#slapped some colors on her and called it a day

[rhyrhy]

Never Yours, Always Hers - A.A

Toxic! Abby x fem reader

⚠︎ Warnings: substance Abuse, emotional, psychological, (no physical!) Public humiliation (r!), sexual content!, Grief and trauma, harassment (r!), Manipulation, Wealth & Privilege, Obsession. Just overall darker themes! 10.3k words

✉︎ Authors note: Low-key exposing myself with my guilty pleasure of toxic! abby, But I write plenty others if this isn’t your cup of tea! otherwise enjoy!

⤷ Pt 1/2 - MDNI! - Mlist

Sweet Abbigail,

A smile of white, her parents adored. Large family portraits of the cutest little girl in the middle, freckles dotting her nose, a Burberry cardigan always a bit too big for her. Abbigail was a mommy’s girl through and through. Her mother, picture-perfect in her small doe eyes, was the epitome of grace. Abby always strived to be just like her. soft, sweet, and always under control. But behind the rose-colored glasses, cracks began to show faster than she’d ever expected. 

✈︎ The first time she saw it, she wasn’t quite sure why her mother would always take so long to make her father’s tea in the mornings. She’d wait her turn at the large dark oak dining table, her small hands clasped together as she watched cartoons, polished silverware reflecting a little girl desperate to have breakfast with her mommy like every other morning. But there was a stillness to the house that morning; Abbigail didn’t understand it at first, not until she noticed the way her mother’s eyes would linger a little too long on the kettle before she’d pour the tea. The silence was only being filled with the sound of a spoon clinking the sides of the mug. Sweet Abbigail learned to stop asking questions before they even formed in her wondering mind. 

✈︎ Her nights were no better. She’d toss and turn in her bed, the muffled screams and quiet chatter from her parents’ bedroom echoing down the large hallway. angry whispers and harsh tones seeping through the walls. It was an ugly rhythm, one she eventually learned to ignore.

✈︎ Growing up, her Elementary school was no better either. The principal stood in front of her, holding up a cut braid. The girl, some brat named Jessica Baldwin, just had to make fun of Abby’s artwork in class. Questioning her choice of colored glitter. 

“I’m just kidding, it’s a joke.” Jessica giggled, turning back to her project. Purple crayon in hand. 

Yeah, She didn’t find any of it funny. Watching Jessica’s dark braid taunt her as she faced forward. Her blue irises darted to the supposed ‘kid-safe’ scissors in her small fingers. That day, in a blur, Abby had absolutely pulled Jessica’s hair, snipping off her braid with said scissors as the class erupted in chaos. Her small hand covered her mouth to hide a small laugh threatening to add to the noise.

“I didn’t do it, Daddy. I swear!” Later that day after two phone calls. Abby begged, her voice trembling as she stood at the principal’s desk.

Her parents barely believed her, but they didn’t exactly punish her, either. They just… didn’t get it.  They never did. Her father’s brow furrowed in disbelief, while her mother’s eyes seemed too tired to even care.

✈︎ The name that had once been laced with sugar felt like a slap in the face. She hated it. She hated how her father would say it with that soft, adoring tone, as if nothing was wrong. Abbigail, he’d coo, always with that gleam of love in his eyes. But that love felt empty now. So, now in her high school years she had zero tolerance for it.

“Jesus… do you need me to spell it? It’s A-B-B-Y” she snapped, her voice sharp, filled with a venom she didn’t even know she had. “Stop fucking calling me that.”

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✈︎ Throughout high school, Abby dealt with a lot of internalized homophobia. She would scold herself whenever she felt flustered around pretty girls, her heartbeat pounding in her chest when close friend Nora would redo her hair during class.It only became more apparent after her first time with a guy. They made out for what felt like two seconds until he got way too eager, and let's just say she vowed to never let a man stick his penis anywhere near her again.

✈︎ She knew she wasn't the girliest. She played tennis, had short finger nails, and manspread when she sat. But even with that under her belt, she would dismiss her feelings toward girls as a phase. At least that's what her father called it when she brought home Alessia Forbes, senior year. They'd shared a kiss behind the bleachers in 10th grade, and it forced Abby to face the music. Opening the door to becoming more comfortable in her skin and how she dressed, Abby started to embrace what felt right. She wasn't a fan of makeup or dresses. pants were much more convenient.

✈︎ Alessia, unfortunately, much like most in Abby's life, didn't stick around long. Abby should've known, though. Alessia's eyes always wandered when other girls were around-especially when Ellie Williams was in proximity. At Eastside Preparatory, bullying, fighting, or even petty beefs were immediately reported. They had a reputation to uphold, matched only by the ridiculous tuition parents paid. Abby couldn't stand Ellie, though. She didn't intentionally steer her girlfriend away, but she needed someone to blame.

✈︎ Abby was always quick to anger, and when Ellie-someone who pushed all her buttons— called her out on her behavior, things went south quickly. The two got into a physical fight that was so violent Abby had to transfer schools to avoid it tarnishing her record.

“Abbigail, what the hell were you thinking?!” Her father asked, arms crossed.

“A fight? You think we spend all this money for you to act like a barbarian while you’re supposed to be learning?” her mother scoffed.

Abby didn’t answer. She just stood there, jaw clenched, arms crossed over her chest like she could physically hold in all the things she wanted to say. Because what was the point? They wouldn’t listen. They never did. She wanted to tell them that Ellie started it, that she had no choice but to defend herself. That it wasn’t her fault she lost her temper. But she knew they wouldn’t buy it. Not when they’d already decided she was the problem. So she let them lecture her, nodding at the right times, staring at the floor when they threw around words like disappointment and irresponsible like they were facts written in stone. Flashes of that green-eyed bitch. causing her to dig her nails into her palms. By the time they were done, East Bench, Salt Lake, was already in the past. New York was an adjustment.

✈︎ Columbia was bigger, louder. People walked fast, like they had somewhere important to be, never sparing her more than a passing glance. It was a far cry from the bubble of private school back home, where reputations were currency and whispers traveled faster than wildfire. Abby liked that. She liked that no one knew who she was. That she wasn’t Abbigail Anderson, the hothead who got kicked out of Eastside Prep. Here, she was just another student.

✈︎ Her father had pulled some strings to get her in—of course he had—but Abby actually wanted to prove she deserved to be here. She kept her head down, went to class, and lifted at the gym in the evenings. It kept her from thinking too much. From remembering how things ended back home. She told herself this was good. That it was a fresh start. How much of her life she abandoned like it was nothing. It didn’t matter now.

✈︎ A new group of friends, her gold-plated Cabernet on her belt loop every morning, and hair breezing behind her. It was enough. Until it wasn't. Pushing herself into her studies and sports to keep her parents happy. She wasn’t sure if she was, though.

And that only deepened with the loss of her mother. But it’s what led her to you.

────୨ৎ────

✈︎ Growing up, money was never a concern. Your parents liked to call it being “comfortable,” but in reality, your lifestyle was far beyond that. Their status placed them among the elite, working closely with others in their sphere—the world of wealth, class, and the quiet sin of greed.

✈︎ Your father, a renowned real estate developer, owned Wilson & Co. Properties, a firm responsible for some of the most extravagant hotels and high-rises in the country. Your mother, a former corporate lawyer turned philanthropist, ran the Wilson Foundation, a charity often praised for its generous donations yet quietly criticized for its selective philanthropy. So naturally, you found yourself with a golden spoon resting on your tongue.

✈︎ And then there was Jerry Anderson, a man you’d seen in the circle your father had. CEO of Anderson Biomedical, a medical research company specializing in ‘cutting-edge’ treatments for neurodegenerative diseases. He was as respected, a man who knew how to turn science into profit. The only thing he couldn’t save or hook up to more machines to buy time? His wife. 

“Sarah Anderson dead at 42”

“Anderson Biomedical CEO Faces Scrutiny After Wife’s Shocking Death”

“Gone Too Soon: Socialite Sarah Anderson’s Mysterious Passing Sparks Questions”

It was everywhere. Sarah, She was beautiful; every photograph you’d seen looked almost airbrushed. Probably due to all the Botox, but she was striking regardless. Little did you know she’d passed those beautiful features to a young woman who’d flip your world upside down. A recantation of her flesh. blue eyes that reminded you of the waters of Navagio during your holiday in Greece. Golden brown-blonde strands that seemed to always fall in place. Pink lips that always sat in a small pout. A jawline that you’d probably cut yourself on if you ever got the chance to run your fingers along it. That work of art was His daughter, Abigail fucking Anderson; The first girl your parents approved of, And the worst breakup of your life.

✈︎ You first spotted her in your all-black long-sleeve dress and roses in hand, head hung in respect. Her mother’s funeral. You felt out of place as you’d only met Jerry a few times at galas, but your family went. Everyone did.?It was sickening how many news outlets sat outside, pushing microphones in their faces. They were trying to grieve for God's sake. But conspiracies about their family always ran high. But the rumors had already spread like wildfire. The whispers in the halls, the hushed voices behind gloved hands. Sarah tried to poison him, you know. Slowly. Over months. Some said Jerry caught her before it was too late. Others claimed he staged the whole thing to cover up his own sins. Money laundering, apparently. It was a ridiculous theory—one you brushed off as gossip from people with too much time and too little to lose. But the one that made you pause? Abby’s last girlfriend left traumatized. You didn’t know the details, only that she left town suddenly and never looked back. No one could agree on what happened. Some swore she was just a jealous ex who wanted revenge. Others claimed she was scared. But Abby? She never spoke about it. Never gave the rumors life. You told yourself none of it mattered. Because when you saw her standing there, shoulders tense, trying to keep herself together under the weight of a hundred scrutinizing eyes, you didn’t see a monster. You saw a girl who had just lost her mother. It was ridiculous, you felt. Empathy, something your mother said you held ‘too much’ of. And it’s exactly what led you to next to her, the eulogy ringing out into the large room.

A droplet streamed down the freckled cheeks next to you.

You felt guilty for being so focused on how her brown eyelashes stuck together as they dampened with tears. the whites of her eyes pink. Her jaw tightened, an obvious strain in her body. The way her black dress shirt clung to her toned arms. The small bump on the bridge on her nose. Beautiful. The spitting image of her mother. Sandwiched between your families, Her knee pressing against yours. Yup, Your heart rate was definitely faster than usual. When—Your hand seemed to move on its own.

Her blue eyes flicked over the girl sitting next to her. Her first glimpse of you, a small sympathetic smile on your lips. Arm offering her a Kleenex to dry her face. You tried not to furrow your brows when she just …stared at you. You aren’t sure what possessed you to do it, but your fingers moved. Gently soaking her tears of salt into the tissue. Patting along her sharp features. A small thank you left her lips before she turned back to the next family member speaking.  Later that day. You found her sitting on a bench. Fidgeting with the ends of her hair.

“You look just like her. She was beautiful,” you said, offering Abby another tissue. She didn’t take it. Instead, she exhaled a shaky breath and leaned into your hand.

“She would’ve liked you,” she murmured, voice thick with grief. You stilled, taken aback, a small flush creeping up your neck. You weren’t sure what to say, so you just patted her face dry once more, letting the moment settle between you. One of many interactions to come.

✈︎ You and Abby felt like two magnets, always drawn back together no matter how much space was between you. At gatherings, in crowded rooms filled with bodies, your eyes would meet and every time, she made sure you felt like the only person in the world.

✈︎ She charmed you completely. Abby had a way of making you feel seen, like she was peeling you apart layer by layer just to admire what was underneath. Every compliment was so specific, so deeply personal, it felt like she had memorized you. She gave you gifts you mentioned in passing, sent good morning texts before you even had a chance to wake up, and called you just to hear your voice. “You make me feel normal,” she admitted one night, after sneaking you away from a party into the cool night air. and you clung to it, to her. not realizing how much weight she placed on you. You barely noticed the way she inserted herself into your world—how effortlessly she made you friends with Manny, how she reconnected with Nora and brought Jordan, Leah, and the rest of their circle into your orbit. These were the children of wealth and influence, kids who knew their parents would clean up any mess they made. Late nights blurred into early mornings spent in dimly lit bars, luxury penthouses, and hidden corners of clubs where their last names meant everything.

One night, Abby pulled you away from it all. Away from the noise, away from the people. She kissed you hard against the wall of her apartment, hands roaming like she was trying to memorize you-mapping every inch the way she did with her words. She was intense but careful, treating you like something fragile yet untouchable all at once. It was the first time in a long time that something in her life felt real. And it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

“Abs…” you breathed out. Her body engulfing was heavy like a weighted blanket. The feeling of her hands roaming your body, pure worship. Your head beyond spinning.

But Abby only pulled you closer, like she couldn't stand even a sliver of space between you. Her tongue slid into your mouth, desperate, like she was staking her claim. Fingers tangled in your hair, pulling, twisting— holding you there like she was afraid you'd disappear if she let go. It was heated, consuming. You'd never been tangled up like this before. And you never wanted it to end.

The gifts, the attention, her touch in all the right places. Abby made you feel like the center of the universe. And you needed it. She broke the kiss, panting, eyes dark with something that made your stomach flip. She looked at you like you were something holy, something made just for her. Her hands roamed your back, fingertips tracing patterns, memorizing, claiming.

"Fuck, I need you so bad," she breathed, voice thick, raw. "Now. Like right now."

And later, as she lay beside you, her arm wrapped around your waist like she could keep you tethered to her, she thought back to the past. To the girls who expected her to take the lead, to do all the work, to prove herself in a way that always left her feeling hollow. But this? This was different. You wanted her, you gave as much as you took, and it made something inside her tighten, coil, and refuse to let go.

Not now. Not ever

✈︎ Abby had her ways of getting what she wanted. It was never outright. never something you could point to and call unfair. Just little things. Offhanded comments that made you second-guess yourself. “You still hang out with her?” she’d say, half-laughing, half-serious. “I swear she has a crush on you.” Or, when you mentioned grabbing lunch with a friend she didn’t particularly like; “Must be nice to have all this free time,” Abby mused, flipping through her phone. “Wish I didn’t miss you so much when you’re gone.” It was always playful, never an argument. But over time, you found yourself hesitating before making plans. Weighing whether the fun was worth the look Abby would give you later. The passive sighs. The casual, “Oh, you were with her?” that left you feeling ridiculous for even trying to defend yourself. Then there were the things she didn’t even have to say.

────୨ৎ────

Like the way she leaned into you one night, cheek pressed against your shoulder as you scrolled through your camera roll. You loved moments like these. You just had no idea the chaos it would later awaken.

“Who’s that?” she asked, voice laced with casual curiosity.

“Hm? Her? That’s Dina, I met her through a friend.” You paused your scrolling, finger hovering over the screen.

“Wait—wait, go back. That picture.”

“This one?” You swiped back to a group photo—just you, Dina, and her girlfriend, who had tagged along that day.

“Pfft. Ellie. Offf course,” she scoffed.

“You know her girlfriend?” you asked, glancing at Abby.

“Our fists do,” she muttered. “She’s the reason I had to leave East Bench.”

“Oh.” You blinked, unsure what to make of that. You were years behind that, you felt.

“Just… be careful around her,” she added. “Girlfriend’s a bitch. She might be too.” She teased, bumping your arm.

“Hey! She’s nice. And you need to let that go. Grudge-holding ass,” you laughed, shoving her shoulder.

“Hey yourself, I have my reasons!” she chuckled, shoving you back.

✈︎ Dina was fun, always finding the best overpriced boutiques with hidden gems. The kind of girl who always had a spare hair tie when needed. It was a shame she started canceling on you more often. Eventually, she even unfollowed you on social media. You wanted to reach out. had you said something wrong? Forgotten a birthday? But she was just a new friend. You’d make more. At least, that’s what your doting girlfriend told you when you came to her upset about it.

“Go ahead. Say you told me so,” you sighed after explaining what happened.

“What? No.” Abby tilted her head, her expression unreadable, like she… already knew. She patted your shoulder, then looked up at you with a bitten back laugh.

“I told you so.”

“Abby!” you groaned, rolling your eyes. You two spent the rest of the day joking about it but it still hurt. Lingering subconsciously.

✈︎ What you didn’t know was that Abby had already decided you didn’t need Dina. You certainly didn’t need Ellie, either. Maybe she found Dina’s number while you were sleeping, sent a few texts telling her to stay away. Maybe she didn’t. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was you leaning back into her, letting her hold you, telling her how much you appreciated her. How much you loved her.

────୨ৎ────

✈︎ God, she loved hearing you say it. The way you said it with no hesitation, holding eye contact, voice sending jolts through her body. It also didn’t matter the time of day or what you were doing. she needed to hear it. Yes, even when she was knuckles deep, listening to you whine and moan.

“Tell me you love me, baby,” she murmured, lips brushing your ear.

“Let me hear you.”

And when you did, breathless, pleading, her grip tightened.

“Louder, baby—uh huh, yeah, you fucking do.”

But how could you pick up on small things like that when your eyes were busy rolling to the back of your skull. This was love, passion, protection. she made sure it was drilled into your head.

────୨ৎ────


“No, baby. Not that one,” Abby said, shaking her head as she nodded toward your closet.

This was the third outfit she’d vetoed. You loved your sweet girlfriend—you really did—but moments like this made you want to strangle her. It had become a small pattern, one you were only now starting to pick up on. The way she’d tug down the hem of your skirt, make you do a slow spin before you left together, double-checking that you were covered in all the places she swore were only for her eyes to see. Your lower back. Too much cleavage. A glimpse of midriff. None of that.

And when she wasn’t subtly adjusting your outfits, she was replacing them altogether. Gifts—so many gifts. Gorgeous, expensive pieces that were impossible to turn down. Each one came with a sweet little note, the kind that made you feel silly for even questioning it. “Saw this and thought of you, pretty girl.” Or “Can’t wait to see you in this, baby.”

✈︎ Yes, the skirts were longer. The shirts—silky, high-necked, modest—were all designer.  Chanel, Burberry, Prada. And when winter came, she surprised you with the exact brown and black fur coat you’d shown her on Pinterest months ago. The excitement had nearly erased the lingering thought in the back of your mind. You began to think, maybe it wasn’t about keeping you warm. It was about keeping you covered. Pushing that aside, you’d buy her pretty things in return, but you noticed she preferred more intimate gifts. Like the stocking you made her on your first Christmas together, the one where you said “I love you” for the first time. Or the scrapbook you created, filled with candid photos of the two of you through the seasons. watching the backgrounds change from snow to rain to red leaves and to blooming flowers.

✈︎ She kept all of them. I mean, all of them. Even the tissue you patted her face with after her mother’s funeral. Yes, she kept that too. You didn’t know until one day, while you were cleaning up for her. something you rarely did since she was a bit of a neat freak. You saw the napkin, obviously used. Before you could throw it out, she took it from you. You blinked, unsure, but assumed she was going to dispose of it herself. Little did you know, you had made a much bigger mark on her than you realized. That day, she was staring at you, as if she were seeing her future. Did she ask you about any of her plans? No, of course not. She figured you’d be happy as long as you had her. Thoughts like that felt obscene in her mind. What she did ask, though, was:

✈︎ “You’re happy, right?” She whispered, tilting your face to hers, always satisfied with whatever answer you gave.

✈︎ “Oh, you remembered…?” She’d smile when you recalled even the smallest details of your time together.

✈︎ “You still love me, right? Even if we don’t always talk about it?” Yes, yes, and yes. No wasn't a word you had the heart to say to her. To your Abby? Your sweet partner, it was always yes. Even if you didn’t want to say it. It was never no. So today when she asked you to get dressed to go out with your circle of friends for a night on the water. You did exactly that.

────୨ৎ────

“Seriously, Abs? Do you even want me to go? You keep saying no to my—”

“That one is good.” Abby cut you off mid-sentence, her eyes flicking up and down your outfit, finally approving. You’d been playing dress-up for what felt like an hour, but it was never enough. You’d given in, slipping into something a bit more modest than you wanted, yet you couldn’t fight her.

“I’m convinced you want a nun for a girlfriend.” You sighed.

She stepped up behind you, hands firm on your hips as she leaned in, her chin rested your shoulder. Her voice was low. “Not a nun. Just Don’t want anyone else looking at you like that.” Her grip tightened slightly. She exhaled, her breath warm against your skin. “Just want you for me, that’s all.”

You felt too covered up for a late-night boat ride with friends, though. But you pick and choose your battles, right? If she was happy, you’re happy. You ended up tying the shirt to a crop when she wasn't looking. You loved your body; you were allowed to show it off occasionally.

Hand in hand, you drove to the port in Abby’s Jeep. The ride was quiet, too quiet. The engine hummed beneath the silence, and you kept your gaze fixed on the city lights outside, knowing it was easier than looking at her.

The glow from the dashboard reflected off her jawline, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of her lips when you reached for her hand.

“Damn, what took you two so long?” A voice called out from the dock as you stepped onto the weathered wood. A man waved, his playful grin highlighted by the glow of the dock lights. Jordan, his thick black eyebrows furrowed, watched as you and Abby approached the small group.

You wanted to joke about Abby making you change a hundred times, but you knew better. That would only earn you a sharp look and a night of passive-aggressive silence. So instead, you just blamed it on traffic and stepped onto the Boston Whaler 285 Conquest, once owned by Abby’s grandfather, now repurposed for nights like these. Luxury, fun, and just enough recklessness to remind you all that nothing bad could ever really happen to people like you.

“Hell yeah, I brought the booze!” Leah’s voice rang out from the helm.

“Someone started early,” you teased, watching her twirl—bottles of something dark in each hand, her laughter cutting through the night.

✈︎ They had originally been Abby’s friends, but now they felt like your own. If Abby didn’t approve of someone, that meant they weren’t worth keeping around anyway. So this group of seven was plenty. Loud, wild, indulgent, always pushing the edge just enough to keep things interesting.

✈︎ First-world problems, boring galas, the bullshit drama of people you’d never really have to deal with—it was all fair game for ranting and laughing about, the alcohol keeping everything light and meaningless. Conversations blurred into one another, champagne bubbles mixing with cigarette smoke, the sharp tang of expensive whiskey clinging to every word.Someone was always telling a ridiculous story, exaggerating details just enough to make it funnier. Someone else was always half-draped over another, limbs tangled, faces flushed, a careless kind of closeness that came with privilege and too many drinks. The air smelled like salt water and perfume, luxury cologne, and the lingering haze of a freshly lit joint.

Abby smirked as you clung onto her, sinking into the plush cushions beside her. The boat glided over dark waters, the surface rippling like liquid ink, only touched by scattered moonlight. The engine’s steady hum mixed with laughter, the clinking of bottles, and the occasional squeal from someone almost losing their balance.

Across from you, Leah stood at the bow, gripping something long and thin.

“Is… that a fishing rod?” Abby called out, raising an eyebrow.

“Fishing? Dude, it’s pitch black!” Jordan laughed, shaking his head.

“What? I saw it, so I picked it up. No late-night snack?” Leah grinned, holding it up like she was about to reel in something huge.

“Ha ha,” Jordan scoffed. “C’mon, babe, sit down before you fall.”

“Yeah, Leah, seriously,” you added, casting a glance around. Everyone had collectively coated their stomachs with alcohol at this point. The boat swayed gently, but in your mind, everything still felt steady. Safe.

“Fucking party poopers,” she whined, stumbling as she made her way back.

The music pulsed through the speakers, vibrating under your fingertips as you traced circles over Abby’s knee. Someone passed you a drink, ice clinking against glass. The wind was salty and cool against your skin, and for a moment, everything felt weightless—just another night, just another story to laugh about in the morning.

Then before you could ground yourself, A deafening crack—wood splintering, metal twisting, the sickening crunch of fiberglass giving way as the world lurched violently forward. The force of it stole the breath from your lungs before you even hit the surface.

Bodies slammed against seats, railings, and the deck. Someone cried out—a sharp, guttural sound swallowed by the pure chaos. The boat groaned in protest, the hull splitting open as water rushed in, swallowing everything in its path. The night, once filled with laughter and careless drunken chatter, twisted into something unrecognizable. Screams pierced the air, panic rising like a tidal wave.

Then came the water.

A crushing, merciless cold that seized your body, shocking the breath from your lungs. It pulled you under, the weight of the crash dragging debris and bodies into the abyss.

Your vision blurred—dark water, fractured moonlight, hands reaching, grasping, then slipping away. And then, Leah was gone. But that wasn’t the name being screamed. It was yours. A shaky voice, frantic and desperate—Abby’s. Calling for you over and over.

The cool of damp grass pressed against your cheek, your vision swimming as you groaned and clutched your arm. A deep gash ran along the length of it, a sheen of red seeping through torn fabric, dark and wet against your soft skin. Tears blurred your vision—shock, pain, it was so fast. Overwhelmed. You gasped, struggling to sit up. Every muscle in your body ached, but you forced yourself to take in your surroundings. The front of the boat was completely smashed in, glass and debris scattered across the shoreline. The others were stumbling to their feet, coughing, calling out to each other in shaky voices.

“…I’m here,” you called out. “Abs... I’m right here.”

Abby all but collapsed beside you, grabbing your face with trembling hands, her wide eyes scanning you for injuries. You barely had time to process before she was pulling you against her, burying her face into your hair, the scent of her shampoo thick in your nose. The others were shouting now.

“Where’s Leah?”

“Leah!” Jordan’s voice cracked as he stumbled forward, scanning the dark water. “Leah, where the fuck are you?”

Panic settled over the group like a thick fog, replacing the drunken laughter of earlier with frantic movement. Flashlights from scattered phones cut across the water. Someone ran toward the wreckage, their footsteps crunching over broken glass and debris.

“She was right here—”

“Did she fall?”

“Fuck, fuck—she was just standing here—”

The shouts became more urgent, the terror in Jordan’s voice making your head spin even more. But Abby—Abby wasn’t looking at the water. She wasn’t calling for Leah.

She was looking at you.

Hands gripping your waist, scanning your face, as if making sure you were still there.

“You’re hurt,” she whispered, ignoring the chaos, her fingers brushing the blood on your arm. Her expression was unreadable—shock, concern, something else beneath it all. “We need to get you out of here.”

“Abby—” you wanted to bud in but She was already moving, hands fumbling for her phone, fingers trembling as she dialed. You could barely hear her over the panic, but the moment the call connected, her voice was sharp and urgent.

“Dad—” her breath hitched, her grip on you tightening. 

You barely registered the clipped response on the other end before she pulled the phone away, her face paler than you’d ever seen it. It was always the same with Abby. The moment things spiraled, the second the world tipped out of her control, her first instinct was to call her father.

✈︎ It didn’t matter what it was. A failed exam in school? Jerry. A bad breakup? Jerry. Someone disrespected her at some pretentious gala? Jerry. Even when she swore she could handle things on her own, her fingers always twitched toward her phone, her father’s number burned into her muscle memory. Maybe it was because she never really had to deal with the consequences of her own mistakes. Not when Jerry was always there to smooth things over, to fix what needed fixing, to make things disappear. It was almost like magic, the way he worked—whispers in the right ears, money exchanged behind closed doors, a well-timed favor cashed in. And now, even with something as devastating as this, Abby wasn’t thinking about what they’d done, what it meant. She wasn’t thinking about Leah. About the cold, dark water swallowing her whole. She was thinking about Jerry. About how he would clean this up, the way he always did. And maybe the worst part was that she was right.

Minutes later, headlights cut through the darkness. Jerry was already on the phone when he stepped out of the car, his expression unreadable, his voice a low murmur as he barked orders to someone on the other end. The moment he hung up, his sharp gaze flicked over the wreckage and the group of panicked, bloodied young adults before settling on Abby. Without hesitation, she moved toward him, her grip on you unrelenting.

Jordan wheeled around, panic-stricken. “What? No, we have to find Leah—”

Jerry barely spared him a glance. His tone was clipped, final. He turned to Abby. “We need to leave. Now.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Someone snapped. “We have to do something!”

But Jerry was already moving, grabbing Abby’s wrist, looking at you expectantly. “This isn’t something you want to be involved in,” he murmured. “Trust me.” The air felt thick, suffocating. Jordan was still screaming Leah’s name. Someone was sobbing. And Abby—she wasn’t arguing. She squeezed your waist, voice soft but urgent. “We have to go.” Your heart pounded as you looked between her, Jerry, and the chaos behind you. It didn’t feel real. None of it did. And then, as if deciding for you, Jerry pulled Abby away, guiding her toward the car. You hesitated—just for a moment—before Abby’s grip tightened on your wrist.

“Come on, baby. Please.”

And against every instinct screaming at you to stay, you followed her. You closed the door behind you. Letting your head fall against the leather seat. 

The car ride was filled with Jerry’s own interrogation.

You’d never been a witness to the Anderson back-and-forth before. But tonight, sitting in the backseat, still processing the night’s events, you had front-row seats. Jerry’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his voice sharp, slicing through the tense air. “You tell me what the hell happened.”

Abby was hunched forward in the passenger seat, still damp, her blonde hair clinging to her skin. She wiped a hand down her face, her breath unsteady. “It was an accident,” she muttered.

“An accident?” Jerry repeated, voice thick with disbelief. “Jesus Christ, Abigail. Do you understand what’s at stake here?”

Abby’s jaw clenched. “What was I supposed to do? Just let them call the cops? Let them search the boat?”

Jerry exhaled sharply through his nose, like he was holding back from snapping completely. His voice lowered, even more dangerous now. “And what exactly would they have found?”

Silence. Abby didn’t answer. Not right away. Her fingers tapped against her knee, a nervous tic you’d noticed before. You could almost hear the gears turning in her head, weighing what to say, how much to admit.

Finally, she swallowed. “I handled it.”

Jerry let out a humorless laugh. “No, you called me. And now I have to handle it.”

From the backseat, you sat frozen, hands gripping your lap, your own pulse hammering in your ears. Abby hadn’t even looked at you since you got in the car. Hadn’t reached for your hand, hadn’t asked if you were okay. All her energy, all her focus, was on damage control. And maybe that was the difference between the two of you. Maybe this should’ve been your warning sign. You were still thinking about Leah. Abby was thinking about herself.

────୨ৎ────

“Tonight: Leah Cross’ Death—Inside the Boat Crash That Killed NYC Teen”

“Leah Cross’ Family Settles for $15M Over Boat Crash”

“Jerry Anderson Ce—”

The TV screen flickered, then went black.

You turned your head just in time to see Abby hovering behind you, the remote still in her hand. The news channel was gone. Erased. Leah hadn’t just disappeared that night. She’d been thrown into the current. Her autopsy said she most likely died on impact, but you couldn’t shake the memory of her on the boat, twirling on the helm, throwing her hands up and yelling, “This is my shit!” to every song that played. The image wouldn’t leave. It haunted you. Your parents couldn’t get ahold of you that night—your phone had been tossed into the summer waters. But Jerry reassured them you were fine. He didn’t mention the 12 stitches in your arm. He definitely didn’t mention the alcohol, the panic, the way everyone had been too wasted to process what happened. Just fine.

That night never left you.

Maybe it was shock. Maybe fear. But you never asked Abby about the conversation in the car. Your sweet Abby had just been protecting you. That’s what she always said. You both had reputations, things on the line. That’s what she repeated every time you even looked like you were thinking about it. Jerry had shoved money down the Cross family’s throat. And they took every penny. You knew silence had a price. But family?

Abby hated when you brought it up. She made sure your arm was fixed up, kissed over every bruise. Whispered reassurances against your skin. And yet, here you were. Rolled onto your side, away from her Night was always the worst. Too much room for your thoughts to catch up to you. Too much room for questions.

“Abs…?” you murmured, rolling onto your back, staring up at the ceiling.

“Yeah?” Her voice was hesitant, guarded. Like she already knew where this was going.

You swallowed. “Do… do you think about that night? Leah, she—”

Abby exhaled sharply, already shaking her head. “Why are you bringing this up again?” she muttered, rubbing a hand over her face. “We’ve been over this.”

“Abby, we didn’t even stay that night—”

“That was the right call,” she cut in, sitting up against the headboard. “We weren’t gonna stick around for the cops to start pointing fingers. What would that have done? Made you feel better?“

You swallowed hard, something bitter catching in your throat. “You aren’t even listening to me!” You pushed yourself up in bed, turning to face her fully. “You just keep shutting me down like I’m supposed to forget about it.”

Abby’s jaw clenched. “And what exactly do you want me to say?” she shot back. “That I think about it every night? That I see her face every time I close my fucking eyes? Because I don’t. I can’t. You shouldn’t either.”

✈︎ The words hit like a gut punch. Cold. Dismissive. Final. Just like every other time you tried to talk about it. Like your grief—your guilt—was an inconvenience. You stared at her for a long moment, something in your chest curling tight, twisting into something ugly and unfamiliar. Abby wasn’t going to hear you. She never did.

✈︎ And maybe… she never would. That was the moment you felt it. That stiffness inside you. The thing that slowly, quietly, began to push you away from her. She apologized later. Reassured you she was protecting you. But it didn’t feel like it. Her tone, the way she dismissed Leah, someone she claimed to love. it didn’t sit right. That night, you laid there, stiff in her arms as she curled around you, locking you in place. But it didn’t feel like her. The sheets felt cold. Her warmth wasn’t comforting anymore. The arguments only escalated. Until one day, you couldn’t take it anymore. You walked out her front door and didn’t look back. It hurt. Stung worse than anything else. But you had to grieve properly. Refocus on school. Reconnect with your family. Make your own friends. Find mental clarity. Space from Abby. The not-so-sweet Abby you once knew. But you were her lifeline. And when four days passed without a word from you, Abby’s fingers itched to have you back in her proximity. She texted once.

6:10PM Abby: Hey. You good?

Again.

6:40PM Abby: I know you’re mad, but can you just text me back? Please?

Again.

7:26PM Abby: Are you really ignoring me right now? C’mon, babe. Talk to me.

7:28PM You: Need space rn abs.

Then came the desperate text.

7:29PM Abby: Space Tf? Seriously?

7:29PM Abby: You can’t just disappear on me. You know that, right?

7:30PM Abby: I’ve done everything for you. I’ve kept you safe. And now you’re shutting me out?

────୨ৎ────

The messages kept coming. The words more frantic. More clipped. As if she couldn’t stand the thought of you being anywhere but within reach. She needed you. You couldn’t just disappear. Not after everything she’d done for you. This wasn’t how it worked. You never told her no.

And that wasn’t going to start now.

✈︎ Abandonment. It was the one thing Abby couldn’t stomach. Her mother was gone. Her father was present in name only. And now, you weren’t answering your fucking phone. She gritted her teeth, staring at the ceiling as her phone lay discarded beside her, the last unanswered text staring back at her like a slap in the face. She knew Leah’s death had shaken you. She’d seen it in the way you flinched at the sound of water slapping against the docks, how your fingers traced the scar on your arm absentmindedly when you thought no one was looking. And she got it—really, she did.

✈︎ But what she didn’t understand was why you were acting like this. Like she was the one to blame. She’d explained it to you a million times. She wasn’t trying to be cold. She just didn’t want you getting in trouble, ruining your life over something you couldn’t change. Did you think your parents would still approve of her if they knew everything? If you’d stuck around that night and let the police twist the truth? She had protected you, the way she always would, and now you were punishing her for it.

It wasn’t fair, this wasn’t fair. She was in love with you. All of you. That meant it was her job to protect you, to keep you safe, to make sure no one—no thing—could ever come between you. Because you weren’t just her girlfriend. You were hers. So fine. She’d let you have your space, your stupid fucking distance. You’d answer eventually.

You always did. Except you didn’t. And despite how much you hated the hollow, gnawing ache in your chest, you didn’t let yourself pick up the phone. At first, it was easy. Ignoring her texts, pretending you didn’t hear your phone buzzing at night. You told yourself it was necessary. That it would get better.

✈︎ But then came the flowers. The notes slipped under your door. The gifts left where you’d find them, small and expensive. Diamond jewelry – “I hate seeing you upset, baby. Let me make it up to you.” reminders that she was still there. That she wasn’t going to let you go so easily. And the worst part? A small, broken part of you didn’t want her to. But you had to, right? Because if you didn’t, Abby never would

✈︎ So, you started pulling away. Slowly, at first. Ignoring texts a little longer. Making excuses when she called. Telling yourself that if you could just create enough distance, she’d get the hint. She didn’t. Instead, she adjusted. Became more careful. Gave you space but never let you forget she was waiting. That she was patient. That you’d come back.

And your parents? They only made it worse.One night, as you walked into the dining room, your mother’s voice floated in from the kitchen. “Honey, these flowers are beautiful.”

Your father barely glanced up from his plate. “She’s a good kid. Second chances are important.”

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t have to ask where they came from. The same white roses Abby always sent, of course. You gripped the back of your chair. Bit your tongue. They didn’t know the full truth. Maybe they knew about the boat crash, maybe they didn’t, but even if they did, you weren’t involved, so why would they care? Abby was still Jerry’s daughter. Still the golden girl in their eyes. And the comments kept coming. Little reminders, subtle nudges that told you exactly where they stood.

“You never frowned this much when Jerry’s daughter was around,” your mom added, shaking her head. “You two were always so happy together.”

✈︎ Were. Past tense. Like they thought this was just a phase. Like they were waiting for you to snap out of it and come to your senses. It wasn’t like you wanted her to stay away. The notes on the gifts made your stomach churn with guilt. But then you’d remember the red flags being waved in your face, and you’d try to stand firm. try to hold your ground on this. And maybe that was why, when Abby invited you to dinner, you didn’t fight it as hard as you should have. Your mother’s voice in the back of your head, the same tired excuse about your father’s business dealings and not ending things on bad terms. So you accepted. Maybe you thought one last dinner would make it easier. That sitting across from her, hearing her laugh, remembering all the good things, would make it clear if you needed to step away fully. And at first, it was sweet.

The restaurant was dimly lit, quiet. Abby had picked your favorite place, ordered your favorite before you even arrived. She looked good, too—too good. Dark button-up, sleeves rolled just enough to tease the curve of her forearms. For a while, it felt normal. Comfortable. Maybe even right. Until it wasn’t. Until the conversation drifted back to her. To you. To the space you had put between you.

Abby exhaled, swirling her drink in slow circles. “Can we just… stop pretending?” she asked, voice low. “I know you miss me.”

Your stomach knotted, but you kept your voice even. “Abby—”

“You preyed on me, you know that?” she cut in, leaning forward. “At the funeral. When I was grieving.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You saw me at my lowest and took advantage of that. Made me think you actually cared.” She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “And then, what? The second things got hard, you ran?”

You stared at her, heartbeat pounding in your ears. It was a trick. A test. Another way to shift the blame. to make you doubt yourself, make you stay. Preyed on her? The self-doubt hit fast and hard. You didn’t intentionally worm your way in. You saw a girl who had just lost her mother. You offered an ear, a shoulder. She kissed you first, for Christ’s sake. You didn’t even know how to respond. But you did know this was only proving that you needed time away from her. From this person she was turning into.

The conversation escalated. Her voice sharper, her expression harder. The way she twisted her face in disapproval when you tried to defend yourself. Finally, you forced the words out.

“I think we should take a break.” Her jaw clenched. You expected a fight. For her to argue, to beg, to do something. Instead, she leaned back, nodded once, and signaled for the check. And for a while, you thought that was the end.

But then Abby stopped calling. Stopped texting. Stopped begging.

No gifts. No notes. Just… silence.

And somehow, that was worse. So much worse. It felt so wrong to not be near her.

────୨ৎ────

✈︎ At first, the silence was a relief. But then the relief faded, leaving something else in its place. Something that gnawed at the edges of your thoughts late at night when you stared at your phone, knowing there would be nothing from her.

✈︎ It felt so , so wrong. Abby wasn’t the type to give up so easily. She fought for what she wanted, always. And that was the part you weren’t ready to admit: some small, irrational part of you wanted her to fight for this. For you. To prove something, even if you didn’t know what. But she didn’t.The silence stretched on. Days turned to weeks. And slowly, that unsettling feeling morphed into something heavier. The weight of your parents’ expectations, the whispers about Jerry’s family, the things left unsaid between you and Abby. it all started to spiral. You told yourself it was for the best. That this was what you wanted. But then why did it feel like losing? Why did the silence feel heavier than the arguments? Why did it twist something deep in your chest, leaving you restless, unable to sleep, unable to think without wondering if you had made the right choice.

