the hex nut into your palm and inspect it, then glance at Clint. "What are you talking about?"

"Y/N, just...give me your hand. Left one."

He grabs the hex nut and slides it onto your ring finger. When you realize what it is, you nearly break down. The edges, almost smooth. The shape. His explanation almost falls on deaf ears, that's how distraught you are, but you manage to catch the most important details.

How she made it in the Red Room, the nights you were sick. How she polished it using the floor. How a screwdriver she stole allowed her to hollow out the center. How she kept it in her nightstand, for years, and how a tiny part of her believed she might be able to put it to use someday.

It's not perfect. Even after all her hard work, it still resembles a hex nut more than it does an engagement ring. Natasha didn't care — it was the result that mattered, the future it may have lead to. The day you maybe do say yes, despite everything that happened.

That day wouldn't come. Nobody would ever say it out loud, but you know it's because of you.

She was your first kiss, and you're her last.

You're 34 when you lose her entirely.

[cutieln4]

Fuck It I Love You | LN4

lando norris x reader, enemies to lovers, angst, fluff

summary: lando and y/n seem to absolutely hate each other until a dangerous situation reveals the truth

warnings: drink spiking, threats of sexual assault (nothing graphic, someone tries to take her home)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For some reason, Lando and her never got along. It stemmed from when they were karting together, all the way until they both got to Formula 1.

Now, at ages 21 and 23, they drove for rival teams and were always going wheel to wheel.

Monza wasn't any different.

Max and Charles were far in front, but she and Lando were fighting over the last podium place. They were switching back and forth until on the last lap, she maybe pushed him a bit too far on one of the last corners, securing 3rd place.

He approached her when she was making her way back from the post-race press conference, on her way to the media pen.

"What the fuck was that?" he demanded.

She shrugged, smirking. "Not quite sure what you're talking about."

"Oh don't play dumb. That was dirty racing on the last lap and you know it."

"I don't see how it's any different from what you did to me in Austria, or last year at Silverstone."

She could see his jaw clench, and she knew she got him.

"Maybe keep your talking on the track," she told him before he could reply, walking away.

That night she was at the club celebrating with a couple of the other drivers. She was pretty close with Max, Charles, Oscar, and Daniel. It made things a bit awkward with them when she and Lando were really going at it because they were all good friends with Lando too. But whatever, it was mostly fine.

She had been dancing and throwing back drinks until she forgot about her and Lando's feud. She's also pretty sure the other drivers got some embarrassing videos of her. Her current drink was eventually empty and she stumbled away to the bar, not telling anyone.

She waved the bartender over to ask for another drink, tipping them $20. If it weren't for the alcohol in her system, she would've flinched when a man suddenly appeared at her side. It was crowded by the bar, and he was pressing right against her.

"Hey baby, let me buy you a drink."

"That's alright, I already have one," she politely declined, hoping he would just leave her alone.

"Oh come on, don't be like that honey."

She twisted her neck around to try to spot the other drivers and when she did, she grabbed her drink and left. The man luckily didn't follow.

Halfway through her drink, she started noticing that something was wrong. Her head was spinning way more than it should be, she was sweating like crazy, nauseous, and her body felt heavy.

"I'm going to the bathroom," she slurred out to Max before stumbling away.

She didn't make it far before she was grabbing onto the wall to keep herself up. She knew at the moment that something was terribly wrong. She most likely had her drink spiked, and now she was separated from her group and incapacitated.

A hand grabbed her arm and she looked up. Her vision was too blurry to make out any features, but she knew it wasn't one of the drivers.

"You okay, babe? Let me help you."

"N-No, m' good, leav' me 'lone."

She tried to escape his grip, but she could barely move, her strength was completely gone. The man wrapped his whole arm around her waist, supporting her as he walked her out of the club while she tried to protest.

The cold, fresh air felt good when it hit her, but then she remembered what situation she was in. The man was dragging her along more roughly now.

"Stop, 'lease, I don' wanna go with you," her pleading sounded more and more like pathetic whimpers falling on unheard ears.

He just kept walking down the street, gripping her so hard there'd probably be bruises.

"Don't, please, leave me 'lone," she whined, eyes welling up with tears as she tried to escape his grip again.

He suddenly shoved her face-first into a building, rough concrete scraping her arms and face, and she fell to the ground.

"Shut up and don't move!" he hissed.

He yanked her back up and dragged her along.

"No, no, please, stop," she cried, nearly sobbing. She was scared, she couldn't feel anything, and she was completely separated from anyone she knew while some strange man was leading her somewhere.

"Hey!" another voice suddenly yelled, about 5 meters behind them. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Whoever this person was, they sounded pissed.

"Nothing man, mind your business," the man next to her said.

"No, I won't mind my fucking business. Let go of her before I smash your face in."

The man scoffed, trying to continue walking.

"I warned you," the other man said before suddenly she fell to the ground and she heard a thud of skin-on-skin contact, before a groan.

She was on the ground, leaning her back against the wall while her head drooped to the side. She couldn't see much, but she could hear the punching continue.

"Stop, stop, man, I'm sorry!"

"Oh yeah? Did you listen to her when she asked you to stop?"

Eventually, it went quiet, and there were footsteps in her direction. The man who saved her crouched down in front of her and put his hands on her cheeks, supporting her head. It was then that her vision cleared up a bit, and she realized who the person was.

"Lando?" she asked, voice slurring.

"Yeah, it's me. I got you."

She started sobbing, trembling hands gripping his jacket as he wrapped her in a hug, letting her cry into his chest.

"Shh, it's okay, I'm here. It's okay, you're safe now," he whispered to her as he rubbed her back.

"I-I was so, so scared," she cried.

"I know, I know. I got you."

Lando then used one hand to fish out his phone, calling the police. They waited while the police showed up, him trying to keep her awake.

When the police arrived, one of the officers arrested the unconscious man on the ground while the other rode with them in the ambulance to take their statements. Y/n never let go of Lando's hand once.

The hospital kept her overnight for observation after making sure whatever drug she was spiked with wasn't lethal, and collecting evidence and taking pictures of her injuries. She had finally given in to unconsciousness, and Lando was sitting next to her, holding her hand.

It was only when everything was a little settled down that he saw that she had nearly 100 missed calls from various drivers. Shit, he forgot about that.

He opened up his phone and called Daniel.

"Hey, man I can't talk right now," Daniel said right away, sounding panicked.

"Hold on—"

"Actually, do you by chance know where Y/n is?"

"Yeah, about that, I'm in the hospital—"

"What? What happened? Are you okay?"

"Can you let me finish my sentence? I'm with Y/n. She was drugged and I saw her on the street. Some man was dragging her with him, and she was clearly asking him to leave her alone. Anyway, she's a little banged up, but she's okay, nothing happened. They're just keeping her overnight for observation."

Daniel let out a big sigh of relief, said something to someone next to him, and then turned back to the phone.

"Thank fuck, we've been trying to find her for hours. Thank you, Lando, seriously. I can't imagine if you hadn't been there. What hospital is she at?"

After telling him where they were, he hung up. 

Lando sighed, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes as he reflected on what the hell just happened. 

Y/n shifted in front of him, and he immediately sat up straight. 

"Lando?" she mumbled, voice hoarse and still half-asleep. 

"Yeah, it's me. I'm here. Do you remember what happened?"

She paused, but then her face crumpled, and she nodded. 

"It's okay, it's okay, don't cry," he soothed. 

"You saved me. I thought you would've just let him take me."

Lando's eyebrows furrowed, stomach twisting just at the thought.

"Why would you think that?"

"You hate me," she muttered, eyes looking down. 

"I don't," he paused, hesitating. "I don't hate you at all. I...I didn't plan on ever telling you this, but I really like you. You're funny, you're witty, you're kind, you're fearless, you never back down from a challenge, and I love all those things about you. And I know you probably want nothing to do with me and you hate my guts, but I just need to get it off my chest―"

"―Lando, just shut up and kiss me. I like you too, idiot."

Lando grinned, showing the gap between his front two teeth that she always loved, and leaned down to connect their lips. 

"Do you think people would get suspicious if we stopped being mean to each other?" he asked.

"Probably. We should just hard launch."

"I don't think our PR teams would appreciate that."

Later, when Daniel made it to the hospital, he was extremely surprised to see the two of them cuddled up together. He just had to take a picture.

[heeseungiez]

the tower by the forest | lhs

part one!

pairings! sorcerer!lee heeseung x fem!reader

synopsis! the immortal sorcerer lives in a tower by the forest filled with dark creatures. he protects the surrounding villages from its dangers, and in exchange, every decade, a girl from one of the villages is chosen to live as his companion. this time, it’s you.

genre! fantasy romance, angst

content warnings! swearing and the fact this is unfinished so this is part one

word count! 11.4k

author's note! i'm scared of making this longer but i'm literally just halfway through...

Throughout your life, a girl from the villages has only been taken twice. And the first time, you were barely one year old, so it could hardly affect you in any way. The second time, however, you were eleven. At the time, you already understood what was happening and why. A girl around the age of twenty had been chosen to live with the lone and mysterious sorcerer who lived in a tower at the edge of the Forest to prolong his protection of the villages.

Nobody likes to talk about it much. How the girls are chosen, when he comes for them and what he does to them. None of that information is known. Although you’ve heard that usually, once the decade passes, the girls are free to go and live as they please with a solid fortune to their name. The girl you witnessed being taken away ten years ago has been released recently, and you heard from the whispers of the other villagers that she moved to the city and is starting her own business in dressmaking.

For that very reason, every village surrounding the Forest lives in restless anticipation. Any day now, a new girl will be chosen to join the sorcerer in his tower. Ten years, she will live with him and do whatever it is that she’s got to do to keep her family and friends safe from the darkness of the Forest.

You wish you could know how the girls are chosen to be better prepared. It’s glaringly obvious that some villagers think you might be the next girl chosen. You’re the perfect age for it, and apparently, there is also the fact that the girls that go to the sorcerer are usually deemed objectively beautiful or somehow talented.

You’re not exactly talented, but you’re not that beautiful either. You’d argue that Yeji or Chaeryong are far better choices in that regard, but somehow the eyes are still on you. It’s strange, knowing that everyone is convinced you will be next while you can’t see a single reason why. Maybe they just want to be rid of you. Although that is most certainly not the way the girls get chosen.

Everyone simply overestimates your talent with the violin and your voice. That has got to be it. You’re not a genius nor a prodigy, you play the instrument and sing merely because you want to. It’s a hobby, but it’s not something to make you a desirable choice for the sorcerer. And you don’t want to be his choice either. You’d rather stay in your village with your family and friends.

“Y/N!” One of those friends, Jaeyun, calls after you with a grin on his lips, waving enthusiastically. “Do you have time today? I’d like to practise together.” Because both of you play the violin. In fact, it was Jaeyun who made you fall in love with the instrument in the first place.

You smile and nod. “Of course. I always have time,” you say, although untruthfully. For Jaeyun, however, everyone makes time. He is the village’s golden boy. Loved and adored by everyone. He can talk his way into and out of anything. You’re sure he’s never paid for anything either because everyone is happy to give him everything for free — a gift for the beloved boy of Riverfeld.

Whenever you and Jaeyun visit the local tavern, the tab made on his name is never paid, and the owner has never even asked for it to be paid. It’s as if his mere existence is payment enough. But you guess that’s what happens when you’re the people’s happy pill.

“Awesome! Let’s go,” Jaeyun says, grabbing your hand.

You expect him to let you get your violin at home, but it isn’t necessary as he has done that for you. He prepared the whole scene, already knowing you would say yes because why would you not?

“Look,” Jaeyun says, grabbing a sheet that is laid by his instrument. “Sunghoon and I have been working on a new composition and I wanted to try playing it with you.”

You hum, waiting for Jaeyun to approach you. He practically sticks himself to your side with the sheet in hand, showing you the new song they’ve been working on.

It’s a love song. 

There are no lyrics, but as you imagine the sound of the melody, your imagination bringing it to life, you know it’s a ballad. A song of love meant for someone specific. A confession of adoration and admiration. 

“You think you can do this?” Jaeyun asks, solemnly looking at you.

Smiling, you nod. “Of course.”

Both of you grab your violins, sharing the singular sheet in between as you prepare. Sitting down on the ground, you settle the violin on your shoulder and rest your chin atop. A smile adorns your lips at the feeling of holding the instrument in your hands again.

“Can we?” Jaeyun asks softly, also ready. All he needs is a nod from you to lift his bow to the strings of the violin and start the melody. He acts as your guide as this is your first time playing the song. 

It starts off slowly. A sweet melody of two people getting to know each other, growing closer and beginning to care. The tempo picks up when the two lovers begin to realise they are in love. They struggle with the fear, the melody conveying the uncertainty, until finally, they gain the courage to confess. And by the time the song is over, the two lovers are together. 

“We named it Only If You Say Yes,” Jaeyun grins.

“It’s beautiful, Jaeyun,” you say, fighting the growing uneasiness within your belly. Not because of the boy across from you, but a general burning feeling in your body that spreads from your chest to the rest of your body. As if it’s pumping fire instead of blood. 

The frown that contorts your expression springs Jaeyun up to his feet, dropping by your side. “Y/N? Are you okay?” he asks, and while you’d love to nod and say yes, it would be a lie. Nothing about this scorching feeling is okay. 

You hiss and groan, grabbing onto your wrist where most of the pain begins to concentrate. It leaves your other limbs in favour of your right wrist where it burns so much you think your entire limb might melt.

The scream that escapes you is unintentional. You wanted to hold it in, but it was impossible with the pain coursing through you. Jaeyun grabs you by the shoulders, holding onto you. Confused about what is happening to you.

And as he holds you in his embrace, the pain subsides. Slowly but surely, it leaves your body the same way it entered, and you slump against the dark haired boy with your head buried in the crook of his neck.

“Y/N,” he whispers softly, one arm wrapped around your waist to support you while the other moves up to cup your face. He examines you, sweat coating your forehead. 

“My… wrist,” you breathe out, and try to pull away from Jaeyun, but his grip on you is strong, and you can barely do anything without him supporting your weight. So you wait for him to look for you.

“There’s a tattoo,” Jaeyun says, discomfited. Staring at it closer, he grabs onto your wrist. “Golden antlers,” he describes it while his fingers softly trace the pattern, and you furrow your brows, getting a look yourself. 

Jaeyun blanches with a realisation that pains him, glancing at you. “Y/N,” he mumbles, cupping both your cheeks to make you look at him. “It’s his sign.”

You both know who he is. 

Your eyes widen. “But… that can’t be,” you breathe out, shaking your head vigorously. “I know everyone thought it would be me, but I didn’t— I’m not special—”

Jaeyun smiles ruefully, disagreeing with you. “Clearly, you’re more special than you realise,” he says, voice low. “He’ll be paying us a visit soon, then.”

“I don’t want to go,” you say quietly. But what else is there to do? If you don’t go, you will put everyone you care about and other innocent souls in danger. And for what? For your own selfish reasons?

Jaeyun sighs mournfully, hands still cupping your cheeks. “What am I going to do without you for ten years?” he asks himself. 

“Live your life,” you say pragmatically, your hands grabbing his own. “It’ll be fine, right? As long as it means you’ll be safe.”

“Y/N.” Jaeyun licks his lips, wishing there was something he could do for you to make it easier. 

“It’ll be fine,” you repeat to yourself. 

It has to be fine. 

It was not supposed to happen so soon.

Usually, the Forest takes about a month or more since the previous girl’s departure to choose another. But the Forest is not dallying this time, having picked its next target.

Heeseung stares at the golden tattoo on his wrist that connects him with you, not knowing who you are just yet. He will, soon, however, as once the Forest picks a girl, she has to come to him as soon as possible.

He hates doing this, if he’s being completely honest. He’d be just fine living on his own and protecting the people, but in order to keep the darkness in check, there has to be some light. Heeseung isn’t exactly a good fit for that. Which means that every ten years, a girl with the purest of souls must live near the Forest to control it. And with a carefully crafted spell from him, the Forest gets to choose that girl by itself. 

That is the only reason he is now away from his home, riding his horse toward Riverfeld. The village where you live.

Nobody ever knows that he’s coming. He figured it’s better this way, since it stops the villagers from making a scene whenever he does arrive. He learned pretty early on, when it comes to this. He hated how awkward it was when they used to line up just to see at least the tiniest bit of his face, or when they tried to give him gifts instead of their daughters. 

Not how it works. Unfortunately. 

He’d rather take the gifts, too. 

But here he is, entering the small village almost unnoticed aside from the few glances here and there as people wonder who he is. To them, he’s a stranger, and they probably don’t get many of those. He did make sure to dress as a regular traveller, so hopefully they don’t suspect him much.

The tattoo on his wrist calls for its twin, and it pulls him toward the village’s tiny square. A stage has been set up in the centre, and a girl and a boy sit there, both playing the violin together, creating a beautiful song of wistful love. 

A concept Heeseung isn’t familiar with, but he does like the sound of it. It’s a youthful song full of hope. Asking for acceptance where it truly can be found. 

His eyes fixate on the girl playing. 

You.

You are smiling brightly despite knowing your fate, and you don’t stop playing until the song is well and truly over. Both you and the boy stand to bow to the audience when they begin to clap and fawn over you and your talent. 

You keep shaking your head, acting as if you deserve none of it. And the boy throws an arm around your shoulders with a grin, proud for the both of you. Another boy, taller than the other, joins and celebrates with you.

So Heeseung waits. Until everyone around you has said their praising piece to you. Until you’re well and truly alone, and the smile from your lips has dissipated the tiniest bit because you know what will eventually come. That these people who adore you will not be with you for long. That you will have to leave them.

You’re not surprised when he approaches you as a complete stranger. Instead, you look him in the eye and face him directly. “It’s you, isn’t it?” you ask, examining him from head to toe. “You’re the sorcerer.”

It takes a second for Heeseung to recover from it. He has met many girls over the years, each different but same in spirit, and he never thought much of them. But you stand in front of him with a pensive smile, accepting what is to come. There is a beauty to you that many probably don’t see. Though you are gorgeous in general, with big cheeks yet defined features, hair falling over your shoulders. One would have to be blind not to see it.

“Am I that obvious?” he asks, and you shake your head. 

“I think it’s the tattoo,” you reply. “I can sense it. You have it too, right?”

You’re quite clever.

Heeseung nods, and rolls up the sleeve of his cape to show you his identical tattoo. “It connects us,” he says plainly.

You hum. A playful glint enters your gaze, and your smile grows slightly. “I thought you’d be older,” you say matter-of-factly. “You look—”

“Handsome?” He cuts you off because he does not like it when people say he looks young. He knows he looks young. He’s looked the same for the past two centuries, and will continue to do so for as long as the Forest exists.

“My age,” you finish instead. Not young, just your age. That is certainly a new way to describe what he looks like. And he decides at this very moment that he likes it the best. Yes, he can accept looking your age — whatever it actually is. “But I suppose handsome is also a reasonable descriptor,” you add, eyeing his face.

This time, Heeseung is truly robbed of words. Whenever he arrives to take a girl to the Forest, they’re usually afraid of him. The last thing they’d call him is handsome. Yet here you are, standing in front of him, calm and accepting. You’re not crying, screaming or begging to stay. You just are. (a/n: Very demure, very mindful.)

“You should stay for a bit before we leave. My parents are making supper that could feed the whole village. It would be rude to leave before we got to taste it.” You don’t wait for Heeseung’s response before you are making your way toward what he deduces is your home. It’s humble enough, a house fit for a family of four, perhaps. But when you enter, it is filled with more than four people.

The two boys that Heeseung saw with you at the performance are both present alongside some older villagers and a girl some years younger than you. He’s not even sure why he followed you anyway. He should’ve stayed outside and waited for you to say your goodbyes. That’s usually the standard procedure for him, so why is he thoughtlessly breaking tradition all of a sudden?

“Y/N! Who’s—”

“That’s the sorcerer,” you say nonchalantly, shrugging.

“But why—”

“I’m not a monster,” Heeseung speaks, facing the boy you played the violin with. “I won’t take her away without saying her goodbyes… and it’s Heeseung.”

“Who?” you ask.

“Me.”

“You what?”

“Heeseung.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“My name is Heeseung.” He rolls his eyes, lips in a thin line.

“Oh! Well, I’m Y/N. Then this is Jaeyun, Sunghoon, Mum, Dad, Mrs Sim, Mr Sim, Mrs Park, Mr Park and Sunghoon’s little sister.” You point at everyone respectively with a soft smile upon your features. “I’m guessing Jongseong forgot he was supposed to come?” you say more to yourself, but Jaeyun hums in agreement.

“He’s been working on the new guitar that he’s trying to make,” he responds. “Forgets he has other duties or the fact he should, you know, eat and drink and sleep to live.”

“Said it’s for you, though,” Sunghoon mumbles, glancing at you. “He thought he’d have enough time to finish it.” Then he throws an apprehensive glance at Heeseung.

“But I don’t play the guitar,” you reply with a pout.

“He was going to teach you…”

Look, the next words that leave Heeseung’s mouth will probably make him regret it later, but watching you with your friends is doing weird things to the organ in his chest he thought had long been forgotten. So it’s a surprise to not just you and your friends when he says: “I know how to play the guitar. If your friend will not mind it, I will allow that guitar to be sent to you.”

The way your eyes widen in sheer surprise and gratitude makes Heeseung think that maybe it’s not such a regretful action. 

The Forest must’ve truly known what it was doing this time around. Everyone in this village seems to genuinely adore you. The purest of hearts among them all, living without the knowledge of it.

“I’m here! I’m here! I got it!” A boy bursts through the door with a guitar in hand, and Heeseung makes the safe assumption that this is Jongseong. Even in him, Heeseung can sense a very beautiful soul through and through, though the innocence is gone. 

It makes sense that you would surround yourself with people just as lovely as you on the inside. Whether you knew it or not.

“JJ,” you coo when he goes toward you with the instrument to hand it to you. “Why would you do all this for me?”

“So you remember me. Us. To come back to us.”

It occurs to Heeseung then that all three of these boys around you love you. As friends or more that is out of his field of knowledge, but the love between you is raw and just as pure and innocent as you are. 

“I could never forget you guys.” You smile and shake your head. “All three of you better be married and with kids by the time I’m back, though.”

“It’s not fair,” Jaeyun says, properly looking at Heeseung. “She’s a good person. Never done anything wrong in her life. Why—”

“I know,” Heeseung cuts him off, shaking his head. “That’s why.” Maybe being curt with them is not the best choice, but they won’t dare attack him.

“Nothing in this life is fair,” Jongseong murmurs sagely, his eyes finding you. But you are staring at Heeseung, brow arched with curiosity.

“Y/N! Boys! Come eat! Supper is done.”

Your parents did not say much when you introduced the sorcerer to them. They merely stared to assess him as if a mere look could tell them what kind of person he was. But, whatever their consensus was, they let him eat supper with you, so it was probably quite positive.

“Won’t deny supper to the man who fights to protect us on a daily basis,” your mother murmured before you all sat down at the table to eat.

You enjoyed yourself for the rest of the day because Heeseung let you. He was letting you say your goodbyes before ultimately whisking you away to his tower, and you appreciated it. 

Everything is going to be fine, you constantly remind yourself. 

Especially as you saddle your horse with Sunghoon’s help because he’s the tallest of your friends. Jay and Jake help carry your bags and attach them to the white mare. 

Heeseung says the ride to the tower will take a few days, which means that your mother packed enough food to last you a month. It’s a bitter kind of goodbye, knowing that you’re leaving to protect the ones you love. You still don’t really want to leave.

You never imagined yourself leaving home before. But now you have to.

“Are you ready?” Heeseung asks, his inquisitive gaze searching your expression for whatever lie you want to tell him.

And you smile, shaking your head. “Not really,” you reply honestly. “But I have to do this, don’t I?”

Heeseung blinks at you, discomfited by your transparency. “Yes,” he says. “The Forest chose you, and its decision is final.”

“Then I’m as ready as I can be.” You purse your lips, nodding. “Let’s go.”

Heeseung is not a very chatty sorcerer. Like, you haven’t known any sorcerers before him, of course, but the books usually depict them as these supernatural and immortal beings who like to have fun. Heeseung is anything but that. He is quiet and brooding. He only speaks up when it’s important, and you decided it would be better not to ask him many questions while you’re travelling lest you annoy him too much.

But by the second night of staying over at a tavern while on the road, it brings you a sense of peace. Usually, you’re not a fan of lack of communication, but with the sorcerer, it seems to be its own form of speaking and conveying what needs to be known.

You lie on the bed, reading a book provided to you by the innkeeper, biting your bottom lip as you wonder whether the sorcerer would scold you for daring to speak at him. He sits on the chair near the fireplace, merely gazing into the fire in silence.

Sighing, he turns his head ever so slightly to glance at you from the corner of his eye. “If you have something to say, then say it,” he grumbles before his attention is snatched away by the snapping fire again.

You shift in your seat, allowing yourself to fully stare at the sorcerer. His hair is as dark as night, loosely framing his face in waves. His honey-glazed skin looks slightly darker with just the fire casting light upon him, and despite his tall frame and broad shoulders, it seems he makes himself smaller in his chair. He must be exhausted.

“Can I ask a question?”

There is silence at first as if Heeseung ponders whether to say yes or no. Then, he responds, “Isn’t that already one? What stops you from asking another?” He doesn’t even look at you as he speaks, and your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “I appreciate you being considerate, but if there is something on your mind, just say it. I’ll decide whether I want to answer or not.”

Closing your book, you put it aside. You allow yourself to admire the sorcerer from afar, quite taken by his beauty. Though that is not what you need to quell your mind. “So…” you start, unsure of how to word your question. Though what you come up with is not exactly an elegant way to ask either. “Why me?”

You’re met with another round of silence. It almost feels like a decade of stillness, the only sounds made inside the room being your breathing and the crackling fire. But the sorcerer finally turns to you, swallowing whatever comes to his mind at first to give you a composed answer. “Because the Forest chose you,” he says plainly. “And once the Forest chooses, it cannot be undone.”

“The Forest?” You furrow your brows in confusion. “I thought you chose the girls that stay with you?”

Heeseung shakes his head. “That is not how it works. I made the spell that chooses the girls, but ultimately, it is the Forest itself that chooses which girl must live near it.” The solemn expression in his eyes makes you stop for a moment and think about it.

The girls are taken in order for the sorcerer to protect the surrounding villages from the Forest. And now you know that the Forest chooses the girls itself at that. It makes sense, in a strange way. Because you still don’t understand why you only need to live near it, for it sounds like the girls should be some sort of sacrifice to the Forest. Except you will be allowed to go back to your old life after ten years.

“Then how exactly does that work?” you ask, frowning. “If the Forest chooses the girls, what are the specifics? And what do we do? We just live with you?”

“Yes,” Heeseung answers with a sigh. Licking his lips, he glances back at the fire, then at you. “The Forest is a dark place. In order to control it, there needs to be light. Which is when you come in,” he explains, pointing at your heart. He makes a pause, checking your expression to see whether you were still listening to him, only to find you intently staring at his face, not missing a single word that left his mouth. Clearing his throat, he continued, “I designed my spell in a way for the Forest to find the purest soul within the radius of the villages. This time, it’s you.” 

You purse your lips in thought. Never in your life have you thought of yourself as somebody with a pure soul, but apparently that is who you are, according to the sorcerer and his spell. Which is what got you into this situation of having to leave your childhood home and friends. Because the Forest chose you.

“Wait,” you say, a thought coming to you suddenly.

“Yes?” Heeseung raises his brow, watching your expression slowly change into that of distress.

“If the Forest chose me…” you start, frowning, “Does that mean that the creatures of the Forest would be after me? Whether I am at home or—”

“Yes.” The sorcerer nods in affirmation. “That is part of the magic. The Forest is drawn to you, and therefore, it makes my job of protecting the other villages from monsters that much easier. Since all of them are, well… headed for the tower.”

“For me, you mean.”

Heeseung gives a thin smile. “Even now, the Forest is already searching for you. But while we are on the way, and you are with me, you should be hidden until we reach the tower.”

“You didn’t have to tell me that,” you mumble, wondering how you’re going to fall asleep now, knowing that there are monsters specifically looking for you. Which means that, in a way, you are a sacrifice to the Forest, after all. The sorcerer just protects you and the other villages from them by killing said monsters.

“You asked,” he says with a shrug. “Nobody has ever asked before, so I’m not sure to what extent you’re interested in the topic,” he adds.

