#I think there were gonna be more of them as in-between fragments

[sweet-as-an-angel]

MW2 Reaction To You Panty-Flashing Them

Warnings: Implied Smut, Mean! MW2, Dominant! MW2, Victim/Reader Blaming, Slut-Shaming, Reader Getting Pimped Out, Mention of a Leash, Allusions to Injury, Mentions of Blood, Petnames, Profanity, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.

Ghost

Ghost is a territorial man. So seeing you flash not only him but Johnny as well made something in him simmer.

It wasn’t rage, for this little accident, regardless of how intentional it was, was not your fault. If he had to place it, he’d attribute it to…

Lust.

As was evident in how he excused himself from the gathering of the 141 and Los Vaqueros in your living room, grabbing you by your arm.

He stowed you away. Dragged you to a desolate laundry room and gripped you by your thighs. You gasped, gripped onto him. Felt something hard rub against you.

Ghost threw you atop the washing machine and gave you a harsh stare as he watched you try to fight the feeling building within from the machine’s buzzing and shuffling.

“Go on then, Doll,” he rasps, eyes hard and the throbbing monster between his legs harder. He palmed himself. Remorse was not in his nature. And neither was mercy.

“Seein’ as you were practically beggin’ the others to fuck you, go and put on a show.”

His voice lowered. He stood between your legs, frame blocking you from any form of help or salvation.

“Just for me.”

König

König had been sat on your sofa, an action figure in a house for a doll half his size, and you’d bent over to retrieve something from beneath the TV cabinet.

The fact that you were wearing a pair of König’s shorts was already clouding his moral compass. Seeing your underwear peeking out beneath them was what sent him over the edge.

As you remained bent, cheek pressed to the floor as you reached for what you’d lost, you didn’t hear König approach. Didn’t know he’d even moved from the sofa until something thick and hard was pressed to the back of you, followed by two heavy hands holding you at the waist, and a slow, shuttering breath.

“Don’t move,” König told you. “Stay like this.”

Slowly, he pressed deeper into you. You could feel his restraint unwinding second by second.

It was when he bent over you, had his broad chest pressed to your back, that you knew you weren’t escaping. And you weren’t backing down.

“I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you cum, bleed or pass out.” König’s voice held no humour, but you could feel the franticity building in it.

He reached round, gripped your chin. Made you look at him. His smile was sharp, his features dark.

“Whichever comes first.”

Soap

Johnny pulled the leash tighter around your throat when you tried to protest your innocence. Tried to make him see reason.

“Doesn’t matter that it was ‘just an accident’.” He mimicked you, made you sound weak, whiny. His eyes hardened and his jaw clenched. His knuckles turned white around the leash.

His shadow loomed over you from your position on the bed, on your hands and knees while Johnny presided over you with an iron fist.

Tears obscured his silhouette. Made your eyes glassy.

“Aww, Did I upset you, Bonnie?” Johnny’s tone held a gruffness that didn’t even try to hide the anger running beneath.

He huffed, a mocking laugh.

“How’d’ya think I felt when you were practically spreading your legs for Simon?”

Again, you tried to tell him what really happened. Tried to incur any fragment of mercy Soap would spare you.

He pulled on the leash again. Tighter. You gasped, hands flying up to the leather around your neck, trying to loosen it – to plead for Johnny’s favour – as the air was knocked out of you.

“Oh no, you don’t get to talk.” He said. He stepped to you. The bulge in his jeans became ever more noticeable. Impending.

“M’gonna use you like the whore you are ‘til my cum’s leaking out of every hole in your body.”

Valeria

“Do I look like I fucking care, Darling?” Valeria circled you, her belt wrapped around her hand, a glint of darkness in her eye.

Wrists and ankles duct-taped to the chair, you could do little to follow her. To understand her intentions.

“Do you really think whatever little lie you pass off as an excuse can quell the fire you’ve set?”

Before you could attest your innocence, beg for forgiveness, Valeria’s belt came down across your thighs. Crying out, you flinched, tried to withdraw, pushing your chair back in the process.

Valeria lunged forward and gripped the chair by the arms, pressing your skin into the wood, and dragged you back.

Her face twisted into a visceral snarl, the portrait of evil.

“Please, Valeria, I’m begging you–”

“Oh, you’ll beg for me, alright.” Valeria looked down at you, her face to yours. Just shy of your noses touching. With bared teeth, she smiled.

“I won’t stop until you do.”

Price

“If you wanted attention that badly, you could’ve just asked.”

Price had your arms and legs bound to a hard, wooden chair while a thick ream of cloth had your mouth gagged. He stood over you, arms crossed over his front, a glint in his eye. He sighed, brought his hands to grip your tied forearms. Pressed them into the armrests.

You winced.

“What…possessed you to go and show your arse to Alejandro and the rest of the team?” His voice reflected a tone of ponderment found only in Sarcasm’s extended family tree. And it showed with the faux confusion written in his brow.

“Do I just not cut it for you?” He leaned in. The chair creaked. Your arms hurt. He didn’t let up.

“Am I not enough to keep you from throwing yourself at the nearest soldier?”

He watched you, his stare narrow. You shook your head, eyes wide. You tried speaking through the gag, tried to tell him that he was the only man you loved, but you both knew your efforts were futile.

He withdrew, gripped his belt, adopted his default stance. He heaved a deep breath.

“Come in, lads,” he called behind him, not taking his gaze off you. Your stomach tightened.

A thin smile stretched across Price's lips as he watched your eyes widen, your gaze following Simon, Soap, Gaz, Rudy and Alejandro as they filtered into the room.

Price bowed at the waist, lowered his voice so only you could hear.

“Seeing as you’re so keen to show ‘em what’s under your clothes, I’m gonna let them use you ‘til you’ve learnt your lesson.”

Horangi

Hong-Jin popped the top button of his jeans, keeping his gaze trained on you, spearing you with a dark stare.

“Did you enjoy giving König and I a little show, Dear?”

Sarcasm nestled in his tone, a viper in a den. But the excitement running parallel beneath it, just shy of its transparent underbelly, was evident.

Hong-Jin slid the zip of his jeans down. Pulled the denim over his hips.

“It’s only fair that I…” He took your hand, placed it at the hem of his underwear. Dipped beneath the band.

His skin was scorching. Something pulsated beneath your fingers.

The implication sat heavy in his tone. In his eyes.

“Return the favour.”

Alejandro

“I didn’t know I was dating such an attention-seeking whore.”

Alejandro’s voice was the roll of thunder across a darkened valley, the weight of a downpour of knives settled into his tone.

Hands behind his back, he stood over you, having resigned you to sitting on your knees, the hardwood floor pushing against your joints.

“Luckily for you, I’m not the type to hold grudges.” A smile played at his lips. One you knew not to trust.

“But he is.”

Alejandro looked to the door, where, from beyond its frame, emerged Rudy. His face held a similar, serpentine pallor, his lips drawn up into a thin smile. Venom in his veins.

“Wasn’t expecting to get blue-balled by (Y/N) earlier, Ale,” came Rudy, his usually sugared demeanour having dropped, the veil between what he was and what he showed to the world slipping away. Retreating.

Alejandro gave him a knowing look. He turned back to you.

“Why don’t you be a good little doll and put your face to the floor. Just like we practised.”

The memory of leashes, lashings and tears flooded your memory. You held back a  wanton whimper.

Alejandro’s voice dropped. “And let Rudy see the rest of what you promised him.”

Rodolfo

“I don’t want to have to do this, Cariño. Rudy stood over you, his hands on your shoulders and his face dark. Grim.

His hold on your shoulders tightened.

“But I can’t let your behaviour go…”

He searched your eyes for the right word. His brow furrowed when he found it.

“Unchecked.”

He sighed. Pushed down on your shoulders.

“Come on, Angel. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” He told you, pushing harder until you bent to his will.

Now, on your knees, you could see how desperately he needed you.

One hand came to your jaw, thumb trailing to your lip, pulling your mouth open. The other slid down to his belt, sliding it from the buckle. It hissed, pulled tight against the metal. You swallowed.

Rudy’s breath shuttered, and you could tell from the way his hand clenched, the way he slipped the belt from his jeans like a snake, that he was enjoying this. Much more than he wanted to let on.

“Now remember, mi Amor, no teeth, no biting.” His head tilted. Condescending. “Or I’ll bite you back.”

Graves

He can barely contain himself.

It was only the briefest of flashes. It wasn’t even intentional. But something about your shy smile after the fact once you realised what you’d done sent a vicious little idea to Graves’s head.

He starts stealing all your underwear. Gradually, yet in large enough volumes that he doesn’t have to wait longer than he can handle without his reward.

One day, you come into his office, face warm and tugging an oversized shirt over the top of your thighs.

“Missing something, Darlin’?” Graves drawls. Your eyes narrow at him. You know he’s had something to do with your underwear’s disappearing act.

He puts his papers down, sighs, and rests the back of his head in his hands against the backrest of his chair.

“How about you flash me again. Slowly, now.” His eyes glint with a dark mischief and want.

“Y’don’t wanna know what happens if you don't do it the way I like it.”

Gaz

“Oh, Darling, look what you’ve done,” Gaz’s voice carried despite the thickening tension in the room. Neither of you needed to look down to see what he was referring to.

Despite the chastising tone in his voice, his eyes were warm. Kind, almost.

“If you wanted my attention so badly, you only had to ask.”

He stepped towards you, placing a hand under your jaw. He smiled.

“It’s only fair that I reward you for being so creative, isn’t it ?”

His other hand came to your shoulder, pushing the strap of your tank top until it fell, leaving the sweeping juncture between your neck and shoulder exposed.

Has bit back a shuttering breath.

Despite his gentile voice, an angeline choir, the soundtrack of mercy, there lay a hunger in his eyes, in his barely-restrained grip, that suggested a beast lurked beneath his pretty boy exterior.

And you knew from the way he told you to “Get on the bed – be good for me,” that you’d be seeing it tonight.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

[loveafterdeath-if]

Yeah, similarly to what another anon said, I was kinda hoping for this to be a story about moving on after losing a lived one, specifically your partner, which I thought was a beautiful and heartbreaking concept, and while we did get that in the first few chapters, it feels like this plot twist kind of defeats the whole point.

Though, unlike the other anon, I personally will probably continue reading because I think you are an amazing writer and because I love Ekissa. The only thing that makes me not sure about continuing is that the situation is a bit awkward, makes me feel a bit uncomfortable, so I was wondering about how you were going to manage it? Because MCs moving on process obviously gets cut short, but for those of us who are gonna romance someone else, we still need to finish that process, and one important thing when moving on from an ex is time apart, especially for one you were grieving not so long ago. Otherwise old feelings, nostalgia and a lot of other emotions get mixed up and that would probably lead to confusion. (Sorry, for the long paragraph, just a bit worried about how this is gonna continue)

It's heavy spoiler territory, but I'll have to address this for anon. And it'll be a long-ass response, so be prepared,

You are right about one thing, the whole plot falls apart if El is alive, doesn't it? And like someone said in the LAD discord "why love after death then". They didn't phrase it exactly like that, but you know what I mean. The plot does start with El, but it won't end with them. Idk how to explain without giving away too much, lol

There are clues that El isn't really dead in the first chapters. The flowers MC receives, and now players know El was the one offering them. The doc and Athiel never talk about death when discussing El. MC doesn't have the right to go to the funeral or even see El's body. Even L being called by Juliet at the beginning will have its importance. They're small details, nothing too obvious, but they're here.

I'll be honest, sometimes when writing Athiel talking with MC, I struggled to remember El wasn't dead because I tried to make it look and feel like El was dead, so I drowned a bit in that department.

The characters might seem like a lot, but each has their own purpose, big or small. Some are a breath of fresh air for MC since they're not caught up in all the drama and can be objective. Others are here because they'll play an important role later. Then there are those who serve as reminders of the past with El (like the neighbors). And some are just like those background characters in anime; you don't even see their features because they're just there to serve a small purpose and keep the intrigue going. They come and go.

Sorry, I'm talking too much. So how I'll manage it, is by—and it's where it's gonna get tricky—make MC aware of it as soon as possible. There will be a reunion between MC and El. The tricky part is showing that El won't remember MC, no matter how much/if the MC tries to jog their memory.

The past El is dead; the memories won't come back, and if any fragments do resurface, El won't feel the love they once had. It's more like a ghost of memories; their body remember, but it's more mechanical than actual feelings. Like an old habit that won't go.

MC will have to grieve the old El anyway, even with them actually alive.

In El's route, it'll be all about falling in love again, getting them out of this toxic relationship with their mother, helping them learn to love themself again, and living with someone who is El but not the El you used to know. They have trauma, the confidence they once had is gone, they're insecure and they're more reserved than before.

Juliet is like, the first villain before introducing the final boss. What I wanted to do was weave two kinda plots in the same book because I didn't want to make two separate books. Love After Death is Love After Death for a reason. The plan is to make the players realize that El wasn't the focus of this book in the first place.

I hope there won't have any inconsistencies in this story, but if you find any plot holes, you're free to let me know, and I'll do my best to improve. It's only with advice and constructive critique that I can do so. I'm sure there are blind spots I won't see right away; I'm only human😭

[alistorz]

FRAGMENT OF US

(Aespa x Male Reader Fanficiton)

Chapter 1 - A Harsh Welcome

10091 words

~"When a dream sound so nice, that you wish it become true."~ ---------------------------------------------------

The heat of summer weighed heavily on the world outside, where the streets were bustling with people enjoying their free time—some at the beach, others lounging at cafes, sipping iced drinks. Inside the training room, however, it felt worlds apart. The air conditioner hummed steadily, but the heavy atmosphere of sweat and exhaustion lingered, the sound of soft footfalls and the shuffle of shoes as Aespa continued their stretching exercises.

The room itself was dim, lit only by the soft overhead lights, with the faint scent of cold air and the occasional rustle of fabric as the girls adjusted their positions. They worked through their routines, stretching, warming up, and silently preparing for the next set of moves. Despite the heaviness in the air, a sense of camaraderie lingered between them, especially with the occasional sigh or grunt breaking the silence.

Winter, already looking a little tired, stretched her arms above her head, but then—unable to continue at full energy—she collapsed onto the floor with a dramatic thud, letting out an exaggerated groan.

"I swear, morning practices in summer are the worst," she grumbled, her voice tinged with playful annoyance. "I’d rather be lying outside, soaking up the sun, than being stuck in here at this hour."

Her complaint caught the attention of the others, who were moving about in their own little worlds. Ningning, who had been absorbed in a puzzle game on her phone, chuckled, glancing up with a teasing grin.

"You mean you'd rather turn into a chocolate bar?" she teased, voice light. "You’re already pale enough, Winter. Imagine how dark you'd get if you stayed in the sun too long. You wouldn't be Winter anymore—maybe 'Chocolate' or 'Burnt Chocolate' would suit you better."

The group laughed lightly at Ningning’s joke, the tension in the room breaking for a moment. Even Winter cracked a smile, though she rolled her eyes dramatically.

“I could pull off 'Chocolate,'” Winter muttered with a grin, her voice still full of playful sarcasm. “It sounds sweet, doesn’t it?”

Ningning snickered, pushing it further. “Oh, absolutely. I can see it now: you, lying on a beach somewhere, sunbathing, melting into the sand like a chocolate bar. Maybe a little drizzle of caramel on top, too. Yeah, that’s definitely the vibe you should go for.”

Winter let out an exaggerated gasp. “Caramel, huh? I thought I was more of a classic chocolate person, but now you’ve got me thinking... Maybe I’d be a whole sundae with whipped cream, sprinkles, and all that extra stuff. You know, to really complete the transformation."

Giselle, overhearing, chimed in with a sly grin. "Oh, no, Winter, don’t get too carried away. If you’re gonna be a chocolate sundae, I’ll be the cherry on top. You know, the one everyone fights over. People can't resist me."

Winter shot Giselle a teasing look. “Oh, so you’re the cherry, huh? Well, I guess that makes me the solid foundation—the one people rely on to hold it all together. Without the chocolate, there's no sundae.”

"True, true," Ningning nodded seriously, as if contemplating the matter. "But honestly, I’d probably be the sprinkles. I’m a bit extra, but I really make things pop, you know?"

"Extra?" Winter snorted. "Please, Ningning, you’re the whipped cream—fluffy, sweet, and light. You just float on top, barely there, but always making things better."

Ningning gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “Whipped cream? How dare you! I’ll have you know, I’m the entire sundae, and not just the fluff! I’m the full dessert experience. You just wait—I'll be the one to steal the show.”

The playful banter continued, their voices filled with light-hearted teasing, as the once heavy atmosphere in the room shifted to a lighter, more relaxed vibe. Winter, still half-lying on the floor, glanced up at the clock. They were already running out of time for their practice, but it didn’t seem like anyone was in the mood to push through another hour of stretching and dancing.

Before anyone could comment further, the door creaked open, and Harin, their longest-serving main manager, stepped in with a tablet in hand. She was the one who usually kept them on track, even if she had the tendency to be a bit too serious sometimes. A slight frown marked her face as she entered.

"Alright, girls," she began, her voice steady but not exactly enthusiastic. "Here's your schedule for today and the rest of the month." She scanned the screen before looking up, gauging their energy—or rather, their lack of it.

"As you know, you have a photoshoot today for the new comeback, followed by video shoots for promotional content. Then practice in the afternoon to prep for stage performances. Tomorrow, you’ve got interviews and more filming. And then final rehearsals for the comeback showcase."

She paused.

The girls didn’t react at first.

Then, slowly, their expressions shifted—Winter blinked up at her, Giselle let out a short exhale, Ningning’s bouncing leg stilled, and Karina simply pressed her lips together.

It wasn’t shock.

It was exhaustion.

Ningning was the first to speak.

"Harin Unnie," she said, her voice edged with disbelief. "Is this schedule actually revised and reviewed? Or did someone just throw random tasks together and call it a day?"

Harin sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. "That’s pretty much what happened," she admitted. "The higher-ups decided to handle the adjustments themselves because none of the assistant managers or other main managers were capable of restructuring it properly. They want this comeback to be the biggest one yet. With how much your reputation has skyrocketed this year, they don’t want to waste any momentum."

Silence.

Karina exhaled through her nose, arms tightening across her chest.

"And no one thought to ask us if we could handle this?"

Her voice wasn’t angry. Just tired.

Harin looked at them apologetically. "They assume you’ll just... push through."

Another pause.

Winter leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, fingers laced together. "So, what you’re saying is... they expect us to work like machines. No adjustments. No breathing room. Just—" She gestured vaguely, "—go, go, go?"

Harin didn’t answer immediately. Because they were right.

"I tried to push back," she said finally. "I really did. But after the higher-ups finalized the schedule, it was like everyone just... gave up. No one wanted to take responsibility for fixing it, so they dumped it all onto you." Her voice grew quieter, frustration seeping into her tone. "The truth is, the staff are more loyal to the company than to you girls. And I don’t blame them—they have families to feed. The company pays their bills, not you."

Ningning scoffed under her breath. "Figures."

The weight of the words settled over the room.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t known this. They weren’t naïve. But hearing it so plainly—feeling it so plainly—made it harder to ignore.

Winter rubbed her temples. "So, we just keep going like this? No one to help us manage this mess?"

She wasn’t just asking Harin. She was asking the universe.

She was asking for a miracle.

Winter lifted her gaze, looking Harin dead in the eyes. "We need someone who actually sees us. Not just as 'Aespa'—but as Jimin, Minjeong, Aeri, and Yizhuo. We need someone who can handle this schedule without running us into the ground. Someone who gives a damn about us as people, not just idols."

Harin’s throat tightened.

"I know," she admitted softly. "Believe me, I know."

She looked down at her tablet, gripping it a little tighter. "But right now… we don’t have that person."

No one spoke.

No one needed to.

Because they all knew it was true.

Karina leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her voice laced with frustration. “It’s not like the staff doesn’t care. They’re kind, they’re fun, and we share good moments. We laugh, we joke, and in those times, it feels like they’re with us.” She exhaled, her fingers tightening slightly. “But when it comes to actually taking care of us—really managing us—it’s like no one truly sees us.”

The room fell into silence again.

Ningning, still absently tapping against her phone, let out a quiet sigh. “Yeah. We have assistant managers who handle photoshoots and music shows, and they do their jobs well enough. But when it comes to the big picture—keeping us balanced, making sure we don’t burn out, or even just making us feel like we have a say in our own lives—it’s a mess.”

She dropped her phone onto the couch beside her, rubbing her temples. “I don’t think they mean to treat us like this. But sometimes, it feels like we’re just… passengers in our own careers.”

Winter, who had been listening with an unreadable expression, finally spoke, her voice quiet but firm. “I get that they’re all doing their best,” she admitted, “but we’re constantly running. From one thing to the next, with no real chance to breathe. No moment where we can just… be.”

Her gaze flickered downward for a second before lifting again. “It’s like we’re a checklist. Just another thing to cross off on the company’s to-do list.”

The weight of her words settled over them all.

It wasn’t that the staff wasn’t trying. But their job was to manage idols, not to care for people. And the difference between the two was suffocating.

Giselle shifted in her seat, her tone softer, almost hesitant. “Wouldn’t it be nice,” she murmured, “if we had someone who really understood us? Not just as ‘Aespa,’ but as us?”

No one responded right away, but the idea lingered, heavy in the air.

Karina was the first to nod. “Yeah,” she said, her voice thoughtful. “The staff we have now… they do their jobs, and we’ve had good times with them. But at the end of the day, they’re employees. We need someone who actually sees us. Someone who cares about more than just our schedules—someone who takes care of us.”

Winter exhaled, the corners of her lips tilting up just slightly—but it wasn’t a smile. More like the ghost of a thought. “Someone who makes sure we’re okay. Not just physically, but mentally, too.”

She paused, then added, “Someone who remembers that we’re human first, idols second.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy. A shared longing that they all felt but had never voiced so plainly before.

Then, Giselle—always the one to soften the mood—leaned back, crossing her arms with a small smirk. “Well… maybe things will change soon,” she said, voice light but laced with something hopeful. “I mean, we’ve survived a lot. Maybe someone’s bound to show up and actually fit in with us.”

The others exchanged glances, their expressions wavering between hope and quiet skepticism.

“Maybe,” Karina murmured.

But deep down, none of them truly expected it.

Because wishing for someone like that had always felt like just that—a wish.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You step off the plane, your heart pounding in your chest as the cool rush of air from the terminal hits you. The hum of the airport and the faint echoes of distant announcements fill the air. Everything feels... so new. It’s your first time traveling, and there’s a strange mix of excitement and anxiety bubbling in your stomach. The airport is busy, much busier than you had imagined. People hustle by in every direction, some walking briskly, others chatting in languages you can’t quite follow. You feel like a small fish in an ocean of noise and movement, trying to find your way.

You follow the signs, taking in every detail—the high ceilings, the gleaming floors, and the steady stream of travelers. It’s all so different from the quiet, modest life you’ve known back home. Your mind keeps wandering back to the life you’ve left behind, the small town you grew up in, the simplicity of it all. Now, here you are, in a completely new world, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’re in over your head.

“Keep it together,” you mutter to yourself, trying to calm the nerves that are slowly creeping up on you. You have a plan. You have everything under control. At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

Then comes the first hurdle: the checkups. The security checks. The lines, the long wait, and all the little things you have to remember to do. You’ve read up on the procedures, but nothing quite prepares you for the chaos of it all. You’re directed through the first few steps, passport in hand, and try to keep pace with the flow of people. It isn’t as smooth as you’d hoped. You fumble with your documents, feeling a little out of place.

You stand in line for passport control, shifting from foot to foot. The person in front of you is holding up the line, which doesn’t help your nerves. When it’s finally your turn, you step up to the counter, forcing yourself to look confident. The customs officer gives you a curious glance as they scan your documents, and you swallow hard. Are you doing this right? Have you forgotten anything?

“Purpose of your visit?” the officer asks in English, their voice brisk but polite.

“Study,” you say, your voice coming out a little shaky, even though you try to sound sure of yourself. “I’m here to study at the university.”

They nod, flipping through your papers with practiced speed before handing everything back to you.

“Enjoy your stay,” they say, almost dismissively, and you step aside, trying to ignore the way your hands are shaking.

Next, you have to go through security checks, and this time, you find yourself slightly panicking. You’re not sure if you packed everything right, or if you missed something. Shoes off, jacket in the tray, and everything else has to be scanned. The security officer doesn’t seem to notice you at first, too busy with the person ahead of you, but you can’t shake the anxiety gnawing at you. You’re definitely out of your depth here.

“Everything okay?” a voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you look up to find a security officer watching you expectantly.

“Uh, yeah, sorry,” you mumble, hurriedly placing your things on the conveyor belt.

As you pass through the body scanner and collect your belongings, you let out a quiet sigh of relief. You’re through it. You’re here.

You glance around the airport once more, feeling a mixture of awe and nervousness. The hustle and bustle of Incheon is unlike anything you’ve ever seen. People moving in every direction, the announcements echoing in different languages, the bright signs overhead in unfamiliar text—it’s all so overwhelming, yet exciting. Your heart is pounding, but not out of fear anymore. It’s the kind of nervous excitement you feel when you're standing on the edge of something huge, something life-changing.

Taking a deep breath, you remind yourself to stay calm. You’ve made it this far, so you can keep going. With all your paperwork in hand, you look around for a sign, any clue where you’re supposed to go next.

That’s when you notice the crowd gathering near one of the gates, on the other side of the terminal. People are whispering, their eyes glued to something or someone. Cameras flash from all angles, and you can hear the occasional scream of excitement, even from where you stand. It feels like a whole other world over there—loud, chaotic, filled with energy.

Meanwhile, on your side of the terminal, everything is eerily calm. The air feels still, almost too quiet. The only sounds are the soft hum of the overhead speakers, the distant rustle of suitcases, and the occasional voice calling out from the counters. It’s a stark contrast. The silence here makes you feel small, almost invisible, while the other side seems like a world you don’t belong to.

You watch for a moment, wondering if you’ve missed some kind of announcement or event, but you can’t make sense of it. You feel out of place, standing there, surrounded by the calm of the arrivals area, while on the other side, the excitement buzzes like electricity. It’s a reminder of the difference between the world you’ve come from and the one you’re about to enter..

It’s a world away from the quiet, humble life you left behind. The contrast hits you hard—the glamour, the flashing lights, the evident fame... it feels like something out of a movie. Your life has always been small, simple, filled with the quiet routine of your family and school. And here, surrounded by all of this, you feel almost invisible. Just another face in the calm of the arrivals area, distant from the world of excitement on the other side.

After a few moments, the crowd seems to shift, and you notice a bodyguard standing nearby, watching the scene closely. The flashing lights intensify for a moment, then everything seems to settle down, and the crowd begins to disperse.

You shake your head, refocusing. You’re not here to be part of that world, not yet. Not for you. You have your own path ahead of you.

Just as you’re starting to feel a little more grounded, you spot a man in a uniform holding a sign with your name on it. Relief floods through you. That must be your guide.

With a quick, nervous smile, you make your way over to him and are unsure of how to start, but he notices you before you can say anything.