You weren’t in the right headspace for this, not really. Not for concerts, not for crowds, not for meeting new people. But when Riley sent the invite, tickets already bought, practically begging you to get out of your own head, you said yes. Not because you wanted to, but because you didn’t trust yourself alone with your thoughts.

The music was loud. The bass pulsed through the floor, through your body, drowning out everything else. Riley dragged you through the crowd, weaving past bodies until you were close enough to feel the heat of the stage lights. And then there was her. A tall brunette, leaning in too close, brushing her shoulder against yours. Laughing at something you barely registered.

“What?” You yelled back.

“I said you’re hot! Love the outfit!” she shouted over the music, leaning down to your ear, breath warm against your skin.

Jessica. She introduced herself at some point during the night, though you barely remembered when. Her body was close, her presence easy, effortless. The kind of girl who knew what she wanted and didn’t hesitate to take it. When her hands drifted lower under the guise of friendly, you didn’t stop her. She was pretty. Willing. A distraction.

So you let her press against you from behind, her lips grazing the side of your neck. Let her hands roam, fingers mapping over you like she already knew where you needed them.

✈︎ You weren’t easy. But girls need love too. And maybe, for one night, that was enough. Her touch wasn’t like Abby’s. it was different. More room to flip the script, softer, hesitant in ways you weren’t used to. You had to guide her hands sometimes, shifting her touch when it wasn’t quite right, tilting her chin when she kissed you. But you weren’t sober, so you just leaned your head back against the leather of her passenger seat and tried to stay in the moment. Tried not to notice how it didn’t feel like enough. You groaned in frustration when your orgasm took much longer than it ever did before. Even your vagina had a mind of its own. And it was wondering to the woman you desperately didn’t want to think about.

Afterward, Jessica lit a cigarette, rolling the window down as she stretched her legs out. The orange glow of the ember flickered as she took a slow drag, exhaling into the night. You watched, silent, waiting for the feeling to settle in your chest. Some kind of satisfaction, some kind of relief. It never came.

Instead, she turned to you, smirking. “You wanna hear something funny?”

You hummed in acknowledgment, still staring out the windshield. Praying she didn’t notice that your moans were definitely a bit more exaggerated.

“When I was a kid, some girl cut off a chunk of my hair.” Jessica huffed.

That made you glance over. “What?”

Jessica laughed, tapping ash out the window. “Yeah. Just, snip. Right in the middle of class.” She made a cutting motion with her fingers, grinning. “It was long, too. My mom loved my hair. Always brushed it out for me, made a big deal about it. And then this girl, out of nowhere, just—” She mimicked the sound of scissors slicing through the air. “Teacher freaked. My mom cried. The whole thing was a mess.”

You frowned. “Damn. Why’d she do it?”

Jessica shrugged, flicking her cigarette. “She wouldn’t say. Just sat there, holding the hair like it was hers now.” She laughed again, shaking her head. “I had to get it all cut short after that. Sucked.”

You exhaled through your nose, lips pressing together. Something about the story sat oddly in your chest, but you couldn’t put your finger on why. Maybe it was because you could picture it too clearly the quiet, unspoken possession behind a simple, irreversible act. Maybe it was because, in a different time, in a different place, you could have seen Abby doing the same thing. You pushed the thought away. That would a crazy assumption, right?

Jessica reached for your thigh again, fingertips brushing just above your knee. You let her. Not because you wanted to, but because you didn’t have the energy to move away. The truth was, she wasn’t Abby. She didn’t kiss you like she meant it. She didn’t make your breath hitch, didn’t pull you under in a way that felt intoxicating.

And yet, despite everything, you still felt the pull. Going back to Abby would be a mistake. So why did it feel like you were already slipping?

You let Jessica be enough for the time being. Focused on your own life. Separate from Abby.

She turned out to be sweet. A little clingy, but not in a way that suffocated you—just in a way that made it easier to let her fill the space Abby left behind. And even if the sex wasn’t mind-blowing, it was good enough to make you forget, at least for a little while. You weren’t sure if you were ready for another relationship anyway.

────୨ৎ────

✈︎ Jessica was easy. Simple. No complications, no expectations. at least, that’s what you told yourself. You let her be enough for the time being, focused on your own life, separate from Abby. It was nice, in a way. Being with someone who didn’t come with sharp edges, who didn’t push or pull too hard. Someone who let you lead. Even if the sex wasn’t the same, even if you sometimes found yourself zoning out when she kissed you, even if her touch didn’t spark anything close to what Abby’s did. You made do.

✈︎ You tried. You really did. But there was something hanging over you that you couldn’t shake. It lingered, always present, like a ghost at the edge of your mind. It hindered you from fully indulging with Jessica like you used to, made it harder to pretend she was all you wanted. And she wasn’t stupid.

Jessica laughed, head thrown back as she wiped tears from her eyes. “Wait—you dated that psycho?”

Your stomach twisted. “She’s not—”

“Oh my god, babe.” She shook her head, grinning. “She definitely is. Didn’t she break some girl’s ribs in highschool?”

“That’s just a rumor.” Your voice was quieter than you wanted it to be.

Jessica snorted, slumping against the couch. “I mean, I get it, I guess. She’s hot, in a scary kind of way. But, babe, that’s—” She stopped. Her smile faded just a little as she sat up, studying your face. “…Wait.” She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “Is that why you’ve been off?” You stiffened. Of course she noticed.

“Her?” Jessica scoffed, shifting on the couch.

“No—I don’t know—”

“You don’t know?” Her voice toned in disbelief. “I’m all over you, and you’re telling me you’ve been thinking about another girl?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Jessica exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “Jesus Christ.”

✈︎ Guilt became your newfound friend. Because you couldn’t deny it. You were thinking about her. And now you were defending her. Even after everything. Even after all the reasons you had to stay away. And that wasn’t even the worst part of it all.

────୨ৎ────

✈︎ Why? Because Abby could hardly contain the burning frustration bubbling in her chest as she tossed the racket aside. The sound of it hitting the ground was too quiet, a dull thud compared to the storm she felt rising in her. Why was this so fucking hard? For the fourth time in a row, the tennis ball hit the net and rolled off, mocking her with its perfect imperfection. She wiped a hand across her face, trying to shake the thought from her mind, but it lingered like a bad taste. You.

Her grip on the racket tightened again, knuckles white, the tension in her body palpable. Goddamn it, she cursed under her breath. A harsh exhale left her lungs as she turned away from the court, storming off without a second glance at Jerry, who called after her with that same disappointed tone.

“The hell was that?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. There was nothing to say. Not when her thoughts were consumed by you, by the space you’d put between the two of you. You were still out of reach, and the thought of you letting someone else slide in made her stomach twist in knots. The anger surged again, hot and sharp. Her visor felt suffocating now, like the pressure of it could crack her skull. It had been months, and you hadn’t come back. Months. And what was worse? You’d moved on. Blocking her was one thing, but seeing you move on? That was the thing that twisted the knife.

She slumped down on a bench nearby, the air heavy in her lungs, suffocating her as she dug through her phone. The screen glowed back at her, an endless stream of images and memories. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, flipping through photos, each one a reminder of a time she thought she still had you. Your laughter, your warmth, your body beneath her hands.

A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she zoomed in on one picture. You, pressed against her, eyes sparkling. “Let’s see how long you can keep ignoring me,” she muttered, to herself. her finger tapping on the screen. She posted it without hesitation, not caring how it might make you feel. She just needed you to know. she wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

────୨ৎ────

✈︎ You had been getting looks all morning, but not like this. The stares felt different—more calculated, more curious. Something wasn’t right, but you couldn’t place your finger on it. You brushed it off, shoving the unease down as best as you could.

✈︎ Until you finally gotten home, phone buzzing in your hand, and opened Nora’s message. The second you saw the notification, your stomach dropped.

(Pic is not to represent the readers physical! Just for story’s sake)

────୨ৎ────

“Please, tell me that is NOT my ass on the timeline right now,” you said, barely holding it together as the panic crept up your throat. Embarrassment flooded your veins.

On the other side, Nora stifled her awkward laughter, but you could hear the amusement in her voice. “Then I won’t say it.”

The tension snapped. You were dressed, yes, but that picture? It was never meant for the world. Not like this. Not for her followers.

“…It’s a good picture at least?” Nora ventured, trying to ease the tension, but you could hear her holding back a laugh.

You stared at the screen in disbelief as your phone nearly slipped from your hands. Comments started rolling in. Some teasing, others thirsty. Your stomach twisted tighter with every line. And then you saw it—at the top of the post—Abby’s username, clear as day.

You didn’t think. You just pressed call.

The phone rang twice before she picked up, and you didn’t give her a chance to speak.

“Are you fucking serious, Abbigail?!”

Abby’s voice was rough, thick with the frustration she couldn’t hide. “What the fuck else was I supposed to do? Gifts? Ignored. Saying please? Ignored. I’m blocked on basically everything!”

“I don’t know, space! Like I asked?”

“It’s been months!” Your breath caught in your throat as the anger and hurt pressed against your chest, but Abby’s voice dropped, and something softer—something hurt—slipped through. “It’s been months.” She repeated.

The words hit harder than you expected. You could hear the raw edge in her voice, the cracks forming in her tough exterior. “It’s like you hate me now,” she murmured, quieter, almost like she didn’t want you to hear it. “All of me. Us.”

And just like that, you felt your defenses crack.

[mushtoons]

got lazy 😔🫴🪷✨

[zombaebitez]

ik u j posted it but alr havin withdrawals can we get more relationship hcs w abby??

Abby Relationship Hcs

abby anderson x fem reader

synopsis: modern day abby relationship headcanons, just rambles oopsie.

zom’s note: withdrawals is so silly, i love it. hope my writing is up to par, enjoy! 🌸

word count: abt 1.1k

warnings: use of petnames (love, princess, etc). nsfw content (own section after sfw! don’t like it? just don’t read that section), mentions strapping (r!receiving), teasing, manhandling, foreplay.

SFW HCS <3

ꕥ Abby always has a hand or arm around you, says it’s for safety, to keep you near her; but you know deep down she’s just a touchy girl, and you can’t complain, you love it.

⤍ “Love walk on this side,” and before you can even move she’s alreading pulling you to where she wants you to go, wrapping a strong arm around your waist.

ꕥ On the subject of touch, this girl will literally carry you around (on her back, bridal style, etc) when you ask her to (or when you don’t), in the house, in public, she doesn’t care one bit. You are her pretty princess, and she loves being at your beck and call.

ꕥ She takes pride in her physique, she has a set workout routine, and is constantly in a protein kick. She loves bringing you to the gym with her, just so she can catch you stealing glances at her while you’re doing your own thing.

ꕥ Her casual wear? She is a chronic cargos, sweats, or jeans wearer, though she will switch it up with shorts sometimes. She’ll wear some sort of tank, compression/fitted top (to show off muscle), hoodies, or basic tee, with a sports bra underneath, maybe a beanie or snapback depending on how hot it is. Very minimal jewelry and accessories, and has an obsession with muted colors, and black.

ꕥ Speaking of jewelry, she’ll always wear your initial or name on her somewhere, and vice versa. Her favorite would be a simple gold necklace/chain which has your initial that you got her, it also has a matching gold link bracelet that she sometimes wears too.

ꕥ She loves when you offer to braid her hair for the day, now she just volunteers you to do it with a random excuse, “I dunno princess, you just do it better!” She’ll have the brush, and hair ties ready once you finish your morning routine.

ꕥ Morning Routines? She usually wakes up when you do, or some time before. But once you wake up, she immediately follows you to watch you get ready for the day. It’s endearing, kind of like a giant puppy.

ꕥ She enjoys pet names surprisingly, and will call you all sorts of names (princess, love, sweetheart, etc). She never got to show her lovey dovey side before you, so she just can’t help it.

ꕥ Hates when you get upset, “Princess, cmon talk to me… what happened?” Always running a soothing hand down your back, she just wants to be there for you.

ꕥ She’s not as stoic as people may think when it comes to you, she’s just a girl who loves her princess to death; therefore, she has to show it… like all the time, sue her (you’re just as bad).

ꕥ A random girl hits on her? She gives the girl a judgy once over… maybe twice? hell THREE times, and says something like “I have a girlfriend, you’re gonna get us both in trouble…”, “Uhm I’m taken.”, “My girlfriend won’t like this.” Before she starts aimlessly looking around for where the hell you went to, because the interaction is now a little awkward.

ꕥ She has natural sass, it’s not even on purpose, she is just a little snippy. Don’t even dare say something that will earn you a side eye, because she’ll hand them out to you too, again she can’t help it.

⤍ “Babe, you know you could totally pull off being a hey mamas”, now you were clearly joking, giving her a ridiculous ass grin as she looked up from her phone to hit you with a judgmental stare. “Excuse me?” you couldn’t help but laugh your ass off, as she just sat there confused, “Princess don’t start with me”, she mumbled with a slight eye roll, reaching over to gently slap your thigh.

ꕥ Oh god and the coin collection, she indeed has one of those collection binders, and keeps it organized/labeled. She gets so excited whenever you gift her a new one, and always shows you when she finished a sheet in the binder.

ꕥ She most definitely loves to shop with you, and go on errands. Something about being all domestic and on top of business, watching you mark off things you two need for the house, watching you get all happy when you finally get to go shopping, and being productive makes her feel good. (She wants to put a ring on that finger real bad, real bad).

⤍ Makes you carry her wallet, and phone when y’all are out because she feels they are safer with you, (her wallet fell out her pocket once and she freaked the hell out). She keeps her keys on a carabiner with a bunch of random charms or a lanyard so she can’t misplace them.

NSFW HCS !!

ꕥ Abby prefers to top, and dom. But she’ll let you occasionally top if you really asked nicely or she’s having a hard day. There’s just something about getting you all fucked out that she can’t help, she needs to have you under her.

ꕥ She’s a total strap lover, she’ll fuck you in any postion she can. Loves how she can just grab onto you and make you forget how to form a thought with deep or shallow thrusts. Don’t even try to wiggle or push her away, she’ll just get a little frustrated with you, and pin you exactly how she wants you like it isn’t any effort for her (it’s not).

ꕥ She likes to tease you with just the tip. Watching you think you’re about to get what you want, what you need; seeing that frustrated pout go slack, with a quiet moan. Just for you to whine, when she pulls back just as fast as she came. It’s really not fair.

ꕥ Yes, she likes to manhandle you, she doesn’t have all those muscles for nothing. She’ll use them to her advantage every time, and her stamina goes in-fucking-sane. She’ll fuck you till you can’t even moan anymore, all dazed out and whiny for her, just trembling because of how overwhelmed she can make you feel.

ꕥ Sometimes she forgets her own strength, digging her fingers into the plush of your thighs or ass, biting and sucking a little too hard on certain parts of your body, slapping your ass a little too hard. You’ll wake up with a bunch of bruises and marks the next day, whining about how sore you feel, but she lowkey gets off on that shit.

ꕥ Whenever she does let you top her, she is usually guiding you how she wants you. Just because she’s on the bottom doesn’t mean shit, she still makes the rules, and you just want to take care of her like she does for you.

ꕥ Foreplay god! She loves being a tease to you, getting you all frustrated, gets off to the fact she can get you needy from mere touches and words. Plus what's the use in rushing, she’s gonna take her sweet time with you.

[jellyfishsthings]

WARNINGS: this is quite angsty...no actual smut happens just a tiny scene. Also I messes around with some scenes so I feel like it doesn't follow the storyline in the series... that's about it... (should a do a part 2?) part 2 here, part 3

He was nursing a long drink of whiskey on ice as he stared at the blank wall. The year was 1963, and he was currently sitting on a lousy couch in Dallas. The apocalypse was going to take place once again mere days away. He felt bone tired, no one around him understood the stakes and the pressure he was under. He got out of his jacket a black and white photo. A young woman in her early twenties had a huge smile plastered on her face, her head was slightly cocked to the side and loose hair from the messy bun that rested at the top of her head framed her beautiful face. She seemed radiant, her eyes were crinkled from her smile and she seemed like a goddess to him. A piece of heaven that he left behind.

“Who's that?” Klaus whispered in his ear and Five jumped from the sudden sound and he glared at his brother. Out of all his siblings, Klaus was the only one who would understand him. “She is beautiful.”

“She is my wife.” Five said quietly. His voice was soft and colored in an emotion that Klaus couldn't recognize.

“Your what?”

“Are you deaf? I said she is my wife, or at least she was.”

“What happened?”

Five had been at the Commission for several years. After a failed experiment he had turned back to his twenty-year-old self. He had heard whispers of the Scarlet Angel all around him, everyone seemed to talk about his rival, especially in his presence. It was supposed to be the deadliest assassin of the Institution besides him. One gray day he was called into the Handlers office. That was when he saw her for the first time. A tall woman was seated on a chair, her beautiful face turned towards him as he entered the room. Five had never been one to find in someone's physical beauty but at the moment their eyes met he could swear that his heart skipped a beat.

Their first assignment together had been such a success, that they were stuck together permanently. Throughout the following years, Five found himself falling for her harder every day, with every word she said, with every laugh she caused from him, the way she always had his back and defended him whether she agreed with his actions or not. Their fights were the best thing that ever happened to him, she always found ways to leave him speechless, with her smart comebacks, the way she was animated when she got angry, her hands flew around her, her face got angry red and her hair bounced with her movements. He had never seen someone look so exquisite when they were yelling at him. She made him feel alive, adrenaline coursed in his veins. She always got the better of him. She was so… infuriating. On one of those occasions he finally had enough.

He grabbed her face and smashed their lips together to silence her. She was breathless when he distanced himself from her. Her eyes were wild and her hand flew to his cheeks, slapping him. Before leaving him frozen on his spot. They were supposed to be undercover as a married couple at the gala of their target. They had been discussing tactics and strategies when things escalated.

With a deep breath, he tried to calm himself down and headed back towards the ballroom, searching for his supposed wife. They stayed together all night, dancing and acting like a couple. It seemed natural to him to be this way with her. Having her in his arms, and showing her off. Finally a few minutes shy of dawn, they tiptoed towards a huge room where their target hid diamonds. Diamonds they were going to steal after killing him, so the crime would seem like a robbery gone wrong. Just at the last corner, they were almost caught. Five quickly hoisted her up before he pinned her to a wall and he placed his face on her neck. Her skin flashed and her heartbeat was rapid beneath his mouth.

“Play along.” He whispered sweetly to her skin but she was shocked by his actions. So he had no choice. He sucked at her pulse point receiving an immediate reaction. Her legs drew back on his hold, her back arched, her eyes closed and her lips released a quiet breathy moan. At that moment he knew he was already addicted to her. He couldn't hold himself back any longer. He bit and sucked on her neck and her hands tangled into his hair as she tugged at the short strands on the back of his head. She was moaning in his arms and her hips rolled against his. He raised his knee and she started riding his leg shamelessly. He wanted to be inside of her or he was going to burst. He wanted to shut her smart mouth so it would no longer fire comebacks at him. He unbuckled his belt and lowered his pants before pushing her underwear to the side and he waited for a confirmation to continue. She could ask him to kneel, to beg and he would gladly do so. Just to steal one moment with her.

A loud bang echoed through the walls and they snapped out of their daze. But the damage had already been done. Their partnership had been blown to proposition forever. And the rest was history.

Several years later, and many happy years together after being married in secret. It happened, their big bang, the thing that embodied the doom of their relationship. Five had always been a pessimist, even in his early childhood. He was a firm believer in Murphy's law, which stated that when something could go wrong in a situation, always expect it to go wrong. They had traveled in Germany during the Second World War. Five posed as one of the ranking officers in Auschwitz as his wife was expected to do the same. Only, she had been compromised and now she was one of the prisoners. The terrible labor that she endured every day was the thing that would plague him for years to come. After completing their mission and several wounds later they managed to get back to the safety of their home.

“Why didn't you listen to me?” Five snap in frustration and terror. His hands shook as he tried to stitch a big guss on her stomach. She looked paper thin, her bones were visible and her veins along with her arteries stood prominent against her pale skin that lost its color.

“I did. I disagreed with your plan either way. And we had to do something drastic. I took a risk and I lost. It happens.”

“And did it have to happen in one of the most terrifying places that ever existed on this Earth?”

“Snap out of it. You would have done the same. And always where we are atrocious things have happened. So you don't get to lecture me. I am my own person. I made a call and it happened to be wrong. But if I hadn't done that we would have eventually failed this mission. And you don't get to lecture me when you have done nothing but be untruthful to me since the moment this started.”

“Wh- what are you talking about?” Five whispered, his voice quivered with unshown emotions. He could see the inevitable impact between them before his eyes, he had just hoped he could have a few more moments with her. A few more minutes, a few more hours, days, or years. Anything really.

Her eyes were hard and full of hatred. She pulled herself to her feet. The pain that consumed her must have been blinding. The open wounds leaked with blood that stained her skin. She moved towards her coat where she retrieved a dark green notebook and she slammed it against their kitchen table, before placing her hands on her hips and firing a challenging look towards him.

“You know I want to get back to my family, sweetheart.”

“Don't sweetheart me. These equations are only for one person. So is there something you want to tell me, dear husband of mine?”

“Please let me explain…”

“Explain what? That this meant nothing to you? You are an egoistic son of a bitch Five. And I am done with you. And you know why? You made the mistake of placing a date when you started. Our wedding date. You have already shown your true colors. You can leave now. And you can take this, I don't need it any longer. Either way, it was fake and it meant nothing to you.” She said before throwing her wedding ring at him. It thudded against his chest and he caught it mid-air, as he watched her walking away from him and slamming the door of their bedroom in her way. He stood frozen in his place. It was done. The one thing that made him feel alive, the one thing that made him happy left him. He lost it under his own hands. The same night, he left a letter behind him before he traveled back in time, back to his family. To them, he seemed a shy seven years older than when he disappeared. But they didn't know about the two things he carried with him from his last life. Her picture in the breast pocket of his smart jacket and her wedding ring on his collarbones as it hung from a golden chain, both hidden from the world.

“Five. That is just … I don't know what to say.”

“Then don't. It is already hard to think about her.”

“How long has it been since -”

“Six years, eight months and twenty days. My early attempts to get back to you weren't really successful.” He whispered as he toying with her ring. It was gold and smooth to touch, his name had been engraved on the inside. It had been a blast to convince the person who made them that his name was actually Five. And he smiled at the fond memory.

“Will you ever see her again?”

“I don't know. The selfish part of me wishes that, but another part of me knows that it is better this way. Because she is free and safe from me. Klaus, if you don't mind … no more talk please.”

Klaus looked at the pained expression on his brother's face. He had never heard him utter the world “please”, at least not to him. So he simply nodded and stayed with him in silence before their peace was disturbed by their reality.

words: 1.781

[heartmix]

I Love It - MV1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x driver!reader

Word Count: 900+

Warning: named your pet dog, bear. Tempted to name the dog after my dog.

Twelve Fics of Christmas - Secret Santa

A/N: zhou FINALLY got a good gift this year!

F1 Masterlist / Masterlist

It was time for the annual paddock Secret Santa the F1 social team did with all the drivers. Honestly, you loved it. For the past few years, you got people you know pretty well so it was always easy to get gifts. You were one of the drivers who opted for meaningful and useful gifts instead of the silly ones, Zhou has gotten one too many Valtteri Bottas calendars. 

This year you pulled Max. Despite being so close, with you getting him a gift for Christmas every year anyway, you never pulled his name. You went back and forth if you should finally do a silly gift and save his real present for Christmas day. Your heart wouldn't allow you to do that and opted for both gifts to be sentimental. 

Max on the other hand pulled your name and to say he was freaking out was an understatement. He was also one to get you a present every year. It was always simple with a new purse or perfume, but he knew he couldn't pull that off for this silly video. He wanted to make this one special. 

As the weeks crept up you thought of the perfect gift, a neon sign with his cats' names on it so he could set it up by his streaming set-up. Sassy's name was red while Jimmy's name was blue, red bull colors of course. It was perfect and you happily handed it to the social media manager to give to him, excited to see his reaction when the video came out. 

Max was still freaking out. They would be exchanging gifts next week and he was still empty-handed. He was never good at gift-giving, opting for universally agreed upon "good presents." He needed to bring in reinforcement which was in the form of Daniel.

"What am I supposed to get her?!"

"I don't know why you are so stressed about this." That was a lie. Danny knew why he was stressed, he just wanted to see if Max wouldn't admit his crush. 

"I want to actually give a good gift, not just some expensive thing."

"Because you like her!" Daniel said with the goofiest smile on his face. He knew his best buddy had been crushing on you for years, but this was the first time he was freaking out about something so trivial. It was just an annual video the F1 media team did. He could get you a mug and you would love it.

"Daniel don't start." He couldn't help the sigh that came out. If he liked you or not he still wanted to get a decent gift. Maybe he was stressing too much, but he couldn't help it. 

"Okay okay. What does she like?"

"Music, sports, movies, animal-" As Max went on Daniel couldn't help but roll his eyes. Maybe that wasn't the right question to ask. He should've known to be more specific or the Dutchman would talk his ears off about you for hours. 

"I'm going to stop you right there. Let me ask again. What does she love most in this world."

"Her dog," Max said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

"Okay get her something relating to her dog." 

A huge grin slowly made its way onto Max's face, "I got it! thanks, Daniel!" Before Daniel could respond the facetime call ended.

When it was Max's turn to hand in his present he couldn't help but do it with a smile. Since he was stressing so much he didn't have much time to get it ready, but nothing a little money to rush the order couldn't help. Just like you, he can't wait for the reaction to be posted. 

"Okay, here you go." the media personnel said handing you the gift as the camera was rolling. 

"I can't wait." You excitedly said tearing open the wrapping paper.

As you tore open the gift you couldn't help the smile that broke out on your face, as you slapped a hand over your mouth in shock. "oh my god!"

"What is it?"

"It's a painting of my dog, bear! He's sitting in my car!" You happily flipped the painting to show the camera. "Max pulled my name?" You asked which shocked the people behind the camera at how fast you guessed.

"How did you know?"

"I just know." You said with the biggest smile running your hands all over the picture. "Did you give him his gift yet?"

"Yeah, we did him before you."

"I need to go find him." You rushed out before they needed anything else from you.

"Max!" You called out his name. Before he could process who called him you tackled him in a hug almost making him trip. 

"Woah, what's all of this for." He chuckled wrapping his arm around you to brace the both of you.

Slowly you pulled away from him holding the painting up with glee, "I love my gift, it's the best thing I ever got."

At this, he couldn't help but smile as he could feel heat rush right to his cheeks. You loved the gift. He swears your smile was bigger over the gift than your first win. Or maybe he was tricking himself into thinking that. Either way, you loved your gift and that's the reaction he was hoping for. 

"Looks like you're not the only good gift giver on the grid." He nudged your shoulder earning a giggle.

"How did you even think to get this?" 

Now it was your turn for your cheeks to heat up. "Well some of the best gifts I ever got are based around my cats so I took a page out of your book." 

"Well I love it, thank you." Again you pulled him into a hug not knowing what else to say besides thank you. If Secret Santa earned him this type of hug, he hoped to pull your name every year.  

"Anytime Schatje."

[liz-on-leash]

Live To Breed

[Commissioned]

VIVIZ SinB/Hwang Eunbi

Gangrape, Mentioned Death, BBC Tribesmen, Breeding, A Lot Of Cum, Vaginal Fuck, Anal, Pregnant Fuck, Some Other Heavy Stuff.

3,919 Word.

The day started like any other for VIVIZ, but shit was about to hit the fan in the most fucked-up way possible. SinB, the feisty one, Eunha, and sweet Umji were bouncing around in their jeep, deep in the heart of the African jungle, looking for some thrill.

The girls were living their best lives, laughing and joking, when all hell broke loose. A freaking stampede came outta nowhere, like some shit from a horror movie. The driver hit the brakes, but it was a lost cause. 

The jeep went flying, and SinB went airborne, straight into a goddamn tree. Her clothes ripped like wet tissue paper, and she was left bruised and bleeding, screaming her lungs out.

"FUUUUCK!" SinB howled in agony, her voice raw as a guttural scream. Her sexy outfit was in shreds, exposing her smooth skin, now marked with scratches and cuts that would make a horror flick proud. 

She tried to get her ass up, but her body was like jelly, trembling and weak. Where the hell were Eunha and Umji? She cried out for them, her voice fading in the vast jungle.

The jungle, usually buzzing with life, went dead quiet, like it was mourning the crazy shit that just went down. SinB's pleas for help bounced off the trees, her voice cracking with each desperate call. 

The pain was a bitch, clouding her vision, but she fought to stay conscious, refusing to black out. As the sun started its slow descent, painting the sky with fiery colors, a crew of hulking dudes appeared, straight out of a tribal wet dream. 

These motherfuckers were ripped, their dark skin glistening with sweat, and all they wore were tiny-ass loincloths that left nothing to the imagination. Their bodies were inked up with tribal tats, and their eyes held a wild intensity.

SinB's mouth hung open as she took in the sight, momentarily forgetting her pain. These dudes were built like gods, and their sheer size made her feel like a tiny doll. 

They muttered to each other in some ancient tongue, their deep voices rumbling like thunder, probably discussing the hot mess of a woman in front of them.

"Help... please, help me," SinB managed to whisper, her voice scratchy and weak. The men's eyes narrowed, their gazes intense enough to burn holes through her. 

They didn't give a shit about her plea, probably thinking she was some crazy jungle spirit. The biggest dude among them strode over, his muscles flexing with each step. He scooped SinB up like she weighed nothing, causing her to whimper.

This beast of a man carried her through the jungle like she was his prize catch. SinB's eyes darted around, taking in the unfamiliar sights of their camp. It was like a scene from a National Geographic documentary, with buff dudes going about their business, their bodies glistening with sweat and dirt.

These savages didn't waste time with pleasantries. They ripped what was left of SinB's clothes, leaving her in her skimpy underwear, her curves on full display. 

She tried to cover up, but these guys didn't give a damn about modesty. They cleaned her wounds, their rough hands exploring her body, and wrapped her up with some dirty-ass cloth.

"Fuck off!" SinB tried to fight, but it was like a kitten swatting at a lion. A sharp slap landed on her face. "Ugh!" She tasted blood, her lip split open. Another jab to her ribs had her gasping, reminding her just how helpless she was.

The men finished patching her up and shoved some weird-ass herbal shit down her throat. SinB choked and spluttered, her eyes watering from the bitter taste. 

Satisfied, two of them grabbed her, ignoring her weak struggles, and hauled her ass to a nearby barn. Inside, it was like a damn dungeon, filled with terrified women from different corners of the world.

The women were a sorry sight, some crying their eyes out, others moaning in pain, their bellies swollen with pregnancy. SinB's heart hammered in her chest as she realized she'd landed in some tribal sex cult's lair. She tried to scream, but her voice was shot.

Just then, all hell broke loose outside. A group of the tribal dudes, their massive cocks swinging free, dragged a screaming woman outta the camp. Her pleas were met with laughter and crude catcalls.

The men's laughter was like a sick chorus, their eyes wild with lust. SinB's blurry vision focused on their massive dicks, already hard as steel, ready to invade some poor woman's body.

The men wasted no time, and the woman's screams echoed through the camp, a haunting soundtrack to the night's twisted festivities. SinB's eyes fluttered, her mind overwhelmed by the day's events. 

The last thing she saw before passing out was the terrified faces of the captive women, knowing their fate was about to get a whole lot worse.

The night had turned into a fucked-up, twisted sex fest, and SinB was front-row center for this sick tribal ritual. Her eyes popped open as the barn erupted with screams and moans.

The women, who were once crying their eyes out, were now getting pounded by these tribal beasts, their cries echoing like a damn horror movie.

"Oh fuck, mercy, please! No more!" a woman begged, her voice raw from screaming her lungs out. But the men just kept pounding her from every angle, their dark, sweaty bodies slamming into her like wild animals.

"Harder, you motherfuckers! Break me in half!" another chick screamed, her body bucking as two dudes took turns drilling her, their cocks stretching her holes like she was some damn sex toy. 

The scene was brutal, but damn, it was hot as hell. Even the preggo ladies weren't off-limits.

"No, not my ass! My baby... oh, fuck, no!" a pregnant woman wailed, her eyes rolling back as a dude hammered her ass, not giving a damn about her swollen belly. The sight was enough to make SinB's stomach churn.

SinB's eyes were like saucers, taking in the savage display of raw, animalistic fucking. Her body ached to run, but she might as well have been glued to the ground. She tried to crawl away, but it was like trying to escape a pack of hungry wolves.

"Please, just let me go, you bastards!" SinB's voice was raspy, barely a whisper.

These dudes weren't having any of it. They grabbed her like she was their personal plaything. One dude chuckled, his deep voice sending shivers down her spine.

They pinned her down, their rough hands holding her arms and legs, spreading her wide open like a buffet. SinB screamed and kicked, but it only made these animals harder.

"Let me go, you animals! Help!" SinB's pleas were desperate, but they just laughed, their eyes wild with lust.

The dude on top of her, his cock already hard as steel, ripped her panties off like they were nothing. "No, stop! Get your hands off me!" SinB shouted, her voice breaking as he groped her tits, squeezing and twisting her sensitive nipples until she saw stars.

Pissed off by her resistance, the dude stood up and stomped on her stomach, making her gag and cough. Before SinB could catch her breath, another dude was on top of her, his thick cock aiming straight for her mouth.

SinB's eyes widened as his cock invaded her, stretching her jaws to the max. This dude was packing an anaconda, and it hit the back of her throat, making her gag and choke.

He grunted, face-fucking her like a pro. SinB's throat bulged, moving up and down, her eyes watering, snot and spit flying as he pounded her face. Another dude cheered, slapping her ass hard enough to leave a mark.

The dude pounding her face went to town, his balls slapping against her chin, making her gag and choke some more. SinB's body shook, her bound hands clawing at the dirt, her throat working overtime to take that massive cock.

He growled, his hips slamming into her aching throat. SinB's eyes rolled back, tears mixing with the spit and snot as she struggled to breathe. Her throat was on fire, but this dude wasn't letting up, his cock throbbing, ready to unload his cum down her throat.

The barn had become a twisted, hardcore sex dungeon, where SinB's screams and the other women's cries were the soundtrack to a night of brutal, non-stop gangrape.

The tribal black men were on a roll, and SinB's mouth was their fuck toy. These motherfuckers took turns shoving their thick, veiny cocks down her throat, face-fucking her like she was their personal cum dumpster. 

SinB choked and gagged, her eyes watering like a waterfall as she tried to take their massive cocks. One guy gripped her hair like a leash as he pounded her face. SinB's throat was getting fucked raw, her gag reflex going crazy, but these animals just kept going harder.

Another guy shouted, slapping her face with his thick palm. SinB's cheeks stung, but he didn't give a shit as he jammed his cock down her throat, making her eyes bulge like a cartoon.

"Can't... breathe!" SinB managed to gasp between the thrusts, her voice muffled and desperate. But these savages just laughed, their rough hands holding her head like a pet, forcing her to take their cocks.

One after another, they blasted their hot cum down her throat, making her swallow their seed like it was her job. SinB's belly was swelling, her throat on fire, and she felt like she was gonna puke her guts out.

"No more... gonna puke!" she whimpered, her eyes pleading for mercy but a hard slap landed on her cheek, making her see stars.

One man growled, grabbing her hair and forcing her mouth open for his throbbing cock. SinB gagged, her throat convulsing as he face-fucked her with zero fucks given.

These native men were all about getting their rocks off, and they didn't care about her comfort. Some even used her hands and thighs to jerk off, covering her skin with their hot, sticky loads. SinB's body was a mess, covered in sweat, cum, and bruises.

The barn was a horror show, with women's screams and moans filling the air. SinB's eyes darted around, witnessing shit that would give her nightmares for life.

"Help... I'm pregnant! Have mercy!" a woman begged, her belly shook as two men double-battered her pussy and ass. The poor chick was screaming, but they just kept pounding until she went quiet, her body limp and her holes bleeding.

A man grunted, his cock buried deep in the ass of a woman who was clearly out cold. SinB watched in horror as he pumped away, not giving a damn about the blood or the fact that she wasn't even conscious.

“No, no, no– Oh god!" another woman cried, her body arched and bruised as three huge black men took turns violating her. Her screams turned to whines, then silence as the pain overwhelmed her.

SinB's throat was on fire, and her stomach felt like it was gonna explode from all the cum she'd been forced to swallow. When a cock finally pulled out of her mouth, she puked, spewing a mix of cum and bile.

"Fuck— argh, can't swallow anymore!" she begged. But they didn't give a shit. A sharp slap landed on her mouth, making her eyes water.

A man barked, grabbing her hair and shoving his cock back in her mouth. SinB gagged and choked, her throat working achingly to take his thickness as he fucked her face with no mercy. These tribesmen made sure to mark her as their territory. 

They flooded her mouth, on her body, and even made her lick their balls. SinB's body trembled in disgust, her throat and mouth abused, but they just kept going, their cocks throbbing and unloading their semen wherever they pleased. 

Time had lost all meaning for SinB as the assault on her mouth continued. These tribal studs had been using her face as their personal cum dump for hours, forcing her to swallow load after load, even as she puked it all up. 

Her stomach felt like it was gonna burst, her belly swollen and hard, a testament to the endless cumshots she'd been forced to take.

SinB's body was a mess, her once flawless skin now glistening with sweat, her hair sticking to her forehead. 

Her lips were swollen and bruised, gaping open as if they'd forgotten how to close, and her throat was on fire, like she'd swallowed a flaming blade. She couldn't feel her face anymore; it was just a numb, throbbing mess.

Her curvy body had gone limp, her arms splayed out on the dirty ground, but the men held her head up, ensuring her mouth was always available for their pleasure, cocks sliding down her throat, making her gag and choke, her eyes rolling back in her head.

SinB's mind was fuzzy, her body exhausted, but the men showed no signs of stopping. Her throat was so fucked, it felt like a permanent part of their cocks was lodged in there. She couldn't even swallow her own spit without pain.

As another thick release was forced down her throat, SinB's body went into overdrive. She convulsed, her eyes rolling back, and for a moment, she thought she was gonna pass out. The man finally pulled out, letting her fall to the ground like a ragdoll.

SinB gasped for air, her body twitching uncontrollably, her throat and mouth leaking cum and saliva. She lay there, unable to move, her eyes pleading for this nightmare to end. The men, however, seemed to be just getting started.

They stood around her, stroking their hard cocks, their eyes wild with lust as they discussed their next move. SinB prayed for death, for the sweet release of unconsciousness, but the gods weren't listening.

Suddenly, a massive man stepped on her swollen stomach, making her cry out in pain. He twisted his foot, and SinB's body betrayed her, spewing cum and pee, her throat and pussy leaking like broken faucets.

"Oh god– fucking hurts…" she whispered, her voice barely audible. The man just laughed, his deep voice echoing in her ears. He then grabbed her ankles, dragging her out of the barn, away from the screams of the other tortured women.

SinB's heart sank as she realized this was far from over. She was being dragged to the center of the camp, where a crowd of over fifty tribal men awaited, their bodies naked and glistening with some ritual oil.

"No… just kill me," SinB mumbled, her voice weak and defeated. She wanted this torture to end, but the men had other plans. The idol's worst fears were about to be realized as the tribe prepared for a night of depraved rituals.

SinB was done fighting, her body limp as a rag doll as the men chained her up like a sacrificial lamb in the middle of this tribal orgy. They tossed her onto the wooden platform, her stomach heaving, causing her to spew out the cum she'd swallowed earlier.

The men were quick to secure her, chaining her wrists and neck, ensuring she was their helpless plaything. Her curvy body was on full display, the torchlight highlighting every inch of her skin.