It occurs to you then, that maybe the only reason Heeseung hasn’t spoken much is because the other girls never had any interest in speaking to him due to the circumstances. He’s being distant simply because that’s how it’s always been for him.

“So, what exactly am I to do at the tower, once we get there?” you ask to continue the conversation. And unlike you thought, Heeseung does not seem annoyed by your questions at all.

“Whatever you want to do,” he replies. “I have an extensive library if you’re fond of reading. I can teach you to play the guitar your friend gave you. You can choose to pick up whatever hobby you want. All you have to do is just… live there as if it were your home for the next ten years so I can continue to protect your real home and other villages.”

“Okay,” you say, smiling, which takes Heeseung by surprise (again). “That sounds like a good deal, I suppose. I will miss my friends and family dearly, but I can do this.”

The Forest chose far too well, this time around, Heeseung thinks to himself and shakes his head. He’s been doing this for centuries, and he has never met anyone quite like you.

Home.

Heeseung lets out a huge sigh of relief when he finally steps inside the tower that has been his beloved home for many, many years. You trail behind him nervously, all of your luggage already sent to your room with a single flick of his hand. You’re not used to such magic just yet, but as time will pass, nothing will be able to surprise you later on.

Although Heeseung has still been keeping rather quiet around you, you felt more comfortable simply speaking at him because you knew he was listening. During the remainder of your travels, you told him much about your life at home and your friends. Oftentimes, if you asked a question regarding his life, you would wait for his answers even if it took him minutes to respond.

“Let me show you all the important rooms,” Heeseung says to you, the corner of his lips lifting in a smile. He’s not sure what it is about you that makes him behave this way, but your aura seems to wear off on him, too. He’s caught himself smiling more often than usual.

When you nod, he starts the tour with the library. You had told him you weren’t that big of a fan of reading, but whenever you had the time and the mood, you liked to nestle with a good book. He also shows you the kitchen, the washing rooms, his office and your bedroom. There are more rooms within the tower, but for now, Heeseung leaves those doors closed.

“Unpack and make yourself at home,” he says, pointing at the plain room. It is not the same one as the girls before you have had, for this one is much closer to his bedroom and office. He knows he probably shouldn’t have done that, but this strange feeling in his chest told him that he might need to keep a much closer eye on you than the other girls.

“Okay,” you say, nodding. “What will you be doing?”

“I’m going to make us supper,” Heeseung informs you.

“Oh. You can cook?” you ask brightly, and the sorcerer scrunches his nose, shaking his head.

“I hope you like bread with butter.”

You blink at him, speechless. “Who doesn’t like bread and butter?” You tilt your head to the side. “But that isn’t all you eat whenever you’re at the tower, is it?”

Heeseung presses his lips together. “No?” he lies, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“You must let me cook, then!” you claim, ready to storm past him into the kitchens rather than to unpack your things, but Heeseung places his hands on each of your arms to stop you from going anywhere.

“I don’t have any ingredients for cooking,” he says, shaking his head.  “Unless you are the one with magic, capable of making food out of thin air.”

“Well…” You pout, looking into the sorcerer’s eyes. “I do not have magic, but I know a hefty trick for getting ingredients.” You grin, aware of Heeseung’s hands still on you. “It’s called shopping.”

“You can’t leave the tower on your own,” Heeseung sighs. “It’s too dangerous. It won’t happen.”

“Then come with me,” you suggest nonchalantly, still smiling. “You will protect me, and I will make sure we have proper supper. Did the other girls truly agree to living on plain bread and butter?” Your brow furrowed, and Heeseung shrugged.

“Sometimes we had meat,” he says.

“I’m surprised they lasted ten years like this.” You shake your head in disbelief. “We live in modern times. There is much more food to eat than just bread and butter and meat.”

“I never needed anything more,” Heeseung grumbles.

“Well, now you do,” you say finally, crossing your arms. “Tomorrow, first thing in the morning, we are visiting the closest village and visiting their market for ingredients.”

“As long as it’s not too early,” Heeseung says defeatedly.

Living with the sorcerer was much easier than you thought it would be. Even if he constantly complains about you waking him up far too early for chores such as shopping for ingredients. 

Today, however, when you approach his door to wake him up as usual, he opens the door right in front of your nose, pushing a cloak toward you. “Here. With this, you can go to the village on your own.”

“But… it’s a cloak.” You pouted, eyeing the piece of black fabric. It had a slight purple shimmer to it, however, and when the sorcerer spoke next, it confirmed your suspicions.

“It’s enchanted. To protect you from the Forest. It shouldn’t be able to track you while you’re wearing it. So put it on and let me sleep.” Heeseung runs a hand through his hair.

You raise your brow at him, noticing the dark bags under his eyes. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today,” you attempt to tease him, but he merely sighs.

“More like someone didn’t wake up in the bed because they haven’t even gone to bed yet, trying to figure out the enchantment on this damned thing.” He points at the cloak indignantly. “I need my beauty sleep. I can’t keep going to the market with you,” he whines.

This is the revered sorcerer who protects the people from monsters that you got to know. He’s not any different from your friends other than the fact that he’s centuries older, yet somehow his mind seems to be stuck at a specific age — perhaps that is a thing of immortality. Because one doesn’t age, their mind nor body does not develop any further.

“Well, I was never forcing you to,” you say, finally accepting the cloak from him. “But thank you. I’ll make sure to wear this well.”

“Good.” The sorcerer nods.

“You know you could’ve just told me to stop going to the market if you don’t like it so much, right?” you ask, tilting your head to the side. “You’re the one with power here. And I’m the one in danger.”

Heeseung licks his lips and shrugs. “That means you’d stop cooking, though,” he says, not keen on admitting that he prefers your meals to anything he’s had in the last several decades. “Just… go by yourself. And make sure to come back in one piece.”

“How are you so sure I won’t just run away?” you keep questioning him, and he rolls his eyes this time.

“You see this?” He grabs your wrist, pointing at the magical tattoo created by his spell. “We’re connected, Y/N, remember? I will find you wherever you go. But it also means the Forest could do the same thing. Eventually, the enchantment on this cloak could wear out, and if you get stuck somewhere without me and something from the Forest comes for you, then you’ll have nobody but yourself to blame.”

You bite your lip, nodding. He’s certainly made his point. Not that you ever truly considered leaving on your own. You truly are not well equipped to fight monsters on your own. “I understand,” mumbling the response, you yank your wrist out of Heeseung’s grasp.

“Sorry,” Heeseung sighs, rubbing his eyes leisurely. “I don’t mean to be so… irritable. I’m just—”

“Tired,” you finish for him, offering a thin smile. “I know. And I’m thankful for this, really.” You raise the cloak. “Get all the sleep you need, Heeseung. I’ll make sure to come back and prepare breakfast in the meantime.”

“Okay,” he says, allowing himself to grace you with the tiniest smile. Heeseung doesn’t smile often, so the few times that he does, it’s a precious sight. One to be remembered for days to come.

“I’ll get going now. Sleep well, Heeseung.”

As always, the market is buzzing with its early morning magic. Farmers from around the village and many other merchants have their stands prepared, beckoning anyone who shows even the smallest bit of interest in any of their wares. You always like to buy something from each to help them. Besides, the sorcerer’s resources are not exactly limited the same way your family’s used to be.

“No sorcerer today, Miss?” asks the farmer whose wares you’re eyeing. He’s an older man with grey streaks in his hair, and you remember him mainly because he’s always been the nicest to Heeseung out of all the villagers. While the others treat him with distrust and fear, this man has been nothing but respectful. 

“Unfortunately, he chose not to make the trip.” You give a thin smile, shaking your head. “But I plan to make a nice breakfast for him. So, what would you say are your best products today?”

“The sweet potatoes.” A new voice joins the conversation. A boy probably around your age steps into your view, grinning from you to the farmer. “They’ve been growing really well this season.”

“I see,” you hum, examining the newcomer. His big eyes and warm smile are incredibly inviting, and you hope you will see him more often from now on. “I’ll take five, then.”

“Great choice,” the boy says cheerfully, immediately getting to work. “I’m Taehyun, by the way. Are you the new girl living with the sorcerer? It’s a bit novel for us that you’re here since they used to always stay at the tower.”

You smile, making a noncommittal noise. “I’m Y/N. And I think this is new for everyone involved.”

“I’m glad you’re here. It would be a waste for someone so pretty to rot away at the tower,” Taehyun claims, handing you a bag of the best sweet potatoes that he could pick in their batch.

“Stop flirting with the customers, son,” the elder farmer scolds, glancing between you and Taehyun.

Your cheeks burn due to the unexpected compliment. While you are used to your friends telling you that you’re pretty, it’s quite different when it comes from someone you don’t know. “It’s okay, sir. Thank you.”

Taehyun grins, his doe eyes lighting up. “Do you need any more help? I want to ask you some things,” he says, and you turn to his father with furrowed brows.

“What about—”

“Don’t worry, Miss. I’m not that old.” He chuckles, letting Taehyun do whatever he wants. “Besides, you were always curious why I don’t regard the sorcerer with the same apprehensiveness as the others, no?”

You blink at the man. “I suppose yes, but how is that—”

“I have magic,” Taehyun answers simply. “It’s nothing quite grand like the sorcerer’s, but I have it. Look.” Lifting up a sweet potato, Taehyun makes it float in the air, just above his hand. Then, with a snap of his fingers, the potato vanishes and appears back in its original box.

“Woah. That’s still impressive,” you say. “Isn’t it rare, still? To have magic.”

“I think so. But apparently, I wasn’t powerful enough to be allowed to study about it more in the capital.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You pout, but Taehyun shakes his head.

“Don’t be. I learned all I needed to know on my own. And now I get to help my parents with the farm, and don’t have to leave them.” Taehyun smiles, sharing a fond look with his father. 

“That is admirable.” You nod, your affection growing for the boy in front of you with every passing second. Besides, you’re possibly going to see him more often, so why not make a new friend?

“So would you like any help? I can carry a lot on my own.” Taehyun speaks proudly, and you giggle, watching him flexing his arms the tiniest bit just to show off.

“If it is okay with your father that I steal you for myself, then I wouldn’t mind another hand, since Heeseung decided to miss out today,” you agree, your heart swelling at the sight of Taheyun’s toothy smile.

“Completely okay,” the farmer says, shaking his head amusedly.

“So, what are you looking for?” Taehyun claps his hands, plastering himself to your side. “I can recommend all the best stands for everything.”

“That would be lovely, thank you so much.”

“It’s no problem, Y/N. I’m really just trying to spend the most time possible with you.”

You giggle again, taken aback by the boy’s frankness. “I’m not that special, you know?”

“And yet you’re all I want to see.” Taehyun’s lines are smooth, making your face feel hotter than the sun. “Come on, would you like to know where to get the best bread around here?”

And so you follow. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have let Taehyun help you all the way back to the tower, but he was so insistent. You couldn’t tell him no. Especially with his large deer eyes. They almost reminded you of Heeseung’s. 

Almost.

Until he stands in the kitchen, looking well-rested, glaring at Taehyun’s figure. To him, he’s a complete stranger in his home, and you invited him in without asking for permission.

“What is this?” he asks, pointing at Taehyun who has been diligently helping you put all your newly acquired items away. He intended to stay in his study until you’d call for him, but then he heard laughter bouncing off the walls of the tower, and it filled him with dread. “I let you out by yourself once, and you bring a stranger to my home?”

“Technically, it’s also my home for the next ten years,” you argue, shaking your head. “And Taehyun is very sweet.” Smiling at him, Taehyun gives you a grateful nod.

“Just because you think someone is sweet, doesn’t mean it’s still not dangerous to let a stranger into the Tower.” Heeseung scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “Do you realise how dangerous that is? Maybe I shouldn’t let you go out anymore…” he speaks to himself, but you and Taehyun can hear him perfectly well.

“You can’t be serious. Just because the other girls were fine staying inside, I’m most definitely not going to be,” you say, putting your foot down.

“It would be for your own good,” the sorcerer says matter-of-factly.

“My good, or your benefit?” You raise a brow at him. Heeseung’s face contorts in anger for the briefest of moments before he schools his expression, staring you down.

“My benefit? You think any of this is beneficial to me?” he asks you calmly, but it’s somehow more terrifying than if he had exploded with fury. “I have been fighting whatever creatures come outside of the forest for centuries, and I don’t even know why, or why I have to. How in the world could that be beneficial to me?” The question is aimed at you, but it’s clear that it is rhetorical — something he has long given up on finding the answer to.

If you weren’t furious with the sorcerer, you would’ve empathised with him, but all you could hear in your head right now was his threat to keep you locked away in his tower by the forest. “Sorry, I misspoke,” you correct yourself, frowning. “I just meant that you’re the reason why I even have to be here.”

“You think I enjoy that?” Heeseung tilts his head, glaring at you this time. “Fine! Whatever. You are free to leave of your own free will, Y/N. Since you’re, oh, so fine without me.” He says, looking at Taehyun this time. A different emotion flashes in his eyes as he presses his lips tightly together. “I’m sure he would love to protect you anyway,” Heeseung scoffs and runs a hand over his face. 

Your face falls as you glance at Taehyun and then look back at Heeseung. “What do you mean?”

“Y/N—” Taehyun attempts to speak, but Heeseung only laughs. It’s such a deprived sound it almost scares you.

“Are you telling me you don’t know that the person you brought here is currently the youngest Sorcerer General? That he works for the capital as one of the most powerful sorcerers aside from me?” 

“What?” This time, you turn to Taehyun fully. “But you said— did you lie to me?” you ask softly, and as Taehyun apologetically stares down at his feet, licking his lips, you know that he, in fact, did lie to you. “Was the farmer truly your father?”

“Yes! Yes, he was!” Taehyun exclaims immediately, shutting his eyes close tightly before meeting yours again. “That’s why I came to the village. Because he told me that Heeseung has been coming there with you… so the capital sent me.”

“Oh.” You step away from Taehyun, not knowing how to feel. “But you still lied to me.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry— I just didn’t want to scare you off—”

“So you made up a whole lie about how you were helping at the family farm with your magic?” you scoff, shaking your head.

“You should’ve been honest with her.” Heeseung chuckles, rolling his eyes. “Y/N is the most honest person I’ve ever met, so the truth would have hardly scared her off.”

You look at the sorcerer, surprised to hear those words leave his mouth. You’re never sure what exactly he thinks of you, but somehow, knowing that he considers you an honest person warms your heart. He certainly must’ve met many liars in his lifetime. And Taehyun is clearly one of them.

“Yes. So whatever you or the capital want from me, or from Heeseung, just leave us alone. Let them know he’s doing his job just fine.”

“Is he, though?” Taehyun questions, staring at you. “He did let you out of his sight this morning.”

“I have protections placed on me,” you claim, but Taehyun laughs dryly.

“If you mean that flimsy scuffed cloak, then I doubt it was powerful enough to protect you from a monster that wants to directly attack you,” he says, unimpressed. “So, I’d dare say he should do his job better.”

“You little—”

“Don’t.” You sigh tiredly, stepping in front of Taehyun. “I can sense animosity between the two of you, but I’m not willing to hear it. I’m sorry, Heeseung, I see your point, I’ve made a mistake.”

“You don’t need to apologise to him, of all people,” Taehyun says from behind you, and you turn to face him, meeting his big eyes with a blank stare.

“Whatever your problem is with Heeseung, I don’t care. You lied to me, and I don’t appreciate it. The last thing you get to do is insult Heeseung under his roof.” You place your hands on your hips, frowning. “Either be nice, or stay quiet.”

Taehyun clenches his hands into fists, glaring back at Heeseung. But he gives in, sighing in defeat. “He’s not just the reason you have to be living in this tower for the next ten years, you know?” He tells you quietly, enough for Heeseung not to hear. “He’s also the reason the Forest is as dangerous as it is. That’s why he’s the only one tasked with fighting it. So don’t think he’s being honest with you either.”

Colour drains from your face as you listen to him. This time, you’re certain it is the truth because of the graveness in Taehyun’s voice. Though you don’t understand why he’s being secretive about it. Why doesn’t he say it directly even to Heeseung?

Shaking his head, Taehyun moves to leave. “If you ever need help, let me know. I’ll be around, making sure that Heeseung is doing his job well.”

“Dickhead,” the taller sorcerer murmurs under his breath even before Taehyun departs entirely, possibly having heard him. But he didn’t react in any way, simply leaving you alone with Heeseung once again.

You look at Heeseung, not knowing what to think of him now. Though when he smiles at you as if nothing happened, you want to forget Taehyun’s harrowing words.

“Do you need any help with breakfast? I can fry eggs.”

Despite Taehyun’s words, you continued going to the market on your own. You noticed a deer following you around whenever you did so, and you assumed it was another one of Heeseung’s protective precautions to keep you away from danger.

Whenever you come across Taehyun now, he has this distinct look on his face of sharing a secret with you that Heeseung doesn’t know about. Of course, you didn’t tell him. How could you relay such information onto him, not knowing how he’d take it? How would one react to finding out they are the reason so many lives are in danger?

“Ah, crap!” you curse under your breath after what feels like the millionth time of failing to strike the correct chord on the guitar from Jongseong. It shouldn’t be difficult considering your expertise with the violin, but you’re struggling regardless. 

You close your eyes, knowing it’s probably because you can’t focus. You keep thinking back to Taehyun’s words and how it’s somehow his fault that the forest is dangerous. Which also means he is the reason why you’re in danger, and why the forest wants to take you. Though you don’t know how, or what it means.

“Do you plan to torture the poor instrument for long?” Heeseung, as if hearing your thoughts, appears in the music room with a soft, amused smile playing on his lips.

“Sorry,” you say instantly, looking up at him. “I simply can’t seem to figure it out.”

“Allow me.” Heeseung steps closer to you, outstretching his hand to take the guitar.

You let him, watching him nestle next to you on the small sofa that you had chosen for practice. With a smile, he begins playing a song that both sounds foreign and familiar to you. The melody begins merrily, yet as it goes on, the song turns into a mixture of fury and betrayal. A tale that strikes to the very core of your heart, leaving you breathless. 

“What song was that?” you ask once the sorcerer is finished. 

“I don’t know,” he replies honestly. “It’s just been on my mind for a while…” Heeseung tries to hide his confusion, but not even he knew that these emotions have been festering within him.

“Here.” He hands the guitar back to you. 

Accepting it, you let the instrument sit on your lap while Heeseung moves to kneel on the ground in front of you. He’s tall enough to still be at eye level with you, and you startle when his fingers brush against your hand. 

“Sorry, allow me,” he says quietly, taking your hand in his and placing your fingers on the strings of the guitar. “I’m going to teach you some basic chords first, so you don’t torture the guitar at random.”

You blink at him, not sure how to react. With the sorcerer this close to you, it’s hard to process anything, let alone his words. All you can hear is intense buzzing in your ears, and the storm within your heart. 

Gulping, you nod carefully. Heeseung smiles, guiding your fingers along the strings to show you each chord, making sure that you understand everything perfectly. 

It becomes easier when you know the chords. Now that you can connect each sound to what you already know, it doesn’t seem as difficult anymore. With a grin, you find yourself playing the very melody Jaeyun and Sunghoon composed, and it makes you miss home — though in a good way.

Being here means they are safe. That is what matters most. 

“You’re a natural,” Heeseung says, but the proud feeling is gone within moments.

He makes an expression unfamiliar to you as his eyes roam the music room, and you wonder what he is thinking. He abruptly stands up instead, walking toward the window with a frown.

“Stay here,” he commands, closing the window. You shouldn’t be surprised when he disappears as fast as he appeared, but it hurts the tiniest bit.

You watch him head to the forest from your closed window, wishing for him to have told you that he had sensed danger and needed to leave instead of departing almost without a word. 

After hours had passed, you considered running to the village over to find Taehyun so he’d help you find Heeseung somewhere inside the Forest. But as you open the door of the Tower, Heeseung comes stumbling through the entrance, collapsing on the floor with blood splattered all over his clothes. 

“Heeseung!” You cry out, going to examine him and his wounds instantly. He groans when you turn him to his back, and you notice a large bite from what you can only assume was an oversized wolf on his shoulder. “What happened?” you mumble. 

“Your music,” Heeseung whispers. “It’s—”

“No, shh.” Putting your hand over his mouth, you shut him up. “I need to treat your wounds first. Then you can explain yourself,” you say, heart pounding in your ears. 

Heeseung is an immortal sorcerer. This is probably not as severe as it looks to him, but it doesn’t change the fact that it worries you. That you are worried for him.

From the kitchen, you grab a dittany solution and a piece of cloth to wash the wound with, before finding a kit for wound-treating in the bathroom.

Your hands shake while you tear Heeseung’s tunic off of him for better access to the wound. It allows you to see not only his toned chest and stomach, but also the many scars that tatter his honey-coloured skin. 

Pouring the solution over his shoulder, you ignore the hiss he lets out, grateful that he isn’t fighting you. 

You do your best to wash the bleeding wound before dressing and wrapping it in bandages. See, being close to three boys of your age gave you some expertise in treating wounds, but it had never been this severe before. It was never a large bite from a monster of the Forest. 

“I need to get you to your room,” you say weakly, wrapping your arm around Heeseung’s torso. “Can you move?” 

The sorcerer doesn’t respond with words, but he doesn’t let you use all your strength to carry him around either. While most of his weight is still on your shoulders as he drapes his arm over your shoulders, he does his best to walk on his own. 

You never complained about the stairs in the Tower before, but today is the day when they seem to be your absolute doom. Luckily, Heeseung’s bedroom is not too far up. 

Huffing and puffing by the time you reach the door to Heeseung’s room, you’re happy to find relief in opening the door that leads into a large bedroom with… almost nothing inside. Sure, there are some books and a desk, but other than a bed, the room is painfully empty and plain.

You have no time to question it. Instead, you lead Heeseung toward his bed, helping him lie down. But when you want to leave him to rest, he grabs your wrist, not letting you go.

“Heeseung, you need to rest.”

“Don’t leave,” he says, shaking his head. “Stay, please.”

“Heeseung—”

“I need you here.”

“That’s—”

Heeseung, with what strength he has left, pulls you toward him onto the bed. You fall on top of his chest with a yelp, and you seem to be the only one bothered about it. Especially when the sorcerer wraps his arms around you, refusing to let go of you.

“It’s you the Forest wants. He won’t let you go. I can’t protect you if you’re not with me,” he rambles into your hair, strangely frantic. Though you write it off as a side-effect of his injury.

“He can’t have you, Eunjin. Please don’t leave me. You’re my heart.”

Eunjin.

Who’s Eunjin?

When Heeseung wakes up, it’s in a cold sweat. The room spins in his vision, and when it finally settles on the open window, he can only feel a strange sense of emptiness. 

Attempting to move is a terrible idea. Heeseung groans in pain, hand reaching for the bandaged shoulder that you treated. The wound is still fresh, but you made sure to keep it from getting infected. 

His recollection of yesterday’s events is blurry, but he does remember you helping him to his room and him asking you to stay. So finding his room cold and empty without your presence hurts. Not that he would admit such a thing out loud. 

Heeseung is supposed to be the aloof,  mysterious and brooding sorcerer from the Tower, yet you’ve made him smile more times than he can count in the past months that he fears more than usual for your safety. 

He always managed to keep a professional relationship with the other women during his time as Keeper of the Forest, one could say, because keeping distance between himself and people who didn’t want to be here was never hard. However, it proves to be difficult with you. Especially when you act like you actually enjoy his company rather than him being a nuisance in your corner. 

You enter Heeseung’s room without knocking. Though in your defence, you did not expect him to be awake just yet. Breakfast is clutched in your hands, ready to be served to Heeseung on an actual silver platter. 

“Oh. Good morning,” you say softly with a tiny smile. “Are you feeling alright?”

The sigh of relief that leaves Heeseung’s lips at the sight of you and the knowledge of your safety is unfamiliar to him. Obviously, he has always worried for the women staying with him, but never this much. Not when he is the one who got hurt. 

Besides, they never brought him breakfast to bed either. In fact, nobody has ever done that, as far as Heeseung is aware. So maybe the way his heart begs to jump out of his chest when you approach him is an entirely reasonable reaction. 

“I could be better,” Heeseung replies quickly, when he notices a frown forming on your lips because he was quiet for too long. “You didn’t have to do all this,” he says. 

“But you got hurt.” You shake your head in disapproval. “I feel like this is the least I can do,” you sigh, running a hand through your hair. 

A sigh of defeat leaves your lips. One that Heeseung is familiar with as he has felt powerlessness many times before. But the last thing you are is powerless. You don’t even know it, but the reason Heeseung had to leave yesterday was specifically because you’re too powerful.

Your music is its own kind of magic, and unfortunately, it lures the creatures of the Forest directly to you. But Heeseung can’t tell you that. Music is an important part of your life, and he’s willing to fight whatever comes for you rather than disappoint you or make you upset. 

There is also this underlying feeling of having come across this kind of magic before. It was from… he cannot not remember who had the magic or when exactly in his life he came across it. Yet he knows it’s important. This person who wielded this magic meant something. Whoever they were. 

“All I need from you is to be safe,” Heeseung says almost too intimately, surprising even himself. Your lips part in shock as you stare at him, hands tightly gripping onto the tray with breakfast. 

Gulping, you nod. “I am safe.” 

You dare moving closer to Heeseung, offering the freshly made breakfast to him with a timid smile, which he accepts gratefully. It isn’t just the tea you prepared that makes him feel warm inside. 

“Please, rest now. I promise not to leave the Tower while you recover,” you reassure the sorcerer.

“But how will you—”

“I wrote to Taehyun,” you reply, and Heeseung hates the pang of jealousy he feels within his heart at the mention of the other sorcerer. “I know he’s been keeping an eye on us, so it was easy to contact him and ask for a small favour.”

“You mean turning him into a delivery man?” Heeseung's brow raises, and you shrug.

“It’s the least he can do.”

Heeseung snorts, amusement filling his bones. Of course, you would be the one to reduce a Sorcerer General of a large army to something as measly as a delivery man. 

And the best part about it? Taehyun is going to do it.

“Thank you,” you say to Taehyun when he enters the Tower with bags of ingredients. Since Heeseung got hurt, you plan to make a large lunch and dinner to help him recover faster. 

“No problem.” The man shrugs. “You had something to ask me?” he adds, since your request for groceries was not the only one you made in your message to him. 

Pursing your lips, you nod. Leading Taehyun into the kitchen to put away the food, you think of the best way to form your question. Though the base is simple: you want to know more about Heeseung. Things that not even he knows, it seems. 

“Oh.” He chuckles in understanding. “You want to know what I meant before.” Looking at you, his brows furrow. “Why the sudden interest? Did something happen?”

You shake your head. “I just want to know what you meant by it,” you argue. “How can the Forest be Heeseung’s fault only?”

“It’s simple, isn’t it?” Taehyun answers with a question of his own. “It’s a curse that he’s not aware of because the curse itself makes him forget. He doesn’t know it himself, but he’s far older than two centuries.”

“He is?”

Taehyun nods. “I don’t know that much myself, but his history is something sorcerers study in the capital. It’s just that all the details are very blurry and every book that mentions him is merely a different interpretation of what could have happened rather than what truly did happen.

“A detail that remains the same, however, is that there used to be seven of them. Seven Sorcerer Guardians who protected a princess of the Old Kingdom. She was a powerful priestess and her magic was beyond anyone’s understanding, so she created these seven sorcerers who helped her as her power grew. But she died alongside them in a war that destroyed the Old Kingdom, and unlike her, the seven sorcerers were reborn in a completely new world with magic that likely came from the princess.

“Nobody knows where the other six sorcerers are. They’re likely alive and well, but we’re not sure where they are nor who they are. But Heeseung… The power he wields now is only a sliver of what he had two centuries ago due to a curse of an unknown origin to us all. And the speculation is that the power that he lacks is now what makes the Forest what it is.”

“Which is why he’s the only one fighting it…” you finish for Taehyun, and he hums. 

“I’m not saying he’s a monster or anything. It’s just that there is so much we don’t know about him.”

“I understand.” You nod. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Where is he anyway? Are you alright?” Taehyun worries for you, and you chuckle. “Do you need anything else?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry. But Heeseung got hurt last night, so I don’t want to leave him here all alone.”