"Ah, you must be Y/N!" he says, flashing a friendly smile. His English is clear, though his Korean accent still lingers, giving it a pleasant charm. "Welcome to Korea. My name is Ha-Joon, and I'm from the International Students Affairs Department."

You smile back, the nervousness starting to melt away. "Ah, yes. Y/N. It's nice to meet you," you reply in Korean, hoping you don’t sound too much like an outsider.

Ha-Joon blinks, surprised for a split second, then grins even wider. "Oh, you speak Korean?" His voice is warm, a bit of amusement in his eyes.

"Yeah," you say, scratching the back of your neck a little nervously. "I had to take a Korean language class for five months before coming here. I learned some basics and a bit of advanced stuff too—enough to get by, at least."

"That's impressive!" Ha-Joon chuckles, clearly impressed. "You must have worked hard. Most international students don't pick it up that quickly."

You shrug, trying to downplay it. "It wasn’t easy, but I thought it’d be better to understand the culture better. And, you know, make things smoother."

"Well, it certainly shows. You’ll be a step ahead here," he says with a nod of approval. "Now, come on. I’ll take you to the ride that'll take you to the university. We’ve got some paperwork to go through and a few other things to wrap up, but it won’t take too long."

"Thanks," you say, feeling more at ease now with Ha-Joon's easygoing nature.

He led you through the quieter part of the airport, out into the parking lot, where a car was waiting for you and the staff. As you slid into the backseat, you felt a flutter of nervous excitement. The car pulled away, and pressed your face against the window, staring out at the unfamiliar world outside. Everything was new—the towering buildings that seemed to stretch endlessly into the sky, their modern glass facades gleaming in the sunlight. Bright billboards flashed in a language you could barely understand, their vibrant colors and flashing lights drawing my attention in every direction.

As we drove through the city, the streets felt alive, bustling with people, cars, and the hum of the city’s energy. The signs on every street corner, the store fronts, even the advertisements on the buses were all written in Korean, a language you had only just begun to grasp. You couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed. It was all so different—so much bigger and more fast-paced than the small town you had left behind.

But along with the nervousness, there was a growing sense of excitement deep within you. This was it. The new chapter of your life has begun. The city you had always heard about in stories and seen in pictures was now unfolding right in front of your eyes. You were finally here, and despite the anxiety twisting in your stomach, there was no denying how exhilarating it felt. The buildings, the crowds, the sounds, it was all so different from anything you had known.

You shifted in your seat, trying to take it all in. The city felt like a whole new world—one you were about to dive into headfirst. The nerves were there, but so was the excitement. What would it be like to live here? To study here? To figure out how everything worked? Your heart beat faster with each passing second, and I couldn't help but smile at the thrill of it all.

Ha-Joon, noticing your silent awe, spoke up from the front. "So, as I mentioned earlier, once we get to the university, you’ll be heading to the International Student Affairs office. There, they’ll guide you through everything you’ll need to know—how to adjust to life here, the cultural differences, and everything in between."

You nodded, still absorbing the city around, and Ha-Joon continued.

"You’ll get an orientation on everything—shopping, transportation, finding your way around, and of course, some pointers on communicating in Korean. We understand the language barrier can be tough, but don't worry. You’ll have plenty of support from the staff and fellow students. We’ll be with you every step of the way." He smiled reassuringly. "I know it’s a lot to take in, but you’re in good hands."

His words gave you some comfort, but it was hard to ignore the feeling of stepping into the unknown. Everything outside the window was a new challenge waiting to be faced. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a spark of optimism. This was just the beginning, and you were ready to take it on.

After about twenty minutes on the road, you finally spotted it—the entrance to the university. Your eyes immediately widened at the sight, taking in the grand scale of the gates, the sleek modern architecture, and the buzz of activity that seemed to hum in the air. It was all so different from your small, familiar campus back home, and for a moment, you just sat there in awe, trying to take it all in.

The car smoothly turned onto a more expansive road, passing by various university buildings before slowing to a stop in front of a large, modern structure. It was the International Student Affairs building, you could tell by the sleek signage near the entrance.

You stepped out of the car, a rush of pride swelling inside as you looked up at the building, then around at your new surroundings. A sense of accomplishment washed over you. You had made it this far, across the world, to this very moment. There was still so much ahead, but just standing here felt like a small victory. A part of you almost wanted to pause and savor the feeling before moving forward.

"Y/N, over here," Ha-Joon called out, pulling you back to the present.

You turned and followed him up the short path leading to the building. The doors slid open smoothly as you entered. The inside was bright, polished, and bustling with activity, students coming and going. Ha-Joon led me to a desk where a woman in professional attire smiled at you.

"Everything will be taken care of here," Ha-Joon explained, nodding toward the woman. "She'll assist you with the rest of your registration and orientation. Once you're done here, they'll guide you through the next steps."

You nodded gratefully, feeling the weight of it all finally settling in.

You turned to Ha-Joon and gave him a grateful nod. "Thank you for all your help and guidance. I really appreciate it."

Ha-Joon smiled and waved off your gratitude. "No problem at all. I hope you settle in well. Good luck with everything, Y/N." With that, he gave a slight bow and made his way out of the building.

The woman at the desk turned her attention back to you, offering a warm smile. "Welcome to Seoul National University," she greeted. "Please, have a seat."

You nodded and took the chair in front of her. After a brief exchange of introductions, she began explaining everything you needed to know—your visa and registration card, campus regulations, class registration, and grading system. She also went over details about your dormitory, where to buy daily necessities, transportation options, food choices, internet access, and everything else I'd need to navigate my new life here.

As you took in all the information, you did your best to absorb every detail, nodding along as she spoke. But another part of your mind couldn't help but feel a little overwhelmed. There was so much to keep track of—documents, rules, schedules, places to go, things to remember. It was all important, yet it felt like it was stacking up too fast.

Still, you forced myself to focus. This was what you had prepared for. You had come all this way, and no matter how overwhelming it seemed, you weren't going to let it shake yourself.

Stepping out of the office building, you take a deep breath, feeling the crisp air of your new home for the next three years. The campus is quieter than expected—maybe because it’s not class hours—but the vastness of it still feels overwhelming. Tall buildings, wide pathways, signs in a language you’re still adjusting to… it’s a lot.

But you refuse to let it intimidate you.

Alright, you tell yourself. Let’s do this.

Determined to prove your independence, you decide to find the dormitory on your own, using the basic (and maybe slightly advanced) Korean skills you’ve picked up. With confidence, you stride forward.

.

.

.

After a few minutes, it becomes painfully clear that you have no idea where you’re going.

One scene cuts to you confidently walking past a library. 

Cut. 

Now you're standing at a dead-end, staring at a maintenance shed. 

Cut. 

Now you're circling back to the same building you started from. 

Cut. 

Now you’re staring at a map, squinting as if that’ll somehow make the unfamiliar words translate themselves.

This… is not going well.

Eventually, tired and slightly frustrated, you spot a vending machine near one of the pathways. Deciding that a drink might give you the boost you need, you approach it, blindly press a few buttons, and wait for your selection to drop. When you take a sip, the taste is… weird. Not bad, but definitely not what you were expecting.

You stare at the can in your hand, reading the unfamiliar name on the label. What even is this? After a few more sips, you just nod to yourself. Eh. Good enough.

Just as you’re about to move on, you suddenly stumble forward—right into someone.

Thud.

“Oh—! I’m sorry!” you blurt out, quickly stepping back.

The person, a young woman, looks just as startled. “Ah, no! It’s my fault, I wasn’t looking ahead,” she says in Korean, bowing slightly.

There’s an awkward pause before you both glance at each other, realizing you’re both apologizing at the same time. That somehow makes it less awkward.

You clear your throat. “Uh… excuse me, but do you know where the dorms are?”

Her eyes widen slightly before she smiles. “Oh! You’re a new student?”

You nod, and she hums in understanding. “I see. If you’d like, I can take you there. I was heading that way anyway.”

Relieved, you thank her and follow as she leads the way. Along the walk, she points out different buildings, explaining what they’re used for—lecture halls, the cafeteria, the student center. She even throws in some personal recommendations, like which convenience store has the best snacks and which library floors are the quietest.

The conversation is casual, but something about it feels comforting. Maybe it’s because, for the first time since landing here, you’re talking to someone around your age. Someone who isn’t a staff member, but just another student living their own life in this new place.

Before long, you arrive at the dormitory entrance.

The girl stops and gestures toward the building. “Here you are! This is the dorm for international students.”

Relieved, you nod and give her a grateful smile. “Thank you so much. I probably would’ve spent another hour getting lost if you didn’t help me.”

She laughs. “It happens to everyone. You’ll get used to it soon.”

With a final wave, she says goodbye and heads off, disappearing down the pathway. You stand there for a moment, watching her leave, a small feeling of warmth settling in your chest.

People here are really nice, you think to yourself. It’s comforting to believe that, to think that this journey will be nothing but a road of flowers and shining light.

Or so you thought.

Stepping inside the dorm building, you take a deep breath, letting your eyes wander around the place that will be your home for the next three years. The lobby is clean and modern, with bright lights and bulletin boards covered in various announcements. A few students sit around, chatting or working on laptops, while others move through the halls with their suitcases.

You glance down at the paper in your hand—your dorm room number is printed clearly, but finding it in this unfamiliar place is another challenge. As you move through the hallway, students pass by in every direction, some engaged in conversation, others focused on their own world. You spot a guy walking freely down the hallway, casually scrolling through his phone, looking like he’s been here long enough to know his way around.

Taking the chance, you step toward him. “Excuse me,” you say in Korean, offering a polite nod. “Do you know where this room is?” You show him the paper with your dorm assignment.

The student barely glances up, his eyes flicking over you before looking you up and down with a disinterested expression. “Don’t know,” he mutters before continuing past you without a second thought, his attention never leaving his phone.

You blink, watching as he disappears into the crowd. A sigh escapes your lips. Well… that could’ve gone better.

Shaking off the moment, you decide to keep going on your own. After wandering through a few hallways, checking room numbers, and occasionally backtracking when you realize you’ve taken a wrong turn, you finally find your assigned room. Letting out a small breath of relief, you swipe your keycard, push open the door, and step inside.

Your new home.

The room is simple but comfortable—a single bed pushed against the wall, a desk with a chair, a wardrobe, and a large window overlooking a part of the campus. The air inside carries that faint, sterile scent of a freshly cleaned space, untouched by personal belongings. For a moment, you just stand there, letting the reality sink in.

You’ve made it.

Dropping your bag onto the bed, you take a seat, exhaling deeply. The exhaustion from the long trip, the overwhelming flood of new information, and the strange interactions all pile up, but for now, you just let yourself breathe. There’s still a lot ahead of you.

But for now… you’re here.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ride back to the dorm was silent.

Karina leaned against the window, her forehead resting lightly against the glass, feeling the vibrations of the moving van. The city lights flickered outside, but she barely registered them. Her body ached, her eyes burned from exhaustion, and her thoughts felt sluggish.

Winter sat beside her, arms crossed, head tilted slightly downward. She wasn’t asleep, but she wasn’t really awake either—just caught in that in-between state, too drained to hold a conversation but too restless to fully shut down.

In the row behind them, Giselle scrolled through her phone mindlessly, thumb moving up and down the screen. It wasn’t that she was interested in anything—she just needed something, anything, to distract her from how heavy her body felt.

Next to her, Ningning had her eyes closed, earbuds in, but no music was playing. She just needed silence.

No one spoke. Not because they were mad at each other—there was just nothing left to say.

The day had been brutal. Dance practice in the morning. A long photoshoot. An exhausting interview where they had to force smiles and answer the same questions they’d heard a hundred times before. Then, another practice session right after. Their comeback was only weeks away, and every second was being squeezed out of them.

By the time they arrived at their dorm, the weight of the day fully settled on them.

Karina stepped out first, rolling her stiff shoulders. The hallway leading to their dorm felt longer than usual. When she finally punched in the passcode and opened the door, the familiar scent of home greeted them, but it didn’t bring comfort. It just reminded them of how little time they actually spent here.

One by one, they entered. Shoes were lazily kicked off, bags dropped to the floor. The air-conditioning was on, but it didn’t shake off the heaviness in the air.

Giselle made her way to the couch and sat down, phone still in her hands. A new message from her mom appeared on the screen.

‘Did you eat today?’

She stared at it for a moment. Then, without replying, she locked her phone and set it face-down on the armrest.

Karina walked to the kitchen, opening the fridge. Mostly drinks, a few leftover takeout boxes. Nothing fresh. She wasn’t even sure if anyone had eaten dinner. She closed the door, pressing her lips into a thin line.

Ningning sighed and rubbed her face. "I’ll make ramen," she muttered, not because she wanted to, but because someone had to.

Winter finally moved, heading straight to her room without a word. The door clicked shut behind her.

Karina grabbed a bottle of water and leaned against the counter, watching as Ningning filled the pot. The quiet bubbling of water filled the space.

“…What time do we start tomorrow?” Giselle finally spoke, her voice quiet.

"7.30," Karina answered.

A pause. Then a soft sigh.

"...It never ends, huh?"

No one answered.

The ramen finished cooking, and Ningning poured it into bowls. But when she turned around, she saw that Winter never came back out. Giselle was still staring at nothing. Karina hadn’t moved from her spot.

Ningning exhaled and sat down. "...Come eat," she said, voice softer this time.

Karina moved first, taking a seat. Then Giselle.

Winter’s door remained closed.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t a breakdown. It was just another night of exhaustion—one that no one would ever see.

After entering her room, Winter leaned against the door for a moment, letting her eyes close. The muffled sounds of the dorm faded behind her, replaced by the quiet hum of the air conditioner.

She exhaled slowly.

She wanted to shower, but the thought of standing under the water, of having to dry her hair afterward, of doing anything at all—it felt exhausting. She didn’t even have the energy to change her clothes.

Instead, she sat on the edge of her bed and stared at nothing.

Her phone buzzed beside her. Probably another schedule update, another reminder of how little time she had for herself. She didn’t check.

Minutes passed.

After lying down, Winter stared at the ceiling, her vision blurring slightly from exhaustion.

How did it become this hard?

She used to love this. The early days were tough, sure, but they were fun. The laughter on set, the small but meaningful wins, the warmth of a team that truly cared—back then, even the hardest schedules felt bearable.

But somewhere along the way, everything changed.

The smiles became forced, the moments of rest became rare, and the people who once cheered for them now only demanded more. What once felt like a dream now felt like survival. The world adored them, but at what cost?

She remembered something a senior once told her during their rookie days:

"To shine the brightest, you must burn the fastest."

At the time, she didn’t understand. She thought it was just another poetic way of describing hard work. But now? Now she knew exactly what it meant.

Her chest tightened as she exhaled, her fingers clutching the edge of her blanket.

"Will it ever change?"

The thought lingered, heavy and unanswered.

Winter exhaled slowly, her grip on the blanket loosening as exhaustion pulled at her limbs. Her eyelids fluttered, the weight of fatigue finally overpowering the storm in her mind.

Maybe tomorrow will be different.

Maybe it wouldn’t.

But at this moment, she was too tired to care.

With a quiet sigh, she let the darkness take her, slipping into sleep before she could think any further.

.

The dining area was eerily quiet.

Not the comfortable kind of silence that came after a good meal, but the kind that lingered too long, settling into the air like an invisible weight.

The three of them sat at the table, slurping at their ramen with little interest. The clinking of chopsticks against ceramic was the only sound, yet even that seemed distant—an absentminded action rather than a sign of actual hunger.

Ningning glanced at the others. Karina, seated across from her, was staring blankly at her bowl, the steam curling around her face. Beside her, Giselle was hunched over slightly, her elbow resting on the table as she stirred her soup without taking a bite.

None of them spoke.

It had been like this a lot lately.

After a few more silent slurps, Ningning finally broke.

“…Unnie.”

Her voice came out softer than she expected, almost hesitant.

Karina didn’t look up, but she responded with a quiet hum.

Ningning twirled her chopsticks between her fingers before finally voicing the thoughts that had been swirling in her head for days.

“Don’t you think this is all… just nonsense?”

She saw Karina’s fingers tighten slightly around her chopsticks, but her expression remained unreadable.

Ningning pressed on.

“The company, the managers, the staff… They have to know, right? How much they’re pushing us? How much they’re draining us?” Her voice wavered slightly. “They can’t just pretend not to see it.”

She let out a humorless chuckle, shaking her head. “I mean… they care about us, don’t they? Even just a little?”

Still, Karina said nothing.

Giselle, who had been staring off into space, finally glanced over but didn’t interject.

Ningning sighed, frustration creeping in.

“I’m tired, unnie. Not just my body—everything feels exhausted,” she admitted. “Even a ten-minute nap feels like ten days. And yet, when I wake up… it still doesn’t feel like enough.”

She turned to Karina, searching for a reaction, but her leader remained unmoving.

That silence only fueled Ningning’s frustration.

“…Jimin unnie.”

This time, her tone had more urgency.

Still nothing.

Ningning clenched her jaw, about to push again, but before she could—

“I don’t know!”

Karina’s voice cut through the room, sharper than anyone expected.

Giselle straightened in her seat, and even Ningning flinched slightly. They weren’t used to Karina raising her voice.

Karina exhaled, rubbing her temple before finally speaking again.

“I don’t know what the company is thinking. I don’t know why things are like this. I don’t know how it got this bad,” she muttered. “But this is just how it is.”

She reached for her spoon but didn’t lift it, instead just staring into the broth.

“This is the price we pay,” she murmured.

Ningning frowned. “What do you mean?”

Karina let out a dry laugh, finally looking up.

“This is the price we pay for everything we wanted,” she repeated. “For all the things we dreamed of when we were trainees. For the sold-out concerts, for the designer sponsorships, for being the face of brands, for standing on stage and hearing people chant our names.”

She scoffed under her breath.

“We wanted this. And this is the cost.”

She inhaled deeply, her fingers tightening around her chopsticks.

“And at the end of the day…” Her voice softened, her gaze distant. “We can’t do anything about it.”

A bitter smile tugged at her lips.

“All we can do is smile, laugh, and act happy in front of the cameras and the crowd.”

The room fell silent again, but this time, it felt even heavier.

Ningning lowered her gaze, and Giselle ran a hand through her hair, looking visibly drained.

The three of them sat there for a while, their ramen growing cold in front of them.

None of them moved to finish it.

There wasn’t anything left to say.

..

The sound of chopsticks tapping against empty bowls echoed softly in the quiet dining area. The meal was finished, but none of them moved to clean up immediately. The air was still thick with the weight of Karina’s outburst, lingering like an unshaken storm cloud.

Giselle was the first to leave. Without a word, she stood up, picked up her bowl, and set it in the sink. She didn’t bother washing it—none of them had the energy for that tonight. She only paused for a second, glancing at Karina and Ningning, but whatever thoughts she had, she kept them to herself. Then, with slow steps, she disappeared into her room, shutting the door behind her.

Ningning remained seated, fingers curled loosely around her glass of water. She wasn’t drinking it—just holding onto it, as if grounding herself. Her gaze was unfocused, drifting between the table and the floor, her mind caught in the tangle of thoughts Karina’s words had stirred up.

She had always known that things were unfair. That they were being pushed beyond reason. But hearing Karina, their leader—their anchor—say it out loud made it feel real in a way she wasn’t prepared for.

A quiet sigh broke the silence. Karina stood up, picking up her bowl and setting it in the sink alongside Giselle’s. But instead of walking away, she lingered for a moment, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter as if gathering her thoughts.

Then, without a word, she turned back.

Her steps were slow, deliberate. She made her way to Ningning’s side and quietly pulled out the chair next to her, sitting down with a heaviness that mirrored the weight in her chest.

“Ning,” she called softly.

Ningning looked to her side, her grip tightening around her glass. The shift in Karina’s tone—so much gentler than before—caught her off guard.

Karina took a deep breath, eyes fixed on the table for a moment before she finally spoke. “…I’m sorry. For snapping earlier.”

Ningning blinked. “Unnie…”

Karina shook her head slightly. “I meant what I said, but I shouldn’t have said it like that.” She rested her forearms on the table, fingers loosely clasped together, her expression tired but sincere. “I just—” She exhaled sharply, as if struggling to find the right words. “I don’t have the answers. I don’t know when things will get better. But… we’ve made it this far together. We’ll get through this too. Like we always do.”

.

.

“…What if I don’t want to be strong all the time?” she whispered. Her voice was barely audible, but Karina heard it.

For a moment, Karina didn’t speak. Then, she took a step closer, placing a hand on Ningning’s head, her fingers gently brushing through her hair. “Then don’t be.”

That was all it took.

The tears spilled over before Ningning could stop them. A sharp breath hitched in her throat, and she barely had time to wipe at her face before she turned toward Karina. Without hesitation, she reached out, wrapping her arms tightly around her unnie, burying her face against her shoulder.

Karina froze for half a second before silently returning the embrace, her arms securing Ningning in a firm, steady hold. She could feel the younger girl trembling, her small frame shaking with the weight of exhaustion, frustration, and loneliness finally being released.

Ningning’s quiet sobs were muffled against Karina’s shirt, her grip tightening as if afraid to let go.

Karina didn’t rush her. She just stayed there, close and steady, one hand gently rubbing Ningning’s back, offering warmth in the only way she knew how.

After a while, Ningning’s sobs quieted, her breathing evening out. Karina gave her hair one last brush before pulling away slightly. “Feel a little better?” she asked.

Ningning sniffled and nodded weakly. “…Yeah.”

Karina smiled faintly. “Good. Now come on, let’s go rest.”

This time, Ningning followed without hesitation.

The dishes remained in the sink, forgotten.

But the weight in their chests felt just a little bit lighter.

..

The airport was as chaotic as ever. Fans crowded around the exit, their voices rising in excitement, cameras flashing in every direction. The security team did their best to control the situation, guiding Aespa through the crowd.

Karina kept her head slightly lowered, her sunglasses shielding the exhaustion in her eyes. To her left, Winter walked with sluggish steps, adjusting the strap of her bag with one hand while stifling a yawn with the other. Behind them, Giselle and Ningning followed closely, offering tired smiles to the fans who had been waiting for them.

It’s been 2 months. 2 months after they think that things will get better as time passes by. But life just slap them in the face and tell them it wasn't.

They had just returned from Japan—three days' worth of schedules compressed into two.

No proper sleep. Non-stop rehearsals.

And now, instead of heading home to rest, they were being ushered straight to another schedule.

Ningning tightened her grip on the handle of her suitcase as the voices of reporters and fans swirled around them.

“She looks exhausted,” someone murmured.

“Must be tough, but that’s idol life, huh?” another replied.

Ningning bit the inside of her cheek.

They made it sound so casual. Like this level of exhaustion was normal.

By the time they reached the van, none of them spoke. They simply settled into their seats, letting the silence fill the space between them.

Karina let out a slow exhale, tilting her head back against the headrest. Her body ached. Every part of her screamed for rest.

But there was no time for that.

Because the moment they got back to the company, they were called into a meeting.

The conference room was cold, the artificial lighting doing nothing to ease the weight pressing on their shoulders. Aespa sat at the long table, facing their managers and a few higher-ups. The air felt heavy.

Karina’s fingers tapped lightly against the table, her stomach twisting in discomfort. She already had a bad feeling.

The head manager cleared her throat. “We have an announcement regarding your upcoming schedules.”

Giselle sat up slightly, already bracing herself.

“We’ve finalized the details for your world tour.”

Silence.

Winter blinked. Ningning’s breath caught in her throat.

“…You’re serious?” Karina finally spoke.

The manager nodded, sliding a thick document across the table. It was the tour itinerary.

“Your first stop will be Seoul, then Japan, China, Thailand… followed by Europe, the U.S., and South America. The tour will span multiple months, with minimal breaks in between.”

Their eyes scanned the paper, the endless list of locations and dates blurring together.

This wasn’t just a tour.

This was the most extensive world tour they had ever seen.

“We understand it looks intense, but the company believes this will strengthen your global presence,” one of the executives added, his voice smooth, rehearsed.

Karina placed the document down carefully, her jaw tightening.

“…When does it start?”

“Two months from now.”

A long pause.

Winter leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples.

“This is… a lot,” she muttered.

The manager sighed. “We know. But we trust you can handle it. You’re professionals, after all.”

Professionals.

A polite way of saying, Just endure it.

Giselle’s hands curled into fists under the table. Ningning lowered her gaze, her fingers cold against her lap.

They didn’t argue.

What was the point?

The decision had already been made.

—

Across the city, far from the bright lights and roaring crowds, life carried on in its own quiet struggles.

The blinking cursor mocked him, his half-written assignment sitting untouched for the past twenty minutes.

Three assignments were due this week, and he hadn’t even managed to finish one.

The dull glow of the laptop screen reflected in his tired eyes, its brightness contrasting sharply with the dimly lit dorm room. It wasn’t even his laptop—he had borrowed it from the university faculty since he couldn’t afford one himself. The device was slow, outdated, and sometimes overheated after hours of use, but it was better than nothing.

Y/N leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly as he ran a hand down his face. His mind was sluggish, weighed down by exhaustion and the endless cycle of stress. No matter how much he tried to focus, the words on the screen blurred together, his thoughts slipping away the moment he tried to grasp them.

He glanced at the time. If he stayed like this any longer, he’d just keep staring at the screen without getting anything done.

With a sigh, he shut the laptop and pushed himself up from the chair.

Maybe a short walk would help clear his head.

The cold bit at his fingers as Y/N stuffed his hands into the pockets of his worn-out jacket, shoulders hunched against the evening chill. The streets of Seoul were alive, even at this hour—bright neon signs flashing, people bustling in and out of convenience stores, the distant hum of car horns blending into the muffled chatter of pedestrians.

It had been two months since he arrived in Korea. Two months of balancing his studies, struggling to make ends meet, and pushing forward with nothing but sheer stubbornness. The initial excitement of living in a new country had long since faded, replaced by a gnawing exhaustion that settled deep in his bones.

Money was running low. His scholarship covered the dorm, but everything else—food, transportation, daily necessities—was a battle. Every won spent had to be stretched as far as possible. He’d gotten used to skipping meals, telling himself that a cup of instant ramen or a piece of bread would be enough to get through the day.

And his phone… it was a miracle the thing still worked. The cracked screen had deepened, a faint web-like fracture spreading across the corner, and sometimes the power button didn’t respond unless he pressed it just right. But it was his first and only phone, a gift from his father before he left. He wasn’t going to complain.

Not that there was anyone to complain to.

His parents didn’t know how much he was struggling. He made sure of that. Every time they called, he forced his voice to sound steady, his words to sound reassuring. He told them he was doing fine. That the scholarship was enough. That they didn’t have to worry. Even when his stomach twisted from hunger, even when his head pounded from exhaustion, he made sure his father and mother never heard a hint of his misery.

Because he couldn’t burden them. Not when his father was sick. Not when they already had enough to deal with.

His breath escaped in a quiet sigh as he turned into a familiar convenience store, the automatic doors sliding open with a soft chime. Warmth enveloped him, contrasting sharply with the freezing air outside. The bright fluorescent lights flickered slightly, and the smell of instant food, cheap coffee, and packaged snacks filled his nose.