A dude with a lean build grabbed her hair, forcing her to look up at him as he poured some weird-ass green liquid down her throat. It was some tribal shit to keep her awake and ready for their sick games. SinB gagged on the bitter taste, but at this point, she was beyond caring.

The crowd went wild as the first man stepped into the spotlight, his cock so big it swung between his legs like a damn pendulum. This dude was a fuckin' beast, and he was about to tear SinB a new one.

He crouched down, his hands gripping her soft hips like they were made for him. He lifted her ass, positioning her on her knees, showcasing her plump, round cheeks. The motherfucker poured oil on her ass, his touch making her tremble.

SinB's ass was a sight to behold, and this dude knew it. He massaged the oil into her skin, his thick-ass thumb getting dangerously close to her tight hole. With a deliberate move, he pushed his thumb into her asshole, making her scream like a banshee.

"Fuck! Stop, you bastard!" SinB cursed, her body going rigid as she felt her ass being stretched beyond its limits. The dude's thumb worked her hole, making her scream and beg, her struggles against the chains useless.

The pain was off the charts, her ass on fire as he finger-fucked her, preparing her for the main event. SinB twisted and turned, her body a mess of desperation, but the dude held her hips like a vice.

Before she knew it, his thumb was out, and his massive cock was at her entrance, ready to breach her tight hole. With one brutal thrust, he impaled her ass, making her eyes roll back.

"Ahhhh, fuck! It's too big! It's splitting me— it's in my guts!" SinB screamed, her voice shaking. 

His cock was a monster, tearing through her sphincter like it was nothing. She felt it stretching her insides, poking places no cock should go.

The man held her hips, his cock buried balls-deep, and started pounding her ass like it was a punching bag. SinB's body jolted with each thrust, her pee spraying out as her bladder broken.

The crowd went nuts, their cheers filling the air as the man brutalized her ass, his cock owning her with each brutal stroke. SinB's screams were music to their ears.

The big dude was merciless, slamming his cock into SinB's ass like a jackhammer, her body taking the full force. Her legs were straight, toes pointed, as she endured the sensation of being impaled, her asshole stretched to its limits. It felt like she was trying to poop out a watermelon, but it just kept going deeper.

SinB's eyes were rolled back, her mouth hanging open, drool dripping down her chin as she groaned and whimpered. Her pale tits scraped against the rough wood with each jerking motion. 

The man grunted like a wild animal, his hips snapping forward, driving his cock even deeper. SinB's ass clenched around him, milking his cock as he pounded her hole. 

The pleasure was too much, with a few more deep thrusts, he exploded inside her, his hot cum filling her ass. He pulled out, his cock glistening with lube and cum, leaving SinB's ass gaping and sore. 

She collapsed onto the platform, her body trembling, unable to move or speak. But there was no respite for the idol.

Another tall, muscular guy stepped up, his cock already slick with oil. He knelt behind her, slapping her leaking pussy, making her jerk and whimper. SinB knew the routine by now, and she bit her lip, bracing herself for the incoming invasion.

A few men gathered around her head, their cocks in hand, stroking and getting off on the sight of her oily, abused body. One dude even stepped on her head, his foot pressing down as he admired the show.

The man behind her positioned his thick cockhead at her pussy lips, teasing her entrance. SinB's body tensed, anticipating the pain. With a slow gesture, he pushed inside, making her moan and arch her back.

"Ahh, shit, shit— My pussy, uhhh!" SinB cried out as his swollen tip popped through her tight pussy lips, stretching her beyond her limits right away. Her pussy clenched around his cock, resisting the invasion, but he kept forcing his way in, inch by inch.

The man was tenacious, his cock a battering ram, pushing past her resistant flesh. SinB screamed and shook, her body a mess of pain as he yanked her onto his cock, burying it deep in her pussy.

Her pee sprayed around his girth, an indication of the intensity of the insertion. The men laughed, their eyes wild with unsatiated lust as the man kept punching her inner walls, his cock slamming against her cervix with each thrust. 

The sudden pleasure was intense, causing SinB's body to tremble and convulse, her pussy clenching around his cock as she climaxed, her juices flowing and mixing with his. But the pleasure was short-lived as his cock kept pounding, hitting her cervix with lethal impact, causing searing pain.

"Ahhh! Fuck, stop!" SinB cried, her body arching off the platform as the man lost control, his hips snapping forward, driving his cock deeper. Blood trickled down her thighs as her pussy was torn and ravaged, the pain almost unbearable.

The man was in a trance, his cock throbbing as he emptied his load deep inside her, breeding her pussy with his cum. He pulled out, his cock glistening with her juices and blood, leaving SinB's pussy gaping and sore.

The men weren't done with her yet. They forced her to drink more of their herbal drugs, keeping her conscious. They even splashed water on her, cleaning the blood and dirt from her body, their rough hands scrubbing her skin.

SinB's body was chained tighter, her wrists and neck secured, ensuring she couldn't escape the breeding that awaited her. More tribesmen lined up, their cocks hard and ready to take over her abused holes.

Day after day, the ritual continued, with over 60 men taking their turns with her every single day. They raped her solo, double-penetrated her, and even tried triple penetration, stretching - tearing her holes beyond their limits. SinB's screams and moans were a constant soundtrack in the camp.

The only sustenance she received was their cum, fed to her by force, enough to keep her alive and fertile for their breeding games. Her memories of her past life as an idol faded, replaced by the constant sensation of huge cocks filling her sore, aching holes.

For weeks, SinB's disappearance was headline news in South Korea. The authorities found Eunha and Umji's bodies, but SinB remained a mystery. Little did they know, she was deep in the African jungle, being bred by a tribe of men.

Weeks turned into a blur for SinB, her body now permanently marked by the tribe's ownership. Her once flat stomach now sported a slight bulge, a result of the countless times she'd been bred. 

The men had moved her to the barn, where she joined the ranks of other pregnant women, all awaiting the birth of their tribal offspring.

SinB was on all fours, a leash around her neck, her body of stretch marks and bruises. Two tribesmen stood beside her, their rough hands massaging her swollen breasts, tugging at her nipples until milk squirted into a bucket, proof of her fertility - the only reason that kept her alive.

Behind her, a group of men took turns with her ass, their cocks pounding her hole to stimulate her milk production. Her pussy, already dripping with cum from the men who had just used her, was a constant reminder of her fate.

The once vibrant K-pop idol was gone, replaced by a shell of a woman, her body a vessel for the tribe's pleasure and procreation. 

SinB's mind was a haze, her memories of her past life fading with each brutal fucking. She was now a breeding machine, her body existing solely to produce the next generation of this unknown tribe.

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐬, 𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐳𝐞 || 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠!𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one: stop, you’re losing me || part two: in the trees, in the breeze (here)

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_ your memory kept haunting Coriolanus Snow, so he found the way to end his exile. It’s a new era, but the same old feelings between Coriolanus and you keep causing scandals. Although, you are not ready to let go the pain he caused to you.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_ Capitol ballerina!reader, angst, drama, violence and death lol, jealousy, unhinged Coriolanus, sex mentions, reader still has health problems, etc. 13k words fic IM SORRY

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞_ hear this along Can’t catch me now, I’m not an OR fan but I love that song from her. I mean, who didn’t? And thank you for the wait and loveeeee. PLEASE TELL ME OF ANY ERRORS BC I CAN’T BE ALMOST ACCUSED OF BEING TRANSPHOBIC PLEASEEEE

♪ ♫ awful Coriolanus Snow playlist ✰ Index (+ fics here)

_____________________________________________

Red, blue, red, red, yellow, green, green, pink.

Every color is correctly marked. A nurse smiles with some papers on her hand before she dissapears.

You can get dressed again. The color test was done, your vision was okay.

Purple and green bruises are scattered across your skin. Some appeared on your inner thighs. Two on your knees and one on the ribs from the day you collapsed after the post-Hunger Games celebration. You sigh covering your skin with a long floral dress. The reflection of yourself on the mirror salutes you with a tired, broken and sad face. It makes you force a smile, pretending more people were watching you. The room in empty though.

“Everything is fine. Your body is responding well to the shots.” A doctor asks as soon as he walks in into the room.

“The only thing that worries me is your mental health. Have you been stressed or has anything happened to you that could be considered a traumatic experience?”

The pointe shoes soaked in blood. The unstoppable bleeding on your feet. The late nights with panic attacks and over thinking. That young blonde man and the songbird together. The night on dressing room, how your hand burned after slapping the man so hard. The shock of all the events surrounding your life two weeks ago. How you lost control, your head spinning, blurred vision, heart pounding, numb arms and how you felt the oxygen was leaving. All the things you did for someone who never deserved you, making you shatter, fainting as soon as you finished dancing.

“Miss y/l/n… Are you okay?” The distant voice of the doctor breaks your bubble. You shake your head in disguise before turning away from the mirror, facing him and smiling politely.

“Yes, I’m fine. I was very stressed, yeah. Working with the production of the Hunger Games. My artistic performances, last days at the Academy. It was a lot…” the doctor sighs, annotating something. He then handed you the paper.

“I’m giving you some treatment for that. And please, you have to be careful and calm. Only that way the medicine will help everything to work here” he points his head. You nod, accepting the paper.

After that, you leave the private hospital. Trevor is there, your chauffeur and friend. He smiles, opening the door for you.

“Thank you, Trevor” he starts the car soon after.

“Is everything okay?” You nod, looking at the bright day at the Capitol.

“I just need to relax and eat well.” Trevor had trimmed his hair. It made him look younger, making you smile at the memory of him saying his wife was his hairstylist.

“Good. Oh, I received a call from your mother. This woman…uh, Dr. Volumnia Gaul? She wants to see you at the Univeristy today” you frown to look at him confused.

“Oh? So… Can we go now?” He nods, turning left to start the route. Meanwhile, you wonder what could she want. You made your part, the games had a higher amount of viewers compared to last year. You engaged with the production and the celebration was at full capacity. Your little accident even made it more attractive to the media. Appearing on the papers and magazines across Panem.

And after everything, you still wanted to keep dancing. Or else range would consume you.

…

It’s the first time you step inside the Capitol’s University. It’s very similar to the Academy, but the floor tiles are green and white. There’s a lot of white, cream, golden and black decorating the halls and long stairs.

Since it’s summer, most of the building was empty. Only some of the staff, and very few people who seemed like students. You see they dress very elegant. Some women wore hats with feathers or flowers. The men wore classy suits and you genuinely thought you would fit in.

You couldn’t wait to have some sense of normality as a Univeristy student along Clemensia and Lysistrata. Your only close friends left. Well, also Festus and Sejanus. At the time, you didn’t event know your dear friend was dead.

What seems like the private office of Gaul has a red door. Inside, she had a laboratory, smaller but weirder than the one you had seen before. Full of dissected creatures, tanks and crystal containers with unknown chemicals.

Some steps further and you see her desk, where she is collecting some folders and putting them away in some shelves.

“Glad to see you breathing, miss y/l/n…” somehow you found the humor to smile coldly.

“As you can see.” You reply standing perfectly correct.

“By this point you should know what happened to Mr. Snow” goosebumps make you shake your shoulders slightly, you nod again.

“He was exiled. Twenty years. He lied to me and did not said a thing about cheating on the games”

“Indeed. However this morning, I just discovered he bribed a woman to be sent to District 12.” You bite your tongue to hide your fury. A hot feeling invade your chest in rage. But you just breathe, failing to not show discontent.

“That’s not any of my business anymore.” Even Gaul seems taken aback. However, she doesn’t say anything, she just keeps pulling away the pile of folders.

“Well, since it seems you both parted ways… I must share that I’m deleting any record or data related to the 10th Hunger Games. Too many things happened before, during and after the games. Things that would compromise the reputation of the whole organization. Including me, the Academy, the mentors, you and Mr. Snow” honestly, you don’t know what to say. You just frown slightly, demonstrating how confused you were. But you also understood with half of the context. The death of Arachne, Coriolanus and his odd ways to make his songbird oustand, the rebel attack, Lucy Gray Baird winning from cheat. And the things you didnt know like Sejanus entering the arena.

However, you stick to your parent’s advice. You have to think about you and anyone else.

“I understand. But I did my part. I completed my task so I hope this decision doesn’t jeopardize my grant” she smiles. Dr. Gaul secretly believed that you and Coriolanus Snow could rule Panem together. In a sick and evil way, so she really hoped her dark intentions would work.

“Of course not. We had a deal. The views went up this year. You brought a new vision for the promotion that I’ll hardly let go.” The ambition started tickling you. Making you roll your tongue inside your closed mouth, at the verge of opening it and talking.

“Good.”

“In fact, you would be a nice option to become head of the promotion and relations team.” From the last games, you realized the director only gave instructions but he rarely did the dirty job. You liked having some power over the games. And now, a childish and unjustified resentment towards District 12 made you smile as Gaul offered you a new job.

“Is it a possible option to be working in behalf of my mother’s institution?”

“You’re very smart, y/n y/l/n. You are going further than Mr. Snow” your smile only grows, knowing you are nit being correct. You are letting the rage and resentment to guide you. You will make your last name shine brighter than your parents did. Just to rub it in the face of certain blonde who was now exiled. Probably savoring the country life of District 12.

“I just want to make my family’s name bigger than it already is” the woman giggles, taking out a red envelope and handing it you.

“I assume you’ll pursue the arts as you’re speciality. But if you want to get involved with the production, marketing and relations. You are taking politics and some lessons with me” when you look down at the envelope, the golden logo of the university is greeting you. It’s the admission letter.

“I expect to see you here by the end of the summer” you nod, thanking her.

And as you walk outside where Trevor is waiting for you, you have a cocky smile. Feelings like things could go better. You don’t even remember the doctor’s appointment you were in before coming to see Gaul.

…

Your soft hands gently brush against his forehead. Coriolanus had chills, he hadn’t had fever since he was 15 years old. But your hands are so soft even when they feel cold as ice. He just knows he’s in his bed. In his rottening penthouse. He can see a slightly blurred image of you, wearing a green dress, your hair in a braid, a golden necklace, dark purple lips. He can’t hear your words, but you are talking to him, spreading some cream across his chest, immediately he felt the mint soothing his cough and pain. He must’ve said something funny, because he can now see clearly your face, gorgeous as always. And he can clearly hear you laughing.

Coriolanus wakes up smiling. And he realised he was dreaming.

He was in a small and creaky lower bunk bed. Sejanus sleeping in the upper bunk. The sun hasn’t come up. And he’s a peacekeeper in District 12.

It’s been weeks since he left the Capitol. And since day one, you seem to be haunting him.

Current dreams of you, swearing to be hearing your voice. It makes him want to call you every single day. But he doesn’t. He was able to forget about you when he was in the peacekeeper training and duties. When he was with Lucy Gray any trace of you was gone. But as soon as he had a moment alone, he would remember everyhting about you.

He missed you. Painfully a lot.

Every Friday, he had been sending the letters. He hoped your mother would hand them to you. But Coriolanus knew you too well to know you likely would not be reading them. Nonetheless, he was letting himself to write the most vulnerable pieces of him, putting his heart on each word and phrase. Hoping that by the time his exile was over, you would have forgiven him.

When the sun came up, he was up along the rest of the boys. Sejanus gives him a friendly smile and they’re out exercising and doing jobs all day long. During his break, he’s able to seat in an old bench, with a beautiful view of an open green field.

That’s when he dreams of seeing you there, dancing or simply standing there with a sundress. Like the ones you used to wear on summer when he visited the house your parents had in District 4. He dreams so hard that he swears seeing the skirt of your dress swaying through the trees. And that’s when he knows he’s so fucked up.

But that’s long forgotten after the break is over. And by the night, he’s on the biggest bar of the town. He sees Lucy Gray singing something new. He honestly never understood the meaning behind her songs, but he was enchanted by her do what she loved.

After her live presentation, a big projector was introduced. They started playing the weather with Lucky Flickerman. Which made Coriolanus miss the Capitol so bad.

“They’re probably waiting for some women. That’s why the always start that thing” Lucy Gray said, appearing by his side and pointing at the projector. He smiled at her.

“To see women?” She nodded, grabbing a glass of cold water.

“You know how are men around here” with no tv around, no ostentatious lifestyles, men could get excited with little makeup and satin gowns. Coriolanus was disgusted by many mannerism of the 12. He had heard and seen many disapproving behaviors. But he was happy to be able to find some peace along the songbird.

“Yes, I know. What’s that thing by the way?” When Coriolanus turned around to see the old projector, he almost choked after seeing the big logo appearing.

It was the summer fundraising charity of your mother. Another luxurious gala to help the constructions of the Capitol after war. However, that wasnt the most impressive part for Coriolanus. Seconds after the recovered from seeing something directly related to his past, you appeared in the projector, entering the stage and getting in pose to start a performance.

Lucy Gray Baird was in shock. So if she was surprised, the men all around the bar where cheering and whistling.

There you were, with curled wet hair, metallic bronze makeup, wine lips, golden bracelets on your arms. But it was the attire. A two piece set that let your legs and stomach show off. With bare feet, and two elegant knives, one in each hand. Your cocky smile was back. And it was ruining Coriolanus Snow.

He literally jumped from his seat, leaving Lucy Gray to cross the river of men and properly see you.

She knew you had broken up with him. And that relieved the songbird, as she felt like she could let her feelings for Coriolanus flow freely. But seeing the boy literally hipnotized as soon he saw you, it made her feel uneasy. Deeply she knew that Coriolanus wasn’t over you. And no matter what, you were a sensible subject for him. That not even herself could ever test.

But he kept going. Each step meant hearing them say how good you looked, the places where they’d put their hands on your body. It boiled his blood.

But finally, the dance killed him. Because maybe for the capitol you were still elegant and classy. Their eyes would publicly appreciate your art, and privately let their mind wander with your half naked body. But for people from the 12. It was like throwing a piece of meat to lions in starvation.

With your hips swaying tentatively, pointed feet and letting everyone know how flexible you were. That sassy look on your face that Coriolanus was feeling too personal. It was like you were saying “look what you lost”.

He was used to see you in pastel tutus, hair in a bun. Not this goddess ritual dance type of thing. The music was very different, something very uncommon in Panem. He really wants to punch every man in the room. He sees how most of the women in the bar see your graceful image with disgust. And Coriolanus couldn’t blame them. But it made him remember that he had lost the right to call you his. And that intrusive thought made him automatically think he wanted to go back home so badly.

Your sensual and meticulous steps keep going, the knives making him remember the folk tales of women dancing with sharp objects to show fertility, honor of their kingdom and to seal a man’s faith. Every minute more desperate for Snow, who’s over the edge of hearing men say plenty of things about you. But soon, the music stops with you arched, pointed feet, your curls kissing the stage, the knives perfectly pointing like a clock.

Coriolanus doesnt miss your evil smile. He can sense you are changing. And he remember all the pain he caused you, making him sigh in resignation. His desire of going back for you only growing.

“I’m sorry I left like that” he explains to Lucy Gray. She notices how quick he drank his beer. She was a woman after all, she knew the effect a fine female could have on men. Especially on the man who was their lover. The one that probably hurt her and left her, ending their history in bad terms.

“It’s okay. I told you she was very pretty before” Coriolanus learns that Lucy Gray was not being sarcastic that day at the zoo.

…

It had come to the point where he couldn’t run away from his thoughts. Coriolanus was borderline obsessed with your memory. He constantly wondered how you were doing. He had to ask Tigris every time they talked to see learn anything about you.

For the first time, since he left the Capitol, Tigris shares that she had talked to you.

Coriolanus was surprised to hear that the reason you gave about the breakup was only because he cheated with Lucy Gray.

You didn’t said a word about him the lies, the last argument you two had. You only say that his songbird was special. And that you stopped to be what he needed.

Which was heavily mistaken. Some days before he accepted that you were the only thing he needed to keep going. He imagines a fake scenario where you came to the 12 with him. You find a humble home where you wait till his training is over. The lake where he spent hours with Lucy Gray and The Covey could’ve been hours with you. Talking about anything and everything. He would’ve come straight home to you when the training was over. Make love to you, promise to fight for a higher position, possibly as a commander one day and marrying you. And soon the years would’ve passed, his exile would be over and you would go back to the Capitol with him. Maybe some children along.

But that would never happen. And his delusion was starting to make him find a way to go back where he belonged.

He questioned if his urges where for power, or to get back with the woman he loved.

Whatever the reason was, a lot of people would pay the price. First were the daughter of the mayor and her partner, then the man who had the decency to hide the gun he used to kill those two. Who also happened to be his alleged best friend.

His hands trembling as he pressed to record Sejanus. But he knew there were high possibilities of being heard. And that way, he would go back. He would find you and slowly start again.

The death of Sejanus would haunt him for a long time. He knew he was a close friend of yours, which made him get chills, uneasy to decide what could be your reaction to the news. Either way, it was done. The heavens had to have heard him. He was offered to serve in District 2, gain some money and he could easily take the train to see you if anything.

But Lucy Gray had other plans. And Coriolanus wasnt even sure of what he was doing. Probably in his rambling and panic after everything he went through as a peacekeeper, one side of him wanted to run away and never see back again. To forget about his decisions as a mentor, to forget about his decisions as a peacekeeper and to forget about you. That way he would never have to face all the pain he caused you.

After some hours of walking, Coriolanus should have seen the signs.

“Everyone in the Covey are really good dancers. But I don’t think it’s my thing. I just have my voice…” Lucy Gray said, holding her bag tightly. Coriolanus only smiled, remembering how bad the songbird was when he tried to teach her how to waltz.

“Is it like… exclusive in the Capitol?”

“I think so. Today there’s only one institution, the mother of…” he goes quiet, realizing what he was about to say.

“…y/n?” She asked, almost nervous about mentioning your name. But in reality, she wasnt. After Coriolanus nodded, they just kept walking in silence.

“Her mother founded it?”

“It was her grandmother actually. Mine knew her, and they were kind of friends” he said smiling, trying to look away from Lucy Gray so he couldn’t see him smiling.

Once you leaned Coriolanus was financially struggling some years ago, you ended up visiting him for the first time. That day you learned Grandma’am was friend of your family before your mother was born. And that only made her appreciate you faster. Which made Coriolanus happy. Finally seeing her grandmother to let go the days of the war and any crazy ideas that stayed on her mind. All thanks to you.

“Grandma’am even started planting pink roses for her.” It slipped out automatically, he couldn’t control it.

“She’s like ink…” Coriolanus missed the point. But after some minutes of silence, he understood what Lucy Gray said. Which resulted true. Metaphorically, you were the brightest tint he’d ever seen. He let that ink fall and splash everywhere, leaving stains on him that probably would never leave.

And finally, Lucy Gray Baird fell to her end in the shallow woods. Hunted like a prey. By a broken man who decided to stop being good. Who was losing his mind for the pieces of a woman he let go so easily.

That changes like the destination of Coriolanus.

He’s going back to the Capitol. With tiny sparks of hope. But firmly believing that everyhting was meant to happen like that so he could go back to you.

However, as he came closer, Coriolanus realized he was lost. He had no idea what would await for him. And what version of you would greet him.

…

There isn’t an exact period over the Capitol that can’t be considered as autumn. The summer was practically over, and winter was already happening. Coriolanus had to wait longer than expected to get into University. In the meantime, he accepted the money from the Plinth family. He decided to get ahead of time. He used the last hot days to get Tigris and Grandma’am back to the penthouse. He bought the whole building and in two weeks the whole place was renewed. There was only one thing he couldn’t get rid of. The living room and entrance olive paint you brought. He painted the halls, dining room, studio and kitchen in a dark blue paint. But he wasnt able to get rid of the memories he made with you. His old self was long gone. But he had his supcisions that the version he was for you would never change.

However, he decided to stay afar from the public eye for that month after returning from exile.

Tigris said she hadn’t seen you. But that was okay. He would soon enter to University. He was going to see you there.

Eventually the day came. He gets rid off Casca Highbottom and then he walks towards the big and imposing University of the Capitol. He had a driver now, but he thought it wouldn’t be bad to use the mornings to walk.

In his first hours inside, he has private lessons with Dr. Gaul. Already mentoring him to be a game maker. She kind of suspects he was involved with the sudden death of Highbottom. But for some reason, Gaul has a lot of hopes in him, so she would easily act blind to keep her plans to keep going.

After that, Coriolanus starts looking out for you. He crosses the big seminar rooms and other halls. Until he is able to locate the arts building. It’s smaller but probably the most interesting. With a beautiful barroque facade. As soon as he enters, he sees a group of girls holding large canvas with beautiful paintings on them. Then, some steps later he spots two guys trying to carry a sculpture. Coriolanus believes that kind of modern art was the future of the Capitol. He had to admit the arts building was fully alive, he even forgot he was still at the university.

Coming down from some stairs, he sees two girls. A red haired and a tanned with black leotards and floral skirts are giggling. They seems like dancers, he doesnt think twice. He’s already approaching the girls.

“Excuse me, ladies. Do you know by any chance where I can find y/n y/l/n?” The girls look cheekily at each other, before smiling at him. Which makes Coriolanus wonder what type of rumours had been flowing around about you and him. Since mostly everyone knew the last Snow heir was dating the daughter of the kings of Panem´s television industry.

“She’s rehearsing a class for new students. It’s on the second floor, you’ll hear the music…” he thanks the tanned girl before going upstairs.

She wasn’t lying. He started hearing the classical piano music. He can hear some distant and low cheering. The whole floor is full of dancers. It’s a long hall, to the right, a big studio, with a classical mural, chandeliers and the most giant mirror he’d ever seen.

The people outside the studio see him with curiosity. But he only has eyes for the ballerina dancing all across the studio.

There you are, with a coral tutu, baby pink leotard and thighs. Your pointe shoes seem new. Your cheeks look so pink and your smile is there.

He has to understand that you have become popular enough to have your own fans. Some rumors said that your mother was offering master classes at the University. And he couldn’t help but think how much your family’s name have growth since he left.

He lost count of many turns you did, but you finish cleanly, offering a beautiful view of your tutu wadding. He can’t stop smiling.

People start a round of applauses. He debates whether to get closer or not. He doesnt have any speech prepared. He doesn’t know what to say to you.

“Coriolanus?” When he turns around, he sees Clemensia Dovecote there. Her old study buddy looked older, but not in a bad way. He saw the scales on her skin. But he didnt had to ask, he knew it was because of the rainbow snakes. It just seemed weird to see her short sleeves but turtleneck, rather than her trying to cover all of her face.

“Clemensia” he greets her. Clemmie was probably your female best friend. It wasnt a surprise that suddenly the woman seemed to dislike him.

“Since when you returned?” He looks back at you again. As the music keeps playing, he just smiles. He know the way things would now work. With no how are you questions or anything like the past.

“Some weeks ago.” Clemensia looks like she’s analyzing every movement and word of him.

“Why are you here?” Her hostile tone only makes Coriolanus to act more relaxed than he already is.

“I made the promise to come back for y/n…” the woman stares at him, probably taken aback.

“She doesn’t need this, Coriolanus. She can’t have this” Clemensia had visited you at the hospital. She learned most of his lies towards you. She knew you didn’t deserved to fall again. And especially not because of him.

“I know, Clemmie. I won’t be a burden for her” the music stops, and Coriolanus decides that it’s not time to talk to you yet. So he smiles once again to Clemensia.

“I hope so. Because you already failed her once…” his smile drops. Clemensia dissapears to get inside the studio. Coriolanus stares at you one last time, before he silently walks out.

…

Before you can reach your glass of posca, a porcelain plate with your food slides on the way. A soft piece pile of fried little steaks, with melted cheese and a golden sauce of mushrooms dripping. Your stomach churns and it makes Clemensia laugh.

She had a salmon fine cut with caviar and other exotic stuff. It was a beautiful afternoon to have dinner at one of the most elegant restaurants of the Capitol Downtown.

“Bless your food.”

“Bless your food” you reply back to her.

“So, How it went the rehearsal?” You roll your eyes giggling.

“It was great, until the girls taking the masterclass appeared to see me” your father was right. After working in the production of the 10th Hunger Games, many doors opened for you. Splendid career opportunities here and there. Only that you didn’t enjoy a lot of attention.

“Are they still at the Academy” you nod.

“Rich girls who can make their parents pay the classes of course” Clemensia smiles, drinking a little bit before getting back to eat.

“Coriolanus was looking for you…” you literally stopped eating. You almost drop your fork, but you decided to hold it firmly.

“What?”

“Apparently he’s back.” She reveals. Making you close your eyes in panic.

“How? He was exiled” you say whispering. Clemmie shrugs.

“Gaul. He’s her pupil star. And with Dean Highbottom dead now…” it must’ve been great for Coriolanus to learn the man was gone. Always putting him in the lowest, it was a mark for change.

“Doesn’t matter, I won’t let this get into my way” she smiles.

“What about what your father said?” During a late lunch, you had been talking with your parents, revealing that you broke up with Coriolanus because he cheated. Your mother was shocked, but soon she joined your father to give a twisted advice. He asked if you still loved him. You answered you weren’t sure.

Then I suggest you to proceed to ignore him. Soon you’ll learn his intentions if he ever comes back. Play with him a little. Show him that nobody will laugh in the face of family like ours. Let your hands get dirty, but never show this insecurity you’re talking about.

From that day, you still wake up every morning without knowing how you actually feel about Coriolanus Snow. You know you can’t just simply forget about all the things you did with him. But you firmly pretended that he was in the past.

“I still don’t know how I feel about him.”

“Are you still in contact with his family?” You remember Tigris and Grandma’am.

“Not as much as I used to”

“Mhm. Did they ever learned what happened?” You sigh.

“Just that he opted to choose the songbird before me. And I know Tigris has her own opinion. I just never gave her the opportunity to share it.”

“With him back… probably you’ll find out sooner than later” Clemensia admits, leaving you thinking for the rest of the dinner.

Turns out that you are not ready to find out yet.

…

The first time you see him, it’s at the gardens of the University. You had lunch and wanted to have a brief walk. Through a maze of flowers and plants, you spot him on a bench. He’s very concentrated reading a book. Your eyes widen, seeing how much different he looked. The posture, the clothes, the hair, the cold look.

Something notoriously changed. And you have your suspicions. It wasn’t a coincidence that Sejanus was gone, and Lucy Gray Baird had dissapeared.

You mourned the death of Sejanus one week. You send your condolences to his parents at the funeral. And that night you can’t help but cry on your pillow. Wondering why had life slowly turned dark. In a matter of months you had experienced things you never thought you would. You lost people, you had your first heart broken. You had lost the will to do much things. But, you had to keep going. And you felt guilty, because you thought you had no right to feel like your life was hard, just for being Capitol. The districts struggled more. However, it’s not on your power to mend their lives. Just as it’s not their case to judge your life.

And now, seeing Coriolanus so firm, so calm, it makes you doubt. Sensing that there must’ve been something off about him. Something bad, like all the things he did and hid from you.

You pretend you’re looking for some papers in your bag when you walk past him. He doesn’t see you though, and you thank it.

A couple of days later, you hear for the first time the rumours about him courting Livia Cardew. It makes you feel depressed. You cry out of anger as soon as you get home.

And to your dismay, the first thing you see after turning into a room for the politics class, it’s them. Coriolanus Snow is talking to Livia just beside the door.

That’s the first time you two look at each other again. He sees the anger, discontent and so much resentment. You see the questioning, curiosity and admiration in his eyes.

Nothing else is said because you break the gazes, you walk inside the room with your head high, and your presence is so evident that even Livia has to look at you. Taking too much time to see your beautiful heels.

A week later, you are having a good time with your friends. Festus and Lysistrata are there with you and Clemensia. You are talking all about the upcoming winter gala held at the biggest auditorium in the Capitol. Everyone is excited because it’s the great opportunity to make contacts and eat the most delicious food.

“Is your mother inviting Coriolanus?” Lysistrata asks with curiosity. You roll your eyes at the subject.

“I hope not. I haven’t even spoken with him ever since he came back” everyone knew you had broke up with him. But only Clemensia knew the details.

“Well, apparently he is courting Livia now” Festus mocks, making everyone laugh. Not that any of you had something personal against Livia. But she wasn’t the most brilliant star at the Academy. Now not certainly at University.

“Why Livia?” Clemmie asks laughing.

“Perhaps it’s becase how naïve she is”

“Or because of her father’s inheritance” you add.

“I don’t think so. He’s now the heir of the Plinth fortune” Festus remarks with dessaproval, which makes you feel angered.

“He’s dancing on Sejanus’ grave” your words create some minutes of silence for your late friend. Even when Festus and Lysistrata had made fun of him for being District and the ways of his parents to go up, at the end, they were friends. And now his absence had created a void.

“Ambitious and annoying. Just like his father…” Lysistrata comments sipping on her glass of water.

“How unfortunate. If he had stayed with you, we wouldn’t be talking bad things about him behind his back” you sigh at Clemensia’s words.

“Speaking of the king…” when you look past Lysistrata seated on her chair, you spot Coriolanus. He was wearing a dark grey suit, he looked so fine you had to admit. But soon you look away, the sudden memories of your last days with him haunt you.

After spotting his old friends and ex lover in a table at the cafeteria, he start walking towards there. Trying to make his first moves to go back to normality.

“Yeah. He would’ve been seated beside me right now. But he consciously choose the songbird before me. At least he’s refining himself a little bit with Livia” your friends turn to look at you in shock after the revelation, Clemmie only rises her brows as she sips her water silently, hiding her smile. By the time Coriolanus arrives the table, you’re gone and he curses himself for not walking faster. Festus and Lysistrata are shocked, making him furrow his brows in confusion.

“Did I missed something?” He asks.

“You had an affair with your tribute?” Lysistrata asks back in disgust. Coriolanus sees Clemensia giggling in silence with her head down. Probably enjoying his embarrassment.

His silence meets the requirement for an answer. One that they take as yes.

“And now y/n knows about you and Livia” Coriolanus frowns ever deeper after looking at Clemensia.

“There’s no Livia and I” He responds firmly. Even disgusted to her his name along the least smart girl of his finances class.

“Oh but everyone believes so. That you’re courting her…” he rolls his eyes, annoyed.

“I’m just talking to her because we’re partners for some stupid research paper” the silent sipping on their drinks at the same time is ridiculous to Coriolanus. He just stares at them annoyed.

“Do me a favor and leave her alone, Coriolanus. You were gone to go to your nobody girl from 12, but I stayed and saw her struggling in that hospital bed” Clemensia speaks confidently. Making the blonde to feel threatened.

So he realises that maybe you could have feelings for him still. And that this rumors could have weight on you. He curses himself. Even without realizing, he’s still hurting you.

“I won’t lose the girl twice, Clemmie. Have a good day” he says with a fake smile before leaving the table in shock.

He had to quicken the pace of his proximity with you. He had to make you see he never stopped caring for you.

…

There’s a shattering mess of broken glasses. You quickly move away from the crime scene, looking for your pills, immediately swallowing two.

Your mother’s assistant opens the door, asking for you with concern.

“Is everything okay, miss y/n?” You turn to look a the woman.

“I accidentally threw the jar. Sorry…” Millie is in her mid thirties. She was your mother’s confidant, and slowly yours too. She sees the news paper in the floor, half of it drenched from the broken jar that had water. She can see the title, The Snow heir tights the knot with the Cardew family?

“I’ll call the maids. Don’t worry” she says looking back at you.

“Thanks Millie.” She smiles, closing the door behind.

You breathe loudly, sighing in stress. Of course you had purposely thrown the water jar because of the news paper. A portrait picture of Livia is placed perfectly aligned with one of Coriolanus. Between some paragraph there’s your name too. But you don’t dare to see why.

You may pretend to be okay to the public eye, but you’re still drowning in the same feelings you got after Coriolanus Snow revealed his lies to you.

It’s almost like if he was still mocking you. Showing everyone how easy he had played with you. And how easy he got rid of you.

Someone had to pay. No, not someone, he. He, himself, Coriolanus Snow had to fail. Only that way you would feel slightly better. Only that way your tears would stop being for him.

The first chance you had, you would take it.

…

While you loved pursuing a dancing career along the production stuff. You still had some duties regarding politics and economy. Which is why you ended up at the submissions office so early in the morning. To send a petition.

You end up at at a messy office. A man is there, moving folders and other type of papers. There’s three baskets that can clearly be read as; approved, denied, pending.

However, you quickly look away to smile at the man who’s sitting behind the chair.

“Good morning.” Your smile is contagious to everyone. The man replies with a warm greeting.

“Good morning, miss y//l/n. How can I help you?”

“I was wondering if you could hand me a petition form to send” he nods, standing up, leaving the mess of papers behind.

“I can, just let me go and print the form. It won’t take too long…” you smile again, letting him go outside the office.

As you wait, you start seeing the racks of boxes and more boxes filled with yellow and lined papers.

Your curiosity grows, making you look at the baskets on the desk.

You see at first glance some graduation petitions, letters, etc. You are still curious to see why some papers where pending. So you look at the door one last time before diving into the papers. You don’t know the first students mentioned. Until you see the third yellow folder, where you can see a white strip with black letter saying Coriolanus Snow.

You open the folder, seeing what it was all about. A petition to start a political campaign at the age of 19. You frowned. He was good at writing. Even with letters he had some charm. But you know he never beated you to be precise and delicate. You always heard Grandma’am saying he would one day be president. But you never seriously discussed it with him. Now you know it was real. And you can’t help but feel an enormous amount of remorse.

He doesn’t deserve it. He had lost everything once, but the way he was earning everything was through breaking you, and probably others you’ll never knew about. Even when it would make Tigris and Grandma’am happy, you slip the folder into the basket of denied. You don’t feel nothing as you do it.

In fact, you offer the sweet man a smile when he comes back with the form for you. You thank him and then walk out.

…

Coriolanus swears he didn’t intend to bump into your father at the bank. Your father was a frivolous man, but since he knew him, he greeted Coriolanus with respect.

The blonde was taken aback when he invited him to have dinner at your house. And he couldn’t say no.

Your house is the same. At least from the outside, because inside, there’s more color. Coriolanus sees your mother. And she offers him a smile before he leans to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“Coriolanus, look at you. You look very handsome!” His cheeks warm, as your father giggles, handing his coat to a maid.

“I ran into him at the bank. Where’s y/n, dear?” Your mother laughs, rolling her eyes.

“That girl. I haven’t seen her out of her room since midday” the sudden sound of your heels gets noticed.

“I’m here” you say, coming down the stairs, putting some earrings on. Coriolanus notices the grey dress and black heels along the red tights. A diadem on your head and a bright smile that soon dissapears as you spot him in your house.

“Look who I found earlier” you sigh, standing straight.

“I see…” Your parents can see the way you correct your posture, showing how uncomfortable you are.

“We’re having dinner…” you ignore Coriolanus and his deep gaze on you.

“I can’t stay for dinner. I have rehearsals and I promised Clemmie to go to her birthday dinner party” they exchange looks. And Coriolanus is at the verge of smiling at the way you are making up an excuse to leave. Running away from him.

“Are you meeting with Jan before?” Coriolanus head almost pops to look at your father. And you don’t know if you should smile. Jan was your dance partner, he would dance with you at the gala. He was older, very handsome. And you wished he wasn’t off limits from you. Because you easily could admit your attraction towards him.

“Can you at least stay for some drinks?” You shrug at your mother, accepting your purse from a maid. You ignore Coriolanus and his way of looking at you, almost petrified.

His head was spinning, he needed to know who the hell was Jan.

“Unless you want me to do horrible at the Winter Gala, no. I cannot stay, mother” she sighs, tilting her head towards your father. He understands, your father was the one who convinced you to ignore Coriolanus and play with him.

“Well, that’s fine. Just be polite and say goodbye to Coriolanus.” You nod, watching them leave inside the long corridor to enter the dinning table.

You remain quiet, looking down at your purse to avoid his eyes.

“You look lovely” he says, breaking the ice.

“Thank you.”

It’s the first time you two talk since months ago.

“I heard you want to start your political campaign” you opt to pretend you are okay and you can face him with confidence.

