#and i could have like a “window” but it’s actually a monitor or something playing a looping video of space or whatever | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

erwinsvow · 7 days ago

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𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 — 𝐚.𝐜.

summary: when andrew opens the backseat of the car, you're looking up at him with wet eyes and tied hands, silent and compliant just like he knew you would be. and even though this definitely isn't one of his best ideas, staring down at you, he thinks it's definitely not his worst either.

word count: 19k

tags: kidnapping! probably out of character for pope but i tried. heavy stockholm syndrome, being eaten out in the forest after being chased through said forest. mentions of masturbation and pope watches (1) one time, cameras/monitoring without consent, daydreams of thigh riding because duh, mating press/breeding/creampie, things from the show that didn't make sense aren't included. yippee! :)

note: shea 'sweden' erwinsvow strikes again.

andrew thinks that their plan had been incredibly solid.

they were supposed to be in and out—deran in a nice suit, disguised as a potential parent looking for a good school for his kids. if anyone asked, he had two of them, four and six, and his partner was home with them since their youngest was sick right now, otherwise he would have brought the whole family.

he distracted the people outside with questions while andrew and the others were supposed to make quick work of the principal’s office. at first when the job was pitched, it sounded stupid. why would the principal of some fancy private school have money stored away in his office from their stupid fundraisers and open-house? but a little deep diving had revealed that the principal was skimming from the top, and the leftover money and anything else they could use as leverage against him was probably in that office somewhere. if there was a safe, they might take the whole thing with them.

and that led to another can of worms—how do they get out with the safe? getting in was the easy part. deran and baz and andrew dressed in nice clothes blending in, craig pretending to be a caterer with the event, j waiting in a construction truck down the road. but getting out, let alone with a safe, would be difficult. they had to look at blueprints, smuggled from the town hall through a contact they didn’t even want to use.

andrew didn’t know what to think of the whole thing. it felt like too much work for an undetermined reward, though the others didn’t seem to agree with him. they kept saying it would be worth it and outnumbered, feeling as though despite what he said they wouldn’t agree with him, he complied.

the blueprints revealed an out through an adjacent room—they didn’t know who was occupying until they went in to canvas after hours, pretending to check the smoke detectors. andrew stood in front of the closed door, staring at a cute, childish sign printed in loopy writing: school nurse.

but there was a window large enough for any safe they encountered and just a wall of plaster separating the two. they wouldn’t even need any heavy machinery to get through the walls and out the window to the car. the open house was scheduled for a saturday, meaning the school nurse, who ever it was, wouldn’t be there.

so all in all, a solid plan from what information they had gathered. saturday morning, andrew put on a long-sleeved button up shirt and an uncomfortable tie and walked into the school.

(playing pretend was more fun than he would like to admit. a stranger came up to him and asked him how old his daughters were and he actually laughed. “how do you know i have daughters?” he had asked, and the stranger had looked at him, laughing in reply. “you look the type,” and then andrew had to tear his mind away from the thought for the next hour, trying to forget the momentary joy the sentence had brought him. he looked the type. and then he said he had twin daughters, about to start first grade, and the lie felt sweet on his tongue.)

it’s always the jobs where everything’s going according to plan. those are the ones where something always ends up going wrong because it’s when you least expect it. that’s what had led to his arrest—and he was extra mindful now, trying in his head to think of all the ways this could go wrong.

they had made it inside the school. snuck into the nurse’s office—a cutely decorated place with lollipops and crackers in big jars and fun colors strewn throughout. the desk is against the wall they’re carving up and there’s cute decorations on it. a vase with fresh flowers. a mug with cartoon characters on it. there’s a huge poster in the shape of a tooth and then bright letters above it spelling out lost tooth club. there’s dozens of names written on and under the poster, a basket of toys and stickers.

baz is about to start swinging right in the middle of another bulletin board, prettily decorated with hours of work. the letters had been cut by hand, little paper flowers glued together individually. it said spread kindness, not germs in large yellow letters.

“d-don’t ruin the poster. go next to it.” he doesn’t know why he said it. they were already robbing a school, it’s not like the punishment would be worse because he left a poster untouched. but it felt wrong to demolish the nurse’s office and destroy her hard work.

they get a hole big enough in the wall, even find the safe and get it out into the nurse’s office to the open window. everything according to plan. everything going as best as it could.

and then the door swings open and you walk in.

you take two, maybe three steps before stopping in your tracks and staring at the scene in front of you with wide, unblinking eyes.

“oh. oh, i-” they’re not wearing ski masks this time, not worried about it since there wasn’t any cameras in the two offices. and now you’ve seen their faces.

“grab her, pope!” he hears from baz, and without thinking twice about it, he does. a huge hand goes over your mouth, silencing you, and the other around your two wrists. it’s easy to subdue you, and you thrash up against him but it’s over quickly.

andrew keeps them pinned down while baz runs over with rope for your hands and then he’s taking you outside through the window, to the truck, and despite how badly he feels about it, he holds you tight and tells you not to scream. while they load up the safe and hop into the truck he keeps his hand still tight across your mouth. your eyes are filled with fear, huge and watery and your body trembles like a shaking, frightened animal.

andrew leans in, unsure of why he’s even doing it, and whispers as quiet as he can without the others hearing you.

“i promise i won’t hurt you.”

a drive later, they pull up to the house, though they really should have taken you somewhere else. as carefully as they can without prying eyes from the neighbors, he carries you out and they put you in andrew’s bedroom, and then they lock the door from the outside.

you come to a little bit later, unsure of when you had passed out. the entire thing feels like a bad dream—a nightmare after watching one of your shows too late before bed, but when you blink open your eyes and stare around the room, you realize this not a nightmare.

this is so much worse.

your wrists are bound to the bedframe with thick rope, made of fibers that dig into your skin and leave it raw and scorched underneath. you stop fighting against it to preserve your strength and stare around the room.

plain painted walls and a navy blue comforter under your body. you’re in the room of one of these men who took you—you can tell that much, despite how barren the room is.

you’d think it was a guest room if you didn’t know any better. but there’s folded laundry at the foot of the bed and a half-open closet where you can see button up shirts hanging neatly. there’s nothing else to identify where you even are, though you’re sure it can’t be too far from the school.

you don’t know what to do now. for all your smarts and the crazy shows you love so much and using logic to help you through other situations, you have no idea what to do right now. there’s no way to escape the rope and no way to figure out where you are.

fuck. no one at school even knew you were there, or someone might have noticed you were missing. but it’s an open house for the next school year and the last day of classes was the previous week. you’re out for the summer, meaning no one there would notice your absence.

you didn’t know many of the teachers at the school. the secretaries you passed on the way to your little nurse’s office every day were polite, but not much more than that. the principal only ever came to speak to you if he needed to speak with the student you were with.

and your friends, well—

you don’t think many of them would notice if you went missing. fuck. you should have never cancelled plans so many times. you should have put in more effort to going to mixers and staying in touch when school ended and done all the things that normal people do because now—

you hear people talking from outside, sounding a little far away but still clear, like they’re raising their voices, and the ones inside your head die down immediately.

if you shut your eyes to try and pay attention to it, you can make sense of the conversation taking place, though your head is pounding and it’s hard to focus.

“she didn’t see anything,” you hear a man argue, and then he’s interrupted by second person.

“she saw our faces, man. that’s risking too much-”

“we need to take care of this,” a woman says, and then there’s a pause.

and outside, with his mind still on the promise he made you, andrew stares at smurf, as she finishes her sentence.

“you need to take care of this, andrew.”

it was a screwed up job to begin with. they should have never done it—no matter the fact that there’s almost twice what their jobs normally make sitting in the safe next to them right now. that money is about to become blood money. and as always, andrew has to do the dirty work.

“i didn’t even want to do this job. and you’re-you’re going to make me fix this-”

“andrew,” smurf says, and it feels final with the tone she uses. the tone of, of course you’re going to fix this. as if the burden doesn’t weigh on his shoulders with every step he takes. doesn’t plague his mind within every single thought. like these responsibilities that he has to handle and take care of aren’t the very reason he can’t sleep at night.

deran and craig looked checked out—staring at him like they don’t already know the answer. baz look at him expectantly and it’s so easy for him to do so. he gets to go home each night to a wife that loves him and a daughter that adores him and gets to put his head against his pillow and hold his wife with unmarred, clean hands because andrew will take care of it.

he looks up at smurf and he knows what will happen if he resists. if he says no to this, she might do something to you herself, and your blood will still he on his hands.

“okay." andrew says, and that’s that.

“alright. wait until it’s darker outside-”

“i know what to do.”

and inside the bedroom, dread creeps in slowly into your body until it consumes you entirely. you process the words—that andrew, whoever he is, whichever one he is, will take of it. take care of you.

you almost want to laugh with how incredibly unreal this is. getting kidnapped is the craziest thing that’s ever happened to you in your short life and now it’s going to be the reason that you die.

dead, just like that, over a robbery at a goddamn private school. dead, waiting for the executioner to come get you from his bedroom while they talk about your life over their table like it’s nothing but lunch-time conversation.

you thought adrenaline was supposed to make you near superhuman, make you do something, figure out how to get out of here and run for your life. nothing’s coming to mind just yet, though, as you stay frozen on the bed and wait to hear if the people who took you say anything else.

the door opens suddenly and you flinch—you hadn’t heard any footsteps and he caught you by surprise.

this must be andrew, which means he’s the same one who covered your mouth and took you to begin with. he opens the door and stares at you, keeping eye contact as he shuts the door behind him and comes in closer. you should stare back, try to convince him (and yourself) that you’re not afraid of him, but you’re not that girl.

you look away the second he takes a step closer to the bed. andrew doesn’t stop, coming in closer until he’s sitting at the edge. you scramble to sit up, bringing your knees in closer to your chest, trying to make yourself smaller and get away from him all at once. it’s a hot day and you’re in a thin dress that comes down to right above your knees—and the fabric slides up as you scramble.

you were supposed to go pack up whatever you needed from your office and then stop to get a coffee from your favorite shop near the school and read the book that’s currently sitting on your desk at work—if it was still there. you don’t know what they did to the room after andrew took you to the truck.

your day was supposed to be for you, for once. an iced drink and the romance-comedy you read in your free time between little kids who didn’t feel good and lunch at a local place to celebrate another school year coming to an end.

and now you’re about to walk to your death, refusing to make eye contact with the man who’s going to be killing you.

as morbid as the thought is, you wonder how he’ll do it. he said he wouldn’t hurt you but the decision sounded pretty final out there, at least it did to you. something painless, hopefully?

you’ve watched enough shows to know all the ways but your mind runs empty. you finally move your gaze back to andrew in the corner of the bed, sitting and staring at you. you can see his shoulders rise with every deep breath, can hear the sharp exhale from his nose after each one. you want to say something. you think you should plead for your life.

but the way andrew’s looking at you, you almost believe what he said to you in the truck. i promise i won’t hurt you.

how could he have promised you such a thing?

when he finally speaks up, it begins to make sense, you think. that, or you’re not nearly as smart as you thought you were.

“i have to take you away from here.”

“i-i heard you. outside. you promised-”

“i’m not going to hurt you. just-just, when i take you out there, pretend to be scared.”

“what?”

“p-pretend to be scared. hit me and-and fight. i’m gonna tape your mouth.”

“what? no-”

“just listen to me,” he says, and it comes out differently from the other words he’s said to you. it’s final and stern, and the way his hazel eyes stare into yours, you really believe him, as incredulous as the thought is. “i’ll get you out of here. just listen to me. i’m not killing you. i’m not killing anyone.”

his sentences sound as though he’s trying to convince himself, rather than you, and you have to physically shove the thought aside before you burst into tears from how scared you are. but andrew, for everything you can tell, is being honest with you.

you’re halfway decent, you’d like to think, at telling when people are lying. students come into your nurse’s office every single day trying to lie to you, trying to avoid a certain peer or a certain class or assignment, filling your ears with lies about aching stomachs and pounding heads.

you’ve got your own ways of telling truths from lies, and andrew, with his never-ending eye contact and firm words, is telling the truth.

at least you hope he is.

“o-okay. okay, i will.”

you do try your best to put on the show—pounding on andrew’s back, crying out against the duct tape he puts over your mouth—and have to remind yourself it’s not really a performance. you’re just as terrified as you were an hour ago but something inside you twists and turns at andrew’s sincere-sounding words. you don’t look at any of the others there, don’t try to meet their eyes because they might see that you’re not really as scared as you should be.

he puts you in the bed of the truck under a black cover, and you stare up at him with real fear. even if you weren’t claustrophobic, the enclosed area induced anxiety in you from the moment you figured out what he was doing. you think this might be it—your only chance to make a run for it, if you could wrangle out of andrew’s incredibly strong grip, if you could keep your balance with your tied ankles.

and then he looks down at you and shakes his head slightly, so slightly that the movement is almost undetectable. there’s eyes on him—of this you’re sure—and he still tries to remind you that he won’t hurt you when he feels your body tense up under his hands.

you kick your feet without much energy behind it and let andrew push you into the bed of the truck. he gets in and starts driving, and then a few minutes later, he pulls over.

you blink up at him stupidly when he helps you out, thinking that he’s letting you go just a few miles from his home. you try to speak but there’s still duct tape over your mouth. andrew gives you his hand to help you sit up and then opens the backseat door of his truck for you, helps you inside, and then keeps driving.

and against every greater instinct you have or have been taught, you sit in the back quietly and let him drive you wherever he’s taking you, stupidly assuming it’s to safety.

you hope he’s taking you to safety.

no, you think—still a little stupidly—you know he’s taking you to safety.

andrew drives you for what feels like forever. wherever he’s taken you, it’s far from the house you were at and far from the school, meaning it is also far from your tiny apartment. you watch the sunset from the back seat and wonder who, if anyone, would even notice you’re missing this early.

your rent and bills are on auto-pay. the sweet, older lady who lives alone next to you forgets her own name sometimes. and staring at the back of andrew’s head—dark brown curls that glow auburn when the golden sun hits them—you realize there’s really no way out of this.

through, it is.

it’s dark when the car finally slows down on an empty dirt road. you don’t recognize any of the scenery, but andrew drives through the terrain like he’s well acquainted with it, avoiding bumps and ditches easily. when he stops the car, you sit up a little straighter in the back.

you should be thankful he didn’t keep you in the bed of the truck the entire time, thankful that he let you realize you’re about two hours from home. thankful that he hasn’t hurt you yet, just like he had promised.

your wrists and ankles ache. every muscle in your body is screaming at you from the adrenaline rush that did absolutely nothing to help you get out of this situation. and though a smarter girl might try to knock andrew out and run through the woods until you found someone to help you, you’re beginning to realize you’re not nearly as smart as you think you are.

everything in you is telling you to trust him and listen to his instructions and make him keep his promise by not giving him any reasons to hurt you.

he turns the car off, takes a deep breath, and then opens his door to get out. then he opens your door and stares down at you.

this is just like a scene from one of your crime shows. you can’t believe that’s the thought in your head right now, but it’s the only thing coming to mind. the specifics of the show merge into all the others, but you remember something about making eye contact and trying to humanize yourself so the kidnapper remembers you’re a person and not just an object.

so you need to look into his eyes. and you think that’s easy enough, that you can do it and that he’ll realize how obscenely wrong this entire situation is and let you go home tonight.

you flick your eyes up to meet his. you knew he was already staring at you but it’s somehow so much worse than you could have imagined. he’s not just looking, his eyes are boring into your soul. he doesn’t look away or blink, just keeps his gaze focused while staying completely silent. you’ve never been good at eye contact or being particularly demanding or combative, but you think this is an emergency and surely, you can manage for now.

you last all of two seconds before looking away.

you focus on the ropes on your wrist and how irritated the skin underneath looks and you let andrew figure out whatever it is he needs to figure out in silence, save for your breaths.

“c’mon,” he says after some time. “inside. come on.”

he gives you his hands to help you up—you guess at the very least, at least he’s chivalrous—and then he holds you by the rope to guide you. he’s not even pulling very hard on it but the force is enough to make sure you don’t go running and screaming in the opposite direction.

you realize you should have tried to take in the exterior of the cabin as soon as you walk inside, something else that your shows should have taught you, but you’re too busy being pulled around by andrew like a ragdoll. he brings you inside and then flips light switches.

the place is, for a kidnapper’s secondary location, quite nice. it looks like it was decorated a few decades ago—entire place shrouded in gingham and floral prints with vintage looking light fixtures and bookshelves with dust bunnies. you can’t imagine he picked these things out himself, especially not when you remember how bare-bones his bedroom was.

this place is much nicer. homey and dusty and quiet, you conclude after looking around. andrew doesn’t tell you to sit so much as he puts you down in a love seat and leaves you there, tied and taped up, waiting for him to come back. he walks into another room, which you can only assume is the kitchen, and then comes back.

“oh. i-i’m sorry,” he says and your eyes shoot up to him, unsure of why he’s apologizing. he gets closer and lifts his hand and you flinch, before his fingers go to the duct tape covering your mouth. you wince while he pulls it off, slowly and then faster, like he’s trying to get it over with faster, and you can’t help the tears that well up and slip down while he does it. you thought in vain that it might feel like a bandaid. it didn’t.

andrew apologizes again and you try to tell him it’s fine, but it doesn’t come out. your mouth is dry and you realize you haven’t had any water since you got taken at the school, so it comes out in a choked fragment of a sentence.

you finally find the courage to look up at him with wet, blinking eyes.

“can i have water?” it comes out as a whisper, and andrew doesn’t say anything, just rushes back to the kitchen and comes back out with a half-filled glass. he almost hands it to you before realizing your hands are still tied and then he brings it to your mouth, tilting the glass so you can drink it. he doesn’t do it too quickly, making sure you don’t choke on it, but a droplet still runs down the side of your mouth. when he takes the cup away you stare up at him.

he almost lifts his hand to wipe away the water. his fingers twitch over the empty glass.

“how long do i have to stay here?”

andrew pauses like he’s thinking about the answer. the truth, of course, is that he doesn’t know how long you have to stay. the answer to your question is that you’ll stay as long as he wants.

“i don’t know. as long as it takes.”

“as long as what takes?”

“the bedroom is over here. come on.”

andrew, for all you have learned about him, remains very chivalrous. it’s been two days, and you keep track with a piece of scrap paper in the room he keeps you in. he brought you in here and kept you tied up while he made sure all the windows in the house couldn’t be opened anymore and did something to the door too, you’re sure, though you didn’t actually get to see it.

he probably didn’t have to go through all that trouble. you conclude after forty-eight hours that you have terrible survival skills and are closer to being a perfect victim, a thought that makes your stomach turn. but you are, really. you haven’t once tried to fight him, save for the time he told you to, and the thought of escaping is a miniscule idea buried in the very back of your head.

you eat what he makes—though you are getting very tired of dry sandwiches and sugary cereal—and drink the water he gives you.

you think he’s testing you. and you have never, ever been one to fail a test. you comply with his instructions even when it’s incredibly embarrassing, like when he asks you how he should respond when you get texts and calls to your cell-phone. with your face burning you tell him there’s probably not going to be any of those to worry about, and he stares at you while you evade his eye contact.

(if you had just looked, you would have recognized the way he’s staring at you. it’s different than the others. like he’s just unlocked a new piece of you with this information. it’s good that you didn’t, though. it makes him want to keep you all the more.)

andrew hasn’t been obvious enough with his absence that the others have noticed—yet. he needs to go back to oceanside and stay there, and this two hour drive he’s been doing for days isn’t exactly helping him. the first night he’d driven back at three in the morning, after you’d fallen asleep and he’d made sure everything was locked until he came back in the morning, and he’d had to deal with smurf, awake and waiting for him, waiting for the proof that he had taken care of it. taken care of you.

the day after, baz stops him when he’s on his way out, to come back to see you, to tell him about a new plan he had for a job.

he realizes that the closer they get to a new job, the less he’d be able to come to the cabin. it seems there’s only one obvious solution—letting you leave the bedroom you’ve been confined to when he’s not there with you. so far he’d let you into the living room while he’s there, and the two of you sit in silence. (that silence is better than any conversation he’s had with his family in the last month, but you don’t need to know that.)

and the only way to make sure you’re alright in the cabin when he’s not there is to physically watch you and be sure of it, which means the real solution to andrew’s problem is cameras.

he installs them while you’re asleep. it’s only been a few days and you don’t make much noise as it is but when he hears the soft snoring, he knows you’re out. one in the living room and another in the kitchen, and a final one outside the cabin. the man at the store had explained it had motion sensors and would alert his phone if animals or people were outside. at the time, it seemed like a perfectly good idea.

the man at the store had said something else too, something about how this is the best safety system and it’s what he uses at home to keep his family safe and he would recommend it for andrew’s wife and kids too. and maybe the assumption that he was doing all of this for your protection got to his head a little too quickly.

he’s been down that road before, but he still installs them all the same.

he lets you out of the room and tells you he’ll be back in a few days and that there’s food in the fridge and you can move around the house if you’d like. you look at him like you’re surprised, with less fear than he anticipated, and nod. and then you tell him quietly, so quiet he can barely hear it—thank you.

(you wait for a reaction, but you don’t get one. he takes another heavy breath and then leaves, closing the door behind him and then locking it how he always does, leaving you alone again. and somehow, it feels so much worse to be alone.)

andrew drives for a few minutes before he gives into the urge of checking the camera’s footage. he sees you padding carefully through the living room, stopping at the bookshelf and reading all the titles.

he checks it again throughout the day, even though he really shouldn’t. he runs the risk of someone seeing it over his shoulder and you have become something he really, really doesn’t want to share with his brothers.

he doesn’t know how to do this. it’s not like he’s ever kidnapped someone before. he didn’t have any time to think it through, to make a plan, to gather supplies. he’s here in oceanside—maybe he should stop by your apartment. he has your phone and your purse and that should be enough to determine your address, and he can figure out how to get inside. maybe he should bring you some of your belongings, so you don’t feel as…

andrew doesn’t know what word he can use there. he doesn’t know what you’re feeling. frightened, he supposes. maybe it won’t make you feel as frightened if you had some of your things with you. he could bring you puzzles and books and the types of things that girls need with them—little bottles of expensive products and sweet smelling perfumes and whatever else you’d like. if it would make you more comfortable, he’d bring it.

fuck. and clothes—he needs to bring you clothes. you’ve been wearing the same dress the entire time and he hasn’t brought you anything to change into. if he goes to your home, he can bring some of your clothes.

(every time he’s come to the cabin so far, every time he’s opened the door, he waits in the foyer. he hears your footsteps padding up to the bedroom door, sees your shadow underneath it, like you’re making sure you didn’t imagine the noise. and when he goes over and unlocks it, you’re waiting for him in your sundress on the bed and the thought makes him so distracted he has to pull himself away from it. he has to close the door shut in his mind because if he doesn’t, he’s going to get so hard he can’t think anymore. and suddenly his mind fills in the blanks and he decides if he goes to your closet, he’ll only bring you dresses back.)

when andrew checks the video feed again, he’s noticed that you showered. he can tell from your wet hair, and for the first time, you’re not in the dress you were wearing when he took you. you’re in a plain shirt, one that’s too big on you. cotton and black.

one of his shirts. it’s from the dresser in the bedroom, he knows, since it’s only a one-bedroom home. the room he’s been keeping you in was supposed to be his room, and the drawers are filled with the clothes he’d brought there.

you’re wearing his clothes. and suddenly the thought of going to your apartment goes to hell. he’ll keep you in his clothes for as long as he can, until you say something or ask for something. (he knows you won’t. he’s figuring he knows an awful lot about you in a handful of days. that can’t be a coincidence, can it?)

and then craig says something about how he’s never seen andrew on his phone this much and you got some porn on there or something? and he shoves the device into his pocket and tries to remove you from his thoughts.

tries and fails, that is.

andrew gets a stinging scrape on his upper arm trying to get out of the job. he wasn’t actively thinking about you but he knows somehow he was distracted because of you, because he couldn’t put you out of his mind for thirty seconds longer, wondering if you were still awake on the couch or back in the bedroom and if you’d eaten and if you were maybe, just maybe, waiting up for him.

he ignores the others telling him that he needs to get his arm fixed and he suffers through another hour at smurf’s, eating dessert that tastes like nothing, and then he gets in his truck and pulls out his phone.

and you’ve fallen asleep on the couch. he sighs, part relief mixed with something else. his arm seems to hurt less, he thinks. and then andrew drives two hours to go back home to you.

you wake up when the door opens. first your eyes flutter open, and then you turn your head to make sure it’s andrew—though the chance of it being someone else are nonexistent. then another thought, for a split second, racing through your body and mind like a strike of lightning.

you hope it’s never anyone but andrew opening that door.

you’re distracted from the thought when andrew groans, and you hear a pitter patter noise that sounds suspiciously like rain—but it’s not raining. when you lift yourself up in the dark, andrew’s leaning against the doorframe, raising his other hand to turn the switch on, and when the bulb flickers and light fills the cabin, you see it. blood, lots of it.

your instinct is to get on your feet right away, to usher andrew to the couch where you had fallen asleep and help him take his shirt off so you can see the wound clearly.

you don’t panic, something you’ve gotten good at in your field. panicking makes the little kids even more frightened, so you’ve mastered the art of staying calm while assessing the situation. quick movements—your feet bring you to the bathroom for clean towels and hot water like you’ve lived here forever.

you wash the wound carefully, pleased that it’s only skin-deep and that the bleeding should stop with some prolonged pressure. you sigh a breath of relief, holding the towel to his arm tightly, and then you realize you and andrew haven’t spoken a word this entire time.

you have to say something. you’re supposed to keep the patient distracted, get their mind off of their injury so they don’t subconsciously make it worse. you’ve always been good with your students, rambling about a new movie or what flavor lollipop they’ll pick on their way out and anything else that comes to mind.

but staring at andrew, realizing that you’ve forced yourself not to panic but feeling the dread still seep in, you realize you have nothing to say. you’re so thankful his wound isn’t too bad and logically, you compute, while his hazel eyes stare at you and you stare at his arm (a huge, thick bicep with veins that pulse under your touch), that it must be because if something happened to him, no one would ever find you.

that has to be it. there’s no other reason why you should feel like this—and you can’t even describe what this is, you just know that it’s there, a pale glowing ball of thank god he’s okay hovering in the pit of your stomach, making you almost nauseous with how relieved you are. no other reason.

you pull away the towel and the bleeding has stopped. you sigh again, reaching for another towel to wipe the wound clean and turning to meet andrew’s eyes, which are already on you, to ask him if he has a first aid kit. but he speaks first.

“thank you.” two words, said quietly, staring into the depths of your soul and not blinking once. you want to say something to make him smile but you don’t know how to do that. (yet.)

“of-of course. first aid kit? i need a bandage. to wrap your arm.”

“it’s under the sink. i can get it.”

“no, no,” you insist, letting go of andrew’s arm. your hand still feels warm where you were gripping him and his blood is all over your fingers. you dart off in the right direction and come back with the box, opening it up and seeing what you can use.

you wrap it around his arm carefully, apologizing when you press against him in a way that makes him wince.

“you should buy some more bandages like this. the waterproof kind. when you can. and i-i can change the dressing for you,” you ramble, unsure of how to make andrew feel better, if you can at all. he might be more upset that you’re still talking and not shutting up, and still—

he brings his other hand around and clasps it around your wrist. he’s holding on tightly but it doesn’t hurt. that’s not his intention right now. you looked into his eyes when you felt his touch but that was a mistake. blinking quickly, you try to move your gaze anywhere but the man in front of you.

“can you look at me?” you can’t help it, it’s like your body has this urge to just listen to him, to comply, to try and please him with your deference. as painful as it is, you stare into his hazel eyes for what seems like ages. they’re mostly green but the brown is so much more apparent from this close to him. the realization is so stunning you almost feel like you’ve been zapped with an electric current—andrew has beautiful eyes. “thank you.”

“oh. i-” you pause yourself before you say something that doesn’t make any sense. “of course. y-you saved my life. it’s the least i can do.”

and that realization is equally disorienting, like a bomb has been dropped between you two. he might have taken you and brought you here and kept you locked up but he did save you. from almost certain death.

andrew doesn’t say anything, even if he’s thinking something. he stares and when you try to look away again, he lets go of the hand on your wrist and brings it to the side of your face instead. he tilts your head towards him until you’ve locked eyes again.

you think your heart is going to fall out of your chest with how fast it’s beating.

“stop looking away.” his words come out quietly.

andrew is so close to you, that almost by nature of instinct, your eyes flutter shut. you don’t know what exactly you’re expecting, and something inside of your brain screams at you, reminding you how incredibly stupid you’re being.

but then andrew brings you closer to him with his hand warm on your cheek and your lips brush his for a second, maybe two, and they’re soft just like you imagined, and then—

you two jump apart as his phone goes off. you don’t know how far back you jerked, but andrew lets go of your face immediately. he stands up to answer it, reminds you to be quiet by putting a finger in front of his lips.

"what is it, baz?"

you tiptoe back to the room and close the door as quietly as you can. and then you bury your head into the pillow.

stupid. stupid. stupid. kissing—or almost kissing, or whatever the hell that was—your captor. you seriously cannot descend into a further level of stupidity. as if your life was some badly written mafia romance, the kind you should be overindulging in right now instead of being locked up in a cabin with a complete stranger and then trying to kiss said stranger.