“He’d be fine,” Taehyun scoffs. “We heal faster than normal people. Immortality and all that.” He continues to help you put things away in silence for barely a minute before speaking again. “You’re different from the other women Heeseung has protected in the past,” he claims. 

Biting the inside of your cheek, you glance at Taehyun. “Am I?”

“Something is different about you.” Taehyun nods. “Your aura is so much more… it’s stronger. Like… I think you have magic, Y/N.”

“What? No.” You shake your head in denial. “How could I have magic? Am I not way past the age for finding that out?”

“Magic manifests in many ways, Y/N. Yours could be so subtle nobody ever noticed, but it is there. It’s strong, just not… obvious,” Taehyun disagrees with you.

“But then… why wouldn’t Heeseung tell me that?”

“Why would he tell you that?” Taehyun counters. “I think he’s scared, Y/N. The Forest behaves differently than it used to. It no longer searches anywhere. It’s dormant.”

“But Heeseung fought some creatures yesterday.”

“Because something called them forth. I monitored the Forest’s activity, and it was like… they found what they were looking for last night.”

“Wait…” you pause, staring at Taehyun. “If you were monitoring the Forest, why didn’t you help Heeseung?”

“It’s not in my jurisdiction.”

“Bullshit,” you spit, shaking your head. “You could’ve prevented his injury.”

“He’ll be fine, Y/N.”

“But he’s not fine now!” you counter, shaking your head. “He was partly delirious yesterday and… he called me Eunjin.”

Taehyun’s face turns grave at the mention of the name. “Eunjin’s dead,” he says with a deadpan.

“Yeah? I figured,” you scoff. There are many things you could guess based on what Heeseung said last night. But you did not like the way it made you feel. 

“Eunjin was different from the other women Heeseung has protected,” Taehyun sighs, offering an explanation in an attempt to quell your indignation. “She was a sorceress studying in the capital before, you know, the mark.” Taehyun points at the one you have on your wrist.

“And she died? I never heard of anyone dying—”

“It was covered up well,” Taehyun says. “Besides, we don’t really know if she died. All we know is that she went into the Forest on her own and never came back. Heeseung searched for her, I think, but she disappeared.” A frown settles on Taehyun’s lips, and you study him with your head tilted to the side. 

“She’s the reason you don’t like Heeseung,” you say matter-of-factly.

Taehyun chuckles, shaking his head. “That obvious, huh?” he asks, running a hand through his hair. “Eunjin was my best friend in the capital; we studied together. She was… stronger than me.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” you say, moving toward Taehyun with uncertain steps. Not that long ago, you were still upset with him, but now you want to comfort him somehow. The way he looks at you, with big sad eyes, you can’t resist the urge to take his hand in yours and offer a warm smile. 

“You really need to be careful around him.” Taehyun looks at you solemnly, covering your hand in his. “Eunjin wanted to go into the Forest because of him. Please, don’t make the same mistake.”

“I won’t.” You can’t promise that. 

Taehyun smiles ruefully. “Who’s the liar now, huh?” He clearly wants to say something else, perhaps a wish that should not be spoken aloud, but he doesn’t get the chance.

“Y/N, I think my wound started healing—” Heeseung walks into the kitchen, watching you jump away from Taehyun, yanking your hand out of his grip. Confused, Heeseung glances between you and Taehyun. 

“Woah, that— that is great news!” you exclaim hastily, a large grin breaking across your lips as you pretend not to have learned about Heeseung’s past. 

“See, I told you he’d be fine,” Taehyun adds lamely in an attempt to resume the conversation.

“It’s a relief.” You nod. “Do you need anything, Heeseung? More food? Water? Tea? Coffee?”

“I’m fine, thanks.” Heeseung gives you a weird look. He knows you’re hiding something, but doesn’t press the issue with Taehyun right next to you.

“You do realise you’re not his maid, right?” Taehyun raises his brow at you. 

“Taehyun—”

“Would you prefer it if she was yours?” Heeseung challenges in turn. 

“She’s not property to give out like that.” Taehyun glares at the other sorcerer. 

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” you say firmly, fixing both men with a stern stare. It’s especially pointed at Taehyun because of the conversation you two shared literally moments ago. “I know you two have issues, but do not make me a ball the two of you get to kick around to prove a point.” 

This gets both sorcerers to look at you, their expressions turning apologetic.

“I’m my own person, and I can do whatever I want. If I want to offer Heeseung a cup of tea then I can do that,” you say, looking at Taehyun. They seem to look regretful now, realising that their words may have been hurtful toward you, when that is the last thing they intended. “I think it’ll be better if you leave now, Taehyun.”

“Y/N, I’m—”

“I’ll walk you out.”

tags: @moonpri @addictedtohobi @superbbananananana @strayy_kidz

[p0orbaby]

I Feel Alive in the City That You Like

summary: who doesn’t like a bit of gossip?

warnings: none !

a/n: something short for our fav actress, with a little cameo from ale

word count: 1.5k

part 1

-

The bar is tucked away in a side street that smells of sea salt, diesel fumes, and hot pavement—the kind of place you only find by accident or through someone who’s “been coming here for years.” It’s called La Mala Vida, which feels pretentious in an almost charming way, like it’s trying to convince you it’s grittier than it actually is. Inside, the walls are painted a deep crimson that almost glows under dim lights. The ceiling is low enough to feel oppressive, and every table is crammed with people leaning too close, talking too loud, the air thick with cigarette smoke despite the supposed indoor ban.

Your friends are already at a corner booth when you arrive, practically shouting over the music—something vaguely Latin remixed with techno—and you spot Frances first, her sharp red lipstick and a blonde bob so precise it could have been cut with a laser. She’s dressed for drama, as always, in a vintage YSL blazer so cropped it’s practically a shrug, paired with leather trousers that look like they might have been painted on.

“We’ve been here for an hour,” she announces the moment you approach, her tone loud enough to carry over the din of the bar. “I thought you’d forgotten about us.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” you reply, pulling off your jacket—a lightweight cashmere thing that you’d brought only because the evening forecast had mentioned a breeze. You hang it over the back of the chair, careful to keep it away from what looks suspiciously like a puddle of spilled sangria.

“She thought you were avoiding us,” Georgia chimes in, already halfway through her first glass of wine. She’s dressed in an oversized white button-down that she’s knotted at the waist, paired with frayed denim shorts and silver hoop earrings big enough to be used as hula hoops. The effect is effortlessly cool, though you know for a fact she spent 45 minutes in front of a mirror before leaving her hotel room.

“I don’t avoid people I love,” you say, sliding into the seat between them.

“Except Alexia,” Frances says, her grin razor-sharp. “When she’s too far away for you to stalk”

“Frances,” you warn, though your voice lacks any real edge.

“Oh, please. Don’t pretend we haven’t all read the headlines. ‘Football Star’s Mystery Lover’—that was my personal favourite. Or was it the one about how you’ve been jetting between continents like a lovesick heiress?”

“Stop,” you groan, but Georgia is already laughing, her wine glass wobbling dangerously in her hand.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “We didn’t fly all the way to Barcelona just to interrogate you. But we will be taking the opportunity since we’re here”

“You didn’t fly here to see me at all,” you point out. “You’re here for Georgia’s ridiculous ‘self-discovery retreat’”

“It’s not ridiculous,” Georgia protests, though her tone suggests she knows exactly how ridiculous it is. “It’s wellness. I’ve been stressed”

“You live in a Soho loft and do Pilates every morning,” Frances deadpans. “What could you possibly be stressed about?”

“Life,” Georgia says, as though this explains everything.

Frances rolls her eyes, but before she can respond, the waiter arrives to take your drink order. You glance at the menu briefly before asking for a vodka lime and soda.

“Make it a double,” Frances adds for you. “She’s going to need it”

As soon as the waiter disappears, Frances leans forward, her elbows on the table, her chin resting on her hands like a particularly nosy house cat.

“So,” she says, drawing out the word. “How’s Alexia?”

“She’s fine,” you reply, keeping your tone deliberately neutral.

“Fine?” Georgia echoes, clearly unimpressed. “That’s all we get?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know,” Frances says, her grin widening. “Something juicy. Like how she’s already convinced you to move here and start a life of domestic bliss”

“Or how she’s secretly awful in bed,” Georgia adds.

“She’s not awful in bed,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself, and both of them pounce on the admission like hungry wolves.

“Ah-ha!” Frances crows, pointing at you. “See, now we’re getting somewhere”

“Stop being so tight-lipped,” Georgia says. “You’re glowing. Look at you. That’s post-orgasm skin”

“Stop it,” you hiss, though your face is already burning.

“Don’t be shy,” Frances says, leaning back in her seat with a satisfied smirk. “We’re your friends. We’re just curious.”

“She’s curious,” Georgia corrects. “I just like making you uncomfortable”

“Why do I hang out with you?” you mutter, though the question is purely rhetorical.

“Because we’re fabulous,” Frances says.

“And because we rescheduled our chemical peel to spend time with you,” Georgia adds. “Now, come on. Give us something. What’s she like when the lights are off? Or on, we won’t judge”

“Jesus Christ,” you groan, covering your face with your hands.

“Fine,” Frances says, waving a hand dismissively. “If you don’t want to talk about that, tell us what you two do when you’re not shagging”

“Normal couple things,” you say.

“Like what?” Georgia presses.

“Like… cooking together,” you offer.

“Boring,” Frances declares.

“Or watching TV”

“Also boring”

“Taking her dog for walks?”

Frances sighs dramatically, as though your relationship is personally offending her. “You’re no fun”

“I’m plenty of fun,” you argue.

“Prove it,” Georgia says.

“How?”

“Call her,” Frances says, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Right now”

“She’s busy,” you protest, though your hand is already hovering over your phone.

“She’s not too busy for you,” Georgia says in a sing-song voice, grinning like the devil.

Frances leans back in her seat, folding her arms. “Prove it. Call her. Right now. Or we’ll start making assumptions, and you know we don’t hold back”

“Fine,” you snap, swiping your phone off the table. “But if she gets annoyed, I’m blaming both of you”

“Blame away,” Frances replies, looking positively gleeful.

You don’t bother stepping outside for privacy—this is what they wanted, after all. The bar’s music fades to the background as you scroll for her name, your thumb hesitating for a brief moment before you press call.

She picks up on the second ring.

“Hola,” she says, her voice warm and slightly hushed, like she’s leaning in closer to the phone to hear you better.

“Hi,” you reply, already feeling the tension ease at the sound of her voice. “What are you doing?”

“Dinner with the team,” she says. “What about you?”

“Out with Frances and Georgia,” you say, shooting them a look across the table. “They’re being infuriating, as usual.”

Alexia chuckles softly, and even though the distance between you stretches across an ocean, it feels like she’s right there. “What did they do now?”

“They’re insisting I call you so they can be nosy,” you admit, ignoring the way Frances pretends to yawn theatrically beside you.

“Well, I hope I’m living up to the hype,” Alexia says, the smile evident in her tone.

Frances immediately leans forward, practically yelling into the phone. “She’s not doing you justice, Alexia! We’ve heard nothing spicy”

You slap a hand over the phone’s speaker. “Frances!”

Alexia’s laugh is louder now, melodic and unrestrained. “Is that Frances?”

“And Georgia,” you say, glaring at them both as they descend into a fit of giggles.

“Hi, Alexia!” Georgia shouts, waving as if Alexia could somehow see her through the phone. “How do you feel about long-distance frustration?”

“Ignore them,” you say, lowering your hand from the speaker, though Frances has already leaned halfway across the table.

“Alexia, quick question,” she calls into the receiver. “On a scale of one to ten, how insufferable is she as a girlfriend?”

“Frances!”

“Eleven,” Alexia replies without missing a beat, her voice warm with amusement.

Frances clutches her chest in mock offense. “A woman with taste. I approve”

Georgia’s cackling now, practically falling off her chair. “She’s funnier than you. I like her more already”

“Okay, this was a mistake,” you mutter, though you can’t help the way your lips curl into a smile.

“You’re handling it well,” Alexia teases. “And you haven’t hung up yet, so maybe you secretly enjoy it”

“Maybe I just like hearing your voice,” you counter, softer this time.

There’s a slight pause, just long enough for Frances and Georgia to exchange exaggerated ooohs like a pair of primary school children.

“I miss you,” Alexia says, the sincerity in her voice cutting through their antics.

“I miss you too,” you reply quietly, forgetting for a moment that you aren’t alone.

Frances doesn’t forget. She leans so close you can feel her breath on your shoulder. “Tell her you love her!” she stage-whispers, loud enough to draw stares from the next table over.

You shove her back, pressing a palm to your forehead. “I’m hanging up now”

“Coward,” Frances mutters, smirking.

“Goodnight,” Alexia says, and you can hear the smile in her voice.

“Goodnight,” you reply, the word carrying more weight than usual.

When you finally set your phone down, Frances and Georgia are watching you like vultures circling a carcass.

“Admit it,” Frances says, taking a triumphant sip of her drink. “You’re smitten”

“Completely pathetic,” Georgia adds.

You don’t even bother denying it. Instead, you flag the waiter down for another drink, shaking your head as they burst into fresh fits of laughter.

[space-cowgirllll]

Tolerate It

pls enjoy this kinda angsty little thing I wrote a couple of months ago when I was really going through it in a relationship and have been too shy to post anywhere until today. I miiiiight have the second part to this halfway done. If this sucks I'm so sorry lmao it’s very lightly proofread and I have not written anything that hasn't had to be turned in for a grade in years.

Part Two

You sit alone at the table wondering how you ended up here. The dinner you'd spent the better part of the evening preparing grows cold as you sip on what has to be your third glass of wine. From your spot you can see Abby standing at the counter, speaking softly into the phone while she reads through the mail that had piled up over the last week. You pick at your food, hoping she'll join you eventually, but when fifteen minutes turns into twenty and then thirty five, you realize you're wasting your time. The laughter from the other room tells you the work part of the call ended long ago. Pushing your chair back, not caring when the loud noise earns you a glare from Abby, you gather your plate and blow out the candles at the center of the table.

Abby moves to sit on the loveseat in the living room after her call. It doesn't take long for her to get lost in the new book she had just brought home. Your eyes shift to the untouched plate of food still waiting for her in the dining room and then to the apple in her hand. The sound of  your throat clearing catches her attention.

"Your plate is still at the table if you want it, babe." You gesture to the lone plate at her usual spot.

There's a pang in your chest at the sight of the floral arrangement you'd chosen for the week. Behind that, strong wind pelts rain at the window. The gloomy weather a perfect representation of the storm brewing inside you.

"I thought I told you I had an early dinner with a couple of colleagues."

"Oh."

It comes out as a whisper. Not bothering to tell her she hadn't called you back after her lunch break. Again. You make a mental note to put the plate away before bed, knowing she'll pack it for tomorrow.

Your arms are elbow deep in soapy water, trying to rush through the last couple of dishes before she retreats to her study. The clanking of pots and pans fills the quiet space. You scrub at a particularly stubborn spot, trying to think of a way to bring it up without sounding too obvious.

"How was work today?"

"Fine." Your wife replies, not elaborating further.

"It's the twenty first, right?" There's some hesitation in the question.

"Yup."

Okay.

She doesn't look up from her book when you shuffle past her a little while later, placing a steaming mug on the coffee table. Her hand caresses the soft skin of your thigh and you perk up when she mumbles a soft thanks, placing a quick kiss on her temple. The sleeping cat on her lap stirs when you give him a gentle scratch behind the ear.

You settle into the sofa across from her and watch her read. She's in the cotton pajamas and fuzzy socks you'd laid out in the closet for her. It makes you feel ridiculously overdressed. Your hands fist the skirt of your dress, feeling foolish. There's a dark spot on the satin material from leaning over the wet counter.

The record player in the far corner of the room catches your attention. You miss the nights where she'd play you one of her favorites and dance with you around the living room before letting you sit on her lap as she read out loud to you. You never thought you would miss those boring medical journals. These days you're lucky if you get more than an hour with her before she locks herself in her study.

It hadn't always been like this. The two of you have been together longer than you've been apart. Visions of eleven year old Abby teaching you how to braid her hair for soccer practice flash in your head. Crawling into her bed in the middle of the night after another nasty fight between your parents. Summer vacations to her family's lake house. Her and her parents at every dance recital and play you'd ever been part of in high school. Realizing at sixteen that your feelings for the girl weren't so platonic. Then moving into the spare bedroom down the hall from her a year later after coming out to your family. Prom dress shopping with her and her mother, sneaking kisses in the tiny fitting rooms. The Anderson's were the family you never had.

Navigating young adulthood with Abby had been fun. You'd rented a tiny apartment in Seattle and paid way too much for it while attending university. It wasn't much, but it was home. You remember the dance parties in the tiny living room. The time the blonde begged you to let her keep the tiny cat she'd found in an alley on the way home one random afternoon. Going on dates and exploring the city. Staying up late and fantasizing about what life would look like in ten years. The look on her face as her thumb rubbed small circles on the exposed skin of your belly after you'd shown her your list of baby names. Getting married just after graduation.

Abby had never been too busy to show you how much she loved you, no matter how busy she got with school. Packing your meals for work, making sure your car had enough gas in it, organizing stay at home date nights whenever your schedules aligned. And you doing the same for her when she was up to her eyebrows in work for school.

The notes were your favorite. They had started appearing randomly after you'd been unexpectedly laid off. You'd been moping around the house for weeks, losing hope after not hearing back from any of the companies you'd applied to. Always in your favorite color, the purple post it notes could be found stuck to the wherever you'd see them first thing in the morning. The silly declarations of love and the affirmations always made you smile.

Those days were long gone. You were slowly going from high school sweethearts to two people who simply co-existed. No matter what you did or how hard you tried, it was getting harder to deny the lack of warmth in her eyes when she looked at you sometimes. Today proved what you had been too afraid to admit to yourself. The only person who had ever felt like home has slowly started becoming a stranger that slipped into your bed later and later each night.

Your eyes start stinging and you bite down on your lower lip. There's no way you're breaking down in front of her, not tonight. The warmth radiating from the fireplace does little to keep away the chill running through your body. Shaky hands bring the mug to your lips, hoping some tea would calm the nausea swirling in your stomach. You're not surprised to find yourself unable to keep drinking after a few tiny sips. Abby's favorite mug grows cold on the coffee table and you're positive she doesn't even remember it's there.

The sound of her phone ringing startles you both. Abby snatches the phone off the counter, a tired sigh leaves her parted lips when she sees who's calling. She jogs up the steps, intently listening to whoever is on the other end of the phone. You pick at the chipping nail polish on your left hand, watching the way your engagement ring glints in the dim light of the fire. Your stomach dips as you slip the stack off your finger, placing them in the small bowl on the coffee table.

"Are you going somewhere?" Your head shoots up to where she's standing in the threshold. The sight of her in a fresh pair of navy blue scrubs doesn't surprise you. Her loose bun traded for a tight braid that hangs over her shoulder.

"No. Why would I be?"

She gestures at your dress. Eyes roaming over your face, finally noticing the makeup you'd carefully applied hours before. You see her lock in on your empty hand, her sculpted brows furrow in confusion. Please say something. You beg, just wanting to understand why this is happening. Was she so busy she couldn't even bother to ask what's wrong? Did she even care anymore?

The constant buzzing of the phone in her tote bag answers your question for you. She shakes her head and turns to the door, stopping to slip her feet into her sneakers. You follow silently behind her, wondering if you should say something.

"Abigail?"

She hums in acknowledgment, not bothering to look up from her phone. Her fingers move at lightning speed across the touchscreen. Your nails dig into the palm of your hand, fighting the urge to snatch her phone and chuck it against the wall.

"What?" She asks again when you don't speak up. The look of annoyance on her face has you taking a step back.

"Nevermind," you turn towards the coat closet, pulling out her winter jacket. "It doesn't matter." You don't have to look back to know she's rolling her eyes.

"I should be back before you leave for work." You busy yourself with the already organized closet, pretending to move things around while she gathers the rest of her things.

"Be careful." You mumble, blinking rapidly to stop the tears from flowing. Not trusting yourself to say much more without your throat closing.

"Always am." She plants a kiss on the back of your head and heads out the door. It's only when you hear the sound of her car pulling away that you let yourself cry. No longer caring about the mascara that is certainly smearing.

Unsteady legs carry to the foot of the stairs where you collapse into a pathetic heap. Tears freely flowing down your cheeks, further staining the material of your dress. Your hands harshly pull at the fabric, wanting nothing more than to rip it off. The pins in your hair clatter loudly on the floor as you harshly pull them out.

Your sobs echo throughout the empty house. Pain radiates through your body, from somewhere in your chest to the tips of your fingers. The nausea has increased tenfold. You inhale sharply, resting your head on your knees. Watery eyes fixed on the front door your wife had just walked out of, this gut wrenching feeling of loneliness overwhelms you.

"Happy anniversary Abby."

[lia-linny]

Your request are open so could you maybe write a Felix neighbor au? I think he has boy next door vibes.

-🍒 anon

summary: Felix moves in next door and you hit it off immediately due to your shared passion for baking.

genre: fluff, neighbor au

words: 2.4k

The cold was moving through the empty corridors of yn's apartment complex. Winter announced itself with icy temperatures, which were still not enough for snow, and bare trees. It was a lonely, characterized by winter depressions. People wrapped up alone in their sofa blankets and tried to compensate for their problems with cookies and cheesy Christmas movies. Like every year, yn was one of those people. Kevin Alone at Home was her go-to, but just as she was about to start the fourth rerun of her favorite chrismas movie with a slice of freshly baked apple pie, there was a knock at the door.

Groaning, she untangled herself from her pile of blankets and hurried to the door. When she opened it, a handsome young man stood in front of her in the run-down and definitely not heated hallway. however, his broad smile had a warm glow, like hot chocolate with marshmallows, which made up for the lack of heating and immediately captivated her.

"Hey, I'm Felix. It looks like I'm your new neighbor." He beamed at her as if he couldn't imagine anything better than living next door to her, even if yn would have lost a lot of enthusiasm in his place after seeing the cracked walls and broken radiators. That's why she admired him all the more for his positive disposition as he chatted away happily. He was obviously a real social butterfly.

"I moved here for my work. I'm actually from Sydney, but a well-known dance school made me an offer I couldn't refuse, so I traveled halfway around the world for a bit." He laughed, a laugh as warm and hearty as his charisma.

"I really like it here so far. Ah, before I forget! I brought you some brownies. They're my specialty and I thought a welcome gift would go down well with the neighbors. I don't want to make myself unpopular." He laughed again. As if this personification of kindness and joy could ever make himself unpopular, but she was happy to take brownies anyway. She doubted that he could match her own, baking was her specialty after all, but she had to give him a chance.

"Thank you very much for the brownies... don't worry, the people who live on this floor are all grumpy housewives or old businessmen anyway. They hate you with or without brownies... At least I found all my welcome muffins in the trash outside a day later." yn laughed as she looked at Felix's horrified face.

"How can one be so mean?" he asked indignantly. Yn shrugged her shoulders.

"They're all bitter and have to take it out on their fellow human beings I guess..."

"Well then, promise me that at least you'll actually try my brownies. It would be too bad if all of them were thrown away." Yn giggled as she took the plate of still-warm brownies and nodded in response to his request.

"Promise!" He smiled at her from ear to ear and shyly she waved goodbye to him for now, even though as she closed the door she had a feeling that she would see him again sooner than she thought.

~☆~

The warm light from the ceiling lamp, together with the dimmed moonlight, was the only thing that illuminated the small kitchen, which was in the midst of the usual chaos that night-time stress baking brings for yn. Bowls were piled up in the sink, cutlery, any other baking utensils and food such as leftover sugar or eggshells scattered across the worktop.

She carefully weighed the ingredients and mixed them in her bowl. A little sugar, then the butter, but when she added the flour, the scale showed far too low a number. She needed at least twice as much for the amount prescribed in the recipe. However, she had already used up the entire contents of her packet. Sighing, she looked around her kitchen. There was no way this little amout of flour would be enought for the cake she wanted to bake.

But as it was the middle of the night, she didn't really feel like going out into the unsafe streets of her town to look for flour in a Convince store. So she really only had one option. Wait until the next day began and then continue baking. Resigned, she washed her hands and was about to watch her favorite show on the couch for the thousandth time when she thought of another option.

So she hesitantly entered the long hallway that connected her apartment to the others on her floor in her cute dog slippers. Carefully, she headed for her new neighbor's door. Felix had brought her his tasty brownies. That had to mean that there was at least a chance that he had flour at home.

She knocked on his door, barely audibly, before her courage could leave her. At first nothing stirred behind the walls and as she was about to give up and shuffle back to her apartment, she heard footsteps and soft rustling behind the still closed door. She hurriedly ran her hands through her hair, regretting that she had decided to do this, when the door opened.

Felix stood in the doorway. His hair was disheveled and his eyes narrowed. His freckles were clearly visible in the dimmed light of the hallway lamp and played around his soft facial features. But then her gaze wandered a little further down, too far down, because she realized that his top was completely missing. He had obviously forgotten to put on a T-shirt.

Her cheeks burned and she jerked her gaze away, even though she couldn't deny that she would have loved to keep looking at his well-formed six-pack. She covered her eyes with her hand to shield her bright red face from him.

"Oh..." his voice sounded even deeper than during the day, but one could still hear the embarrassment in it.

"I'm incredibly sorry! Give me a second!" He disappeared again and returned shortly afterwards, this time wearing a loose hoodie that completely covered his well-trained upper body.

"Hey!" Despite his tired eyes, he stole a glance at her.

"Hi, um... I was wondering if you had any flour left... i started baking and well... of course i didn't realize until much too late that i didn't have enough flour." Embarrassed, she stuttered her explanation. She desperately tried to banish the image of his body in her mind. Her neighbor laughed and then nodded.

"Of course I've got flour, what do you think of me? After all, my famous brownies don't bake themselves!" She had to giggle at his feigned offense. It made her relax a little again. Yn waited while he disappeared into his apartment to fetch her flour. But when he brought a 10 kilo bag instead of a small package, she was amazed.

"What do you need so much flour for?" she asked in horror.

"Do you think baking is a joke for me?" Felix just laughed and heaved the sack towards her apartment. He carefully put the flour down in her kitchen.

"You can keep the rest. I've got about six of the sacks left." He had to chuckle when she gasped in astonishment. How could one person ever use so much flour?

"Don't ask, it was a housewarming gift from my friends. They thought they had to celebrate my move by making me bake more brownies for them." Felix laughed, obviously reveling in happy memories of his friends. Yn had to giggle too, as this action sounded all too much like something her own friends would do. Her best friend had once told her that she would kill for her cake and she had meant it.

"Thank you for the flour. Are you sure you don't want me to bring you back the rest?"

"No, it's all good. But I would really appreciate a slice of whatever it is you're making." Felix winked at her, which turned her stomach, and the tingling sensation that followed replaced the previously very dominant desire for something sweet. He waved goodbye and Felix had already disappeared from her apartment, but his presence could still be felt in her glowing cheeks and trembling fingers.

~☆~

In the weeks that followed, she saw Felix again and again. She didn't quite understand it yet, but he triggered strange feelings in her that she couldn't interpret. But one thing was certain: she felt drawn to him, wanted to crouch down next to him when he stroked a cat outside her apartment complex, take his hand when he brought her mail up or hug him when he praised her cake.

And obviously this feeling of attraction was mutual, because one day when yn came home from work stressed out, she found a plate of brownies and a card on her doorstep. Curious, she bent down to find a neatly handwritten note from her neighbor.

'Hi, hi, if you have another flour emergency or just want to text, here's my number.

p.s. I hope you like the brownies >3'

She stared perplexedly at the digits that added up to his number. Slowly she typed the them into her phone, double-checking each number. Then she typed a cautious 'hey'

~☆~

Y/n stood on the friendly doormat and knocked on the door diagonally opposite hers with her cake box in hand. She had actually baked a cake because her parents were coming over today, but a few minutes ago they had canceled at short notice and Y/n really didn't feel up to eating a whole cheesecake by herself. So she hoped that Felix would take some of her cake. After all, it wasn't unusual for the two of them to provide each other with homemade baked goods of any kind.

When the door opened, however, she was not greeted by Felix's friendly face but looked directly into the eyes of a young man with a mischievous grin. Yn noticed how round his cheeks were as he shouted over his shoulder:

"Guys! It's Felix's baking girl from next door and he wasn't exaggerating, she really does look like a goddess!" Pure chaos then broke out. Numerous voices could be heard from the apartment, shouting and screaming and, if yn wasn't mistaken, something must have fallen over and broken.