“I did. But the idiots of the council rejected my essay. Guess it’ll give me more time to focus on university.” You nod, grabbing a pair of gloves from inside the purse. You want to smile so badly. He would never know you were the reason of his failed first steps in the politic of Panem.

“Anyways… How you’ve been?”

“I’m fine, Coriolanus.” the way you sound tired. Like tired of him makes him uncomfortable. But he tries to keep his best smile too.

“Who is Jan?” He asks almost too seriously. You smile politely at him

“No one of your business, Snow” you calling him by his last name takes him very aback.

“You know, I just hoped that… you know. Maybe we could start off again… like friends of course” you giggle, lowering your head. He frowns confused.

“Miss y/n, Trevor is waiting in the car for you” the butler say appearing from the side door, you thank him and he leaves again.

“I don’t think there’s a way to start again. You already failed me once, Coriolanus.” You admit, putting on the gloves with a bittersweet smile on your face. You turn to pat his cheek, and he swears he’s about to melt. He lounged for your touch since the moment he left you at the hospital. He closes his eyes, hoping to slow down time and felt your cold touch.

But you move away your hand. He opens his eyes and sees you putting the last pair of the gloves on. You walk towards the door.

“You know where the dinning table room is.” And with that, you are gone.

…

Your father gave him the green light to court you again. Coriolanus had to swear that he would never cause you any type of pain, or else, your father would destroy his career before it officially started.

That was more than enough for him. Since that day, slowly, he had been greeting you almost every day, at Univeristy and when you ecountered him and Tigris in a furniture store. You personally invited her to the Winter gala, and Tigris agreed to not share the news about the invitation. But to the young Snow woman, it was a surprise that your father had already invited Coriolanus to the gala.

Soon the day came. As usual the gala opened with the performance of an specific play, than everyone celebrated in the hall with fine dining, and everyone gossiped as auctions happened. It had been a couple of weeks, very busy ones. Probably it was even more important than the arts gala on March. But for this special occasion you had rehearsed a lot to be an elegant black swan.

You smile at your own reflection at the mirror, the black tutu was gorgeous. The crown you had to use was very intriguing. And the black makeup made you feel very confident.

“I came as soon as I could” Clemensia suddenly opens the door of your dressing room. She looks agitated, but she looked amazing on a beige dress and her hair in half ponytail.

“You look very pretty” she thanks you.

“But look at you. You are going to be amazing.” She sits and both start gossiping.

“Your father invited Coriolanus.” It makes you roll your eyes tired. But you are having a heartache.

“I’m… not sure if I don’t feel anything about him” Clemmie leaves her glass of champagne.

“The newspaper rumour affected you. Right?” Slowly, you nod. Too embarrassed to look at her in the eye. But Coriolanus had been really good. He smiled at you at any chance he could. Some days he would join you and your friends and he was fun, you had to bite your tongue to avoid giggling. And Clemensia had seen it too.

“I can’t blame you. I was there since the beginning…” your friend had seen the courting, the first awkward hand holding, how you two formed a strong connection. And Coriolanus left you at the hospital.

“You two had a beautiful bond. And he broke it. But that doesn’t mean you can’t miss him” Clemmie goes to hug you.

“Pa’ said to keep playing with him, to ignore him. But I’m tired, I just want to heal” she nods, letting you hide your face on her shoulder.

“You want my advice?” You nod.

“Do not force anything. Be polite to him, but avoid giving him any chance yet. As you heal, you’ll find the answer; if you should let him have another chance or not”

A man knocks. When Clemensia opens the door, he receives a bouquet of white roses.

You could recognize those roses anywhere. You get closer, taking the attached note.

Grandma’am and Tigris didn’t know what flowers to cut.

Good luck.

You try to hide your smile. But it’s impossible.

…

The whole place is full. Coriolanus takes a seat with Tigris besides.

“I talked with her yesterday. She said she was very nervous about this one” Tigris says. Coriolanus knows she’s talking about you.

“She’s always perfect, she shouldn’t feel nervous.” His mind was only thinking about Jan. He did his research. And learned he was a former dancer of your mother’s institution. It made him mad.

“Have you thought about inviting her to have dinner?” Coriolanus shakes his head.

“Not yet, I haven’t talked enough to her”

“Well, hurry up. Grandma’am wanted to see you married by the age of 20” she says laughing. But it doesn’t make Coriolanus smile.

“Oh look, it’s starting” Tigris squealed with excitement. The curtains lifted and the show started.

For the first twenty minutes, he’s so bored. Nothing exciting happens. He thinks the white swan is boring. And for the first time, he meets Jan. It makes him feel jealous.

It only worsened when you appeared on stage. Your black attire makes him go mad. He had never seen you in anything like that. He gets very invested in your scenes. He feels the emotion you are trying to project. Sassy, cheeky and attractive. You succeed to him.

Unfortunely, Jan had to appear too. And Coriolanus has to sigh, dealing with the scene of the man holding you to make you gracefully spin. The music doesn’t help, it holds the sense of you and Jan dancing together. Coriolanus knows dancing has a lot to do with acting. But he doesn’t enjoy the looks of lust and desire between you and your partner. The worst part? He had to seat and watch it for at least fifteen minutes.

His head malfunctions. But he already is telling Tigris he needs to the restroom.

It’s a lie. He goes to the dressing rooms. And his luck was so big that he found the one with the name of Jan. He slowly made his way inside. The place was so old that he didn’t need to check for security or anything, but he wanted to make sure nobody would see him in real time.

He wasn’t sure what he wanted to accomplish, but surely he wanted to get rid of the man who apparently had your attention now. Your mother had said you and Jan worked very well. And now, with him seeing the performance, he was more than sure he couldn’t let it move forward.

His hand went to his pocket, and his eyes widened. He felt the little glass tubes of narcotics. The same he used to kill Casca Highbottom.

He thought about it just for a little. Was it worth it? Getting rid of a man just to have easier access to you.

Maybe.

Then he questioned how bad he wanted you back. Coriolanus had missed you since day one. He knew he would never love anyone else. He knew no one would treat him as you once did.

So he poured the liquid from one of the tubes inside the water flask resting on the vanity. And before leaving, Coriolanus slipped two more tubes inside the bag that contained Jan’s clothes.

“You took very long at the restroom” Tigris tells her cousin when he came back.

“There was a long line”

…

This time, is different. You smile and you can hear the big round of applauses as you make reverence to go off from stage. You were the last one and the curtains came down finally.

Once you are free, you have all the time in the world to breathe. Other dancers and production staff members congratulate you. But it’s Coriolanus Snow the one who makes you frown confused. He was backstage, looking at you with a soft smile. His classic black suit makes you go back and remember about the Reaping ceremony. How happy that day initiated, and how bad it turned out.

“Coriolanus.” You greet him, he can see a tiny smile on your face.

“You were amazing. As usual, of course”

“Thank you. And for the flowers, they were gorgeous. As usual, of course” he’s so surprised that you were talking to him with some humor sense. Both of you laugh and it feels… warm, and natural.

“It’s nothing. But.. perhaps we could just sit together at dinner?” Your cheeks warmth. You think about your confusing feelings, what your father and Clemensia respectively said. Sitting with him once wouldn’t be the end of the world.

“Yeah, we could.” He smiles, and even when his hair changed, his deeper voice. For some seconds you can see the boy you once loved.

And he almost feels like he was seventeen again. Watching you dance backstage, ready to greet you with a kiss. He sees the girl who helped him so much. And he just know all the horrible things he’d done were worth it.

“I-…” but his words stay lingering in the air. Both of you hear a female scream. Coriolanus and you exchange looks before starting to walk where the sound was heard. In the corridor of the dressing rooms you see a woman lingering to an open door. Immediately you recognize it’s Jan’s room. You quickly make it there, through the pain of your caged foot inside the pointe shoe. Coriolanus goes behind you, already sensing the scene inside.

He hears you gasp in shock, covering your mouth and tears forming on your eyes.

You are in shock, you sob, unable to blink.

Jan is on the floor, pale and blood on his mouth. He’s dead.

And as much as the scene shocks you, you are trained to entertain the Capitol, so you turn to them random woman.

“Go and find Millie. Tell her about this and do keep your mouth shut. Nobody can know beside my parents. Understood?” You indicate the woman with a broken voice. She nods in horror dissapearing through the corridor. When she leaves you can finally cry.

When you don’t know what else to do, you are holding onto Coriolanus Snow. You find comfort on his chest. And he immediately holds you back.

As much as you hate to admit it, you feel you are home in his arms.

With one hand, he closes the door of the dressing room and returns to completely be there to hug you. He smiles, knowing he’s already slowly winning.

Because when your parents find out what happened, they make you put a cute black and green velvet gown with crystals. They make you pretend nothing happened and you sit with Coriolanus and Tigris. Ignoring the upcoming rumors, and certainly not respecting the sudden death of Jan.

…

Two days later, Coriolanus finds you seating on a bench. You are eating a sandwich, looking lost. He takes a seat beside you.

“I’m sorry about Jan. It happened so suddenly” he doesn’t feel sorry. Opposite of what he felt about Sejanus and Lucy Gray. However, he firmly believes it was the only way.

“He was a wonderful man. A devoted dancer, with principales. He had a wife in District 3.” Coriolanus coughs. He wasn’t expecting that. That little detail wasn’t on his research. Something twisted inside him, but he still didn’t regret or felt sorry.

“He didn’t seem the type to use narcotics…he must’ve been very stressed out” you add. Oblivious that you are talking with Jan’s murderer.

“Are you sure you are okay?” You roll your eyes sighing.

“No. I’m not okay, Coriolanus. Not since that cursed Reaping ceremony day”

“I’m just trying to be here for you” he admits, and it’s your breaking point.

“WHY DO YOU CARE NOW? YOU FAILED ME WHEN I MOST NEEDED YOU!” He looks around to see if anyone was around. But the place is empty.

“I know I committed many errors but-“

“BUT NOTHING, CORIOLANUS.” You spit out with such anger, that makes him frown.

“You violated the trust, loyalty, respect and love we had for each other. You dissapear after making me have a damn breakdown. Only to go after that girl. And now you appear trying to mend things?” You won’t tell him about his denied petition and what you did. You just want to share all you couldn’t before at his face.

“Do you know how many doctor appointments I’ve had since you left?” He looks down.

“Twelve. And I have to swallow four different pills every day. Only to stay sane. And who’s fault it is? The hunger games, the galas, dancing, Lucy Gray Baird. But specially, you” when he looks up at you again, you are crying.

“If you really want to be here for me, you need to stay away and leave me alone.” You finall state, looking at his blue eyes one last time, before standing from the bench and walking away.

That wasn’t your day. Neither the following ones. Your pointe shoes died and your size was out of stock. The food took such a long time. Your parents left to have an audience in District 1 and your evening was to listen to music and cry.

But certainly what broke you once again was a phone call.

“Hello?” You answer.

“Y/n?”

“Tigris?” You ask. Her voice sounding worried.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Is everything okay? You sound alarmed, dear” you are able to hear her sighing.

“It’s Grandma’am. She’s sick. Coriolanus is busy at the Univeristy and the doctor I requested hasn’t appeared” your heart beats faster.

“She has a strong fever and it’s been like that for hours.” She adds, finally sounding more worried.

“Tigris, calm down. I’ll call my cousin, he’s one of the most prepared doctors around. I’m going there with you in the meantime” you reassure her, already taking off your nightgown and taking out a dress and coat from your closet.

“Thank you, y/n. I truly appreciate this, thank you.” You hang up after saying everything was going to be okay.

…

You see how changed is the penthouse. Fully renovated, with bright lights that contrasted the dark blue wallpapers. But you find interesting how the olive paint you brought is still there. And your portrait from the day of your eighteen birthday is still with the family pictures.

You wait outside the room of the elder woman, as your cousin is checking Grandma’am. You have to hold the urge from biting your nails. A maid offers you posca, but you can’t think about drinking at the time.

The front doors opens and seconds later, Coriolanus is there. He seems surprised to see you there. Since the day of your argument, he hadn’t see you. He tried calling you but your butler said you were out for the weekend to your grandparents house.

“Y/n?” He asks, dropping his coat on a chair.

“Tigris called me. She wanted a doctor for your grandmother” he worried a bit.

“Is she not feeling better. When I left she seemed better…” he says hurrying to go to her room, but you stop him, grabbing by his forearm.

“Don’t. My cousin is already there with her. I’m waiting for the results” Coriolanus only stares at you. He wants to smile. You came only to help his family once again.

“You look very lovely” you smirk, looking at his window with your arms crossed.

“Really? Your grandmother is sick and you are here saying how lovely I look today?” He smiles.

“You told me to wait. What else can I do?”

“How cynical of you” you respond coldly. After all you told him, he was acting like it never happened.

The door of the room opened and Tigris came out with your cousin.

He revealed Grandma’am was having a little difficulties in her lungs, which made her prone to catch a flu. He gave her some strong medicines and promised it would be fine with some days of resting.

After some minutes, you are also ready to leave.

You say good night to the Snow cousins and leave.

“Y/n. Wait…” Tigris comes out. Stopping you some feet away of the now working elevator.

“I-… Thank you.” She slowly says hugging you.

“It’s nothing, Tigris. I told Coriolanus once I would always help the people I love” Tigris suddenly feels so sad to hear you say that. She really hoped you and her little cousin had a different ending.

“He still loves you so much.” You fight harder against the tears when she says that.

“I know. And I still love him too. But… he never apologized. And I’m not ready to let go my resentment towards him.” You admit looking away.

“Although things did’t work out for you and Coriolanus, I really appreciate and care for you, y/n” se almost whispers in your ear. And your eyes water.

“I feel the same, Tigris. I really do” you reply slowly, controlling your voice to not sound cracked.

“I’ll come back in some days” she nods.

She lets you go and you finally head out. Not noticing that Coriolanus heard everything.

He never apologized.

That night, you are reading on the living room when your butler walks in.

“Coriolanus Snow is asking for you in the telephone” you thank him, walking bare feet towards the kitchen telephone.

“Yes, Mr. Snow?” You ask.

“I just wanted to thank you for coming today. You didn’t have to and yet you appeared here” you sigh.

“Whatever that happened between us has nothing to do with my relationship with Tigris and your mother” now he sighs, from his office, in complete darkness.

“About that y/n…” your hands go numb, and panic floods you.

“You don’t know how much I’m-“

“I know.” You interrupt him, cracked voice and you hang up.

“Sorry” he says through the dead line.

That night, you read his letters. The ones he sent when he was a peacekeeper at the 12. Where he seemed to have projected his more vulnerable and emotional side of his heart. Maybe he had been drunk, maybe Lucy Gray wrote them for him. You’d never know, and you preferred to ignore the idea of him actually feeling sorry.

…

A week later you’re applauding for Grandma’am as she sings for you. You smile, changing her pillow case and complementing how much of a sweet voice she had.

It’s getting late, and you must return to your house.

After wishing Grandma’am sweet dreams, you carefully close her door and you walk with the old pillow case away.

“Are you staying for dinner?” Tigris asks with a sweet smile, taking the pillow case from you. Coriolanus is seated, drinking something as he carefully looks at you. You ignore him.

“I must decline, dear. I have to go back and pack some things” she frowns, stopping to put some plates on the dinning table.

“Pack?”

“Yes. I think I’ll spend the holidays at District 1. My mother is opening a new studio and she’s going to need help. And well, if everything goes right, I might even stay there” Tigris almost drops the pillow case. And Coriolanus almost chokes on his drink.

“What? Why?. What about university? The galas? Your production job for the hunger games” you shrug with an honest smile.

“Lately the Capitol life has... it has been a burden. I want to live a peaceful life. I want to heal” Tigris sends daggers with her eyes to Coriolanus. He coughs, uncomfortable.

“CORIOLANUS!” Grandma’am calls the man, you only sigh. And slowly, he stands up to to the woman. He hears you keep talking with Tigris. And he wants to do something to stop you from leaving. Now he can give you the life he couldn’t before.

“Is everything alright, Grandma’am?” The elder woman looks at him from her bed.

“Are you really letting that young woman to walk away again?” Coriolanus frowns.

“What?”

“You’ve heard me.” Even in her sick days, she was firm.

“She doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore” Grandma’am shrugs.

“I don’t think so. Her eyes shine sadly at every mention of you. She was part of the family after all.” Coriolanus remains quiet. But he admits to himself that’s what he missed the most.

“I think she always waited for an apology. One that never came.” His heart pounds very fast. He tried, and you hung up.

“What do you suggest me to do?” Grandma’am smiles, coughing tiredly.

“You run to wherever she goes and beg on your knees. One time you show her vulnerability and you’ll never do it again. We, women, only want real love, stupid love. You show her that stupid love once and you can silently do it for the rest of your again”

“You already won the money and respect. You’re just missing out the girl” Coriolanus sweats, but when he turns to look at her grandmother again, she nods, reassuring him.

“Go. Get her back, Coriolanus” without saying anything back, he leaves.

When he enters the dinning room, he only sees two plates of food. He looks at Tigris confused.

“Where’s y/n?” She shrugs, taking a seat.

“She just left.”

Coriolanus runs. He actually runs out of his penthouse and when the elevator starts taking to much time, he decided to choose the stairs as his getaway. He feels sweaty and agitated, but as he goes down, he can’t help but feel slightly happy, the adrenaline of making it on time make him hurry.

“Y/N!” He yells your name once he makes it to the lobby, where he can see you turning back to see him.

You are waiting for Trevor when he appears running towards you.

And before you can even blink or breathe, he gets on his knees.

“Coriolanus Snow. What are you doing?” You ask confused and blushed.

“I’m sorry.” He says.

“I’m sorry about all the stupid things I did. I’m sorry about letting you down. I’m sorry for ruining our relationship. For letting you in that hospital bed and return to do everyhting but apologize to you” you look at him perplexed, not believing his words.

“I can’t lose you again. Because I know you’re the last and only person I’ll love. I won’t trust anyone else. And nobody would have ever looked down at me like you did when I had nothing” you sigh, feeling the tears coming again. You know he’s not lying. You knew him so well that you sense it.

“If you let me. To give me another chance, I’ll do things right. I will never fail you again in life. You’ll be the only person I’ll cherish and show love.” He offers you his hand, and he looks very suppliant.

You blink quickly to soothe the tears. And you know he doesnt deserve you. But aren’t the best person, so maybe you two were actually meant to be together.and that’s the only viable reason to why you want to let your heart freely beat for him again.

“Please don’t go, y/n” he whispers, waiting for your answer. You sigh, slowly and shaking, but you end up taking his hand.

“You’ll better be the most perfect lover of the history of Panem, then” he wraps your fingers together, and stands up.

“I promise, I swear” he knows the memory of Lucy Gray would always follow him. As well of all the deaths he had caused. But nothing compared to the joy of him kissing you again.

Your lips welcome him in the most sweet way. And he finds himself smiling through the kiss, gently holding you closer to him.

It’s in the start of the Road of Hope in the Capitol where Coriolanus Snow had his fully owned penthouse. Where he had nothing, and now had won everything.

…

Time flies, things had changed, probably for the better. You made Coriolanus keep fighting for a good and healthy relationship. Slowly, he made you completely fall in love again. And although there was certain spark missing, you knew it would never come back. However, you had also accepted that both of you had grown up.

The late talks were mature now. Talking about the future of Panem, planning dinners together. The kisses were more passionate, unlike the softness that was all over your early relationship. The sex was harder rather than slow and sweet like the beginning. Coriolanus would like to leave many hickeys scattered across your body, make a wet mess of saliva and fluids. He loved feelings your almond nails leave gentle scratches across his pale back.

But certainly, the biggest change was the way you two were handling a life together.

After turning twenty, you got married. Soon Coriolanus bought the house he always wished to give you. The one with black and white tiles floor, beige walls and big stairs.

By the first week in, he had done many refurbishments and he had fucked you in every room, every corner and every surface of the house.

Till the day you turned twenty-two. By that time, you had almost ditched your dancing career. Sometimes you still had some chances to perform on galas. But Coriolanus convinced you to focus on public services and the production of the hunger games. Dr. Gaul had officially retired, and it was going to be the first year of Coriolanus as a game maker. Things had really changed.

But everything seemed fine.

“Dear, Are you ready?” You turn to look at your husband, who waits on the frame of the door.

“Just one moment” you run to slip into your silver heels before grabbing your purse.

Trevor kept his job as your chauffeur and Millie was now your private secretary. Sometimes you hated how formal your life had become. Especially now that Coriolanus had some plans in mind.

As soon as you arrive to the fancy patio from a million-dollar man house, many women eye you and Coriolanus.

“Remind me what are we doing here?” You ask him. He holds your hand tightly, smiling at many of the invited people.

“I’m assuming the role of game maker. You are giving a speech about the improvements for the 14th Hunger Games, my dear” you nod, clutching onto his cold hand harder. Both of you were kind of the sensation around the Capitol. You know how they whisper about your dress and your husband’s physic.

“You’re going to be fine. You always choose the right words. And your voice can charm anyone here” he whispers on your ear, pressing a soft kiss on your temple.

“Thank goddess I’ve been studying the constitution. Or else these men would bury me” Coriolanus laughs. Soon you enter the actual event. With long white tables, candles and everyone dressed either on red or black.

“Men around here don’t know how smart my wife is” he says shrugging, remembering how many honors you received from university. Some of the wives ask you to join them. You wave hello to them before leaning to your man.

“Do not make me jealous or leave me alone during the speech.” You firmly say to him.

“Of course not, my love”

“Love you.” And with one last kiss, you walk away.

For the rest of the night. You feel uneasy. Because you succeeded with the speech. But once you read the part from Coriolanus, you are at the verge of babbling.

He shared some of his initial proposals for the games. Like lowering the age of the tributes, increasing the obstacles in the arena, using more mutts, allowing weapons, and making the interviews with Lucky Flickerman longer.

It had been a long time since you think about the games so much. But that guilt you felt after seeing Coriolanus as mentor, never left. And after that dinner, everyone claps for your husband and you, after being considered as the couple of the next generation for Panem.

In the privacy of your new home, you constantly zone out to think about it. You can’t ask Coriolanus to stop the games, but he could make some changes.

You knock swiftly on his door.

“Come in.” You walk in and he drops the papers he was signing to smile at the sight of you.

“Hello, you.” he says cheekily.

“Hello, you’.” You reply. He indicates you to seat on his lap and you do so. His arms lock around you, hands resting on your back.

“Are you coming to bed anytime soon?” You ask.

“I just need to sign some things, darling” he watches you frown, and he won’t say you look older, because you don’t. But you certainly look wiser, mature and more like a woman rather than a girl.

“I’ve been thinking about the games” He’s all ears now. He knows you had some specific opinions. You had said in your first interview how brutal the games were.

“What about them?”

“I would never ask you to stop the games. But…” you stop, suddenly feeling a little nervous.

“But what, my dear?”

“Don’t you think those tributes are humans? Yes, the Districts deserve to be reminded of the consequences of their acts. But most of the tributes are kids. Who don’t even understand everything that conveys a war.” Coriolanus sighs, trying to choose the correct words to answer you.

“What are you suggesting?” He tries to sound calm, but the mere subject makes him a little irritated.

“I don’t know… Maybe giving them more opportunities?” He giggles, caressing the skin on your hips.

“Giving them opportunities means going soft on them. And going soft on them could trigger a new rebellion” this time you sigh, trying to persuade him by brushing his hair, softly grasping his chin.

“Not like that, Coryo. I mean… raising the majority age of the tributes. Giving them at least the chance to train. To eat a proper meal on the last night. To show who they are one last time before they’re sent to die” Coriolanus would always believe that you’re only one weakness was your humanity. How you always turned to see down on others, feeling guilty from being born with all the commodities.

So, he tries to ignore it. He tries to see your suggestions as a way to punish the tributes harder. Give them everything to then killing them.

So, he smiles, urging you to kiss him. You reply immediately, holding him closer to feel the heated proximity.

“I could arrange some changes. Would that make you feel better?” You nod on his lips, smiling.

“Now let me finish this before meeting you in bed. And I expect you have this thing off before I get there” he says grabbing your nightgown. You laugh with a potent blush, gently pushing him away.

“Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not being silly. In two days, we start the tour, we will be very tired to make love daily as we do now” you roll your eyes, almost running away ad your husband laughs, making fun of your embarrassment.

“This is madness. I’m going to bed” you say getting out of his office.

“Don’t forget about what I said!” He yells, making you smile in love as you leave upstairs, wishing good night to the maids and butler. For the record, you do not forget about your husband’s petition.

…

The best part of the house is the rooftop in your opinion. A terrace with cristal walls and ceilings that had a gorgeous view of the Capitol. A view that included some monuments and the snowy mountains surrounding the city.

You had a little bar there, an eccentric dining table and some couches with colorful cushions.

Grandma’am made you take some of his roses so you could start your own garden. That brought tears to your eyes. But now, it was only you and Tigris there.

You asked the chef to make some vegetables and creams as your sister-in-law arrived for dinner. Coriolanus and you were set to leave the next morning for his political campaign tour.

“Have you packed everything?” Tigris asks.

“Yes. I wish I could take Trevor with me. But only Millie will be able to come” you say smiling. Tigris notices how you constantly look at the door, hoping to see Coriolanus entering.

“Have you told him?” You shake your head at the woman.

“Not yet. Probably by the time we arrive District 4. We have good memories from there” Tigris smiles. She was really excited when you got back together with Coriolanus. She even made your wedding dress. And now she was so proud of the career you two were making.

“Sorry for the delay. I was arguing with some incompetent who cancelled the delivery of our new chandeliers” Tigris rolls her eyes as your husband cheekily smiles.

“Dinner isn’t ready yet, anyways” you say patting his back as he takes a seat beside you.

“You shouldn’t be stressing over the tour. Your dear wife must’ve prepared the most wonderful speeches for you to say” Coriolanus smiles, turning to give you a peck on the nose, making you laugh.

“It’s not that, Tigris. It’s the time that’s freaking me out. I don’t want to be gone for almost two months.” You sigh, trying to keep everything together. You just pray that the tour goes smoothly.

“Each district will host you with all commodities” it’s a lie. Coriolanus isn’t ready to go to District 12 again. Where his father died, where he committed the worst decisions of his early life. He knows those days will be a little sour. But he’s willing to play pretend very well for you.

“It’s going to be fine. Pardon me, dear” Coriolanus says after seeing your face of over thinking. His wife is so smart that she’s probably wondering the same as him. And that’s the least he needs of.

You take his hand, before hearing the food has arrived. The air changes, the dinner flows happily as you talk and gossip with Tigris and your husband. It’s a great dinner actually.

Maybe he broke your heart when you were teenagers. But you delayed his political campaign for four years. Maybe he had looked too much at Lucy Gray Baird, but at the end it would only be you.

You could’ve done better to get rid of that guilt for participating in the hunger games, but you just realize that maybe you didn’t because you are not a good person either.

Even so, every morning, you wake up in his arms as he fulfilled his promise of never failing you again.

You just hope that the tour, the upcoming games and everything else doesn’t get into your way. Nothing can be a recoil. Not when Coriolanus Snow’s first child rests peacefully in your womb.

The future was uncertain. But your past and present along him always seemed like… a hatred road.

_____________________________________________

fyi, in my head, if reader hadn’t delayed Coriolanus political emergence, the second rebellion would’ve started earlier and probably it wouldn’t have been successful. (Basically it would’ve been like a second time “dark days” situation and then back to reconstruction again)

Taglist: @dear-bunnyboo @daydreamerprocrastinator @lecrercsgirlshhs @athanasia-day @devils-blackrose @reader-bookling123 @cookielovesbook-akie @justacaliforniandreamer @m1ndbrand @blairfox04 @darktrashsoulbear @fartybobabutt @diannana @iwantosleep @sarysuniverse @unclecrunkle @f1-futurewag-16-3-4-63 @didneyworld13 @imguce @angelscrime @impeterporker @lem122 @cryaka @ietss @michelleisheres-blog @capsiclesworldsblog @circe143

[traveler-at-heart]

Doctor's In - Part 13

Summary: Your life in Boston after Wanda.

The air is cold, and just your luck, today you left the car outside of the building’s parking lot.

Maybe it’s not such a bad thing after all, as a cute woman is inspecting the black Corvette, in awe of the elegant and expensive car.

“Want a ride?”

“This yours?” she says, genuinenly fascinated.

“Yeap” you nod. “She’s a beauty, 490-hp 6.2-liter V-8 engine”

Do you know what those words mean? Not at all.

“My father and I used to fix cars. I need to send him a picture. Can I?”

“Sure, go ahead” you smile. “I’ll even take one of you standing next to it”

You pull out your phone.

“Oh, wait, I should have given you mine” the woman says, and you smile.

“Or you could give me your number and I’ll send the pics” you smile at her, offering your phone.

“Very smooth” she blushes, taking it.

“If you wanna talk about smooth, the leather seats are just…”

“Ugh, it’s too cold to take my motorcycle, can you give me a ride to the hospital?” Yelena interrupts, coming out of nowhere as usual.

“Shh, go away” you push her behind you.

“God, we’re gonna be late. Just skip to the part where you lie about texting the girl and get on with it” she mumbles, and luckily only you can hear her.

“Sorry, she’s being annoying” you elbow Yelena’s side. “I’ll send you the pictures, and my offer for a ride still stands”

“Well, alright then. Have fun babysitting” the woman comments, which earns her a glare from the blonde.

“Get in the fucking car” you mutter. “Why can’t you ask your mother for a damn car? She has lots of them”

“Like the one you borrow and use to get phone numbers? I don’t understand why you do it, you never call them”

“It’s not about having a date. It’s just fun to talk to girls. I never really did it outside of college” you shrug your shoulders.

You never call them because the thought of being with someone who isn’t Wanda is simply absurd.

But you don’t expect Yelena to understand it.

“I never ask for a car because then she’d be like See, I was right, a motorcycle was a bad idea”

“Get both, like your sister”

“No, because then she’ll say I’m copying her, like when she went to school with a green backpack and I got one that was similar the next day. But green has always been my favorite color” she rambles.

“Are all the Romanoffs this complicated?”

"Is your music taste always this random?" Yelena points at the screen. "Yesterday it was ABBA and now it's Metallica"

"Don't even think about changing it" you say, slapping her hand away.

You finally get to the hospital, parking in your spot, which is one of the best ones in the entire facility.

Melina is trying to convince you to stay beyond your three month contract, and she’s not shying away from providing a life of luxury, with a penthouse and a fancy car included.

If it wasn’t because you’re busting your ass in the ER, you’d feel like a sugar baby.

“Go and check on the people waiting, I have to sign discharges and look at some post ops” you tell Yelena as soon as you walk in, and she nods.

“Morning, everyone” you greet the front desk. “Is Patrick ready for his recital today?”

“Yes, he’s very excited” Nurse Roman says.

“Well, as a doctor I don’t feel comfortable saying break a leg, so let’s just leave it at good luck”

“That sounds perfect to me, Doctor Y/L/N, thank you” the woman says. You’re smiling until you notice the frown on Peña’s face.

“Don’t look at me like that. Not my fault you keep betting on Shelton when he’s literally playing against Alcaraz”

“Shelton is the future of American tennis”

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the resounding noise of your debt” you say, going back to the charts but keeping your palm open. You don’t look up until he gives up, putting a 20 in your hand. “Pleasure doing business with you, Peña. I’m so looking forward to Indian Wells and Miami back to back”

You don’t realise that Natasha is also at the front desk, signing a couple of discharge forms.

It’s been a month and you’re already friends with half the people who work here. Natasha’s glad, because it can be miserable to be isolated while you’re away from home.

The other side of her can’t help but feel really stupid too, because all this time she thought you were flirting and in reality, this is who you are with most people.

Now that’s a fast way to humble someone.

“Hi, Doctor Romanoff” you say, finally noticing her. “Ending your shift?”

“Yeah. How about you?”

“Starting a 48”

“Didn’t you just do one 12 hours ago?” she says.

“Yeah, but my brother and sister are coming over so I need the weekend off” you smile, actually excited. Natasha is probably one of the only people who could understand how good it is to reconnect with your siblings, but she’s been distant with you ever since you came to Boston.

So, you wish her a good day, and walk to the madness of the ER.

“Fuck my life, fuck it hard” you mutter when you notice who’s there. Ed Lorne, aka clown nurse. He’s a young one, practically fresh out of college and with an unhealthy obsession to behave like Patch Adams in that movie that always puts you to sleep (No disrespect to Robin Williams).

“Please tell me his shift is almost over” you plead to Yelena.

“Don’t be mean. He’s trying to make an impression”

“He already did and it’s a fucking awful one”

The fact that there’s no swear jar around has turned you into a sailor on leave. Not that you keep track, but if the twins could hear you, they’d be set for an Ivy League education.

Stop thinking about this, you mentally scold yourself, trying to breathe to settle that uncomfortable feeling at the pit of your stomach.

Yelena mistakes your frustrated sigh with a protest as Ed approaches you. Truthfully, it’s a bit of both.

“Top of the morning to you, Doctor Y/L/N” he says, removing an imaginary hat.

God, you’re gonna strangle him with a stethoscope.

“Guy in bed six has problems with urinating and I’m like well, more like ur-out of my bladder!”

“Boy, you’re really bringing the theater kid energy today, aren’t ya” you complain, ignoring Yelena’s smack on your arm.

“Why, thank you for noticing”

“No, that wasn’t a compliment. Check all of my post ops and medication, then fill out the medical records in the computer”

That should keep him busy for the next two hours and away from you.

“Evil” Yelena mumbles, but she’s laughing along.

You take care of a few people, ordering lab tests and other stuff that is quickly taken care of by the staff. It’s nice to have an ER that is never short on medical personnel.

You finish your exam on a patient just in time to get your daily call.

“Hello, Judas”

“Darcy!” you say, always with the same enthusiasm.

“I hate you” she repeats, every day since you left. Well, minus the first week. You didn’t have a phone at all. “Carol hates you too and you’re no longer invited to her wedding”

You can faintly hear Carol’s voice in the background, shouting that what Darcy’s saying is not true.

“I’m trying to get her to come back” Darcy explains. “Look pal, it’s either the good way or the bad way aka getting you in the Psych ward until you go back to your senses”

“I don’t suppose you could get my stuff and send it over?”

“No, for two reasons. One, if I see Wanda I’m going to kill her and dos, you belong here. So it would be stupid to send stuff that you’ll need when you’re back. Besides, how do you know Wanda didn’t throw them away?”

“I just do. Ok, it was nice being emotionally manipulated by you, but I gotta scrub in. Same time on Monday? Remember I’m seeing Zach and Jenny this weekend”

“Yes, get me all the deets on the gossip and yes, same time”

“Love you, pal”

“Screw you”

Darcy hangs up, but stares at her phone for a moment longer. She does miss you and even if she’s giving you shit for it, she understands where you’re coming from.

“Are these the CVs for Chief Fury?”

“Yes” his secretary says, carrying a couple of files. “He doesn’t like to read on the computer”

“Oh, here, I’ll take those”

And Darcy does take them. Straight to the trash can.

Gotta make sure the job’s open when you come back.

—

You’re out of shape. It’s been 27 hours and the work keeps on coming. It doesn’t help that Boston is so much bigger than Westview.

As you sit in one of the front desks, looking over paperwork and lab results, Ed comes in, holding a deck of cards.

“Pick a card”

“Did you get the lab results for Mrs. Pattmore?” you say, resisting the urge to slap the deck to the floor.

“No, they said it would take another hour…”

“Can you check again? Thank you”

Fortunately, he leaves and you sigh.

“He’s quite the character” a man shows up next to you, and you nod.

“He is very useful when I need urgent results from the lab. The technicians can’t stand him so they rather not see him around” you laugh.

 “I haven’t seen you before. I’m doctor Stephen Strange. Yes, that is my last name” he adds when you frown.

“Oh, nice to meet you. Yeah, I’m the interim Head of Trauma. Just until they find someone new”

“Huh. Not what I heard”

Well, there’s no way Melina will convince you to stay. But then again… you never thought you’d take the job in Boston.

“That’s definitely my plan” you assure him. “Were you on break?”

“Honeymoon. We just got back” he nods towards another woman who joins you, her smile wide. “Doctor Christine Palmer, meet… sorry, I didn’t get your name”

“Y/L Y/L/N. Congratulations to the both of you” you shake her hand.

“Thank you, how are you liking it here so far?”

“Everyone’s great” you say, but Christine catches your exhaustion.

“Lorne was just here asking to do a magic trick”

“Ah. That” she nods.

“Yeah” you get paged, and then wave at them. “See you around, and welcome back”

There’s a man coming in with a stab wound. Another shift from your work in Stark Hospital; the frequency of people who come in as a result of fights is a lot higher.

It was very rare to treat these kind of things in Westview.

“BP 130/70, no external bleeding or fractures” Yelena says and you nod, encouraging her to continue. “I want a chest X-Ray, transthoracic echocardiogram and blood work”

“The patient’s yours, Doctor Belova”

You’re honestly impressed. Yelena has been putting the work, and she’s very talented, especially while working under pressure.

“She has a good teacher” Melina speaks. The woman has a talent for knowing what people are thinking.

“Well, it’s in her blood, isn’t it? The whole Romanoff dinasty”

“Yes. By the way, this is your last patient. You’re not to be on call for so many hours in a week. The workload is very different here. And we will talk about a bonus so you can buy something to that girlfriend of yours to thank her for letting you be here”

About that.

Nobody knows Wanda kicked you out.

Except Yelena, but that’s because she kept asking about what Wanda said when you decided to come to Boston. The only way to shut her up was by telling her the truth.

It’s impressive that she’s kept the secret for so long.

“No need for a bonus, I’m doing my job as usual”

While you wait for the results of Yelena’s patient, the man begins to complain about pain between the shoulder blades.

“Lorne, book an OR and page Yelena” you say, knowing that’s a bad sign.

The blonde scrubs in as you begin the laparoscopy.

“What’s wrong? I’m still waiting on the results” she says, standing next to you.

“Pain between the shoulder blades is not a good sign for this type of injury. I’m seeing blood cloths in the anterior surface of the stomach and the liver. We’re switching to a laparotomy”

You find three lacerations in the liver and one in the stomach. Well, Melina’s plan didn’t work; you’re staying here for a bit longer.

As you move to inspect the pericardium, you look at Yelena, asking if she sees anything.

“No, it’s fine. Aside from the diaphragmatic perforation”

“And how are we closing that?”

“Ethibond suture with pledget” she answers after a slight hesitation.

“You’ll do it and I’ll be watching” you nod, moving aside. Truth is, your shoulder is hurting. It’s the old injury combined with the extra workload.

“Need any help?” Natasha walks in, and you shake your head no.

“I thought your shift ended”

“Came to do some post ops, and Doctor Romanoff asked me to help so you could go home”

“I’m fine” you lie. But Natasha stays in the OR, looking over Yelena’s shoulder.

“You’re making me nervous”

“Good. You could use some pressure. Y/N’s going soft on you” the redhead teases.

“I’m not!” you say, laughing. “I’ve been told I’m a great teacher”

“I’ve heard” Natasha nods.

Though Yelena takes a little bit longer than you would have, her work is excellent. Once you check everything’s done, you give the team instructions and scrub out.

“What are you doing with your siblings?” Natasha asks, joining you.

“Well, Jenny’s looking at NYU to apply. So I’ll meet them in New York, take them to a Broadway show. I was hoping they’d wanna go to the Met but not holding my breath for two teenagers to choose a museum”

“That’s fair. Have fun with your family” she smiles.

It’s weird to think about them as your family. They are, of course.

But to you, family is an entirely different group of people. One that you’ll never see again.

“Thanks. See you around” you nod, hoping to get some rest.

—

You never thought you’d be eager to see your family, but here you are, waiting in the airport, looking for Jenny.

As soon as she spots you, she runs towards you.

“Hey, kiddo”

“Make room for me” Zach says, jumping right in and making sure his sister has no room to breathe.

