#step 7 mason

[ghoulspirits]

So I was trying to get some nice aesthetic screencaps of my favourite boy Mason

Until

Man just decides to pull out a wink at the camera I cannot

I like to imagine this is how he pulled his wife, they've been vibing on missions etc, then one day mid combat, just gives her a wink, then proceeds to go back to what he was doing

I mean, it would work on me

✨⚡✨⚡✨⚡✨⚡

[redroomreflections]

A Family of Her Own

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

A Family of Her Own Series

1/7

Masterlist | General Masterlist

w/c: 3.8k

Summary: After the fall of the Avengers, Natasha Romanoff returns home to her secret family—a life she's carefully hidden away for years. Struggling to balance her role as a mother and wife while avoiding the dangers of her past, Natasha is forced to make difficult decisions that impact her loved ones.

The soft hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the small, run-down trailer. Natasha leaned casually against the counter, arms folded, her sharp eyes fixed on Ricky Mason. He was standing close, too close, but that was part of their routine. Banter, teasing, pushing each other’s limits. His lips curved into that familiar smirk as he crossed his arms, mimicking her stance.

"I hear things, you know. Something about the Avengers getting divorced."

Natasha let out a soft, dismissive chuckle, her gaze never wavering from his. Her lips pulled into a crooked smile, just enough to make him think he was getting somewhere. He wasn’t.

"Ugh, it’s fine. I’m actually better on my own."

She said it smoothly, confidently. No hesitation. Natasha Romanoff was always fine. She had to be. And if there was a flicker of something behind those green eyes, Mason wouldn’t see it. She wouldn’t let him.

“Are you sure?” Ricky titled his head slightly. Natasha was always a tough cookie to crack. Though he’s sure it came with the territory.

The question hung in the air for a moment, a challenge he tossed at her like it was nothing. Natasha shifted her weight slightly, stepping in just a little closer, closing the gap between them. She tilted her head, her eyes locking onto his with the kind of intensity that would’ve made anyone else back down. But not Mason.

"Yeah. I’m sure."

The way she said it left no room for doubt. Mason raised an eyebrow, but he wasn’t fooled, not entirely. There was something about the way she held herself—too casual, too composed. He let out a breath, deciding to poke just a little more.

"Because you can tell me, you know. That’s the way the whole friends thing works."

Natasha's lips quirked into a smirk, amusement flickering in her eyes. She leaned back slightly, her gaze still locked onto his. She wasn’t going to let him see anything more than what she wanted him to see.

"I have friends."

"People who have friends don’t call me."

There was a beat of silence, a brief pause where something unspoken lingered between them. Natasha didn’t flinch. She didn’t break eye contact, didn’t let her smile falter. This was the game they played. Mason might have been onto something, but if he thought he could crack her, he was wrong.

"Oh, come on. You’d miss me if I didn’t."

Her voice was smooth, light, almost teasing. Mason chuckled, shaking his head. He wasn’t going to push her any further. He knew better.

But there it was again—that subtle shift in her eyes, a flash of something deeper that she buried as quickly as it surfaced. Mason didn’t miss it, but he wasn’t going to call her out. Not today.

“If you ever get tired of being ‘better on your own,’ you know where to find me."

He turned to leave, but before stepping out, he paused, throwing her one last look over his shoulder. She met his gaze, still composed, still every bit the Black Widow.

******

The hot water poured over Natasha’s skin, steam filling the tiny bathroom. She kept her head down, eyes closed, letting the heat soak into her muscles, washing away the grime of the past few days. It was the only time she allowed herself to be still—moments like this, when no one was watching, no one was waiting.

Her mind drifted, not willingly, but out of habit. The sound of the water hitting the floor reminded her of something else, a smaller echo, lighter footsteps.

Stella.

She could almost hear the little girl's voice, high-pitched and insistent, always asking to jump in with her. Every time, Natasha would give in—how could she not?—and the same thing would happen. Stella would giggle, waddle in, and the moment the water hit her face, she’d screech like it was some big surprise.

Natasha’s lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile breaking through. The memory was sharp, vivid, but she pushed it away as quickly as it surfaced. She couldn’t linger on it. Couldn’t afford to.

The water rolled over her back, and she let out a slow breath. This was all temporary. The accords, the separation, the silence—she told herself it was necessary. That it was safer this way. Her family didn’t need to be tangled up in her mess, her enemies.

Stella didn’t need to know why her mama couldn’t always come home.

The thought hung in the air for a moment, but Natasha didn’t let it settle. She wiped a hand over her face, letting the heat pull her back into the present. She had more important things to focus on. Things that required her mind to be clear, her heart colder.

Still, as she turned off the water, the final hiss of the shower rang in her ears, and for just a second, she could hear that screech again, faint and far away. A small piece of her life, one she kept locked away, just out of reach.

She stepped out of the shower, shaking off the warmth like a soldier readying for battle.

It wasn’t time to go home yet.

*****

The low rumble of the movie filled the trailer, the worn-out speakers crackling slightly as the dialogue continued.

“You’re not a sportsman, Mr. Bond.” Hugo Drax recited his lines on screen.

Natasha smirked to herself, leaning back into the creaky couch, damp strands of hair still clinging to her neck. Her thermal t-shirt clung to her skin, and the grey sweatpants she’d pulled on after the shower felt too soft, almost unfamiliar after days of tactical gear and dirt.

Natasha muttered along. “Why did you break up the encounter with my pet python? Because I discovered he had a crush on me.”

She knew the lines by heart. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen Moonraker a hundred times already. But sitting here, alone in the trailer, the dialogue fell flat, the empty space swallowing up the sound.

The movie flickered on, oblivious to the tension tightening in her chest.

Her mind drifted, unbidden, to you. How you’d watch these same old movies together. The way you would stretch out on the couch, feet bare, legs sprawled across Natasha’s lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. She could almost feel it—the gentle press of toes against her thigh, the warmth that spread under her skin, grounding her in a way nothing else could.

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Natasha’s lips, but it didn’t last. The memory was soft, fleeting, and the cold reality of the trailer in Norway wrapped around her like a shadow.

******

The air felt stifling as Natasha and Yelena sat across from each other, both nursing cheap beer and open wounds. Yelena’s eyes sparkled with a teasing grin, but Natasha wasn’t in the mood to play along.

“Did you ever look for your parents? Your real ones?” Yelena pried.

The question hit harder than Natasha expected, but she didn’t flinch. She rarely did. Years of training kept her from showing anything she didn’t want to reveal. Her response was sharp, automatic.

“Well, my mom abandoned me in the street like garbage. What about you?”

Yelena shrugged, almost too casual, her tone light as if they were discussing the weather.

“They destroyed my birth certificate, so I reinvented it. My parents still live in Ohio. My sister moved out west.”

Natasha leaned back in her seat, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. Yelena was always full of stories.

“Is that right?”

“You’re a science teacher. You’re working part-time, though, especially after you had your son. Your husband, he renovates houses.”

The words tumbled out of Yelena’s mouth with a smirk, a fabricated life she was painting for Natasha like a twisted game of make-believe. But for just a second, a flash of something else flickered through Natasha’s mind.

Her son.

Nick, tiny and fussy, gnawing on her finger as another tooth threatened to come through. His chubby hands reaching up for her, his babbling filling the air as she cradled him close, the warmth of his little body against hers.

And Stella. Always loud, always full of energy, tugging at Natasha’s sleeve, begging her to play, to jump in the water with her. Stella's laugh, so bright it echoed in Natasha’s mind even now.

For a split second, she let herself feel it—the tug in her chest, the pull toward the life she kept hidden, buried under layers of secrets.

But it was only a second. She blinked, shutting it down, locking it away as quickly as it had surfaced. She couldn’t afford to let Yelena see it.

“That is not my story.”

Her voice was firm, steady, betraying nothing. Yelena laughed, clearly unconvinced but playing along.“What is your story?”

Natasha looked away, her gaze fixed on some far-off point, something Yelena couldn’t see.

“I never let myself be alone long enough to think about it.” She said.

And that was true. As much as her family—the real one—crossed her mind in these quiet moments, she never let herself dwell on it for too long. Never let herself fall into the temptation of the life she had with you. She couldn’t. Not here, not now. Not with Yelena looking at her like that, trying to pry open the parts of her Natasha wasn’t ready to share.

Her story was too dangerous. Too fragile. And if Yelena knew the truth, if anyone knew about her family it would unravel everything.

So, she kept it locked away, deep inside. She could protect you by keeping you invisible, untouchable.

*******

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue across the small house nestled in the middle of nowhere—a place that felt like home, yet remained a secret. The air was still, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the trees that surrounded the property. It wasn’t isolated, not by any means; there were neighbors close enough to wave at, but the land was expansive enough to feel like a world away.

Natasha stood on the front porch, her heart pounding in her chest. Behind her, Melina, Alexei, and Yelena lingered, uncertainty written on their faces.

“What is this place?”Alexei asked.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say she’s taking us to a secret family,” Yelena replied. Natasha’s eyes flickered between them. Melina’s face was knowing. She didn’t need answers.

“Just wait here for a moment.” She held up a hand. Her voice was soft but firm, and she didn’t turn to face them fully. Instead, she kept her gaze on the door. Her entire life behind it.

Melina stepped forward, concern etched on her features. “Natasha, are you sure about this?”

Natasha finally turned, meeting her mother’s gaze. There was warmth there, a flicker of understanding.

“I need to do this. I need to let you in.”

She felt a tug at her heart—a longing for connection she had kept at bay for so long. But this was different. This was her family, the ones who had fought with her and for her, the ones who understood the weight of their shared past.

It’s quiet in the house. Almost too quiet. Natasha steps inside to see her home immaculately cleaned. No sign of toys, no sign of people living here.

She swallows the lump in her throat and makes her way through the house into the kitchen. It’s there she finds you. All three of you.

It’s Stella that notices her first. She’s dressed in a princess costume with a crown on her head. When her eyes meet her Mama’s, she gasps and shouts,

"Mama!"

Your head snaps up, and for a moment, it's like everything is frozen. A look of surprise and confusion crosses your face, followed by a flicker of hurt. The room is silent, and then there's the sound of a baby's whimpering.

Natasha looks at the high chair sitting near the dining table. There's Nick, fussing and red-faced.

“Mama, you’re home?” The two-year old raced across the room, her crown shifting on her head, as she raised up her arms.

You move toward the high chair, wiping your hands on a dishtowel. Stella reaches her, and Natasha scoops her up.

"Hey, Stella, I missed you." Natasha places a gentle kiss on Stella’s hair. The two year old wraps her tiny arms around Natasha’s neck.

"You've been gone forever. Why don't you come home anymore? Did you miss me, mama?"

"Yes, I've missed you every second."

Stella leans back, her brows furrowing. “Did you change your hair? Not red anymore.”

Natasha smiles a soft chuckle leaving her. "Not exactly. I dyed it.”

"Oh, well, it's pretty. Can I dye mine? I want blue."

Natasha glances at the highchair where you're busy wiping Nick's face. There's no expression on your face, no hint of how you feel. She looks back at Stella.

"Let's talk about that later, okay?"

Stella nods. "Okay."

"Are you hungry?" You speak up.

"No, no,” Natasha shakes her head. “Can I see him?”

She walks over, and Stella wiggles in her arms. She wants to run to her brother, but Natasha is holding her close.

"Nick." Natasha gently nudges his cheek. His tiny lips pout, and his eyes widen as he stares at his mother. It seems that he looks to you for confirmation of whether or not Natasha is a safe person.

"He's grown," she says.

"He has," you reply, watching her.

"Hey, big guy." She kisses his chubby cheeks, and Stella giggles.

"He's soft, Mama." Stella reaches out and runs her fingers over her brother's arm. "Isn't he soft, Mom?"

"He is, sweetie."

Natasha puts Stella down.

“He has some teeth now,” Stella informs her. “He even bites Mommy’s boobies now when he’s eating. She always says ouch.”

You choke back a laugh and cover your mouth. You turn to the sink. Natasha grins and chuckles.

"Is that right? Are you biting your Mommy’s boobies, Nicky?"

Nick simply reaches his arms out much like his sister.

"He missed you, too," Stella says, her hand resting on Natasha's leg.

"I know, I'm sorry. Mama had to go away for a bit."

"Why do you have to leave all the time? Why can't you stay home?" Stella pouts.

Natasha crouches down. She takes Stella's hands in hers.

"I can't, not right now, but I'm here for a little bit, okay? And we're going to spend time together."

"Really? Will you take me swimming again? I really want to swim in the pool, but Mama won't let me. She says she's afraid I'll drown."

"Of course, I'll take you swimming."

"Can you bring a shark? Please?"

Natasha chuckles. "I'll see what I can do."

She stands and looks at Nick who is still reaching for her. He's babbling, his lips moving and his face getting redder.

"He wants you to hold him,” Stella reminds her.

"Oh, okay." Natasha lifts him up and holds him close. She's always careful, and she always loves the way her son feels in her arms. He snuggles close, his chubby arms wrapping around her.

You watch them for a second longer. Stella decides she’s had enough and leaves to her bedroom. No doubt to find something new to show Natasha. When Natasha puts Nicky back into his high chair, she has your attention again.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” She asks.

You bite your lip and shake your head.

"No. I'm not mad. Surprised."

"I shouldn't have left you hanging like that, though."

"It's okay." You say softly. She reaches out an arm to pull you in.

"How long are you staying?" You ask.

"Just two days. I promise. I want to spend some time with them."

You nod, and Natasha kisses your temple. "Thank you.” She says. “For keeping them safe.”

“It’s what we agreed on,” You say. “I was afraid they would find us. Ross. He seems to be on a witch hunt for you.”

“I’ve taken care of that for now,” Natasha shakes her head.

You frown and tilt your head.

"Taken care of it?"

"Yeah. We'll be okay. I'll explain everything. I have to tell them everything, too. But for now, I'm home.” She wraps her arms around your waist, hoping to get closer, hoping to feel you.

"Can we just forget about it, for a while, at least? Can we go back to the way things were?" She asks.

"I don’t know if that’s possible,” You mumble. You feel her hand run along your back soothingly. You’ve missed her touch.

"We'll figure it out. Okay?" She asks.

You nod and wrap your arms around her neck. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too."

She looks into your eyes, leaning forward, her lips resting against yours. It’s not a kiss. Not yet.

"I love you," she says.

"I love you." You respond.

She closes the distance, kissing you tenderly, holding you tightly. Your lips are soft, and she can taste the remnants of coffee on your tongue.

“Forgive me,” Natasha whispers. You want to ask her what for. Why would she need forgiveness? But the words are lost in the soft press of her lips against yours.

She pulls away, her forehead resting against yours.

"I'm sorry," She says. “I’ve been gone too long. He doesn’t remember me.” She’s referring to Nicky.

"He does. He will," You say. "You have time."

Natasha gives a small smile.

"I'm tired. Can we just...go to bed? Just lay with me for a bit."

“Mama, did you leave people on the porch?” Stella shouts in curiosity. It’s then you follow her voice. She’s standing with her face against the screen door, seemingly having a staring contest with a blonde woman.

Natasha laughs and turns toward the door.

"Oh, right." She steps outside and comes back with three people trailing behind her. Stella clings to her, tiny hands gripping her t-shirt, as they all walk back into the kitchen. “This is my family.” Neither of you know who she is referring to.

“You have a family?��� Melina whispers in amazement. Though she’d guessed it the longer they waited outside.

"Who are they?" Stella asks.

"This is my mom, and dad, and my baby sister Yelena,” Natasha supplies. You look over at her curiously. “This is my wife, y/n and our children. Stella is two going on twenty five. Dominic, or Nick, is almost eight months.”

“Wife?” Yelena furrows her brow. “I was way off then.”

You glance between Natasha and the new arrivals, unsure what to make of it.

Natasha sighs.

"There's a lot to talk about."

"Clearly," Alexei says, his eyes wide as he takes in the small family before him.

"Why don't you sit down and get comfortable," You suggest, gesturing to the living room. "I'll get everyone something to drink and maybe a snack. Natasha can catch you up."

They all sit, Stella moving with them to sit upon the couch. She and Yelena end up in another staring contest.

"This is awkward," Yelena whispers.

"Just give it time," Melina says.

"I have so many Barbie’s upstairs,” Stella offers up small talk. “Do you play barbies?” She turns her head to Alexei.

"No, no. I don't," He says.

Stella nods and turns her gaze to Melina. "What about you?"

"No, no barbies," Melina responds.

“Uncle Steve plays Barbie’s when he comes,” Stella sighs.

"Steve plays Barbies?" Yelena's brow raises.

"Yes. Uncle Steve is really good at playing. He lets me have the car and the doll."

"Then I will play Barbie’s too,” Alexei gestures. “Bring them.” His one sided competition would never end. Not even when it came to playing Barbies.

“You don’t know what you just started,” Natasha helps you bring in the drinks and a few bags of chips. You don’t usually have guests.

Melina takes the drink from Natasha and watches the way the two of you interact. There's an ease, a comfort, and it makes her wonder just how much she really knew about her daughter.

"I’m sure there are things you want to know,” You sit with Nicky in your lap. He eyes the newcomers curiously.

"Like why we never met you, why this is the first time you are bringing us to this place," Yelena says, looking around. “Why no information is out there about you.

"I thought the house was a cover," Alexei speaks up.

"It is," Natasha says.

"But, it's real?" Melina asks.

Natasha looks around the room, and the smile on her face is genuine. It's full of warmth and love. “It is.”

“I’m sure I’m in a database somewhere,” You begin. “I’m former SHIELD.”

Yelena and Alexei share a look, and Melina looks at her daughter.

"What is your full name, y/n?" Melina asks.

You smile politely. "My name is y/n Romanoff-L/n. My maiden name was y/l/n. I was born in 1986. I'm 30. I have a degree in computer science. I met Natasha shortly after her defection but we didn’t start dating until years later.”

"And that's when you had Stella," Melina states.

"Yes," You smile.

"And when did you get married?"

"Four years ago," Natasha supplies.

"This is real news," Alexei states.

Natasha chuckles. "We've been together for a while. 8 years."

"It's not a traditional story," You say, bouncing Nicky in your lap.

“How does being hidden work for the kids?” Melina asks.

"It's not easy. We try to make it seem as normal as possible. Stella doesn't understand everything. She's not even 3 yet. But we're working on it."

"Mama, can you open this?” Stella asks as she passes Natasha a juice box as if it’s her normal thing.

"Natasha being a soccer mom was not on my list of things,” Yelena mumbles.

"I'm not a soccer mom," Natasha defends.

"You kind of are," You chuckle.

"Mama is a super-duper cool spy," Stella states.

"You've told her that?" Alexei asks.

"Not in detail," You say. "But, we've talked about it."

"Mama has to protect us from the bad guys," Stella adds, taking a sip of her juice. “And when I’m big enough I’m gonna do it too. Like Wanda.”

“She has the biggest crush on Wanda.” You elaborate.

"And how does Wanda fit into this?" Yelena asks.

"I work with Wanda," Natasha states.

"But the whole time you've been doing that, you've also been coming home to a wife and kids," Alexei points out.

It wasn't always easy," You admit.

"It's not," Natasha shakes her head.

"I'm going to get dinner started. If you'll excuse me."

Natasha looks over and watches as you get up. You're carrying Nicky and Stella is trailing behind you.

"You can join her if you'd like," Natasha suggests. "She's used to doing this on her own, but, the more help the better."

"Your life is so complicated," Yelena sighs.

"Tell me about it," Natasha laughs.

next part

[joemama-2]

a dead end | chap. 2

༺♰༻ gojo x fem reader

𓉸♱𓉸 synopsis: you were a star under stadium lights, gojo satoru a savior in sterile halls. now, the world rots, and survival is your only stage. amid the relentless dead and the horrors of the living, an unsteady bond forms—but trust is as fragile as life itself. in the shadows of ruin, love and death walk hand in hand. which will claim you first?

༺♰༻ wc: 10.8k

༺♰༻ tags/warnings: death, angst, violence, smut, cannibalism, murder, blood, gore, zombie apocalypse, crazy people, reader is a little bitchy at first, character development, torture, guns, weapons, alcohol, drugs, medical talk here and there, research talk, mentions of a leaked sextape, bullying, betrayal, lying, love, surgeon! satoru, cheerleader! reader, small age gap

༺♰༻ series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

The next morning, you wake up at the ripe time of seven in the morning. Sitting up with a yawn, you do your usual stretches to wake yourself up and to warm your body for the day to come. The cold air of your apartment tickles at your skin as you stand, putting on your robe and slippers, and strutting into the kitchen. It’s still partially dark outside, but the city skyline has a view that welcomes you every morning from your place of residence. You fix yourself your morning green shake, humming a small tune. In just a few minutes, you’re presented with a lovely shake that you pour into a mason jar, along with a glass straw. Walking over to the sliding door to step out onto your balcony and bask in the Tokyo morning. 

The calm before the storm. 

You notice that it seems much more quiet than usual, which is a little odd to you. But that’s the least of your concerns right now. Looking back over your shoulder to check the clock in the living room, it reads 7:25 am. You usually start getting dressed in about ten-ish minutes. You suppose you can stay outside a bit longer. 

You take a slow sip of your green shake, letting the cool, earthy flavor settle on your tongue. The chill in the morning air prickles your skin, but it’s nothing your fluffy robe can’t handle. However, the quiet starts to feel... eerie? Tokyo mornings are rarely this subdued, even this early. Normally, you’d hear the hum of distant traffic, the faint chatter of commuters, or the occasional screech of a train on the nearby rails.

But today? Silence.

Your eyes scan the skyline, seeking something—anything—that might explain the stillness. The buildings stand as steadfast as ever, their glass facades reflecting the faint glow of the rising sun. Yet, there’s something unsettling about the way the city feels almost lifeless. You try to shake off the unease, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of your breathing and the vibrant green color of your shake. It’s probably nothing. Maybe it’s a public holiday you don’t know about, and everyone’s sleeping in. Or maybe it’s just your imagination running wild.

You glance down at the street below. Normally bustling with early risers and delivery trucks, it’s eerily empty. A single pigeon hops along the sidewalk, pecking at something invisible to your eye. The faint rustle of wind carries a hollow sound, like a whisper of something distant and foreboding. The clock ticks in your mind—7:27 now. You have just a few minutes before your day officially begins. But something about the morning feels wrong. You step back inside, closing the balcony door behind you, the faint chill lingering on your skin.

You tell yourself it’s just another day. Just another quiet Tokyo morning. But as you head toward your room to get dressed, a faint sound catches your ear—a low, distant thrum, almost like the hum of an approaching storm. It sends a ripple of unease down your spine. Still, you brush it off. After all, what could possibly go wrong in the heart of the city?

Maybe playing some music would heal your unexpected anxiety.

It does, for the most part. Of course, it’s hard to just turn off those emotions of yours, but the music offers a great distraction. After the performance yesterday, you sent out a text to the group chat sometime last night about needing to practice the next day. Although no one outwardly showed their annoyance, you could sense the attitude in their text messages.

You change into a simple white, active long-sleeve. Followed by your black jacket that you usually take with you on your runs, the one that snatches you perfectly. Lastly, it comes with some simple, flared yoga pants and black shoes. 

With your anxiety dulled by the rhythm of your playlist, you focus on getting ready for the day ahead. The soft hum of the music fills your apartment, blending seamlessly with the faint rays of sunlight now creeping through the windows. You let the beats guide your movements as you pull on your jacket, the snug fit a comforting reminder of its familiarity. It’s become something of a ritual—dressing for your morning activities, and grounding yourself in the process.

You glance at your reflection in the hallway mirror, smoothing out the creases in your yoga pants and adjusting the collar of your jacket. You look ready, at least outwardly. The unease from earlier still lingers faintly in the back of your mind, but you shake your head, willing yourself to focus. You grab your phone and slide it into your jacket pocket, the time now reads 7:40.

The messages from last night play in your mind. The short, clipped responses. The curt “Sure” from Mina, the nonchalant thumbs-up emoji from Emma, and the terse “Fine” from Izumi. They weren’t thrilled, that much was clear, but you couldn’t let that bother you. Practice was necessary. You push aside the nagging thought that maybe you’re pushing them too hard. Leadership isn’t always about being liked—it’s about making sure things get done. At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. Sliding open your apartment door, you step into the crisp morning air. The city feels a little more alive now, though not by much. A few cars glide silently down the street, and a pair of joggers pass by on the opposite sidewalk. You fall into step with the rhythm of your music, your shoes hitting the pavement in time with the beat.

The streets are still tamer than usual, but you tell yourself it’s nothing. If anything, it’s probably for the best you don’t run into many people today. In a way, the emptier streets feel more serene. The trek to the field you hold practices at is a short one; the perks of living right in the heart of Tokyo. 

You focus on the day ahead: the run, the practice, and maybe, if you’re lucky, a moment to breathe.

Of course, you’re the first one there. Getting things set up and stretching your body out some more as the time passes. Yui is next, greeting you with a small hug. Her hair is tied up, clad in a matching, light pink set.  Yui’s arrival brings a warmth to the otherwise still space. Her small hug is brief but comforting, a silent acknowledgment of the bond you share. Her matching set contrasts against the neutral tones of the locker room, bringing a pop of color and cheerfulness into the space. She adjusts her ponytail as she sets her bag down in the corner, glancing around. “You’re early, as always,” she says with a smile, her tone teasing but fond.

“Someone’s got to be,” you reply with a shrug, watching as she begins her stretches beside you. The quiet hum of the city outside filters through the windows, but it’s far less noticeable now that you have company. The room starts to feel more alive with her presence. Yui hums a little tune as she moves, her energy light but contagious. You feel your earlier anxiety begin to loosen its grip, replaced with a faint sense of reassurance.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” she asks, glancing at you as she bends into a stretch.

“Same as usual,” you say. “Clean up the transitions, make sure the timing is tight… and maybe work on that lift again.”

Yui groans dramatically, flopping onto the mat for emphasis. “Not the lift again! My arms are still sore from the last time.”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “It’ll be fine. We’re almost there; it just needs a little more polish.”

One by one, the others begin to trickle in, each bringing their own energy to the room. The buzz of conversation grows, and with it, a sense of purpose fills the space. This is where you thrive—in the midst of your team, working together toward something greater. Whatever unease you woke up with this morning feels like a distant memory now. The storm can wait. For now, it’s time to focus. Once you do a headcount, your team and you exit the locker room, heading out to the grassy field that’s surrounded by a track. The sun beams down on you all, not too hot but not too cold either. It’s the perfect weather where you won’t break too much of a sweat. 

From the corner of your eye, you notice Sayo hovering next to you.

You force yourself not to say anything to her, choosing to look straight ahead. Though her fidgetiness is starting to grate on your nerves, your restraint may prove stronger today. 

Sayo awkwardly shuffles as she keeps pace with you, her head slightly bowed, hands nervously fiddling with the hem of her practice shirt. She’s trying to match your stride without actually walking beside you, hovering like a mosquito you can’t quite swat away. Your jaw tightens. You force your eyes forward, refusing to acknowledge her. Not today. Not when you’ve got your own mind to settle and a practice to lead. But her persistent fidgeting—the way she moves her weight from foot to foot, the slight sniffle as though she’s gathering the courage to speak—chips away at your patience.

You slow your pace ever so slightly, the rest of the team going ahead of you both, your voice calm but laced with an edge. “Do you need something, Sayo?”

She freezes, blinking up at you with wide, startled eyes like a deer caught in headlights. “Oh! Um, n-no, I just—” She fumbles over her words, clutching her hands together nervously.

“Then why are you hovering like a lost puppy?” you ask, not bothering to mask the exasperation in your tone.

Her cheeks flush crimson, and she stammers, “I just wanted to say… you’re, um, really inspiring. Like, the way you handle everything—it’s just, uh…”

You stop abruptly, turning to face her fully. “Listen, Sayo,” you say, your voice firm but not unkind. “If you have something to say, say it. But if you’re just here to tell me how great you think I am, save it for someone else. I’ve got a team to lead, and right now, I need focus, not flattery.”

Her mouth opens and closes like she wants to argue—or maybe apologize—but instead, she just nods quickly, retreating a few steps.

“Good,” you say, already turning back toward the field. “Now let’s get to work.”

Behind you, Sayo lingers for a moment before falling into line with the rest of the team. The tension in your chest eases slightly as you refocus, the field stretching out ahead of you. Today isn’t about dealing with insecurities—hers or your own. Today is about pushing forward, one step at a time.