"Jisung! Leave her alone, stop that shit!" Felix could be heard shouting, but the man he was obviously talking to only turned to her and winked. She felt her cheeks grow hot as she watched Felix fight his way down the corridor to the door in record time. He pushed his friend into the apartment and closed the door behind him.

Relieved, he leaned against it, his eyes closed, and yet he felt yn's questioning gaze on him.

"sorry, i'm sooo sorry! My friends can be a bit much. Please tell me you don't hate me, because I could understand thst after Jisung." He looked at her absently and yn started snorting.

"That was fucking weird!" She laughed, which brought a lovesick look to Felix's face that she didn't seem to notice. He didn't know what it was, but he would do anything to see her smile. It sweetened his every day. Felix often heard that he was a ray of sunshine, but he had never seen such a radiance as when she laughed. It fascinated him like nothing else and suddenly he had an infinitely strong desire to hold her close to him. When she had wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes, she held up the cake expectantly.

"I baked a cake, but my visitor canceled. I just wanted to ask if you'd like a slice or two but it looks like you've got a whole horde of people in there so you might as well have the whole thing. " She held the cake out to him expectedly, but instead of taking it, he stared at her lips.

There was a change in the atmosphere, it was full of electricity and tension now. Suddenly she realized how little space there was between them and yet she wanted nothing more than to close the gap. Carefully, she took a step closer to him. Yn studied his face, his brown eyes, the position of his freckles and his rosy lips. Were they as soft as they looked?

There were only a few centimeters separating them. Slowly, as if he wanted to give her the opportunity to run away at any time, he approached her. Every millimeter he bridged made them both smile more. She used her free hand to claw at his top in a desperate attempt to somehow stop herself from floating away in happiness. When they finally pressed their lips together, grinning, it was like biting into a sugary cookie. Her dopamine level continued to rise along with her pulse. She felt his warm, soft lips on hers. They moved together, even if her happy grin made the task more difficult. Their breaths became one as they broke away and Felix smiled gently, resting his forehead on hers.

He felt like he could say this way forever but his plans were interupted as his apartment door, against which he was still leaning, suddenly opened behind him.

A small scream escaped him and he flew to the floor with a thud. His friends, who had opened the door, burst out laughing. Yn recognized Felix's friend jisung, who had also opened the door for her earlier. He rolled on the floor laughing, but when his eyes landed on the cake in her hand, his eyes grew huge.

"Is the cheesecake for us?" he asked between pleading and excitement. Yn laughed and nodded. With a happy smile, he took the cake from yn and whizzed back into Felix's apartment, a few of his friends followed him, others stayed behind with her and Felix, who had meanwhile managed to pull himself up from the floor.

"I'm off then." she said, a little embarrassed and avoided looking Felix directly in the eye, as she could already feel the temperature rising in her cheeks. She hastily turned around and fled to her own apartment, where she would spend the next few hours analyzing the situation with her best friend over the phone but before she closed the door her eyes met his and she shot him a loving grin. A promise that this was not the last kiss.

[heartsriki]

A KEYCHAIN FOR TWO ⌇불꽃

pairing ᝰ ni-ki x fem!reader — featuring.. everyone but hee, srry pook :( | word count: 6.3k+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ highschool au, small love triangle, moving cities, a little rivals to lovers (sort of), riki is a jerk sometimes, kissing, fluff, a lil angst, misunderstood feelings, lots of bickering, cussing, drama vibes.

synopsis — after moving to a new city, you worry about the rest of your high school years being spent alone. your worries are immediately shut down as you meet a cute aussie next door and his chaotic group of friends. you all got along, well, everyone besides you and riki.

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊whoever knows where that keychain is from get a kiss... also this took so long to write bc I didn't know where I wanted it to go but I think it ended up cute??? hope you like it!

You never expected your high school years to go like this. It was nearing the end of your 10th-grade year, and out of nowhere, your parents decided to move far away from your hometown. You were afraid. You wouldn’t have your friends or family with you anymore, and the farther you drove from home, the more emotional you felt.

Your dad glanced at you through the rear-view mirror. “What’s with the long face, huh?” he asked, returning his attention to the road.

You didn’t respond. Even though you knew moving was better for your parents for reasons they wouldn’t tell you, you still felt upset.

“Don’t be too mad, sweetheart. You can start fresh here! The education in this city is one of the best!” your mom said enthusiastically as she turned around.

You rolled your eyes, huffing as you turned your gaze back to the view outside the window.

After the long drive, you finally arrived at your new home. The car pulled into the driveway, and you examined the house. It had two floors and looked brand new; the rising sun complimented the lush greenery around it. Your parents excitedly stepped out of the car to admire their home and immediately went to the trunk to unpack.

You stayed inside the car with your arms crossed, still feeling stubborn, until your dad opened your door. “The moving truck won’t be here until the afternoon, but you can go pick out your room,” he said with an encouraging smile and a nod.

That made you happy. You hopped out of the car and jogged to the front door. “Don’t get mad if I pick the master bedroom!” you yelled playfully, looking back before opening the door.

You didn’t spend much time exploring downstairs. Instead, you skipped up the stairs, humming, and made your way down the hall. The first room was small, and the second was way too big.

When you opened the door to the last room, you paused to look around. It was cozy and—

Your train of thought was interrupted by a thud against the window. Slowly, you crept toward it and looked out, spotting a boy halfway out of his window, waving at you. Raising an eyebrow, you opened your window.

“Hey! What’s your name?!” the boy shouted from across the way.

You glanced side to side, then back at him. He had long black hair, an accent, and probably the most gorgeous smile you’d ever seen. “Uh—it’s Y/N!” you shouted back, giggling.

He nodded. “Y/N… That’s cool! My name’s Jake! Are you new to the town?”

You laughed pointing at your parent unloading the car. “Yeah! Pretty obvious don't you think?”

He pouted as he looked at the car, putting a hand on his chest in embarrassment before turning back to you. “Want me to show you around the neighborhood!?”

From that day, you and Jake quickly became friends. You learned that he attended the same school you’d be going to after summer break. You were happy, though that happiness dimmed a bit when you found out he was a junior who is now becoming a senior, which meant he wouldn’t be around for long.

Still, you pushed that thought aside. Over the summer, Jake took you all around town—restaurants, parks, arcades, PC rooms, shops, and even the school you’d be attending. You were practically attached at the hip. He was fun, funny, and smart. You had to admit, he was quickly becoming part of your everyday routine.

By the end of the summer, your small town already felt less intimidating. Slowly, your resentment about the move started to fade. Jake made everything feel easier like the town wasn’t just a place you moved to but a place where you could belong.

When he wasn’t around, you’d find yourself wondering what he was doing. Would school change everything? You didn’t know, but you’d grown attached to him in a way you didn’t know yourself.

Everything went well—until the start of the new school year.

“There’s no way I have to wear this,” you said, picking at your school uniform.

Jake laughed, throwing his basketball up and down. “Come on, you look fine. Besides, every other girl is wearing it too,” he said, half truthfully and half mockingly.

You rolled your eyes at him and started to pack up. “Let’s go before we miss the bus,” you said, putting your headphones on.

Jake groaned from your bed, slowly falling off of it. “Being late doesn’t sound so bad.”

You glared at him, and he quickly stood up, grabbing his things as well.

The walk to the bus was quiet. When you both got on, he spotted one of his other friends and sat down next to them. He invited you to join, but you waved him off. You needed to clear your mind before the start of your 11th year.

You turned up your music and drifted away, watching the scenery pass by.

After a while, the bus neared the stop around your school. You were still out of it and didn’t notice everyone wearing the same uniform as you.

From the back of the bus, a boy in your uniform glanced at you for a second before walking toward the front. He didn’t wake you up until he reached the driver.

“Hey, kid, doesn’t she go to your school?” the driver asked, nodding toward the mirror.

The boy removed one of his headphones and turned to look at you. “How should I know?” he said with a shrug.

The driver made an annoyed face. “Just wake her up, will you? Hurry.”

He groaned and turned back. “Seriously, this is so annoying. Who falls asleep on a bus?” he muttered to himself.

He made his way to you and nudged you, but you didn’t budge. That’s when he grabbed your shoulder and shook you roughly. You yelped and looked at him, but he quickly turned around and got off the bus.

You looked around and realized what had happened. “Oh great, that’s just perfect,” you huffed, quickly adjusting your bag and sprinting to get off the bus.

Once you got off, you realized you had no clue how to get to the school from this area. That’s when you spotted the same boy walking in a direction. You noticed he was wearing the same uniform as you and quickly followed behind him.

“Hey, how do we get to school from here?” you asked, walking beside him.

He looked at you before turning away, ignoring you.

You scoffed and tried again. “Did you hear me?”

He ignored you once more and checked his phone. After glancing at the time, he cursed under his breath and started running.

That made you look at your phone too. You saw it was five minutes before curfew. “Oh shoot!”

You ran behind him, struggling to keep up with his long strides. You both ran until he suddenly stopped. You came to a halt beside him, ready to ask what was wrong, but then you saw it. The entrance monitor was holding a group of late students.

You almost freaked out, but before you could, the boy threw his bag over the fence and started climbing it.

You rushed to the fence and looked up at him. “Help me too!” you whisper-yelled.

He looked down at you with a squint, and you caught a glimpse of his name tag: Nishimura Riki. So that’s his name.

“Why the hell would I help you?” he clicked his tongue and hopped to the other side, leaving you stranded.

You almost got angry, but then you heard footsteps approaching. You knew it was over.

Jake laughed at you. “Are you serious? That’s hilarious! I’m surprised they let you off that easy.”

You glared at him, holding your head in your hands from your desk. Jake had come to visit you in your classroom, which caused a stir among the students. Seniors rarely showed up in this area.

“Haha, very funny. You just left me stranded, you jerk.”

He raised his hands in defense. “Whoa, hey, don’t blame me! Anyway, who was that guy—” Jake glanced at the clock. “Never mind. Class is starting, and I’m not in the mood to get in trouble. See you at lunch?”

You gave him a sweet smile and a small nod. “Sure.”

After he left, two girls turned around in their seats and looked at you. “Is he your boyfriend?”

Your eyes widened, and you shook your head. “No, no, no, of course not—he’s just, y’know…”

“Oh, whoops,” the girls giggled and turned back around talking about how cute he was.

You sighed, resting your head on your desk. Your first day was already a mess.

When the lunch bell rang, students quickly dispersed around the school. You wandered aimlessly, not knowing where to go until someone bumped into you from behind. He stumbled a bit before looking at you in surprise.

“My bad, I didn’t see you. Are you okay?”

You nodded, then noticed Jake beside him.

“Hey, man! Oh, Y/N! I was looking for you. This is Jay. Jay, this is Y/N,” Jake introduced.

Jay grinned and waved. “Hey.”

“Anyway, let’s go meet the rest of the guys. Come on—the stall might be out of snacks by now.”

As you walked behind them, you giggled at their silly arguments. Eventually, you reached a small, tree-shielded area where three guys were already sitting.

“About time,” said a blonde-haired guy. “Who’s this?”

“This is Y/N. Y/N, that’s Sunoo. The other two are Jungwon and Sunghoon,” Jake said.

They nodded and greeted you, and you waved shyly.

“Wow, there are so many of you,” you said with a smile.

Jake laughed, sitting down beside Sunghoon, who was already eating. “Well, one of us already graduated, and the other—hey, where is he?”

Jungwon shrugged. “Late as always—oh, there he is.”

Everyone turned around, but you didn’t realize what was happening until you backed up, startled by someone’s presence.

You looked up and saw him—the guy from the bus. Riki, wasn’t it? He was covered in milk.

You gasped. “I am so, so sorry! I had no idea you were—”

“It’s whatever. I’ll see you guys later,” he mumbled, turning to leave.

You winced and looked back at Jake, who seemed just as shocked.

“Don’t worry, he’s always like this,” Jake said, waving it off.

Since then, you got to know the group very well. They became your closest friends. You barely saw Riki, though, and the others said he was just shy. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t like you very much.

A few weeks had passed since you joined Jake’s friend group, and while you’d grown close to most of them, Riki remained distant. Every time you tried to talk to him, he would brush you off or give one-word answers. At first, it annoyed you, but now, it just made you curious.

One afternoon, as the group sat together under the trees, you noticed Riki sitting off to the side, headphones on, scrolling through his phone. Sunoo was telling a funny story about something that had happened in class, and everyone was laughing, but Riki didn’t even glance up.

You leaned over to Jake and whispered, “Does he ever, like, talk to anyone?”

Jake chuckled. “Riki? Not really. He’s like that with everyone unless you’re Sunoo. They’re really close.”

You glanced at Riki again. He looked so unapproachable, but that only made you more determined. “I’m gonna go talk to him,” you said, standing up.

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Good luck.”

You walked over and sat down a few feet away from Riki, not wanting to invade his space. He didn’t acknowledge you, so you cleared your throat.

“What are you listening to?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

He slid one headphone off and looked at you, clearly unimpressed. “Music.”

You rolled your eyes. “Obviously. What kind of music?”

He sighed as if the question was the most exhausting thing he’d heard all day. “Why do you care?”

“Because I’m trying to be friendly,” you said, crossing your arms.

“Well, don’t.” He put his headphones back on and turned away.

You stared at him in disbelief. For some reason, his attitude stung more than it should have. Frustrated, you stood up and walked back to the group. Jake gave you a knowing look, “You'll grow on him, trust.”

Despite the occasional moments of civility between you and Riki, he still acted like you were more of a nuisance than anything else. Every interaction with him was a balancing act—sometimes he’d make a snide comment or ignore you entirely, and other times, you’d catch him glancing at you with an unreadable expression.

One day, during gym class, you were paired up with Riki for a partner relay. The teacher’s decision seemed to irritate him immediately.

“Seriously? Out of everyone here, I have to be paired with you?” he muttered under his breath as the two of you walked to your starting position.

“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “You’re not exactly my first choice either.”

He shot you a glare but didn’t say anything else.

The relay involved passing a baton and running a few laps. You were doing fine until it was your turn to hand the baton off to Riki. As you reached him, your grip slipped, and the baton fell to the ground.

“Are you kidding me?” he snapped, snatching it up and taking off without waiting for you to respond.

After the race, he stormed up to you, his dark eyes narrowed. “Do you even know how to hold a baton? Or were you just trying to embarrass me?”

“Relax,” you said, wiping sweat from your forehead. “It was an accident. Maybe if you weren’t so busy staring at me, you could’ve caught it better.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

You felt your cheeks heat with frustration as he walked away, leaving you standing there, fuming.

Later that week, during lunch, you accidentally bumped into a senior in the crowded cafeteria, causing their tray to spill. The student glared at you, their voice dripping with irritation.

“Watch where you’re going,” they snapped, their tone loud enough to draw attention.

“I’m really sorry,” you said, bending down to help clean up the mess.

Before you could finish, the seniors crossed their arms. “Do you even know how expensive this food is? You better pay me back.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but someone beat you to it.

“She said she’s sorry. Let it go,” Riki’s voice cut in, sharp and cold.

You looked up to see him standing a few feet away, his hands in his pockets and his gaze fixed on the senior.

The senior sneered. “And who are you supposed to be? Watch who you’re talking to, I’m your senior”

“I don’t care,” Riki replied, stepping closer. “Just take the apology and move on.”

The senior hesitated, clearly debating whether or not to escalate the situation, but Riki’s icy stare seemed to do the trick. With a huff, they turned and walked away.

You stood up, brushing off your hands. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Don’t thank me,” Riki said, avoiding your gaze. “I just didn’t want to watch you make a fool of yourself.”

“Right,” you muttered, annoyed by his tone. “You’re such a hero.”

He rolled his eyes and walked off, leaving you standing there with mixed emotions.

That was the back-and-forth limbo you and Riki had. It slowly got better up until the end of the year. Jay, Jake, Sunghoon, Sunoo, and Jungwon were all graduating, and they decided they wanted their last hangout to be at a huge festival a good distance away from the city. With permission from your parents, you were allowed to go. You decided that after all this time, you would definitely confess to Jake since you admittedly had a crush on him ever since he showed you around the city. What other chance would you get? If you didn’t tell him before he left, you’d seriously hate yourself.

You were sitting in your room packing your bag when you heard the familiar thud of your window. You rolled your eyes and turned around to see Jake and, surprisingly, Riki too. Though Riki looked shocked to see you—maybe Jake hadn’t told him that you were neighbors. You opened your window.

“What is it, Jake?” you asked.

“Everyone’s done packing. Are you ready?”

You looked around your room. “Yeah, I just finished. Are we seriously taking the train?”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Do you prefer we take a million buses instead?”

Riki groaned at the playful bickering Jake was having with you and checked his phone. “Let’s go.”

Jake nodded and yelled something at you before closing his window. Then he turned to Riki. “Hey, real quick, let me ask you something.”

Riki raised an eyebrow and stopped in his tracks. “Okay?”

Jake took a deep breath. “Do you like Y/N?”

Riki’s eyes widened, and then he scoffed. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Jake awkwardly laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “My bad. It’s just… it’s been months now, and you still act… weird around her. I thought something was up.”

Riki stayed quiet, looking at Jake.

“You should give her a chance. She’s cool.”

Riki remained silent, examining Jake before turning around and leaving.

Everyone met up at the train station and hopped on, finding seats where they could all fit. Everyone paired off, and you hoped to sit with Jake, but as you walked up to the last person without a partner, you realized it was Riki, not Jake. He looked up at you and exhaled, realizing the same thing. He sat up and put his headphones in.

You sat down next to him and did the same, turning on your playlist for the ride and opening a book to pass the time.

Eventually, you nodded off. Riki didn’t notice until he felt a soft nudge on his shoulder. He glanced at you and saw you sleeping soundly against him. He was about to move you off when you adjusted yourself, getting even closer. His ears turned bright red, and he coughed, looking around to make sure no one was watching. He looked back at you and smiled for a brief moment before catching himself and nudging your head away.

When you arrived, everyone was excited about exploring the new city. You went sightseeing, exploring the beautiful greens and skyscrapers when you walked around. That was until you found the famous amusement park and headed inside. Everyone stopped at the gift shop by the entrance to browse. Jay and Jungwon got matching headbands, and Sunghoon and Jake argued over accessories in the corner while Sunoo was adjusting his hair in the mirror.

You looked around for something to buy and ended up spotting a keychain that matched the color of your bag. You loved it, It was perfect but you checked the price and immediately put it down, opting for a headband instead. You looked back at it and pouted. You should've brought more money.

After leaving the gift shop, the group decided to split up again to explore the park more efficiently. Jay, Sunghoon, and Sunoo ran off to check out the go-karts, while Jungwon and Jake insisted on getting on the water ride. That left you and Riki standing awkwardly near the haunted house.

“Guess it’s just us,” you said with a small shrug.

Riki shoved his hands into his pockets, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Yeah. Great.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You know, you could at least pretend to enjoy hanging out with me.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he said flatly.

You sighed, deciding it wasn’t worth arguing. “Fine. Let’s just go in.”

The line for the haunted house was surprisingly short, and soon you were walking into the dark, eerie entrance. The atmosphere was perfect—dim lighting, fake cobwebs, and eerie sound effects played from hidden speakers.

The first jump scare came from a man dressed as a zombie who popped out of a hidden panel in the wall. You screamed and instinctively grabbed Riki’s arm. He froze at the contact, glancing down at your hand before quickly pulling his arm away.

“Scared already?” he teased, though his voice lacked the usual bite.

“I wasn’t scared,” you lied, brushing it off as you continued walking.

The next scare involved a ghoul lunging out from behind a curtain. This time, Riki flinched slightly but tried to play it off. You noticed and couldn’t help but smirk.

“You sure you’re not scared?” you asked, mimicking his earlier tone.

“I’m not,” he grumbled, but his defensive tone made you giggle.

As the haunted house went on, the scares became more intense. At one point, a person dressed as a ghost followed you for what felt like forever. You clung to Riki’s sleeve without realizing it, muttering under your breath about how creepy it was.

When you finally made it out of the haunted house, you let out a relieved laugh. “Okay, that was actually terrifying.”

Riki didn’t say anything at first, his gaze focused on the ground. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than usual. “You weren’t much of a wussy as I thought you’d be”

You tilted your head, confused by the comment. “What? I screamed, like, five times in there.”

“Yeah, but… you didn’t freak out as much as I thought you would.”

“Was that supposed to be a compliment?” you asked, laughing softly.

Riki shrugged, but there was a faint flush to his cheeks as he muttered, “Maybe.”

That moment with Riki was shortly lived as the others found you. You guys were wandering around the park for a while, someone suggested riding the biggest roller coaster there. The excitement in the group was palpable—well, for everyone except Sunoo.

“I’m not doing that,” Sunoo declared, crossing his arms as he looked up at the towering, twisting structure. The screams of riders echoed across the park. “That looks like a death trap.”

Jay smirked, nudging him. “What’s the matter? Afraid you’ll mess up your hair?”

“I’m afraid of dying, genius,” Sunoo shot back, glaring.

“Come on, Sunoo, it’s just one ride!” Jake encouraged, grinning.

“I’ll sit this one out, thanks.”

Jungwon groaned, rubbing his temples. “Fine, you can hold our bags. But we’re not letting you skip every ride.”

The rest of you got in line, Sunoo begrudgingly following along to take everyone’s belongings. While waiting, Jake kept the energy up by teasing Sunghoon, who was unusually quiet as the ride loomed closer.

“You’re nervous, aren’t you?” Jake grinned. “Sunghoon’s scared!”

“I’m not scared,” Sunghoon grumbled. “I’m just… mentally preparing.”

“You mean mentally panicking,” Jay quipped, earning a laugh from the group.

When it was finally your turn, you all piled into the cars. You ended up seated next to Jake, while Riki sat with Sunghoon, and Jay and Jungwon paired up behind you. The car began its slow ascent, the clicking of the chain pulling it higher and higher.

“Why do I let you guys talk me into this stuff?” you muttered, gripping the bar in front of you.

Jake laughed. “Because you secretly love it.”

Before you could respond, the car reached the peak, pausing just long enough for you to see the entire park stretched out below. Then, it plummeted.

The screams were deafening. You yelled along with everyone else as the car whipped around corners, climbed steep hills, and dove into sharp drops. In the spur of the moment, Jake grabbed your hand in fear but you took it in another way.

Somewhere behind you, Jay and Jungwon were whooping loudly, while Riki’s distinct “What the hell?!” cut through the chaos.

When the ride finally screeched to a halt, you stumbled off, legs shaky but adrenaline pumping.

“That was insane!” Jake said, practically bouncing.

“I think I lost my soul back there,” Sunghoon muttered, his face pale as he leaned against a nearby railing.

“Riki looked like he was about to cry,” Jay teased, earning a glare from him.

“I did not,” Riki snapped.

You couldn’t help but laugh at their bickering as you all regrouped with Sunoo, who had been watching from a safe distance.

“Did you see Sunghoon’s face when it dropped?” Sunoo asked, laughing as he handed everyone their bags.

“Don’t even start,” Sunghoon grumbled, still recovering.

Despite the teasing, everyone was in good spirits as you walked to the next ride. It was one of those rare moments where the whole group felt completely in sync, the laughter echoing between you all as the sun began to dip lower in the sky.

The night sky began to settle over the park, casting a soft glow from the flickering lights of the rides. It was unanimously decided that the last stop for the group would be the Ferris wheel. Everyone paired off, and once again, fate (or misfortune, as Riki would claim) left you with him.

“Seriously, this is getting creepy now,” Riki muttered as he stepped into the cart, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“Shut up,” you grumbled, climbing in after him and sitting as far from him as possible.

The ride started with a lurch, pulling your cart upward, and with it came silence that neither of you dared to break. You both sat with your attention fixed on the window, the glowing lights of the amusement park sprawling below like a dream.

Your mind raced, running through the confession you’d been rehearsing for weeks now. After this ride, the fireworks would begin, and it would be the perfect moment to tell Jake how you felt. You could already picture it: the brilliant colors of the sky with fireworks, the spark in his eyes, and—hopefully—his mutual feelings.

Riki, on the other hand, was struggling with something of his own. His fingers fidgeted with a small keychain tucked in his palm, the same one he saw you admiring in the gift shop earlier. He wasn’t sure why he bought it, but the idea of giving it to you now felt almost unbearable. What was he supposed to say? Why did he even care?

The silence stretched on until he noticed you pulling a crumpled piece of paper out of your pocket.

“What’s that?” he asked, breaking the quiet.

You glanced at him briefly before looking back at the paper. “None of your business.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “Seriously? Just tell me.”

You hesitated, chewing your lip. “Promise you won’t tell?”

He shrugged but gave a quick nod.

You sighed, holding the paper tighter. “It’s… my confession speech. To Jake.”

Riki froze, his gaze flickering from your face to the paper in your hands.

“I was planning to confess after this ride,” you admitted softly, a small, nervous smile playing on your lips. “I’ve been working on this for weeks. It’s kind of embarrassing, but… I just thought it’d be the perfect time, y’know?”

Riki stayed quiet, his chest tightening as he clenched the keychain in his hand. You went on, explaining your plan in detail—the timing, the words, how you’d muster the courage to pour your heart out. But his thoughts drowned out your voice.

Why Jake?

He snapped back to reality when he noticed your voice falter. Following your gaze, he leaned forward to see what had caught your attention. Down below, standing near one of the snack stalls, was Jake. But he wasn’t alone.

You froze.

Jake leaned in, pressing a kiss to another girl’s lips, his hand resting casually on her waist.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. You stared, unable to look away, your chest tightening painfully as reality crashed down.

“I should’ve known,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Of course…”

Your vision blurred as tears began to well up, but before they could spill, a hand gently grabbed your face and turned it away.

“Look,” Riki said softly, guiding your gaze to the horizon.

The first firework burst into the night sky, a brilliant explosion of color that lit up the cart. More followed, painting the sky in shimmering reds, blues, and gold.

Riki didn’t let go of your face for a moment, watching you instead of the display. He hoped the fireworks would be enough to distract you, to erase the image of Jake. But when your shoulders began to shake, his breath caught.

Tears silently rolled down your cheeks, and Riki froze, unsure of what to do. His arms twitched, hovering awkwardly as if he wanted to comfort you but didn’t know how. He moved his hands from cleaning your tears to your shoulders, now rubbing them.

“Don’t cry,” he mumbled, his voice unsteady. “It’s not worth it.”

You didn’t respond, wiping at your cheeks hastily as the cart slowly descended. By the time the ride ended, your tears had dried, and you stepped out without a word, walking back toward the group as if nothing had happened.

Riki followed behind, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, the keychain still tucked tightly in his fist. He didn’t know why it made him so angry seeing you like this, but it did. For the rest of the night, he watched you from a distance, wishing he could say something—anything—to make it better.

But he stayed silent.

And the keychain stayed hidden.

After the happy persona you displayed in front of the group that night, you stayed tucked away in your room. Occasionally, your friends would text, asking where you were and if you were okay. In reality, you weren’t. Nobody knew what you saw on the Ferris wheel or how it made you feel—except Riki. It was mortifying, honestly. You felt so stupid.

Sometimes, you’d hear the familiar sound of pebbles hitting your window. You didn’t need to think to know who it was. How could you face him now? Could you even say anything? Hopefully Riki didn’t tell him, he wouldn’t.

As you lay in bed, slowly succumbing to your thoughts, you heard a soft knock at your door. You assumed it was your mom—she’d been trying to get you out of your room for days, though nothing had worked. That’s what you thought, anyway.

The door creaked open slowly. Instead of your mom, a familiar face peeked in. “It’s me.”

You jumped at the sight of him and quickly straightened up in bed, fixing your hair and rubbing your eyes. “Riki? Why are you here?”

He smiled softly and stepped inside, his eyes wandering around your room, taking in the unfamiliar space. Finally, he looked back at you.

“You know why,” he said, sitting down beside you. He placed a paper bag on the bed and began to open it.

The bag was filled with snacks and your favorite meal. Your heart swelled at the gesture. “Riki…”

“You like this, right? You always ate it during lunch,” he said, shoving the bowl toward you and looking away slightly, his ears tinged red.

A small laugh escaped your lips, and his eyes snapped back to you, his expression softening at the sight of your smile. As you opened the bowl and settled more comfortably, he cleared his throat, as if preparing to speak.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently.