He made his way to the instant ramen section, scanning the prices, calculating in his head. If he bought this, he’d have to cut back on something else later. Maybe he could skip lunch tomorrow.

As he reached for a cup, a pair of voices nearby caught his attention.

“Man, Aespa’s comeback is insane. Have you seen the teaser? The concept is crazy.”

“They’re seriously going all out for this one. And their world tour is happening soon too.”

Aespa.

The name sounded vaguely familiar, but only in passing. He didn’t follow idols or entertainment news—he had more important things to worry about. But hearing about their world tour, the sheer excitement in the strangers’ voices, it made something sink in his chest.

There were people out there, shining under the spotlight, adored by millions, living a life that seemed untouchable. And then there was him—standing in a convenience store, debating whether he could afford a cup of ramen.

But that was life.

Y/N exhaled, shaking his head slightly, and grabbed the cheapest ramen on the shelf. It didn’t matter what was happening in the entertainment world. It wasn’t his world.

Not yet, anyway.

Y/N’s fingers hovered over the row of bottled drinks, his eyes scanning the labels absentmindedly. A small carton of milk, a cheap coffee can, or just plain water—he wasn’t even sure what he wanted. His throat was dry, but after a moment, he sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet.

It was nearly empty.

The sight of it wasn’t surprising, but it still made something heavy settle in his chest. A few crumpled bills, barely enough to stretch through the rest of the week. He exhaled sharply, rubbing a tired hand over his face before shoving the wallet back into his pocket.

Not today.

With quiet steps, he turned away from the drink section and made his way out of the store. The automatic doors slid open, releasing him into the cold night air once more. He stood there for a moment, hands buried in his pockets, before his feet carried him forward. He didn’t feel like going back to his dorm just yet.

He needed air.

The streets were still busy, as expected. Even in the late hours, Seoul never truly slept. Bright lights flashed from storefronts, the smell of street food lingering in the air, distant laughter blending with the hum of traffic. It was all so full of life—yet it felt so far away from him.

After a short walk, he found himself at a small park tucked between the towering buildings. It wasn’t much, just a few benches, a couple of trees, and a small playground. But it was quiet. Peaceful.

Y/N sat down on one of the benches, his gaze drifting over the park. A few people were around—some strolling, some chatting, some simply enjoying the night. Their faces were calm, their smiles easy, like they had nothing weighing them down. No burdens clinging to their shoulders.

He let out a slow breath, his fingers tightening inside his pockets.

Must be nice.

To live without worry. To wake up without thinking about how to make it through the day. To have an umbrella when the rain comes pouring down.

His gaze flickered to a small family a few meters away—a father, a mother, and a little boy, no older than five. The child’s laughter rang through the quiet park as his father playfully lifted him into the air. The mother giggled, clapping her hands as the boy kicked his legs with pure delight. They looked so… happy. So carefree.

Y/N’s chest ached.

What a contrast.

That boy, laughing without a single worry, while he—at that same age—was already thinking of ways to help his family survive. That father, strong and healthy, while his own father was sick, fighting to keep going. That mother, smiling warmly, while his own mother shouldered endless burdens.

His vision blurred for a second. He blinked.

Would he ever have a moment like that with his family? Would he ever be able to give them that kind of happiness?

He wanted to believe it. That if he just worked hard enough, if he just kept pushing forward, he could change things.

That was why he studied so hard. Why he made sure he excelled in every exam, in every project. It was why he pushed himself to the point of exhaustion, why he left his home in the first place. He had believed—no, convinced himself—that if he was smart enough, determined enough, then one day, his family wouldn’t have to suffer anymore.

But maybe he had been too naive.

Too absorbed in his own dreams to see how cruel reality was.

A quiet breath shuddered past his lips. He reached into his pocket again, but this time, he didn’t pull out his wallet. Instead, his fingers found the edges of a small, worn-out photograph.

Carefully, he brought it out, holding it gently in his hands.

It was an old picture—one he had carried with him ever since he left home. It was a little faded, slightly creased from being tucked inside his pocket for so long, but it was still clear.

Him and his parents.

His father, standing tall despite the tiredness in his eyes. His mother, her smile soft but full of warmth. And him—years younger, standing between them, clutching their hands like he never wanted to let go.

He swallowed hard.

No matter how difficult things got… no matter how much it hurt…

This was the reason he couldn’t give up.

A single tear slipped down his cheek before he quickly wiped it away.

Because no matter how unfair reality was…

He had to keep going.

—

The days blurred together. Weeks of the same routine. Wake up, go to class, push through assignments, force down cheap convenience store meals, and try not to think too much. Try not to let the weight of everything crush him.

But today… today was different.

Y/N stood in front of the announcement board, his eyes scanning through the printed names. His chest tightened. His breath caught.

There it was.

His name. His score. His achievement.

A near-perfect result.

For a moment, the exhaustion, the hunger, the frustration—all of it faded. For once, he won.

He had spent endless nights battling fatigue, pouring over notes illuminated only by the dim glow of the faculty’s borrowed laptop. His efforts hadn’t been in vain.

He barely noticed the murmurs of students around him, whispering about his sudden rise in performance. The lecturers from other faculties even took notice, some impressed by his improvement, others curious about the student who barely spoke yet delivered results like this.

Then came the real moment of validation.

“Y/N, stay back after class,” his professor had said.

He did.

And that was when he heard the news.

“You’ve been shortlisted for a company collaboration program. It’s a rare opportunity. If you continue performing like this, you’ll get the chance to work on a real corporate project. This could open doors for you—internships, recommendations, even job placements in the future.”

A genuine opportunity. A path forward.

For the first time since coming to Korea, he felt like maybe—just maybe—things were turning around.

As he left campus, a rare smile lingered on his lips. A real, unforced smile.

The cold air no longer bit at his skin. The streets of Seoul no longer felt suffocating. He walked with lightness in his step, already picturing the call he’d make tonight.

His mother would be so proud.His father, even if he wouldn’t say much, would definitely feel proud too.

Y/N reached into his pocket, pulling out his cracked phone, fingers struggling a little to swipe across the shattered glass. I should call her now.

But before he could even press the dial button, his phone buzzed first.

His mother’s name flashed on the screen.

His smile widened. It’s like she knew.

He hurried to answer, his voice carrying the rare lightness of someone with good news to share.

“Mom! You won’t believe—”

Her voice cut through him like a blade.

“Y/N… listen to me.”

He froze. The tone—shaky, weak, not at all like his mother.

His fingers tightened around the phone.

“…What happened?” His voice came out quiet.

There was silence. Then, a shaky inhale.

“It’s your father.”

.

.

.

His stomach twisted.

“The hospital called. He—he collapsed this morning. They rushed him to the emergency ward.”

The city around him blurred. His feet felt frozen to the pavement.

“What…?”

“The doctor says… his kidneys…” A sharp inhale. She was struggling. Struggling to tell him what he already knew deep down. “They’re failing, Y/N. The disease… it’s getting worse. They need to operate soon, or… or he won’t make it.”

The distant sounds of cars honking, people chatting, neon signs buzzing—everything faded into white noise.

“…How long?” His voice barely came out.

Another silence.

“Six months… at most.”

And just like that, the world that had finally started to brighten around him crashed into darkness again.

The warmth in his chest from his achievement? Gone. The excitement he felt just minutes ago? Meaningless. The future he was beginning to believe in? Shattered.

His grip on his phone trembled.

How cruel.

Just when he thought he was pulling himself out of the abyss, the universe dragged him back down.

How could it always go so wrong?

His vision blurred. He didn’t even realize the single tear slipping down his face until the cold air stung against his skin.

He had fought so hard. Studied endlessly. Excelled in every exam. Pushed himself to the breaking point, all for the hope that one day, he could change everything.

And yet—

He was still powerless.

His breath hitched. His chest felt hollow. The weight of his mother’s words pressed down on him like an unseen force crushing his lungs.

He stood frozen. Then, his legs gave out.

It wasn’t dramatic—it wasn’t some loud, chaotic fall. No. His body just… stopped.

Like his legs no longer existed.

Y/N collapsed onto the sidewalk, sitting there as the world continued to move around him. People passing by gave him odd glances, some slowing down, others whispering, but he wasn’t even in the world anymore.

Everything blurred into the background.

The only thing he could hear was his mother’s breathing on the other end of the call.

And the sound of her holding back tears.

This was it.The moment he had always feared.

The moment where he lost one of the very reasons he breathed, ate, drank—lived.

A sharp pain twisted in his chest, but he didn’t know if it was from his heart or from his mind breaking apart.

His fingers trembled as he pressed the phone closer to his ear. He swallowed the lump in his throat, barely able to speak.

“H… How much?”

His mother hesitated. For a second, she didn’t answer. But then—

She told him.

And another boulder crashed onto him.

His body tensed. His grip on the phone tightened.

..

That number— That impossible number—

His already crumbling reality shattered into dust.

He said nothing. Because he couldn’t.

His mind was empty. No thoughts. No solutions. Just— Nothing.

In the distance, muffled through the receiver, he heard it.

His mother was crying.

Not just crying. Sobbing. The kind of broken sobs that come from a person completely losing hope.

And Y/N… felt the exact same.

A cold numbness spread through him.

For the first time, he wondered—what was even the point of all of this?

Everything he did, every sleepless night, every sacrifice—was it all meaningless?

Hope— Was there even any left?

…

To be continued...

[shortnspidey]

CHAPTER THREE: FRACTURED BONDS

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Stark!reader || WC: 7.5K

SUMMARY: Bucky Barnes, caught in a political storm and haunted by his past as the Winter Soldier, battles internal guilt and fragmented memories while finding solace in someone who sees beyond his trauma, intensifying his struggle between seeking connection and fearing the harm he might cause.

WARNINGS: Mentions of character death(s), graphic violence, protective Bucky, Zemo, talk of past trauma

A/N: Figured I'd made you guys wait long enough... so here's another chapter! Make sure you hold on for this one, this chapter is really angsty!! I apologize in advance. 🥺

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The Quinjet was silent, the kind of silence that pressed in on you, thick and heavy, broken only by the low hum of the engine reverberating through the walls and the steady, rhythmic breaths of the two super-soldiers beside you. The cold metal floor felt unnervingly hard beneath your boots as you stared out the window, the blurry landscape passing by below, but your mind wasn’t on the scenery.

Bucky’s voice broke through the stillness, raw and edged with something you couldn’t quite place, but you could feel the weight of it in your chest. "What’s gonna happen to your friends?" His words were simple, yet the question lingered in the air. You found yourself wondering the same thing, a gnawing sense of uncertainty crawling under your skin. The mission had been successful, but at what cost? The stakes were higher now, the consequences more far-reaching than any of you had expected.

Your gaze shifted to Steve, who was staring ahead, his jaw clenched in that familiar way when he was deep in thought. He’d been quieter than usual, almost distant, and it seemed like this particular question was one he wasn’t sure how to answer. His eyes flickered to Bucky for a split second before he exhaled slowly, as if trying to release something heavy from his chest. “Whatever it is,” Steve started, his voice low but firm, "I’ll deal with it."

It wasn’t the answer you’d hoped for. It wasn’t comforting, but it was Steve, and that was the best you were going to get. His tone made it clear that whatever came next, he’d face it head-on, as he always did. But you could see it in his eyes a flicker of doubt, of weariness. The silence stretched on again, suffocating, until Bucky’s voice, almost a whisper, cut through it like a blade. "I don't know if I'm worth all this, Steve." His words were jagged, raw, and the weight of them hit you like a punch to the gut.

There was pain there, deep and unspoken. You could feel it in every syllable, every breath he took. His haunted eyes, the way his shoulders were slightly hunched, as though he was carrying a weight too heavy for anyone to bear, it all spoke volumes about the internal battle he was fighting. It made your heart ache, the sheer vulnerability of it. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what it felt like for Bucky, years of being trapped, manipulated, erased and rebuilt, time and time again, into something that wasn’t entirely him.

You could see the guilt in his eyes, a constant, suffocating presence that refused to let him go. And you hated it. Hated that he didn’t see himself the way you saw him: strong, loyal, brave. But more than anything, you hated that no matter how many times Steve reassured him, how many times the team rallied around him, Bucky still couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t worth saving. Your chest tightened as the words echoed in your mind. You wanted to say something, anything to ease his pain, but the words seemed to die on your tongue.

Your own anxieties and insecurities resurfaced like a tidal wave, crashing over you as you replayed the events of the last forty-eight hours in your mind. Before you could spiral too far, Steve’s voice broke through the fog of your thoughts. He said exactly what you were thinking. "What you did all those years, it wasn't you. You didn't have a choice." Bucky breathed out, but his voice still carried the heavy burden of guilt and unresolved pain. "I know," There was a long pause, the tension thick in the air.

"But I did it." He added quietly, the words hanging in the silence like a confession that he wasn’t sure he was ready to forgive himself for. As Steve's gaze flickered over to you, he saw the absence in your eyes. You were curled up in the corner, facing the window, your expression completely void of any emotion. It was as though you had shut yourself off from the world entirely. Your body present, but your mind was somewhere far away, lost in a quiet place where nothing felt real anymore. Steve’s concern softened his features as he spoke, his voice gentle but laced with sorrow.

“I’m so sorry you had to get involved in this, Y/N.” You stared at the horizon outside the window, avoiding his gaze. As you spoke with a bitterness that tasted like years of pent-up frustration. "It’s okay, Steve. It’s not like I wasn’t already disowned." The words hit the air like a cold wind, and Bucky immediately turned toward Steve, his expression forming into one of genuine concern. His brow furrowed, and his lips parted to say something, but he hesitated. “Don’t say that, Y/N, it’s not true” Steve coaxed softly.

“But it is true," You insisted quietly, your voice soft, but the heaviness in it was unmistakable. "Just before Clint arrived at my apartment, my father and I were fighting," You continued, your words stumbling out in between shaky breaths. "What's new, we’ve always fought.” Your mind flashed back to the endless arguments, the moments where you felt more like a stranger to him than a daughter. “Dropping out of MIT and siding with you on this whole accords fiasco…" You trailed off, your voice barely above a whisper, "That was just the tip of the goddamn iceberg."

You scoffed bitterly, the anger bubbling up again like an old wound reopening. “You dropped out of MIT?” Your father’s voice was filled with disbelief like he believed you made the biggest mistake ever. Yet somehow, when Steve repeated those same words, you didn’t hear the disappointment in his tone. Instead you were met with a quiet concern, an emotion you hadn’t been able to recognize from your father in years. You shrugged, the motion as cold and indifferent as the walls you had built around yourself. "I never wanted to go to MIT... he practically made the decision for me when I graduated high school,"

You muttered, the words slipping out almost as an afterthought. Your fingers twitched, memories of lectures, crowded hallways, and a life you had never chosen clashing with the one you were desperately trying to carve for yourself. "But after last semester," You continued, your voice firmer now, as you dared to speak your truth. "After finding out people only wanted to befriend me because of my last name, and what they thought I could get them access to, I decided I was done," The bitterness in your mouth was sharp. "Done living in his shadow." As those words left your mouth, Bucky quickly realized just how much you both had in common.

His chest tightened, and a sudden wave of guilt hit him with the force of a storm. He had barely known you, and yet, when he first saw you at the airport in Germany and learned who you were, something inside him recoiled. Y/N Stark, the daughter of Tony Stark, of all people, was actually trying to help him. It didn’t make sense. His walls had grown higher the moment he saw you, his instincts shouting that he couldn’t trust anyone. Yet, in a strange, subtle way, there was a shift in him. He hated to admit it, but when you looked at him like a human being, with real warmth in your eyes, your voice so soft as you muttered his name it was different.

You didn’t call him The Winter Soldier. You didn’t see him as the weapon they’d turned him into. You saw him as a person, and for the briefest of moments, those walls he’d so carefully constructed started to crumble. But still, his guard remained, firmly in place, a fortress he couldn’t afford to let go of completely. Now, hearing your confession the pain and raw emotion in your words, something was different. And he detested it. The lively spark he’d seen in you before was gone, replaced by something quieter, something he wasn’t used to.

Watching you interact with your father so brief, yet so tense it had made his stomach churn. The way your shoulders tensed, how your hands fidgeted at your sides, and the barely controlled panic that flickered in your eyes as he saw you fight to hold it together it was like you were a completely different person. Now, as he looked at you, there was a hollow look in your eyes, a void of emotion. You looked smaller, more fragile, as though whatever had been left of your strength was slowly slipping away. This was the real you, the one you hid so well beneath layers of strength and purpose and sarcasm.

Bucky couldn’t help but feel a gnawing sense of protectiveness, the kind he didn’t know he was capable of anymore. Yet he couldn’t act on it and that frustrated him more. He’d spent so long locked in a world of darkness, of not knowing who he was or what he was capable of, but here, with you, something was stirring. Something… human. But what could he do? Nothing, because he didn’t even understand it himself. Before he could dwell further on his thoughts, Steve’s voice broke through the tension, calm but filled with purpose.

“We’re getting close,” He muttered, his grip firm on the controls as the jet’s engines hummed. “I’ll have to make a quick descent.” He was preparing to land the jet at the HYDRA facility Zemo was surely heading to, and as the reality of the mission settled in, the air inside the jet grew thick with a shared intensity. The energy shift in the air was immediate. Without even realizing it, Bucky found his muscles tensing in anticipation. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you. Your movements were fluid, calm, but there was something in the way you moved, in the way your gaze flicked toward him, that made him aware of how much he was paying attention.

You opened a side compartment in the jet with practiced ease, grabbing a spare gun you had secured in your back holster. For a split second, he wondered if you had sensed his gaze. The brief moment of shared eye contact spoke volumes, a silent understanding passing between you two. You stepped aside just slightly, enough to offer him a weapon, no words necessary. Bucky didn’t hesitate. His hand shot out and grabbed the M249 SAW with a familiarity that surprised even him. The weight of the weapon felt natural, and it almost grounded him in the chaos of the situation.

The doors of the jet were still locked in place, but Steve was preparing to open them at any moment. He could feel the tension building in the air, the kind of pressure that made his chest tighten. Something about this mission felt different, more nerve-wracking than anything else, even more than when he faced down your father in Germany. Trying to ease the mounting tension, Steve broke the silence turning to Bucky. “You remember that one time we had to ride back from Rockaway Beach in the back of that freezer truck?” His voice was casual, but there was a lightness to it.

Bucky’s lips twitched upward. “Was that the time you used our train money to buy hotdogs?” He teased, the familiar tone creeping into his voice despite the situation. Steve didn’t miss a beat. “You blew three bucks trying to win that stuffed bear for a redhead.” Bucky’s laugh was a low, almost wistful sound. You had to do a double-take to make sure you weren’t imagining it. Damn, was it a nice smile. “What was her name again?” He asked, his voice softer than usual, but there was still amusement in it. That was enough to snap you out of your thoughts about the brooding super-soldier.

Now was certainly not the time nor place.

“Dolores,” Steve answered, grinning. “You called her Dot.” Bucky chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned against the side of the jet. “She’s gotta be a hundred years old right now.” Steve shrugged, unfazed. “So are we, pal.” As the jet door opened, a rush of frigid air blasted into the cabin, sending a shiver down your spine. The stark, white landscape outside stretched endlessly, broken only by the dark silhouette of the HYDRA facility in the distance. Your heart rate picked up, your instincts sharpening as you surveyed the terrain.

You knew that what lay ahead could very well be your last fight, but there was no turning back now. You barely had time to gather your thoughts before Bucky’s voice cut through the tension. “Stay close.” He coaxed, his tone surprisingly gentle despite the gravity of the situation. He had seen the subtle shift in your demeanor, the way your body went rigid as the cold began to gnaw at you, and his protective instinct kicked in. You could feel the weight of his words. His presence beside you, reassuring, steady. You didn’t need to look at him to know he was scanning the horizon, preparing for the worst. You didn’t have time to reply, not with the threat of danger so close.

Bucky and Steve moved as one, stepping into the snowy abyss, their boots crunching in the snow as they carefully checked their surroundings. Every movement was calculated, deliberate. The sound of the wind howling across the barren landscape was the only thing that cut through the otherwise oppressive silence. The bitter cold stung at your skin, but you could feel the heat of your adrenaline pushing back against it, fueling your focus. You watched them, both men taking point, their bodies tense and alert as they scanned the area for any signs of movement.

After a brief but intense moment of silent communication, Bucky nodded toward you, an unspoken command to follow. You didn’t hesitate. You moved quickly to join them, matching their pace, your eyes flicking over the terrain as you stepped into the snow. Steve paused a few feet before the entrance of the facility, his breath visible in the cold air as he took in the sight of the door that was slightly ajar. His brows furrowed, and he inhaled sharply, analyzing the situation. “He can’t have been here more than a few hours,” Steve muttered, his voice low but filled with certainty. Your gaze shifted to Bucky, and you saw his jaw tighten, the muscle in his cheek pulsing as he processed the information.

“Long enough to wake them up,” He muttered, barely above a whisper. His grip on his gun tightened instinctively, his flesh knuckles whitening as he prepared for whatever came next. That was all the confirmation Steve needed. Without another word, he stepped forward, moving with the quiet precision of someone who had done this countless times before. “Watch your step.” Bucky warned, his voice low, but there was a trace of urgency. As you stepped inside, the smell of damp air and something else, something metallic immediately hit you. It was suffocating, making your throat itch.

The shadows inside seemed to stretch, hiding secrets in every corner. Every step you took echoed unnervingly in the vast, empty space, but the facility, despite its eerie stillness, felt anything but abandoned. The feeling of being watched crawled over your skin. Bucky didn’t speak, but you could feel him shifting subtly, positioning himself just slightly in front of you. Steve, on the other hand, moved with fluid confidence, his senses on high alert as the three of you ventured deeper into the facility. Both super soldiers took turns sweeping the area, their movements instinctively synchronized, checking each shadow, each flicker of light.

The elevator creaked as it descended, groaning under the weight of the past. You could hear the scrape of metal against metal, the shudder of old machinery struggling to keep up. It felt as though the whole place might collapse on itself at any moment. Your boots clicked against the rusted floor as you followed them deeper into the belly of the facility, your hand gripping your gun tighter, your senses sharp, aware of every creak, every shift in the air. And then it came, a sudden, loud noise. The sharp scrape of something against concrete, too close, too fast. Before you could even process what was happening, Bucky and Steve moved as one.

Bucky’s steel-like arm was already around your waist, guiding you back behind him as Steve instinctively dropped into a defensive stance, his shield raised in a fluid motion. "Seriously?" You hissed, voice barely above a whisper as you struggled to stay calm. The frustration in your chest surged. "Haven’t we established that I’m more than capable of defending myself?" But neither of them acknowledged you. They were laser-focused, eyes trained on the door ahead, watching for any movement. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as the air seemed to vibrate with the weight of their readiness. They were calm, but there was an edge in the way their muscles tensed.

You hated that feeling, the helplessness, the quiet knowledge that they were ready to jump into danger before you even had a chance to react. You wanted to protest, wanted to remind them that you weren’t a fragile civilian, but at that moment the words felt stuck in your throat. "You ready?" Steve's voice was steady, but there was a hint of tension beneath the calm exterior, the kind of tension you could feel even before the words left his lips. His eyes never wavered from the door, and you could sense him preparing for whatever was about to come through. The screeching noises from the other side of the door intensified, a jagged sound that scraped at your nerves and made your pulse quicken.

"Yeah." Bucky’s response came immediately, his voice low but filled with the unwavering confidence you’d come to expect from him. He had his gun raised, his grip firm. The cold, calculating look in his eyes told you he was ready for anything, but there was no mistaking the tension in his body as he braced for whatever, or whoever was on the other side. You held your breath, watching the door as it slowly creaked open, the harsh, metallic sound echoing through the empty space. Each inch it moved felt like an eternity. Your mind raced, preparing for a fight, for danger, for anything that could come charging through that door.

But nothing could have prepared you for what you saw. Your heart stopped in your chest. For a moment, the world seemed to stop, and the ground beneath you felt as though it had shifted. Standing there, just a few feet away, was your dad. Encased in the gleaming, intimidating armor of the Iron Man suit. Even with his face shielded, you were certain that his eyes were locked with yours. The shock was instantaneous. Yet before you could even form the words, your body reacted before your brain could catch up. Adrenaline surged through you, sharp and immediate.

Without thinking, you pushed past Bucky and Steve, slipping between them as they tried to stop you, their hands reaching for your arms, but you were already moving. You didn’t even notice the way Bucky’s grip tightened or how Steve’s voice called out in protest, a low warning that you couldn’t hear over the pounding of your heart. Everything seemed to slow as you took those steps forward, stopping just a few feet in front of your dad. Your hand instinctively gripped the weapon at your side, but it was less about preparing for a fight and more about standing your ground. This was your father. Nevertheless, if he wanted to get to Bucky and Steve, he would have to go through you first.

Your breath was shallow, chest rising and falling with the quick rhythm of your racing heart. "You don’t have to do this." You found yourself saying, the words coming out before you could stop them, your voice a mix of desperation and defiance. You watched in silence as the nanotechnology plates of the suit parted with a smooth, almost mechanical grace, revealing his face. "You seem a little defensive." His tone was casual, almost playful, but there was an edge to it that didn’t quite match the tension in the air. Out of all the things you expected him to say, that was the last.

You opened your mouth, ready to fire back, but before you could, Steve’s voice cut through the charged silence. "Yeah, well, it's been a long day." You shifted slightly, catching the movement out of the corner of your eye. Steve, ever the protector, was approaching cautiously, his shield still raised between him and Tony, eyes flicking back and forth between you and your father. He was ready for anything, but there was something about his movements that felt restrained, as if he was waiting for permission, waiting for you to show him how to handle this situation. "At ease, soldier," Tony’s voice rang out, a touch of irony in the words, though his eyes lingered on Bucky.

You watched as the two men exchanged a brief, silent moment of tension. Bucky hadn’t shifted an inch. His stance was as firm as steel, eyes narrowed and unyielding. It was clear: he wasn’t lowering his guard for anyone. Your pulse quickened. What the hell was happening? You managed to find your voice again, though it was strained with the weight of the moment. "Then why are you here?" You narrowed your eyes, staring hard at your father, the man who had just walked into this situation like it was any other. He looked at you for a beat, and for a brief moment, it seemed like he might speak, maybe apologize, maybe explain.

But instead, he shrugged, that cocky, familiar smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. "Could be your story's not so crazy." The words hung in the air like a confession. He was acknowledging the truth of what Steve had said, but the casualness with which he delivered it only added more weight to the conversation. His gaze shifted to Steve, and you could see the flicker of something unreadable between them, an unspoken understanding. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, as Tony leaned against the doorframe, eyes never leaving Steve’s. "Ross has no idea I’m here," He continued, the humor fading from his voice. He sounded more serious now. "I'd like to keep it that way,”

“Otherwise, I'd have to arrest myself." He let out a huff, but even the sound was lacking its usual bite. Steve’s lips quirked into a half-smile at the comment, but his eyes were still sharp, his focus unwavering. “Well, that sounds like a lot of paperwork.” He replied, a lightness to his tone, though it couldn’t quite lift the heaviness that lingered in the room. At Steve’s words, you heard your father let out a small chuckle. It was a sound you hadn’t heard in what felt like forever. But there it was, allowing himself the rare gift of a real laugh. It caught you off guard, a reminder that maybe, just maybe, there was still a trace of the man he used to be beneath the armor of cynicism and sarcasm.