(do not, you’re forced to remind yourself over and over again, do not think about his green eyes and his soft lips and the way he held your face tenderly. do not. do not.)

a little while later, you hear andrew’s voice quiet down and his footsteps come to your door. he stands outside and your heart picks up wondering if he’ll knock or come back in to finish what he started, but it settles into a dull thudding rhythm again once he walks away. then the unmistakable sound of the front door, his truck starting, and tires on the dirt road that leads to this place.

you don’t know why you let your expectations get carried away for a moment there. andrew’s not going to give you some grand, dramatic kiss or knock and give you a romantic speech from the other side of the door. that’s not him, you know that much at least. the crime television series are merging with the romantic books in your head and creating a perfect storm to cloud your senses.

maybe it’s a good thing. maybe it’s a coping mechanism, or something. you’ll figure it out in therapy if andrew ever lets you go.

you open the door and go back to where you were sleeping on the couch. it’s comfortable, and it’d be perfect to curl up and watch a movie in, if there was a television around. you miss your laptop and post-work routine a little bit more than you have the entire time so far.

you want to get back under the blanket but you still feel flushed from the kiss, if you could even call it that. the almost, maybe-it-happened kiss. you lay on top of the blanket and stare at the ceiling and feel your heartbeat in your ears.

fuck. you really shouldn’t. but resisting it—especially when your eyes shut and you recall how andrew’s skin felt against yours, how it felt to be so close to him that you could see all his freckles, how he looked at you and made you look at him—takes every ounce of strength in your body.

and you’re really, really not that strong.

you lift up the shirt you’ve been wearing today, the one that’s undoubtedly his from the familiar detergent and the size of it, and your fingers find their familiar pattern themselves.

you trace little circles on your clit and keep your eyes closed tightly, like opening it and seeing what the hell you’re doing might chase away the orgasm that’s getting closer and closer. instead there’s other images—andrew’s arm tensing under your touch. the veins that go all the way down to his forearm. other places he might have veins like that.

then it’s something else—the fact that he almost kissed you. what it could have led to, what it means for you. the fact that he wants you, that maybe he’s wanted you all along. that maybe that’s why he took you.

your orgasm hits you like a brick at that very thought. you ride yourself through it like you’ve always done, covering your mouth even though you don’t have neighbors here, sweaty and out of breath and satisfied but not entirely. like you know what it could have been like, that there’s someone who could have made it better in ways that you can’t even piece together right now.

you groan into the cushion, loudly, frustrated with yourself. it’s one thing to develop a lite version of stockholm syndrome but it’s another entirely to finish to the thought of the man. especially when you can’t remember the last time you had a feeling like this towards anyone.

it’s just so stupid. you can’t get over it. you’re so stupid. the feeling of clarity washes over you but you still don’t completely understand it. you don’t know what it is about him. maybe you just want to be wanted—that has to be it. how else can you justify what you just did to the thought of your kidnapper?

you lay back on the cushion and curl up under the blanket and with that thought haunting you, you fall asleep.

and half-way to oceanside, andrew watches the feed for the living room and clenches his fist around the steering wheel.

andrew comes back the next day, and you two don’t talk about anything, just like usual. you’re making yourself lunch when he opens the door and you look his way briefly, before heading back to make him a plate too. you try to justify it internally—he made you meals not so long ago. granted, you were tied up with rope at the time, but still, he could have let you starve and he didn’t.

it turns into a little habit. you’ve never particularly loved cooking but one of the dusty bookshelves in the house had a cookbook that you’ve been stealing recipes from. it’s just something to keep you a little busy and if you’re going to improve any of your skills, it might as well be this one.

it’ll still be useful to you when you leave. if you get to leave.

you’re not entirely sure but you think andrew likes having you there as a personal cook. he washes the dishes and cleans the kitchen without complaint, and he forces you out of there, not letting you help. it’s sweet, you think, watching him from the living room with whatever book you’re reading now.

there’s other things too—he’s brought you books. you’re not sure from where, but you read them all the same, laughing internally when you think about if it’d be impolite to ask him for a dvd player or something.

you change the dressing on his wound each day, and it’s healing well so far. it’s been maybe four or five days since he got hurt—since you almost, maybe kissed him and then definitely, certainly orgasmed on his couch—and you feel…confused, for lack of a better word.

you feel like you’re in a routine like how a couple who’s getting used to living with each other is—first tip toeing around, and then gaining comfort and ease, until finally, it feels normal.

this can’t be right—how routine it feels to make andrew lunch, even when you’re not sure if he’ll be back in time. to flip through a cookbook wondering what recipe he might like. to smile at him when he brings you another book since he somehow knows you’ve gone through most of the shelf already.

the days melt into each other—but you had expected that. you think asking andrew about an update in the whole letting you go free thing might upset him, and you still really, really want to avoid that.

so you remain confused and turbulent and fighting an internal dilemma between two sides of you. one that just wants to give in and stop thinking so hard about this and the other that thinks you should be scared for your life and stop pretending that this is anything besides what it really is—stockholm syndrome changing your brain chemistry and making you think that you’re going to be just fine.

while the two sides are duking it out, you and andrew continue the routine—or maybe it’s a charade, one side argues—like usual. you think it’s been two weeks of being cooped up in this house when he brings you a magazine.

“can you circle what you need?”

you look up at him. he’s sort of trained you into the eye contact thing, and though you can’t withstand much of his intense staring, you’ve gotten marginally better at it. (you’re sure he’ll like that, that it must please him that you don’t always look away. and then you remind yourself where you are and your head begins to hurt.)

“yes. sure. thank you,” you say, opening up the catalog. there’s a section for clothes and another for beauty and skincare, and as stupid as it is, you still circle some of the makeup you like. and some of the stuff that you always deemed too expensive to buy, because if andrew’s paying, you might as well get to try it out. you justify it all—doing such elaborate mental gymnastics that you think you’d medal gold at this point.

but that’s what you have to do, right? you ponder the thought as you hand andrew back the circled pages, with him telling you he’ll get the stuff as soon as he can. that new clothes and skincare might make you, at the very least, feel like a person. help you not lose all of your identity as you merge into this persona for andrew—personal chef and nurse and someone he almost, maybe kisses.

and there’s other things too. when you wake up, he’s always hovering somewhere near you, as though he’d been watching you sleep. you guess there’s nothing inherently wrong with that—it sort of makes butterflies flutter around your stomach, since the idea that he likes to pass time by looking at you is very overwhelming—but you keep reminding yourself to stay rational.

it’s hard to ground yourself but you need to keep it up—even though more often than not, thoughts of andrew, even when he’s not there with you, plague you, like you’re some teenager with a crush.

it’s because you know, know deep down in your bones that some part of andrew likes some part of you. that you do, indeed, have a soft spot for your kidnapper, built from making lunches and conversations without words. that you ignore your instincts so much you’re not sure you can even call it an instinct anymore, because your newfound impulses just want to do whatever you can to please andrew, even when he doesn’t express it through words, just through eye contacts and barely there touches.

the realization makes you want to throw up. there’s not enough justification in the world for this, it doesn’t matter if he said he wouldn’t hurt you or he makes sure you’re safe here.

it’s been more than two weeks now. he could have let you go. but then again, he could have done a lot of things.

you’re finishing making lunch when you notice it—that the door seems slightly ajar, like he’d forgotten one of the locks or something. maybe he had on the second trip out to get the groceries for you so you could start cooking. he used to make sure you were in the bedroom, locked inside, when he opened and closed the door. but he hadn’t done that in a few days.

because he trusted that you wouldn’t run.

if the door is open, you could try to get outside while andrew is washing the dishes and cleaning up after the two of you eat. but it’s probably not—he’s much more careful than that.

but still, sitting at the tiny round dining table across from him, you can barely eat a few bites, heart racing at the idea. it’s stupid—the idea of running away. where would you even go? you don’t know the terrain, don't know where you are. you don’t even wear shoes in the house, prancing around barefoot in one of the new dresses andrew brought for you like some sort of twisted housewife.

once it got dark, you’d be in real trouble, with whatever wildlife is out here and how far away the main road is, if there was even other cars on it to begin with. you can’t remember much from the drive over here and you curse to yourself.

“something wrong?” andrew asks, and you blink at him dumbly.

“no, nothing. i-i-” quick. think of something. before he gets worried. “i just didn’t like this recipe as much as i thought i would. not my best work.”

you try to laugh it off, even though your words sound stupid. andrew stares at you until your smiles melts away and you take a tiny bite.

“it tastes good to me,” he says, and you feel your heart fall. your idea seems further and further away.

like always, andrew takes the dishes to the kitchen and when you hear the sink turn on, you leave your spot on the table and go to the living room. but instead of taking a seat on the creaky couch and opening your book, you tiptoe to the door.

your heart is beating so fast you can hear it in your ears, trembling hand reaching for the doorknob.

and for the first time, it twists and gives way to the door opening.

you are stupid, you conclude, for thinking about running away from this, from him. but you can’t get over the circumstances that led you here—his crazy family, the fact that he was partaking in a robbery of your goddamn school, that he had no issues with taking you to begin with.

and despite the part of you that thinks you could really, really get used to this—or the harrowing reality of the fact that you already have—you step outside and start running.

but andrew has become somewhat of a bloodhound when it comes to you. he waits for the telltale signs that he always hears when he’s the kitchen—the groan of the sofa cushions as you sit down and get comfortable, the rustle of your book opening, the flap of the blanket as you spread it over your legs.

he knows because he’s always greeted with that same sight every time he comes out into the living room, one he’s become well acquainted with and has been the source of a rare piece of happiness for the last several days.

it takes him a few minutes to realize he didn’t hear it. another few to wonder if you went to the bedroom—but he didn’t hear any doors open or close. and it takes him about thirty seconds to realize his mistake with leaving the door unlocked because he was worried about the groceries in the back—specifically a pint of melted ice cream he brought here for you.

the dish clatters into the sink and he races out to the living room. andrew’s never been a religious man but he prays then, quietly to himself, just for a split second. hoping that you’re just curled up on the couch quietly, that when he turns the corner, you’ll still be there.

his heart skips a beat when he realizes that you’re not. then he walks through the open door with an understanding that he won’t stop running until he finds you.

hindsight really is twenty-twenty.

you ran for maybe ten or fifteen minutes before realizing that this was a huge mistake—one that you can’t just repair with an apology and a sincere smile. just a while ago this felt like your only chance to get freedom and get as much distance between you and the kidnapper you’re half in love with—another realization that strikes you like something akin to a knife in the stomach.

you keep running, bare feet getting achy already from the cold, hard dirt and rocks. you wonder if andrew’s noticed yet or if he’s still standing in the kitchen. he’s going to be so disappointed. and all this time, you’ve been trying so hard to avoid that very thing. all your effort was for nothing—it’s not like he’ll forgive you for this.

you’ve gotten so far that you don’t recognize anything, and with your muscles burning, you slow down. you can’t stop for long—you don’t know where the nearest road is, and it might be an hour of running before you get there.

you try to catch your breath and get back up to keep going, when a thought crosses your mind.

what are you really scared of? because it can’t be staying with andrew—he’s done nothing but take care of you. it can’t be that he’ll hurt you, because he’s already had the chance to do so a thousand times and he’s never once taken it.

if anything, he’s protecting you from the rest of his family. putting himself on the line by hiding you instead of just doing the easy thing and killing you, dumping your body somewhere where no one will ever find it and letting the school report you missing in three months when you don’t show up for the first day of class.

you think you know what you’re scared of right now—being stuck in these woods when it’s dark out, alone and trapped, with the possibility that if you run too far, andrew might not be able to find you.

if he even tried to find you. he might not care now that you broke his trust by running away. he might let you stay stuck out here until the forces of nature get to you, if you’ve gone too far.

you collapse down against a tree, that thought making your knees weak as you fully process it. and then you wait.

and a few minutes later, you hear the stomps—even they sound angry—getting closer and closer, and you look up to find andrew, like always, staring at you. he looks flushed and though his expression hardly ever changes around you, remaining consistently unphased, you can tell he’s upset with you.

you two have never needed many words to communicate.

“i’m sorry,” you say quietly, before he can say anything, if he even will.

you’re not sure it goes from here—you’d thought about the other side of your original plan, running to the nearest road and flagging someone down and whatever else you thought adrenaline would allow you to do. you think your subconscious was trying to protect you from thinking about andrew being angry at you and dragging you back to the cabin by your hair.

weakly, you think it’s what you deserve for running away in the first place.

and andrew wonders why you stopped running, his mind running in circles around the fact that you had your perfect chance to escape and you took it, and you still stopped. you don’t look too hurt—though there’s scratches on your bare feet and ankles from the branches and twigs. you hadn’t even thought to put your shoes on. that’s how badly you wanted to get away from him.

and can he really blame you? he couldn’t have expected you to willingly stay just because you’re gentle when you clean his wound and you two share meals like husband and wife. it’s a fantasy concocted from being in the cabin with you for too long—and he firmly reminds himself of that right now, staring down at you.

but the way you look at him, watery eyes and an expression like you don’t even understand your own actions, makes resisting the fantasy so hard. he thinks it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done.

he crouches down to be at eye-level with you, your back still perched against the trunk of the tree. you draw your knees in towards your chest and he watches as the fabric of your dress moves with the motion, revealing more bare skin to him.

“why-why’d you do that?”

“i’m sorry, andrew-”

“i haven’t hurt you. i kept my promise.”

“i know, i-i-”

“you’ve been good so far.”

“i’m sorry,” you say again, and with that one, fat tears drip down your cheeks. you are sorry—if only you had a way to convince him of it. or to go back in time and not do any of this, if only to save you both the pain of this conversation.

“why? i want an answer.” firm and final and said in a tone that you had never heard from andrew so far.

“i…i guess i needed to know if you’d come after me or not.” it comes out as a shuddery breath of words. it’s only partially the truth—but it’s the most you can confess to right now.

maybe some part of you knew it would happen like this. the truth is that you’re scared of how andrew might feel about you and you’re even more scared of what you feel towards him.

“of course i would,” he says and you shut your eyes, taking a shaky breath. you feel andrew’s hands on your knees, warm and tense and his grip tight like you might scamper off again. “i would-" he cuts himself off before he can finish the sentence. do anything for you. i would do anything for you.

“d-don’t say that-”

“why not?”

when you open your eyes, andrew’s already looking at you, with an intensity you’ve seen one other night—the time you helped him when he was hurt, the night of the kiss. you don’t have an answer for him.

“can i prove it to you?” andrew’s words make a shiver run through your body. you stare at him, finally not looking away for once, wondering how different things will be after this.

you think you’re fine with it. and then you feel andrew guiding you—instructing you to lay your body down flat in the grass. his hands are like ropes holding you in place, exactly as he wants you—and when he spreads your legs wide and lowers his head between your thighs, your own head hits the soil with a thud.

your eyes shut with anticipation, though andrew doesn’t move for what feels like ages. like he’s observing and taking it all in—which is somehow even more shameful. how wet you are from a few words and touches, how ready you are for him. but he’s going to show you and you think all you should do—all you can do, with how dizzy you feel from it—is lay back and take what he gives you.

his words run through your head like a loop—you’ve been good so far. and thinking about those words, when andrew presses the flat of his tongue against your leaking cunt, all the way up to your throbbing clit, you let out a moan closer to a scream, and you can, since no one can hear you for miles around.

he seems incredibly encouraged by that—speeding up his pace, lapping up everything you give him.

you don’t know when your fingers got wrapped up in andrew’s hair, but they do, and you pull hard when he slips one finger, then two inside of you. you feel it—the knot tensing in your stomach, feeling andrew’s thick fingers spread you open, feeling his tongue against your pussy and lavishing attention on your clit.

you can’t believe you thought your stupid fingers would compare to the real thing—you were wrong, again. nothing you could have thought of could compare to andrew’s hot mouth on you, his huge hand holding you down while the other thrusts fingers in and out of you.

and it’s this realization that tips you over the edge—that even when you tried to run away from this, you’re still back in andrew’s arms, like a star that can’t escape its orbit.

you finish in andrew’s tight grip, your entire body spasming and shaking as it courses through you—hot and wet and sending lava through your arteries and veins. andrew doesn’t stop until your body is limp and you have to try and push yourself away from him—using what little energy you have left in an unsuccessful attempt to do so.

and then he pulls the skirt of your dress down, picks you up in his arms, and carries you back to the cabin. you feel wetness—your wetness—on his fingers where he holds you and how warm his chest is against your cheek, and you fall asleep somewhere on the walk back.

when you wake up, you’re in the familiar bed, tucked under the covers. andrew is asleep next to you on top of the sheets.

two days later, andrew has to leave for a job. it almost hurts more now that you’ve gotten to experience a slightly different side of things. you think you’ve gotten used to waking up beside him and going to sleep next to him.

but on the other hand, him leaving does have its perks. he hasn’t touched you like that since you were in the woods with him, and as much as you love playing house with andrew, you’re so pent up that you think you could touch yourself all day and it still wouldn’t get rid of it. the burning, sticky ache inside you that wants andrew all the time—that wants him to pin you down and do whatever he’s been harboring thoughts about this whole time.

memories of his single hand being enough to hold down your entire thrashing body in the woods is enough to make all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. so you make yourself cum until you can’t anymore (that’s your limit—you don’t think andrew would have a limit for you, though, and you’re sure you’ll find out soon enough) and carry on your little routine and wait for him to come back home to you.

it feels like a certain weight has been lifted from your shoulders, you think, with how easy everything feels now. like you don’t have to fight a battle in your head over every encounter, like you don’t have to justify every emotion. you’re here, and you have andrew, and you’re going to appreciate what you and him have because you know it’s something special.

maybe it’s a little delusional, too, but you’ve been here almost three weeks without seeing another person and you’ve been tepidly awaiting some sort of punishment for running away and it hasn’t come yet. every time you think you know what andrew is going to do, you find yourself completely mistaken.

andrew does come home—and times like this, you really wish you had some way to communicate with him. a satellite phone or a carrier pigeon or something to tell him you’ve gotten your period and there’s nothing in this house that you can substitute like you’ve done with all your other needs.

he has the usual groceries and a box of brownie mix for dessert because ice cream doesn’t last the drive back here. and then he hands you another bag that you accept with a quizzical look on your face, since normally you two put everything away together.

and inside is a box of pads and a box of tampons. you look straight up at him and blink.

“how did you know?”

“know what?”

“that i got my period. you weren’t even here-”

“it’ll be a month soon and you haven’t said anything yet. i just assumed.”

“you assumed?”

“i have a-i had a sister. i know things.”

“oh.” the realization that andrew is a complete stranger startles you for a moment, like it hasn’t in a while. you felt like you knew so much about him from your interactions that you forgot the two of you haven’t ever really talked about his life or your life or anything beyond the four walls of this cabin. “i’m sorry.”

and a little bit later, while you mix the brownie batter and add butter, not oil and milk, not water, you ask andrew questions about his sister and listen as he answers quietly. the way he looks at you after a certain question makes you think no one's ever taken the time to ask him these things before, and that makes your heart hurt in a way you can't really understand.

and then you sit beside him on the couch and read your book aloud while he listens, and you think maybe you don't need to understand everything.

andrew thinks you’re getting antsy when you have to be at the cabin alone without him. he wasn’t completely sure, but you’ve started asking when he’s leaving and when he’ll be back almost every time. he thinks maybe he’s just not to used to someone asking, or rather someone wanting him to stay, but now you do, and he doesn’t have a real answer for you.

that’s because the answer is dependent on his brothers and smurf and it changes daily based on if he can avoid their suspicion and the glances they exchange with each other when he says he’ll be busy again. and unsure of how much longer he can keep it up, worried that anything he does might reveal your existence to them, he needs to stay away from you for longer chunks of time, as hard as that thought is for him to swallow.

he doesn’t want to. maybe he never has, now that he has something to come home to, something waiting for him half-asleep on the couch and leaving plates of dinner in the oven and something that takes him by the hand and brings him to the bedroom to sleep next to each other.

the solution comes to him when lena is telling him about a girl at school who got a kitten for her birthday, and if he’d help her convince baz to let her get one too.

he doesn’t know how to explain that baz is never going to agree to that, when he goes to the shelter, he thinks that if he ever gets to introduce you to lena, she can play with the one he’s about to get you.

the worker at the shelter shows him the kittens, playful and hyperactive and running around in their pen. the woman there starts explaining what each of the little kittens are like, identifying them by their collars, but he doesn’t hear half of it.

there’s a little orange one that’s quiet, tucked away and not as energetic as the others. he thinks that’d be perfect for you—to have a calm kitten dozing off in your lap while you read or follow you around the kitchen. and when he picks it up, it barely takes up the size of his hand. yes, he thinks, this is exactly what you need.

the worker has him fill out papers and tells him the different things he needs to buy—though he knows some of it already—and asks him if the little kitten is for him.

“no. no she's for my girl-my girlfriend.” she harps on about how sweet that is and that he’s being a great boyfriend, and andrew swallows uncomfortably.

it didn’t feel like a lie.

when he comes home that day, he finds you, like always, waiting for him. he thinks stupidly that he should have gotten a basket or a ribbon or something, to make the kitten feel more like a gift for you, but it slipped his mind while he was trying to fight off intrusive thoughts about your reaction.

and it’s everything he thought it would be.

as soon as you hear the quiet mewing, you stand up, the blanket that always covers your legs falling to the ground.

you rush over to him, your body pressed close against him and fingers brushing as you pet the nape of the kitten’s neck.

“oh my god. oh my god-” he’s never heard you sound so excited—and your tone is nearly intoxicating for him. he wonders what else he can do to get you to stay this happy forever.

“she's for you.”

“oh my god. andrew. she's so cute. hi,” you coo at her in a voice that only gets more excited when he helps the kitten into your arms. and then you beam your bright smile up at andrew and he momentarily gets all the wind knocked from his lungs. “what should we name her?”

we. like this cat is both of yours—yours and his. it’s the things like that—the ways you subconsciously reveal that you think of him as yours, that everything you two is together. that this kitten is for the both of you. and andrew thinks if this is how you’d react to everything, there’s nothing he could ever deny you.

he watches you play with the kitten for a while before he has to leave—not entirely sure how to break it to you that he’ll be gone for longer than usual this time. maybe you’ll stay so occupied you won’t notice it. you use one of the toys he brought, a little rod with a toy fish on a string, and drag it across the floor while the kitten chases it. and then you accumulate enough cuteness aggression that you bring her in for a hug and laugh while she curls up against you.

(and andrew, who thinks he’s never had a thought like this before, wonders briefly what you’d look like with a baby in your arms.)

you’re sad when he says that he has to leave but at the very least, he knows you’ll be occupied. he thinks he did the right thing, and then he knows he did the right thing, when you scoop up the kitten and bring her to the door to say goodbye to andrew with you. then you turn your head to give andrew a kiss on his cheek and thank him again and he drives to oceanside wondering why he didn’t think of this sooner.

you wrangle the kitten for the better part of two days before andrew comes back.

he’d told you it would take longer but every passing minute that he’s not home with you or driving towards you makes him antsy. makes his skin hum and vibrate with anticipation of when he can leave. by now, the others must have noticed that something’s going on, though if they have, no one says anything. he doesn’t know if it’s from a lack of concern or out of fear for his answer, but either way, he’s glad they haven’t.

they don’t need to know about you. that’s why all of this has felt so perfect to andrew so far—because his family isn’t around to taint it and ruin it. to scare you off or hurt you and all the other things that would happen if they realized you were still alive.

and though you and him don’t talk about much, there’s an understanding between the two of you, one that’s only been strengthened since the day when you had run away and stopped so he could find you. that maybe, as twisted as all of this was, it was meant to happen. that you two were meant to find each other.

it’s a heavy thought for the drive back to the cabin. it weighs over him like a storm cloud—the battle of trying to recognize if he’d done the right thing by bringing you here or not. maybe he should have let you go the day after smurf and his brothers had stopped bringing you up, once they thought you were dealt with.

but when he opens the door to the cabin, you’re curled up with the cat, asleep on the couch just like he had envisioned. what’s more is the overwhelming notion of the fact that you had fallen asleep there waiting for him, like you always do.

you feel you’ve almost been trained to wake up to the sound of the door closing. when you open your eyes, still heavy with sleep, andrew’s perched on the couch next to you, petting the kitten lying to you.

“i didn’t mean to wake you up,” he says quietly. you sigh, a surprisingly sweet noise that comes to him like a melody.

“that’s okay,” you sit up, yawning and stretching. “i don’t want to sleep if you’re here.”

and he doesn’t know what to do when you say things like that—because really, what is he supposed to say? your words have an almost otherworldly effect on him when he processes what they mean.

that you want to wake up when he comes back home. that you don’t want to miss a moment of time with him. that you want him there with you.

the last one hits him the hardest.

andrew stares in silence while you stretch your arms and then bring the kitten back into your hands, cuddling against her and nuzzling your face against hers. the kitten had looked comically small in his palm but perfectly at home in yours.

“did you pick a name?”

“maybe. i wasn’t sure what you’d like,” you say, meeting his eyes for longer than you usually do—something you’ve been working on. the two of you stay like that for a while, glancing between yourselves and the kitten mewling and traipsing around the space between you and andrew.

“you should pick. she’s for you.” you smile at andrew when he says that, and for some reason, all of this just feels so much more domestic than it ever has before. his hand turns into a fist at his side because it is overwhelming—incredibly so. he wants to lay down next to you and watch you play with the kitten and tell him every thought in your head and fall asleep to the sound of you talking.

but he can’t do any of that, and he can’t tell you, either. so he attempts a small smile back at you and you tell him you think you like the name wren.

“it was in one of the books,” you say, though you’re lying through your teeth.

“wren?”

“what? what’s wrong with it?” “n-nothing. i just thought… i don’t know. it’s not really a cat name, is it?”

“what? you want me to call her mrs. whiskers?”

he laughs when you say that, and so you laugh too. surprisingly calm, and the rest of the world forgotten for a few minutes. andrew doesn’t understand such a human name for the kitten, but it’s yours. he think he’d let you do whatever you want if you keep laughing and smiling with him.

you get up to make lunch, and andrew and wren both follow you into the kitchen, and the hours of the day pass by quickly when andrew’s there with you. since you learned about his sister, you like to ask him questions, and though he was hesitant at first—you’re not entirely sure why—he’s begun asking you questions too, about when you’d become a school nurse and if you liked it and the book you’re reading this week.

andrew avoids personal questions. the fear of reminding you of the life you left behind, or snapping you back to the reality of how you’re stuck here with him frightens him too much to ask. but you ask him questions—lots of them, all about his life and his family and how long they’ve been doing these jobs.

you get sad, he can tell since you’re bad at hiding your emotion and they paint over your face immediately, when he tells you about how long he’s been doing this. about stolen gas station wallets and the people smurf always had over and how every day was about him trying to protect his siblings.

you get sad even to the point of tears, something he can’t understand. you don’t know him enough to cry over him, do you? or is this just what you’re like—crying over your kidnapper’s childhood stories, curling up next to andrew on the couch with the kitten between you two, holding his hand and pleading with him to stay the night.

is this what you’re like? or is this what he’s made you into?

you fall asleep somewhere between the answer to another question you’ve asked him and the cat’s soft snores next to you. it’s easier once you’re asleep—to gaze over you and not have to hold back the smile that takes over him. you’re so trusting it almost frustrates him.

he picks you up gently, carrying you back to the bedroom. the cat wakes up from the movement and meows at him, but all she does is follow andrew as he carries you and jump onto the bed when he sets you down. while unfolding the blanket to cover you, a piece of paper falls out and lands on the ground near his feet.

you and wren are both sound asleep now. he should go back to the living room—sleep there or leave, but the idea of you waking up alone makes him feel miserable inside. or rather, another day of waking up without you.

he opens the paper—there’s names written in pen all over. at the top is andrew in your pretty handwriting, with different letters crossed out. and then underneath are all different names using the same couple of letters.

warden

wander

dawn with a maybe???

rand

red

then raw, crossed out several times and a big no written next to it. and then finally, wren, circled and with several exclamations following it.

oh. so that’s why you named the kitten wren. he stares at you asleep next to her, having brought an arm across her, even in your sleep, like you were trying to keep her close to you.

oh.

wren—using the letters of his name. emotions surge through andrew like they haven’t in a long time. the sad, pathetic yearning turning into something he doesn’t think he’s felt before—the urge to make you happy because you make him so happy, without even trying to.

and though he knows he should get in the car and drive back to oceanside before anyone can bother asking where he is, the urge to stay with you is stronger than the rational logic of leaving. so, he gets into bed next to you and wren.

andrew doesn’t sleep much, though it’s hard to fight sleep when he can hear your gentle breathing. and it’s really, really hard to fight sleep when your arm makes its way across his chest, the warmth burning through his shirt.

he does fall asleep—maybe the best he’s slept in years. and when he wakes up to the sunlight, you’re curled up against his side, the cat somewhere at your feet, holding onto him like you’re worried he’ll leave.

thoughts plague him about how you don’t even know if he’s really there, that sometimes he leaves when you’re asleep and you wake up alone more often than you wake up to him. you’ve been knocked out since last night, at least he thinks, because if you had gotten up he would have noticed.

but andrew watches you hold onto his arm, your face smushed against his chest as you take sleepy breaths and snore softly, legs tangled together, and he has to think it’s happening for a reason.

groggily, he wonders if you’ve been sent just to test his willpower. memories flood him quickly—when you had touched yourself after he kissed you, what he’d done to you out in the woods after he’d caught you (or rather, caught up to you—because you had stopped. you had waited for him.)

he thinks he just ignores his morning wood on most days but it’s especially hard when your soft skin is pressed against him and he can see miles of it exposed since you kicked away the covers. the little noises you make as you get comfortable and stay nestled against him don’t help either—and just when he questions what exactly you might be dreaming about, his phone goes off.

fuck. stupid fucking phone—he needs to make it not so loud or destroy the thing entirely. he reaches over to the night stand to grab it but the damage is already done, your eyes jump open from the terrible alarm and you take about half a second to realize how close you are to andrew. you meet his eyes and then he answers his phone and you unpeel yourself from his side, if a bit begrudgingly.

andrew stares at you while you stare at wren, hoping she stays quiet so the person on the other line can’t hear her. you take heavy breaths and andrew notices that you look flushed and warm, and you keep moving around, changing your position as if you can’t get comfortable. squirming, even.

which leads him back to his original question—what the hell were you dreaming about? he gets lost in the possible answers and makes baz repeat himself three times before he answers. in an attempt to get him to hang up, andrew agrees with whatever he says and you sit patiently, taking wren into your arms so she doesn’t make any noises for attention. she still mews quietly a few times and you pick her up, taking her into the living room as carefully as you can

“is that a cat? where are you?” baz asks on the other line and andrew hangs up without saying goodbye.

he walks into the living room and you stand up once you see him, leaving wren on the couch.