You stiffened but forced a small smile, poking at your food with your fork. “I don’t know. It was pretty dumb of me to start crushing on our senior, right?” You laughed nervously, trying to play it off.

“I don’t think so,” he replied, opening a snack. “Feelings are complicated. We can’t control them.”

His eyes found yours, holding your gaze with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “I would know,” he whispered.

The sincerity in his voice and the way his eyes softened in the warm glow of your room made you quickly look away, your face heating up.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence. Unlike others who tried to console you by distracting you, Riki stayed, grounding you with his quiet presence. He didn’t try to fix anything. He simply let you exist, and it was exactly what you needed.

His eyes wandered, landing on a piece of paper on your desk. Curiosity piqued, he leaned forward to grab it.

“Don’t touch that!” you yelped, grabbing his arm to stop him.

In your haste, you accidentally pulled him toward you. He landed on top of you, and the room fell silent as the weight of the situation settled over you both. You expected him to pull away immediately, but he didn’t. Instead, his eyes met yours, searching, as if trying to understand what you were thinking.

Moments later, he lowered his head onto your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist in a loose hug.

“Riki…?” you whispered.

“Hm?” he hummed, his voice muffled.

“You’re squishing me,” you muttered.

He quickly sat up, brushing himself off and clearing his throat, his face flushed. He ran a hand through his hair before glancing back at you.

“Sorry—I don’t know what that was,” he said, his voice awkward as he got up. “I’ll, uh, head out so you can enjoy the food. No more skipping school, okay? They—we—miss you.”

He walked toward the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “You left something in the bag,” he added with a small smile before stepping out.

Raising an eyebrow, you checked the bag again. At the bottom, you found a small blue box. Your heart raced as you picked it up, inspecting it carefully before opening it. Inside was a keychain you’d desperately wanted from the gift shop.

Underneath it, a folded note read:

I didn’t know how to give this to you, so yeah. Don’t lose it or I’ll beat you up. – N.R.

Your heart sped up as you held the keychain. How had he known you wanted this? You stood, conflicted thoughts swirling in your head.

At first, you thought Riki was cold and distant. But now, looking back at the past few months—the festival, the Ferris wheel, the way he held your gaze under the fireworks—you realized just how wrong you were. Riki… You overlooked him for too long.

Without another thought, you grabbed a coat and ran out the door. Had he really walked home in this weather without a jacket?

The icy night air stung your exposed skin, but you didn’t care. You sprinted down the street, your breath visible as you called his name in your head.

Riki walked slowly down the street, his thoughts lost until the sound of hurried footsteps pulled him back to reality. He turned, wide-eyed, as you stopped a few feet away, breathless and disheveled.

“Riki… it’s freezing. Are you an idiot?” you panted, draping your coat over his shoulders.

He blinked, startled, before laughing softly. “You chased me just for this?”

You pouted at his teasing, pulling the keychain from your pocket. “How did you know I wanted this?”

He froze, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I-I don’t know.”

“You do know. Why did you get it?”

“I… don’t know that either.”

“You know that too,” you said quietly, stepping closer. Your eyes flickered to his lips before meeting his nervous gaze.

The cold night air bit at your skin, your breath visible in soft clouds as you stood beneath the flickering streetlight. Riki’s hands found yours, his fingers warm despite the chill, and for a moment, he just looked at you—his gaze intense, pulling you in like gravity.

Without a word, he leaned in, the world falling silent except for the faint crunch of leaves under his shoes. His lips pressed against yours, soft and unhurried, yet full of unspoken emotion. The cold melted away in an instant, replaced by the warmth of him, his touch grounding you as his hand gently cradled your face.

Time felt like it stopped. It wasn’t rushed, it wasn’t tentative—it was deliberate, like he wanted to make sure this moment stayed with you forever. When he pulled back, his breath mingled with yours in the cold air, his forehead resting against yours, leaving you dizzy and breathless.

“Here, open your hand,” you said pulling away and he did questionably. He felt something being placed in his hand, he stopped admiring you and looked at his hand to see a keychain, similar to yours but a different color.

“When did you—“

“I returned my headband and bought it after the festival as a thank you for the incident in the ferris wheel, look, we can match!” You said grabbing his keychain and holding it next to yours.

He grinned at you, putting an arm over your shoulder to drop you off back home.

His keychain ended up being a keychain for two.

BONUS 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

“Ha! I told you, where is my money sunghoon~“ Sunoo exclaimed clapping his hands.

They promised Riki they would drive away after he was dropped off but.. Sunghoon decided to place a bet.

Sunghoon deadpanned as he watched you run out of the house to chase after Riki. “Okay, how was I supposed to know they liked each other with the way they were acting.” He grumbled giving Sunoo money.

Sunoo flapped the money in his hands smiling. “It was very obvious if you looked closely.”

[cupidlived]

Ride That Wave | 01

summary — After a reckless night changes the entire sphere of your life, your parents send you to live with your aunt in North Carolina. In a setting far from your old, glittering life, you’re left to confront your guilt and the secrets you’ve been running from. Things seem like they’re going uphill after your aunt’s pool boy, JJ, helps you settle in, but will you be able to keep yourself from slipping into your bad habits?

pairing — kook!reader x jj maybank

content — slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers

Aunt Vick is more excited to see you than you ever expected her to be.

"My girls!" she shouts, her voice bright and high, as if she hadn’t just torn herself away from a Southern Living magazine on the swing bench. The magazine flutters to the wooden steps, forgotten.

"Hi, Vick," your mother sighs, her words more tired than affectionate as her sister sweeps her into a tight hug. The Southern twang in your mom’s voice starts to emerge, partially unmasked after years of living in Manhattan. "Thanks for watchin' her. We'll have her back by December at the latest."

Vick grins at you over your mom’s shoulder, her eyes mischievous. She was the last person your mom would have chosen for you to stay with, and everyone knew it. But after your grandparents died, and your father, an only child, had no siblings to lean on, Vick was the only choice.

As your mother and aunt exchange pleasantries, you stand off to the side, your father’s arm wrapped around you like a safety net. He’s always seen you as his angel, even when your actions had been anything but. Now, though, the illusion is shattered, and there’s nothing left for him to say. "Please, be good," he implores, his voice a whisper full of desperation. "I'd love to have you back by the fall."

You don’t mention that your mother said you would be home in December — you know that if he’s aware of her plan, he’ll only lose the inevitable fight to have you back earlier, and you’d be at risk of not being home until the new year. You just let yourself breathe him in, feeling the warmth of his embrace as the finality of it all settles. If he’s right, fall is only three months away. You can survive that, you’ve been through worse.

When it’s time for your mother to say goodbye, there’s an awkward tension that you can’t shake. The last few months have strained your bond, and the guilt is like a heavy stone in your chest. It’s no secret that in the last year you’ve continued to disappoint her more and more. You brace yourself for something cold—a handshake, maybe, something transactional. But instead, she surprises you, her arms opening to pull you close.

The scent of her perfume, gentle and familiar, envelops you as her hand gently strokes your cheek, like it used to when you were little. "You know that all I’ve ever wanted for you was the very best," she whispers, her voice tender, but filled with the weight of the unsaid truth. The unspoken frustration that you won’t let her give you the world.

You nod, pressing your cheek into her palm. The warmth of her touch is a fleeting comfort.

"You've got to want it too, my love," she says softly, and then she pulls away, her gaze lingering just a moment longer before she steps back.

As they climb into the rental car, your mother behind the wheel, your father wipes away tears that are already halfway down his swollen face. The car drives off, its soft grey outline fading into the distance, leaving behind a silence that feels permanent — there’s no going back now. When their flight lands, Vick is supposed to be updating them on your every move, a constant presence in your life, whether you want it or not.

Vick breaks the silence first, as if she can't stand it anymore. "Well, kid. Lemme show you around." She grabs one of your duffels off the brick walkway and heads toward the front door. "Things are a little different after the remodel, so make sure you pay attention."

—

The first few days on Figure 8 pass in a blur of isolation. You’ve spent most of your time holed up in your bedroom, too embarrassed to face the world—or anyone. The silence here is deafening, and the loneliness gnaws at you in ways you never imagined. You’ve reached out to friends from home, of course, but no one is responding. Not that you can blame them. After the mess you made, it feels like you've been shut out for good.

Vick’s attempts to lure you out of your self-imposed exile are relentless. She whispers promises of Pink Whitney and trashy movies. The mention of alcohol makes it clear that she hasn’t quite caught wind of your fall from grace in Manhattan.

By the fifth day, Vick’s patience is wearing thin. It’s 10 a.m. and you’ve barely stirred from your bed, except to push around the plate of French toast she made you earlier. The dining room, pristine in white, feels foreign—an eerily quiet reminder of the last time you were here, more than a decade ago. Back then, your grandparents had been alive, and Vick was 18 and fully ready to leave the nest.

Now, everything has changed. The dining room, once coastal and cluttered with shells and driftwood, is sleek and minimalist. Your aunt inherited the house after your grandparents died, and she had transformed it into something entirely different. "I'm sick of the old coastal asshole look," she had said when the renovations started. "I see those all the time in the houses I list. Gimme class. Gimme modernity." The only thing that remained unchanged was the antique dining table, solid oak, polished to perfection.

Your plate sits facing the newly finished backyard, Vick’s pride and joy. She’d been texting you and your parents updates about the remodel, sending pictures of the work as it progressed, but you hadn’t really paid attention.

The silence between you and Vick stretches on, thick and heavy. She’s practically bouncing in her seat, eyes wide with impatience, waiting for you to speak. But you don’t. And she doesn’t either.

"So..." Vick finally breaks, her voice soft but teasing. "What’d you do?" Her smile is crooked, giving it a boyish charm. "You know you can tell me. I used to be pretty wild back in my day."

You raise an eyebrow, offering nothing but a half-shrug in response. If you're the only one on the island who knows the full story, you'd rather keep it that way.

Vick huffs, clearly starting to lose her patience. "Come on, spill it. Did you kill somebody? Have a pregnancy scare?"

"No!" You almost laugh, though it sounds hollow. You fiddle with your fork, taking a quick glance of the backyard. At this point, anything is better than entertaining Vick’s curiosity. A guy is out there, netting leaves from the willow tree and fishing them out of the infinity pool. You don’t want to talk about it. Not yet, at least.

Vick’s gaze follows your line of sight, and her smile widens. Just like that, her previous line of questioning vanishes into thin air. "See something you like?" she teases, her tone full of mischief.

The sun has crept high, beating down on anyone caught in its rays. This guy? No shirt, sweat glistening on his bronzed skin as he hauls the net over his shoulder, muscles flexing in a way that makes you feel suddenly very aware of your own discomfort.

"Yeah, pretty cute," you offer, trying to sound casual, though you’re sure your voice betrays you. 'Cute' doesn’t even come close. But you’ve sworn off boys until at least a year into college. So you force your attention elsewhere. Your syrup has congealed into a thin skin, and you twirl your fork in it absently, trying to focus on anything but the man in the backyard.

Just as you do, you notice the way his eyes flick to you through the glass door, the briefest glance that sends a flush rushing to your cheeks.

Vick leans in with a grin that says she knows exactly what you’re thinking. "That’s JJ, my new pool boy. He’s your age, I’m guessing." Her eyes dance with amusement, clearly relishing in your sudden discomfort. "I could totally set you up, if you want."

You shake your head quickly, your heart picking up speed. "No," you mutter, hoping JJ didn’t realize you’d been staring. "I’ve got bigger things to worry about right now." You push the plate of untouched food aside, suddenly realizing how childish you must look, poking at your breakfast like a kid.

Vick laughs and grabs your plate, tossing the food into the trash. “Oh, I love some forbidden action," she teases, nudging you with her shoulder. "Besides, romance isn’t dead, kid."

You can’t help but roll your eyes, though part of you wonders if she’s right.

thank you for all of the support on the intro 🥹 sooo excited to be writing again & i’ll likely be making a separate blog so i can interact w everyone 🫶🏽

[admirationandromantics]

Warm Water Helper

Josh Washington x reader

My first Josh x reader fiction. Hope you guys like it, I love writing about this mentally insane hot man.

Word count: 1,2k (Unedited)

“There’s no hot water!!” Sam shouts from the bathroom. Josh gives up on the fire, standing up and fixing his belt. 

“Yeah sorry, I’ll go fix it now” he shouts back, breathing heavily out afterwards. She moves down half of the stairs, asking if he needs help. Ashley answers for him. 

“This lazy fucker should go with him, just you check the water in 10 minutes. Get ready!” she points at me.

I give Ashley scowl, and drag down her fingers which are still pointing in the air. Chris gives me a look, and Josh is still standing still, waiting. 

“Okay, 10 minutes” Sam exclaims, walking upstairs again. I lean towards Ashley, coming close to her ear. 

“You’re gonna pay”

“Hey, this is good for you AND me, we both get ‘alone time’” She says, leaning away and signalling to Josh who’s still waiting. 

“Fine”

“Don’t go too far lovebirds, you never know what might happen down there!” Chris shouts as we walk towards the cellar door. While walking, I notice a slight cut on Josh’s finger, I abruptly grab his hand. 

“What have you done?” 

He just looks surprised down at his hand, apparently he hasn’t noticed before. 

“Hmm, must’ve happened when I tried making the fire” he answers. It seems true, though he has been feeling a bit off since we came. I get why. When we’re halfway down the stairs I stop him. Taking hold of his bicep and turning him around to face me. 

“Hey Josh, I think we need to talk”

“Whatever about?” he asks, grabbing hold of my hand and leading me further down the basement. I decide to tell him, even though I really wanted to do it face to face. 

“I’m sorry about what happened last year, had I known how it would turn out I wouldn’t have, you know…” 

“You weren’t in on the prank”

“No, but if you had been there and not with me, maybe things would’ve turned out differently”

He looks down, still holding my hand and squeezing it a bit. Letting his thumb rub over my knuckles. 

“I’ve learned that we can’t think like that”

“But-”

“We cannot change what happened, we just have to find a way to live with it. I don’t blame you for anything that happened.” We continue down the stairs, eventually coming to a dark creepy room. The cold air hits me, and I immediately shutter. He notices and drags me into him. His arms around me, and my face against his chest. I try to make out words, but they come out as small squeaks since he’s squeezing me so hard. 

“Josh, I’m here for you, you know that right?” He loosens his hold, backing away a bit so I can see his face. 

“I know, and I’ve missed you so much. I should’ve called or texted or something” he looks down, one hand sliding from my face to my waist. 

“I know you went through much, I understand why things didn’t happen” I answer him, carefully cupping his face and making him look at me. He lets out a heavy breath, taking my hand in his and beginning to walk again. 

“You know-” he starts

“I’ve been wanting to see you again” he turns his head to the side, and the signature boyish smirk is plastered on him. 

“Oh really?” I play along, the mood feeling lighter. 

“Yeah, not being able to go all the way, and having to wait a whole year to try again”

“So this whole plan was a setup to get me here?” 

“Maybe”

I laugh as he stops and hands me a flashlight. 

“Before we get any further, we need to get Sam her hot water. Light this here” he smiles and points to some type of machinery. 

“Oh, so we’re going further?” I playfully ask, grazing his neck with my fingers while he clicks some stuff. 

“Oh you have no idea what my plans are” he says, turning on a red light. 

“Can you turn that switch over there?” he points, and I manage. The light beside him instantly becomes green, and he hoists himself up. 

“We did it!” he exclaims holding his arm up for a high five. Just as I’m about to give it to him, his hand slides under mine, making me crash into him, lips meeting his. After the initial shock, he presses deeper into me, parting my lips and letting his tongue in. My arms, already over his shoulders from his stunt, grab hold of his hair. His arms move down below my waist and I jump. He easily catches me, hands grabbing my thighs. He moves towards the concrete wall, slamming my back into it. I love that he’s not aware of his own strength. I let out a gasp upon the impact, making him pull back. 

“You okay?”

“I’m not made of glass” I answer, pulling him towards me and capturing him with my thighs. 

“I’m going to test that theory later.” My body grows hot, my core starting to ache. He moves his face down to my neck, leaving small love bites and kisses. I make out small moans, grabbing him tighter. God, how I’ve missed him. 

Before we can get any further a sound is heard, and we immediately stop. Like a box was knocked over. 

“Did you hear that?” Josh asks. I nod in reply, careful not to make any sounds. He puts me down silently, and we make our way towards the stairs. I look around while walking, spotting wires, small lights and a long tube-like thing laying on the floor by another door. As we’re approaching the stairs, a man with a mask and cloak jumps us, screaming. We both shout, Josh grabbing my hand firmly and running up the stairs as fast as we both manage. I instantly slam the door, trying to get it open. 

“I won’t fucking open Josh!!” I scream, trying the handle again and again uselessly. 

“Shit shit shit” Josh exclaims, pushing me behind him as the figure makes its way up the stairs. I still try prying open the door. 

“Heeey” I hear. 

“What?” I whisper, as Josh relaxes. 

“Heeeeeeeey” I hear again, the man waving his arms around. Chris. It’s Chris. Josh starts laughing, but I’m still not over the shock. 

“Why would you do that?” I ask him angrily, making him snicker. Josh finds the key and opens the door. Chris starts explaining. 

“Well, I considered not doing it, since when I was done getting the costume on you guys seemed pretty busy.” He winks at Josh, and I roll my eyes. 

“But think about it this way, there were probably many rats there, a couple of insects, dusty, the whole package. I saved you guys, hygienically.”

I agree with him, we probably would’ve taken it further if not for him. And it’s not really the ideal place. I look up at Josh and meet his gaze. He’s still breathing heavily. He leans down to my ear, whispering. 

“Go to my room, I’ll get a fire starting here and I’ll meet you there.”

I don’t hesitate, only waiting to give him a quick peck on his cheek.

“Don’t take too long, or else I have to take action alone”

“We wouldn’t want that, do we?” he smirks, walking over to the others. 

“Hey, where are you going?” Ashley shouts. 

“Getting comfortable!” I shout back. “You know, settled and stuff!”.

[ghosty-writes-23]

I'm Not Coming Home. - Leon S Kennedy.

!TAGS!: NSFW Content, Virginity Loss, Fluff & Angst, !WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT!, Foreplay, Body Worship, Eating Out, Soft!Dom!Leon, Aftercare, Sad Ending.

Pairing: RE2R!Boyfriend!Leon + Virgin!Girlfriend!Reader

Rating: Mature.

Summary: "Nothing Lasts Forever, Nothing Stays The Same." You and Leon and in love until one day Leon decided to go to Raccoon City after not hearing from his lieutenant in weeks, but little did both of you know that one decision was going to change both of your lives forever...

Word Count: 4.7k

Ghosty's Notes: Hello, I know this one is a little more of a sadder one, but I did try and make the smut scene a little better, since the last one was a little lack luster, but I do hope you enjoy this one.

----------

Thank you for all the support, it means alot❤️

-Ghosty❤️

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18+ Content // Minors DO NOT Interact // 18+ Content.

It was a normal cozy Saturday afternoon, you were lounging around your dorm room in comfortable clothing which consisted of a pair of light blue sleep shorts with little white clouds on them and one of your boyfriend Leon’s oversized hoodies that was almost like a dress on you as it came to mid-thigh, currently you were laying your head on Leon’s lap listening to him hum a soft turn as he was reading his police academy textbook and playing with your hear causing a small hum and leave your lips as you enjoyed his attention and affection.

Leon had been told to wait until he got the order that he could come to the Raccoon City Police department or RDP for short, because last week he got an order to stay away until it was safe to come, he was a little confused at first but he agreed listening to his lieutenant, but you knew deep down and was worried and a little disappointed that he had to wait, but if they were direct orders then he would listen to them.

You knew this was an amazing opportunity for him and his career, but it did make you a little sad that you wouldn’t be able to see him every time he came in for his morning coffee at the café you worked at, always ordering an abnormally sweet drink and a piece of the cake of the day that your mom had made that morning, he loved ant type of your mom’s baking as he had a huge sweet tooth.

Your mom likes to have Leon taste all her new creations and free of charge of course because you knew deep down she saw Leon as her future son in law so he shouldn’t have to pay, even if you kept telling her you both were too young to be thinking that far ahead into the future, sometimes she herself knew her creations weren’t good enough for the café, but Leon still eat them with a smile on his face.

“Have you heard back from your lieutenant?” You asked Leon as he had moved his hand from your head and was now resting against your cheek as he stroked the soft skin there, but his eyes were glued to his textbook as if he was trying to memorise it so he was prepared for when he would eventually leave for Raccoon city. “No, I haven’t, but if I haven’t heard from them in a couple of days I will give them a ring.” Leon says before he took his eyes off his textbook and looked at you giving you a small, tired smile before he pulled you closer to him and leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead then rested his own forehead there.

“As much as waiting around sucks, I’m happy I get to spend more time with you before you go.” You say softly as you looked up into his blue eyes that are warm with love and affection for you, your own eyes mirroring the same warmth and emotion in your eyes. “I knew you would say that princess.” Leon says with a small laugh as he leaned down and captured your lips between his in a soft kiss.

You and Leon had come up with a plan to deal with a long distant relationship, since you were halfway through your semester and you wanted to at least complete this year then transfer to Raccoon city university before you moved in with Leon, it was only just 6 months away until you two would finally have your own apartment and no more shower sharing or no more shower caddy for you or timed showers, you will have your own personal shower and can take nice long hot showers, it sounded like a dream come true.

As the kiss deepened, his tongue teasing your bottom lip as asking for entry into your mouth, you opened your mouth as you moved and wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer as he deepened the kiss and wrapped his arms around your waist, you and Leon have had make out sessions before but you have never gone further then that, but since your roommate is away for the next couple of days visiting her boyfriends family out of town and you finally had the dorm to yourself, so you thought today might be the day you wanted to lose your virginity to Leon.

Pulling away from the kiss a string of saliva connected to both of your lips, a soft whine left Leon’s lips as he moved his head slightly closer to you as if to chase your lips and put them back against his, this caused a soft laugh to leave your lips as you rested your forehead against his and saw his eyes open. “why’d you stop, did you want to stop?” Leon asked softly his concern clear on his face thinking he did something wrong; he never wanted to hurt you or make you feel uncomfortable or pressured into doing something you didn’t want to do; he would respect your boundaries.

“I want this, I do.” You reassured him before gently bumped your nose against his, a soft smile on your face as you looked into his eyes. “I want to go further.” You say quietly as you felt your cheeks and tips of your ears start to burn slightly, this was big for you knew Leon wasn’t a virgin, but he was always open with you if you had any questions for him, you knew he would take care of you, and you trusted him with everything you had.

“Are you sure Y/n, I mean this is a huge decision.” Leon says looking at you with wide eyed, you knew this was a huge decision but to you it felt right, and you wanted to loss your virginity to him before he left to go to Raccoon city. “Yes Leon I’m sure, I love you and I trust you.” You say looking up at him as you saw him gulp, the tips of his ears was slightly red as well his blonde hair slightly falling over his eyes.

“Okay.” He says softy before he scoops you up in his arms with ease and starts making his way to your bedroom, you cling to him a soft giggle leaving your lips as your heart was racing in your chest, you couldn’t believe you were actually doing this, but you knew that Leon would take care of you and make this as comfortable and positive as he could for your first ever sexual experience.

*In Your Room*

Leon place you gently onto your bed before he moved above you, his knee was in between your thighs, his hands were either side of your head as he looked down at you, his gaze was warm and filled with love and affection. “I love you.” You say softly causing a smile to form on his lips as well as his cheeks slightly colouring as well. “I love you too princess.” Leon says before he leaned down and gently kissed you, your eyes fluttered close as you enjoyed the sensation of his warm lips against yours.

Your arms came up and wrapped around his neck pulling him closer to you as this time you decided to tease your tongue along his bottom lip before he opened his mouth and you tangled your tongue with his, a soft moan left your lips as you felt one of his hands cupping the side of your face and gently stroking your cheek, the small affection makes your heart rate pick up slightly. Soon he broke the kiss and started to trail soft kisses down your jawline to your neck, the hand that was on your cheek moved and went to the bottom of the hoodie you were wearing, but his movements stopped.

“Is this ok?” he asked huskily against your ear, his breathing slightly heavy as his lips were pressed against the soft skin of your neck. “Yes.” You says closing your eyes as you enjoyed the sensation, your hands slightly gripping the blanket that was under your body on your bed, Leon pulled away from your neck and carefully tugged your hoodie off leaving you in your bra and little cotton shorts. “So beautiful.” He says with a soft hum as his eyes looked over your body, he looked at you if you had hung the stars, because in his eyes you did.

You looked away feeling slightly embarrassed at his words, but he just chuckled softy before he reached behind him and pulled off his shirt and tossed it onto the bedroom ground, as you looked at his body you found yourself biting your lip as your thighs subconsciously squeezed together, you had seen Leon shirtless multiple times over your relationship but today it just felt different. Looking up at him you saw a faint blush on his cheeks, reaching up you were hesitant to touch his bare skin, but Leon grabbed your hand and intertwined your fingers together before he placed it over his chest right over his heart, you could feel it thumping against your hand with every beat.

You slightly flexed your fingers before your eyes meet his pupils were slightly wider as his eyes didn’t leave yours, moving up you so you were now sitting up you bumped your nose against his before you leaned forward and placed a kiss on his shoulder and started to trial kisses up to his neck, making sure to place a soft kiss on each of the moles that was on his neck, knowing they were his weak spots, with each kiss a grunt or a course would leave his lips as you gently suckled the soft skin leaving a little mark.

Soon you were gently pressed back onto the bed and before you could protest you felt Leon’s lips against the bare of your lower chest as he began to trail kisses downwards, your body feeling as if it was on fire from how hot you were feeling, your fingers went to his hair as you moved it out of his face as he reached the hem line of your shorts, his eyes looked up at you his expression was one of love and lust, his eyes were hooded, you nodded your head before you felt his fingers hook into your shorts and gently tugged them down carefully.

“Lift your hips for me baby.” He asks his voice huskier then usual, you nodded your head and did as you were told, soon your shorts were tugged off and tossed onto the ground and forgotten. Moving Leon placed your legs over his shoulder as he started to place soft kisses on your inner thigh, causing soft whines to leave your lips.

“what are you doing?” You asked him as you couldn’t look at him in the eyes, you felt too embarrassed to look at him when you had him in between your legs. “going to get you nice and prepared for me.” He says as his kisses grew higher until you could feel his breath on the corner of your panties that were sticking to your slick folds that was currently clenching around nothing in need. You didn’t know what he meant by preparing you but when he placed a gentle kiss on your clothed clit it made a whine like moan leave your lips before you pushed your hips slightly more towards his face, the touch making you needy and wanting more.

Leon just gave you a smile before he ran his tongue up the length of your entrance to the top of your clit causing another sweet whine to leave your lips as you arched your back as your fingers slightly tightened their grip in his hair. “Please.” You soft pleaded, you needed more to feel direct contact with no barriers at this point you didn’t care how needy you felt or seemed, you needed more of this pleasure, you needed more of him. “Such a needy girl.” Leon teases but you could tell he was just as affected as you could see his bulge against his sweatpants, but he seemed to be ignoring it and focusing more on your pleasure then his own.

He didn’t bother taking your panties off, instead he just pulled them to the side before running his tongue up in a slow motion, his eyes not leaving your and you felt as if your soul left your body with how he was looking at you as he devoured you like a starved man. You thighs tightened around his head as if you couldn’t comprehend the pleasure that was running through your veins, but Leon didn’t seem to mind, in fact he looked as if he was in her own personal heaven between your thighs, his eyes closed his tongue deep inside your aching pussy, your slick coating his lips as he made soft suckling noise that made you blush and look away out of embarrassment.

His arms came up and wrapped around your thighs, as if he was trying to pull you even closer as soft whines and moans left your lips, you gripped the pillow under your head as you could feel something tightening in your stomach. “L-Leon.” You gently cried out his name as your whole body started to tremble against him. “I know baby, just let go for me.” He purred against your clit as his tongue was circling around it, that was what threw you over the edge you came with a loud moan of his name as you came undone on his tongue alone.

Once you had come down from your high, you were panting slightly a thin layer of sweat coating your body, you couldn’t meet Leon’s gaze, but you knew he was smiling as he moved up and gently tilted your chin up and gently kissed you again, you could taste your self on his lips which made you blush even more. As he broke the kiss you hid you face in his head as he reached over to grab something out of his wallet that was in the back of his pants that were on the ground beside your bed.