“So, I want to get some things out the way first.” A hush falls over the group as your voice cuts through the chatter. All eyes snap to you, the sharpness of your words hitting like a cold splash of water. The casual confidence in your tone only deepens the sting, and you don’t miss the way some of them exchange uneasy glances. You stand tall, your hands firmly planted on your hips, surveying the group with an expression that could cut steel. “Let’s be honest,” you continue, pacing slowly in front of them. “Yesterday’s performance was sloppy. Timing? Nonexistent. Stability? A total joke. You know it, I know it, and anyone with eyes would’ve seen it.”

A few of the girls shift uncomfortably, some looking down at the grass, others bristling at your bluntness.

“I could tell you I’m disappointed,” you add, stopping dead in your tracks, your gaze sweeping over the team like a spotlight. “But that would imply I wasn’t already doubtful of your ability to pull this off in the first place.”

A beat of silence follows, heavy and charged. You let it hang, watching their faces carefully—gauging who’s about to crumble and who’s gearing up to prove you wrong. “This isn’t about making you feel bad,” you continue, your tone softening just a fraction—not enough to be comforting, but enough to show you mean business. “It’s about reality. And the reality is, if we want to compete—if we want to succeed with our abilities and as a team—we need to be better. Way better. So, today, we’re fixing this mess. Timing, stability, and everything in between.”

You step back, clapping your hands once for emphasis. “Pair up. We’re starting with synchronized drills. No excuses, no shortcuts. If I see even a hint of laziness, you’ll be doing laps until the sun goes down. Got it?”

A chorus of half-hearted “Yes, Y/N” responses fills the air, but you’re not satisfied.

“I said, got it?” you bark, your voice sharper this time.

“Yes, Y/N!” they reply in unison, louder and more resolute.

“Good. Let’s move.”

You watch as they scramble into pairs, your sharp gaze tracking every movement. Doubt may have been your starting point, but today, you’re determined to turn it into drive—for them and for yourself.

As the girls hustle to pair off, you notice the range of emotions on their faces—some eager to prove themselves, others visibly irritated, and a few clearly nervous under the weight of your scrutiny. The grass beneath their feet is damp from the morning dew, and their sneakers leave faint imprints as they shuffle into position. You don’t give them the luxury of hesitation. “Faster,” you snap, clapping your hands again. “We don’t have all day.”

The girls move with more urgency now, pairing up as instructed. A few of them adjust their ponytails or tighten their shoelaces, while others stretch their arms, shaking out the tension before the drills begin. You cross your arms and pace along the line of pairs, your sharp eyes dissecting their posture and stance. A few girls straighten up as you pass, clearly hoping to avoid your wrath. Others avoid your gaze entirely, their focus trained on the ground or their partner.

“Pair one,” you call out, stopping in front of the first duo. You take in their positions with a critical eye. “Anya, you’re leaning too far forward. Sayo, your footing is a mess. Fix it before you make each other trip.”

Sayo flinches at the critique, but Anya mutters a quick “Got it,” already adjusting her stance.

You move to the next pair, your tone no less sharp. “Pair two—Carmen, loosen up your arms. You’re not a robot. Chloe, stop slouching. What are you, ninety?”

The girls flush at your words, hurriedly correcting themselves as you step to the next group.

By the time you’ve made it through all the pairs, the atmosphere on the field is tense, the air thick with unspoken determination. You don’t sugarcoat anything, and they know better than to expect you to. That’s not why you’re here.

“Alright,” you say, turning to face them all again. “Now that you look less like a group of untrained amateurs, let’s see if you can act like a team. We’re starting with synchronized lunges. Pair up in a straight line and match your partner’s pace. If even one of you is out of sync, you’re starting over.”

A collective groan ripples through the group, but you raise a single eyebrow, silencing it instantly. “Save the whining for someone who cares. Let’s go.”

The girls shuffle into formation, their movements stiff as they line up across the field. You stand at the front, hands on your hips, watching like a hawk as they begin the drill.

“Left leg first!” you bark. “One... two... three!”

The line moves as one, or at least they try to. A few pairs stumble out of sync, lunges uneven, and you immediately catch it.

“Stop!” you shout, holding up a hand. “You call that synchronized? I’ve seen toddlers with better coordination. Back to the start. Again!” They groan louder this time, but your glare shuts them up. They return to their starting positions, sweat already starting to bead on their brows.

“Left leg, again. One... two... three!”

This time, the movement is a little better, though still far from perfect. You spot a misstep in the middle of the line and cut them off again. “Do it right, or don’t do it at all,” you snap, pointing directly at the offenders. “I’ll make you do this all day if I have to. Your choice.”

By the fifth repetition, their movements finally start to sync up. The line flows more smoothly, and the pairs begin to find a rhythm.

“Better,” you admit begrudgingly, though your tone is far from approving. “But ‘better’ isn’t good enough. Keep going. I want perfect.” You step back to observe, your arms still crossed as you watch them push through the drill. The sun climbs higher in the sky, and the sound of synchronized footsteps echoes across the field. Despite the exhaustion beginning to set in, you can see the spark of determination in their movements.

Maybe they’ll prove you wrong after all.

It has to have been at least two hours of synchronized activities before you break the group for some water. The group collectively collapses into the grass as you call for a water break, their faces flushed and hair sticking to their damp foreheads. Yui, ever the drama queen, stumbles toward you with exaggerated weariness, clutching her water bottle like it’s the only thing keeping her alive. “Stop being dramatic,” you tell Yui, who theatrically leans against your body, gushing down her water.

“Oh, captain,” she groans, leaning heavily against you with all the weight of a person on the brink of collapse. “You’re trying to kill us, I swear.”

You raise an unimpressed eyebrow, gently nudging her off you. “Stop being extra, Yui. You’re not dying. You’re just out of shape.”

The other girls laugh weakly, some sprawled out on the grass while others sit upright, guzzling water like they’ve just crossed a desert. A few exchange playful jabs, their camaraderie shining through the exhaustion.

“Out of shape?” Yui gasps, clutching her chest as though you’ve mortally wounded her. “I’ll have you know I ran two miles yesterday.”

“And yet here you are, acting like two hours of practice is the end of the world. You know we still have more to go.”

Yui pouts but doesn’t argue, instead taking another dramatic swig of her water.

You take a moment to survey the team, your sharp gaze softening just slightly as you watch them. Their exhaustion is real, but so is their determination. You’ve pushed them hard today, and though they’ve grumbled, they’ve risen to the challenge.

“Alright, listen up,” you call out, clapping your hands to get their attention. The scattered conversations die down as the girls look up at you, still catching their breath. “You’ve done better these past two hours. I’m seeing more coordination and more focus. But don’t think for a second we’re done. We’ve got a long way to go, and the next game isn’t going to wait for you to get comfortable.”

A few of them groan, but the majority nod, their expressions determined.

“We’ll take ten,” you continue, crossing your arms. “Hydrate, stretch, and get your heads back in the game. After this, we’re moving on to formations. And I don’t want to see anyone dragging their feet.”

The girls groan again, louder this time, but you catch the faint smirks on some of their faces. Despite the grueling pace, they know you’re pushing them for a reason.

“Ten minutes,” you repeat, your tone firm. “Make it count.”

As the team disperses to stretch or lie back on the grass, Yui flops down dramatically next to a pair of her teammates, still grumbling about “cruel and unusual punishment.” You shake your head with a faint smile, turning your attention to the clipboard in your hand. There’s still plenty of work to be done, but you can’t deny the faint sense of pride bubbling beneath your strict exterior.

The minutes pass by quickly and soon, you’re back and at ‘em. At least, almost all of you are. “Where’s Mina?” You ask Izumi, who was her partner. 

Izumi looks back towards the locker room before responding. “Um…she said she wasn’t feeling good. She was getting nauseous?”

“Is she sick?” 

Izumi shifts nervously, glancing between you and the direction of the locker room. “I don’t know. She didn’t really say. She just looked pale and ran off before I could ask more.”

You frown, glancing toward the building, concern creeping into your chest. “Did she mention anything earlier? Did she seem off to you before practice?”

Izumi shakes her head. “Not really. She was fine during warm-ups. I thought maybe she just overdid it in the heat.”

You sigh, glancing back at the team, who are starting to reassemble on the field. “Alright.” You nod to Yui, “Keep the group running through the last drill we practiced. I’m going to check on her.”

Yui nods and jogs back to the others with Izumi as you make your way toward the locker room. The echo of your footsteps fills the narrow hallway as you push open the door, the cooler air inside a welcome relief from the heat outside. “Mina?” you call, your voice cutting through the stillness.

At first, there’s no response, but then you hear it—a faint sound, like muffled breathing, coming from one of the stalls of the bathroom. You move closer, knocking gently on the door.

“Mina? It’s me. Are you okay?”

There’s a pause before a shaky voice responds. “I… I’m fine. Just needed a minute.”

You can tell she’s not fine. Her voice is strained, and trembling, and it sets off alarms in your head. “Mina, if you’re not feeling well, you need to tell me. What’s going on?”

Another pause. Then, more hesitantly: “I think… I think I just got overheated. I’ll be okay in a second.”

You lean against the stall door, lowering your voice to sound less authoritative and more understanding. “Mina, it’s alright if you’re not feeling up to it today. You don’t have to push through if something’s wrong. Let me help.”

There’s a long silence before the lock clicks, and the door creaks open. Mina stands there, her face pale, a sheen of sweat on her forehead. Her eyes are glassy, and she looks like she could collapse at any moment. Her skin is pale, almost green-looking and your concern heightens. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, avoiding your gaze. “I didn’t want to slow everyone down.”

Your frown deepens as you place a hand on her shoulder, steadying her. “You’re not slowing anyone down, Mina. Your health comes first. Sit down for a second.” You guide her to a bench and grab a nearby water bottle, handing it to her. She takes it with shaky hands, sipping slowly. “Did something happen?” 

She takes big gulps from her water, emptying the entire thing in just a matter of seconds. Afterward, she wipes some water from the corner of her mouth and replies. “No, I mean…” she takes in a deep breath before continuing. “On the way here, there was some…crazy guy on the bus. He got a little too close to me and when I tried pushing him back, he bit me. The cops and ambulance came and they said everything looked fine.”

Your stomach drops as her words sink in. “He…bit you?” you repeat, disbelief clear in your voice and eyes widening.

Mina nods, her expression tight with discomfort. “Yeah, it was so weird. He was acting all twitchy and… off, you know? Like, not just drunk or high. He looked sick. His skin was all blotchy, and his eyes were bloodshot.”

A cold chill creeps up your spine, but you force yourself to stay calm for her sake. “Oh my god. Did the medics check you out? Are you sure everything’s okay?”

She nods again, but there’s a hint of doubt in her eyes. “Yeah, they said the bite didn’t break the skin, so I should be fine. Just bruised. They gave me a tetanus shot to be safe, though.”

You let out a slow breath, trying to mask your unease. “Okay. That’s good, but you should have told me sooner. You’re clearly not feeling well, and this could be more serious than you think.”

Mina looks down at her hands, fidgeting with the empty water bottle. “I didn’t want to cause a scene. Everyone was already staring at me on the bus, and then practice… I just wanted to forget about it.”

You crouch down in front of her again, making sure she meets your gaze. “Mina, listen to me. You’re not causing a scene, and it’s okay to ask for help. If something feels wrong—anything—you have to let someone know. Do you feel weird? Lightheaded? Feverish?”

She hesitates, then shrugs. “I feel a little off, but it’s probably just the heat and not eating, like you said. I swear, I’m okay.”

You study her face closely, noting the slight sheen of sweat still clinging to her pale skin. Something doesn’t sit right, but you don’t want to alarm her further. “Alright, but I want you to rest for the rest of practice. No arguments. And I’m walking you to the nurse after this to double-check.”

Mina starts to protest, but you cut her off with a firm look. “Non-negotiable.”

She sighs, slumping against the bench. “Okay. Thanks… and sorry for making you worry.”

“You don’t need to apologize for that,” you say softly. “Just focus on feeling better, alright?”

You give her one last wary look before turning on your heel and exiting the room. As you step back onto the field, you glance over your shoulder from where you just came. Her words replay in your mind, and the uneasy feeling in your gut refuses to settle. A crazy guy on the bus. A bite. The blotchy skin and bloodshot eyes.

That doesn’t sound right. And the fact that she still felt obligated to come to practice makes you feel pretty damn guilty. You sigh and rub your forehead. I’ll check up on her in a bit. 

You turn your attention back to the team. “Alright, let’s pick it up! Positions!” you call out, your tone sharper than intended. The girls scramble to fall into line, but your focus drifts, your gaze flickering back to the locker room every few moments. 

You clench your jaw, reminding yourself of your duties as captain. Though the knot in your stomach grows tighter with every second. You push the nagging thoughts aside for now, forcing yourself to focus on the task at hand.

“Yui, tighten up your formation,” you bark, pointing at the gap between her and Izumi. “If I can drive a truck through that space, it’s too wide. And Sayo, stop looking at your feet—you’re going to trip if you keep that up!”

The girls groan but adjust as instructed, and for a moment, you lose yourself in the rhythm of practice. The synchronized movements, the stomp of shoes against the grass, the shouts of encouragement from teammates—it’s enough to temporarily drown out the unease lingering in your chest.

The minutes pass, turning into another hour. Mina has sludged her way out of the locker room and back out onto the field. Giving her a wary look, hands hovering out in case of anything. “Hey, you don’t have to. Go home and call the do—”

“I’m okay.” She rasps out in a voice that internally shocks you. It sounds manly and guttural. The complete opposite of her usual sweet-toned voice. She pushes past you with a strength that almost knocks you back. Huffing slightly and watching her fall into her normal position. The girls give her concerned glances, some asking her if she’s alright. 

Mina shrugs them off with a small nod and a hand wave, but the paleness of her skin is starting to get almost ghostly. Your lips purse, keeping an extra focused eye on her as you slowly guide the team back into action.  Her shoulders sag more with each passing minute, and it’s clear she’s struggling, even if she’s trying to hide it.

She’s just sick. When the time comes to lift Emma up in the air, Mina is one of the girls holding onto her right leg. “And hold it…and hold it…” you call out, doing a small countdown to five. “Firmer, firmer!”

And all is going pretty well. You finally clap, just about to announce for Emma to come back down when Mina’s arms shake. Before anyone can prevent it, she’s releasing her hold and falls backward. Emma’s suddenly dropping to the grass on her back. She lets out a gasp and shriek, face scrunching from the hard impact delivered to her spine. 

There are immediate gasps, your eyes widening as you rush over. “Oh my god!” You gasp, some of the girls helping Emma up slowly into a sitting position. “Shit, are you okay?”

Emma, face contorted into a pained grimace, holding a shaky hand to her back. “Mmngh…w-what the fuck, Mina?!” She shouts, opening her eyes to glance over at the other girl. 

It’s only then that you all look back to see that Mina—once steady and standing—is now on the floor convulsing. Foamy, white liquid ran down the corners of her mouth, and her eyes roll back until there’s nothing but just plain whites. 

Chaos erupts in an instant. The girls scramble back, some screaming, others frozen in shock as Mina thrashes on the ground. The guttural, strangled sounds coming from her send chills down your spine, and for a moment, all you can do is stare, heart pounding in your chest.

“M-Mina!” you finally manage to shout, dropping to your knees beside her. Her limbs jerk violently, the foam spilling from her mouth bubbling up in horrifying bursts. Her pale skin now looks almost translucent, veins visibly darkening beneath the surface. “Someone call an ambulance!” you bark, snapping your head up to the team.

Izumi fumbles with her phone, shaking so badly that it nearly slips from her grip. The others huddle together, whispering in panicked tones.

You try to hold Mina steady, your hands trembling as you attempt to keep her from hurting herself further. “Stay with me, Mina! Just hold on!” But her body feels unnaturally hot, like touching the surface of a boiling kettle.

“She’s burning up!” you exclaim, pulling your hands back instinctively. The heat radiating off her is almost unbearable.

Emma, still clutching her back and wincing, snaps, “What the hell is happening to her?!”

“I don’t know!” you reply, your voice tight with fear. “Izumi, hurry up with that call!”

“I—I’m trying!” Izumi stammers, tears streaking her face as she finally presses the phone to her ear.

Mina’s convulsions begin to slow, but the sight doesn’t bring relief. Her body goes limp, her chest rising and falling in shallow, erratic breaths. The foaming has stopped, but her lips are stained white, and her once-bright eyes now look dull, unfocused. 

“She’s not—she’s not breathing right,” Yui whispers, her voice trembling.

You glance at Mina, your stomach twisting in knots. “No, no, no,” you mutter, leaning closer. “Mina, can you hear me?”

But she says nothing. 

A small, collective hushed silence falls over the group—fearing for the worst. 

It’s only when Rina sparks up that it grounds you once more. “W-We need to get her to a hospital, now!” She stammers out, equally as terrified. “The ambulance won’t get here in time and—”

“My car!” Sayo cuts her off.

You snap your head toward Sayo, your heart hammering in your chest. “Your car—where is it?” you ask, scrambling to your feet.  

“Just over by the parking lot!” Sayo replies, already fumbling in her pocket for the keys.  

“Okay,” you say, forcing yourself to take a steadying breath. “Rina, Yui—help me lift her. Gently. We don’t want to make anything worse.”  

Rina and Yui nod, though their faces are pale and tight with fear. The three of you move quickly, carefully sliding your arms under Mina’s limp form. She’s alarmingly cold now, her earlier burning heat seeming to have evaporated, replaced by a clammy chill that clings to your skin.  

Her body feels unnaturally heavy as you lift her, and every labored breath she takes rattles ominously in her chest.  

“Hurry!” Sayo calls, already halfway to the parking lot.  

The rest of the girls stand frozen, wide-eyed, and clutching each other as you and your helpers carry Mina toward the car. “Stay here!” you shout over your shoulder. “Wait for the ambulance, and don’t let anyone else out onto the field!”  

The urgency in your voice seems to shake them out of their daze, and a few nod shakily, beginning to organize themselves. By the time you reach Sayo’s car, your arms are trembling from the effort of carrying Mina, and you’re practically gasping for air. “Open the backseat,” you say breathlessly.  

Sayo fumbles with the keys, unlocking the doors just as the three of you maneuver Mina inside. Her head lolls unnaturally to the side, and you fight the wave of nausea rising in your throat.  

“I’ll drive,” Sayo says, climbing into the driver’s seat with trembling hands.  

“Fast,” you say firmly, climbing into the passenger seat. “You focus on the road—I’ll guide you and keep an eye on her.”  

Sayo hesitates for a moment but nods, starting the car as Rina and Yui carefully close the back doors once they’re settled in.  

“Go!” you urge, your voice tight with urgency.  

The tires screech as Sayo pulls out of the parking lot, the car lurching forward. You glance back at Mina, her pale face barely visible in the dim light of the car.  

“Hang on, Mina,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “We’re getting you help. Just hang on.”  

But deep down, a gnawing dread has already begun to take hold. Something about this—about her—feels beyond the realm of a simple sickness. 

The car speeds down the road, the hum of the engine accompanied by the shallow, wheezing breaths coming from Mina in the backseat. Sayo’s knuckles are white as she grips the wheel, her eyes darting between the road and the rearview mirror.

“Are we close?” she asks, her voice tight with fear.

“Just keep going straight,” you reply, leaning back to check on Mina. Her chest rises and falls sporadically, her face pale as death. The foamy residue still clings to the corners of her mouth. You reach out to touch her forehead, only to pull your hand back in shock. It’s like touching ice.

“Mina,” you say softly, trying to coax some kind of response. “Can you hear me? We’re almost at the hospital, okay? Just hold on a little longer.”

Her head lolls slightly to the side, her lips moving faintly as though she’s trying to say something. You lean closer, straining to hear her, but the words are nothing more than guttural croaks, incoherent and deeply unsettling.

“She…she’s getting worse!” Yui proclaims, putting a hand on the driver’s seat. “Go faster, Sayo!” 

She gasps out and furiously nods, putting a heavier foot down on the accelerator. “I’m going as fast as I can!” Sayo snaps, her voice shaking. The car swerves slightly as she overtakes another vehicle, earning a blaring honk.

Behind you, Mina suddenly jerks. Her body spasms violently, her head snapping back against the seat with a sickening thud. Audible sounds of bones cracking fill the tense car. 

“Oh my God!” Rina cries out, causing you to twist in your seat. Her eyes snap open, but they’re not right—her irises are a murky, sickly yellow, and her pupils are blown wide, giving her an almost predatory look.

There's still quietness as no one moves or speaks. Sayo is still driving but now focusing most of her attention on the rearview mirror. Rina and Yui feel frozen and stuck, staring down at Mina who is lying right next to them. Your hands tremble, eyes darting across her features and you really have no fucking idea what’s happening right now. 

“…Mina?” you whisper, your heart pounding so loudly it drowns out everything else.

Her lips peel back into a grotesque snarl, revealing teeth that seem sharper than they should be. Slowly, her eyes blink focused, and the first thing she’s looking at…is you. 

There’s a small second of peace before she suddenly lunges forward, a guttural growl ripping from her throat as her hands claw at the air.

“Shit!” you shout, scrambling back to block her, your back hitting the dash.

“What’s happening?!” Sayo screams, glancing back in panic.

“She’s—she’s attacking!” you shout, trying to hold her back as she thrashes wildly. Rina and Yui are taking her by the shoulders, attempting to bring her still against the seats. 

“M-Mina!” Yui shouts, followed by Rina’s terrified gasp at the sight of Mina’s veins bulging from her neck—her strength almost inhuman. Her nails rake across your arm, leaving angry red welts in their wake.

You wince and grit out in pain. “Sayo, pull over! Now!” you yell.

The car swerves violently as Sayo slams on the brakes, skidding to a halt on the side of the road. You barely manage to hold Mina back as she claws and snarls, her movements jerky and unnatural. Rina, who had been trying her best to subdue the crazed woman, scrambles to open the door, practically falling out of the car in her haste. “Get out! Get out!” she screams.

You fumble with your seatbelt, finally managing to release it and stumble out of the car. Sayo is already out, her face pale and eyes wide with terror, Yui quickly following right after. 

Mina is still in the backseat, thrashing and snarling like a rabid animal. Her yellow eyes lock onto you through the window, and for a moment, you feel like prey under the gaze of a predator. “What the hell is wrong with her?!” Sayo cries, backing away from the car.

“I—I don’t know!” you stammer, clutching your bleeding arm. “This isn’t—this isn’t normal!”

Before anyone can respond, Mina slams her head against the back window, the glass cracking under the force. 

“She’s gonna break through!” Yui screams.

You take a shaky step back, your mind racing. Whatever’s happening to Mina—it’s not something any hospital can fix. “W-what the fu—”

“Hey!” A shout startles Yui, Rina, Sayo, and you. Looking over to the left to saw a man haphazardly parked right behind Sayo’s car. An angry glower on his face as he stalks forward. “What the hell do you think you dumb girls are doing driving like that?! Huh?! You’re going to kill someone! You almost killed me!” 

As soon as he gets in front of you three, the window of the backseat shatters open and Mina is all but tossing herself out of the open space, shards of glass sticking into her sickly skin.  The man doesn’t even see it coming as she hurdles herself atop his body. The two go down, he lets out one shriek before Mina takes a big bite from his cheek. 

The man’s blood-curdling screams ring out through the streets. There are still only just a few pedestrians—who stop and stare at the commotion. Everyone gasps and watches as Mina pulls back from the man, teeth and hands coated in blood. He contorts and pulses wildly, a similar snarl taking place from his voice box. 

He claws at the ground, back bending backward in an unforeseeable way. He’s crawling himself up into a standing position, movements twitchy and appearance matching that of Mina’s. His first target is an elderly woman who stops to watch the scene with wide eyes. Repeating the same actions Mina brought upon him, while Mina herself is animalistically scrambling toward a couple a few feet away. 

You step back slowly, trembling with fear and confusion. Fixated on the bloodbath that’s currently taking place before you. Rina looks over at you. “Y-Y/N, what do we—”

A growl is heard from the alleyway next to her and a figure emerges at lightning speed, landing on top of her. “Ah! No! No!” You stumble back onto your ass, getting a front-row view of Rina currently getting her neck mauled on. You scramble backward, your mind reeling, unable to comprehend what’s happening as Rina’s screams pierce the air. She flails beneath the weight of the attacker, her hands desperately trying to push the figure off of her, but it’s no use. The thing on top of her—its face distorted, skin stretched tight over its bones—grips her with unnatural strength. Her cries turn into guttural gasps as her body twitches under the assault.

A sharp, nauseating crack echoes from her neck as the creature sinks its teeth in deeper. You hear Rina’s voice, weak and panicked, but the words barely register over the roar in your ears. Blood spills, staining the pavement beneath her as the figure rips into her with the same ferocity as Mina. Your body moves instinctively, but you’re paralyzed by terror, your hands and feet glued to the ground. You don’t know if it’s the shock of seeing this unfold so brutally in front of you, or if it’s the fear that any second, you could be next. Your hands tremble violently as you try to push yourself to your feet, but your legs feel like they’ve been drained of all strength. “Rina!” Yui cries out, her voice breaking with the weight of helplessness. She’s frozen, just like you, staring at the scene with wide, horrified eyes.

Sayo, however, seems to snap into action. She yells for you all to move, but her voice shakes with panic. “We need to go! NOW!” Her hands are shaking as she pulls at the door handle, ready to get back in the car.

But it’s too late.

The alley is suddenly alive with motion. A chorus of snarls fills the air as more figures emerge, crawling and dragging themselves out from dark corners. They move with an unnatural speed, eyes gleaming with hunger, faces contorted with madness. Every movement they make is jerky, erratic—like they’re not quite in control of their own bodies as if whatever virus this is has taken full control of them.

“Get up!” Yui shouts, grabbing you by your jacket and lifting you up to your feet with a strength you didn’t know she had. You allow her to control your body, rushing you back over to Sayo’s car when one of the crazed creatures scrambles before you two. He snarls and throws himself at you. Once again, you’re freezing, seeing your life flash before your eyes. 

Out of nowhere, you’re roughly shoved to the side and Yui takes your place. The creature uses her as his next chewing victim. 

The sight of Yui's body being overtaken sends a shock through you that feels like a cold wave crashing over every inch of your skin. You stumble back, gasping for air, trying to process the nightmare unfolding in front of you. The creature sinks its teeth into her shoulder, tearing at her with an intensity that makes you want to look away, but you can’t. You feel the bile rise in your throat as her screams echo, her body jerking beneath the creature’s assault. Her blood spills freely, staining the cracked pavement beneath her. Time seems to slow as you watch helplessly. Yui’s eyes are wide with terror, her mouth trying to form words that never reach you. She reaches out with trembling hands, her fingers just barely grazing yours as the creature’s claws rip into her flesh.

"Yui!" you scream, voice cracking in desperation. But the words are hollow—nothing more than a whisper of the helplessness coursing through you.

The sight of your best friend being eaten alive is something that haunts you, shivers running up and down along your bones, with tears forming at the corners of your eyes. You see the life slowly leave her eyes, the will to fight deteriorating as her arm falls and her head lolls lifelessly to the side. There are chunks of her flesh being ripped from her body carelessly, and two more of the creatures deciding to feast too. “Yu…yui….”

Sayo is frozen for a moment, eyes wide with horror, before snapping into action again. “Get to the car! NOW!” Her voice is a whip, sharp and commanding. She’s already moving, her body running with a frantic energy. You can’t find it in yourself to follow after her, unable to tear your eyes away from the gruesome scene in front of you.

The creature whips its head up and around, finally looking toward you, its eyes gleaming with an insatiable hunger. A growl rips from its throat, and its ragged breaths fill the air. You freeze again, every muscle in your body locking up. No, this is really it. This is it. This is how I die.

But just as the thing reaches you, a blinding flash of movement catches your eye. Out of nowhere, a figure—Sayo—swings a heavy metal rod, crashing it into the creature’s head with a sickening thud. The thing jerks back, howling in pain before collapsing onto the ground, twitching and spasming. “Move!” she yells again, her voice rough and urgent. She grabs your arm, pulling you away from the creature and toward the car. “Get in the damn car! NOW!”

She’s practically tossing you into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind you as you’re shoved in. The door slams shut just as another figure reaches for you, fingers clawing at the window. The car engine roars to life. She hurriedly gets into the driver’s side and speeds off, tires screeching against the asphalt.

You don’t know how you’re still breathing. The adrenaline pumping through your veins keeps you from collapsing as you stare back at the chaos you left behind. The alleyway is now a warzone, figures crawling over each other, blood splattering in every direction. The sounds of screams and snarls fade into the distance, but they’re burned into your memory, an unshakable image of the horror that has taken hold of the world. 