You watched, transfixed, as Steve’s guarded expression softened, the familiar shield he always carried with him seeming to fall away. In its place was something that looked like relief, or perhaps acceptance. He stood a little straighter, his posture no longer rigid but open. “It’s good to see you, Tony,” Steve muttered, the words sincere. Your father’s gaze softened, just slightly, as he replied, his voice tinged with something almost nostalgic. “You too, Cap.” For a fleeting second, it felt like everything was right in the world. "Hey, Manchurian Candidate, you're killing me. There's a truce here." Your father’s voice broke the tension with his signature sarcasm, and you couldn’t help but scoff.

Hearing that familiar tone that always seemed to be half-joking, half-threatening. That was the real Tony Stark, you thought to yourself, the one who never missed a beat, even in the thick of it all. But it didn’t quite land. Not with Bucky standing there, tense and poised, eyes flicking to Steve for permission to lower his weapon. You felt your father’s gaze on you again, heavier this time. It was like a weight pressing down, challenging you to acknowledge it, to react, but you couldn’t afford to. His eyes burned through you, a mixture of concern, frustration, and maybe something else you weren’t ready to face. Not quite yet.

The silence hung in the air like a storm cloud, and despite yourself, your walls cracked slightly, just for a split second. But you didn't let it show. You straightened your back, keeping your expression neutral. After a long, pregnant pause, the tension in the room gnawed at you, suffocating. You had enough. Without waiting for anyone else to speak, you walked forward, your boots clicking sharply against the cold, cement floor of the abandoned facility. You held your gun firmly in hand, scanning the dark corners, the narrow hallways, every shadow that seemed to hold something dangerous just out of sight.

"Stay behind us," Your father’s voice called out, sharp and commanding, like it always was when he felt the need to protect. His words were laced with a sense of authority, but you could hear the undercurrent of something else too, his belief that you weren’t quite ready, that you weren’t quite capable. It was always the same. "You do know there's a psychopath on the loose, right?" The way he phrased it made your jaw tighten, the old sting of his overprotectiveness rising in your chest. It was like he thought you couldn’t handle it. Like you didn’t belong there.

You didn’t even stop to glance at him, but you could practically feel his eyes on your back as you continued walking. Your grip on your weapon tightened, not out of fear, but frustration. You hated the way he undermined you, even now. With each step you took, you could feel the weight of his disapproval pressing on your shoulders, but you wouldn’t let it break you. You couldn’t. “You do know," You started, your voice cold but steady, not looking back, but letting your words hit him anyway, "I was trained by one of the deadliest Red Room assassins and I can perfectly handle myself, right?"

You let the words hang in the air between you, knowing they would get to him. You let the silence follow, letting your point sit heavy in the air, hoping it would sink in once and for all. You watched him, waiting for the reaction you knew was coming, yet to your surprise, he didn’t say a word. Instead, he walked past you, his eyes scanning the room, his focus sharp. “I’ve got heat signatures,” He muttered, breaking the stillness, his voice low, tense. “How many?” Steve asked. There was a long pause, a beat too long, before he answered, “Uh, one.” A chill ran down your spine at his reply.

You exchanged a glance with Steve, then followed him cautiously into what seemed to be the facility’s main chamber. As the four of you stepped inside, the room seemed to pulse with an unsettling energy. The hum of machinery filled the air, sharp and static. The flickering lights above barely gave you a moment to prepare before they blinked on fully, casting an unnatural brightness across the room. The sight in front of you sent a jolt of horror through your chest. The room was lined with cryo-chambers, the transparent, frost-covered capsules housing the bodies of the super soldiers.

Soldiers who had been preserved, frozen in time, until now. Their faces were twisted in expressions of agony, frozen in the instant of their deaths. It wasn’t just death. It was execution. Before you could process the horror before you, the voice pierced the quiet, unsettlingly calm. “If it’s any comfort, they died in their sleep.” The words were coated with an eerie detachment, a venomous hatred. "Did you really think I wanted more of you?" Zemo’s voice continued, dripping with disdain. You felt a chill settle deeper into your bones, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.

Bucky, standing next to you, muttered under his breath, his voice low but laced with disbelief. "What the hell." You could see the disbelief in his eyes, but there was no time to process the chaos. It hit harder than you expected, the sting of his words making you wonder if this was all part of his twisted plan. "I'm grateful for them though," Zemo added, his tone shifting. “They brought you here.” Slowly, almost theatrically, Zemo revealed himself, his presence calm but undeniably sinister. Your instincts kicked in, and without a second thought, you raised your weapon, aiming it directly at him. The metal of the gun felt cold against your palm, your finger hovering over the trigger.

But Steve was faster. He flung his shield with lethal precision, a blur of motion as it sliced through the air toward Zemo. Only, Zemo was smarter. He didn't flinch. He didn’t even break his cold gaze. “Please, Captain,” He mocked, watching as Steve’s shield veer off course and deflect with a metallic clang. “The Soviets built this chamber to withstand the launch blast of UR-100 rockets.” Of course this bastard had time to think of everything. “I’m betting I can beat that.” Your father’s voice cut through the tension, fist raised in a challenge. “Oh, I’m sure you could, Mister Stark," Zemo replied, his voice smooth like velvet, but carrying a bite of mockery. "Given time, but then you’d never know why you came.”

You could feel the anger rising in your chest, anxiety skyrocketing. "You killed innocent people in Vienna," You spat, your voice razor-sharp, laced with accusation and fury. "Accused an innocent man of murder, just to bring us here." Zemo’s gaze shifted toward you, a glint of twisted amusement flickering in his cold eyes. A sadistic smile spread across his face, a smile that made your skin crawl. This was what he wanted. This was the game he’d been playing. “Ah, Miss Stark,” He purred, his voice smooth, almost mocking, “It's lovely to finally meet you. Your reputation truly precedes you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat at the sheer contempt in his words, but before you could respond, Steve immediately stepped forward. His body language was defensive. He stood just a few feet away, his broad frame blocking your view of Zemo, shielding you from his scrutinizing gaze. That subtle shift in the air, the way Zemo’s attention immediately turned to Steve, did not go unnoticed. “I’ve thought about nothing else for over a year. I studied you. I followed you. But now that you're standing here, I just realized, there’s a bit of green in the blue of your eyes.” He chuckled darkly, the humor in his voice hollow.

Yet Steve didn’t falter. He stood his ground, his eyes unblinking. “How nice to find a flaw.” For a moment, Zemo was silent, his eyes narrowed, taking in Steve’s every movement as if weighing him. Steve’s face hardened as he pressed on. “You’re Sokovian,” He denounced, piecing together the remnants of what he had come to understand about this man’s vendetta. “Is that what this is about?” Zemo’s lips curled into a thin, bitter smile, but there was no humor in it. “Sokovia was a failed state long before you blew it to hell. I’m here because I made a promise,” His words were sharp, like daggers thrown without care. “You lost someone.” You spoke once more, putting the pieces together.

Zemo’s face tightened, his eyes darkened with an almost palpable bitterness. “I lost everyone, and so will you.” Without warning, Zemo reached for a control panel nearby, his movements fluid, almost rehearsed. A moment later, a screen flickered to life. The soft hum of machinery filled the room, followed by the sudden glow of the monitor. You stepped closer to the screen, your heart racing. Something felt wrong, but you couldn’t quite place it. As your eyes moved over the image displayed before you, you heard your father’s voice quiet, almost to himself cut through the tension.

“I know that road.” His words, full of recognition, broke you out of your thoughts. Your eyes darted to his face, catching a shift in his expression. His breath hitched as he focused on the date labeled on the cassette tape: December 16, 1991. A chill ran through you. Why did that date sound so familiar? “What is this?” Your father seethed, his voice full of barely contained rage as his eyes never left the monitor. You glanced toward Zemo, whose face was locked onto your father, an almost predatory interest glinting in his gaze, as if he were watching the last piece of his game fall into place. You could feel your hands grow clammy on your gun, your pulse pounding in your ears as the image on the screen shifted, and a car came into view.

Then, it happened.

The car crashed. You barely had time to process it before a figure on a motorcycle approached the wreckage, and in that instant, everything clicked. This was the night your grandparents were murdered. “Sergeant Barnes,” You heard your grandfather’s voice on the recording, his voice filled with disbelief. You felt your heart stop in your chest as you saw him, saw Bucky no, The Winter Soldier, emerge from the shadows, his face cold and unreadable. Your breath hitched, and you couldn’t hold back the gasp that escaped your lips. You could hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears, drowning out everything around you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw your father’s gaze lock with Bucky’s. But you couldn’t look away from the screen. The video zoomed in, and you watched, paralyzed, as Bucky struck your grandfather twice in the face, sending him collapsing into the wreckage of the car. The silence in the room was deafening as you struggled to breathe, the weight of the reality crashing down on you. You didn’t even realize the tears were falling until the salt stung your lips. The screen before you only grew darker, more horrific as The Winter Soldier continued his mission.

You watched in absolute horror as he staged your grandfather’s body at the steering wheel, as if to make it look like a tragic accident. Then, Bucky moved to your grandmother’s side of the car. Your eyes burned with tears as you watched his hand wrap around her neck, squeezing the life out of her with a coldness you couldn’t fathom. You could see it in his face, no emotion, just the mechanical efficiency of a soldier who had been stripped of his humanity. You could hardly breathe as you saw him let go, stepping away from her lifeless body. But it didn’t end there. Bucky then made his way around the car and, without hesitation, fired a shot at the camera, erasing all evidence of his actions.

The world felt like it was spinning, and you couldn’t quite understand what you’d just witnessed. It was like your entire life had just been shattered in front of you. You didn’t know where to put your grief, your fury, your disbelief. Before you had time to fully process what you’d just seen, your father lunged at Bucky, his rage exploding outward. “No!” You wanted to scream, but the sound barely left your throat. Steve was quicker, grabbing your father with surprising force, holding him back.

“Tony, Tony!” Steve’s voice was frantic, coaxing, trying to calm him. The chaos around you intensified, and it was as if everything froze for a split second. Your bloodshot eyes met Bucky’s, and in that moment, it was as though the room had gone silent again. The weight of the truth was unbearable, suffocating. “Did you know?” Your father’s voice cracked, breaking with something raw, something you’d never heard from him in your twenty-four years of life. He was breaking. His eyes were wide, desperate, as he looked at Steve. “I didn’t know it was him,” Steve replied, his grip on your father’s suit tight, as if trying to hold him together in that moment.

But it was too late. “Don’t bullshit me, Rogers,” Your father spat, his face twisted with grief and rage. His voice was full of a rawness that made your heart ache for him. “Did you know?” You held your breath as you watched Steve’s face, torn between truth and loyalty. Then, with a steady gaze, Steve said the one word that shattered everything: “Yes.” For a long moment, you didn’t know what to do. You could feel your whole world crumbling around you. And then, you saw it, your father’s face harden. His gaze darkened with fury, the weight of everything crashing down on him.

Without warning, with a force you didn’t even know he had, your father’s fist shot out, metallic palm connecting with Steve’s face in a brutal backhand. “Dad!” You screamed, but it was too late. Steve went down hard, hitting the pavement with a sickening thud. The sound of nanotechnology whirring to life reached your ears before you had time to react. You stepped forward, panic flooding your veins, knowing what was about to happen if you didn’t intervene. “Dad, listen to me!” You shouted, desperate, heart racing. “He was brainwashed by HYDRA, it wasn’t him! He had no control over his actions, you can’t blame him for what happened!” You stood between your father and Bucky.

But your father’s eyes were wild, filled with the kind of rage you’d never seen before. His voice was broken but fierce. “He still killed my mom.” In an instant, you were shoved aside, your body crashing to the ground with the force of your father’s fury. You barely had time to register the pain as your wrist hit the pavement. You gasped, a sharp ache spreading through your arm as you struggled to regain your footing. Your father was blinded by rage. And you were standing in his way. You watched in horror, your breath catching in your throat, as your father, a man you’d always known as controlled and calculating, moved with terrifying speed and ferocity.

He immediately headed towards Bucky, his movements fluid and deadly. With a brutal efficiency that sent a shiver down your spine, he disarmed Bucky, the clatter of metal echoing through the fractured space. He then stepped on Bucky’s metal arm, before aiming one of his Repulsors directly at his face, the glowing aperture a stark, menacing eye. Only then did Steve, battered and bruised, manage to rise, intercepting the blast with a powerful, desperate throw of his shield, the impact resonating with a metallic clang. Seeing your father momentarily distracted, Bucky, his eyes flashing with a desperate determination, lunged forward, attempting to knock your father off balance.

The attempt was futile, a desperate gamble against a force driven by pure, unadulterated vengeance. Once again, your father, his movements precise and relentless, aimed one of his Repulsors at Bucky, the blue energy pulsing ominously. But the super soldier, his instincts honed by decades of combat, used his metal arm as a makeshift shield, the powerful limb absorbing the blast and then, with a brutal twist, shattering the repulsor emitter. You should have known your father would be prepared for such a contingency. He immediately transitioned, his movements seamless and deadly, attempting to launch a short-range missile at Bucky.

But Bucky, his senses sharpened by the adrenaline and the threat of imminent death, anticipated the move. With a swift, twist of his metal arm, he redirected the missile, sending it hurtling towards what appeared to be the facility's generators. You held your breath, your heart pounding against your ribs, watching in slow-motion as a catastrophic chain reaction erupted. A plume of smoke and fire billowed from the damaged chamber, the air thick with the acrid smell of burning metal and ozone. Debris rained down, and one of the support pillars, weakened by the explosion, began to tilt, heading straight towards you.

You froze, your muscles locked in a paralysis of fear, your eyes widening in terror. You closed them, bracing for the inevitable impact. Only before the pillar could crush you, Bucky managed to break free from your father's relentless attacks. He lunged forward, his movements a blur of desperate speed, pulling you away from the collapsing structure. “Go, I’m okay,” You reassured him, your voice trembling, but firm. Only instead of heeding your words, his eyes remained glued to your face, his gaze searching, almost desperate. "Bucky," You called his name softly, your voice barely a whisper, snapping him out of his reverie.

"He's not going to stop, go!" You needed him to focus on survival, not on you. You watched as he gave you one last, lingering look, a silent promise etched in his eyes, before sprinting towards the opposite end of the chamber, where Steve and your father were locked in a brutal, desperate struggle. The sound of their grunts and the clash of fists, echoed in the vast, dimly lit room. Time seemed to slow, each movement of their bodies, each swing of their arms, a blur of chaos. You wanted to move, to help, but your body betrayed you. The agonizing throb in your injured arm was a constant, cruel reminder of your limitations. You could do nothing about the fight.

You knew that. Your best bet was to get out of there was to reach the jet. That was your only hope in case the situation spiraled further out of control. With every step you took, the pain in your arm felt like a fire, consuming you from the inside out, but you couldn’t afford to stop. You gritted your teeth, forcing your legs to carry you, each stumble a testament to your desperation. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of limping, you reached the darkened corridor. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of dust and burning debris. And then, just as you thought you might catch your breath, a loud, deafening crash echoed through the chamber, and more debris fell from above.

The ground shook beneath you, sending vibrations up your spine, and you had to brace yourself against the wall to avoid being knocked over. That was your first mistake. You’d let your guard down. For just a fraction of a second, you’d been so fixated on the fight in front of you, that you didn’t sense the presence creeping up behind you. You didn’t hear the footsteps, the faint shuffle of movement in the shadows, until it was too late. Before you could even react, a strong hand shot out, gripping your arm with a vice-like hold. You barely had time to gasp before you were yanked back, your body crashing into the cold, unforgiving stone of the wall as you were pulled deeper into the darkness of the corridor.

The air grew colder here, the shadows longer, and for a moment, you couldn't see a thing. "Innocent?" The voice, sharp and unmistakable, hissed in your ear. Zemo. "After what you saw, do you still think that monster is innocent?" You swallowed hard, fear crawling up your throat. Your pulse quickened, but your mind raced, searching for something, anything to use against him. But all you could feel was the pounding in your head and the throbbing ache in your arm. You reached for your gun, but the world was spinning. Everything felt blurry, disorienting. The metallic taste of blood was in your mouth, and your body screamed at you to give in. Your fingers brushed the handle of your gun, but before you could even draw it, Zemo's hand was there, quicker than you could react.

With a brutal twist, he wrenched your gun from its holster, his grip unforgiving as he shoved you further into the shadows. "You don't have to do this." Zemo’s laugh was cold, cruel. "Oh, but I do," He shoved the barrel of your gun into your side digging into your injury. "I made a promise. And I intend to keep it." His words were final, spoken with a venomous certainty that made your heart lurch. And then, before you could do anything more, before you could beg or reason or fight back, there was a sudden, searing pain in the back of your head. The world tilted, spun wildly, and everything around you went dark.

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[nomie-11]

Across All Universes

masterlist!

synopsis: there are always casualties in war, vi just didn't think the next one would be you.

pairings: vi x reader

Your breaths were ragged, and Vi’s mind was blank. The knife was still buried deep in your side, each labored inhale nudging it further into tender flesh. Blood seeped out with every exhale, staining your clothes and pooling beneath you. 

“Stay with me,” Vi pleaded, her voice trembling as she cradled your face with calloused hands. Tears welled in her powder blue eyes, threatening to spill as she tried to press down on the wound. “You’re gonna be fine. Just—just keep looking at me, alright?” 

Your vision blurred, edges of the world turning soft and hazy as your head lolled in her hands. You managed a weak smile despite the pain. “Vi… it’s okay,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No, it’s not okay! Don’t say that!” Vi snapped, the desperation in her tone cutting through the green haze in the air. Her hextech gauntlets lay limp on the ground, her enforcer uniform once a pristine blue now stained crimson. Her hands shook, and her jaw clenched as she fought back the sob threatening to break free. “You’re not leaving me. Not now, not ever.”

Vi’s words felt like they echoed in a faraway place, distant and muffled, as if the universe itself was pulling you away from her. Her hands, steady and strong in battle, trembled against your skin, futilely trying to stanch the bleeding. The anguish in her eyes was a pain that pierced deeper than any blade could, cutting through you more than the wound that would kill you. 

The air between you hung heavy with unspoken truths, the kind that weighed more than the blood soaking the ground. Her face was a storm of emotions—rage, sorrow, and something darker that she couldn’t name but you could feel. 

“Vi,” you whispered, your voice a fragile threat. The sound of it so small, so weak broke something in her. “It’s not your fault.”

Her jaw tightened, and her breath hitched. She shook her head violently, the motion sending a lock of pink hair tumbling over her forehead. “Don’t say that,” she rasped, her voice breaking. “Don’t you dare.” 

Her words sounded hollow, even to herself. Somewhere in the fractured fragments of memory playing in your mind, you recalled the glint of the blade—the arc it traced, its trajectory, its terrible precision. And her face. The way her eyes widened just a fraction too late. The horror that filled them as the blade found its mark. 

You hadn’t asked for answers, but they were written in the tremor of her hands, the agony in her eyes. The truth was a shadow between you, darker than the blood staining her uniform. You could almost hear it whisper: Her hand guided the blade. 

But you couldn’t let her drown in it. Not now. Not ever. 

“It’s okay,” you murmured again, your hand weakly reaching for hers. She caught it instantly, holding on as if letting go would mean losing you completely. Her grip was strong, but her resolve was cracking. 

“I promised I’d protect you,” Vi said, her voice barely audible now. “I promised.” Her head dropped, forehead pressing against yours as the tears finally fell. “Why couldn’t I just—”

She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to.

Your breath was shallow, your vision dimming as the world around you blurred into streaks of light and shadow. Even now, you couldn’t bear to see her like this. With your last strength, you reached up, a slow, unsteady motion to touch her cheek. Vi leaned into your touch, closing her eyes as if the fleeting warmth of your palm could make everything right again. 

“Vi…” Your voice cracked, weaker now, barely audible. “I—I know.” 

She stiffened, a sharp intake of breath catching in her throat. She lifted her head, eyes wide and glistening. “No, no, no. Don’t say that,” she begged, shaking her head. “Don’t… I didn’t mean—it wasn’t supposed to hit—”

“Across all universes,” you murmured, your voice so faint she had to strain to hear it. “You’ll find me… right?” 

Her lips trembled as she let out a broken sob, nodding desperately. “Yeah,” she whispered, her tears dripping onto your cooled skin. “Yeah, I’ll find you. Every damn time.” 

But the guilt was there, etched into the lines of her panicked frown, painted in the frantic tears streaking her cheeks. No amount of promises could drown out the feeling that this was her fault—that she had failed you in the most unforgivable way. 

“I love you,” you whispered, your breath hitching one last time as your thumb brushed weakly against her scarred knuckles. 

Her lips trembled as she leaned down, pressing a desperate kiss to your forehead, to your temple, to your hair. “I love you too,” she choked out, the words raw and broken.

The world grew colder, quieter. Her voice was the last thing you heard before everything faded to black. 

“Please,” Vi whispered, her voice splintering into the empty night. “Please don’t go.”

But in the suffocating silence that followed, Vi was left to cradle you, the ghost of the blade’s arc replaying endlessly in her mind. 

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

[nnnaaahhhiiiaaa]

First Time - kwon ji-yong

Summary | After several dates with Ji-yong, you finally decide to invite him over for a quiet movie night at your place. What seemed like a simple evening for two soon takes an unexpected and much more intense turn.

Pairing | post-debut!kwon ji-yong x fem!reader.

Genre | 2000s era.

Warnings | fluff, romantic, smut, explicit content, sweat p in v, protected sex, stablished relationship, virgin reader & ji-yong.

Author's note | English is not my first language, so I apologize for any spelling or grammar mistakes.

Request | @myflancee

After talking with your boyfriend and agreeing he would come over to your house, anxiety took over you. With your heart racing, you hurried to tidy up every corner of your room, making sure everything was in its place. You couldn't let him think you were messy—you wanted to make a good impression. Everything had to be spotless for his arrival.

But there was something that worried you even more than the mess: the posters, albums, and collectible figures of his group, Bigbang. In an almost instinctive act, you quickly hid them under the bed and deep in your closet, as if trying to bury a part of yourself. It wasn’t that you were ashamed, but you weren’t ready to confess just how much of a fan you had been—and still were.

Because yes, you had been a fan of Bigbang since the beginning. Even before he became an idol, you already followed him. You had seen him grow, evolve… shine. And your love for his art wasn’t born out of being his girlfriend, but long before your paths had even crossed.

Sometimes, in intimate moments, he would show you fragments of unreleased lyrics. And you, silently and with a smile you could barely hide, would memorize them like sacred verses. Later, when the songs were officially released, you’d sing them softly, feeling like you were part of something only the two of you shared. He didn’t know it, but you had already sung his lyrics a thousand times in the quiet of your room, long before they reached the world.

You were his girlfriend. But secretly, you were also his number one fan.

That’s when the doorbell rang, slicing through the expectant silence of the house like a chime in your chest. Your heart, already altered by nerves, pounded even harder, as if it wanted to race ahead to the door. Without a second thought, you dashed toward the entrance, your hands trembling and a smile threatening to appear too early.

When you opened the door, there he was. Standing there, waiting for you, with that expression that always managed to disarm you: warm, a little mischievous, and so uniquely his. You couldn’t help it. You threw yourself into his arms with a mix of excitement and relief, feeling your cheeks flush as he caught you naturally, like his body had been made to hold yours.

He kissed your forehead sweetly, smiling against your skin.

"I'm happy to see you too, princess," he whispered between a soft laugh that tickled your chest.

You pulled back just enough to grab his arm and eagerly pull him inside.

"Come on, Ji-Ji," you said with a nervous giggle. "I’ve got everything ready… even picked out the movies we’re gonna watch."

He followed without resistance, as if nothing in the world mattered more than being by your side.

"Hope you don’t mind they’re romantic ones…" you added playfully, glancing at his reaction.

"Romantic, huh?" he murmured, raising an eyebrow as he stepped in behind you, closing the door with a soft click. He gave you a sidelong glance with a smirk. "Trying to tell me something? Or just looking for an excuse to cuddle with me?"

"I don’t need excuses for that…" you replied quietly, half-joking, half-serious, as you walked toward the living room. You didn’t look back, but you knew his smile was growing.

He left his things by the door and followed, watching how you moved around the space—adjusting cushions, checking the lights, making sure the projector was ready. He knew you well enough to realize this attention to detail wasn’t random.

"You really went all out…" he said as he dropped onto the couch, settling in like it had always been his place.

"I wanted you to feel comfortable," you said, turning to him. "For it to be… special."

You sat beside him—not too close at first—but he soon wrapped an arm around you and pulled you in until your head rested on his shoulder and your legs brushed his.

"You know what’s special?" he whispered near your ear. "That I’m with my number one fan."

The world stopped for a moment. Your eyes widened, and you sat up just enough to look at him with a startled expression.

"W-what...? How do you know?"

"Come on…" he laughed, giving you a light tap on the forehead. "Your eyes light up when I talk about music. And all my posters from the last tour mysteriously disappeared… including the signed one with a personal message. Very suspicious."

You covered your face with both hands, letting out a muffled sound between a laugh and embarrassment.

"No way! You noticed everything?"

"Since the first time you came to one of my concerts and didn’t blink for an hour. I thought you were gonna faint when I walked to the edge of the stage," he joked, laughing as he gently pulled your hands away. "But don’t worry, princess. I don’t mind. Actually…"

He cupped your face with both hands, looking into your eyes with disarming tenderness.

"I love knowing the person by my side is also the one who’s been supporting me before any of this started. No one knows me like you do."

And without another word, he closed the distance, pressing his soft lips against yours, still glossy from the pink lip gloss you’d carefully applied minutes before. The kiss began gentle, like a melody shared in silence, his lips moving with yours in a rhythm only you two understood.

You didn’t want to pull away. You couldn’t. It was like everything in you—your skin, your chest, your breath—was begging to stay connected to him. But the air began to run out, and the tingling in your lungs forced you to gently pull at his shoulders to catch your breath, your breathing ragged and your cheeks burning.

You barely had a second before he kissed you again—hungrier, fiercer. As if the brief space between you had only fueled his desire. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, drawing him closer, craving his warmth more than ever.

His kisses were a wild yet tender mix. The way he kissed you made you feel sacred and desired all at once. Like he was afraid of breaking you… but also wanted to make you his. He was a gentleman hidden under the skin of a bad boy, and that contrast had you completely under his spell.

The temperature was rising. You felt it in every cell of your body. His hands slid from your cheeks to your waist with almost reverent softness, stopping right where your belly button piercing sat—a small pink jewel that seemed to glow at his touch. When he gently pressed on that spot, a moan slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

The sound surprised you more than him. Quickly, you let go of his neck and covered your mouth with both hands, your face flushed bright red.

"I-I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to..."

