Hi! You can call me Hira! To be honest, I'm not even sure why I'm even bothering to put something like this since I'll probably be busy for the next months or so but yeah, I'll just put it right here in case I'll ever accept any future requests or something.
Characters I write for:
So far I can probably write for any characters in Duskwood and Stardew Valley. Preferably for female characters 😉
This could change tho in the future if I ever decide to expand my writing for other fandoms (believe me, I read a lot of fics of other fandoms but that doesn't mean I'll be good at writing the characters. I prefer knowing how to write them first before starting any fic)
What Genre, Troupe, and Type of Fiction do I write, and plan on writing?
I'm open to all genres (fluff, angst, hurt and/or comfort, etc.) aside from any Dark themes, sorry.
Open to any available troupe out there except for cheating and anything that surrounds it.
I can do AUs, canon divergence, and canon compliance.
I just don't really do smut or any NSFW but anything above can be doable if I try.
Things I have written so far:
Dusk til Dawn (Jessy x Gender Neutral MC) - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14 — COMPLETE
Haley: I don't know how to tell you this, but… I love you.
Farmer: That's great, Haley. Especially considering the fact we've been married for 6 fucking years.
This is so funny I can't even 😭 I was playing the game just now then I received a letter on my mail saying a secret friend wants to meet me at the beach by midnight.
And behold, MY wife (Haley) is the secret friend. It was a cut scene technically similar to her tenth heart event (?) with the confession, kiss and everything.
Mind you, we were married and already have a kid 😭 like why tf are you saying you love me just now like you're saying it the first time? (but I love you too my goddess 😭🙏🏼)
I wish I took a screenshot but I was so flabbergasted with the cutscene that I forgot 😭
Can I request Haley with gn!farmer that never cries? Basically, farmer was told to be less sensitive when they were younger and took it seriously. So if they felt like crying, they would hold their tears in. Haley never thought twice about farmer never crying because of how the farmer never cared of what others thought of them, so she assumed that farmer was emotionally strong. But one day, farmer couldn't hold their tears, and didn't know why
Sorry if this is too specific or long 😭😭 thank you!!
Hi, anon! I'm so sorry for the delay in response to this 😭🙏🏼 I planned to reply to this with the said request but I got busy with work and life that this had completely missed my mind 😔
I'll try my absolute best to write this prompt as soon as I can. Thank you so much to y'all for your kindness and patience 🥹🙏🏼
Your Shinobu x Reader is just so fantastic, I truly hope there is a second part and you will write more about Shinobu, I'm so happy someone focused on her grief that way and to mirror someone she loves, thank you for this masterpiece.
Hi, anon! Thanks for your feedback. I do hope I did her justice 🥹🙏🏼
For the second part, of course there will be. As I have mentioned I kept a lot in my drafts. Problem is they're all over the place so I have to revise it first. In addition, I also have a lot of WIPs which is my fault entirely 😅 can't promise when to upload though but I guarantee there will be a second part and more.
Where a mere flutter of your wings set small ripples in motion, shifting fates and rewriting the course of a story that was once set in stone.
Pairings: Shinobu x FemRengoku!reader (if you squint)
Notes:
I’ve had this story sitting in my drafts forever, and I figured—why not post it now? I originally planned to wait until I had a solid storyline, but the more I overthink it, the more I realize it might never see the light of day. So, I’m just going to wing it.
For now, the chapters won’t be strictly chronological—more like connected one-shots until I can piece everything together. Some parts might feel confusing at first, but I’ll try to patch things up as more chapters come along.
I still have a bunch of WIPs, so there might be some delays (life’s been kicking my ass), but this story will be my little escape in the meantime.
Disclaimer: I do not own Kimetsu no Yaiba (Demon Slayer) or any of the related characters. Kimetsu no Yaiba (Demon Slayer) is created by and owned by Koyoharu Gotouge. This fanfiction is intended for entertainment only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of the original Kimetsu no Yaiba (Demon Slayer) story belong to Koyoharu Gotouge.
Warning: Blood, violence, death
Gif from Yume no Kocho
“When we return to the Butterfly Estate, I’m going to sleep like a log,” you muttered, wincing as another sharp jolt of pain shot through your side. One trembling hand pressed against the deep gash in your torso, the other clutching Shinobu’s shoulder for support. Every step felt like fire licking through your veins, but stopping wasn’t an option—not yet.
Shinobu kept her arm firmly around your waist, guiding your steps with a careful precision that belied the tension in her small frame. Her touch was steady, deliberate.
The cut on her arm was shallow, barely more than a scratch, but it still haunted you that you had been the one to cause it. The thought curled uncomfortably in your stomach.
“Good,” she answered lightly, her usual teasing lilt present but strained, stretched thin over the raw edge of worry. “I had the notion I would have to force you.”
You managed a soft chuckle, but it was weak, more like a breath escaping through gritted teeth.
Bantering was easy between you and Shinobu, with your loud and eccentric nature mirroring your brother’s and her sharp wit always ready to counter. But this time, the weight in your chest refused to lift.
Her lips curved into a tight-lipped smile, one of those carefully constructed masks that never quite reached her eyes, the same expression she had perfected after Kanae’s death. The usual.
Because she had been the one to injure you.
The Blood Demon Art had ensnared her in a hallucination, twisting her perception until she saw you as the enemy. You did not know what nightmare had been painted over her vision, but her strikes had been precise, unrelenting, and lethal. If you had not known better, you could have sworn she had truly intended to kill you.
While wisteria poison wouldn’t typically harm you, Shinobu carried various poisons in her sheath—any combination of which could still be lethal to humans.
And yet, even when faced with her blade, even when your body screamed in pain, you refused to fight back. You dodged, parried, and took the hits without retaliation. Not a single swing of your sword had been meant to harm her.
Your hesitation nearly got you killed.
In the end, it had taken everything in you to land a single cut on her arm—small, precise, barely the size of a coin. But it had been enough. Enough to break the hallucination, enough to stop her from driving her sword straight through your chest.
The guilt was eating her alive.
You could see it in the way her violet eyes flickered away whenever they lingered too long on your face, in the faint tremor of her fingers curling around your waist as though to reassure herself of something tangible. And maybe she was angry too. Angry that you had held back. Angry that you had risked your life rather than fight her properly.
"If you believe I'll allow you back on the field after this, then I'm afraid you're gravely mistaken, Y/N," she said smoothly, her voice calm but edged with steel. "In fact, an entire year without missions sounds rather ideal."
Yeah. Definitely mad.
“But Shinobu—”
“Would you like to make it two?” she cut in, the faintest arch of her brow warning you not to push her further.
You parted your lips, ready to protest.
Caw! Caw!
Both of your crows screeched overhead before swooping down at breakneck speed, their wings slicing through the air like a blade through flesh, feathers scattering in their wake.
“A mission? Now?” you groaned, shoulders sagging at the thought of another fight. “You have got to be—”
Your crow landed sharply on your shoulder, talons pricking into your flesh. The words it spoke next sent the ground crumbling beneath your feet.
The syllable scraped out of your throat, thin and broken. The hilt of your katana slipped from your weakening grasp, hitting the dirt path with a dull, lifeless clang.
"Y/N—"
Was that Shinobu calling you? You didn’t know.
Your body moved before your mind could catch up, instincts screaming at you to run. To get to him. To see for yourself.
But the moment you took a step, pain flared violently in your side. Your legs buckled, vision almost darkening. You bit down hard on your lip, iron flooding your tongue, forcing yourself to stay upright.
You turned to Shinobu, willing your eyes to focus. Her normally sharp features were softened with exhaustion, her sleeve stained with blood. She was hurt. She was vulnerable. Would you really risk her safety by dragging her further into danger?
And even if you did run now, what could you do?
What was left to save?
The realization was bitter ice sinking into your stomach, hollowing you from the inside out. But you swallowed it down. Forced it to settle.
"Chin up, don’t let it get to you. Everything happens for a reason. Means to an end. Means. To. An. End."
Your fists trembled as they curled tight. You drew in a breath so sharp it burned, held it until your lungs ached, then let it spill out slowly.
At the better part, that’s what you told yourself.
“…Let’s go home, Shinobu.” Your voice was steadier than you felt.
Shinobu hesitated, searching your face with quiet intensity as you grabbed your katana from the ground. Then, with the slightest nod, she tightened her grip on your waist and pressed forward.
Neither of you spoke after that.
You just kept walking.
But despite everything, despite convincing yourself you had let it go, had accepted it for what it was, you could feel his death wrapping around you like a snake, constricting tighter, suffocating. Refusing to let go.
It wasn’t going away anytime soon.
***
Shinobu stirred, her lashes fluttering as the pale morning light filtered softly through the shoji doors. The faint rustle of wind stirred the paper panels, carrying with it the scent of medicinal herbs that lingered throughout the Butterfly Estate. A dull ache pressed against her limbs, a lingering reminder of the battle that had left her confined to bed. The discomfort was there, sharp enough to notice, but it barely registered.
Because her first thought was not of herself.
She turned her head toward the bed beside her, expecting to see you lying there still, bandaged and resting.
But the bedding was empty.
Instead, she was met with Aoi’s worried gaze, the girl seated stiffly at the bedside with a cloth and basin in her hands.
“Good, you’re awake, Shinobu-sama,” Aoi said quietly. Her voice was steady, but there was an unease in her eyes, like she was bracing herself for something. “How are you feeling?”
Shinobu blinked, shaking away the haze of sleep. “Good. I’m doing good,” she replied automatically, though her brow creased as a faint dread began to gnaw at her. Something was wrong. Something was missing. Her voice dropped a beat later. “Where’s Y/N?”
Aoi froze. The hesitation was brief, but it was enough.
“…Good question, Shinobu-sama,” she admitted, shifting uncomfortably on her knees. “Y/N-san is outside. Training.”
Silence filled the room.
Shinobu’s fingers twitched against the sheets. A faint vein pulsed at her temple, though her expression remained composed.
“…Could you repeat that?” she asked lightly. The brightness in her tone was carefully measured, but an edge of steel rang beneath it. “Because I could have sworn you just said Y/N—who was far more injured than me—is already up and training.”
Aoi grimaced, looking down at her hands. “I tried to tell her to stay in bed, but… she’s stubborn.” She exhaled sharply, the weight of her next words pressing heavy on her shoulders. “Rengoku-sama’s…” Her voice caught. The name alone seemed too heavy to force out. With effort, she swallowed and finished quietly, “I’m sure Y/N-san is taking his death hard, but… she’s trying her best to act like everything’s fine.”
Shinobu’s grip tightened around the sheets until her knuckles whitened.
“Of course she is,” she murmured, almost to herself.
Of course you were.
Of course you would force yourself through pain, pretend nothing had changed, pretend you were fine.
Because what else could you do?
Shinobu let out a sharp breath and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The cold floorboards pressed against her bare feet, grounding her.
“Shinobu-sama, wait, you’re still—”
Aoi barely had time to protest before Shinobu pushed herself upright, already moving. Exhaustion tugged at the edges of her mind, every muscle ached, but none of it mattered.
Not when you were out there, running yourself into the ground, pretending that pushing forward would make the grief hurt less.
If you wouldn’t stop yourself, then someone had to.
And if anyone knew how dangerous it was to bottle up grief, it was her.
***
Shinobu stepped into the courtyard and stopped short. You stood in the center with a wooden katana gripped tightly in your hands, your shoulders heaving with each ragged breath. Sweat gleamed at your temples, catching the morning light, while your arms moved through familiar motions. Each swing was sharp and precise, but she could see the stiffness in your posture and the tremor running through your muscles.
You were forcing yourself.
You were hurting yourself.
Her chest tightened at the sight. Folding her arms across her chest, she straightened her posture and schooled her face into something calm, something unreadable. But she already knew the moment your eyes found hers, the mask would not hold. You always saw through it.
And as expected, your expression faltered the instant you noticed her. Panic flashed first, then guilt, quick and unguarded, before you abandoned your stance and rushed toward her.
“Shinobu! What are you doing out of bed?”
She tilted her head slightly, her tone smooth and touched with quiet irritation. “I could ask the same of you.”
The small smile on her lips stayed in place, practiced and even, though her eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
“Back to bed, Y/N.”
You shifted uncomfortably, shifting your weight from one foot to the other before blurting, “I’m fine.”
A poor excuse. She could hear the lie in your voice, brittle as glass.
And still, you tried to justify it. Tugging at the edge of your yukata, you pulled the fabric aside just enough to reveal neatly wrapped bandages across your torso. “Aoi-chan and Kanao-chan already patched me up. Right, Aoi-chan?”
From the porch, Aoi let out a weary sigh, her arms crossed tightly against her chest. “Yes, but we told you to rest, Y/N-san, or else you will reopen the wound again.”
Shinobu’s fingers curled against the fabric of her haori, her patience thinning. She had already heard more than enough.
“Let’s get you back to bed,” she said softly, stepping closer. Her voice was gentle, but the command was clear. “You are in no condition to be training right now.”
You stood your ground, shaking your head. “Demons are not going to wait for us to heal.”
Shinobu inhaled slowly, steadying herself. This was not about demons. It had never been about training.
Her lips curved slightly, but the smile carried no warmth.
“Y/N.”
Just your name. Nothing more.
But the weight behind it was enough to still you.
For a moment, silence stretched between you. She studied the way your hands balled into fists, the stubborn set of your jaw, and the flicker of something raw and familiar in your eyes.
You were not training to grow stronger.
You were running.
Just as she once had.
Finally, your shoulders sagged, the fight leaving you in a quiet exhale. “Alright.” Your voice dropped to a softer tone. “I’ll stay in your room while you rest. Does that sound good to you?”
Shinobu regarded you carefully. She knew you would not sleep, that your thoughts would not quiet, that you were still clinging desperately to composure. But at least you were willing to stop. For now.
“Sounds good,” she replied at last. “Better if you rest as well.”
You let out a breath, half a huff of reluctant surrender. “Fine. I’ll take a nap.”
Something in her chest loosened, a tension she had not realized she was holding.
You kept your gaze on her, waiting, as though daring her to look away. And for the first time since she had stepped outside, she allowed herself to breathe.
It was not much.
But for now, it was enough.
***
You kept your word, thankfully.
Shinobu, however, had not.
Sleep refused to take her as she lay beside you, her eyes fixed on the slow, steady rise and fall of your chest. The room was quiet except for the soft hum of crickets outside the shoji doors, the faint scent of medicinal herbs lingering in the air.
You had not shed a single tear since last night. You had not spoken.
Rengoku’s name. Not once.
You simply carried on, just as you always did.
But even now, in sleep, your pain betrayed you. Your brows furrowed faintly, lips parting as if to form words that never surfaced. Your fingers had curled into the fabric of her yukata, clinging tightly, as though you were afraid she might vanish if you let go.
Shinobu’s chest tightened at the sight.
How many times had she seen this before? The weight of loss pressing down, suffocating, yet never spoken aloud. She had been in your place once. In many ways, she still was. She knew exactly what came next: the emptiness, the numbness, the quiet unraveling of who you once were until nothing remained.
Her hand moved before she could stop herself. Carefully, she brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. Her fingertips hovered against your temple, grazing warm skin, feeling the steady beat beneath it. The rhythm reassured her. You were still here. Still breathing. Still fighting, even if not in the way you thought.
But for how long?
The thought ached inside her.
Rengoku would never have wanted this for you. Kanae had not wanted it for her either. Yet grief was never merciful. It warped, hollowed, and consumed if left untended.
Shinobu refused to watch that happen to you.
A quiet sigh left her lips as her hand lingered, feather-light, against your temple.
“Rest well, Y/N.”
***
Shinobu thought that was the end of it.
That after a day or two, you would finally allow yourself to grieve. That the weight of Rengoku’s death would settle and you would let yourself feel it.
She was wrong.
At the first crack of dawn, she woke to an empty futon. A hollow ache spread through her chest as she pushed off the blankets and reached for her haori. Aoi had warned her yesterday—how you were restless, how you barely slept, how your silence felt unnatural.
Still, Shinobu had wanted to believe. She had wanted to think that after everything, after the way you had clung to her yukata in your sleep like it was the only thing keeping you grounded, you would stay. That you would let yourself process things.
But when she stepped outside, the air cool against her skin, her heart sank further.
You were there. Training again.
The wooden katana struck against the training dummy with sharp, precise movements—movements that shouldn’t have been possible with your injuries. Your stance was solid, your strikes disciplined, but there was something off. No fire. No conviction. You moved mechanically, like a wind-up doll, forcing yourself to function. Forcing yourself to feel something. Anything.
Shinobu exhaled sharply and stepped forward.
“Y/N.”
You stilled for a fraction of a second. Then, as if you hadn’t heard her at all, you continued. Striking. Moving. Ignoring the pain she knew had to be coursing through your body.
“Y/N,” she said again, this time firmer.
The wooden blade slipped from your fingers, falling to the dirt with a dull thud. You turned at last, sweat trickling down your brow, your breath uneven. And yet, your face remained composed, as if nothing were amiss.
“Shinobu,” you greeted, calm, too calm—as if she hadn’t just caught you tearing your body apart when you should have been resting.
She crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. “What are you doing?”
“Training.”
Her eyes narrowed faintly. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”
“I’m fine.” You wiped the sweat from your forehead, brushing away her concern as if it were trivial. “I have something to do later anyway.”
Her brows furrowed. “What?”
“I’m going home.”
She stared.
“I’ll be meeting my family,” you continued, bending to retrieve the wooden katana and brushing the dirt from its handle. “They probably got the news yesterday. I need to be there.”
It took her a moment to register your words.
It was the first time you had spoken of what happened. And yet, even now, you refused to say it plainly. Not his name. Not the word itself.
Rengoku. Your brother. His death.
Not a single mention of it.
Shinobu felt something coil tightly in her stomach.
You spoke with such calmness, so matter-of-fact, as though this were nothing more than a duty to fulfill. As though you were not grieving at all.
This wasn’t you.
You had always been someone who wore your emotions plainly, who felt things so deeply that it was impossible not to notice. When you were happy, you radiated warmth—much like Rengoku had. When you were upset, you never hid it. But now… there was nothing. No sorrow, no anger, no pain.
Only a hollow steadiness that chilled her more than any tears could have.
“I’ll come with you,” she said before she could stop herself.
For the briefest instant, your mask cracked. A flicker of something—hesitation, perhaps even relief—passed through your eyes.
Then it vanished.
“You still need to rest, Shinobu,” you murmured.
Of all things, that was what unsettled her most. Even now, after everything, you were worried about her.
“So do you,” she countered softly, yet firmly. “I’ll come with you, alright?”
You wavered, silence stretching between you. Then at last, you exhaled, the tension in your shoulders sagging. “…Alright.”
Shinobu wasn’t sure whether you had agreed because you truly wanted her there or because you no longer had the strength to argue.
Either way, she would not let you face this alone.
***
The slap came fast, so fast you barely saw his arm move.
Your head snapped to the side, a burning sting blooming across your cheek. For a moment, the world tilted, your vision swimming with white. The taste of copper filled your mouth. The shock of it numbed you first, more than the pain itself. He had never hit you before. Not once.
The last time he had raised his hand was at Kyojuro.
The day your brother told him he had become a Demon Slayer.
“Chichi—!”
Senjuro’s voice barely registered before he ran to you, throwing himself into your arms, his small frame trembling against yours. His tiny hands clutched desperately at your uniform, his body wracked with quiet, hiccupping sobs.
“Nē-san, Chichi! Please don’t fight!”
The disbelief still clung to you like a second skin, the heat of the slap sinking deep into your bones. Your father had always been overprotective, possessive, even.
You were his favorite, his precious girl, the one who carried your mother’s face like a ghost of the past. Unlike Kyojuro and Senjuro, who bore the family’s signature golden locks, you had inherited Ruka’s midnight hair, her sharp yet kind eyes, the soft shape of her face. The only part of you that belonged to the Rengoku lineage was the flame-kissed tips of your raven strands—proof that you were a part of them, and yet, in his grief-clouded eyes, not enough to erase the image of your mother standing before him.
Maybe that was why he could never bear to hurt you.
Until now.
Shinobu stepped forward, her voice cold. “Rengoku-san, that was unnecessary. Y/N has just returned from a mission.”
“Out of my way, Kocho! I will discipline my child however I see fit!” Your father’s glare was fierce as he turned to her. “I entrusted Y/N to you because you and your sister promised me you’d help her pursue medicine! Not this!”
Your stomach twisted. He wasn’t wrong. Seven years ago, at only ten, you had gone to the Kocho estate under the guise of studying medicine with Kanae. You had lied, convincing him it was for your mother’s sake, that you wanted to save others in ways you could not save her.
In truth, you had begged Kanae and Kyojuro to train you as a Slayer.
It had been an easy lie. The Kocho family had once been your mother’s doctors, the ones who did everything possible to keep her alive. But when demons slaughtered them, your mother’s condition worsened, the weight of grief stealing what little strength she had left. Soon after, she was gone too.
That was when Shinjuro began to crumble.
His hatred for the Corps wasn’t just bitterness. He blamed the Demon Slayer Corps for failing to protect the people who mattered most—Ruka, the woman he loved more than life itself. He had spent years watching her suffer, unable to do anything. And then Kyojuro, his bright, devoted son, had gone down the same path, only to meet the same fate.
And now, as he looked at you, it was clear he believed they would fail to save you too.
“Chichi...” Your voice wavered, and for the first time, Shinobu turned to you with concern. But you pushed past it. “It’s not her fault. I insisted on becoming a Slayer and hid it behind your back.”
“Nonsense!” His voice cracked, hoarse with rage and sorrow. He raised his cup again, his hand shaking. “I knew it. I knew this cursed Corps would steal everything from me. First my wife, then my son’s—” His words faltered, trembling, before his grip tightened until the wood threatened to splinter. “I won’t let it take you too!”
"That’s not going to hap—"
“You’re leaving the Corps.”
The words dropped like stone, heavy and final. His broad shoulders loomed, his fists clenched tight.
“And you—" his eyes snapped to Shinobu, dark and seething, “I don’t want to see you near my daughter ever again. I understand your sister is dead, but that doesn’t mean Y/N has to meet the same fate!”
Shinobu went still.
For a moment, it seemed like she wasn’t going to react at all. But then, her lips curled in something too sharp to be a smile, her violet eyes darkening.
Before you could even think, your body moved.
You shoved your father away from her. “Chichi, that’s enough! You don’t get to speak to her like that!”
“It’s the truth!” His voice broke, his hands shaking. “You’re just like your Kyojuro! Charging forward without thinking of the consequences! And what did it get him? A meaningless death, just like all the others!”
“This is exactly why we didn’t tell you!” The words tumbled out before you could stop them, sharp and cutting. “Nii-san is dead, and you’re making every effort to make it about yourself! I only came here to see how you and Senjuro are doing. I’m not here to ask for permission!”
His eyes bore into yours, but you saw it, the slight tremble of his hands, the way his breath hitched, the way his entire body seemed to sag under the weight of something too heavy for him to bear.
"I assume you’re next in line after him."
Shinjuro’s voice was flat, unreadable.
Silence.
For a brief moment, you thought you saw something flicker in his eyes, something unreadable, something uncertain. But then his jaw tightened, and his fingers curled into fists at his side.
“I knew it.”
His voice was neither surprised nor disappointed, just heavy, as if he'd been expecting this moment all along.
“You’re just as much a fool as Kyojuro.”
Your breath hitched, but you didn’t flinch.
Then, he moved—just slightly. A shift in weight. A tensing of his shoulders.
But the motion was enough to make Senjuro react.
“C-chichi, don’t—!”
Senjuro’s hand shot out, grabbing onto your sleeve as if to pull you back. His voice trembled, his wide eyes darting between you and your father.
But your father never raised his hand.
Instead, he exhaled sharply, his fists curling at his sides. His broad frame was rigid, his breathing slow and controlled but his entire presence felt like a storm barely held at bay.
“Do you think putting on that uniform makes you strong?” His voice was rough, edged with something unsaid. “That carrying a sword will change anything?”
A bitter laugh rumbled in his throat.
“Kyojuro thought the same damn thing, and now he’s dead.”
Your hands clenched into fists. “Nii-san died protecting others!”
“And what did it get him?” His voice rose, sharp, cutting. “A grave and a name on a damn stone! That’s all this ‘duty’ of yours leads to!”
“You should be proud of him!”
“Proud?” Shinjuro scoffed, his expression twisting into something unreadable.
His breath was uneven now, his words clipped.
“Proud that my son threw his life away for a corps that never cared about him? That he followed the same cursed path as blind fools who all end the same way?”
His voice lowered, but the weight behind it was suffocating.
“And now you’re doing the same damn thing.”
The afternoon heat pressed against your skin, but all you felt was the cold weight of his words.
His eyes bore into you—intense, heavy, but dark with something you couldn’t name.
“I thought at least you had some sense. But no. You had to be just like him.” His tone sharpened, and then he muttered something that made your stomach twist. “Just like her.”
Your breath caught.
Senjuro’s voice wavered. “Chichi, please, don’t—"
But Shinjuro wasn’t done.
“I have no daughter.”
The words landed like a hammer to your chest.
The birds droned on, indifferent to the way your world cracked at the edges.
Senjuro let out a choked breath beside you, his small hands trembling. “No… no, you don’t mean that—”
Shinjuro turned away, his voice final.
“Senjuro. Come inside.”
Senjuro shook his head violently, gripping your sleeve tighter, his eyes pleading. “Chichi, don’t do this—”
"Enough!" The word lashed through the summer air, firm and unyielding. "This is the last time I’ll say it. Come inside."
Senjuro turned to you, his eyes pleading. “Nē-san…”
You forced a smile, hollow and fragile, as you patted his head. Probably for the last time.
“Go on, Senjuro.”
His grip lingered for one last desperate second before slipping away.
Shinjuro didn’t spare you another glance. He disappeared into the estate, the sliding doors closing behind him with a thunderous slam.
You were left standing in the golden afternoon light, the warmth of the sun at odds with the cold, sinking feeling in your chest.
***
And behind that closed door, where no one could see, Shinjuro pressed a hand against the wall, his fists trembling at his sides. His breath came out uneven, ragged in the silence that followed. When no one was left to hear, he let out the quietest, most broken whisper.
You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “I knew it would happen.”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
You stared at your hands, flexing your fingers. They were still trembling. You curled them into fists to make it stop.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Shinobu’s jaw tightened. “Y/N—"
“I knew the moment Nii-san died that I’d be disowned,” you cut her off, your voice unnervingly steady. The words themselves seemed foreign in your mouth, as if you were trying to convince yourself they didn’t sting. “I knew Chichi wouldn’t let me stay a Slayer after this.”
She stared at you, searching for something. Perhaps some sort of crack in your resolve, anything that would show that this hurt you.
But you were unreadable. Just like before.
Shinobu hated it.
She took a step closer, her voice softening. “Y/N... if you want to talk—”
“Shinobu, there’s nothing to talk about,” you interrupted again, shaking your head. Strands of hair slipped loose around your face with the motion. “I already lost Nii-san. Losing Chichi’s approval means nothing to me anymore.”
But that was a lie.
It had always meant something to you.
Even when he stopped believing in you and Rengoku, even when he dismissed your dreams, you had still hoped, deep down, that one day he’d be proud of what you and your brothers had achieved. That one day he’d see you as more than just a reminder of what he lost.
That hope was gone now. And Shinobu could almost hear the sound of it breaking inside you, splintering into the same emptiness that had swallowed your brother and your mother.
Your shoulders tensed, your breaths too sharp, too shallow. You were still pretending that it didn’t hurt, pretending you were strong enough to carry this alone.
Shinobu’s lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t know which angered her more. Shinjuro’s cruelty? Or the way you so readily believed you had no one left to lean on?
She reached for your hand. You didn’t pull away, but you didn’t grip hers in return either. Your palm was cold, unresponsive, and her chest tightened at the distance it revealed.
“…What will you do now?” she asked gently, though her voice carried the weight of worry.
You inhaled deeply, steadying yourself as the wind shifted. For a moment, it carried with it the faint trace of Kyojuro’s favorite tea, a cruel trick of memory. You shut your eyes briefly, as if inhaling hard enough might bring him back.
But when you opened them, it was just you and Shinobu. He was still gone.
“I’m thinking of staying at your estate,” you said at last, your voice low, hesitant. “If you’ll have me, that is… there’s nothing for me here anymore.”
Shinobu’s grip tightened around your hand, a silent answer. Her lips curved into the smallest, gentlest smile. She didn’t need to say it—you would always be welcome.
For now, that was enough.
You took one last look at the house you once called home, then turned away.
"Let’s go."
***
Kyojuro’s funeral had passed quickly, yet she hadn’t seen a single tear from you.
You had handled the funeral arrangements with the same meticulous care that you handled your sword. To the mourners, you bowed your head with practiced reverence, receiving their condolences with a grace that never faltered. You fulfilled every duty expected of you, never once stumbling beneath the weight of it.
But Shinobu recognized the signs. Suppressed emotions, burying yourself in responsibility as a shield against grief—she had done the same once. And though she understood, it unsettled her to see it in you.
Shinjuro Rengoku never appeared at the funeral, but Senjuro had. She had seen how you looked at him, wanting to offer comfort but unable to with everything that demanded your attention.
She hadn’t seen Tanjiro either. He and the others were still unconscious, recovering at the estate.
Which led to their earlier conversation.
You had stopped her just before the Hashira meeting, your voice lower than usual as you asked, “Have you checked on Tanjiro-kun?”