The city around you is unrecognizable, swallowed by chaos. You don’t know how long you’ll be safe, or where you’ll go next, but for now, the car is the only sanctuary you have left. And even as you drive away, the memory of Rina, Yui, and the others—their screams and their fate—haunts you. You don’t know what this virus is, or how it spread so fast, but you do know one thing: things will never be the same again.

You’re disassociating, staring off into space—unaware of the blood that still dribbles down your arm. Sayo sneaks a glance at it, her expression even more panicked. “D-don’t worry. We’ll go to the hospital. They’ll know what to do.”

You don’t respond, breathing erratically while your body continues to shake from the spark of events that just happened. Tears fall from your eyesockets down to your hands, the weight of seeing your beloved friends die before your eyes finally settling in. When you slowly look over to Sayo, she’s giving you a small smile—as if it’s her attempt to reassure you. She removes one hand from the wheel and places it atop yours. “Don’t worry. We’ll—”

“Sayo!”

An oncoming car seems to appear out of nowhere. Ramming right into the driver’s side of Sayo’s car. Neither of you has enough time to react before the violent impact sends to car flying off to the side, tumbling. The world spins violently as the car flips over, metal screeching and glass shattering around you. Each tumble feels like an eternity, the force slamming your body against the interior. Your head whips back and forth, the seatbelt digging into your shoulder and chest. The sound is deafening—screams, crunching metal, the air knocked from your lungs. The airbags are activated, knocking your head backward into the headrest.

When the car finally stops, it’s upside down, the frame crumpled like a tin can. Everything is eerily quiet except for the distant sound of muffled horns and faint cries in the chaos beyond. You hang there, disoriented, your body trembling. Blood trickles down your forehead and into your eyes, stinging as you struggle to get your bearings. The first emotion you register is pain, a really bad fucking pain. Your entire body stings and it hurts to even open your eyes.

“Sayo...” you croak, your voice barely a whisper. You look to your left and see her slumped over, her body motionless. Her face is pale, a deep gash on her temple bleeding profusely. Her hand, the one that had been resting atop yours, now hangs limp in the air. “No... no, no, no,” you whisper, panic clawing its way up your throat. You reach out with shaky hands to touch her, to shake her awake, but your arm feels like it weighs a ton. You struggle against the seatbelt holding you in place, your fingers fumbling at the buckle.

“Nnngh, s…sayo!” you yell, louder this time, your voice breaking. There’s no response, her chest barely rising and falling. Tears blur your vision as you tug at the belt with all your might. Finally, it releases, and you collapse onto the roof of the car—now the floor—with a thud. You wince sharply, face scrunching up as shards of glass dig into your arms and legs. Slowly, you crawl toward her, ignoring the pain shooting through your body. Every movement feels like a monumental effort, but you manage to place trembling fingers against her neck, searching for a pulse. It’s there—weak, but there. Relief washes over you in a wave, but it’s short-lived.

A low growl echoes from somewhere outside the car. Your body stiffens, adrenaline flooding your veins again. You glance toward the shattered window and see them—those things—dragging themselves closer. Their twisted, jerking movements are unmistakable, and their glazed, hungry eyes are fixed on the wreckage. Your breath catches as you look back at Sayo. She’s unconscious, defenseless, and the blood pouring from her wounds is like a beacon to them. You don’t have time. You need to move.

“Sayo, wake up!” you plead, shaking her gently. “Please, we have to go!” But she doesn’t stir.

The growls grow louder, and closer. You glance outside again and see one of them pulling itself through one of the broken windows, its jagged nails clawing at the edge of the frame. Its mouth is smeared with blood, its teeth bared in a grotesque snarl. Your body screams in protest as you push yourself to a scramble. Maneuvering yourself through what once was the windshield swaying unsteadily. You grab Sayo under her arms, ignoring the aching in your shoulder and the blood oozing from your own injuries. “Come on,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face as you drag her toward the opposite side of the car. “Please, just hold on.”

The creature lunges, its hand reaching for you, but you kick at it wildly, desperation fueling your movements. You manage to pull Sayo free, collapsing onto the asphalt outside. The world around you spins, but you force yourself to stand, hoisting her up as best you can. With her added weight onto your weak body, it feels like you’re carrying a ton of bricks.

The growls are deafening now. They’re everywhere. You don’t know where to go, but you know you can’t stay here. Your head swivels around, catching sight of more unlucky souls who reign victim to the ravenous creatures. With Sayo’s weight heavy in your arms and your own body screaming in protest, you stumble forward into the chaos, hoping against hope that somewhere, somehow, safety exists.

A few more feet and your legs give out completely. You collapse to the ground with a cry of pain, Sayo’s limp body rolling out of your arms and onto the asphalt. Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, but it feels like the air is being squeezed from your lungs. Every muscle in your body screams in protest, exhaustion threatening to overtake you. “Sayo...” you whisper, your voice trembling. You crawl toward her, dragging yourself across the rough ground. Her face is pale, and her chest barely rises and falls. Blood continues to seep from her temple, staining the pavement beneath her. You reach out, brushing her hair back from her face with trembling fingers. “Please... wake up.”

The growls are closer again, the sound reverberating through the air like a sinister chorus. You glance over your shoulder and see them—more of those creatures, their jerky, unnatural movements. Panic surges through you. You force yourself to stand, though your legs feel like they might buckle at any moment. You grab Sayo under her arms again. “Come on, Sayo,” you plead, tears streaming down your face. “Don’t do this to me. I can’t do this without you.”

However, you fail once more when your back is hitting the hard ground, unable to carry her. A gasp and hiss leaves your lips, fingers clenching into your palm. With a look over at Sayo and then at the creatures who haven’t yet noticed where you two are, a singular escape route forms in your mind.

“I…I’m sorry,” you mutter, grabbing her by her arm and dragging her body closer to yours. Once she’s within enough reach, you’re pushing her body underneath the abandoned car next to you. Her head lolls to the side, and you force yourself to ignore the guilt clawing at your chest. “Please forgive me,” you murmur, voice cracking. Her limp form disappears into the shadowy gap, just small enough to conceal her. You can feel the tears streaming down your face as you lean in, tucking her arm and leg securely out of sight.

You press a trembling hand to the car’s frame, biting your lip to stifle the sobs threatening to break free. “Stay hidden, Sayo,” you whisper, voice barely audible. “I-I’ll come back for you. I promise.”

The creatures’ snarls grow louder, and you know your time is up. Forcing yourself to stand on shaky legs, you take a step away from the car, drawing their attention. Their heads snap toward you, eyes locking onto your movements. You swallow the fear rising in your throat and stagger in the opposite direction, away from Sayo’s hiding spot.

“Come on, you bastards,” you mutter under your breath, every step an act of defiance. “Come after me.” As the first creature lunges toward you, your heart pounds with terror and determination. If you can lead them away, if you can buy Sayo even a few more seconds, then maybe—just maybe—there’s still hope. 

The hospital is just a few minutes away, you remind yourself. You can do this. And if there’s one thing you’re good at—one thing that’s always been your saving grace—it’s cardio. You were a track star in high school for Christ’s sake! Blowing your opponents out of the water each and every single time. Your legs may be trembling, lungs burning from the sheer panic and exertion, but you’re still standing. You’ve run marathons in the past. You’ve pushed through exhaustion, pain, and every screaming muscle in your body before. This is just one more finish line to cross.

The snarls behind you grow louder, erratic footsteps pounding the pavement as the creatures close in. You grit your teeth and push off, forcing your legs into motion. Each stride is uneven, but you focus on moving forward, the rhythmic sound of your feet striking the asphalt your only anchor to reality. You dodge debris, skirting around abandoned cars and crumpled road signs. The air feels thick with the coppery tang of blood, but you can’t let yourself falter. Your pulse thunders in your ears, drowning out the world as you weave through the chaos.

Just a few more minutes.

The hospital’s towering silhouette comes into view as you round a corner. Relief washes over you, a flicker of hope igniting in your chest. But there’s no time to slow down. You risk a glance over your shoulder and see the creatures still chasing you, their distorted faces twisted in an unnatural hunger. They’re relentless, their speed almost inhuman. Your mind flashes to Sayo, hidden under that car, and you grit your teeth harder. You can’t let this be for nothing. You won’t.

The entrance is closer now, the hospital’s glass doors still intact. The flickering glow of emergency lights illuminates the way, casting long shadows that dance ominously. Your breaths come in short, ragged gasps as you barrel toward the doors, willing your body to hold out just a little longer. Adrenaline surges through your veins, giving you one final burst of energy. You’re almost there—just a few more steps, a few more strides. You don’t dare look back again, knowing the sight of those creatures gaining on you would only slow you down.

With a desperate lunge, you reach the doors and slam your fists against them, praying they’ll open. “Help!” you scream, your voice raw with desperation. “Someone, please!”

But the sight that welcomes you makes your blood run cold.

It’s just as bad inside.

The hospital lobby, which should have been a beacon of safety, is a scene straight out of a nightmare. Bodies are strewn across the floor, some motionless, others twitching with the same unnatural spasms you witnessed earlier. Blood smears the walls, the once-pristine white tiles now slick with crimson. Overturned gurneys and shattered medical equipment litter the space, forming a chaotic battlefield. You freeze in place, your hope shattering like the glass that crunches under your shoes. The fluorescent lights overhead flicker erratically, casting eerie shadows across the carnage. The air reeks of antiseptic and decay, a nauseating mix that makes your stomach churn.

A guttural snarl snaps your attention to the far end of the room. One of them is crouched over a body, tearing into flesh with an animalistic fervor. Its head jerks up at the sound of your intrusion, blood dripping from its chin as it locks eyes with you.

And it’s not alone.

More figures emerge from the shadows, their movements jerky and unpredictable. They were patients, nurses, doctors once—now they’re something else entirely. Their hospital gowns and scrubs are tattered, their faces contorted in twisted expressions of hunger and madness. You stumble back, your body screaming at you to run, but your feet feel glued to the floor. Panic claws at your chest, every instinct screaming that you’ve walked into a death trap.

Behind you, the snarls of the creatures chasing you grow louder, their footsteps closing in fast. You’re trapped between two horrors, with no clear path to safety. Your breath hitches, your mind racing for a plan. Think, Y/N. Think! Your eyes dart around the room, searching for anything—a weapon, a hiding spot, a miracle.

Then you see it: a stairwell door to your left, its glowing exit sign a small beacon in the chaos. It might be locked, but it’s your only shot.

Summoning every ounce of strength, you break into a sprint toward the stairwell, dodging overturned furniture and bodies. The creatures inside the lobby howl in unison, their focus shifting to you. Their footsteps echo behind you, joined by the ones you left outside.

You don’t look back. You can’t. You throw yourself at the stairwell door, praying it will open.

You don’t think you’ve run up the stairs faster than you are right now, intent on going to the very top floor. It shouldn’t be that bad, right? Other survivors probably have the same idea as you and are all congregated on the top floor. There are others. There has to be. 

The stairs are narrow, each step pounding beneath your feet like a countdown, but your legs don’t seem to feel the strain. Adrenaline has taken over, pushing you forward with a ferocity you didn’t know you had. Your lungs burn, but it doesn’t matter. You’re running from death. You have to. You glance behind you for a split second—only a flash, but enough to see that the creatures are gaining. Their frenzied howls fill the stairwell, echoing off the walls like a chorus of nightmares.

Keep going. Keep going.

The landing at the top of the stairwell finally comes into view, and your heart leaps with a mix of hope and desperation. You slam your hand against the door to the top floor. It’s locked.

Panic floods through you, but you force yourself to stay calm and stay focused. You try the handle again, but nothing. The sound of snarling grows louder. Think. Think!

You step back for a moment and scan the stairwell again. There’s a small window at the top of the door. Maybe—just maybe—you could climb through it. But you’ll have to act fast.

With your heartbeat pounding in your ears, you grab hold of the doorframe, pushing yourself onto the small ledge beneath the window. You force the window open with all the strength you can muster, the glass scraping against the metal frame with a screech. Your heart sinks as you try to squeeze through the opening. The window isn’t wide enough.

This can’t be how it ends.

You hear the snarls grow closer as the creatures continue to climb the flights of stairs, hellbent on reaching you. The sound is unmistakable—thundering footsteps followed by guttural growls. You have no time left.

You fall back down to your feet, desperately slamming your shoulder into the white double doors, aggressively pounding and twisting the doorknob as if it’ll magically open. “Please! Please! Is someone there?! Please open the door!”

Your voice cracks as desperation claws at your throat, but no one answers. The weight of the silence presses down on you like a heavy blanket. Your fists pound harder against the door, your breath coming in frantic bursts, but the door remains unyielding. Tears sting your eyes, and for a moment, you wonder if it’s all in vain. If you’re completely alone in this place.

You fall back against the door, your back pressing against it as you slide down to the cold floor, hands trembling at your sides. Your thoughts race. Where did everyone go? What happened to the survivors, to the people who should have been here? The sounds grow even closer, and they must just be right below you.

And for a second, you wonder if it’s worth fighting anymore.

You press your palms to your eyes, trying to wipe away the tears, but they only seem to come harder now. It’s overwhelming, the weight of the world pressing down on your shoulders. The fear, the grief, the endless chaos... you feel like you’re drowning in it. You slide down until your butt hits the ground, arms falling limply to your sides. The sight of the creatures climbing up the final count of steps happens in slow motion. Their arms outstretched, mouths pulled wide as they prepare for a delicious meal—eyes a terrifying mix of yellow and red. 

A series of every event you’ve experienced in your life flash through your eyes. Getting your first scratch as a kid, your first kiss, your first car, finally being recruited onto the team…and the faces of the people who died in front of you, your name being the last thing they uttered before they met their ungodly demise.

And after all the fucked up shit you’ve done in life, that seems to sting at you the most. Plus the fact that you left Sayo back there in favor of saving yourself. 

A cleansing for every sin you’ve committed. You force yourself to face them head-on, staring death in the face, and all you can think about is how much this will hurt. 

Just as the fastest one is about to grab hold of you, the double doors open. 

You have no time to protest as the back of your jacket is being tugged backward with a quick firmness that leaves you startled. Eyes widening and gasping as the doors closed just as fast as they opened. You’re being forced back up to your feet, being pushed back up against the wall. The sharp edge of something is held up against your neck. Slowly glancing down, it’s an axe. 

When you dare to finally look up at the owner of the axe, a set of bright blue crystals glares down at you. His mouth pressed into a dry smile, and his white eyebrows meet together with a deep crease in the middle. “Well, aren’t you lucky I’m in a charitable mood today?”

He leans closer, digging the axe just slightly into your skin that it causes you to push yourself back against the wall, squirming.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

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@kirachuyuu @sypnasis @ducky1232 @oromanticism @2late4breakfast

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@n1vi @ojdubije @reixtsu @istha5

[missarchive]

in love and war - spencer reid

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

who? district 3 spencer reid x cold district 7 fem!reader

category: slow burn, star-crossed lovers, ANGST!!!

content warnings: typical hunger games violence and gore. reader is basically johanna mason. suicide. major character death!!!

word count: around 7k

a/n: second post! please please please leave a comment, or send me some asks. i love feedback!!

The Capitol’s anthem blared over the dusty square of District 7, its piercing, triumphant notes slicing through the oppressive silence that had settled over the crowd. The sound was sharp and artificial, a cruel reminder of the Capitol’s control over every aspect of their lives. The crowd, a sea of tired faces etched with lines of hard labor, stood motionless. Not even the wind dared to stir the suffocating stillness.

You stood in the center of it all, your chin high, your jaw clenched so tightly it ached. Your hands were curled into fists at your sides, the nails biting into your palms, but you welcomed the sting—it was a tether, a reminder to hold your ground. Fear churned in your chest like a storm, but you refused to let it show. Not here, where the Capitol’s eyes bore into every detail. Not now, when weakness could feel like surrender.

The escort—a garish figure swathed in layers of shimmering emerald fabric that glimmered like scales—stepped forward. Her unnaturally bright smile stretched wide, her too-pale face powdered to an unsettling perfection. She carried an air of frivolous delight that clashed violently with the grim reality of the moment.

Her hand dipped into the glass bowl filled with slips of paper, each one carrying a name, a fate. The crowd seemed to hold its collective breath as she unfolded the slip, the paper crackling like thunder in the silence.

“Y/N L/N.” She called, her voice almost sing-song, as though your name were a punchline in some grotesque joke.

Your stomach dropped. It was as if the ground beneath you had vanished, and for one dizzying second, you felt weightless. Around you, the crowd shifted, parting like a tide. The faces you’d known all your life turned down, their gazes fixed on the ground. No one met your eyes—not out of malice, but out of helplessness. They couldn’t bear to see the fear that mirrored their own.

Your body moved on its own, each step measured and deliberate, a march toward your fate. You straightened your spine, forcing a calm you didn’t feel, willing yourself not to stumble. Not here, not in front of them. The Capitol would take your life, but you wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you crumble.

The stage loomed closer, its polished wood gleaming under the harsh afternoon sun. The escort’s sugary smile widened as you ascended the steps, her eyes glittering with a disturbing mix of glee and detachment. The weight of her gaze, coupled with the cameras trained on you, made your skin crawl. The icy dread clawing up your spine felt almost unbearable, but you pushed it down, burying it beneath a mask of resolve.

You took your place beside the male tribute. A boy your age, his face pale and drawn, with eyes that darted nervously over the crowd before finally settling on the ground. You’d seen him before—briefly, in passing. Maybe at the lumberyard or the market. You tried to recall his name, but your mind, heavy with the gravity of your fate, couldn’t hold onto the thought.

The Capitol had chosen its players, and now the game would begin.

The train to the Capitol hurtled forward through a blur of dense forests and barren plains, but inside, it was eerily silent. The only sound was the relentless chatter of the escort, her voice a cloying melody of superficial pleasantries and Capitol propaganda. She spoke of fashion, of glory, of the grand spectacle awaiting you, her words as empty as the smiles she had worn during the reaping. You ignored her, your gaze fixed on the window.

Outside, the world rushed by in muted greens and browns, a stark contrast to the gleaming metallic interior of the train. The plush seats and gilded fixtures exuded a nauseating opulence that mocked everything you had ever known. The Capitol’s promise of luxury was a cruel jest, a reminder of their excess against the backdrop of your district’s suffering.

Yet, when the meals came, you ate. The richly spiced meats, the delicate pastries that melted on your tongue, the sparkling drinks that fizzed against your lips—it all tasted of betrayal, but you swallowed it anyway. Every bite, every sip, felt like succumbing to the Capitol’s siren call. It was a grotesque imitation of comfort, designed to dull the edge of fear, to make you forget, even for a moment, what awaited you.

But the arena loomed in your mind, a shadowy specter that refused to be ignored. The thought of it gnawed at you, relentless and unyielding, like a ravenous beast caged just beneath your consciousness. Blood. Death. Survival. The knowledge of what you would have to do, of the lives you would have to take, coiled around your thoughts like barbed wire.

You forced yourself to push it all down—the guilt, the sorrow, the horror. You had no choice. Survival demanded that you bury your humanity, and the Capitol was counting on it.

At the front of the carriage, a small holographic display flickered to life, its cool blue glow casting faint shadows on the polished walls. The screen showed the reaping ceremonies from the other districts, each one a carefully orchestrated tableau of misery.

Districts 1 and 2 were first. Volunteers stepped forward with practiced bravado, their faces alight with the twisted pride of those who saw the Games as an honor. Their confidence, their hunger for glory, was a stark contrast to the quiet dread that settled over you like a shroud.

Then the broadcast shifted to District 3. The boy’s name was announced, and the camera panned to him.

“Spencer Reid.”

He was tall and lanky, his frame awkwardly angular as he stepped forward. The camera lingered on him, capturing every flicker of unease. He adjusted his glasses with a trembling hand, his movements hesitant, as if he could somehow shrink himself into nothingness. His face was pale, almost translucent under the harsh lights, his lips pressed into a tight, uncertain line.

He climbed the stage slowly, his shoulders hunched as though he were bracing for the weight of the Capitol’s gaze. Among the other reaped tributes—many of them brimming with bravado or resignation—he looked out of place, a fragile figure thrust into a world of brutality.

But when the camera zoomed in on his face, you saw something unexpected. Beneath the surface of his fear, hidden in the depths of his wide, intelligent eyes, was a spark of defiance. It wasn’t loud or overt—it wasn’t a rebel’s roar or a warrior’s fury. It was quiet, subtle, the kind of strength that doesn’t need to announce itself to exist.

You stared at the hologram, transfixed. Spencer Reid didn’t look like a fighter. He didn’t look like a killer. But there was something about him—a quiet resolve that made your chest tighten.

The hologram flickered to the next district, but his image lingered in your mind, a puzzle piece that didn’t yet fit. In the Capitol’s cruel game, you knew better than to hope. But for the first time since your name had been called, you felt the faintest stirrings of something you couldn’t quite name.

The training center was a swirling chaos of noise and motion, a cacophony of clashing weapons, shouted instructions, and the low hum of tributes murmuring strategies. Each station buzzed with activity as tributes from every district worked with single-minded determination, their eyes sharp, scanning the room for threats and opportunities alike. The air was charged with tension, a palpable reminder that everyone here was both a potential ally and a likely enemy.

You gravitated toward the weapons station, your steps purposeful despite the oppressive atmosphere. Your fingers closed around the handle of an axe, the smooth wood familiar against your calloused palms. The weight of it settled in your grip, solid and unyielding. It was a grim comfort, a connection to the forests of District 7, where axes were tools before they were weapons. Here, though, it was a tool for survival, one you knew you would have to wield with deadly precision.

Across the room, Spencer stood at the survival skills station, a stark contrast to the hardened tributes around him. He lingered near a trainer demonstrating knot-tying techniques, his posture slightly hunched as though trying to make himself smaller. His slight frame and nervous energy drew attention, a handful of tributes sparing amused or derisive glances in his direction.

Yet, he absorbed everything with a quiet intensity. His eyes flickered over the trainer’s hands, cataloging each movement, every knot and technique. His sharp mind seemed to analyze and store every detail, not missing a beat. But he wasn’t just watching the trainer—he was studying the other tributes, too. The arrogance in their stances, the overconfidence in their eyes, the way they dismissed him without a second thought. Spencer noted it all, filing it away, hoping that these observations would one day give him the edge he so desperately needed.

You first noticed him during a combat demonstration. The trainer had called for volunteers, and to your surprise, Spencer stepped forward, his thin fingers hesitantly wrapping around a wooden staff. The moment was over almost as soon as it began. A career tribute from District 2—a towering boy with broad shoulders and a predator’s grin—disarmed him with ease, knocking Spencer to the ground with a swift, calculated strike.

Spencer scrambled to his feet, his glasses askew, his hands fumbling to adjust them. “Sorry,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible over the careers’ laughter. Their mocking echoes rang through the training hall, a cruel reminder of the Capitol’s engineered hierarchy.

Yet, he didn’t slink away. Instead, he stepped back, watching the careers’ movements closely. He reached for the notebook tucked under his arm, flipping it open and furiously scribbling notes, his brow furrowed in thought. Each failure seemed to fuel his focus, his mind dissecting every detail, breaking down what went wrong and how he could do better next time.

Something about him caught your attention. Maybe it was his stubborn determination to keep trying despite the odds stacked against him. Maybe it was the way his fingers trembled slightly as he wrote, but his gaze stayed steady, as if he could out-think the inevitability of the Games. Or maybe it was because he reminded you of someone—a faint, long-buried memory of someone who had needed protecting once, and how it had torn at you when you couldn’t.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,��� you said bluntly, stepping into his path as he left the station.

Spencer startled, nearly dropping his notebook. His knuckles turned white as he clutched it tighter, holding it like a lifeline. “I… I know,” he admitted after a moment, his voice quiet but remarkably steady. His hazel eyes met yours, nervous but resolute. “But there’s not much I can do about that… Unless you have a suggestion?”

You raised an eyebrow, studying him for a beat. He wasn’t cocky like the careers or resigned like so many others. He was clever, you could see that, and he had a spark of something most tributes didn’t: hope, no matter how faint.

“Stick with me in the arena,” you said, your tone firm, leaving no room for argument. “You focus on keeping us alive. I’ll handle the killing.”

He hesitated, his sharp mind clearly running calculations, weighing the risk and reward of your offer. “Why?” he asked finally, his gaze searching yours.

“Because you’re going to be dead weight otherwise,” you said bluntly, crossing your arms. “And I don’t want to fight your ghost on top of everyone else’s.”

His lips twitched, not quite a smile but close enough. “Fair point,” he said softly, nodding.

You turned away, heading back toward the weapons station. Over your shoulder, you added, “Don’t make me regret it, Reid.”

He didn’t reply, but when you glanced back, you saw him adjust his glasses, straighten his posture, and follow.

The arena was a sprawling expanse of forest, its towering trees stretching endlessly toward the sky, their gnarled branches intertwining to form a suffocating canopy. The dense undergrowth was a labyrinth of roots and thorns, each step a gamble against the hidden dangers lurking beneath. The air was heavy, saturated with the earthy scent of pine, damp moss, and the faint metallic tang of decay. Overhead, the sky was a hazy gray, muted and ominous, as though even the sun refused to bear witness to the bloodshed below.

The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional distant boom of a cannon—a haunting reminder that lives were being snuffed out one by one. The eerie stillness of the forest seemed to hold its breath, as if the very land recoiled from the Capitol’s violence.

You and Spencer had been separated during the chaos of the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. Amid the screams and the clash of weapons, you had fought your way to an axe, its familiar weight a small comfort in the madness. Spencer, ever the strategist, had snatched a small pack and disappeared into the tree line, avoiding direct confrontation. It wasn’t until hours later, when the initial slaughter had subsided and the forest had swallowed the remaining tributes, that you found him.

He was crouched low among the undergrowth, his shoulders hunched as he worked with trembling hands to set a rudimentary snare. The cord slipped in his grip, and he muttered a quiet curse under his breath, his frustration evident. Despite the tension in his frame, there was an odd focus in his movements, a determination to make himself useful even here, where everything was designed to kill.

“You’re terrible at hiding,” you said, stepping into view. Your voice broke the stillness like a crack of lightning, and he flinched violently, his hand jerking the snare out of place. His wide eyes darted to you, and for a split second, you saw fear flash across his face. But then recognition settled in, and his body relaxed just slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he exhaled shakily.

Even so, you could see the doubt lingering in his expression, the silent question of whether you would keep your word. Whether you would protect him—or if the promise was as fragile as the alliances so many others had already shattered.

“I’m better at traps,” he said defensively, gesturing to the mangled snare. His voice wavered, but there was a thread of defiance woven through his words. “Not much use if I’m dead, though.”

You sighed, letting your gaze sweep over the dense forest. Every shadow felt like a threat, every rustle of leaves a prelude to attack. The arena’s oppressive atmosphere bore down on you, the Capitol’s eyes undoubtedly watching, waiting for a misstep.

“Come on,” you said finally, your voice quieter now, almost resigned. “Let’s find somewhere safer.”

He hesitated, glancing at the ruined snare before looking back at you. For a moment, you thought he might protest, insist on finishing what he’d started. But then he nodded, pushing himself to his feet and clutching the pack tightly.

As the two of you moved deeper into the forest, the unspoken understanding between you solidified. The arena was no place for trust, but in that moment, you both understood what was necessary. Spencer’s sharp mind and your strength would keep you alive—for now. Together, you were a tenuous partnership, forged in the fire of desperation, bound by the fragile hope of survival.

Days passed in a blur of relentless survival, the forest around you becoming both your sanctuary and your prison. Spencer’s quick thinking kept you ahead of the others, his mind proving sharper than any blade. He devised traps with a precision that belied the trembling of his hands. One night, a tripwire he rigged sent a sharpened branch hurtling toward a career tribute, the impact punctuated by the sharp, deafening boom of a cannon. You froze, listening as the sound echoed through the trees, a grim acknowledgment of another life taken.

But for all his brilliance, Spencer’s lack of combat skills was glaringly obvious. The fragility of your alliance was brutally highlighted when a career tribute ambushed your camp at dawn. You had been sharpening your axe when the attack came—a blur of movement and the glint of a blade in the weak morning light. Spencer had scrambled back, his hands flying up in instinctive defense, but it was you who stood between him and death.

The fight was savage and merciless. Your axe cleaved through the air with deadly precision, each swing driven by adrenaline and the primal need to survive. Blood sprayed across your face, warm and sticky, as you buried the blade deep into the career’s chest. The sickening crunch of bone gave way to silence, broken only by your ragged breathing.