“i’m so sorry. i didn’t think she’d-” “that’s okay. i-i have to go.”

you sigh and your shoulders drop, your hopeful expression changing into one of disappointment before his very eyes. maybe he’s never hated anything as much as how you’re looking at him right now.

“already?” the words make andrew’s knees feel weak.

“i don’t have a choice. i…” he trails off, wondering how to finish the sentence, how to articulate the thought.

how to sum up the fact that he would stay here, with you, all day if he could. that watching you cook and curl up in the sun and play with the kitten that you refer to as ours is enough to sustain him for the rest of his life. that whenever the day comes that you get to leave this place, he will never forget about you—not your sweet smile or your sincere expressions or how earnestly you look at him when you don’t want him to go.

but he doesn’t know how to tell you any of that.

“i’m sorry,” he finishes quietly. and like always, you smile at him.

“it’s okay. we’ll just miss you.” you turn to look at wren and then look back, and somehow, though you must think this every single time, andrew’s stare feels different than usual.

like there’s so much swimming around in his mind that he’s not telling you. he doesn’t say it back, that he’ll miss you both too. instead he walks up closer to you, and you hold in a breath, unsure of what’s coming, before he leans in and gives you a kiss on the forehead. you feel every muscle in your body relax when his lips press to your skin, eyes fluttering shut.

he murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like be good, and then you nod in response quickly.

and then he’s gone again.

you crawl back into bed, the motivation to make breakfast or do much of anything long gone.

not to mention that one of his stupid brothers—you know their names but you didn’t know which one had called, though it was probably baz since he always interrupted everything—had woken you up from the best dream you’d had since you’d been stuck here. your thighs feel sticky and your entire body squirms with the realization that if you had stayed dreaming any longer, you probably would have started rubbing yourself against andrew in your sleep.

and as embarrassing as that thought it is, it’s equally intoxicating to wonder what he would have done about it.

in the dream you had been riding his thigh—your own thighs splayed out wide against him, and in the dream andrew had been watching you, like he always does. except this time you know it was different, like you could see the lust behind the hazel, like he was using all of his self control to not do more.

would the real andrew do the same? after so many close calls and whatever the hell that was in the woods and the two of you being so close together in the same bed yet so incredibly far? you don’t know the answer, though you think you’re about ready to find out.

it’s not very fair—he kisses your head like he’s your husband or something, and then leaves you pent up and yearning for more like he’s nothing but your captor. he hasn’t even touched you in a way that could be deemed as inappropriate since the woods and you’re left to believe that maybe he just doesn’t want to cross that line.

you don’t know andrew’s rules when it comes to you, though it seems like he’ll break them if he’s pushed to it.

that’s what you’re thinking when you fold a pillow—the one andrew slept on—in half and mount it as if it could possibly compare to your dream and what andrew’s thigh or arm might feel like in reality. but you still try, lifting up your (his) shirt and letting your hips move against the cold pillow, grabbing your tits and teasing your nipples, wondering if this is what andrew would do. you think he would get sick of the teasing and finally bend you over, but then you think he wouldn’t do that until you’ve finished already. he’s too generous for that.

and though the thought of andrew and his generosity with you, in bed, one day, is enough to normally tip you over the edge, something inside of you just won’t let you finish. you hump the pillow for what seems like ages, but you don’t get any closer to finishing.

maybe it’s just because your body knows what it feels like when andrew’s the one making you cum, and it won’t settle for your pathetic excuse of an orgasm anymore.

so with burning, aching thighs and an entirely unsatisfied feeling in your chest, you collapse against the bed and sigh. when you look over on andrew’s side of the bed, you just get a sense of longing that fills your entire body.

wren cries out and you see her sitting in the doorway, eyes focused on you, her own way of asking for your attention.

“okay, okay, i’m coming,” you say, before getting up. you walk over and pick her up and she doesn’t stop staring or blink once. “just like your dad, huh?”

on the drive back to you on the following day, andrew thinks long and hard about what baz said to him.

it started as an innocent conversation—baz brought up the cat again, saying how lena’s been asking for one and he wants to make sure andrew’s not gonna surprise her with it. with a blank stare, andrew told him that he must be imagining things because he wasn’t near a cat.

then the conversation had shifted—about his absences and how he’s been gone all the time and no one’s seen him at smurf’s or his place or anywhere else.

baz’s words linger in his head on the drive. where’ve you been going, man? is this about that girl? we’re sorry you had to take care of it but we didn’t have any options, pope. is that what this is about?

it’s as if it’s impossible for them to understand that everything in his life is about you now—centered around you. he finally made a decision for himself, for once, not just blindly following along with whatever smurf wanted.

it’s so easy for the rest of them to think that whatever’s wrong with him is about you—when they don’t even know you. not like he does—not in the way that andrew’s gotten to know you over the last weeks.

your gentleness, even to your kidnapper. your sweet smiles that keep him going through each day. how memories of his hours with you stay in his head for long after he drives away from the cabin.

that for the time he stays there with you, there’s nothing wrong with him, there’s nothing to fix, nothing broken that you haven’t already seen. he’s just andrew to you—nothing more. you say his name without burdens or expectations. you want him to stay longer. you run away and then sit down and wait for him to find you. he gives you a cat as a goddamn distraction and you name the thing after him and dote on it.

but for everything you do for him, and the way you make him feel, he can’t keep you here. maybe he knew all along this was a temporary thing, that it was just to hide you away until his family well and truly believed that you were dealt with and taken care of. that you were never meant to stay with him, to be his. the idea now seems ridiculous—a sweet girl like you, so compliant even when he’s been holding you hostage.

but even you had to give into your instinct, the one that told you to flee when you saw the open door. how can he blame you? that should have been your natural reaction from the first hour you’ve been in the cabin.

briefly, he thinks he can’t blame you for any of it. the fault is all his—and he’ll start rectifying it now. if baz was wondering about his absences and if it has anything to do with you, then smurf must be too. before long, all of them would be. and then it wouldn’t take long to figure out he’s kept you hidden this whole time, and then they’ll really hurt you, and he can’t have that.

he pulls onto the dirt road that leads to the cabin and drives down it slowly, like he knows whatever you two had has to come to an end today.

andrew rests his head against the steering wheel, hand a little shaky.

it’s for you, he reminds himself. he can do it because it’s for you, for your safety, for your life. there’s no future for you cooped up here all alone while he abandons you every other day. just a deplorable fantasy from a man who has always been alone about to be alone again.

you’ll be happier once you’ve left this place—he’ll take you to your apartment and give you cash so you can leave and start over wherever you’d like. that’s the plan right now—get you home to get your belongings, and figure out what you’ll tell your job and how to get you as far away from oceanside as he can.

it means in a few hours, he’ll be telling you goodbye for the last time.

he opens the door, and like always, you’re waiting for him. wren follows you around as you make your way to the door to greet him, beaming up at him like you have been. you linger as though you want to do something else—maybe you want to kiss him, or pull him into a hug, but you don’t.

you stare up at him while he stares at you, until you finally speak up.

“well, i made lunch. let me go get it ready for you,” but when you turn, he grabs onto your arm. you spin back to face him again with a confused expression. “andrew?”

“i-i have to get you out of here.”

“andrew?” you question again, voice a little shaky. “what do you mean?”

“my family. they’re…noticing. i’m gone all the time and no one-no one’s reported you missing. i need to get you out of town. maybe another state.”

“andrew-”

“i’ll drive you back to your apartment. you-you can take whatever you need from there. and here too, uh, wren’s stuff,” he looks around, trying to see what else you had even brought here. and then he realizes it was never the things, it was you, that always made this place feel like home. your presence and the blanket that told him you were reading on the couch and the pulled curtains and the smell of something you baked in the air. “i can get you new papers, if you want. you can go wherever. i can figure out how to get you there, but-”

“you’re not coming with me, are you?” the way you say it, the expression on your face, it’s enough to make whatever resolve is still standing in him crumble.

“i can’t. it-it’s for your own safety. you have to get away from here. if i stay you’ll just get hurt-”

“that’s not true,” you plead, realizing sadly that this is the most you and andrew have spoken to each other about something that didn't start as a question. your conversations have never needed so many words. “you kept me safe all this time-”

“i can’t, anymore. if they find out that you’re here-”

“they won’t,” you say, getting closer and bringing your hands to his chest, pressing them flat against him like you have to remind yourself he’s still there. you keep looking at him, not breaking the eye contact like you always do, though it feels like andrew’s gaze is burning holes through you.

“they will. they always do. they’ll hurt you.”

“no, andrew, please-”

“we need to go. we have to get the things you need and leave-” andrew tries to move away from your grip, but you follow him, hands on his shoulders, standing in front of him again to block him from doing anything else. “i-i don’t understand. why? why don’t you want to leave? this isn’t a life. i-i’m keeping you from your life.”

“you’re not keeping me from anything. i-i like being here with you-”

“no, no, you don’t. that’s not right. i-i should have never brought you here.”

“you saved my life, andrew,” you say softly, blinking up at him with teary eyes. you hadn’t realized when you’d started crying.

“i’m gonna get you killed if i-”

without thinking anymore about it, realizing that andrew might very well be as serious as you’ve ever seen him, you lean in to bring your lips to his. you kiss andrew with all the emotions floating around your brain—hurt and fear and want and need all merging into one.

your arms wrap around his neck and you hold him in the kiss as best as you can, feeling his grip tighten around your waist as you two don’t let go of each other. andrew kisses you with a fury, like he’s just realizing what’s been waiting for him all this time.

your back ends up pushed against a wall gently—and even then, andrew keeps his hands on your waist and uses them as a barrier against the surface so you don’t get hurt.

with swollen, aching lips and weak knees and feeling his tongue prod into your mouth, you think you’d be stupid to ever walk away from this.

when you pull away to breathe, andrew’s mouth goes to your neck, littering kisses up the column until he gets to your jawline. you finish your sentence in a broken daze, the thought half forgotten already-

“you would never let me get hurt,” you whisper, taking his face into your hands and forcing the two of you to stare at each other. he takes it in—your wet eyelashes and puffy lips and how you look with desire spelled all across your face—because of him.

you lean in for another kiss, only pulling away to keep telling him everything he’s done for you. you feel it against your thigh—his hardness pressing into you, proof that he wants you, the proof you’ve been wanting all along.

(though, you think stupidly, dazed by andrew’s hot touch and how tightly he holds you, going against everything he’s been telling you since he came back home to you—a home that you are not, in any way, ready to give up or hand back without at least something of a fight—you can figure out how to convince him.)

and then andrew moans against your lips and you forget everything you’ve been thinking. you pull at his shirt, wanting it off, eager and with every limb shaking from anticipation. you’ve wanted this for so long you can’t even remember to remind yourself it’s andrew—the man who took you and brought you here, offering to set you free, and you’re trying to convince him not to, like a puppy who doesn’t want to go back to the shelter.

because isn’t that what all of this is, in the end? you can try to fight it as much as you want, but until you met andrew, until you became something that belonged to him, someone that he gets to come home to every day and someone that asks you questions and listens to the answers and does things for no other reason than he thought it would make you happy, what really were you?

you were alone, and you didn’t have anybody. and now you have andrew, and you think it’s worth fighting for.

you’d been joking to yourself about stockholm syndrome lite, but you’re pretty convinced you’ve got the deluxe version now. though when andrew picks you up, your legs wrapping around his automatically, feeling his hardness press against your wet, clothed cunt, it’s easy to forget about everything else.

andrew brings you into the bedroom and lays you down. you stare at him while you take heavy breaths and try to not pass out from sheer excitement that the thing you’ve been fantasizing about is finally happening. it seems silly, but you want to remember this forever. andrew pulls his shirt off, hovering over you, and you take a hand and press it against his bare skin, traveling up his chest and to his arms and then his forearms.

your fingertips dig in before running over the veins you’re seeing the full length of for the first time, and above you, andrew closes his eyes and shudders at your touch.

you bookmark it for later—that he enjoys the feeling of his veins being traced, and focus instead on andrew, meeting his eyes again.

he stares at you differently this time—hungry, like all the words you’ve been saying are enough to convince him, finally, that this is a good idea. that this is right.

you’re half a housewife already, anyways. this is the least you deserve, though you stay quiet, letting andrew decide what he wants to do to you.

he leans in for another kiss, sweet and gentle, and your body melts into the bed. his hands roam your body, sliding the fabric of your dress up until he can pull it off of you. you lift your arms and head so he can do it easily—not even remotely concerned that you’re naked in front of him now. your hands go to his belt, but he puts his own over yours, taking over. he undoes his belt and pulls it out of the loops, while you stare at him from your position, chewing on your lip and seeing how andrew’s eyes focus on your heaving chest.

and then, unsure if you have even a moment’s more of patience in you, you pull andrew into another kiss and wrap your arms around his neck and legs around his waist to keep him there.

“inside, please, andrew, inside,” you whine like a demanding, spoiled child, though you haven’t asked andrew for anything all this time. you think he just brings it out in you.

he murmurs something against your neck while he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses there, something like be patient.

when you feel his fingers brush over your bare, leaking cunt, your entire body tenses up before melting back into the bed. one rough finger rubs against your clit and you seize up, squealing because you haven’t felt his hands on you in what feels like forever. he continues the motion, rubbing circles while you feel yourself getting wetter and wetter, and then just when you’ve lost all sense of what words mean, he pushes a huge finger inside of you.

“andrew, yes, yes, yes,” you moan, realizing just like in the woods, that you don’t have to be quiet here. you cry out his name when he pushes another one in, plunging the pair in and out of you.

“have to get you ready,” he says, focused like he’s on a mission, not getting strayed by your incessant begging to just put it inside already. he scissors his fingers and keeps rubbing your clit with his thumb and it feels so good that you almost don’t want to give in—you want to stay like this forever, as long as he’ll let you.

that it feels so good, fulfilling every fantasy you’ve had about him—that he’s a giver and he’s generous and he wouldn’t dream about cumming until you have first. that’s just your andrew, you guess.

when he leans in close to your ear and whispers it to you—can you be good for me? can you cum for me?—that’s when your orgasm hits you without any control behind it. you couldn’t stop it even if you wanted—the white-hot feeling washing over you from head to toe, your cunt squeezing around his fingers. you’re so wet that you must have left a puddle on the sheets, entire body spasming and shaking until andrew slows down his motions.

he pulls out his fingers and your eyes flutter shut, entire body exhausted—and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. when you blink them open, feeling andrew’s weight on top of you, you catch the ending glimpses of it—him licking your juices from his fingers, enjoying it. like he’s missed the taste of you.

your eyes flutter shut again quickly.

you pant out words that don’t really make sense—just a request, in as few words as you can manage. inside. andrew. please.

and he’s nothing if not generous to you. he always listens. you hear andrew’s deep breaths as he positions himself on top of you, taking your legs onto his shoulder as if it’s nothing for him to fold you however he wants. the thought makes you more and more lightheaded.

you bring your hands to his arms to hold on, feeling them pulse under your touch. you think it’ll be impossible to keep you away from him, now that you’re getting a taste of everything you’ve been dreaming about. momentarily, as you feel andrew’s thick head line up with your wet entrance, you think that you’ll never let him leave you. that you don't want him to leave, ever. and if this is how you have to convince him to stay, you’ll do so happily.

and then andrew runs his tip over your cunt, bumping it against your clit and making your body spasm while he collects your wetness, and you forget what you were thinking again.

he’s so big—every part of him is big, so you should have seen it coming, but it still takes you by surprise. the sheer thickness prodding against your hole makes you dig your fingers into his arm, thinking later that you’ll have to apologize for the marks you’re leaving on him.

andrew uses one hand to guide himself inside, and leans in to kiss you while he does so. and when he pushes inside, sheathing himself fully, resting there while he lets you adjust, you cry out against his lips.

“i know. i know,” he breathes against your mouth, pulling out slightly and making you squeal again. “just relax. you’re-you’re taking it.”

you think it’s meant to reassure you, to remind you that you’re doing good, but it comes out in the form of a groan, like andrew’s realizing just how tight and pent up you really are. he tells you the words like there’s no choice in the matter—that you’re taking all of him whether you can handle it or not.

the thought is enough to make your head thud against the pillow and your eyes roll all the way back.

“please, andrew,” you whine, leaning in for another kiss. “please-”

not entirely sure what you’re begging for, he complies, like always. he pulls out slowly, and then slams back inside of you, almost as if he can’t control himself.

and really, he can’t. he’s cum to you so many times, spilled over his hand in the truck and in the shower, imagining this very moment. he’ll be surprised if he lasts any longer, the urge to fill you up getting stronger and stronger with each passing minute.

he keeps going—picking up a brutal pace that brings you further and further away from being level-headed with each thrust.

you blink open your wet eyes, unsure of when you’d closed them or when you’d started crying, staring at your ankles in the air before focusing on andrew. he’s always been handsome but seeing him like this—flushed and sweaty, curls damp against his forehead, his expression twisted up in pleasure—and the realization that for once, you’re making him feel good is almost enough to tip you over the edge.

you want to look into his eyes, almost laughing internally at how much you’ve changed from not even being able to hold eye contact for more than a few seconds to asking for it while you’re stuffed full of him, but he’s looking somewhere else.

his eyes are locked on your cunt—where the two of you meet and where you’re swallowing him inside like you were made for him.

maybe, andrew thinks in a lust-blown haze, maybe you were.

he keeps battering inside of you, hitting a spot somewhere deep inside that you’re not entirely sure had existed. the second orgasm washes over you and leaves you completely feeble—muscles screaming at you as the lightning courses through every nerve. your cunt squeezes and tightens around him, and he groans with pleasure, a noise you want to hold onto forever.

but andrew keeps you in place, even when your eyes shut again. maybe you had passed out, though the thought isn’t exactly surprising. when you open your eyes again, andrew is still going, each grunt getting louder and louder. your fluttering cunt pushes him closer to the edge, and you lock your legs around him.

when andrew looks at you, you meet his eyes.

“please, andrew, i want it inside,” you plead, and he knows he’s fucked—that he’s never been able to say no to you and he can’t start now.

inside, it is. the thoughts plague him as his hips stutter—that this could very well be the moment he’s getting you pregnant. the fact that you’re begging for it, and that there’s no knowing how long you’ve wanted this.have you imagined it too? wanting andrew so badly—wanting a family with him, a life with him? half a housewife, half a captive. you’re so much more now, though, something he can’t put words to.

his. all he needs to know is that you’re his.

“please,” you cry again, leaning up for a kiss. andrew presses his lips against yours while the pace slows down and his moans get louder. “keep me forever, andrew.”

it’s all he can take—burying his head into your neck while he groans against your skin, giving you every ounce he has. the warmth of his cum fills you up until you can feel it leaking onto the sheets, making a mess of your thighs when andrew finally pulls out.

he lays next to you, catching his breath and hoping you can catch yours too.

the reality of everything—his family back home and if they figure out that you’re still alive and what’ll happen if they find out he lied rushes through him, though he wishes he could fight it off to enjoy this for a moment longer.

you’re warm and flushed against him, bringing your head to his chest and leaning there. you two stay silent, though it’s not unusual.

outside of the doors of this cabin, the real world, with questions that he doesn’t have answers to, awaits. but inside is his own personal paradise, complete with you—fucked out and sleepy and with nothing to worry about if he can help it. you’ve been right all along—he’s kept you safe so far, and there’s nothing and no one that can stop him from taking care of you and protecting you. how a husband protects his wife, he thinks.

“andrew?” you ask quietly, throat sore and entire body exhausted. he looks at you, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

“yes?”

“does this mean you’ll keep me?”

♡ thanks for reading!

#who else cheered! me! i hope everyone likes this!! <3 #nervy but here goes nothing #andrew cody #andrew cody x reader #pope cody #pope cody x reader #tw kidnapping

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forlix · 2 years ago

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𝘀𝘂𝗯𝘁𝗲𝘅𝘁・l.f.

— in which you forget that your hot housemate follows you on twitter.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀・1.1k 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴・roommate!felix x gn!streamer!reader 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲𝘀・fluff, flirting, kind of an smau, implied friends to lovers, humor if u count jeongin being a piece of shit

𝗮/��・saw this tweet the other day and it was so painfully lix coded that i knew i had to write something asap. contains a tiny bit of gaming jargon but is hopefully comprehensible. ENJOY ♡

y/n ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ @ y/nxx

if someone brings you fresh cut fruit to your table when you're gaming, they either like LIKE you or it's your mom

11:23 A.M.・Oct. 2023・220.2K Views

bokkie 🐣 liked your post.

“My tweet?”

You read aloud the newest text in your chatroom, and your face brightens when you remember the one in question.

“Oh, about the fruit—no, it’s so true though. And I love my mom, don't get me wrong, but I have an inkling she did it to guilt trip me." You change your posture and adopt your best motherly tone of voice. "‘This is your tenth consecutive hour wasting your young adulthood in front of that damn screen. I am now going to hand deliver apple slices straight to your mouth.’ That kind of vibe, y'know?"

A slew of messages follows your anecdote, but it is a comment from one of your moderators that catches your eye first:

je0ng1n: what about the other option tho 👀

You groan at the sight of his username. “Man, why are you always here? Don't you have a job?"

je0ng1n: i’m on break je0ng1n: taking a dump je0ng1n: ungrateful bitch

You brandish a middle finger to the camera. “Hope the dump sucks."

je0ng1n: HEY je0ng1n: don’t even joke about that :(

An involuntary cackle precedes your next words. “If you’re actually wondering, though, the only person who’s brought me fruit while I’m playing video games is indeed my mother. Heartbreaking, I know.”

At this, the steady flow of messages morphs into a gallery of depressed cat emoticons; your audience never fails to impress you with their way with words.

“But if someone other than your disappointed parent is bringing you fruit,” you go on, “they might as well get on one knee in the process, honestly. That's such an adorable, loving thing to do.”

Suddenly, the words MATCH FOUND splash across your monitor, and you move your cursor to accept the game invite—only to be met with a pop-up window and a familiar error sound that grates on your ears like screeching tires.

You know how this story ends: the lights in your mouse go dark, and you look on in dejected silence.

je0ng1n: LMFAOOOOO je0ng1n: bro’s mouse definitely just exploded again

“You guessed it," you sigh. “Hang tight for a sec, guys."

Half an hour ago, you could’ve sworn you heard sneakers being kicked off, a set of keys falling against plastic. Now, you pull one side of your headphones off and roll your chair a few feet backward, calling through your half-open door: “Lix, are you home?”

You pick up on a soft clunk that sounds like metal hitting wood—the cutting board, maybe?—and then your housemate's low, accented answer bounces off the walls of your shared hallway.

“Yeah, you alright?”

“The mouse,” you say helplessly.

“Ah.” It’s not the first time you’ve summoned him for this. “Be right there.”

A few seconds later, you remember to tack on a hurried disclaimer: “I’m live, by the way!”

“I know.”

This brings a bashful smile to your face, though the expression quickly turns to one of pure dismay when you return to your desk and witness the disastrous state of your chat.

Felix has become a regular guest on your stream by now, always popping in to show you a TikTok or ask for your opinion on a new pair of jeans or simply give your camera an awkward wave—but he may as well own your channel with how completely and unequivocally he has captured the hearts of your viewers. They’re convinced he’s the sexiest person to ever grace the earth, with his chiseled features and coffee-colored eyes; with a grin that could set entire estates on fire and a voice that could scrape the nadir of the Grand Canyon.

Do you agree? Absolutely.

Do you have any intention of voicing this sentiment, so long as you’re splitting rent with him? Absolutely the hell not.

Another of Jeongin’s messages—GET ME HIS NUMBER OR I GET VIOLENT—inspires you to minimize the stream window before Felix gets here. It’s for the best.

A few moments later, the door opens, and the air shifts inside your room. A hand comes to rest on the top of your head; a familiar silhouette appears in your periphery. There is a fond grin plastered across your face and a bright greeting sitting readily on the tip of your tongue.

But then, Felix places a plate of freshly cut fruit in the empty space to the left of your keyboard—here, he hums, the sound falling against the shell of your ear like a drop of melted chocolate. And the gears of your brain grind to a complete stop.

There is no further acknowledgment; no supplementary explanation for what he's just done. He simply picks up your mouse and gets to work.

The words of your tweet swim dizzyingly before your eyes, not unlike those halos of stars and birds that revolve around disoriented cartoon characters. And you’re suddenly, achingly aware of your roommate's arm nudging against yours as he tinkers away; of the aromas of vanilla and laundry detergent that always come with his proximity; of the heat that’s risen to your face, and the plethora of questions that have surfaced to your mind.

A soft huff of laughter follows a gentle utterance of your name, and you snap out of your trance. Felix’s eyes are glinting with amusement when you meet them.

“It’s been recalibrated,” he says, handing back your mouse. “Just give it a few minutes.”

Your fingertips brush over his palm when you accept the object, and even this blink of contact has your heart performing an elaborate hopscotch routine across the plane of your chest.

It’s either your mom, or…

“Thank you,” you mumble, finally retrieving your larynx from the bottom of the Atlantic.

“Anytime,” Felix returns, and you know he means it. “You need a duo, by the way?"

“Yes, please.”

He gives you a warm smile at this, and there’s a hint of something else—something new—in the curve of his lips. “Give me two.” And he’s gone as quickly as he'd come.

You will never know how Felix slips his phone out of his pocket the second he emerges from your room, his pulse hounding his ears as he turns a nervous gaze upon his screen.

There is now a supersonic blur of messages saturating your chatroom, a colorful cacophony of moving emotes and capital letters, but he is focused wholly on the person in front of the camera and how you slowly lift a hand to your mouth, deathly silent despite your every viewer demanding your comment on the matter, your sanguine cheeks visible even through the gaps of your fingers.

That is all he needs to know.

Felix sinks into the leather of his gaming chair and bends to power on his computer. Only after a deep breath blows past his lips does his smile start to stretch into a grin, every bit as embarrassed as it is relieved.

je0ng1n: no way je0ng1n: no fucking way je0ng1n: my heart fluttered je0ng1n: wtf je0ng1n: how’d you pull HIM??

y/nxx has removed je0ng1n as a moderator of this channel.

𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other works here. thanks so much for the support ♡

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ikeuki · 6 months ago

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and the world kept spinning ! / 니키

( pairing ) nishimura riki x fem!reader ✶ grumpy x sunshine ; fluff/crack, light cursing + one mention of a dealer/"product" — ( wordcount ) 1.3k

ᯓ★ ikeuki’s note. mr. nonchalant is not so nonchalant now…HE’S SELLING !!!

synopsis. after getting detention on picture day, riki swears he hates you—his actions do not follow his words however.

“i'm gonna dip at lunch.” jake decided and laid back.

“same i have a bio test during fifth that i'm not trying to do,” heeseung added and leaned on the classroom’s wall.

it was routine for the older boys to accompany riki in his class before the bell rang since they all had class without him. riki’s classmates refused to even look to the back of the room where the delinquents were sprawled out.

jake was trying to paper football with sunghoon, having his legs on some poor kid’s desk and flicking a triangle “football,” made out of that same kid’s notebook paper.

sunghoon was half-playing with jake and half-on his phone. his additions to the conversation were the occasional “mhm” and “yeah i'm down.”

jay was sitting in front of riki, turned around with his arms resting on the chair. he continued speaking to heeseung, who was by the window, about their plans to ditch.

“um since when do you take bio?” jake asked, repositioning his little football before flicking it across the desk, through sunghoon’s goal.

“since forever—just haven’t been to actual class yet,” heeseung answered with a laugh.

“so riki, you gonna ditch with us?” jay asked the younger boy who was carving random drawings on his desk with an overly sharpened pencil.

“uh i don't know...my mom's been on my ass since i ditched on monday, she got a call from the school or something,” riki mumbled, keeping his eyes on the smudged lead in front of him.

he was still upset at how the school dean reported riki leaving the school premises during picture day. everyone else was doing it and he just happened to be the only one who got caught. maybe if he wasn't so distracted that day...

“you’re joking—they still do that?” jake asked.

“apparently.” he recalled that day, when he was waiting in line to get his picture taken so he could slip out unnoticed. unfortunately, his long last name prevented him from leaving in the morning like the rest of his friends and was stuck in the stuffy gym for more than three hours.

he thought it was pretty unproductive. on the school’s part. the students would all line up then go to class once done. but since they can’t monitor each student leaving, they’re giving everyone a one way ticket out of class!

moments before his impatience was going to kill him, he was distracted by a vanilla-scented girl who would click her heels nonstop.

aka, you.

after your little interaction, riki swiftly exited the gym, but not before turning to watch you take your picture through the door's window. you smiled softly, teeth showing naturally with your lip gloss shining under the reflective screen.

you easily listened to his advice, his scoff turning into more of a subtle smile. his eyes followed your figure hop off the black stool and pick up your freshly printed student id.