Shinobu glanced sideways at you. The light caught your profile, but her focus fell to your hands—clenched tight at your sides. “He’s still unconscious, but stable,” she answered softly.
You exhaled, though the tightness in your shoulders remained. “He’s going to blame himself when he wakes up.”
Shinobu’s sigh slipped past her lips. “Yes… I imagine he will.”
Your hesitation lingered in the air before you spoke again, voice quieter, more certain than the words themselves. “I plan to talk to him. I’ve known him for years. If I don’t, he’ll carry this guilt forever.”
Shinobu studied you carefully. Even now, you placed the weight of others before yourself. Always giving, never asking.
“…That’s a good idea,” she admitted after a moment, her tone gentling. “I had intended to speak with him as well.”
The silence that followed was not uncomfortable, but heavy. Your next words were softer, edged with something Shinobu rarely heard from you.
“I’m worried about him, Shinobu.”
Her gaze flickered, softened, then she exhaled through her nose, her shoulders loosening just slightly. “…I know.”
You nodded, as though that alone could settle something inside you, and straightened just as the sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the hall.
The meeting was about to begin.
***
Kagaya Ubuyashiki, seated before them all, offered his usual gentle smile, though sorrow touched his expression. His wife and daughters sat beside him. Their presence radiated a quiet comfort that almost, but not quite, managed to lift the heavy, suffocating weight she felt pressing down on her, a leaden sensation settling deep in the pit of her stomach.
“I am happy to see all of you well,” Oyakata-sama said, his voice as soothing as always. “Thank you for gathering on such short notice.”
The Hashira bowed in unison, voices murmuring their acknowledgments.
From her place, Shinobu glanced at you. You had not moved an inch since the meeting began, your posture rigid, your gaze lowered.
You had not moved an inch.
Then Oyakata-sama turned to you directly.
“You have my deepest condolences for Kyojuro’s passing,” he said. “He was a remarkable warrior. He fulfilled his duty until the very end. I am deeply saddened by this loss, not just for you and your family, but for all of us.”
The silence stretched.
Shinobu felt her throat tighten when you finally inclined your head, your reply even, steady. “Thank you, Oyakata-sama.”
Your tone was firm. Professional. Detached.
For a fleeting moment, Oyakata-sama hesitated, then continued with a gentleness that carried more weight than steel. “I understand that you and your family are still grieving, and I do not wish to add to your burdens. However, I must ask… do you still intend to remain in the Corps?”
Shinobu’s fingers curled slightly against her lap. There was no doubt about your answer.
As expected, you bowed your head again, unwavering. “Oyakata-sama, it is what Haha and Nii-san would have wanted. I will continue to serve the Corps.”
Oyakata-sama nodded solemnly. “Then I must ask for your forgiveness for what I am about to request.”
A heavier silence fell upon the room.
“The Flame Hashira seat should not remain vacant for long,” he said gently. “And it only makes sense that you take over.”
Shinobu could feel the shift in the atmosphere. Some of the Hashira stiffened, their reactions restrained but visible.
“I have observed your journey as a Demon Slayer from the very beginning,” Oyakata-sama continued. “I granted you permission to join in secret, arranging your assignments carefully to keep you close to home. I was aware that you held yourself back, avoiding the rise in rank to prevent your father’s suspicions.”
There was no denying his words. Shinobu had known for a long time that you were far more skilled than you let on.
Oyakata-sama then spoke of Kyojuro—how he became a Hashira. How Shinjuro had continued hunting demons despite his grief until it became too dangerous. How Kyojuro had been tasked with slaying a Kizuki to take his place.
It had been a dangerous mission, one that could have cost him his life.
Now, Oyakata-sama was asking the same of you.
“I now ask you to undertake this challenge,” he continued. “Giyuu has tracked down a Kizuki. I will understand if you refuse… but I ask that you consider it.”
The silence that followed was short-lived.
The first to speak was Shinazugawa.
“…If I may, Oyakata-sama,” he said, voice even, though there was an edge of restraint in his tone. “It is far too soon after Rengoku’s passing. She has the strength, there’s no denying that. But to take on such a role in this state…” He trailed off, glancing at you, but you didn’t acknowledge it. “She deserves time to recover.”
You remained still.
Tomioka’s voice came next, just as steady but softer. “It is a dangerous request,” he said. “She is more than capable, but… should we not allow her time before making such a decision?”
Kanroji, who had been holding her hands together tightly, spoke in an imploring tone. “Oyakata-sama, I mean no disrespect, but Rengoku-san would have wanted her to decide this on her own terms. She shouldn’t feel obligated to take his place.” Her green eyes flickered toward you, full of concern. “You don’t have to do this. Not now, Y/N-chan.”
There was no reaction from you.
Uzui clicked his tongue, arms crossed. “It makes sense for her to be the successor,” he admitted, “but if she’s going after a Kizuki alone, that’s not exactly a flashy way to go about it. Wouldn’t it be more efficient to have a backup?”
Iguro was quiet for a long moment before he finally spoke. “It is a logical choice, but a reckless one. If something happens to her, we will have lost more than just another Hashira.”
Tokito, surprisingly, also voiced his thoughts. “There is wisdom in waiting,” he said simply. “Rushing a decision like this is unwise.”
Shinobu inhaled quietly.
She had been waiting. Waiting for someone to say something that would make you pause, make you reconsider, make you hesitate.
But it never came.
You sat there, listening, absorbing, but never wavering.
And Shinobu could feel it slipping away.
“…You don’t have to do this.”
She barely realized she had spoken aloud.
Your head turned slightly toward her. Just the smallest flicker of acknowledgment.
So, she continued, voice quieter, softer than before.
“There’s nothing to prove.”
The moment stretched between you.
Shinobu saw something, just for a second. A crack in the surface. A flicker of something fragile, something breaking.
Then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone.
And when you spoke, your voice was as steady as ever.
“I will go, Oyakata-sama.”
A hollow ache formed in Shinobu’s chest.
Oyakata-sama studied you carefully. “Are you certain?”
You nodded once. “Please provide me the coordinates after the meeting. I shall depart immediately.”
There was finality in your tone.
Shinobu wanted to object further, but the look on your face, calm, determined, resolute, made her pause.
She knew that look.
It was the same look she had given Kanae when she decided to track down the Upper Moon that killed her.
And just like then… she knew that nothing she can say would change your mind.
***
You hadn’t had the chance to speak with Shinobu before you departed. After that meeting, the Hashira were asked to stay to deliver their monthly reports regarding the regions they were assigned to patrol. She had looked like she wanted to speak with you, probably to change your mind about leaving or to simply bid you farewell properly.
Though you think it’s for the best.
This is just something you must do. It’s what your brother would have wanted.
With a sigh, you take a detour back to the Butterfly Estate to gather your things for the journey ahead. The familiar halls, once a place of solace, feel heavier than before. Maybe because this time, you know you won’t be coming back for a while.
As you step into the courtyard, a figure catches your eye. Tanjiro, dressed in full uniform, limping as he makes his way out of the estate.
“Tanjiro-kun,” you called out, striding toward him. “You’re supposed to be in bed. Where do you think you’re going?”
“I know,” he admitted, gaze dropping. “I was… looking for you, Y/N-san.”
There was something in his tone that made you pause. His fists were clenched tight, his shoulders trembling. When he finally lifted his head, his eyes glistened with tears, his lips pressed thin as though holding himself together.
Then, without warning, he bows so deeply his forehead nearly touches the ground.
“I’m sorry!” His voice cracked, raw with grief. “I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to save Rengoku-san! I wasn’t able to do anything! You’ve done so much for my family, for me and Nezuko, but I—” His words broke, swallowed by a shuddering breath. “I couldn’t do anything for you!”
For a long moment, you simply watch him, listening to the sound of his shaky breathing.
Then, you step forward, kneeling before him.
“Tanjiro-kun,” you said firmly, though your tone softened. “Lift your head.”
He hesitated, his whole body trembling, but he obeyed. His eyes are red, filled with unshed tears. The sight made something in your chest tighten, but you didn't let it show.
Instead, you offered him the smallest, gentlest smile.
“There’s nothing to apologize for.”
“I wasn’t strong enough—”
“You’re strong, Tanjiro-kun,” you interrupted, steady and unyielding. “It just so happens you faced a stronger opponent. That doesn’t make you weak. There is no such thing as weakness.”
You exhaled, recalling the words your mother and brother once told you.
“Haha always said that it is the obligation of those who are born strong to protect those who can’t fend for themselves.”
You hesitated for a moment, letting the words settle before continuing.
“I never really understood that as a child. Why do such categories exist—weak, strong…? Aren’t we all just people trying to live?”
Your gaze drifted slightly as memories surfaced.
Long nights spent training under the watchful eye of your brother. The weight of expectations. The lessons passed down from your mother, the way her words shaped your beliefs even now.
“Then I realized…” your voice softened. “There really is no such thing as weak. Only strong, stronger, and strongest.”
Tanjiro’s breath stilled as he listened.
“Right now, you’re strong, Tanjiro-kun,” you said, returning your focus to him. “You’re capable of becoming stronger. Of becoming the strongest.”
I need you to be, please.
“Nii-san acknowledged your potential. He made it his mission to keep you kids safe—even at the cost of his own.”
Tanjiro inhaled sharply, his throat bobbing.
“He didn’t pass away defeated, Tanjiro-kun,” you murmured. “He won that fight.”
There isn't a single fight Nii-san has lost.
“He didn’t run away despite facing a stronger opponent. He fought until he couldn’t anymore.”
That's just kind of the person he is.
“He won, Tanjiro-kun. Because you, Nezuko-chan, Zenitsu-kun, and Inosuke-kun are still here.”
In the end, he kept his promise to Haha.
“… Y/n-san…”
You gave him another soft smile and lifted your hand, placing it gently against his chest, right where his heart beat steady.
“So, chin up.”
Tanjiro sucked in a shaky breath.
“You’re strong.”
You let your hand linger for a moment before pulling away.
“Life is going to be rough from here on out, Tanjiro-kun.” Your voice was quiet but unwavering. “It’s going to test you. Break you. Make you question your principles and morals.”
I know you're just a kid but...
“But don’t falter.”
This is the kind of world we live in...
“This…” you placed your hand over his chest once more. “This is your strength. Not your flesh. Not your blade.”
Tanjiro’s eyes filled, his chest heaving as you spoke the very words your brother had once spoken. It took every sanity in you to keep your voice steady.
“Always set your heart ablaze.”
You need to make Tanjiro whole. Even if you have to pick every jagged shard of your broken heart with your bare hands, never mind if it may cut you. Even if you're going to have to move forward with a gaping hole this big.
You gave him a small, lingering smile before reaching into your sleeve and pulling out a small, wrapped bundle. “Tanjiro-kun… I wanted you to have this.”
His eyes widened when he saw it. “This is… I can’t, Y/N-san. It’s too valuable—”
“Please. Keep it.” You pushed it toward him gently. I don't deserve it. “Nii-san would want you to use it. It helped protect him as he protected others.”
Tanjiro hesitated, fingers trembling as they brushed the familiar hilt guard.
“But what about you..?” His voice cracked.
Me? I’m incapable of saving anyone.
Your gaze softened as you flexed your gloved hand.
“Nii-san gave me these gloves when I passed the Final Selection,” you murmured. “He believed my hands should never have touched a sword. He thought they were meant to heal. But he respected my wish to become a Slayer like him.”
You lifted your bare left hand.
“I left the other one to him.” Your voice was quieter now. “It’s my way of saying he doesn’t need to guide me anymore.”
A small, almost wistful smile tugged at your lips.
“I got it from here.” No. I don’t.
Tanjiro’s fingers tightened around the hilt guard.
“So, yeah…” You exhaled, hoping he didn’t notice the lump in your throat. “I already have this. I want you to keep his hilt guard. Because I know…” your voice softened, “you’ll be able to continue his legacy. And keep protecting people, just as he did.”
Tanjiro’s breath trembled, but he nodded.
“Thank you, Y/n-san…”
You ruffled his hair gently, the way you had when he was younger.
“I heard from Shinobu that you’ve been asking about Hinokami Kagura,” you said as you stood. “I, myself, am not quite familiar with it, but I believe it must have had other terminologies. I can check the Generational Flame Pillar Records when I return, but for now, I can ask Senjuro-kun to look into it.”
Tanjiro looked up, determination burning through his damp eyes. “I’ll train hard. I’ll get stronger.”
You chuckled, flicking his forehead lightly. “I know you will. You always do.”
As you turned to leave, you glanced back at him, remembering the young boy who once found you half-buried in snow, his family welcoming you into their home without question. Those days are long gone now. But the bond remained.
“Take care of yourself, Tanjiro-kun. And look after Nezuko-chan for me.”
“I will,” he promised.
With that, you walked away, the weight of your mission pressing heavily upon your shoulders.
But at least, for now, you know that your brother’s legacy is in good hands.
***
The dim glow of candlelight flickered across Giyuu Tomioka’s desk as he quietly sorted through the reports. Stacks of parchment lay in neat rows, some written in elegant script, others hastily scrawled with urgent details of recent demon sightings. A letter from Tanjiro sat on top of the pile—one of many.
Giyuu reached for the next document, but something odd caught his eye. A parchment lay slightly askew, its edges curling as if it had been hastily discarded. Recognition flashed in his usually impassive gaze.
“These must be the coordinates I gave Rengoku’s sibling,” he muttered under his breath, the words barely audible in the quiet of the room. His fingers curled around the page, a faint tension settling in his shoulders. Something felt wrong.
He unfolded the parchment, expecting to see the familiar details he had passed on days earlier. But as his eyes moved over the ink, his breath faltered.
This was not his record.
The parchment bore the seal of the 3rd Division—an old field report from the previous month. His gaze darkened as he read the title at the top.
Demon Slayer Corps – Field Log
Subject: Lower Moon Two
Recorded by: Tsukada Renjiro
Location: Yamashiro Province
Status: Mission failed. 2 casualties. 1 survivor.
Observation:
Feeds on emotion—fear, sorrow, rage.
The more we felt, the stronger he became.
Our blades passed through him—but our grief made him faster. Stronger.
My comrades collapsed. No wounds. Just empty. Lifeless.
He whispers lies. Shows you things. Things that break you.
Emotionless breathing worked. Barely.
Recommendation:
Do not engage without mental training.
Cut clean. Cut fast.
Or he’ll consume more than your flesh.
Signed,
Tsukada Renjiro
3rd Division – Western Unit
Realization slammed into him like Shinazugawa's wind breathing.
He had sent you into this battle without this crucial information. Given your condition, given what you had just lost…
His grip on the parchment tightened.
You had been sent to your death.
***
The rain poured relentlessly, each droplet striking the leaves with hollow echoes. You barely noticed. You had long since lost count of the days. Has it been two days already? Three? It no longer mattered.
You weren’t even sure what you were searching for anymore. Only that the target was a Lower Moon, and this forest was its hunting ground.
Yet no trace of demon activity had appeared in the days you wandered here.
The only sound accompanying you was the distant rustling of the wind through the trees and the occasional whisper of the villagers you had passed earlier.
Their faces haunted you.
They all looked... hollow. Lifeless even.
Dark bags weighed under their lifeless eyes. Their shoulders slumped, bodies thin and frail. They moved like ghosts, like shadows clinging to existence by a thread. The usual bright auras that you could always see, warm, pulsing hues of human emotion, had faded into a muted, murky gray.
Just like Tanjiro’s special senses, you had always been able to perceive auras. But here, in this village, there was nothing but a black-and-white void.
It was suffocating.
And the longer you stayed, the more it felt like something was gnawing at your very soul.
You should have recognized it immediately. You should have seen it as a warning. But your senses had dulled since you arrived here.
Landing beside the thick roots of an ancient tree, you leaned against its soaked bark and reached for your canteen. The water was lukewarm, yet your throat burned as if it had gone dry for days. Even drinking did nothing to ease the exhaustion clinging to your body.
Your chest tightened, heavy with a familiar ache. What the hell is this?
You pressed a trembling hand to your uniform, right where your heart should have been steady. The grief, the one you thought you had come to terms with, felt unbearable tonight. Kyojuro’s absence had become an ever-present weight pressing into your ribs, suffocating, relentless.
Why did it feel like the world itself was trying to pull you under?
Movement cut across your peripheral.
A murky, purple aura slithered between the trees, thick as miasma.
Your grip fastened around your sword hilt.
Then—
"I was expecting a Hashira." A voice, low and guttural, slithering through the darkness like a serpent. It echoed strangely, as if seeping from the very earth itself. "Though I suppose you will do."
A chuckle echoed through the forest.
Your eyes darted tree to tree. Damn it, it’s too fast. I can’t pinpoint where it is.
"I must admit, I’m insulted. Did the Corps truly believe my abilities were unworthy of a Hashira’s attention?"
A shadow moved, slithering between the trees.
Your grip on your blade tightened. Prepared yourself for the worst. Fine then. If I can’t come at it, then I’ll let it come at me.
A tall, gaunt figure emerged from the mist, its frame skeletal yet moving with unsettling grace over the damp forest floor. The tattered haori it wore drifted like spilled ink in water, frayed edges whispering with every step. Its skin was a sickly gray-blue, stretched tight across jutting bones, and faint cracks glowed dimly across its body. The demon’s mouth curved into something between amusement and hunger, its sunken face giving little hint of humanity. From its build and presence, it seemed to be male.
"I've been feeding off your energy for hours, yet you still stand. Impressive."
Your heart slammed against your ribcage with a force you’re surprised your heart is still intact inside your ribcage.
That feeling of exhaustion. That feeling of despair and grief you’re sure you have buried deep inside you, never to see the light, came surfacing hard like a harbor wave.
It was this demon’s doing.
"Show yourself properly," you commanded, voice steady despite the suffocating presence before you.
The demon grinned, revealing jagged fangs.
"You must have seen the village by now." He gestured lazily toward the distant glow of lanterns. "They are an endless source of despair. Such exquisite suffering... It would be a shame to devour them. Not when their sorrow is such a delightful feast."
His gaze flickered to you, a glint like cold steel flashing in the mist.
Even through the dark, the kanji of lower and daiji for two can be seen carved itself into his left eye, burning with cruel certainty. The other eye was nothing but a pit of black, endless and hollow.
A shiver crawled down your spine. There’s no doubt this was the demon you were sent to face.
"But you... You radiate despair so potent, it shames the sorrow I’ve gathered from that village."
His voice lowered, slithering into your ears like poison.
"Tell me, Slayer, what burdens your soul? The death of a comrade? A family member?"
Something snapped.
A nerve? Your patience? You’re not sure but your body lunged forward before your mind could catch up.
***
Sanemi ran. Branches clawed at his haori, roots threatened to trip him, but he didn’t slow down. He couldn’t. It has been two days since you were sent on a mission that would seal your fate as a Hashira. He still thinks it was a mistake to send you out so soon, only a day after Rengoku’s funeral.
His stomach twisted as the memory hit him again.
How you stood before the Master, silent, shoulders squared, but your eyes… the same eyes that had once been bright and forgiving were empty now. Hollow. You hadn’t flinched, hadn’t hesitated when the mission was given. You accepted as if it was already decided.
No words had gotten through to you. None of them had been able to stop you.
Sanemi cursed under his breath, forcing his body faster.
He had been training in his estate when Tomioka barged in, face stripped of its usual deadpan calm. There had been something far worse there—urgency. Panic. Sanemi would have normally picked a fight with him for trespassing, maybe landed a punch just on principle. But the words Tomioka spoke froze the blood in his veins.
Before he could even fully process it, Tomioka had already turned on his heel, undoubtedly on his way to warn the others—Kanroji, Iguro, and finally, the Kocho estate.
Sanemi had been right. It was a mistake.
He just hopes it's not too late.
***
Your fighting style had always been precise. A perfect balance of Kyojuro’s unrelenting strength, Kanae’s grace, and Sanemi’s brutal efficiency. Every strike was meant to count. Every movement designed to conserve energy.
But tonight, you fought blindly.
Your blade carved through the air, but your attacks grew weaker with each swing.
You have prided yourself of having perfect control. But your movements tonight put your name to shame.
Languid. Sloppy. And borderline slow.
“Flame Breathing, first form: Unknowing Fire!” Your blade roared to life, a trail of searing fire slicing through the rain. For a heartbeat, the forest lit up in gold and crimson. But the demon only tilted his head, lips curling into a thin smirk. His skeletal frame vanished into the mist just as your blade slashed down where he had been.
“So reckless,” he mocked. His voice carried strangely, bouncing between the trees as if the shadows themselves were speaking. “Your grief, your rage... they are mine to drink.”
Dark tendrils lashed toward you. You barely dodged, twisting mid-air to counter.
“Flame Breathing third Form: Blazing Universe!” you roared, your sword carving a blazing arc downward. The strike lit the clearing for an instant, a brilliant flare against the rain, but the demon’s form dissolved beneath it, dispersing into mist.
Illusions.
Damn it, wrong move.
"Blood Demon Art: Hollow Mirage."
The air itself warped. The rain seemed to fall slower, the world bending into shapes that weren’t there. You staggered as your vision blurred, shadows solidifying into faces you knew too well.
Images you had long locked inside your chest. Ones you didn’t want to dwell on for more than a second or otherwise you’d be unable to stop yourself from slitting your own neck.
Your mother, frail, hunched in bed, coughing blood into her hands.
Your father, his back turned, disappointment carved into his stiff shoulders.
And Kyojuro.
He stood before you, smiling as blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, warmth still lingering in his eyes even as his body broke.
Your chest tightened. No…
It only took a minute for you to let your guard down.
And only a second before the pain registered to you.
Pain struck a second later. The demon’s claws ripped through your side, tearing into flesh and bone. A scream caught in your throat, muffled by the copper flooding your mouth. Your knees buckled, and you dropped, slamming your sword into the mud to keep yourself from collapsing fully. Rain pattered against your back, mingling with the warmth of your blood as it dripped onto the earth below.
"The more you break, the stronger I become."
His voice echoed in your skull, drowning out the sound of your own heartbeat.
You were losing.
Maybe... maybe it would not be so bad to lose this time. Right, Nii-san?
Your gloved hand tightened on your hilt, fingers slipping against the wet leather. You braced yourself for the final strike. His claws sliced through the air again, but instead of tearing into your flesh, something else gave way.
A ripping sound.
Your rucksack split open, contents spilling into the mud. Something tumbled free, instantly drenched by the rain.
Orange. Red.
Kyojuro’s haori.
It sprawled across the ground, soaked and stained, yet somehow still radiant even under the storm. The colors burned defiantly, refusing to be swallowed by the night.
Your heart clenched painfully. Did you really think about giving up just now?
"There are times you shouldn't let your emotions get to you. To ruin your logic. Emotions can be read by your opponent. Can cause you to lose. There's no sin in abandoning your humanity for a bit, my child."
The words rumbled in your mind, your father’s voice echoing as if he stood behind you.
Setting your heart ablaze was never truly yours to carry. Your fire was different—meant to burn steady, even as the faintest ember, to endure as long as it must.
A fire strong enough to scorch the world, but never those you loved within it.
So with a deep breath, you allowed yourself to feel. To reconcile with the loss you had long refused to accept—until your lungs filled again.
This time, freely.
Before caging those emotions once more, leaving only the unshakable will to win.
"Chichi… I understand now."
***
Shinobu had always hated her size.
Too small to wield a proper blade. Too weak to behead a demon.
Too fragile to have saved Kanae that day.
But for the first time in her life, she is grateful for it. Because it means she can move faster.
Faster than she did that night.
She barely registered Tomioka’s arrival when he appeared at her estate. His usual monotone was broken by urgency, his words clipped and sharp. He only managed to utter two things, your name and danger, before Shinobu was already gone.
Her sandals hardly touched the ground as she darted through the trees, the rain-soaked branches whipping against her arms. The wind stung her face, but she ignored it, her breaths short and sharp.
She had sworn she would never feel that helpless again. Not after Kanae. Not ever.
Her chest tightened with each desperate thought. Nē-san, please… Spare her this time. Please spare her.
She did not slow. Not until she saw it.
A glow in the distance, brighter than lightning, larger than anything flames should ever be. Fire clawed at the sky, bleeding red and orange into the night.
Shinobu’s breath caught. Her steps faltered for a single heartbeat, then quickened again. The forest ahead was burning.
And you were inside it.
***
The whole forest was being swallowed by fire. It spread through the trees in great waves, and in the distance a towering cyclone of flame twisted upward into the stormy sky. The sight alone was enough for Tanjiro to know his crow had led him to the right place.
Going straight in would be plain suicide though.
He had seen Kyojuro’s flames before, seen the brilliance and destructive power of his final form against the Upper Moon Three. But the flames raging before him were different. They did not move with the same discipline or clarity. They were wild, chaotic, and almost unnatural. Tanjiro could not understand them, and that unsettled him.
The heat pressed against his skin so fiercely it felt like his very lungs would burn each time he drew breath. Rain poured hard from the sky, soaking his hair and clothes, yet it barely managed to tame the inferno. Steam hissed around him where water met fire, cloaking the forest in a thick haze.
When he overheard Giyuu telling Shinobu the news, he had been quick to gear up and follow the Insect Hashira. Shinobu of course was fast, and since Tanjiro was also recovering, he wasn’t able to keep up with her.
Nezuko had insisted on coming with him, her small hands clutching the edges of her box before he lifted it onto his back. She, too, felt the same gnawing worry that gripped them both.
As Tanjiro reached the forest’s outskirts, the sight before him made his chest tighten—the other Hashira were already gathered: Shinobu, Mitsuri, Sanemi, Obanai, and Giyuu.
A towering vortex of fire rose from within the trees, twisting violently as if daring anyone to step inside.
Shinobu did not pause. Her eyes, sharp and unblinking, fixed on the fire ahead as though she could tear through it with sheer will alone. She started forward, but Giyuu’s hand shot out, gripping her arm firmly.
“Kocho. Trust her,” he said. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it.
Gone was the usual smile plastered on Shinobu, and Tanjiro had never seen her frown even at the presence of a demon.
Seeing the nerve on Giyuu’s hand, Tanjiro knew his grip against her arm was tight, but Shinobu was quick to pull her arm free before hurling herself into the forest with Sanemi following suit immediately.
“Y/N-san please be safe,” was all Tanjiro could hope at the moment as he sprinted after them.
***
The fire was the only thing Shinobu held on to as she raced forward. Its intensity had begun to dwindle the closer she drew to the center, but the lingering heat was enough to guide her path. Each flicker of flame cut through the smoke and mist, narrowing the distance between her and you. It shielded her from the worst of the inferno, yet at the same time it filled her chest with dread.
What if the fire was fading because you could no longer keep it alive? What if you were already injured… or worse?
Her heart lurched when she finally caught sight of a figure through the veil of smoke.
“Y/N…” Shinobu breathed, her voice trembling as she closed the distance.
You stood in the center of the scorched clearing, surrounded by charred trees and smoldering ash. Your sword was buried deep into the ground, its hilt the only thing keeping you upright. The blackened remains of the demon scattered like dust at your feet. Your gloved hand clutched Rengoku’s haori against your chest as though it were the only anchor keeping you from falling apart.
The rain had stopped, leaving the air heavy with steam and the acrid stench of burnt earth. Your uniform was soaked through with blood, its dark stains spreading into the dirt beneath you. And though your face was streaked with rainwater, Shinobu could see the unmistakable glimmer of tears rolling down your cheeks.
Her breath caught in her throat. She moved before she could think, reaching you just as your knees gave way. She caught you against her, arms tightening around your frame as if she could keep you from slipping away.
No, no, no...
For a single heartbeat her chest went cold, her mind filled with the possibility that she had been too late. But then she saw it. The faint, serene expression on your face. Your breathing was ragged, weak, but steady. You were alive.
Shinobu’s lips pressed into a thin line, her throat tightening with unspoken relief. For the first time since Kanae, she felt something loosen inside her chest. She held you close, eyes narrowing against the sting of tears.
You had survived.
You had fought.
And won against an opponent far worse than any demon combined.
Yourself.
~~~~
Notes: I realized it is easier to write when you have felt the same emotions yourself. While this may not do justice to what I truly feel, it's not even close, but this helped in its own way. There is a particular ache in losing someone for good, in being left with love that has nowhere to go. Perhaps, through this piece, I’ve given that love a place to rest.
I'm screaming! AHHH I just got back into the game—probably after a year or so. I started a new save file, went after my glorious blue-eyed queen as usual, and then got this scene!!!! Is this from the new patch, or could it be from a mod? I'm not even sure which mod it is, if it is one 😩
Hello! I just wanted to drop by and say thank you for updating despite only having a day of break and using your break to write for us🫶
I accidentally discovered your blog back then and I got to say, it's the best accidental discovery I've ever made.
You're writing got me hooked real good and everything.
Will reread your wonderful writings again after exams, cheers!🍾
Hi, luv! Your kind words made my day. I really do wish I have plenty of time on my hand because writing for you guys is the only source of my happiness so it's not really a chore for me. Don't worry because I'm still able to rest during weekends. Let's just say writing is the most relaxing part of my week because I'm able to shut down the corporate part of my brain during those days.
I'm glad you stumbled upon my work. I'll call it a happy little accident 😁
I do wish you success on your exams, dear. I'm sure you'll slay it 💪🏼 Stay safe and hydrated always! 🤗
I can’t read you but if you want, the pleasure’s all mine.
SPECIAL CHAPTER
Chapter Summary:
You have a plan.
Check the farm. Leave.
Simple.
You make it about three steps before stopping again.
Your gaze drifts back toward her.