He looked at you with eyes lit not with lust, but tenderness. He leaned in and, in a whisper that brushed your skin like a caress, said:

"Do it again."

He didn’t give you time to respond. His lips met yours once more with a renewed intensity, as if nothing else existed beyond the touch of your mouths. He gently laid you down on the sofa, his strong arms guiding each movement while his hands began to explore your waist, your stomach, every inch of your skin.

But then, your words came out broken:

"J-Ji-yong… wait..."

He stopped immediately, not a trace of annoyance in his face. He looked at you with that deep gaze that felt like it could see into your soul.

"What is it?"

"I-I…" you swallowed hard, eyes dropping. "I’m a virgin..."

Silence fell, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. He didn’t pull away, didn’t laugh, didn’t react weirdly. He just smiled—soft, warm.

"It’s okay, jagiya… I am too."

He caressed your cheek gently, as if to reassure you that nothing had changed, that everything was fine.

"Do you want to?" he whispered, his voice soft, like your answer was more important than any pleasure. "If you’re not ready, it’s okay. I can wait… as long as you need. I’d do it a thousand times for you."

You stayed silent for a few seconds, searching within yourself. Your heartbeat was a drum in your ears, but when you looked up and saw the sincerity in his eyes, you had no doubt.

"I-I want to… if it’s with you."

He nodded, as if that answer was the greatest treasure he could receive. And then, he kissed you again. Slowly. Respectfully. Lovingly. As if he knew this moment would be one you’d both carry forever.

His kiss was different this time. There was no urgency—only a deep need to make you feel loved. To show you that, in this moment, in this place, there was only you and him.

Ji-yong gently took you in his arms, never breaking eye contact.

"Let’s go to your room," he whispered against your lips. "I want you to be comfortable… at ease."

You nodded, and without letting go of his hand, led him down the hallway to your bedroom door. Once inside, the atmosphere shifted: it was your sanctuary, your most personal space, and now he was part of it. You closed the door softly, as if the world stayed behind it.

The dim light of your bedside lamp softly illuminated the room, and the floral scent from your diffuser filled the air. Your nerves were still present, but so was the warmth he gave you with just a single glance.

"You're trembling," he murmured with a gentle smile. "You don’t have to do this if you're not sure, okay?"

"I am… if it's with you," you replied, barely audible.

He leaned in and kissed you again, sweetly. His hands caressed your face, slowly trailing down your neck and arms as you both sat together on the bed. Then, he gently laid you down on the sheets, as if you were a gem too fragile to hold.

With calm movements, he began to unbutton his shirt, and you helped him, your trembling fingers brushing against his warm skin. He leaned over you and started to slide off your clothes with a patience that made your skin tingle, his eyes taking in every part of you as if you were a masterpiece.

"You're beautiful," he whispered upon seeing you, like the air had been knocked out of his chest.

You blushed, turning your face away for a moment, but he softly took your chin and kissed you again. His lips traveled along your neck and collarbones, leaving a trail of warmth and sighs. His hands caressed your waist with tenderness, as if your skin were something sacred—something that deserved no rush, only devotion.

He was taking his time.

He wasn’t rushing to go further. He touched you, listened to you, and when he sensed you tensing up, he stopped to whisper soft things in your ear—things like “I’m here,” “It’s okay,” “Just you and me.”

And when that moment finally came—when your body and his met with nothing between you—he didn’t move at first. He just looked at you.

"You’re my first love," he said, his forehead resting against yours. "And I want this night to be unforgettable for both of us."

He moved carefully, guided more by your reactions and your breaths than by desire. His touches were slow, his kisses endless, and his body sought to understand yours, to learn it, to cherish it.

At first it was clumsy, imperfect… but it was real. Human. Full of love.

He whispered your name between sighs, and you whispered his. And when your hands clung to his back, when your legs trembled beneath him, you knew there was no one else you’d rather share that moment with.

It was your first time. But it wasn’t just about the act—it was about what he made you feel: safe, special, loved.

And as the world faded away in the dimness of your room, with the distant murmur of a forgotten movie in the background, Ji-yong held you in his arms, his fingers playing with your hair, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with your breath.

"I love you," he said, almost in a sigh, before kissing your forehead and pulling you close. "Thank you… for trusting me."

And so, between kisses, caresses, and the warmth of his embrace, you knew that night would live on in your memory as an eternal whisper—one only you and he would share, forever.

[nubianqueensworld]

Chapter 5: Hiding in Plain Sight

The town sat still, like it was holding its breath, the quiet pressing in as Monet and Stack walked back toward the juke joint. The weight of the night hung heavy, thick with the tension neither of them spoke aloud. Crickets filled the silence, their rhythmic chirp almost mocking the mess swirling in Monet’s mind. Why her? Why now? And why had this necklace decided her life needed wrecking?

Stack moved like he always did—with purpose, with precision. Every step calculated, every glance scanning the shadows like they might shift if he stared too hard. Monet followed close behind, clutching the pendant so tight her knuckles ached. Its warmth pulsed against her palm, steady as a heartbeat, a reminder of the power she still didn’t fully understand.

“What did Elroy mean about ‘listening’ to the necklace?” Monet finally asked, cutting through the silence.

Stack glanced at her, one brow arching. “Magic’s got its own language,” he said. “Ain’t like regular conversation. You feel it instead. A pull, a whisper—something pressing against your ribs like it’s trying to get your attention.”

Monet frowned. “That’s the most unhelpful explanation I’ve ever heard.”

Stack snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah? Well, it’s all you’ve got. Magic ain’t supposed to be easy. If it was, everybody’d be waving their hands around like they could bend the world to their will. Shit, I would .”

By the time they reached the juke joint, the energy had simmered down to embers. Most of the patrons had cleared out, leaving behind a handful of diehards nursing their drinks and swapping stories that had been told a hundred times before. Sam, the bartender, gave Stack a nod, but his gaze lingered on Monet longer than she liked.

Stack didn’t waste time leading her upstairs to the small office, shutting the door behind them. The air was cooler here, the noise below muffled like the world outside was a distant hum. Monet sank into one of the worn chairs, exhaustion tugging at her limbs.

“So,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “What’s the plan? Because I can’t just wander around town waiting for some necklace to ‘whisper’ at me.”

Stack perched on the desk, arms crossed over his chest. “Plan’s simple. You lay low, we start digging. If Elroy’s right, the pendant’s got answers, but those answers are tied to this town. We figure out the connection, we figure out how to get you back home.”

Monet lifted her chin, sharp despite the weariness weighing her down. “And what about Silas? He’s not just gonna let me walk away.”

Stack’s smirk was there, but it was harder, more calculated. “Silas is a problem, sure. But I know his moves. I’ve seen him play this game before. I’ll keep him off your trail.”

It wasn’t a promise—it was fact. That’s how Stack operated. Monet wasn’t sure whether that made her feel safer or if it should scare her more.

Hours blurred by, and exhaustion won out. She drifted in the chair, her dreams broken into fragmented images—shadows twisting through streets she didn’t recognize, voices saying her name with a certainty that sent chills down her spine. A figure loomed at the edge of her vision, obscured in smoke and moonlight, their hand outstretched toward her.

Then she woke.

The pendant burned against her skin, the glow flickering like it was alive. Monet sat up sharply, her breath shallow as she stared down at the necklace. And for a moment—just a moment—she swore she heard something. A hum, low and deep, vibrating through her chest.

“Stack,” she called, voice tight with uncertainty.

He was beside her in an instant, his sharp brown eyes landing on the pendant. “What now?”

Monet swallowed, turning the necklace over in her palm. “I... I think it’s trying to tell me something.”

Stack studied her, expression unreadable. “What’s it feel like?”

“Warm. And it’s humming. It’s like... like it’s pulling me somewhere.”

Stack leaned in, gaze flicking between her and the necklace like he was trying to determine just how much trouble they were about to step into. Then he nodded, jaw set. “Then we follow it.”

Monet hesitated, fear flickering in her eyes. “What if it’s dangerous?”

Stack grinned, the sharp kind that said he knew the answer already. “Doll, this whole thing’s dangerous. You think stopping now’s gonna make a damn difference?”

With her heart hammering against her ribs, Monet stood, gripping the necklace tightly. She didn’t know where it would lead, what it wanted, or what waited at the end of its pull.

But the answers were close now.

And so was the danger.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The necklace burned against Monet’s palm as she and Stack stepped into the night, its faint hum thrumming in rhythm with their footsteps. The town behind them sat quiet, tucked beneath a blanket of darkness. Not lifeless, just waiting. Like it knew something was about to shift.

Stack walked just ahead, moving with that easy confidence that made it seem like he belonged in every shadow. His eyes flicked over the empty streets, scanning for things that weren’t supposed to be there.

“Where’s it pulling you?” he asked, voice low, like the night was listening too closely.

Monet frowned, pressing her fingers against the pendant. The pull wasn’t physical—it was more like a whisper under her skin, a push from something she didn’t understand but couldn’t ignore. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s leading me somewhere, but it’s not clear.”

Stack didn’t stop walking, didn’t even hesitate. “Figures. This town loves its ghosts. Wouldn’t be surprised if the answers you need are buried somewhere no one wants found.”

Monet hesitated, her pulse quickening. “Is it safe?”

Stack shot her a grin, cocky and unreadable. “Doll, safe is boring. And boring ain’t ever led anyone to the truth.”

Monet let out a quiet breath, following him down the narrow dirt path veering away from town. The deeper they walked, the thicker the trees became, their skeletal branches clawing toward the sky. The scent of damp earth filled the air, mixing with the crisp bite of pine. The farther they went, the heavier the pendant felt against her skin, its hum growing louder.

Then, abruptly, Monet stopped. The heat of the pendant flared, spilling between her fingers like molten gold. “It’s stronger,” she whispered. “We’re close.”

Stack nodded once, his expression shifting into something sharper. “Then let’s stop wasting time.”

The path opened into a clearing, moonlight cutting through the dark like silver. In the center stood an old, crumbling stone structure—its walls covered in thick ivy, forgotten by the world. Monet’s chest tightened as the pendant’s hum pulsed in recognition.

“What is this place?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Stack exhaled slowly, studying the building like it held memories he didn’t want to touch. “Used to be a church,” he said. “Word is, it’s been abandoned for decades. But places like this? They don’t die easy. People say things are buried here—things that should’ve stayed hidden.”

Monet’s pulse raced as she stepped closer. The cracks in the stone glowed faintly beneath the pendant’s light, as if the magic remembered this place. She pressed a hand against the rusted door, pushing it open.

Inside, the air was thick with dust and the weight of something unseen. Heavy, waiting.

Stack followed her in, his footsteps deliberate. “Don’t like this,” he muttered. “Places like this got a habit of chewing people up and spitting them out.”

Monet ignored the way his words twisted in her gut and moved toward the altar at the far end of the room. The pendant was undeniable now, its hum shaking through her bones. She pressed her palm against the cold stone, the glow spilling out in waves.

Then, everything shifted.

Shadows warped against the walls, curling and twisting into shapes she couldn’t quite understand. A voice echoed in the back of her mind—soft, but not weak. Familiar.

“Monet,” it whispered, the sound stretching through the air like a thread pulling her in. “Listen.”

Monet gasped, knees buckling as the pendant surged, flooding her with warmth. Stack caught her before she hit the floor, his grip solid, grounding her.

“I—” Monet swallowed hard, blinking as the glow dimmed slightly. “I think it’s showing me something.”

Stack’s grip didn’t loosen. “Then let’s figure out what it wants.” His voice was steady, but his eyes flicked toward the shifting shadows. “Just remember—magic don’t ever give away its secrets for free.”

Monet exhaled slowly, tightening her fingers around the necklace as the darkness began to settle.

Whatever the pendant was trying to show her, it was only the beginning.

And she wasn’t sure she was ready for what came next.

—————————————————————————————————————

Monet steadied herself against the altar, legs weak as the warmth from the necklace pulsed through her skin like a live wire. The air was thick, charged with something she couldn’t quite name, something ancient and restless. Her fingers tightened around the pendant as she fought to catch her breath.

Stack hovered nearby, arms crossed, watching her with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine. His sharp eyes flicked over her like he was assessing, waiting. Always waiting.

“You still with me, baby?” he asked, voice cool but edged with something close to concern.

Monet swallowed hard, nodded. “It’s... showing me something,” she murmured, breath uneven. “It’s strong—pulling me in.”

Stack didn’t miss a beat. “Then let it,” he said simply, like it was that easy. “No point standing at the edge if you ain’t gonna jump.”

Monet hesitated. She didn’t like the idea of jumping—blindly, recklessly. But Stack had a way of making danger sound like a dare. And the promise of answers was louder than her fear. She exhaled sharply, closed her eyes, and let the pendant do what it wanted.

The hum grew louder, rattling through her ribs, swallowing the world around her.

Then, light.

Images blurred and sharpened in rapid succession—memories tangled in time. Then, at the center of it all, she saw a woman.

Jackie.

Her grandmother stood tall, younger than Monet had ever known her, her hair framing her fierce expression. The amber glow of the pendant shimmered across her skin, casting shadows that danced like flames. She was scared—Monet could feel it, thick in the air—but she wasn’t backing down.

Across from her, a man loomed in the shadows. His voice rumbled through the space—low, menacing, though Monet couldn’t make out the words. Jackie clutched the pendant tighter, its glow flaring.

Then, the scene shifted.

Outside the church, standing at the edge of the clearing, was Silas.

Even in the vision, his sharp eyes gleamed with intent, his stance steady, patient. Watching Jackie with something calculated, something knowing.

The glow of the necklace intensified, wrapping Jackie in its light, pushing back the darkness.

And then—blackness.

Monet gasped, stumbling back as the vision tore away from her. The hum of the pendant faded, releasing her from its grip. Her knees buckled again, and before she could fall, Stack was there—steady, solid.

His grip tightened around her arm. “Easy now,” he murmured, voice lower. “You ain’t gotta crash land.”

Monet nodded, shaking, pulse wild. “I saw her,” she whispered. “My grandma. She was here. She had the pendant. She was protecting it. From Silas.”

Stack’s jaw flexed, his expression darkening. “Figures,” he muttered. “Silas don’t chase things on a whim. He’s been after that pendant long before you showed up.”

Monet clenched the necklace in her palm, as if she could will it to explain itself. “Why?” she asked, voice hoarse. “What does he want with it?”

Stack exhaled sharply. “Power, doll. What else?” He stepped back, eyes burning into hers. “Magic like this? It ain’t just rare—it’s dangerous. Some people respect it. Others want it in a chokehold. Silas? He’s the latter.”

Monet’s stomach twisted, the weight of the truth pressing in. The pendant wasn’t just something Jackie had left behind. It wasn’t just a family heirloom.

It was history.

It was a battlefield.

She lifted her gaze to Stack. “What do we do?” she asked.

Stack’s smirk was back, sharp at the edges. “We do what your grandma did,” he said. “We fight. Figure out why that pendant pulled you here. What it needs from you.”

Monet nodded, the fire in her building now, curling around the fear.

Whatever Jackie had started, whatever legacy Silas wanted to twist into something dark—Monet wasn’t about to let him take it.

Not now.

Not ever.

—————————————————————————————

Taglist: @marley1773 @bluevenus19 @queenofklonnie22

[hummingbird24220]

The Littlest Listener (Part 5)

One Piece x Reader — Whitebeard Pirates (Ace) x Platonic!Mermaid Reader

It started with a story.

You’d heard it in whispers—legends passed between mermaids and fishfolk, half-laughed off tales of rare mermaids who could walk on land. Some said it was a gift passed down through bloodlines. Others claimed it happened when the sea itself allowed it. A few believed it was sheer willpower—heart stronger than water, anchored by love or stubbornness or the simple, impossible desire to walk beside someone you cared for.

And you? You were absolutely going to figure it out.

You approached Marco first—because Marco always had a solution, and more importantly, books.

“I want to study,” you told him one morning, tail coiled beneath you on your favorite bench. “About mermaids who can walk.”

Marco blinked, adjusting his glasses. “Walk like… on legs?”

You nodded. “I want to stand beside the crew. Not just swim near them. I want to walk onto an island one day. Like everyone else.”

He was silent for a moment, then let out a small breath. “You’re serious about this.”

You gave him a lopsided grin. “Dead serious.”

“…Alright.” He turned, already heading below deck. “I’ll get the books. And a towel.”

Marco had brought you a tower of texts—old logs from Fishman Island, scattered sailor folktales, anatomical studies, and even one suspiciously romantic novel titled “The Sea and Her Soldier.”

He also provided a towel for your hands (“No soggy pages, please”) and made sure your study spot was stocked with snacks, water, and exactly zero distractions.

Except Ace.

Ace showed up constantly.

“You really think you can grow legs?” he asked one day, peering over your shoulder. “What if you get weird legs? What if they’re like… goat legs?”

“I’m not gonna have goat legs.”

“I’m just saying. Be careful what you wish for.”

You threw a soggy bread roll at him. He caught it and ate it anyway.

Still, he never made fun of your goal. Not really. He watched you read with that quiet kind of pride he never said out loud. Sat with you during long afternoons when you got frustrated. Helped you sound out confusing words.

And when you found a story about a mermaid who had once walked on land—briefly, painfully, but triumphantly—Ace was the first person you shouted for.

“See?!” you beamed, slapping the page. “It’s possible!”

He leaned over to look, eyebrow raised. “It says she passed out for a week and had noodle knees.”

“I’ll take noodle knees!”

It wasn’t easy.

Some nights your tail ached just from stretching it. Sometimes the books contradicted each other. You tried rituals, breathing techniques, meditation (which Thatch interrupted with kazoo music). You even begged Marco to check your blood and bones with his flame-based diagnostics.

“There’s something,” he admitted, watching the soft glow of his power trace your tail. “Something shifting, but it’s faint. If it happens, it’ll be you that makes it happen.”

That made your heart swell.

You weren’t a soldier or a swordsman. You weren’t the strongest or fastest anymore. But this? This was something only you could do.

And you were going to figure it out.

One fin at a time.

-

It took days of planning. Seaweed. Salt circles. Sunlight timing. The “most mystically aligned tide” (according to a very dramatic book Marco let you borrow under protest).

The ritual had everything—half ceremony, half wild guesswork, and 100% fueled by your own stubborn, sea-slick hope.

You’d chosen a quiet, hidden cove not far from the Moby Dick, one you’d passed dozens of times while scouting. You could still hear the crew in the distance, faint laughter on the breeze.

But here, it was just you. You… and your mission.

You started at sunrise.

Wrapped seaweed around your arms and waist like ceremonial sashes. Arranged coral fragments and pearl shards into a spiral around your rock. Murmured the words—ancient, half-remembered phrases from the stories—and pressed your tail into the soft sand, letting the sun warm your scales.

You closed your eyes. Focused your breathing. I want to walk beside them, you thought. I want to stand. I want to fight beside them. To dance at their parties. To step on land and not sink.

The ocean hushed.

A deep, quiet current swirled around you, gentle and curious. And then—heat.

It started in your fins. A tingle. A pull.

You gasped, clutching the rock beside you as your lower body seized with unfamiliar pressure. It wasn’t pain—not exactly—but your bones ached. Your muscles spasmed like they were arguing with themselves.

Then—POP.

You looked down.

And froze.

Toes. Actual, webbed little toes. Five on each side—poking through the fins at the edge of your tail, wiggling experimentally in the air like baby fish learning to flap.

You stared in stunned silence.

Then squealed so loudly that seagulls took off from the cliffs.

By the time you swam back to the ship, Ace was waiting at the edge, fidgeting and scanning the sea like he hadn’t moved all day.

You burst up from the water, beaming. “Ace! I GREW TOES!”

He blinked. “Wait. What?”

“TOES. Look—!”

You slapped your tail on the rail. Your fin twisted, and sure enough, there they were—awkward and tiny and hilarious, sticking out like confused little flippers.

Ace immediately burst out laughing. “Oh my god. You did! That’s the weirdest, most incredible thing I’ve ever seen!”

Marco appeared next, having been dragged by your yell. “You what now—oh my god, she did grow toes.”

“Don’t mock me,” you pouted, flipping water at both of them. “This is a very big deal. It means I’m close.”

“Very close,” Marco said, blinking. “If you can grow those, it means the transformation process is starting. It might take time, but—”

“I’M GONNA HAVE LEGS.”

“Probably.”

Ace grinned and thumped your shoulder. “You’re gonna be the first pirate with a cutlass and flippers.”

You beamed.

Your tail still wasn’t a pair of legs. You still couldn’t stand beside the crew on land just yet.

But now?

You had toes. And that was something.

--

You trained like it was a second job.

Day in, day out—sun up to moonrise—you practiced shifting. Growing toes. Ungrowing them. Twitching webbing. Isolating muscle groups in your tail you didn’t even know existed. Marco supervised when he could, occasionally adjusting your form like you were some kind of clumsy aquatic gymnast.

Ace called it your “Leggy Training Arc” and kept score.

“Day 6: Two successful toe sprouts. One toe cramp. Confidence level: Wiggly.”

You flipped water at him. Daily.

But progress was happening.

You were getting better. Stronger. Your tail felt lighter when you tried to shift it. The warmth returned faster now when you focused your will. The ocean around you seemed to respond—gentler waves, quiet encouragement.

So finally, you decided: It was time.

The crew gathered in a quiet cove for the second ritual. Everyone was oddly respectful about it… at first.

Marco had the seaweed sashes ready. Thatch brought snacks like it was a picnic-slash-magic show. Ace sat front row with the smuggest, most supportive grin imaginable. Even Whitebeard watched with crossed arms and a faint nod of approval.

You closed your eyes, breathed in, and whispered the words again. Let me walk beside them. Let me stand.

The energy surged. Your tail tingled. Something shifted.

This is it… you thought. It’s happening!

You opened your eyes.

And looked down.

…

…

“Why is there ONE. GIANT. FOOT.” you shouted.

The crew stared. Horrified. Awestruck. Emotionally shattered.

Where your beautiful, scaled tail had once been was now one single, pale, skin-covered monstrosity of a foot—like a chicken drumstick from hell.

Toes. So many toes. All mashed into one end. You had a big toe the size of a peach.

“WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME.”

Thatch fell backwards, howling with laughter. “IT’S—IT’S A MERFOOT—”

Ace wheezed so hard he nearly fell into the water. “It’s like a cursed flipper! Oh my god!”

Marco clutched his head like his medical career was flashing before his eyes. “I’ve never seen this in any of the literature!”

“CHANGE BACK, CHANGE BACK—!!” you screamed, flailing your horrifying leg-foot and accidentally slapping Ace in the shoulder with it.

You dropped into the water like a rock. Bubbles everywhere. One final shriek. A flash of light.

And when you resurfaced—soaked, panting, eyes wild—your beautiful mermaid tail was back.

“Don’t,” you wheezed. “Don’t speak.”

Silence.

And then: “Bigfoot confirmed,” Thatch whispered.

You groaned and sunk beneath the water.

You were called “Big Toe” for a solid two weeks.

Thatch carved a tiny wooden replica of the Big Foot and painted it pink.

Ace kept drawing it in chalk on the deck where you swam up. Marco refused to speak of it, citing "emotional scarring."

But despite the teasing—despite the humiliation—you still smiled. Because they laughed with you, not at you. And every time Ace caught you pouting, he’d nudge you and say, “Hey… no one else has done what you’ve done. You’re halfway to walking.”

“…With one foot.”

“Still counts.”

You were mortified. But you were also… proud.

Because you were trying. And one day, you would get it right.

Preferably with two feet next time.

-

It happened at dawn.

No chanting. No ritual circle. No dramatic seaweed crown.

Just… you.

You’d been floating beside the ship, thinking about the way the crew laughed during dinner the night before—how their boots had clunked on the wood of the deck, how they leaned on each other, how they all went below to sleep and you… stayed in your tub, as always.

And something inside you whispered: Go to them.

Your skin prickled. Your muscles clenched.

This time, it didn’t hurt. It shifted.

You gasped as your tail shimmered, bones stretching and realigning. You gripped the rope netting beside the ship, breathless as the familiar strength of your mermaid body curled inward—

And two legs—actual, symmetrical, human legs—unfolded from the ends of your hips, water dripping from the knees down.

You laughed.

Then screamed.

Then immediately face-planted onto the deck.

“ARE YOU OKAY?!”

Ace came sprinting over, barefoot and half-asleep. You were lying flat on the deck, legs twitching, arms out like a starfish.

You lifted your head and beamed at him. “I have legs.”

He blinked. “You… do.”

Then he laughed, all warmth and disbelief. “You actually did it. You’ve got real legs!”

You sat up and waved them wildly in the air, giggling. “I don’t know how they work yet, but LOOK! TOES! AGAIN!”

Marco walked by with a mug of coffee, paused mid-step, stared, and said dryly, “Please, for the love of science, try not to break your neck in the first hour.”

You tried standing again.

This time, Ace looped an arm around your waist and acted as a human crutch. “Left… now right… there you go…”

You wobbled. You giggled. You fell onto him three separate times. Thatch tried to bet on how many steps it’d take before you faceplanted again. Izo gave you his actual boots (“For style, not function”).

But step by step… you walked.

Ace led you across the deck, letting you lean on him as you passed parts of the ship you’d never reached before—the galley (it smelled amazing), the war room (full of maps and secrets), and finally…

“The table,” you whispered. “I’ve never sat here before…”

He helped you into a seat at the long dining table where the crew was already cheering your arrival. They made room for you. Piled your plate high. Banged their cups on the wood every time you managed to sit up straight without wobbling.

“Cheers to Little Legs!” someone yelled.

You flushed with joy. “Please don’t make that my new nickname.”

“Too late!”

That Night

You didn't return to your barrel.

Instead, they helped you climb a ladder (slowly, very, very carefully) to the crew’s sleeping quarters.

There, waiting just for you, was a hammock. Your own.

It swayed gently. It smelled like the sea and cotton and soap and home.

You climbed in with wide, starry eyes, legs tucked under you like they’d always been there.

Ace passed by and gave the edge a gentle push. “Welcome to the crew, Legs.”

You beamed at him. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope.”

-

The Next Morning

You ran.

You ran.

It was a clumsy, glorious sprint across the deck, wind in your hair, feet smacking the wood as you laughed like a maniac.

“She’s loose!” someone shouted. “Catch her before she jumps into the ocean with legs on!”

Ace tried to chase you. You dodged him. You ran circles around Thatch. You danced on your tiptoes in front of Marco, who looked mildly terrified you were going to fall again.

But you didn’t fall. Not this time.

You had legs. You could walk. You could run.

And your heart had never felt so full.

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

Happy New Year, BuckTommy nation...

... have a little treat!

"First coffee of the new year," Evan says with a smile as he lazily spreads his whole body against the bed frame. 

The smile spreads across his whole face, etching a hollow in his birthmark, and then – it must be magic – takes a leap onto Tommy's features. He’s standing beside the bed, coffee in hand; their fingers touch lightly as Evan takes the cup, a tiny jolt of electricity, but not because of the lack of humidity. There’s no lack of moisture and friction between them, not at all.