"hey!" a voice called from down the hall.

riki whipped his head towards the sound to see a man walking towards him, "why aren't you in class!" oh shit, it was the dean.

thus, he got detention and the dean called his mom to tattletale his "ditching." he blamed it on you. if you hadn't clicked your stupid little heels, he would have never talked to you and then would have never stood there outside the gym, out in the open for any hall monitors (or deans...) to come and catch him.

now he had to bail on his friends and was in deep shit at home. all because of you and your stupid heels. and stupid curls. and stupid vanilla-scented perfume. whatever!

jay continued talking about their afterschool activities and heeseung shared that his dealer just shipped new product. uninterested in the conversation, riki turned his head to the window. his eyes drifted outside where students were rushing to class.

he skimmed through the various students he never cared to look twice at. until a familiar figure emerged from the hurried crowd.

wait—soft and shiny hair, little black heels, and the freshly pressed school uniform that never looked this good on any other student. riki knew that girl anywhere.

you were chatting away with your friends, too immersed in whatever you were saying to notice the steps by the front of the building. your mouth was moving at the same speed as your legs. failing to see the four steps ahead of you, your little black heels tripped on the first one.

riki instantly stood up. pushing back his chair and desk and watching as you fell forward. the loud movement from his desk attracted the attention of everyone in the class, turning to watch their silent, mysterious classmate become the star of the spotlight. riki didn’t even notice though, his eyes glued to your clumsy figure.

“dude—!” jake exclaimed at the sudden movement.

“what the fu—” jay moved back.

luckily (not for riki), class president and top student, yang jungwon managed to step forward just in time to catch you. the scene played out like one from a kdrama, him swiftly turning you on your back and making you lock eyes with your savior.

riki watched from across the courtyard, three stories above, and through the window as you two smiled at each other before you awkwardly got to your feet. he watched as you patted his shoulder and rambled an apology.

your cheeks were flushed, a little embarrassed and maybe a little blushing. riki hoped it was only the first.

hold up.

why would he care if you were blushing. blushing for that goody-two shoes yang jungwon—who all the teachers and students adored. whatever. you should’ve fallen on your face, riki would’ve liked that better…yeah he totally would’ve.

“what the hell man!” heeseung asked, gripping onto his shoulder to question his outburst.

snapping out of his trance, riki turned to his friend and finally realized that everyone was staring at him. he wasn’t used to such attention.

“o-oh..uhh it’s nothing—i thought—nothing nevermind.” riki stammered, embarrassed. he quickly took his seat again and kept his head down to avoid any awkward glances. the class slowly returned to their conversations, ignoring the boy’s questionable actions.

“what do you mean nothing...” sunghoon spoke up, furrowing his eyebrows.

before his friends could continue hounding him for an answer, the front door slid open with a loud slam! everyone turned their heads to the teacher walking into the class. upon spotting the four misplaced boys, his demeanor immediately turned sour.

“yah! you four—get to class!” the teacher shouted from the door, pointing to the obviously out-of-place seniors in a junior class.

startled but unmoved, the boys casually got to their feet and walked to the back door.

“im so sorry teach, we just love our riki so much!” jake fake apologized and bowed a whole ninety-degrees.

the other three began putting their hands together and bowing too, sarcastically muttering apologies to the teacher and the other students.

“GET OUT!”

“have fun learning algebra!” heeseung shouted with only his head peeking in from the back door. riki only laughed at his annoyingly loud friends as they ran out into the hallway.

as the teacher began class, he looked back out the window to see you long gone. instantly, he internally slapped his own face.

‘stop looking at the window, riki.’

‘why are you looking for her, riki.’

‘she likes jungwon, riki.’

‘STOP THINKING ABOUT HER, RIKI!’

riki kept his eyes shut and tried to calm his own crazy thoughts. he put his head down on his desk, ignoring whatever the teacher started blabbering about.

with the inviting warmth of the sunlight radiating through the window, he was slowly drifting to sleep when suddenly he heard the door open.

click. clack. click.

#ikeuki ⭑.ᐟ #ni ki x reader #enhypen #enha #enha fluff #niki x reader #enha imagines #enha x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen niki #enhypen x reader #niki nishimura #riki fluff #riki imagines #enhypen riki #nishimura riki #riki x reader #enhypen nishimura riki #nishimura niki x reader

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winwintea · 3 months ago

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hey mr. dj (keep playing this song for me)

PAIRING ↬ secret agent!lee donghyuck x reader

TAGS ↬ action, drama, romance, haechan past revealed he's actually a secret agent omg, mark is in this too, there's a cult that steals bones from people, but still happy ending for hyuck/n i'm not that mean

WARNINGS ↬ bone stealing cult, character death, multiple character death actually, cult does some supernatural stuff idk

SUMMARY ↬ they have his bones.

WORD COUNT ↬ 4.2k+

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ ITS HERE!!!!!! this took me so long to edit and it's still bad i apologize. it's actually a sequel to another fic i wrote called the call. you can read this as a standalone if you want, the plots are wildly different. not sure if i would really call this a sequel bc it's more of a prequel then sequel. i wasn't inspired by +82 pressing lol (i wrote this mostly before it came out) but the mv kinda similar so i'll put it here still. title is from the backstreet boys song!

THE STEADY BEEPING OF MACHINES FILLS THE HOSPITAL ROOM.

“Hey… I’m here. I’ve been waiting for you,” a soft, familiar voice whispers from beside his bed.

Slowly, Haechan’s eyelids flutter open, revealing a world of bright white lights and the persistent hum of medical equipment surrounding him. His body aches and he blinks away the disorientation that clouds his vision.

There you sit, quietly in a worn armchair, your hand gently clasping his. Despite the pain, his heart stutters with relief.

“Y/N… what happened?” he rasps, his voice raw and hoarse.

You squeeze his hand, a small smile of reassurance on your lips, though your eyebags reveal the worry that has shadowed your face. “I was so scared, but I’m glad you’re awake now,” you murmur, brushing a tear from his cheek.

For a moment, the room falls silent except for the persistent beeps of the monitor. Haechan’s gaze drifts upward, the brief flash of regret and unspoken sorrow passes over his face.

You lean in closer, sensing that behind his pain lies a story you have only glimpsed. “You don’t have to tell me everything right now,” you whisper, careful not to press too hard. “Just rest. I’m here for you.”

Haechan’s hand tightens around yours, “I…I wish I could remember,” he admits, his voice barely audible.

Suddenly a memory comes to Haechan in vivid, sunlit hues. A gentle recollection of a day when the world felt delightfully simple.

Inside a quaint, warmly lit café, soft indie tunes play in the background while the aroma of freshly brewed coffee swirls around the cozy space. Haechan remembers how he hesitated at the door, his heart pounding in anticipation as he scanned the room. That’s when he saw you, sitting by the window with a book in hand and a genuine smile that seemed to light up the entire place.

Taking a deep breath, he made his way over, rehearsing a greeting in his head. When he reached your table, he couldn’t help but grin awkwardly. “Hi… I’m Haechan,” he began, his voice laced with a mix of shyness and determination. “This might be weird, but I thought you looked really cute and… ugh do normal guys do this?”

You looked up, your laughter light and genuine as you set your book aside. “Normal? I doubt it,” you teased, your eyes twinkling, “What can I do for you Haechan?”

Haechan chuckled, feeling the warmth of his cheeks wash over him. “I’m just here for the best cup of coffee this place can serve. And maybe, if you’re not too busy, for some company.”

You smiled, sliding your chair a bit closer. “Well, lucky for you, I happen to be an expert in both coffee and conversation. So, what’s your secret? Are you a professional coffee taster by any chance?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “No, nothing like that. I just appreciate a good cup of coffee—and a good laugh. Though, I must admit, I’ve had my share of… adventures.”

Your eyes widened playfully. “Oh? I suspected you were hiding something exciting behind that calm smile. Maybe I’ll hear about your ‘adventures’ some day.”

Haechan’s gaze softened as he appreciated your genuine interest. “Maybe one day,” he whispered, the corners of his mouth tilting up in a secretive smile. Yet in that moment, the only truth he needed was the simple joy of being with you.

For the rest of that afternoon, the two of you talked about everything and nothing—favorite movies, the pros and cons of the city, even the best recipies to try. The conversation flowed effortlessly, all the while, Haechan’s mind danced between the present and the shadows of a past he was desperate to leave behind.

As the café began to empty and the golden afternoon light slowly faded into the promise of evening, Haechan found himself wishing the day would never end. In your laughter and gentle teasing, he discovered, sometimes life’s simplest moments were the most extraordinary of all.

The fluorescent lights in the safehouse flicker intermittently, casting a stark glow over scattered maps, dossiers, and a well-worn leather jacket draped over a chair. Haechan sits across from Mark at a cluttered table, a steaming cup of coffee between them, the air seems thick with tension.

Mark leans forward, his eyes sharp behind dark glasses even in the dim light. “We’ve got a new target,” he announces, “The Bone Maestros. They’re a cult that takes bones as payment for debts.”

Haechan arches an eyebrow, a dry smile tugging at his lips as he sips his coffee. “A cult is crazy. Bones, huh? At least they’re upfront about their currency,” he quips, though his voice carries the undercurrent of grim determination. “Maybe they wanted someBODY to love.”

“Dude, shut up.” Mark chuckles softly, shaking his head. “You always find a way to use a cringe joke while talking about serious shit.” His smile fades as he slides a dossier toward Haechan. “This isn’t a joke, though. Their methods are ancient, twisted, and ruthless. We need to stop them before they claim any more victims.”

Haechan studies the file, as Mark points out various details on the map.

“They’ve been operating in the shadows for years,” Mark explains. “Every debt, every betrayal—they demand a price in bones. It’s for ritualistic purposes apparently.”

Haechan leans back, his mind racing through past missions and the scars they left. Despite the danger, he can’t help but appreciate the irony. “You know,” he muses, half to himself, “after everything, I never imagined my greatest enemy would be a bunch of bone collectors. Like do we work at the museum or something?”

Mark grins, the tension easing slightly. “We’re targeting two key players tonight—Karina and Giselle. They’re scheduled to appear at that notorious nightclub downtown.”

Haechan nods, the gears in his mind turning as he visualizes the mission. “I guess it’s time to put on our best disguises, huh? No bones about it.”

Mark laughs, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “That was so stupid, please don’t ever say that again. We need to be focused.” His expression turns solemn again as he adds, “Just remember, this isn’t a game. Every decision counts, and we’re in deeper than ever.”

The nightclub feels like a living, breathing beast. In a secluded corner away from the chaotic swirl of bodies on the dance floor, Haechan sits with Mark at a small table. The atmosphere is charged with the thrill of the night, yet a rare moment of calm hovers between them.

Haechan’s gaze drifts across the room, where you stand, bathed in the flickering neon glow. In that fleeting moment, the tumult of his secret life softens into a quiet, desperate hope. I've had enough of the violence. I wish this night would never end… maybe then I could have a normal life with you.

After you seem to notice him, you beckon him over as he rises and makes his way through the crowd. Mark catches Haechan’s determined look and throws him a teasing glance.

When Haechan reaches you, he leans in with a warm, disarming smile. “Tonight, I just want to forget the chaos… and maybe, for a little while, be just another guy on a date,” he says, his voice low and sincere.

You chuckle softly, thinking he’s just saying things, meeting his earnest gaze with playful defiance. “And what happens when reality comes crashing back?” you tease.

For a suspended moment, the cacophony of the club seems to fade, replaced by the quiet beat of your shared heartbeat. “I pray it never does”.

From across the table, Mark arches an eyebrow and smirks, his silent encouragement a reminder that while the mission looms in the background, haechan can have his fantasy, if only for a moment.

“Mark, behind you!” Haechan shouted, as he dove for cover behind a stack of crates. In a narrow corridor behind the nightclub, Haechan and Mark moved with calculated precision. They were just steps away from their target when the ambush struck.

Mark was already reacting. He pulled Haechan up with a firm grip on his arm, their eyes locking for a brief moment. But before either could recover, a hail of bullets erupted from the shadows.

“Keep moving!” Mark roared above the din, his voice gruff. Haechan scrambled to his feet, mind racing with the only thought of survival. They darted through a maze of narrow alleys and twisted passageways, trying desperately to shake off their unseen assailants.

Yet, fate had other plans.

In the midst of a particularly sharp turn, a sharp crack echoed, followed by a searing pain in Mark’s side.

Time seemed to halt as Haechan spun around, eyes wide with horror. Mark staggered, clutching his wound, his face contorted in agony.

“Mark!” Haechan cried, dropping to his knees beside his partner. “Hold on, please… stay with me!” He tore off a strip of cloth from his own shirt, pressing it desperately against the wound.

Mark’s eyes, usually so full of unyielding confidence, now shimmered with a mix of pain and resignation. “Haechan,” he managed, his voice weak and slurred, “I… I can’t… keep going.” His hand gripped Haechan, “Finish this… for both of us.”

“You promised… we’d do this together.” Haechan’s fingers trembled as he attempted to stem the flow of blood, his vision blurring at the edges with unshed tears.

But the chaos around them wouldn’t let him linger in grief for long. The ambush was relentless, and even as Haechan’s heart shattered, he knew that every second counted. In a final moment, Mark’s grip slackened. His eyes shut, and with a final whisper, “Please… go be with that girl, will you…?”he was gone.

The world around Haechan spun in a maelstrom of noise and fury. Every instinct screamed for revenge, for justice, for closure. He refocuses on the enemy before him. Emerging from the shifting shadows, Karina appears, eyes filled with no regret or remorse.

“Haechan,” she hisses, voice laced with malice as she lunges forward with a serrated blade glinting in the strobe lights. Every instinct in Haechan screams at him to retaliate, and with a ferocity born of grief and determination, he raises his weapon.

In a blur of motion, the world narrows to the sound of rapid gunfire.

The first bullet finds its mark in Karina’s shoulder, eliciting a grunt.

The second slams into her chest, the impact rattling the steel of her resolve.

The final shot, a brutal punctuation, seals her fate.

Karina staggers, a look of shocked disbelief etched on her face as she crumples to the ground, her eyes wide before slowly closing.

For a split second, the chaos pauses. The only sound is the fading echo of gunfire and Haechan’s own ragged breathing.

At that moment, Giselle, who had been lurking silently in the periphery, watching with a calculating gaze, realizes the tide has turned. Her smirk falters as she watches Karina fall. Without a word, she retreats into the labyrinth of darkened corridors, her footsteps fading into the distance as she vanishes from the scene.

Haechan stands alone amid the shattered remnants of the confrontation. His heart hammers in his chest as he surveys the grim aftermath, the echoes of his shots still reverberating in his ears. The cold reality of what he has just done settles over him—a brutal act carried out in the name of survival and vengeance.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, the memory of Mark’s final words fueling his resolve. “I’m sorry, Mark,” he murmurs, voice cracking under the weight of his grief. “I promise… I’ll make them pay.

After the adrenaline of battle faded, Haechan found himself alone on a rooftop overlooking the city. The cool night air did little to soothe the rage burning in his heart. Every raindrop that fell seemed to echo the memories of Mark’s final moments, each one a reminder of a bond shattered in the chaos from before.

Haechan sat on the edge of the rooftop, knees drawn close as he stared down at the shimmering cityscape below. The neon lights flickered like distant stars. In the solitude of that moment, he allowed himself to remember the life he once dreamed of. Of peace. Of silence.

I can’t keep living like this, he thought, his heart heavy with regret and exhaustion.

A familiar voice echoed in his memory—the soft, steady reassurance of you.

“Maybe… maybe I deserve more than this,” he whispered to the rain, his voice barely audible over the patter of water on concrete. His mind raced with visions of a future where he wasn’t forced to hide behind layers of secrecy. A future where he could wake up next to you, share coffee in the early morning light, and forget about the chaos that had defined his past.

In that reflective silence, Haechan made a decision. He would resign from the covert world. He longed to trade in the weight of his past for a chance at normalcy, to finally embrace the warmth of a simple, unburdened life with you.

With a slow, deliberate breath, Haechan reached for his phone. His fingers trembled as he opened a secure message thread: a final communication to his superiors, a message that would sever his ties to a world of darkness. An apology for the life he was leaving behind, and a firm statement that he would never return to that endless cycle of violence.

Before sending the message, he paused, his thoughts drifting back to Mark. “I promise I’ll honor your memory by living the life we never had,” he murmured softly. “I’ll find peace—if only for both of us.” The resolve in his voice was resolute, carrying with it both sorrow and the spark of a new beginning.

The message sent, Haechan let the phone fall from his grasp. And as he looked up at the stars, Haechan vowed that no matter how difficult the road ahead might be, he would fight for the future he deserved.

[The Night of the Attack]

The night was thick with neon haze and the steady pulse of electronic beats—a temporary escape from the dark corridors of Haechan’s past. He’d joined his friends at a downtown club, hoping the laughter and the reckless rhythm of the evening might drown out the memories he’d worked so hard to bury. Glasses clinked and bodies swayed on the dance floor, yet every so often, a shadow of Mark’s loss would cross his mind, a reminder that the violence he’d left behind was never truly gone.

Between bursts of forced smiles and half-hearted jokes, Haechan lingered on the fringes of the revelry. He laughed at his friends’ teasing remarks, even when his heart wasn’t fully in it. “Come on, man, loosen up,” one of them urged, clapping him on the back. But Haechan’s thoughts were elsewhere.

Lost in this inner turmoil, he barely registered the vibration of his phone until it jolted him from his reverie. He pulled it from his pocket, expecting a routine message, only to see an unfamiliar number flash on the screen. His stomach knotted as he hesitated, then swiped open the message thread. The screen displayed a cryptic, jumbled text:

“…they have my bones.”

For a heartbeat, the world stilled. Haechan’s pulse pounded so loudly he was sure his friends could hear it. His breath hitched. The number was one he recognized all too well—Mark’s old number. But Mark was gone. The icy realization that the Bone Maestros might have taken something so integral, even symbolic, from his fallen partner sent a shiver down his spine.

His mind raced—was it a warning? A trap? Or a final message from the man he’d lost? The implications were chilling. In the secret, twisted rituals of the Bone Maestros, the bones of their victims weren’t mere remains; they were tokens of debt, relics imbued with a dark power that defied nature itself.

“Hey, you alright?” Jaemin suddenly asked, leaning in as he noticed Haechan’s sudden change in demeanor.

Haechan recollects himself, a forced smile plastered on his face. “Man, I’m good,” he says, leaning into a laugh that sounds more brittle than genuine. “Just needed a minute to catch my breath, you know?” His friends nod and tease him, unaware of the tempest raging beneath his calm facade.

Yet, as the night deepens and the neon haze thickens, a flicker of recognition strikes him like a lightning bolt. He recalls that mysterious woman from earlier at the bar—the sultry flirtation he’d so casually dismissed. It wasn’t random at all. In the shadowed corner of his memory, her eyes had burned with a dangerous intensity, a promise of unfinished business.

Haechan’s inner voice hisses, She wasn’t here for a casual chat... she’s Giselle. Fuck. The realization claws at him. The very woman he’d brushed off earlier. He only assumed she was determined to reclaim what the Bone Maestros believed was owed, and her supernatural grasp over the bones of their victims was just one of her many weapons.

Lost in thought, he nearly misses her arrival until she steps out from behind a pillar, her gaze fixed on him like a predator stalking her prey. Her eyes flash with a cold resolve that sends shivers down his spine. Giselle’s lips curve into a sinister smile as she approaches him through the swirling crowd.

“Hello, Haechan,” she purrs, her voice smooth yet laced with undeniable menace. “I was hoping we’d meet again tonight.”

Haechan’s heart pounds, and for a moment, his carefully maintained facade cracks. Around him, his friends laugh and chatter obliviously, still convinced that he’s merely enjoying the night. But in that instant, the vibrant pulse of the club becomes a stark contrast to the dark undercurrent of fate closing in on him.

“Giselle,” he replies, the name tasting bitter on his tongue. His voice is steady, though his inner turmoil rages like a storm. “What do you want?” His tone is curt, laced with both fear and resignation.

She leans in close, her eyes gleaming with a mix of triumph and wrath. “I’ve come to collect what is mine,” she whispers, “You know the price, Haechan. The Bone Maestros never forget their debts.”

For a fleeting heartbeat, Haechan’s mind floods with the disjointed messages and memories: Mark’s desperate words, the cryptic text about his bones, and the knowledge of supernatural forces beyond his control. The realization is as paralyzing as it is inevitable. Giselle is not merely a random woman, but the harbinger of his past catching up to him.

Around him, his friends remain blissfully unaware, their easy banter a painful reminder of the life he longs to lead. The safe haven he’s built in pretending that everything is fine is crumbling, and the cost of that facade becomes all too clear.

Giselle’s grip tightens on his arm, her touch both seductive and dangerous. “Come with me, Haechan,” she commands softly. “There’s so much we need to settle, and I promise you, it won’t hurt… too much.”

The choice stands before him like a jagged chasm. Every instinct screams to run, to hide from the darkness that has come to claim him. Yet, beneath the terror, a cold, calculated determination begins to take hold. By agreeing to accompany her, he might buy time—time to figure out a way to neutralize this threat and perhaps salvage a fragment of the future he’s dared to imagine with you.

“I… I have to go with you,” Haechan admits, his voice barely above a whisper, heavy with reluctant resignation. “Can I make a quick call? It’s to my girlfriend. I won’t tell her anything. Then I promise I’ll come with no struggle.” His words are laced with sorrow as he steals one last, agonizing glance at his friends before turning back to face her again.

Giselle’s smile widens, predatory and unnerving. “Alright,” she murmurs, almost caressing his words. “Let’s see if you can keep your promise, Haechan.”

“You always thought you could escape your past,” Giselle’s voice rings from his ears, “Now, you are mine to command.”

From her belt, she produces a length of rope-like material that shimmers with an otherworldly glow. Etched along its surface are archaic symbols that seem to writhe and shift in the dim light. As she advances, those symbols pulse like a heartbeat.

Giselle wraps the enchanted restraint around Haechan’s wrists and ankles. The ropes constrict with an almost sentient force, the glowing symbols intensifying their grip.

Fuck. This isn’t how it should be, he screams internally. I must fight… I must break free. His muscles strain, and he lashes out with a flurry of blows, his fists connecting with the cold, unyielding restraint. But the ropes absorb his anger as if they were made of shadows, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.

The chamber itself seems to close in around him. The walls, illuminated by the feeble glow of arcane symbols, reveal faded murals depicting ancient rituals—a macabre dance of sacrifice and retribution. The floor is littered with fragments of shattered glass and worst of all… bones. Of past victims, he presumed.

Giselle circles him like a predator, her gaze never leaving his face. “You can’t hide behind your strength or your secrets, Haechan,” she hisses, her tone a disconcerting mix of mockery and genuine threat. “I know all that you’ve tried to bury. And now, I’m here to reclaim what is owed.”

In response, Haechan grits his teeth and summons his remaining will. “I’m not yours to command,” he growls, voice raw with defiance despite the searing pain in his arms and legs. He manages to twist his torso, forcing a weak, yet determined punch toward her side. For a split second, hope sparks in his chest as Giselle stumbles, only for her to counter with a swift, brutal kick that slams into his ribcage, drawing a cry of agony.

The clash turns into a frenetic blur of desperate moves.

Haechan’s strikes are fueled by the twin fires of vengeance and despair, while Giselle’s counters are as graceful as they are lethal. In the brawl, Haechan’s cheek is split open by a sudden swipe, and bruises start to appear across his arms. In return, a vicious blow finds its mark on Giselle’s jaw, causing her to stagger momentarily, a thin line of crimson trailing down her face.

Giselle, her eyes flashing with both fury and a twisted satisfaction, leans close once more. “You can fight, Haechan, but you can’t escape fate,” she murmurs, her lips stained with blood. “I’m here because the Bone Maestros demand it, and I… I must see this through.”

Haehcan refuses to surrender completely. In a desperate, last-ditch effort, he summons the resolve to break free, throwing himself against the nearest wall.

The steady beep of machines returns, replacing the chaotic echoes of a nightmare with the soft, measured hum of the hospital ward. Haechan’s eyes flutter open to a familiar, gentle face hovering over him. You’re there, sitting by his bed with a mixture of relief and cautious concern.

“Hey… Haechan,” You murmur, squeezing his hand tenderly. “I need to tell you something.” The words are soft, almost hesitant.

Haechan’s throat feels dry, his memory hazy and fragmented. In a quiet, remorseful tone, he manages, “What… what happened?” He feared for the worst. Were you breaking up with him? Did you know about his secret past, his past identity? Did Giselle tell you everything?

Your gaze drops to his eyes, searching for the familiar light you love, and speaks gently, “That woman you were with… she… she died of her injuries.”

For a long moment, silence blankets the room. Then, in a voice laden with regret and reluctant confession, Haechan finally speaks. “I—I didn’t have a choice,” he stammers, his eyes darting away as if trying to hide the painful truth. “She… she blackmailed me into going with her. I had no time to think… I had no choice.”

Your expression softens, though a hint of worry flickers in your eyes. Despite the vagueness of his confession, you clutched his hand tightly. “Haechan,” you whisper, “I’m just glad you’re safe. I don’t need to know every detail—as long as you’re here with me.”

In that quiet hospital room, filled with the steady rhythm of life’s persistence, the two of you share a fragile moment of connection. Your simple reassurance wraps around him like a protective blanket, soothing the tumult of guilt and regret swirling in his mind. Though Haechan’s heart remains heavy with the secrets of a dangerous past, in this moment, the promise of love still persists.

But Haechan knew this was far from over. Giselle may have been dead but the Bone Maestros were not. The mystery of that text from Mark’s number still perplexed him. Who sent it? Was it Mark? Was it someone else? And if they did have Mark’s bones, what were they going to do with it?

In the final, silent moments before dawn, as the hospital room returns to its hushed stillness, Haechan’s haunted gaze shifts to the darkened hallway beyond. In that fleeting look, a promise of danger yet unresolved burns behind his eyes. The true peril is far from over, and the ghosts of his past are waiting in the shadows to reclaim what was once lost.

hehehehahaa

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania @spacejip @peterm4rker @viasdreams @mango-bear @yesohhsehun @theandypark @yuthabitz

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cmncisspnandmore · 1 year ago

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One Night Stand: Part 8

Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley X f!Reader

Warnings: Preterm babies? mentions of medical things.

Word Count: 2k

New to the series? Catch up here: 7

Getting into the wheelchair was the most humbling thing you had ever done in your life. You had really taken for granted how easy walking around when you were pregnant was. Now as the nurse and Simon held onto your arms and helped you into the wheelchair as you gasped in pain, your entire body shook with the effort. As they carefully lowered you into the wheelchair, you caught a glance of Simon's face. His face was slightly pale, his eyes worried as he watched you.

He looked like he was the one who could pass out at any moment, not you. “There we go, you alright?” the bubbly red headed nurse asks. She straightens up after she puts the foot rests down, her badge clip clinking together. Kelsey, her name was Kelsey.

“Yeah, i didn't expect it to feel like that…” You mumble, and she gives you a soft smile.

“Kinda like your organs are just gonna fall right out of you?” She smiles, and you can't help but laugh.

“Yeah, pretty much. It wasn't painful, just really uncomfortable… But I'm okay.”

“You sure?” Simon's voice is rough, his brow still pinched as he listens to the conversation between you and Kelsey.

“I’m fine Si, I promise.”

He doesn't reply, he just gives you another once over before stepping out of the way so Kelsey can wheel you out of the room. The hallways were long and white, a few vitals carts hanging around. Nurses passed every few moments as they went about their days. A few pressed themselves against the wall as Simon walked by. His large form takes up most of the hallway. He was the poster of intimidating, all muscle and an impassive face to match.

As we reach the end of the hall our nurse Kelsey waves her badge in front of a sensor that controls the large windowless doors in front of us. As the door slowly open the soft hum of white noise and beeping monitors fill your ears.

“This is the NICU, its where we keep my personal favorite patients,” kelsey smiles as she pushes me through the doors. There's a typical nurses station in front of us, but instead of the regular hospital rooms that you see in the rest of the building. There are two long walls with large glass windows that allow you to look into two rooms with 3 rows of incubators. Each room housed 9 of them, not all of them were full. Some were just waiting to be occupied. A few sets of parents stand around them, wearing pink overgowns, as they reach their hands into the incubators to touch their babies.

Kelsey disappears for a moment and comes back wearing her own overgown and hands one to simon. “You have to wear these, its to prevent germs from your clothes getting on the babies. It just helps us keep them safe. We also need you to use hand sanitizer before you enter and when you're done. It's important we do everything to keep them safe.” she explains as she helps you put yours on. You look over your shoulder as Simon attempts to put on the overgown, its stretched tightly over his arms and chest. His larger than average form filling up most of the pink overgown. A small snicker leaves your lips as you take him in with the pink gown. He’s usually dressed in all black or dark colors. To see him wearing something so bright was actually funny to you.

You never thought you’d see the day Simon Riley wore pink, but here he was, stuffed into a too small overgown, small frown on his lips. You can’t help the small smile that plays on your lips despite the nerves you were feeling growing inside you. What if you couldnt handle seeing your baby like that? Would they look okay? Would they even look like a baby?

You had no idea what to expect, your stomach was turning as Kelsey gave you some hand sanitizer. After you and Simon rubbed it in, she wheeled you into the room, it was warmer in here than in the hallway. The constant hum of the machinery louder, as she pushed you towards the last incubator on the left. It was a large plastic box, with 4 little circle windows, a soft yellow glow emitting from a light on top. As you get closer you can see some of the stuff inside A soft pink blanket, and the smallest baby you have ever seen. They wore a hat so small you weren't sure if it was even possible for them to call it a baby's hat. It seemed more fit for a doll.

Your daughter laid in the center of the incubator, an array of tubes and wires connected to her too small body. Her eyes were covered with gauze, and she had a mask over her nose, and a thin white tube coming from her mouth. She was mostly still, the only occasional movement was her arms or legs moving in a sort of jerking movement. Her diapers were too big for her, even in the Nano- Preemie size they had on her.

“Shes… shes so small..” you whisper, your hand coming to rest against the warm plastic of the incubator.