She’s smiling softly at the photo she just took, adjusting the camera settings before raising it again.
Cute.
And the plan?
Crumpled. Burnt. Gone.
With a sigh, you trudge toward the farm, muttering under your breath, “Looks like I’m going to live on a farm after all.”
Pairings: Haley x Fem!farmer
Disclaimer: I do not own Stardew Valley or any of the related characters. Stardew Valley is created by and owned by ConcernedApe. This fanfiction is intended for entertainment only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of the original Stardew Valley story belong to ConcernedApe.
Warning: None. Just a useless lesbian.
Notes:
Ever wonder what the farmer's perspective is about all these? And how you seemed to be there whenever Haley needed you to be. That's just a plain ol' coincidence, right? Right?
Well, worry no more, 'cause you're about to find out.
Spring 1
You arrived in Pelican Town with nothing but your suitcase and the stiff suit clinging uncomfortably to your skin. The tie at your throat feels like a noose, and the weight of city life still lingers on your shoulders.
You're far too overdressed for this place. If a crowd existed, you'd stick out like a sore thumb.
The bus sputters off behind you, kicking up a cloud of dust that lingers in the crisp morning air. You watch it disappear down the road, leaving nothing but silence in its wake. No honking cars, no distant chatter, no hum of neon lights. Just birdsong, the whisper of the wind through the trees, and the faint scent of damp earth.
The quiet is unsettling.
Before you can fully process the sheer stillness of the valley, a voice had cut through the air.
"Ah, there you are, Y/N! Welcome to Pelican Town."
An older man—short, with a thick mustache—approached you with an easygoing grin.
"It’s good to finally meet you. I’m Mayor Lewis," he said as he adjust his hat. "I used to be good friends with your grandfather. You probably don’t remember me, but we met once when you were little."
You don’t remember, but you nodded anyway.
Beside him, a woman with fiery red hair pulled into a loose ponytail grinned at you. She held a clipboard under one arm, boots tapping against the dirt road as she sized you up.
"And I’m Robin, the local carpenter," she greeted. "I’ve been fixing up your grandpa’s old place for you. It needed… well, let’s just say a lot of work."
She smirked, and you get the feeling she's holding back from saying something worse.
You shifted your grip on your suitcase. "I appreciate it, but—"
Robin gestured down the road before you can finish. "Come on, let’s head to the mayor’s manor first. Your farm’s just down that path"—she nodded toward a dirt trail on your right—"but the Mayor wanted to talk to you first."
Lewis nodded. "I need to go over a few things with you before I send you off. Won’t take long, promise."
You hesitated but fall into step beside them, your dress shoes crunching against the gravel road. The manor is just down the road, tucked neatly near the town square. Luckily, it's still early. The streets are empty, the town barely waking up. The houses lining the path are quaint, with colorful wooden signs swinging gently in the breeze.
You aren’t sure if it’s the morning chill or something else entirely, but the weight in your chest feels heavier with every step.
Lewis lead you up the short stone steps of the manor and gestures for you to step inside. The air inside is warm, filled with the scent of wood polish and something faintly herbal—tea, maybe. The walls are lined with old photographs, shelves packed with neatly organized town records. It's a lived-in space, one that feels much too welcoming for someone like you.
"Have a seat," Lewis said, motioning toward a wooden chair in front of his desk. He lowered himself into his own chair with a sigh, then rummaged through a drawer before producing a rusty key.
"Here’s the key to your farmhouse," he slid it toward you. "It’s a little run-down, but with some work, you’ll have it back in shape in no time."
You picked up the key, turning it over in your palm. It's cold, the metal worn with age.
Robin leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "I already stopped by to check the place out—patched up a few things, cleared some of the worst debris." She tilted her head with a teasing smile. "Figured you'd appreciate not falling through the floor on your first night."
You're not sure what to say to that.
Instead, you nodded, offering a polite, "Thanks."
Lewis pulled out a large map and flattened it on the desk in front of you. "Now, Pelican Town isn’t a big place, but you’ll want to familiarize yourself with it. We have a small, tight-knit community here. It’d be good for you to meet the townsfolk." He tapped a few locations on the map. "The general store, the saloon, the blacksmith—these are the places you’ll be visiting the most."
You glanced at the map, taking in the layout of the town. Everything looks so… open. Unlike the structured, rigid grids of the city.
Lewis leaned back in his chair. "I know this is probably a big change for you," he said, his tone softer now. "But we’re glad to have you here. Your grandfather was well-loved in this town."
Your throat tightens at that. You don’t answer.
Instead, you slide the map toward yourself and fold it neatly. "Right," you said, standing. "I should get going. Thank you."
Lewis nodded, rising to his feet as well. "Of course. I won’t keep you."
Robin pushed herself off the doorframe, stretching her arms. "I’ll check in later to see how you’re settling in. Try not to break anything before then."
You’re not sure if she’s joking.
Lewis walked you to the door, and as you step outside, the morning air feels cooler against your skin. The manor may have been warm, but this place still isn’t home.
You glanced at the map in your hand, then at the road ahead.
You have a plan.
Check the farm. Leave.
Simple.
And yet, instead of heading straight there, you decide to take a detour.
The town feels too small, the air too clean, the people too… friendly.
You aren't in the mood for conversation, so instead of taking the main road, you cut through the graveyard. The map shows a southwest path leading directly to the farm—perfect. Less people, less awkward small talk.
Or so you thought.
As you stepped past the last row of tombstones, a door creaked open.
A young woman stepped out from the house ahead (2 Willow Lane, according to the map). Sunlight caught in her golden hair, turning it almost white at the edges. A camera dangled loosely from a strap around her neck, swaying gently as she moves. She lifted it, adjusting the lens, before taking a step forward.
Your breath catches.
You’ve only looked at her for a second—two at most—but it's enough. Your grip tightened on the map. The delicate curve of her nose, the way the breeze tugged a stray strand of hair across her cheek, the soft squint in her eyes as she scanned the sky—somehow, you've already memorized it all.
What the hell?
Panic surges through you, and you do the first thing your brain deems logical.
You snap the map up in front of your face.
Like an idiot.
You peek over the top just in time to see her lift the camera again. The quiet click of the shutter follows, and you realize she’s taking a photo—not of you, thankfully, but of a small potted cactus sitting on her porch.
You exhale sharply, willing your heart to settle.
What was that?
Shaking your head, you lower the map and start walking again, forcing yourself to focus.
You have a plan.
Check the farm. Leave.
Simple.
You make it about three steps before stopping again.
Your gaze drifted back toward her.
She’s smiling softly at the photo she just took, adjusting the camera settings before raising it again.
Cute.
You forced yourself to keep walking, chastising yourself for acting like a creep.
All that gawking, and you didn’t even have the guts to ask for her name.
But it doesn’t matter.
Because the moment you saw her—blond, shiny hair, brilliant blue eyes, and that damn camera swinging from her neck—you knew you were fucked.
The plan?
Crumpled. Burnt. Gone.
With a sigh, you trudged toward the farm, muttering under your breath, “Looks like I’m going to live on a farm after all.”
****
Spring 2
The forest was quiet except for the gentle rustling of leaves and the occasional chirp of a bird hidden somewhere in the branches.
You had only been here for one day and you were already starting to like it here—the air was cleaner, untouched by the thick smog of the city, and the silence was more comforting than suffocating.
You crouched by the riverbank, palm open as the tiny squirrel sniffed at the wild walnuts resting in your hand.
It had taken patience to earn the little guy’s trust. Just yesterday, wildlife scattered the moment you approached, unfamiliar with you, an outsider. But now, after some consistence of offering food and waiting, they hesitated a little less, inched a little closer.
This one, in particular, had grown bold. His tiny paws brushed against your fingers as he picked up a walnut, nibbling it with twitching whiskers.
A small smile pulled at your lips.
Then—click.
The sound was sharp, foreign. Unmistakable.
Your body reacted before your brain caught up, head snapping toward the source.
Someone was standing just beyond the clearing, partially hidden by the trees.
A girl.
Blonde hair, bright blue eyes, camera raised.
Recognition hit you a second later.
The girl with the camera.
The one you saw yesterday, standing on her porch, light catching in her hair as she focused on something behind the lens.
Despite the many faces introduced to you yesterday, her face stood out in clarity on most of them.
It's funny how you can remember her despite not knowing her name.
But now she was here. And she had just taken a picture of you.
You blinked at her. She blinked back.
Neither of you moved.
The squirrel let out a startled squeak and bolted into the underbrush. You exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of three remaining walnuts still sitting in your open palm.
Then, finally—
"Uhm," you started, voice breaking the tension. You straightened, dusting dirt from your hands. Now that you were standing, you realized just how much shorter she was up close.
And prettier.
Still, she didn't say a word. Just stared.
A nervous chuckle left your lips. “You’re the girl with the camera yesterday, right?”
She nodded, slow, like her brain was still buffering.
You tilted your head slightly, studying her.
“Oh… You’re that new farmer girl or whatever, aren’t you?” she said, almost absently.
She stood there, staring at you like you had grown a second head, blue eyes flickering over every detail of your face, your clothes—lingering too long, like she was trying to piece something together.
You didn’t understand why she was looking at you like that, but for some reason, you kept talking anyway.
You told her about your grandfather. About how this farm wasn’t planned, how Zuzu City had drained you dry, leaving you with nothing but exhaustion and a letter promising a different life.
You weren’t even sure why you were explaining yourself. Maybe because her presence—so out of place in the middle of the woods—reminded you of who you used to be. Or rather who you are yesterday. The city life, the carefully curated image, the feeling of being misplaced in your own skin.
But Haley wasn’t listening, at least, that’s what you thought.
She was nodding absently, her eyes locked onto your face, mouth slightly parted as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.
Then you smiled.
A small, amused smile—not at her, not at anything in particular, just at the absurdity of the moment. Of being here, talking to some blonde girl in the woods who looked like she belonged on a magazine cover rather than in Cindersap Forest.
And just like that, something shifted in her expression.
It was so fast, you almost missed it.
Something too bright flashed behind her eyes—an emotion you couldn’t quite place. Shock? Embarrassment? Frustration?
Whatever it was, she reacted to it the way a cornered animal might—by striking first.
"If it weren't for those horrendous clothes, you might actually be pretty."
The words hit you like she slapped you. Hard.
Your smile faltered, dropping so fast you almost felt the sting of it.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
"Excuse me?"
You didn’t raise your voice, but there was an edge to it now—something sharp and unforgiving.
Haley shifted slightly, like she suddenly wanted to be anywhere else. "Actually, never mind," she muttered quickly, brushing it off.
You watched her for a moment longer before exhaling slowly, fingers tightening around the strap of your rucksack.
Maybe this was just how she was. Maybe she hadn’t meant anything by it.
Or maybe she had.
Either way, you weren’t going to waste your energy on it.
Without a word, you reached into your bag and pulled out a daffodil—bright yellow, delicate in your palm, freshly picked from the clearing earlier.
You held it out to her.
"For me?" she asked, voice quieter than before.
You nodded. “Hmm. It kinda looks like you.”
Something in her shifted again.
This time, when she looked at you, it wasn’t annoyance or scrutiny. It was something else. Something softer.
And you find yourself staring a little longer than you should have. Studying her.
She said thank you. You hummed in acknowledgment. But you didn’t smile this time. It felt wrong to fake it.
The silence stretched between you, heavy, thick with something unspoken.
Then, finally, you broke it. "It's my grandpa's."
She frowned slightly. "What?"
You gestured vaguely to your clothes. "These. They were his."
You saw the realization settle in her eyes.
Understanding. Then, maybe, guilt.
"I moved here with nothing but myself after I decided spontaneously that I can't live a life as I had in Zuzu's." You admitted, exhaling a quiet chuckle. "Didn’t plan on it. Just… happened."
"I—"
"Sorry, I didn't mean to be so grim." This time, when you smiled, it was small. Distant. But it was real. "Uhm, sorry to cut this short but" you stared at your watch. "I still have to tidy the farm up; you know it's not exactly the cleanest place right now. I just took a break to feed the little guy. I'll catch you later, Haley."
She didn’t respond. You didn’t expect her to.
As you turned and walked away, you felt her eyes on your back the entire time.
You let out a small smile despite it all. She has a pretty foul mouth.
But pretty, nonetheless.
****
Spring 7
The walk from the farm cabin to Leah's cabin was peaceful, the kind of quiet you had come to appreciate since moving here.
You decided to stop by to drop off some fresh salad. Leah had been kind enough to show you the best places to forage when you first arrived, and you figured it was a decent way to return the favor. She had smiled warmly, thanked you, and invited you to stay for a while, but you had politely declined.
Too much work still needed to be done back home.
With the sun hanging high in the sky, you adjusted the strap of your rucksack and started toward the river, figuring you’d take a little break.
The river had always been a place of quiet for you.
After spending the past few days buried in work—clearing debris, tilling soil, hauling supplies back and forth—the stillness of Cindersap Forest was a welcome break.
And that’s when you spotted her.
Haley.
She was crouched near the water, camera in hand, completely absorbed in whatever she was trying to capture. The focused expression on her face was one you hadn’t seen before—her lips slightly parted, eyes narrowed in concentration. It was… different.
Before you could even think about calling out to her, she suddenly stiffened.
She had seen you.
And then—she ignored you.
Then again, you hadn’t expected much of anything when it came to Haley.
You had assumed, after your last encounter, that she’d brush the whole thing off. That you’d become another passing thought, a minor inconvenience in her otherwise polished life. But the way she looked at you in the forest that day… the way she hesitated, the way her lips had parted slightly in something close to regret—it stuck with you longer than it should have.
You haven’t seen her for days. Not that you were counting.
Not that you’d been avoiding her.
No, you were just busy.
Busy enough that you hadn’t gone out of your way to see her, or anyone in particular for that matter.
You watched as she very purposefully looked anywhere but in your direction, her hands tightening slightly around her camera, adjusting the lens like she was just so busy she couldn’t possibly be bothered to acknowledge your presence.
You almost laughed.
Seriously?
The past few days, you had gotten the feeling that she had been looking for you—whether it was in passing comments from the townsfolk or the way you caught glimpses of her lingering near places you know she normally wouldn’t be. But now, when you were literally a few feet away? She suddenly had nothing to say?
Fine.
If she wanted to pretend she didn’t see you, you weren’t going to stop her.
You smirked slightly and kept walking, letting her think she had the upper hand.
Except then—
Her foot slipped.
The wet ground beneath her gave way, and you barely had time to register what was happening before she was stumbling forward, arms flailing, panic flashing across her face.
Her camera—her expensive, very breakable camera—was still strapped around her neck, and if she fell, it wouldn’t just be her hitting the water.
Without thinking, your hand shot out, fingers wrapping around her wrist in a firm grip as you yanked her toward you.
The force of it sent her stumbling forward, right into your chest.
For a second, neither of you moved.
You could feel her breath—sharp, uneven—as she processed what had just happened. Her hands were pressed against your chest, her camera strap tangled between you, and for some reason, she wasn’t pulling away immediately.
"That was a close one," you said, your own heartbeat a little faster than normal.
She jerked back like she had been burned, separating from you so quickly that it was almost comical. "I—I..."
"You okay?"
"I am!" she answered too quickly, laughing nervously.
You tilted your head, watching her fidget. Haley was always composed, always sure of herself—but right now? Right now, she looked like she had no idea what to do.
"Thank you, um..." she trailed off, eyes darting anywhere but at you.
You raised an eyebrow. "It's Y/n, remember?"
Something flickered across her face—annoyance? Embarrassment? Both?
"Of course, I remember," she scoffed, tilting her chin slightly. "I was just… I haven't seen you since whatever and—" she huffed, crossing her arms before realizing her camera was in the way and dropping them again. "I was still shocked, okay?"
You fought back a smirk. "Wait, so you were looking for me?"
The way she reacted was immediate. "No!"
You smirked. Right.
"Well," you said casually, throwing her a sideways glance, "if you were wondering, I was actually busy tidying up the farm. Brought over some things I left in the city."
"Okay." She shrugged, still pretending to be indifferent. "As I said, I wasn’t looking for you or anything."
Your chuckle was genuine this time. "Right, right."
She looked like she wanted to smack the smirk off your face.
"You should be careful next time, though."
"I know." She huffed, brushing her hands off on her skirt. "I was just taking a picture of..."
She turned to point at her subject—only to realize it was gone.
"Great," she grumbled. "It’s gone."
You followed her gaze. "What is?"
"The squirrel!" she flailed, frustration seeping into her tone. "I've been trying to get the perfect shot for hours!"
You hummed in acknowledgment before reaching into your pocket. "Here."
She blinked at the handful of walnuts in your palm, then at you.
"You want me to eat these?"
You chuckled. "No, princess. Hold them out."
She frowned but did as you asked. Without warning, you reached out, wrapping your fingers over hers, positioning her hand so the walnuts rested properly in her palm.
Haley froze.
She didn’t pull away.
You ignored the way your own skin felt too warm from the contact and crouched down beside her, clicking your tongue a few times.
"Just wait a second," you murmured. "They’ll come back."
And sure enough, a moment later, another squirrel peeked out from behind a tree, its tiny nose twitching.
Haley inhaled softly, watching with wide eyes as the small creature scampered closer.
She was entranced.
You found yourself watching her instead.
"It's so cute," she murmured, and for the first time since you met her, the smile on her lips wasn’t forced, wasn’t teasing or sarcastic.
It was real.
Your own smile tugged at the corners of your mouth before you could stop it. "Aren’t they?"
She raised her camera, snapping a quick shot, and you watched as she checked the viewfinder, her brows furrowing in concentration.
"Wow, this looks good." You murmured, stepping behind her to look over her shoulder. "I'm glad you made good use of the natural lighting. Squirrels get frightened a lot with flash."
You didn’t realize how close you had gotten until she suddenly stiffened.
"Kiss ass much?" she muttered, but her voice was quieter than before.
You cleared your throat, pulling back slightly, ears burning. "I'm not—I..." you trailed off, shaking your head. "It's a good photo, okay?"
Haley let out a laugh—loud, unrestrained, warm.
You pretended to be offended. "Haha," you deadpanned, stepping back like you were going to leave.
Immediately, her hand shot out, fingers curling around your wrist for just a second.
"I was kidding!" she said quickly, still laughing. "Yoba, you're so serious."
You looked down at her hand, then back up at her face, before shaking your head with a grin.
"Am not."
"Am too."
"Am not."
"Am too."
The back-and-forth continued, and you weren’t sure why it felt so easy.
When had that happened?
Eventually, you sighed dramatically. "You win, woman."
She grinned in triumph. "Ha, I’m always right anyway."
You rolled your eyes but found yourself watching her again, really watching her, and noticing something different.
You couldn't help but think if she had always been like this and you just never noticed.
Or you had been quick to judge her.
Because the Haley you had come to know the past days wasn’t supposed to be this.
Not this close, not this real, not this... beautiful.
You had seen her before—the perfectly put-together version, always polished, always poised. The kind of person who moved like the world bent to her whims, the kind who scoffed at things that didn’t fit into her carefully curated life.
But this Haley?
This was different.
Windblown hair, dirt smudged against the sleeve of a designer outfit that probably wasn’t meant for trekking through the forest. The usual sharpness in her eyes was softened, replaced with something brighter—something curious.
And damn it, you found yourself staring.
You caught yourself just in time, turning away—only to realize she was staring, too.
Your brows furrowed slightly. Was she…?
"Is there something on my face?" The words left your mouth before you could stop them, genuine confusion lacing your tone.
She blinked rapidly, snapping out of whatever daze she had fallen into. "You're fine," she said quickly, her voice a little too forced, a little too rushed.
You frowned slightly, touching your jaw as if doubting her response.
She huffed, rolling her eyes before reaching into her purse. "Oh, for Yoba’s sake," she muttered, stepping forward.
Before you could react, she was dabbing at your jawline with a small handkerchief.
Your body froze.
Her fingers brushed against your skin, the touch featherlight but warm. She was standing too close now—close enough that you could see the way her lashes fluttered slightly, the way she chewed the inside of her cheek in concentration.
You should step back.
You should.
But you didn’t.
Instead, before you could think better of it, your fingers moved on instinct, pulling a daffodil from your pocket.
And then, just as easily, you tucked it behind her ear.
She froze.
For a split second, you almost regretted it.
Almost.
"As a thank you," you said quietly.
It sounded stupid the moment it left your lips.
You immediately sputtered out something else—some excuse, some way to make this moment not feel as heavy as it did—but your brain was too busy cursing itself into oblivion to form anything coherent.
She startled you again by responding just as frantically, as if she was the one who had overstepped. Something about how she touched you first, how she was just wiping your face, as if that evened things out.
Neither of you made any damn sense.
Then she reached into her bag, pulling out something small.
A photograph.
You hesitated before taking it, eyes widening a little when you realize who’s in it.
It was you.
From the other day.
You stared.
Seeing yourself through someone else’s lens was… strange. You looked at your own expression, the way the light framed your face, the rawness of it all. It didn’t feel posed, didn’t feel artificial.
You wanted to ask her—is this how you see me?
Instead, you swallowed down the words and asked, "Are you sure?"
"Keep it," she said, voice steadier than before. "Please, it's the least I could do after taking that shot without your consent."
Consent.
Funny. That wasn’t something people in the city had cared much about. But she said it so easily, so naturally, like it was just given.
Your lips tugged into a small, genuine smile. You met her eyes, and for the first time, she didn’t look away.
"Thank you," you murmured.
And in response, she didn’t roll her eyes.
For the first time, you saw something else—a brief flicker of relief, like she had been waiting for you to say it.
Feeling suddenly self-conscious, you glanced back down at the photo, running your thumb over the edge of it. That’s when you noticed something.
There was writing on the back.
You barely had time to tilt it before she panicked.
"No problem! Uhm, I still need to cook for lunch, yeah," she blurted out.
It was still morning.
You weren’t going to correct her.
She was already stepping back, clutching the daffodil in her hair like she had only just remembered it was there. "Thank you again for helping me and for the… saving thing. I’ll… I’ll see you around, yeah?"
She bowed slightly—actually bowed—before turning on her heel and walking away.
You blinked.
Did she just…?
You exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking your head as you watched her retreat.
You weren’t even sure if she heard your response.
Maybe you should have teased her about how she had absolutely been looking for you.
But then again…
You had been looking for her, too.
And you liked looking at her.
****
Spring 8
You weren’t exactly expecting much when you walked into town that afternoon.
The note Haley left on the back of the photo had been unexpected enough—an apology, a breakfast invitation. It wasn’t something you thought she’d do, let alone so soon after that flustered mess of an interaction yesterday. You had read it more than once, half-wondering if she regretted writing it the second she left it in your hands.
Still, you had considered showing up, maybe knocking on her door just to see her reaction.
But something about the way she wrote if you’re free told you she wasn’t quite ready for that yet.
So, you didn’t go.
Not today, anyway.
Instead, you had been running errands—picking up some supplies, stopping by the community board—when you spotted something familiar near the playground. A stray hair tie, tangled around the corner of the bench.
And there, sitting on the swings, was Haley.
She looked… relaxed. Not posing for anything, not trying to capture the perfect shot. Just there, with the spring breeze tugging at the loose strands of her hair, her blue tank top bright against the muted colors of the playground. It wasn’t a place you expected to see her, but somehow, it suited her.
And for some reason, you found yourself staring longer than necessary.
You shook the thought away and approached, holding up the hair tie and the daffodils you had picked up earlier.
"Uh, Haley?"
She stiffened immediately like she’d been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to.
Slowly, she turned to face you. "Oh… hi there," she said, her voice cautious, as if she weren’t entirely sure how to react to you being here.
You barely noticed her initial reaction, already launching into a casual question about whether the hair tie was hers.
She didn’t respond right away, but that was fine. You figured she just needed a second to realize she’d lost it in the first place.
So, you kept talking, mentioning where you found it, all while loosely holding the daffodils at your side.
You noticed her watching you, gaze flickering over you in a way that almost felt calculating, but you assumed she was just listening.
For a second, you could’ve sworn she lingered on your mouth—but that was ridiculous.
Right?
Her expression shifted slightly, something unreadable passing over her features. But instead of answering, she glanced past you, eyes locking onto something in the distance.
You were about to turn, to see what had caught her attention, when—
"Uhm, how do I say this…"
You blinked at her sudden change in tone.
"I appreciate your gifts and such," she continued, shifting uncomfortably. "But please don’t get the wrong idea. It’s not like a little flower will make us besties or anything, you know."
You blinked.
What?
The words hung awkwardly between you, and for a second, you weren’t sure whether to be confused or amused.
Your gaze flicked down to the daffodils in your hand, then back at her.
"Uhm," you started, trying not to grin, "I was just asking if this is your hair tie."
Haley visibly froze.
"Oh!" she squeaked—actually squeaked—before yanking the hair tie from your fingers like it had personally insulted her. "I didn’t even notice it was missing…"
Her cheeks were turning pink.
You tilted your head slightly, watching her fidget. She was embarrassed—deeply embarrassed—but instead of backing down, you decided to push just a little.
"You were saying…?"
The look she gave you was caught somewhere between a glare and complete mortification.
"Sorry for jumping to conclusions,"she muttered quickly, barely meeting your eyes. "I was just… well, never mind."
You chuckled, still not entirely sure what just happened but deciding to let it go.
"Hey, you weren’t wrong." Before she could overthink it, you held out the daffodils. "These are actually for you."
Her fingers twitched slightly but hesitated before taking them.
"And I’m not expecting you to be friends with me just because I give you flowers, you know?"
"Then what else were you expecting?"
The question should’ve sounded snappy, but her voice came muffled this time as she buried her nose in the petals.
You grinned, shifting your weight slightly. "Ever heard of giving a pretty flower to a pretty lady?"
From somewhere behind you, there was a distinct sound.
Something like—
A snort?
Only then did you notice movement from the corner of your eye.
Demetrius.
He was walking past, definitely within earshot, and judging by the way he was fighting back a laugh, he had heard everything.
Haley let out a long, suffering sigh, pressing the flowers closer to her face like they could somehow erase the last two minutes of her life.
But she wasn’t throwing them back at you.
She wasn’t storming off, either.
Instead, she stood there, half-hidden behind the petals, golden hair catching the sunlight in a way that made the moment feel surreal.
Weird.
How can someone be prettier next to a pretty flower?
****
Spring 9
You finally decided to accept Haley’s invitation.
It had been sitting in the back of your mind since she gave you the photo—her apology, neat but uncertain, scrawled onto the back like she had debated every word before leaving it in your hands.
You didn’t take her for the type to apologize easily.
Or at all, really.
But she had.
And if she had gone through the trouble of inviting you to breakfast, the least you could do was show up.
So, on Spring 9, you knocked on the door of 2 Willow Lane.
Emily answered, bright and welcoming as always. “Hey, Y/n! Come in, come in,” she chirped, already moving toward the kitchen. “Tea?”
You hesitated, glancing past her toward the small dining area. The house wasn’t big, only a few rooms. If Haley was here, she’d be just past the kitchen, maybe in her bedroom or the bathroom, but nowhere far enough to not have heard the knock.
“She’ll be out in a sec,” Emily assured you.
So, you waited.
And waited.
And by the time you reached the bottom of your mug, Emily was giving you an apologetic smile, one that silently said, Yeah… she’s not coming out.
You left soon after.
The next morning, you tried again.
This time, Emily didn’t even pretend. She cracked the door open, sighed, and leaned against the frame.
“She’s… busy.”
Which was just code for hiding.
You didn’t have to peek inside to know Haley was there. The way Emily shifted like she was blocking the view, the faintest rustle of movement from the other side of the house—it was obvious.
Emily gave you a knowing look, half amused, half exasperated.
You just smiled, adjusted your satchel, and said, “No worries. Tell her I stopped by.”
And that was that.
You didn’t try again after that.
But that didn’t mean you didn’t notice her.
You saw the way she turned away when she spotted you from across the bridge.
The way she peeked through her window, only to snap the curtain shut when she realized you were looking back.
The way she hesitated—for just a second—whenever you passed by, like she wanted to say something but couldn’t figure out how.
You weren’t sure whether to be amused or frustrated.
She was avoiding you.
That much was obvious.
What wasn’t obvious was why.
So instead of focusing on it, you spent the rest of the day helping Penny.
If Haley was going to keep her distance, you weren’t going to waste time chasing her.
Penny was one of the first people to welcome you to Pelican Town, long before anyone else had warmed up to you. She was quiet, kind, and had an easy presence—one that made it effortless to spend time with her.
On most afternoons, you could be found helping her with Vincent and Jas’s lessons under the big tree outside her trailer. Not because she asked you to, but because you liked it.
She always seemed so grateful, even though you barely did anything.
Which was why you were more than a little surprised when she wasn’t entirely thrilled to see you today.
"You look tired," she observed as you sat down beside her, a book resting in her lap.
You raised a brow. "Do I?"
Penny hummed, giving you a once-over. "You’ve been… distracted lately."
You blinked.
You hadn't expected her to notice.
"I’ve been busy," you said, which wasn’t exactly a lie.
Penny gave you a look. A soft, knowing look that made you feel like she could read right through you.
She didn’t push. She never did.
Instead, she simply turned her attention back to the book and said, “the kids are late again. Want to read until they get here?”
And that was that.
You didn’t bring up Haley.
And Penny didn’t ask.
But later, as you helped Jas with her spelling, you caught Penny watching you, a small, thoughtful smile tugging at her lips.
You had a feeling she knew exactly what was on your mind.
Maybe even better than you did.