“Right,” Tommy replies nonchalantly, his mind wandering over to Buck's naked torso, up and down the tattoos, and he thinks sweet, the coffee is sweet, like you. It’s cheesy, sure, but what else is he supposed to think?

What is he supposed to think after spending the night on sweaty sheets with this guy, this power plant of a body; heat spreading from the inside that cannot be extinguished, not even by a firefighter. That’s a funny thought. 

Evan clutches the cup with both hands as if he were cold, while Tommy is still standing there, heat between his thighs he shouldn’t be capable of, not after this night. Memory fragments: hands clawing at each other, teeth digging into his shoulder, the slippery feeling of sweaty thighs rubbing against each other. But also: a curl tickling his collarbone, Evans' head a familiar weight in the crook of his arm. A hand holding his own in a tight, confident grip. Lips pressed to his neck, a vibrating voice telling stories for hours. 

There's more to this, more honesty, even more intimacy. As if they’d peeled each other of their outer shell to reveal a core, raw and unpolished, but ready for each other. 

Tommy's own cup becomes heavy in his hand, as if it were filled not with coffee but with possibilities. Almost somnambulantly, he slips back into bed, next to Evan, who’s still smiling and sucking the steam out of his cup as if the product from Tommy's Italian coffee machine were just another intoxicant.

“Happy New Year,” says Evan, not for the first time today. 

They clink their cups, just like they did a few hours ago with that expensive champagne. Nothing tastes as good as Evan, Tommy thinks, and maybe, maybe that sparkle in Evan’s eyes means the same. 

Words tumble out of Tommy's mouth, “I want this year and all the following years with you.”

Was that too much? It's a risk Tommy is willing to take now. Or maybe it’s no risk at all, because Evans's features seem to melt at the sound of those words. 

“I want that too. It's going to be an amazing year.”

Every year is gonna be amazing with you, Tommy thinks, his lips still hot from the coffee – or maybe more - as he leans over to kiss Evan’s birthmark. 

[avatarmerida]

365 Days

I posted part of this awhile ago so if it seems familiar in the beginning thats why. So this is told like over the course of a year, so imagine the breaks are just timeskip to different days. We’re obviously skipping around alot and I wrote this in fragments in like a million notes on my phone lol. Also I think I had one more section I just can’t find rn but it’s been forever since I shared something

---

“Hey there, Mr. Man-of-the-hour,” Willow greeted in a low, teasing voice as she shut the door behind her. “What’re you doing out here?”

“Oh, just catching my breath,” Hunter chuckled, the cold air capturing it as he exhaled. “I haven’t danced like that in awhile.”

“Yeah, not since Grom I bet,” she said, walking over to stand beside him.

“Oh my Titan, don’t remind me,” he groaned endearingly.

“What? You looked so cute!” She insisted. “And you were a really good dance partner.”

“I think I stepped on your toes like 6 times,”

“Well seven but hey it’s a lucky number!” She said and they both laughed. He had bought a wallet purely for the purpose of keeping their Photo Booth pictures in jt. After the group had gotten their classic shot, she insisted they get as many of just the two of them as possible. They did all the classic poses, it was bright and loud and the best kind of chaos and for the final photo she had pulled him down to kiss his cheek. It was quick and she didn’t make a big deal about it so he didn’t make a big deal about it, at least not outwardly. That was the photo he had gotten laminated. 

“Yeah well, alots changed since then,” he sighed. 

Not really, Willow thought as she took in his relaxed profile. He was still sweet and dorky but now he was more rested. Her feelings for him certainly hadn’t changed, if anything they’d gotten worse. Well, worse wouldn’t be the best way to describe it, it was an overwhelmingly positive feeling but it just never found the right time to be fully expressed. 

When she had kissed his cheek that night, she had intended for it to signify that she didn’t want their first date to be their only date. But Hunter had endearingly mistaken it as a ritual of the event and so she took it as a sign. She couldn’t deny there had been a shift between them after that night, that he felt more comfortable initiating contact and lingering when they found themselves sitting closer during game nights and the way he looked at her… well that might not have changed but he didn’t shy away right away anymore when she caught him. It was like she knew she had him but saying it aloud might undo it somehow. 

“Did you ever think when you started helping Dell that you’d be traveling the Isles as this big shot hero?” She asked with a sigh as she took in the cool night air. 

“‘Hero?’ Pshh, hardly,” he scoffed. “I’m just doing my part to help fix something I didn’t realize I was a part of hurting.”

“Hey, no one knew,” she said as she put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m not gonna let you blame yourself or deny that what you’re doing is pretty cool.”

He sighed, the fire in her eyes melting any guilt he tried to harbor. “Okay yeah it is pretty cool,” he admitted.

“There ya go,” she smiled, moving her hand up to brush his hair from his face, as though she just wanted an excuse to touch him. “I’m really proud of you Hunter.”

“Proud of me? You wanna talk about cool go look in the mirror Miss Pro Flyer Derby,” he countered, crossing his arms and shaking his face at hers in a cocky way he could only adopt when he was talking about her. 

“Okay…” she said with a sigh of fake annoyance that he knew meant to kept going. 

“Youngest ever recruit before she even graduated and is already on track to be captain? All while creating her own major in advanced plants studies? Now that’s cool.”

“Well you deserve a little credit,” she said. “How many times did you stay late to help me work on my drills?”

“Well how many times did you stay late helping me find the right PH level for the soil for the trees?” He countered. 

“Oof, no wonder we’re so tired,” she joked and they laughed again. Oh, he was going to miss that laugh. He wondered if it would be weird to ask to record it. He knew they promised to talk as much as possible to keep in touch but there was nothing comparable to being beside Willow when she laughed. 

“I’m sorry I won’t be able to make it to your first match,” said Hunter sadly, leaning on the railing again. 

“Hey you can stream it,” she said, bumping his shoulder with hers. “I’ll give you a shout out.”

“Thanks,” he said, feeling a tug in his chest as he felt like it was some kind of sin not to be there in person to support her. Had he been smarter, he would’ve cherished their last one on one practice session more. Who knows the next time they’d be able to play and have it just be the two of them. “But ya know, it’s only a few weeks away I could probably push my trip back so I could-.”

“Hunter,” she cut him off. “As sweet as that is and as much as I want you to come I can’t let you do that for me. They need you over there and the sooner you go the sooner you can start changing the world.”

And the sooner you can come back, she thought. 

“Besides, rookie games aren’t usually that exciting,” Willow somewhat lied. “I might not even play.”

“Well then that’s their loss,” said Hunter, knowing she was right. As excited as he was to go and as much as he cared about the work he was entrusted to do, well he just couldn’t help but care about her maybe a tiny bit more. In a perfect world, he could stop time and help the palistrom trees and come back before her season started. But unlike Willow, the world was far from perfect. “But could I at least get your autograph?”

“Only if I can get your autograph,” she teased, hitting the side of her hip against his.  “I wanna brag about you to my teammates.”

“Brag about me?” He teased, inching closer to her. “Oh no no, I’m the one who will be bragging about you to my colleagues.”

“Well I’m the one with half a dozen hand made jackets I get to show off,” she said smugly. 

“Oh no, what? You seriously kept all of them?” He asked with a sigh of fake embarrassment. He truly loved making her things and he had improved immensely but his early work was very obviously his early work. But nevertheless, Willow cherished them as though they were from the hottest designer (which in her opinion, they were.)

“Well I want something to remember you by.” She said shyly.  She had a jacket for nearly everyday of the week, and for the day she didn’t have a homemade jacket she had acquired quite the collection of his own jackets he had lent her whenever she showed any indication of being cold. They smelled like him, which she used to think was a gross thing to say but she couldn’t argue with the peace it brought her. He smelled like wood chips and old books and fresh grass. It was like an easily accessible embrace when she was out of teleportation distance.

“Oh what, you don’t have enough pictures, ‘Miss 20 Scrapbooks?’” He teased. She loved when they entered this type of banter, how Hunter’s brand of flirting was mostly asking questions as though he knew just how to set her up. They ebbed and flowed until it was like a competition to see who could compliment the other more subtly and they were both extremely competitive. 

“Well I blame you for being so photogenic,” she teased back. “It’s not my fault you have such a cute smile.”

“Well it is your fault I smile so much.”

Oooh, he won that round. She sucked her teeth, knowing the blush on her face was clear even in the dim lighting. She was having trouble crafting a response to top that. “Well I’ll gladly take that blame,” she said softly, seeing one of those smiles forming now from the corner of her eye. Oh she didn’t need a photograph to remember that.

She sighed and let her head fall against his shoulder. She was only somewhat overly aware of how much she was touching him tonight. Every playful shove or brush of the hand hid the severe urge to scoop him in her arms and trap him in the tightest embrace. But that would only make letting go harder. 

She felt him lean back against her and her mind flash back to a movie night not long ago but now felt like lifetimes ago. They had found themselves left alone, the rest of the group not up to finishing the marathon they had been so excited to start and the pair found it up to them to see it through. It was late, and the movie was fine but Willow had for some reason felt the overwhelming need to be close to him. The way the screen reflected off his eyes, the way he muffled his laughter so as to not awaken everyone else, the way he yawned and stretched his arms and it landed… over her shoulders? She slyly scooted closer to him, testing the waters. He did the same. She pretended to adjust the blanket so she leaned into him more, and his arm held her in place. It was somehow both certain and uncertain, neither of them wanted to bring it to attention in case that was what broke the spell, but they both felt safe and cozy in this midnight bubble. 

Now, many midnights later his arm found her shoulder again. More purposely. She looked up at him and he offered her a lopsided smile, still not speaking over what exactly it was but assuring her he was aware. He wanted her this close. 

Being this close was another contradiction, the way it was both common and uncommon. They’d always manage to sit next to each other or wind up finding each other but without the guise of a crowd or being crowded, it came down to how to make it happen when you couldn’t simply happen upon it. It felt like always being on the brink of something, so being here now with all the space in the world to occupy and choosing to act magnetized… well how long could it exist without a reason?

“Oh man,” she chuckled, reaching up to cup his chin in her hand, looking up at him to memorize the way he looked in the moonlight. “I’m really gonna miss that smile.” She said it softly, as though it was meant to stay a thought. She brushed a loose hair to the side of his face, another excuse to touch him as their eyes locked. He leaned into her touch again and placed his hand over hers. It was chilling and warm and natural and fleeting. His smile softened just when she thought it couldn’t get any softer and it was so warm she could just melt.

This was the moment he had hoped for. He cleared his throat and went to stand up.

“So there’s actually something I- oh! Ergh!” He stopped himself as he realized he had gotten tangled in some low hanging lights Luz had added for the event. 

“Oh! It’s okay, stand still,” said Willow reaching up to help him untangle himself. “Hang on, I might need a flower to stand on, I can’t quite reach.”

He couldn’t duck down much more lest he bring the collection of lights down with him. Willow’s hands untangled him as carefully and quickly as she could manage, the task making her seemingly unaware at just how close their faces were. Hunter didn’t realize he was holding his breath as he focused on the determined and adorable way she stuck her tongue to the side as she freed him. 

“Sorry, I uh think I got taller recently? Somehow?” He said awkwardly, not sure how else to explain it but feeling like he needed to apologize. More feeling like he needed to say something or else the silence would lead him to get lost in her features. He couldn’t imagine how he’d come back from the embarrassment he’d feel if she caught him actively daydreaming about her when she was right in front of him. 

“No actually I think I got shorter,” she responded playfully, sensing his uneasiness. They both laughed as the light above them seemed to circle them like a sun, as though creating an illuminated midnight bubble. Like they were living in a fond memory. 

“No, you’re the perfect height,” he said just as she freed the last lock. 

“Well I won’t argue with you there,” she said softly, staying close to him, always loving the way she looks up to him. The way she could always tell when his gaze was on her. “Seems like even the Owl House is gonna miss you.”

“I guess so,” he chuckled, trying to steady his breath as he tried to determine if she was getting closer or waiting for him to step back. His arms remained at his side, holding back the urge to return to her shoulders. 

“I’m sure Luz wouldn’t mind if you took the lights though,” Willow continued. “Maybe you could hang them in your new place, like a going away present.”

“Yeah,” he gulped. He didn’t think he’d get a better opportunity. “So uh speaking of that, uh there i-is something I wanted to give you before I left.” His voice was a mixture of nerves and determination she found utterly charming.

“Hunter this is your party, you’re supposed to be the one getting gifts!” She insisted, knowing that Hunter had specifically instructed no one to bring gifts and how everyone had definitely not listened. 

“Heh, I think you know what I’m gonna say to that,” he said with a smirk.

“That me being here is already the best gift you could ask for,” she responded in her best Hunter impression, playing with his collar. 

“Exactly,” he chuckled and nodded. “You just know me too well.”

“Okay so then lemme guess what you wanna give me,” she giggled and closed her eyes to think, her hands going down to take his and swinging them between the two of them as her mind collected her guesses. “Hmmm I know you’ve been trying out knitting recently so maybe a scarf? Oh! Some mittens maybe?”

“Um, well it’s more-.”

“Oh, I hope you didn’t think what I said before meant I had too many jackets cause if it’s a jacket I know I’m gonna love it,” she went on. “Clover loves all the secret pockets you add. Well anyway, I know anything from you is gonna be-.

Before she could finish, he leaned down and gently kissed her cheek. 

Her eyes fluttered and looked at him in a small shock, uncertain if this was the gift or if it was just something that had come over him in the moment.  Either way his face indicated he did not regret it. It was a simple gesture and he seemed relieved, as though it had been something heavy he had been carrying for her. She wished she could somehow preserve it, tattoo it or frame it or carry it in a locket around her neck. He hadn’t gone too far from her and her eyes quickly darted to his lips and back to his eyes which seemed to have done the exact same thing. 

She suddenly wondered if he had been waiting for her out here, hoping she’d wander for air or knowing she’d go looking for him so they could have one last moment to themselves. She felt like she was in a dream she suddenly gained control of, the details of everything were simultaneously crisp and blurry, like Hunter being so close had frozen time and changed the air.

They both held their breath as they gravitated towards each other. It was unclear who pulled who in but suddenly their arms were wrapped around each other as they found themselves in a deep and long anticipated kiss. It was a quiet night, but they brought forth an orchestra and collection of fireworks without saying a word. Like it was the thing they had been on the brink of for all those midnights. 

Hunter eagerly moved down to reach her better and she summoned a flower to stand on for a boost so they met the middle. Maybe it was meant to be a quick, chaste peck but it evolved and then evolved again, neither of them finding it in themselves to be the one to break it. 

So they didn’t.

His arms secured around her waist and he held her close, cradling her and dipping her like the cover of some grand romance novel and her arms anchored around his neck as one hand found its way through his hair. He somehow knew how to carefully remove her glasses and how to angle his face so their noses didn’t collide as though he had thought about it before. He delicately moved the hand with his glasses to the side of her face, rubbing his thumb over her cheek. He could feel her smile against his lips which made his own wider and soon bits of laughter were mixed into their exchange.

It was a laughter of joy and relief and certainty. It wasn’t shy or awkward, they fell into it naturally as though they had fallen so many times before. But because they hadn’t, they had so much time to make up for. 

When he needed a moment to breathe, she covered the rest of his face with kisses. His jaw, his nose, his forehead all demanded to be shown affection. When she went to kiss his neck she could feel his sharp inhale as he pulled her closer and went to reunite their lips with such vigor that Willow subconsciously summoned a vine to wrap around them as her knees went weak. 

They weren’t sure how much time had passed or if it had stopped all together and frankly they were fine with that until a loud crash from inside brought them back to reality. They heard the muffled sounds of Luz and King assuring everyone there were okay to a response of laughter. Although they pulled apart, they still held onto each other like they were a life preserver. 

They were each breathless, processing and replaying everything as their forehead naturally rested against each other as they panted. Their insync panting brought forth more laughter, hushed as though they were suddenly worried about being caught. It felt as though so long as it was just them then the moment could go on forever. 

Willow wanted it to, it felt as though she had waited lifetimes to be able to take in his smile this way, like a wave that had been building and building just waiting to crash. 

But they both knew there were other earthly obligations that needed attention and words that needed to be said. But the words were just as complicated and as much as Hunter was elated that his gift had been welcomed and returned, he had only worked up the nerve for actions and less for words. He didn’t know if it was the emotions of the evening that had gotten them here or something brewing longer but he didn't want to tamper with the moment. But he couldn’t just vanish into the night, well he could but he certainly didn’t want to.

He cleared his throat, still memorizing the way the moonlight hit her hair. “Um I have to get up pretty early in the morning tomorrow,” Hunter managed to say at last, his voice hoarse. He was unsure of what he was supposed to say as he handed her back her glasses. He knew what he wanted to say. He wanted to keep her in his arms and tell her how much he adored her and how amazing she was as he kissed the rest of her face, one for every minute he hadn’t taken the chance to. 

“Oh, oh yeah uh you should probably get going,” said Willow, meaning the exact opposite. Now that she had been held by him like this she didn’t want to know any other feeling. She wanted to squeeze him and tell him over and over and over again how lucky she was to know him and how much she trusted him and all the things she had written in her diary about him. She hoped he could read her mind and come back down to her so she kiss him silly.

But instead she released him slowly, returning to the ground and felt his hold on her loosen. Leaving his embrace felt like falling from a precipice. They stood there for a moment, both waiting for the other to say what needed to be said. Their hands soon found each other, naturally entering their signature pinky hold like a promise they always returned to. Like a light always visible in the darkness. 

“So I guess this is… goodbye?” She asked.

“Yeah I guess it is.” He replied with a sad smile.

He felt like he could kiss her goodbye, that it would be appropriate and wanted and reciprocated. But he felt that if he kissed her now he wouldn’t know when to stop. That he wouldn’t let go. He worried he couldn’t recreate the confidence and passion the spontaneous act had brought out in him.  He worried it was a dream. He worried that she had only kissed him because he was leaving. He worried he had waited too long.

“But only for now,” she went on, her voice shaking as it was apparent she was holding back tears. She powered through as she looked up at him, her lipstick smeared over most of his face. “Promise me you’ll message me as soon as you get there?” 

“Of course,” he said.

“Okay good,” she said, searching for something more profound to say. She wanted to send him off with something more, something to assure him this was something more. But he already had so much on his mind, she didn’t want to add any uncertainty or pressure to his plate. But regardless of any additional feelings she harbored, she cared about him no matter the label their relationship wore and that was something she did not let him forget. “Have a safe trip, captain’s order.”

“Of course,” he said again with a smile and he pulled her into a hug. She wrapped her arms around his torso and his chin rested atop her head.

He heard her let out a small sniffle and he felt his own eyes sting with tears. 

“I’m really gonna miss you captain,” he whispered. 

“It’s not that long,” she said, muffled by his shirt. “It’s just 365 days until your next day off, right?”

“Right,” he said and felt her hug him tighter. He remembered the first time she had said that, as if that was the day his days began to hold value. The day he knew he didn’t have to be alone, that he didn’t want to be alone. The day he knew he wanted her in as many days as possible, and one day he hoped to have more days with her than without her. He had endured worse things, he needed to remind himself. Saying goodbye to everyone had been emotional, but saying goodbye to her carried so much more. 

“It’s just 365 days.”

He hoped it would be there when they said hello again.  

-

“…aaaand this is the kitchen,” Hunter declared proudly as he moved the scroll around to get everything in frame.

“Oooh veeery cute!” Willow cooed, having said that about every room his apartment contained. 

“It’s small but I mean it’s just me,” said Hunter, to which he promptly received a peck to the nose by a certain palisman. “Ow! Sorry, heh, I mean it’s just us.”

“Hehe looks like someone is hoping you’ll be making her namesake in that kitchen, huh?” Willow laughed as Waffles chirped happily in agreement, nuzzling her image on the scroll as though Willow could pet the Palisman that way. Clover buzzed happily atop her friend, greeting her friend. 

“I bought all the ingredients in town this morning,” laughed Hunter, scratching under her beak. “Luckily Camila sent plenty of pans and pots and plates, oh gee I hope I have enough room for all of them.”

“Well you love making shelves so I’m sure it won’t be much of an issue,” said Willow. “Show me your room! I wanna see how the quilt looks on your bed!”

“Oh yeah! That rooms the best part!” Said Hunter as he teleported to the room. The camera was shakey as Hunter tried to linger one part before excitedly moving onto the next. “Ta-da!” He said proudly, showing off the decorating he had done in just a few days.

“Oh wow, Hunter! It looks great!”

“Right? I still have to find a place for the rest of the photos, but my desk had enough space for our championship one and grom and graduation and-.”

“Is that my yearbook photo?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, yeah I guess it is.” Hunter said nervously, going out of frame so she couldn’t see him blush. “Is that okay? That I framed it? I know you gave it to me cause you get them in a package and I found this frame that matched the color of your eyes and you just look so happy and it-.”

“Hunter! It’s fine!” She insisted with a giggle. “I just thought it was funny because…” she put the scroll down for a moment before returning with a wide smile. “I have yours framed too!”

“Really?” Hunter marveled at the image of himself, hair slick as he presented his best posture, donning his cosmic frontier cosplay beneath a suit jacket Darius had bought him. 

“Yeah,” she said, unaware of the joy swelling in his chest. “Isn’t that funny?”

“Heh, funny yeah…” he wanted to say it was romantic, but he didn’t know if that ship had sailed. Now it was a coincidence, a fun thing in common between friends. It was nice, it was sweet, maybe in another life it was romantic.

“So the move has been good so far?” Willow asked, making herself comfier at her desk. 

“Yeah, the trip was fine and all my stuff came just in time and I didn’t have much to unpack anyway,” Hunter went on. “I live close to the shops and didn’t get too lost when I went for groceries.

“Awh, proud of you,” Willow smiled. “It looks really cozy, Hunter. You picked a good place.”

“Thanks,” Hunter said with a small blush as he went to lay on his bed. “I don’t know how much free time I’ll have when we get started but there seems to be some cool stuff to check out.”

“Well I expect full updates on our calls,” smiled Willow. “I want to know about all your adventures.”

“I don’t think going to the store is considered an adventure,” said Hunter.

“It was when we’re in the human realm,” she pointed out and he couldn’t argue with her there. “But you don’t have to tell me everything if you don’t want to, I guess I just thought hearing about it all would make me miss you a little less.”

Hunter was still coming to terms with what it meant to be missed. It wasn’t layered with worry or paranoia or distrust, but everyone told him how much they would miss him. He thought it meant after awhile, that they just got used to having him around but Willow missed him already. He didn’t understand it but at the same time he did because he missed her. It was so odd, missing someone and knowing where they were and even still being able to see them and talk to them. He wondered if she missed him in the same way. 

“I miss you too,” he said sheepishly, not knowing what else to say. “Will you… tell me about your day too? Even if… nothing happens, I like knowing what you’re up to I guess.”

“Of course,” she smiled. “I’m glad you’re settling in okay. Luz said the photos Darius showed her made it seem really small.”

“I think I like small,” said Hunter, laying on his side. “It’s easier for it to feel full. It’s weird because for like most of my life I basically lived alone, I mean it was a big castle but it was pretty empty most of the time. Then I guess after being in the human realm I got so used to having people around it’ll be weird living alone now.”

“Well soon everyone there will see how smart and funny you are and you’ll be hosting wild parties in no time,” Willow assured.

“Won’t be much of a party without you,”

“Awhh, well that’s true,” she said with a giggle. “But nothing will compare to the party we’ll have for you when you get home.”

He smiled. “So what time is it there?”

“Uh, it’s almost midnight.”

“What? I thought I was three hours ahead of you.”

“Nope, other way around.”

“Willow, you have a morning practice tomorrow! You need to get to bed!”

“I knoooow,” she groaned playfully. “But I wanted to talk to you.”

“Why? I don’t have anything exciting to say,” he chuckled.

“Well then I’ll talk to my girl Waffles,” she joked. 

“Waffles is still on Isles time and she is in her bed” said Hunter, switching to authoritative mode. “Just like you should be.”

“Oooh, so strict,” Willow pretended to act betrayed. “C’mon Hunter I’m not even… tired.”

“Did you just hold back a yawn?” Hunter accused, his face way too close to the screen.

“Nooooo,” she lied, hiding her face from the phone as she was about to do it again. 

“Willow!”

“Okay, fine!” she surrendered. “But I want a full apartment tour tomorrow!”

“Deal,” he agreed, excited to have a mission. He was even more excited to hear about her first practice, he knew she was going to be amazing. “Talk to you later?”

“It’s a date,” she smiled, as she could feel sleep starting to claim her. But she still didn’t want to hang up. 

Hunter chuckled to himself, hearing a small snore escape her as she battled to keep her scroll upright in her hand. She was adorable. 

“Willow… do you really think I can do this?” he said softly, not expecting her to hear.

“Wha-?’ she sputtered, suddenly stirring. “Hunter, of course you can.”

“I just… I dunno,” he sighed, embarrassed he had woken her up after telling her she should be sleeping. “Sorry, it’s nothing. It’s dumb, I’m dumb, I just-.”

“It’s not and you’re not,” she said firmly. “Now tell me what you mean or I’ll stay up all night.”

“Okay, fine,” he chuckled, gently petting Waflle’s sleeping head. “I just mean… it’s only been a few days and I already feel kind of homesick.”

“Oh, Hunter, that's normal,” Willow sweetly insisted. “I think we all missed you before you even left.” “Really?”

“Really,” she smiled. “I mean, Luz and Gus have already sent you like five care packages, you’ll probably get them before you’re even done unpacking. It’s a big change, you’re by yourself in a new place doing something big. It’s a lot, it can be scary; anyone would feel the same. But you’re gonna do great things, we’re all so, so proud of you. You’re really brave.”

“Really? You think I’m… brave?”

“Hunter, that can’t possibly be news to you,” she said as she lovingly rolled her eyes. “If I list all the examples I’ll definitely be up all night. I promise, Latisa is lucky to have you and you’re gonna love it there.”

“Thanks Willow,” Hunter said. “I guess I just need to give it time.”

“You’ll be back on the Isles before you know it,” said Willow, her eyes fluttering shut. 

“Just 362 days,” Hunter said fondly.

“Just 362 days,” Willow agreed with a yawn. Neither wanted to be the first to hang up so they laid beside their scroll on opposite sides of the world until they fell asleep. 

——

“Captain!” Hunter nearly shouted as he answered the call after half a ring.

“Hunter, I’m not the Captain of this team,” she giggled, making herself comfortable on the bleachers. She was certain she was the last one there, the sky behind her turning and comforting shade of pink. 

“Pshh, you’ll always be my Captain,” he said proudly as he continued.“Gus and I were video chatting the whole time! You looked beautiful, Willow! You guys did great!”

“We still lost though.”

“Yeah but in double overtime! You didn’t make it easy on them! And you were the top scorer! That’s amazing!”

“Thanks I-.” She took a closer look at her screen. “Hunter, did you paint your face?”

“Yeah! It’s tradition.” He said simply. She smiled and took a screenshot of the perfect moment, his smile was wide and toothy and she got the display in its full glory. 

“You dork,” she said with a smile as she quickly made the photo her scroll background. “I love it.”

“Thank you, I did learn from the best after all,” he said. “So how do you feel?”