You stood over the lifeless body, the axe slipping from your trembling hands, its handle slick with blood that dripped in slow, viscous trails down your arms. The metallic scent was overpowering, mingling with the damp earth beneath your feet. Spencer emerged from behind a tree, his face ashen and his glasses askew. He stared at the carnage with wide eyes, his expression a mixture of shock and guilt.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice trembling, pitched higher than usual.

You wiped a streak of blood from your eyes with the back of your hand, spitting a glob of your own onto the ground. “Fine,” you said shortly, though the quiver in your voice betrayed you. “Let’s keep moving.”

The nights were the worst. The Capitol’s mutts prowled the forest, their distorted howls piercing the stillness and sending chills racing down your spine. The Gamemakers seemed to delight in tormenting the tributes, their traps and horrors pushing all of you to the brink. Spencer stayed close during those long, restless hours, his sharp mind constantly working to outthink the Capitol’s cruelty. But the strain of it all was evident. The sleepless nights, the gnawing hunger, the constant threat of death—it wore on both of you.

Sleep came in fleeting moments, and when it did, it brought no peace. Nightmares plagued you, images of blood-soaked battlefields and the cold, lifeless faces of those you had killed. You would wake with a start, your hand instinctively reaching for the axe by your side. Spencer, ever vigilant, would glance up from his notebook, offering a weak, wordless reassurance.

One night, as the oppressive silence stretched between you, he broke it. “You don’t have to stay,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the distant rustle of leaves. He was hunched over his notebook again, the pen in his hand tapping rhythmically against its edge. “I know I’m just a liability. If you leave… you’d have a better chance.”

His words hit you harder than they should have, stirring an ache in your chest that you didn’t want to acknowledge. You scoffed, forcing a veneer of indifference. “Don’t be stupid,” you said, glancing down at the axe lying between your legs. The wood was stained a deep crimson, a grim testament to your survival. “You’d be dead in a minute.”

“Probably,” he admitted, a small, rueful smile tugging at his lips. His gaze dropped to the ground, and for a moment, he seemed impossibly fragile. “But that doesn’t mean it’s fair to you—to have to carry my weight.”

You leaned forward, your eyes locking with his. His vulnerability was laid bare, and for a fleeting moment, you saw past the fear to the resolve underneath. “Fair doesn’t matter here,” you said, your voice firm. “Survival does. And you’re not dying on my watch, Reid.”

The weight of your words hung in the air, unspoken promises threading through the tension. Spencer didn’t reply, but his gaze lingered on you, a quiet gratitude shining in his eyes. In the brutal reality of the arena, fairness was a luxury no one could afford. But in that moment, you knew you’d fight to keep him alive, even if it meant sacrificing a part of yourself.

The Gamemakers were growing impatient, their orchestrations more desperate and cruel. Walls of fire erupted in the forest, their heat searing and relentless, driving you and Spencer forward. Rivers swelled and burst their banks, churning torrents swallowing the land and leaving no room for retreat. The Capitol’s games were designed for spectacle, and now, they demanded a climactic confrontation.

It came in a clearing, a barren stretch of earth encircled by the towering trees that had once been your refuge. You and Spencer stood in the center, backs pressed together, the forest closing in around you. The air was electric with tension, heavy with the anticipation of violence. Your axe was clenched tightly in your hands, its familiar weight a lifeline in the chaos. Across the clearing, the last remaining tributes emerged from the shadows, their faces hard and eyes gleaming with a deadly determination.

The careers were relentless. Their movements were precise, their strikes calculated, honed by years of brutal training. They were predators, and you were their prey—but you refused to be cornered.

The first blow came from the left, a flash of steel aimed at your head. You ducked, swinging your axe upward in a wide arc that sent the attacker sprawling. Before you could strike again, another career was upon you, their weapon slashing toward your side. Spencer’s voice rang out, sharp and urgent.

“Y/N, duck!”

You dropped to the ground just as a handful of crushed leaves sailed over your head. The air ignited in a blinding flash, the chemical reaction disorienting your attackers. Spencer had discovered the trick earlier, his sharp mind identifying the properties of the plants scattered through the arena. It bought you precious seconds, enough to regain your footing and strike.

Your axe moved with ruthless efficiency, the weight of it an extension of your will to survive. It cleaved through the air, connecting with flesh and bone in a sickening symphony of destruction. Blood sprayed across the clearing, warm and sticky, coating your hands and arms as you fought with everything you had.

Spencer, though less skilled in combat, was no less vital. His quick thinking and unorthodox tactics kept you alive, each small advantage tipping the scales in your favor. He ducked and dodged, his movements frantic but purposeful, throwing dirt in an attacker’s eyes or tripping them with a hastily arranged snare.

The clearing became a battlefield, the ground slick with blood and churned by desperate footsteps. The coppery scent hung thick in the air, mingling with the earth’s damp tang and the acrid smoke from the Gamemakers’ fires. The cacophony of screams, grunts, and clashing steel reverberated through the forest, a grotesque chorus that seemed to echo endlessly.

Finally, the chaos began to subside. One by one, the careers fell, their arrogance and brutality no match for your combined determination. The last tribute standing faced you with defiance in their eyes, but their movements were sluggish, their strength waning. Your axe swung in a final, decisive arc, and the cannon’s resounding boom signaled the end.

As the clearing fell silent, you turned to Spencer. He stood hunched, his breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps, his glasses smeared with dirt. Despite the exhaustion etched into every line of his face, his eyes met yours with a flicker of relief. For a fleeting moment, the two of you simply stood there, surrounded by the carnage, the enormity of what you’d just survived sinking in.

But you knew this wasn’t the end.

The forest loomed like a living nightmare, shadows twisting and stretching as if they sought to devour what little light dared to filter through the canopy. Every sound, every faint rustle of leaves, clawed at Spencer’s already frayed nerves. His breaths came shallow and ragged, his legs protesting with searing pain as he pushed through the dense undergrowth. Branches lashed at his arms and face, leaving thin, stinging cuts, but none of it registered.

All he could think about was you.

“Y/N!” he screamed again, his voice a raw echo of his mounting panic. The name reverberated through the forest only to be swallowed by the oppressive silence. His heart pounded erratically, a frantic rhythm that matched the wild thrum of his thoughts.

You were out there. Alone.

And then, like a cruel omen, he saw it—a trail of blood.

Spencer’s breath hitched, his body locking in place as he stared at the crimson streaks spattered across the dirt. His mind involuntarily cataloged the details: arterial spray, not a steady drip—suggesting deep, possibly fatal wounds. The sight rooted him with dread, but the desperate need to find you propelled him forward.

“Please,” he whispered under his breath, a fragile prayer to an indifferent world. “Please, not you.”

The blood led him deeper into the forest, the undergrowth thickening as the trail veered toward a small clearing. Sunlight filtered hesitantly through the branches above, dappling the ground in patches of gold that felt out of place against the grim tableau ahead. At first, the clearing seemed empty, just another cruel trick of the arena.

Then he saw you.

Spencer stumbled forward, the sight of your crumpled body hitting him like a physical blow. You were slumped against a tree, your form unnaturally still, streaked with dirt and blood. The once vibrant color of your skin was replaced by a deathly pallor, your chest rising and falling so faintly that he nearly missed it.

“Y/N!” His voice cracked, and he fell to his knees beside you, his trembling hands hovering over your battered frame as if afraid his touch might make things worse.

Your injuries were horrifying. Deep, angry gashes carved into your side, your clothes soaked with drying blood. Bruises bloomed across your face, dark and angry, nearly obscuring your features. Your lips were cracked and dry, the faintest tremble the only sign of life.

“Please, no,” he whispered, his voice shaking as he pressed his fingers against your neck, searching for a pulse. The moment he felt the faint, fragile beat beneath his fingertips, a sob broke free from his chest.

“You’re alive,” he murmured, tears spilling freely down his face. “Thank God, you’re alive.”

But the relief was fleeting. The blood around you was too much, the wounds too deep. A surge of helplessness clawed at him, and his hands hovered, unsure where to start. His mind, usually so quick and sharp, felt sluggish, drowned in panic and fear.

“Y/N, wake up,” he pleaded, his hands trembling as they cupped your face. His thumb brushed against the streaks of blood and dirt marring your skin. “Please, I need you to wake up.”

A faint groan escaped your lips, the soft sound pulling him from the edge of despair. Your eyelids fluttered, struggling against the weight of exhaustion and pain. Finally, your eyes opened, glassy and unfocused, but alive.

“Spencer?” Your voice was barely more than a whisper, hoarse and weak, but it was enough.

“I’m here,” he choked out, his tears falling unchecked. “I’m here, Y/N. I thought I’d lost you.”

Your gaze slowly sharpened, focusing on him through the haze of pain. “What… happened?”

“You were attacked,” he said, his voice breaking. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve—” He stopped, his throat tightening. “I failed you.”

You weakly lifted a hand, your fingers brushing against his. He caught it immediately, holding it tightly as though letting go would mean losing you again. “You couldn’t have known,” you murmured, your voice soft but resolute.

“Don’t say that,” he snapped, his fear spilling out as frustration. “Don’t act like it’s okay. It’s not—I can’t—” His voice faltered, cracking under the weight of his emotions. He looked away, his shoulders trembling.

“Spencer.” Your voice, though faint, cut through the storm inside him.

He turned back to you, his tear-filled eyes meeting yours. Even in your battered state, there was a flicker of strength in your gaze, a reminder of why he couldn’t fall apart.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “You’re the only thing that’s kept me going, Y/N. You’re the only thing that matters.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, mingling with the blood and grime. Despite the pain, you managed a faint smile. “You’re not going to lose me,” you said softly.

Spencer leaned forward, his forehead pressing gently against yours. His fingers tangled in your hair, careful of your injuries. “Promise me,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “Promise me you’ll stay.”

“I promise,” you whispered back, though your voice wavered with exhaustion.

For a moment, the horrors of the arena receded, leaving only the two of you in the fragile stillness of the clearing. Spencer clung to that moment, to the fragile hope that it could last. But deep down, he knew the arena’s cruelty wouldn’t allow it.

Spencer cradled you against him, his arms encircling your fragile, battered body like a shield against the arena’s relentless cruelty. Each of your shallow breaths, brushing faintly against his neck, felt like a fragile thread tethering him to hope. The world around you seemed to pause, the usual cacophony of the arena muted to nothing but the gentle rustle of leaves and the haunting, distant growls of the Capitol’s muttations.

His heart pounded as he finally pulled back, just enough to meet your gaze. The dim light filtering through the trees illuminated the anguish and resolve in his expression. His eyes, filled with a fierce determination, searched yours as though he could absorb your pain and bear it for you.

“You’re safe now,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion and trembling with conviction. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Not ever again.”

One of his hands cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away the grime and blood streaked across your skin. Despite the searing pain coursing through your injuries, you leaned into his touch, craving the connection and comfort he offered. The way he looked at you, with a mix of tenderness and desperation, made your chest tighten. It wasn’t just survival that drove him—it was you.

“Spencer,” you murmured, your voice raw but steady enough to convey the depth of your feelings. “You saved me.”

His lips curved into the faintest of smiles, though it was tinged with sadness. “You saved me first,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, carrying the weight of everything unspoken between you.

For a moment, time itself seemed to stop. The horrors of the arena melted away, leaving only the two of you in a fragile bubble of shared understanding. Without hesitation, Spencer leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was as desperate as it was tender. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a confession, a promise, and a plea all at once. Every unspoken word of fear, gratitude, and love found its voice in that fleeting moment.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested together, the quiet mingling of your breaths grounding you both. Spencer’s voice was raw when he spoke again, the vulnerability in his words laying his heart bare. “I love you,” he whispered, the confession slipping free like it had been waiting for this moment all along.

Your hand found his, your fingers intertwining with his as though they were meant to fit together. “I love you too,” you replied, the sincerity in your voice making the moment feel almost sacred.

Though the kiss and the confession hung between you like a protective shield, reality pressed back in. Spencer glanced around, his sharp mind already assessing the next steps. He helped you to your feet with painstaking care, his touch gentle but firm as he ensured you wouldn’t collapse. “We need to find shelter,” he said, his tone decisive. “You need rest, and I need to make sure you’re safe.”

Together, you stumbled through the dense underbrush, Spencer’s arm steadying you every step of the way. He moved with deliberate caution, his every thought focused on your survival. After what felt like an eternity, you came upon a hollow nestled beneath the sprawling roots of a massive tree. It wasn’t much—a dark, cramped space hidden from sight—but in the arena, it was a sanctuary.

Spencer guided you inside, his every movement a careful balance between urgency and gentleness. Once he was sure you were settled, he set to work, his trembling hands tending to your wounds with an almost reverent care. Despite the exhaustion etched into his features, his focus never wavered.

The night descended upon the arena with a heavy, oppressive silence, the darkness pressing in like a living thing. Inside the hollow, you both finally allowed yourselves to rest. Spencer pulled you close, his arms wrapping protectively around you as though sheer will alone could keep the horrors at bay.

“Sleep,” he murmured against your hair, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. “I’ll keep watch.”

Your hand clutched at the fabric of his shirt, a weak but determined gesture. “No,” you whispered, your voice resolute despite the exhaustion weighing you down. “We’ll keep watch together.”

But the adrenaline that had fuelled you both through the day ebbed away, replaced by an unbearable fatigue. Sleep claimed you both, drawing you into its embrace. In the warmth of Spencer’s arms, the terror of the arena faded, leaving behind the steady rhythm of shared breaths and the fragile hope that, for at least a few precious hours, you were safe.

The cannon echoed in the distance, signaling the death of the second-to-last tribute. Spencer’s heart sank as the reality settled over him. It was just the two of you now.

You turned to him, bloodied and exhausted, your eyes wide with the same realization. “Spencer…”

“There can only be one,” he murmured, his voice hollow.

The Capitol’s anthem blared overhead, and the cold voice of the announcer filled the air. “Congratulations to our final two tributes! Only one may claim victory—who will it be?”

The unspoken command hung heavy between you, suffocating in its finality.

You shook your head, tears brimming in your eyes. “I can’t do it, Spencer. I won’t.”

“And I won’t hurt you,” he said firmly, stepping closer. “But there’s no other way. They won’t let us both walk out of here.”

“Then we find a way to beat them!” you cried, desperation lacing your voice. “We’ll refuse. We’ll—”

Spencer grabbed your shoulders gently but firmly, his hazel eyes locking onto yours. “Y/N, listen to me. We’ve been lucky to make it this far, but there’s no beating them. Not like this.”

You tried to pull away, but his grip didn’t falter. “No,” you whispered, shaking your head frantically. “No, we can survive this together. We’ll figure it out. We—”

“Y/N.” His voice cracked, raw with emotion. “You have to live. I need you to live.”

Your breath hitched, panic rising as you saw something in his expression—a quiet determination, a resolve that shattered your heart. “Spencer, no. Don’t you dare.”

He cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears streaking your cheeks. “You are everything good in this world,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “You deserve to live. You deserve to go home.”

“I can’t go home without you!” you cried, your hands clutching his shirt as if holding him could anchor him here, with you.

Spencer leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss filled with all the love and sorrow he couldn’t put into words. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and shaky.

“You’ll be okay,” he whispered. “You’re stronger than you think.”

Before you could react, he stepped back, his hands slipping from your grasp. Your heart dropped as he picked up the knife you’d discarded moments earlier.

“Spencer, don’t!” you screamed, scrambling toward him, but he shook his head.

“Goodbye, Y/N,” he said, a tear rolling down his cheek. “I love you.”

And then, before you could stop him, he turned the blade on himself.

“NO!”

You caught him as he collapsed, cradling him in your arms. Blood soaked through your hands, and your sobs tore through the quiet of the arena. His breathing was shallow, his lips trembling as he tried to speak.

“I… couldn’t let it be you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “You have to win. Promise me… promise me you’ll live.”

“Spencer, please,” you begged, clutching him tightly. “Don’t leave me. Please.”

But his eyes fluttered closed, and with one last ragged breath, the cannon boomed.

The hovercraft descended moments later, and you didn’t resist as they pried Spencer from your arms. His blood was on your hands, your clothes, and your soul, and yet you couldn’t muster the strength to fight them. The Capitol’s voice returned, dispassionate and final, declaring you the victor. The words echoed through the cold, metallic space around you, hollow and meaningless.

You were the last one standing. The survivor.

But at what cost?

The world blurred as the medical team swarmed you, their hands prodding and pulling, their antiseptic words promising you safety and care. None of it mattered. Your eyes stayed fixed on Spencer’s limp form as they wheeled him away, disappearing behind a sterile door. The emptiness he left behind was suffocating.

He had sacrificed himself so you could live.

The words repeated in your mind, a haunting mantra that clawed at your sanity. The memory of his final smile, soft and full of love even as his life slipped away, seared itself into your soul. You wanted to scream, to rage at the injustice of it all, but you felt hollow. Numb.

The hovercraft docked, and the transition from the arena’s horrors to the Capitol’s opulence was jarring. Lavish rooms, bright lights, and hollow congratulations assaulted your senses. The Capitol citizens cheered your name, their voices clashing in an orchestra of sickening delight. You barely heard them.

Snow himself greeted you, his snake-like smile as unnerving as ever. “Congratulations,” he said, his voice laced with a false warmth. “You’re a symbol of strength, of survival. The Capitol admires your resilience.”

Your response was a vacant stare.

Days blurred into nights as you went through the motions. The Victory Tour loomed, a macabre parade meant to celebrate your survival while parading the Capitol’s power. But all you could think about was Spencer—the way he had looked at you, the way his voice had trembled when he said goodbye.

In the privacy of your room, you allowed yourself to grieve. The tears came in silent waves, unstoppable and all-consuming. You clutched the token he’d worn—a simple bracelet made of knotted twine—now yours to carry. It was the only piece of him you had left.

They called you a hero, but you felt like a thief. You had stolen his chance to live, even if he’d willingly handed it over.

On the day of your first public appearance, you stood before a crowd of Capitol citizens, their faces painted with mock sympathy and admiration. The weight of your loss bore down on you, threatening to crush you beneath its enormity.

“I survived the arena,” you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “But survival isn’t victory. Not when it costs everything.”

The crowd applauded, oblivious to the truth in your words. But somewhere, deep within you, a spark ignited—a quiet, simmering rage.

Spencer had believed in you, even in his final moments. He had given you a chance to live, to fight for something more than just survival. And while the Capitol celebrated its spectacle, you made a promise to yourself.

You would not let his sacrifice be in vain.

You would remember him.

And one day, you would ensure that no one else would have to pay the price he had.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[itsgiovanna]

playing for love (chapter 1)

pairing: fem!character x mason mount

summary: injured and lost, mason mount begins his recovery with the help of adeline alderidge, a tough yet brilliant physiotherapist with secrets of her own. he becomes determined to break through the walls adeline has built around herself. but some wounds don’t heal easily, and the closer they get, the more mason realizes she might need saving just as much as he does.

notes: hey, everyone! this is the first chapter and i’m so happy to introduce you to mason & adaline's story. hope you like it! enjoy 🤍

word count: 2.8k

warnings: none

next: chapter 2

The locker room was buzzing with energy — voices overlapping, boots scuffing against the floor, the clap of a teammate hyping up the squad. It was the usual match routine, but to Mason, something felt off. He sat at his locker, elbows resting on his knees, staring at his feet. His stomach was tight, but not in the usual way. Normally, it was adrenaline, that restless hunger to get out on the pitch and play. This was different, it sat heavy in his chest.

Maybe it was just in his head. But it had been there for weeks now — like a weight he couldn’t lift. Since joining United, everything had felt harder. The pressure, the expectations, the constant questioning.

He already knew what people would say if he had another bad game.

“Mount struggling to find his place.”

“United’s number 7 failing to deliver.”

A hand clapped against his shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts.

“You good?” Mason looked up to see Marcus Rashford standing over him, adjusting his captain’s armband. His expression wasn’t just casual concern — he was really looking at him, like he could tell something wasn’t right.

“Yeah. Just focused.” Mason forced a nod. 

“Focused, huh?” Marcus raised a brow. 

“I’m fine, mate.” Mason let out a quiet breath, shaking his head. 

“Alright. Let’s do this.” Marcus studied him for a second longer before giving him a firm pat on the back. 

The team gathered around as Ten Hag delivered his final words. “Stay compact in midfield. No sloppy passes, no hesitation. And Mason.” — his gaze locked onto him — “Be aggressive. No holding back tonight.”

Mason nodded, but the unease in his chest didn’t go away.

The first half was a battle. Manchester City were relentless, pressing high, moving the ball quickly. Mason was doing his best to keep up, but it wasn’t enough. He felt a step behind, his touches just a little off. Every mistake felt heavier, like it was adding to the weight pressing down on him.

Then, early in the second half, his moment came. A misplaced pass from City’s defense sent the ball rolling into open space. He sprinted forward, reaching for the ball — but, everything happened at once.

A body crashed into him, full force.

Rúben Dias.

Mason barely had time to think before he was sent flying. 

The pain was unbearable, his knee twisted violently before giving out completely, his body collapsing onto the grass. He gasped, his hands clutching his leg, but it was like a fire spreading through him, sharp and unrelenting. 

The noise of the crowd faded. His ears rang. The only thing he could focus on was the agony tearing through his body.

Then came the voices.

His name. Shouts for the medical team. Hands on his shoulder, his arm — steady, grounding. Rashford and Hojlund were crouched beside him, his face tight with worry.

“Mase, talk to me. You alright?” Rashford put his hand on Mason’s shoulder, but voice cut through the chaos — loud, sharp, and angry.

“What the fuck was that?”

Mason barely turned his head in time to see Rúben Dias standing a few feet away, arms raised, shouting at the referee. But he wasn’t apologizing — he was blaming him.

“He threw himself into it!” Rúben snapped, shaking his head. “That’s not on me!”

A wave of anger rolled through Mason’s teammates. Rashford was up in an instant, stepping toward Rúben. “What’s your problem?” he shot back. “He’s on the ground, mate. Have some fucking respect.”

Lisandro Martínez shoved past Rashford, glaring at Dias. “You’re not helping, Dias. Just walk away.” The referee quickly stepped between them, telling them to calm down, but Mason couldn’t focus on the argument. The paramedics were already beside him, voices low but urgent.

“How bad?” one asked.

“Looks like ligament damage. Possible tear.”

“Quick, we need to get him off now.”

Mason barely processed their words. His pulse pounded in his ears, the stadium lights too bright, the voices around him distant. The stretcher appeared beside him, and Mason barely registered the hands lifting him onto it.

This wasn’t happening.

He wasn’t supposed to go out like this. Not injured. Not like this.

As they carried him off, pain flaring with every small movement, the crowd’s noise became lower in the background. He shut his eyes, swallowing down the disappointment, the fear.

(...)

The ambulance ride was a blur of flashing lights and muffled voices. Mason lay flat on the stretcher, his body stiff, every bump in the road sending pain through his leg. His knee felt like it was on fire, a deep, throbbing ache spreading through his body. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe through it, but it wasn’t working.

“Hang in there, Mason. We’re almost there.” One of the paramedics hovered over him, adjusting the straps securing his leg.

“Male, twenty-six, severe knee trauma. Suspected ACL tear. Pulse stable, high-pain level.“ The other spoke into a radio, relaying updates ahead to the hospital.

ACL tear.

Mason clenched his jaw. He knew what that meant. Months out. Maybe longer.

He let out a shaky breath, his fingers gripping the edge of the stretcher. The sound of the sirens was distant, drowned out by the pounding in his head.

The ambulance doors swung open the moment they arrived at Manchester Royal Infirmary, one of the best hospitals in the city for sports injuries. Everything moved fast. Bright lights, rushed voices, the sharp scent of antiseptic.

“Took a direct hit before collapsing. Pain’s at a ten.” The paramedics wheeled him through the corridor, speaking to the medical staff waiting for them, prepared to do the scans.

The words barely registered. Mason felt lightheaded, the pain and exhaustion weighing him down. He barely reacted as they transferred him onto the hospital bed.

And then, finally, known voices.

“Mason!” His dad’s voice cut through the hallway.

Mason forced his eyes open, blinking against the brightness. His dad, Tony, was standing at the edge of the bed, his face tight with worry. His mom was beside him, arms crossed over her chest like she was physically holding herself together.

“We came as soon as we got the call.” Tony said, his voice steady, but Mason could see the concern behind his eyes.

“They think it’s my ACL.” Mason swallowed hard and the words felt heavy on his tongue. “I don’t know how bad.” Before they could say more, the doctor stepped in, holding a clipboard.

“Mason, we’ve reviewed your scans.” he said, flipping through the papers. “It’s a complete ACL tear.” He met Mason’s eyes. “You’ll need surgery.”

“Dear, God." his mom gasped. "And, the recovery?"

"It'll take at least six to eight months.” the doctor responded.

Silence.

Mason’s chest tightened. Six to eight months.

His season was over. His career, put on hold.

“We’ll get through this.” His dad pressed a firm hand on his shoulder.

Mason exhaled, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t go away. The pain in his knee was unbearable, but right now, the pain in his heart was worse. Suddenly, the disappointment of letting down, the fans, his teammates and his family was greater than anything else.

(…)

The sterile smell of the hospital still clung to the air, heavy and cold. Mason lay on the bed, staring up at the white ceiling, his mind swirling with frustration. The pain from his knee was a constant reminder of everything he’d lost in the blink of an eye. It wasn’t just the injury. It was the weight of the season ahead — the expectations he was expected to carry, the doubts creeping in after another setback. His career, his future, all of it felt uncertain now. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Not like this.

The door opened with a soft creak, and the nurse entered, her steps light but confident. She had black hair and a name tag reading "Charlotte" clipped to her uniform. She smiled as she walked toward him, her eyes scanning the room before landing on Mason.

“Mr. Mount.” she said, her voice sweet, but with a touch of something more. “How are you feeling?”

“Same as before.” Mason barely looked at her, keeping his gaze on the ceiling.

Charlotte moved closer to adjust his IV, her touch is gentle, but there was something about it that felt a little too warm. Her fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary, and as she finished, she smiled.

“I bet you didn’t expect your night to go like this. Right?” she said, her voice softer, a little flirtatious, though Mason wasn’t interested.

He could tell she was trying, but he wasn’t in the mood to entertain anyone. Not right now.

“I’ve had better.” he replied flatly, still not looking at her. She laughed lightly, and Mason couldn’t help but feel like she was laying it on thick.

“You’re not gonna stay mad at me, are you?” she said, leaning in just a little, her words dripping with intent.

“Not mad. Just not in the mood.” He shifted uncomfortably, finally meeting her gaze, though it was more to put an end to the exchange than anything else.

She raised an eyebrow, her smile a little less subtle this time. “Well, if you need anything, I’m just down the hall.” she said, lingering for a moment longer before stepping back, lingering on him as she made her exit.

Mason couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy. The last thing he needed was someone flirting with him when he could barely get a grip on his own thoughts. After a few minutes, the door opened again, and this time, it was his sister, Jaz, and her husband, Sam. Jaz had that look on her face — the one that always came when she knew something wasn’t right, her worry barely hidden beneath a smile as she walked toward him.

“Mase.” she said softly, pulling up a chair next to his bed. “How’re you holding up?”

Mason turned his head toward her, but his expression remained guarded.

“Just another day.” he replied, though it didn’t sound convincing even to him.

Jaz sat down next to him, her eyes full of concern as she studied him. Her hand reached out, brushing his. “I know this has been tough on you.” she said quietly. “I can see it, Mase. I know what leaving Chelsea did to you... and now this.” Her voice cracked a little, but she quickly recovered, squeezing his hand. Mason didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t in the mood to explain. He wasn’t in the mood for pity.

“It’s fine. I’ll get over it.” he muttered, though he wasn’t sure he believed it himself.

Jaz didn’t let go of his hand. Instead, she leaned in, her voice low and gentle.

“You don’t have to be fine, Mase. Not with me. Not with Sam. We’re here. Always.”

“You know we’ve got your back. Whatever happens.” Sam, standing at the door with his arms crossed, nodded in agreement.

Mason felt a surge of gratitude for them, but it was mixed with anger. He didn’t want to be a burden, didn’t want them to see him like this. He hated feeling weak. But Jaz wasn’t having it. She pulled him into a tight hug, resting her cheek against his.

“I know things haven’t been easy for you.” she whispered. “Leaving Chelsea... coming to Manchester. It’s a big change. But you’ve always been strong. You’ll get through this. I know you will.”

For a moment, Mason didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t used to being this vulnerable, especially not with his sister, but the warmth of her embrace made him realize how much he needed this. How much he needed them.