****
Haley was still avoiding you.
By now, you were starting to wonder if she thought you were some kind of curse she needed to outrun.
You still weren’t sure what you did to make her act like this.
She had been fine at the playground. She had been flustered, sure, but she had laughed with you, teased you, even handed you a photo like it actually meant something.
And then, suddenly, she was gone.
It wasn’t like you had time to dwell on it, though.
Between the farm, errands, and helping Penny with her lessons, your days were full. You spent the morning delivering leeks to Evelyn, knowing she liked to cook them for George. You spent the afternoon tending to the crops and making sure you didn’t completely ruin the fencing you had hastily built last week.
And now?
Now you were standing in front of the community board, scanning over Pierre’s latest overpriced sale, when a voice pulled you from your thoughts.
"You’re doing it again."
You turned to find Penny standing beside you, arms crossed, her expression patient but pointed.
"Doing what?"
"Spacing out," she said simply.
You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "You should stop paying so much attention to me."
Penny just smiled. "I can’t help it when you’re so obvious."
You gave her a look.
She returned it, unbothered.
After a moment, you sighed and leaned against the board.
"You ever get the feeling that someone’s avoiding you?" you asked.
Penny tilted her head slightly. "Oh?"
You weren’t sure why you asked.
Maybe because you knew Penny wouldn’t tease you for it. Maybe because you knew she’d actually give you an answer worth listening to.
Or maybe because she had already figured it out, and you didn’t feel like pretending otherwise.
Instead of answering immediately, Penny tapped her chin in thought.
"If someone is avoiding you," she said slowly, "there are usually two reasons."
You raised a brow, waiting.
"Either they don’t like you," she said, glancing at you, "or they like you too much."
Your breath caught—just for a second.
Penny noticed.
And she smirked. You know it’s bad when Penny smirks out you. She never does that after all.
You groaned, running a hand down your face. "Penny. Come on."
"What?" she laughed, shrugging. "I’m just saying."
You shook your head, not entirely sure whether to be annoyed or impressed.
And yet, as Penny walked off, you found yourself staring at the daffodils blooming just a few feet away.
The same ones you had given Haley.
The same ones she had buried her nose in, pretending she wasn’t flustered.
The same ones that, for some reason, made your stomach twist.
Either they don’t like you…
Or they like you too much.
You weren’t sure which one was worse.
But you were pretty sure you were about to find out.
****
Spring 12
You hadn’t planned on stopping by 2 Willow Lane today.
But after running errands near the town square, you figured—why not? It wasn’t like you were doing anything urgent back on the farm, and besides… you still owed Haley a proper conversation after she practically disappeared for the last few days.
The last time you saw her, she was stuffing her face into a bunch of daffodils and acting like she wasn’t flustered. Now? You weren’t entirely sure what to expect.
Maybe today would be different.
So, you knocked.
“Hello?”
The moment you stepped inside, you were greeted by two very different expressions—Emily’s, which was polite but amused, and Haley’s, which looked… well, looked like she was about to strangle someone—possibly you, but more likely Emily.
“Am I interrupting something?”
“Yes.”
You blinked at Haley’s blunt answer.
Emily let out a heavy sigh, rubbing her temple. “Sorry about that, Y/n/n. Haley’s just complaining because I asked her to clean the cushions—”
“—which you should be doing because it’s your schedule, not mine.” Haley cut in sharply, sending her sister a glare. She then turned to you, her blue eyes sharp and expectant. “It’s important to mention that I already cleaned them last week.”
“Haley…”
“Shut it, Em. I want to hear what she has to say.”
You blinked.
Oh.
This was a thing.
Emily looked exasperated, while Haley looked… weirdly eager?
Did she actually want your opinion on this?
For a second, you hesitated, glancing between them. The last thing you wanted was to somehow make things worse, but at the same time, Haley was looking at you like she really wanted to be validated right now.
"Well," you started carefully, trying to find a middle ground, "why not have this be your one weekly job?"
Haley’s face immediately dropped.
Oh.
Not the answer she wanted, then.
Before you could backtrack, she turned on her heel, clearly done with the conversation.
And for some reason, that didn’t sit right with you.
Without really thinking, you reached out and grabbed her hand.
She froze.
"W-wait," you stammered, suddenly realizing what you’d just done. “I’m not siding with anyone."
Haley stared down at your hands, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she looked back up at you, skeptical. "Sure."
You swallowed. "I just thought it’d be the best course of action, so you two don’t have to argue over it again. If you took this job, Emily wouldn’t bother you again with cleaning the bathroom every two days. Right, Em?"
“Yeah!” Emily agreed immediately, then frowned. “Wait, what?”
You turned back to Haley, watching as her lips twitched—like she was this close to smiling, but was too stubborn to let it show.
“Doesn’t that sound more appealing?” you prompted.
For a second, Haley didn’t say anything. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, she shrugged.
“Alright, you win.”
Emily squinted at her, as if trying to figure out how you had gotten her to agree so quickly. Then, to your surprise, she turned to you with an almost appreciative look. “Thanks, Y/n/n. That was a great solution.”
You chuckled, rubbing the back of your neck. “It’s no problem, really.”
Emily clapped her hands together. “Why don’t you stay for breakfast?”
You opened your mouth to decline, but before you could, Haley spoke.
“Your hands are rough and warm.”
You blinked.
“…Huh?”
Haley’s eyes widened slightly, and then, for the first time, you actually saw her panic.
“I mean—what I meant to say was—” She sputtered, tripping in every sense of the word before taking a deep breath to let out a composed response. “Yeah, you can join us for breakfast.”
You saw Emily smirked and gave Haley a look. “Good! Then I’ll get on with it. Haley, keep our guest occupied.”
“You sure?” you asked when you saw the hesitation in her eyes.
If she's still uncomfortable around your presence then you would politely dip out. You got all the time in the world after all.
“Of course.”
“…Okay,” you said slowly, though something about the way her face was slightly pink made you really want to tease her about it. Instead, you nudged her lightly. “How about we clean these cushions now? So, you won’t have to later?”
Haley scoffed. “Eh. It’s fine. I can do that later.”
“I insist. Two pairs of hands are better than one, y’know?”
“Ugh. Of course you’d say some dorky crap like that,” she grumbled, but you could hear the slightest waver in her voice, like she was fighting back a smile.
You only laughed, moving to lift the couch.
****
Spring 13
You hadn’t really thought about birthdays before moving to Pelican Town.
Back in the city, they had been just another day—sometimes an excuse for coworkers to bring in cake, but mostly just something you marked on a calendar and then forgot.
But here? Here, birthdays mattered.
You had been scanning the community board at Pierre’s when you first saw it—"Haley’s Birthday – Spring 14."
It was written in neat, careful script, decorated with little doodles of flowers in the corners.
For a second, you just stared at it.
You could have ignored it. You weren’t really friends. Acquaintances, sure—closer than before, but still hovering in that weird in-between where it wasn’t clear if she actually liked you or just tolerated you.
But then you thought about the coconut-themed bandage she forced you to wear a few days ago.
Your forehead still had a faint scab from when you accidentally ran headfirst into a low-hanging branch while foraging. Haley had been the only person around when it happened, and instead of laughing at you like she definitely wanted to, she had sighed dramatically, muttered something about “idiots getting themselves killed,” and yanked you inside her house to clean it up.
You still remembered her standing over you, scrutinizing her first-aid kit before pulling out a very unnecessary selection of bandages.
"Sunflowers or coconuts?" she had asked, dead serious.
"That’s… the only choice?"
"Obviously. Pick one."
You had sighed, pointed at the coconut-themed one, and watched as she carefully placed it over your cut like it was some sort of delicate surgical procedure.
"You’re officially less ugly now," she had declared, patting your cheek before walking off.
It had been ridiculous.
But for some reason, you had thought about it again when you saw her name on the birthday list.
So, naturally, you did the most insane thing possible and spent majority of the day trying to find a coconut for her.
Spring 14 - Early Morning
Your quest to find her a perfect gift yesterday had been nothing short of a failure.
Coconuts weren’t local here, after all.
You had checked everywhere (except Joja’s, of course)—Pierre’s, even asking Pam in case she’d somehow stumbled across one.
"Calico Desert," she had said. "That’s where you’ll find ‘em. But unless you got wings, kid, you ain’t getting there anytime soon."
Right. The bus was still out of service.
You made a mental note to prioritize that when working on the community center. Maybe the Junimos could help.
But for now?
You needed another plan.
The traveling merchant.
Marlon had once mentioned her in passing—"If you’re looking for something rare, something out of season, she’s your girl. But she doesn’t sell cheap."
You had barely waited for sunrise before setting out to find her, boots crunching against the damp forest floor as you took the back route toward Cindersap.
By the time you arrived, she was already setting up shop, humming a tune under her breath.
She barely looked up as she greeted you. "Back so soon?"
No time for pleasantries.
"Please tell me you have a coconut in stock," you said, then hastily added, "or a sunflower."
She let out a low hum, tapping her chin, drawing out the moment just to toy with you.
"Mmm… you’re in luck. Got a few coconuts left. But they aren’t cheap."
Of course, they weren’t.
Didn’t matter.
You pulled out the pouch from your pocket, untying the string with practiced ease. The weight of it was familiar, comfortable.
More than enough.
The merchant raised an amused brow as you handed over the payment without hesitation.
"Didn’t even ask the price, huh?"
You just smiled, rolling the coconut in your palm, satisfied.
"Didn’t need to."
It was plump, perfectly shaped—exactly the kind of thing you imagined Haley would appreciate. You even took the time to wrap it (poorly) with a ribbon you found lying around in your house.
It looked ridiculous.
But handing it to her unwrapped felt even weirder.
And now?
All that was left was to find her.
Late Morning
You checked the beach first.
Then the town square.
Then the entire stretch of road leading to Marnie’s ranch.
Nothing.
You were starting to wonder if she had just locked herself in her house all day when, finally, you spotted a familiar blonde figure sitting on a bench in the playground.
Huh, this scene feels familiar.
For some reason, the sight made you pause.
She wasn’t posing. She wasn’t talking to anyone.
She was just there, her arms loosely wrapped around her knees, her gaze distant.
For a moment, you considered turning around.
But instead, you stepped forward.
"Thought I’d find you here."
She looked up, startled, before quickly masking it with an indifferent shrug. “Done with your chores?”
You plopped down beside her. "Woke up extra early to finish them all."
She raised an eyebrow. "Why? You have plans?"
Your stomach did a weird little flip.
"Had to run some errands," you said, reaching into your rucksack, "and I wanted to give you this."
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
"Give me your hands."
The second the words left your mouth, you regretted them.
That sounded way too serious. Way too something.
And then, to make things even worse, you followed up with:
"Just trust me, Hay."
Oh, Yoba. No. Abort. Abort.
Why did you say that? You never called her that before.
She was definitely going to call you out for it. Or roll her eyes. Or—
…Or she’d just listen.
Because, to your absolute shock, she sighed and held out her hands.
You barely had time to process your overwhelming relief before you carefully placed the coconut in her palms.
She blinked.
Stared down at it.
And then, for the first time since you met her, she seemed completely, utterly speechless.
"I… I love coconuts."
You exhaled a quiet laugh, suddenly feeling like maybe—maybe—this was worth all the trouble. "I know."
She clutched it a little tighter. "How did you know?"
You rubbed the back of your neck, feeling weirdly shy. "Remember when you patched up my cut? You made me pick between a sunflower band-aid or a coconut one. So, I kinda assumed they were your favorite."
She let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “B-but how? You can’t just summon a coconut tree, and there’s no way you had time to go to the desert—"
"It was pure luck," you admitted. "The traveling merchant had a few in stock. But she warned me they’d sell out before noon, so I got there early."
Her fingers traced the edges of the ribbon, her expression soft.
Then, almost too quietly, she murmured, “Thank you. It’s really sweet of you to do all this.”
"No problem. I like it when you smile." You shrugged, trying to play it off. "Happiness looks good in you."
Something flickered in her eyes.
For a brief moment, neither of you spoke.
The park was quiet, the sun warm against your skin.
And in that stillness, you realized something—
You weren’t just acquaintances anymore.
You weren’t quite friends, either.
But whatever this was?
It was something.
****
It had started as a casual thing.
You never really planned on showing up at 2 Willow Lane every morning.
But after that first breakfast—where Emily practically shoved a plate in your hands and Haley begrudgingly tolerated your presence—you just… kept coming back.
At first, it had been an excuse to escape the overwhelming solitude of the farm. Waking up at dawn, toiling in the fields, eating alone—it was fine. But it wasn’t exactly fun.
The mornings here were different.
Emily would hum while cooking, always somehow awake and cheerful despite her late-night shifts at the saloon. Haley, on the other hand, would sit at the table looking half-asleep, hair an absolute mess, grumbling about how “humans shouldn’t be awake before 9.”
It was domestic. Easy. Nice.
And you liked it.
So, you kept coming back.
And for some reason, Haley never told you to stop.
Which was weird, because Haley Carter absolutely would have told you to stop if she actually wanted to.
Emily must’ve noticed something too, because one morning, after you had helped clean up the dishes, she pulled you aside with a conspiratorial grin.
"Haley's a little calmer when you're around, Y/n/n."
You had laughed, shaking your head. "I think she just doesn’t want me to see her throwing a spoon at you."
Emily only winked.
And maybe—just maybe—Haley had heard, because the next day, when you showed up at their door like usual, she muttered something under her breath before letting you in.
Something suspiciously close to "You’re late."
****
The thing about Pelican Town was that it had a rhythm.
People followed routines here. Maru always took the same route to work. Jodi always went grocery shopping on Mondays. Penny always had her class under the big tree at the same time each day.
And Haley?
Haley had patterns too.
At first, you thought it was coincidence.
That every time you turned a corner and saw her, it was just luck.
But after a while, you started to realize that maybe—maybe—you had started to learn her habits without meaning to.
Like how she always went to the riverbank after lunch if it was sunny.
Or how she stopped by Pierre’s around noon but only ever bought fruit.
Or how she took the long way home through the park when she thought nobody was looking.
You weren’t following her or anything. That would be weird.
But sometimes, your paths just… lined up.
And, more and more, it started feeling less like an accident.
Because instead of rolling her eyes and storming off like she used to, Haley had started doing something else entirely.
She started stopping.
Not always. Not every time.
But sometimes—when you greeted her in passing or made some dumb joke—she’d actually pause, sigh dramatically, and talk to you.
Complain about the weather. Ask if you had seen Alex. Casually mention that she had "accidentally" taken a picture of you feeding the squirrels and no, you definitely couldn’t see it.
And if she really wasn’t in the mood?
Well.
She still didn’t walk away.
****
You stood outside 2 Willow Lane, balancing a small crate in your arms as you knocked lightly before pushing the door open.
Haley was already at the table, sipping what looked like a strawberry smoothie. She glanced up as you entered, giving you a once-over before looking back at her drink.
“You’re late.”
You blinked.
"...It’s 8:07."
"Exactly."
You huffed out a laugh, kicking the door shut behind you as you set the crate down on the counter.
Emily peeked over from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “Oh! More eggs and milk?”
“Figured it’s only fair,” you shrugged. “Can’t keep letting you guys feed me for free.”
Emily waved you off. “Oh, please. You’re basically family at this point.”
Haley made a noise suspiciously close to a choke.
You didn’t comment on it.
Instead, you slid into your usual seat as Emily set a plate of pancakes in front of you with a satisfied grin.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew it.
This was a routine now.
And neither of you seemed to mind.
****
Mornings at 2 Willow Lane had become second nature by now.
You didn't even hesitate before knocking, pushing the door open with a familiar ease, half-expecting Emily’s usual cheery greeting.
But instead of Emily, the first thing you heard was Haley grunting.
A frustrated, muffled noise, followed by a sharp “Come on, just open already!”
You stopped mid-step, blinking.
You weren’t entirely sure what you had walked into, but based on the sheer determination in her voice, it was either a battle for her life… or a particularly stubborn jar.
Considering this was Haley, the latter seemed more likely.
Peering into the kitchen, your suspicions were confirmed.
Haley stood at the counter, face scrunched up in frustration, gripping a jar like it had personally wronged her. She twisted the lid with all the strength she could muster, letting out another huff when it refused to budge.
You bit back a laugh, watching for a moment as she scowled at the object like sheer hatred alone might force it to open.
Yeah, this was too good to pass up.
"You need some help?" you finally spoke up, amusement thick in your voice.
Haley jumped.
She turned quickly, blue eyes wide with surprise before she covered it up with an exaggerated scowl.
"Ugh. How does it feel seeing me in pain?"
You grinned. There it is.
"Aw, does the baby need help?" you teased, crossing your arms as you leaned against the counter.
That was a mistake.
The look she shot you could have incinerated you on the spot.
"Hmp," she scoffed, holding the jar closer to her chest like a challenge. "I was about to cook breakfast for us, but now I don't feel like doing it."
You held up your hands in mock surrender, biting back another chuckle. "Alright, alright, miss sassy pants. Come here."
Before she could protest, you reached over, tugging lightly at the loop of her belt to pull her closer.
You hadn't really thought about it—just something casual, something natural—but the way she froze made your brain catch up real fast.
Oh.
Oh.
Had that been too bold?
But before you could dwell on it, you grabbed the jar from her hands, twisted the lid with ease, and plopped it back into her grasp like it was nothing.
"Piece of cake," you said smugly, flashing her a grin.
For a second, she just stared.
Then—
"Hmp. You're stronger than you look," she muttered, crossing her arms with a faux pout.
You quirked an eyebrow. Stronger than you look?
"Excuse me?" you repeated, placing a hand on your hip. "What do you mean stronger than I look?"
Haley gave you a once-over, not particularly impressed. "I mean, you’re kinda…" She gestured vaguely at you. "Scrawny-looking under all those baggy farm clothes."
You gasped. Scrawny?!
Alright. Fine. Now it was personal.
Rolling up your sleeves, you flexed dramatically, putting on your best Alex-worthy showmanship. "I’ll have you know, Miss Carter, farm work is no joke."
Haley blinked.
Her mouth parted slightly—just for a second—before she quickly turned away, crossing her arms tighter. "Y-yeah, yeah, show-off."
Huh.
Weird reaction.
She had seen Alex flex a thousand times and usually mock-gagged at the sight.
But right now?
You had a very strong suspicion she had definitely just checked you out.
Oh.
Oh.
Your stomach did something.
You quickly shoved that something into a box and locked it away, because nope, not unpacking that today.
And then—
"I wonder how many other ladies have been lucky enough to see that impressive display."
You nearly choked on air.
WHAT.
You blinked at her, half-expecting her to burst out laughing or tell you she was joking, but—
No.
She was smirking.
Smirking, while still not looking directly at you, her fingers toying with the hem of her shirt like she hadn’t just said that out loud.
Your brain short-circuited.
It took a full three seconds before you recovered enough to bark out a laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. "Uh, how many are you?"
It was Haley’s turn to choke on her own spit.
Her face turned pink.
You grinned.
"I’m gonna hit you," she sputtered, clutching the jar like it was a weapon.
You laughed, backing up with your hands raised. "Okay, okay! I’ll help you cook, alright?"
"Fine," she muttered, recovering quickly. "But you’re going to boil the pasta. You suck at making the sauce."
"Yeah, yeah, M'lady. Let’s do it your way."
****
You weren’t entirely sure how the two of you worked so well in the kitchen, but somehow it just… clicked.
Maybe it was because Haley actually knew how to cook.
Like—really knew how to cook.
You had expected her to just throw ingredients into a pan and hope for the best (or, at worst, order you to do all the hard work), but nope.
She worked with practiced ease, moving around the kitchen like she had done this a thousand times before.
Which—maybe she had.
It wasn’t something she boasted about.
Which made it all the more surprising when you found yourself… actually impressed.
"Okay, stir gently," she instructed as you stood next to her at the stove. "You don’t want the sauce to break."
You did as told, though not without a little dramatic flair. "Like this, boss?"
"Less stupid, more stirring."
"Wow. So bossy."
"Yeah, well, someone has to keep you in check."
You grinned but didn’t argue.
Because standing here, in the warmth of 2 Willow Lane, listening to Haley boss you around while the scent of fresh pasta filled the air—
You realized something.
You didn’t mind at all.
****
Spring 20
In hindsight, challenging Shane to a drinking contest was a mistake.
You weren’t a lightweight by any means, but you also weren’t a regular at the Stardrop Saloon, knocking back beers like they were water. Unlike Shane, who, for all his problems, had a tolerance that could rival Pam’s.
Still, it had been his birthday, and after spending weeks drowning in farm work with barely enough time to breathe, a part of you thought—why not?
Bad. Idea.
The first couple of drinks had been fine. You laughed, listened to Gus grumble about Shane’s tab, even managed to hold a decent conversation with Sam before he had to carry Vincent home.
But by drink number five, the world tilted just a little.
By drink number seven, you were buzzed.
By drink number nine, Shane was on the floor, Pam was laughing at you, and Emily was calling for backup.
And now?
Now you were leaning against the bar, eyes half-lidded, vaguely aware that someone was helping Shane, but—
Oh.
Oh, she’s here.
Even through your drunken haze, you’d recognize that perfume anywhere—clean, soft, expensive.
A sleepy grin pulled at your lips.
"Hay…? Is that you…?"
She sighed, her voice half-exasperated, half-soft. "Yeah, it’s me."
Her arm looped around your waist, pulling you upright as she guided you toward the door.
Warm.
She was warm.
And soft.
And so close.
Haley smelled really good, which wasn’t surprising, but it was distracting because your brain was already a mess and now there were too many thoughts happening at once.
"You smell geurd…" you mumbled.
Haley stiffened against you, and if you were sober, you might’ve enjoyed the way her breath hitched.
"I know," she retorted, voice tight. "And you smell like beer."
Which—fair.
But you could still smell the lemon and mint under all of it, the scent of fresh air and something sweet that made your stomach flip.
She smelled better than anyone had the right to.
You let her drag you outside, vaguely aware of voices around you—Pam yelling something about kids these days, Leah offering help (which Haley firmly declined, for some reason?), and Penny’s gentle concern.
Didn’t matter.
None of them were Haley.
You barely noticed when the town’s quiet streets replaced the saloon’s warm glow, the crisp spring air biting at your flushed skin. The cobblestone path blurred under your feet, and if it weren’t for Haley, you’d probably be face-first in a bush.
"Where… we going?" you slurred, stumbling slightly.
"Home," she grunted, adjusting her hold on you. You chuckled, amused by how done she sounded. "Yoba, just how many beers did you drink? Surely, you're not that much of a lightweight."
You held up three fingers. "I had nine." You thought for a second, then added, "Shane, I think… had seven."
Haley snorted. "I’m pretty sure I’m not dumb enough to count three on your fingers."
"It’s three times three," you explained sagely.
"Yeah, sure."
"Yeah! And I'm completely sober."
You took two confident steps forward—
And immediately tripped.
Haley caught you, her arm tightening around your waist before you could faceplant into Marnie’s fence.
"Oops—" You grinned, looking up at her through hazy eyes. "Thanks, babe."
Haley froze.
Like. Froze.
Her whole body went stiff, and for a second, you thought she might actually drop you.
Her grip on you tightened instead.
You felt her heartbeat pick up, her breath hitch slightly as she stared at you, her face suddenly red.
Weird.
You liked that.
"Wow, you sure are flirty tonight," she muttered, clearing her throat. "You sure you're sober?"
You hummed, contemplating. Were you?
You stopped walking. Haley turned, confused, as you stood still under the streetlights, the dim glow casting shadows across her face.
You wanted to remember this.
Because it felt… important.
Because Haley Carter was looking at you.
Because Haley Carter was holding you.
And because, drunk or not, you had just said something honest.
"The only time I allow myself to be this close to you," you murmured, your words slurring less now, "without my heart pounding in my chest, is in the reality I’ve created in my dreams."
You lifted your head, searching her expression.
Her lips parted slightly, eyes locked onto yours, uncertainty flickering across her face.
The air between you felt… different. Thicker.
"So, tell me, Haley…" you breathed, voice quieter now.
Your head tilted, gaze tracing over the softness of her features, the way her lashes fluttered, the way her fingers tightened slightly around your wrist.
"Am I sober, or is this just a dream?"
And Yoba—
You really, really hoped she had the answer.
****
Spring 24
You had never run away from anything in your life.
Not when Joja tried to groom you into something you weren’t.
Not when the weight of a legacy you wanted no part in nearly crushed you.
Not when you packed up your bags, left everything behind, and started fresh in a quiet little town where no one knew your name, your past, or how much money you technically had sitting untouched in a city bank.
But Haley Carter?
You ran from her.
For four days.
And Yoba help you, but you had no idea what you were even running from.
Maybe it was the way she had looked at you that night—half-lidded blue eyes too sharp, too soft, too knowing. Maybe it was the warmth of her fingers ghosting over your wrist, your shoulder, your neck. Maybe it was the fact that you had called her babe, and for once in her life, she hadn’t snapped at you for it.
No.
It was worse than that.
It was the way she hadn’t corrected you at all.
You woke up the next morning with a splitting headache, wearing nothing but shame and your bedsheets, and found Haley in your kitchen, wearing your damn shirt, making breakfast like it was the most normal thing in the world.
It had nearly killed you.
And then she had turned around, grinning like she knew exactly what she was doing to you, and teased you about your weak alcohol tolerance like it was all so simple.
So, yeah. You ran.
Straight into the mines, where monsters were easier to fight than whatever the hell was happening to your heart.
Away from breakfast invitations, away from Emily’s knowing glances, away from your own stupid, reckless, painfully obvious feelings.
It wasn’t like you expected her to chase after you. But you also didn’t expect her to notice your absence this much.
You had meant to skip the Flower Dance.
Even if dancing was something you could probably master in five minutes if you really tried.
Even if the festival would have been another thing to add to the ever-growing list of things you were unexpectedly good at.
That list was getting long. Too long.
At first, farming had been just another thing to conquer.
You had picked up a shovel for the first time, read a few books on agriculture, and within weeks, your farm was thriving like a well-oiled machine.
Your crops flourished, your animals followed you like a shepherd, and the once-abandoned land now looked alive in a way that felt almost... personal.
And somewhere along the way, it stopped being about proving you could do it.
Somewhere along the way, you started waking up excited to see what had grown overnight.
Somewhere along the way, you fell in love with it.
Not because it was something you were good at, but because it was something that felt like yours.
And Haley Carter? She was the first thing in your life that didn’t come easy.
And maybe that’s why you had been avoiding her.
Because you didn’t know what to do about something you couldn’t master in a day.
And then, of course, Alex has other plans.
Before you knew it, he grabbed you by the collar before the Flower Dance and forced you back into her orbit.
****
"Old Mac here can replace me. I already taught her the moves."
You nearly choked on your own breath. "What?"
Alex grinned like he was enjoying this way too much. "You got this. There's no need to worry."
"I don't—"
"You got this." He cut you off. You barely had enough time to wrap your head around what was happening before Alex was shrugging off his jacket and shoving it into your hands.
Haley’s eyes were already on you.
You could feel them. Watching. Waiting.
And you?
You were panicking. Internally, of course.
Externally? Blank face. Neutral expression. Playing it cool.
But inside? Complete. Freaking. Chaos.
Penny, bless her, tried to intervene. "Wouldn't it be better if Sam takes your place since he's already familiar with the dance?"
"Um, no," Alex dismissed the idea immediately, grinning wider when he saw the panic in your eyes. "Haley feels more comfortable dancing with Old Mac. That's more important."
Your entire soul left your body.
Your mouth was dry. Your brain was short-circuiting. You wanted to look at Haley but—NOPE.
Because if you looked at her, you might see hope. Or worse—disappointment.
And Yoba help you, you didn’t know which was scarier.
Then she said it.
"Wait a second—can’t we get a say in this?!"
And your stomach sank.
Oh. Oh.
So she didn’t want to.
You should have expected that. You should have prepared for that.
You should have let yourself believe that was coming. But for some reason, it still stung.
For a split second, your fingers curled around the jacket in your hands, grip tightening, something raw twisting in your gut. You weren’t sure what you had been hoping for, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.
The rush of disappointment came so suddenly that it nearly threw you off balance.
Of course, she didn’t want to. Why would she?
You had never felt less qualified for anything in your entire life.
The moment was so quick—so fleeting—that you barely had time to process it before Alex shut her down with a cheery, "Nope!"
"Very well, then." Mayor Lewis clapped his hands together. "Let the festival begin!"
****
Haley was warm.
That was your first thought when you wrapped your hands around her waist.
Your second thought was, I should not be thinking about this.
But it was too late. Her perfume—light vanilla and something faintly floral—wrapped around your senses, and the heat of her skin, even through layers of silk, burned. For a second, you forgot how to move.
"You don't have to do this if you don't want to."
Her voice was quieter now, breathless.
You swallowed hard and forced yourself to meet her eyes.
Haley, in white silk and soft curls, looking up at you with something you couldn’t quite name. Your heart stumbled over itself.
Her hands—small, delicate, trembling ever so slightly—rested on your shoulders.
You should say something. Anything.
But all that came out was, "Huh?"
Not your best moment.
Haley had just said something, something important—and all you could do was stand there like an idiot while your mind scrambled to catch up.
Her voice was quieter now, breathless, uncertain in a way you rarely heard.
"You were avoiding me."
Your grip on her waist tightened.
She noticed. Of course, she noticed.
You swallowed hard, the warmth of her hands on your shoulders burning through the fabric of your suit.