“Well tired mostly,” she sighed. “I’m bummed that we didn’t win but I’m proud of the game I played. A few players on the other team stopped me after to say how impressed they were with my moves and the coach said that I’m starting the next game.”

“Any plans to celebrate?”

“Well the team usually goes out for dinner  afterwards.”

“So why aren’t you there?”

“Cause I’d rather talk to you,” she said simply.

“Willow, this was your first game! You should be celebrating with your team!” He said. “Don’t let me keep you from team bonding, you always said it was just as important as running drills.”

“Yeah but…”

“But what?” He asked, concerned.

“I just…” she didn’t know how to say it wasn’t the same without him in a way she wasn’t sure would make him feel guilty. And he was so happy and proud of her and she didn’t want him to feel bad about that. She didn’t have to tell him how badly she wanted him to be there in person, how she wanted to celebrate with him. But she was just as proud of him, and she knew they were both doing new things and she would need to bully him into going out to make friends where he was eventually. She needed to lead by example.

“We’ll hang out in 333 days.” she said.

“333 days.” he agreed. 

—-

“A ball?” Willow repeated with a gasp, unable to beehive how Hunter mentioned his evening plans so casually. “Oooh how fancy!”

“Yeah I guess,” he said, off screen as he finished getting ready, adding on some last minute additions to his outfit. “I mean it’s technically a fundraiser for the organization and we have to dress up but I don’t know if everyone calls it a ball.”

Willow gasped in excitement. “Oh! Are you wearing a suit? Show me, show me! I wanna see!”

He tried to suppress his smile at her excitement as he adjusted the scroll on his desk and walked into frame so she could see the whole outfit. He stood there just kind of gestured to himself, not sure if he should do a pose or something. It wasn’t a suit he would normally pick out, it was more classic and simple but Darius had approved it. They had compromised on a dark green velvet jacket highlighted with a signature gold bow tie and matching cumberbun. He pressed the white shirt himself and added a floral lining to the inside, half because having a sewing project calmed him and half because he had impulsively bought the fabric because it reminded him of the girl on his scroll. Either way, it put him at ease. It was comfortable and only for one night. He stuck his hands out to the side and gave them a little shake and let out a small: “Ta-da?”

“Oh dang,” Willow said under her breath, as though she didn’t realize he could hear her as she took in the sight of him. 

“What was that?”

“Nothing! Uh, heh um y-you look really nice Hunter” she said, catching herself. She couldn’t help but think he looked like a spy or a prince.

Or a groom.

She had been taken back by the suit he had worn to grom, but this was more fitted and styled. It balanced his professionalism and silliness perfectly, making the sharp features of his face even sharper and the soft brown of his eyes seemed to shimmer like new copper.

“Really? Are you sure?” He asked, still uncertain as he fiddled with the sleeve. “I dunno, it feels kinda snug and my hair is growing again and I tried to tie it back but this one part keeps sticking out in the front-.”

“Hunter, trust me you look great.”

“Really?”

“Really really,” she giggled. “You look… hot.” She said it as though the response overwhelmed her.

“Hmm? Really?” He said, his hand darting to his forehead. “That’s funny, I don’t feel warm. Is my face flushed?”

“No Hunter that’s not what I- “ Willow giggled nervously, finding it necessary to clarify despite her flusteredness. “I mean you look very attractive. Very handsome.”

“Oh!” He gulped, the directness catching him off guard. “Oh, well thank you. So do you.”

“What? Me? Pssh, I’m not even dressed up, you goof,” she giggled. 

“Well you don’t need to be to look attractive,” he fumbled. 

“Well thank you,” she said, her eyes darting to her tiny box on the screen. She was in pajamas and her hair was a frizzy mess but she knew Hunter’s compliment wasn’t just an automated response. “Are you excited?”

“I’m actually a little nervous,” he admitted with a chuckle. “They want me to give a speech about what we’ll do with the money we raise and the hall it’s at is huge and it’s kind of a big deal I guess.”

“Hunter, that's so amazing,” Willow said sweetly. “I’m really proud of you, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah I know,” he said with a lopsided smile that made Willow’s heart spin. “Thanks Willow.”

“And I know it’s a big important serious event and stuff but don’t forget to have some fun, okay? For me.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“Good,” she said, readjusting her scroll so she could lay on her stomach, wishing they could talk all night. “So do you have a date for this thing?”

“A-a date? No! Wait, am I supposed to bring one?” He asked in a small panic.

“Oh no I mean you don’t have to but you could,” she clarified. “Ya know, if you wanted to. I mean, I was kind of  just wondering if you were uh going on dates or meeting people there like that.”

Wow Willow, reeal smooth she mentally groaned. 

“Oh, yeah uh n-no not really,” he replied. 

“Oh,” said Willow, surprised. “Just… too busy?”

“Yeah, uh that’s why,” he stuttered as he shyly looked at the real reason, twirling her hair on her finger. 

“Oh too bad,” said Willow unconvincingly. “Well, I hope you still have fun tonight though.”

“It’d be more fun if you were here,” he sighed, unable to help but fidget with his tie. Willow wished she could reach through the screen and fix it for him. He sighed as he accepted it was as good as it was gonna get. “I wish you could be my date.”

He said it without thinking. Willow knew it wasn’t technically a real invitation, but her heart skipped again knowing he genuinely meant it. 

“Me too,” she said, not giving him a chance to realize his slip up and try to cover for it. Her new favorite movie was Hunter wearing this suit absentmindedly complimenting her. 

“You wanna know something funny?” He asked with a small chuckle as he tried to flatten his hair.

“Sure.”

“The only time I’ve ever asked anyone on a date is when I asked you to Grom.”

She smiled and shifted to her side. “Why is that funny?”

“Because I didn’t even finish asking you because I was so nervous,” he laughed. “So I’ve technically never asked someone on a date before.”

At the time they hadn’t officially labeled the outing as a date, but that’s what they each hoped it was. They were a bundle of cliche nerves and jitters as they eased into the evening, making googly eyes at each other as they worked up the nerve to slow dance. Willow wished that real life had more opportunities where it was expected to slow dance as she thought she could stay forever swaying in Hunter’s arms as he tried to hum along with the song. She made a mental vow to take him dancing the moment he was back in town.

“Well I still said yes,” she teased.

“Thank Titan you did,” said Hunter, wondering if it were possible if he’d have the nerve to ask her to go with him tonight face to face. He used a grand evening and obligation as an excuse, trying to build up to asking her on a date that wasn’t particularly special except in company. But he knew any evening would be special if it involved her.

“Let me know if you ever wanna try again.”

“Try what?”

“Asking someone on a date,” she said. “This time I’ll let you finish talking before I say yes.”

“Uh…” He tried to remember how to breathe. A knock on the door told him he was out of time to think of something clever. Darius had flown in to help with the fundraiser and he knew if he walked on them chatting he’d have a comment that Hunter wouldn’t be able to combat so before he answered the door he offered their usual sign off. “300 days.”

“300 days.” She said back, watching him fumble to hang up, his face red as a tomato.

-

His scroll buzzed, with a call from Willow. This wouldn’t normally be unusual, except for the fact that it was rather late which meant it was even later where she was. It was Willow’s 21st birthday and as someone who had only recently learned the importance of birthdays, it pained him not to be there with her to celebrate.  They had talked earlier between her fathers taking her out to lunch and then she was getting ready for Amity and Luz to pick her up for their own celebration. She opened the gift he had sent her and couldn’t stop gushing about how much she loved the gold earrings he had found in a hidden shop in town. She had implied that she’d be occupied after they hung up and of course he was always happy to talk with her but the timing still seemed odd. 

He propped himself up, and turned on his light as to not let on that he had been sleeping, not wanting her to think she was bothering him. 

“Hey captian, happy birth-.”

“Ahhhh! Hi Hunter!” Willow exclaimed with joy as her bright face filled his screen. Her makeup was smudged and she was sitting under her covers in her favorite party dress. He could tell she had an eventful night. 

“Hi Willow,” he tried not to laugh, finding her to be extra adorable. “Happy birthday.”

“Thaaaank you good sir,” she giggled. “Oh my Titan, do you know what’s funny? Some blood can taste the same but this one when you drink it you feel different?”

“Oh yeah, Luz told me Eda got you spiked Apple blood,” Hunter chuckled.”I take it you’re a fan?”

“Oh yeah, it’s super ‘licious,” Willow beamed. “It’s like… candy liquid? It makes me feel… everything , like everything is funny and fun and all my friends are friends.”

“I’m glad you had a good time, captain,” Hunter said with a smile. Her lips were stained from the sweet drink and the birthday crown Amity had got her sat askew on her head, her curls covered in glitter that clung to her skin.“Tell me about your night.”

“Weeeeell,” she began with excitement. “We went to one place and everyone bought me drinks and then we went to another place and everyone bought me drinks and then we went to another place and everyone-.”

“Bought you drinks?”

“And nachos!” She added with joy. “And I felt so bubbly and spinny and then I thought about you and I got sad.”

“You got sad?” He asked, unable to hide the worry in his tone.

“Yeah because I just missed you and stuff,” she said with a sigh. “They played a song that reminded me of the one we danced to at Grom so it made me think about you and then I thought about the last time I saw you, which was the night we kissed...”

He tensed up at the mention. They had never brought up that night, at least not that specific moment. For a while Hunter was convinced that he had imagined the whole thing, and didn’t dare bring it up to see for certain in case there was a reason she hadn’t mentioned it. Eventually, enough time had gone by that talking about it didn’t seem like an option but the causal way Willow brought it up made it clear she remembered it very very well. 

“And that made you… sad?” he nearly hesitated to ask. 

“Yeah,” she pouted overdramatically. “Cause that was the last party we had and I didn’t get to throw you a birthday party and now it’s my birthday and you had to work.”

“Well knowing you had a great time makes me happy,” he said with a small chuckle. “And don’t worry about me, you guys gave me a great party.” 

“Mhmm it was a really great kiss too” she said dreamily before erupting into a fit of giggles. Hunter saw his face turn bright red in the bottom corner of his screen. He wasn’t sure how to emote that the feeling was mutual without his voice cracking, so he just gently nodded.

Willow didn’t call attention to his awkwardness as she continued in a dramatic whisper. “Do you know what my birthday wish was?”

“What?”

“That we kiss again,” she whispered softer, before covering her mouth with her hand to try and soften her giggles as well. 

“Really? I mean you… did you really use your wish in that?” 

“Well you know Isles tradition is you get a wish for each year,” said Willow. “But I used a few of them. But shhh! Don’t tell Amity I told you, she doesn’t know I stole my scroll back to call you.”

“Why doesn’t Amity want you to call me?”

“Cause I’m engebriyated,” Willow mispronounced with confidence. “And they think I’m gonna tell you things I wouldn’t want to tell you but I tell you everything so what do they know?”

“Willow I… I think maybe they’re right,” he said gently. “I mean, I always want to talk to you but-.”

“But what?” She said, turning onto her side. “I’m gonna tell you my secrets? I don-I don’t have secrets. It’s not even a secret that I think you’re cute, like that is fact. Issa fact and Amity is a hater hating. Very rude on my birthday of her, hello.”

“Is Amity still there?”

“She and Luz are downstairs cleaning and they think I’m sleeping but I’m noooooot,” she whispered, having reminded herself she was supposed to be in stealth mode. “I mean, they’re probably not even cleaning, they're probably kissing. Everyone is kissing on my birthday but me, what even?”

Hunter tried desperately to change the subject. “So uh, did you guy have any cake or did you-,”

“Have you kissed anyone else?” She interjected, clearly in no state to notice a hint. 

“Uh… no.” He said simply. 

“Since then or ever?”

“Uh, both?”

“How come?” She said munching on her chips that she seemed to pull out of nowhere. “You’re a good kisser.”

“Am… I?” He said both flattered and shocked, he wondered if he should message Amity to let her know Willow got her scroll back. He didn’t want to ruin her day but he was worried she wasn’t in her right mind. 

“Yeah, you’re like… hmm,” she couldn’t bring herself to finish as the words she wanted to say flooded her with giggles. “Pshhh, you know.”

“Do…I?” He asked nervously. “Willow, uh are you sure you’re up for talking… about this? I-I mean I don’t want you to say anything you don’t-.”

“Hey hey hey now,” she cut him off. “It’s my birthday and I wanna talk to you. It it illeeeeeeegal to not talk to me on my birthday. I was born today, Hunter.”

“Yes Captain,” he agreed with a soft smile. Hunter didn’t drink on his birthday, it felt silly to be the only one and so he wanted to wait until the next birthday to celebrate with them. 

Which just happened to be Willow’s.

“Are you happy I was booorn?” She slurred with a delighted smile, resting her cheek on her hand. 

“Yes, very much so,” he said, mirroring her. 

“Hmm, I’m happy you were born too,” she cooed.

“Umm…” he thought about correcting her, but bringing up the grimwalker lore tended to complicate things and she seemed like she was not in a state for complications and technicalities, she seemed more inclined… to flirt. “Thank you.”

“Soooo?”

“Sooo… what?”

“Am I a good kisser?”

“Oh!” He nearly dropped his phone as though it was on fire. “I mean I… well I’d say you’re… you know, you’re very-.”

“Willow! I can hear you!” Amity’s voice came from the other side of the door. “Did you take your scroll from my purse?”

“You’ll never take me alive coppers!” Willow hissed at the door as she buried herself in her blankets.

“Who are you talking to? You were supposed to drink water and go to bed!” Amity said, entering the room.

“Hunter, when you come back we have to get nachos at the place,” she managed to say as Amity summoned an abomination to snatch her phone. “They have different cheeses! Hunter, did you know?”

The call went blurry and muffled as Amity picked up the scroll, and he could see Luz in the back trying to get the crown untangled from Willow’s hair. 

“Forget anything she said!” Amity demanded dramatically. “We specifically told her not to call you after all the Apple bloods she had. She kept sneaking drinks.”

“I’m a sneaky sneakster,” Willow giggled. 

Luz patted her head endearingly. “Aww, you sure are, birthday queen.”

“Luz, don’t encourage her!”

“We don’t take orders from you!” Willow replied dramatically. “Hunter, tell her I outrank her!”

“Um… I don’t…”

“Willow, you specifically asked me to make sure you didn’t…” she dropped the scroll and the rest of the conversation became muffled, but he could make out the general sound of Willow’s zealous rebellion.

“Um, Willow will call you back when she’s… had some water,” said Luz, picking up the scroll and doing her best to angle it away from her best friend and girl friend.

“Wait! We have to say our thing!” Willow called. “I have it on my calendar! Luz, show him! We say the numbers left!”

“Awww that’s so cute!” Luz gushed, her eyes wide. “You guys are so cute. Okay lemme see oh did you put a little heart next to the number?”

“It’s 252 days,” Hunter said, not knowing how else to help. “Eh, well I guess 251 days now, since now it’s the next day, heh.”

“Hmm, just 251 days,” Willow hummed with a giggle. She offered him a wink from the back of the scene and blew a small kiss before Luz managed to hang up, half enjoying the exchange and half feeling like she should be helping Amity to restrain the birthday girl. 

-

He had thought about it, he had dreamed about it many times. He imagined her turning around, maybe right after she blew out the candles to see him standing there with a bouquet. Or she’d say she wanted to go dance and he’d tap her on the shoulder and offer her his hand like he just happened to be in the neighborhood. It would be memorable and perfect and romantic.

But with the time it would take to get there with the time he’d have to be back, he’d only be able to stay for maybe an hour. It would be worth it, to see her in person for even a moment. To have her rush into his arms and hold her tight and spin her around and-

but he also didn’t want to make her night about him, knowing she’d insist on seeing him off and take her leaf away from her own party. Not to mention he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to leave her a second time. 

-

“Did you get the flowers I sent?” Willow asked excitedly, still taking off her jacket, having called him the moment she walked through the door.

“Oh, yes! I did! Thank you!” Hunter said, angling the camera so the flowers were in frame, sitting on his desk in a vase she knew he had gotten just for them, a congratulations for successfully planting enough palistrom trees to begin the process for the land to be declared a national park.

“Is something wrong?” Willow asked, detecting a hesitation in his voice. She hoped he wasn’t working too hard (or that he didn’t like the arrangement). 

“Huh? Oh, no! No, of course not!”

“Hunter, you know you can tell me,” she said, knowing there was something more in his voice. 

“Well, one of the interns brought in the flowers and said they were beautiful, which they were, they are! And they asked if they were hybrids and then asked if they were from my girlfriend and I said yes and I meant it as the answer to the first question but they asked the second one so quickly and then they wanted to see a picture of you and I admittedly had one in my pocket and by then it was too late to backtrack, I mean in like from a social standpoint, so now a lot of people at work think that you’re my girlfriend.”

“Oh, I’m fine with that.” She said after a moment of silence.

Hunter was taken back by her response, he had expected her to laugh at the predicament or offer to help him with a scheme to change the subject but it almost seemed like she was a little happy about it. Maybe he had explained it wrong?

“But, ya know, these aren’t random people I see out one night for an hour and then never again they’re people I work with everyday.”

“So you… don’t want them to think I’m your girlfriend?”

There was no right way to answer that was there?  “I don’t want you to think I’m lying to people about you,” he said. “You know if it ever came up.”

“So if Amity had sent you flowers and they had thought she was your girlfriend, would you have corrected them?”

“Well yeah I’d say she was my sister’s girlfriend,” he said. “But Amity wouldn’t send me flowers, she-,”

“So you’d correct them because there’s absolutely no way she would ever be your girlfriend even if she wasn’t dating Luz, right?”

“Right.”

“So like…” she fiddled a piece of hair, her hair finally growing back enough to twirl as she tried to decide how direct to be . “Would you say that about me?”

“That you’re Luz’s girlfriend?”

“No,” she couldn’t help but chuckle. “That there’s no way I could ever be your girlfriend.”

She didn’t think she could be more direct, she couldn’t help but be obvious in the fact that she wanted to know. She suddenly really wanted to hear him say, feeling a spontaneous impatience.

“Well that’s… that’s not really up to me is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… if I would like for you to be my girlfriend I could like it alot like I could really really like the idea but it doesn’t matter if you don’t like it.”

She couldn’t help but be impressed at the way he managed to flip what she had thought was unflippable. 

Well I think I do like it, she said in her head. Oh she could do it, she could do it right now. It was all set up, it was waiting, it was perfect. It was bold and risky and oh it was right there and she could just-.

“I’m honestly surprised they believed me,” Hunter continued before Willow could vocalize her thoughts. “I mean…they’re always saying how illogical a long distance relationship is, they’re always giving the soil expert a hard time and his partner only lives two hours away.”

“So are you saying they’re trying to break us up?” She asked with dramatic gasp, playing into the bit.

He laughed, amazed at her ability to somehow always know the exact right thing to say.

“I mean, if we’re being honest it’s not the first time something like that has happened,” WIllow pointed out with a laugh. The amount of times Darius or her dads or even Camila slipped up and referred to them as romantic partners. Sometimes it was playful teasing, but most times it was a genuine slip up. 

“Oh, Luz is inviting Amity over for dinner and Vee is making Masha so why don’t you ask Willow over too? Make it a triple date, mijo.”

“Tell Hunter he did amazing at the match, petal. It’s so nice to have another flyer derby player in the family. Imagine how talented your kids would be!”

“Little prince, your girlfriend is in the front room waiting for you.”

“Yeah,” Hunter agreed. Everytime they brushed it off, shared a small laugh about it but never really addressed it further. They stopped correcting people because they really didn’t mind and secretly they sort of liked the implication. 

“On my birthday there was this guy who wouldn’t leave me alone when we were trying to dance and he only considered letting up when I said I had a boyfriend, and Gus gave us those charms to make our scrolls look like phones and you're my background so… I kinda said it was you.”

“Oh, well that’s fine I mean that guy should've left you alone regardless but I’m happy to help, indirectly I guess.”

“And then I was kind of… having fun talking about my boyfriend and it made me miss you which made me talk about you more and it just kinda… got away from me.”

“So you… remember that night then?”

“I mean, bits and pieces are fuzzy and some are kind of like in slow motion but yeah, for the most part.”

“So… you remember calling me then?” he asked, his voice getting high.

She sucked her teeth. “Yeah,” she winced. “Oof, not my best moment. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable with that. Also sorry I didn’t apologize sooner, I guess I was just kind of embarrassed.”

“Oh please don’t be! You didn’t wake me up or anything, and I was planning on calling you anyway but I didn’t want to interrupt your night and I-.”

“I mean, I meant more about… what I said.”

“Oh… oh,” he suddenly connected the dots of what she meant. Of course, he had dwelled on that part of the call, wondering if he should’ve responded differently. But more so he wondered if she brought it up because she had just remembered it or if it had been on her mind the way it was always on his. “It’s um… y-you don’t have anything to feel embarrassed about. Please don’t. I mean, I-I don’t think it’s.. I mean it was…”

“So you’re not embarrassed that we kissed?”

“Embarrassed is not the word I would use,” he assured her. “I don’t know what words I would use, actually. But… I have thought about it.”

“Okay,” said Willow, relieved she wasn’t alone. “So… why haven’t we talked about it?”

“I guess I… didn’t know if it was something we could talk about?” He winced. 

“Really?”

“I mean, you didn’t bring it up so I wasn’t sure if I should or how I would or what I’d say or-.”

“Hunter, it’s okay I get it,” she assured him. “I mean, I guess I was kind of in disbelief, so much was happening and I didn’t know how to process it all or maybe that was me processing? And eventually enough time passed that I didn’t know how to bring it up.”

“Did you… want to bring it up?”

“I mean… I like talking to you about things I’m thinking about but how do I do that when I’m thinking about you?”

“Oh, heh well I… I think about you too,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck trying to seem casual. 

“Oh yeah?” She asked with a smile, a flower emerging from behind her ear. “Do you… think we think the same things?”

“Um I…” he cleared his throat as he tried to summon something both suave and assuring. “…hope so.”

“Okay…” Willow sighed, trying to figure out how to move forward when it seemed like they were both worried about being too forward. She knew how she felt and she was so so sure that he felt the same way about her but if not… it was a harder conversation to hang up from. “So how did you feel? After we kissed.”

“I felt… like I was about to wake up?”

“Hmmm…” Willow processed the comment as a mischievous smile overtook her face. “So you’ve dreamt about it before have you?”

A blush took over his face in record time. “No! I mean, no that’s not what I meant! I mean… I just mean it was… t-that it didn’t feel real. I don’t have any other feeling to compare it to really.”

“In a good way?”

“In a very good way,” he said with a breathy chuckle. 

“Well that’s… also kind of exactly how I felt too.”

“Oh,”

“So if we both felt the same way about it then I guess we know that we feel the same way about each other,” she said. “Maybe a way we don’t feel about anyone else?”

“I think… maybe we do?” He said, uncertain about what was happening but certain he knew what he wanted to be happening. It was a big thing to just assume, especially over a call where it could be days until they could sort things out and then in the meantime he would speculate and escalate things and have no idea if they were still on the same page or if he had too much or not enough and then there was no telling how things would-

“Hunter, I like you,” Willow said bluntly, a thick blush suggesting she had blurted it in an attempt to drown out her own matching spiraling monologue.

Hunter’s heart stopped. The world froze. The air shifted. Everything went slow and fast at the same time.

“What?” he dared to ask, needing to make sure he hadn’t misheard or imagined what she had said.

“I like you,” Willow repeated with a laugh, as though it got easier to say somehow. “Romantically,” she made sure to clarify, finding herself suddenly giddy. “And I liked you for a long time, even before we kissed,” she added as though reading his mind. “This is probably not the best time to tell you since you still have 200 days left over there but I‘ve just waited so long and not being around has just made me realize how much I really like you and that I want you in my life and I want to be more than friends.  So… yeah. I like you, Hunter.”

How could so much dodging and planning and second guessing and confusion just be surrendered in one moment? How was Willow so effortlessly wonderful that she had so easily done the thing that he had only ever accidentally dreamed about doing but nothing ever seemed good enough? She had done it so casually, so minimally, so in a way that he would never consider good enough  and yet it was beyond perfect? 

 She had removed any reason 

And then his scroll died. 

He paced the room as his scroll charged, his eyes wanting for the light indicating it had enough power to make a call. He needed what he said next to be perfect, profound, romantic, and memorable. He was right at the edge of something and he didn’t want Willow to think he had any doubts and didn’t want her to take his forgetfulness to charge his device as a sign that they weren’t meant to be. On the other side of the world was the most wonderful girl he had ever met and she just told him she had romantic feelings for him and fate had cut him off before he could tell her he felt the same way. 

The light went off. 

He nearly leapt to the scroll, muscle memory typing in Willow’s information as the request was sent. He took a deep breath, mentally preparing to ease into his prepared series of points to work up to the big question as Willow accepted the call. Her bright, bubbly face filled his screen. 

“Hi Hunter!

“Hi Willow canIbeyourboyfriend?”

He hands shot to cover his mouth, mortified at his own betrayal to his preparedness. All that rehearsing just to begin with the end. 

She thought about saying “do you wanna be” but she knew he’d say “do you want me to be” which would lead to “do you want me to want to be” and they’d dance around it until the end time so instead she said what she wanted the answer to be:

“Yes.”

“Oh,” said Hunter softly, looking as though he had been broken in the most gentle way. She saw the tears form in his eyes, held up by the reach of his smile. “Okay cool.”

“I also think it’s cool.” She said, trying not to erupt into a fit of giggles.

“So… I like you romantically and you know that and you also like me…”

“…romantically,” she happily finished for him.

“So that means… you’re my girlfriend.”

“I’m your girlfriend.” She confirmed with a nod.

“I’m your boyfriend.”

“You’re my boyfriend,” she confirmed sweetly, loving how it sounded in stereo.

“I’m your boyfriend,” he said, still in a daze. “I’m your boyfriend.”

“Yeah,” she said, trying to conceal her giddiness as small yellow flowers overtook the top of her head. “Who woulda thought, huh?”

“Oh, I’ve thought about it many times,” Hunter chuckled, then caught himself. “Oh, not that I- wait, no it’s okay that you know. Yeah, I have thought about it. I’ve always thought you were great I… I’m sorry I don’t think I know how I’m supposed to act now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve… I’ve never been a boyfriend before,” he said. “And being your boyfriend that’s like… a really big deal.”

“Yeah? And why is that?”

“Because you’re a really big deal,” he said, matter-of-factly. “You're really amazing and you’re one of my favorite people and you’re so beautiful and smart and strong and funny and I-.” He looked up at the screen at the soft expression she offered him as she absorbed his words, and those soft green eyes made him feel lighter as his worries left his mouth on delicate breath. “-I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Have I told you how cute you are when you’re worried?”

Hunter just blushed and offered her a chuckle and felt safe and at ease at the way her smile grew at his reaction. She managed to erase and validate his nerves just by looking at him. 

“So… what’s next?” He asked.

“Hmm… I dunno…”

“Should we… tell Gus?”

“Oh my gosh yes! Add him! Add him!”

-

“So…I take it, you got my letter?” She asked with a smirk, opening the chat to see Hunter greeting her with a goofy smile covered with tiny kiss marks.