He hugged her back, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I just... I don’t know if I can do this anymore. I don’t know if I can keep going.”

Jaz pulled back slightly, her eyes soft with understanding.

“Mase, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But don’t give up on yourself.” The words hung in the air, and Mason found himself lost in them, his walls starting to crumble a little.

(...)

Adeline stood in the kitchen, wiping down the countertops as the evening light dimmed outside. The small flat in the heart of Manchester felt quiet, the kind of peaceful silence that only settled in after Lilith had gone to bed. The last few hours had been spent in the usual routine — dinner, playtime, bedtime stories.

Adeline couldn’t help but smile at the thought. Lilith was the light of her life, the reason she kept going even on the toughest days.

She had fought for Lilith before she was even born, through sleepless nights filled with doubt, through the suffocating fear of wondering how she would do it alone. The father had never been in the picture — he hadn’t wanted to be — and she had long stopped caring. What she had gained was far greater than what she had lost.

Lilith was her heart walking outside her body.

Every sacrifice, every long shift, every moment of exhaustion was worth it.

And it wasn’t just about being a mother. She loved her job, too.

Physiotherapy wasn’t just a career — it was something she was passionate about, something she had worked relentlessly for. Helping people heal, watching them rebuild their strength, seeing them step back into the life they thought they’d lost — it was fulfilling in a way nothing else was.

She had climbed her way up, studying late into the night after putting Lilith to bed, taking extra certifications while balancing work and motherhood. It hadn’t been easy. But she was good at what she did.

She remembered the early days of motherhood, when everything had felt so uncertain. There was a time when she had been terrified — terrified of raising Lilith on her own, terrified of how hard it would be. But there was also a moment, after months of sleepless nights and endless worry, when she’d found the strength to tell herself, don’t give up on yourself. She had whispered those words like a promise, a way to keep her head above water.

Now, years later, she repeated that phrase whenever things got tough. It wasn’t easy, but she had made a life for herself and for Lilith, one small step at a time.

“Mum? Mum!” Her thoughts were interrupted by a small voice from the hallway when Lilith called, her little voice muffled from her bedroom. “Mum, I can’t sleep.”

Adeline dried her hands quickly and moved toward the door, calling out gently, “I’m coming, Lily.”

Lilith was curled up in her bed, clutching her stuffed bunny. “I had a bad dream.” she mumbled, holding out her arms.

Adeline bent down to scoop her daughter up, cradling her in her arms. “What happened, darling?” she asked, brushing a lock of hair from Lilith’s forehead.

“I dreamed the bunny got lost.” she said softly. “Can we keep him close?”

“Of course, my love.” Adeline smiled and settled them both under the covers, letting Lilith snuggle into her arms. “He’s safe now, I promise. No one’s taking him.”

As she laid there, her phone buzzed from the kitchen counter, the vibration loud in the quiet room. Adeline’s eyes fluttered open, and she reluctantly got herself away from Lilith, tucking the blanket around her daughter before heading back to the kitchen.

She frowned when she saw the name of your boss, Dr. Hearst, on the screen. It was nearly 11 p.m. What could he want this late?

“Dr. Hearst?” She answered quickly.

“Adeline, I’ve got an opportunity for you. A big one.” His voice came through steady, direct.

She straightened. “I’m listening.”

“Mason Mount came in tonight. Complete ACL tear. Manchester United is assembling a team to handle his recovery, and they need the best physiotherapist for the job.” Adeline was not a football enthusiast, she’s heard his name a few times, but that’s it.

“And… you’re saying that’s me?”

“Yes. You’re the most qualified in our department, especially with your postgrad in sports injuries. I vouched for you.”

“I appreciate that, but-” Adeline hesitated, gripping the edge of the counter.

“I know what you’re thinking.” he cut in. “But, listen. They’re offering serious money. More than double your salary. This isn’t just about your career, Adeline. This is about securing a future — for you and Lilith.”

Lilith.

Adeline’s gaze flickered toward the closed bedroom door, where her daughter was sleeping soundly, unaware of the weight pressing on her mother’s shoulders.

“When do they need an answer?” She exhaled, running a hand through her hair.

“Tomorrow morning. We’re finalizing the medical team, If you want in, be at the hospital by eight.”

A beat of silence passed.

Adeline swallowed. “Alright. I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t think too long.” Dr. Hearst warned. “This is the kind of chance that doesn’t come twice.”

She ended the call and stood there for a moment, staring at her phone.

Footballers. She’d heard enough stories from her colleagues — entitled, arrogant, difficult to work with. But…

She glanced at Lilith’s door again.

This wasn’t just about her. This was about her daughter’s future.

And Adeline always put Lilith first.

(...)

[dragonnarrative-writes]

KinkVember 12 - High Protocol

Gary "Roach" Sanderson x Reader, Featuring Ghost, Mace, Gaz, and Soap

Read on AO3

CW: Partial nudity, non-con touching, physical strike (not as a part of established play), kneeling, knives (present, but not used), praise

Notes: Gary "Roach" Sanderson experiences mutism due to injury to his throat. He uses British Sign Language, but he and the reader have established hand signals that are not standard BSL as part of their dynamic. When Roach is speaking, Simon interprets for the people at the table who aren't fluent in BSL.

You tilt your head when you hear a low whistle from the den. You finish the serving platter you're working on with an answering two-note whistle. It's the work of a moment to slide the platter into the fridge and trade it for five bottles of water before setting out to see to Gary and his guests.

You see Johnny, Kyle, Simon and Mason looking at you as you walk in. Their eyes dart down to your breasts and then down to the skirt that you know doesn’t fully cover your ass. You cock one hip for them to admire your bare legs, but you only have eyes for your Dom.

You preen a bit when Gary looks up and almost signs for water, then grins to see you've anticipated his request. When he circles a finger, you step into the room and start offering water to his guests.

It’s an interesting headspace to be in. You feel their eyes on you, but you’re not partially nude. This is your home, where you are most comfortable. You’re partially clothed, for their sake. You offer refreshments because Gary’s guests are your guests; there is no deference, or shame. You follow Gary because you want to, because he offers orders freely and demands nothing from you. You have power here, even if you’re not in control.

So, when Johnny runs an appreciative hand up the back of your thigh, you don’t hesitate to knock his arm away and then crack your palm against his face.

Gary’s whistle stutters as he tries to call you though his laughter. You go to stand behind his shoulder, and offer your hand for his inspection. He holds your wrist gently, but he doesn’t need to check you for injury. You know how to hit a man, and the slap was more of a warning than anything. He kisses the inside of your wrist before addressing the rest of the table.

A solid hit, he signs, as Simon interprets. He grins at Johnny’s quickly reddening face. Told you to keep your hands to yourself. To you, he signs, Kneel.

You consider the kneeling pillow he’s placed by his side, then fold into it. He signals position 5 or 7, so you settle with your back straight, hands on your thighs, shoulders relaxed. From this angle, you can only see thighs, and Gary’s left hand. He pinches three fingers to his thumb. Hold.

Above you, Mason rumbles, “Don’t think she should be punished for that.”

Gary’s hand disappears, and Simon’s voice says. “’She’s not being punished. She gets to relax now. None of you gets to look if any of you can’t follow the rules.’”

“Ye cannae blame me,” Johnny whines, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “She’s a right bonnie thing. An’ she usually likes to play.”

“'She’s in a mood,” Simon rumbles. “’You’re lucky she has her orders. She’s armed…’ Where the fuck is she armed?”

Gary snorts as his left hand appears with the hand signal to present arms. Above and to the side of you, you catch Kyle watching from the corner of your eye as you slip your hands under your skirt to unsheathe your palm knives. You raise your hands above the table.

“Steamin’ jesus,” Johnny laughs.

Gary signals for you to resume position 5, so you do. He taps your shoulder, once, twice, three times. Good. Very good. Perfect. You don’t break position, but you purse your lips to catch the edge of his wrist in a kiss.

“Should we go after this round?” Kyle asks, tapping his poker chips on the table in a nervous rhythm. “If she’s not comfortable with us being here.”

“’You wouldn’t have made it through the door if she didn’t want you here.’” Simon chuckles and knocks his own knuckles on the table. “Sounds like she runs the damn ‘ouse, not you. ‘Doesn’t Bambi?’ Olright, you’re not wrong there. But we don’t ‘ave nearly the amount of rules an’ signals that you do.”

You let the noise of their voices turn to background noise as you center yourself. Above the table, Mason shuffles cards. Johnny’s left leg bounces - he’s got a good hand, then - and Kyle stops tapping his chips. Gary’s hand enters your sight line to give you one more signal. Easy. Then he touches the top of your head and gently nudges you to lay your head on his thigh. He taps, once, twice, three times. Four.

Good. Very good. Perfect. I love you.

[megs-1800]

Come Back to Me

Notes: I really enjoyed writing this one. 2 in one day aren't you guys lucky! Thank you for your support and please as usual please leave feedback and any further requests as it will help with ideas.

This is Part 3 to my previous fics, You can read part 1 (One hell of a hangover here and Part 2 (Then there is hope) here. This is again written from Mason's POV.

Summary: You and Mason finally get the chance to speak about all that happened. Will you be able to forgive him, will you go back to him?

Pairings: Mason Mount x Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Angst, Fluff and Heated make out session.

Mason is stood in the tunnel in old Trafford. His hands are shaking he is so nervous, its such a big game against Man City and United have to win. His brother is here as well as his sister with the girls and obviously his parents but he wished you were here, you were always his lucky charm and he always seems to play better when you were here.

The first half whistle blew and United were loosing 2-0 to City. Mason hadn’t had the best first half hardly touching the ball and when he did he lost the ball causing the first goal which the press were definitely going to mention. Great that’s all he needs right now. The gaffer was doing his half time talk, once he leaves Mason looks down at his phone and saw that there is a notification from you saying you have recently added to your story. Mason set notifications on your socials so every time you posted he was aware, since the break up he had to make sure you were okay. When he opened your Instagram story it showed a picture of you, you were in one of the stands in old Trafford behind the goal, you were stood on the steps looking at the pitch with your back to the camera and you had your Manchester United shirt on with Mount 7 on the back with the caption “Routing on United”. She is here I thought. I cannot believe it she is here. By the picture she is obviously sitting in one of the main stands and not sitting in the area where all the family and WAGs sit, I get that she probably knows my family will be here and doesn’t want to face them just yet.

My mind drifts off to a week ago when I attend your charity event, I asked you to come to this game which you said you would think about. I know the breakup was hard on both of us and I needed you here today, I thought if you came it might mean we have a chance. I messaged you that night after the charity event once I got back to the hotel, after seeing you “It was amazing seeing you tonight, well done again on winning the award and you looked absolutely incredible. Thank you for thinking about coming to the game this weekend it would be great to see you again x”. I got no reply until the following morning which you wrote “Hey Mase, yeah it was great seeing you too. Sorry for the late reply I crashed last night I had too much to drink. But how you doing anyway? x”. We continued talking all day, I got one of the boys to drive home instead so I could spend the whole drive speaking to you. It was so good, I thought maybe seeing eachother last night changed things for you but your non replies the next couple of days obviously proved me wrong. I got fed up of you not replying so I sent “So you just not replying to me now? I cannot believe you are ignoring me”. You gave me a quick response to that “What do you want me to say Mase, we cannot just pretend you didn’t cheat on me and broke my heart I just need you to leave me alone Mase I cannot do this”. I was angry at that reply I know I should of calmed down before I replied but I was just so angry that you gave me hope a couple of days ago when we were talking all day then you took it all away again, “You know what fuck off y/n.” You quickly went to delete the message but you read it before I could, I know I shouldn’t of said that I just let my anger overall me. Great I just blew my chance of getting you back. Rashford pulled me out of my trance “Come on bro, lets go give the fans a show”. I definitely will now knowing she is watching.

What a 2nd half we were all over City, we scored earlier on in the second half which I had an assist and I got the second goal, when I scored I ran over to the net you were standing behind and pointed to the stands That goal was for you baby girl. It was the 95th minute of 5 minutes of added time, City get a corner we just need to defend, it gets headed straight out and I bring it down. I look up the pitch and just start running before I knew it I am in the six yard box as I go to shoot suddenly I am taken out. The ref blows that’s a penalty. Bruno steps up to take it and shoots it straight in the top right corner. Ref blows the whistle for full time. I knew I needed my lucky charm.

I never got ready so quickly to leave, the boys were all celebrating the win, I didn’t care I just wanted to leave so I can see you. I was just hoping that you were still waiting around for me. When I left I was greeted by my family, they congratulated me on the win and my performance. My mum could tell I looked disappointment, I love seeing them but I needed to see you I had to sort things out. Mum looked at me “She didn’t want to hang around, she said this wasn’t the right environment to see eachother again” My heart broke I cannot believe how close I was to seeing you again and that’s it my dreams were shattered again, even my family got to see you and I didn’t. “So I gave her the key to your place I hope that’s okay, she said she will meet you there. At least you two can speak properly that way”. Damn I love my mum she always has my back, I know she is routing for me and y/n she wants us back together as well. I smiled and said goodbye to them all, we are having a roast at theirs tomorrow anyway and I rush home I need to see her.  

As I pull into the drive way I feel that rush of anxiety, I don’t even know what to say. How am I going to make this okay? As I walk through the door I can see you are sat there all curled up on the sofa on your phone. You stand up to come and greet me. “Hey mase.. your mum gave me your key I promise I didn’t break in” We both laugh at that comment “you played amazing today well done, make me so proud to wear your shirt”. I smile I look her up and down, she is  so beautiful. “You look so beautiful wearing my shirt” She gives me a small smile “Just don’t tell my dad that I wore a united shirt he would go mad that I have betrayed (your teams name).” I giggle at that comment we know how much you love your team it took me years for you to wear one of my shirts in public. “Of course not it will be our little secret. United are better then (your teams name) anyway”. I say smiling away, I think I am flirting a little. I don’t know what to say, we used to talk all day everyday and now I don’t know what to say, its like we are strangers.

“Are you ready to hear me out?” I said hopefully. You nodded and allow me to continue, I can see your hands shaking you are nervous all I want to do is hug you. “I am sorry for everything, I should of never allowed us to argue that night, I never should of got that drunk, I never should of slept with that girl and I never should of kept it from you. I should of told you and been a man about it. Its just that you are the best thing that ever happened to me y/n and I was scared of loosing you. I promise if you give me a chance I will do better”.  I looked into your eyes, I am trying to read your reactions so I know what you are going to say next but its all blank all I can see is the emotion in your eyes.

“Do better?!?! Are you fucking serious Mason. Do better! What do better not to sleep with another women or do better at keeping it from me?!” You are starting to raise your voice, this conversation is going to get heated. Your arguments always go one way or the other, it either ends in crying or shouting and today I was hoping for the crying as I do not have the energy. “I mean do better with us y/n, I will be a better boyfriend, I will be around more, show you how much you mean to me that’s what I mean”.

I can tell that sentence helped defuse the situation as I can see your rage starting to calm down and sadness has started to surface. “The thing is Mason you were the best thing to ever happen to me.. I loved you more then anything else in this world, I live and breathed for you and I saw you as someone who would never hurt me and now after everything you have put me through how can we go back to how we were? All day everyday all I think about is you Mason, you continue to ruin my life and its not fair!” You are now starting to heated again “I went on a date the other day Mason and all I could think about was you. Its not fair you keep messing with my head and my emotions and I came here to tell you to just leave me alone and let me get on with my life!” You screamed the last part.

“You went on a date?”  I questioned hurting. “Are you serious Mason?! That’s all you heard from that sentence is that I went on a date are you freaking kidding me right now Mount?!”. This time you are screaming and using your hands to talk so I know you are pissed. You continued “But to answer your question yes Mason I did go on a date, and I am allowed I have been single for nearly 8 months.” I looked down at the ground, I was so broken after the break up I couldn’t even think about any other girl let alone going on a date with one, I cannot believe you went on one, however at the same time I cannot blame you. You are an amazing girl you cannot be single forever. “What was it like?” I asked sheepishly don’t know if I wanted the answer if I am being honest. “It was good!” You basically spit at me, you then look down and shake your head “It was shit Mase, the whole date I was comparing him to you, I was sitting there thinking Mason wouldn’t do that, or Mason would do this! It was awful Mason because he was a nice guy but nope you gotta fucking ruin it”. You just kept screaming at me you wouldn’t stop, I didn’t know what else to do that’s when I run across the room and put my lips to yours. It was a passionate kiss, it was the only way I could think of to get you to shut up. I went to pull away that’s when you grabbed my neck and pulled me closer. You deepened the kiss and I can feel your tongue in my mouth. I could feel the neediness in the kiss, the desperation, the anger. Your lips are all over mine and I let you control it. You push me down on the sofa and you straddle my hips and continue the kiss. I can feel you grinding on me, Fuck I forgot what you do to me that’s when you moved your lips to my neck and suddenly starting attacking my neck. I can feel you sucking and kissing away. I know you are leaving me a love bite but I love the feeling of you doing it, I put my head back to enjoy it. Fuck you are so sexy. That’s when the realisation hits me, we cannot do this, not like this. You are doing this because you are angry and upset I don’t want you back this way and if we continue this is going to make the situation a 100 times more complicated. “Baby” You don’t stop it just gives you more fuel to continue “Y/n” I try and again nothing. I then try again “Y/n stop!” This time I said pushing you, I didn’t realise how hard I pushed because suddenly you are on the floor.

You look at me with disappointment in your eyes, I was scared I hurt you so I went to give you a hand up which you just rolled your eyes and stood up yourself. “I don’t get you Mason, you came to my charity event and all those texts and calls begging for me to come back and now I am here giving you exactly what you want and you push me away! What the fuck do you want Mason make up your mind?!” She has tears rolling down her face and the anger is back. “I want you y/n.. not just to sleep with I want all of you I want you back to being mine! When we get to have that closeness again I want to make love y/n not just a little fuck, but I want to make sure that you are mine again before that happens because I defiantly will not be able to cope if we sleep together and then you walk away”. This time I can feel the tears rolling down my eyes.

You look so broken, I can see the tears running down your face and the way you are trying to control your breathing to stop from hyperventilating. You just shake your head and make a walk to the front door. You pick your weekend bag up from the floor and put it over your left shoulder and turn around to face me. This all feels too familiar I am having flashbacks of the night you left. “Please don’t go”, It comes out just has a whisper due to the amount of crying its barely even audible I am not sure if you even heard it. You turn back towards the door and stand there, you stand there for about 30 seconds. I wonder what you are doing. You turn to look at me, your eyes are all red and puffy, I just want to take the pain away.

You go to say something but choke so you cough and try again “We can try again, but we are taking it slow Mase. I am not moving back in and we go back to how we were before because I cannot cope with that, I am not giving my whole life up again for you to ruin it. I am staying in my flat in (Your hometown) and we can do the long distance until I know I can trust you again and I can figure out what I can do about my company”. I look at her in disbelief she agreed we can try again, did I hear her right? I just stand there staring at her, I am in shock I have been dreaming of this since you left but I never thought you would take me back. We continue to stand there until she says “are you go to say anything?” I smile at you and I run across the entrance hall and wrap my arms around you. I give you the biggest hug I think we ever had like I will never let you go. You pull away from the hug “so what do you say Mase?” I smile at her, I am so happy right now I want to stay in this moment forever. “Of course, I will do anything y/n to make you mine again, whatever it is we will make it work. Does this mean I have to wait for 2 months of talking and 3 dates before you put out?” I wink at you and you laugh “well that depends on how amazing the dates are”. You wink at me.

“I am not really sure where I am staying tonight, I didn’t get that far in my plan I just kind of focused on seeing you.. is it okay for me to stay here tonight? Its completely okay if not I will get a hotel”. I bring your chin to look at me as we are still in a full cuddle. “Are you kidding me y/n, you do not need to even ask whenever you want to stay you stay okay, even if I am not here”.  You smiled and pulled away from the hug. “Okay thank you, I am just going to take my bag upstairs then and get changed into something more comfortable. What you cooking me for dinner I am bloody starving?”. I laugh of course always thinking about food, then I remember I really do not have much in at the moment, I haven’t really bothered since you moved out I just got what I wanted on a daily basis never really planned ahead. “You got get changed I will order us something in”. You nod and start walking up the spiral staircase. You stop halfway up “Mase” you caught my attention and I stopped in my tracks “I saw your family today, it was so good to see them! They invited me over for the family roast tomorrow I wanted to make sure if that’s okay? I didn’t want it to be awkward for you” Of course she can come I love how my family have already offered for her to come I love that. “Of course it would be amazing to have you there, they have all missed you especially Summer and Mila they keep asking where auntie y/n/n is”. You giggle at the memories of those girls, you love them like your own nieces. “Great. Your mum said I need to bring the dessert as she wants my baking so I am going to go out tomorrow morning and get the ingredients and make something to go with”. I know how much my family love your baking. At that you run up the rest of the stairs to the landing upstairs.

I go to sit on the sofa in the living room and pull out my phone, I stop at my families group chat. I write “She came back to me guys, she came back. She cannot wait to see you all tomorrow”. I put the phone down and rest my head on the back of the sofa and let the relief overcome me. I cannot believe she has come back to me. My mind wanders to the engagement ring in my bedside table, I brought it a couple of weeks before ‘you know what’ happened, I was going to propose whilst we had our weekend away in Paris but I never got the chance. I never wanted to take it back just in case, it was tailor made to you. I smiled at the thought that I might get to use that again one day. You came back to me.

[kennahjune]

Teen Dad AU

Part 3!!!

Tag List: @jaytriesstuff @jackiemonroe5512 @netflixisacopingstrategymom @finntheehumaneater @redhoodandhellfire @blackpanzy @blu3stars @goodolefashionedloverboi @strawberryyyenthusiast @bebopbabyy @forest-fogg @silenzioperso @lololol-1234 @thestarslittleking @lingeringmirth @moomkin77 @dragonmama76 @mentallyundone @salty-h0e @sapphireoceansoc @geekyfifi @sirsnacksalot @subversivecynic @rebellatio-03 @thelittleclare @pinkrabit @thelittleclare @jamieweasley13 @just-a-tiny-void @strangeforest @hunterbow04 @fiddledeedee85 @bookworm0690 @pinkrabit @grimmfitzz @irregular-child

…

Steve went to school on Friday with a pleasant pep in his step. He’d be leaving early at 1:30 for work and then leaving work at 5 to go officially move into the trailer. He’d have the whole weekend off to get properly moved, to.

People still eyed him in the halls. They still whispered and they still looked. And yeah, it wasn’t with the same respect as it was before. But Steve found he didn’t care. He stopped by his locker, number 276.

Nancy and Jonathan were already there, both leaning against the lockers and talking quietly.

Steve didn’t say much to the two of them. He’d put away what he didn’t need in his locker and then simply went to first period.

.

There wasn’t ever much to say about school. Sure it was different from his home life, and yes it was different from his work life, but it wasn’t anything special.

It stopped being special when he decided to stick with Louie nearly 7 months ago now.

He left at 1:30, as he usually did. He typically got Nancy or Jonathan to stop by and grab the work he’d be missing for him so that he wasn’t absolutely failing.

At work, Steve couldn’t stop glancing at the clock. A couple of the regulars— Abby, a sweet lady in her thirties, and Mandy, a sassy black lady in her fifties— congratulated him on the new trailer and tipped extra.

Steve was positively vibrating with nerves his entire shift. Every time he went back to pick up an order from Mason and Gwen they shot him cheeky grins and gave him claps on the shoulders.

Everyone could see how excited Steve was, and his moods were usually rubbing off on everyone anyway.

When 5 finally hit, Steve hung his apron, counted his tips, and gave everyone the usual goodbye hugs and high fives. Mason held on a little tighter than usual and even gave him a little spin that had Steve leaving in high spirits.

He took his usual dinner and baby Louie out to the car, talking excitedly to the small child all the while.

“We finally have a new home, Louie! Aren’t you excited baby? You’re gonna sleep in a bed, and sit on the couch, and have floor time!”

Louie babbled back just as excitedly. Steve was giddy with joy.

The trailer park wasn’t too far from the dinner. It was a good 5-7 minute drive, tops.

But by the end of the night Steve had officially moved into number 2718 New Bird Ave.

.

The first night was as rough as expected. The previous occupants left behind most of their furniture so Steve was left with a couch, a bed, and an old dresser that was ready to topple.

Steve took the smallest bedroom, it was barely bigger than his old closet but the tight fit was comforting in a way. He moved the mattress from the left-behind bed into the room, leaving the frame. It wouldn’t fit through the door despite being just smaller than a twin.

Steve took Louie around the trailer, holding him close and happily showing him everything there was to see.

“And this, my dear baby, is the kitchen. I’m gonna get real nice curtains and a small table. I’m thinking yellow curtains. Whaddya say Lou-Lou?”

Louie babbled excitedly and gripped Steve’s hair.

“I’ll take it you like yellow. Me too.” Steve smiled brightly.

The kitchen took up the entire front of the trailer. The windows were large and nearly floor-ceiling and already had blinds set on them. They let in plenty of sunlight and gave a beautiful view to the other trailers and the woods surrounding the park. There was a pantry where he could eventually set up a washer and dryer. And a small area between the pantry and windows where he’d be able to fit in a table and maybe three chairs.

“Now—“ Steve let Louie down on the floor and crouched right behind him, holding him up. “—this is the living room. This is where we’re gonna listen to music and dance and sing.”

Louie immediately started babbling and gurgling, wiggling and bouncing in Steve’s hold. Steve laughed.

“Exactly baby! Dancing just like that. You get your moves from your daddy don’t you hunny?”

Louie gave his best belly-laugh that had Steve scooping him up and holding him close.

“You’re such a sweetheart, Lou-Lou! You’re my sweetheart aren’t you, babyboy?” Steve smothered kisses across Louie’s face and grinned when the baby laughed and pulled his hair.

.

“Alrighty, Louie. What to do now, huh?”

Steve had propped Louie carefully on the couch. The baby sat watching him closely, and vaguely tried copying Steve’s hands on his hips. Steve grinned.

“Do you wanna go to the store? We can see about getting you an actual crib.”

Louie stared blankly.

“You’re right, you’d just end up sleeping with me anyways. What about a new bed for us then, huh? Something that’d actually fit in the room?”

Louie made a squeaking sound.

“And plans have been made!” Steve declared, throwing his arms up. His hand his the ceiling but he didn’t mind the pain when Louie copied him and threw his hands up as well.

“To the store we go!”

.

Steve was pushing Louie around the store in a stroller he’d found in the baby section. Yes, he was going to buy it when they went up to pay.

Why hadn’t he bought a stroller to begin with? It was so much easier than carrying around the car seat.

Little Louie was babbling away and reaching for just about anything they passed. However, he made a particularly loud squeal when Steve passed a certain bed frame. Steve paused and looked it over with Louie.

It was a simple white twin with a high headboard and a low, almost not there bottom board. It almost looked like a wooden princess bed.

“That one?” Steve asked Louie.

Louie answered with a gargle of spit and his fingers in his mouth. Steve grinned.

“That one.”

.

Putting the bed together was the biggest pain in the ass Steve ever had the displeasure of going through.

He’d never been a strong reader. And he’d always needed visual help references in front of him for him to learn properly. The instructions provided pictures that Steve was confident he himself could’ve drawn better.

“I mean look at this sh— crap. I’m sure you could’ve drawn something better, huh bub?”

Louie gurgled and nodded sagely.

The bed was put together with much failure and cursing and input from baby Louie.

Steve stood back with his hands on his hips and snorted delightfully when Louie copied him as best he could with his baby hands. The bed was done and Steve’d finally out the mattresses on. Now he got to sleep in it.

.

Steve entered the back door to the diner in a flurry of limbs. He was pushing the new stroller he’d gotten Louie and was desperately trying to hold open the door at the same time.

Gwen rushed to help, grabbing the stroller and baby Louie and pushing him into George’s office. Steve sighed in relief and let the baby be taken while Mason helped him with the diaper bag.

When they dropped off the bag and baby in the office Steve was surrounded by Michelle, Gwen, and Mason.

“So? How’d it go, kid?” asked Gwen with a cross of her arms.

Steve grinned at them, baring his teeth and gums in a way that showed his giddiness in full force.

“It’s a nice place. I got a bed set up and Louie likes dancing in the living room with me. Isn’t that right bubba?”

The baby in question immediately started bouncing in place on his butt. Steve laughed and picked him up. Louie continued bouncing in his grip, dancing his best baby moves.

“Just like that, lovebug!”

Mason and Gwen cooed.

“You got those moves from your daddy, huh sweet thing?” Mason teased, poking a finger into Louie’s side. Louie grabbed it and messed with the ring there.