Your first instinct was to deflect. To say something easy. Lighthearted. Something that wouldn’t make your chest feel like it was caving in under her stare.
But the way she looked at you, with something too sharp, too knowing, too close to understanding what you weren’t saying, made it impossible to lie.
You scrambled for an excuse, anything to steer away from the truth.
"You don’t want to dance with me."
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, sharp and certain, like she had already decided the answer for you.
Something inside you twisted. You felt it—the briefest flicker of disappointment, sharp and bitter, before you could shove it down. It was stupid. Irrational.
But for a single, awful moment, you thought maybe she had been hoping you’d refuse. Your stomach twisted.
"I wasn’t…"
Her blue eyes narrowed. "Could’ve fooled me."
You barely had time to process the sting behind her words before the music started.
Instinct took over. Without thinking, you twirled her.
Haley gasped softly, caught off guard, her hands instinctively tightening against your shoulders to keep herself steady.
And just like that—you were dancing.
The steps came easily. Too easily.
It should have been hard to match the rhythm. It should have taken weeks of practice to master the precise footwork. Alex had only shown it to you once. Like everything else in your life—it only took once.
And Haley? She moved effortlessly, like she was made for this. Like she was made to fit against you like this.
She returned to your arms just as swiftly as she left them, her fingers curling tighter around the fabric of your coat.
"You wanted to dance with Penny, didn’t you?"
You faltered—barely, but enough for her to notice.
"I don't."
The words left your mouth too fast. Too immediate.
Haley’s lips parted slightly, startled by your complete lack of hesitation.
"You don’t?"
You hesitated now. Not because it wasn’t true—because it was.
Because saying it out loud, with her, right there, in your arms, looking at you like she was trying to solve a puzzle—felt like admitting to something much bigger.
Something you weren’t ready to name. And yet—
"I don’t want to dance with anyone but you."
There. There it was.
Your dumb, reckless mouth running away from you again.
The words had left before you could stop them, slipping through your defenses like water through cracked stone. And now—now there was no taking them back.
Haley stilled in your arms. Her grip on your shoulders had eased, but her eyes never left yours—sharp, searching, waiting. A slow inhale.
"Then why?" she pressed, voice steady but insistent. "Where were you? I haven’t seen you in days. You haven’t visited us for breakfast."
You swallowed thickly. Damn it.
Of course, she noticed. Of course, she counted.
Four days.Four days of avoiding her. Four days of working yourself into exhaustion, of diving headfirst into the mines with reckless abandon, hoping—stupidly, naively—that maybe if you buried yourself deep enough, you could outrun whatever this was. Whatever she was doing to you.
But the thing about Haley Carter?
She never let anything slide.
"Tell me."
There was something in her voice that left no room for avoidance. No escape.
And when your eyes met hers again, the music, the crowd, the festival—all of it ceased to exist.
It was just her. Just you.
And the four days of silence stretched between you, fragile as glass.
You inhaled, forcing the words out. "I was out mining."
A flicker of something—doubt? frustration?—crossed her face.
"And?"
You hesitated. Your fingers tensed against her waist.
She was close. So close.
You could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her dress, the faintest scent of coconut and vanilla clinging to her hair.
And Yoba help you, you were so weak for it.
"And maybe I was kind of avoiding you…"
Her glare was instant.
Your stomach plummeted. Oh, shit.
Panic sets in.
You scrambled to backpedal, hands tightening around her waist like that would somehow ground you.
"I was embarrassed that I puked on you!"
A beat of silence. A single blink. And then—
"You what?"
You winced. Oh, fantastic. Perfect.
You had somehow, miraculously, spectacularly, made this even worse.
Desperate to recover, you hurriedly added, "Alex told me it was your self-care day and… I know I ruined it for you. And now I ruined your dance."
The irritation in her eyes softened.
Shifted into something else. Something gentler. Something far more dangerous.
"Idiot."
It should have been biting. It should have been mocking.
But instead, it came out like a sigh of relief.
And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world—
Her arms relaxed completely, hands slipping from your shoulders to wrap around your neck. Your breath hitched.
She let you hold her. No hesitation. No resistance. Just… trust.
The warmth of her breath tickled your collarbone as she whispered, "You haven’t ruined anything."
"Yet." You chuckled, squeezing her waist just a little—just enough to feel real.
"You know…" Haley’s voice dropped to something softer, something almost dangerous.
She leaned closer—so close that her lips nearly grazed your jaw.
"You smell good today."
You nearly stopped breathing. Her words hit you like a punch to the gut.
You could take on a horde of monsters in the mines. You could rebuild an entire town from the ground up.
But this? This had you completely, utterly defenseless.
And then, like a goddamn idiot, you whispered, "Had to smell my best for my queen, right?"
She smiled. She actually smiled.
And Yoba help you, you were so, so doomed.
****
A/n: I only wrote this different perspective for fun and yet I found myself giggling as I wrote the scenes. From Haley’s perspective, it’s completely and utterly different. It was messy, chaotic and uncertain. It was a push and pull of some kind. And our farmer, the ever calm and collected between the two of them has been fighting a losing battle all this time. She was better with emotions but she’s quite a runner, and well… denial is her thing also haha. Also if you noticed, some dialogues were different but with the same thought. I thought it’d be a fun detail to add that since it’s from a different perspective, they have a different way of narrating the scenes. Anyway, I have to stop here because it’s getting far too long. I also maxed out the block per post soooo . 🤷♀️ I also didn’t plan to do the farmer’s perspective for every chapter but I found myself writing it nonetheless. I find it quite fun and interesting that while writing, I’m starting to learn the qualities and quirks of the farmer even though she’s my own creation.
If you want, you can listen to Every Breath You Take by The Police, Kiss Me by Sixpence None The Richer, and Bags by Clairo while reading because this special chapter is inspired by these songs.
Anyhow, sorry for the long wait. I only have time on Saturdays to write so please forgive me. I hope you’re all doing well. Ciao!
(The best of this post and its reblogs, but with links that work)
Here is a website where you can scroll down to all the different levels of the ocean
Here is a website where you can see the future of the universe
Here is a website where you can press a ‘make everything okay’ button, over and over, until things really are okay
Here is a website that you can read if you feel like a burden
Here is a website where you can look at strobe illusions (TW strobe/flashing)
Here is a website where you can cut stuff up (TW blood/sh)
Here and here are websites where you can play with sand
Here is a website where you can draw with macaroni and other fun foods
Here is a website where you can paint someone’s nails
Here is a website where you can grow a garden with emojis
Here is a website with hundreds of videos of people hugging you (rightfully dubbed ‘the nicest place on the internet’ because it really is, y’all, it made me cry)
Here is a website that will take you to other useless websites
Here is a website where you can make a tiny cat play bongo drums (and other instruments!)
Here is a website to help give you gentle reminders <3
Here is a website where you can grow a tiny farm
Here is a website where you can take a bunch of scientific personality tests
Note: Saw this on TikTok and can't help but make a crack fic 😂 Btw, next chapter for Kiss It Off Me is WIP, and after that, I'll start with the request in my inbox.
Here's the link of the Tiktok if you want to check it out: https://vt.tiktok.com/ZS6VajaMP/ (Though I'm not sure when's the Tiktok ban for the US so I'll just explain that it's a fanart of farmer and Haley doing the breaking dishes trend lmao)
The late afternoon sun painted everything in warm, golden hues as Haley and Alex stood outside the Mullners' house. Haley’s phone sat on a tripod, its lens aimed squarely at them.
Haley let out an exasperated huff, smoothing her sundress as she glared at Alex. "Come on, Alex! It can’t be that hard!" she snapped, hands planted on her hips.
Alex was hunched over, hands on his knees, panting like he’d just run a marathon. His red tank top was clinging to him, damp from sweat. He held up a hand, trying to buy himself some time. "Gimme a sec to catch my breath, Hay," he said, his voice strained.
"You’re acting like I weigh a freaking ton!" Haley fired back, the annoyance in her voice cutting through the quiet street.
"Yoba, Hay," Alex grumbled, straightening up with a wince as he rolled his shoulder. "You don’t weigh a ton, but we’ve been doing this stupid TikTok trend over and over! I swear, my shoulder’s about to pop out. Ow..."
"That’s because you’re doing it all wrong!" Haley shot back, throwing her hands up in frustration. "You look like you’re struggling to lift me! Me! I can’t have people thinking I weigh as much as a cow or something!"
Alex looked at her like she’d lost it, shaking his head. "How can I not struggle? You’re supposed to be jumping at the same time I lift you! That’s how this works—it’s all about momento or whatever."
Haley’s face twisted into an unimpressed glare, but her lips twitched like she was holding back a laugh.
"Momentum, you dungus!" she corrected, smacking his arm lightly. "Not ‘momento.’ Good Yoba, Alex, do you even know what you’re talking about?"
Alex blinked at her, then cracked a sheepish grin, scratching the back of his neck.
"Whatever," he muttered. "You know what I mean."
Haley let out an exasperated laugh, crouching down to pick up another plate they’d set aside. "I’m starting to wonder why I even asked you to help me with this."
Alex leaned back against the side of the house, smirking now. "Cookies. You said you’d bake me cookies if I helped."
Haley paused, narrowing her eyes at him. "And you’re not getting any if you keep acting like this is the hardest thing in the world."
Alex groaned, dragging his hand down his face. "Fine, one more time," he grumbled, stepping back into position. "But if this doesn’t work, I’m done."
Haley brightened instantly, clapping her hands together. "Perfect! Now remember, you have to time it with me. Don’t make me look like a sack of potatoes this time!"
The phone’s recording light started blinking as they got into position. Alex muttered under his breath, "I can’t believe this is my life right now..." but crouched anyway, ready to give it one last go.
Just as he was about to lift Haley by the waist, a familiar voice rang out from the path leading to the Mullners’ yard.
"Sup, fellas," you called, adjusting the straps of your russet backpack that were digging into your tank top. "Heard you two bickering all the way from Pierre’s. What’s the fuss this time?"
Alex straightened up with a groan, rolling his shoulder as though he’d just finished a wrestling match. "Ask this crazy woman right here," he said, jerking his thumb toward Haley. "Also, I really need Harvey to check this shoulder…"
Haley gasped, scandalized. "Who are you calling crazy?!"
"Anyway," Alex continued, ignoring her and gesturing vaguely toward the tripod, "Hay wanted to do that ‘breaking dishes’ trend on TikTok, but she keeps messing it up. And now I’m the one with a busted shoulder because of it."
"The hell you mean I keep messing it up—!"
Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Breaking dishes trend? What’s that? I don’t see any of y’all breaking actual dishes.”
Alex barked out a laugh, wiping a hand over his face. “Are you serious? Don’t tell me you don’t have TikTok on your phone.”
“Nah,” you replied with a shrug, setting your rucksack down on the porch. “Signal’s pretty crap on the farm, and honestly, I don’t use my phone much. Too busy keeping the cows from eating the chicken feed, you know?”
Haley groaned, throwing her hands up in disbelief. “Of course you don’t know what TikTok is,” she muttered, running a hand through her hair. “What kind of hermit are you?”
“Hey!”You said, feigning offense, crossing your arms with an exaggerated pout. “Just because I don’t spend my time doing this whole ‘breaking dishes’ thing doesn’t mean I’m out of the loop.”
“You are so out of the loop,” Alex said, smirking as he leaned against the porch railing, clearly enjoying himself. “Anyway, the trend is basically flexing your strength. The guy’s supposed to lift the girl on their shoulder like she weighs nothing. You know, it makes you look all badass while Rihanna’s ‘Breaking Dishes’ plays in the background.”
“Oh, I see,” you said, nodding slowly as the gears turned in your head. “So... does it require the person doing the lifting to be a guy?”
“Wait, what?” Haley asked, her voice rising an octave as she stepped back, sensing where this might be going.
“That’s not a bad idea, old Mac!” Alex cut in, grinning as he grabbed the phone on the tripod and adjusted the angle. “Camera’s rolling. Do your worst, Y/n/n!”
Before Haley could protest, you stepped forward and grinned at her mischievously. “Alright, Hay. Brace yourself.”
“Wha—wait, hold on!" Haley barely had time to react as your hands found her waist. With surprising ease, you hoisted her off the ground, smoothly maneuvering her onto your shoulder. She let out an uncharacteristic squeak of surprise, her hands instinctively grabbing at your shoulders for balance.
“Yoba, Haley,” you teased, steadying her as if this was something you did every day. “You’re lighter than you look. Guess Alex really is just weak.”
“Hey!” Alex protested from behind the camera, but the grin on his face betrayed his amusement.
“Put me down!” Haley squirmed, though her voice lacked any real heat. Her cheeks flushed pink as she realized the situation. “This is not how this is supposed to go!”
“Oh, come on. Isn’t this what you wanted?” you quipped, turning to face the camera as you easily adjusted Haley’s position on your shoulder. “Breaking dishes trend, right? I’d say I nailed it.”
“Y/n, I swear if this goes viral, I’m never letting you live it down.”
Alex barked out a laugh as he stopped the recording. “Too late. That was gold! You have to post it, Hay! Can she, Old Mac? Can she?”
You chuckled, glancing at Haley, who was still recovering from the whirlwind of events. “Sure. I’m fine if she’s fine with it,” you replied with a grin. Gently, you lowered her back onto the ground, her feet touching down as lightly as a feather. “Though… I think I broke her, Alex.”
“Yep, sure did,” Alex teased, folding his arms as he leaned back against the porch with a smug grin.
You laughed as you gathered your things. “Anyway, I’m gonna get going. Need to ask Clint about an update on my tools.”
Alex gave you a fist bump. “Catch you later, Old Mac.”
You turned to Haley, who was still standing there, looking like she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or give you another piece of her mind.
“Oh, and Haley?” you called out, smirking as you adjusted the strap of your rucksack. “If you need to do any more trends, my farm’s just down the road. See ya!”
With that, you strolled off toward the path leading back to Clint's shop, leaving Alex cackling on the porch and Haley staring after you, shaking her head but smiling despite herself.
****
Alex was practically doubled over, his phone in hand as he scrolled through the comment section of Haley’s latest TikTok. His laughter echoed through the room, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.
“Raw, next question!” he managed to wheeze out, slapping his knee for emphasis.
Haley, sprawled across the couch, groaned and threw a decorative pillow in his direction. “Ugh, stop it already! It’s not that funny.”
“It’s absolutely that funny!” Alex shot back, ducking the pillow effortlessly. “Do you even read these? These women are feral, Hay. And I’m not even talking about the ones thirsting over you. Y/n/n’s got her own fanbase now.”
Haley sat up, her cheeks heating as she snatched her phone to check the comments. Sure enough, there were a few decently wholesome remarks buried among the absolute chaos. But the majority? Feral didn’t even begin to describe it.
AND THE CROWD IS... taking off their clothes?
Born to ride, forced to scroll.
Ho is u single?
I have nothing appropriate to say
I can take both of them. Not in a fight 😏
Does the farmer girl do weddings? As like a bride?
Does anyone know if the farmer girl has tiktok?
Scrolling feels like a divorce
All ten fingers!
I told my parents about us btw
Weird way of proposing but yes.
Wuh luh wuh?
BOOM SHAKALAKAAAA
“Oh, and this one’s gold.” Alex scrolled further, nearly choking on his laughter. “‘I swear my pants were just on.’ Yoba, help us all.”
Haley groaned louder, flopping back against the couch. “I regret everything. I should’ve never let Y/n lift me for that trend.”
Alex grinned, leaning back in his chair with a smug expression. “Oh no, Hay. This is the best content you’ve ever posted. You better pray to Yoba that Y/n doesn’t open a TikTok account, or it’s game over for you. You’re cooked.”
Haley grabbed another pillow, this time fully intending to launch it at Alex’s face.
“Shut up!” she yelled, her cheeks flushed a shade of crimson that she couldn’t blame on the sunlight streaming through the window.
~~~~
A/N: Now that I think about it, this one-shot can be considered part of the Kiss It Off Me universe. The timeline's probably during summer.
Hi I just wanted to say how much I LOVE your Haley x farmer series. Your writing is literally so beautiful. Also, I was about to reread the series and I noticed on the notes on the first chapter that you said English isn’t your main language… ummm HOW?!? You write so much better than a lot of people I know that’s BORN HERE. But yeah- just wanted to say I love your writing
-🐨
It means a lot to hear this from you. Thank you! To be honest, I'm really hard on myself when it comes to my work, whether creative writing or plain academic work. I second-guess everything and try so hard to make it all perfect that I sometimes worry that my work loses all its soul, y'know? I'm glad you didn't think so. :) As of now, I'm still trying to get a better grasp on writing, and I hope I can provide you with the same feelings as this in my future works.
It really means a lot to me to see all your feedback. I hope you have a nice, well-deserved day, Anon! ;)
If she's second-guessing everything she ever thought was platonic and casual between the two of you, is this still casual?
They should have meant nothing but it's starting to feel like there is something.
Pairings: Haley x Fem!Farmer
Disclaimer: I do not own Stardew Valley or any of the related characters. Stardew Valley is created by and owned by ConcernedApe. This fanfiction is intended for entertainment only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of the original Stardew Valley story belong to ConcernedApe.
Warning: None?
Notes:
I know, I know I'm such a horrible person for leaving this story hanging loose in the air. I've honestly had this chapter rotting in my drafts because I didn't have the motivation to write anymore, not to mention the lack of luxury with time. I just recently graduated as well so I was busy preparing for that back in July-October (I'm a working woman now, hooray! [Not 😔]) Nobody told me that working a 9-5 job (or more like 8-6 in my case) is going to be the end of me. That doesn't even include the 6-hour commute back to back. So as you can see, I'm dying here. I don't really have the time to sit in front of my laptop after hours of sitting in front of my company laptop 😔
I'm really sorry for the long wait, and I still can't promise an immediate update after this. This chapter serves as my apology to you guys. Hope you like it!
Fall 1
"Tell me. Are you and Y/n/n dating?"
Haley nearly choked on her food. Emily said it so casually that she wasn't prepared how to react properly.
So, as opposed to her usually calm and composed demeanor, Haley only managed to sputter a pathetic "what?" as she sat down her toast and reached for her glass of water in hopes to wash down the piece of damn bread she had swallowed accidentally without chewing it properly, courtesy of her sister.
"Are you and Y/n/n dating?" Emily repeated, unabashed and with her annoying eyes crinkling from the side, a look Haley knew all too well when Emily was trying to rise up something in her.
"No, I heard you the first time!" Haley exclaimed, her face turning red as she slammed the empty glass. "I mean–what the hell, Em?"
Emily raised an eyebrow, taking a leisurely sip of her coffee, acting like she was not actively ruining her little sister's evening right now.
"You mean to tell me you're not after your whole public display of affection on the night of the moonlight jellies?"
For a brief moment, the events flashed back on Haley's mind– your silent tears, quivering lips, Haley's arm wrapped around your waist in an almost protective, comforting way as you shared your thoughts with her for the first time since you came here. It was a casual and completely platonic thing to do.
She could vividly remember how fresh tears bested up on your eyes as a baby jellyfish separated itself from its group and went towards you, almost peering cautiously at the human before her.
It was beautiful, you said that night. The night was magical. and that only sank into you that you were no longer Joja's prisoner. You're here, in Pelican town, making a name for yourself, with townspeople who loved you and treated you as an equal. You have actual friends that care for you and most importantly, you found a home.
Was it casual for her to know all this?
"Y/n was feeling emotional at that moment. I was just trying to be her friend," she finally said after a moment of silence.
Yes, it's casual.
Emily must have noticed her pausing as she scoffed behind her toast. "Friend? I certainly don't kiss Sandy's forehead, and she's my best friend."
"Because you're doing way worse with her." Haley rolled her eyes at that. "Seriously, Em, get off my back. Y/n and I are just good friends."
"Okay, I'll get off your back if you can counter my arguments," Emily challenged, leaning forward the table with a mischievous glint in her eye.
She should say no. Emily's just giving her something else to bite on knowing fully well Haley's bound to bite more than she could chew.
Say no. There's nothing to counter because there's nothing to even argue about.
Say n–
"Yoba, fine, if that will shut you up." Damn it, Haley.
Emily's smirk grew and Haley dreaded the first thing that would come out of her hippie mouth.
"You don't kiss Alex on the forehead at all. You don't even hug him for Yoba's sake, and he's your best friend. You're going to tell me everything that's going on with Y/n is entirely platonic and casual?" Emily's expression was triumphant as she laid out her case.
Haley lets out a grin of her own. If Emily's going to lay out obvious bullshits like this then she can definitely handle whatever her sister's planning to throw at her.
"First off, Alex stinks—"
"Y/n/n's job makes her friends with dirt and sweat, no offense to her, but isn't that an ick already to you?" Emily interrupted, smirking.
"I wouldn't know what you're talking about because her hygiene is almost as impeccable as mine," Haley retorted, a smirk of her own forming as she took a defiant bite of her bacon.
"Okay... Were you practicing your answers before?" Emily narrowed her eyes at her, suspicious. "There's no way you're this prepared to counter my arguments!"
"So, I won?"
"Ah, ah... not quite, little sis." Emily stopped her from standing up. "How about the sunflower? That girl planted a whole yard of sunflowers in her yard and you mean to tell me there's nothing homosexual happening around you guys?"
"She's a farmer, duh. Of course, she's going to plant sunflowers at some point. They're pretty and very much profitable."
"Not as profitable as blueberries, corn, or cranberries. Plus, I've been there, it's almost half a hectare, it's crazy."
"You're kidding?" Haley's eyes bulged at that. She's got to admit, she did not see that bullet coming. "Last time I was there, it was just in her front yard."
"Half a hectare," her sister affirmed with that stupidly annoying knowing smirk. "You didn't see that coming, did you? Got no counter for me?"
"Shut up. If you're so curious about her lack of good strategy with her crops, you should talk to her yourself." Haley finally snapped, pushing her plate away.
She's done humoring Emily with her shits.
"Oh, I'll do just that." But it seemed her sister wasn't done with her either. "Anyway, moving on. How can you explain the holding hands?"
Haley visibly relaxed at that. She has some sensible explanation for that, one she's certain Emily wouldn't be able to counter.
"Female friends do that."
"Hmm... So if she were to hold hands with her best friend, Penny, that would be alright with you?" Well, shit.
That made her pause for the second time this evening.
"Of course," she scoffed. "As I said, it's normal for female friends to do that. It's a casual thing girls do. Nothing to bat an eye for."
Sensible explanation her ass. That wasn't even half-sensible, if at all
"I figured," Emily responded, expression turning much more serious now that it kind of made Haley even more nervous. "I just thought if she were this mushy with you, and you're just friends with her, then she's probably mushier with her best friend."
Silence.
Because what the fuck is she supposed to respond to that? This is a piece of information that hadn't crossed her mind, ever. She knows you're a sweetheart to everyone. It's as if it was second nature to you. It was a casual and completely platonic of you to do. Nothing to bat an eye for.
Nothing.
Still. She just hadn't considered the possibility of you being mushier to others.
Were you also comforting Penny the way you were comforting her?
So caring and protective that it felt like those warmth were exclusive just for her only?
She just couldn't imagine it before and now it's physically making her sick in her stomach. Was this still casual for her to even feel?
"She's pals as well with Leah, I heard they'd occasionally do sleepovers in their cabins. It's so cut–" Emily went on before finally noticing the turmoil in her sister's eyes cascading down to her hands. "Okay, what did that tissue ever do to you?"
Haley stopped, noticing the crumpled piece of tissue against her clenched fists. She looked up to Emily with a sharp glare and found her sister staring back at her, not even flinching away from her dissecting gaze. "Why are you even saying this to me?"
"Nothing. Just thought it would be best to talk to one of the possible sources. I heard from Abigail that Y/n/n just recently purchased a bouquet of flowers so I thought she might have given it to you."
Emily's sudden nonchalance at this conversation is infuriating her to a certain degree that she felt like she wanted to barge inside Clint's sorry-ass-of-a-shop and beat the living shit out of him.
Emily went on, humming casually as she piled up the dishes to wash them in the sink. "Hmm, I couldn't believe I was wrong. You were so close with her that I thought she'd give it to you. I guess she's been secretly seeing someone else then."
"She what?" Her stomach dropped.
Haley was so caught off guard at her last sentence that she couldn't help but rip the tissue on her hands. So much for that.
"It's been the talk of the town, you know? There are even bets going on but it's kind of hard to pinpoint who exactly, not when she gets along with all the bachelors and bachelorettes here. Some even bet on themselves, like Abigail. I mean, it does make sense. She and Y/n/n spent an awful lot of time on those mines."
That made Haley stand up from her seat, her form indignant. "So, you bet on me? Is this why we're having this conversation?"
"Of course, I would support my sister!" replied Emily, briefly looking behind her shoulder just in time to catch Haley scowling from where she stood. She went on, almost saying the words in a singsong voice as she continued soaking the dishes. "But if you want, I can always bet to myself. Y/n is a cute gal after all."
"I hate everything about you."
"You don't!" Emily readily chirped out behind Haley who had enough of this conversation and was already stomping her way into her room.
"Good night, Em!"
With that, she slammed the door to her room in hopes of finally ending this damn conversation. If she knew this was where it would have led, she would have bolted out the moment Emily opened her mouth.
She didn't need to know all this particularly if you hadn't even said anything else to her about this.
She scoffed. 'I thought we were close enough for her to share something like this with me. Afraid not.'
"I'm just saying, sis. Y/n/n is one of the most eligible bachelorettes in the valley. Anyone would be lucky to have her."
Emily's voice came once again just behind her door making her groan against her pillow. Hadn't she had enough?
Haley briefly considered running towards her dark room just to tune out whatever Emily was going to say but she stopped dead in her tracks when her sister's words next came through.
"There's going to be a competition. If you don't get your shit together soon, someone's bound to steal her heart. I just hate to see you getting hurt."
Was it casual for her to admit that hearing this news was already starting to hurt her?
This could mean nothing. Right?
****
Fall 2
A day of shopping in Zuzu City was just what Haley needed. While she had promised herself to tone down on hoarding clothes, she made an exception just this once. Shopping was one of her ways to cope with stress, aside from photography, but she had scratched the thought of using her camera for today because she didn't feel like spending her day wandering around town. With the bets on whom Y/n was giving the bouquet to, she knew the townspeople's eyes were hot on her trail.
The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm golden glow over the landscape when Haley stepped off the bus, her arms laden with shopping bags from her trip to the city.
She had noticed Pam looking her way since the trip began, and it didn't take a genius to figure out what the older woman wanted to hear from her. That's why when the bus pulled to a stop, Haley was quick to bolt out of the vehicle.
"Oi, kid." Haley froze at the sound of Pam's voice. So much for her plan to escape. "Haley."
"Oh." Haley whirled around, fighting back a wince at what was about to come. "Hey, Pam. What's up?"
Pam's steps were slow and deliberate as she stepped off the bus and Haley had no choice but to watch and wait expectantly for the words to finally come out.
"Are you and Farmer Y/n dating?" There it is.
Despite expecting this topic, Haley couldn't help but feel her face flush slightly under Pam's scrutinizing gaze.
"Uhm... no?"
Pam raised an eyebrow. "Why do you sound so unsure?"
Haley shifted on her feet, glancing down at her shopping bags as if they might provide an answer. "We're not dating," she said more firmly this time. "Why?"
"Good, then that scratches you off the list."
"Excuse me?" Haley's brows knitted in confusion.
"You see, kid. There have been bets going on about who Y/n will give the bouquet to. Of course, I'm putting all my beers on my little girl. She's the closest to the farmer, aside from you. So, if you weren't dating Y/n, then my Penny's definitely got a shot."
Haley blinked, taken aback. "And you're okay with that? I mean... Y/n's a girl and all..."
Pam raised an eyebrow, her expression turning serious. "I didn't know you were homophobic, kid."
"I'm not! I swear. It's just that… things are a bit different now compared to your—well, generation. I doubt my folks would be as accepting as you."
Pam's face softened slightly as she sighed. "Penny's father left us when she was really young. So, I don't wish for her to experience the same thing. Y/n's a good kid. Responsible and has a sense of direction. Far from my dead-beat husband. Penny's happy with her, and that's the only thing that matters to me. And it's not bad that the gal is well-off. I heard she was supposed to be Joja's heiress. But even so, that farm of hers is enough to provide for generations of her future family. I could never ask for more capable hands to take care of my kid than Y/n."
Haley couldn't help but tune out of this conversation. She didn't need to hear all the right reasons why Penny's the best shot for your heart. Penny's a sweetheart and all, has her heart set in the right direction, a characteristic that perfectly compliments your lifestyle.
But why does this feel like Emily stabbed her with her kitchen knife and twisted it for good measure just to spite her?
Wait... what did she just say?
"Joja?" She furrowed her eyebrows at this information. "Where'd you hear that?"
"From the mayor, but don't tell him I told you. I think it was supposed to be a secret or some shit." Pam shrugged. " Still... word gets around, you know? Small town and all. People talk. But it doesn't matter where she came from. What matters is who she is now and how she treats the people she cares about."
Haley nodded slowly, absorbing Pam's words but couldn't tell exactly why there was a lump in her throat she couldn't swallow.
"I guess you're right. Y/n's a good person. Anyone would be lucky to have her." Haley faked a smile, desperately hoping the older woman didn't catch her in her lie.
Pam smiled, her stern demeanor softening. "Exactly. So, if you're not interested, that's fine. But just know that I know when people are bullshitting me. I know, I know it's not any of my business. But if you really do happen to have something going on with the farmer, get your shit together soon."