“You’re so annoying!” Jenny complains. Even if she’s three years older, Zach is a lot taller, being in that awkward teenage phase. “This trip was supposed to be just me”

“Y/N invited me” he says.

Well, kinda. He inserted himself in your conversations with Jenny, and as soon as he heard the words weekend in New York, he was ready to go.

“Well, I didn’t alter my girls weekend schedule for you, Zach. So just so you know, you’re getting a manicure and we’re plucking your eyebrows” you tease, walking them to where you parked. Of course they argue over who gets to ride in the front. “Alright, this is a rental. So, rule number one, no eating in the car. No throwing stuff at each other. No feet on the dashboard. And no one changes the music”

“Fine” they agree.

“First stop, the penthouse, then NYU”

Melina had heard about your trip and went out of her way to offer you everything at her disposal. Exclusive tickets, the Romanoff penthouse (apparently they have one in every major city), a reservation in a very nice restaurant.

You took most things happily. In a way, this is your compensation for emotional damages.

“So, what happened between you and Wanda?” Jenny says.

“Wow, can we at least have lunch first?” you accidentally hit the brake, making Zach hit his head against the headrest of your seat.

“I’m blind!”

“You’re fine” Jenny shushes him, turning to you. “I’ll tell you about our parent’s divorce”

“Ugh, deal. But you go first”

So, as you get food, Jenny tells you everything, with the occasional intervention from Zach. It’s nothing exciting, not technically. Their father finally realising your mother is an evil witch and taking their children away from her. It would have been ideal to do it when they were younger, but whatever.

“And you guys are doing good?” you ask, making sure things are better.

“Yeah… I just feel bad for her sometimes” Jenny admits. “Like what if she’s lonely or sad, you know?”

“That’s because you’re a good kid” you smile at her. “Let’s go get changed, we have to be ready for your college tour soon”

“What about your part of the deal?”

“Later” you say, trying to avoid talking about it.

By the time you reach the penthouse, you can’t help but admire the view to Central Park. It’s even bigger than the one they gave to you back in Boston.

“I want the biggest room” Zach says as soon as they drop their bags.

Of course, they’re engaging in a fight that involves some name calling and a lot of finger flicks on the forehead.

“You guys are worse than…”

They turn to look at you and you smile, trying to keep it together.

“Worse than…” Zach says but you shake your head.

“Nothing. Come on, better change fast”

Worse than Wanda and Pietro.

Will you ever stop thinking about her?

—

Earning the title of cool sister only takes a borrowed penthouse, Broadway tickets and exclusive seats at Yankees Stadium.

It’s day two and though you haven’t been able to convince them to go to the Met, you’re still enjoying yourself.

Kind of.

“So how long do these last?” you ask again, even if Zach explained the rules a dozen times already. “Ok, next time we’re going to the US Open because at least I’ll understand the game”

“So, you’re planning on staying here?” Jenny asks and you shrug your shoulders.

“There’s no plan for anything, really. I have two months left on my contract”

Zach goes to get more food and you keep watching the game in silence.

“Are you ok?” Jenny asks. Truthfully, though you’ve enjoyed spending time with them, Wanda’s been in the back of your mind more frequently than when you’re busy with work.

You can’t help but think about all the trips you never took with her, or wonder what she’d think about the city.

“Want the grown up answer or the big sister being brave answer?”

“I’d like the truth”

“Well…” you take a deep breath. “I’m not ok. I fucked up big time. I had everything I wanted within reach and just… I don’t know. Maybe it was never meant for me. It was too good”

“You are good enough for it, come on. Don’t say that”

“It’s hard to believe it when I hurt her so much. And the kids. But, it is what it is I guess”

“I’m sorry. If you wanna talk…”

“I know, sis. Thanks” you smile at her. All of the sudden you hear the crowd roaring and look up to see a ball that’s coming straight your way. You catch it, thinking nothing of it, while some people around you begin to speak to you. “What? Do I have to throw it back?”

“Are you insane?” Zach comes out of nowhere, taking it from you. “This is the coolest thing!”

“It’s a ball” you say, looking at the field.

“Nu-uh. It’s Camarena’s 50th home run. You know, the most promising baseball player of the season”

“Ok, if you say so”

Turns out it is a very big deal, as the player wants the ball back and is offering to meet you in exchange for it. You let Zach decide for the two of you, and his answer is an excited yes.

So, you take a couple of pictures and thank him when he hands you a signed baseball bat.

“Thanks, Carme…”

“Camarena” Zach elbows you. “I’m your biggest fan”

Yeah, you definitely earned the award to coolest sister, and it had nothing to do with all the money you spent. It came down to your ability to catch a freakin ball, like a competition with a golden retriever.

“We still have some time before we have to take the plane. What do you wanna do? You’ve been doing everything we want to” Jenny says, and you think about it.

“Let’s have a picnic in Central Park”

“Sounds fun” she agrees, while Zach keeps taking a million pictures of the bat.

As you walk around the park, you find something that unlocks a memory that was totally lost on you.

“Balto!” you point at a statue of the sleigh dog. They both look at you with blank expressions. “You’ve never seen Balto? Seriously?”

“I don’t know. Mom wouldn’t let us watch some stuff. She said it was silly to have a movie with speaking animals”

“That and Ghostbusters. But we never learned why”

“Oh, that’s because she and dad watched that movie on the day I was born” you explain while you pull out your phone to take a picture of the statue.

“Mom is such a bitch” Zach mutters and it makes you laugh.

“Come on, kid. Screw the picnic, I’m buying you the biggest burger we can find”

“See? I’m her favorite already” he teases Jenny and they begin to argue again. You hug them, staying in the middle to prevent a fight.

“Love ya both, kiddos”

—

Coming back to an empty house stings a bit more when you spent the weekend surrounded by playful banter and pleasant company.

The silence is unbearable and you know that at moments like this there’s only one thing that can make you forget.

So, even if you have to go to work tomorrow, you get changed and head for the usual club.

“Thought you found a better spot” Laura greets you as you approach the bar.

“Work was crazy” is all you say. No one knows your name, or what you do for a living. You just get drinks and dance to loud music.

“The usual?” you nod, accepting the glass of scotch. You enjoy it slowly for a bit, watching as some people dance and party. The outfits and the music are different from your time in college; plus Darcy and you used to go to shitty bars.

Either way, what hasn’t changed is how drunk people act; messy, unaware. You love it. No one’s asking if you’re ok, or why you're there.

“I was gonna buy you a drink, but you’re not done with that one yet” a woman offers with a flirty smile.

You finish what’s left of the scotch in one swift motion, and wink at her.

“There”

“Are you that thirsty, huh?” she teases, and you laugh, sipping from the new glass. “I’m Eve. You?”

“I’m… really thankful for my drink, Eve” you say, because you’re never gonna share your name with anyone else. “Wanna dance?”

The woman rolls her eyes, but follows you to the dance floor. It’s the perfect place to get lost, and avoid any conversation. The music’s loud, there’s people everywhere and you can simply disappear when you’re done.

It’s what you do best, isn’t it?

As you go out for another drink, there’s an impulse to talk to Laura.

“That was the name of a friend”

“What?”

“Laura. Well, not my friend. My ex girlfriend’s friend”

That’s about everything they have in common. This woman is covered in tattoos and has dark hair, styled in a mullet. Very Joan Jett, which is every girl’s type.

But my type is Wanda.

“Is that why you drink until I have to call you a cab?” Laura says, and you nod, taking a shot of tequila and asking for another one.

“Yeah. Come on, just one more” you plea when she’s doubting about giving you a third one. You pout and Laura rolls her eyes. “Thank you. Ah, I love this song!”

You blow her a kiss, running back to the dance floor. Wait, no, you don’t even know this song but it’s cool anyway.

And then the next one is good enough, until you’re a bit too drunk and have no idea what’s playing.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

To your disappointment, it’s a man.

“I’m fine!”

“Yes, you are” he says, putting his arm around your waist.

“I’m gay, dude. Stop it!” you push him away.

“Come on, you just need a good di…”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, not when your fist crashes against his nose.

Stupid move, as he’s tumbling to the floor, creating a commotion. You can tell he’s pissed when he stands up, but he never even gets to yell at you, because someone is pulling you back until you’re out of sight.

“You really are trouble” Laura tsks and you try not to laugh.

“He was an asshole”

“Yeah, he is. If it were up to me he wouldn’t go in at all. I have to get back to the bar. Stay here, drink some water. Then I’ll call you a cab”

“I’m sorry” you say, reaching for her when she walks past you.

“That girl did a number on you, huh?”

“I only have myself to blame” you smile sadly. “Thanks for the help”

Following the woman’s advice, you walk around the room, drinking some water and breathing to gather yourself. You’re vaguely aware of the pain in your hand, and remember that it was stupid to risk yourself that way.

If you can’t operate, Melina’s kicking your ass.

After a while, Laura comes back.

“Car’s waiting”

“Thanks… I owe you...”

“A cup of coffee”

You’re about to protest when she rolls her eyes.

“Not as a date. You have too many issues for me to handle. But I’d rather we stop meeting like this, with you starting a bar fight”

“Yeah, that’s fair” you smile, looking back before leaving the room. “My name’s Y/N, by the way”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N”

—

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

That’s all you can think about as you get ready for a 24 hour shift, sporting a massive headache and hangover.

You’re leaning against the elevator when the doors open, and you speak without opening your eyes, handing the keys of the car to Yelena.

“You’re gonna have to drive me today”

“Yelena already left”

You look up a little too fast, eyes meeting Natasha’s.

“Ah, jeez” you complain, feeling your head pound with the sudden movement.

“Rough night?” she says with a mocking tone, but then pays attention to your bruised knuckles, taking your hand. “What the hell? Are you ok?”

“Dude thought he could touch me and get away with it. It’s fine” you promise, though she doesn’t let go of your hand.

“You know mom’s gonna freak out when she sees this?”

“Don’t be a snitch, Romanoff” you say, stepping out of the elevator. “What are you doing?”

“Get in my car” she says, rolling her eyes. “You’re in no condition to drive”

“This is nice” you look around the Mercedes-Benz, reaching to touch the controls in the dashboard. Natasha slaps your hand away.

“Nicer than the Corvette?”

“Nah, let’s not get crazy”

“Did you have a nice weekend with the family?” she asks, rolling into conversation naturally.

“Yeah, we went to see Wicked because Jenny wanted to, then to a Yankees game where I caught the ball, which is apparently a big deal”

“It is, congrats”

“They made me buy some clothes that are not scrubs or…”

“Mini skirts? Like the one you wore last night”

“How did you…”

“My penthouse is in the same building, remember? Same as Yelena’s. Mom was smart enough to get a house away from everyone”

“Right”

“Doesn’t Wanda mind?”

That shuts you up real fast. And honestly? You don’t feel like lying. But as you’re about to answer her, she stops in the parking lot.

“Sorry, it’s none of my business” she mistakes your silence with annoyance.

“No, that’s not it” you explain, but then your phone pings. It’s a message from Jenny, sending you the Instagram post she made for the weekend in New York.

J: You made it to the gram!

Youths. You don’t even have instagram but click the link nonetheless. Yeah, those are nice pictures.

“Oh, you two came together?” Melina greets when she meets you in the hallway.

“Y/N can explain why” Natasha smirks and you glare at her.

“I was just feeling tired after the family trip”

“Natalia, who will be your plus one to the gala?” Melina changes the subject abruptly.

“I’m not taking anyone”

You direct your attention back to your phone, knowing they’re about to argue.

As you swipe through the pictures, a name catches your eye.

w.maximoff

What?

Does Wanda follow your sister?

She saw the pictures and liked them? Even if you were in them?

Don’t be an idiot, don’t think this means anything, she hates you, she’s better off without you.

The sudden urge to throw up has nothing to do with your hangover. You look around the hallway, and feel the desire to turn around and beg her to take you back.

You miss her too much, you can’t do this without Wanda.

Who are you kidding?

“Take Y/N” you hear all of the sudden.

“What?”

“Take Y/N to the gala with you” Melina decides, making Natasha roll her eyes.

“She doesn’t want to…”

“Yes. I’ll go” you interrupt Natasha.

Anything, anything at all to stop thinking about the one person who made your life worth living.

“Then it’s settled” your boss nods, pleased.

“Excuse me” you walk away, hoping there’s a ton of work that can keep your mind off everything else.

There is, and you’re grateful for the distraction it provides.

“I’m exhausted. How are you managing with a hangover?” Yelena complains after a few hours.

“Get some rest,” you mutter, looking at the lab results. “The OR won’t be ready for another hour anyway”

Unfortunately, it gets very slow as the day progresses. Everyone in the hospital is focused on a kidney transplant that is happening next week.

You see a woman walk in with her son to the ER and approach them.

“Hello, I’m Doctor Y/L/N. How can I help you?”

“Hi, yes. My son fell and I’m not sure, I think he might have hurt his wrist”

You turn to look at the kid, who is probably ten or eleven, and he looks back at you scared.

“I understand. What’s your name?”

“Kyle”

“Hi, Kyle. I’m Y/L. Can I take a look at your wrist?”

It takes him a moment to nod, but once he does you take him to one of the hospital beds where he sits. As you put on a pair of gloves, he looks around, clearly nervous.

“Cool shirt” you make conversation, noticing his Yoshi shirt. “My favorite is Rainbow Road, but the best time I ever did was on Vanilla Lake”

“Really? My favorite is Koopa Troopa Beach”

“That’s a good one” you agree, applying pressure on his wrist. “Ok, I don’t think anything’s broken but we need an X-ray to confirm. I’ll walk you there, it will take a minute”

Thankfully, it’s just a sprain.

“You’ll just wear a brace for a week, I’m also sending some medication for pain. Now, you’re gonna have to hold up on playing Mario Kart for a bit, as the movement isn’t good for your hand. Take it easy and if there’s any more discomfort or pain, come back to the hospital”

“Thank you” the woman nods, relieved that it’s nothing major. You’re about to say goodbye when her son hugs you.

“Take care, kid”

As you watch them walk away, your mind goes back to Billy and Tommy.

You miss them so much.

“Everything ok?” Yelena asks when you leave in a rush, walking towards the stairs.

Instead of answering her, you go down the steps, until you push the emergency exit, breathing heavily.

Don’t cry at work, don’t cry at work.

It’s not working. You squeeze your eyes shot, pinching the bridge of your nose.

A sob leaves your lips the minute Yelena catches up with you.

“It’s ok. I’m here” she says, hugging you.

“I miss them”

“I know. I’m sorry” is all she says, allowing you to cry as you lean your head on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be…” you finally gather yourself, wiping away the tears. Your face is hot with the embarrassment of being so emotional in front of Yelena.

“I understand. There’s nothing to be sorry about. Come on, you should get some sleep. I’ll cover the ER for a bit”

“Ok” you nod. But she still follows you to the break room, and as you lay in bed, Yelena makes small talk, asking about your trip and telling you some funny things that used to happen to her and Natasha when their mother would leave them to roam the city while she had board meetings.

As she tells you about her favorite things from the Met, your eyes feel heavy and you fall asleep, exhausted.

The younger woman looks at you, feeling a bit guilty. She understands that everyone in this situation is an adult, and sometimes relationships don’t work.

But it’s still hard to see you so heartbroken and lonely.

“Hey” Natasha walks in the room, and Yelena shushes her, leaning her head towards you. “Is she ok?”

“I don’t know” the blonde admits, closing the door behind her.  “What’s up?”

“Mom told me you’re bringing a plus one to the gala! I thought we agreed no dates for this one”

“Oh, yeah…” Yelena blushes, and Natasha tilts her head.

“Who is it?”

“So, what are you doing? Should we find you a date?” Yelena rushes to change the subject, walking with her sister to the cafeteria.

“No, Y/N volunteered. Or, my mother kinda forced her to”

“Maybe it will be good to have a distraction. She’s having a rough time”

Natasha stays silent as they get some food. To be honest, she has been distant with you. It was hard to get close again after all the hard words you exchanged.

Natasha was just trying to protect herself.

“So you’re not gonna tell me who it is?” Natasha insists after a moment of silence. Yelena laughs, shaking her head.

“You’ll find out soon enough”

—

You open your eyes to the sound of your pager. The OR was busy for longer than anticipated and you’re about to go and check if everyone’s ready.

While you yawn, you dial Yelena’s number.

“Hello?” you hear Natasha’s voice.

“Why are you answering Yelena’s phone?” you say, doble checking that you indeed called her sister.

“Oh, crap. I took her phone by accident”

“Hey” you step out of the room, and find none other than Natasha, ready to leave for the day. “Guess your mother bought these phones in bulk”

You show her the mobile Melina gave you, though you insisted in keeping your number. It’s identical to Yelena’s and Natasha’s and every head of department has one as well.

“Heads up, she might be tracking your location”

“What? Can she do that?” you say, shaking the phone. Natasha smiles at that.

She forgets not everyone is expecting the worst from Melina.

“I better go and exchange phones with Yelena” the redhead says.

“Sure, can you tell her that the OR’s ready? Thanks”

You leave, but then Natasha’s voice stops you.

“Do you wanna do something tomorrow?”

There’s a hint of shock in your face, but you nod and smile.

“Yeah, sure. Wanna come over to watch a movie?”

“Sounds good” she agrees.

“Alright. See ya then” you wave goodbye.

Between this and the gala, Natasha doesn’t know if it’s a good idea to spend so much time together.

She’s about to find out.

—

Natasha is questioning her choices as she knocks on your door, thinking it might be unwise to spend alone time with you.

She had felt like you both got some closure after the emergency surgery on that woman. And then, one week later you had shown up at her hospital, as if you hadn’t refused the offer a number of times.

As if the thought of leaving your precious girlfriend behind wasn’t the craziest thing in the world.

“Hey, come on in” you greet, opening for her.

“Love what you’ve done with the place” she teases, watching as the only real decoration is a Polaroid picture of you and Yelena that is taped to the fridge.

“I’m happy this thing came with furniture or we’d be having dinner on the floor”

“Martha Stewart would be proud” she says and you roll your eyes.

“Come on, food will be ready in a bit” you say, asking her to open the bottle of wine.

“Where’d you get it from?”  she asks as she hands you a glass.

“Uh, the grocery store?” you look back from the stove.

“Wait, you’re making it? From scratch?” she puts her glass down, looking over your shoulder.

“Well, not from scratch, it’s not like I made the pasta”

“I thought you didn’t cook”

“I didn’t” you smile, offering her a taste of the sauce. “But I got used to the finer things in life, like a good old homemade meal, and had to figure out how to get something done”

“This is actually really good” she says, surprised.

“I will give you a pass because I am also surprised that my cooking’s not so bad”

It must have been because you used to watch Wanda cooking all the time.

Ah, shit.

Maybe eventually you’ll go a day without thinking about her. Or not, and that’s your karma for being an idiot.

Once everything’s ready, you pull out two plates, and serve the food.

“What do you wanna watch?”

“Not sure, could we eat first?”

“Why, want to check that I won’t give you food poisoning?” you joke, but Natasha doesn’t laugh. “Oh, come on! I’ve never gotten sick and it’s been a month!”

“Let’s just eat”

“Fine, are you sure you’re gonna be ok talking to me? You’ve been avoiding me since I arrived in Boston” you comment, though you can’t be mad at her.

It was easier to blame her for your screw up that own up to it. You’re not particularly proud of it.

“I wasn’t sure if your girlfriend would give you shit for talking to me”

“We’re not together anymore” you blurt out, making Natasha stop chewing.

“You’re shitting me”

“She broke up with me” you shrug your shoulders. “So I quit my job and ran away like the asshole I am”

There’s a beat of silence, and you keep eating. You’re not expecting anything from Natasha, like pity or words of comfort. It’s just the way things are.

“I had no idea… I’m sorry. I feel responsible”

“Nat, don’t. Honestly, you weren’t wrong. I am attracted to you, and I didn’t set boundaries. If anything, I’m sorry for being a jerk and ruining our friendship”

She keeps eating quietly, and you know that she accepted the apology without making a fuss about it.

“Crazy, stupid love” you mumble after a couple of minutes.

“Yeah, I guess it can be”

“No” you snort out a laugh. “I mean that’s the movie I wanna watch!”

“Oh, I don’t know it” Natasha rolls her eyes.

“Of course not, it’s not a Bond movie. Come on, now that you’ve seen my food won’t take you to the ER, let’s get everything ready” you say, picking up the dishes. Maybe you’ll make popcorn, even though you are full.

“Wait a minute” Natasha says, and when you turn around, she’s got you cornered against the kitchen counter.

“Huh?”

“You said you are attracted to me. Not were. So you still are” she smirks, eyeing you up and down.

“Well, yeah. Have you seen yourself?” you stutter. It’s not helping that you’ve gotten used to physical intimacy and you’ve been craving it for the past weeks.

But that makes you think of Wanda again.

“I just… you deserve more than being a rebound, Natasha. And I am serious when I say I’m not staying beyond my contract”

You know you can’t be someone who isn’t heartbroken and in love with Wanda. But you can at least be honest about it.

“I know. It’s just fun to watch you get all flustered” she says with a sultry voice.

“Not funny” you say, pushing her away.

“Let’s watch that silly, corny movie now” Natasha rolls her eyes.

“You’re gonna love it”

“Doubt it”

As you suspect, she’s critizing Cal at every possible turn, calling him a loser. She’s also constantly texting about the hospital in between complaints.

“Hey!” she protests when you snatch her phone.

“I know we’re both workaholics, but you’re missing the parts with Emma Stone which are arguably the best ones. And this big reveal will blow your mind”

So, you put both of your phones down in the coffee table and take it as a win when she’s laughing at some of the moments in the film.

“Hannah is Cal’s daughter?” Natasha screams when you get to that scene.

“See?”

“Damn!”

“Bathroom break” you announce a while later, leaving the movie playing as you know the dialogues.

Natasha is actually interested in the movie when her phone rings and she picks up without looking away from the screen.

“Hello?”

She’s met with silence, which makes her actually pay attention to whoever called her.

Shit.

Wanda.

She took your phone.

But before she can explain or tell the other woman to wait, the call disconnects.

“What’s wrong?” you say when you return, sitting next to Natasha. “I know it’s sad, but I promise it has a happy ending”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry”

“Nat, you’re scaring me”

“I thought it was my phone, I picked it up. Wanda called you” Natasha says, handing over the phone to you.

“Oh” you tilt your head, shocked. “What did she say?”

“Nothing. She hung up. I’m so sorry”

“Well, maybe she just wanted me to get my stuff. That’s the only reason she’d call me, honestly” you say, returning to the movie.

“Why aren’t you freaking out?” Natasha insists.

“I don’t know” you confess. Maybe you’re in shock. It feels surreal to have Wanda call you, after everything she said to you.

You left your old phone at Darcy’s house before jumping on a plane. You only got your old number back after Melina gave you one of those fancy phones.

Now you wonder if she ever tried to call you.

“I should go”

“And leave me to drown in obsessive thoughts?” you say dramatically. “Look, what’s the harm here? That she’ll think the worst of me, and then what? We broke up. She kicked me out, I’m gone like Wanda asked me to. I’ll just text Pietro and ask if the kids are ok”

That was your real concern. You had a feeling that it could be a mistake or something very serious. And you’d always put your pride aside for the sake of the kids.

“We’re watching a horror movie now” Natasha snatches the remote as soon as the credits roll, looking for Insidious. “That will distract you for sure”

—

“You’re evil” you say when Natasha walks out, laughing.

“And you’re a baby”

“There was a demon! Sewing while that creepy song played. You’re sick, Romanoff”

“Sweet dreams, Y/N” she says, whistling the song as she closes the door.

Now you won’t be able to sleep.

But there’s also another thing in the back of your mind.

Pietro hasn’t answered which can mean that it Wanda's call was a mistake and he’s choosing to ignore you.

Or something so monumentally horrible happened that he doesn’t even have his phone on him.

“Fuck it” you say, trying to control your breathing as you dial back.

You begin to feel like an idiot, especially when it’s pretty obvious Wanda won’t pick up the phone.

Hands squeeze the device as you deal with the disappointment. You are about to hang up when you hear it.

Wanda, saying your name.

And for a moment, you feel like everything’s ok again.

[yuechihua]

remember me as i am.

summary: When Harumasa asks for an unexpected favor, you accept, against your better judgement. The last thing you expected was to have to pretend to be his spouse at a doctor’s appointment.

notes: 4.5k words, author's notes, fake marriage, fake dating, ambiguous relationship/feelings, fluff with some light introspective sadness

“I need you to do me a favor.”

When Asaba Harumasa whispers those words to you across your shared desks at the Section Six office, hand cupped around his mouth for emphasis, eyes glittering with mischief, you can’t help but brace yourself for whatever ensuing trouble he’s going to drag you into.

“What’s the favor?” you respond evenly. “If it’s to convince Yanagi to accept your request for time off, I’m not going to do that.”

“It’s not that!” Harumasa insists. “But it’s about something that’s important for the well-being of Section Six.”

You glance around the room; Soukaku is doodling with crayons on some confidential reports, Miyabi has left for a meeting with the rest of the section chiefs (and you can guarantee that she isn’t paying any attention), and Yanagi is steadfastly working through a towering stack of papers on her desk, so high that you can barely make out the top of her head. No one is paying attention to the two of you.

“Well, what is it then?” you say, and Harumasa casts a furtive glance at Yanagi before leaning closer to you, bracing his elbow on your desk. He’s enjoying himself a little too much, you can’t help but feel, what with how his smile curls like a satisfied cat.

“We need to meet up on our day off, preferably in the morning and somewhere near Lumina Square,” he says conspiratorially. “It’s too risky to pull off here. But it’s important, partner, so make sure you’re not late.”

“If it’s something that’s important for Section Six,” you whisper, tilting your own head closer to the shell of his ear, “Maybe it’s something that we should bring up to the others. What is it? Some illicit venture into a Hollow? Should I call Phaenton, too?”

“There’s no need for all of that,” Harumasa says hastily. “You only need to bring yourself. Maybe a disguise,” he adds, “to avoid public notice. This is a confidential mission. I’m relying on you.”

You let out a small sigh. Visions of curling up on your couch tomorrow, browsing through books with a mug of warm, sweet tea vanish in front of your eyes. “Fine. I’ll be there. But you owe me for dragging me out on our only day off.”

“I’ll make it worth your time, I promise.” Harumasa has the audacity to wink at you, like you’ve agreed to some ridiculous, under-the-table deal. 

Maybe you have. It certainly feels like it when you drag yourself out of bed the next morning, donning sunglasses, a long, caramel-colored coat buttoned up to your neck, and pulling a hat low over your head to complete the look. You’re out the door and on the train to Lumina Square before ten minutes have passed.

You’re set to meet Harumasa at some nondescript corner of the square, an alley boxed in by towering buildings and mostly hidden from view. What does he have in store for you? Despite the playful attitude he had yesterday when asking you for help, there was also something serious underpinning his words, even as he tried to pass it off as a flight of fancy. Harumasa would never ask you for help unless it was something important. 

You’re certain that you’ll have to wait for Harumasa to show up a few minutes late, making some slap-fash excuse. To your surprise, he’s already waiting for you. You almost can’t recognize him at first. He’s forgone his usual headband; instead, he’s wearing a hoodie, a cap, and a facemask, slouching against the wall, staring aimlessly at the sky. 

“Harumasa?” you say.

At your voice, Harumasa immediately straightens, lifting himself off the wall. You can hear the smile in his voice, even if you can’t see it. “There you are!”

“You’re early,” you say. “I didn’t think you’d be here so soon.”

Harumasa slings a casual arm around your shoulder. “Well, I didn’t want to miss our date. But don’t let Yanagi know that I’m capable of showing up on time, okay?” 

“It’s not a date,” you say, lowering your sunglasses to give him an unimpressed stare, “It’s a mission. Or so you claim.”

“It is,” he says. “Come with me. I’ll show you our place of operations.”

Harumasa still has his arm around your shoulders, but you don’t shake him off as he leads you confidently through alleys and down back roads, avoiding the bustle of crowds in the main section of the city. The breeze is cool, the sunlight warm on your face againsr the winter’s chill.

Eventually, the two of you stop in front of a hospital, a towering construction of shining metal and glass reflecting squares of blue sky. People bustle in and out of the sliding front doors, letting out gusts of sharp, chemically scented air.

Harumasa is silent as he stares up at the building, his hat shading his eyes. You can’t make out his expression, but you lean your head on his shoulder, a brief, reassuring touch.

He seems to come back to himself, then, and Harumasa’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he resumes talking in a clear, casual voice, “So, this is where our mission is taking place. Here’s the gist of it: I need you to pretend to be my spouse.”

“What?”

“Come on,” he wheedles. “I’ve been avoiding coming here for a while, but they’re not taking my excuses anymore. And they wanted me to bring a family member over to verify some things.”

“You could have just said so from the beginning,” you say. “I was beginning to think you wanted us to infiltrate somewhere.”

“If you think about it, we technically are,” Harumasa muses. “Besides, isn’t it more fun if I tell you we’re on a mission, instead of just giving everything away? Also, this is necessary to Section Six; what are they going to do without their star Executive Officer?”

The arm around your shoulder is shaking imperceptibly; sometime during his words, his grip has tightened, just slightly, as if he’s clinging to you to keep from sliding down a cliff. The unspoken truths hover in the air: that you’re the only one in Section Six who knows about his Ether Regression Aptitude Syndrome, and that he can’t ask anyone else to help him for this.

“Why your spouse, though?” you say instead. “Why not just say I’m a distant relation? You could also just not specify what our relationship is.” 

“Because it’s more fun for me,” Harumasa replies. Typical.

Within the next few minutes, the two are checking in at the front desk after a brief wait, Harumasa wading through tedious paperwork and bureaucracy and health insurance forms with clipboards and pens that click more than necessary. 

“Make sure to tell the doctor I’m here with my spouse,” Harumasa emphasizes, tapping the clipboard with his pen. He slides his arm around you, drawing you closer to him, and you try to resist the urge to pull away and keep your face schooled in a neutral, pleasant expression.

“All right, Mr. Asaba,” the receptionist chirps. “He’ll be out to see you in a bit!”

The waiting room is filled with rows of yellow and white plastic chairs, carpeting worn by the tread of countless anxious patients, and stacks of old magazines on tables and televisions mounted on the walls playing a cheesy blockbuster with the voices muted. A bored child plays with the hospital’s block toys on the floor, his mother talks quietly into her phone in front of him, and an elderly man flips through a magazine, his cane resting on his lap.

You and Harumasa settle into your seats, side by side. In the space between, where your hands dangle, his knuckles brush against the back of your hand before he draws your hand into his. You can’t shake the feeling that you’ve somehow become his stress ball, something he needs to touch to ground himself. 

“Still holding up alright?” Harumasa whispers. “You cleared the first hurdle.”

“Maybe I should be asking you that,” you whisper back. “Are you okay?”

“I’m used to it.” At times like this, you wish you could see Harumasa’s mouth, because his eyes betray nothing. 

Still, when the receptionist finally calls out, “Asaba Harumasa, the doctor’s here to see you,” you don’t let go of Harumasa’s hand. The doctor is stocky and short, with tired, drooping eyes, and he frowns when he sees Harumasa.

The three of you start walking down the hall, the doctor setting a rapid pace as he lectures Harumasa. “You’ve been avoiding my calls for the past week. Do you know how hard it is to get in contact with you? Proper medical care requires consistency!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harumasa says without sounding sorry at all, but he seems more focused on swinging your joined hands together like a child on a swing set. 

In the doctor’s office, the two of you are finally separated as Harumasa perches on the examination table. You’re sitting in a guest chair lined up against the wall across from him. The doctor moves through standard physical procedures with a deft, practiced hand. Harumasa follows along easily, thoughtlessly, as if these processes are second nature: the lights shining in his eyes, the blood pressure cuff around his arm, the routine questions. 

However, whenever the doctor is distracted recording results or marking down Harumasa’s answers, Harumasa will pull down his mask and make faces at you, to which you’ll respond with a roll of your eyes or your own exaggerated expressions of annoyance. 

“Have you been resting well?” the doctor asks sternly, turning back around just as the two of you quickly settle into more typical expressions. “You’re not pushing yourself at work, I hope?”

“I haven’t,” Harumasa says, with wide eyes. 

“Hmpth.” The doctor turns to you. “Well? Is he being truthful? As his spouse, I trust you’ll be honest for the sake of his health.” Behind the doctor’s back, Harumasa strikes you with an expression of mock disbelief, raising his eyebrows dramatically. It’s almost enough to make you laugh, but you control the tremor of your lips. 

“He hasn’t been pushing himself hard at all,” you say smoothly. “If anything, I think my husband has been resting a little too well.”

“All right. And your medications, Mr. Asaba? Have you been taking them properly?”

“Right as instructed, every morning and night,” Harumasa says. “My lovely spouse would know. They’ve seen me dutifully take all of them.”

“He has,” you verify. From what you know, anyways, Harumasa never misses a dosage. 

The doctor peppers Harumasa with more health-related questions and logs down all his answers. It’s over before you know it, and Harumasa leaps off the table as soon as the doctor puts away his clipboard. 

“I’ve missed you, cutie,” he says, throwing his arms around you like you haven’t seen him in months, snuggling up to you as the doctor watches with a weary expression. 

“The two of you get along well,” he says stoically.

“Oh, we do,” Harumasa chirps. 

“Make sure to make a follow-up appointment, Mr. Asaba. Your health appears stable, and your symptoms haven’t worsened.”

“I’ll make sure he does,” you supply, shooting a quick, withering glance at Harumasa, who only gives you a pleading expression in return. “He won’t be late to the next appointment.”

“I appreciate that, Mx…?” the doctor trails off questioningly.

“Mx. Asaba,” Harumasa interjects. “That’s their name.”

“That’s right,” you say. “Thank you for your time today.”

Harumasa wraps his arm around your waist, giving the doctor a lazy wave, and then the two of you are through the door, down the hall, and out of the hospital. Once you’re a street away, Harumasa finally speaks. 

“You were excellent there, Mx. Asaba,” Harumasa says. 

“Of course I was. Though you don’t need to call me that.”

“Why? I think it has a nice ring to it,” he muses. “Mx. Asaba and Mr. Asaba.”

“I was serious about what I said back there, you know,” you say. “You need to make your follow-up appointment soon. And you should try to show up to it on time.”

“You’re so strict. What if I need you to come with me again to feel better?”

“Then just tell me when, and where,” you say. “If you need me there, then I’ll be there, no matter what.” 

A brief flicker of surprise lights across his face, before it smooths out into his usual relaxed smile. “You’re soooo good to me, Mx. Asaba. Since you went out of your way today to help me with such a confidential mission, let me treat you to some food!” 

“I suppose that’s what a good spouse should do,” you say. 

Harumasa’s arm is still around your waist, but you can’t bring yourself to shake it off as he enthusiastically guides you to whatever restaurant he has in mind. His grip is casual, loose enough that you could shrug it off if you really want to. But if you do, then he’d never pull close to you like again.

Harumasa is attentive in that way. If you set a line, then he would never cross it. All his jokes feel like a casual calculation of the distance between the two of you. How far is he allowed to go? How much are you willing to put up with? What’s the boundary of your relationship? 

It’s like he’s waiting for rejection, offering you the chance to push away from him in a way that would make it easier for both of you. The way he touches you is akin to possession, but from a man who’s afraid to say he deserves to call you his.

Yet, if you push a little too close, more than he’s comfortable with, then he’ll run away like a skittish cat, afraid your affection will turn to boredom or cruelty. You’ve been with him long enough to understand this. So you’ll play along with his jokes, his little white little lies and deceptions, if it’s the only way he’ll let you stay close to him.

It’s a date, or a confidential mission, or whatever excuse Harumasa wants to use. What a complicated, beloved partner you have.

“We’re here,” Harumasa says. You’re at a ramen shop, with low stalls pulled up the counter, the simmering heat and steam from the kitchen feeling like a miniature summer. Thankfully, it’s empty, but your disguises ensure that neither your nor Harumasa’s fans will bother you for pictures and autographs in either case. 

“Order whatever you want,” he says, and you pick up the laminated menu, browsing through the various options. “Oh, wait. Pose for a second.”

Harumasa pulls out his phone, opening the camera, and aims it in your direction. You make a quick peace sign, menu held aloft in your other hand, and the shutter snaps. “What’s that for?”

“You looked nice,” he says. “I’ll send it to you later.”

“I didn’t realize you liked photography.”

“It’s a good way to preserve things that are fleeting, but important to you,” he says. “Moments that won’t last, people that might leave. Things like that.”

“Are you planning on divorcing me already?” you ask, propping your chin on your hand, peering at him over the top of your sunglasses. 

Harumasa places a hand over his heart. “Me? Never.”

The two of you place an order for ramen, and it doesn’t take long for the noodles to arrive. It’s simple, but delicious: hearty, flavorful broth, bamboo shoots, seaweed, fish cakes, slices of charred, fatty pork, and an egg with a jammy yolk.

Neither of you talk as you sit in silence, slurping noodles and drinking spoonfuls of broth. It’s been a while since you’ve gone out for a meal like this, and even longer since you did so with someone that wasn’t some sort of business partner or official whose good graces you need to stay in. 

You glance up with a mouthful of noodles to find Harumasa watching you, chopsticks in hand, a small smile on his face, as if he’s never seen anything so charming, his own ramen forgotten. Your face burns for reasons you don’t want to identify; you’re only thankful he doesn’t ask for another picture.

Harumasa lets out a sigh of appreciation when he’s done, placing his chopsticks neatly over his finished bowl. “Soukaku once cleared out almost all the noodles in this place, did you know that? I’ve been meaning to go ever since she told me.”

“Did it match your expectations?”

“I don’t normally like heavy food, but this time, I didn’t mind it,” he says. “Or maybe it’s because you looked like you enjoyed it a lot. It made me appreciate this bowl more.”

“Smooth-talker,” you say. “If you’re done, should we head back–”

“Wait, there’s somewhere else we should go,” Harumasa interrupts, holding up a hand. “We need dessert after a meal, don’t you think?”

“Really? A dessert? What are you thinking of getting?” you ask.

“There’s a popular drink shop around here. They serve milk tea in these cute little Bangboo shaped cups,” Harumasa begins. “I thought it might be fun to check it out.” 

“I thought you hated sweet things,” you supply. The two of you stand, and you smooth down your coat as Harumasa adjusts his facemask. You’re ambling down the street again, but this time, you loop your arm through his, pulling him close. It’s an effortless gesture, and it’s startling how easy it is to press so close to him.

“Well, you don’t,” he returns. “And it’s a popular date spot too. Can’t I take my lovely spouse out some more?”

You bump him with your hip. There’s no need to keep up your pretense anymore. There’s no one else here to listen to your lies. Both of you know this, but you can’t bring yourself to state the obvious. If you point out the script, then the curtain will fall and the play will end, your fragile happiness disappearing as the actors take a final bow. “Sure, if you keep paying.” 

The two of you end up in front of an inconspicuous milk tea shop. There’s no outdoor or indoor seating, but there is a counter and a blackboard with the menu chalked in, alongside doodles of smiling Bangboo holding milk tea on the side. A tired salesgirl stands in front, her expression at odds with her bubblegum pink uniform. There’s a few teenagers milling nearby, hands cupped around their milk tea and conversing in giggles.

Harumasa tilts his head as he looks at the menu, hanging above the two of you. “They sell iced coffee here,” he muses. “I thought this was a milk tea place.”

“They probably want to offer a variety of drinks for people who might not like milk tea,” you supply. 

“What are you getting?”

“The Bangboo special milk tea,” you say immediately. “It’s their speciality, and it comes with a Bangboo shaped cup. If it’s cute, I might take it home and wash it so I can reuse it”

He eyes you with amusement as the two of you approach the counter, where Harumasa slides his card across the counter. You make a note to treat him out to dinner at some point; as much as you tease, it wouldn’t sit right with you if you didn’t return the favor. “One iced espresso and a Bangboo special milk tea for me and my spouse, please.”