“You are just the sweetest freakin thing ever!” Gwen cooed in a baby voice.

.

And for a month it went like that.

Steve and baby Louie got settled into the trailer nicely. They filled up the living room and bedroom with Louie’s toys and as many pillows as Steve could afford.

Back at his parents’ house, the pillows his mother bought were only for show. They were only there because they had looked good. Steve bought his pillows because he liked them. Because they were pretty or cute. Because they reminded him of people he knew. Because they simply caught his or Louie’s eyes.

They got the curtains for the kitchen— a soft yellow with white stripes. Steve hung them while Louie had floor time a few feet away in the living room.

During the month they settled in, Nancy had been watching Louie every Wednesday and Thursday after she got out of school so that Steve could take the closing shift at the diner. She’d watch him early Sunday mornings so that Steve could take the opening shift.

And they built a steady routine.

It was mid-morning on a Friday. Steve was buckling Louie into his car seat and humming Head Over Heels by Tears for Fears to himself when a loud thunk vibrated through his car.

Steve righted himself immediately, hitting his head on the roof of the car in the process. While he rubbed the back of his head to soothe the inevitable bump he turned and came face to face with 2 kids barely older than 9.

They stared up at him in silent fear. Steve saw the offending ball rolling somewhere down his driveway— they must’ve hit the ball into his car while playing.

Steve didn’t think. He simply jogged down the driveway and into the street to retrieve the ball. Then he jogged back to his car and handed the little girl the ball. She took it hesitantly.

“You two alright?” Steve asked gently.

They both nodded. Steve was starting to get a little freaked out.

“Um—“

“We’re really sorry!” the girl suddenly shouted.

Steve startled. “Oh! It’s—“

“We didn’t mean to hit your car, the ball kept bouncing and it wouldn’t stop!” the boy explained. The girl nodded.

Steve huffed and put one hand on his hip. “It’s alright, seriously. Look: no damage done, see?”

And true to Steve’s word, there was no damage done to his car, just a mark from the mud caked onto the ball.

“You’re not angry?” the boy asked hesitantly.

Steve smiled sweetly and shook his head. “No, I’m not angry. Just be careful next time, someone else is bound to be angry.”

They nodded in sync. Baby Louie spoke up at that moment with a gurgled babble.

The kids’ heads snapped to the back seat in scary unison, the girl’s blond pigtails bouncing.

“Is that your brother?” she asked, setting the ball in the grass by her feet.

Steve chuckled. “No, he’s my son. His names Louie,”

He stepped aside and let the kids peer at the car seat. The boy grinned.

“Hi, Louie! I’m Noah!”

The girl smiled sweetly and held her hand out for Louie to grab. “I’m Casey! I’m the older twin.”

Steve watched fondly. Louie didn’t get to interact with many people outside of him, Nancy, and they people at work.

“Noah, Casey! What are you two doing now?” Came a call from behind them. Steve turned with the twins to see an older lady walked over to them.

“Gran, look! He’s so cute!” cried Casey.

Noah and Casey made way for their Gran to look at Louie. Little Louie seemed to be thriving in the sudden attention, babbling nonstop and grinning his gummy little smile.

“He’s quite the charmer indeed.” Gran agreed with a nod and smile. “Now, come along you two. Let this young man leave.”

Noah and Casey turned to Steve with a simultaneous “Bye!” before running off with their ball to the trailer next door. Gran sighed.

“It’s nice to finally meet the new neighbor. I’m Margaret, Margaret Bottomette. Those two are my grandchildren, they usually come over for weekends and breaks.”

Steve smiled at the lady, Miss. Bottomette.

.

Miss. Bottomette and the twins became a new constant in Steve’s life alongside the middle schoolers he’s forced to cart around occasionally.

Noah and Casey are sweet kids, albeit feisty. They come over to the car every time Steve’s out, whether he’s with baby Louie or not.

And it’s sweet, is the thing. It brightens Steve’s day just that much more when he sees the beaming smiles on their faces while they play with Louie or while he listens to them talk about their days.

It was early October of 1984 now, Louie being officially 8 months as of October 14.

Steve wasn’t prepared for the upcoming months.

.

And that’s a wrap!!

Tag list is open always (until I reach a limit or finish the series) so feel free to ask!!!!

Edit: TAG LOST IS OFFICIALLY CLOSED!! Sorry guys, I’ve reached the limit :,)

Part 4:

[redroomreflections]

What's Good For The Heart

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

A Family of Her Own Series

7/9

Masterlist | General Masterlist

w/c: 6k

Summary: After the fall of the Avengers, Natasha Romanoff returns home to her secret family—a life she's carefully hidden away for years. Struggling to balance her role as a mother and wife while avoiding the dangers of her past, Natasha is forced to make difficult decisions that impact her loved ones.

This Chapter: R returns to New York and gets a visit from Ross.

Flying always made you feel a bit restless. As you sat back in the plush leather seat, rubbing your temple, you sighed, thinking about the coming days. The hum of the engines, the slight turbulence—everything seemed more pronounced now that you were alone. Without Natasha or the kids to keep your mind distracted, the anxiety simmered just beneath the surface, creeping into every quiet moment.

Your eyes drifted over to Ricky Mason, who sat across from you, tapping away on his tablet. He wasn’t as talkative by any means, which you were grateful for, but even in his silence, you could pick up on something. A glance here, a subtle shift there. It wasn’t bold or overt, but you could read people well enough to know Ricky's admiration for Natasha went beyond simple friendship. He'd been utterly dumbfounded to know you existed and that you and Natasha were married.

“So,” He said finally, breaking the quiet, “I’ve gotta say, getting this whole thing set up… fake flight logs, the new identities—it’s pretty impressive, even for me.”

You hummed in response, half-listening as you gazed out the window, watching the clouds drift by. "You've outdone yourself," you replied absently, not really in the mood for small talk.

He chuckled, shifting in his seat as if he wanted to say more but wasn’t sure how. "You know... Romanoff’s a hell of a woman," he added, his tone casual but not quite neutral.

That caught your attention. You glanced over at him, studying his face, the way he avoided looking directly at you now. "Yeah, she is," you replied evenly, not giving much away.

Ricky cleared his throat, pretending to focus on his tablet again, but you could sense the undercurrent in his words. He wasn’t being bold, not openly flirting, but there was something in the way he brought her up. A hint of admiration that went beyond simple respect for her skills.

"I mean, not to get personal or anything," he continued, his voice carefully measured now, "but it’s impressive. Everything she’s done. Everything you’ve both managed to pull off." He gave a small, nervous laugh, his bravado dimmed just enough to make you notice. "Takes a special kind of person to handle all of that."

You leaned back in your seat, keeping your gaze on him. "It does," you said, your tone soft but pointed. "And she’s a lot more than what people think."

Ricky nodded, perhaps sensing that he’d treaded into sensitive territory. "No doubt," he replied quickly, his eyes darting away again. He seemed to catch himself before going any further, shifting the conversation back to logistics. "So, we’ll be touching down in Jersey soon. I’ll make sure the rental car is ready when you land."

"Good," You said, letting the tension ease out of your shoulders. You didn’t need to make a scene, but you wanted to be sure he understood the unspoken boundary. Ricky wasn’t dumb, and he probably felt the shift in the air.

The rest of the flight passed in relative silence, with only the hum of the engines and the occasional click of Ricky’s tablet filling the cabin. You tried to focus on the plan ahead—getting to your old apartment in Jersey, preparing for the next steps—but your thoughts kept drifting back to Natasha and the kids. You pictured them on their way to the Lake District, hidden away in the quiet beauty of the English countryside.

Natasha would be in disguise, of course, her dark wig and brown contacts making her almost unrecognizable. Stella would be chattering non-stop about sharks, and Nicky, ever serious, would be watching everything with wide, curious eyes. It comforted you to know they’d be safe, at least for a while. But the weight of Ross’s ultimatum hung over you, pressing against the fragile peace you had tried to build for your family.

Soon, you’d be back in New Jersey, driving to Brooklyn, New York, to the old apartment you still kept as a backup. It felt strange, being separated from Natasha and the kids, but you knew it was necessary. You’d regroup soon, and until then, you had to trust that Natasha could keep them hidden.

"Landing soon," Ricky said, breaking the quiet again as he checked his watch. "You ready?"

You nodded, forcing a small smile. "As ready as I’ll ever be."

*********

The familiar scent of dust and stale air hit you as you stepped into the lobby of your old apartment building. The place felt both foreign and strangely comforting. You took a moment to absorb your surroundings, noting the brand-new carpet, the fluorescent overhead lights, and the chipped paint on the walls. You could feel the weight of time pressing down as you walked towards the elevator, your suitcase dragging behind you. Your mind was racing with thoughts of Natasha and the kids, imagining them nestled safely in the Lake District while you braced for whatever Ross had planned. You had spotted the strategically placed black SUVs parked outside, and a couple of suited men standing in the lobby, their eyes scanning the room like hawks. You turned with a look over your shoulders to see Ross sitting, sifting through a magazine, as if he'd been here before.

You stepped over to him with a frown. “Ah, you’re home,” he said nonchalantly, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“I don’t need a welcome committee,” You shot back, crossing your arms over your shoulders. “Nice job tailing me from the airport. Stalking is a new low for you.”

Ross set the magazine down, a smirk playing on his lips. “You know, I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t hiding Natasha. You’ve got a lot of connections. It’s no wonder you managed to evade us for so long.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, feeling annoyance flare within you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I've been right here this whole time."

“Is that so?” Ross leaned back in his chair, feigning casual interest. "So, what have you been up to then? Any good stories?"

"No, and even if there were, I wouldn't tell you."

"Well, I suppose we can catch up later," Ross said, his tone growing more serious. "Does your wife have anything to do with the underwater prison being broken into? I'm missing a few fugitives."

"Underwater prison?" You repeated, keeping your voice steady. "What are you talking about? Is that ethical?"

"Oh, please," Ross replied, rolling his eyes. "We both know who you're protecting. Don't play dumb. Coming from seeing her?"

“I’m flying home from seeing a family friend who’s sick,” You replied, trying to sound convincing while suppressing the urge to roll your eyes. You knew he’d probably try to verify your story, but you were counting on his arrogance. “If you want to waste your time interrogating me, fine. But I don’t have any information for you.”

“Really? You expect me to believe you don’t know where she is? The way you’ve been so careful, it’s obvious you’re hiding something.” Ross’s tone shifted slightly, the menace lurking beneath his words bubbling to the surface.

"Hmm," You tilted your head. "You're grasping at straws."

Ross let out a dry laugh, irritation flashing across his face. “You know, it’s funny. I would’ve expected you to be smarter. You can’t keep hiding her forever. If you don’t cooperate, you’ll go down with her.”

“So, you gave me a week to what? Come and threaten me in person?” You crossed your arms defiantly, refusing to let his intimidation tactics rattle you.

“No, not really. I came to give you a warning,” Ross replied, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. “You can either turn over the location of your wife or face the consequences. Do you think she would be happy if you did time for her?”

“Is that your big threat? Jail time?” You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “Because if that’s all you’ve got, Ross, then you really are losing your touch. I know exactly what she would want me to do, and it wouldn’t involve betraying her.”

Ross’s expression darkened, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “You’re playing a dangerous game, y/n.”

“And you’re still failing to realize just how far I’m willing to go to protect myself. You think you can intimidate me? You think you can scare me? You’re mistaken,” You shot back, your voice steady and confident.

He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing, a vein twitching at his temple. “You don’t know what you’re up against. You’re just a pawn in a game far bigger than you can comprehend.”

“Maybe,” you said, leaning closer, matching his intensity. “But I’m not the one who’s seething with frustration because I can’t find my target. How does that feel, Ross? To be outmaneuvered by someone you underestimated?” You could see the anger boiling in his expression, the way his hands clenched into fists.

Ross glared at you, seething, but you pressed on. “Every second you waste on me is a second closer to you losing your grip. I may not know where Natasha is, but I know how to keep you off balance. You're here because you’re afraid of what might happen if you push too hard. I’ve got everything to lose, and you’re just a cog in the machine.”

“You’ll regret this,” he spat, his voice low and threatening.

“No, Ross, I think you will,” you said, your gaze unwavering. “You’ve already lost, and the more you pursue this, the worse it’s going to get for you. You’re not just after Natasha; you’re threatening her family. That’s a game you’ll never win.”

You turned away from him, leaving him with nothing but his seething anger and the echo of your words hanging in the air. You had taken the upper hand, and for now, that was enough to give you a bit of hope in this twisted game. You finally took a deep breath as you stepped into the apartment you hadn't been in years.

Your footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor as you moved further into the apartment. The familiar scent of dust and stale air drifted around you, mixing with the lingering scent of old books and lavender. You'd asked the housekeeper, courtesy of your own connections, to light candles and make it smell as lived-in as possible. As you moved further into the room, the sunlight streaming through the windows cast long shadows on the floor, and the memories came flooding back.

The apartment was smaller than the one you'd shared with Natasha, but the space was still comfortable and well-appointed. You could remember the first time you'd brought Natasha here, the way her eyes had widened as she took in the view of the city from the living room windows. She'd looked at you with a soft smile, the warmth in her gaze taking your breath away. It had been a simpler time then, before the chaos of the Avengers, the Accords, and all the pain and suffering that followed.

You moved further into the apartment, glancing around at the sparsely furnished rooms. A small kitchen with a worn countertop, a living room with a single sofa, and a bedroom with a queen-sized bed. The furniture was basic, and the only real decoration was a vase of flowers on the kitchen table. It was a far cry from the luxury of your home in Missouri or even Versailles but it would do for now. You just needed to spend a week here and things would blow over.

You dropped your bag on the floor and moved to the bedroom, flopping down on the mattress. The bed was firm and the sheets were clean, which was all that mattered. You closed your eyes, letting out a long sigh. The past few days had been a whirlwind, and it was finally catching up to you. The weight of the situation was sinking in, and you could feel the tension mounting.

You lay there for a moment, taking stock of everything. Thoughts of Ross crept back into your mind, that encounter still fresh. You could still see the way he had leaned forward, his anger barely contained. You’d managed to hold your ground, but the threats loomed heavy over you like a storm cloud. The thought of him lurking around, watching your every move, made your skin crawl. You didn’t want to think about what might happen if he managed to uncover Natasha's location.

You rolled onto your back, staring up at the ceiling, forcing yourself to breathe deeply. You reminded yourself that Natasha was safe for now, tucked away in the Lake District with the kids. As long as you could keep Ross off their trail, they’d remain untouched. That was your priority, and it had to be enough to keep you focused.

You pushed yourself off the bed and walked back into the living room, taking a moment to assess your surroundings. You needed to make this place feel like home, at least for the time being. You moved to the kitchen, rifling through the cupboards to see what you could find. It was mostly empty, but a few essentials remained—some instant coffee, a box of cereal, and a half-empty jar of peanut butter.

With a shrug, you grabbed the coffee, thankful for even that small comfort. As you prepared the drink, the familiar aroma began to fill the air. You went through every nook and cranny of the apartment to ensure it wasn't bugged. The last thing you needed was Ross listening in on your conversations. When that was done, you settled down on the couch, cradling the warm mug in your hands. You let your mind wander, trying to process everything that had happened. The Accords had turned heroes into targets, painting them with a broad picture of distrust. What did this mean for Natasha? Would she be forced into hiding for good? You could picture her, always the fighter, her fiery spirit undiminished, but the constant pressure of being hunted was a different kind of battle.

The thought of her being pursued simply existing as herself—an agent, a devoted mother, and your wife—made your heartache. She had always been so committed to her beliefs and her teammates, but now that loyalty had come with a price. The idea of being forced to choose between her family and her duty as an Avenger gnawed at you.

Would she even want to return to that life? The thrill of being an Avenger seemed to dim when it came to family safety. You could imagine Natasha standing at that crossroads, the weight of her choices pressing down on her.

As you sipped your coffee, you wondered about the future. The world seemed to be changing around you, shifting like unstable ground. You hoped you would find a way to navigate this storm, but the unpredictability of it all was unsettling. You thought about the time you spent together, the laughter and love that filled your shared moments. Would you still be able to create that kind of life with all this looming over you?

Your phone buzzed, snapping you out of your thoughts. You glanced down to see a message from Natasha, and a wave of relief washed over you. You opened it eagerly, wanting to hear what she had to say.

Hey love, just checking in. We’re settling in nicely. Stella is already asking about the sheep! How's everything?

You smiled at the message, imagining Natasha sitting in the peaceful surroundings of the Lake District. Everything's fine, just got settled in. Ross showed up at the apartment, but I managed to handle him. Keeping an eye on things, don’t worry.

A few minutes later, a new message popped up. That bastard, I can't believe he tracked you down.

I'm surprised he hasn't shown up at the lake house yet, you joked, trying to keep the tone light.

You're right, he must be losing his touch. Or I'm a really great spy.

You chuckled, the brief moment of levity feeling welcome. So, how are the kids doing?

They're excited. Stella says it feels like home. Btw the number of tantrums she's had in the span of two days has been baffling.

Ah, I miss them and you already, you typed, the longing for your family bubbling to the surface.

I miss you too, Natasha replied, and you could hear the sincerity in her voice.

You bit your lip, knowing you probably shouldn't but pressing the call button anyway. She answered on the first ring. "Hey, y/n," Natasha's voice was warm and soft, like a gentle caress.

"Hi," you replied, a smile tugging at your lips. "I needed to hear your voice."

"I'm glad you called," Natasha replied, a hint of playfulness in her tone. "I was just thinking about you."

"Oh?" You teased, "What were you thinking?"

"Hmm," she hummed, and you could practically hear the smirk on her lips. "Just about how much I missed you, and how I wish we were curled up together."

You sighed softly, leaning back on the couch, "Me too."

There was a brief pause, the tension crackling in the air between you.

"How are you feeling?" Natasha asked. "You just got off a long flight."

"I'm fine," You breathed. "My breasts feel incredibly full. I should pump soon. I hope what I left is enough for Nicky."

"I'll make sure it's enough," Natasha reassured. "He's doing well too. Just a little teething."

"That's good," You nodded even though she couldn't see you. "So, you get to see Stella's tantrums live and up close."

"They're impressive," Natasha chuckled. "She's a bit like me in that regard."

"Oh?" Your eyes widened in surprise. "I didn't think I'd see the day when you admitted to being a brat."

"Hey," She said, her tone indignant. "I can admit when I'm being a brat."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Okay, fine. I can't wait to see it myself."

"Don't worry," Natasha assured a note of mischief in her voice. "We'll put on a good show for you. Seriously though what do you do when she's misbehaving?"

"I spank her," You replied.

There's a pause on the phone where you can tell Natasha is trying to process whether or not you're being serious.

"Oh my God," You couldn't help but laugh. "Natasha, I'm joking."

"Oh," She breathed, the relief evident in her voice. "I didn't know. I thought maybe you changed your mind on corporal punishment."

"Nope, she's not quite there yet," You chuckled. "But she does a good job of getting you there. I miss her."

"She misses you too," Natasha sighed, a hint of sadness creeping into her voice. "This is my first time truly being alone with them since they were babies. I'm learning so much."

"Well, we have all the time in the world to learn more," You smiled. "I'm proud of you, Nat. I know it's hard, but you're doing great."

"Thanks," She replied, a warmth in her voice. "I'll make sure the kids are taken care of. Until this blows over and we figure out something."

"I know," You said softly. "We're in this together."

"I should go," Natasha sighed. "The kids are asleep, but I'll call again later, okay?"

"Okay," You agreed. "Be safe, Nat."

"I will," She promised.

You ended the call, and you were left alone in the silence of the apartment. You took a deep breath, your mind wandering to all of the things you could do this week. It's been a year since you've been back in New York. The last time was a booty call for Natasha when she'd been craving your presence. You'd left the kids with Clint and Laura who only lived four hours away at the time.

It felt weird to be back now. You wondered what you'd even do, but the idea of being here, close to the people you cared about, was comforting.

You pushed yourself off the couch and started unpacking, putting your clothes away, and setting up the spare room.

*****

Lunch with Maria Hill was refreshing. She sat in front of you, her hair pulled back in a sleek bun, her blue eyes looking at you with concern. When she sat down in front of you, it was like she noticed every single subtle detail about you that changed. Then she asked you questions as if she was gauging your state of mind. You told her a lot, more than you probably should have. But Maria was trustworthy and had always been a good listener.

“You’ve gotten good at picking these low-profile spots, almost like you’re still in the game,” She teased.

"Well, some habits die hard, I guess," You shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips. "And it's easier when you're not the target. Although, it doesn't stop me from feeling like a fugitive."

"That's the life of a wanted woman," Maria replied, her tone half-serious.

"Yeah," You sighed, resting your elbows on the table and leaning forward. “Even if I’m not the one being hunted.”

“I’ve heard the underwater raft went belly up a couple weeks ago,” Maria sipped from her mugs. Her eyes flashed around the room subtly.

“You knew about that?” You asked. “Am I the only one that thinks that’s a cruel prison?”

"Yeah, I don't disagree. I think a lot of things have happened that I can't control," Maria admitted. "The only thing I can control is being there for you. We may not have been in contact for years but we're still family.”

"I know, and I appreciate that. But if I'm being honest, this isn't exactly the welcome I was expecting."

"Well, things have gotten complicated," Maria said with a sigh. “Look, I don’t care what Ross or the general public thinks. I think those Accords are bullshit. But… I don’t like being kept in the dark either.”

“You mean Nick Fury doesn’t keep tabs on us after all?” You joked.

Maria chuckled, shaking her head. "He can try, but I'm the best at keeping secrets."

"Well, we can keep each other updated then," You offered. "I want to make sure my family is safe."

"Of course," Maria nodded. "So, Ross showed up, huh? Is he giving you a hard time?"

"He's trying," You huffed. "But I'm not about to roll over and play dead. This isn't the first time we've gone head-to-head. I think he's starting to realize just how far I'll go."

"Damn, you're tough," Maria chuckled.

"Well, I learned from the best," You smirked.

"You certainly did," She smiled.

"So, what are you doing these days?" You asked.

"I'm still with the U.S. Air Force for the time being. My role has shifted a little bit, but I'm still working to keep the world safe," Maria said. “Working with Stark whenever I have free time.”

"Oh, yeah? Any plans for a vacation?"

"Not really, but if you're offering, I'm sure we can figure something out," She winked. “There’s something different about you. A glow.” She mused.

You blushed slightly, shaking your head. "I think it's just the sunlight."

"Nah, it's not that," Maria grinned. "It's nice, whatever it is. Don’t tell me you’re pregnant?”

"That would be perfect timing. Wouldn’t it ?” You chuckled. “I’m not pregnant and don’t plan to be.”

"That's a shame, I think you'd make a good mother," Maria said. "But I respect your decision."

"Thanks, I appreciate that. So, how's Fury?" You asked, curious to know if she was still in touch with him.

"He's good, still the same old Nick," Maria said. "He's a busy guy, but we keep in touch. I think he's worried about you, actually."

"Me? Why would he be worried?"

"Because you're important to him," Maria shrugged. "He may not show it, but he cares."

"I'm not that important, and neither is Natasha," You said, a hint of sadness creeping into your voice. "If anything, she should be the one he's worried about."

"Look, y/n, I know he doesn't have the best track record with being upfront about everything, but he does care. And he'll always look out for those he considers family," Maria said.

"Family," You murmured. "Yeah, I guess we are."

"And even if he didn't show it, he'd always look out for you and Nat," She assured. "Just give him a chance."

"I will," You nodded.

You finished the rest of your lunch and made plans to meet again. You were glad to have Maria in your corner, especially during this chaotic time.

After parting ways, you found yourself wandering the streets, taking in the familiar sights and sounds. New York City was alive, the hustle and bustle a stark contrast to the quiet countryside of your home.

As you walked, the familiar faces and landmarks began to fade into the background. Instead, thoughts of the past began to creep in, memories you'd buried long ago resurfacing.

You thought about the times you'd spent here with Natasha. The early years of your marriage, when everything seemed new and exciting. You could remember the way her eyes would light up as she recounted her latest adventure or the way her laugh would fill the air with warmth. You missed that, the easy way you'd connected with each other, the way your bond had been so effortless.

You could see her, standing on the edge of a rooftop, the wind whipping her hair, her gaze locked on yours. That was the moment you'd fallen in love with her. She'd been so confident, so sure of herself, and yet there had been a vulnerability to her. She'd looked at you like no one else had before, her expression full of longing and hope. It was the beginning of something, a spark that would turn into a flame, a desire that would grow stronger with every passing day.

You could still feel the way your heart had raced as you'd stepped closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. She'd been so beautiful, so magnetic, that you'd been helpless to resist her pull. She'd kissed you then, her lips soft and sweet, and it was like everything had fallen into place. You'd known, in that moment, that this was the beginning of something special.

Now, as you wandered the streets, your memories faded and the present returned. The noise and chaos of the city was overwhelming, but you pushed through it.

******

On the other side of the world, Natasha is just finishing up clearing the dinner dishes. The kitchen is small but cozy, sunlight streaming in through the windows. Nicky is glued to her hip, babbling about something in toddler-speak, while Stella is dangling from the couch, engrossed in Peppa Pig on the television.

It's been a quiet day, and she’s was ready to turn in from the night but the calm atmosphere is interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Natasha looked over, frowning as she made her way towards the door. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t say a word. She simply eyed the person through the peephole. When she spots familiar brown hair, she unlocks it.

“You’re awake,” Wanda greets.

Natasha smiles.

Wanda stood there with a backpack, looking a bit nervous.

"Hi," Natasha stepped aside. "Come in."

"Sorry, I didn't call," Wanda said sheepishly.

"Don't worry about it," She shrugged. “I just finished up dinner.”

"Oh, I'm fine," Wanda shook her head. "I ate at the station."

"Well, there's leftovers," Natasha said. "So, if you get hungry.

“Thank you,” Wanda nodded.

Natasha turned towards the living room, raising her voice.

"Stella, Wanda is here," She said, gesturing to the girl behind her.

Stella glanced up from the TV, her eyes widening as she spotted the new arrival. Her grin stretched wide as she bounced over to Wanda, her little curls bouncing with each step. She barely paused before raising her arms in silent invitation. Without missing a beat, Wanda scooped her up, holding her close as she’d done a thousand times before.

“Hi, Wanda,” Stella said, her eyes shining.

“Hi,” Wanda replied softly, a smile tugging at her lips. Her eyes lit up with genuine warmth as she held the little girl in her arms.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, the air between them surprisingly comfortable. Then, in that serious way only a three-year-old could manage, Stella tilted her head and asked, “Wanda, are you okay now?”

Natasha's breath caught. Stella’s ability to sense things had always surprised her, and this was no exception. She exchanged a glance with Wanda, who looked both startled and touched by the child’s question.

“Yes, I am,” Wanda said gently, her voice just above a whisper. “Thanks for asking.”

Stella’s serious expression melted into a bright smile, and she gave Wanda a small pat on the shoulder. “I’m glad,” she said, her voice full of sincerity. As if Wanda's well-being was the only thing in the world that mattered to her.

Wanda’s gaze shifted to Natasha, the question in her eyes clear without her needing to speak it. How does she know?

Natasha shrugged a faint smile on her lips. “She picks up on things,” she guessed quietly. Stella had always been sensitive, attuned to emotions in a way Natasha couldn’t quite explain. It made her both proud and protective.

“Mama,” Stella piped up, breaking the silent exchange between the two women, “can I play?”

Natasha smiled at her daughter, grateful for how children could easily shift between the serious and the simple. “Yes, you can.”

Without hesitation, Stella wiggled out of Wanda’s arms and ran over to the pile of toys scattered across the living room floor, already chattering to Wanda about which ones she’d play with first.

Natasha watched her for a moment before turning back to Wanda, whose gaze was still fixed on the little girl. There was something soft in Wanda’s expression, a kind of wonder Natasha hadn’t seen in her for a long time. It tugged at something deep in her chest, a feeling that was part relief and part nostalgia.

The sound of Wanda's voice snapped Natasha back to the present.

"Sorry for not calling, I just wanted to check on you," Wanda apologized.

"It's fine," Natasha assured. "I want to make sure you're safe too."

"Thanks," She nodded. "Where's y/n?"

"In New York," She gestured for Wanda to follow her into the kitchen away from prying eyes. She placed Nicky into his high chair, silently cheering when he didn't protest. "Hoping to show her face and throw Ross off a little bit."

"I can't believe he tracked her down," Wanda huffed, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, well, he's relentless. And stupid," Natasha muttered.