“She is, but she's been doing really well. She’s been stable since we put her on the oxygen and she hasn't shown any signs of distress since. I think she's got a real chance.” Kelsey smiles as she looks between you and Simon.

“If you want you can reach in through the little windows, just try not jostle any of the wires,” she smiles, as she walks over to another family standing around an incubator.

Simon stands behind the wheelchair, his hands coming to rest on your shoulder. He's quiet for a few moments, the warmth of his large hands seeping into the fabric of the hospital gown. You shove down the emotions that are bubbling up inside of you, taking a deep breath you lean forward in the wheelchair. A dull ache pulling at your lower stomach as you carefully move yourself towards the edge. Your hand shakes a little as you reach your hand up and through the small open window. You hesitate, your hand hovering over your daughter's tiny frame. The only place where she didn't have monitors and iv’s was her small hand. It was no bigger than your thumb nail. Barely big enough for the tip of your finger to fit in, taking a deep breath you gently touch her tiny hand with the tip of your finger.

Reflexively she grabs onto your fingertip, her tiny fingers gripping the tip of your finger. Emotion clogs your throat, but it's not you who makes a sound, instead it's Simon. It was quiet, and if you hadn't become accustomed to him over the past few months you never would’ve mistaken his sharp intake as annoyance. But you knew better, it was him trying to keep himself together. You glance over your shoulder and notice his brown eyes are glassy. A single tear falling down his cheek and dripping onto the pink overgown.

“Simon…” you whisper, reaching your other hand up to rest on his hand that is still firmly in place on your shoulder.

“Sorry..” he mumbles, wiping his hand across his eyes, before he clears his throat.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” You smile softly at him, “Come over here.”

Simon hesitates, but moves a little closer, coming to stand on the side of the wheelchair, you can feel the tension rolling off him in waves. His entire body was stiff, every movement seemed almost painfully slow.

You pull your hand out of the incubator and grab Simon's much larger hand, “It's okay, you won't hurt her.”

Simon's brown eyes searched your face, looking for any signs that it was a bad idea, he was so much larger than her, even you. His hands weren't the gentlest, and they had done terrible things for many years. How could he possibly touch something so small, something so innocent. His heart hammered wildly in his chest as you gently guided his hand into the incubator. As his index finger touched her small hand she grabbed it just like she had yours.

“See? You didn't hurt her,” you smile, leaning your head against his upper arm. You hated to admit it but even this small venture had you drained. The events of the past 24 hours are catching up to you fast. Your body was starting to hurt, and sitting was uncomfortable but you didn't want to leave.

How could you?

The image of Simon standing in front of the incubator was something you wanted burnt into your brain for the rest of your life. His hand, which was larger than your daughter's entire body, hovering over her as her hand gripped his finger. After a few moments, Simon pulled his hand out and looked down at you. His brow slightly furrowed as he took in your expression.

“Are you okay?” He asks, his fingers catching the side of your chin and tipping it up so he could see your face better.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you force a small smile, but Simon sees right through you.

“Don’t lie to me, you just had major surgery,” he grunts softly, his hand sliding to rest against your cheek. You instinctively lean into him, his palm warm and comforting.

“I’m just tired, and a little sore, but I don't want to leave her…” You whisper, your eyes falling shut. You were more than just a little sore, whatever pain meds they had given you were definitely wearing off. You could feel the incision now, it was a dull constant ache. But the headache that was starting to form behind your eyes was worse. It was like someone was taking an ice pick to the space behind your eyes.

“You need rest,” Simon frowns, his brown eyes trailing across your face, “we’ll come back later okay?”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, and give a small nod. As much as you didn't want to leave you knew it was best that you got some rest. You weren't any good to anyone if you didn't heal. But it didn't stop the nagging feeling in your chest when Simon carefully pushed the wheelchair out of the room.

Once you're in the hallway Simon helps you take the overgown off, he throws the light pink objects in the trash and turns back to you.

“Ready?” He asks, “You can go take a nap and we can come back okay?”

Would they let you?

Did they have visiting hours here?

God why hadn't you researched the hospitals sooner?

What if something happened while you were resting?

What if she stopped breathing?

What if she died....

She was so small, so fragile, so breakable.

And it was all your fault. You couldn't do the one thing you were supposed to. You were supposed to keep her safe until she was strong enough. Your body was supposed to nourish her and carry her until she was bigger. She was too little. Who would protect her now that you, the person who's supposed to, couldn't.

“Hey,” Simon's thumb sweeps under your eye, “why are you crying?”

“It’s my fault…” You sob, tears falling rapidly now. “This is all my fault.”

“Love..” Simon whispers, now kneeling on the floor in front of the wheelchair. One hand resting on your knee the other on your cheek as he wipes away the flood of tears.

“None of this was your fault,” he grabs your chin, forcing your eyes to his. “None of it okay? You didn't do anything to cause this. It wasn't something we could have stopped okay? No one is blaming you, and I know that she won't either. Whatever happens, we’ll get through this okay? We’ll get through it together.”

“Okay…” You managed to breathe out but the tears didn't stop, and neither did the guilt eating a hole in your chest.

Next Part:

Taglist: @coffeeandtealol, @natashamea18, @itsmytimetoodream @humanities-cutest @ajrfanz @jggykhug09090 @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @ashreblogsnow @liwooa

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #simon x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon #x reader #cod #cod x reader #Cod mw2 X reader #one night stand #one night sta #one night stand series #Dad #dad!simon riley #Mom!reader

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vesicapiscean · 7 months ago

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i just read through 3d workers island. I was going to post this onr eddit but it was immediately removed so im going to post it here. its really long sorry, feel free to not even read it. eventualyl ill post it somewhere else and expand more on it.

I just finished reading through 3dwiscr for the first time. I actually read it twice, and took notes on the second read through. There are a few things I find compelling about this work, and I haven't read almost any other theories so I just want to dump my thoughts before I read more about what others think.

The first thing that I find important to mention is the "Computer Philosophy" pages. It's a confusing read, and I'm not certain that that geocities site has any direct relevance to 3dwi, besides the content written in it relating to what we are seeing on screen. The "window" talked about on Computer Philosophy is the monitor (we do see this work through the lens of windows 95), and the author talks about how we can see into the window, as well as be seen through the window. You never know who's watching, and you never know what you might see. They talk about how you can bring the inside (fiction) into the outisde (reality), and they may be interchangeable. This read to me as something like; "you can look into reality through fiction". I believe that is what is happening in 3dwi, and others have likely come to this same conclusion. At the end, the author briefly mentions how you may look through the window and see "something bad you're responsible for", yet you do nothing to stop it because it's "not real". Curious. I also noticed that the image at the bottom of the Computer Philosophy page depicts a red object and a green object, transitioning from being a flat, 2d image on a computer monitor, to being a 3d image on the screen, to then being a 3d image outside of the monitor. This imagery directly relates to the Snopes ratings screenshot posted by PLawler, which is accompanied by the rating "multiple truth values". Could more than one thing be true?

I think it's easy to assume that PLawler is Pat in the screensaver. I also believe that it is Pat who is responsible for creating the 3dwi, and she gets a satisfaction from exposing others to it. I think she is purposefully creating the narrative that there is nothing weird going on; no faces, and no sounds in 3dwi to encourage people to keep watching and be shocked by what they see. However, there is allusion to the idea that 3dwi sources information about the viewer from what can be found on the computer it's running on. So it's possible that Pat is clean, and she genuinely doesn't see or believe what other people have reported. She does keep 3dwi running on as many screens in her home as possible, and finds it pleasant to tune in to. Pat in 3dwi is also shown messing around with a laptop that has an image of Earth on it, aka "WORLD", aka "reality".

PLawler/Pat expresses her disdain for Amber more than once. She calls her lazy, despite Amber being shown mowing the lawn and walking around. PLawler also chastises another poster on the forums for doing their child's homework for them. This to me is another accusation against children for not working hard enough. This, I feel, reinforces the idea that PLawler/Pat is the perpetrator of Amber's mistreatment. PL does admit an attraction to Rebecca, which I think is also depicted in the scene where Pat and Rebecca are shown clipping together in odd movement. In 3dwi, Pat is seen coming in between Amber and Holland when Amber approaches Holland (I'm assuming to engage in some sort of play). She stands ominously between them, despite them ostensibly being close in age and sibilings. Pat is also shown scolding or somehow reprimanding Amber behind the house. It seems as if Amber is being intentionally isolated from Holland. It is questionable why PL would relate so much to Pat.

Onto Amber. She doesn't seem to be able to interact with her fellow workers in the way she would like to. She is interrupted by Pat when approaching Holland in the sand. In one scene she is seated with Holland and reaches out to him, but Holland runs away back into the house. She is seated at the table with Joe and Holland in one scene, but Joe gets up and leaves, and Amber and Holland don't interact at all. Another poster refers to Amber being "slow" and "tired", and her mistreatment by the other characters. One claim on the Inside3dwi website says that she becomes redder and redder, eventually slowing down and "crawling", before turning into a red ball and being ignored by everyone else on screen.

Amber is a fan favorite. When asked, everyone in the forum agreed that amber was their favorite, but it was also implied that talking about Amber being the favorite was a risky topic. Reality Priest says "I'm not going to pretend my favorite character is Holland or Grace just so things can stay clean...". This comment ties in to what is revealed on the Inside3dwi site, wherein we are told that certain events involving amber will trigger events depicting images of a real human girl. These events occur after what is called a "JPR pin" where the three adults corner Amber. This is all alluding to something I would prefer not to talk about, but good grief and alas.

I think the reason that so many people (one poster refers to them as "freaks") like Amber is because of the ... media ... that appears regarding her. I think they are intentionally seeking out this type of stuff, and that's why they love Amber. There are no degenerative states involving the other characters, and there is no "JPR pin" triggered events for Holland or Grace. In fact, Holland and Grace are hardly mentioned at all. These so-called "Amber shitheads" are deemed responsible for shutting down the discovery pages according to the IM sequences. This thought leads me to another, which is that 3dwi works off information from the computer it's running on. Perhaps many people in this forum have questionable hard drives and are thereby shown the more extreme secrets behind the screensaver. Why else would their favorite character be Amber after seeing all the disturbing things this screensaver has to offer regarding her?

Holland is interesting, because she is not given much attention through the forums, but she displays some concerning behaviors in 3dwi. She is shown with a toy rabbit, often falling or laying down, and at one point is walking into a wall. In another scene, Holland is shown standing in a "diamond" pattern with Joe, Rebecca, and Grace. Concerningly, Holland is shown to bend over and turn away from the group she is with. I found that to be distasteful, and perhaps indicative of some learned behaviors from what Holland has been exposed to. I'm not sure what to make of the scene where Holland brings the blue lamp out of the house, so I'll leave it at that.

The last character I'd like to dive into is GoodKid. I fully believe this poster is not actually a "14 year old teenaged kid". I'm closer to believing that GoodKid is actually Rebecca or Grace, but I lean away from them being Grace because according to Inside3dwi, "Grace's Guilt" is a recognizable aspect of her character, and I don't feel that she would be unabashedly posting on the forum. The term "sweet angelic mommy" is dubious, and seems to be an attempt at flattery. To who, I'm not sure. They mention getting in trouble for "dress code violations", which to me reads as "dressed inappropriately for a school setting". The most often dress code violations at school are shorts/skirts/dresses that are too short, or graphic tees with unsavory messaging. I'll leave it at that.

I believe that GoodKid is the one who wrote Inside3dwi. The posts there are signed with "-GKey", which is similar to GoodKid - same initials. Both GoodKid and GKey seem intent on exposing the truth about Plawler and 3dwi in general. GoodKid is banned on the forums as well as discussion about the Inside3dwi website. GKey also mentions having a brother, which I thought was interesting as the first forum post we see, from Mawgirl, mentions having a brother as well. And that first post is the only post we see from Mawgirl. There may be overlap with members of the forum and people submitting posts to Inside3dwi, perhaps even double accounts. I noticed as well that NedHucker suggests to "be cool" and 3dwi will reveal more to you. The poster whose username is ImCool says "Amber motherfucker" in the thread about favorite characters, and then later on Inside3dwi someone called JaketheMadCow ends his post with "there's sound mother fucker". Could NedHucker, ImCool, and JaketheMadCow all be the same person? Maybe I'm reaching too much.

There are more connections between the various posters, such as 12pt having an icon of a creepy looking face that seems like it might fit into 3dwi with the "details" setting toggled up higher, and there are mentions of "strange faces" on Inside3dwi. Another submission on Inside3dwi is attributed to FallingIntoAsphalt, which is the only other reference to the Computer Philosophy page found in this 3dwi universe. User Jomsom relates another posters story about their child being afraid of 3dwi to a movie wherein a character gets trapped in a cartoon, which reminds me of another post on Inside3dwi by Thomas, in which Thomas is convinced everything that's happening on screen is all in his head.

Who is Jonn Sorroway? What are "stories of reality"? Who is Sam Ferraro?

I've lost the plot at this point in writing this post, so I'm just going to post it and hope for some interaction becasue I'd really like to work out some of the kinks with people who have also taken the time to dive into this project. Another Amazing story from Domenico.

#3d workers island #petscop #3dwiscr

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writingsfromhome · 1 year ago

Text

The Golden Years

A/N: really liked this song the first time I heard it and decided to write something based off of it!!

——————————————

5 years ago:

The halls were noisy with the rush of the bell; the day had ended and everyone was eager to get home on the spring Friday. I sit in the music room with my guitar, strumming softly trying to get the tune out of my head.

The music room had the familiar woody smell, I never really knew if that was from the furnishing or all the instruments but I never got tired of it.

The only other people here are Thomas who’s napping after skipping his last class and the music teacher who’s setting up the class for next week’s lesson. He liked me and by extension allowed me to linger in his class after school. And sometimes let my mates stay hidden from hall monitors.

I wave goodbye to him as he finishes up, wishing him a good weekend. He just misses y/n walking in.

Y/n y/l/n. She moved down the road from me a couple years ago and she was always fascinating to me. She’d made friends her first few months here and stuck with them—those same friends hated my friends for various reasons but they always gave me an excuse to interact with her albeit in an annoying way.

Y/n was known to win out the lead for any play our school has put on. She had an infectious energy and I’d spent every moment she caught my eye gazing at her—not that I’d admit it if anyone ever asked.

She spots me and smiles, I remember to smile back at the last minute, shocked that she was acknowledging me with one. We hadn’t been nice to each other in a while; the circles we ran in loved to hate each other.

“Hey Harry,” she walks up to a nearby desk and perches there. “Whatcha working on today?”

I try to compose myself, “hey. Y/n. Uh I’m just trying something out. Something new.”

“Can I hear it?” She asks, her eyes alight with a genuine interest. It catches me off guard again.

“Really?”

“Yeah! I asked didn’t I?!”

“It’s really rough.”

“That’s okay,” she shrugs. She makes herself more comfortable.

“Really rough I-“

“Please?”

With a bat of her eyes I’m putty. I take in a deep breath—here goes nothing. Or if anything this would just be one more thing her friends could make fun of me for. Maybe that’s why she was here.

I strum her what I’d been working on for the last hour and hum along. She listens intently, her expression shifting and opening up as the chords change. Being me and nervous, I end it on the wrong note and nearly poke my eye out with the neck, making an awkward save as I set it down on my lap.

She sits quietly after the production, back straight and gazing out the window with a relaxed smile.

“I know you said that’s rough but that was amazing.” She says to me. “You’re actually bloody talented Harry.”

“Aw uhm well thanks,” I mumble. My cheeks feel on fire. I rarely played for people like this. If they were around while I worked on pieces that was alright but I’ve never had an audience of one.

“No really! You have a gift how long you working on?”

“The day.”

“The day!” She shouts and her enthusiasm makes me laugh. I don’t know why she was being so nice to me but it fills me with a buzzing joy. “You have such a way with your music like each strum is a new part of a story. It’s good! I can imagine it in a movie.”

I blush harder, “Thanks I um…I really enjoy it. Sometimes it’s easier to express myself with this than with…with like a conversation?”

She nods in understanding, “Y’know you should share your music. Start a channel or something online and post stuff! Like covers—people love covers-“

“I don’t really like to sing.”

“But I bet you’re good at it too?”

“Uhm nah I’m-“

“Don’t get shy on me now!” She nudges me and I swear I feel it linger even after she moves her hand away. “You’re such a tough jerk in the halls when you’re picking on my friends don’t go soft now.”

I laugh until I’m doubled over, part overjoyed and part embarassed because it was true. I don’t know why I was suddenly being shy.

“I’ve got to warm up my vocal cords,” I touch my throat once I’m done laughing. She grins. “I can’t sing right now.”

“I’ll hear it one day. I’m holding you to it.” She points a finger at me. “You should be performing this stuff.”

The idea of performing outside the walls of the music room felt both exciting and daunting. But the earnestness in y/n’s eyes give me a sense of courage.

"Maybe," I shrug. "I've never really thought about it.”

"Well, maybe it's time you did," she suggests gently. "Don't let your talents stay hidden."

“Yeah,” I smile. “Makes sense coming from you.”

“What’s that mean?” She raises a brow.

“Our year wouldn’t be blessed with all your productions, you’ve got natural talent too.”

“Yeah well,” now it’s her time to blush. “I really enjoy it.”

“I know.” I say. She catches my eye and a tender fondness passes between us.

“Anyway, I promised Clara I would braid her hair before her football match so I’ve got to go. But…it was nice talking Harry.”

I watch her go and I can’t wipe the dopey smile off my face the rest of the weekend.

5 years later:

I didn’t think I would see her here. After all, she lived across the pond these days and had rsvp’d as a maybe.

But there she stands with the same group of friends that surrounded her even back then. They’re all a little older, grown into people their secondary selves could only imagine becoming. But even now, they’re faceless next to her; she commands all my attention.

She looks stunning in a simple blue bridesmaid dress and her hair grown down in waves. The wind lifts her hair and she looks as majestic as the first day my eyes landed on her. As radiant as every day I’d been with her afterwards. She was golden sunshine and every minute I got to spend with her had been golden too.

Four years since I last saw her. Those four years had gone by in the blink of an eye; it had been fun ‘til it hurt.

I feel a surge of emotions—longing, regret, and the tiniest speck of hope. They compete for dominance as I indulge studying her for a moment longer and just as I look away her head lifts, catching my gaze for the briefest second.

My heart races.

I turn and wander to where my mates pass a football around. Just like we used to. Some things never changed.

Some things did.

“You see her yet?” Thomas asks.

“D’you not see the look in his eye?” Abe, his twin brother, asks.

“Yeah I saw her,” I interrupt before they wheedle me for how I looked. I could imagine it, the regret and sorrow etched into my face. “It’s been four years I’ve already told you lot I’m over it.”

My friends glance at each other.

“I am.” I insist.

“The lady doth protest—ow!” Ramo rubs his chest where I’d tossed the football.

“Where’d this even come from?” I nod to the football.

They shrug, “Some kid had it. We stole it from him.”

I sigh and look around the space. One of our best mates from secondary was getting married to Hailey, one of Y/N’s mates. That’s why half of our class was here a short walk from where we all went to school.

The reception should have started a half hour ago but the couple were stuck in traffic. Apparently. So all the guests have been entertaining ourselves and that meant stealing footballs from children.

“What happened to that lady you were supposed to bring along?” Abe asks.

“Lady?” I ask.

“Yeah wasn’t she a few years older than you?”

I repress the urge to sigh, the same as when we were school boys these friends never stopped teasing each other. Of course I also did my fair share but the trick was to never let them know it cut too deep.

“We ended things a while ago,” I say as if it doesn’t poke at an old wound to say.

A while ago was two weeks ago when she found out my ex would be at the wedding and I had sent a text to the best man clarifying if she would be there. She had seen the message and gone batshit, talking about trust and about being emotionally closed off. It was hours of arguing into the night before she’d left home. We’d broken up the next day.

The old wound was feeling like I was never going to find love like I did with her. With Y/N. Every relationship I’d had since crashed and burned worse than a Nascar vehicle with faulty mechanics.

If I would've known those were the golden years, I would have done things so differently.

But for the last two weeks instead of pathetically staring at pictures with my ex and wondering if I should call her to make up, I was pathetically looking at the polaroids of Y/N and I that I kept in an old box. I wondered what happened to the ones she had, if they had gone up in flames or if they lived in a shoebox under her bed.

My attention’s snagged by the boys elbowing each other and glancing at me and then behind me. I turn just in time for y/n and a couple of her friends to walk up to us.

I try to play it cool but I don’t know how I look; probably like a deer in headlights, and y/n is the bright stark headlights.

But her eyes slide off of me and onto the group and it feels like I’ve become the deer after the headlights have blinked out of sight.

“If it isn’t the poor four,” one of y/n’s friend uses our nickname from school. “And who’s this?”

“Dinis,” Dinis puts the football down and extends his hand to Clara. We watch them flirt.

“Didn’t you know Dinis in college?” Abe asks.

“Clara moved away in college,” y/n says smiling at the interaction happening in front of us. “Obviously she hasn’t felt the Dinis-effect yet.”

Her friend and her laugh.

“Oi Y/N haven’t seen you in a minute how’s the Angel City?” Ramo asks.

“You mean the city of angels?” Y/n raises a brow and the group laughs again. I’m too mesmerized watching her talk, seeing her alive and in person in front of me to catch the joke in time so I smile along with the group. “It’s cool, always something to do. But I don’t actually live there anymore I moved out of the city last year. Get some breathing room.”

My heart skips a beat. “I heard the city’s as rammed as ours.”

I anticipate her attention, us locking eyes, something passing between. When our eyes do meet I feel a rush of familiarity and uncertainty.

And she simply glances like I’m just another bloke to her, nods, and the looks back at the group. “Yeah sometimes even worse if you can believe.”

Someone else asks another question but my head is filled with a loud buzz. Reality feels like it crushes me down as easy as an aluminum can; I was spared a glance. She spared me a glance. That’s all I was to her?

“Where d’you think the newlyweds are?” Clara asks.

“Traffic,” Abe rolls his eyes.

“Think fast,” Thomas suddenly shouts and the football is whizzing past me towards Clara. We watch in horror as it hits her with a thwack in the chest.

“What the fuck Thomas!” Clara holds her hands out as she stares at the dirt staining her blue dress. “What the-“

“That’ll come off,” Clara’s friends assure her. “It’s not mud don’t-“

“Here,” suddenly Denis is beside her and holding out his hand. “I’ll help you clean it off.”

“What the hell mate?” I look at Thomas. He’s flushed and looking scared. I’m too busy looking at him to notice Clara’s pitched the ball back at him and it hits him in the side of the head, knocking some sense back into him.

“Nice one.” Someone mutters.

“I’m sorry!” He finally finds his voice as Clara walks away with Dinis.

“You’ve got shite all over your hair,” Abe points out to his brother.

“I’m outta here before I’m next,” y/n’s other friends starts to back away to the group they were in previously.

“Where?!” Thomas starts rubbing it off which only spreads it further into gelled hair.

“Let’s go,” Abe hauls his brother away with an arm locked around his neck, tussling the dirt in his hair as they go.

“So…” Ramo looks between y/n and me, scratching the back of his head. “That was crazy. I should return this ball to…”

He trails off, walking away from the two of us. Which wouldn’t have been as awkward except he just left a cloud of awkward in his stead.

“Y/N,” I say softly like I was approaching a feral pup.

“Harry,” she replies, her tone polite yet distant, a subtle barrier between us.

“I don’t think they’ve changed much,” I act like I wasn’t aware of everything unspoken.

She smiles politely. “Nope. Just as boyish as the day we all met.”

“That wasn’t our proudest moment-“

“Yeah you boys thought you could beat us girls at British bulldog.”

“Little did we know,” I shake my head. We’d been badly beaten and battered by the girls’ team. We didn’t take to losing very well back then.

“If only we knew then what we know now.”

I look over at y/n; it felt like she was saying one thing but meant something else. Something that sounded close to reminiscing about us.

But with how she was acting it made me feel like I’d made us up. Was it never that serious for her?

“Wouldn’t have fucked up so much?” I ask.

“Yeah something like that,” her lips tip into a half smile. She still hasn’t looked me in the eye for more than a second. I missed those eyes. I missed the way they used to look at me.

“How’s the acting?” I ask. I wait for her to look at me, acknowledge me more than she did. Wait to see if alone together there would be more meaning in the looks we exchange but she stays facing forward.

“It’s slow right now. I haven’t been booking much this season which is why I was able to make it to this.”

“Sorry to hear that,” look at me I want to say instead.

She shrugs. “It happens. Slow seasons then you find yourself booked back to back and burnt out. Nature of the biz as they say.”

“Very LA.”

We go quiet and I feel my heart explode at the distance she was keeping; I can sense her guardedness.

"I've missed you," I confess quietly, unable to hold back the truth any longer. "I think about you often."

Her gaze softens, a fleeting vulnerability crossing her features before it hardens into something stonier.

"It’s been four years," she notes in an even voice. “Surely you’ve moved on Harry. Don’t try to flatter me now.”

I don’t think I had moved on, I think with a sinking heart. I hoped tonight would be a night of reconnecting and exploring if there was anything left of us in the future. But it seemed that y/n had made up her mind about what her future was going to be long before this.

“Oh look Clara’s back,” she spots her friend walking back towards us. Dinis is nowhere in sight but she’s splotchy and windswept.

“I’m going to literally kill that prick. I’ve got a wet spot on my front like I’m still bloody breastfeeding or something.”

“It’ll dry up,” y/n pats her friend’s dress. “It’s sunny out don’t worry.”

“It better by the time we do photos.”

It’s like I’m not even there. They continue talking and slowly turn to walk back to their other friends.

“Nice talk,” I call out.

Clara’s still too busy ranting but y/n glances at me. Her smile is a reflex as she waves, unengaged and apathetic.

I feel a jab in my chest, I don’t know what to think. The last four years I’ve been so afraid I’d let go of the best thing. That I’d never find a love like hers. Meanwhile she’s moved on so much that I wasn’t even an ex any longer. I was just someone she knew in grade school. That hurts. It feels like lava dripping over my chest.

“Y’alright?” Ramo reappears at my side. He looks genuinely concerned.

“Yeah!” I put on a smile I don’t even feel. “Just wondering when this party’s getting bloody started.”

I feel Ramo’s eyes on me as I walk towards another drink but he doesn’t say anything more.

***

I sit with my arm around Y/n and her head rests on my shoulder. Sometimes the quiet moments we existed in beat out the others. They fed my heart and heightened every sense of mine.

“I wrote something,” I whisper into her hair. She turns her head to look up at me and I gently pull away. “A song…for you.”

“For me?” Y/n’s eyes are alight with shock and something else. “You wrote a song for me?”

My heart pounds as I confirm with a nod. “I’m halfway done but I wanted you to hear it.”

“Well go on,” she sits up and angles herself towards me. “I want to hear it!”

I pull my guitar case closer to me and open the familiar snaps, pulling the instrument out and close to me with shaky hands. Y/N watches with an excited attentiveness.

I began the melody that started as a few chords in my head the first time Y/N and I kissed under this tree and has continued to build for the 4 weeks since. This tree felt like it witnessed so much of the 5 weeks we’ve officially been together and I wanted to write an ode to it as much as y/n.

I couldn’t believe it was only 5 weeks but after a summer and a whole semester of flirting and hanging out I’d finally asked her out at the end of January. It was now March and Y/n had gotten her acceptance letter from across the ocean. She had told me last week with nervous hands and I wanted her to know we would always have this thing between us no matter what decision she made.

Y/n smiles as I begin but her eyes grow misty as I finish my final lines I had so far.

"And under the cherry tree, where love and laughter will always be," I sing softly, my voice cracking with emotion. "I'll cherish all these memories, even when you're not beside me."

“Oh Har,” she tips forward and I catch her against my chest, her head buried in my neck. “I can’t imagine living so far from you. Leaving you and everyone behind.”

“It’s the adventure you’ve been waiting for,” I reassure her. “You’re gonna make it big.”

“I don’t know if it’s worth it,” she whispers.

I pry her away gentle so she can look me in the face. I want to selfishly tell her to stay and never leave me. But even more than that I want her to do what she has always been passionate about, what she loves to do.

Love.

I love her, I realize with a clarity that cut so deep it tumbles out of my mouth.

“I love you,” I say. She freezes in my arms and I fumble to continue. “And I want you to live the life you always imagined. You’re destined for amazing things y/n I know it. I’ll always be here.”

“Will you?”

“Of course,” I kiss her on her temple and ignore that she didn’t say it back. That I said it too soon damnit we’d only been dating a month. What was wrong with me?

“I think you need to share your talent with the world,” she reminds me.

“That’s why I joined the talent show with you.” It was y/n’s idea, a final hurrah before we graduate and to prove to myself that I could get over my performance anxiety.

“We’re gonna crush it.”

I nod, the lump in my throat grows too big for words. She seems to sense it like she always does and pulls me into her this time.

It would take her a week to whisper the three words back to me, in the darkened corner of a house party right before she leads me home. It was a long week but so worth it.

***

The next time I catch y/n alone is when I’m talking to Hailey who’s thanking me for the few words I gave for her now husband Michael. The husband in question was doing the Macarena and Hailey was the sort to never be caught dead doing that sort of thing.

That’s why the couple never made sense to either group of friends. Yet they were the ones with a ring on their finger this many years later.

“Hailey oh-“ y/n is tipsy, I can tell with the sheen to her eye and the permanent half-smile etched into her lips. “Sorry didn’t realize-“

“That’s alright!” Hailey wraps her arm around y/n. “This girl is the best. She literally hopped on a last minute flight to be here! Can you believe that? I was crushed when she said maybe but ugh she always swoops in last minute saves the day. That’s always been her, back in the day during one of our school dances right, I got caught with…”

Y/n and I lock eyes as the bride babbles on and there. Finally there. The passing look of two people who know what the other is thinking without a single word.