"I'll..." She didn't know it was possible to have the lump in her throat grow even more, she could feel a twinge of something else she couldn't quite identify. "I'll take note of that. Thanks for the chat, Pam. I'll see you around."
"Likewise, kid," Pam replied, waving as she climbed back onto the bus. "Oh, and Haley?"
"Hmm?"
"You know what you feel, don't let fear stop you from following your heart, or else you'll spend the rest of your life wishing you had."
When even other people can point out how non-platonic and far from casual the things you and she do are, is it still casual now?
****
Fall 9
It's been an excruciating week of being asked if she was dating Y/n, and it's starting to get on Haley's nerves. Not because she was entirely opposed to the idea, but because she knew it wasn't even her to begin with, and she didn't need everyone rubbing salt in her wound every minute and every second of every damn day.
She didn't need to hear Abigail bragging to Sebastian and Sam that any day now, she'd be receiving the same bouquet she had arranged that you bought from Pierre, and how ironic it would be if she were to receive them, and how she wasn't actually opposed to the idea.
"I haven't really considered that I could possibly like a girl, but hey, it's Y/n. I'm not complaining. If she were to give me the flowers, I'd say yes in a heartbeat," she had even said. That's all Haley needed to hear to decide she wasn't in the mood to shop right now at Pierre's if she was going to hear bullshits like that.
She also didn't need to hear any sort of development you have with Penny. She didn't need to know you went with her to Zuzu to buy some school supplies for the kids on Penny's birthday. She didn't need to hear you gave the teacher and her students a tour of your farm.
She didn't need to hear any of it.
Because how in Yoba's name had she not considered your growing friendship with the redhead?
"Miss Y/n? I have a question," Haley heard one day from behind the trees by Cindersap Lake. She lowered her camera from her eyes when she recognized Jas' voice followed by yours.
"What is it, Jas?"
"You're from the city, right? How do you court someone there?"
She heard you chuckle. "Well... We go on dates, walk our dates back to their door, and then... That's when our date will decide if they still want to see us for our next date."
You paused, and Haley thought that was it, but the next words you uttered almost made her pack up her equipment and go home.
"And if we're worthy of being kissed."
"Y/n!" came Penny's scandalized gasp. "They're kids. They don't need to hear that!"
"Right, right... Sorry, Pen!"
"Ohhh." That's Vincent. "So, are you like courting Miss Penny since you're walking her home, too?"
"Vincent!" Penny scolded, sounding almost aghast at her student's blunt question.
Haley could only allow herself to breathe when you finally answered Sam's brother.
"Haha, we're walking Jas home together, remember? If anything, it seems you were the one courting her since you wanted to come with us to walk her home," you teased him.
"Ew! I don't want Vincent to court me!"
"Hey! What's wrong with me?"
"You're too childish like your brother! No wonder Miss Penny turned down Mister Sam. I bet you she likes someone like Miss Y/n. I know I would."
"Hey!" yelled Vincent, obviously offended.
"Okay, that's enough kids," admonished Penny, and Haley could only imagine the horror on her face at Jas' comment. "It's not good to gossip, Jas, and it's not polite to ask adults things like that, Vincent."
"Alright, Miss Penny. I'm getting inside. Thank you for walking me home," Jas replied, her tone still somewhat defiant.
"Bye, Jas!" you called after her, followed by the sound of Vincent sniffling. "Hey now, little dude... don't be upset. I'm sure Jas was only joking."
"I don't understand why she needs to be mean. Am I not likable?" Vincent's voice wavered.
Haley dared to take a peek behind the bushes. She watched as you knelt down to be at eye level with Vincent, your smile as warm as the setting sun.
"Anyone can be likable to a certain someone. Like you," you said, ruffling his hair. "But we can't really force someone to like us the way we want, you know?"
"But... are you just going to accept they don't like you even though you're nice?" Vincent asked, his voice tinged with confusion.
You chuckled softly, briefly looking up to meet Penny's eyes, which had been fixed on you with such fondness that it tightened the knot in Haley's stomach.
"Well... I didn't say you have to give up. Sometimes people say mean things to protect themselves. You just have to be patient, and I'm sure they'll come around eventually," you explained gently.
Vincent nodded, his big brown eyes hanging on to every word you said.
"But..." you continued, "if this person has made it clear they don't like you, then you have to accept their boundaries, okay?"
"Eh..." He pouted. "I don't get it. Adulting is so confusing."
You barked out a laugh. "Don't worry, you have plenty of time to grow up, buddy."
Vincent's expression brightened a bit at your words. "Okay, I'll try to remember that."
"That's the spirit," you said, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
Penny smiled, her eyes softening as she looked at you. "Thank you, Y/n. You're really good with them."
"Thanks, Penny," you replied, standing up and stretching. "They're good kids. Just need a little guidance sometimes."
"Are you feeling any better now, Vincent?" Penny asked gently. "Don't take Jas' words to heart, okay?"
"Uh-huh! I'm feeling a little better, Miss Penny! But... could Miss Y/n carry me until we get home? I'm..." He yawned. "I'm a little tired."
"Uhm, I don't think..."
"... alrighty then, let's get this little guy home as well," Haley could hear you grunt, and she could only imagine you carrying the sleepy Vincent in your arms.
"Your farm's right there, Y/n/n." Penny pointed out gently. "I can walk Vincent home. You don't have to make a detour."
"Nonsense, a little walk isn't going to kill me. Plus, I want to walk you home as well."
The redhead giggled softly. "I wasn't informed you were courting me."
"Oh, really now? I wasn't informed either," you joked, and Haley could feel herself dying a little on the inside.
****
Was it casual when you gave her daffodils every chance you could get when you barely even knew her?
Was it casual for you to have a daily mandatory breakfast with the Carter siblings?
Was it casual when you gave Haley her favorite gift on her birthday even though coconuts aren't something you can just spawn at hand when you need them to?
Was it casual that you managed to pay attention enough to actually know what her favorites are?
When you were drunk and Haley made her way outside to get you, in a greasy saloon of all places, even though she's not yet finished with her skincare, was it casual now?
Was it casual when you called her babe while you were drunk?
Was it casual when you declared you'd only allow yourself to be this close to her is in the reality you created in your dreams?
When she stayed at your place, took care of you, and cleaned your vomit-stained shirt and mattress, was it casual now?
Was it casual when you avoided her for four days because you thought you ruined her pampering day?
When she started minimizing her makeup because you told her once she's pretty even without them, was it casual?
When Haley was upset at the thought you'd be dancing with someone else, was it casual now?
Was it casual when you assured her you didn't want to dance with anyone but her?
When Haley, for once, didn't think about winning the flower dance and was focused on your endearing smile and relaxing embrace, was it casual now?
Was it casual when you were bloody and wet from the rain and the first thing you thought was knocking on her door?
When she could only focus on your wounds rather than your dirt-stained body staining the carpet, was it casual?
When Haley tried her hardest to treat your wounds despite fearing the sight of blood, was it casual now?
Was it casual when you almost died to get her a gift just because you thought she'd find them pretty enough to be the subject of her camera?
When Haley kissed your forehead the same way her grandmother used to do on her to kiss the pain away, was it casual?
When Haley forced you to take her bed because she couldn't bear to let your injured self sleep uncomfortably on the couch, was it still casual?
Was it casual when the first thing you thought upon waking up was to let Haley sleep on her bed because you didn't want her to suffer any back pain from her sleeping position on the foot of the bed even though you're injured yourself?
When Haley thought you hated her for the poisonous words she spouted on you that night and hated herself for it, was it casual now?
Was it casual when you tried your hardest to find her great grandma's bracelet because you couldn't bear to see her so upset despite your injuries?
Was it casual when you crafted a bouquet of sunflowers to make up for giving her a hated gift?
Was it casual when you planted a whole yard of sunflowers on your farm when Haley mentioned in passing that she loves them?
Was it casual when you helped her with her shopping bags even though you were obviously going somewhere else?
Was it casual for you and her to walk in the town, hand in hand? It could mean nothing.
When Haley's view of success was you beside her, was it casual?
When Haley couldn't handle the feeling of disappointing you, was it casual?
Was it casual of you to magically appear whenever she needs you?
Was it casual of you to be her number-one supporter in everything when she couldn't even believe in herself?
Was it casual when you made it your personal mission to keep her happy no matter what?
Was it casual when you made sure that no dirt could touch her not when you're around because you know how much she hated getting dirty?
When Haley no longer minds the feeling and smell of dirt, especially when you're around, was it still casual now?
Was it casual when you modeled for her despite hating modeling itself because Haley needed some new variations for her photography?
When Haley tried to conquer her fear of the ocean because she saw you once having fun with Leah swimming along the shore, was it casual?
Was it casual when you helped her conquer this fear even though you had plans for the day?
If she's second-guessing everything she ever thought was platonic and casual between the two of you, is this still casual?
They should have meant nothing but it's starting to feel like there is something.
****
The general store was quieter than usual that afternoon, with only a couple of customers browsing the shelves and the faint hum of Pierre’s old radio playing a static-filled tune in the background. Haley placed her basket of groceries on the counter with an air of casual confidence, her hair shimmering under the warm glow of the store's lights as if she had just stepped out of a magazine.
"There's my favorite blonde," Pierre greeted her with a grin, his tone far too cheerful to pass as entirely neutral. He adjusted his glasses as he began unpacking her items. "You got everything you need?"
Haley offered a small, polite smile, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I would appreciate it though if you restocked your peppermint coffee. Winter's coming soon, and I need my coffee to survive the whole season."
Pierre chuckled, nodding as he scribbled something on a notepad beside the register. "I'll keep note of that."
The rhythmic beep of the scanner broke the silence, but Pierre seemed to drag out the process, deliberately slow with each item. Haley tilted her head, pretending to examine the jars of preserves on a nearby shelf, though her curiosity flickered with each stolen glance Pierre gave her from behind the counter.
Her patience thinned as the seconds stretched on. She crossed her arms and finally turned back to him, narrowing her eyes. "What?" she asked, her voice sharp enough to slice through his act.
Pierre blinked, his hand pausing mid-air with a can of soup. "What, what?" he asked, his tone layered with faux innocence.
Haley raised an eyebrow, her expression shifting into one of exasperated suspicion. "Nothing. It's just... you looked like you wanted to say something."
Pierre hesitated, scratching the back of his neck as a sheepish grin spread across his face. "Has farmer Y/n told you who she gave the bouquet to?"
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Is this about the bet?"
"Sort of," Pierre admitted, lifting his hands in mock surrender. "Come on, I gave Gus five grand. I just know my daughter caught her eye. Why else would Y/n be here every other day just to give Abigail her weird collection of stones?"
Haley rolled her eyes so hard it felt like they might stay that way. "First off, it's none of your business. Secondly, even if I did know, I'm not about to spill it to the entire town."
Pierre's grin faltered slightly, but his persistence didn’t waver. "I get it." He sighed dramatically as he began to load her bag, though his eyes darted toward her with a flicker of mischief. "She gave it to you, didn’t she? I mean, it makes total sense."
Her irritation bubbled just beneath the surface as she prepared to unleash a sharp retort, each word she'd make sure colorful enough to crush Pierre's so-called pride.
Her fingers curled slightly around the edge of the counter, her nails digging into the wood as her lips parted to speak.
But then it happened—before she could form a single syllable, the distinct scent of freshly cut grass and minted soap filled her senses. Haley froze, the small hairs on the back of her neck standing on end as warmth radiated from the figure now standing just behind her.
"Hey there, doll," your voice was soft, low, and entirely too close for her comfort—or rather, for her ability to maintain composure. Haley could feel the faint brush of your breath against her skin, and she clenched her jaw to stifle a gasp.
Pierre perked up, his eyes sparkling with newfound interest as he set the last of Haley’s items into her bag. "Well, speak of the devil," he quipped with a knowing smirk, crossing his arms. "The farmer of the hour. What brings you here, Y/n?"
"Oh, I'm just out to get Haley," you replied smoothly, your tone casual as if you weren’t practically pressed against Haley’s back. You leaned slightly to the side, catching her narrowed gaze as she turned her head just enough to glance at you. "Emily told me she'll be here."
Haley’s lips twitched, fighting to suppress the blush creeping up her cheeks. "Do you mind?" she asked through gritted teeth, her voice laced with a mix of exasperation and something she refused to name.
She instinctively took a step forward, creating a thin barrier of space between the two of you. The distance was barely anything, but it felt monumental to her frayed nerves. You noticed it, of course—you noticed everything, just as you’d noticed her avoiding you the past few days. She’d orchestrated this whole "not a date" movie outing at your farm a while back before she started this shindig of avoiding you, and yet here she was, cornered by her own choices. She knew you'd confront her eventually; she just hadn't expected it to happen so soon.
Damn you, Emily. Haley cursed internally. Her sister's meddling defies the bound of the universe.
"Oh! Out for a date, I see," Pierre chimed in, his tone laced with playful curiosity. His eyes darted between the two of you, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.
Haley's pulse quickened, and she forced herself to remain calm. She looked at you, waiting—no, daring you to deny it. Say something, she thought. Deny it. Deflect. Anything.
Your eyebrows shot up, disappearing behind your bangs as you opened your mouth, undoubtedly preparing to clarify the situation. But before a single word could escape, the bell above the door jingled sharply, drawing all attention to the entrance.
Morris stepped inside, his smug face immediately souring the air. His presence was an unwelcome shadow, sharp and intrusive, like nails on a chalkboard.
Haley caught the subtle change in your demeanor, a storm cloud rolling across your features. You muttered a string of profanities under your breath, quiet enough that most wouldn't catch it. But Haley was close—too close—and every word hit her ears like a sharp note.
It startled her; you rarely, if ever, swore in her company.
The tension in your frame said everything she needed to know. Your clenched jaw, the way your hand flexed and then balled into a fist by your side, all screamed one thing: you loathed the man in front of you.
Haley felt her blood begin to boil, mirroring your intensity. You’d never told her exactly what had happened during your time with Joja, but the bitterness in your expression now, the way your muscles coiled like you were ready to fight, painted a vivid enough picture. That, and the sight of Morris’s condescending grin, was enough to make her want to deck the man herself.
"Miss Y/n!" Morris's oily voice filled the space, louder than necessary. "What a pleasant surprise! I finally got ahold of you." His gaze flicked briefly to Haley, dismissing her with barely a glance before returning to you. "When my employee Shane told me the new farmer who’d taken over the rundown farm was named Y/n, I didn’t think it was you at first."
Haley's fists clenched around her grocery bag. Her heart thudded with protective anger, but she said nothing, instead glancing at you from the corner of her eye. The slight twitch in your brow, the way your jaw tightened, and the stiffness in your stance spoke volumes. You were trying to keep calm, but Haley knew it was taking everything in you not to snap.
"Folks kept talking about a lovely farm you've got there," Morris continued, clearly not picking up on the warning signs. Or maybe he simply didn’t care. "Imagine my surprise when I found out you’d gone from our... employee of the month to a simple farmer in the middle of nowhere."
You took a deep breath through your nose, the air between you practically crackling with suppressed emotion. When you finally spoke, your voice was calm—too calm. The kind of calm that preceded a storm.
"Morris," you said curtly, your tone colder than Haley had ever heard it. "Piss off."
Haley's eyes widened slightly at your words. She'd never heard you speak like that before, not even when you were angry. There was venom in your tone, something raw and unfiltered.
"My, my... what foul words you have there, miss," Morris said, raising a hand to cover his mouth in mock disbelief, though his smirk betrayed his true intent. "Anyhow," he continued, his voice oozing false geniality, "I received a call from your mother stating that you had AWOL'ed from your job and left the city. This only spurred me to seek out the new farmer in town with the same name as you. It couldn’t have been a coincidence, right?"
Your jaw clenched, and your knuckles turned white as your nails dug into your palm. Haley could feel the tension radiating off of you like heat from a furnace. "Shut up," you hissed, your tone low but charged.
"But you were sleek," Morris went on, as if he hadn’t heard you—or more likely, chose to ignore you. "For months I tried to get a sight of you. It should have been easy, given how small this town is, but I never caught even a glimpse of you. Tell me, were you avoiding Joja on purpose?"
Haley's stomach churned as she watched you struggle to keep your composure. She'd never seen you like this—on edge, restrained, a storm barely contained behind your eyes.
"I don’t want anything to do with Joja," you spat, your voice trembling slightly, not with fear, but with the effort it took to hold yourself back. "And I don’t want anything to do with my mother. I left Joja for good, and I have no desire to take over that hell of a company."
"Joja needs its heir, Miss Y/n. No matter how far you run, Joja will always be one step behind you." He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I’ve already informed your mother of your presence here in Pelican Town, and she is beyond displeased."
Haley saw your breath hitch, your shoulders stiffening as Morris’s words hit their mark.
"You’re wasting your time," you bit out, your voice quieter now, but no less fierce. "I’m not going back, and there’s nothing she—or Joja—can do to change that."
Morris chuckled, a low, condescending sound that made Haley’s skin crawl. His smirk widened, and he tilted his head in mock pity. "Oh, Miss Y/n, you underestimate Joja’s reach. This quaint little farm life of yours is nothing but a detour. We both know that."
Your fists clenched at your sides, trembling slightly, not out of weakness, but from the sheer force of holding yourself together. Your breath came out unsteady, the weight of his words pressing down like an iron vice.
"I don’t care," you spat, your voice cracking under the strain of bottled-up frustration. "I’ve spent blood, sweat, and tears on my grandpa’s farm—making it thrive, grow, and function all on its own. Every single effort I’ve made here has been worth something. Something the company never gave me."
Haley froze, her eyes darting to you. There was a rawness in your voice she wasn’t prepared for, an unguarded glimpse into a part of you she’d never seen.
"Even if I tried—even if I died trying—my mother would never be satisfied with my work," you continued, your voice rising with every word, trembling with pent-up anguish. "So how dare she? How dare she say she’s disappointed in me, like I’m supposed to care, when that’s the only thing she’s ever felt at the very sight of me?"
Morris let out a low hum, his fingers tapping idly against the counter. "Joja is all about hard work, Miss Y/n. Maybe she just hasn’t seen it on you?" His tone was measured, almost bored, but his words were like a needle aimed directly at the cracks in your armor.
You let out a sharp, bitter laugh, the sound harsh and devoid of humor. Haley flinched at the sound, her heart clenching as she watched you unravel.
"Hard work?" you echoed, your voice dripping with venom. "Hard work means nothing to Joja. It doesn’t matter how much I gave, how much of myself I sacrificed, it was never enough. It was never going to be enough."
Morris raised an eyebrow, as if amused by your outburst. "Look," he said with an air of condescension, "the missus, as much as she is strict and calculated, is only doing this to ensure you’re capable of handling the company once she steps down as CEO. Surely, you must be aware of that?"
Haley could see the way your shoulders stiffened, your lips pressing into a tight line, and your chest rising and falling as you struggled to control your breathing. She knew that Morris’s words had struck a nerve, and her patience finally snapped when she saw the flicker of doubt in your eyes.
"She doesn’t care about me being capable," you said quietly, each word laced with bitterness. "She only cares about molding me into her image. Into something I’m not—and something I never want to be."
Haley stepped forward without hesitation, planting herself firmly between you and Morris, her eyes blazing with a fury that caught everyone off guard.
"Sorry to intrude," she began sharply, her tone like ice, "but have you even seen Y/n’s farm? That place was a dump before she came here, and now it’s practically a well-oiled machine. Her farm has boosted this town’s economy more than you and Pierre’s businesses combined. And you know why?" Haley tilted her head, her voice turning venomous. "Because of Y/n’s dedication and hard work. So don’t you dare stand there and act like you have the right to judge who’s ‘working hard’ when you couldn’t lift a finger to do it yourself."
Morris’s smug expression faltered for the first time, but he quickly recovered, his smirk widening as he saw an opportunity to strike back. "Ah, I see what’s going on here," he drawled, his tone dripping with condescension. "If you really want your fair share of Joja’s wealth, you should convince your girlfriend here to come back to Zuzu City and manage the company like the true Joja she is." His eyes gleamed maliciously. "Though I doubt the missus would approve of this... kind of relationship."
Your body moved before your mind could catch up. Stepping forward, you shoved Morris back a step, your voice low and dangerous. "Fuck off. You don’t get to disrespect her like that."
Morris’s smugness wavered, but he tried to rally. "But I—"
"I don’t want to hear another word from you," you snapped, your tone brooking no argument. "Leave. Now."
Morris opened his mouth to retort, but Haley cut him off, her glare sharper than a knife. "You heard her. Get lost."
Morris huffed, his composure cracking slightly. "Hmph. I’m not leaving until I distribute my 50%-off Joja coupons to these fine customers." He raised his voice, addressing the room. "Anyone who wants a discount, feel free to take one from me."
Before the murmurs could start, you turned sharply to Pierre. "No one moves a foot," you commanded, your voice firm and unyielding. "Pierre."
"H-huh?" Pierre stammered, clearly caught off guard.
"Everyone shopping here right now—everything in their carts, ring it up. Put it on my tab," you said decisively. "I don’t care how much it costs. I’ll stop by later to settle the bill."
Pierre blinked, stunned, before nodding quickly. "O-okay. Got it."
You turned back to Morris, your voice colder than ice. "No one here wants your fucking coupons. Get the hell out."
Morris narrowed his eyes, clearly frustrated but unable to retaliate effectively. "You can’t pay for their tabs forever, Miss Y/n," he sneered. "Not with the little money your farm is making."
A smirk tugged at your lips, sharp and defiant. "You haven’t seen the progress of my farm, have you?" you asked, your voice filled with quiet triumph. "Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you never do. By the end of the year, the community center will be fully restored, and Joja—" you jabbed a finger toward him, "Joja will never taint this town again."
Morris’s face darkened, but he said nothing as you turned to Pierre and motioned to the grocery bag you took from Haley. "Please ring this up as well, Pierre."
****
"Y/n... are you okay?" Haley's voice was soft, tentative, her usual sharpness dulled by concern.
You didn’t meet her eyes, your voice steady but distant. "I’ll walk you home, and then I’ll get going. I need to be alone for a while."
Haley hesitated, searching your face for something—anything—that would let her help. But all she found was a wall she couldn’t push past. "Oh... okay," she murmured.
****
The walk to her house was quiet, the air between you heavy with unspoken words. When you reached her door, Haley turned, her expression uncertain. "It’s only a raincheck, right?" she asked, her voice almost hopeful. "You’re not canceling our movie night?"
You gave her a small, tired smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "Hmm. Maybe we can do it tomorrow instead."
Haley nodded slowly, watching as you turned to leave. "I’ll see you later, Y/n," she called softly, her voice lingering in the quiet night.
You didn’t look back, but you lifted a hand in acknowledgment before disappearing into the shadows. Haley watched you go, her chest tight with a mix of worry and something else she couldn’t quite name.
****
After you had dropped her off at her home, she moved quickly towards her kitchen, her movements deliberate as she retrieved a well-worn piece of paper. A single recipe sat tucked away for ages, something she hadn’t thought she’d use anytime soon. Yet, here she was, baking in autopilot, determined to bring you something that might make the silence a little more bearable.
It only sank in for Haley that you might have been serious about wanting to be alone for a moment when you opened the door to your farm after she knocked.
Well... No going back now.
"Hey..." she greeted hesitantly, her voice soft and uncertain. "I know you said you wanted to be alone, but I just... I thought it would be unfair that you're always there for me when I need you, and I left you alone just because you asked me to."
You didn’t speak immediately. The silence between you stretched, heavy with unspoken thoughts. For a moment, Haley worried she had crossed a line, overstepped some boundary. But before she could apologize, you offered her a faint, weak smile—a small curve of your lips, almost imperceptible, but a smile nonetheless.
"Are those cookies...?" you asked softly, your eyes landing on the tray she held out.
"Granny Evelyn's secret recipe. Freshly baked from the oven." Haley’s voice was gentle, almost a whisper. "Thought this might cheer you up."
You took a slow breath, the air between you carrying a quiet weight. You stood a step closer to Haley, your hands clasped loosely in front of you.
"I can just go and leave, you know? I just really want to bring these cookies—"
Before she could finish, you cut her off with a warm, comforting hug, wrapping your arms around her gently. Your embrace was steady, grounding, a silent reassurance. The scent of fresh soap mixed with the faint aroma of wood and grass on your worn flannel shirt created a sense of familiarity.
"Of course, you’re always welcome here, silly, with or without cookies," you said softly, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes.
"You say that but wait until you have a taste in them first," she teased, a small smile playing on her lips.
"I'm sure they'll taste delicious. Come," you urged, motioning her inside. "It's freezing outside."
"Thanks," she murmured, stepping past you into the warmth of the house.
"These your stuff?" you asked, noticing the bags she struggled to carry. "You should have called me so I could have helped you bring them here. It must have been a tough walk from your home."
"Yeah... sorry, I know it's a lot. Had to bring my skincare, you know?" she replied with a sheepish smile, setting the bags down on the worn wooden floor.
"Heh, if I didn't know you any better, I’d think you were moving in," you joked, giving her a playful nudge.
"Shut up, goof."
"Now, now... I didn’t say I was exactly opposed to the idea, m'lady," you continued, a grin tugging at your lips. "I would love it actually. It’s getting kind of lonely in here, you know? Sometimes I even question myself why I asked Robin to renovate the house this big when I’m all by myself."
"What? So you're saying you wanted me to stay here?"
"Would it be so bad?" you asked with a playful shrug.
"Perhaps? Especially if you're supposed to be saying these sappy things to your girlfriend." Haley's tone was teasing, but her smile faltered slightly as she added, "Yoba... I just realized. Penny won't be mad if I stayed the night, right? Or would she?"
"Huh? Why would she?" you asked, confused.
"Isn't she—" Haley began as she walked towards your room.
"Wait, Haley—" you called after her, a hint of worry in your voice, but it was too late.
"Oh..." Haley paused at the sight that greeted her eyes—a bouquet placed carefully on your bed, sunflowers nestled in among them. You were arranging them yourself, the soft glow from the bedside lamp casting a warm light on the delicate petals.
It took a moment for Haley to gather her thoughts. Her mind raced a thousand miles per hour, processing what she saw and the implications behind it.
"I thought you'd given Penny the—the uhm..." she began hesitantly.
"The bouquet?" you finished, your voice quiet. "What made you think so? And how'd you even know I have a bouquet?"
"I think what you mean is 'who else didn't know you'd bought a bouquet'," she replied, a sly smile creeping onto her face.
"Damn it, Pierre." You ran a hand through your hair, cursing under your breath. "Shit— you aren't supposed to see all these."
You sighed heavily as you walked toward the edge of the bed, keeping your gaze firmly away from her. The bouquet lay forgotten on the bedspread, the sunflowers blending with the faded, dried-out petals of the original flowers.
"I bought this days ago and I couldn't find the guts to give it to you. I guess I was waiting for the perfect timing or maybe I was chickening out. Shit, I don't really know..." you murmured, your voice shaky as you ruffled your hair anxiously. "All I know is the flowers dried out because I was a coward, and now I was planning to spend the whole night replacing the flowers with sunflowers instead of having our movie night because I'm mentally and emotionally unable to think straight because of what happened with Morris earlier, and now I'm babbling this to you like a fool and—"
"Breathe, Y/n." Haley’s voice was soft and soothing, her expression gentle as she stepped closer, her eyes warm and understanding. "It’s just me."
"Breathe... I can do that," you said, taking a slow breath and closing your eyes for a moment to collect yourself.
"Now..." Haley continued, a teasing smile playing at her lips, "Can you clarify the part about who you were planning to give the bouquet to because I’m a bit slow and I’m going to have to assume it’s me if you don’t."
"It's for you," you finally confessed, your voice barely a whisper. "I thought the sunflower already gave it away?"
"I..." Haley’s brows furrowed slightly, her voice softening as her expression turned thoughtful. "I thought you liked someone else..."
"And I thought I was pretty obvious," you said, a faint smile tugging at your lips.
"You probably would have if I hadn't seen you treating others the same way you do to me," Haley said, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her expression was thoughtful, but there was a hint of uncertainty behind her eyes. "I don't really want to assume."
"But I don’t treat others the same way I treat you," you replied gently, your voice calm and steady.
"Giving favored gifts to every possible living thing you can see, walking Penny home, exploring mines with Abigail, painting with Leah..." Haley paused, glaring at you with a raised brow when she noticed the corner of your mouth twitch into a sly grin. "Do you honestly want me to continue the list?"
"No, no need. I got the message," you said with a soft chuckle, shaking your head as you stepped closer to her. You reached out slowly, taking her hands in yours with a tenderness that spoke volumes. Your thumb brushed gently against her knuckles, grounding the moment in a sense of intimacy that neither of you could ignore. "I guess I do those things with everyone. It was almost a natural instinct that I didn't need to bat an eye. It was normal for me. It was casual."
As your touch lingered, Haley’s breath hitched for a moment, and the rapid beating in her heart began to slow. What was once chaotic and unsure began to calm down, her mind finding clarity amidst the confusion.
"But for you... everything is complex," you continued, your voice steady, eyes locked onto hers. There was a sincerity in your gaze, a vulnerability in your words that couldn’t be dismissed. "And I don’t mean it as a bad thing. You made me second-guess everything I do. I was afraid I was being too obvious because I was doing too much. I was afraid that what I was doing bypassed everything I thought should be normal between friends. I was scared I was doing too much that I might scare you away."
Haley let out a soft, watery laugh, a quiet chuckle that broke through the tension between you both. She shook her head lightly, realizing you were both overthinking the same thing all along.