“Got it.” The salesgirl doesn’t bat an eye as Harumasa leans against you, his eyes crinkling at the corners like a pleased cat.

It doesn’t take long for your drinks to arrive. Your milk tea is in the shape of a Bangboo’s head, and topped with a pile of jellies over delicately set tiers of differing flavors. You take a sip, and you’re flooded with a creamy, milky sweetness.

Harumasa, who hasn’t even taken a sip of his espresso yet, looks amused as he watches you. “Let me try some of yours.”

“You won’t like it,” you protest, but Harumasa is already pulling down his face mask and leaning towards you. You raise your drink to let him take a quick sip.

He licks his top lip in thoughtful contemplation. “Way too sweet.”

“I told you. Now give me some of yours,” you say. “It’s only fair.” 

He obliges without protest, tilting his straw towards you. You take a quick sip, but it’s cold and bitter. You wrinkle your nose; you’re no stranger to coffee, especially when shifts run late into the night, but you still like to add creamer and sugar to take the edge off. 

“Coffee is an acquired taste for true adults,” Harumasa says when he sees your expression. “Maybe I’m just a bit more mature than you.”

“Sweetness is also an acquired taste,” you quip. “It’s good to learn to enjoy the sweet things in life.”

“Maybe it is. Oh, wait. Before you finish your drink. Let’s take another picture.” Harumasa pulls out his phone again, and you don’t protest as he raises it and angles it down towards the two of you. You raise your cup, and Harumasa lopes his arm around yours, locking the two of you together.  

With a few press of his thumb, he’s done, and lowers the phone for your inspection. You examine yourself the same way a stranger might; the two of you huddled up together, Harumasa’s cheeks red from the cold, your lips drawn into a smile, looking almost like the married couple you’re pretending to be. 

“You look cute as usual,” Harumasa comments. “But it makes me look bad. I’ve got to stop taking pictures with you.” 

“That’s not my fault,” you protest. 

“Of course it isn’t. You can’t help being the cutest person in the world.” 

You’re saved from thinking up a response that won’t betray your own embarrassment by the curious giggles of the teenagers across from you. They keep glancing furtively from you to Harumasa, hands cupped over their mouths. You can hear whispers of “Section Six” and “celebrities” which doesn’t bode well for your current anonymity. 

Swiftly, you grab Harumasa’s hand and start pulling him away from the cafe, down the streets of Lumina Square. The winter sun has started to droop in the sky, painting the world in a vivid, melting, yolky light. Laughter drifts around you from people lost in their own worlds. 

You’re not sure where you’re going, only certain on heading away from anyone who can recognize you. Harumasa follows along gamely, your willing accomplice.

You fly up a flight of stairs and you’re suddenly on the walkway above the streets, the city stretching out below you, buildings stacked like decadent cakes, people little figurines trotting carelessly by. 

You’re far away from everyone else now, cocooned in your own world. Harumasa’s fingers squeezes yours playfully, and suddenly you’re aware of how his hand feels in yours, warm skin and calluses from his bow and reassuringly slender fingers wrapped around your own. 

You drop his hand, finally, and take a sip of your own drink, which is sweet, so sweet, as Harumasa walks up to the railing and braces his elbow against the metal. 

“You’ve been taking a lot of pictures of me today,” you say. 

“I want to treasure every moment we have together,” Harumasa says, without turning. A cool breeze stirs, sending his hair fluttering, his clothes rippling. 

He’s unfair when he talks like this, the tenderness in his voice making your heart ache over the inevitable future, a predetermined ending. Like he’ll slip through your fingers as easily as water at any moment.

You pull out your phone, swipe to your camera, and raise it to frame Harumasa in the center, backlit by the glow of the sun and the tart light from the windows of buildings around you. 

“Look over here,” you call, and Harumasa turns. He’s beautiful, so beautiful it hurts. “Strike a pose.” 

“Shouldn’t I be the one taking a picture?” he asks. 

“I want to remember you,” you say. “Forever.” 

Harumasa tilts his head back. “Me?” 

“You’re not the only one who wants to cherish every moment we spend together.” 

Harumasa slowly pulls down his face mask, and you can finally see his smile, more brilliant than the sun behind him, flooding through your nerves and filling every part of you with a warm light. 

You press your phone’s camera shutter, once, twice, immortalizing Harumasa for as long as you can. You lower your phone, and join him at the railing, looking down below at the peace you’ve both fought so hard to protect. 

The world is filled with such endless cruelty and stunning beauty in equal measure. And yet, it’s the only world you have. You tap your fingers against the railing, a nonsensical song. 

“For your next appointment, maybe we should try a different restaurant when you’re done,” you say. “And we can walk around and take more pictures. There’s a few art installations around.” 

“You sure you want to come back with me? You’ll have to pretend to be Mx. Asaba again, you know.” 

“I don’t mind,” you murmur. “It has a nice ring to it.” 

“If you talk like that, you’ll make me want to make it official…. Of course, I’m kidding,” he adds before the words can linger for too long. 

“Have you thought about getting married?” you ask.

“I couldn’t do that to someone,” he responds lightly. “Besides, it’d be bad for PR. You know how intense our fan clubs can get.”

Of course, you understand. Marriage is an alien thought for a job where you risk your life everyday fighting against Ethereals and venturing into Hollows. You barely have enough time for yourself after long shifts and overtime and late nights, ready to be called into action at the slightest emergency. Could you bear to leave behind someone you love under the circumstances? Could they bear waiting and worrying for you? You would never be able to provide them any form of normalcy.

“Leaving someone behind like that… I don’t think I could do it. Or ask them to understand why I can’t give them an ordinary life,” you say. 

“Right, right. I wouldn’t want to make my partner cry,” he says. “I knew you would get it.”

His eyes gleam, two precious pieces of gold. Of course. Neither of you are capable of an ordinary relationship. Whatever the two of you have right now, whatever form you let it take, can’t be named. Something will break if you try. 

Carefully, delicately, you lean your head against his shoulder. He stiffens only momentarily before relaxing, a silent affirmation of your presence. Below, cars rush by, the misty glow of streetlights winking into life as the sky darkens.

“I’ll let you know when I have my next appointment,” he says, voice carrying like the wind.

“All right. I’ll be sure to make the time for you, Mr. Asaba.”

He laughs, a low, soft sound. “Thank you, Mx. Asaba. I knew I could rely on you.”

And it’s nice, like this. For just a while longer, you can forget anything that’s happened before, or anything that might happen in the future. Right now, it’s just you, and him, together. 

[mistymisfit]

it's my birthday today so here's a short Jason x Reader drabble!

warnings: just pure fluff ! + A bit suggestive at the end, but nothing happens (rare no angst)

wc: 1k

Jason's broken into your apartment again, it's pretty much a routine at this point. Though he wouldn't call it breaking in if he was your boyfriend who had keys to your place but couldn't walk through the door like a normal human being. He disarmed and set up again every security measure he installed himself to keep you safe. Took his time to check that you locked everything too, all while you slept peacefully in your room. And just when he was sure everything was up and running and you'd be safe he made his way to the bedroom.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw you. You looked so cute sleeping on your side, taking all the covers and your hair a mess. He just felt an overwhelming need to kiss you senseles, so he left the bouquet of flowers on your nightstand. He rapidly removed his mask to leave it on his bedside table, sitting on the opposite side of the bed. He made quick work of unlacing his boots and kicking them off so he could hop on the bed with you.

"Baby," He whispered, pulling down the sheets and lifting your shirt so he could kiss your hips. His kisses trailed up on your side until you hummed and shifted in your sleep, now lying on your back, unaware of the presence of your boyfriend.

He whispered your name before he started kissing your stomach. By the time his kisses had gone up to your neck, he started to wonder just how deep you were sleeping.

"Jay?" You finally wake up, barely aware of anything but the figure above you.

"What if it was an intruder?" He teases."You're a pretty deep sleeper, ma"

"Who else would it be? you got me living in the bat cave with how tight the security is. " Even half asleep, you had a quick wit. It made him chuckle and kiss your cheek.

"Happy Birthday, baby"

It made you check the time on your phone, 5 am. Only him would come back from his vigilante activities and wake you up at 5 am on your birthday. Lucky you had the day off so you could sleep in a little more. In the process of grabbing your phone to check the time you noticed the flowers, your favorite ones, and impossible to get this time of the year.

"Those are for me?"

"Not really, some old lady gave them to me so I could ask her niece out," He joked, gaining a swift slap from the back of your hand to his bicep. It did nothing but make him laugh, and you realized just then that he still was in his red hood gear. Even when you've told him a million times not to get in the bed wearing it. "'Course they are, the best for my favorite birthday girl "

"Take your clothes off," You demanded, the sleep still in your mind made you not realize how that sounded. He opened his mouth to make some snarky comment, so you cut him off before he begins "You know what I mean"

He chuckled again, kissing the tip of your nose before getting up to undress. You rubbed your eyes as you sat on the bed, then took the flowers to get a closer look. It was a beautiful bouquet, a mix of colors and flowers that matched your favorites, so unlike your basic red roses. It showed how much he knew you, how sweet of a boyfriend he could be.

"Where did you even get these?" You asked, smelling them. You noticed how fresh they were, how bright the colors were. They didn't look like a usual purchase from a Gotham flower shop, much less this late-or early.

"Ah,I was hoping you wouldn't ask that." He sighed as you watched him toss his shirt somewhere on the floor. He tried crawling back on the bed and kissing you to distract you, but you knew better than that.

"I don't trust the pockets of that," You complained, talking about his cargo pants, moving your head to the side so his lips fall on your cheek. "and careful with the flowers "

"Yes ma'am," He replied in a solemn tone, just to mock you. Then, as you watched him strip to his underwear, holding the huge bouquet like a baby, it hit you.

"Jason Peter Todd, did you get these from Poison Ivy?"

Jason freezed, of course he did. His reaction gave you all the answers you needed. You were ready to hit him with the very same flowers. How could he put himself in so much danger for such a ridiculous thing?

"In my defense,"He began, and you were already having none of it. He was lucky he made it out in one piece. "She said you're the best hostage she ever had, and she's a romantic deep down"

"Jason," You sighed. The way you said his name had him smiling again, knowing all too well, he was about to be forgiven.

"And before you kill me, " He sat down next to you, a hand resting on your thigh. "I've got the whole day planned for ya', ma"

You left the flowers on your nightstand again, and turned your face to see him before asking;"Did she make the bouquet?"

"I'm appalled, 'course not." He gasped offended, "I had a vision"

"Really?" You smiled, straddling him.

He nodded, smirking and putting his hands on a familiar place on your waist. His lips and your finally met in a kiss that's more smiles than actual kissing. He knew he was lucky to have you and that he had to treat you right, there was no other option for him. If you asked for the moon and stars he'd find the way to give them to you. Jason was sure he could face whatever fate threw his way as long as he had you on his side. But he couldn't find the words to tell you that and settled for the next best thing; kissing you desperately.

"Shouldn't we put those on water?" He questioned, out of breath.

"Later, I've gotta fuck my handsome boyfriend " And with that you had him melting under your hands, the mighty and scary Red Hood reduced to a blushing mess by his favorite birthday girl.

a/n: If I feel inspired, I'll write about how reader knows Poison Ivy, but until then, happy birthday to me 🥳. Btw if this has any mistakes, ignore them. My sister is holding my laptop hostage and I'm back in my hometown.

[fryingpan1234567]

aaaaaanyways. pride month at Camp Half Blood?

if you remember that one post from a while ago (general hc’s about chb), I did say I would do a fully pride post eventually

so without further ado, I present to all my lovely gay demigods:

PRIDE MONTH AT CHB🗣️🗣️

SO we’ve already discussed the decorations of some of the cabins, like Percy putting rainbow hippocampi scales all over the walls, the Demeter and Persephone cabins growing colorful flowers all over their roofs, the Hecate cabin and its Sentient Gay Door

I like to think the Iris cabin is just fully blasting rainbows all the time it looks like a Minecraft beacon

they play capture the flag every June with a pride flag that has the CHB logo on it

limited edition CHB pride merch😭

Mr. D defending trans campers by driving bigots slightly insane long enough to slap themselves and then go back to normal

Y’ALL KNOW ABOUT THE PRONOUN CORRECTION AIR HORNS? THAT’S THE ENTIRE APOLLO CABIN + LEO AND PERCY

Some ignorant prick about a transmasc camper: “Oh yeah she—“

Percy: *AIR HORN* “IT’S HE, BITCH”

Ignorant prick: “Okay Jesus I’m sorry”

A different ignorant prick: *makes some dumb joke about “always being able to tell” and receives at least seven different air horns from all the Apollo campers in the vicinity*

Leo’s been following this one really irritating chick around all day because she can’t figure out one of his sibling’s genders and blasting her in the face every time she fucks up their pronouns😭😭😭

anyways yeah I like to imagine there’s a demigod pride festival somewhere, maybe in New York

or no there’s demigods everywhere I bet they have parade floats all the time in lots of cities and the Mist conceals the “fireworks” which are actually just godly light shows

Apollo rocks up to camp in a rainbow crop top and a pink drink from Starbucks just to sing Born This Way in the middle of the day and then dip again

Aphrodite blessing random queer couples with finding perfect date setups “conveniently” in their paths

all the gods physically restraining Hera when she tries to go fuck with Jason while he’s on a date w Leo

Percy and Annabeth in matching shirts that say ✨BEST BI✨ with the Best Buy price tag logo in the middle

Nico got glitterbombed on June 1st the second he stepped out of his cabin by the entire Apollo cabin (and Jason) and is still finding sparkles in his hair a week later

Aphrodite kids are walking dictionaries of all the rainbow terms, somehow, and they also all know which days in June are for which awareness or pride or whatever flag

campers who transitioned over the school year and coming back to camp a different gender and their godly parent re-claims them as their true self

Percy “I can’t believe I used to think I was straight” Jackson educating some of the younger campers on bisexuality and how, no, you don’t always know right away

Annabeth “I had a crush on Thalia and Luke at the same time and it was horrible” Chase always reassuring the nervous kids that there’s nothing wrong with being queer (and that she’ll fight any homophobic family members they may have)

actually they kind of all do that

Some little kid: “Well……. I don’t wanna tell my stepdad, he might kick me out”

Percy, remembering that his dad kept Medusa’s head after it got sent to Olympus: “Give me your address, I have an idea”

Piper will verbally eviscerate anybody she catches being even remotely homophobic. I mean she will swipe phones out of her siblings’ hands to tell off some ignorant grandmother

Jason does NOT get into physical altercations outside of sparring and literal war, but the closest he ever got was after hearing someone call Nico a slur (Percy and Leo had to physically drag him away from the other guy)

William Solace has white cowboy boots. I Will Start Sobbing On The Spot

Percy and Jason wore matching skirts for the pride festival and it was great— these 6-foot-plus brick shithouses of heroes who have single-handedly won wars aggressively waving tiny pride flags at each other and dancing to IT GIRL on the quad

Cecil and Lou Ellen made these magic rainbow smoke bombs, crawled up on the roof of the Hermes cabin, and slingshotted them into the masses Just Because™️

(Will’s hair was blue and pink for weeks)

RAINBOW WAR PAINT FOR CAPTURE THE FLAG.

Clarisse fucking kicked someone into the lake because they made fun of one of her siblings’ dyed hair

Connor thought it would be funny to leave a mini pan flag on top of Mr. D’s Diet Coke stash, mostly as a harmless joke, but the next day he noticed Mr. D had tucked it into his horrible Hawaiian shirt pocket like a handkerchief😭

watching Love, Simon in the amphitheater for movie night and half the campers had to excuse themselves early for sobbing too hard

Malcolm and Annabeth reread Red White and Royal Blue every summer. They say they’re Henry and June, Connor is Alex, and Percy is Nora

(this is confirmed when the two of them start a foot fight in the dining pavilion with a Chipotle burrito)

Leo IMing Jo and Emmie to wish them a happy pride (and tell Georgina and Waystation I said hello)

Piper and Leo getting into a HEATED debate about whether Velma Dinkley is a lesbian or not

”YOU CANNOT LOOK AT HER OVERSIZED-SWEATER-OVER-MY-PROM-DRESS ASS AND TELL ME YOU THINK SHE’S TOTALLY STRAIGHT—“

”WHAT SHE AND SHAGGY HAD WAS REAL, BEAUTY QUEEN! HOT DOG WATER AIN’T GOT NOTHIN ON NORVILLE ROGERS—“

”LEO! HER NAME IS MARCIE! AND THEY ARE EACH OTHER’S W A L L P A P E R S .”

Jason, sitting in the middle of them, now deaf in both ears: Lupa give me strength

GUYS PLEASE SEND ME SPECIFIC SHIPS OR CHARACTERS TO WRITE PRIDE HC’S FOR I WOULD LOVE TO🙏🙏🙏🙏

[madthetruemad]

fiercely

ex-general!jing yuan x fem!reader

cw ; fantasy!au, blood, death, attempted murder, sexual assault (not with jy), smut, p in v, fingering, grammatical errors, reader referred to with she/her pronouns, abusive boss, y/n does get slapped once (not by jy), etc. (two men break into y/n's home but before they could do anything, she is saved so don't worry).

summary | you work at a bakery owned by a woman you greatly dislike. and every day you hand out meals to the owns less fortunate. and one day, you meet a silver-haired man who comes to your rescue in the dead of night who you then ask to become your guard.

4.5k words, my longest oneshot yet!! im genuinely proud of this one *smug grin as i pat myself on the back* anyway, I hope you enjoy reading!!! 💞

Crouching down on the snow-covered, stone path, you rifled through your basket and gently held out a loaf a bread to a man who wore worn-out and battered armor.

“Sir?”

You called out to him gently, silently praying that he wasn’t dead, but thankfull not even two seconds after you called out to him did his head move. He had an mess of long, silver hair and from beneath it you could see two, bright gold eyes peek at you.

“Thank you…,” his words were quiet as he solemnly took the bread from your hands. You nodded to the man and stood up to which he noticed how the dirt from underneath the snow had dirtied the edges of your dress. He went to apologize for making you crouch for him on his behalf, but you were already gone, moving to the next who was slumped over.

“If you want food from her again, come when the sunsets and is about to disappear.”

The silver haired man looked over to another who had a missing leg and was hobbling towards him with an almost broken stick.

“Does she hand out food often?”

“Every day, morning, noon, and then sunset. Three times without fail.”

The disabled man plopped down next to him, “do you want me to call back to her for you?”

He shook his head, “she already gave me some food.”

“How is she able to afford so much? Is she a noble?”

“Nothing of the sort, boy. She’s a baker.”

“Boy?”

“Anyone younger than me is just a boy.”

He chuckled softly at the man before taking a bite out of the bread.

Meanwhile, you had finished handing out the food you had and started back towards the bakery you worked at was to prepare for the lunch rush that was about to happen. The bakery itself was owned by the woman who had taken you in. She was a mean woman who lived comfortably in a big house with more than enough money to keep her and her family going for over 70 years. Honestly, with how mean and cruel she was, you would work somewhere else, but … you love cooking, and she promised that if you made enough money then you would be able to buy the bakery from her. You, a poor servant girl owning her a bakery someday. It was a dream you were determined to strive for.

Truthfully, you didn’t want to buy the bakery from her, but it was better than building your own and trying to complete with her for customers when you didn’t have nearly as much money or influence as her. So, just trying to buy off an already existing bakery was the best choice for you.

“Feeding those dogs again?”

The moment you opened the door, you immediately winced. Her voice was like sandpaper, rough and unforgiving as she greeted you the moment you walked in.

“They- they aren’t dogs,” you managed to say, but the moment you did her heavy hand was quick to strike against your cheek sending your head snapping to the side and a dark mark to appear across your (color) skin.

“Did you waste perfectly good food on dogs who can’t pay?”

You looked back at her and shook her head, “I paid for it all.”

She scoffed, “keep taking care of the stray mutts and you’ll never have enough for this bakery.”

That… was true. If you couldn’t save money then this place will be just a dream to you, but you couldn’t abandon those people.

With risk of getting hit again, you kept quiet as she grabbed your wrist and pushed you two the kitchen, “lunch rush will be here any minute, girl. The cook is already back there, help him get everything prepped and then get ready to serve customers who actually have money.”

You don’t know how you managed to keep your mouth shut as she shoved you into the kitchen

“Good you’re here, go get me-,” the chef looked at your face and noticed the bruise that started to form causing him to sigh, “you know not to talk back to Matiilda.”

“I know, I know Brason, but she- she talks poorly of those people, it makes me so mad sometimes,” you said as you went to go fetch whatever he wanted. He didn’t say what he needed, but this was routine for you by this point.

You handed him the ingredients he needed and then set off to get the utensils. Outside of the kitchen you could here the tables being prepped by another server who just walked in. Your boss, Matilda, never lent a helping hand, well, not unless she was hitting you or pulling you to go somewhere of course.

“Here you go, need anything else?”

Brason shook his head and shooed you away, “go help the other waitress out there, and try not to get Matilda’s bedside again. If you keep doing so, she’ll change the deal she has with you about this place.”

You nodded, “I- I understand.”

“Also, be glad Matilda didn’t notice the mud clinging to the bottom of your skirts. You know how she feels about that.”

You nodded again before heading out of the kitchen. The rest of the day goes by without a hitch with the exception of a few men catcalling you and another grabbing at your thigh. You were able to shake them off, but with some trouble.

“And that should be enough!”

Brason looked at all the food you had paid for. All of it slowly being put into a small cart you had invested in.

“You taking that to the-“

“Yes, I am,” you said cutting him off, “thank you for cooking my order, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Brason nodded as he went to clean up the kitchen and lock up for the night as you pushed the cart out of the bakery. Your hands steady as you went to the poor district.

Many had greeted you warmly as you started to pass out food and others would silently thank you. You would do your best to nod and smile despite the throbbing pain in your cheek. And then, you finally came to the silver-haired man from before, but this time he was talking with someone you recognized.

“Miss l/n,” Charles greeted. He was nice man who fought in a war this country had, and sadly he had lost one of his legs during it. You were always sure he got something to eat.

“Good evening Charles,” you said as you squatted down to hand him his food, “how are you feeling?”

“Better than yesterday.”

You nodded as you stood up to get another, and moved to squat down in front of the silver-haired man, “for you.”

This time you didn’t have to call out to him. He was fully awake and ready for you, but what you were surprised about was his clear focus on you as he accepted the food you offered him. Most people here never had such clear focus, their eyes usually dulled and never as bright as his were.

“Thank you and uhh Miss l/n was it? That mark on your cheek. It wasn’t there this afternoon.”

“O- oh, this? Yes, I am a bit clumsy and accidentally … fell into a door! Yes! That’s it! The door handle bruised my face when I fell down!”

Charles huffed beside the man, “a terrible liar as always… the woman she works for, Matilda, hates how she hands food out to us, so every once and a while she likes to take her frustrations out on the poor girl.”

“Charles…”

The man huffed again, “don’t try to deny it, that woman is wicked and I won’t let you hide her abusiveness towards you to make us feel like the world could do no wrong.”

“I understand Charles,” you went to stand up, “anyway, I better hand out the rest, I’ll see you all in the morning.”

You gave them a small wave as you went back to your cart to finish handing out the rest, and when you were finally done you went to push your cart towards the direction of your home. It was a little outside the city in a small little cottage, but to you it was home.

Once you got to your home, you happily opened the door, pushed the cart inside and stored it off to the side before rushing to throw yourself in bed. You needed a bath, but for now you wanted to press your face into your pillows. Though, a part of you did remember how snow still clung to your boots you didn’t take off and the mud that still painted the edges of your skirts to your dress.

Guess you’ll be washing your sheets tomorrow too…, but you decided to ignore all of that for now as you closed your eyes, sleep being all too tempting as you felt yourself start to drift off.

No dreams inflicted you this time, but you were quick to startle awake when you heard something break and slam open. You had shot up in your bed quickly. Eyes wide and alright as they tried to adjust in the dark.

And it was as clear as day when a new sound started to echo within the house.

Footsteps…

C R EA K C REA K C R E A K

You could hear how your floorboards ached under the weight of someone walking towards your room causing you to jump out of your bed and run for your window, but when you got to it and started to fiddle with the latch to get it to open, a rock crashed right through it barely missing you as you let out a scream and stumbled backwards.

“Hey! You didn’t hit her in the head with that rock did you,” a man called out from your hallway as he entered your bedroom.

Another had forcefully knocked out the rest of the glass in your window before climbing in himself, “she’s fine, just spooked her was all.”

You ran to your bed, though you knew that the blanket you used as a shield will do little for you.

“This is the girl Matilda told us about, yeah?”

…Matilda…?

“What, what does she have to do with this,” you managed to ask. The man chuckled softly at your meek sounding question, “bingo. Looks like it is her.”

He moved to come towards you causing you to yell at him, “answer my question!”

You were trying to stall for time, trying to find a way out, trying to survive-

One of them laughed loud at this, “don’t worry, she didn’t hire us to kill you, she just wants us to teach you a little lesson about stray dogs.”

You could feel yourself start to shake as he undid his pant’s belt buckled the other taking off his own shirt.

“Stay- stay away from me!”

The slimmer man of the two (the one who climbed through the window) grabbed the blanket you were holding and ripped it from your grasp before grabbing your arms.

“No, no, no, no! Get off- get off of me! Someone- anyone Help me, please help me!”

You screamed at the top of your lungs as the bigger man grabbed your legs and forced them open while bunching your skirts above your waist despite your efforts at trying to kick him in the balls.

“Please save me!”

As the two were struggling to get your clothes off, you saw a shadow of another in the doorway making you cry harder. She sent three of them?!

Though, instead of coming to assist the two men like you had thought, the shadow moved too fast for your eyes to see, but you could see the glint of a blade in the moonlight that escaped into your room, and you watched as the blade arced and slashed sideways.

Your breath caught in your throat as a spray of blood spurted from the bigger man’s neck. His head instantly detaching and falling into your lap. The shirtless man cussed and let go of your arms, but before he could grab anything to defend himself with the sword had ran right through him, straight through the heart. Blood was quick to fill his mouth and pour from his lips like a waterfall as he fell forward into the blade. Though before his dead body could even touch the shadow, the shadow had removed his sword from his chest and moved aside for the body to fall face first into the floor.

Then the shadow turned to you making you crawl backwards into the bed.

“Please, don’t be scared, miss l/n.”

That voice… it belongs to the silver-haired man!

The shadow stepped into the moonlight that cascaded into your room, and you could clearly see his face now since he had tied up his long silver hair back. His golden eyes trying to hold a comforting look in them.

“How… how did you know-“

“I saw those two following you… I- I am usually a good judge of character, and I, well, I hoped I was wrong, but…,” his voice trailed off as he walked up to you. You froze in place when he reached for you, but instead of grabbing you, he had gently grabbed a hold of the bottom of your skirts that were bunched up at your waist and gently tugged them down to your ankles so that you were once again fully covered.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” he said as he stepped back and went to retrieve your blanket from the floor and handed that to you as well.

You shook your head as you gratefully took the blanket from him, “n- no, I- you- you saved me, so thank you.”

His smile was gentle before his gaze fell to the bodies, “I will take care of them.”

“What should I do?”

“Rest there, I’ll be back, I promise.”

To show you that he will return, he rested his sword against a wall and then lifted both bodies and the head as if they had weighed nothing and left your room in a hurry.

You weren’t sure how long he was gone, but it felt like hours before you heard your front door open and your breath to hitch.

By this point, you had lit a lamp next to your bedside and even cleaned up most of the blood that had gotten on your floor. Your eyes were now focused on the entrance to your bedroom, and you could feel yourself let out a sigh of relief when you saw the silver-haired man walk through your door.

The man looked around before nodding and heading to get his sword, “well I-“

“Please don’t go!”

You called out to him when his back turned. You didn’t know what to say when he looked back at you, but you came up with something quick.

“I didn’t get your name.”

He smiled at you, “it’s Jing Yuan.”

“Jing Yuan,” you tested out the name on your tongue. It was foreign, but you liked the sound of it when it left your lips.

“And you, miss l/n?”

You realized that he didn’t know your first name, so you gave it to him.

“Y/n L/n,” he mimicked you by testing out your name on his lips.

“Jing Yuan?”

“Yes?”

“Would you … like to be my guard? You can sleep in the extra room here and I can pay you too!”

“You want me to be your guard?”

You nodded, “just in case Matilda does something like this again… I’ll- I’ll feed you too! And even get you new clothes, or- or buy you as many weapons as you want.”

He gently quieted, a small chuckle leaving his lips, “I have no need for your money, but… a place to stay, some food, and some new clothes won’t hurt.”

“Then you mean?”

He nodded as he fully turned towards you, “I’ll be your guard from now on.”

And true to his word, Jing Yuan was your guard and he guarded you fiercely. And now that you both were living together, you got to know a lot about him like how he was a general in a foreign land, but was exiled due to corruption within his people’s government which explained why he had no belongings or money on him. As for you, he learned how Matilda took you I as a servant and how poorly she treated you. He also learned of your determination to get the bakery for yourself one day and promised to help you get it.

And, of course, with living together came other things too…

“I- I’m so sorry,” you all but screamed as you slammed the door to the bathroom shut.

You could hear his laughter from inside causing a rush of embarrassment rush through you.

You both had been living together for two years now. And Matilda has sent men after you a total of twelve times now, but Jing Yuan was always there to protect you.

Despite all of this, however, you never saw him naked… granted, he only had his shirt off, but it was still embarrassing especially since you gained a crush on the man.

He was overly sweet with you, he taught you things and was ever so kind to you and only ever asked for food and new clothes when it comes to protecting you. Not to mention that he was hot, it was only a matter of time before you fell for him.

“You know,” he started as he leaned against your bedroom door, “there is nothing shameless about seeing me without a shirt.”

“I just don’t want to intrude on your privacy- YUAN,” you all but screamed his name when you turned around to confront him, but this time he was only in a bath towel that hung around his waist, and all too visibly, you could see the outline of his-

You shook your head and turned back around, “how dare you tease me! You’re so mean!”

“Am not.”

You could tell how his voice sounded closer than before which was another thing you had learned about him while living together. He walked without a sound.

“Yuan-,” your breath hitched when you felt his chest press against your back, his heat radiating off of him in waves.

“Tell me to get out of your room,” his voice was soft as he spoke to you, “tell me to never act this way with you again.”

You felt his arms wrap around your waist, “tell me no.”

You turned within his hold, you could feel how your face just felt absolutely on fire, but… you’ve been selfishly pining for this man for two years now. The two of you having living together and nothing happening besides the occasional cuddle session on the couch or a comforting hug to get through the day.

“I want this,” you managed to say looking up at him, “I want you.”

He pulled you closed, your breasts pressing against his muscled chest, “are you sure? Because if we do this… I’m never letting you go.”

“Then hold onto me fiercely.”

He smiled when he bent down to seal your lips together. His arms shifting so that his hands could grab a hold of your hips and press his hardening bulge against you.

“Then I’ll love you just as fiercely too.”

He gently pushed you back towards your bed, and when the backs of your knees hit the edge you fell backwards, and he was quick to follow after you. His body caging you in as he pressed his body weight down on you. Your hands went to grab a hold of him. Your fingers pressing into his shoulders as you held onto him.

He detached his lips from your own for a mere moment as he let go of your hips to get your dress off. His fingers worked on your tied strings and buttons before cursing, “apologies sweet girl.”

“What- Yuan!”

You watched as he easily ripped your dress open just to look at your nude form.

“No panties?”

You huffed and looked away from him, “it gets freaking hot in here since it’s summer and all-“

He laughed lightly as his eyes roamed your nude figure. And almost curiously he let his fingers trail up your thigh before going in between your legs, and cautiously he let his fingers run along your folds causing a small sound to escape your lips. The sound made him grin as continued to lightly play with your cunt as he leaned back down to capture your lips again. And all too easily he got you to play to his tune.

“Yu- Yuan,” you sung his name with the softest of voices.

“Has anyone seen you like this? Touched you like this?”

You shook your head as he slowly pushed a finger into you fluttering hole. Your walls immediately clenched around his digit as you shifted your hips up, “mmm- ah! Feels weird putting your finger in there, Yuan!”

He pressed soft kisses onto your neck in response as he slowly began to pump his finger in and out of you, the way his finger grazed your inner walls had you keening and a loud moan broke through your lips the moment he added a second.

“Just like that, love,” he said as he watched you buck your hips into the palm of his hand. His eyes all but mesmerized at the way your hole clenched around his fingers, and when he felt that strong tightening around his digits, he pulled them out. Your whine for him to put them back in causing him to laugh lightly, “relax, we’re not done yet.”

You looked at him through half-lidded eyes as he let his bath towel fall. How he managed to keep that wrapped his hips was impressive, but you decided to ask about it later when your eyes landed on his cock.

“Can you spread your legs for me, sweet girl?”

You liked how he asked you, you liked how sweet he was with you, you liked his gentleness. Which was how you found yourself opening up your legs for him, and when you felt his leaking tip press and slide against your folds, he caught your eyes.

“We can always stop.”

You shook your head, “I want to keep going. Please, Yuan.”

He smiled down at you before leaning in close. His arms coming up to rest on either side of your head on his elbows so he wouldn’t squish you or hurt you, and truthfully the closeness now was much better since his lips were in kissing distance.

“Hit me, push me away, hell even hit me with that oil lamp if you want me off of you, alright?”

“I will, but that won’t happen.”

“It’s just a precaution, love.”

You shut him up by capturing his lips, and he took that as a chance to push the tip of his cock into your cunt. Your walls seized around him the moment he was halfway in and he knew what was happening when you clamped down unexpectantly when he had pushed all the way in.

You gasped and moaned into his mouth when you came around his cock. Your hips bucking hard up into him as he clenched his teeth and started to slowly thrust into you, working you through your orgasm.

“I- I didn’t expect you to do that,” Jing Yuan all but gasped as your cunt gripped him like a vice, “s- shit.”

He stuttered and gasped like a virgin as your pussy clung to his hard cock. His moans were just as loud as yours as he stroked your insides hard and fast. Feeling you like this, he knew he wouldn’t last not while you started to meet his thrusts with your hips.

The tip of his cock reached far in you, it hitting all the right spots as he angled himself to hit your cervix, “you- I’m not going to last,” he said as you wrapped your legs around his hips, “you need to put your legs down.”

You shook your head as you caught hip lips again, “inside,” you managed to moan out, “cum inside me,” you said against his lips. He all but growled against your lips as he pushed his weight down on you. His thrusts becoming harder and more eractic as he chased his high and yours. And just as you came again, he finally released hot, white spurts of come into you. His cum was hot as it soaked your insides as you coated his cock with your own arousal. And when he stopped to catch his breath, you expected him to pull out, but instead he shoved his cock in deep to plug up your hole. The action made you gasp as you felt his tip hit your cervix.

“You wanted my cum, so it stays right where you wanted it.”

You hugged him closer to yourself, your bodies molding together like a imperfect puzzle.

He protected you fiercely and loved just as much.

“You… you better get me a new dress.”

“I’ll get you a thousand dresses,” he says as he pulls away a bit and reaches for your nightstand. Sitting up, you gave him a confused expression as he pulled out two boxes and handed them to you. Before you could open them though, he had rolled over taking you with him so that you were sitting on his cock and straddling his lap. The new angle made you wriggle in his hold.

“Open them,” his voice echoed softly as he grabbed you by the hips and just as you were about to open the first one, he lifted your hips and slammed you back down his length. A moan ripped through your lips as he grinned up at you.

“Focus, love, don’t you want to see what I got you?”

You wondered how he got the gifts into your drawer without you noticing but couldn’t ask with how his cock was splitting you. So, with any focus that you could muster, you went back to opening the gifts despite the way he had you bouncing on his dick.

“A- A ring?”

“Mmm,” he hummed nodding, “a wedding ring…, if you’ll have me.”

Your lips trembled, you would of cried if you weren’t being fucked onto his cock.

“Though, with the way your cunt is hugging my dick, I guess that’ll be a yes.”

You nodded unable to form words as you shakily put the ring on your finger and carefully you started to open the other one.

“A- a key?”

“It’s-“ his voice got cut off when you came around him again, your third orgasm being as unpredictable as the first, “a key to the bakery. I bought it for you,” his voice was shaky as he filled you up again.

"Yu- Yuan!”

You all but cried out for him when you flung yourself down onto him, your arms wrapping around his neck so you could hold him still and kiss him hard.

He planned to hold onto you forever, even if it meant destroying all who opposed you. But meh, Matilda had what was coming to her anyway.

“I love you.”

“And I’ll love you just as fiercely.”

[neowinestainedress]

𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐀 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄, 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄?

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: any nct member!ghostface x detective!fem!reader 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: “horror”, thriller, yandere-ish, smut, halloween special, scream!au 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in these past months your only goal is to find the killer that is terrorizing the town of Woodsboro, but when you get close to him and feel like you finally have the upper hand, Ghostface turns the game around again.  Or, Ghostface wants to play with you but not like he does with his victims, and you let him. 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: dark content, talks of [m*rders, sl!tting throats, v!olent stuff in general], dr*g/anaesthetic use [to make mc fall asleep but unrelated to any sexu*l act (she’s awake and willing)], mentions of [dubcon] phone s*x + masturbation, implied stalking, use of restrainers, cl!t rubbing, rough t!t/n!pple play, protected s*x turns unprotected, kn!fe play, ‘fear’ play, clothes cutting, fake sympathy, pet names used in a mocking way, degradation, rough s*x, hair pulling, spit (1), p*ssy slapping, dacryphilia, possessiveness, 1 brief talk of carving, polaroids pictures, all consensual but i’ll still put a dubcon warning just to be safe (tbh it’s more like hate sex bc the mc would rip his head off but also fuck him), reader is kinda fucked up herself. | inclusivity notes: reader has hair long enough that can be pulled (no mention of texture, type and color), no mention of body type but reader is manhandled a few times and has b**bs and *ss big enough that can be cupped, no mention of skin color, no use of y/n 𝐖𝐂: 10.662k 𝐀/𝐍: this year i had vague ideas for halloween but not even a defined good one, i had some suggestions i liked but were far too complicated, and i had no energy to write them in time. but a ghostface/scream au was an idea i had in mind for some time, the original was a ghostface cosplay, but then i went with this one, and I’m happy with how it turned out. i had 2 members in mind (johnny/haechan) for the og plot, then someone suggested jeno and jisung (as a duo) but if i unmasked him the plot wouldn’t have made sense anymore, so he’s whoever you want him to be! the other ghostface is mentioned but doesn’t appear physically in the story, you can pick who you want for him too. i never wrote blankly for the male mc so let me know if it was good. please, if you like it, leave feedback through reblogs or asks! and also let me know who you imagined behind the mask 👀 enjoy and happy halloween

𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐄.

Your mother always told you to mind your business or else your curiosity was going to be the death of you one day.

It’s clear you never treasured her words, and your curiosity led you to be a private detective with only a few thrills in your life since now, nothing too exciting ever happened in your small town, until one day you received a phone call from the district of Woodsboro. A string of murders was terrorizing the town after years and all the evidence led to another psycho who thought it was funnier to kill people while putting on a Ghostface mask. 

Months have passed since that call and you have nothing concrete. It’s like he’s only messing up with you and, in the meantime, innocent people keep dying. But you have your theories, the ones you only keep to yourself, stored away in the privacy of your diary, hidden under the pillow of your bed. Your colleagues seem decent people, but with time, you’ve learned to trust nobody. 

And your secret theories led you right where you are now. In the open country, away from the small town, where a small barn grabbed your attention the first time you moved to Woodsboro. 

The barn seems empty but eerie vibes surround it. The strong smell of the grass stings your nose as your black boots walk on the muddy ground, the rain of this morning still lingering in the air and in the countryside. 

When you reach the perimeter, you squeeze your eyes to see inside, but the few tiny windows don’t allow you a big view. The more you walk around it to make sure it’s empty, the more the hold on your concealed carry with the gun inside tightens.  