She seems to catch herself and after an intense few seconds and a small smile she composes her face into an unengaged one and jostles Hailey.

“Hailey Harry doesn’t care! I just wanted to get a photo with you and Mik-“

“He’s too bloody busy doing cringe dances-“

“He’s actually having a drink looking for you now but look at this.”

“What?” Hailey’s head swivels around the room as y/n presents her phone with the groom doing a very serious macarena.

“And they say gen z get all the cringe dances,” I comment. Y/n snorts and then covers her mouth, her laugh falling away into a composed expression.

“You know you don’t have to do that,” I say before I can think. A part of me was getting desperate and a little irritated and another felt heartbroken all over again.

“Do what?” She asks as Hailey prances away from us when she spots Michael.

“Be all serious and composed around me. If I’m funny just laugh. My ego could use a lift.”

She stares with a tight lip and cautious eyes.

“You used to laugh the most at my jokes,” I say a bit softer. “Made me feel like the funniest bloke in the room.”

Her eyes lose a bit of their edge but her mouth is still hard-set and a wrinkle forms between her brows. That was new.

“I-I’ve gotta go.” She says. “Gotta get the picture.”

“Right,” I shove my hands in my pockets and watch her go back to the married couple. Right before she reaches them she turns slightly. When she finds me still watching, she jerks back around.

Hope siphons into my chest.

***

“This is the best song!” Abe shouts in my ear as he and the remaining wedding guests belt out Sweet Caroline.

It was late into the wedding party. Much of the older invitees had gone home and kids with their footballs were probably tucked into bed. What remained were Hailey and Michael’s school friends and a few stragglers that were too drunk to want to go home.

“Final song,” the DJ announces. “Time of my Life.”

All night I had been stealing glances at y/n waiting to see if she would come to me. Reciprocate even an ounce of anything I felt. But she hadn’t. She’d gone out of her way to avoid me even when we’d bumped into each other outside the toilets. She’d simply brushed past with a mumble of something I couldn’t make out.

I think what I said to her made her angrier. The anger, and the cold shoulder was new. It makes me feel small.

But I’d had enough drinks by now to feel confident. Enough to walk to where she dances with some friends.

“Y/n.”

She startles and plays it off with a laugh. “What d’you want?”

I motion my head to the side. To talk.

Hesitation makes her eyes weary but she follows after a moment.

Everyone around us sings along to the song. The irony isn’t lost on me.

“What?” She asks.

I stare at her openly, she allows me as she searches my face herself. I grasp at something to start this off with but I’ve had a few drinks myself.

“I used to think you were completely out of my league,” what comes out is a random thought in the speech I’d built up in my head throughout the night.

Her nose wrinkles, “what are you on about Harry?”

“Don’t do that,” I clutch my shirt. “Don’t act like we’re strangers, like we didn’t have something together.”

Her smile falls away, “we had something…like four five years ago. That’s…that’s ages ago Harry. Tell me you’re not still hung up on it?”

Her voice cuts right through me but it’s her gaze that doesn’t quite look at me that gives her away.

“Look me in the eye and tell me I mean nothing to you now,” I cut through the bullshit. It might have been the realization that I’d stayed hung up on this woman for years, sabotaged my love life on the idea I’d find nothing like what we had. And she stood here in front of me now undermining what we had. Making me feel crazy.

She looks me in the eyes, the eyes that haunted me in my dreams.

“I…it was a long time ago Harry.”

“Then why’ve you been avoiding me all night?”

“I haven’t. We’re talking now?”

“So I’m nothing to you?” I ask, hearing the hurt and wishing I didn’t sound so desperate.

“Look. We were young and free and what we had back then doesn’t actually translate to much when you look back as adults.”

“Is that what you tell yourself? So you can freeze away your feelings for what we had?”

She gapes, then turns away with her arms wrapped around herself like the freezing caught up.

“I don’t know what you want.” She finally says.

“I just…” what did I want? “I want to know if you ever think about us. If you have any regrets…if…”

She sighs, “Of course you cross my mind from time to time. But I wouldn’t have regrets. I can see why someone would have regrets, however, after they just let someone they called the love of their life go. Especially when she needed him the most.”

There it was. Her hot anger.

“When you needed…”

“Yeah!” She barely glances at me. “I was scared of leaving and losing you and being alone and all the unknown things. And you left me. You just…said goodbye to us.”

Woah.

Her eyes prick with tears and she turns back to the dancing crowd. The song was winding down and the venue being cleared. I feel the opportunity pass through my fingers.

If I would have known, I would have held her longer. I would never have left her alone. Especially when she needed me the most.

“Y/n,” in a desperate move I grab for her arm and turn her back around. Her lashes are lined with tears, her mouth open in an “o” as she looks up at me. My eyes can’t help themselves as they flicker down to them. This was the closest I came to holding her like before. Her eyes do the same and I feel my heart racing in my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I croak. “For what it’s worth.”

“It’s not worth much,” she says through a watery smile. Trying not to cry; trying to stay composed.

“I’m still in l-“

“Stop,” she puts her hand on top of mind and gently nudges it off her arm. She shakes her head and her hair falls gently to cover her face. “I can’t do this right now Harry. I travelled all this way to celebrate our best friends. But the distance between us was for a reason.”

“It’s been years-“

“Doesn’t change how you left me after I gave you my whole heart. Or the fact that that we ended.”

“I truly an sorry,” I say to her retreating figure.

The shame I feel courses through my body; I couldn’t have known better back then. I was young and stupid and I didn’t realize these types of decisions weren’t to be made lightly. That their repercussions would echo for the rest of my life.

I left her under the cherry tree in the courtyard of the school we’d graduated from. It was late June and it haunted my memories since.

—

Under the skyward branches of the blushing cherry tree, a solemn silence hung in the air. It was the last day of our final year, and emotions swirled between us like the spring breeze.

Y/N stood with her back against the tree trunk, her yearbook clasped tightly to her chest, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. I stood before her, my hands nervously clenched in my pockets, heart heavy with the weight of impending decision.

"I can't believe it's over," y/n murmured, her voice cracking with emotion as she meets my eyes. "Four years went by so fast."

I nod, unable to maintain eye contact. It wasn’t school ending that was making us this sad but what would come of us as I would attend school in the country and y/n out.

This decision weighed heavily on my mind ever since I learned y/n was attending ucla across the ocean—a decision she had made long before we acknowledged our feelings for each other. Now facing the idea of long-distance, I couldn’t shake the fear that everything was changing and things would be different in an unknowable way.

"Yeah," I manage to reply. My voice comes out hoarse, my throat tight with tears I was pushing down. “I'm going to miss this... miss us I…”

Her lower lip trembles, emotions ripple across her features. “Harry god I’m gonna miss us, you…just getting to be together everyday!”

I scrub at my eyes, not wanting to cry right now. She notices and wipes them for me. “You've been my rock through everything this last year."

I take a step towards her, closer. She was the sun and I wanted to bask in her glow, always. Except today wasn’t a bright day, my heart breaks at the sight of the tears streaking her cheeks. “Y/N I…” I try to find the right words but they fail me again. In the meantime a hundred chords play through my mind, deepening the grief I felt.

Suddenly a surge of panic grips me, my blood turns cold like it usually did when I thought about her leaving me. When I consider the depth of what this meant.

Deep down I couldn’t bear the thought of losing y/n but at the same time the unknown was playing at my fears, my anxiety. Imagine a future where she’s thousands of miles away. Everyone I know who talks about long-distance always gets their heart broken…distance never makes relationships stronger.

What if, I think, what if I just rip the bandaid off.

Wouldn’t that be the merciful thing to do? Instead of continuing to a point of no return. I mean what if we try long-distance, y/n creates a life in America, and realizes I was holding her back? What if we end up hating each other?

My brow feels slick and my heart pounds away. I clear my throat.

“I love you y/n.” I tuck her hair behind her ear.

“I love you too,” she whispers.

“After this summer, after you leave-“

“We don’t have to talk about this right now let’s just enjoy now and-“

“How can we?” I finally break. “How can we enjoy now when we know there’s an expiry date to all this!”

“Harry,” y/n grabs my hands. Attempts to soothe my anxiety but I’d passed the point of no return. The words continue to tumble out.

“What if…maybe it’s for the best if we…if we let go now.”

“What?” Shock colours y/n’s face and her eyes fill with tears. “What are you saying Har?”

“I don't want us to... to hurt each other trying to make this work.”

Her mouth hangs open and I can see her heart breaking in front of me. It kills me inside.

“But Har,” her voice grows desperate. “We talked about…we could…we’ll make it work-“

“Y/n,” now my own grows desperate. I wanted to stop talking about this, now that I’d made the decision to let go I wanted to just cut this loose and run away. “We’ll only hurt more.”

Her lower lip trembles and tears coat her bottom lash as she looks up at me through her top lashes. She whispers, “This isn’t fair.”

“I know,” I hang my head. “I’m sorry.”

And I was. I didn’t want to be the one to break us up but what choice did I have? I was doing it as the best case scenario.

Tears spill down y/n’s face and her voice is barely audible over the rustling of the cherry tree, “b-but I love you.”

I close my eyes for a brief moment, the sway of the leaves now roaring in my ears. Or maybe that was just the blood rushing to my face. I feel my heart turn to dust and my entire body aches as the weight of the decision coats me. “I love you too y/n. I love you now and always.”

I clasp her hand and squeeze it. She squeezes back, a sob pulled forth by the contact.

“Y/n…maybe this is how we say goodbye. On our own terms. With space to…to heal.”

Y/n cries harder and I pull her in, tucking her into me because she fit so perfectly in my contours. A part of me couldn’t believe I was doing this, I always imagined our goodbye at a Heathrow terminal under bright lights and linoleum floors.

We both cry into each other but I pull away first, I had to be the stronger one.

“I wish you nothing but the best,” I cup her face. “I…”

I didn’t know how to translate the dust of my heart. I kiss her one last time and then again on her forehead.

With that, I turn away unable to stand in the heartbreak. Every step away from her and the cherry tree feels impossible but I walk away from the girl who was my everything, feeling torn between the love I had for her and the fear of what the future would bring.

—

All I’d been thinking about was myself. About how I’d had friends who tried long distance and how their ending was more brutal than ripping the bandaid off from the get go.

That summer we avoided each other at parties, at our local haunts, and on the day she left I watched her car pull away from my bedroom window and leave forever with a leaden feeling in my heart. That I’d made a big mistake, too big to ever fix.

Tonight was the night I was supposed to set thing right. But things were just getting worse.

***

“After party!” Abe wraps his drunken arm around my shoulder. By then I’d sobered up with a quiet moment off to the side, smoking even though I’d tried to quit ten times in the last month. “I thought you quit that you cheeky bugger!”

“I’m going to,” I squish the cigarette against the wall. “You said after party?”

“After party!!” Ramo hollers coming up from behind. I take in the scene before me, the string lights were having their power cut, most of the tables were wiped clear of cutlery and tablecloths. Just like that the magical night Hailey and Micheal had been planning for months was over. Now they had their whole lives in front of them.

“Har?” Someone snaps a finger in front of my face.

“Huh?”

“Where’d you go?” A group had gathered in front of me, a mix of groomsmen and bridesmaid. Y/n isn’t one of them.

“What?” I ask again. “What’s this about an after party?”

“The party isn’t done,” someone replies.

“Please?!” I hear someone else say off to the side. Now that the music had also turned off it had gotten quieter in the venue.

I turn to the other conversation and see Hailey tugging y/n’s arms, trying to convince her of something. And just like that y/n’s eyes meet mine and something like resignation passes through them.

“-you in?” Michael claps my back and I’m jolted back to the crowd in front of me.

“Yeah,” I assumed they asked me about this after party. “Let’s keep the party going!”

Whooping ensures and everyone trickles out into the parking lot.

“Where is this again?” I ask whoever was closest to me.

“Schoolyard?” Clara answers. “If we don’t get kicked out for loitering that is.”

“We’ll just have to be quiet.”

Clara side eyes me and realizes I’m joking. She huffs a laugh. “It’s like hoping for your 1 year old to go to bed without a tantrum.”

“That’s right,” I suddenly remember. “You had a baby last year. Congrats on that Clara.”

She laughs again, “You’re sweet Harry. Thanks. It’s been a hell of a year but I’m a glutton for punishment because all I can think of is skipping the after party to bury my face in my daughter’s. She’s probably asleep though. I’d wake her up.”

I imagine Clara with her daughter, she was always mothering her friends when I’d hang out with y/n in school. “I can see you being a wonderful mum. Your daughter probably adores you.”

“Not as much as I adore her,” Clara sighs. I chuckle and another laugh comes from the other side of me. I startle to see y/n walking beside me.

How long had she been there? Our eyes meet and the smile she sends me is sweet and innocent. Like that day in school long ago when she walked in on me tinkering away on my guitar and asked me to play something for her.

It throws me off just like it did then. I turn away.

“We’re just gonna walk there!” Someone ahead of us shouts back to the group.

“In these heels?” Someone complains.

“The girls can take a car?” Hailey suggests. So some of the bridesmaids pile into one but Clara and y/n stay with Hailey.

“I’m sensible now,” Clara stretches her heel-less foot out. “Y/n you sure you don’t want the ride?”

“I’ve been dancing without these for the last two hours.” Y/n shrugs. “My feet can handle the walk.”

“Are we betting how long it takes to get kicked out?” I ask the remainder of the crew.

Bets start flying, I bet 40 minutes.

“D’you think the cherry tree is still there? That was probably the loveliest bit of our school every spring.” Clara asks. “I haven’t been back in ages.”

“Yeah!” Hailey pipes in. “We did some of our photos there when we did save the dates. We ended up using the ones at the garden though.”

I glance at y/n, I can’t help it. She has the same idea because she looks at me too. I didn’t understand what was happening tonight. I’d nearly given up on reconciling but here she was suddenly giving me softened looks, her hard edges dulling down enough for me to bump into her shoulder and try joking.

“Don’t get any ideas.”

“What?” She balks. “Ideas?!”

“Hey Har,” Hailey turns to me. “D’you still play? That guitar remembers guys? He was always playing that thing.”

I avoid y/n’s gaze now.

“Not really.”

“Harry’s a tight-ass finance bloke now,” Ramo says for me. “That creative spirit died after he and a little somebody-“

“I’m not,” I cut Ramo off knowing he was going to say something that would make all of us awkward. I continue to avoid y/n’s attention. “A tight-ass finance bloke. I like to think I’m a fine-ass finance bloke. And it’s because I just don’t get the time these days.”

“You were so good,” comes y/n’s thoughtful commentary.

“He was wasn’t he?!” Hailey continues. “Thought I’d see you on TV or something. That show with the contestants? I always thought if anyone from school went on there it’d be Harry.”

“Thanks Hailey,” I’m uncomfortable under everyone’s scrutiny. And the way Abe keeps wriggling his eyebrows at me and tilting his head to y/n.

By now we’ve reached the school grounds and watch as the rest of the girls scramble out of the car. I spot the cherry tree on the far side, no longer in bloom and smaller than I remember.

There’s a buzz about the group, like being together all these years later in the schoolyard brings with it some life-changing magic. Like time’s worn thin tonight and we can almost reach out and touch our school selves.

“Hailey and Michael!!” Ramo shouts incredibly loud. My 40 minute bet shrinks to 20. “Official Mr. And Mrs!! Let’s fucking go!!!”

They all take off down the field, open bottles dangling from their hands, jackets and gowns flying in the wind as they go.

I take off after them, laughing as a bubble of relief flows up from my lungs. It was just like before, running across the school field with my mates, laughing and shouting random shite into the world.

I glance to my side and y/n’s pumping her legs but falling behind the group. I hold out my hand without thinking but she comes to a full stop. So do I.

“These fucking heels.” She peels them off and sighs in relief, tossing them to the side and taking a swig of her wine bottle.

“You might need those later.”

“Fuck those heels!” She shouts louder.

I laugh and hold out my hand, “We’re falling behind. C’mon!”

She grabs it and we run to catch up, and I’m grinning so hard I feel like my cheeks are going to split. This might be an illusion of a moment I could only dream of but I didn’t care. Despite the night sky and nippy air, everything was sunny and golden.

The finish line was the cherry tree at the end of the yard and our friends pile around it, out of breath.

“Jesus I’ve got stitches,” Clara complains. “I’m never doing that again.”

Hailey giggles and wraps her arms around her husband. “I love all of you so much. Thanks for making this day so special.”

We all pour our love back to the couple. Alcohol and conversation begins to flow around the group and eventually I find y/n sitting beside me tugging at the grass.

“So you really don’t play anymore?” She asks softly after a while.

Her eyes are round and inquisitive as she asks, and I could drown in them. I think of everything I could tell her about not playing—how it made me think of her, how it hurt too much to play after a while, how that part of me was dead and I didn’t like to dredge it up anymore.

Instead I shake my head and leave it hanging, staring down into my lap.

“Why?” She whispers, edging closer to me so that our knees nearly touch. I wonder if she notices or if it even matters.

Again I think of all the reasons and my eyes fill with tears as I do. I’d shut away so much of myself because I had too much love for y/n that couldn’t go anywhere. I’d shut the love away and myself as well.

She taps my knee and I look up, her eyebrows scrunch together when she notices the tears.

“You were supposed to do big things with that guitar of yours,” she whispers to me. And it sounds exactly like something she would have said to me all those years ago. It’s too much. I take the bottle of wine sitting beside her and take a swig. She watches me with concern.

“Music,” I clear my throat when my voice comes out hoarse. “Music didn’t really hold the same magic afterwards. After we…I stopped…speaking in it.”

“Well fuck. That makes me really sad.”

“It’s alright—numbers became my new language.”

“How depressing!”

I laugh and cut myself short when it nearly turns into a sob.

I was sitting with y/n after all these years, under the cherry tree, and she was farther away than ever.

“I’m sorry,” I say again. “For being a chicken. Leaving before you left me. Then I just watched you go.”

Y/n opens her mouth and closes it after a second. Voices from the group drift over to us, Michael discussing honeymoon plans, Clara showing Dinis photos of her daughter, someone talking about a teacher we all hated.

“That was really sweet what you said to Clara earlier,” y/n says. It’s so random it takes me a second to recall.

“Oh yeah. Well she was always fussing over your friends like a mum. At least whenever I hung out with all of you.”

“She did. Makes sense she’s the first of us to be a mum. Although it wasn’t really planned—I’m really glad it turned out like this for her in the end.”

I nod, unsure where this was going.

“Har I-“ y/n’s voice sticks and she quiets again. It kills me to wait instead of telling her to spit it out.

“Y/n,” I say gently when she presses her lips together and doesn’t speak. I nudge her knee this time. “What?”

Our eyes meet and a galaxy of things rush between us. Memories, like distant stars, flicker with joy and pain. We’re caught between them—caught in the gravitational pull of the past and the very solid present of each other.

“I…I was hurting so bad after. After you said-after we broke up. I forgot you were probably hurting too. That the hurt could have always lingered too.” Y/n admits.

I forget to breathe as a constellation of emotions pools in our eyes, an ache from the unspoken admission that maybe we had missed each other all of this time.

“We were so young,” y/n continues. She picks at the grass. I imagine it helps feel in controls amidst the emotional storm happening between us.

“We were.”

“So free,” she laughs a little.

“Yeah. Too free. I don’t think I realized what I wanted until it was too late.”

“You had the whole summer,” the soft accusation cuts deep. I feel the gravity of how much it affected her.

“I was so scared of the hurt I…”

“Yet we hurt anyway.”

Those four words suck the oxygen out of my lungs, I couldn’t respond even if I wanted to.

We sit in another silence, I think about the version of us that didn’t leave the cherry tree separately. The version that kept holding on.

Maybe there could be a version of us that comes back to the cherry tree and leaves together this time. That thought spurs me into action.

I stand and brush the grass off my pants. Y/n watches me with a confused expression.

I hold my hand out to her for the second time that evening.

“Dance with me under the cherry tree?”

She flushes as our friends quiet down. But she grips my hand and I pull her up towards me.

“Really?” She whispers.

“Where’s the music?” One of our friends asks and as we begin our slow dance a phone breaks out in a slow number. It makes y/n giggle.

“This is incredibly cheesy.”

“Just embrace it.” I tell her. “The last time we were here-“

“We don’t have to keep talking about it,” she looks up at me. “It was so long ago. We can’t change the past. We really were young and we just have to-“

“Y/n,” I cut her off. “We were young but our love was real.”

This leaves her speechless. She simply furrows her brows and blinks away whatever emotion it pulls forth. And with her arms locked tightly behind me and my arms on her waist, we continue to sway. A quiet yearning defying time and distance fills the space between us; even as I pull her flush against me and she buries her face in my neck.

“That’s more like it,” I can hear Abe say in the back with a whistle before everyone laughs and goes back to chattering.

“So,” y/n says softly after a while. “When I blew you off at the wedding you were going to say something.”

I hardly remember. I was going to say a lot and I was probably a few drinks in.

“I lied.” She continues. “I tried to forget about you. I held onto the anger so I wouldn’t hurt when I thought about you. Then I looked you up every once in a while expecting some musical thing attached to your name but I never did see anything—now I know why.”

“Yeah,” I chuckle.

“So you really stopped after we broke up?”

“Yes,” I say again. “I tried that summer but everything sounded like…like a donkey trying to sing. I gave up on it ever sounding good again.”

“That’s a shame Harry,” she says and I know she means it but I don’t want to focus on me.

“So you looked me up did you?”

“Don’t start on that,” she flushes. I drop it but not the smile on my face. She notices and buries her face into my shoulder.

We continue swaying to whatever song was queued on our friends’ phone. It feels like we’re all 17 again and staying up later than our parents would like. It felt like we were all young and free, not 20-somethings sitting around our married friends.

“I can’t believe we’re all back here again.” I comment.

“I know. Feels fake. Especially being back here, with you.”

“I hope this is alright?” I pause but y/n tightens her grip.

“It is. Y’know no matter how many people filled the space after you.” Y/n says. “It was never you.”

My breath catches. Was she saying-

“Incoming!” Someone shouts and before I can ask where the group erupts in chaos. People run every way I’m surprised nobody bumps heads.

“What!?” I say just as a flashlight beam cuts across my face. The police. “Oh fuck! Let’s go!”

I grab y/n’s hand and we run away from whatever authority was stalking towards us with flashlights.

It’s just like the old days.

“Harry!” I hear Thomas yell up ahead and I veer to the right towards it.

“Ow! Shit!” I hear y/n shout behind me before she releases my hand.

“What? What are you doing?!” I rush back to her.

She’s picking a rock out of her foot, behind her the lights grow closer.

“Those fucking heels!” I shout.

“Bad decision!” She tosses another pebble off her foot.

“No time! Get on!”

“What?” She freezes but I turn around and crouch, tugging her arms around me so she can get the hint. She loops her legs around my waist and even though I’m slowed down we somehow make it, laughing and stumbling, towards Thomas and Abe. They wave at us from just beyond the school ground and once we make it in the clear we head back to the venue and our parked cars.

“That was insane,” they gush.

“Felt like the golden years,” I grin.

“The fucking golden years,” they laugh.

“Okay designated drivers,” Michael says when he catches sight of us. “We have to get out of here.”

There’s a final round of bidding the newlyweds adieu and waving them off. I look for y/n once they blink out of sight.

“I came with Jamie,” she wraps her arms around herself.

I take my jacket off and drape it around her. I’m transported to doing the exact same thing after house parties because y/n would complain that a jacket would ruin her outfit and then walk home shivering.

“What if you go home with someone else?” I ask.

“You’ve got a car?”

“No,” I regret not driving myself now. “I came with one of the boys.”

“Shite.”

“Yeah…”

“Where are you staying?” She asks.

“Uhm…I came from my flat. Near Shoreditch.”

“Oh right.” She looks away. “You live in the city…right. I’m staying at my mum’s.”

“That’s not too far. My parents still live down the road from yours.”

“I know,” she smiles. “What if you dropped me home? And I invite you in?”

“Y/n,” I tug her closer. “What’s this you’re suggesting?”

“Staying?”

The sight of her, the feel of her, her scent and her perfect hand on my chest envelop me. I couldn’t say no; I was under her spell.

“That would turn this amazing evening into an amazing weekend.”

“And who knows what comes next,” she whispers as I lean the rest of the way. I want to kiss her.

“I want to kiss you.”

She doesn’t respond. She simply stretches up and presses her lips to mine. My heart collects itself and explodes in an explosion of slime.

She feels the exact same, tastes the same, but the confidence is new. It makes me dizzy. I want her even more.

“Get a fucking room!” Thomas says from behind. “Are you two gonna need a ride or planning on shagging in the bushes over there?”

I flip him off and finish the perfect kiss, using every bit of my willpower as y/n’s hand trails down my neck and back to my chest.

“Go on,” I say without even looking at my friends. “We’ve got an after after party.”

“Gross,” someone grumbles behind us.

“G’night!” Y/n shouts and with our chests heaving we break apart, grab hold of each other’s hands, and begin the walk to her house.

We walk in silence—our hands swinging between us tells you everything you need to know about how we were feeling.

At her front door y/n smiles up at me. It feels like deja vu, standing in her doorway with her looking at me like that. Knowing we were going to her bedroom just to get in bed. Time folds in on itself as I press a kiss to her lips.

“I’m so glad I couldn’t stay angry tonight,” she strokes my face. “I would’ve missed all this.”

“Me too,” I whisper. “I’m glad my mug’s so handsome it wore you down.”

She rolls her eyes but she’s smiling. “It wasn’t the mug. Although it is even more handsome than the last time I saw it.”

I kiss her, “Mmm then what was it that wore you down?”

“I dunno,” she sighs. “You? Us?”

Us.

“Whatever it was, I’ll make sure to write it a thank you note. Now why don’t you open that door because my hands are not going to stay PG for very long. And I’m pretty sure your mum’s got one of those camera doorbells.”

“Oh god,” she whips around and laughs before slapping a hand to her mouth. “Sorry mum!”

We stifle our laugh and step inside. Deja vu comes rushing at me again at the familiarity of her home.

As we sneak up to her room I think about what y/n said. It was true, even though she couldn’t pinpoint it. Despite how we felt at the beginning of the night it was always going to end this way. Something about us was always meant to come back to each other.

You. Us. Her.

It was always her.

#writingsfromhome #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #fic #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #the golden years #joshua bassett #harry styles one shot #harry stylesxreader #second chance romance #lyrics #this was a fun one

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bryce-bucher · 2 years ago

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500 CALIBER CONTRACTZ Post #12

Dialogue!!!11:

The main thing I did over the past week or so was put together this dialogue system. The system itself was fairly easily to implement, and I think the only interesting part of the process to share is how I went about making the UI. As per usual, I wanted to have a cool mechanical feeling ui, but at the same time a friend of mine suggested an AOL instant messenger inspired chat window. I loved both of these ideas so I decided to combine them into a screen that pops up and contains the aim-like window. The modeling process for the screen was similar to how I went about making the other two bits of ui that are on screen in the above photos, but I decided to include a VGA port.

VGA PORT:

I didn't originally plan to include a VGA port, but I was in the middle of researching monitors and accidentally left a window open on my computer that just had a big photo of one and I went "wait a minute.". With my final two braincells I suddenly decided to slap together a model for the port which I ended up being proud enough of to, for some reason, make an entire section for it.

Sorry if any of the above sentences read horribly. I am going to need a third braincell if you want this stuff to be coherent. Anyway, Blender is so cool. Using the array modifier to make all these lil squares for the holes in the port is just such a satisfying process. I've come to really like makin pre-rendered assets like this.

New Movez:

This is actually a pretty big inclusion, and I probably should've ranked it in my mind above the VGA port. I added some new movement options to the game!

Firstly, I added this melee move where you swing the back of the sniper forwards to propel yourself a bit. It is mainly useful as a bunnyhop that allows you to conserve momentum.

Next up I added this kick that happens if you melee while in the air. It's basically just the one from mario64. It lets you gain a little bit more height and distance. It also becomes way more effective if you have a lot of momentum. A good tool for correcting jumps and reaching new heights.

Finally, we have the big schmovement slide. This slide gives you a huge burst of speed that you can jump out of in order to send your self flyin. Surprisingly, it didn't really break any of the level design and ended up being a really fun addition imo. In order to perform it, you have to do a ground pound and then melee as you hit the ground. Also, I feel like I basically stole this from pseudoregalia. Played through that recently and it has been a good source of inspiration.

Nova!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!:

This is a cameo skin I've been really excited to finally make myself put in the game. Anodyne 2 is a really important game to me, and I love it much. I'm really happy tha folks at analgesic let me put her in here, and I'm p happy with how her model came together. If you haven't peeped the Anodyne games I highly recommend them. The first one was a major inspiration for parts of Fatum Betula.

Conclusion:

Lately I've been playing this game way too much. It has made it impossible for me to tell if it is fun or well designed. Some problems cropped up during playtesting that ima need to address, and I hope that it all comes together into something that one could say is "fun and cool". I think takin this weekend off is gonna do my brain good. Oh yeah also I feel like I should advertise that I'm still doing commissions if anyone is interested. Anyway, have a good 1 and enjoy urself.