You could hear the sound of the condom wrapper rustling in Leon’s hand as he placed it on the bedside table, then he moved his hand to gently cup your cheek and pulled you up so your gaze would meet his. “how was that?” he asked as he gently stroked your cheek with his thumb, you found yourself nuzzling into his hand and placing a soft kiss on his palm. “good.” You managed to say, your voice was quiet and almost shy, you really couldn’t believe you just had you boyfriend in between your legs eating you out as if you were his last meal.

“Do you want to continue?” Leon asks, his eyes searching your for any hesitation or anxiety because he wants this to be a positive experience for you. “Yes, please.” You says quietly as you looked at him your cheeks were a lot darker now, but you knew this is what you wanted, for him to be your first and hopefully your last. “Okay.” He says before planting a soft kiss on your forehead and reaching over to grab the condom he had placed on your bedside table before, as well as a small packet of lube that was attached to the back of the condom.

He ripped the packet open the condom packet with his teeth and pulled out the ring looking piece of slippery latex like rubber, it didn’t have a scent to it. He took the piece of latex like rubber and shifted around a little as he placed it on himself with a soft snap noise and a little grunt, once it was securely on he grabbed the packet of lube and tore it open before he coated his fingers then brought them down to your now arching pussy and gently started to massage it in.

The coldness made you shiver slightly and bit your lip but soon it started to warm up. “what’s the lube for?” you asked as you could see Leon cleaning the lube off his hands on his pants that where laying on the ground beside your bed. “it will help with the stretch and hopefully won’t be so painful.” Leon explains as he positions himself in between your thighs your legs were either side of his waist, when you heard that this may be painful your body tensed slightly. Leon felt you tense up before he took one of your hands and intertwined your fingers together and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of your hand.

“I promise I will be as gentle as I can be.” He reassures you as he peppers your hand with gentle kisses, he was trying to get you to relax and not so tense so it wouldn’t be as painful, you nodded your head and gave his hand a soft squeeze back. “Okay, I’m ready.” You say closing your eyes, you felt some shuffling before you felt the tip of his cock at your entrance, he was grinding slightly as if he was teasing you, the lube and your own slick making it easier for him to move.

Soon you felt him start to slowly push in, at first there was some resistance as if your body was trying to force him out which caused some pain to shot through your body, a soft choked cry left your lips as you gripped the blanket under your body. “it’s okay sweetheart, I’ve got you.” Leon cooed softly as he was placing gentle kisses on your neck to try and distract you from the pain that you were currently in.

“Fuck Leon, it hurts.” You whimpered softly as your body tensed and trembled slightly as you could feel him deeper inside you inch by inch. “I know baby I know, just a couple more inches okay, you’re doing so well for me.” He praised you softly as he moved some of your hair out of your face.

As he finally sunk in fully, a single tear ran down your cheek, but he caught it with his thumb and placed a gentle kiss on your cheek, he hated seeing you in any kind of pain, but he knew that where maybe pain now but it will soon melt into pleasure. “I love you so much.” Leon says as he peppered kisses all over your face and down your neck trying to distract you from your discomfort and it was slowly working. You body had stopped trembling now and you could feel yourself slowly adjusting to his size.

“You can move now.” You tell him quietly as your own eyes were still closed but you gently squeezed his hand, giving him the go ahead. You felt him move slightly his face buried in your neck and your intertwined hands on the pillow beside you as he slowly began to move his hips, listening to make sure you weren’t making noises out of pain or discomfort.

It was uncomfortable at first feeling as if your lower half was being ripped in two, but slowly the pain started to fade away with Leon’s careful and gentle movements, you could feel his warm breath on your neck and hear every little noise he made which made you blush even more since you were making him feel this way. “You okay, its not hurting anymore?” He asks as his movements were still slow and careful, his hips only moving ever so slightly but still remaining deep inside you. “It’s still a little uncomfortable but I’m okay.” You reassured him as you finally opened your eyes and looked up at him.

His eyes were looking at you as if studying for any signs of discomfort or pain, his cheeks and tips of his ears were flushed red, his breathing was slightly heavy as his mouth was open a little bit, some of his blonde hair was sticking to his forehead, to you in this moment you felt as if you were falling in love with Leon all over again, your heart skipped a beat and you felt butterflies in your stomach, this was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, you maybe young and not know much about your future or what was going to happen but you would pray that Leon would be a part of it forever because you couldn’t see yourself falling anybody else that wasn’t him.

“I love you Leon.” You tell him as you moved your hips in rhythm with his, soft moans began to leave your lips as you moved your wraps to wrap around his neck, your nails slightly digging into his shoulders, the pain had faded and was now replaced with a feeling of the same pleasure Leon had made you feel before.

“I love you too Y/n.” Leon panted softly as he picked up the pace, soft moans were falling from his lips as well as he began to feel himself twitch, he knew he wasn’t going to last long, but he would make sure you came again before he did. Your moans started to grow louder as the bed started to make a soft creaking noise.

You were close your stomach was tightening up again the same as before, you pulled Leon closer to you and kissed him hard before you felt the knot in your stomach snapped and you came undone for a second time that day, as Leon kissed you back be soon followed and with a final twitch he spilled into the condom with a grunt against your lips before he pulled away and moved some sweaty hair out of your face and give you one of his lop-sided grins.

“I’m going to pull out now okay.” He says, his voice a few octaves deeper, you nodded your head before you felt him slowly pull out, a soft wince leaving your lips as you saw him get off your bed and discarded the used condom before going into the bathroom. After a few moments Leon returned with a warm cloth and a bottle of water and something to eat for the both of you. “you okay, I didn’t hurt you too much.” Leon asked worried as he placed the food items down and went to clean up the mess you both had made.

“No, it was perfect.” You say giving your loving and slightly worried boyfriend a warm smile, to you that moment was everything you could have asked for. “Well, I’m glad I could make this memorable for you.” He says with a smile as he cleaned up the mess before tossing the now dirty cloth into your clothes bin and got into bed beside you pulled the blankets up over your naked bodies.

“Thank you.” You say nuzzling into his chest as he grabs the water bottle and food snacks for you both. “anything for my special girl.” He says before opening one of the snack packets he had grabbed and offered you some first, you smiled and took one of the cookies out of the packet and began to nibble on it as you cuddled up to him, basking in his warmth and the glow of your innocence that had now been taken by the man you loved with all your heart….

*Later On, That Same Week.*

Leon had left for Raccoon City last night, he was too worried when he hadn’t heard back from his lieutenant, so he decided to head to the RDP and promised you he would call you once he got into police station, you wanted to try and convince him to stay even if it was until morning since it was a long drive and maybe you could have went with him, but he argued that you had class the next morning and he didn’t want you to miss it.

He had been sending you messages every hour updating you on where he was and even taking some pictures of things he saw, which made you smile but in the back of your mind something wasn’t sitting right with you.

When you got back to your dorm room that afternoon, you threw your bag onto the couch and headed into your bedroom with the plan on changing into comfortable clothing and binge watch some awful reality TV show since you had a free day from work and your roommate was not dragging you to another party you didn’t want to go too.

Going up into your room head stripped down to your bra and panties before doing over to your draws, a small smirk appeared on your lips as you opened Leon’s draw that you had kept for when he left his clothes here, you ruffled through the draw looking for something to wear before your hand ended up hitting a box, curiously you grabbed the box and pulled it out of the draw.

It was a small black box, knowing you should put it back and respect Leon’s privacy but he won’t know you had a little sneak peek you through before you opened the box and gasped softly, inside was a simple ring with a small quarter diamond in the middle, it wasn’t anything too fancy or over bored it was simple and elegant, but as soon as you opened it you closed it feeling your emotions well up in your throat.

Was Leon going to propose? Or was he holding onto it for a friend, but you were soon snapped out of your thoughts when you heard your roommate call out of your name, putting the box back in the draw and throwing some clothes on, you headed downstairs to see what you friend wanted, but as you did you saw what she was looking at on the TV. “The government has ordered an airstrike on Raccoon city, since there was an outbreak there of an unknown virus.” Your roommate says and all the blood and colour drain from your face.

“you’re screwing with me, Leon’s in Raccoon city.” You say as panic and dread started to wash over you like a tidal wave, you knew you should have tried harder to convince Leon to stay here with you and now because of your one mistake you are about to loss the love of your life.

“I’m sorry Y/n.” your roommate spoke her voice was filled with sorrow and pain, you wanted to yell at her to tell her to stop lying to you that this sick joke wasn’t funny but then you saw the news on the TV and your heart felt as if it was stepped on and shattered into a thousand little pieces, tears started to fall down your cheeks at a rapid pace.

“No, No, this isn’t fair, this isn’t FAIR.” You screamed out as you began to sob into your hands, your body trembling as you started to hyperventilate, your roommate rushing to your side and taking you in her arms tightly. “I’m so sorry Y/n.” she says as her own eyes began to fill with tears, you sobbed into her arms and clung to her tightly as you felt as if your world had just come crashing down around you.

You were never going to see Leon again, hear his voice or stories he had from either his friend group from the police academy or from work, or feel his warmth against yours as he held you in his arms, your dream of living together was now nothing just a broken fantasy that can never come true.

As you sobbed into your roommates arms you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket, you didn’t want to answer it feeling as if the carpet had been pulled out from under you, but you looked at the text and it made even more tears run down your cheeks before you dropped the phone with a loud thud before she sobbed into your roommates shoulder.

The Message on her phone was from Leon, a final message of goodbye, it was 5 simple little words that would forever leave a hole in your heart.

“I’ll Always Love You Y/n….”

----------

©Ghosty-writes-23, 2024. all rights reserved. !I DO NOT! consent to translations or replications or reproduction of my work on any other social media platforms and or make AI Bots without my explict consent and permission.

[ilguna]

☼ between life and death pt2 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you’re supposed to be dead. you remember taking your last breath in that arena, but now you’re back, as if it never happened. and there's only one person to blame for it.

warnings; swearing, blood mention, death mention, someone gets hurt, there's some illusion (she's not totally sane), idealization of the capitol.

wc; 5k

notes: you might find the pov changes weird but embrace it.

part one.

--

District Thirteen’s hospital is in complete chaos.

Finnick comes to a sudden stop two steps in, eyes widening as he watches the scene in front of him. The shouting of orders from across the room by doctors, nurses running back and forth with armfuls full of equipment to tend to the volunteers. The loud beeping from machines getting to know their patients.

His lips part, face twisting, a question forming on his tongue, but he’s not even sure what he’s thinking to ask. Maybe, where is she? Is she okay? Did they hurt her? Is she still the same? Did his interview work? Did everyone make it out alive? He closes his mouth, swallowing, eyes searching for a reason to move.

Right as he thinks to take a step forward, both he and Katniss are cut off by a gurney being guided by a nurse who’s determined to get to her destination. He gets a quick glimpse of an unconscious woman with her head so sharply shaved, there is no hair on her scalp. From what he could see, on the skin that isn’t covered by the gown, she’s covered in fresh bruises and healing scabs.

It isn’t until she’s halfway down the hall, out of reach, does he realize who it is. It’s Johanna.

Finnick turns, as if he’s going to follow after her, because that’s what a good friend does, when a voice cuts through all the noise, clear as day. His heart jumps to his throat. He could be dead, six feet under, and her voice could bring him back to life.

“Finnick!” She shrieks, he whips around. He can feel the wave of tears coming before they've even reached his eyes. The tight pressure, the hot feeling in his face. The sight of her on the other side of the room sends him over the edge.

Annie’s here, her green eyes full of so much life—something he was afraid would be taken away from her in the Capitol. She hadn’t been back there in years, since she won and they shipped her away, uninterested due to her mental illness.

She comes running at home, only wearing a gown, but she doesn’t care, and neither does he. “Finnick!” She cries again. He’s instantly drawn to her like a magnet, he takes off away from the door to reach her sooner, arms open to embrace. As soon as she’s in arms reach, she jumps into him.

Finnick picks her up without an ounce of hesitation, a hand sliding into her dark, tangled hair. She’s alive, the thought is full of electricity. He leans too far forward, making him lose his balance, causing him to overcompensate. When he straightens, it sends him stumbling, back slamming into the wall. They slide down to the floor, where neither of them move, holding on to each other tight.

He was convinced he’d never see her again.

Katniss watches them jealously from the door she entered through with Finnick, feet firmly planted. It’s not that she’s specifically jealous of either partner, but the fact no one could ever doubt their love. Everyone knows how much they mean to each other. She’s still having to fight to get people to believe that’s how she feels with Peeta.

She presses her lips together, tearing her eyes away from the two on the floor to share a look with Haymitch. She manages to catch a glimpse of Gale through a doorway, he’s stripped down to his waist, skin glistening with sweat. A doctor stands over him with a pair of tweezers, removing something from under his shoulder blade.

“Gale!” Katniss is relieved, and she begins to go to him first, until a nurse pushes her back, and then shuts the door to his room. 

Katniss goes back to standing next to Haymitch, waiting. Her attention is directed to Boggs next, who led the mission. He comes to a stop in front of them, hands on his hips. “We got them all out. Except Enobaria. But since she’s from Two, we doubt she’s being held anyway.”

“I heard you picked up someone extra?” Haymitch asks, curiosity getting the best of him.

Katniss’s eyebrows twitch. “There were no other tributes in the arena.” She says, and then backtracks a second later. “I guess Annie wasn’t there either…”

“They found a girl in the same hall as the victors. She was right next door to Peeta.” Boggs says, at the mention of Peeta’s name, butterflies swarm Katniss’s chest, reminding her that he’s here.

“Do you think she could be a victor?” Haymitch asks.

“Beetee and Plutarch are trying to figure it out right now.” Boggs shakes his head. “If she is, we don’t know the significance of her being there. She could be anymore.”

“What about Peeta?” Katniss asks. As curious as she is about the mystery girl, there’s only one person in this building she wants to see right now. She’s been waiting to see him for weeks.

“Peeta’s at the end of the hall. The effects of the gas are just wearing off. You should be there when he wakes.” Boggs nods to the nearest hall. “The nurse won’t let you in until she’s done with her work, there’s a chair outside of the door.”

“Thanks.” Katniss murmurs, breaking off.

Haymitch does not, staying with Boggs. If Peeta’s going to be unconscious for a little while longer, he might as well help them figure out who this girl is. Boggs motions for Haymitch to follow a few doors down, where Plutarch is standing with a walkie talkie in his hand. It has to be the fastest form of communication here.

Plutarch looks up from the floor when he senses their presence. “Oh, Haymitch.” He’s relieved. “Maybe you have an idea.”

“Where is she?”

“We have her isolated.” Boggs motions to the nearest window covered by blinds. “Until we figure it out.”

“Take a look.” Plutarch encourages.

Haymitch steps forward, prying the window shade open wide enough to give him a look inside. His eyes land on a girl sitting on a bed—most definitely older than Katniss—who looks to be in as good condition as Annie, maybe a little worse. Her head is turned to the side, seemingly taking in the room, observing it. 

“How old is she supposed to be?”

At the sound of Haymitch’s voice, her head turns, eyes finding his through the shades. He’s able to get a good first look at her face before he lets go, disturbed by the intensity of the eye contact, and looks at Plutarch.

Boggs shakes his head. “No idea. We have no information on her.”

“We drew blood from her before she woke up.” Plutarch says, holding up the walkie. “Beetee’s cross-referencing it with residents from Four right now.”

“You think she’s from Four?” Haymitch raises his eyebrows, a little stunned by the assumption. “She doesn’t look like a Four resident.”

“Coin said to start there.” Plutarch shrugs, Haymitch thinks he catches an eye roll, but he’s not certain. “I would’ve gone for one of the outskirts districts, possibly Six or Eight, but she thinks that there might be some significance there.” 

“For who? Finnick? They already took Annie.”

Plutarch raises his hands defensively, telling Haymitch that it’s out of his hands. He only does what Coin wants. 

“Did you try asking Finnick?” Haymitch suggests. 

“No, not yet. We’re letting him reunite with Annie before we drag him into it.” Boggs says. “You don’t recognize her at all?”

“I knew a lot of the victors in recent years, she doesn’t look like any of them.”

The sound of static fills the air before Beetee’s voice comes through, not entirely clear. “I can’t get any information on her. The DNA system in Thirteen is telling me her blood is outdated and doesn’t match any records. It wants a better sample.” There’s a pause. “Are you sure this system is up-to-date?”

Plutarch’s face twists, raising the walkie to his mouth. “Coin said it is. What do you mean her blood is outdated?”

“It doesn’t give me anything else. I’m going to need a bigger sample if you want me to begin to check the other districts she could be a part of.” Beetee answers. “Was she drugged in the Capitol? That might be messing with it.”

Plutarch sighs. “Just the gas to make an easy transfer. Unless the Capitol doctors were doing something to her. Give me some time, I’ll send someone to you.”

“Echo.” Beetee responds, and then the line goes quiet.

Plutarch turns to look at the door belonging to the mystery girl. He rubs his jaw, thinking, before calling on the nearest doctor to join him to draw more blood. The doctor agrees, pulling the gloves off her hands, telling Plutarch there’s already vials in the room she can use in the cabinet.

Plutarch opens the door, motioning for her to go first, before he follows. The door shuts behind them, the doctor prepares to draw more blood, using a key on her lanyard to unlock the cabinet to grab a bigger vial this time. Plutarch sticks by the door, not wanting to get closer.

“I’m just going to draw blood.” The doctor tells the girl, but she pays no mind to her.

Her attention is on Plutarch, eyes boring into his, an intense staring contest. No one in the room speaks, as the tension begins to rise between the three of them. And then she speaks first.

“You’re a traitor to the Capitol.” Her voice is hoarse, scratchy.

Plutarch blinks in surprise, the doctor briefly looking up, before directing her attention back on the blood. He stares at her for a second, before deciding to take the opportunity to question her. “What’s your name?”

“(Y/n) (L/n).” She answers.

His expression doesn’t change, he doesn’t recognize the name. “What district are you from?”

“Two.”

Plutarch’s face twists, not expecting a Career district to be the answer. Her eyes narrow in displeasure. The doctor interrupts them to announce she has what she needs, allowing the two of them to escape the room. Once the door closes, he feels like he can take a breath.

“What would you like me to do with the blood?” The doctor asks.

“Will you please run it down to Beetee Latier in Special Defense?” Plutarch asks, but he’s not looking at her, his eyes are on Boggs.

“Right away.”

There’s an uneasy feeling in his stomach. With the way she called him a Capitol traitor, there wasn’t an ounce of hesitation. She knows something. Maybe she’s a loyalist in District Two? But that doesn’t explain what she was doing in the Capitol, then. And in that case, why wouldn’t they just set up Enobaria to be taken to Thirteen? 

Unless Snow knew Thirteen wouldn’t take the chance. 

Plutarch holds the walkie to his mouth. “I have a doctor running the sample down to Special Defense right now. I got some information in the meantime.” 

“I’m ready.” Beetee answers.

“Her name is (Y/n) (L/n). She said that she’s from District Two.”

Beetee doesn’t answer for a second. “A victor or a resident?”

“It could be either. I wasn’t in the room for long.”

“The Capitol system won’t let me check the resident history of District Two without the DNA sample.”

“What about victor history?” Plutarch asks.

There’s a couple moments of silence, where Haymitch shakes his head a little. It’s clear they’re grasping at straws. “There’s been no (Y/n) in the past ten years, that’s when she would’ve won, right?”

“Unless she’s older than she looks.” Boggs tells him. “Capitol modification?”

And right on cue, Beetee comes over the static. “No (Y/n) in Two.”

Plutarch’s face screws, stumped.

“Could she be lying?” Boggs asks.

“She looked angry when I made a face at her.” Plutarch murmurs. “We can’t check the Capitol database without her blood sample, either.”

“Plutarch.” Beetee’s voice comes over.

“One second.” Plutarch answers him.

“No, I can cross-reference her intake picture with the history of tributes in the Hunger Games.”

Immediately, Haymitch is skeptical, and even laughs a little bit. “What would that help with? The only tributes alive are victors or those who escaped the Quarter Quell arena.”

Plutarch, who knows too many Gamemaker projects for his own good, raises the walkie to his lips. “Go ahead.”

The static is gone.

Haymitch shakes his head, uninterested in the outcome of this search. It’s ridiculous. “I’m going to check on Katniss and Peeta.”

“Good luck.” Plutarch tells him.

Haymitch leaves, back down the hall to the front entrance of the hospital, before taking a right where Boggs had directed Katniss. A few moments of silence pass, as Beetee searches for their mystery girl in the hundreds of faces that have been submitted over seventy-five years. 

Beetee is back. “I found (Y/n) (L/n), Plutarch.”

“In the tribute database?”

“Yes.” Beetee pauses. “She was a District Two tribute in the Sixty-Fifth Hunger Games. She made it to the final five.”

“Which Games did you say?”

“Sixty-Fifth.”

—

“Remember.” A muffled voice tells you, possibly coming from the Capitol doctor in front of you. Or maybe not, there is no color to her, there is no accent. She’s dressed in a grey jumpsuit, a lab coat over top of it. She holds a device in her hand, illuminating her face in a questionable angle, causing bright, colorful prisms to cover her face. “Remember who you are.”

When she speaks, the shades of the rainbow break apart, first into shiny bubbles, which reflect the light too harshly. They transform into butterflies the higher they go, before popping, causing a rain of glitter.

She can’t be real.

I know who I am, you think. You’re (Y/n) (L/n). You are—were—a resident of District two. You were a tribute in the Sixty-Fifth Hunger Games. You’re supposed to be dead. Instead you’re here, in this white room. Which is eerily similar to the one you were in a couple hours ago. Except, that one was bare. This one has a cabinet, a bed, a tray of medical utensils…

You told them who you are, already. More importantly, you told Plutarch Heavensbee who you are. As instructed by the colorful doctors, the ones with the sickly shaded skin and the odd shapes on their faces. Those people had to be from the Capitol, right?

This one stares at you for a long moment, only furthering your idea that she isn’t real. She takes your silence, turning to leave the room. You watch as she becomes transparent with each step she takes, becoming completely invisible before her hand touches the doorknob.

You’re finally getting a hang of this.

You slide to get off the bed, wandering over to the metal tray a few feet away. You come into contact with the cool metal of the table, touching over the several options that are available, confirming they’re real. You decide on the knife, the scalpel. Once you have it in your hand, you return to the hospital bed, hiding the scalpel beneath your right thigh. 

Back home, they taught you to always be prepared in unfamiliar situations. Especially when you feel like you’re at a disadvantage. With what has been pumped into your system since you got here, you’re not at your best. You’re not safe.

It was different in the Capitol, they weren’t trying to hurt you there, only inform you. They were trying to help you before you got taken. They were telling you the truth of what happened in the arena. What was really going through Finnick’s head.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your reunion, but it’s important.” Plutarch’s voice is muted through the wall, but not completely silent. You can make out the words. “We have an issue.”

“Does it involve me?” The other voice asks, sending shivers down your spine.

Finnick Odair.

What a bitter name on your mind.

“Well, yes. It involves you, Finnick.” Plutarch pauses. “It’s about your Hunger Games, do you remember anything from it?”

“Practically all of it.” Finnick says, he sounds almost the same from the arena, just more grown up now. “I’d like to see someone who doesn’t. Why?”

“Who was your district partner?”

“Amaryllis.” Finnick says.

The name hits you hard, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut to avoid watching the room suddenly spin. Amaryllis, the one who stabbed you. Finnick set you up, he knew she’d be able to overpower you. It was their plan to join at the end, all along. They had to get you out of the way first. 

He knew her younger sister, the thought forces its way through.

“I knew her younger sister.” Finnick says, as if he’s reading directly from your mind.

“Do you remember who killed her in your Games?”

There’s a beat of hesitation. It’s obvious that Plutarch is testing Finnick’s memory, seeing what he knows before he admits who’s in this room. You.

“Yes, it was a girl from District Two.” Finnick says slowly.

“What was her name?”

“She introduced herself as (Y/n).” Finnick says. “Why?”

“How old was she?”

“The same age as I was at the time. Why?” Finnick emphasizes.

“How did she die?”

There’s silence following the question, leading you to believe that it’s out of guilt, as if he’s going to admit it’s his fault. That he took on the One tributes because he knew Amaryllis would be more than happy to kill you. Neither of them planned on you barely making it out of that fight alive.

“Tell me why first.” Finnick then demands.

Plutarch sighs. “We believe we may have rescued her from the Tribute Center. Beetee’s research tells us she’s a tribute from your Games.”

“That can’t be possible, she bled to death.” Finnick shuts him down coldly. “She was stabbed by Amaryllis. She hid the wound from me. She died.”

“We—”

“I watched her die on a screen with the entirety of Panem during the three hour long recap.” Finnick cuts him off. “She died due to blood loss. She was my ally.”

Liar, you were never his ally. Just a stepping stone.

“Will you please calm down?” Plutarch asks. “We just want you to confirm that the girl in this room is her, that’s all.”

You think you can hear an annoyed sigh through the wall, then silence follows. Your eyes search the window, hungry to see if it’s actually him. A second later, the blinds rise up far enough to give you a whole look of his face.

Immediately, his tanned skin pales as if he’s seen a ghost, and you’re sure he has. Those familiar green eyes, his tanned skin. He’s grown into his face, that’s for sure. All those pictures the Capitol had been showing you are true. He looks exactly like he did in that interview, where he lied about Snow.

The blinds drop in the next second.

“How is that possible?” He demands, voice loud. “She died in the arena, I heard the canon. I saw her in the sky. I saw her during the recap. Mags told me she died because of the amount of blood she lost. How is she in there?” 

“We—”

“Is she some clone?” Finnick asks. “A mutt?”

Mutt. 

The room begins to spin violently, causing you to close your eyes again or else you’ll get sick from the intensity. Is that what he thinks of you? Just a mutt? You’re not even human to him anymore?

“The Capitol doesn’t have the technology to clone.” Plutarch clarifies. “Not yet, at least. They’ve been working on it. What they do is take samples of DNA and they splice it together with an existing mutt to give it the same qualities. Like the dogs in Katniss’s games.”

“Then how?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say they took her, revived her in the hovercraft, and kept her in a coma.”

“Why? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Will you—” Plutarch’s voice briefly gets quieter, causing you to strain to hear. “Can you get Beetee? He should know.” His voice comes back into focus. “She might have qualities they can use. If she’s smart, a good fighter, if she’s pretty. They can use her for a number of things. Even reintroduce her as a Capitol citizen.”

“That makes no sense.” Finnick’s voice is quiet. “Why?”

Silence, and then suddenly static. “Beetee, are you still there?”

“Yes, Plutarch. What can I do?”

“I’ve sent a doctor your way to bring you to the hospital, there’s a small lockdown to keep families out. You’ll need him to get inside.”

“Do you need me to bring anything to the hospital?”

“No, but can you do me a favor and bring up the file on (Y/n) in the Capitol database? Usually they have information there on why they have dead tributes.”

“She’s not the first one?” Finnick asks.

“One moment.” Beetee tells him.

“No, she’s not the first.” Plutarch tells him. “But usually they don’t survive for more than a couple of years. She’s been alive in their care for ten.”

“You knew they were doing this.” It’s not a question, it’s an accusation.

“I knew of their projects, I never actually got to see them personally.” Plutarch clarifies. “I had access to a lot of information, I made sure to read through almost all of it when I became the Head Gamemaker so I knew what to expect when the rebellion came into play.”

“Where would they keep her?”

“Probably in the basement, where the victors would be taken care of for the recuperation week. There’s many rooms down there, just hidden behind walls. There could be dozens of tributes.”

Static interrupts their conversation. “There’s no notes, they must’ve deleted them.”

“Does it say anything?”

“It says, ‘saved, 65th’.”

Neither of them speak, taking in this information, or the lack of it. 

An ear-bleeding scream fills the air, silencing the background noise of the hospital as everyone stops to listen. A voice shouts for Plutarch, so you assume he leaves to see what all the commotion is about. You don’t move from where you sit on the bed, but you do keep your eyes on the window. 

No one comes to see you for a long time, whatever happened outside of your room must’ve been a surprise. You don’t mind sitting here, though. The more time passes, the better grip you have on reality. There’s no abstract shapes with bright colors floating around the room, and the voices are becoming quieter as they realize that you’re not listening.

You’re beginning to feel normal, your thoughts becoming clearer.