It’s late October and the cold penetrates your brown leather jacket, but the temperature is not the thing that makes you shiver. 

You should’ve never followed your instinct and come here alone. You should’ve spoken to somebody else in the department, told them your theory and have some backup in this crazy plan of yours. But when your impulses take over, your smartness slips away, and you find yourself in the worst situations ever. 

Like right now. You stand in front of the wooden door and find the courage to push it open. You should feel thrilled, you found him. You found the psycho that has been haunting the town for months now, messing up with you with clues and mocks that pushed you farther away from the right path. Yet, you beat him, for once it looks like you have the upper hand now that you’re walking around the empty barn away from the town. But something doesn’t feel right, your guts are telling you something but you don’t listen, you can’t walk away now that you’re so close.

There’s not much to inspect, a few pieces of furniture, a disheveled mattress in the middle of the room, and a few chairs in a corner. It almost looks like an abandoned farm if only it wasn’t for the unnerving vibes that carries with it and for two walls that call your attention. On the right, there’s a map of Woodsboro, pins linked by a red thread, connecting all the places where Ghostface hit in these past months. Your hand quickly reaches the back of your pocket to pull out your phone and snap a picture, hoping there will also be places he didn’t go, and this time you can be faster at stopping him. 

What’s on the other side is worse. 

“What the fuck…” you mumble under your breath as you step closer to the wall. Polaroid pictures hanging from it, Ghostface and the victims, you guess, moments before they were brutally killed. You’re not surprised, one of the gifts he would leave on the scene of the crime being Polaroids, but they didn’t make much sense. “He’s a fucking psycho,” you scoff as you take another picture. 

“Surpriiise!!” 

Your phone falls on the floor with a loud thud and your heart jumps in your throat when his voice breaks the deafening silence in the room, but your reflections are swift enough to make you reach for your gun and turn around, shooting. 

“Boo, fail,” Ghostface laughs, hitting your wrist hard enough to make the gun fall on the floor next to your phone. “You’re really not as smart as I thought you were, don’t you know intruding on someone else’s property is illegal?” he points out, pushing your body against the wall, the sharp blade of his knife grazing the skin of your neck. 

You try to keep calm, deep slow breaths as you try to don’t look scared for your life. You might die today, but you won’t give him that satisfaction. 

“Don’t look so frightened, my dear. I’m quite happy to have you all to myself,” he chuckles, his hand lifts to caress your face and you struggle to avoid it, but the click of his tongue makes you stop. “I wouldn’t act too careless, it’s sharp.” 

You stop moving. You are smart, and you can get yourself out of this situation. “Do you want to play a game, Ghostface?” You ask, ignoring his taunts, the irony in your voice is clear, just like it’s blatant in the slow bat of your eyelashes, but your words only make him laugh. 

“Oh, that’s not how it works, detective. That’s my line. You didn’t study the script?” 

You scoff, trying to take time to free yourself. “We’re switching roles. Do you want to play a game? It’s called you turn yourself in and I put you in jail.” 

He snickers, and his head tilts to have a better look at your face. He’s had many people in this position before and never saw so little fear in their eyes. “Now you want to act like you don’t love the chase?” 

“Fuck you, I don’t love it,” you spit out, narrowing your eyes, desperately trying to get a glimpse of anything under the mask. Another failed attempt. 

He laughs darkly, so deep it hits you to the core and makes you shiver — in fear or excitement, you’ll let this decide to your better judgment. “I know you do,” he coos as his thumb covered with the black glove caresses your lips. “Enjoy the little clues I leave you around? You were interested in the pictures, I knew you loved them, that’s why you get the prettiest ones. I tell you so much, but you don’t understand me,” his voice is calm, scarily calm, and full of sarcasm filled with a sweetness that feels like a slap across your face. “I was a bit mad it took you so long to find me.”

Rage shoots up inside of you, but you instantly push it down, you can’t lose your composure. “So, what are you going to do, kill me?” Your voice drops of a tone, and your eyes turn into a teasing gaze, making him chuckle. 

“Talking about death so nonchalantly with me, mmh… are you brave or dumb? Because if you ask so nicely, I just might let the knife sink in.” 

You laugh lightheartedly, putting up the best performance of your life before your eyes flutter seducingly at him. “No, please don’t kill me Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel,” you coo, lips in a pout and innocence in your eyes, until you hit him with a swift, strong kick between his legs, the distraction of your performance giving you time to slip to the side, causing just a bit of your skin to cut and bleed. 

“Bitch,” he mutters under his breath as he kneels to the ground. You reach for your gun, but barely have time to grab it before he pushes you on the floor again. “We were having so much fun, you just have to ruin everything.” 

You’re waiting for the worst when he traps you on the floor with his body on yours, but his arms don’t lift to stab you in your chest or stomach, the last thing you see before passing out is his hand lifting in the air and the sting of a needle pushing past your skin. 

The white light of the room feels like staring directly at the sun when your eyes blink repeatedly as you try to come back to earth and push away the hammering of your headache. You groan hoarsely, trying to adjust to the light, but the biggest discomfort comes from your shoulders, pushed behind your back and around the chair you’re now sitting on. 

“Sorry, I had to tie you up, but you’re a bit feisty today. Didn’t want you to get hurt,” Ghostface replies to your silent questions — not so silent, considering how loud you’re groaning and struggling on the chair, trying to break free. He’s standing in front of you, but a chair is right behind him so you guess he was sitting there before you woke up. 

“You can’t even take one down without a fight? Need to kill me without breaking a sweat?” You taunt, eyes dark and a deep frown on your forehead. 

But your teasing seems to leave him unfazed as he walks toward you with a glass in hand. “Drink.” 

You scoff, staring at him. You hate that you can’t see him, not even because you want to find out who’s hiding under there, but also because you feel like you can’t confront him well enough. “You think I’m so stupid to accept a drink from a psycho?”

His head rolls back followed by an annoyed sigh as he stops right in front of you. His black boots bumping against yours. “You know that’s not how I move, no fun in killing with these shortcuts. Drink. I would never want you to pass out here,” he coos while his free hand pushes your hair out of your face. You can’t see behind the mask, but you know he has a shit-eating grin on his face. He moves the glass to your lips, but you turn to the side, he doesn’t give you a choice when he strongly grips your chin, pushing your lips open, and forces the water down your throat. “Oops, it spilled all over, you’re so messy, detective,” he snickers when water drips on your chin and shirt. As if he didn’t do it on purpose. 

“Asshole,” you mutter, eyes closing into fissures while you look at him. His head tilts, “Oh, brave. I could slit your throat right now, add you to the collection.” 

You chuckle darkly, shaking your head. “You won’t,” you say firmly. “You’ve never had someone quite as fun as me.” 

A low laughter escapes from the mask. “So, you are at least a bit smart?” His hand places on your thigh and you try to move away, but the chair screeches on the floor, and his hold only tightens. 

“Don’t play games now. Don’t fake it,” he groans, hand moving up on your blue jeans. “You enjoyed our last conversation,” he whispers, the mask close to your face, so close you can almost see his eyes behind the blackness of the two holes. “Had shivers run down your back when the phone rang in the middle of the night, haven’t you? You sat up straight in your big bed, all alone, and felt fear take over. Never answer unknown numbers. That’s what they say, that’s what you say, running around town, warning everyone about me,” he laughs deeply. “And then look at you, picking up that phone call, eager to hear my voice on the other side.” 

“You’re a psycho,” you spit out, struggling against the restrainers. But once again it is an act; he is a psycho, but you are starting to fear you aren’t much different. 

He chuckles darkly. “Oh, I am, never denied that. But don’t act better than me. You stood right in front of that window, stripping for me, touching yourself for me, moaning for me. How fucked up that is?” He snickers. “You have fucked up fantasies, my pretty detective, but I’m not one to judge. I’d gladly help.” 

You laugh quietly, trying to look confident but it comes out shaky from your throat, “If you want to help, take the mask off and show me who you are.” 

“Wow, wow, darling. Not so soon, I’m not one to burn stages in a relationship. What next? Want to meet my mom?” 

You inhale sharply, and spit on him, “God, you’re insane.” Your eyes snap open when he pulls out of his back the sharp knife, your breath is stuck in your throat and fear runs all over your body. And once again you regret how impulsive you are. You did well all these past years of training and then on the first real-life experiences at pushing this side of you in the cage, but it looks like it’s coming out like a beast that’s been trapped too long.  

“Don’t be so scared,” he huffs, the fake sympathy in his voice should make you mad but it triggers something else inside of you, and you hate to admit that he might be right, you’re enjoying this more than you should, you’re enjoying this entire chase more than you should. It’s like a game, but it’s not when real people are dying. “I would never hurt you,” his voice is raspy, slightly muffled by the ghost mask he’s wearing, and the knife sits on your sternum. “I hope you didn’t like this shirt too much, detective.” 

You don’t have time to react, the steel cuts your shirt neatly, the sound bouncing in the small room and the sharp tip brushing your skin. You shiver, gulping hard and closing your eyes, already feeling the sensation of it cutting through you, but it doesn’t happen. 

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head disappointingly. “You truly don’t trust me. I’m offended, and I don’t like when people offend me. Just like I don’t like when they hang up the phone while we’re playing. If people were respectful, I wouldn’t have to kill them, you know?” You stare at him with a furrow on your face, you’d like to take the mask off and see his eyes, not really to find out who’s hiding underneath that mask, but to see if his gaze is as insane as you imagine it to be. 

“Let me go,” you say, the skin of your wrist bruised from the pressure you’re applying against the ropes.

“Don’t struggle too much, it turns me on,” he warns, kneeling at your level. He smiles softly and thinks it’s a pity you can’t see it, you’re just so pretty, with your beautiful face filled with different emotions and your eyes looking at him with a gaze that wants to be threatening but it’s all the opposite, almost making you look like a lost puppy.  

“Why?” 

“Why? It’s funny to see the victim beg for their life, it makes you feel powerful, you could show mercy, but you don’t,” the smug smile on his hidden face can be heard in his voice and you shiver at how cold he sounds, the shrug of his shoulder is just the cherry on top to his unhinged behaviour. 

“So, you’re just going to keep me here?” 

“No, I want to play with you. Do you want to play a game, detective?” 

Your gaze falls on your thighs where his hand is placed again, the black gloves preventing it from leaving traces behind, as it slowly moves closer to your heat. 

You snicker, pretending to play it cool, but your breath twitches at the contact. “’Cause if I said no you would stop?” 

“Hey, I’m a killer, not a rapist,” he defends, shrugging. Yet, you still don’t reply, and he doesn’t like that. “So? I’m not so patient when I ask people if they want to play with me, so don’t test me.” 

You swallow hard, swiftly looking around to see if you can pull a move on him. Damnit, it’s your chance to get him and throw him in jail but instead, you’re seriously thinking about his proposal. You fool yourself that you’re only doing this because maybe he could slip, maybe he could say something in the heat of the moment that could give you a clue, or he could leave his traces on you somehow, maybe his mask could fall, but you know you’re feeling something else. Attraction. 

“I said,” he mutters, his face comes closer to yours, making you pull back, and the knife pushes flat in the hollow of your chest, “do you want to play a game, detective?” 

“Yes, yes, I do,” you mutter, starting to breathe again when he pulls the knife away. 

“Good, I love playing with you.” His fingers move to unbutton your jeans and then pull the zip down, you look at him attentively. “Lift your hips for me, love?”

You glare at him at the pet name but he only chuckles deeply. “What? If I’m rough with you, you get mad, if I’m sweet with you, you get mad. I can never win, can I?” 

You huff, deciding it’s better to not reply and just do as he says. Your pants are quickly at your ankles and suddenly you feel even more trapped than before now that you can’t even move your legs, but his touch on your naked skin takes you away from that thought. 

“Pretty panties just for me?” He coos, tilting his head to the side as he stares at your burgundy panties with the lace trim. “Were you hoping to find me here so we could finish what we started on the phone?” 

“Shut up, this is not for you,” you retort, your forehead creasing with a furrow. 

“And who is it for?” He asks, cupping your pussy, watching your body shiver. “Oh, no, please don’t tell me there’s a boyfriend I’m not aware of. I’d hate to kill him.” 

You bite your lips and keep the contact with the mask, but words struggle to come out when his index finger starts rubbing on your clit, moving from the slit —where you can feel you’re starting to get wet— to your sensitive nub. “It’s not for you,” you repeat, trying to don’t show how much his touch is affecting you. 

“Well, you want me to work so hard too, I’ll have to find out on my own if someone is playing with what’s mine,” he replays nonchalantly. “I know where to find you, maybe I’ll come visit again.” 

“You talk so much for someone who wants to play so badly,” you retort, a teasing grin curling your lips. 

“Sorry, I didn’t know my princess was so eager,” he replies, saccharine voice filled with mockery, before a harsh slap lands on your pussy making you jolt and whimper. “Want my fingers?”

The glare you give him would be enough to kill him; isn’t this pathetic enough? How much more does he want you to humiliate yourself? 

He rolls his head back and then the knife is against your neck again. “Do we have to do this every time I ask you a question? Do you want my fingers, detective?” 

“Yes,” you whisper. Your body relaxes momentarily before tensing up with excitement again, but it quickly shifts to disappointment. “What are you doing?” You ask when his covered fingers press against you again. 

“Oh, you’ll get the gloves too, I’m not dumb, you know? Don’t leave fingerprints on dead bodies, won’t even leave them on yours,” his voice is smug, all the confidence of someone who didn’t make a wrong move and somehow was always ahead of you and the police department. 

You hate him. You hate he’s so much better than you at this. And you hate him even more now that he has you fighting whimpers and moans. 

“Are you seriously going to pretend you don’t like this while your hips are bucking up?” He taunts, clicking his tongue in a mock. “Think moaning is more pathetic than humping my fingers like a bitch in heat?” 

Your mouth opens to retort but you can’t deny the evidence; your hips are rolling against his hand, chasing for more, your panties are darkening as your wetness leaks through the fabric and your chest is heaving in erratic motions.  

“Look at me,” he sings, hand moving up to graze your neck, thumb pressing on your carotid, making your head snap up. “You listen so swiftly when you fear for your life. It’s funny, you know, because I truly would never hurt you.” 

You chuckle, shaking your head, trying to pull away from his hold when his hand moves up to caress your jaw. The gentleness of his touch is even scarier than when he has his knife pointed against you. “Is this what turns you on? The fear in their eyes?” 

His head tilts to the side, shoulders lifting in a shrug. “Partially. But not in your case, what turns me on with you it’s the chase, and the fact I always win.” 

You scoff bitterly, struggling in his hold but his hand quickly grips your chin and pulls you closer. “Didn’t you see the movies? The villain always dies.” 

“If the heroine is not busy getting fucked by him,” he mocks, squeezing your face harder and moving his fingers faster on your clit. Your head rolls back and so do your eyes while a chocked moan leaves your lips. “See, I doubt you will shoot me in the head if you keep moaning like this.” 

You groan angrily, you’re madder at you than you are at him. You want him and it’s so wrong that you do, but there’s not even a siren ringing in your head, telling you to make this stop. 

“No, shh, shh, angel, it’s fine, this will be our little secret,” he whispers to your ear, the mask rubbing against your face, and when your eyes turn to look at him, you can see small dots of blood on the white varnish. “We could play another game: one secret for you, and one secret for me. If you behave, maybe I’ll reveal myself to you, if you promise to keep it to yourself.” 

Your teeth sink into your lips harder when he delivers another harsh slap on your clit before resuming his quick movements. “Just — just tell me if I know you,” you mumble. You know he will never reveal himself, but maybe you can get something more, anything to complete the missing pieces of the puzzle. 

He chuckles darkly, staring at a spot behind you as he pretends to think. “Mhh, we’ve met.”

You frown and your heart jumps in your throat for a moment at the thought you’ve seen him. “Only met?” 

“We talked,” he adds, finally letting go of your face, making you breathe normally again. 

Your eyes widen while your brain hurts as you try to quickly connect the dots, and find out who’s hiding underneath the mask, you just have to put a face on a voice — even if distorted, but you can’t. And suddenly realization slumps on you.

“Will it — will it break my heart?” 

He snickers under his breath as he looks into your sad eyes, you’re looking at him like a dog when it’s being scolded, but in this case, you’re also silently praying he’s not someone close to you. He has no idea why that would make you feel better, if you care more about Ghostface or whoever is hiding under the mask, but it doesn’t matter, and he mocks you again, mimicking you in a high-pitched voice. “Will it hurt if I was someone close to you? A colleague? A friend? A lover?” 

Your breath gets faster. Will it? Would you turn him in or defend him? And you can’t stand you’re even questioning it, of course you’ll turn him in, that’s your job, but most importantly, your duty. But will you? You could be doing it now, and you’re not. 

“See? It’s not as funny if you know me,” he laughs at your face, your thoughts so loud he could get a headache. “It’s not as exciting, you love the thrill of this too, more than you like to admit.” 

“Fuck,” you curse when his other hand cups your covered breast, it’s a harsh tug and the leather feels weird on your skin, yet, it makes you clasp your thighs and forget what was tormenting your morals, again. 

“They’re so perfect, I can’t believe you always keep them hidden under those ugly clothes,” he pouts, giving it another hard squeeze. “Sorry.”

“For what — what the fuck?” You scream when he cuts your bra with the knife, first the middle and then the straps, the matching burgundy bra falling in pieces on the bottom of the chair. 

“It was getting in the way, and I don’t like things that get in my way. I cut them off,” in his voice lingers a hysterical laugh that makes you shiver, and in times like this, you’re glad you can’t see his face.  

You gulp and automatically close your legs. 

“Not you,” he reassures you, forcing your thighs open again with a smack, “you entertain me. And you suck at your job, so it’s clear you also don’t get in the way.” 

“I’m good at my job and I will get you and put you behind bars —” 

“Uh, uh,” he clicks his tongue, knife under your jaw before you can even finish the sentence, silencing you in an instant. “We were having so much fun, don’t ruin it, babe.”

You swallow and look down following the path he’s tracing with the knife, goosebumps bloom on your skin and you hold your breath when it gets closer to your neck, only releasing it when the blade sits in the hollow of your chest. 

“It’s so funny how you shake like a leaf, I’m a professional,” he says, sounding almost offended. And you furrow, is he talking about the knife or his fingers? “Both, love.” 

Another groan leaves your lips before he moves the crotch to the side and the cold air of the room hits your burning core. You’ve never been so ashamed your entire life, you shouldn’t be an open book to him, you shouldn’t be so malleable in his hands, it’s pathetic and humiliating. 

“You’re so fucking wet. I’m quite pissed I can’t run to the police department and let them know how much I turn you on. I can already see the disappointment on their faces,” he taunts, the slick sound of his gloves against your dripping pussy burns your body in shame and excitement.  

“Don’t you dare,” you spit out, but you don’t sound so menacing since your voice breaks, and a pathetically high-pitched moan rolls from your tongue right after.  

“I said I’m not going to, I keep my promises,” he kneels to the ground, one hand keeping you spread more and the other is still busy taking care of you. “Maybe if you promise you won’t shoot or put me in handcuffs right away when you’ll find out who I am, I can eat you out. I bet you let out the prettiest moans when you have someone between your legs.” 

Your head rolls back, and you hiss. “You wish,” you retort through gritted teeth, but a part of you dies to know what that would be like. “I will never give you the satisfaction.” 

He laughs mockingly. “Maybe I should blindfold you and do it now, will you recognize me by that?” At those words your body tenses up, head standing straight again as you look down at him with terror in your eyes. “What?” He asks in a giggle, surprised by your reaction. “You’re fucking with me right now, I still have blood on me. Would that be the most problematic thing? Having fucked with me before? Without this mask?” 

“You’re just messing with me,” you mutter but your brain is trying to think, the list of the people you’ve been with is not that long, he can’t be so stupid to out himself like that, right? 

“Maybe… I love it when I can see you think,” he whispers. “Usually, you have your hands in your hair, pulling at it even if you just washed it or spent hours styling it, and then you nervously bite your right thumb, somehow there’s always a hangnail to pull until it bleeds, oh, and you also nervously walk back and forth, two steps forward, two steps back. It’s cute, really. You have no fucking clue how to stop this, but you look so into it, chasing after me… well, so you think because, let’s be honest, you’re only chasing after your tail.” 

You can’t believe he knows all of this, how close to you is he? And a few names start popping into your mind, but for each face that you see, your only answer is it can’t be. 

“Why are you surprised? I told you, I love watching you,” he says, voice scarily soft even through the distortion of the mask. “You’re very pretty, detective. When you work hard to catch me, and even more when you screw it all up to moan for me.” 

“Ugh,” you groan through gritted teeth, wrist rubbing against the rope keeping you in place and hips bucking up, anger and pleasure mixing like a drug in your brain. You hate to admit it, but you’re close and you doubt you can push back your climax any longer.  

“It’s alright, love, I told you, I won’t judge you,” he hums. He studies your face for a moment, admiring how your teeth trap your lips in the vain attempt to don’t truly show how much you’re enjoying this, but your eyes are filled with lust, lightly glassy, and your cum is painting his gloves white. “Now, will you come for me?” 

He doesn’t have to tell you twice, your body shutters as the orgasm washes over you, the quick movements of his fingers on your sensitive clit making your nails dig into the palm of your hands while your moans slip out of you freely. Your morality disappears, getting dragged away with the orgasm that consumes you before leaving. 

You forget where you are for a moment, or to be more precise, with who you are with, as you let your head roll back, close your eyes and take deep breaths, waiting for the high to pass. 

The thing doesn’t bother Ghostface, though, he sees enough fear in people’s eyes, he likes it better when you stop pretending and relax around him. That’s the thrilling thing about you, you are the most entertaining game he has ever played. With all the others he knows how it will end, their lifeless bodies laying in a pool of their own blood and the sirens of the police going off in the background as he blends in with the crowd, but with you? It’s unknown. Like a Russian roulette. 

He’d love to shred all your clothes off, but he knows you’d have to spill your guts (not literally) if you walk out of there completely naked, and he’s sure the version you would tell the police would add another crime to his name. So, he takes your shoes off and then pulls your pants down. 

Your laugh makes him raise his face and stare at you. “What’s so funny, dollface?” 

You shrug, wetting your lips. “You scare me more when you act all sweet, you know?” 

He scoffs, standing up again, and caressing your face. “You want me to hurt you so badly. I could carve a heart right here,” he presses the tip of the blade next to your heart, tracing the shape of a heart, causing goosebumps to appear on your skin. “It would look so pretty on you, and you will always carry me with you. Isn’t it nice? Couple goals.” 

You raise a brow at him, he doesn’t even realize it, but he’s giving away so much of his personality, even if you don’t find it out now, you’re pretty positive all of this is leading you somewhere. You shake your head quickly, trying not to show how hard you’re thinking about your plan. “I only want one thing from you, and you know what it is.” 

He chuckles, leaning next to your ear. “My dick.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” you curse, accidentally kicking him now that your legs are free to move. You suck your breath in, fearing your move, even if involuntary, might piss him off.  

He hisses but doesn’t do anything else. “Don’t get all bratty here, doll. You said you wanted to play a game, and we’re going to play it until the end.” 

When he cuts your panties and balls them in his fist, saying “keeping them as a souvenir,” with a grin that can be heard in his voice, you only reply with an “asshole.” 

Once again, he doesn’t pay your insults any mind, and you wonder why he’s so nice to you. Should you fear it? Will you be his last victim, getting the worst death of them all because he needs to put on a show? “Now I will untie you, if you play any trick on me… you know how it ends.” 

You nod quickly, watching him disappear from your view as he stands behind you. You inhale when the knife places against your neck again and roll your eyes back. “You don’t have to do this every time, you know?” 

“It turns you on,” he retorts firmly. “And I need to make sure you don’t do any funny business.” 

Your eyes roll back again but you try to relax anyway and keep still when your wrists are finally free. Your shoulders are in a more comfortable position again as you subtly roll them to ease up. “Get up,” he orders, and you follow, moving carefully because the blade is still close to your body and you don’t want to end up dead on the floor. “Good, now lay on the mattress.” 

Your face twists in disgust when you’re reminded of the mattress on the floor, but he pushes you forward. 

“We didn’t kill anybody there.” 

You stop, turning around swiftly, and his reflections are rapid enough that he doesn’t push the knife into your chest. “We?” 

“Oh… it didn’t click yet…” He laughs darkly at your expression, the whole world falling on your shoulders as you wonder how could you be so stupid to not realize it. “Sorry, love. But hey, aren’t you happy I helped you out?” 

You glare at him but then bring your hand to your hair and your thumb to your lips. Of course, there are two of them, that’s the only way they could always be so headed of you. 

“Not the right moment to think about that,” he warns, voice dropping lower, making you stop your nervous ticks. “Get on the bed.” 

You turn around again, suddenly aware that he’s completely covered and you’re bare. That thought makes you seek the cover of the mattress more, and swiftly you’re laying where he wants you. But it also turns you on, being so exposed to him while he’s giving you not even a peak of who’s under the mask and the clothes send chills down your body and more cum drips out you.

“Promise you’ll be good? We can play cat and mouse later if you want to,” he asks, the blade running flat on your boobs, making him chuckle darkly when your nipples harden at the contact and your hips buck up. “You promise, detective?” He repeats with urge when you don’t reply, too busy watching the knife move on your body as he pins you down. 

“Promise,” you reply, looking into the blackness of the eyes of the mask. 

He chuckles under the mask, and you watch him unbuckle his pants. You could easily grab the weapon that’s on your stomach and stab him, you could even un-mask him, but you lay still, almost mesmerized. And the conscience inside of you likes to remind you how fucked up you and your morals are, but you brush it off, shaking your head quickly. 

“Turn around,” he orders, but you hesitate. That’s too much vulnerability. It’s clear he doesn’t like your hesitation when he groans, grabbing the knife and pushing it aside. “God, I have to do everything with you,” he sighs as he forcefully flips you on your stomach before his legs trap you again. This time you can’t do anything even if you want to, but once again, you don’t want to. 

“Fuck,” he moans, hands cupping your full ass and squeezing hard, the firm hold eliciting a moan from you. “Look at you, so fucking pretty. Keep your head down, don’t try to even get a peak,” he warns, and your immediate reaction is to turn around to understand what’s going on, but you know better, so you press your face into the pillow and only when you hear the loud sound of a spit and a glob of saliva drip between your folds you understand what happened. “Not that it was needed, you’re dripping. But you know, I like to get messy at times.” 

You turn your face around, resting your head on the pillow, and bite your lips. The smugness and insanity of his voice causing more cum to ooze out of your pussy.  

“I want to feel you so bad,” he hums, spreading your cunt, making you feel so exposed, “but will you run to the police? Will you tell them ‘oh no, I had to fuck Mr. Ghostface to have a bit of his DNA and save the town from this psycho’?” he mocks with a high-pitched voice, it doesn’t sound like you at all, more like a hopeless, brain-dead, blonde girl that dies within the first minutes of any horror movie. 

You snicker. “You underestimate me, I could say I got those traces from somewhere else.” 

“But will you? Also, I’m pretty sure they will find traces of you too. How humiliating would that be? Come on, honey, I won’t blackmail you, but you will screw yourself over? That’s not very smart of you.” 

He’s right, you hate that he’s right. You will have to out yourself in the process of trying to turn him in. “I — I won’t.” 

Deep down he knows you won’t, there’s no way they won’t trace it back at you too, and he also knows you won’t try to play the victim when you’re not, but he needs to be conscious, one wrong step and you could turn the game around. As much as he likes to mock you, he knows you’re smart and have been close to discovering them a few times, it was a matter of luck, and they were extremely lucky. 

“Better safe than in jail,” he chuckles darkly, you don’t even try to peer around, and only listen to the plastic of the condom rip. 

You whimper when you feel the tip against your slit, and you hide your face in the pillow as if that could change the reality of what you’re willingly doing. You’re too excited to be so ashamed of your actions, but, even if some may argue your morality is nowhere to be found, it still feels like a big balloon hovering over you. 

You shiver when you feel the mask rest on your shoulder, “Nah, ah, angel, no being ashamed now. I told you I don’t like rude people, so don’t be rude and ask me nicely to fuck you.” 

The urge to slap him is stronger than anything else, but once again your greed makes him win. “Please… please fuck me.”

“Not what I want to hear, you know what I want. We practiced the other night, haven’t we?” He reminds you, a hand creeping around your neck, holding tight enough to make buzzes of fear run through your bones. 

You close your eyes, inhaling as deeply as you can while trying to find the courage to humiliate yourself one last time, but then the words slip out, “Please, fuck me, Ghostface,” and the air gets knocked out of your lungs when he pushes into you. It’s a strong, deep thrust that fills you to the brim and knocks you over. Your head falls against the pillow again while his loud groan fills your ears, “Fuck, it sounds so good from your lips.” 

“Oh, fuck,” you curse through gritted teeth when he starts moving right away, barely giving you time to adjust to the feeling, thick dick grazing your insides and strong hands wrapping around your waist tightly. 

“Is it too much for you, detective? My sweet little angel can’t take it?” 

A groan slips past your lips, you try to stand up on your elbows, but he pushes you down. His body presses against your back and you feel trapped again. “Don’t move. I will fuck you so deep into this mattress that I will feel your scent for days after this. I want your face smashed against the pillow, I want it to be wet with your ruined makeup and tears, got it? ” 

You nod quickly, shoulders dropping as you slump against the mattress. His breathing next to your ear makes you shiver, and you wonder if that’s the last thing the non-so-lucky people have met him heard before dying. But you push it away, for the sake of your sanity, you have to fool yourself that you’re not so attracted to a bloody murderer, that your morals are still intact, and that you are a good person. 

It’s pathetic how all the anger you feel disappears with each calculated thrust, pleasure getting to your brain so quickly you stop holding back. Soft whimpers and moans roll out of your tongue and unconsciously your ass grinds back into him.  

“Fuck, that’s what I want to hear,” he hums, standing up while his hands wrap around your waist. He never wanted to burn those gloves so badly, feeling the urge to feel your burning skin and mark you with his bare hands, but he can’t risk it. That doesn’t mean he can’t leave marks in other ways. One hand leaves your hips and cups your boob, eliciting a broken moan from you. “Have I told you they’re so pretty?” 

“Mhh,” you mumble, eyes closing as he pinches down on your nipple. You wish you could say it hurt you but instead, it makes you clench hard around him, cum leaking out more with each pinch on your delicate, sensitive buds. 

“Shit, you really are into pain,” he comments, there’s mockery in his voice —like always— but there’s also a genuine surprise. “Who would’ve thought, my innocent detective is way more fucked in the head than I thought.” 

“I — I’m not,” you retort, groaning and forcing your eyes open, but the deep chuckle that rumbles in his chest makes you quiver, and your attitude drops in a moment. 

“Honey,” he slurs, voice dipped in honey, “you’re letting Ghostface fuck you dumb, you are fucked in the head.” 

You shake your head quickly, but he’s had enough of your lies. The rough tug at your hair makes you let out a choked gasp as your head is lifted from the pillow. “I know you better than anyone else, angel,” he groans, mask pressed against your hot face. “I know your dirty, little secrets. I know what runs into that dirty, little mind of yours. You can’t lie to me,” he almost purrs, a low chuckle making shame fire up inside of you, “and I can feel you, princess. Squeezing me, barely allowing me to pull out to fuck back into you. Fuck — I should feel you right now, no stupid rubber between us.” 

Another broken moan slips from your lips when he roughly lets go of the hold on you, your fingers clench hard around the thin sheet under you, and your hips jerk up even more. It’s like you want to feel him more, to have him imprint himself deep into you, so far under your skin that you won’t be able to wash him off, and you don’t even know why you feel like this. Why it made you feel like this a week prior too, all the hesitation and fear as you picked up the phone and heard his breathy, distorted voice, flying out of the window the moment he started ordering you around. But was it truly an order when your only hesitation came from the fear of judgement, and you could only feel your body tingle with excitement? Sitting in front of the window, having no idea where he was hiding, putting on a show for the killer you swore you hated and making yourself come the hardest you’ve ever done. 

“It makes you feel special, doesn’t it? The way you’re the only exception. The only one I would never hurt.” His voice is lower, hitting you to the core, making your toes curl and your breath falter in your chest. “You’re like a daisy in a garden of bloody, red roses.” 

“Please,” you breathe out, choking on your tongue, eyes fluttering open shyly. 

“Want me to stop?” He coos, head cocking to the side as he lands a sharp slap on your asscheek that makes you hiccup on a whimper and then another to your boob that drags a louder cry out of you. “Don’t want to hear how special you are?” 

But that’s not what you meant. Your pleads were about something else, something you struggle to confess. 

A deep laugh resonates in his chest as he looks down at your already wrecked face. You’re so precious, he can’t believe you sometimes think he could hurt you. His prettiest game, his wildest fantasy. The thrill he feels in his bones every time he’s close to you, so, so near to being discovered and yet always safe. It’s exciting, getting to his brain so much he can hardly hide how much it turns him on. But you’ve never been this close before. He dreamed about fucking you, having you pressed under him, begging, moaning and crying as his dick hit deep into your sweet pussy, pounding into you over and over again until you were nothing but mush in his hands. He wanted to strip you down completely and leave nothing of the women he sees and admires every single day. He dreamed of having all this power over you, watching you get weak on your knees and let him do anything he wanted, watching your body convulse in pleasure and your brain empty. And here you are now; wet, fucked-out eyes looking up at him while your pretty, plump mouth opens and closes as your shut-down brain tries hard to find the words. 

“Speak up, princess. I don’t like to wait.” 

“Please, wa-want to feel you,” you slur in a whisper, eyes blinking lazily as you try to hold onto what’s left of your sanity. 

He chuckles, his thrusts coming to a stop that makes you whine in disappointment. “You want me to fuck you raw, detective?” 

You hum, nodding slowly, not for the lack of enthusiasm but for the amount of shame that’s looming over you like a tornado. But Ghostface doesn’t like your silences, he doesn’t like it when you hesitate, that’s not what turns him on about you. It’s your impulses, the way you jump into things headfirst without thinking, for some it may be dumb, but to him, it’s just that sprinkle of insane bravery that makes life exciting. Your head is yanked up again with a rough pull of your hair, but his hold quickly moves to your neck. “I thought we were over the phase where I have to drag the words out of your mouth, detective. I’ll ask nicely one last time, do you want me to fuck you raw?” 

You swallow your pride and reply meekly, “Ye-yes.” 

He chuckles, pulling out of you almost completely before sinking in again with no warning, knocking the air out of your lungs, air that’s already struggling to fill them as his hold on your neck doesn’t loosen up. “See? It wasn’t that hard, was it? Even your stupid brain could put two words together.” 

You gasp for air when he finally lets go and your face sinks on the pillow again. 

“I’d love to, but I won’t risk it. Maybe next time, maybe if I’ll ever feel like telling you who I am,” he replies, and you groan in disappointment. Not only he doesn’t give you what you want but he also mocks you, reminding you why you’re here and how your mission flushed down the toilet as you let him play you like a violin. 

“Then — fuck — please, fuck me harder,” at this point you want him to fuck you so hard your brain will just unplug and your superego can stop nagging at the back of your mind. You don’t want a single thought in your brain, just pleasure and lust. 

“That I can give it to you,” he hums happily, and in a second, he complies. His hips start snapping against you at a fast speed, his tip hitting you deep repeatedly as he keeps you arched back with one hand around your waist and the other one wrapped around the makeshift ponytail he made with your hair. 

You can already feel the orgasm build up at the tip of your stomach, but it only worsens when Ghostface roughly pulls you flat against him. Your head falls behind on his shoulder, eyes rolled far in your skull as your lips hang open to let out desperate moans and suck in as much air as possible. 

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he moans, his thumb rubs against your neck and jaw while his right hand squeezes and pulls your boobs hard before pinching the nipples. “Listen to those pretty sounds you make,” he snickers, “and you still want to pretend you’re innocent and pure? You’re fucked up just like me, baby, that’s why I like you so much,” he slurs. 

You blink, once again adjusting to the light is uncomfortable but you make out just in time the fact he’s holding a Polaroid camera. “Smile for the camera, babe,” his voice rings in your ears but doesn’t reach your brain and before you know it, you’re coming just like that. The look on your face is not a smile but an expression of blissed pleasure, the exact moment as the climax explodes inside of you, making you clench around his dick and shake in his arms, your arm twisting back, letting your hand claps on his bicep and sink your nail in the thick fabric of the black cloak.  

Ghostface would like to say he’s disappointed and scold you for misbehaving, but he can only stare at you with amused disbelief written all over his face. But you only see the constant expression of the mask and once again, you fear for a second he’s mad at you. Truth be told, he could even kill you right now, you wouldn’t mind much or even notice, too lost in the pleasure that’s still looming on your body. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, hips slowing down until they stop completely, “you just gifted me the most precious pic in my collection,” he whispers. You feel like the edge of mockery is still persistent but at the same time something genuine lingers in it, it doesn’t make it less creepy, but the ‘fuck me harder method’ worked because you don’t question his, and yours, fucked morality and just smile dumbly. 

And that smile, united with the slow bat of your wet eyelashes, is what he needs to lose it. 

“Oh, fuck it, I’ll clean you up once we’re done and if you’ll try to turn me in, I’ll find out, so you better keep your promise, alright?” 

You don’t get what he’s talking about right away, too fucked out as you lay on the mattress waiting for his next move, but when he pulls out of you and swiftly pulls the condom out, you get it. You bite your lips in anticipation and swing your hips in invitation. 

The sight would be enough to make him come right there, and he damns himself because out of all people, you can’t be his biggest weakness. It got to be some fucking joke of destiny. “Will you go to the police?” 

“No,” you mumble.  

“Good girl, because these little games are just for us, me and you, you can’t use what we do here to help you with your case.” When he sinks inside of you again, he feels like he could lose it all for the way your wet, warm walls wrap around him. “Fuck, fuck,” he curses, voice even more distorted now that he murmurs through gritted teeth, “you feel so fucking good.” 

His thrusts now are almost primal, desperately pounding you against the mattress, keeping you pinned down with a hand on the back of your head —not that you need that, you wouldn’t be able to hold your neck up even if you wanted to— and holding for dear life on your hips with the other. You’ll probably have some bruises by the end of the night, if not colored prints on your skin, surely light discomfort at the touch will follow you for a few days. And you almost want to beg him for more, to mark you in some other ways, to leave something just for you to see and carry with you. Sick and perverted thoughts cross your mind, and you push them away swiftly. 

You bite down on your lips when his hand leaves your side to torture your nipples again, he can barely push his hand between your body and the mattress, but he has just enough space to play with your sensitive nipples, making them even harder and causing you to clench even more around him. He loves how sensitive you are there and how each rub, pinch, and slap has you easily squirming and moaning under him.

“Look at you, going all dumb on my cock,” he groans, mockingly giving one harsh slap to your tits before his fingers trace your cheek. Your skin is so hot he can almost feel it through the fabric separating you, but what he’s most fascinated about are your tears, black mascara running down your beautiful face, dying on the pillow and your tortured parted lips. “Are you still thinking about being better than me or — fuck — have you finally embraced your dark side?” 

Not a word comes out of your mouth when you whimper back, and not even a thought crosses your mind. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he grins smugly. “You know,” he breathes out, head thrown back as it gets harder and harder to contain the orgasm, but he doesn’t want it to end so soon, “you should fire yourself and be my toy, just my toy, every time I need you, everywhere I need you. You’d love that, wouldn’t you? It’d make you feel even more special.” 

You mumble a weak reply, it’s a whispered ‘no,’ but your body doesn’t deny how much the thought turns you on. Too many responsibilities in your life and your job, too much to carry daily, but right now? Nothing. Guilt will eat you alive tomorrow but not now. Something feels exciting about being on the run with him, being the one that runs, instead of the one that chases. But it won’t happen, you believe in your job, and you want this slasher to end.  