"So yeah... everything I did, everything I said from the start—it was never casual," you finished, your voice gentle but unwavering. "Simply because I like you, Haley. I’ve liked you for a long time."
There was a long, charged pause. It probably felt like an eternity to you, but it could’ve only been a minute or two—maybe more. You weren’t sure anymore. If the roles were reversed, if Haley were in your place, she would’ve bolted in embarrassment, rushing back to her home to cry her heart out the moment you didn’t respond to her confession.
But this is you. You have always been patient. You still wore the same loving face the moment you started your confession and the moment you let out the last word. Nevermind your face is in a deep shade of red.
"You..." she breathed out, her voice barely above a whisper before rising drastically. "You fucking idiot!"
"Huh?" you managed, taken aback by the sudden outburst.
Before you could process what was happening, her fists slammed hard against your chest. The force wasn’t enough to cause real pain, but the impact was enough to send a slight jolt through you. You wheezed softly between bursts of laughter, breath escaping in short bursts as she continued her assault.
"You liked me all this time and you didn’t say it earlier?!" she demanded, her voice rising with each word.
You let out another laugh, struggling for air as her fists smacked your chest again. At this point, it wasn’t about the physical impact—it was the sheer force of emotion behind it.
You must have had enough with Haley's fists dealing little to no damage on your ribcage because the moment she lifted her hands to strike again, you caught them gently in yours and leaned down to capture her lips, silencing the stream of profanities leaving her mouth.
When your lips finally parted, a brief, lingering pause stretched between you both, the air thick with emotions you both hadn't fully acknowledged yet.
"You could have said you liked me, y'know? No need to hit me." You said softly, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you pulled back.
"I hate you," she grumbled, her expression softening despite the harsh words. Her gaze lowered, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks as the embarrassment of her outburst settled in.
"You don’t." You sounded far too smug, watching her squirm just a bit. "Emily said so."
Haley’s brow furrowed deeply as the realization dawned. Her lips parted slightly, and her eyes narrowed in disbelief. She thought back to that conversation, recalling her sister’s confident assurance. "You know about the bet all this time?!"
"Yup." Your grin widened.
She stared at you, her expression a mix of incredulity and irritation. "You asked my sister if you have a chance with me, didn’t you?"
You smirked but remained silent, letting the unspoken answer hang in the air.
"Good Yoba… Why did I have to like such an idiot dork." She huffed, puffing out a breath as her frustration began to give way to amusement. Her lips twitched into a small smile despite herself. "Come here and let me wipe that stupid smirk from your face."
"You'll do that by?"
Her eyes rolled again, but the playful edge remained as she replied with a small, amused grin. "By kissing it off you, what else?"
Help 😭 I forgot that I put badonkers as my favorite thing just to be funny, and I was so flabbergasted seeing my child say this 😭 (on the other hand, my kid has taste 😏)
Okay, I just need to get it out of my chest. Kimetsu no Yaiba's last episode for season 4 had just come out and I am beyond heartbroken on what's about to happen. I've been diligently re-reading the manga and rewatching the show because I'm planning a Shinobu x f!reader fic because I want to get my girl out of that fucking castle 😭 A one-shot fic just won't satisfy me so I am currently planning the plot of the series. I'm even researching the things I need to know even the most minor things because I want it to make sense. I love the ending of the manga and all, and I'm not planning to replace it. This fic I'm planning is just to satiate my broken heart. If you love self-insert reader fic, then I'm your gal. Let's make it happen. If you're okay with the ending and all and you're not the type to read works like this, you can kindly scroll down.
I know I also have a WIP (Kiss It Off Me), don't worry, I don't plan on abandoning the fic. I'm also currently working on it now.
I have so much energy right now that I literally want to jump headstart. I'm just restraining myself because I don't like giving my readers a half-assed work.
That's all, and thank you for listening (reading) to my rant. Hope y'all have a nice day!
summary: when your boyfriend drags you along to a rock concert of a band you barely know, and then ceremoniously dumps you to go out with his friends after, it feels like your night can’t get any worse. thankfully, the guitarist of the band seems to take a particular interest in you and offers you an alternative offer on how to spend your night that seems just too good to refuse.
warning(s): cheating (r has a bf), but he’s a shitty bf, oc male character, band jargon that may or may not be correct, alcohol consumption, copious amounts of flirting, slight mention of crystals, swearing, many pet names, first time with a woman, smut, fingering, thigh riding, masturbation, scissoring, multiple orgasms, hickeys, natasha talking you through things, lots of praise, slight degradation (?), minors dni.
authors note: okay i feel like this is kinda bad and messy but i also spent too much time on it not to post. i’m still getting used to writing smut and haven’t wrote anything like this before so i hope it’s okay 😭😭 the end is also rushed so plz just ignore that :))
wc: 12.2K words
You've seen enough books and movies to know how things are supposed to go. How that perfect moment comes, when the pieces fall into place and you suddenly realize this is what you're meant to do, what you've always meant to do. But you've also lived a life long enough to know it never actually happens. In truth, it's all a bunch of bullshit.
There's never such thing as love at first sight, no moment where the world freezes on everyone except you and music plays in slow motion in the background, your eyes falling on that one person through the crowd that you just know your heart only beats for. In real life, the cards just don't fall like that. There's too many shitty people and grievous circumstances for the true movie dream to ever be lived, forever just a piece of fiction one can only fantasize of.
You know all this, understand it to be true. And yet, one hot Summer night, it feels like it all melts away and that fairy tale veil falls down right in front of your very own eyes.
It's not slow when it happens, not like in the movies. It's fast and loud and hot and sweaty. The music around you blares into your ears, bodies beside you screaming out lyrics you barely know. In the crowded space, you at least try to have a good time, try to mimic your boyfriend's energy as he dances and sings beside you, but you know its all futile. You want to leave. Truly, never wanted to come in the first place, but had done for him, for all his pleas and begs. You'll love it, I promise. Please come, baby, please.
The lights are hurting your eyes, the fog burning at your irises. Everyone is far too close to you, strangers pressing up against your sides from the front row section your boyfriend, Tyler, had demanded you needed. You don't feel it right all the back there. You need to be close to feel it in your bones. You feel a little sick.
And then that's when it happens. Body jostling against the side of the raised stage, ears ringing from being far too close to the speakers, that's when your own movie moment finally crashes into you. It's quick, so quick you don't even take notice till a few seconds after it happens. As your eyes raise to the band playing in front of you, they graze over each of the members. The brunette hugging the microphone center stage; the other behind hammering into a black drum set; the tall blonde whose fingers dance over the fretboard of a blue bass; and then finally, the woman playing an electric guitar stage right the same color as her fiery red hair. When you meet her eye it's like one of those moments back in high school, when you're accidentally caught making eye contact with someone across the class. But this time, unlike any time with your classmates, the redhead doesn't screw her face up, passing you a dirty look. What the fuck are you looking at? Instead, she winks.
Seconds later her gaze is gone, returned to the vibrating audience, and it takes you just about as much time to even acknowledge what had just happened. It seems fake, like a miscommunication in the space of a blink. Surely you must be imagining things, the heat in the room finally getting to you. But no, you're so sure of it. So set on what you've seen. A few moments later, it's like it's confirmed. The redhead's sights turn back on you, looking down into the pit of bodies where you stand. This time she holds, her eyes trained to yours as she continues to pluck the strings of her guitar. A small smirk stretches across painted lips, teeth plunging down into plump flesh. The music doesn't slow like it does in the movies. In fact, it seems almost louder than ever as you hold contact with the redhead's playful gaze. And when she winks again, chin jutting in your direction, you know it's you she's looking at.
You feel a little too seen, and not so much in a good way. You don't feel that special moment you read about in books, the time you are the chosen one across the sea of other bodies, a spark lighting in your heart at the romanticism of it all. It actually only drives one question in to your head; why the fuck is she looking at me?
You duck your eyes away, looking to the floor and the scuffed boots on your feet. There's a half-full cup of water a few inches in front of you. You watch as dancing feet almost collide with it, surely only seconds a way from being spilled. It holds your attention for a long time, so long your boyfriend is grasping at your cheek to check you're alright. You smile the way you always seem to do. Lips painting a picture of 'yes, I'm fine', while your brain screams out in contradicting protest. How much longer till this thing is done? My fucking head hurts.
When the final song does eventually roll around, you're too lost in your own thoughts to even care. The redhead guitarist has made eye contact with you three more times since you'd first noticed. If there was any doubt you had she wasn't seeking you out, it was surely dissipated now. Each time your eyeline had actually raised to the stage in front of you, it was like the woman's eyes were already waiting for you.
Trying to hold back the dizziness from gazing down at the floor, you had tried to remember the redhead's name. In no offence to the band, or their adoring fans lined up behind you, you actually didn't know of them much at all. Sure, you've heard their songs blasted through your boyfriend's speakers, saw their faces on cassettes and cd's dumped around your apartment, but you've never truly been a follower of the band Crimson Coven. You try to rack your brain of the knowledge you have, of every rant your boyfriend has been on that you so casually zone out from. The lead singer's name is Wanda, you know that much. She seems to be his favourite from the amount of things you've heard him rattle on. She's never even taken singing lessons. She's actually European, isn't that sick? Did you know she has a twin brother? You should do your makeup like her, babe.
The redhead has you thrown for a loop though. There are two names swimming in your head, though you're pretty sure the drummer is the one named Maria and Carol doesn't seem to fit the guitarist stood on the right. For the life of you it seems you can't draw the name from your head. It stays that way until the concert is finishing, stood watching the four women walking off stage, screaming out "thank you's" and collecting thrown objects on to the small stage, all the while you notice a certain member's eyes still trained on you. You simply turn away and grab on to Tyler’s hand, letting him guide you out of the dissipating crowd. God, you can't wait to get home.
The line to the bathroom is a slight roadblock in your plan. It's not torturously long by any means, but it still has you stood outside pressing your thighs together as you try desperately to hold in the three cans of beer you'd drank before the gig had began. You're regretting that decision now as the line filters slowly into the venue's singular women's bathroom. Seriously, what the fuck is up with that? If it weren't for the half hour journey you had back to your place, you would have considered just holding it, but if the pain in your stomach were any indication, you weren't going to make it that far.
When it's finally your turn, you all but run into the cubicle. It's quieter in there, a barricade between the groups of people who’ve chosen to stay to socialize in the venue's lounge and bar area. The stall is not only a relief for your full bladder, but also your pounding head. You stay in there longer than what's needed, most likely angering the girls waiting outside, but you just can't help it. It's cool and quiet and a desperate contrast to the overstimulating room you'd just spent the last two hours in. After washing your hands, you take the time to check up on your makeup, licking the tip of your finger to fix the slightly smudged liner of your eyes. All in all, you're pretty intact considering the circumstances. A pleasing picture that will soon be washed away as you head home for a night of constant reiterations of the concert you'd just experienced.
You're almost rolling your eyes already at the thought, so easily predicting your boyfriend's behavior for the next several hours. It's this state of disapproval that blinds you as you open the door to the bathroom, not noticing the taller woman standing there before she's backing you up into the stall.
You stumble slightly as the presence walks towards you, your eyes adjusting to the other person who has suddenly joined you in the room. For a moment their back is turned, locking the door to the stall before their face is revealed to you. You curse a little under your breath when you recognise the features.
"There you are. God, do you know hard it was to track you down? Slipped right in here before I could get to ya."
The redhead in front of you breathes out her words, smiling down at you in a way that flips your stomach. It's in that moments everything truly comes crashing down. Every doubt you had, every belief that things like this don't happen in real life is swept away as the famous guitarist stands in front of you. It really was you she was looking at from the stage and now she'd tracked you down. Pinned you into a bathroom stall as she looks down on your figure with her eyes wide, almost drunk. "Uhm, hi?" Is all you manage to say, the entirety of the situation still comprehending itself in your mind.
The redhead in front of you smirks widely as she responds. "Hi." It's then that it hits you, the name you couldn't pinpoint earlier. Natasha. Natasha Romanoff. Lead guitarist of Crimson Coven. You're trying to remember anything Tyler might have said about her when she takes another step in your direction.
"Wow," she breathes, almost to herself. "You're even prettier up close." Her eyes seem to trace over your whole figure, her tongue playing with the inside of her cheek. "Fuck, you're gorgeous."
"Uhm...thank you?" you stutter back, not entirely sure of how you're supposed to act in this situation. You're still trying to get over the shock of her pushing you back into the bathroom before you'd tried to leave. Not sure what else to do, your own eyes trail over the star stood ahead of you. She's still wearing her outfit from her performance; an old looking graphic tee tucked into a pair of black denim shorts. The boots on her feet have silver embellishments that match perfectly with the necklaces around her neck and many rings adorning her fingers. Her lips are painted a shade of faded red that both contrasts and yet somehow works perfectly with her hair, curled and messy around her shoulders. As you look over her, the thought of why your boyfriend may just like her band so much crosses your mind. She really was hot as shit.
But despite her looks, there's still an anxiety bubbling in your chest at this situation. It’s probably not often people could get this close to the star, let alone be held up in a room alone with her. Yet your ears are still ringing and the only true wish crossing your mind's eye is your bed. So, disappointing every girl who'd rather be in your place, you simply clear your throat as you gesture mindlessly to the door behind her. "I think there's people waiting outside to use this cubicle."
The rockstar cocks her head, smirking back. "Oh yeah?" She shrugs, only briefly glancing over her shoulder at the closed bathroom door. "I'm sure they'd be fine waiting. Didn't mind letting me cut through the line." When she smiles back at you, you assume the look in her eye is a mirror of how a predator looks at its prey. You find your lip between your teeth as you look back, very aware of just how much time you'd already spent in this bathroom and how there was a lot of people stood outside who would be becoming increasingly more annoyed at the occupied status, rockstar be damned. Though her attitude remains relaxed, the redhead in front of you seems to pick up on your hesitation because she lets out a low sigh. "Look, if you're really that bothered why don't don't we leave and your pretty ass can join me backstage?"
She takes another step towards you, eyes darkening a they take in your figure. You swallow the saliva in your mouth in an attempt to cool the burn in your stomach. "Sorry-I um-I have a boyfriend," you manage to stutter out, taken aback by her advances. She definitely was hitting on you, that much was clear now, but you knew that Tyler would be waiting for you somewhere, most likely wondering why the fuck you were taking so long to pee.
When your words ring out, its like the redhead's brain short circuits. She almost freezes, only her brows moving to pull into a deep frown. "Shit," she murmurs. "Really?"
You nod in response, fingers playing with the back of your shirt. "Yeah." The redhead looks awfully confused, her gaze trailing over you as if there's something she's missed. When her eyes meet yours once more, its like your answer is a complete mystery to her, like there's something she saw you must have missed in your own reflection. You try to brush it off, not delving into whatever thoughts must be running through the star's head. Instead you just clear your throat again, pointing to the door. "He's um- probably waiting for me."
A tight smile passes across your lips as you slowly move towards the door. The redhead lets you go, ever so slightly brushing past her arm without another word said. You reach for the handle of the door, turning it open before leaving the rockstar behind to wallow in whatever confusion or disappointment runs through her head. You just want to find Tyler and get the hell out of there.
When you finally emerge from the bathroom stall, it feels even warmer than it had before. Though now you're not entirely sure if it's just the air, or also the blood you can feel coursing through your cheeks. You try your best to brush it off, looking around the space to try and locate wherever your boyfriend might have wondered off to. Walking past the line of remaining girls, you have to try ignore their passing stares. Most are likely from your extended use of the bathroom, holding them up even further, but you can't help but feel at least a few are thinking about whatever happened between you and Natasha in that stall and why on earth you had the nerve to leave such an opportunity unfulfilled.
Trying to leave the entire interaction behind, you move to the main area of the venue lounge to try find your boyfriend so you can finally head home. It takes you a good few minutes of searching through the crowds before you spy him across the way, stood talking with all of his friends that he'd brought along to the concert.
"Tyler," you call, passing through bodies to get to him. When he doesn't seem to hear you, you shout again. "Tyler!"
Finally, he turns around, a look of recognition passing over his face as you appear by his side. "Oh there you are, babe," he says. "Where the hell did you go?"
"I was just-I was peeing," you reply, looking around sheepishly at the group of men all staring down at you. It wasn't that you didn't like Tyler's friends per se, it was more so they just weren't your type of people. Most times they’re around, you manage to skilfully skirt around them until a time when they've all gone back home.
Tyler scoffs a little at your comment. "You were gone for like half an hour." He laughs, gesturing to the group as they all join in.
"Yeah. Um-the line was long," you say, trying to avoid the annoyance creeping up your spine as well as skirt around the encounter you'd had just moments ago. Partially because you were still trying to wrap your head around it but also because you didn't want to hear whatever he had to say about what happened. Instead, you just let out a small sigh. "Can we just go home now?"
"Oh actually," Tyler starts. "We were thinking of hitting up a few bars before we went home."
The words hit you like a blast of hot air, unable to deny the feeling of annoyance brewing under your skin. Still, you try to remain sweet in hopes he'll seek pity on you. "Tyler, please," you reply. "I'm tired, can't we just-"
"You don't have to come."
He cuts you off quickly, halting the words in your throat. The attitude you can hear in his voice almost immediately breaks the facade of kindness you were putting on. "Excuse me?"
Tyler shrugs, having the nerve to look annoyed, like you're the one being unreasonable here. "Just call a cab home. You'll be fine." And with that it seems he's had enough of the conversation, turning his shoulders away as he beckons his group to follow.
"No, Tyler wait," you try, but he continues to move away. The only thing you receive is him quickly turning over his shoulder, calling out a goodbye as he promises to see you later.
"Tyler!" You yell but it's futile, the image of your boyfriend already swallowed up by the crowd. "Fuck."
For the second time tonight it feels like you have no idea how to react. You swivel around on the spot, like a lost kid in a grocery store. Some part of you can't believe he would just leave you like that, but then the other part understands it's him all over. Stupid selfish prick.
Far past being annoyed at the night's events, you reach for the phone buried in your jacket pocket, determined to just do as you were told and order a cab home. When the screen returns to you black, the only image your own reflection staring back at you even as you press the power button repeatedly, a long string of curses escape your lips. Stupid fucking phones and their stupid ass batteries. And of course tonight had to be the night you had forgone your charger, leaving you with just a useless weight of metal that you slip back into your pocket. Just my fucking luck.
For a moment, you're stuck on what to do, how to find a way home, but then your eyes fall on the bar across the room. You make your way through the crowd, squeezing past people and mumbling half-assed 'sorry's' and 'excuse me's' until you eventually reach the bar. When you do, the bartender walks over to you, a small smile appearing on his face. "Hi, what can I get for you?"
"Actually, I was just wondering if you could call me a cab?" you reply, raising your voice to be heard over the venue's loud music.
The bartender furrows his brow. "What?"
"A cab," you repeat, leaning in further to his ear. "Can you call me a cab, please? My phone is dead."
"Oh, I can't sorry," he responds, shrugging his shoulders. "Phone is broken."
"What? Can't you use your mobile or-"
"Not while I'm on shift."
He shrugs again. You scoff.
"Please. I really need to get home."
"Sorry," the bartender responds finally, turning away to move towards another customer down the bar.
You watch him go, scowling. When he starts to talk to someone else, asking for their order, another waterfall of curses fall from your tongue. How the fuck were you supposed to get home now?
"Hey gorgeous."
The voice all but pulls you from your thoughts and to the right, dragging you away from the harsh stare you were given the unhelpful bartender. When your eyes fall to the person who had sidled up beside you, a small sigh slips out, your eyes rolling in their sockets.
"Wow," the redhead responds, easily picking up on your bad attitude. She holds her hands up. "Sorry to offend."
You look back at the rockstar, at Natasha. It seems she's found you again in a moment where you want nothing more than to find a way out of there. Though despite your frustration, you know it's not her fault, that she isn't the one controlling the universe so adamant on your downfall tonight. So, you force yourself to soften your expression as you turn back to her. "No. No, I'm sorry," you say, shaking your head slightly. "It's just- I'm trying to get a cab home but apparently their phone is broken." You gesture towards the bar, displaying the utter uselessness of its bartender with the look on your face.
Natasha seems to take a little amusement in your frustration, the faintest of a smile appearing on her face. "You ain't got your own phone to call a cab?" The mobile is received from your pocket, quickly held up by your hand as you flash the dead device to the redhead opposite. She sighs, tilting her head back. "Ah, I see. What about that boyfriend of yours? Couldn't he call you a cab?"
You're a little surprised to hear her mention that piece of information, even if you'd only shared it with her minutes before in the bathroom stall. The mention of his presence is enough to drag the long sigh from your chest as you stare down at the bar. "Not when he's the reason I need one."
"Alright, I'm gonna need you to elaborate on that one."
Her words draw your eyes back to her, briefly grazing over her face before you respond. "He left with his friends. Gone off to some other bar. Told me to phone a cab home."
Natasha lets out a breath of air. "Dickhead." You watch her as she takes a sip from the beer in her hand, trying not to notice the way her lips look pressed against the top of the bottle. "You know, a pretty girl like you shouldn't have to wait around on assholes like that."
And then there's that same heat you felt in the bathroom, creeping up your cheeks unwelcome. You turn away again as you shrug in an attempt to hide it. "He's not that bad-"
"Sure," Natasha cuts you off before you can even finish your explanation. In truth, you weren't even sure what else you were going to say, what redeeming qualities you could draw about the boy who'd left you stranded in the city to go get drunk with his friends. Instead you just turn to the woman sat beside you, only shallowly realising how she is in fact a minor celebrity and that a lot of the people around were probably looking over at the pair of you. But when Natasha smiles and leans in, it's like it all disappears. "Alright, lemme tell you this. You let me buy you one drink and I'll phone you a taxi home."
You look back at the rockstar sat across from you, letting her words settle into your mind. This close you can once again tell just how beautiful she is, how any girl in this room would pay good money to be where you are right now. But you don't want to be that kind of girl, the kind that chases after someone just because they have a little bit of fame. Nevertheless, there is something about the redhead that draws you in. Maybe it's the layers of piercings you can see stacking her ears, or the patchwork of tatoos lining her exposed arms. Whatever it is, something about her is making you want to follow whatever she says. Furthermore, her offer is one that is rather too good to refuse. After a moment, you sigh as you nod your head. "Fine. One drink."
Natasha Romanoff smirks, calling the bartender over almost immediately with two fingers. It's the same tilted smile you had seen her passing you from across the stage, though now you can take notice of the small dimple that appears on her cheek when those lips pull taught. Everything about this encounter was setting something alight inside you but you couldn't quite put your finger on it.
When your drink finally arrives - curtesy of a different bartender - you decidedly join the rockstar on the stools lined up against the bar. The leather is sticky and uncomfortable against the exposed skin under your skirt. Still, you ignore it as you look over at the redhead to your right, slowly taking a sip of the cocktail you'd ordered as you get the opportunity to voice the question that's been on your mind for the last couple hours. "Why were you looking at me on stage?"
"Why'd you think?" Natasha smirks the widest you've seen all night, licking her bottom lip as she turns to you. "I thought maybe you and I could have some fun but…you had to be little miss taken." You try not to react to her words, or moreover the way her eyes drag themselves over your body, particularly your exposed thighs against the red leather of the barstool. "Maybe we could still have some fun yet tho, hm?" Natasha finishes, her eyes returning to yours. Even in the dim light of the bar you can tell they're blown out, pupils wide as they drink you in.
You let out a sigh. "Listen, in the nicest way possible, I don't actually really know who you are and I don't know about this whole thing you're doing, if it's normal but-"
"Wait," Natasha cuts you off. "You were in the front row and don't know who I am?"
You feel a little bashful as you shrug your shoulders. "I mean- I kinda do, I guess. I mean- I've listened to a few of your band's songs but I'm not like- a fan or anything."
"Not a fan?" Natasha breathes, reaching to take another sip of her drink with an amused expression. "So tell me, how does a girl who's not a fan end up hugging the stage all night?"
You take a sip of your own cocktail before you reply. "My boyfriend bought the tickets."
"Ah there it is," Natasha nods. "The boyfriend yet again." She turns in her chair, legs moving to dangle off the side. "You know, he's not really our target demographic."
You know exactly what she's talking about, almost too quickly. It was rather obvious to you that Crimson Coven was not a band trying to attract straight men, even if they did flock to them over their members' good looks. "Yeah, I tried to tell him that," you reply, sipping on your drink.
One of the redhead's brows raises, eyes tracing over your face. "What's that one saying?" she ask, swirling the bottle in her hands. "Takes one to know one?" You feel the saliva pool in your throat as she looks back at you, smirk wider than ever. Swallowing harshly, you take a rather big swig of your drink, trying your best to ignore the way you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. Natasha simply breathes out a laugh. "I think you're maybe not as you first seem, little lady." Right then there's a look that passes between you, your eyes wide and questioning, Natasha's dark and hooded. Then her hand is landing on your thigh, just above your knee where the skin is exposed. Her thumb strokes back and forth delicately as she licks her lips. "Why don't you tell me your name?"
There's a strange bubbling inside your stomach, a flutter to your heart. You want to turn and walk right out of there, ditch the rockstar in front of you and try your luck hailing a cab on the street. But part of you notices the shiver her touch sends up your thigh, how her skin is warm against yours in just the right kind of way, how despite your circumstances, just how amazing this moment feels. "Y/N," you reply eventually, swallowing your first instincts to the warm pit of your stomach.
"Y/N," the redhead repeats, rolling the name over her tongue. "I'm-"
"Natasha. I know."
She seems taken aback by your quick answer, cutting off her sentence before she can finish. She frowns slightly back at you. "I thought you said you didn't."
Now it's your turn to raise your brow. "I said I wasn't a fan. Not that I didn't know your name."
"I see," Natasha replies, her voice laced with amusement. She smiles to herself as she sips her beer, turning back with a wide grin. "You know, I've never slept with a Y/N before."
"You sleep with a lot of girls then?"
"I've done the rounds," Natasha shrugs. The nonchalant nature of her reply is enough to have you passing her a displeased look across the bar. She raises her brow, looking back at you. "What? You want me to lie to you? Tell you I'm the virgin mary?"
You want to laugh in response but hold yourself back, entirely aware of the game Natasha is trying to play. "So...what?" you draw out, playing with the rim of your glass. "You want me to be one of your new collectibles?"
"Well maybe if I get lucky."
You turn back to the smirking redhead. "I wouldn't buy a lottery ticket."
And she laughs, like really laughs right into her drink before she takes a sip. When she places it back on the bar, she shakes her head as she turns to look at you with a smirk. "You know most girls flock to my side," she says, raising a brow. "Asking for autographs or pictures."
"I already told you. I don't know that much about your band."
"You're here though, aren't you?" Natasha replies. "You must know some things."
She isn't entirely wrong. Sure, you knew of the things your boyfriend has endlessly droned on about. About Wanda being the one who named the band. Or about Carol and her cat, or Maria and her brief military background. You even knew about Natasha, little sparks in your memory of her coming from Russia or her hair being blonde at some point. It's all stored in the backlog of your brain, hours of knowledge you'd spent years sorting into the dusty compartments of your mind you never cared to look at. Still, there's something now about speaking to Natasha in real time, not hearing about your boyfriend's idealised version of her that feels a little different. Things here feel a little more real.
You don't acknowledge Natasha's question as you take a sip from your drink. "You want me to ask for your autograph?" you ask as you place the glass back down. "Is that it?"
The answer that follows is in such a low register you can barely hear it over the music. "I think we both know what I want."
You look back at Natasha, at her dazzling smirk and messy red hair. "Well I'm sorry to disappoint but I'm not your girl." A tight smile appears on your lips as you gaze out into the sea of bodies across the room. "Why don't you go find someone else?"
"Why would I when you're the prettiest thing in here?" Natasha's response is quick, almost as quick as the way her eyes divert to to rest if your body. "Hell, I'd go as far as to say you're the prettiest girl I've ever seen."
"Listen," you sigh. "I appreciate the flattery but-"
"I ain't fucking around if that's what you think," Natasha says quickly, cutting you off. The look in her eye as she scans your face shows how genuine her words feel. "You caught my eye the second I stepped on stage. You're fucking gorgeous, angel. Forgive me if it's a crime to want to see more."
Despite your better instincts, you let out a laugh into your glass. No one has ever been this forward with you before, never complimented you so much to the point you can feel the heat of their words on your skin. Hell, not even Tyler was ever this keen to get you into bed. And you know you shouldn't like it, shouldn't fall for the rockstar's methods, but you can't help but enjoy the praise just a little bit.
That feeling is soon quashed however when your temple gives a sudden jolt of pain. You wince slightly, reminded of the too-loud atmosphere you'd spent the last few hours in. The alcohol probably wasn't helping much either.
"What's wrong?"
You're a little surprised when Natasha speaks, unaware of her having noticed your small flinch at the pain. You simply shake your head in response, smiling back at her. "Nothing. I'm fine. It's just a headache."
"You know," the rockstar replies quickly. "It's cooler backstage. Quieter too." You must give her a look laced with poison because she holds her hands up in defence once again, though this time smirking back at you. "Hey, Im just saying."
Despite your glare, you're still interested in the redhead sat opposite you. It's like even with her forward approach, you can't help but be drawn to some part of her. You try to avoid the smile that creeps back on to your face as you look back into her eyes. "Does this routine usually work for you?"
Natasha chuckles to herself before leaning in to speak. "Honey, by now I usually have a girl screaming my name as she rides my face."