"True," Wanda agreed. "Is this all because of me? Right, what I did? He really wants me."

"It's not just because of what you did, Wanda. It's what we did," Natasha corrected. "It's a combination of things, really. He's just trying to regain some power. But don't worry, y/n can handle him."

"I'm not worried about y/n, I'm worried about her," Wanda gestured towards the living room where Stella is still playing. "What if he finds out about them?"

"He won't," Natasha promised. "And even if he does, we'll figure it out. We will have a plan. We always do."

Wanda's expression relaxed a bit, her posture visibly loosening. "You and y/n make me feel like a person."

"Well, you're always welcome here," Natasha said softly. "Or wherever we are in the world."

Wanda gave her a warm smile before changing the subject. "So, how are things going?"

"We're doing alright," Natasha sighed, her gaze falling to the floor. "I know the moving around gets to her a little. It's complicated."

"Of course, I understand. You just need to lay low until this all blows over," Wanda nodded.

"Exactly," Natasha agreed. "I've gotten used to it. I mean, I've been running my entire life, but this is different."

"It is," Wanda agreed. "But you're not alone. We're here for you."

"Thank you," Natasha breathed. "It means a lot. How long are you here for?"

"Just the night," Wanda licked her lips. "I plan to meet back up with Vision."

"Vision?" Natasha smirked, arching an eyebrow.

Wanda blushed. "He's my partner. Is that weird? Since he's kind of older?"

"Well, he's a robot for one. Two, is it romantic or is it..."

"I'm not sure," Wanda shrugged. "There's definitely a connection there. We're friends, but we're more than that too. I'm not sure where it will lead, but I'm curious."

"That's a good place to start," Natasha hummed.

"He's different," Wanda sighed. "He doesn't know how to be a person, but he's trying. It's nice."

"You're a good teacher," Natasha smiled. "Just be careful, okay?"

"I will," Wanda promised.

Natasha nodded, her gaze drifting towards the living room, where Stella was carrying a bunch of her toys to bring to Wanda.

"Wanda, look at what I found," She said proudly, holding out the toy for inspection.

"That's a nice frog," Wanda complimented, a grin stretching across her lips.

"It's a turtle," Stella corrected a hint of mischief in her tone. "His paint has just come off a little bit."

"My mistake," Wanda laughed.

"Come on," Stella tugged on Wanda's hand, leading her to the couch. "We're playing dress up."

Natasha sat back in her chair, a soft smile tugging at her lips. She couldn't wait for you to come home.

The next morning, Wanda is on her way, leaving Natasha with a hug that would last for a while.

"Call if you need anything," She said. "I'll try and keep my ears open."

"Thank you," Natasha sighed.

Wanda smiled, her gaze lingering on the kids before she turned and walked away.

"Wanda," Natasha called out. "Be careful. Stay close. "

"I will," Wanda promised.

Natasha closed the door, watching as the redhead left the home. She needed you to be home.

***********

The house was silent when you pushed open the front door, your movements careful and quiet. You stepped inside, half-expecting to hear the usual sounds of chaos that accompanied a house with two small children—Stella’s giggles or Nicky’s babbling. But tonight, there was nothing but the soft hum of the wind outside.

You tiptoed through the living room, your eyes scanning for any sign of life, but it seemed like the house was asleep. Your heart warmed at the thought—they must have had a busy day. As you made your way toward the bedroom, you paused at the door, gently pushing it open.

There, sprawled across the bed, was Natasha. Nicky lay curled against her side in nothing but a diaper, his tiny fists clutching onto her shirt as if she were his anchor. Stella was draped across Natasha’s chest, wearing a too-small sleep dress that barely reached her knees, and only one sock clung to her foot. Her curls were a wild mess around her face, and every now and then, she would let out a soft, contented sigh in her sleep.

You smiled at the sight, taking a moment to appreciate how peaceful they all looked. You leaned against the doorway, taking in the scene. It was so different from when they were babies when their days were spent crying and needing to be fed or changed. Now, they were growing into their own personalities, their needs shifting to accommodate those personalities.

Your heart swelled with love as you watched them sleep, knowing that no matter how much the world changed, your family would remain constant.

You quietly made your way into the room, careful not to disturb the sleeping pair. As you leaned over to kiss Nicky's forehead, the floorboard creaked under your feet, causing him to stir slightly.

"Mama," He whined.

"Shh," You whispered, scooping him into your arms. Natasha woke at the sudden change of weight.

"Oh, you're back," She murmured.

"Hey, sleepyhead," You grinned. "Did you have a busy day?"

"Yeah," She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Wrangling toddlers is way harder than fighting evil."

"You're telling me," You bounced Nicky in your arms. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," Natasha admitted, her voice low.

"Why don't you go back to sleep," You suggested. "I'll be here."

"Okay," Natasha closed her eyes again, the stress of the day catching up to her. "Y/n?"

"Yes?"

"Welcome home."

You smiled.

"It's good to be back."

---> next part

[writersblockiskillingme]

District 7 | Johanna Mason

Pairing: Johanna Mason x fem!reader (victor!reader)

Summary: Johanna and you seek some peace in District 7 after the rebellion.

Waning/s: angst and fluff, nightmares, talks about the games, tears, panic, curse words?, talks about Johanna's torture, rebellion, war, weapons (Johanna's ax), short fic, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: I agree with you, dear anon. Lumberjack!johanna has me like 🙇‍♀️🧎‍♀️🤰 Also, I tried my best, hope you enjoy!

Request -> Hi :) Can I request a Johanna x fem!reader that takes place after all the events of the mockingjay? The reader is also a victor of her games and is now living in district 7 with Johanna. I want to see what their life is like after the games and rebellion. What they’re like taking care of each other after nightmares and triggering situations. Also because happy times good, what is domestic life like for them now (Like lumberjack!johanna oof 😮‍💨). Give me all the angst, all the sadness, all the domestic feels, and all the fluff!

You felt like the war will truly never end. It was suffocating from the very start. Especially during the quarter quell and after. Since the moment Katniss shot that arrow into the whole of the force field that destroyed the arena and the power knocked you unconscious, you had a bad feeling. The moment you woke up and Finnick told you that the Capitol captured Johanna and Peeta you felt like you couldn't breathe.

The physical and mental torture that your lover had suffered during her time in the Capitol undet Snow's clutches and the mental torture that you had to fight with in the safety of District 13 didn't make your time there any earlier.

You were quite literally lost without her by your side. Every second of every minute of every hour of every day that you spent worrying about her, whether she was being killed, whether she was in unbearable pain, whether she was even alive made your head spin from just remembering it. But the moment that Johanna was back in your eyes everything felt so much easier. Since she was finally rescheduled, for the first time ever, you felt like you could actually make it through this rebellion. But you didn't allow yourself to be filled with hope too much, yet.

At Snow's execution you were quite literally freezing while standing between Johanna and Haymitch, your eyes never leaving Snow that was placed a few feet in front of you as you tried to pull your jacket a little bit tighter around your body.

The air was still thick with loss caused by the death of Johanna's and yours mutual friend Finnick and every other person that you have lost throughout the many years of Snow's tortures ruling of the Panem.

Shock ruled over your entire body as you watched Katniss fire the arrow that nested itself inside of Coin's heart. As she fell down, people all around you stepped forward to kill Snow. Both of the rulers were dead. At last there will be peace in the whole Panem.

The peace that you decided to chase with the love of your life. Her hand tightly placed into yours as you said your goodbyes to the rest of the poor, tortured souls that somehow survived against all odds.

The first step onto the train that would send you both to District 7 felt like freedom. The silent breeze that cherished your cheeks and hair as you walked towards Johanna's house, hand in hand with her, the smell of the lumber in the air was a sign that you could perhaps find peace with the one you fought so hard for.

District 7 was good for you. It was different from your old home, for sure, but it was a good change. A change that your hears, soul and your spirit in general needed to live. During the day, when your therapists didn't visit or when you didn't have to visit them in the Capitol, Johanna and you would take calming strolls along the woods of her District, the smell of lumber became familiar. A sent without which you would probably, quite literally die, felt like peace. The word that both Johanna and you continued to chase endlessly.

But it wasn't easy.

The nightmares were overwhelming most of the time. Both of you would wake up in a cold sweat, practically screaming yourselves awake. Tears and panic was endless, but the presence of each other brought a great comfort to both of you.

One time you were laying in Johanna's and yours bed, molded into the sheets and pillows that were practically drowning you, hiding you from the world, as you tried to chase the sleep that you didn't get last night because of Johanna's nightmare. It didn't matter, though. As long as she was safe nothing else to you mattered. Just as you fell asleep, the nightmares from your own games started to drag you in.

The cold sweat covered your skin as you screamed yourself awake. Your breathing was heavy, you couldn't control it. Your hand reached over to Johanna's side of the bed feeling the cold grace your fingertips and you felt like someone spilled a bucket of freezing cold water over your head.

"Johanna!" A scream broke free from your throat as you dashed out of the bed in a lightning speed, trying to reach the door of the house to go outside.

You were forcefully put into a panicked frenzy as you practically broke down the door of the house, your head turning around in every possible direction. You were trying to find her.

And there she was. An ax in the hand, standing a few feet away from the house as she chopped the wood, the pile of lumber growing bigger and bigger with each swing. Her arms flexing as she was lightly covered in sweat from the hard work. Her eyebrows frowned in concentration. Her gorgeous pair of crystals looked at you in confusion and light concern as she watched your panicked expression.

"You good, dummy?" She asked you as she struck her ax into the wood before whipping away the sweat that glued her freshly grown bangs against her forehead.

"I just..." You sighed in relief once again as you watched her. "I just had a nightmare and you weren't there when I woke up, but it's okay."

Johanna quickly brought you into her arms, wrapping you up in their safety as she whispered sweet nothings into your ear in a desperate attempt to calm you down.

"It's okay. You're okay. I'm okay."

"You're okay." You breathed out once more following her lead.

She separated herself from you for a moment before she brought you in for a delicate kiss that was oh so her.

"We're okay. We will be." She whispered against your lips, her arms never leaving once she wrapped them around your neck.

->

->

->

TAGLIST:

@caroline-books @thecrowdedstreetin1944

[queuestarter]

diluted

(johanna mason x reader)

cw: panic attacks, crying, mentions of torture

link to the request → reader helping johanna overcome her fear of water

You eye Johanna critically from across the room. It’s been weeks since she’s been rescued from the Capitol and she’s been completely ignoring you since then. Every time you ask her if she’s okay or if you can do anything for her, she brushes you off.

You understand that she’s been through a lot, but as her girlfriend, her indifference upset you. In an effort to keep yourself busy, you spend most of your time with Beetee in the weapons room, helping to design defensive strategies. Ever since you banned Gale from helping, things have been better on that front.

“Stop looking at me like I’m going to collapse at any moment.” Johanna calls out to you. She’s playing with the sheets on her bed, not even looking in your direction.

You sigh. “I just want you to be okay, Jo. I worry about you.”

She sneers down at her sheets. “Worry about me when Snow’s dead.”

So you do. After Katniss kills President Coin, Snow dies, and the underground community of District 13 falls apart, you move to District 7 and begin to worry about Johanna like it’s a full time job.

It starts with weaning her off of her morphling supply. You two live in the middle of the woods, so there’s no easy access to the drug, nor do you want Johanna using it to cope anymore. It takes her weeks to get back to her healthy self, which brings you great relief.

The other issue that you quickly learn about is Johanna’s newfound fear of water. You quickly piece together that when she was held captive by the Capitol, they used water as a form of torture for her. She doesn’t like talking about it, but you can see the truth in the way her face scrunches up in fear whenever she’s confronted with water. 

It breaks your heart.

You decide to take matters into your own hands once again. You helped her with her morphling withdrawals, you think, how much harder can it be to help her overcome her fear of water?

“Come on, Jo,” you plead with her. “I want to go down to the lake.”

You don’t really want to go to the lake- swimming in freshwater scares you a little bit- but you figure this is a good step one.

Johanna eyes you with a look of disdain on her face. “I don’t want to go. I’m sure there’s a hundred other people in District 7 that would love to join you.”

You grab her hand and kiss her palm. “But there’s no one else in this district that I love like I love you.” You know as soon as you say the words that you’ve sufficiently sweet talked her.

Johanna likes to pretend that she’s tough, but she’s really a giant softy.

Once you actually make it down to the lake, three hours later, Johanna grips your hand with all of her strength, it seems. You take it in stride, though, and hold on just as tight.

“It looks beautiful,” you comment, staring at the water. “Reminds me of you.”

It really does. The way the trees cast a shade upon the surface perfectly complements the highlights from the sun. Just like Johanna, there’s darkness and light.

Johanna rolls her eyes and sets your belongings down on the grass. “Go on, have your fun. I’ll be over here.”

You pout. “Oh. I wanted you to join me.”

The pained look that you’re now so familiar with makes its return. “You know that I don’t want to.”

You instantly melt, wrapping your arms around her. She clings back to you just as tight. “You don’t have to, my love. I just want you to be able to let go of what they did to you. I want you to reclaim it.”

Johanna pulls back and looks into your eyes. “Yeah. You’re right.” And with renewed vigor, Johanna grabs your hand and pulls you to the lake, kicking off her shoes along the way. When she gets to the water’s edge, she stops suddenly.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You ask, letting your own toes dip into the water.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” she says in a soft tone. “I don’t think I can reclaim it.”

You frown, standing in front of her. “Jo, if you don’t want to go in you absolutely don’t have to. It was just a stupid idea.”

Now it’s her turn to frown. “It’s not stupid, you were just trying to help me.” With that, she dips her toes in the lake.

Your jaw drops. You were not expecting her to go in the water that easily. “Baby, you did it!” 

Johanna closes her eyes. “Can we eat lunch now?”

You grin. “Of course.”

After that day, you don’t force her to deal with water so boldly for another few weeks. The next time you bring up the exposure therapy is during a rainstorm that has your girlfriend curled up on the couch holding her ears.

“How about,” you say, rubbing her back. “After this has all cleared up, we do something fun.”

“Like what?” Her voice is muffled by a pillow.

“We can jump in the puddles outside.”

Johanna tenses, more than she already was. “And how is that supposed to be fun?”

You lean down and kiss her nose. “I always used to do that when I was a kid. I liked it. And I feel like it’ll help with what we’ve been working on. You’re scared of this rain, but we’ll have fun playing in the puddles it provides afterwards.”

Johanna looks at you, trust in her eyes. “Okay.”

So that’s what you do.

After the rain ends, it barely takes any coaxing to get Johanna out of the house and bounding into puddles. Once she sees you do it, giggles leaving your lips with each jump, she joins in.

“This isn’t so bad,” she admits, wiping some mud that splashed up on her off of her arms. “It’s kind of nice.”

You nod, grabbing both of her hands. “It is what you make it, baby.”

That’s what you repeat to her when it’s time to get in the shower upon your return home. “It is what you make it, baby. You need to clean off.”

Johanna shakes her head. “I can’t. This is too much.” It breaks your heart to see tears flowing freely from her eyes.

“I’ll be there with you the entire time. Holding you, kissing you. This is just going to be another good memory,” you try to convince her.

Without wasting another moment, you strip out of your filthy clothes and throw them in the hamper. You then turn on the shower, heart panging at the sound of another one of Johanna’s sobs.

You turn back to your girlfriend, helping her strip as well. You pepper kisses all over her cheeks and lips, hands running over her back. “Let’s wash off, baby. It’ll be quick.”

You step into the shower, just standing under the stream. You think that maybe if she sees that you’re okay under the flow of water, she will be too.

That hope doesn’t last long- Johanna just stands and watches you with tears in her eyes, hands twisting together.

“Come on,” you plead. “You can’t stay covered in mud forever. And I’m lonely in here. I need you with me, always.”

That seems to do it. Johanna takes a step forward, then another, and then eventually she collapses in your arms, sobs wracking her body.

“That’s my girl,” you say, petting her hair. “I’ve never been so proud of you in my life.” You continue to repeat positive affirmations to her, holding her close to you.

After a few minutes, Johanna is calm enough to agree to you washing her body. You take your time, scrubbing her from top to bottom. She even jokes around with you towards the end while you quickly wash yourself off.

Hours later, wrapped up in your matching robes on your bed, she thanks you. “I never would have done that without you. Thank you, baby.” It’s so uncharacteristic for her to say, even more so when she tucks her head in your neck.

You love that she feels safe enough with you to be soft.

“There’s no need to thank me. I just want you to be the happiest you can be. This is the start of the rest of our life, baby. I don’t want the past to hold us back.”

She nods, kissing your collarbone. A few moments later, she’s asleep. 

You fall asleep shortly after her, a smile on your face.

-

[talonabraxas]

THE 7-RUNGED LADDER OF THE MYSTERIES

A symbol of progressive advancement from a lower to a higher sphere, which is common to Freemasonry and to many, if not all, of the Ancient Mysteries. In each, generally, as in Freemasonry, the number of steps was seven.

LADDER, BRAHMANICAL

The symbolic ladder used in the Mysteries of Brahma has seven steps, symbolic of the seven worlds of the Indian universe. The lowest is the Earth; the second, the World of Coexistence; the third, Heaven; the fourth, the Middle World, or intermediate region between the lower and the upper worlds; the fifth, the World of Births, in which souls are born again; the sixth, the Mansion of the Blessed; and the seventh, or topmost round, the Sphere of Truth, the abode of Brahma, who is himself a symbol of the sun.

LADDER, QABALISTIC

The ladder of the Qabalists consists of the ten Sephirot, or Emanations, of Deity. The steps are in an ascending series: Kingdom, Foundation, Splendor, Firmness, Beauty, Justice, Mercy, Intelligence, Wisdom, and the Crown. This ladder forms the exception to the usual number of seven steps or rounds;

LADDER, MITHRAITIC

In the Persian Mysteries of Mithras, there is a ladder of seven rounds, the passage through them being symbolical of the soul's approach to perfection. These rounds are called gates, and in allusion to them, the candidate is made to pass through seven dark and winding caverns, which process is called the ascent of the ladder of perfection. Each of these caverns is representative of a world, or a state of existence, through which the soul must pass in its progress from the first world to the last, the World of Truth. The seven steps are further symbolized by the seven planets and the seven metals. Thus, beginning at the bottom, we have Saturn represented by lead, Venus by copper, Jupiter by tin, Mercury by qiucksilver, Mars by iron, the Moon by silver, and the Sun by gold; the whole being a symbol of the sidereal progress of the sun through the universe.

LADDER OF IZADOSH

This ladder, belonging to the advanced Degrees of Freemasonry, consists of the seven following steps, beginning at the bottom: Justice, Equity, Kindliness, Good Faith, Labor, Patience, and Intelligence or Wisdom. Its supports are love of God and love of our neighbor, and their totality constitute a symbolism of the devoir or duty of Knighthood and Freemasonry, the fulfillment of which is necessary to make a Perfect Knight and Perfect Freemason.

LADDER, ROSICRUCIAN

Among the symbols of the Rosicrucians is a ladder of seven steps standing on a globe of the earth, with an open Bible, Square and Compass resting on top. Between each of the steps is one of the following letters, beginning from the bottom: I. N. R. I. F. S. C., being the initials of Iesus, Nazarenus, Rex, Iudaeorum, Fides, Spes, Caritas. These words suggesting Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews, Faith, Hope, Charity. But a more recondite or hidden meaning is sometimes given to the first four letters (INRI - All of Nature is Renewed by Fire).

LADDER, SCANDINAVIAN

Doctor Oliver refers the symbolic ladder used in the Gothic Mysteries to the Yggrasil, or sacred ashtree. It retains the idea of an ascent from a lower to a higher sphere, which was common to all the mystical ladder systems. At its root lies the dragon of death; at its top are the eagle and hawk, the symbols of life.

LADDER, THEOLOGICAL

The symbolic ladder of the Masonic Mysteries refers to the ladder seen by Jacob in his vision, and consists, like all symbolical ladders, of seven rounds, alluding to the four cardinal and the three theological virtues: Temperance, Fortitude, Prudence, Justice, Faith, Hope, and Charity

LADDER, JACOB'S

While sleeping one night on the bare earth and a stone for his pillow, Jacob beheld the vision of a ladder, whose foot rested on the earth and whose top reached to heaven. Angels were continually ascending and descending upon it, and promised him the blessing of a numerous and happy posterity. This ladder, so remarkable in the history of the Jewish people, finds its analogue in all the ancient initiations. It is certain that the ladder as a symbol of moral and intellectual progress existed almost universally in antiquity, presenting itself either as a succession of steps, of gates, of Degrees, or in some other modified form. The number of the steps varied; although the favorite one appears to have been seven, in reference, apparently, to the mystical character almost everywhere given to that number. - An Encyclopedia of Freemasonary and its Kindred Sciences by Albert C. Mackey MD

[itsgiovanna]

playing for love (chapter 2)

pairing: fem!character x mason mount

summary: injured and lost, mason mount begins his recovery with the help of adeline alderidge, a tough yet brilliant physiotherapist with secrets of her own. he becomes determined to break through the walls adeline has built around herself. but some wounds don’t heal easily, and the closer they get, the more mason realizes she might need saving just as much as he does.

notes: hiiii, guys! this is the chapter where mason and adeline meet each other for the first time, any expectations? let me know in the comments and enjoyyy 🤍

word count: 2.6k

warnings: angst.

next: chapter 3

Morning came too quickly.

Mason woke up to the distant beeping of machines and the quiet atmosphere of hospital activity, outside his door. His entire body felt heavy, weighed down by the lingering effects of the painkillers, but none of it compared to the dull, throbbing ache in his knee. It was still wrapped up tight, immobilized, a sharp reminder of what had happened.

He reached for his phone, blinking against the brightness of the screen. His notifications were flooded — messages, mentions, articles. He ignored most of them, but his fingers hovered over a few texts from teammates, friends, even some old Chelsea mates checking in. He wasn’t in the right headspace to respond.

Instead, he scrolled through the latest updates about his injury. The headlines all read the same.

"Mason Mount faces lengthy spell out after brutal challenge from Rúben Dias."

"Man United’s number 7 out for months — What does this mean for the team?"

"Mount’s future uncertain after devastating knee injury."

He locked his phone with a frustrated sigh. It was all speculation, but that didn’t make it any easier to stomach. He didn’t need journalists telling him what he already knew — this injury was bad. His return wasn’t guaranteed.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts, and before he could answer, Dr. Hearst stepped inside. He looked as put-together as always — calm, professional, a clipboard in hand. Behind him followed a small group of nurses.

Mason immediately recognized one of them — the one from last night. — The way she smiled at him made it obvious she expected him to remember her, and unfortunately, he did. She’d been overly friendly before, and now, as she put a stray strand of hair behind her ear and gave him a suggestive look, it was clear she wasn’t about to tone it down.

"Morning, Mason." Dr. Hearst greeted. "How are you feeling?"

Mason set his phone down. "Same as last night."

Dr. Hearst nodded like he expected that answer. "The surgery went as well as it could have. No surprises. But as we discussed, the hard part starts now." He glanced down at his clipboard. "You’ll remain here for observation for the next few days. If all goes smoothly, we’ll move you to home recovery, where you’ll begin physiotherapy immediately."

Mason just nodded, keeping his expression unreadable.

Dr. Hearst gestured to the nurses. "This is the team that will be looking after you while you're here. They’ll monitor your pain levels, assist with mobility, and ensure the post-surgery goes well."

The nurse called Charlotte stepped forward slightly, a small smirk on her lips.

“If you need anything, just press the call button.” she said, voice soft. “Even... if you just want a bit of company.”

Mason kept his face neutral, but internally, he sighed. This wasn’t the time or the place for that.

Dr. Hearst didn’t acknowledge the moment, just continued flipping through his notes. “As for your rehabilitation, we’ve assigned you a physiotherapist. She’s one of the best in the field and has experience with high-performance athletes. You’ll be working with her both here and during your home recovery.”

Mason exhaled slowly, already bracing himself for whatever this was going to be. He’d worked with plenty of physiotherapists before — some great, some who treated players like projects instead of people. Right now, all of this felt like a headache waiting to happen.

"Where is she?" he asked, more out of obligation than interest.

Dr. Hearst checked his watch. "She should be here soon."

Mason’s jaw tightened slightly. She’s late. What a way to start!

"Until then, get some rest." the doctor continued. "You'll need it."

Mason didn’t reply. He just leaned back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for whatever came next.

(…)

“Don’t give up on yourself.”

The words echoed in Adeline’s mind as she stood in her small kitchen, putting pancakes on a plate with one hand, while tying her hair into a loose ponytail with the other. She had said that to herself years ago, back when she thought her dreams had shattered. Back when she found out she was pregnant and alone at twenty-two. But she hadn’t given up. She had fought, she had worked, she had pushed through sleepless nights and exhausting shifts.

And now, she was here.

A job she loved. A daughter she adored. A life that, despite its chaos, was hers.

“Mummy, Hazel doesn’t like pancakes.”

Lilith’s voice pulled her back to the present.

Adeline glanced over at the kitchen table, where her three-year-old daughter sat, swinging her legs under the chair. In front of her was her plate with pancakes, and next to it — propped up against her cup — was Hazel, her well-loved stuffed rabbit.

Adeline suppressed a smile. “She doesn’t? What does she want instead?”

“Toast. With jam.” Lilith said seriously, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Adeline sighed, checking the time. They were already running late.

“How about Hazel shares with you?” she bargained.

Lilith thought for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. But only a little bit.”

As her daughter scooped up a spoonful of pancakes— making sure Hazel was ‘watching’ — Adeline turned back to the counter. Her phone sat next to the kettle, the screen dark, but her mind was still on last night’s call.

Dr. Hearst’s proposition.

Mason Mount.

The job offer was huge. Working with a Premier League footballer recovering from a serious injury wasn’t just another patient — it was a career-making opportunity. The kind that could open doors for her.

And the money…

Her grandmother had been helping her for years, but Adeline hated relying on her. She wanted to stand on her own two feet, to give Lilith everything she needed without worrying about bills stacking up.

But could she handle working with someone like him? Footballers had a reputation. She’d heard the stories. Some were arrogant, entitled, difficult to work with. The last thing she needed was another stress added to her plate.

“Mummy, you’re thinking again.”

Adeline blinked, looking over at Lilith, who was watching her with a knowing look.

"I think you're getting too smart for me." She huffed a quiet laugh, walking over and pressing a kiss to her curls.

Lilith grinned. “I know.”

Adeline glanced at the clock — 7:20AM. They needed to leave in ten minutes. The next few moments were chaos — Adeline gulping down a quick cup of tea while pulling on her coat, Lilith insisting Hazel needed her own ‘jacket’ (which ended up being a small pink scarf), a last-minute search for Adeline’s work bag. By the time they stepped out of their flat, the morning air was crisp, the sky still a pale blue. Their building was small, tucked in a quiet part of Manchester, where everyone knew each other.

“Morning, Adeline!” Mrs. Patel, their elderly neighbor, stood by her door, holding a cup of tea.

“Morning, Mrs. Patel."

“Good morning!” Lilith chirped, waving excitedly.

The old woman beamed. “And how’s my little sunshine today?”

Lilith giggled. “We’re going on the train!”

“Well, have lovely day, sweetheart.” Mrs. Patel smiled.

Adeline smiled in thanks before gently pulling Lilith along. “Come on, darling, we need to hurry.”

Lilith, as always, made sure to say hello to every dog they passed before they finally made it to the Underground station. The train was packed, but Lilith didn’t mind. She stood on her tiptoes, gripping the pole with her hands and eyes wide with excitement.

They reached the daycare just before 7:50AM, as soon as they stepped inside, a familiar voice called out.

“Let me guess. Late again?”

Adeline turned to see Stella, Lilith’s teacher and her best friend, smirking from the doorway.

Adeline groaned. “Don’t start.”

Stella smirked. “That bad?”

Adeline hesitated, then sighed. “Dr. Hearst called me last night. He wants me to take over Mason Mount’s recovery. I didn’t sleep all night thinking about it.”

Stella’s eyes widened. “Mason Mount? As in — Mason Mount from Manchester United?”

Adeline nodded.

Stella whistled. “Bloody. Hell.”

“Yeah.”

“So… are you taking it?”

Adeline exhaled. “I don’t know.”

Stella gave her a look. “Don’t be daft. You know you’d be stupid to say no.”

Adeline hesitated.

“It’s the Premier League, Ady. And imagine the pay. You could finally move out of that tiny flat.”

Adeline glanced at Lilith, who was too busy helping another child put their backpack away to listen.

The money. The stability.

Lilith deserved the best.

“I’ll do it.” Adeline sighed.