“Cause only I can get you like this, ugh,” he grunts, hips slamming faster but more sloppily against your ass, the vulgar sounds filling up the room. “No man before and no man after will make you come this hard. Nobody, love. No matter how much you’ll want to, they all will disappoint you and you will look for me in every single one of them,” he groans, each word punctuated by a harsh slam of his hips, “well, the lucky ones that will get a taste before I’ll get them and kill them.” 

You don’t reply, just lay there, looking like a mess as you try to fight another orgasm because coming again would be humiliating. 

“It turns you on, doesn’t it?” You can hear the grin on his face and his voice has the edge of insanity of the usual. “Let’s be honest, you’ve got a list of shitty partners, you would’ve been grateful if I got rid of some of them.” 

“Fuck, just — just fuck me,” you beg, your hand reaching behind to touch him somehow, but he doesn’t like it. 

He grips your hand and pins it behind your back bending your arm, you hiss in discomfort, but he doesn’t let go. “Oh, no, angel. You don’t make the rules in this game, I do. If I want to sink into your brain and get so deep into you that I’ll make sure you will never come out the same, I will. I’m the darkest side of yourself, the fucked up filth you’re too afraid to face,” he groans. “And I know you’re close again. Your tight cunt is squeezing me, and you made a mess on the mattress,” he snickers. “Imagine if they find this place, this mattress, your DNA on it,” he stops, leaning next to your ear, voice dropping lower, “or better, imagine if they find us now. What do you say, detective? Would they be disappointed? Would they just jack off at the view? You look so hot right now, I wouldn’t blame them if they’d get off to you, to us together. Kill them surely, blame them not. We’re so hot, detective.” 

You squirm under him, feeling like the room is spinning fast and you can’t ground on anything. You have a darker thought in mind, something you can’t confess to him or else he won’t stop mocking you. You want to get caught, but not by your colleagues, by his partner. What would he do if he saw you and his partner in crimes like this? Would he understand this, or would he snap? Maybe even feeling betrayed. Does he even know you and him have been playing this game of attraction for a while now?  

Your silence doesn’t make Ghostface suspect anything. You simply look totally fucked out, brain empty as you plead in soft whimpers and moans. 

“You sound so fucking good,” he praises. “Why don’t we play another little game, uh?” 

Your eyes open in surprise and you hum with no strength, “what?” 

“Beg me to save your life,” he says, grabbing the knife again and placing it close to your neck. “Come on, do it for me, I won’t ever hear you say it because I will never want to kill you. Please, detective,” he coos, hips slowing down because your pussy is fogging his brain and he’s not sure his always-perfect aim and reflexes will work right now. 

You take a deep breath and then speak. “Please, Ghostface, please, spare my life.” 

His head rolls back, and a deep, groggy moan comes out of his lips. “Fuck, yes, keep going,” he orders, hips picking up the rhythm again as he skillfully flips the blade to the lesser sharp side just to be safe. 

And you obey. You beg, choked-up words slipping from your lips that soon turn into please, fuck me harder, and then please, wanna come. You feel boneless, your body is too hot, and you feel you might pass out, you need a release and then hope something bigger than you will make you get back on your legs and walk out of there as if nothing happened, as if you never followed your guts and found his —their— safe haven. 

“Come for me, love,” he orders, throwing the knife to the side before his hand sneaks under your body to roughly slap your clit a few times, enjoying the louder moans he drags out of you by doing so and watching with pleasure as your body squirms and shakes. “And don’t forget to smile for the camera.” 

This time your eyes lock with the polaroid that he points toward your face as his chin rests on your shoulder. But it only lasts for the time of the picture, your body collapses again when he lets go of your hair and you let the pleasure pervade you from head to toe. It’s breathtaking and mind-blowing, and next time you’ll fuck someone else you’ll hate that he’s right. You will feel him everywhere, you will feel his dick deep inside of you every time your fingers will desperately try to take its place, and every time you’ll let someone in your bed, but you don’t hate that thought as you should. 

“Fuck,” he groans, giving you a few more pumps to make sure you rode your high before slipping out and then roughly flipping you over. “Close your eyes,” he orders, and you follow with no hesitation —honestly, you were struggling to keep them open in the first place. 

Your heaving chest, your parted lips still letting out cries, your wet cheeks, and your trembling closed thighs are the last drop he needs to let go. Deep moans reach your ears while his hot cum drops on your face, most on your skin but some in your mouth, and they get even louder when you shyly swallow it and lick your lips for more. 

“Fuck, fuck, you’re —” he gasps but doesn’t finish, holding onto nothing as he empties himself all over your face. “Fuck.”

He feels dizzy, the orgasm still shaking him up, but then he looks at you and has to bite back a moan. The white strings of cum are covering your blissed face, your eyelashes are clumped together by the tears, and your lips are plump and darker, he knows he doesn’t want to forget what you look like right now. “Smile one last time, baby.” 

And you do, the corners of your mouth lift and then you hear the click of the polaroid. You think for a second you should’ve told him to don’t take them, he could easily blackmail you, or straight-up get you fired, but once again, you don’t truly care, and you don’t deny how much the idea of those photos turned you on.

You should get up, grab your pants, jacket, shoes and leave. But you feel heavy and tired, you’re still shaking, and your breath didn’t go back to normal, yet. 

“Don’t worry, detective,” Ghostface whispers, something passes on your face to clean you from the mess, but you don’t know what, and only then you open them ajar, just to see he’s still wearing his mask. “I’ll take care of you.” 

The Ghostface mask is the last thing you see. 

When you wake up, you’re in your bed, wearing your nightwear, completely cleaned up, but your bones and muscles are still sore, and a terrible headache is throbbing in the left side of your brain. You turn around, rubbing your eyelids with your palms before you can fully focus on the pillow and see three things on it. The Ghostface mask, a polaroid of you two from before, his face next to yours as he pulled your hair, and a note. 

“It was a pleasure playing with you, my pretty detective. Can’t wait to see what our next game will be like♡ ” 

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[backwzzds]

what about a sequel to the plug!zoro cheating on you w/ his girl? he broke up with her. some time goes by and zoro & y/n are at a kick back, getting a little frisky with each other and boom she just shows up.

no because you two would be at some barbecue held in franky’s massive backyard. of course the party animal had to have a pool, so you and the girls were dressed in small fitting bikinis. franky of course couldn’t keep his eyes off robin in her violet colored two piece, and nami sported an orange bikini top that was entirely too small for her tits with small shorts. yours was an olive green color working so well with your undertones, you didn’t even realized that it was damn near similar to zoro’s hair color till people pointed it out.

zoro was sitting against a beach chair with his back to the seat as he smoked on a backwood with you perched into his lap. he proudly took turns betweeen taking a pull of his weed and kissing you on the lips, the two of you sharing the routine for the last few hours.

“zoro get in the pool! it’s nice, haha!” luffy giggled excitedly. “we’re playing tag!”

zoro couldn’t help but roll his eyes at his childish best friend. “i’m good, thanks.” he gestured to his lit wood. with a look up to you, he saw you scrolling through your phone as you rested your side against his body. “y’wanna go in the pool mama?”

you shake your head. “got wet for the day already,” you reply, but do a double take when you see zoro smirk at you.

with a large hand gripping the flesh of your fatty ass, he teased, “yeah? when?”

you kissed your teeth and slapped his chest. “stop bein’ nasty you perv. ‘m finna call the cops.” zoro laughs at your threat before taking another pull of his wood.

“yeah, whatever you say, baby.”

you two end up spending the next few minutes making out, without a care in the world. zoro and your entire friend group didn’t bat an eyelash at the fact that you two were together. zoro had finally broken up with his girlfriend, but he was sure that it wasn’t the case on her end. she was delusional, worse than you.

you spend time in the boy’s arms, getting a whiff of his day old cologne and masculine musk as you two watch videos on your phone. the giggles and laughterspread amongst your friends had stopped and was replaced by numerous yells.

your own friends had joined the party just hours ago, your closest friend armani somewhere in the corner making out with nami. but when you heard armani’s familar loud voice from across the pool, that was when you grew concerned.

suddenly, a familiar figure storms their way over to your direction. “hey, you’re like trespassing on private property bro!” franky yelled as he tried to chase after the girl. within thirty seconds, zoro’s girlfriend—or as he says, ex— is in front of you.

she gives you one look before letting out a laugh. “of course. i knew you’d be fucking with her.”

zoro furrowed his eyebrows. “the fuck did you find me?”

the red girl points to her phone angrily. i fucking tracked your car and phone here!”

“ooh, damn,” you hear usopp turn and pretend to mind his business. but from his side eye and the corner of his long nose, you could tell he was still being nosy. by now, the entire party was.

“you fucking tracked me? are you insane?” zoro delicately lifts you up to place you next to him on the seat so he could properly sit up. “we’re not fucking together no more!”

“that’s not fair, zoro!” his ex cried. “you did that shit out of nowhere, i think i deserve some sort of explanation!”

standing up, you try to mediate the situation. “girl, i think y’all should step inside so no one hears—“

“i don’t owe you a fuckin’ explanation!” zoro exclaims from behind you.

“fuck you, you whore!” the girl points at you. “you’ve been fucking my boyfriend from the start, you dirty bitch!”

now you grow angry. “i’ve been fucking ‘your boyfriend’ since we were sixteen,” is all you say, knowing that would get under her skin. it was true though, zoro’s always wanted you, even before he started selling. you just never cared to give his ass the time of day mostly. “and you met him when, two years ago? please lil girl.”

zoro’s ex scoffs. “yeah okay, home wrecking whore—“

“you sure? i coulda sworn it was a section 8 apartment with the way you’re always up on niggas that’s not him!”

you wouldn’t even call your relationship with zoro homewrecking, not when you had him first and have been on and off with him since you both were teenagers. you just never anticipated that the little fling he had with the girl woulf have turned into something at the very least semi-serious. besides, you’d never fucked zoro when he was in a committed relationship with his then girlfriend at the time. out of simple respect for her, you had stepped back from him and whatever he had going on with her until he assured you that he was done with her and only wanted you.

“don’t get me started bitch before i hurt your feelings,” you threatened, giving the shorter girl a hard look.

zoro’s ex rolls her eyes. “yeah? you think he wants you when he’s coming home to me every other night?”

now you were on ten. “you gotta get a refund on that tracker baby cuz it aint telling the truth. not when the nigga live at my house. you check behind his ear lately? who name on that shit?”

color drains from the girl’s face as she watches zoro look at her with blank eyes. low and behold was your name in a beautiful script font, right behind his ear. his favorite spot he loved for you to kiss.

“you’re insane as fuck. you tried to track this nigga, trap this nigga, thinking a baby gon make him stay. he doesn’t fucking want you!” you scream. you were never this mean. but she was testing your nerves, and you had to show her you didn’t even play like that. “now you just got embarrassed. right after i told you to go inside with him on that bullshit.”

zoro’s ex makes a move to plunge towards you, but zoro successfully catches her in his strong grasp. “let me go!” the girl screams, attemtpinf to lunge at you. you mirror her actions, only to be held back by franky’s own strong grip.

“zee, take your bitch outside before i beat her ass bro!” you heathe, glaring at the girl who was matching your expression. even he couldn’t contain your anger at the moment. it was good franky was holding you back. zoro does as told and practically hauls his ex out the backyard on his shoulder. from a distance, you can see her calm down and melt into his embrace.

“that was some crazy shit,” usopp breathed out.

as if on cue, luffu exits the house with a big BBQ chicken leg in his hand, food stuffed in his mouth. “what the hell happened?”

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Fire and Frost

17/12: Tinsel and Talking Dirty - modern!Aemond Targaryen Word Count: 1.7k~ | Warnings: pussy slapping, dirty talk, hair pulling

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

The faint hum of the central heating filled the apartment, its warmth fighting back the biting chill of the December evening. The scent of cinnamon lingered faintly, a remnant of the candle she had lit earlier. Aemond leaned back against the sofa, watching her with a bemused expression.

“I don’t celebrate Christmas.”

She could roll her eyes, again, but she doubted it would make a difference. Mr. I-don’t-celebrate-Christmas sat cross-armed, observing as she unwrapped a tangle of decorations, their bright colors gleaming under the soft, golden glow of the apartment’s floor lamp. A tiny artificial tree perched on the side table, not her usual five foot, real fir, but it would have to do.

She paused and gave him a pointed look. “Don’t be a Scrooge, help me decorate.”

“What in the Seven Hells is a ‘Scrooge’?”

The exasperation bubbled up again, and this time she did roll her eyes. “Seriously? Have you never had Christmas before?”

A faint shadow flickered over his face, so brief she nearly missed it. The idea left her both curious and sad, but before she could push the thought further, she shook it off and pulled out another box of decorations.

If he'd never had a proper Christmas before, she'd give a good one.

Soon, she was dragging him off the sofa, his exhaled huff carrying the faintest tinge of amusement. Together, they worked their way around the apartment. She hummed softly as she placed ceramic Christmas trees and wreaths on shelves and countertops, her enthusiasm battling with his stoic nature. Aemond followed, his movements reluctant but oddly endearing. She couldn’t help but smile as their shared space became cozier with every ornament.

The sharp metallic shimmer of tinsel caught her eye as she moved to the mantle. She turned, mid-smirk, just in time to see Aemond wrestling with a particularly unruly length of it. 

“What the fuck is this stuff?” he muttered, holding it up as if it might bite him.

She snorted, “Aemond, you sound like an alien.”

“It’s awful. And it looks like shit—”

“Okay, okay,” she interrupted, laughing, “Are we still going out later?”

Aemond blinked, momentarily thrown by the shift in topic. “To the cocktail bar? The one you saw with Aegon…and whoever he was with?”

“Yes!” She beamed, “that one. I thought it looked festive.”

“I’m ready whenever you are. I’ll go out like this.”

She gave him a skeptical glance but didn’t argue. Slipping into the bedroom, she began to get ready. She rummaged through her wardrobe, pulling out her black leather boots and the outfit she had been saving. The faint hum of a holiday tune played in her head as she freshened up at the vanity. A bag of sparkly hair tinsel caught her eye, an odd souvenir from Aegon’s drunk ex in a bar bathroom.

She hesitated, then shrugged. Why not?

When she emerged, her boots clicking softly against the wooden floor, she called out, “Nearly ready, Aem!” She dabbed a little of her favorite perfume on her wrists. Floral and spicy.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him turn on the sofa, about to reply, but the words stalled as his gaze swept over her. She looked down at herself, smoothing her skirt before glancing up. “What?” she asked, her cheeks warming. “Too much?”

His lips parted slightly, his one good eye fixed on her hair. “No, it’s…it’s in your hair.”

“What is?” She blinked, confused.

“That…tinsel stuff.”

She reached up, fingers brushing against the glimmering strands. “Oh! No, it’s hair tinsel. It gives your hair an extra sparkle. Don’t you like it?”

For a moment, he didn’t reply, his expression unreadable. Then a slow, lazy grin spread across his face as he stepped closer. “No,” he murmured, his fingers reaching out to gently catch a sparkling strand, “it looks…nice.”

“Just nice?” she teased softly, her lips parting as his hand formed a fist in her hair.

For some reason it felt as if they wouldn’t even make it out the door tonight.

He tugged gently, enough to send a shiver down her spine and have her knees shake. She knew that look. The Christmas lights danced off her hair now, but the warmth she felt, she couldn’t say was from them alone. It started against her pulse point, thrumming through her blood, to settle in her stomach, fluttering with anticipation.

A bemused grin swept across his face, mismatched eyes looked back with amusement, his other hand dropping to her side, palming her backside and bringing her body flush with his.

“I've decided,” he starts, his breath ghosting across her cheek, “I don't like your outfit.”

She felt his lips drift across her jawline, to press open-mouthed kisses down her neck, over her pulse point, knowing exactly where all her weak spots lived.

“That so,” she whispered back, voice thick with need.

“Mmhm,” he murmured, using his grip in her hair to tilt her neck, eager for more skin. He could smell the floral notes of her perfume pressed against her flesh, and the more he tasted, the more he wanted.

“I think you're trying to distract me,” she mused.

“Am I?” he replied, his tone laced with faux innocence as he nipped at her skin, down to her collarbone, grinding himself against her to gain the slightest bit of friction. Her fingers curled into his shirt, to keep herself firmly on her feet.

“Aemond, we're going to be late.”

He smirked against her skin, a puff of air against her neck was all she needed to feel to know he felt that he'd won a game she wasn't aware they were playing.

“For what? Overpriced cocktails and obnoxious strangers?”

Her lips parted to retort, but his hand slid down her back, tracing a slow, deliberate path that left her unable to form a coherent thought.

He chuckled, the sound dark and rough, and the hand at her waist slipped lower, cupping her ass and pulling her firmly against him. She could feel the hard line of his arousal pressing against her, and heat bloomed in her core, spreading through her like wildfire.

“Now why would you think I'd waste my night out there…when I could stay in and watch you fall apart on my cock instead.”

Her breath hitched. “Aemond—”

“You like that idea, don’t you?” he interrupted, his tone smug and filthy. His hands gripped her hips now, guiding her against him in a slow grind that left no room for denial. “You’d rather let me spread you out right here, wouldn’t you? Make you beg for it, make you scream my name until you can’t think of anything else.”

The room felt hotter, the air heavier. She tried to steady herself, but his words were relentless, each one unraveling her resolve bit by bit.

“I’ll fuck you right here,” he continued, his hand sliding up her thigh, fingers brushing the hem of her skirt. “Against the wall, on the floor, over the back of the sofa, you can choose. But by the end of the night, you’ll be a mess. My mess.”

She pulled back to look at him, her cheeks flushed with need. There was no time for thoughts, she needed him, and clearly judging by his erection pressed against her stomach, he needed her too.

“Sofa,” she whispered.

He hummed, brushing his thumb over her kiss-swollen lips. “Fine,” he drawled, taking a step back and leading her toward the sofa. 

His eye raked over her as he leaned back, one arm draped casually over the back, the other patting his thigh. “On top,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

She hesitated for a moment, the weight of his gaze searing into her.

“Don’t make me wait,” he snapped. “If you’re so desperate to be fucked, then you’re going to do the work, love. Show me how much you want it.”

Her cheeks burned as she straddled him slowly, the soft leather cool beneath her knees as she settled over his lap.

“That’s better,” he muttered, his hands gripping her hips with bruising force. “So good for me.”

She whimpered at his words, her thighs tightening around him as his fingers slid beneath the hem of her skirt, tracing the bare skin of her thighs.

“You think you deserve to ride me?” he sneered, his good eye narrowing as his hand slipped between them, finding the slick heat waiting for him. He groaned softly, his voice darkening. “Fuck, you’re already soaked. Such a desperate little slut.”

He punctuated the name with a soft, wet smack, her breath hitched in part pleasure and pain, but eased as his fingers brushed her clit, the teasing touch sending jolts of pleasure through her.

“Beg,” he commanded, his fingers circling lazily. “If you want to fuck yourself on my cock, you’re going to have to beg for it.”

Her pride wavered, teetering on the edge of defiance, but the ache in her core was too overwhelming. “Please,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

He chuckled darkly, his fingers pulling away entirely, leaving her whining in frustration. “That’s pathetic, even for you,” he smirked, “go on then, baby.”

She reached down, her trembling fingers undoing his belt and pulling his cock free. He was hard, thick, and the sight of him made her mouth go dry. She lined herself up, sinking down slowly, her walls stretching to accommodate him as her head fell back with a gasp.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his hands gripping her waist as he watched her. “That’s it. Take it all. Every inch. Don’t stop until you’ve got me buried inside that greedy little cunt.”

Her thighs trembled as she sank down fully, her body flush against his. She began to rock her hips, her movements tentative at first, but his sharp grip and the filthy words spilling from his lips spurred her on.

“Is that all you’ve got?” he taunted, his hand coming down hard on her ass with a sharp smack that made her cry out. “Come on, fucking work for it. If you want to come, you’re going to have to earn it.”

Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through her, the rough fabric of his jeans rubbing against her sensitive skin.

“Look at you,” he growled, his eyes locked on her. “So fucking needy, using me like a toy. Bet you don't even care about getting me off.”

And Gods, why would she when it felt this good?

General Taglist: @1lluminaticonfirmed @aemondsfavouritebastard @all-for-aemond @bellstwd @blackswxnn

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@primonizzutto @qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @sheshellsseashells

[storiesfromafan]

She's A Spitfire - Benny x Reader

A/N: I can't help myself. This one's a little different, readers sassy haha. And this one is a long one.

Enjoy, and let me know what you think. Also, feel free to send requests :)

Boys and their toys, you always think when it comes to your boyfriend and his other biker club buddies and their motorcycles. Or anything with wheels really. And for their love of them, you found your Saturday out with the boyfriend, and his boys, at what started as a car show. But now also sported motorcycles, from a few different clubs.

Troy and his friends were discussing who’s bike was better, or what car looked the best. You didn’t know, it was all so boring. So you and three other women, partners of other bikers, were sitting around on blankets, taking in the sun and gossiping. Leaning back on your arms, one leg stretched out while the other propped up, you tilted your head back, eyes closed taking in the sun.

“Jeez (Y/N), do you need to be more on display!” Becky said with a chuckle.

To her words you popped your chest out more, smirk crossing your red lips.

“Better hope Troy don’t see ya” commented Danni.

“So what if he does? I do what I want, not what he wants” you remarked, making them all cackle with laughter.

“Can’t believe the other clubs here” Pam said rattling off names. “...Rogues and Vandals” she finishes.

“Just more bike wired men, who enjoy vibrations between there legs, and have drinking problems” you said offhandedly, making the women laugh more.

You always say what you want, making people think you were born with no filter. And that was fine with you. Even if it does get you in some trouble from time to time. The last time it was between you and another woman at the clubs bar, she had been mouthy and flirting up a storm with Troy. You called her out, she ignored you. So, you gave her some truths from her choice in clothes to her hair and skin care routine. She wasn’t a fan of you after that, going straight to slap you, but you caught her hand and gave her a serving of her own.

After that no woman in that bar messed with you, or your boyfriend. But that didn’t stop Troy from messing around on you. His taste seemed to have changed to cutesy, good girls who wore sweet dresses and heels. Even with this knowledge you still put up with him. But his time was coming, you could feel it. When the time was right you’d get your revenge.

“Sweet lord and Jesus’s!” Breathed out Danni, looking across the way, her glasses pulled down her nose, eyes looking over the top of them. “He should be illegal!”

You rolled your eyes at her words. After all her taste was – excuse the language – in her ass about eight out of ten times.

“Oh my” Pam said moving to swing her body around to face where Danni was looking. “Is he real!?”

Alright, now your interest was piqued. Lolling your head to the right, you searched for what those two were gawking at. And boy did you find it. He was tall, strong build. Dressed in a black t-shirt, jacket, dirty white jeans and matching dirty boots. He had messy blonde locks that one could run their hand through, or as you like, to pull on. Of course he was a Vandal, as his colors said when he turned around to take a beer from another Vandal. Then he took a swig of it, making the simplest of actions make you think not so clean thoughts.

“Someone serve me a slice of that”  Becky said with a dreamy voice. You all agreeing with her.

You moved a hand to draw down your sunglasses, needing to see him in the days full light. Glare be damned, you needed this. Without the glasses tint, he looked even better. He was talking to the man that gave him the beer, nodding his head to whatever said. Another two men walked over, one with his arm slung over the other in an attempted to keep standing up, possibly from a little too much to drink. They laughed, talking to blondie before the one holding up his buddy slapped him on the arm, head gesturing in your direction.

All four of you froze, like a deer in headlights as blondie turned his gaze to you all. His friends continuing to talk and laugh, no doubt mentioning you four staring. Maybe encouraging blondie to come over. But he didn’t move, eyes locked on you all, or was it you? You weren’t sure. He took another swig from his bottle, yet never took his eyes off you. Feeling the butterflies swarming your stomach, you put your sunglasses back on, before lolling your head back to where it had been. You had started to feel exposed by his staring, so you had to cut it off, and get back your bad bitch energy.

Benny had made his way over to Johnny and Brucie after taking a leek. They were in deep conversation about an upcoming picnic, discussing the finer details. Johnny had handed him a beer, which he thanked him for before taking a long swig.

“Some of the women think kids shouldn’t be attendin’. Saying too many men are getting stoned or drunk, doesn’t set a good example” laughed Brucie.

Johnny shook his head. “It’s a family picnic, kids have to be there. What ya think Benny?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah kids should be there” Benny said not really paying much mind.

It didn’t matter to him much if kids were at the picnic. But knowing how Johnny likes to bridge his family and club life. It was a small thing to let him enjoy both, even for a small time. It was then that Benny spotted Wahoo and Corky making their way over. Corky had his arm over Wahoo, using his counter part as a crutch from drinking too much. When they finally made it over, Johnny asked them the same question he asked Benny. They both attempted to make a few jokes about it, but they weren’t funny.

“I don’t care if there’s kids, as long as they stay out of my way” Wahoo said, Corky nodding his head.

Johnny nodded his head. Decision made, tradition will stand and its a full family friendly picnic. With that decided Benny listened to the two new comers talk about Zipco going on about Pinko's, before Wahoo's attention moved to across the way. A smirk formed on his lips before he turned back to Benny.

“Seems ya got an audience” Wahoo mused, slapping Benny’s arm and head gesturing to across from them.

Confused, Benny looked to where Wahoo had been looking. There on a blanket sat four women. Three of them were sitting up right and gawking, while the fourth was lounging back. Out of all of them, she was the one to catch Benny’s attention. The position she was in, her chest sticking out in her tight sweater, was a pleasant sight to the masses. Dark slacks covered her slender legs, making him wonder what they’d be like straddling his bike, or his lap. Over all she was a vixen, no doubt a spitfire, if the air she gave off implied.

Wahoo and Corky kept talking, making comments about the women. But then they talked about her. Voicing Benny’s thoughts. Yet he didn’t like it one bit. He thought those words and thoughts should just be from him, no other man. Feeling his mouth dry, Benny brought the beer to his lips and took a drink. But made sure to keep his eyes on her. The cause for needing that drink.

“You should go over there Benny” Johnny stated, watching the younger man. “Go introduce yourself”.

Benny thought it over, maybe he should. What’s the harm it could do? What’s the worst that could happen? You would say no, that’s nothing. Feeling confident Benny watched as the focus of his gaze put her glasses back on, turned her head, and go back to enjoying the sun. He handed Johnny his half full bottle before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it up, the only time he took his eyes off her. After taking a drag, Benny looked to the women again, slowly releasing the smoke from his mouth.

“I’ll be back” was all Benny said before putting the cigarette back between his lips.

You listened to the sounds the girls made, Pam gushing over when blondie took a drag of his cigarette. You had to stop yourself from turning to look at him, you had to remain calm. You never give a man power over you, and by jumping at any little thing would do that.

“Oh lord! He’s coming this way!” Becky said slapping Pam’s arm. “Do I look alright!?”

“You?! What about me?!” Retorted Pam.

You sighed. “Calm down girls, he’s just a man” you sighed.

“A fine man, yes” muttered Danni.

Once more you sighed before turning your head slightly, watching blondie slowly walking your way. You reminded the girls to stay calm. But part of you was trying to tell yourself it too. Blondie continued to smoke his cigarette, which now you understood the girls reaction. He really did make anything look good. Finally reaching you, blondie came around to stand beside you, before squatting down. He took the cigarette from his lips and flicked it away, done with it.

“Hey” came his gravelly voice. “I'm Benny”. A beautiful smile crossed his sinful lips.

You did your best to keep breathing as you pulled down your sunglasses, looking Benny in the eyes, beautiful baby blues watching your every move. “Hi Benny, I’m (Y/N)” you replied sweetly, smile gracing your lips.

“Hmm, pretty name for a pretty vixen” Benny mused, making you chuckle. “Hey ladies” Benny added looking to the women sitting around you.

They weakly said hi back, unsure of their own voices.

“You know how to get women to quiet down, huh?” You mused pushing your sunglasses back up.

Benny laughed. “Don’t know, never taken notice before”.

You smiled at his honesty.

“But it doesn’t seem to work on you, aye?” Benny asked teasingly.

“Unfortunately, nope” was your simple reply. But in your head you were gushing.

“I like that” he stated looking you up and down. “You got a man?”

You smirked. “Yeah I do. Why? Think you could handle me?”

Benny chuckled, “more could you handle me, baby?”

“I can handle anythin' Benny. I’m not afraid of anythin’”. That was a lie, but you couldn’t back down. Nor could you stop yourself. His attention was electrifying. But part of you feared Benny could make you go weak, could even fall for him and his baby blues.

“Oh is that so?” Benny asked, smirking at the banter between you both.

“Yep” you replied tilting your head back and sighing, knowing full well you were teasing the biker.

And what about Troy? All you thought was Troy who? He had his fun with sweet girls, even though he had a sultry woman. If he was having his cake and eating it too, you could tease another biker. And if Troy hears about it, you didn’t care. You were done with his crap.

“Shame you have a man, as I’d love to take you for a ride on my bike” Benny said, with a sad face. “But, as you said, you have a man...”

You almost caved, melting at his words and sad look. But you stayed strong. It couldn’t hurt to give him some hope, right?

“Hmm, I guess it is for ya. But you never know, play your cards right and you just might get me on your bike”. You pulled down your glasses, shot him a wink before putting them back in their place.

Oh how Benny wanted to groan from your flirty ways, and that wink. Cherry on top. Licking his lips, Benny took a moment to focus. You were clouding his head, but in a good way.

“Alright baby, when you’re ready let me know”.

With that Benny stood up, and took his leave. He walked back to the guys he’d left. You watched him walk away, loving the view. All three women did, was just as good as him walking over. Then they turned their sights on you, all in a state of shock and awe.

“What?” You asked innocently. Though far from it.

All three began to talk, questioning you what just happened? If you were crazy? What about Troy? Could you to teach them your ways, and so on. You ended up laughing with every question. Laughing to the point you ended up laying on the blanket on your back, a hand coming to cover your mouth while sticking the other out in an attempt to stop them.

“Alright, alright. Enough!” You exclaimed, out of breath.

“Seriously (Y/N), what was that?” Asked Danni with confusion.

You shrugged, moving to rest your hands behind your head. “Dunno, but it was fun. Benny is quite the dish, am I right?”

“What about your boyfriend?” Inquired Pam.

Again you shrugged. “He doesn’t have to know”.

Becky scoffed. “Yeah, if you weren’t out in the open, surrounded by people. He’s gonna hear about it”.

“Oh well” you sighed. “Will make things interestin’”.

All three women shared a look. “Maybe. Or cause a brawl”.

You looked to them. “No doubt a brawl will happen. Whoever wins can have me”.

And with that you turned your face back to the sky, closing your eyes and trying to remain calm. Your heart was racing with the thought of Troy flaring up, you enjoy a verbal fight because it would lead to a hot make up session back home. But after learning the truth of what your boyfriend has been up to, you really didn’t want to have words with him. You thought about ending things, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. So, this could be your chance to drop him.

And Benny. Where do you begin with Benny. The man was gorgeous, dangerously tempting. Plus he was just as taken with you, as you were him. Or else he wouldn’t have been flirting. You’d gladly get on his bike, and let him take you for a ride. Take that anyway you want. Now you would sit back and see what happens.

Benny made it back to his friends, Johnny holding out his beer with a smirk. “Pleasant chat, hmm?”

He smirked taking the bottle. “Yeah, she’s a spitfire”.

The men laughed, Wahoo clapping Benny on the back. The men joked and talked, all about watching Benny and the spitfire. Benny took a swig from the bottle, chuckling at his friends. Glancing back over to her and her friends, Benny noticed that she was now laying on the blanket. It didn’t help him one bit. The things he was thinking he could do to her.

“So, when you taking her for a ride?” Corky asked wiggling his eyebrows, double meaning to his question.

Benny shook his head looking to the male. “She’s got a man”.

“When has that stopped you?” Laughed Wahoo.

Benny laughed at his question, he had a point. “She did say if I played my cards right and I just might get her on my bike”.

Corky and Wahoo hollered and hooted, Johnny just shaking his head with a smile on his face before taking a sip from his beer. Brucie clinked his beer bottle with Benny’s, showing his praise. Benny felt like he was on his bike, riding down an open road, the rush of freedom. But he wasn’t on his bike, or riding the open road. It was because of her. The spitfire, vixen with red lips and sultry presence.

“I take it the boyfriend is here?” Johnny suddenly asked, breaking Benny from thought.

He shrugged. “Probably”.

“I’d expect he’ll hear about you talkin’ to his girl, ya know?”

“Yeah. I can handle him” Benny said without a care, drinking more of his beer.

“The boyfriend should be the worried one” laughed Corky.

They know he was right, but didn’t voice it. They all know Benny was ruthless when it comes to a fight. To the point he has to be pulled off the other guy. Past brawls have proven that. Johnny having to wrap his arms around Benny and drag him back, which is hard when Benny sees red.

“Cross that bridge when it comes” Benny said, ending it there with him walking off.

It was later in the afternoon when Troy finally surfaced, after leaving you with your friends for hours. By now you sitting on the blanket, deep in conversation with the girls. But always keeping an eye on Benny, and seeing he did the same. You might have even kept teasing him, which got the desired effect; want. Yes, you continued to fan the flame, fully knowing that could or would it engulf everything.

Back to Troy; he came stomping over, a couple of his friends behind him. Troy had heard gossip through out the day of some biker hitting on a stunning woman. Gradually all the pieces coming out and he found out that woman was you. Furry filled him. His girl talking to another biker, another biker having the guts to speak to his girl.

“Oh shit!” cursed Danni. “Here comes the consequence”.

Not quiet getting what she meant, you looked over your shoulder to see your boyfriend heading your way. “Well, it took him long enough” you sighed, moving to stand.

Once on your feet, you dusted your legs and behind. Then you fixed your top, not even showing a care in the world. On the inside you were uneasy. Questioning how he was going to react. Would he yell and jump up and down? Would he quietly yell at you? You’re about to find out.

“(Y/N)! What’s this I’m hearin' about some Vandal talkin' to ya!?” Troy questioned, seething with anger.

You raised your bored gaze to him. “Just that, talkin’ to me. And?”

That didn’t help. Troy’s anger rose to furry. He grabbed your arm – tightly – and pulled you close. “What was that! Tell me now what happened or so help me”.

Your straightened up, keeping your face calm, as you tried to pull your arm free. “Troy, let go of my arm. You’re hurtin’ me!” Your voice raised in volume, but fell on deaf ears.

“Tell me if you’re whoring around” he yelled, starting to catch the attention of others.

“Ha. I’m far from whoring around Troy” you gritted out, still trying to free your arm. “Unlike you, of course”.

He growled, shaking you, grip only getting tighter. “What ya sayin’, huh!?”

Before you could think or say anything, you saw a fist come flying and make contact with Troy’s face. His grip finally freeing your arm as he staggered back a few steps. You held your arm, moving back from the man. Finally processing what happened, you turned to see Benny standing there, breathing heavy with tightly clutched fists.

“She asked you to let her go” Benny heaved. “No man should ever grab a woman like you did”.

Benny had just gotten back with Cal, after taking a walk to check out some bikes. Upon his return he witnessed a man, hell bent on reaching his destination, with an anger that only spelt trouble. And when he stopped before you, Benny knew what was to come. A verbal altercation or a physical one to defend you. As soon as he grabbed your arm, Benny began to slowly walk over, Cal and Johnny right behind him. Benny heard everything said. Accusing you of whoring around and his grip tightening to the point you were trying to get free, was what did it. And he swung his fist.

“You alright spitfire?” Benny asked looking over his shoulder at you. Choosing the new nickname over his favorite; baby.

You were putting on a brave face, he could tell but didn’t say anything. “I’m alright. But gonna have a nice bruise”.

Holding his cheek, Troy watched you both. A sneer on his face. “Take it you’re the Vandal this whore was flirtin’ with” he spat.

It only stoked the flame in Benny. How dare this man so easily doubt you, call you a whore. “If anythin’ I’m the one who talked to her” Benny defended flexing his hands, itching to connect them to his face some more.

Troy laughed. “No need to lie for her. She ain’t nothin’ but trouble”.

You felt anger rising, replacing the unease. “Other way around baby” you spat out.

Troy’s laughter died, eyes narrowing in on you. “Stay out of it sweetheart, the men are talkin’”

“Man” you corrected, “I only see one and he’s defendin’ me”.

That got under his skin, and Troy made to go for you but Benny grabbed him before pushing him back. “I wouldn’t even try it”.

Troy laughed dryly. “Might straighten her out”.

That was it, last strike. Benny lost it, fist connecting with Troy’s face again and then again. The first time Troy copped the full hit, but managed to get a half block in. Then he returned Benny’s fists with his own, getting a hit in. You moved away from them, calling out for them to stop but they weren’t listening. Troy’s buddy’s went in to helped their friend, but Cal and Johnny made sure they were taken care of. A full on three way brawl was taking place, with so many on lookers.

Troy managed to dodge Benny and step away from him, but unlucky for him Benny charged at him, tackling him to the ground and waling on him. This was when Cal and Johnny noticed the anger of their friend. Troy’s buddies just watching, afraid to step in to help him. Johnny was the one to grab Benny, but he couldn’t pull him away, until Cal helped him. They were telling Benny to stop, it was enough. Sitting on the grass, both men with him, holding an arm. Benny saw the damage he’d done, to Troy and his own hands. Spitting he went to stand, his friends moving to help him.

“Don’t ever say those words about or too (Y/N) again, or to anyone. Ya hear!?” Benny’s voice was breathless and more gravelly.

Troy just nodded his head, making noises in pain.

Benny turned to you. “Sorry about that spitfire, just don’t like a man disrespecting a woman”.

You nodded, offering a small smile. “Thanks for coming to my rescue”.

He chuckled, “always” and winked. Yet it hurt from getting clocked in the eye.

“Alright, come on. Let’s get ya cleaned up” Johnny said patting Benny on the back, and starting to uncomfortably walk back to his spot.

Cal also patted Benny before walking back too.

Benny looked back to you. “Ya comin’ baby?” He asked, not caring anymore and just calling you what he wanted.

You smiled grabbing your bag and stepping up to him. “Sure Benny”.

He wrapped his arm around you and you both moved to pass Troy, before he grabbed your slacks. “What about me? Ya boyfriend?”

You looked to Benny, before moving from his arm and leaning down to Troy. “It’s over. Plain and simple”.

He sputtered. “Huh!? Who’s gonna look after me!?”

You smiled at his sweetly. “I dunno, maybe ask Anna or Stefanie or Doris to take care of you. Because this whore ain’t ya girl anymore”.

With that, you put Benny’s arm around you again and you both headed over to his friends. You helped clean up Benny’s hands and face. He liked having your attention on him, liked how careful you were cleaning and wrapping up his hands. Once done you took a seat next to him with a sigh, head leaning back against the car you were both sitting beside.

“Sorry you had to step in back there” you said softly. “I didn’t expect that to happen”.

Benny chuckled. “It’s my fault. I struck first, talk later. It’s my style”.

You laughed, a genuine laugh. “Well, how about we both say sorry then”.

Benny nodded. “Sounds good to me”.

A comfortable silence fell between you too. You looked over to your friends, who were glancing at you both occasionally. Were they still your friends? After all they were with other bikers in Troy’s club. So, where does this leave you, with such a public break up too. Only time would tell.

Feeling restless you sat up and turned to Benny. “Your offer still stands for a ride on your bike?”

He looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

“I feel like I need a change of scenery” you gestured to your friends, as well as Troy and his boys further behind the girls.

He nodded before standing. Benny held out his hand and you took it carefully, before he pulled you up, not caring about the pain. You wanted to leave, go anywhere from here and what happened. Leading you to his bike, it didn’t take long for him to get on and start the bike up, the roar catching people’s attention. Without trouble you got on behind him, hands wrapping around his body, hands resting against his firm stomach. Then Benny took off, heading out and onto the road. Letting his bike take you both wherever, and enjoy the freedom it gives you both.