Once the hospital staff gets their situation under control, you’re back to being their first priority to figure out. Plutarch is nowhere to be seen, or heard. Maybe he’s disinterested in why you’re here, satisfied with the half-answers he got with Beetee. Maybe he’s searching the Capitol database, himself.

Either way, the doctors treat you like it’s an interrogation, and they don’t believe any of the answers you give them as they go on. Their questions are repetitive and irritating, thankfully easy to answer. It’s the basic stuff that the Beetee guy figured out through his research.

Who you are, how old you are, where are you from, if you participated in the Hunger Games, how old you were at the time, who did you kill, who were your allies, did you get injured, did you die, how did you survive, where have you been, how has the Capitol treated you.

It’s harder to answer them as the questions get more specific. You don’t know how you survived, other than what you were told, of course. The Capitol saved you from the arena because they saw how unfair the alliance between Finnick and Amaryllis was. It wasn’t your fault it was planned behind your back. They said you deserved a second chance, because if it weren’t for them, you would’ve been the victor.

And where have you been? The Capitol, obviously, where else? Only, when they ask you where in the Capitol, you direct them to ask Plutarch. After all, he was the Head Gamemaker, he’s the one that was snooping in on Capitol projects. He said so himself that you were probably kept where all the victors wake up.

All you know is that you were gassed unfairly by the hospital’s troops. When you say this, they ignore you, brushing you off. Then they claim that they have someone who wants to see you, and they collectively leave the room at once. 

Your eyes narrow, watching the door.

It opens after a couple of minutes, revealing the boy who set you up. Finnick takes a step in the room, gently pushing the door shut until it clicks. You can feel every muscle in your body begin to stiffen, the scalpel beneath your thigh is burning a hole through your skin, lip starting to curl.

You grit your teeth, refusing to take your eyes off of him, even though you have a feeling you’re being watched through one of the windows. They’re messing with you, gauging your reaction on how to press your buttons. That’s why they sent Finnick in here, because they know what he did to you.

You move your hands to be on either side of your thighs, trying to seem casual. In actuality, this gives you an easier access to the scalpel when you go to stab Finnick. Who’s coming closer by the second, taking one step at a time, but not saying a single word. It makes it impossible to decide what to do next.

No, that’s wrong. You know what to do next. You were given instructions by the doctors in the Capitol. They said they could help you. All you have to do is kill him, or severely injure him for lying about Snow to Panem. If you do this, you can go home. You were told that you can see your family again if you go through with it.

Your heart pounds in your chest, hands gripping the metal bars of the bed frame, trying not to jump the gun. But as soon as he steps into arm’s length, you can’t sit still any longer. You launch off the hospital bed, hand swiping at the scalpel, slicing your hand in the process. A stinging sensation travels down your wrist, temporarily taking control of your mind.

It’s thrown away when you’re able to tackle Finnick to the ground, arm swinging to stab him in the throat. That will teach him not to tell lies. He’s just barely able to catch your wrist, arm trembling under your weight.

The doorknob to the room is being violently shaken, as the bystanders outside try to get the door open. There’s knocking at the window, several people shouting at you to stop what you’re doing. They don’t understand. They’ve all been manipulated by Finnick’s charm, if they knew the truth, they wouldn’t be trying to save him.

“You set me up!” You snarl, pressing down, wanting to finish the job.

Finnick stares back at you with an open mouth, like a fish out of water. The blood from your hand is being pulled by gravity, now. Little droplets on his grey jumpsuit, his tanned skin, his reddening face.

“You knew she was stronger than I was!” You snap. “That’s why you refused to kill her.”

“(Y/n).” He chokes out. “Wait.”

“You left me to die!” You shout, causing him to flinch. “And you almost got what you wanted, if it weren’t for the Capitol intervening. I bet it was a surprise seeing that your plan never worked.”

“You asked me to leave you there!” He argues, the room begins to spin, but you can’t take your eyes off of him. “I didn’t want to. I didn’t want you to leave.”

The hospital room slowly starts to change, and the doubt of how real this situation is beginning to set in. The tile turns to grass, the walls become tall trees, and the ceiling is now a dark sky. It’s the middle of the night.

“That’s not true.” You tell him, “You’re a traitor. You knew I wouldn’t survive on that hill, and you left anyway.”

His jumpsuit is darkening in color, right around his stomach. Your face twists, trying to remember if you stabbed him or not. You couldn’t have, right? You’re still trying to get him in the throat.

“You told me to go.” Finnick insists. “I wanted to stay. I wanted to carry you to our base, but you wouldn’t let me.”

“No.” You shake your head. “No, that’s not what the doctors told me.”

“The doctors lied.” Finnick emphasizes. “I can prove it.”

“You’re full of shit.” 

“(Y/n), I promise. Just let me talk to them—”

The sky shatters, causing you to flinch, Finnick shoves you off of him. The white hospital room is coming back, the scalpel slides across the floor, leaving a smear of blood out of your reach. You try to sit up, but you’re slammed down by a hard boot to your chest, making it hard to breathe.

“Get him out of here!” A man barks, referring to Finnick.

“Stop.” Finnick says, waving his hand. “Stop, she’s fine.”

He’s pulled to his feet by his armpits, being directed to the door by Plutarch, who glares in your direction.

“Take her out, we need to get her chained down.” He says.

“No.” Finnick objects. “No, she’s just confused. That’ll only make it worse.”

“She’s not confused.” Plutarch says back.

The man above you raises his gun in the air, the butt aimed at your face. The last thing you’re able to register is Finnick being dragged out of the room, begging them not to, before the gun comes down.

[octoberautumnbox]

Aquamarine

Soloist Lee Chaeyeon & Male Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Categories/tags: smut, shower, glass, camera/picture, standing sex, standing doggy, creampie, fluffy (at least thats the plan)

a/n: birthday piece for the second half of IZ*ONE'S HoneyWaterz! she gets like one fic a year y'all are missing out. and as usual (lol) no proofread no beta im sorry i know its terrible

The water glistens against her skin, shining as it falls down her back. The city lights seem so far below you like you're in the clouds yourself. The smoke doesn't reach up here, nor the hustle and bustle of the metropolis below. It's only you and her.

Click, click, click. Find her through your camera's lens, taking perfect shot after perfect shot. She turns around and smiles a divine smile at you, and you suspect that she's stopped posing a long while ago; now, she's just glad to find you nearby.

She paddles adorably over to the shallow end of the pool and takes a seat. "Thank you for taking me out like this, babe. I love you so much. Everything is perfect."

She wrings her hair carefully and looks up over the moon, enjoying the cool breeze of tropical air on her face and chest. Click.

"Ugh, stop it," she giggles. "I wasn't ready. Delete that one."

You chuckle and place your camera on a dry, flat surface and join her in the pool. The water is warm between your toes, and you accept the welcome by sitting down in it right next to her.

You try to put your arm around her shoulder, but she shrugs it off cutely. "Don't, you idiot," she scolds lovingly, "I'm all wet."

Sulking away playfully, never mind your lightly damp Hawaiian shirt, you respond. "Wow, calling me an idiot just for trying to love you. I knew it, you've just been using me all this time..."

She laughs her signature laugh, painting the skyline of your heart in vibrant tones of aquamarine. She takes your hand and pulls slowly, bringing your arm around her once more.

"You're gorgeous, you know that? Everything about you is perfect." Place a hand on her cheek and bring her gaze over to yours. "How'd I end up with someone as breathtaking as you?"

"Shut up, babe..." she chuckles lightly as she places her hand over yours. "You know I fell for you first."

Close your eyes gently as the gravity of your hearts draw your lips together. You find her halfway through the darkness, but of course you did. When has she ever let you down?

The kiss you share is slow, respectful. You ask for permission from each other wordlessly, giving and taking just a tiny bit more from each other's love with every singular peck.

She breaks the kiss gratefully. As you open your eyes you're met with a goddess, ethereal and alluring. And she's all yours.

Without her forehead leaving yours, she whispers to you, "Let's go inside, babe, I'm getting cold."

~~~

Pull her by her waist into the shower enclosure and take her lips again. She strips you of your Hawaiian shirt, now soaked, and tosses it out of the glass cubicle. Her arm wraps around your neck, while her free hand finds the shower handle.

The showerhead comes to life, and warm water falls onto your back. Chaeyeon slips her fingers under your waistband and pulls down, taking away your last bits of clothing and relieving you of the growing pressure in your shorts.

You do the same, pulling off her dripping wet bikini bottom. Without ever breaking the kiss, she kicks them away and takes your hands onto her plump and firm ass. She moans lightly at your touch, music to your ears.

As much as you want to keep them there, you know there's more you have to do first. Break the kiss for just a moment, and see your girlfriend out of breath.

Grabbing the hem of her top, you pull up. She raises both arms to help you out, knowing that this also gives you the best view of your favorite part.

The wet piece of fabric moves up past her chest, and her beautiful tits bounce free from their containment. You keep pulling until the bikini top clears her head and finally her arms, and then you toss them out of the cubicle and shut the door.

She wraps her arms around your neck again. Grip her ass cheeks and pull her towards you, savoring her firm behind while you force your cock between her thighs.

She moans cutely at the sensation of your head right at the entrance of her heat. You kiss her again, torridly this time, and she returns your affections hungrier, more impatient, less quietly than earlier.

She pulls you even closer, pressing her soft breasts onto your chest, and the feeling could not be more heavenly. You know she's doing this on purpose, and so you respond in kind by giving her a smack on her butt cheek, forcing it to jiggle. As she's groaning into your mouth as a reflex, you leave her at a loss for a more heavenly moment.

Chaeyeon finally frees your lips, and the both of you take a deep breath. You can't get enough, though, and bring her over to the glass pane nearest to you.

"You're so fucking hot..." She traces all over your body with her fingertips. "How do you want me, babe?" she asks courteously.

"You have to smile for the camera, sweetheart." Turn her around to face the glass, and wipe away the steam obstructing her view of outside. She spots your camera sat on a table, facing the pair of you, and she blushes and smirks devilishly as she catches wind of your plan.

"Naughty boy... Hurry up and take me." Chaeyeon bends over and gives you a clear view of her ass, and shows off her pink lower lips for your pleasure.

You make her lean on the glass pane with her forearms as you grab her by the hips. Always the gentleman, you don't keep her waiting. Pull her lips apart, hear her groan at the feeling, and, finally, push your hardened cock into her tight pussy.

"Fuck..." Click. The flash goes off in front of her, and she turns redder in her cheeks. "This is so fucking hot, babe..."

"Happy birthday, baby. You're getting a private photo book of tonight as one of your gifts. Smile your prettiest."

You feel her velvet walls clench lovingly around your cock. It isn't a challenge at all though, with her slick lubricating her insides, to pull out nearly all the way, and force yourself back into her core.

Relish the feeling of fucking the most beautiful woman in the world. Take pride in how she powerlessly surrenders herself to your will. With every thrust deep into her pussy, you show her that she'll only ever belong to you.

"Babe, harder... Please fuck me harder." You comply with her request, as you thrust forward you forcefully pull her back. Her ass meets your pelvis at every pump, producing a symphony of slaps and groans.

Click, click, click. The camera makes its presence felt as flashes fill the other side of the bathroom. Push your goddess of a girlfriend harder against the glass, and she lets out a loud "ahhhh" as her nipples and breasts are squished onto the cold surface.

"Right there, babe, keep fucking me just like that..." Her walls only get tighter as your cock splits her apart. The sounds of her pleasure fill the bathroom as you bring her closer and closer to climax.

"I love you... so... fucking much, babe..." you mutter next to her ear. You can tell she's losing control of herself, she answers only in moans of ecstasy at the rough fucking she's receiving.

Hook her leg under your arm, raise it for the camera. Click, click. The view of her pussy being violated by your cock is crystal clear for the camera to capture. Click. Chaeyeon screams in pleasure as you reach new depths in the lewd position she finds herself in. Click. Her face is smushed against the glass with how hard you're pushing her. Click, click, click. Her nipples grow stiffer against the clear pane, spurring her on and on towards her eventual release.

"Sweetheart, you still good?" She can't answer, you know she can't. Just one look and you can tell she's long gone: her head thrown back, eyes rolled into the back of her skull, no regard for whatever she might be saying anymore.

Figure she's had enough. Conclude her long day with a bang. Give her a high note to end a perfect celebration. Better yet, make her sing the high note herself.

You grow more ravenous with your hold on her. "You know... One of your gifts... a whole photo book... of just tonight." Click. You thrust into her sex more roughly, chasing your high as you force her to reach hers. She can't defy you, and you know she won't. She's yours.

Her climax comes to her like an earth-splitting bolt of lightning. All at once, a guttural scream rips through her throat, click, streaks of her cum spray onto the glass she's pressed against, click, she stumbles as her legs give out underneath her, click, click, and her walls grip you in a desperate attempt to prolong her unholy pleasure as much as she can, click.

"I'm cumming, baby... Happy birthday--!!!" With a deep groan you shoot your cum into her womb, making sure every spurt stays in and takes. Her walls apply a heavenly amount of pressure on your cock, milking you for more, and you give her exactly what she wants. With every spurt of your hot cum into her abused snatch Chaeyeon screams louder yet, click, begging in gibberish for something she herself doesn't even know anymore.

You realize she's full up when your cum overflows from her pussy and down her thigh. She's taking heavy breaths now, and your wits are slipping away from you.

~~~

You find yourself sat on the cold tiled floor of the shower. Warm water still falls from the showerhead and onto the pair of you. Chaeyeon is taking her sweet time filling her lungs with air and steadying her breathing. Her head's leaned onto your shoulder, so you push her hair aside to give her a kiss on her forehead.

"I love you, sweetheart. You might not have heard me earlier, but happy birthday."

She can only respond in deep breaths and scratchy hums. She brings her lips back over to yours, last kiss before getting dressed for bed. And you know that meant "I love you too."

a/n: yknow i should just stop planning fics at this point lmao. anyways, happy birthday our feather chaeyeon!!!

[rimunagenius]

Wait For Me

Paring: Kayce Dutton x reader!

Words: 2.1k words

Warnings: Angst, fluff ending, curse words?? if that’s even a warning, mentions of branding and burning, abuse, over use of baby (i love it, i love imagining him calling me that, do nit judge me🤨😒)

Summary: Growing up you and Kayce were inseparable. You didn’t know the love you shared was more than friends until sixteen, but what happens when John pushes Kayce too hard, and your relationship hangs in the balance?

ఌ If you want to check out my other works for other fandoms and this one, check out my masterlist!!

A/n: no gender or body specification made in the story, so this could be read from any gender/personal preference. This is very self indulgent for me, I love Kayce Dutton and have since i started Yellowstone and I was deeply upset with the lack of fics for him so I had to take matters into my own hands while this godsend of an author writes my requests!!🥹 anyways, hope you enjoy!!

not my gif!!

__________

You knew it was stupid.

You knew you couldn’t have him.

You can’t love someone into loving you back. You knew it. He knew it. He knew it would never happen between you; he wanted it to. He did love you, too much, though.

This summer had to be your favorite on the Dutton Ranch. Favorite in Montana. Your favorite in the world, same thing. As long as Kayce was there, it was the perfect anything.

You had loved him your whole life. Ever since you were kids anything he would do would mesmerize you. His hair caught in the breeze when you’d chase him around the arena for tag, his smile when you’d tell the same joke he was tired of but laughed because he knew it meant something to you.

Somewhere along the way, you had fallen inlove. You always had been, but this time you actually knew what it was. You knew why. It was Kayce. Any woman would be a fool to not love everything about him.

But…

He had fallen inlove too.

“Oh my god! That’s not-“ You looked at the boy next to you, absolutely falling more inlove the more you looked. Having by far the funniest conversation all summer.

“Oh, please! That’s seriously what I told him!” He laughed, his body leaning on yours, his head halfway into your lap.

“Kayce, your such an idiot.” You looked down at him, his eyes already trained on you. Your chuckle had died in your throat as you saw the look in his eyes. He’s never looked at you like this before—you didn’t see the other times he had. Those moments were just for him.

Your hand landed on his forehead, sliding it back over the expanse of his scalp, his long hair following the pattern your hand tread on his head.

“Oh, yeah?” He said. His signature small smile already creasing the corners of his lips. “I’m okay with that. You still love me, though.”

You looked up at the sky, the stars illuminating your features, entrancing the teenager below you. He was looking at you as if you had hung them yourself. “The sky is beautiful tonight, Kayce. Don’t you think?” Your eyes following and connecting the dots in the sky as his eyes never once dared to move away from you.

“I do. She’s absolutely gorgeous.” In a quick second, he started to sit up, his absence from your lap, drawing your eyes down to him.

Your eyes caught his, as he immediately pulled you into a kiss. His hand on your cheek, your hand tipping his hat off his head, carding your fingers through the growing locks of golden brown locks.

This was just the start.

You knew now was different than when you both were just 16. You had spent two years with eachother, loving eachother. You didn’t think anything would tear you apart.

Kayce had started disobeying Mr. Dutton when you two had just turned 18. Something about them always butting heads and having different life plans. Kayce didn’t want this life, he wanted you, but not at the price John had been setting.

It was either you and the Ranch, or he’d be gone and forbidden to see you. You knew it was a crock of shit, John just trying to scare his son. And you had believed it. You should’ve known the youngest Dutton. Especially now that the behavior was super out of character.

You walked the rocky path up to the main house, on the Dutton Ranch, collecting the smallest size pebbles you could find to throw at Kayce’s window.

You approached the front of the house, stopping before the porch steps and launched pebble after pebble. You had gone through the whole collection and then some. He would come to the window by now, you thought.

He wasn’t asleep, his light was on. Then you heard yelling and screaming, crashing and smashing. You had saw a small glimpse of Kayce and John, and you had heard Lee, you think.

Then you heard nothing. Just saw John’s face in the window, looking down at you as he shut the blinds. You had started on your walk back home, worried sick, right down the road from the ranch before you heard the front door swing open, John dragging Kayce by the collar of his shirt.

They ended up behind the barn, you watching from a healthy distance to not be seen by Mr. Dutton, before you saw a burning orange ‘Y’ iron. The sound of burning flesh and muffled cries and screaming followed.

You obviously didn’t see Kayce that night but you had saw him two days after, breaking a horse.

You stood up on the bottom wood log of the arena with your arms draped over the top one. “Where have you been, baby?” Your boyfriend just looked up at you. A heartbreaking attempt at a smile casted over his beautiful face.

“Talk to me, Kayc. Is everything okay?” You knew it wasn’t. You knew what you saw, not expecting that from John.

“I’m fine, darlin.’ Don’t worry your pretty little head too much, yeah?” He looked back to the horse, grabbing the reigns and walking him through the exit of the arena, signaling you to follow him to the barn.

You didn’t want to pry, you knew he wasn’t okay but you’d let him tell you about it when he was ready. You knew Kayce would.

“Okay, handsome. You doin’ anythin’ later.” You tucked a small strand of hair behind his ear, fixing his hat that’s shifted.

“Nah, you wanna come over? Watch a movie?” He asked. You smiled at him and nodded your head. You leaned in for a kiss and turned your heel.

“I’ll see you later, cowboy.” You looked over your shoulder, Kayce eyes trailing up your body, his eyes eventually meeting yours. “You like what you see, Kayce?” You laughed as you were almost out of line of sight.

“Hell yeah, I do, baby.” His smirk as he watched you, slowly dissipating. He was dreading the moment he had to tell you. He had to do it soon, tomorrow.

That was yesterday.

Your movie had gone great but you should have known then there was problem. He seemed on edge that night, and his room seemed a little less lively since the last time you had been in there.

You walked up to the main house, opening the front door. John wasn’t home so Kayce said you could walk through the house and to his room.

That’s when you saw it. His shit packed and loaded into duffle bags. He packed his whole life away in bags. “What’s goin’ on Kayce? Why are you packing?” Your eyes wandered around the room. His dresser now vacant of any picture you two had, of him and Lee. His favorite picture of him and Beth now gone.

“Everything’s okay, baby. I promise.”

“Then why’s your shit all gone? Where are you going?” You couldn’t help the dampness growing in the corner of your eyes. The small quiver in your lip.

“Hey, hey. Don’t cry. It’s gonna be okay.” He cupped your face, forcing you to look him in the eyes. His eyes meeting yours, both damp and a little bloodshot like yours. “I just gotta go for a while, okay?”

“And your just gonna leave me here? Take me with you.” You pleaded. You didn’t think today of all days would start with Kayce Dutton possibly breaking up with you, and leaving you alone in this godforsaken state of Montana.

“I can’t, baby. Not where i’m goin’. Not this time.” He kissed your forehead and shifted his hands from your face to your waist.

“Kayce, where the hell are you going that you can’t take me with you? We haven’t separated since we were kids, why now?” You wiped the tears that fell from your eyes as you couldn’t dare tear them away from Kayce.

“I’m goin’ into the Navy. I don’t know when i’ll be back. But you have to listen to me-“

“The fuckin’ Navy!? Kayce are you serious!?” You yelled at him. He never once mentioned the Navy or any interest. It must’ve been John’s idea. They have been fighting more and more recently.

You thought it had been just father and son disagreements. But the thought should’ve clicked when the iron branded his son, your bestfriend, boyfriend, forever.

He belonged to his father. He had to do whatever he asked. It had to be John. You were pissed. “Was it John?” You whispered.

“No, sweetheart. It was me. I can’t take this ranch anymore, I feel trapped. All I do is eat, ranchwork, eat, ranchwork, sleep, repeat. I can’t do it anymore, baby. The Navy would atleast set me up with some cash so I could find a place of my own.” He sniffled as he held you, you stepping away from him to pace around the room.

It was his decision…he was leaving you.

He wiped his eyes, and in all the years that you had known Kayce Dutton and held him when he was sad, because he had done it for you, you haven’t seen him this torn up and emotional about something since his mother’s passing.

“But does that mean you can’t handle me anymore? I mean if your tired of the ranch, you must be tired of me, right?” You let a choked sob escape your lips. Stopping in your tracks, your legs feeling too wobbly to move another inch.

He immediately rushed to you, embracing you into the tightest hugs he’s possibly ever given you. “No, no, baby. That’s not it. I love you, with everythin’ in me, you know that. But-“

“But what? If your breaking up with me Kayce, don’t you dare think about saying goodbye as if we’ll never speak again. They’re always the hardest and i’m not doing that with you. I do not want to say goodbye to you. Ever.”

“Baby, you know I have to.” His big eyes even frowned with his face. The sad expression crushing you even more than humanly possible.

“No, you don’t! Why can’t you just love me from over there. It shouldn’t be any different, baby.” You grabbed his face. His eyes closing for a fleeting moment. Your cries getting harder and harder to bear quietly.

“Darlin’, I can’t ask you to wait for me in hopes i’ll make it home to you. I can’t ask that of you, and you know I can’t.” He inhaled a shaken breath, evident that this was hurting him as much as it was hurting you.

“Yes you can. You know that. I’d wait a million years and more for you, Kayce Dutton. I waited 16 years, didn’t I?” You laughed quietly, that didn’t hide the audible sob that also parted your lips.

“Godammit, sweetheart. I love you, nothin’ can change that. I’d die for you, i’d do anything for you, i’d go to the very ends of the earth for you, but please for the love of god; please stop making it harder to leave you than it already is.” Tears freely streamed down his face, him not bothering to wipe them away.

He was giving himself to you. All of him, and you couldn’t have asked for more from this man. He has always done this for you. He’s never hidden who he was, especially from you.

As you held his face, you sighed. His hand holding your hips, you could feel his fingers shaking on you. He didn’t want to go. If he was ever gonna leave he was damn sure gonna take you with him. This wasn’t how he wanted it to be.

“Kayce Dutton, I love you. More than you’ll ever know and i’ll spend my whole life showing you. I’d do anything for you, all you have to do is say what. Ask me to wait for you, and i’d wait for you.” As soon the words “ask me to wait” rolled off your lips, Kayce had his answer.

“Wait for me.”

You crashed your lips onto his, the kiss fast paced and full of emotion. The devotion his body poured unto you was otherworldly. You two stumbled back a bit from the force of the kiss. Your tongue meeting his in frantic greeting as you held onto him for dear life, and he held onto you like you were his lifeline.

As you both understood what this meant, what you two were signing up for, you knew now that there was no chance either one of you would be ripped away from the other. No fucken chance.

“I’ll wait for you. When you get back, i’ll be waiting here, you know exactly where to find me, cowboy.” You kissed his lips once again, and smiled, your arm around his shoulder and one hand on his face. His arms wrapped comepletely around your waist.

“I can’t wait, baby.” He kissed you once more and that was it.

You’d be here when he got back. He was going to come back to you. Whether he had to kill or crawl his way back to you, he was going to come home.

And you’d be right there, with open arms waiting. Just like you promised.

[godidontevenknowwhat]

Warmth & Rest

So'lek x Sarentu!Reader (Romancing Pandora 2024 Day 1 - Somnophilia)

A/N: I should preface this by saying I've only ever written smut a whopping total of 1 time and I was 15 or 16 so as a soon to be 23 year old this will only be the 2nd smut I've ever written 😬

Tagging: @eywaite @neteyamsyawntu

Synopsis: So'lek is more injured than you both had first thought and the dapophet pods that you retrieved for him could only do so much. His injury, the approaching RDA and the enveloping darkness force you both to retreat to a mossy cave in order to rest before making the remaining trek to Resistance HQ. Sharing a sleeping space to preserve body heat seemed like a good idea to begin with but awakening and feeling the soft curves of your body pressed against his brings feelings forward that So'lek thought he wouldn't feel again.

Fic Includes: NSFW so MDNI, So'lek's sass, low-key corruption kink??, hints at touch starved So'lek, So'lek grinds against reader and touches her while she sleeps so if you don't like that then don't read this but honestly the somnophilia is very little of this fic, solo male stuff, Dom So'lek and Sub Reader, 1 count em 1 spank of the puss, fingering, squirting, p in v, 3.4k words

A group of Sarentus, frozen in time by sky people technology for 16 long years. A botched rescue mission resulting in a split group. A dislocated shoulder, now healing as a result of the dapophet pod so eagerly retrieved for him that he could still taste the acrid tang of on the back of his tongue. Darkness approaching and RDA around every corner. While this may not have been the worst day in his life it certainly wouldn’t make his top 10 list of best either. 

Although the trek to Resistance headquarters wasn’t necessarily a long one, So'lek's pounding head, the ache in his shoulder and the clumsy steps of the more tawtute than na’vi trailing behind him were making the trip seem uncommonly strenuous. 

“Maybe we should stop?” Your voice breaks through the silence, concerned at the occasional wince that cut through the air from So’lek’s lips when he was forced to move his previously dislocated shoulder. “The RDA.. and your arm, we should-”

“The RDA are exactly why we need to keep moving, we can not be caught off guard” His refusal to look at you while speaking caused irritation to bubble under your skin and the aggravated flick of his tail drew your eyes in. Watching as it moved, betraying his emotions, you silently wondered if at any point since you had ‘woken up’ your own tail made your feelings known so obviously. If it had flicked to attention at the frustrating man in front of you calling you ‘Sarentu’, if it had swayed behind you in a delicate swing when he broke his stoic image and promised to gift you with a new songcord. A sudden, harsh hiss of pain snapped you out of your daze and seeing So’lek gripping his shoulder made an uncontrollable huff of annoyance escape your lips.

“We must stop So’lek. You are in pain!” Instead of arguing or completely ignoring your concerns this time he paused, his ears seeming to twitch with each individual thought that ran through his head.

The sound of distant shooting made his decision for him and the deep hiss that ripped out of So’lek’s mouth made an unusual feeling burn in your belly. “Come, there is a place… a halfway point not far from here. We may rest there until it is light once again.” 

This ‘halfway point’ as So’lek had called it was no more than a deep cave filled with soft green moss that cushioned your every step and a few stray RDA issue containers that at one point may have some supplies but presently lay empty and useless.

“You may make yourself comfortable, Sarentu” His patronizing tone caused your ears to twitch back defensively and you itch to turn your back on him and retreat to the furthest part of the cave to get away from him but the look of pain on his face as he attempts to remove his modified RDA vest keeps your feet planted in place. Closing the gap between you both you reach for the straps yourself and begin to help him.

The feeling of your cool, soft fingers unintentionally dragging against his skin while you help remove his vest makes So’lek’s muscles tense and brings to the front of his mind that, although being covered by more fabric than himself, you were unused to the climate of the outside world. 