Stella grinned. “There’s my girl.”

Adeline shook her head, pressing a quick kiss to Lilith’s forehead. “Be good for Auntie Stella, okay?”

Lilith nodded. “Promise!”

As Adeline turned to leave, she glanced at the clock— 8:20AM.

Shit.

She was late.

She practically ran out the door, rushing toward the Underground, weaving through people on the platform, her mind now set. She had made her decision. Now, she just had to face it.

(...)

Adeline pushed through the hospital’s revolving doors, barely stopping to acknowledge the receptionist’s greeting with a quick nod. Her trainers squeaked against the polished floor as she moved through the familiar halls, the scent of disinfectant and freshly brewed coffee filling the air.

“Morning, Ady.” a nurse called as she passed.

“Morning!” she responded, barely slowing her pace.

She took the lift up to the higher floors, mentally preparing herself as the number climbed. She had spent years working here, but this was the first time she’d been summoned to the suites — the section reserved for celebrities, footballers, and anyone else who could afford to heal in luxury. The moment she stepped out of the lift, she was met with silence. The usual chaos of the hospital — the chatter, the hurried footsteps, the beeping machines — faded into a muted hum. Everything here was polished. Too clean. Too controlled.

Of course, she thought.

It was obvious. A player like Mason Mount wouldn’t be in a normal recovery wing, would he?

A part of her rolled her eyes at the thought, though she quickly shoved that feeling aside. It didn’t matter what she thought of his status or the special treatment — her job was to help him recover.

She took a steadying breath before knocking on Dr. Hearst’s office door.

“Come in.” she heard the familiar voice.

Dr. Hearst was sitting behind his desk, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he flipped through a file. He glanced up, giving her a small nod.

“Adeline!” he said. “Glad you could make it.”

She forced a smile. “Would’ve been here sooner, but the Underground had other plans.”

“That’s London for you.” Dr. Hearst smirked.

Adeline didn’t correct him — technically, it was Manchester’s Metrolink, but she wasn’t in the mood to get into it.

He gestured for her to sit, but she remained standing. She was already late.

He sighed, closing the file and folding his hands over it. “I won’t waste your time. You’ve got a big job ahead of you. Mason’s ACL surgery went as expected, but it’s a long road to recovery. The club is throwing every resource at this, and you’re the most important piece of it.”

“No pressure, then.”

His lips twitched. “He’s not in the best headspace right now, as you can imagine. You’ll have to be patient.”

Adeline nodded, even as doubt pricked at her.

“How do you feel about all this?” Dr. Hearst leaned back in his chair.

She hesitated for a beat. “It’s an incredible opportunity,” she admitted. “But… let’s just say I’ve heard stories about players not taking well to physiotherapists.”

Dr. Hearst chuckled. “That’s putting it mildly.” He sobered. “Mason’s not a bad lad, but he’s frustrated. It won’t be easy.”

“I can handle it.” Adeline squared her shoulders.

“Good." He nodded approvingly. "Then go introduce yourself. And Adeline?”

She turned back as she reached the door.

“Don’t let him push you around.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” She smirked.

The walk to Mason’s room felt longer than it should have.

Adeline wasn’t nervous — at least, that’s what she told herself. She was confident in her abilities. She’d worked with athletes before. She had studied, trained, and dedicated herself to being the best in her field. But as she reached his door, a part of her braced for whatever version of Mason Mount she was about to meet.

She knocked.

No answer.

She knocked again.

“Yeah?” A heavy sigh came from inside before a voice, low and edged with irritation.

Taking that as permission, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The first thing she noticed was the room itself — spacious, modern, with a ridiculous view of the city skyline. The second thing she noticed was Mason.

He was sitting up in bed, one hand gripping his phone, the other resting on his blanketed knee. His hair was slightly disheveled, jaw set tight. He looked exhausted — like he hadn’t slept properly in days.

His gaze flicked to her, unreadable.

“You’re late.” he said flatly.

Adeline arched a brow. “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Mount.”

Mason didn’t reply, just looked her over, assessing.

“Dr. Hearst asked me to come in this morning.” she continued, setting her bag down on the chair beside his bed. “I’ll be overseeing your physiotherapy.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Brilliant.”

Adeline ignored the sarcasm. “I know this isn’t how you wanted to spend your season, but we’ll work together to get you back on track.”

“Right.” Mason leaned his head back against the pillow, exhaling sharply through his nose.

His phone buzzed in his hand. He glanced at the screen before locking it, jaw tightening.

“Look.” Adeline said, folding her arms. “I get it. You’re pissed off. You don’t want to be here. But the sooner you start taking this seriously, the better your recovery will be.”

His eyes snapped to hers, something dark flashing through them. “You think I’m not taking this seriously?” His voice was low, controlled, but there was heat behind it. “This is my career. My life. And it’s falling apart.”

Adeline met his stare evenly. “Then do something about it.”

Mason narrowed his eyes.

“You can be pissed off all you want.” she continued, “But that won’t change the fact that your recovery depends on effort. On actually working through it, not just sulking in this room reading depressing articles about yourself.”

His fingers tightened around his phone. So, she was right.

He didn’t answer.

Adeline sighed, rolling her shoulders back. “I’m not here to make you feel better about it, Mount. I’m here to get you back on your feet.” She took a step closer. “So, are you going to work with me, or are we wasting each other’s time?”

Silence.

For a moment, she thought he was going to tell her to leave.

But, then.

“Fine.” he muttered.

“Good choice.” Adeline smirked.

She picked up her bag. “I’ll be back later to start assessments. Try not to bite anyone’s head off in the meantime.”

Mason let out a quiet scoff, shaking his head as she walked to the door.

Mason exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Can’t wait to see how long you last, Dr. Aldridge.”

Adeline, already halfway to the door, turned back with a smirk. “Funny, I was thinking the same about you, Mount.”

His eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what you’re in for.”

She tilted her head, playful but unwavering. “Neither do you.”

And with that, she walked out, leaving Mason staring after her — annoyed, intrigued, and, for the first time in days, just a little distracted from his misery.

(...)

[natashaslesbian]

Hi! 😊

I don't know if your requests are still open but I am just going to leave my request here just in case they are.

So this is a Mama!Nat request where Y/N (kid, around the age of 6 or 7 if it's possible) celebrates her birthday while she's on the run in Norway with her Mama and Natasha tries to make Y/N's day as happy as possible, even managing to buy a cake for her daughter as a surprise alongside a new teddy bear.

I understand if the requests are closed or if you don't want to write this. Thank you so much for your time and I want you to know that I'm a big fan of your work! It's absolutely amazing!!! Sending lots of love 😊🧡

7 Laps Around The Sun

A/N: I absolutely adored this request and loved writing it, thank you sm! This isn’t proof read so please don’t mind any mistakes or typos :))

Word Count: 964

Parings (Mom!Natasha x Daughter!Reader) (Nat x Mason) (referenced to Clint and blackhill)

Warnings: none :))

————

The door to the trailer creaked louder than ever. Why was it always when someone is trying to be quiet things make the most noise. Natasha pulled the heavy door to a close with one hand, the other carrying a large plastic bag of supplies. The redhead heard small shuffles from your shared bedroom and paused her movements, you must have settled again immediately as Nat didn’t hear anything else throughout the cold trailer. Norway was always cold but especially in late autumn, the widow would have to find another safe house to take you too, it was relatively safe here but the winter was fast approaching and Natasha wasn’t going to let you, her daughter, go cold all season.

A while later you stirred again, rolling over to mamas side of the bed. The mattress was cold beneath the sheets, it told you that Natasha wasn’t there. “Mommy” you quietly called out, eyes still shut and your grip tight on the purple baby blanket. Oh how you missed Jimmy, your beloved stuff bear, there just wasn’t any time to grab him before you left. you peeled your eyes open to the dimly lit room “Mamma” you called louder. The doors angle increased and your favourite person appeared “hey there beautiful, did you have a good sleep?” Natasha asked. You hummed and opened your arms wide for a cuddle. Mommy came and scooped you up tightly “happy birthday baby” she said as she tickled your belly. Today you were 7 years old, you felt so grown up, but this birthday was defiantly going to be different. “Thank you mommy” you said as you slid down her slender frame “can I have the chocolate cereal today? As I’m 7 now!” You begged at your mamas hip bone. Natasha had promised that as you were away from home this year you could have a special cereal as a birthday treat, she never let you have anything chocolaty before midday! It was the best she could offer until she laid sleepless last night with a new idea.

“I told you not to knock!” Natasha said as she opened the trailer door “sorry” Mason whispered “I forgot” Natasha stepped out of the door, making sure each lock was secure “ok, just sit here and don’t go inside, y/n’s a heavy sleeper so she shouldn’t wake up” the fugitive explained “I’ll be as quick as I can, there’s a 24 hour store about 20 minutes away so I’ll be like an hour tops” “ok all clear, I’ll be here”

“Actually sweetheart, I have a little surprise for you” your mama said. You eyes and ears perched up “really? What is it mama!” You exclaimed “come with me baby” Natasha said as she took hold of your small hand, wrapping her fingers around your knuckles. Mommy lead you into the main section of the trailer and you let out a loud yelp when you saw the array of pink and purple balloons gently rolling around the room in the dull wind. You looked up at the walls to find a huge banner displaying a sparkly ‘happy birthday’. You were truly amazed, when had your mama had time to do all this? “What do you think y/n?” Nat said “I love it! Thank you so much mommy!” You beamed. “You are very welcome darling” Natasha said as she hoisted you up onto her hip “but guess what?” You perched up immediately “wha mama!” You asked “there’s one more surprise, over by the fridge” your mommy said as she carried you towards the old grayed out refrigerator.

“Cake cake cake!” You exclaimed upon seeing the bright pink sparkly birthday cake, topped with sprinkles and a wonky 7. “I know this birthday is a bit different, but my baby girl always has a birthday cake, no matter what” Nat would move heaven and earth for you. “Wait mama look!” You said as you little feet pattered on the floor after escaping Natasha’s grip “a stuffy bear!” Just left of the cake was a light brown bear, tag still connected to its ear. “So there is!” Mama said, pretending she had no idea where he had come from “someone special must’ve left him for you” she didn’t like to lie, but Natasha just wanted you to have a little magic in your life “maybe uncle Clint?” You questioned “maybe, what are you going to name him?” You hummed for a moment “Peter! Because Peter is my favourite and I miss him” you said, a hint of sadness in your tone, Nat frowned. “That’s a perfect name”

“Who’s that?” You said after hearing three consecutive knocks on the door, Masons secret code to let Natasha know there was no danger. “Well if we’re going to have a party then we need guests” Your mama said as she opened the door to the strange man you’d never seen before “hello there y/n” he said, a little box in his right hand “is that a present?” You said, giving him mommy’s signature smirk “yes it is” Mason said, standing awkwardly at the door frame, his hand way too close to your mom “hey!” You said, alerting the two adults “are you mommy’s boyfriend?” You innocently asked, the pair stood in a slight uncomfortable silence, soon breaking into laughter “no, he’s not y/n” Natasha said as she came to scoop you up once again “then why is he looking at you the same way Maria does? Does he kiss you too?” Natasha couldn’t help but giggle, slightly sad because she was missing her ‘almost’ girlfriend. “Yep, she’s defiantly your daughter” Mason said, Natasha shot him daggers “is it cake time yet?” You said with a huff and a pout “yes baby, it’s cake time”

[hrefna-the-raven]

Fallout masterlist

Link to main masterlist

Feel free to reblog if you enjoyed the story :)

Deacon x sole survivor

Bona Fides

a few drabbles about Deacon and his desperate attempt to hide his growing love for you

Part 1

Robert MacCready x Sole survivor

Heart for hire

It has been some time ago since MacCready and you found each other when you first stepped into the Third Rail. On the same day, after a year, you met again, same spot, same time to cherish in the memory of your first encounter.

Part 1

Elder Arthur Maxson x Knight reader

Heart of Steel

You are a former soldier before the Great War, frozen in the vault only to wake in a world you didn't recognise anymore with your husband killed and your son kidnapped. You stumble through the Commonwealth, having searched far and wide with Detective Valentine for your son until you stumble upon Paladin Danse at the Police station. His Brotherhood wakens your desire to belong somewhere again and so you join them, but upon meeting Elder Maxson you weren't sure anymore if it really was the right decision....

Chapter 1 - Welcome to the Brotherhood of Steel

Chapter 2 - Tour of Duty

Chapter 3 - Show no mercy

Chapter 4 - Something's gotta give (18+)

Chapter 5 - Don't let me be misunderstood

Chapter 6 - Dream a little dream

Chapter 7 - Dangerous minds

Chapter 8 - Why do fools fall in love?

Chapter 9 - The morning-after-date (18+)

Chapter 10 - Institutionalized

Chapter 11 - Blind Betrayal

Chapter 12 - A flame in your heart

Chapter 13 (final chapter) - A new dawn

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Maxson as Sole Survivor playthrough:

Screenshots

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x reader

The hunt

You were sent to retrieve a precious item, but so was the most notorious bounty hunter in the Wasteland...

(set before he ends up in that grave)

Chapter 1 - The plan

Chapter 2 - The bounty

Chapter 3 - The spoils (18+)

Chapter 4 - The betrayal

Porter Gage x female sole survivor

The dress (18+)

(Marcosito) Cito x sole survivor

Headcanons - Falling in love

Mason x reader

Favourite

[oh-saints]

sweetest devotion (p.8)

they did start this whole circus with a marriage of conveniences. little did mason and serena know was how convenient they had become during this marriage…

playboy!mason mount x princess!OC wc: 3.5k tw:  only as warned under masterlist but none for this chapter, except for a long read ahead! note: I am deeply apologetic for delaying this for far too long, but a virus came into me and almost paralysed me. but an excuse is an excuse, and a promise is a promise so here you go! the long-awaited chapter for our favourite star-crossed couple and I hope this made up for all the times you miss mason x serena. but as usual, I happen to have inspirations whenever dawn is approaching so this is not proof-read yet! tags: @pingyu-in-wonderland @808heartz @ironmaiden1313 @myreveriie @kathb59 (let me know if you want to be added!) < part 7 here - part 9 TBA (hopefully within the next 2 weeks) sweetest devotion masterlist

if, when mason decided to step on the throttle and married serena earlier this year, any of you shot mason in the head with the fact that mason would get along very well with serena on the last trimester of her pregnancy, mason would spit in your face. without a doubt, without hesitation.

“i need your help,”

such simplistic sentence was not supposed to do any harm to mason’s body, but it did—it always does, without his consent—and the footballer had to regulate his breathing to conceal the devastating effect serena effortlessly brought upon him.

being amicable with serena was never in his bingo cards. let alone this.

mason mount was only supposed to partake his share of responsibility towards his own child. the fact that he might be able to save serena from an impending death sentence, should she be discovered with a child out of wedlock, was a bonus.

naturally, with that in mind and a divorce at the end of the deal, he didn’t expect to be more than co-parenting partners at best.

“what is it?”

but now, he could only count his blessing amongst the stars, for no one had shot him with such incredulous prediction of his future, so mason didn’t have to apologize to anyone for having spat on their face. because mason and serena was co-habitating even better than expected, way much better than even the both of them would like to admit.

“i can’t reach for the pan.”

mason laughed a genuine one, the warmth replacing the initial electric shock. serena frowned a deeper pout, adding more heat all over mason’s body despite firing up the furnace earlier, resulting mason to plaster a wide smile still on his face as he did what he was instructed. “there you go, princess.”

they weren’t supposed to fall into this—whatever “this” might be. the sense of familiarity, comfort… all mixed up in one unknown territory they didn’t want to explore but know well enough that they had plunged themselves in.

as much as they denied themselves from the reality, though, they had indeed deviated from their own terms of being amicable. they had certainly gotten themselves more comfortable around each other than intended; it was as if they had found the rhythm on their feet and had fallen together into a song to dance together. serena cooks, mason grocery-shops. mason drives everywhere, serena massages him before they retreat to their respective bedroom. mason plays a home game, serena watches from the family box. serena has a foot aching or swollen, mason is ready with a warm-water footbath. serena catches an occasional or residual morning sickness, mason knows where the ginger crackers are. mason talks, serena listens.

what a contrary to the so-called first dance they displayed for the rest of the world to believe. back then, serena was lucky to not have stepped on mason’s tom ford shoes, and mason was saved from critics highlighting his luckster steps ripping off the train of serena’s reception gown. that night, serena decided it might actually be better to have god save the princess instead as an alternate title to eldorran national anthem.

but despite the level of this newfound friendliness established between the two of them, there was still an enormous elephant in the room.

where are they in this relationship?

that is, if there was ever a sufficient word to describe their relationship. yes, they were married but are they a couple? if not, were they friends or were they just roommates?

mason would like to think the first one—for him, roommates were simply acquittances that could care less about other person’s whereabouts, and surely with the extent they had gone through together wasn’t merely hi, how are you? basis—but more often than not, serena did make him feel the reality was that mason was indeed still walking around the eggshells.

there were times when serena made him feel he was one step forward, two steps backwards. for example; while mason was more than happy to be labelled the yapping boyfriend per today’s standard of couple compatibility, serena was, in nature, a reserved person who speaks only when deemed necessary, so to have her sharing bits of her life while he was away for work could be seen as making a wide stride of progress. but in comparison to the earlier times when their communication was rather limited to texts—or rather, mason had limited their interaction—serena was far more welcoming then, in a sense that she was willing to inform him where she was going and whatnot when they were still practically strangers.

case two was, unfortunately, the most ironic of all.

mason and serena had made a habit to retreat to the living room after dinner, for whatever reason. be it simply watching the latest movie they didn’t have the chance to catch up, be it mason gaming while serena continued her journaling, be it serena accompanying mason while he was up to review the approach of an upcoming game, be it to have a light discussion about nursery, the upcoming doctor’s visit.

bottom line, the living room had turned into a shared premise for them, yet serena had never once invited mason over to her mini piano recital.

you might wonder why was mason upset over such a small—meaningless even for some—matter. but when your housemate bid you farewell for the night, only to sneak up the owner of the house later into the night to use the grand piano by the stairs—courtesy to his interior designer, who decided it’d be a nice sentimental touch to contrast the masculine theme of his house—it posed so many questions. not to mention, serena was annihilating the keys, madly punching the notes like she was screaming, very much unfit to the elegant divinire by Ludovico Einaudi.

mason had to give it to serena, though, for choosing this road. because others—most of the population, really—would only think she’s blessed with a musical talent, playing the black-and-white keys as if glue was stuck on the pads of her fingers, when in reality she was anything but destroying the classical piece.

layered with complexity, exactly like serena in person.

the next morning, mason woke up with a full determination to confront serena about it. only to be greeted by a sight of her mildly swollen eyes—mason might not be the brightest kid at school but her sisters made sure he was the top of class in the subject of “women 101”—so he’d forego whatever words about to be spilled on the tip of his tongue.  

but later, mason realised, he was glad he never made it known that he’d overheard her stellar performance. another night she’d sit down on the giant musical instrument and played a beautiful piece mason recognized from the black swan, yet it was mesmerizing for all the wrong reason. he remembered she’d gotten a call earlier from a palace, and her face expression had become sombre a bit, probably due to whatever the palace was saying.

he concluded that it had moulded into a pattern of habit whenever she was having a bad day—a way to let out her frustration. so mason stayed put, afraid he’d only distract serena. or worse, destroying her concentration flow. she worked hard to conceptualize this whole recital anyway, why should he ruin it?

other times when this happened, he’d sat on top of the stairs, hidden behind the nearest wall, as the princess took over the grandiose piano. and he had never recalled any other time when he failed to show up whenever she played her version of rendition to a modern classic piece because he knew it was serena’s only outlet to be herself. full of hidden angers and oppressed opinions, unable to express the way she truly feels because of all the royal restriction. in a way, he wanted to be there for her—good days, bad days, every day.

what a regal way to do so, whilst mason was the type to punch away the sandbag at the gym.

still, if her outmost genuine concern was not to disturb mason, and thus the midnight choice of time, she was certainly wrong. if serena thought mason would miss the elegant tunes flowing as the production result of her dainty fingers dancing on those black-and-white keys, she was certainly over-confident. mason might not be the mozart prodigy but he knows when one is supposed to depict sadness and anything alike.

but why would she conceal something as beautiful as that?

on another take, if she indeed didn’t want mason to know her habit: why? or was that why the notes she’d play was always heart-wrenchingly beautiful? because she didn’t want mason to hear anything whatever she had to say without words? because she didn’t want mason to know her deepest, most hidden secret that she was never happy here in the first place, no matter how hard mason had been trying to provide everything in this earthly realm in order to make her happier and healthier?

why didn’t she say anything, about anything at all really? in whatever relationship is—friendship, kinship—it always takes two to tango. and right now, serena was an even worse dance partner than their reception night.

just until when were they going to tango around the room, spinning endlessly?

“that was one hell of a performance.”

serena visibly jumped on her seat behind the piano, her eyes immediately looked for the source of sound. “mason,” she remained still, as she watched mason coming nearing her position. “do i wake you up?”

“no, i was only falling asleep when you started,”

“oh, no, i apologize—”

“no, no, no, i always like it whenever you play,” realising the slip of tongue that this was not the first time he’d heard her, mason might as well let out the remaining of the truth. “i like how you look when you play. free—of pressure, of opinions, of judgement… of the world, really. nothing else but you.”

there was a flash of surprise and fear. an equivalence of deer in the headlight in royal etiquette, mason presumed, before she turned away her head. “sounds like a selfish person to me.”

“if you’re a selfish person then you would’ve aborted our son the first moment you found out about him,” the speed of mason’s retaliation took serena by surprise. “but you didn’t. and that’s what i like about you, too.”

the amount of the word like coming out of mason’s mouth was seriously concerning serena. they were not supposed to like each other—amicable was what they agreed upon in the first place, given the situation and condition.

“can’t sleep?”

serena shook her head in response to mason’s question while her fingers reached for the cover of the piano, wanting to shut the lid and took her leave.

her intention had to be cancelled as mason took his spot beside her. “how are you feeling about tomorrow?”

ah, yes. the day she had been dreading.

tomorrow was the day serena had to fly back to eldorra, for her oldest brother’s wedding and her father’s abdication. the festivities wasn’t supposed to kick off until 5 days later, but serena had decided to fly in earlier because she thought she needed time to adjust back to the nitty-gritties of royal etiquettes, protocol and other royal affairs. it was a reasonable justification, both in the eyes of the palace and mason, considering she’d been away from the princess lifestyle for rather a while now, technically alone in London and bereft of any relatives but mason, both from his side of the family and especially hers.

in all honesty, serena was content with her life here, away from the spotlight and the pressure of a royal member. it was rather a life she’d been wishing to have since she was teenager. contrary to her image and popular belief that she was the friendliest member of the eldorran royal family, she wasn’t as good at mingling with any figure connected with power, politics and whatnot as she was mingling with her people.

an entire sequence of traditions was coming her way—for a wedding, abdication and coronation—so the level of social anxiety was guaranteed skyrocketing. this would mean mingling, meaningless chitchats, keeping two-faces intact, answering intruding questions, addressing false allegations, greeting and faking smiles to gold-digger spouses and so-called socialites FOR DAYS. good lord in heavens, please give me enough strengths to truck the atrocious days alone.

“are you sure you are not coming, mason?”

ah, yes. the breaking news, so shocking it headlined the eldorran gossip channels and tv programs for a week straight.

mason’s professional commitments required him to fly with his football club for an important match for several days, which coincidentally happened to fall during the series of pre-events leading to the wedding day of her brother. his attendance on the wedding day itself, the abdication and the coronation remained hanging for the public to guess—but they knew better.

the king, serena’s father, still harboured an ill feeling towards his only son-in-law. … mason didn’t even protest on that, given it was the prerogative of the king anyway, but her father made it well-known from their very first meeting in chelsea’s training ground that they’d never have a particular in-laws normalcy. mason remembered it very well, for he’d never been in the presence of a great power and authority flowing throughout the room that he’d wavered a little behind the mask he displayed.

mason flashed serena a bitter smile. “you know the answer to that, princess.”

“there is an answer to that, too, mason,” serena said, offering mason a slight grasp over his hand. “we can always use this special card of ours.”

the sight of serena looking down at her protruding belly, now unable to be hidden under various designs and styling, as her free hand stroking the ball of sunshine, never failed to warm mason’s entire body and soul. he would always feel warm and giddy, and proud and glad serena and their son was doing well each and every day, despite the rocky start.

“i’ll miss that when you’re away. you, playing the piano,” while another hand stroked gently over serena’s stomach, mason turned his occupied palm around to grip hers tightly, interlacing their fingers for the first time in forever. “i’ll miss this, too.”

“well—”

“i’ll miss you.”

what they had was orthodoxically special, indeed.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

the house feels empty

serena didn’t know the exact time and place where this all had begun, the random texts. the timeline had become blurry since they had progressed into a friendlier terms, coming from a chain of texts that was similar to the ones shared between the owner of a house and its renter. but it had indeed become something she looked forward to during the day, a glimpse of how his day went so far—ben snores so much it hurts my ears; azpi’s so irritating in training today; or such. it filled a small space in her heart, longing for a dear friend.

but since the i’ll miss you happened, serena would be lying if she didn’t think that mason’s words were laced with something else. something beyond friendship, something she was afraid to find out, something she’d like to think non-existent so they could continue their beneficial partnership until their son was born.

in case you forget, your sound system is top notch.

act calm as usual, the head of royal etiquette always reminded her in cases where she faced a micro crisis. thus, her reply just now. she’d slip in a banter or two whenever mason sent her any text of grumbles, complaints, grunts on a usual basis.

as calm as she was, serena had to place a hand over her chest, exactly on top of her beating heart that was running rather irregularly now, while her other hand was busy slipping her phone discreetly back to her meticulously customised purse and her attention back to the ongoing discussion between two young heirs in front of her.

but of course, when she felt her phone vibrated again not long after sending her reply, serena couldn’t help but to succumb to temptation. she retreated to the corner of the room and hands were immediately reaching for the electronic device.

it’s still not the same you’re not here

for a full ten seconds, serena remained a statue. the only sign she was alive was the wide grin plastered across her face that the princess herself didn’t realise was there to begin with.

ah, shame we’re miles apart then.

it didn’t take a minute before another bubble popped up.

what if I tell you we’re no longer apart?

serena’s heart jumped from its long hibernation—she’d successfully managed to sedate them into a peaceful sleep during her time training again her old motoric as a royal princess—but she tried very hard to mask the stallion pace it was giving.

because in all honesty, serena would be lying if she didn’t wish mason was here by her side. the last state banquet she attended with mason a while back was enough of a proof that having an ally was better than no one at all. even when they weren’t exactly in the best term back then, and apart from the fact that he was only there to fulfil his end of deal.

should she mention the immense assurance she felt whenever mason’s hands were on her back, placed strategically to guide her through the maze of people wanting to formally greet her, or whenever mason’s hands were extended to reach her waist protectively while one or two people were ready to step on her feet?

alas, hope is a very powerful weapon and she’d wish not to yield it. not towards mason, at least. but before she could type out her reply to his text, her phone beeped once more and another blue bubble had popped up on her screen.

look around.

despite the early internal battle, serena did as she was told. and there he was, mason mount, looking dapper as ever with a complete, tailored suit like every other man in this ballroom—which should mean by fellow aristocrats, socialites, political figures amongst others. maybe mason was even more dashing than the rest of them because good god, his smiles as he greeted every one he met along the way down to reach serena…

it was polite but full of implied sneer, it was handsomely irritating somehow. it was captivatingly powerful too on the other hand, enough to put all the gossip and rumours spread by the palace down. it was a plain challenge to the king’s authority that didn’t allow him to be here in the first place without giving away too much insider information away.

“hello, there,” the multimillion-watt smile wasn’t wavering anytime soon, serena inferred, as he finally stopped his steps in front of her. now that he stood so close to her, she could see a thousand layers of emotion unravelling, but one thing struck more than other: he was very happy, with a bit of relief, that he was here. and that was enough of a reason for serena to reciprocate his—somehow, unbeknowingly—wider grin because she, in fact, shared the same sentiment.

for the first time in her life, despite being trained to stand up for herself diplomatically so, serena thermapolis was beyond elated to have found a true ally in this room full of fake courtesies, and that ally was her husband, no less. her stunning husband, fawned by several ladies in the background, whom she had grown more than fond of, with or without her acknowledgement, was here and that was all that mattered.

and the awful part was mason didn’t know what he did just obliterated her poor heart and rendered her speechless.

“you look like you could use a company. may i join you this evening?”