It's now you're entirely glad of the dimness in the room, hiding the flushed state that rises in your throat and heats up your cheeks. You can feel yourself getting worked up by Natasha's bold statement, unsure of what to do with yourself or how to respond. In doubt of yourself, you simply reach for the cocktail glass in front of you and down the rest of the liquid. It burns a little going down but you find you don't mind it. Anything to take away from the feeling you can recognise brewing in your stomach.
You can just about feel Natasha's smirk as much as you can see it, pressing into the side of your head as she watches you become flustered, clearly enjoying the effect she is having on you. "Here," she says, adjusting herself in the chair. "Let me buy you another one."
You turn to meet her eye, holding it harshly. "I said one drink."
That smirk remains for a long while as Natasha just looks back at you, not answering for a few passing moments. It even stays as she lifts one of her arms, arching it so it comes to rest on the back of your barstool, officially caging in your conversation. "Alright," she drawls, her body leaning in towards yours. "Look at it like this. I can buy you another drink and we can talk some more. Maybe think about heading backstage, get you somewhere quieter. Or..." The redhead licks her licks, pausing as she angles her head. "I can phone you that cab now and you can mope in the backseat till you get home. Then, stumble into your cold apartment alone and just wait for your drunk boyfriend to get home and sidle up next to you in bed."
The blatant look on Natasha's face is a good representation of how you feel about the whole situation she's proposed. The thought of dealing with Tyler later is enough to have you rolling your eyes, already imagining his drunken state reaching out for you and wiping wet kisses along your neck, stinking of booze and the remaining perfume of whatever girl he's been chatting up at the bar. It's almost like a routine you've both fallen into, simply ignoring it every time until without fail, it'll happen again.
And maybe tonight you're done with it. Maybe tonight is the night you don't want to have to deal with him anymore, to hear him talk about himself for hours on end like you don't even exist. It's partially the thought of finally letting that go that pulls you in the direction you choose, but it's also largely down to the way you can feel Natasha pressing in closer, her face moving just inches from yours as her lips press up against your ear. Somehow, it's like you can even feel her smirking as her lips barely graze the skin beside your face. "If you come with me, I promise you won't regret it."
Maybe it is that that finally does it for you, the shiver of goosebumps running down your spine as you still feel the redhead's hand grazing your thigh. Maybe it's that or maybe it's the heat finally getting to you, or the alcohol hitting your head. It could be any of those, or maybe combination of them all. Whatever your brain decides to settle on as a reason, it doesn't really matter because within seconds, you're calling over the bartender for another drink, allowing yourself to fall into whatever rabbit hole Natasha Romanoff is offering you.
"I knew I'd like you, Y/N," the redhead whispers close, grinning widely at your acceptance. You don't say anything in response until the bartender is placing your vodka coke on the bar. And even then, just as you reach for the glass, Natasha is diverging any words you may have spoken as she grabs hold of your hand. "Come on," she calls and it's a challenge not to spill any of the drink as the redhead quickly begins to pull you from the bar.
"Natasha, wait-" you try to respond, not entirely sure of where this might be going, but the star is quickly cutting you off as she presses her lips together.
"Shh," she drags, looking back at you over her shoulder. "It's okay, angel. It's better back here, I promise."
Something in you gives in because you let her drag you through the crowds of the room, trying desperately not to spill the beverage in your hands. You notice on the way a few recognising faces that glance at Natasha, then almost turn a little sour as they fall onto you. You only get the chance to wonder about their jealousy for a few moments before Natasha has pulled you away from everyone entirely, slipping you through a door into a quiet corridor. And then, after turning a few corners and dodging a few stacks of equipment crates, she pulls you through another door into an entirely empty room.
It's only then does the redhead finally release your hand, letting you roam free as she crosses to sit on one of the sofas positioned within the room. Beside them, there's stacks of band equipment, most of which you don't quite recognise. The red guitar on the stand is easy, and the set of drumsticks lying on a table, but the speakers and wires sit in a valley of other items you probably couldn't name if you tried.
There are scatterings of personality throughout the space; a leather jacket thrown over a couch, an ashtray of old cigarettes on a coffee table, some cards laying close beside it. And for a moment you wonder if this is what Natasha Romanoff's life is like. Backrooms full of band equipment, roaring crowds that call out her name. An endless supply of money and booze and cigarettes and girls. It's so so far away from the reality that you live that it can't help but be a little fascinating, this room just a little window into the life of a true rockstar.
The one thing you do very quickly notice however, is the main luxury that the exclusive backstage room seems to have; air conditioning. Beautifully cool air floods your body as soon as the door closes behind you, your headache already cowering back in the quiet atmosphere. You just can't help but let out a long, appreciative sigh at the respite from the hot, humid air outside.
"Told ya." Natasha's voice calls as you see her throw herself down on one of the sofas, so easily slipping into her own space backstage.
You simply roll your eyes as you take a sip of the drink in your hand, surprisingly intact after lugging it across the venue. "So, where are your other friends?" you ask, looking more so at the room full of band things than the member sat on the couch across from you.
Natasha sighs, sitting back as her eyes drag over you. "Probably in rooms close by hoping to get somewhere like me."
"And where exactly is that?" you ask, feet wandering across the opposite side of the room from the redhead. She smirks back at you, watching your every movement.
"Why don't you tell me, gorgeous?"
You can feel yourself smile, finally allowing Natasha's flirting get to you. But instead of replying to her question, you simply run your fingers over the red instrument propped up on the stand beside you. "How long have you played guitar?"
"Fifteen years," Natasha replies quickly, unwavering at your change of topic.
You nod to yourself, looking down at the instrument. "Wow." There isn't anything you've probably committed to for that long, besides maybe school. You take a sip of your drink as you turn to lean on a table against the wall, now facing the still sitting redhead across the way. "How'd you meet the other girls?"
"It's a long story."
You hum in response, waiting just a moment for her to elaborate before you realise she's leaving it up to your own imagination. The two of you hold eye contact as you bring your drink up to your mouth, letting the bubbles pop on your lips as you drink before smoothing it over with your tongue. Theres a specific look in Natasha's eye you can't seem to recognise, almost as if she wants to eat you right where you stand. That smirk widens as you take another sip, your tongue yet again swiping over your lips and the sweet residual soda lingering there. It's then Natasha finally speaks, nodding her head in your direction. "Come here."
And you do. Placing your drink down on the table before pressing yourself up from it, you slowly make your way across the room to where Natasha sits. As you come to stand between her open legs, the rockstar sits up, her body straightening and her hands coming to rest on the sides of your hips. You let them explore a little as Natasha moves, forgoing the layer of your leather jacket and pressing directly beneath the hem on your shirt. Her fingertips feel calloused as they brush the skin beneath it, years of playing guitar coming to create the most amazing sensation as she brushes against your body.
"God, your skin is so soft," Natasha says lowly, almost to herself. It sounds like she's truly mesmerised, her entire being taken over by the feeling of you against her skin. And perhaps some part of you feels it too because without knowing what truly compels you, you find yourself lowering your body down into her lap. Natasha smirks as you come to rest upon her thighs, knees caging either side of her body. She glances down at the way your skirt rides up, only leaving little to the imagination of what lies beneath. Her hands come to rest there, stroking the soft skin of your upper thighs as you lift your arms above her shoulders, letting them fall behind her head as you stare into her eyes. From here, in the new lighting of the backstage room, you can see the sea of green that shrouds her pupils.
For a while you two just drink each other in, your bodies comfortably close as your eyes trace one another. Then, eventually Natasha is talking once more as her fingers reach out towards you. "What's this?"
You follow her eyeline down to your chest, watching the way her fingers have found the crystal hanging around your neck. "Aventurine," your reply.
Natasha smiles as she looks back at your face. "Wanda's the crystal lover so you'll have to enlighten me. What does this one do?"
You shrug a little. "It's brings a few things...Hope, optimism, prosperity. Mostly luck."
The redhead raises a brow as her voice finds that playful tone. "Luck?"
"Mhm," you hum, finding yourself leaning in just slightly closer. "Stone of opportunity."
"So you're telling me it's because of this little rock that I wound up with a pretty girl sat on my lap?"
You hold back a laugh as you search Natasha's smirking face. "Don't call it a rock."
"No?"
You shake your head, humming. "I think it offends them."
The two of you are pressed even closer now, your arms coming crossed behind Natasha's head as she pulls you in. Her voice is almost a whisper when she speaks. "I know some things I could do to offend a lot of people."
The breath you release is shaky as you feel Natasha's hand reach up to cusp your face. She holds your chin, finger so delicate across your skin before she reaches to trace your bottom lip, just momentarily pulling it down with her thumb.
And it's then, with her face pressed so close to yours, green eyes almost black with lust, that you finally let everything go and you lean in. The first kiss is electrifying. Like that first strum of a chord when the guitar kicks in in a song, the bass just rattling your bones and setting your nerves on fire.
Natasha's lips are beautifully soft against yours, a contrast to the harshness of her fingertips you can feel pressing into the side of your face. She tastes like cherry lip gloss and cigarette smoke, sweet but hazy to your senses. The redhead quickly takes a grip of your jaw, angling your head just right so she can drive the kiss deeper. You don't complain as she begins to domineer your mouth, tongue sliding across yours with the skills of a professional.
When you both finally pull back for air, you can only wonder why you forced yourself to wait for this so long. Her touch is like nothing you've ever felt before, your entire body simply set alight with a hunger for her. You look down at the redhead for a moment and Natasha smirks devilishly up at you, eyes blown wide before she's pulling you back in. Your hands hold the back of her neck as your lips collide once more, pulling her in as close to you as you can in a desperate need for more.
Natasha's fingers dance up your arms before you can feel her begin to press the leather jacket away from your shoulders. You move your hands to let her remove it, only hearing it crash to the floor as you try desperately to hold your lips against the rockstar's. A low whine erupts in your throat as you feel her pull away seconds later, your bruised mouth chasing hers.
But Natasha just lets herself grin as her hands caress your body, deft fingers running up and down your sides. Only moments later, she's reaching beneath the material of your shirt to pull it over your head. Her breaths are heavy as her eyes trace your exposed body, almost fixated on the swell of your breasts in the lacy balconette bra cladding your chest.
"Fuck," the redhead says under her breath. Her hands come up to caress your tits, squeezing them tenderly through the material as your own pants flow from your chest. Her lips connect soon after, kissing and nipping at the skin of your cleavage with delicate precision. You let your head fall back as the redhead pays attention to your chest, simultaneously sucking and playing with your tits with her mouth and hands, sending rolls of pleasure flooding down your spine.
When one of her hands slips up the bare skin of your back, her lips disconnect as she meets your eye. Her fingers play with the clasp of your bra as you look down at her. "Can I?" she whispers, face so close to your own.
"Uh huh," you reply, nodding your head quickly. It's only seconds later you can feel the release against your chest, Natasha's skilled hands making quick work of the clasp and tossing your brassiere to the side. Her attention is straight back on you as she reveals your bare chest, kissing the previously hidden skin as she murmurs soft praises into the flesh. "God, you're so beautiful."
Your fingers find a place running through her hair as she continues to play with your tits, red fibres intertwined with your painted nails. A string of softer sounds elicits from your throat as Natasha's fingers find your nipples, pinching and pulling at the hardened buds with just the perfect amount of pressure.
"Natasha," you breath out heavily, holding back a moan as her teeth replace her hands playing with your chest.
"Yeah baby?" the redhead responds, looking up at you but not removing her face from where it rests.
The look on her face only adds to the pool you can feel forming between your legs, all down to her touch and copious amounts of flirting. You want to see more of her, want to run your hands across her body. Not entirely confident enough to word it, you settle for a whine as you tug at her shirt. Thankfully, it seems Natasha is apt at picking up your signals because she smirks widely before reaching to untuck her shirt and pull it over her head.
As the rockstar tosses it somewhere across the room, you can't help but stare at the sight she's unveiled. Her tits sit beautifully in a red bralette, perked perfectly with pink nipples visible through the mesh material. Every part of you feels totally enamoured by her look, eyes unable to peel themselves away from her heavenly cleavage on display.
It's in your admiration, you find yourself distracted, not noticing the way the rockstar's hand has slipped up your skirt until you suddenly feel her touch against your underwear. A gasp escapes you as her fingers graze over your clothed core, most definitely feeling the way her tactics have saturated the material. The redhead makes eye contact with you, pupils dark. "This okay?" she whispers, voice as thick as honey.
It takes all your efforts to breathe out a response, entirely worked up by her touch. "Yeah," you reply, nodding quickly. By this point you would let her do whatever she wanted if it would soothe ache between your legs.
Natasha smiles widely as she hears your response. "Lift your hips for me," she says, playing a chaste kiss to your collar bone. You do ask she asks, rising up to your knees on the sides of the couch. It gives Natasha the room to hook her fingers underneath the sides of your underwear, pulling them down painfully slowly as she looks into your eyes. When she finally manages to slide them over your legs, she tosses them somewhere off to the side before pulling you back down to sit on her lap.
Just then, a sudden thought crosses your mind. "I've-I've never done this before," you stutter out. "With a woman, I mean."
You wonder for a moment if Natasha will be put off by your inexperience, but that thought is quickly extinguished when the redhead only smirks wider. "That's alright," she replies. "Cause I happen to be somewhat of an expert."
You let out the barest of a laugh at her words, letting the anxiety flood out of your mind. Natasha's smirk holds as you feel her hand creep up your skirt again, dancing over the delicate skin of your inner thigh. "Relax, sweetheart," she husks. "I got you now."
Her fingers move to again run over your centre, this time touching your bare skin as you feel her fingers trace your soaked folds. She collects the wetness pooling from your centre before dragging it up to your clit, spreading it as she slowly begins to circle the bud. A moan slips as she presses a little harder, her fingers perfectly pooling pleasure between your legs.
"That's it, baby," Natasha purrs, face close to your ear. "Let me hear all those pretty noises."
You feel your teeth plunge into your bottom lip as another moan slips from your throat. Natasha's touch is so teasingly slow you can't help but buck your hips a little into her hand. "Please-" you whine, desperate for her to do more.
Thankfully, Natasha obliges and another moan drawls from your chest as you feel her middle finger plunge into your core. Your muscles tense around her, pulling her finger in further as your face comes to burrow into the redhead's shoulder.
"Uh uh," Natasha sounds from above you. "Let me see your face, pretty girl." Her finger find your chin, directing your gaze back up until your eyes meet with hers."There you go."
She smiles widely as she leans in for a kiss, once again enveloping your lips in her sweet, sultry taste. The two of you press deeply into another, noses brushing together. You can feel Natasha's finger slowly begin to move inside you, teasing your walls as you whine against her mouth. Your lips only disconnect when you feel Natasha add another finger to the one pumping inside you, your face falling as a gasp sounds from your chest.
She works almost painfully slow, her fingers pulling virtually all the way out before steadily bottoming inside you once again. Each time, her fingertips press against that spot inside you, just softly enough for you to barely feel it. Chasing more of a high, your hips begin to rut against her hand. "Natasha," you whine, voice long and drawn out at her teasing attitude. Some part of you wonders if it's some form of payback for letting it take so long to get you in this position.
The rockstar places a soft kiss to the side of your neck before she's whispering in your ear, hot breath fanning out across the skin. "Shh, just ride my fingers," she says, smiling against you. You feel her free hand come to rest upon your hip, slowly guiding you to rut harder against her hand. Each time you do, you feel her fingers curl into that spot inside you, sending soft sighs of pleasure cascading from your lips.
"'Atta girl," Natasha husks, continuing to guide your movements with her palm. Your hands come to rest upon her shoulders, holding yourself up as you rock back and forth. The redhead's fingers slide in and out of you with each motion, the sounds of the wetness between your legs joined by the moans slipping from your tongue.
Natasha watches with wide eyes as you grind against her hand, fingers gripping into her shoulders as your pleasure grows. She lets her digits curl inside you, releasing sweet, sudden sounds from your lips. Her thumb moves to brush against your clit, the hardened surface sending shocks of pleasure through you each time you rock your hips.
"Fuck baby," Natasha says lowly, watching you practically fuck yourself on her lap. "Are you gonna make a mess?" she drawls. "You gonna make a mess all over my fingers for me?"
"Uh huh," you respond, barely managing to nod your head as you can feel that coil building tighter and tighter in your stomach. Natasha's touch is like electric to your skin, each thrust building to a crescendo at your core.
"Come on, angel," the redhead whispers. "Show me just how pretty you are when you cum."
Her words, alongside one last thrust of your hips is enough to send you toppling over that edge. Your moan is drawn out loudly as you feel yourself come undone, eyes slamming shut as you grip hold of Natasha's shoulders. Your body arches in to her, letting Nat take advantage of your chest with her mouth once more as her fingers ride you through your orgasm.
"Fuck," you breathe, finally starting to come down from your high. You open your eyes once more to see Nat smirking up at you, letting go of your nipple between her teeth as both of her hands now rest on your waist. As your mind clears, you let yourself begin to fall back down on to her lap, but when you accidentally land directly on her thigh, you feel a shock sent through your core. You wince, immediately lifting yourself back up at the sensitivity.
But Natasha seems to have other plans. "Shh, angel. It's okay," she murmurs as her hands grip harsher on to the skin of your waist. She begins to push you back down, eliciting a gasp as your sensitive core connects again with her leg. You squirm a little in the position, fighting ever so slightly against Natasha as she tries to drop your full weight on to her. "Just sit on my thigh," she drawls, hands guiding you down. "Just like that, there you go."
The position hikes your tight skirt all the up to your waist, completely exposing your cunt as it comes to rest against the bare skin of Natasha's thigh. You're pathetically wet against her, cum still dripping out your core from your previous orgasm. But if anything, Natasha only seems to enjoy the way you soak her skin, smirking up at you as her hands begin to direct you once again. Her movements force you to rock back and forth slowly, your slick coating the skin of her leg beneath you. The wave of pleasure that comes from the movement sends a moan tipping out your mouth, your head falling back as your clit throbs with each brush against Natasha's thigh.
"Does that feel good, baby?" the redhead beneath you husks, still guiding your movements. It takes all your focus to nod your head. "Mhm?" Natasha questions, her voice purely laced with amusement. "You're such a good girl. Just keep grinding on me, just like that."
You feel the rockstar's hands disengage from your waist but your movement continues, encouraged by her words and praise. You watch between fluttering eyelashes as Natasha reaches to take off her bra, tossing it aside and revealing her perfect tits to you. Then, you see as her hands moves to undo her shorts, opening each button before her fingers disappear beneath the waistband of the black denim.
You hold back a whine as you see her face contort, only imagining what her fingers may be doing under the material of those shorts. "God, you're making me so wet," the redhead breathes, reaching up to place a kiss on to your pouting lips. You release a whine into her, muffled by her tongue lapping over your own. "Such a pretty girl," Natasha mewls when she pulls away, one hand reaching up to caress your jaw. "So pretty just for me. Wanna see how wet I am for you?"
You feel yourself nodding as you look into her green eyes, turned even more on by the concept of Natasha getting off just by looking at you. The redhead removes her fingers from beneath her shorts before bringing them up to your face, letting you view the soaked digits momentarily before pressing them up to your lips. You take in her fingers welcomely, humming around them as you let the taste of her coat your tongue.
"Fuck, you're so hot," Natasha husks, sounding about as love-drunk as you felt sucking on her fingers. She lets you lap them up a moment longer before pulling them from your lips with a pop. Then, you watch as she dips them back below her shorts, moaning softly at the contact it makes on her hidden centre.
Your eyes feel almost transfixed on the hand concealed beneath the material of Natasha's black shorts. The only true indication of whatever her fingers are doing comes from the delicate hums and sighs that escape the redhead's lips. The sight alone is enough to make you grind your cunt harder against her thigh, desperately trying to ease the heat growing there.
The rockstar notices your attempts becoming more determined, fingers clutching at her shoulders as your own needy mewls drip from your tongue. "Are you gonna cum on my thigh baby?" she asks, smirking widely.
You grind faster against her, trying desperately to chase your high but it feels like it's never coming. "I can't," you whine, hopelessly rutting atop of her.
"You can," Natasha nods.
"Mm-hm," you hum, shaking your head. Your fingers grip harder into her skin, the feeling between your legs never quite reaching that peak you're seeking out.
"You can, baby," Natasha replies quickly, voice assertive. "Look, just like this." You feel her hands come to rest upon your ass, fingers gripping into the soft flesh before she begins to rock you once more. With her guidance, you follow a more structured pattern, your clit brushing perfectly against her thigh with each rock of your hips. "There you go," the redhead hums, watching your face screw up in pleasure at the newfound rhythm. Moans begin to cascade from your lips in desperate tones as each new thrust sends you closer to that edge. The way Natasha guides you sends perfect waves of pleasure through your entire body, your hands pressing into her shoulders to try ground yourself in the high. When you feel her fingers join in on the equation, your cries turn ever more lewd, her hand placed so that your clit brushes directly over her calloused tips each time you rut your hips.
"Come on baby girl," you hear Natasha husk, her face close to yours. "Cum for me. You can do it. Cum all over my thigh."
One more thrust sends you hurtling over the edge, screaming out as you feel a gush of warmth flooding onto Natasha's leg. Your arms wrap around her head, anchoring yourself in as you ride out your high, mewling choked moans into the redhead's ear. Natasha guides you through the orgasm once more, still slowly guiding your hips to an eventual stop. When you finally emerge from the crook of her neck, you're panting.
The rockstar admires the way your chest rises and falls, the green crystal still hanging around your neck, nestled in the valley of your breasts. "God, you're so fucking perfect," she husks, drinking in your figure. "I could get addicted to the way you look falling apart for me."
You don't say anything in response as you still try to calm yourself from the high, head feeling fuzzy as you look back at the redhead. She smirks widely as she watches you, utterly obsessed with the way you look sat on top of her, eyes glazed over in residual pleasure.
A single one of her fingers comes to swipe up some of the cum you've left slathered on her thigh, purposely brushing slightly over the top of your bruised clit just to watch you squirm a little before bringing her hand up to her own mouth. She practically laps up the stickiness coating her finger, humming lowly as your cum trickles down her throat. "God," she breathes, letting her finger fall. "I wish I had my strap so I could fuck that sweet little pussy of yours." You whine on top of her, still too inebriated to form a real response. Natasha only chuckles at your intoxication. "Would you like that, pretty girl? Like me to fuck you till you can't even think anymore?"
"Uh huh," you nod, already fantasying the image inside your head.
Natasha laughs again, tilting her head as she watches your face. "You're so cum-drunk right now I think you're already half way there. Isn't that right?" A low sound in the back of your throat is the only response, heightened when you feel Natasha's lips connect with your neck. She sucks as the soft flesh, glazing over the burn with her tongue. She stays there a moment, clearly leaving a mark on your skin that you have no idea how you'll cover up tomorrow. But quite frankly, you don't even care.
When Natasha pulls away, she notices how that glaze has left your eyes, your consciousness returning finally after your last climax. She smirks, eyeing you with that mischievous look as her face comes to rest near your cleavage, placing a chaste kiss to your sternum before looking back up. "You want me to empty that pretty head of yours some more?"
You're barely able to focus on her words as she lets her tongue circle around your nipple. In the end, you don't answer her question, simply whine as her teeth tease at the hardened bud. "Tasha-"
The nickname slips from your tongue almost too easily, your brain not even recognising it. Natasha, however, does, and she can't believe how amazing it sounds coming from your mouth. "Fuck," she whispers, coming face to face with you again. She looks into your eyes for a long moment before she begins to shift her body, turning yours with it. "Lie down for me, baby," she murmurs, twisting your body to lay down on the couch beneath you. "Just like that."
You let her manoeuvre you to the perfect position, arching slightly as the cold leather of the couch hits your back. Lying back, you watch as Natasha leans over you, placing a few quick kisses to your neck before travelling lower. When she reaches your waistline, her fingers work to unzip the skirt still clinging to your waist. She makes light work of undoing it before beginning to pull it down your legs, placing kisses on your warm flesh as she goes. When the article is tossed aside, the rockstar begins to unfasten the boots still tied to your feet. She removes them quickly, laying them aside and soon letting her own join them.
Then, you watch in awe as the redhead slowly slips her fingers into the waistband of her own shorts, almost making a show out of it as she slips the garment down. Shorts and underwear go at the same time as Natasha strips herself in front of you, smirking as she notices the way you stare. Your eyes never leave her as her body moves back towards the couch, coming to a rest above you as her knees straddle your waist. "You're so hot," you all but mumble, mesmerised by the sight in front of you.
Natasha simply chuckles lowly at your response. "Give me your hand," she says, reaching out towards your wrist. You let her take hold, watching intently as she guides you between her legs. She runs your fingers methodically through her folds, gasping quietly as the touch. She's soaked, slick coating your digits, probably residual from where she had been touching herself earlier. "You feel that? It's all for you, baby." Natasha hums as she guides your hand through her core. You can't help but let your own little noises slip, feeling just how wet she is beneath your touch. Your fingers curl at the ends, dipping into Natasha's centre before you pull them up to rub at her swollen clit. "Ah, fuck," the star moans, pinching her eyes closed. She lets you play with her a bit longer before she eventually pulls your hand away, letting it drop to your side. Instead, she reaches the hand she was using to guide you under your right thigh, squeezing into the flesh gently. "Lift your leg for me," she says, pulling upwards on your thigh.
You let her manoeuvre your leg, holding it up to the side while she adjusts her own body. You watch as one of her legs hooks over your waist, angling herself so that her core is directly above your own. When she sinks down to meet you, a lewd gasp sounds from your mouth, the new sensation electric against your skin. Natasha's cunt is wet against your own, accentuated by the cum that sill coats your sensitive folds.
"Oh my god," you breathe out, entirely in awe at the new feeling of the redhead against you. The star smirks down at you, letting your legs fall back into a relaxed position as she anchors herself to your hips with her hands. When she begins to move against you, the loud moans that escape you coat the entire room.
Her clit brushes beautifully against your own as Natasha rocks her hips back and forth, the noises of your combined wetness thick in the air. "Fuck, you feel so good," the redhead moans out, her own breath becoming shallow as she rolls against you. It doesn't mean that she lets her guard down entirely though, quickly noticing when your head lolls to the side and your eyes squeeze shut. "Eyes on me, beautiful," she directs, reaching out to grasp your face.
You let her turn your chin as you open your eyes back up, drinking in the sight in front of you. Natasha rocks back and forwards against you with a perfect rhythm, her tits bouncing with each new thrust. Natasha sees you watching and reaches for your hands, guiding them up to plump flesh of her chest. You squeeze roughly, savouring the delicate moans that spill from the rockstar's lips.
"God, you're so hot," the redhead murmurs between heavy breaths. "I just can't get enough of you. Maybe I'll just have to bring you along on tour with me, let you be my little groupie."
You moan loudly, not only from the way Natasha's cunt grinds over your swollen clit, but also at the teasing voice and notion of her words. Natasha smirks down at you. "You like that idea, huh?" she husks. "You wanna be my little groupie who I fuck like this after all my shows?"
You don't have the ability to form a response to her, merely putting all of your energy into chasing your combined high. Your back arches off the cold leather of the couch as you try your best to rock your hips against the rockstar's, listening to the sound of your wet cunts grinding desperately against one another. When a particular thrust bumps across your clit, a whine sounds low in the back of your throat. "Tasha-"
The nickname does wonders once again in Natasha's mind, sounding so sweet lacing your tongue. "Fuck," she murmurs, trying to keep up her pace. "I want you to say my name like that when you cum baby, okay?"
You nod weakly, chest heaving. "Good girl." Natasha bucks slightly as your clits brush over one another, her legs twitching by your sides. "Fuck."
The two of you continue to rock against one another, your moans harmonising together as you both climb closer to your climax. Your hands rest upon Natasha's full thighs, gripping for support as the pleasure rolls over you in waves. She clasps at your waist, feeling the thin layer of perspiration coating your skin.
"Fuck," you breathe out. "I think I'm gonna-"
"Cum for me," Natasha finishes, thrusting into you. You do as she says and let that coil loose in your stomach, letting your orgasm shred through you as you all but scream out in pleasure.
"Oh fuck, Tasha."
Her name dripping from your lips sends the redhead over the edge too, rutting against you as she cums hard. "Shit," she mumbles, riding her wave as the combination of your juices blends together and soaks both of your legs.
Both of your bodies tense, movements becoming sloppy as your highs hit. When nearly a minute later, you've both come down from the peak, Natasha slowly untwines your legs from one another. She flops down on the couch beside you, barely enough room for the two of you to lie next to another. For a while you two sit with the combined sounds of your own heavy breaths, both of your bare chests heaving in the warmth of the room.
"Oh my god," you manage to slip out, finally aware of how you've just had the best sex of your life. Nothing could ever compare to what Natasha had just done to you, no other partner ever even coming close to making you cum that hard.
Natasha seeks amusement in your blown out state, clearly enjoying the revelation painted on your face. She rolls her head towards you, her signature smirk making one final appearance. "I told you, you wouldn't regret coming back stage with me."
Your head turns towards her, meeting her widened eyes still dark with lust. You almost want to tell her she's wrong, that all your avoiding earlier had been the right path you go down, but you know it's all bullshit. She was right, there wasn't a single ounce of regret in your bones.
Natasha smiles at your clear agreeance, almost smug in the way she licks her lips. She props herself up on to one arm, leaning over you with those dark emerald eyes. Her fingers come to find the crystal hanging around your neck, rolling the stone between her fingertips as she smiles deeply. Then, she turns back to you, looking as sly as she first had back in that bathroom stall. "Now," she drawls. "About that groupie thing..."