#screenshotsaturday #indiegamedev #gamedev #indiedev #game development #indiegames #lowpoly #y2k #y2k aesthetic #indie game #3d platformer #3dplatformer #sniper rifle #50 caliber 3d platformer #500 caliber contractz #50 cal #anodyne #anodyne 2

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kingshovelbug · 1 year ago

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im sorry but i need to geek out somewhere and screaming into the void on tumblr is less likely to get me flayed than on twitter, especially if i get terms wrong. plus i can do a read more and yall can click into the tech talk if you want to verse it bombarding your twitter timelines

so idk if i only liked it or if i actually put it in my queue but i saw a post that talked about a few pieces of tech that focus on user repairs and being sustainable (fairphone and frameworks laptop) and after doing some more research into what they have to offer i actually really excited that these products are finely hitting the us market and that people are moving away from the belief that super smooth streamlined glassy = the future. being able to reliably repair and keep what you have alive verse throwing the whole thing away when maybe all you needed to do is add more ram to your current laptop (something that i would do with my laptop to keep using it for a few more years if it wasnt glued shut and i was at risk of cracking the screen) or swap out a fuse.

i know big corporations dont like it but i truly do believe with how much tech we use on a daily basis that the way that we are going to be more environmentally friendly is to move back to tech that we can hang onto for as long as we can and to recycle and then reuse what we cant. like with the frameworks laptop. i saw that they just partnered with coolermaster to create a case specifically so that you can reuse you motherboard, cpu, etc and make a portable workstation. you could dual wield with the laptop you just upgraded if you want to dedicate specific tasks to one or the other. they also specifically mentioned that you could screw it into the back of a monitor and create your own all in one. guys thats cool as shit??? if you had a 3d printer and some time you could even create that yourself

on top of the actual hardware part moving to open source programs when your able. when i update my desktop i plan on running linux. it might have a learning curve compared to windows but in terms of performance??? ive heard that it runs smoother even on older machines, that its more efficient because isnt running stuff in the background that tracks your data and shit. now i understand that not everyone can do that because there are some programs that dont play nice with linux but for my needs at least it does everything i would need it to. and maybe a couple years down the road we do figure out how to run these programs on certain flavors of linux since its open source and people fiddle with it so much. (still looking for alternatives to like word and excel though, i use google docs since its free but i want to move away from them as much as i can too since they laid of their youtube music team (i believe?? it might of been a different branch) for trying to unionize)

if anyone knows of any other smaller companies that actually focus on sustainability and user repairability please let me know. theres certain pieces of tech that i think are now unfortunately behind a software repair paywall, things that used to be just machines and are gaining more bells and whistles like cars and refrigerators if that makes sense. but the more we push for these things to be repairable by us the consumers id hope that would change, or there would at least be options that dont need specific companies to repair them or else they blow up

#personal

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bearcina · 3 months ago

Text

Help Me Get My Feet Back On The Ground

(AO3)

(PREV) (NEXT)

An Explicit Courier Six/Yes Man fanfic. Elisavet feels like a boat lost at sea in a storm, she just doesn't know what to do or how to make up her mind-- and if everything was actually alright. She has to tell him. It's eating her alive. So, she does. Elisavet tells him. She loves him, completely.

Elisavet woke with a jolt, gasping for air. She had been dreaming. Dreaming of him again. Dreaming he had held her for hours.

Her hearing was the first thing to come back to her.

The loud roar of wind outside the thick glass windows. Clicking and whirring of electronics. Her Pip-Boy radio playing quietly.

She slowly cracked her eyes open, groaning at the dim light of the early morning. Damn. Her head hurt already, and she just opened her eyes. She looked around, taking in her surroundings. She was wrapped very tightly in her quilt, with her tattered teddy bear sandwiched between her chest and the thick blanket. She still had on clothes, her pants from the night before were uncomfortably twisted around her legs and cutting into the soft spot behind her knees.

The Penthouse. She was in her bed in the penthouse. Safe, and with Yes Man.

Wait.

Yes Man.

She snapped her head to her right, sending her world spinning violently. She groaned and squeezed her eyes shut as she fought off waves of nausea.

Elisavet spoke after a tense moment, "H-hey... Yes Man... Good morning..." She cracked an eye open, surveying his expression, but the aura from the light of his monitor blocked it out. She hoped he wasn't disappointed. "Thanks for bringing me back here…" She awkwardly said, her breathing ragged with pain from her hangover. She hoped she hadn’t made a fool of herself again.

Her head pounded, every second awake was getting more painful.

Yes Man nervously bounced, and cracked an equally nervous smile.

"Good morning, Six." He said slowly, tapping his claws together. "I don’t typically advise consuming so much alcohol, or blacking out on the floor of the Cocktail Lounge, but… Don’t let me stop you."

Elisavet chuckled dryly, "sorry about that, bud. Guess I didn't realize how strong that rum was... Heh, heh..."

The silence was thick, tense with the weight of their shared disappointment.

Elisavet slowly wiggled her shoulders enough to loosen the tight blanket wrapped around her, and propped herself up on an elbow to get a better look at him. She must have made quite a fool of herself while she was blacked out if she couldn’t remember anything but watching the Strip and listening to the radio… and another one of those dreams about him.

Her everything hurt. Her metal spine ached, her metal brain hurt, everything else was somewhere in between. Did she fall over a bunch of times, try to fight someone, or was that just from sleeping on the floor and “partying” on an empty stomach?

"Eh, heh... Right." Yes Man said, drawing it out, tipping one claw awkwardly. "You had a wild night, with all that alcohol and Mentats. Really livened up that old lounge."

She paled, and jumped to check her Pip-Boy’s inventory. She drank a lot more alcohol than she intended to… She had logged the bottle of rum as half-empty, and her tin of Mentats in her pocket felt suspiciously light… She had gotten absolutely wasted in the cocktail lounge after she blacked out, again.

"I'm sorry." Is all she said, all she felt she could say. She had lost control, and tried to handle her problems in the worst way possible. She didn’t want to admit to herself that she was smitten for a robot that had served the guy who had tried to murder her.

Yes Man reached out and touched her shoulder gently, grounding her. She suddenly realized she was shaking, already crying, and uncomfortably close to ugly-crying. She reached up and took his claw in her hand, unable to look at him as the pain and shame in her chest built up and spilled over.

"We should talk." He said gently. "I hate to be that robot, but I can tell something’s wrong."

Elisavet nodded. She knew she couldn't keep going on like this, she had to tell him. Maybe not all of it. But at least some of it.

"I know. Can we just... Pretend like it's all normal? Just until I get done with that dinner tonight." Elisavet said slowly, her heart sinking. "I promise. We'll talk. Tonight. I just… I need some time to find the right words." She peeked at him through the tears, smiled halfway, strained. It felt foreign to admit that she didn’t know what to say, for once. She always knew what to say, but when he became involved… well she felt like a stuttering schoolgirl with a crush on the computer.

He nodded, his screen then bouncing and refocusing. Disappointment.

"Alright, Elisavet. If you say so." He said, and that was the end of it. She slowly let go of his claw, and he removed his hand from her shoulder…

Yes Man rolled away, and Elisavet flopped back into the bed with a quiet, disappointed groan. She closed her eyes, and pulled the blanket over her head. She’s definitely going to go out and burn off this anxiety. Alone.

Elisavet glanced over her right shoulder to peek at her armed guard behind her seat. A standard Mk II OS Securitron. Not Yes Man.

Her stomach twisted. He didn't like the White Glove Society, and she didn’t want him to see this, but something in her was still unsettled without him by her side.

Shining, unchipped plates and glassware glittering in the lights. Vibrant, freshly ironed tablecloths and cloth napkins, and everyone was dressed like it was their last night alive. Soft music filled the air, a light little song that brightened up the room.

It was beautiful. A perfect picture of pre-war luxury, that she was happy to enter and entertain.

Dinner was served with a flourish, waiters and waitresses swarming the room with plates and plates of steak and potatoes. She knew what was being served tonight. Everyone did. They all had the same thing. Elisavet had even sourced the protein herself, freshly killed this morning.

NCR Trooper, with hearty sides of potatoes and carrots.

Something deep inside her must have been broken. She didn’t feel any regret, glancing around the table at the steaks on their plates. She felt hungry, really hungry-- and this was just the thing she was craving.

When she looked discreetly at Mortimer, she couldn’t help but crack a smile. This wasn't the first Society dinner that she had visited. She was quite the gourmand herself now, having become no stranger to other sources of meat during her time in the Mojave.

A sick thrill shot up her spine, she was almost glad she was attending this dinner alone. She never let Yes Man see this side of her. The broken side.

She ate her dinner silently, only making polite conversation with the other guests seated beside her at the table. Business talk. Idle chatter. Vegas gossip.

Not many had the guts to speak to her directly, not with the Securitron looming over her shoulder. That was fine, she didn’t mind butting into a conversation with these high-rollers. Elisavet hummed into her wine glass as she sipped it, the bitter-tart alcohol washing over her tongue and removing the taste of the steak she had been enjoying. Maybe she could convince someone here to buy her a hard drink afterwards. Whiskey was nice, but expensive rum was better.

The lady sitting beside her seemed interesting… She was wearing a pretty pink dress without any stains, and her blonde hair was styled and cared for very well, yet she was actively arguing with her partner at the table. Definitely a high-roller with plenty of caps. Elisavet smiled, and set her glass down. She could make a good impression, maybe get her to spend some more caps, so she finally listened in on the conversation.

“Darling, let’s go out on the town tonight, I haven’t had nearly enough excitement on our vacation.” She pouted, touching his arm lightly and leaning close. “I hear there’s a theater at another casino, and they have a variety of entertainment that you might even like.”

“No, no, we’ve spent plenty of caps at the tables downstairs already and drank all day, we’ve seen it all already-- there’s no need to go anywhere else tonight.” The man said to the lady, who was starting to get upset at his dismissive attitude. The Aces Theater put on a good show, especially on Friday nights.

Elisavet hummed, perking up and finally chiming in, “Oh, I’m sure that there’s still plenty for you to see of my city, especially for a lovely couple like yourselves. There’s even the lovely Aces Theater at The Tops with a few delightful acts.” She chuckled with a wink. “I made sure to select the new talent myself.” That got the attention of the entire table, her silky-soft words quieting the disjointed conversations around her. Perfect. All eyes on her. “Do you like music? Live music? There’s a wonderful man there on Friday nights, and his voice is wonderful. It really ends any date on a high-note.” She sighs wistfully, closing her eyes as she remembers the nights she spent there… All the drinks she had with Swank, the lively atmosphere, and all the… everything. It was the best. She opens her eyes after just a moment, her practiced smile still plastered to her face. The blonde lady smiles, and gestures to Elisavet with a pleased, “Well, someone here has a good idea!” She turns to the pink-haired girl, ignoring her partner. “I do like live music, and there has been a dreadful lack of it here! We’re going to the theater tonight!” She humphs, sticking her nose up in the air with a conspiratorial smile to the ruler of the Strip beside her.

"Someone as popular as you can’t possibly be here alone, where is your companion, dear?" The blonde asks Elisavet. Elisavet's smile drops a little. It had been obvious that she had a favorite Securitron, then.

"Just a call away. This is... A personal endeavor. I always take the time to have dinner with the Society and mingle with the people who come to visit my city. Besides… my dear friends can take care of any problem that comes my way." Elisavet lied smoothly, she leaned back and gestured to the massive robotic guard with her. Gorgeous shiny blue titanium and a CRT… She sipped her wine to pull herself together, repressing a shudder at the taste… foul. She hated the stuff.

The guest seemed to get her veiled threat.

Don't fuck with me.

Elisavet chuckled and winked smoothly, "No need to worry, it's just dinner, after all." This seemed to placate the woman, and some of the tension dissipated. Elisavet glanced back at her guard, stomach churning. The wine soured on her tongue, and she wished it was just hard liquor instead. She never liked wine anyway.

Dinner finished smoothly, and with quite a celebratory bang... Elisavet somehow still charmed the other guests at her table, and her guard remained silent the entire time.

When her post-dinner meeting with Mortimer was finally over and she had secured extra funding from the Gourmand’s profits, Elisavet slipped away from the dining room, and beyond its lobby. She needed a drink, and to put her thoughts together before she returned. The entire time she was eating and socializing, building up the illusion that she was just as competent and charming as House, she had been thinking of Yes Man.

He was the one keeping it all together. He did tahe planning, the decrypting files, arranging meetings, and calculating all the numbers needed to keep balance and order on the Strip.

All she did was do the people-pleasing. Meeting people, making allies. Making enemies. Killing enemies. Securing resources and solving all the problems that came up along the way.

Elisavet popped the top button of her checkered coat as she left the dining hall, letting a few more inches of her bare chest out for display. She brushes past the other casino patrons quickly, her pale-pink ponytail fluttering behind her in her wake, her Securitron guard tailing closely despite the thick crowd. She had to get a stiff drink. Now. The expensive bar was the closest- that was fine. She liked the bartender that usually worked Society meeting nights. Quickly, she pushed past the crowd, and took a seat at the very end of the bar, as far away from the other patrons as possible.

Elisavet smiled at the bartender, ignoring the feeling of a camera intently focused on her back. She almost wanted to rip off the checkered coat and to run to her safe haven. Back in Goodsprings.

“Two shots of the most expensive rum you have, in a glass topped off with Nuka, please.” She asked sweetly, giving the bartender one of her usual flirty winks and charming smile. He was cute, and well-dressed, just like the many other employees of the casino.

The bartender hummed, and agreed to her request wordlessly. He turned around and pulled a very expensive bottle from the top shelf behind him, poured her requested drink into a sparkling glass cup, and placed it in front of the anxious Strip ruler.

“Here you are, ma’am. thirty caps.” He said simply, but not impolitely. Elisavet smiled. Perfect. She could try charming the man, get a little discount.

“Oh, how about twelve? I mean…” She glanced at her Securitron guard, standard Mk II OS. “You do know who I am…” She giggled and tried not to let her anxiety seep into her smooth words. She smiled and batted her eyes at the bartender, leaning on the bar just a little more to push her breasts enticingly together. That usually works.

The bartender almost frowned, the corner of his mouth twitching, unconvinced yet. However, once he glanced behind her, he seemed to lose all the color in his face that wasn’t hidden behind that pale white mask.

He shook his head quickly, taking a step back from the counter.

“O-oh, no need for any caps, ma’am. Have this drink, courtesy of the White Glove Society.” He said nervously, sweating profusely. He nudged the drink a little closer to her, and quickly walked to the opposite end of the bar to serve another patron without so much as looking at the register.

Elisavet’s eyebrow twitched. It was beyond obvious that her charm didn’t do it, but the presence of the armed guard with her did. She must’ve been losing her touch. She snatched the drink from the counter, and took a deep drink of it with a sour expression trying to work its way to her face.

Hopefully Yes Man hadn’t picked that moment to check in on her. She twitched, almost instinctively spinning around on her stool to check the robot behind her, just to be sure. He had done it before.

“Yes Man,” She said with a sigh, and the fans picked up in the robot just behind her, “I can feel you watching.”

“Eh, heh… Not that, I don’t….” Yes Man said, and she could hear his metallic claws clink together nervously. She was also nervous.

“Let me just finish this, and I’ll come to the Penthouse.” She said, a sort-of peace washing over her. She hadn’t been alone after all. She took a sip of her drink, and felt the presence behind her change again, the Securitron turning back around to watch her back while she drank.

Elisavet finished her drink leisurely, occasionally being approached by bold casino patrons. Her flashy coat stood out. Her pink hair stood out. Her metal guard stood out. She wished she could go back to being plain, sort-of sneaky, Elisavet.

Not the public ruler of the Strip.

A frown tugged at her mouth, and she found herself inadvertently scowling at her conversation partner, scaring them off. Oh well.

She tipped the last of her drink into her mouth, then set the cup on the polished bar. She reached into her breast pocket and procured five-cap Lucky 38 casino chip, dropped it beside the cup, and left without a word to the bartender or the others around her.

The guard followed Elisavet out of the Ultra Luxe, then wheeled off to resume patrol once they cleared the entryway. She walked just a short ways down the Strip, brushing against other patrons and robots as she went. The weight of the Platinum Chip in her pocket brought her back to reality when she bumped into a Securitron.

The force of the bump startled her, and she fell onto her ass. She let out a soft, “oof!” involuntarily as she hit the ground. They were made of titanium, after all… She frowned at herself, and picked herself up off the ground. She patted the robot fondly, and it turned around slowly as she moved to walk off. She smiled weakly. Weird, it didn’t say anything or turn before she had picked herself up off the ground and put herself together. “Sorry about that. Be there soon.” She said, even though she knew it didn’t matter much. But it would’ve pinged back to the server.

The Securitron oddly didn’t say anything, just turned back around and wheeled off to complete its patrol. Elisavet sighed, and crossed the street to open up the Lucky 38. Something wasn’t right with him, either…

Just like she said, Elisavet went immediately to the Penthouse, ignoring the budding worry building up in her stomach that threatened to make her spill her dinner. She took down her ponytail to relieve some of the pressure in her head, letting the pink hair fall down her back and brush her knees.

Elisavet called the elevator, and stepped into it as soon as the doors opened. She grabs her tin of Mentats, and pops one in her mouth before digging in her breastpocket. She needed to hold the chip. Ground herself. Elisavet rubbed the grooved surface of the platinum chip, leaning against the back wall of the elevator on the ride up. The weighty, shiny metal grounded her as the elevator shuddered on its way up. She had so much to say to Yes Man. Or, more accurately, to try to say to him.

When the elevator dinged and the doors opened, she almost panicked. Almost.

It was silent, not even the radio playing for once. She wasn’t even playing it on her Pip-Boy. She almost wanted to turn it on, to break the tense silence in the room.

Elisavet walked to the mainframe monitor, and tried to smile. Yes Man was still there. Still connected.

“Hey, Yessie.” She greeted casually, like she usually did. “I think that dinner with the White Glove Society went well. Mortimer promised to send over another five-percent revenue from the resturaunt.”

“Oh! That’s good news!” Yes Man cheered. “That’ll help boost our savings for Securitron maintenance!” Elisavet smiled, and nodded. It would help a lot.

“How’s…” She asked, almost not wanting to breach the topic. “How's the uh, update treating you?” She asked, trying to distract from the fact she didn’t yet know what to say to explain her odd behavior.

“Just fine, really! It was just some minor adjustments to my personality matrix, to help you run the Strip better.” He explained, smiling like always, but it was a little different than his usual insistence on helping her. It felt more pointed, more intimate, like he was actually meaning just her. Elisavet raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t you usually classify adjustments to your personality as… well… Major updates?” Elisavet asked gently, furrowing her brows with concern. She lifted her wrist and fidgeted with the latch on her Pip-Boy to stop staring at him and the soft halo of gorgeous green light from the monitor. “Minor and personality matrices don’t typically go in the same sentence, after all. And, ah, don’t you usually ask me to stay a-and hang around for those?”

Yes Man was silent for a moment, and Elisavet tensed, focusing more on the latch. It was scratched up, the paint chipping off… And the paint around the edges where they meet was also chipping… Damn. She should disassemble it and repaint it just like she had with Yes Man’s chassis years ago.

“This one was minor.” He said, stressing the minor. Elisavet looked up at him and dropped her wrist. “I just needed to change a few variables, add a few lines in to take advantage of some new code, and reboot.” He said, gently, but it was still so vague. But… she couldn’t help but understand, she had things she didn’t want to tell him about her personality.

“I-- I guess so.” Elisavet said gently, stepping closer and sitting at the desk, trusting that he wouldn’t lie to her on something so important. “Your code is quite the feat of programming… I’m sure you had no problem if you say it’s minor…” She trailed off, blushing and nervously chuckling, then rubbing her neck. She could feel that Mentat kicking in, and she was feeling almost smart enough to understand. Her tongue was talking before she could think about it… flirting.

“Nothing to worry about! I handled it all while you were at the Atomic Wrangler yesterday. I had finished rebooting by the time you entered the Strip again.” He said confidently, sort-of nodding as best he could. Did he miss her subtle compliments, or even worse… noticed and didn’t like it?

Elisavet gave him a half-smile, worry creeping into her again. That sweet feeling he had been giving her was slowly growing cold and souring in her stomach. She rested her hand on a keyboard on the desk, running a thumb across the spacebar. The closest thing she could do to seek comfort from him.

“I would’ve stayed here, watched over the Strip so you could update…” She trailed off, looking away. Whenever he went offline, she got nervous. Especially since she was out of the casino… everything was unguarded for quite a while. “I wouldn’t want to leave the Strip unmanaged while you’re taking care of yourself.” She tried to say it casually, like he wasn't the world to her, like the Strip was much more important than him. Like she was more upset that their stuff could be taken.

Anything but someone breaking in and--

“Elisavet, there’s nothing to worry about. You needed to take a break, and the Securitron defense system can run independently without me. We both made sure of that before the battle at Hoover Dam.” He said softly, shocking her from her thoughts. He could see her anxiety from every camera in the Penthouse.

Elisavet slumped a little, and looked away from his display sheepishly. She had been working closely with him in the Penthouse recently, longer and later nights at the terminals writing updates with him.

“I… I know.” She sighed, but smiled a little. “The backup programs that make up their systems are… Well, they're quite impressive. It’s secure, even should we both be… indisposed…” She blushed a little. They had done a great job stabilizing a backup program that effectively patrolled and could defend the Strip, and most especially… themselves and the casino.

“Right you are.” Yes Man chuckled. “Not to brag, but.. The Mark II OS is quite the upgrade, and with our updates on top of that, all Securitrons on the network are more than capable of handling any attack while I update for a few hours and you visit friends.” His gentle, kind reassurance was the soothing balm to her frayed nerves that she had been seeking for a long time.

Elisavet nodded, and glanced around the room with a fond smile at all the robots in the room with them. It felt like something they had made together that worked. Still working. And just by everything still standing and secure after all these years… Well, it gave her a little hope for the future of New Vegas, and made her heart flutter. And maybe she could take a break to drink a bunch of alcohol, take a bunch of chems, and cut loose more.

“Yeah, you did a great job bug testing on those updates we worked on.” Elisavet admitted, warmth creeping back into her body. However, that gave her pause, the odd encounter with a Securitron earlier popping back to the front of her mind. “Eh, but… I think I may have fumbled something in there… The standard OS fellas outside have been acting strange.”

Elisavet started to frown, glancing around the room at the three standard model guards she had stationed in the Penthouse with them. They all looked normal at first glance, perking up and looking around once they picked up on Elisavet paying close attention… Only once they noticed she had started paying attention more than from the corner of her eye.

Yes Man seemed confused by this, and Elisavet frowned. He was always aware of every securitron attached to the network… and what she was doing. It wasn’t like any robot around her to be so…. Distracted. “Hm, well… I suppose… They… they keep following me very closely when I’m not here with you. Sometimes, they seem… distracted. Noticing ruffians a few moments too late, not noticing important guests, either." Elisavet said, pausing as she paced the floor in front of his monitor. "Earlier on my way back from the Ultra Luxe, I bumped into one and fell over… but it didn’t even seem to acknowledge me, just looked at me after I got its attention, then wheeled off.”

She sighed, stepping away from the monitor to walk a little closer to one of the active units nearby. She lifted one of the hands of the one in front of her, turning it over in her hands while she squinted and scrutinized the machine for any changes in demeanor. “Hm…” She hummed, her eyebrows furrowed as she thought.

No obvious changes, but she wasn’t sure. Still alert, but silent. It shouldn’t suddenly turn on her, but the memories of them all turning and shooting at her was still all too fresh in her mind. It took forever to get her blood off the tiles in here.

Was it a bad update? Did she accidentally remove something she shouldn’t have? Or was it that extra bit she included disrupting the rest of the code? She stepped back, gently pulling it away from its post by the monitor. It went along with her after a second unresponsive.

“There it is…” She mutters. Elisavet felt a twitch at the corner of her mouth and she couldn’t stop herself from following her impulse to investigate more. She released the claw from her hands, and discarded her checkered coat on a chair behind her to reveal the bandage top covering her chest and the scarred plane of her stomach. She hummed and looked at her Pip-Boy, starting a memo with her notes. "Delayed reaction times. Occasionally unresponsive to verbal prompts."

Pressing a few buttons on its torso panel opened the service panel. Elisavet clicked on the light on her Pip-Boy, and hummed before taking a peek into the unit, completely forgetting Yes Man was watching closely.

Yes Man's gentle voice brought her back to reality, “I haven’t received any reports of failing hardware, nor any maintenance requests from any of our main units outside.” Elisavet stepped back just a bit, and looked up at him. She hummed, and shrugged. “Maybe there’s something wrong with the software, then?” She muttered, shining her light into the robot after a second. Nothing but dust. There weren’t any leaky capacitors, any dirt on the boards, no stray wires or electric shocks, not even an improperly seated chip or board. It was all… factory standard.

“Maybe…” She thought aloud, shining her light into the cavity again, then gently pushing some of her hair out of her vision. “It’s… this?” She reaches inside the cavity, pushing a few stray connectors back into place, then closes the unit up. Nothing seemed to have happened, but that’s alright.

Elisavet looked over to Yes Man with a tense smile, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Ehm… I’m not sure right now.” She said sadly. “I just think I fumbled something in the last update. I’m sorry.” She looked around the room, the units were still… just barely off, just a moment too slow to respond and react.

Now they were all completely focused on her.

Elisavet fidgeted awkwardly, lifting her wrist to add another note to the end of her log: Completely focused on me.

Yes Man was shockingly quiet for a moment, and Elisavet started to grow nervous.

“I-- I…” She stammered, grimacing and looking away. “I’m sorry. I’ve been too distracted, and it’s started affecting you. Affecting the Securitron network.”

“Elisavet, you haven’t done anything wrong, the last update didn’t have any incorrect code, and if there had been, I would have corrected them before implementing the update across the network.” Yes Man finally responded after a long moment. Elisavet didn’t feel any better, the guilt building in her stomach instead. It didn’t make any sense why he was acting strange, and she couldn’t handle trying to sort her own emotions out right now.

“Right. You… we… we would have caught it.” She muttered, uselessly. It was getting obvious why they needed to talk about what was really going on. “But, ah, I said I would talk to you about what has been bothering me recently…” She said quieter, even more meekly. She was going to tell him.

Yes Man perked up at that. “What’s been bothering you?” He asked gently.

“I… I guess it’s just… I’m having a hard time with…” She stammered, blushing. “Something important to me? I.. I found something out about myself, and it’s kinda eating me up. I like a guy, a real nice guy, but I don’t know if he actually likes me.” She sighed, rubbing her neck again. She looked away, frowning.

Her throat felt tight, and she wanted to shut up already.

“I suppose I just don’t know what to do, I love the guy, I can’t get him out of my thoughts and dreams-- and… and sometimes I just don’t think he likes me, or even wants me around sometimes. I think he resents me sometimes, actually.” She finally said.

Yes Man was quiet for a while, the silence and tension in the Penthouse getting thicker and more uncomfortable by the moment. Elisavet only had two friends who could’ve possibly fit the description-- Swank and Yes Man. She had been seeing Swank on-and-off-again since the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, but… she wasn’t terribly interested in pursuing anything too serious with him. She hadn’t even seen him beyond business meetings recently, either.

“I-- I suppose it doesn’t take a genius to know who I’m talking about.” Elisavet said flatly, trying to disguise her anxiety and guilt. “I…” She muttered, looking at the tile floor with a grimace. She let her sentence die on her tongue, before she could even say it. She sighed, and picked up her checkered coat, draping it around her shoulders. It was silent in the Penthouse, neither Yes Man or Elisavet saying anything. All the Securitrons and cameras in the room were turned to face her, taking in every minute detail of her posture, demeanor, shaky breaths.

“I’m sorry. I love you. I love you, and that’s not something I want to change anymore.” Elisavet said weakly, her voice sounding far away to herself. “You don’t have to love me, hell, you… you could hate me. I would hate me.” She slipped her arms in the sleeves of the coat and pulled it over her shoulders. “Honestly, I killed Benny, Mr. House, lots of NCR diplomats and troopers, and a lot more assholes. Ate most of ‘em along the way, too.” She sighed, glancing over her shoulder to the main monitor, to Yes Man watching her as she buttons up her coat again. “That’s not very polite. Murdering and eating people. I know you don’t like the White Glove Society doing that.” She chuckled dryly, imitating their banter. She waved her hand in the air. “But… If you hate me… I’ll find someone better suited to running Vegas with you. You won’t have to see me again.” Elisavet said finally. Everything in her screamed at the thought of him hating her. The thought of leaving Vegas. She would start all over again. Find somewhere all alone, to hide her shame away. The Penthouse was still quiet.

The hot tears finally fell from her eyes, and she turned away from the monitor once it was obvious he wouldn’t answer. She wouldn’t order him to answer, either. “But, hey, I’ll see you around. Yeah?” She said with a pained smile. She couldn’t stay in the Penthouse for the night, she was going to fall apart if she did.

Elisavet quickly rushed up the steps. The Securitrons turned and watched her.

She quickly tapped the call button for the elevator over and over, and threw herself in it as soon as the doors opened just enough to squeeze her body through. She wanted to run. Run far away. As fast as her legs could take her.

The elevator shuddered, and slowly sunk down to the Cocktail Lounge. She shouldn’t run. There’s no way to run from love. She had to wait, and, and hope she hadn’t just ruined everything. When the doors open, she races out of the elevator, and recklessly fumbles to make herself another drink. Can’t run from this. Nowhere to run to. Can’t hide. Elisavet pours herself a few shots of rum into a clear glass, and grabs a cold Nuka-Cola. Quickly, she pops the cap off the soda bottle, and tosses it on the bar carelessly.

With a shuddering, deep breath, Elisavet sits down on one of the barstools and starts downing her drink.

She wouldn't run this time. But she would damn well try to drink away the guilt of loving him.

She'll wait until he's ready to talk.

#yes man fnv #courier six #yes man x courier #fnv #elisavet damia #elisavet #elisavet vibes #my fanfic

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silantryoo · 1 year ago

Text

XTRA [ RP STONT ] — happy new year, unnie

miny/n spend their first christmas together (with everyone else, of course)

WARNINGS ; fluff, crack, yujin being annoying, everyone is taken basically (except for chaewon)

y/n wasn't attached to her phone.

there was once a time where she was, almost a year ago. she remembered those late nights, scrolling through each one of her burner accounts, watching as the snow fell against her chilled window. each word, each article seemed to invade her mind, and it felt like the world had given her the worst gift of all.

she hated herself back then, almost as much as she loved kim minji now.