Feeling So’lek shift under your hands you looked up from his straps to find him already looking back at you. “Come, we will set up a place to rest in the moss. It will help to keep us warm while we wait for the light” All the softness of his sentiment is ripped away just as quickly as So’lek himself rips away from you and you watch as he removes the vest without struggle now that the straps are undone. “Quickly, Sarentu, we don’t want you to freeze after the effort of retrieving you.” 

You roll your eyes and scoff but join So’lek in the soft cushion of the flat circle of moss present in the middle of the cave. Laying down on your side you purposefully turn your back to him and try to get some rest all the while feeling So'lek’s gaze on your back.

Movement on his right causes So’lek to rouse from sleep and he immediately notices the pressure of your body against his along with the persistent shivers racking your body, your back is still facing him but your tail has betrayed your unconscious search for his warmth by curling around his thigh, the small tuft of hair on the end brushing against his abs at the top of his tewng.

The cave that housed you both was now completely dark apart from the slight bioluminescence of the undisturbed moss and the tanhi that were gently shimmering on both of your bodies. So’lek surmised that it had been, at the most, 3 hours, since you’d entered together and when he shifted to his side in order to better share his heat with you he was happy to feel no pull or pain from his previously injured shoulder.

Another shiver racks your body and before he can stop himself his hand makes its way to the skin of your hip where your demon chest covering had ridden up to expose your skin. He watches his hand moving in what feels like an out of body experience, thumb stroking the delicate glowing tanhi that dot your skin. 

Despite what you perceived earlier as irritation from him, the truth could not be further from what you thought. When the dreamwalker, Alma, came to So’lek and begged for his help with her mission to the RDA base he wasn’t expecting the abandoned Sarentu to even be there let alone for them to be alive. Then you, the last of the remaining Sarentu to wake… you looked at him with such curiosity, your tail flicking to attention when he spoke to you, he felt an undeniable urge to be close to you. It was the first time in many cycles that So’lek had felt this attraction to another, the last time being briefly before the battle of the Hallelujah mountains which had left him much like yourself.. without a clan to be a part of.

After only a few minutes of sharing his body heat with yours, So’lek feels your shivers stop and your body relaxes into his grip. Your tail makes content, sleepy little brushes against his abs and your breath huffs out with gentle purrs.

Content that you’re feeling a lot more comfortable now compared to when you accidentally woke him, So’lek allows his eyes to drift closed in an effort to fall asleep once more and get more rest before making the remaining trek to Resistance HQ. 

Silence surrounds you both and the cave is peaceful once more, his breathing begins to even out but before the sweet relief of sleep can wash over him, the combination of your tail’s insistent movement continuously brushing the band of his tewng and the feeling of the soft curve of your ass pressed so close to his cock makes it twitch to life with interest.

Beginning to remove himself from you, ashamed of his body’s depraved reaction to the little amount of contact between you, he’s stopped by a pitiful whimper at the loss of his heat and a firmer press of your body against his in your unconscious effort to make sure he stays close.

He really doesn’t mean to roll his hips into the plush flesh of your ass, doesn’t mean to press his hard cock against the print of your pussy through your uncomfortably rough RDA shorts. But the reward of your sweet little whimper makes him do it again and again until his tewng is painfully tight and all the friction against your pussy is causing a damp spot to darken your shorts.

Uncomfortable with the pressure of his tewng keeping his dick constricted, So’lek fights with himself for less than he’d like to admit before loosening the strings and holding back a groan as he takes a hold of his throbbing, flushed cock. Pre-cum beads heavily on his blushing purple tip and he knows that if he were to check there would be an embarrassing amount clinging to the inside of his tewng from the simple stimulation of humping against you like an animal.

Smoothing his rough palm over his sensitive head forces a hiss to escape his lips but the lubrication of his pre-cum gives his hand a glide over his cock as he begins to jerk his hand over his length, tightening his grip in a poor emulation of how tight he can picture your inexperienced pussy clenching on him would be.

So’lek reaches for you again, needing to feel some sort of contact between you before he lets himself cum. It’s been so long that after only a dozen strokes of his cock he can already feel his heavy balls drawing close to his body, begging to release his load. 

Pressing close to you once more, So’lek can now feel the damp outline of your puffy cunt against his bare cock. The thought of how sensitive you must be to get so worked up with so little contact makes him dizzy as he works his way between the soft grip of your thighs. 

So’lek’s hand clamps onto the bare skin of your hip too hard to recover from and when he hears your sleepy mumble asking him about what was going on he can feel the sting of embarrassment spreading through his body. He begs Eywa to grant him mercy, prays for you to fall asleep before you can realise what he’s done so he can withdraw himself and hide his shame but Eywa shows him no such forgiveness.

“So’lek..?” You call out, still trying to break through the haze of sleep that continues to cloud your mind.

“I’m sorry, Sarentu, I don’t know what possessed me” So’lek’s deep voice cut through the darkness, snapping you out of your half asleep daze and the feeling of his big, rough hand removing itself from your hip helped to solidify your consciousness further. The burn of where it once was making you instantly miss the feeling.

Your body aches with need, stimulated beyond anything you’d felt before and it hurts now that So’lek has stopped.

“So’lek..” The last time you’d felt this ache in your gut was during your early teen years when you’d developed a fleeting attraction to Teylan but even that didn’t produce the pulsing need coming from your damp cunt or the slick seeping through your shorts. “Please do not stop now… it is hurting”

So’lek huffs out a growl at your words, sounding as if he was experiencing pain when in reality it was the pure, unbridled desire that you ignited in him forcing the sound out. “And where does it hurt, little one?” His large hand suddenly cups your aching cunt through your shorts and you whimper at the feeling of the seam pressing harder into your swollen clit, desperately pitching your hips into his hand to make the feeling last. 

“There! So’lek please, do not torture me!” An embarrassed burn heats your face at the pathetic sound of your own voice but So’lek is only encouraged by how eager you are just feeling his palm against you.

“Mawey, Sarentu… Mawey” He brings his hand away slightly and swiftly brings it back to your cunt with a dull smack, the feeling and sound being dampened by your shorts. “I’ll make the hurt go away, do not worry” So’lek moves his hands back to your hips and grips them in his hands as he encourages you to roll onto your front, settling on his knees behind you and eagerly ripping your shorts down your thighs. The friction of them against the delicate skin forces a defiant hiss to escape you and in response, So’lek’s large, rough hand wraps around the base of your tail and gives it a harsh tug. 

A pathetic whine escapes you as So’lek’s forceful grip brings your back end up into a perfect arch and you are painfully aware that with your tail out of his way, So’lek is now being gifted as clear of a view of your most intimate part that he can achieve in the low glow of the mossy cave that houses you both.

“Ma’Sarentu…” He growls over the words as he witnesses you so incredibly flushed and wet just for him. 

The feeling of So’lek’s fingers parting your slit furthers your embarrassment but only serves to make your cunt pulse and clench under his intense gaze. “So’lek, p-please stop looking there-” 

He interrupts you with a deep chuckle and your hips subconsciously jolt back towards him looking for something to finally get rid of the ache.

“Why should I, Ma’Sarentu? It is mine to look at” You knees threaten to buckle at the possessiveness behind his words. In your life you’d been denied so many milestones and experiences that dot the life of a normal Na’vi and So’lek calling you his made your natural instincts scream out for him.

“Yes!” You borderline yell at him, tears filling your eyes “Yes it is- I am- Yours! I am yours” 

So’lek shushes you as he sinks his long index and middle finger into you, causing you to squeal as they immediately brush against a part of you that has never been touched by even your own fingers. The feeling of your warm cunt clamping tight to his fingers makes So’lek sigh your name and forces him to give his cock a firm tug to relieve some of the pain from his neglect.

Your fingers desperately search for grip in the soft moss cushioning your body as So’lek’s fingers bully their way against your g-spot again and again, forcing punched out whines from your throat that you can’t find control over. Each thrust and curl and scissor of his fingers makes the steady growing pit of need in your gut all the more noticeable and for a moment you’re convinced you might just explode from the intensity of all the feelings that consume you.

So’lek watches, a man possessed by the sight, as your soaked pussy leaves a creamy ring gathering at his knuckles and your body trembles from the punishing pace of his fingers. He feels cruel for drawing out your ache, knowing that you most likely won’t cum from penetration alone, but he can’t contain the part of him that yearns to see you so desperate and submissive for him while hating the idea of this coming to an end too quickly.

“You are… the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, Sarentu” A broken sob falls from your lips as So’lek finally presses his thumb to your throbbing clit, an uncontrollable string of “Thank you” breathlessly escaping you. A few lazy, firm circles is all it takes for your cunt to spasm and gush around his fingers but So’lek makes sure to bump and curl his fingers against your g-spot to drag it out, forcing stream after stream of clear fluid to splash over both of your thighs and the moss beneath you until your voice gives out mid scream of his name.

You pant for air, the intensity of your first orgasm making it feel hard to get enough air into your lungs. Your head feels heavy, your arms feel weak and So’lek can feel your legs quivering with the threat to give out. Taking pity on you, shaking under him like a leaf, So’lek moves you onto your back.

Blinking rapidly to clear the haze from your eyes you stare up at So'lek's form hovering over you and despite having him practically rip your orgasm out of you not 5 minutes prior you feel your stomach flip with nerves as he leans in to kiss you. The flat of his nose brushes against your own and his lips meet yours, his kisses expressing more than he could with his words if he tried.

So’lek pulls back first, leaving you chasing his lips for more as he laughs his deep, hearty laugh at your eagerness. “Ma’Sarentu..” His breath tickles your lips as he speaks “I must have you.. but only if you are ready to have me..” 

How could you refuse? With So’lek looking at you as if you were sent to him by Eywa herself you were sure there was never anything in your life that you wanted more than him. “So’lek.. I need you..” 

Your pretty face only flushes more as So’lek hooks your leg over his hip and holds it in place while his free hand takes his painfully hard cock and runs the head through your sloppy folds. You’re sure that your skin must be glowing purple when he catches your oversensitive little clit with his motions and can’t hold back from laughing at the jolt that takes over your body.

So’lek’s cock throbs in his hand as your slick coats his sensitive head and when he finally feels the relief of your tight cunt gripping him while he pushes into you, he can’t hold back the borderline feral noise that rips from his throat.

“Ma’yawntu, you were made for me..”

Forcing himself to take it slow takes a level of self control that So’lek struggles to reach, your pussy is gripping him so tightly in its wet warmth but he knows he can’t push you too far too fast. Bringing his hand between your bodies, his fingers find your swollen clit and slide over it with precision that makes your head spin and your cunt relax enough to take more of his length.

By the time So’lek manages to fill you completely all that can escape you is a choked off scream. His cockhead is crammed against your g-spot while he rolls your clit between his fingers and the incredible weight of his length inside of you makes it feel as if he was always meant to be there. 

So’lek starts with shallow thrusts, not wanting to overwhelm you with the brutal pace his body craves to fuck you with but the sound of his cock plunging in and out of your wet cunt is making it hard to hold himself back. 

It’s a boost to his ego how quickly he feels the same twitch around his cock that he felt around his fingers not long ago and he doubles his efforts to aim his cock against your g-spot with each thrust, punching broken moans out of your throat with each hit.

Feeling you cum around his cock is better than So’lek could have imagined, you tighten impossibly around him making it hard to keep thrusting with the grip your pussy has on him. His ears pin back as he snarls, desperately holding back from cumming inside you as you scream for him. 

You watch So’lek pull from you and can’t stop your eyes from widening when you see the size of his cock. The beginnings of the light of day are starting to creep into the cave giving you a clear view of your slick coating his impressive cock.

Firmly gripping his length he immediately tries to match the pace he was fucking you with his hand, his grip is a disappointing comparison to the clamp of your cunt around him and he’s sure that he’ll never find pleasure easily again if it’s not from being buried deep inside you.

So’lek’s half lidded eyes gaze down at you, the wet sound of his hand gliding over his cock filling the cave along with both of your heavy breathing. He’s being given such a beautiful image to jerk his cock too, one he wishes he could see for the rest of time when he closed his eyes. You’ve propped yourself up onto your elbows, purple flush painting your body with your legs spread wide where he was pressed against you and to top it all off your sweet puffy cunt was still dripping for him, overworked and overstimulated while drooling slick out of your used hole.

The animalistic noise that rips out of So’lek’s lips makes your own ears pin back and your cunt pulse around nothing. You feel the first shot of his cum land on your inner thighs before he reaims and purposefully shoots the rest of his fat load onto your pussy. Claiming you as his.

So’lek pants as he twists his wrist, squeezing every last drop from his cock until he’s sure he has none left to give you. He can’t bite back the smile that crosses his face seeing you covered in his seed, a smile that comes across in his voice as he admires your used pussy.

“You are mine now, Sarentu.. No one else will ever feel you like I have”

[parlamiamore]

the recognizable pattern of a waltz / neuvillette

summary: the annual fontaine masquerade ball has arrived and the city is in a frenzy. it had been revealed by reporter charlotte that monsieur neuvillette is intending to start searching for a partner, and everyone wants a chance to dance with him. and yet, he falls for the person who feels least interested in dancing.

pairing: neuvillette x male!reader

a link to the playlist i created for this fic is here

The news had been plastered on every morning edition of the Steambird. The ladies and gentlemen were bustling with the news. Monsieur Neuvillette was searching for a partner! How had Charlotte gotten it out of him? No matter what she had, it was the biggest story Fontaine had seen since the water levels receded. And that was almost a year ago now. The world had moved on and kept turning as the Traveler had turned their eyes away from the nation of Hydro and focused on their next destination. You had seen them off the day they set out for Natlan, sharing tear-stained hugs and gentle words of encouragement. Their journey was more than halfway over, and they would be leaving Teyvat soon if all went well. The best goodbyes hurt the most.

Now that Fonatainians had been absolved of their sins, the world had returned to normal. As normal as it could get, anyway. The bakery you ran was flowing with traffic since Charlotte had interviewed the heroes of Fontaine. Your pastries sold out in less than three hours, and patrons nursed hand-crafted mugs of steaming tea under their noses. The life you'd always dreamed of.

"Have you heard the news?" A new patron asked, a fan hiding the bottom half of her face. When you shrugged, she chuckled. You heard. Every eligible person in Fontaine was talking about it.

"Monsieur Neuvillette is searching for a partner!" She almost squealed as you fiddled with your new invention. An espresso machine for brewing drinks that energize. The beans, shipped from Natlan, were a new delicacy Fontaine hadn't been ready for. And you were the only shop in the nation to sell it. A smart move.

"How exciting," you mused. "The usual, Celine?" You were too tired to deal with mindless gossip this early in the morning.

"Oh, yes! Thank you!" You exchanged Mora for a drink, and Celina tittered away like a bird that had just learned to fly. You smiled after her as you let the frothier spray steam. The scent of coffee and tea filled your nose. The smell you could die surrounded by. The way it clouded the mind and made it hazy, yet made your heart pound.

Others might call you crazy, but you believe that the perfect drink could solve any temporary problem. Your theory has yet to be proven wrong.

"If you keep staring at the windows, they'll explode," a voice called from the entrance. You turned your head up, and smiled at who'd entered your cafe.

"Clorinde, I was beginning to wonder if you'd darken my door," your tone was all tease, no malice. The duelist rolled her eyes as she stepped into the cafe proper. A door led to a fine patio that you had built from scratch, with some help from the Traveler and Paimon. Plants spilled off railings, and beautiful wooden tables soaked up the sunlight. It was full, bustling with the sounds of life.

"You say that as if it's a bad thing," she chided. "I'm your favourite customer, and we know it." You made a face, pretending to think about it.

"Navia leaves generous tips," you teased, but a single glare from the champion was enough to change your tune. "Okay, okay, you're my favourite." The smile returned to Clorinde's face.

"Your usual? Or are you trying something new?" You asked. Clorinde was a pioneer in creating new drinks and catapulted many famed beverages like Romaritime lattes and rainbow rose tea to success. You owe her your originality, it is far too difficult to be innovative on your own.

"I'll have a black coffee, one sugar, please."

"Didn't sleep well?" You asked as your hands worked through motions you'd done hundreds of times. You could do it with your eyes closed, if you tried really hard. You'd never try, in the interest of not embarrassing yourself in front of paying customers.

"You could say that," she grumbled as you slid the mug across the counter to her awaiting hands.

"Tell me, are you going to the ball?" You groaned.

"Oh, no, not you, too! I swear, that's all everyone talks about!" Clorinde raised her brow at your small outburst. "What about it?"

"I'm being forced to go. Even Wriothesley is attending. It would feel wrong for you not to be present." You smiled at her words. After all this time, the friends you had made when the Traveler stepped onto Fonatainian soil had not abandoned you, as you'd expected them to. People still manage to surprise you.

"What's in it for me?" You asked. You hated social gatherings. All those strangers, all those voices. Too much of everything. For you to go, it had to be worth it.

"I heard rumours that the Palais was looking to cater their next annual meeting, I could put in a good word," Clorinde stated.

"As if Neuvillette wasn't already going to request me?" Your bakery was the only one he trusted the Melusines to go to, and had tried every item to see that it was to their liking. You'd even created a Melusine line of products, perfect for the tastes of the angels of Fontaine.

"I'll owe you a favour." Your brows rose.

"A favour, hm? I couldn't possibly pass that up!" Clorinde rolled her eyes.

"Meet me at the Opera Epiclise at 7 o'clock sharp," she instructed before turning her back on you and strutting out of the cafe.

You sighed and placed your chin on your palms and breathed out. Suddenly, your back straightened.

You needed a suit.

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived. Music poured out of the front doors, a tantalizing melody that spoke of love and heartbreak. Your suit, freshly tailored by Chiori, had bled your savings dry. Clorinde owes you for this. But, on the bright side, you had a new suit. It fits you perfectly. You'd have to close the shop five hours early to get a suit fitted in time. Luckily, most attendees had organized their outfits weeks in advance, and none were stupid enough to get it done so last minute.

No one except you, that is.

Either way, despite the tuts of annoyance from your tailor friend, you've been fitted to perfection. She'd even done your hair, something she didn't charge extra for.

The large clock in the lobby read 7 o'clock, and you had just made it inside. You spotted Clorinde, Wriothesley, Navia, and Furina milling about by the table you'd curated. Your bakery had been chosen to cater. Many long nights had made such a thing possible. Furina, the dessert lover she was, had two slices of cake in her hands. She spotted you and waved you over with a chocolate lava cake. You didn't hesitate to trot across the room to your companions.

"You came?" Clorinde sounded surprised.

"Couldn't resist holding something over your head," you replied.

"Ah, so that's how she got you to come," Wriothesley mused with a cross of his arms.

"She was very compelling," you shot back.

"I'm so glad you're here! Parties aren't the same without you!" Navia leaned against your arm and beamed up at you.

"Hello Navia," you hummed.

"Is it true that you made all of these desserts?" Furina asked with joy in her eyes. Aside from Clorinde, Furina spent most of her time in your bakery. You had offered her a job, but she refused. Being paid with sweets was enough for the previous Hydro archon. You just hoped word didn't get back to Neuvillette that you were approving unpaid labour.

"Although my social life withers, I did." You'd barely spoken to living humans during that time. Too busy with flour-coated hands and cramps in your legs from working until the sun rose. But the payoff is worth the hit to your sleep schedule. Who needs to sleep when you have coffee?

"You should have let me help you!" Furina raised her voice. No one glanced, far too used to their previous Archon's outbursts.

"It's alright, it was a lot of work, and I technically don't pay you, remember? It's illegal." Furina huffed.

"Oh please, I'm the previous Hydro Archon, I'm sure he'd let it slide." There was no need to ask who the “he” was. The Iudex was fond of the Archon, in how a brother cared for a sister. He’d never let someone take advantage of her, even if that someone was you. Fair to a fault. Or something of the like.

"The fact that you're the previous Archon is why I didn't want you to work," you shot back with a grin. Before the Traveler arrived, you'd thought Furina was pompous and childish, and her voice annoyed you. But, upon learning the true nature of her existence, you'd come to see through the five-hundred-year facade. You considered yourself one of her closest confidants, hoping she thought the same of you. You'd always been told that making friends as an adult was easy, but you'd suffered until recently. Owning a business didn't leave room for socializing.

"You're no fun!" The Archon whined. You only shook your head.

Guests whirled past you in blurs of blues, pinks, reds, and golds. The chandelier overhead sparkled in the reflection of the floor. You'd never had a reason to come to the Opera Epiclese, you'd never been interested in trials until the Traveler came along. Now, justice felt like it meant something. Fontaine was changing for the better.

"I'd love to dance," Navia swooned as the violins changed to an upbeat waltz. The steady thump of a snare echoed through the hall as members of the hive mind of the elite took to the floor with steps they'd been forced to memorize since birth.

"Then join me," Clorinde offered with a gentle smile. Navia took Clorinde's hand gently, like a scene out of a fairytale. The pair pushed into the crowd and vanished among the sea of smiles.

Slowly, though you wished you hadn't noticed, your friends moved away. Either to the floor or to mingle with others whom they hadn't seen for some time. Even Wrio got on the floor, struggling to teach Sigewinne to dance without stepping on his feet.

You've never been one for dancing. Most of your friends knew. They'd learned to stop asking you to join them months ago. Instead, you'd sit near your pastries and exchange pleasantries with people you knew. Then you'd go home and the night would be over. You'd return to reality, and never regret that you hadn't danced.

"You came," a hopeful voice spoke up from your right. Monsieur Neuvillette. You expected to see him, at some point, only briefly. You didn't think he'd scope you out. This masquerade was thrown in his honour; at least, partially. The Dragon that saved Fontaine from the great flood. He was a hero, just as much as the Traveler. And although people didn't know what to make of his status as Sovereign, they left room for him.

"Why does everyone seem surprised?" You asked. "Am I that much of a shut-in?" You knew what people thought of you. The talented baker who worked too much. And that was fine. You had your friends. Not everyone needed to know you properly, you had enough that did.

"You know that's not what I meant," Neuvillette whispered.

"I wanted to see what the fuss was about," you replied. That was partially true. Maybe you were swept up in the whispers. Neuvillette was searching for a partner. You wanted to see the fairytale unfold before you, as a bystander. Maybe your business would flourish from their union. More customers would be a good thing. You could afford to hire your first employee if everything went well tonight.

"Does it live up to your expectations?" Neuvillette asked as he took another pastry into his hand. He always treated your creations with a gentleness you'd never seen. Like every bite was precious.

"I'm disappointed by the lack of wine throwing, I was promised at least one public outing of an affair." Neuvillette snorted into his cupcake. The frosting collided with his nose and cheeks. Your hand flew to your mouth in shock as he spluttered. His hand came up to wipe the frosting off the curve of his lip and the tip of his nose.

"It's not too late," Neuvillette replied. You managed a gasp.

"How scandalous!" Your voice dripped with sarcasm. Not many knew how often Neuvillette frequented the opera for things other than trials. He was a fan of the Fontainian opera scene and was always hungry for drama. The less criminal, the better. Drama with no consequences except for those involved. The best kind.

"Balls like this are almost more entertaining than the opera," Neuvillette mused as he grabbed a glass of sparkling water. A special request of his, no doubt.

"They lack a fake death, though," you nodded along with him.

The music changed again. A melody you recognize. One from Mondstadt, if you remember correctly.

"Are you planning to stand here all night?" Neuvillette asked.

"I might spice it up and go stand over there," you replied and pointed to an open set of chairs on the other side of the ballroom.

"Well, then you have no reason to refuse." You furrowed your brows, but Neuvillette silenced you by holding out his hand. You stared at it for a moment.

"You're not going to let me say no, are you?" You asked the Chief Justice.

"You're welcome to say no, but try to be gentle with your rejection." As if you could truly reject him. Like many others in Fontaine, you can appreciate the looks of the Iudex. Anyone with eyes could.

"I suppose one dance couldn't hurt," you relented. Neuvillete didn't hesitate to pull you toward the dance floor. The crowd seemed to move like water as you both moved. Countless eyes flocked to you, and movement seemed to stop.

You tensed. Neuvillette felt it.

"Don't stop on our account," he announced to the hall. Instantly, at his command, the movement started again. You looked at your dance partner.

"Why are they staring?" You asked. Neuvillette took the lead and began to guide you. You weren't sure where he learned to dance, but you hoped he was better than you were.

"People are far too concerned with who I show interest in," Neuvillette responded. Your mouth fell open as he spun you.

"Interest?"

"Oh, you didn't know? I thought I was being very obvious." This was news to you. Your eyes shot to your friends, who were gathered around Charlotte. Her kamera was mounted. Furina smiled brightly, Navia made hearts with her hands, and Wrio shot you a wink.

"No matter, consider this as me making it even more obvious," Neuvillette continued.

"Are you courting me?" You asked, to make sure you weren't imagining things.

"I believe so, yes." Neuvillette dipped you, in perfect form. His hair draped over your face as you stared at him. His cheeks were flushed with warmth, his eyes wide and vulnerable. He was risking his heart by speaking, by breathing too close to you. "Do you accept?" His words fell apart into a gentle whisper. The air rushed over your face.

You needed to speak.

"Of course," you said. You meant it. You meant it a thousand times over. Afternoons chatting about water and tea blends, all the times he came in craving something sweet and a gentle smile, all the times you'd stare at him when he spoke of things he was passionate about. They all hit you like a tram. You were in love with him, weren't you?

Oh Archons help you.

Above you, Neuvillette smiled. And in the background, the rhythm changed into the familiar pattern of a waltz.

[carpe-aurore]

On rose bushes

Back when I was a kid, when we lived with my monster of a stepfather, we had a rose bush in front of our house. I remember I loved that thing, since it was the only plant that would grow in our home. Anything I tried to put in the ground died almost immediately. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, ever grew in there. But this beautiful, huge red rose bush did. It thrived, even. I took care of it everyday, watered it, trimmed it. And every spring, it grew the most gorgeous and fragrant red roses. The petals would cover the whole front yard. You could smell the fragrance halfway down the street. My stepfather hated it, since he would always get scratched by a stray branch when he walked through the front door. We joked that the rose bush only hated him, cause it never happened to anyone else. Years later, after having enough of all the abuse, we moved out. That week was the week that the rose bush was about to bloom again for the spring. We came back at the end of the week to get the rest of our things and found the rose bush halfway dried and dead. It had not been tampered with, as far as we could tell. Nothing has been poured on it, or sprayed. It seemed to have just shriveled up in just a matter of days.

We moved in with my grandmother while we got back on our feet. She's always had a green thumb, and had the most beautiful garden in her backyard. She had a tiny, scraggly rose bush next to the window of my room, and told me that she had no idea what the color of the flowers were since it had never bloomed once in all the years she had lived in that house. But she told me I could try to take care of it if I wanted, and so I did. I watered it, trimmed it, and watched it slowly grow. The next spring she shouts at me from the backyard, excited as she's ever been, telling me to come look. Tiny buds are growing all over it. They bloomed into gorgeous little red roses. We both were so excited at seeing such tiny flowers. A couple of years after we moved out of her house, she tells me it never bloomed again after we left.

While we were still living with my grandmother, a friend from church approaches us and tells us she and her husband are renovating a house to put up for rent. They invite us to come take a look so we can see if we would like to live there. As she's giving us a tour, she tells me there is a rose bush out in the backyard that the previous owners had planted. She says it's very likely to die, since the weather has been hot and it had begun to shrivel up. But she knows I love roses, and tells me I'm more than welcome to try and revive it when we move in. We pack up our things from Grandma's and with the help of many friends and family, arrive at our new home. She tells me she'll be back at the end of the month to cut down the rose bush if it's dead. For the next month, waking up early each morning surrounded by halfway unpacked boxes, I get up to water the rose bush. I trim away at the dead foliage, and feel how much I have sacrificed to get there. I wipe my tears with hands that smell of cut leaves. I still remember the shock on her face when she arrived, garden shears in hand, to see a rose bush full of new green growth and tiny rosebuds. It bloomed into beautiful, bright red roses. We have lived here for about 7 years, and this rose bush has tripled in size since then. I water it, I trim it. I harvest the blooms each spring to place them in vases around the house, to gift to friends. I make rose jam out of the petals. I make rose tea to drink. Petals cover our whole backyard every time it blooms. The little girl that trimmed the rose bush has grown up, but the petals smell as sweet as always. And she's there as a woman now, harvesting the life she couldn't have before. She places a petal in her mouth and she thinks the roses taste especially sweet this year.