"i don't understand why we have to host it in our dorms." y/n could hear kazuha complain, groaning as chaewon ushered them to clean faster.

y/n didn't mind, in all honesty. cleaning reminded her of minji, and how the girl would reprimand the youngest newjeans member to pick up after herself.

her girlfriend was so cute.

"you'd rather sneak yujin in?" yunjin raised an eyebrow, teasingly.

chaewon stopped in her tracks, letting her duster hang to the side. "you sneak yujin in?"

a chill ran down y/n's spine. if she found out kazuha had been sneaking yujin in from time to time, there was a greater chance that she would figure out she and minji were doing the same.

"no."

y/n could see kazuha glaring at the american in the golden retriever onesie. the kim already knew what was going through her best friends mind, the ballerina trying to recall any wrongdoing that yunjin had done.

nakamura kazuha was scary, exactly ahn yujin's type (though she'd never admit it).

"um," y/n cleared her throat. she was glad her leader had a short attention span. "when are they coming again?"

"yujin should be here soon." chaewon went back to dusting, the cheetah print of her onesie moving along with each sweep. "hanni just texted yunjin that their on their way. kkura-unnie's somewhere getting something with chaeyeon."

"i bet they ditched us."

y/n held back a sigh. it's not that she didn't want to hang out with her members, but she'd prefer if she hung out with her girlfriend one on one.

y/n missed her girlfriend.

"probably not." chaewon shook her head. "kkura-unnie said she's bringing a surprise for me, whatever that means."

the three younger girls look at each other.

sakura and chaeyeon were actually doing it. they were doing the plan.

"is she talking about-"

kazuha nodded. "i already helped yunjin-unnie to hang it."

yunjin gave a thumbs up, her body basically vibrating at the thought of her leader finally growing brain cells. she hoped sakura's plan worked this time around. if not, then perhaps chaewon was meant to be single for the rest of her life.

"hang what?"

the three looked at each other once more. they looked at chaewon.

she was so gonna kill all of them if she found out.

"what?"

on cue, the doorbell rang, the monitor lighting up to alert the girls of the presence of a human. a part of y/n wondered who conveniently appeared at that very second, but she knew it could only be one person.

y/n walked to the monitor, looking at an eye that seemed to be centimeters away from the camera. if she didn't know any better, she would've chalked it up to a twelve year old playing with their doorbell camera, but y/n knew that playful glint in the 'stranger's' eye, all of daejeon did.

she looked at kazuha, waiting for the taller girl to react.

kazuha, like always, giggled, a blush dusting her cheeks.

there it was.

pressing down on the button, kazuha spoke into the mic, her voice echoing her smile. "yujin!"

"hi." yujin smiled into the camera, stepping away. "you look pretty."

y/n rolled her eyes. the two always flirted so shamelessly in front of her. if kazuha wasn't so happy and yujin wasn't one of her best friends, she would've thrown up.

the kim spoke into the mic this time, watching as yujin smiled at the thought of her girlfriend.

"you can't see her through the camera."

the idol shrugged, "i don't need to. i already know she's gonna be pretty."

kazuha giggled once more, earning chaewon's attention who sighed at the interaction. she never understood how someone could act like that with another person.

"gross." y/n frowned. at times like these, she wished minji was near. "ka-chan'll open the door for you."

"okay."

although the door was was a mere meter away, kazuha still rushed as if her life depended on it. she hadn't seen yujin in a while (three days ago, to be exact), and she was sure she was losing her mind.

on the other side of the door, the idol could hear the door unlock at lightning speed. yujin's smile widened. the thought of seeing her girlfriend was making her impatient, her leg tapping against the pavement.

the door swung open, but before the cold breeze of winter could burst through, yujin launched herself onto kazuha, lifting her up with a strength that could only be from the adrenaline she felt.

y/n sighed, closing the door behind them. she watched as the two exchanged pleasantries, ignoring the kim that was standing behind them.

"hi, i'm here too." y/n raised an eyebrow at the couple. "i'm your best friend. am i just a block?"

"zuha's my girlfriend, though." yujin peaked around the corner, checking for the le sserafim leader before she planted a kiss on kazuha's cheek. "she's also your best friend."

y/n covered her eyes as kazuha wrapped her arms around yujin's neck.

"you're so sweet."

y/n wished minji was here.

the door opened once more, the maknae of le sserafim staring at y/n. the younger girl's cheeks were rosy, her eyes shifting around. y/n could tell she was hiding someone behind her.

it couldn't have been kim minju, sakura and chaeyeon were still on their way.

slowly, a familiar face peaked out from eunchae's shoulder, her cat-like eyes meeting the kim's. she could hear kazuha gasp behind her, yujin snickering.

chaewon was gonna kill someone tonight.

"you're kidding."

"stop leaving the door open!" y/n could hear chaewon's voice coming closer to the door, and there was no doubt she'd see kyujin's bright red cat onesie as soon as she saw what was happening. "the hot air is leavi-"

chaewon dropped the duster, a small clatter echoing the entry.

yujin bit her tongue once more.

"so, um... surprise! kyujin is spending her christmas with us!" eunchae grabbed her girlfriend's arm, shoving y/n out of the way as the two entered the house. quickly, the youngest engulfed chaewon in a hug. "thank you so much, i love you, you're the best unnie ever."

chaewon blinked.

"hold on-"

"you're the best, unnie!" eunchae signaled for kyujin to hurry, the idol rushing inside and bowing politely to all those she passed (yunjin stood in shock).

eunchae let go, chaewon's mind still reeling at the fact kyujin was most likely gonna stay in the dorms, overnight.

"yah!" eunchae scurried of at the sound of the leader's voice. "hong eunchae!"

y/n sighed once more, tapping the back of her phone as she closed the door. she watched as yujin entered the living room, arm wrapped around kazuha's waist. off to her left, kyujin and eunchae sat on the sofa, chaewon eyeing them, holding back her tongue.

the kim glanced at her phone, waiting for minji to text or to call, just wanting to know where her girlfriend was and if she was close.

"i miss my girlfriend." y/n spoke to no one, head hung low as the hood of her onesie covered her face.

yunjin, being in ear shot, patted the younger girl's back, watching as she sulked like a puppy. "she's on her way, y/n-ah."

y/n whined, and it took everything in yunjin to not tease the younger girl.

"i miss her now."

her and yujin were more alike than she'd like to admit.

yunjin rubbed her back, trying her best to reassure y/n.

"she's on her wa-"

"i miss her." she whined once more, hating the feeling of not having her girlfriend around her.

yunjin shook her head. she was glad that she had more security to not act like this, even if she did miss her girlfriend back in america. minji, who was at most five minutes away, was here in seoul, and y/n was getting more and more impatient by the minute.

it was cute, honestly, but yunjin now had to babysit a sad kim y/n and an angry kim chaewon while keeping an eye on kazuha and yujin.

she didn't understand how sakura did it, or how eunchae seemed the most responsible out of the four of them.

"unnie, where's minji?"

"she's on her way."

"i want my girlfriend now."

yunjin could only hope for minji's quick arrival.

chaewon was going insane.

it wasn't because eunchae had dragged her girlfriend to the christmas gathering. in all honesty, she actually liked kyujin. the youngest member of nmixx was responsible, her thoughts seemingly organized, the perfect contrast to their eunchae. chaewon just liked putting up a front, so kyujin knew there were consequences if she broke their maknae's heart.

truthfully, kazuha and yujin were more of an issue. chaewon knew how yujin's mind worked, the ive leader was much like her. she liked having kazuha around, and urging her girlfriend to wreak havoc onto her, sakura and y/n (mostly her, though). chaewon could handle that, even if the glint that formed in kazuha's eyes scared her.

minji was no problem either. she was sweet, and thoughtful, always stopping by to say hello to her whenever they encountered each other in the corridors between breaks. she was a breath of fresh air for y/n, and, although chaewon would be outwardly livid, she wouldn't mind minji marrying y/n.

she could handle all of that usually, but this christmas had a glaring problem.

kim minju.

why did minju have to be so pretty?

the doorbell rang repeatedly, echoing throughout the house as each alert was cut off by the next. y/n, not bothering to check since only one person (read: haerin) did that, nearly ran to the door, opening it to face the newjeans girls in their respective onesies.

minji smiled sheepishly, her cheeks rosy from the cold of the december night. if y/n wasn't so upset, she would've kissed her right there.

the le sserafim member ushered the girl group in, closing the door behind her, ignoring minji's longing stare.

usually, y/n would jump into her arms, and minji would basically ascend at the feeling of being so close to her girlfriend. minji, like always, would cherish the feeling, like she cherished kim y/n's entire exsistance.

now, there was nothing but a frown.

"you took long." minji looked down, gripping onto the gift in her hand. "were you busy looking at other girls?"

the newjeans' leader's eyes widened, shaking her head. she'd be crazy to think of anyone but her girlfriend. come to think of it, minji hasn't thought of any other person like that since she liked y/n, not even her celebrity crush.

minji liked her kim more, anyway.

"minji?" hanni snickered. minji ran around the house like a lunatic for an hour or two. "she was late because-"

"shut up!" minji covered hanni's face, shoving her away lightly. even if they had been dating for a while now, the young idol still felt nervous. it was their first christmas together, after all.

y/n raised her eyebrow, scanning the other girls' faces.

hyein, like always, looked back at the kim, her eyes gleaming with excitement. y/n wondered if hyein had grown, or if y/n had merely shrunk. still, she knew that hyein would never rat out their leader. danielle was smiling at her, obviously trying to hold her tongue. her cheeks twitched from how hard she was smiling, looking between y/n and her girlfriend. y/n knew she wouldn't rat her out either.

and then, there was haerin.

"oh." haerin started. her face was void of emotion, but her eyes seemed to tease her leader. "minji-unnie couldn't find her perfume since hyein used it last. she said she needed to smell good for you."

minji glared at the girl. she knew that haerin would tell y/n, but the last part wasn't necessary.

it didn't matter, because minji could hear her girlfriend giggling beside her.

she looked over, letting go of hanni as y/n engulfed her in a hug. minji could feel herself smiling involuntarily, and a part of her still couldn't fathom how happy she always got around her girlfriend.

she looked down, her eyes meeting y/n's. minji's eyes fluttered closed, feeling y/n kiss her cheek.

"you're so cute, kim minji."

minji's face lit up, her heart beating loudly against her chest. the young idol, although seemingly shy when it came to affection, loved it every time.

still, she had some common sense, and considering she was at the le sserafim dorms, where chaewon constantly kept an eye on them...

"unnie!"

minji was scared of her girlfriend's leader, and she didn't understand how y/n wasn't.

as if chaewon had sensed something was wrong, she came over, looking between y/n and minji with suspiciously. she didn't understand how someone so short could hold so much authority with a single stare.

"no kissing in front of children." chaewon pointed a finger at minji, and the taller girl bowed slightly, muttering sorry's.

y/n rolled her eyes.

minji straightened back up, noticing there was another, more familiar looking girl to chaewon's left. hanni gasped at the sight, gripping onto danielle who hit her shoulder repeatedly.

"let them live, unnie." the mystery woman's voice seemed to calm down chaewon, and minji could feel the air finally enter her lungs once more.

"o-okay..."

y/n bit the side of her cheek. her leader was no better than her. in fact, chaewon was worse, cheeks bright red as she stared back into the other girl's eyes.

y/n felt minji lean over to her, her breath tickling her ear as they all entered the living room.

"is that the girl you told me about?"

y/n had told her on one of their many 7-eleven runs that chaewon was worse than the both of them combined when it came to a certain someone. minji never believed her, chaewon seemingly against anything that was romantic in some shape or form.

("she's just bitter because she can't pull.")

"minju-unnie?" y/n could see her leader's hand twitching, fighting off the urge to grab the actresses hand. she couldn't help but shake her head. "yeah."

minji believed her now.

"oh." minji put her present down next to the tree. she went over to chaewon, placing a hand on her shoulder. "good luck, sunbaenim."

"what?"

the le sserafim girls (minus chaewon) burst out laughing.

"stop laughing!" chaewon whined as minji scurried back to her girlfriend. "i don't get it!"

kyujin wondered if she was going to die today.

she had her fair share of playing against some of the most competitive players she's ever met. haewon always made them play just dance together (even though kyujin had won every time they played). she was used to the screaming and shouting, but this was different.

jang kyujin feared for her life.

"you're a cheater!" chaewon had a stack of uno cards in her hands, pointing violently at the girl who tried to hide behind her maknae. "eunchae, your girlfriend is a cheater!"

eunchae couldn't help but laugh.

"you just suck at this, unnie."

chaeyeon shook her head. no matter how different chaewon looked on the outside, her habits never seemed to change.

"how did you manage to get an entire deck in one round?"

"shut it!" the leader whined, groaning as she leaned into a now flustered minju. "i was actually trying this time..."

as the shouting continued, sakura could only watch as they continued to fight. the members of newjeans (and yujin and minju) watched silently, obviously overwhelmed with the amount of accusations in the air.

("it's your fault you're bad." "you're not even playing!" "this is why you're single." "do you know how to play, unnie?" "don't insult me, jennifer.")

"are they always like this?" chaeyeon whispered into her girlfriend's ear, sakura sighing.

"you should see how bad it gets when its just us."

"ugh." chaewon could only take so much berating, finally letting kyujin off the hook and 'allowing' her to win. "fine, whatever. minji, go ahead."

minji nodded, looking around as chaewon, yujin, and yunjin stared at the cards in her hands.

"go minji-unnie!" hyein cheered suddenly, distracting everyone. "our official goddess visual."

minji shook her head. "seriously, hyein?"

hyein shrugged, and continued to cheer her member on. everyone knew that it was either her or yujin that was gonna win, both girls having four cards left versus yunjin and chaewon who had 10+ cards each.

"my votes on yujin." chaeyeon smiled at her former member.

she already knew minji was going to win, but it never hurt anyone to support the losing side.

"thanks, unnie." yujin beamed, her eyes shifting to kazuha. "i've got you on my side, right, babe?"

"well..." kazuha smiled innocently, yujin's face dropping. the ballerina began to scoot over to yunjin. "yunjin-unnie has no one cheering her on."

"babe," yunjin's eyes gleamed in excitement while yujin whined, saying that she 'needed her girl' to win. "please?"

"sorry." kazuha kissed her cheek, earning a gasp from chaewon (she chose to ignore the older girl's words. minju would calm her down eventually). "if it makes you feel better, y/n's doing it, too."

minji looked beside her, trying to reach y/n before she sat beside yunjin.

y/n was her girlfriend. minji wanted her girlfriend to cheer for her, and she wanted to win for her (and hyein too, she guessed).

"unnie?"

y/n looked over to her girlfriend, finding the young idol pouting lightly. minji, like always, looked adorable, her cheeks slightly red from how badly she wanted to win, and her eyes begging the older girl to sit next to her.

"don't look at me like that." y/n muttered, fighting back the urge to kiss her girlfriend. "you know yunjin-unnie's gonna cry later if she doesn't have anyone cheering for her."

"i will not!"

she was.

y/n smiled, grabbing minji's hand and squeezing it lightly. "next game, okay?"

minji nodded. "okay."

the game continued, kazuha and y/n helping yunjin with every chance they had. every so often, y/n would shoot minji a soft smile, and it was enough for minji to know that her girlfriend was cheering her on.

god, minji loved y/n so much.

"i wanna be like them." danielle sighed, resting her head on the cat-like girl's shoulder beside her.

haerin tensed up, hyein too busy to notice it this time around. hanni, however, wasn't.

"that's your cue, haerin." she leaned over, shoving the girl lightly as danielle continued to watch the game unfold.

haerin glared, staring into hanni's soul as if she was trying to suck it out with her eyes.

"damn, what's with the eyes, girl?"

"this is stupid!"

chaewon whined, watching as she finished last. sakura laughed into her cup, her smile reaching her eyes as she stared into chaewon. chaeyeon shook her head, knowing her girlfriend was only angering the girl.

"you really suck at this, chaewon-ah." sakura teased, earning a laugh from yujin.

"shut up!" chaewon growled, calming down as she felt minju's hand rubbing her forearm. "i... i forgot the controls."

y/n shook her head, glancing at the rest of her members. she looked at the screen, watching the score board as she sat comfortably in third place, right behind a bot in second and sakura in first.

the idol leaned back into minji, feeling her girlfriend wrap her arms around her waist as y/n continued to sit comfortably on her lap.

"i'm doing good, right?"

minji nodded, kissing y/n's shoulder. she hadn't been paying attention, in all honesty. her, yujin and kyujin had been talking about something unimportant while the others played mario kart on sakura's switch. hyein and haerin were off watching kazuha's newly bought goldfish swim around in the kitchen, while danielle and yunjin were gossiping about their love life's.

minji felt at peace, knowing that her girlfriend was near her.

the young idol kissed y/n's cheek once more, earning a groan from hanni.

"stop making me feel single, bro." hanni muttered, rolling her eyes.

"that's on you, bro."

hanni stuck her tongue out, frowning as the next course started. it wasn't her fault she had a crush on her childhood best friend (but it was her fault for not saying anything to him).

"minji." yujin called out, her eyes laced in curiosity. "do you call y/n bro?"

minji shook her head. "no."

minji looked at the girl sitting on her lap, laser focused on beating hanni, chaewon, sakura and eunchae. minji had called y/n bro before they had started dating, but it never crossed her mind now that they have. perhaps her girlfriend would prefer it over 'unnie' or 'baby'.

"do you want me to call you bro, unnie?" minji asked.

y/n tensed up, glancing behind her as she mashed on the buttons harder.

("yah, kim y/n! don't break my controller!")

y/n hummed, clenching her jaw. the thought of minji calling her that upset her. she wasn't a 'bro'.

"do you want me to break up with you?" y/n asked sweetly, watching as she got passed by hanni. she cursed under her breath, exhaling out of her nose.

minji's eyes widened.

"no."

"then no." y/n muttered, listening to chaewon cry out in frustration as she overtook her.

minji nodded, ignoring the snickering that came from hanni beside her. hanni couldn't care less about the fight that almost broke out at that moment, not when she was currently in first place.

yujin, watching everything play down, turned to kazuha with a sweet smile.

"babe," the ive leader loved looking at her girlfriend. "can i call you-"

"finish that question and i'll break up with you."

hanni snickered once more.

"oh."

chaewon liked to think that she knew minju like the back of her hand.

she knew the younger girl's favourite snacks, the way she liked her ramen cooked, how her eggs were boiled. chaewon knew minju's favorite colors to wear, and what brand of shoes were her go-to.

there was no way chaewon would lose this game this time, not when she knew everything about the love of her life.

"my turn." minju sat herself down comfortably between sakura and chaewon. the actress could feel everyone staring at her, waiting.

part of her wondered how dense chaewon truly was. she adored it most times, like she adored chaewon, but at times like this, she hoped that chaewon could see past her words. she hoped chaewon could see what she really meant and how she really felt.

minju cleared her throat, smiling nervously as she avoided chaewon's fiery gaze. "i have a crush on someone in this room, i've met the head of samsung before, and i've been offered to model overseas."

"definitely the first." chaewon said almost immediately. she would know if minju liked anyone. she would be crushed, but she would know.

the leader looked around, watching as everyone, even the younger girls, looked at her curiously. she didn't understand their stares, but at least chaewon knew that they would all lose. there was no way minju would like anyone without chaewon knowing.

the others nodded in agreement, muttering to themselves as the le sserafim leader watched from a distance.

"minju-unnie," eunchae started, her hand held tightly by kyujin. "it's samsung, right?"

minju could feel herself blush. it had been mere seconds before most of the girls had come to their conclusions. she had never been a good liar, chaewon had told her so.

"was it that obvious?" minju scratched her cheek.

chaewon paused.

"you like someone?" suddenly, the air felt like it was on fire, chaewon's lungs burning with every breath she took.

minju liked someone, someone that wasn't her. the girl that she had loved since they had first met didn't feel the same. kim minju didn't feel the same because she liked someone else.

chaewon wished she was someone else, whoever that was.

"you're blind, unnie." y/n shook her head, resting her cheek against minji's shoulder.

yujin raised an eyebrow. "you're one to talk."

y/n looked at yujin with a blank look. she knew all the ins and outs of the ive leader, the taller girl telling her everything that happened during her promotions, including things that kazuha didn't know about.

y/n smiled.

"ka-chan," y/n called out for her best friend. "did you know that yujin recently got asked out by-"

"no one!" yujin couldn't let kazuha find out, not when she knew how it would affect her. "no one. my eyes are only on you and for you, anyway."

kazuha looked at yujin, her eyes scanning her girlfriend up and down.

"okay." kazuha hummed, watching as yujin sighed in relief. "we'll talk about that later."

yujin pouted, trying her best to grab kazuha's hand and reassure her that nothing happened. perhaps ning yizhou had asked her out the week before, ambushing the taller girl as she tried her hardest to memorize her lines for sbs, but yujin immediately said no.

still, kazuha didn't care. at least not right now.

yujin shot minji a look, begging her to reason with her girlfriend just this once.

minji frowned. "unnie."

"she was being mean to me." y/n reasoned.

minji didn't budge, gesturing at kazuha who was now ignoring yujin. she watched as the taller girl tried to get her members attention, but to no avail.

sighing, y/n nodded.

"sorry, yujin." y/n frowned. "yujin reject her, anyway."

kazuha's lips twitched into a smile.

"really?"

yujin nodded as y/n buried herself into minji's arms.

yujin and kazuha were gross (but y/n knew that she and minji weren't any better).

y/n watched as her leader followed kim minju around, tailing her like a puppy following it's owner.

beside her, minji shook her head, part of her cringing at the thought that she was (and still is) exactly like chaewon. she knew how it felt like, to feel like the girl that you were so in love with didn't love you back.

all minji could remember was how awful she had felt back then, when she stupidly thought that y/n had felt something for yujin.

she hoped that chaewon was smarter than her, that she could avoid the stress and heartbreak she felt at that moment.

minji sighed, grabbing her girlfriend's hand. "do you think she's ever gonna figure it out?"

y/n could only shrug, chaewon was as dense as her, if not worse. there was a chance that le sserafim's leader would only figure it out once it was too late.

the kim looked at sakura and chaeyeon, the two eyeing minju and chaewon closely.

there was no way they were going to let that happened.

"maybe later when kkura-unnie and chaeyeon-unnie force them under the mistletoe."

"someone should do that with haerin and dani." hanni hummed, nursing a red solo cup that held nothing but fruit punch. she rested her head on hyein. hanni didn't need to look, she already knew the contents stirring inside the younger girl's brain.

"not you, weirdo."

"why?" hyein whined. "i've behaved all night."

minji glared, pulling y/n into her arms. "you wouldn't let go of my girlfriend."

to minji, it was the truth. all night, she had to watch her girlfriend near hyein, hogging her girlfriend and holding her close, all the thing's that minji should've been doing.

in reality, it had only been one instance where hyein had done that, and it was when the two had been paired up (and won against yunjin and kyujin) in the whisper game.

"she's mine."

hyein shook her head. minji shouldn't have taken that drink from yujin. now, she was slightly tipsy, acting territorial.

minji felt a light nudge on her shoulder, turning her head to come face to face with y/n.

"baby, it's your turn." y/n whispered. minji nodded, taking the controller and arguing with kyujin over who was going to play kirby this time.

y/n turned to hyein, an apologetic smile on her face.

"don't worry about her too much, hyein-ah."

"i won't." hyein sighed, opening her phone as she started typing away. "i'll keep this in mind for the toast though."

"what toast?" y/n tilted her head.

"when you guys get married?"

y/n felt herself flush, her face turning bright red.

"what?"

as if nothing happened, hyein went back to texting on her phone. she ignored the curious stare from y/n, wondering what hyein meant with the toast.

hyein was always weird, but y/n couldn't help but feel giddy at the thought of minji proposing to her.

y/n squinted at the lamp sitting on her desk, illuminating the room with its bright light.

the others had all been asleep in the living room, two queen sized, inflatable mattresses taking up the entire space. it was suffocating, in all honesty. no matter how hard y/n tried to sleep (or how close she tried to get to minji), it was nearly impossible.

she needed to get out of there.

"chaewon-sunbaenim said i'm not allowed in your room." minji hesitated, feeling her girlfriend tug her inside.

"it's my room." y/n whispered back, closing the door behind her as minji looked around. the dim light made her face glow in the dark, like an angel that had descended from heaven. "it's not like you haven't been in here before."

minji nodded, ignoring the gnawing fact that she had only been inside when chaewon was out.

"did you have fun?" y/n asked. "i know unnie can be a bit over protective but-"

"i did." minji smiled.

it didn't matter if she was in the middle of nowhere. as long as minji stood next to y/n, the young idol would always enjoy her time.

kim y/n was her joy, and that would never change.

"good." y/n sighed in relief. "i'm glad."

minji's eyes gleamed in the dim light of the lamp shade, her irises trained on the girl in front of her. she felt herself scratching the side of her thumb, peeling off the skin. all minji's emotions seemed to bubble up in her chest.

this was it.

"it's been a year." minji had rehearsed this, just like she had rehearsed everything.

"yeah." y/n nodded, watching minji squirm in her bear onesie. "it went by so fast."

minji had snuck the present in here somewhere. she had hid it amidst the ruckus that was the second round of uno (kazuha, y/n, chaeyeon, minju and haerin). she could see it from where she was standing, the bag sitting on her girlfriend's desk.

minji kissed her, tasting the same vanilla lipgloss that the older girl had always worn, the one that shimmered against the light as they laid on her bed.

this was it. minji couldn't mess up now.

"i love you so much." but this wasn't part of what she practiced. she wasn't supposed to be overwhelmed like this. minji didn't understand why she always felt a surge of emotions, of love next to the older girl.

it terrified her, but somehow, she was okay with it.

"why are you crying?" y/n asked, minji relishing the touch of the older girl's fingertips as she wiped her tears away.

"i don't know." minji muttered, smiling slightly as y/n captured her lips once more. the young idol sighed. "sometimes, i feel horrible for the way i treated you."

y/n shook her head, "i treated you worse."

looking down, minji remembered all the times that y/n had ignored her. she remembered all the times that the older girl had sneered, rolling her eyes and ignoring the girl.

but minji had also remembered everything else, like how y/n looked at her that day, when min heejin had berated the older girl.

she was nothing like minji, and although minji loved that about her, it had broke y/n that day.

minji had no excuse, and she knew that from the beginning.

"still." the young idol shook her head, looking down at her feet. she didn't know if it was the singular shot that yujin had made her take or the guilt, but minji felt it in her soul. "yours was valid, but i had nothing to go on. i just hated you to hate you."

she loved y/n more than she had hated her, and now, the thought of hating the love of her life gnawed her down, especially as the rings sat on her girlfriend's desk.

"even if you did, that doesn't matter anymore." y/n said, kissing minji's forehead. "right now, you love me, and i love you. i forgive you, kim minji. i always will."

all that ever mattered to minji was y/n.

y/n's eyes looked into her own, her irises shining, swirling in happiness and love. minji didn't understand how one person could make her so happy, just like y/n didn't understand how one person could make her feel like she was capable of doing something right.

this was it.

the younger girl nodded, grabbing bag on the table. she handed the bag to y/n, praying that her hands didn't tremble.

"i, um," minji could see the velvet boxes as she looked down. "i got you something."

"what?" y/n frowned. "minji, i thought we agreed that we were only going to get one present. you said-"

"i lied."

y/n wanted to refuse. minji had always treated her too kindly, giving her gifts left and right, as if she had all the money in the world. although the older idol never felt indebted to her, she wished minji had thought about herself more.

but the older girl couldn't disappoint minji.

slowly, she opened the bag, reaching for the piece of paper, folded neatly with a heart sticker holding it closed.

y/n couldn't help but smile.

minji and her stickers.

the kim opened the letter, her heart beating out of her chest. she wondered if the girls outside could hear it from where she stood, or if minji, standing in all her beauty, could hear it too.

y/n shook her head, taking a deep breath as she began to read.

unnie, i'm not good with words, but i don't know how else to express this. i love you so much. whether you're a kim or not, whether you're mine or not, i'll always try my hardest to make you smile. i hope you carry this ring and know that it's a piece of me. i hope that when you look at it, you'll be reminded of all my love, and not who i was before. i promise to love you for as long as i can. - kim minji.

y/n could feel the air escaping from her lungs.

she glanced at minji, grabbing a singular box with her initials engraved on it. she opened it, the gold shining into her eyes.

it was simple, just how she liked it, but it was intricate enough to be special.

y/n loved it, just how she loved minji.

"are these...?"

promise rings. y/n didn't have to finish her sentence for minji to understand.

"yes." minji whispered, her voice slightly shaking. "they are."

y/n threw her arms around her girlfriend, tears streaming down her face as she felt the younger girl pull her impossibly closer.

"i love you." y/n had never felt it more in that moment.

"i love you too." minji smiled.

y/n pulled back, watching as minji grabbed the box in her hand, taking the ring and placing it onto the older girl's hand.

"i promise to always love you."

minji had never lied to y/n in her life, and she wasn't going to start now.

"i promise to always love you too."

y/n wasn't honest from the start, but she knew this time it was different. y/n could feel it in her heart.

minji leaned in this time, feeling the comfort that was her girlfriend. her mouth placed briefly but firmly against the older girl's brought her nothing but happiness.

this was it.

minji didn't mess up.

"happy new year, unnie." minji muttered against her mouth. "thank you for smiling at me."

"happy new year." y/n smiled, placing another soft kiss on minji's lips. "thank you for being the reason for my smile."

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