He simply giggled in response and gave her a small nod and she was delighted that her gift was so well received. It was commonly known as a ‘kiss-o-gram,’ a red envelope that flew to the recipient and once it found them covered them in air kisses the sender had blown into the envelope. Most people sent one or two but Willow sent one for every day he had been gone.

“Amity sends them to Luz all the time,” Willow explained, unable to suppress her smile. “And I just… wanted to send you one for Bleeding Hearts day. Is that okay?”

“Tehee yeah I-I think yeah I-, uh um thanks heh-.” Hunter giggled.

“So…” Willow took a deep breath and tucked her hair behind her ears as she sat up straighter. “Hunter, will you be my bleeding heart?”

Hunter nodded dreamily, a bit in a daze. “O-oh m-me? You want me? Me?”

“Yes you,” she giggled. “Unless, someone else has already asked you to-.”

“No!” He said louder than he meant to. “I mean, no they haven’t. But even if someone did I’d say no. Unless it was you! I… was actually going to ask you. Or I was going to try and ask you.”

“Well, great mind thinks alike then,” she declared happily. They had only been boyfriend and girlfriend a couple of days, and navigating the difference in status long distance was a unique challenge. But Willow was determined to take every opportunity to remind the blushing boy how much she absolutely adored him. 

“Guess so,” he chuckled. “I’d… be honored to be your bleeding heart.”

“I had a feeling,” she smiled, setting down her scroll so her full outfit was in frame.

“You got my package then too I see,” Hunter said softly, seeing her in a green sweatshirt he had lovingly adorned with hearts and flowers. A project he had been admittingly working on long before they were official. 

“Oh? You mean this old thing?” She said cheekily, hugging herself to feel the sweater’s warmth as though he had stitched sunshine in the lining. “You like it?” 

He chuckled, finding it ironic that she was asking him.

“Yes, I do.”

“Thanks, my boyfriend made it,” she said giddily and he somehow knew she had been doing this bit all day. 

He couldn’t wait to see it on her in person. 

182 days. Halfway there.

-

Their calls became more infrequent and shorter. They started to text their updates, each line littered with hearts and words of affirmation. They both had growing responsibilities, Hunter called on to consult on palisman carving and care and Willow became acting captain of her team when the acting captain was injured, not to mention she was placed in an advanced plant care class that put her on the fast track to graduate early. 

But no matter how busy they both got, they always managed to send each other the numbers left until they saw each other again.

Distance did not deter their hearts from growing fonder every day.

At some point they tried counting the hours instead of the days, and then the minutes to see if it made the time seem shorter. The number got longer but each check in seemed like more time had passed. 

-

“Bye dad! Bye papa!” Willow sang as she rushed down the stairs. She didn’t wait for a response before continuing, so excited to be in a rush. “Hunter gets back today and I wanna be the first one to see him! I have something I need to tell him and I have to tell him in person and I can’t wait any longer because I-.”

She stopped when she turned and saw it was not her dads who were sitting at the table.

“Hey there Captain,” Hunter said with a gentle wave, holding a bouquet in his lap. How long had he been there?

“Hunter,” she breathed as though he was a ghost, her hands subconsciously smoothing her dress and her hair like none of her knew what to do. “W-what are you-.”

“I got an earlier ship back,” he said, slowly standing up. “I wanted to surprise you, I guess I just couldn’t wait to-“

She cut him off by wrapping him in a tight secure hug, curling her arms around his waist as she buried her face in his chest. It took little time for him to respond in grand, wrapping his arms around her and holding her like she’d float away. She smelled like a greenhouse, a smell that he had experienced everyday working on the palistrom trees that dwindled the intensity of missing her. Oh but nothing compared to the real thing. Her natural warmth that made him feel like he was bathed in sunshine, oh it made actual sunshine seem dull.

“Did you get taller?” She asked, muffled in his shirt. 

“Hmm, no I think you got shorter,” he smiled, resting his chin atop her head.

“No, I’m the perfect height,” she chuckled, holding him closer as her glasses pressed into him. 

“I can’t argue with that,” he laughed, lifting her up and spinning her around. 

He put her down and stepped back to look at her. “Wow,” he marveled. She looked the same as she did through a screen but having her in person was like living in a dream. He had so many things he wanted to say but he settled on something obvious. “Your hair got longer.”

“So did yours,” she said, reaching up to trace the shaggy blonde edges. “Want me to cut it again?”

“Whatever you think will look best,” he smiled, placing his hand over hers. 

She smiled and leapt up to press a firm kiss to his cheek, pulling him down to be closer to her.

“Um, there’s actually another reason I came back early,” he said, clearing his throat as she went to kiss his other cheek. “There’s… something I needed to say to you in person. I uh, well I thought about it a lot and I just… I couldn’t wait another day uh-.”

“I think… I think I know what you’re talking about,” she said brightly. “It sounds like I was going to surprise you at the station for the same reason cuz there’s something I wanna tell you too.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as he held his and gathered his courage. They spoke at the exact same time.

“I’m in love with you.”

“Will you marry me?”

She opened her eyes and saw he had gone down on one knee, his hands shaking as he presented her with a small dark green box, holding a simple yet brilliant ring.

She knew what this meant, what it was but still she could not help but be confused. “What?”

“I… I just realized how I felt about you because I missed you well. I realized that I missed you and it made it clear how I felt about you and how I feel about you and I… I thought this was…”

She struggled to catch her breath as she realized this had not been an impulsive or last minute decision. 

“Wait I’m sorry, what did you say?” He asked 

She got down on her knees to eye level with him.

“I said I love you,” she said, cradling his jaw in her hands. “And I’m guessing… this means you feel kinda similar, huh?”

“Yeah, well I guess…” he chuckled nervously, having been so nervous he hadn’t really gotten to look at her. “Well how could I not love you?”

She moved her arms around his neck. “Well I am pretty lovable I guess.”

“You are pretty and lovable,” he said. 

“Well takes one to know one,” she giggled. “But I have to ask… about that?” She gestured to the ring. He knew from her tone that he might’ve skipped ahead a bit.

“I just… thought about you all the time and when I realized I loved you I guess I just figured that’s what people in love do. So I started making the ring because I… I love you Willow and I want to spend my life with you.”

There was no air left in her lungs. 

“Oh Titan,” she said, falling forward to catch his lips in a kiss and knocking him to the ground. She covered his face in kiss marks, just as she had planned to do when she saw him. She finally managed to calm herself long enough to bring them both back up, delighted in the lipstick prints that decorated his love struck face. She sighed. “Oh I’ve waited so long to do that.”

“So um… I didn’t mess things up?’

“No you dork, you’re so sweet,” she said, cradling his precious face. “But I think it might be a little soon for that.”

“So are you saying you don’t wanna get married?” Hunter teased, not really considering it a rejection as her eyes assured him they thought the absolute world of him. 

“Well maybe not quite yet,” said Willow. “But I really do love you and I’m not gonna lie, I have thought about marrying you more than once.” He couldn’t help but giggle like a fool, eager to hear more details. “But I mean it’s a really big step and there’s still so much we both have to do and you’ll be heading back soon and-.”

“Yeah, I guess I just got excited,” he chuckled. 

 “And I love that about you,” she said, booping his nose. “But we have plenty of time for that. And I kind of feel like we should maybe live together first.”

“Yeah, yeah you’re probably right.”

“So… why don’t we?”

“What?”

“Well, it’s the off season and I can do that training anywhere,” started Willow. “And I miiight have volunteered to help regrow palistrom trees in Latissa.”

“Really?”

“Really,” she said, matching his smile. “So I kind of need a place to stay.”

“You wanna stay with me? Really? I-I mean w-would you stay with me? If you want to?”

“I think that sounds great,” she said. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to impose-.”

“No! No, are you kidding?” Hunter practically shouted. “Please, I’d love it if you stayed with me. They’re moving me to a bigger place closer to the site so it’s perfect! A-and I’ll get to see you everyday? Willow, would you want to-?” As her answer, she pulled him in for a kiss and he eagerly returned her affection. A smile pressed against her own as his mind flooded with possibilities. Not wanting to completely break the kiss, his lips only parted from hers when he thought of something wonderful they could do together.

“And we can, *kiss* have movie nights and *kiss* Clover and waffles can play and we can *kiss* “go running in the morning and *kiss* I can make you breakfast and-.”

Willow pulled him in for a long kiss before settling her chin on his shoulder and hugging him tightly. 

“I can’t wait,” she whispered.

He exhaled as he looked down at her. “Ya know, to be honest this was not how I thought this would go but it’s somehow better?”

“Heh, oh yeah,” Willow said looking down at the ring box sitting on the table. “Oh, it really is beautiful.”

“Thanks I… I’ve been working on it for awhile.”

“Do you think I could… try it on?”

“Y-yeah! Of course!” He sputtered. “I mean, it’s for you. You can still have it, if you want. For… whatever I guess.”

He had carded small flowers and vines to frame a jewel he had found in a market that reminded him of her eyes. She admired the way the peridot sparkled in the light and then at the way his eyes sparkled looking at her. It fit perfectly.

“I think you should keep it,” she decided. “For when you… ask again.”

His face turned bright red, his romantic gesture suddenly flipped on him.

“Yeah, I’ll uh… good idea,” he said. “How long do you think I should wait?”

“Hmmm, I’d say about 365 days.”

[goldensunset]

oh i forgot i was gonna share something. for anyone curious about the meaning of the name ‘ethelo’ for my partner riolu, please know that pla brainrot follows me everywhere i go

or more specifically i should say my partner was named after the riolu i worked really hard to catch and evolve before the first gym in pokémon black 2. i wanted a good name for him and thought hm maybe it can be something related to volo bc volo has a lucario?

(he has lots of pokémon but i feel like. idk. i think that one between him and cynthia is pretty iconic. who am i kidding almost all their mons are iconic but y’know? i feel like the lucario is special bc it’s twins with cynthia with the appendages/hair accessories. also it’s such an iconic sinnoh pokémon to me)

in any case what i initially had for that riolu was ‘volito’ or literally just. little volo. LOL. i figured it might be a temporary name but it was good enough. when i evolved him i was def like oh you deserve something cooler. by the time i got to castelia city and met the name rater i had decided on ‘ethelo’, naming him directly after volo but like in a different language version so it’s cooler right. better than the other options anyway. looking at you ‘percupio’

anyway i really liked that name i was very satisfied with it. when i saw riolu was a partner option i was like ooooh i think i gotta pick him and when i decided i was in fact gonna nickname my characters in this game instead of leaving them with pokémon names (which i am so glad for. giving us names means a lot to me) i was like well what else could i possibly name him but ethelo i think

OH also i didn’t plan this. but in some of partner’s earliest scenes you hear that he really loves ruins, history, legends, exploration, etc. he wants to solve the mystery of his relic fragment. and when i read all that i was like oh naming him after volo was literally perfect lol

also our team name is team jubilee. which is again pla/sinnoh brainrot coming through with jubilife village/city and also jubilee is such a fun word but it’s also a cool name that seems to match the other in-game team names in tone (i wasn’t sure if we were supposed to go for cool or fun, one word or two, etc) so i lucked out there. also like joy whimsy celebration yippee!!! (i named my first shiny luxray jubilee for similar pla brainrot reasons and also it’s yellow and also it had the giddy mark so like that was awesome)

anyway those are the stories of my partner/team names bc i thought i should share them at some point

[project-sekai-facts]

Fes gacha updates

Before I say anything else I'm just gonna say the vast majority of the fes updates are incredibly disappointing, especially if you're F2P. Like seriously if you're F2P don't expect to come out of this post entirely happy. I can be mean to clpl because I'm F2P and this is total bullshit. Anyway.

Starting from the fes gacha on this sunday, Colorful Festival will now be known as Bloom Festival! It also has a newly designed logo as seen in the picture above, complete with flowers in all the unit colors, including Virtual Singer, which pretty much confirms that all 26 characters will be getting 2nd fes cards. The good thing about this confirmation is that unless they fuck with the schedule again and put 3 characters on one banner a few times, this means the story will continue past 6th anniversary, something there'd previously been concerns about. There's only 9 fes banners before 6th anniversary (10 if you include 6th anniversary), but you need 13 banners to cover everyone. So that's really nice news!

More information that we were told on stream, as well as story and gacha lineup predictions can be found below the cut!

Unfortunately we have not yet been told what exactly the differences between colofes and bloomfes are in terms of story. Based on the whole journey to bloom/world bloom (internal name for WLEs) thing, I reckon it could be something like the characters' Fragment SEKAI expanding, like what happened with the Tree SEKAI in Let Your Song Resonate. It would also tie into the plot of WLEs, so it would make a lot of sense. Some other speculation I've seen since March is that they might have entirely new Fragment SEKAI, which I think is entirely plausible due to character development and changes in their personal conflicts, and another was that these could be like bandori's kirafes cards, which focus on relationships. While I think this would be interesting, and makes some sense since prsk does take influence from bandori in some ways due to sharing a parent company (craftegg), I feel like they would've mentioned that.

We do know a lot about the differences between bloomfes and colofes on a meta and gameplay level, and unfortunately this is the not f2p-friendly part.

The main gimmick of bloom festival that differentiates them from colofes is that bloomfes cards will have 2 skills! One skill will apply for the untrained card, and one for the trained card. You can switch them at any time, presumably by flipping the illustration when it's on your deck. There's a catch though. The catch is that to train bloomfes cards, you will need 3 Wish Drops (the items used to level up area items past lvl10) on top of all the regular 4* training materials. All players will be given 3 wish drops for free, but aside from that these are incredibly hard to earn for casual players due to being the most expensive item in the event shop at 50000 tokens per wish drop. Basically the game is forcing you to sacrifice other shop rewards, tier, or spend money. Not that colopale needs it when the game earns millions a month.

(translated graphic from @/pjsekai_eng on Twitter)

The skills are also not the most fairly balanced. That's an understatement actually. You have to be a massive whale to get the max skill on these cards, it is literally impossible for casual players.

The untrained card skills vary between virtual singers and human characters. For vsingers, at max level, they give a 90% score boost, but gain +30% boost for every different unit type on your team (though it only applies to two types max, giving you a total of 150% bonus). This is pretty easy to achieve, so that's good for scoring purposes!

For human characters, you get an 80% base score boost at max skill level. By selecting one other card in your team, you get an additional boost of half of that card's skill increase (eg: if the card selected has a score boost of 100%, the bloomfes score boost will get 50% added to its base 80%, for 130% total). I'm not sure if this card is selected manually or automatically. But nonetheless this is a pretty good skill too!

The issue lies with the trained skill. At max level, it gives a base score boost of 110%, which is pretty good, but the additional boost is scaled by your Character Rank, with +1% score boost per 2 ranks (eg: a player with a CR40 Miku will get a bonus 20% score boost) on top of the 110, for 130% boost total). The issue here is that the absolute max boost you can get require CR100, which is ridiculously hard to get without spending money, and is near impossible to do for multiple characters. In other words, this skill is for your oshi, and you have to be willing to spend a lot or grind a lot for said oshi. And also be lucky enough to even pull your oshi from the gacha. It's incredibly geared towards P2P players and is totally unfair for F2P players. There's also the issue of the fact you need 3 wish drops to even unlock this skill, another thing that is against F2P players.

Anyway, let's move on to something a bit more fun! Who is gonna be fes? Here's an overview of how it's looking right now:

There's three possible ways that the fes cards could be paired up: using the same pairs as colofes, using different but still same-unit pairs, or using mixed unit pairs.

I think the second or third option is more likely. If you wanted to do the first option, it would have to be Honami/Shiho, Haruka/Airi or An/Toya, but there's still chance that An could be on Kohane5, Haruka only very recently had a card (though this has not stopped other characters, and Shiho is quite likely to be on the event.

In terms of alternate same-unit pairs, I think Kanade/Ena and Airi/Shizuku are the most likely. Kanade and Ena are both reward cards on the current Mafuyu event, so it could be a sign that they'll be fes, plus Kanade hasn't had a 4* since February. However, both of them have a lot of 4*s right now, with Niigo having the most in the game overall. Alternatively there's Shizuku and Airi. Airi is the second-most due for a lim out of all the characters, with her last one being released at the end of October last year. Shizuku only very recently got a card, but again this has not been much of an issue in the past, with Minori, Tsukasa, and Emu all getting fes cards very soon after an event where they got 4*s (or an event where they got unit-gacha lims for Tsukasa and Emu).

However if you wanted to go for mixed unit pairings, the most likely options are probably Ichika/Kanade, Honami/Kanade, or Airi/Ena. However if the june event isn't 2-B lims, the Hinomori sisters and Saki/Airi are also options. Ichika hasn't had a 4* since white day, neither has Kanade, and Honami hasn't had one since Rise as One. However, we know they will be getting cards soon, and under the assumption that 2-B lims happen, it seems a bit unfair to give 3/4 of Leoneed lims just before WLE. I don't have an argument against Airi/Ena, it's definitely the most likely out of these options.

However, just for consistency I'm willing to bet that they'll stick with same-unit pairs. In that case, I think either Kanade/Ena or Airi/Shizuku is very likely. Maybe I'm leaning a bit more towards Airi, but only because she's more in need of a lim.

But just to throw one last thing out there: the next update will implement an increased, 25% event bonus for default virtual singers, a bonus that pretty much exclusively applies to fes cards since players are far less likely to use the default vsinger 1*s and 2* on their team. So there's a chance, albeit slim, that they could throw us under the bus with Len/KAITO fes. I still think Kanade/Ena or Airi/Shizuku is more likely.

Anyway, that's all for now. Some of these updates are a bit disappointing but I'm interested to see the cards and read their stories! I'll update this post if we learn any more information.

[bestducky]

Fragments of Tomorrow

Master Chief x female reader.

Chapter 1

Prologue: Echoes of Home

Summary: (Y/N) has always been drawn to forgotten things — old machines, dusty books, broken relics of a world moving too fast to remember them. Fresh from finishing university classes, she visits a newly opened vintage shop, chasing dreams of building something greater than herself. But among the shelves of the past, she finds something far older — and far more dangerous — than she could have imagined.

Today is supposed to be the first step toward her future. She doesn't know it's also her last day on Earth.

Notes: This is my first ever fanfic, I plan for it to be very long, very slow burn/hurt/comfort, with some unease and bits of horror. (I also post on AO3, with the username: Best_Ducky)

The final lecture of the day dragged on like molasses.

(Y/N) tapped her pen against the edge of her notebook, her gaze drifting toward the half-open windows where warm sunlight spilled lazily across the tiled floor. The slideshow on the projector flickered — equations, diagrams, flowcharts — all blending into a shapeless blur of academic noise.

Almost there.

Just a few more minutes.

The clock above the whiteboard ticked loudly, each second dragging out longer than the last. Around her, the restless energy of the room buzzed; students shifted in their seats, slammed laptops shut a little too loudly, whispered eagerly about weekend plans. Freedom was close.

(Y/N) sighed quietly and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose with the back of her hand. The smudge of a thumbprint clouded one lens, but she barely noticed. Instead, she dropped her eyes to the margins of her notebook and let her pen wander.

A sketch bloomed there — intricate, half-formed — some kind of device, part machine, part dream. Delicate spirals of wiring, branching circuits, soft hums of imagination she could almost hear if she closed her eyes.

Dreams always started small, didn't they?

When the professor finally waved them off with a tired flick of his wrist, (Y/N) was the first to move. She shoved her notebook and battered laptop into her backpack, ignoring the cascade of pens that spilled out onto the floor. Her steps were light as she hurried down the lecture hall steps, practically skipping out into the open air.

Outside, the campus was alive. The late afternoon sun dipped low, bathing everything in gold — ivy-covered brick buildings, cracked sidewalks, and bustling groups of students laughing and lounging on the grass.

(Y/N) slowed her pace for a moment, breathing it in — this small, ordinary perfection. The scent of fresh-cut grass, the murmur of distant music from someone’s speaker, and the sharp, cold bite of metal as she adjusted the strap on her bag.

Today was supposed to be a celebration.

Today was supposed to be the start of something bigger.

She dug her phone out of her pocket as she crossed the plaza, her thumb hovering over a half-written text she'd been composing between classes:

"Got a new idea. Think this might actually be the big one. Can’t wait to show you."

She smiled faintly at the screen, imagining the way her best friend would roll her eyes but grin anyway — always the first to believe in her, even when she barely believed in herself.

You’re meant for something more, she’d said once, drunk on cheap coffee and late-night hopes. You’re not just another face in the lecture halls. You’re gonna build something real one day.

Maybe she was right.

Maybe today was the first step.

Without letting herself overthink it, (Y/N) hit send and tucked the phone back into her pocket, heart lighter than it had been in months.

Her apartment sat just off campus, squeezed above an old laundromat that had long since given up pretending to work. The walk there was familiar — cracked sidewalks, peeling posters for bands she'd never seen, the comforting scent of street food vendors setting up for the evening rush.

She loved this city. Not because it was perfect — it wasn't — but because it was alive. Messy, stubborn, hopeful.

Like her.

She was halfway home when a new sight caught her eye: A narrow little storefront she'd never noticed before, tucked between a boarded-up video rental and a tattoo shop. The sign above the door swung lazily in the breeze, faded letters spelling out:

"Yesterday’s Treasures."

Something about it tugged at her — a whisper at the back of her mind, a strange pull she couldn’t explain.

Curious, she crossed the street.

The little brass bell above the door jingled as she stepped inside.

A wave of warm, dusty air wrapped around her, thick with the scent of old paper, rusted metal, forgotten things. The place was a chaos of shelves and piles — cracked radios, tarnished camera lenses, ancient arcade boards leaning against battered furniture.

It was perfect.

The man behind the counter looked up with a tired but genuine smile. His hair was wild and white, his apron stained with oil and old paint.

"New face," he said, voice rough with years but kind.

"New shop," (Y/N) replied, offering a grin.

He chuckled and waved a hand at the towering shelves. "Go ahead. You might find something worth saving."

(Y/N) slipped between the aisles, her fingers brushing over relics of another era — a cracked Game Boy screen, a rusted typewriter ribbon, a battered Polaroid camera whose lens winked lazily at her.

Everything in here had a story.

Maybe she could find hers too.

For a moment, the world outside melted away — the pressure of exams, the endless lectures, the gnawing fear that maybe she'd never be enough.

Here, among the ghosts of forgotten inventions, she felt something rare and fierce rise in her chest:

Hope.

She was admiring the faded keys of an old mechanical keyboard when she heard the shop owner muttering behind the counter.

"...junk. Should've thrown this out ages ago."

Curious, she turned and caught sight of him dragging something heavy from beneath a workbench — a battered metal box about the size of a small backpack, thick cables coiling out the back like vines. It looked old. Older than anything else in the shop.

But parts of it... Parts of it looked wrong.

The metal was too smooth. The wiring was too intricate. There were no brand marks, no serial numbers — just smooth panels and faint, unreadable symbols scorched into one side.

"What’s that?" she asked, stepping closer.

The man snorted. "No idea. Picked it up at an estate sale. Half the junk there looked like it came from Area 51." He shrugged. "Thing doesn’t even power on. Probably just a glorified paperweight."

He made to toss it toward a garbage bin near the door, but (Y/N) moved without thinking.

"I’ll take it."

The owner paused, eyebrow raised. "This old thing?"

She nodded, heart pounding with a spark she couldn’t quite explain. "Yeah. I like a challenge."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Five bucks. If you can make anything outta that, kid, you deserve a medal."

She handed over a crumpled bill, grinning widely as he slid the machine across the counter toward her.

It was heavier than it looked — almost humming faintly under her hands.

She hugged it against her chest, imagining late nights with a soldering iron, her best friend’s teasing laughter, the quiet triumph of coaxing life out of broken things.

Already imagining the future.

The sun had dipped low by the time (Y/N) trudged up the narrow stairs to her apartment, cradling her prize like a sacred relic.

Inside, the familiar clutter of her life greeted her — stacks of textbooks, piles of soldering wires, tiny robots with blinking LED eyes, and half-finished mechanical projects littering every surface.

She loved this mess. It was hers.

She kicked off her shoes, dropped her backpack carelessly onto the couch, and carried the strange machine reverently to her worktable by the window. The last light of the sun caught the metal casing, scattering fractured reflections across the walls like shattered stars. (Y/N) pulled her glasses off briefly, wiping the smudge from earlier onto her sleeve, then perched them carefully back on her nose. She tugged her sleeves back, rolling them neatly to her elbows.

"Alright," she whispered to the machine, setting out her tools with a sense of ceremony. "Let’s see what secrets you're hiding."

The hours slipped away unnoticed.

Circuits, screws, cracked lenses — she dismantled and studied each piece with practiced hands, losing herself in the familiar rhythm of discovery.

But something about this machine was... different. Some components were almost organic — crystalline filaments that pulsed faintly under her fingertips, cables that felt more like tendons than wires.

Every so often, she thought she heard it breathing. Soft. Faint. Almost imagined.

Static brushed across her skin like a whispered warning.

Still, she worked, undeterred — driven by a fierce, gnawing hunger to understand, to connect.

She wiped sweat from her forehead, smearing a faint dark streak across her glasses. She pushed them up absently, ignoring the chill now settling into the room.

Just a little more.

Just one more adjustment.

The machine shuddered under her fingers.

The overhead lightbulb popped with a sharp crack, plunging the room into flickering half-light.

I should probably stop.

I didn’t.

I was too close to something.

[always-andromeda]

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐋𝐋, 𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐃

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✯ Father Paul Hill x Fem!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ✯ 2925

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 ✯ taboo au + "Everything I've done...every atrocity, it's been for you."

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ✯ okay, I haven't exactly finished a piece in a good while. so this one is sort of serving as a warm-up and if it's terrible (which I have a good feeling it is lmao), I'm gonna have to ask y'all to be gentle on me. I've loved this man for a while now and this is sort of experimental. tl;dr: I am a sensitive little baby right now so treat me as such.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ✯ smut (minors, do not interact), obviously a pretty massive gap in both age and power, depictions of blood and death, could be read as dub con at first (if you squint really hard) but firmly lands on the side of full con, a lot of religious mumbo jumbo (lmao let's ignore the fact that I know almost nothing about Catholicism <3), so much blasphemy, oral (female receiving), a twinge of sub!Paul, and that's all I can think of!! let me know if more is needed!!

(mdni banner template credit goes to @cafekitsune!!)

Behind closed eyelids, all you saw was darkness. And through that darkness came white hot agony. It was practically blinding as it shot up your spine before detonating in your brain. Those little fragments of pain speckled across the inside of your skull.

You wanted to scream, hurl, cry, something. Anything to physically release the intense pain assaulted your nerves. But you wouldn't be granted that mercy. No.

For now, your suffering was confined to this unending darkness. For now, you waited in the void of your own being for the tragedy to subside.

For weeks you anxiously waited for the return of Monsignor Pruitt from his mission trip. Though spending your afternoons looking after the dementia ridden clergyman wasn't exactly your idea of a good time, it was far better than slumming it with Beverly Keane. After all, you were 99% sure that whatever Bev heard managed to make its way all around the island.

Crockett Island was a melting pot of rumors. By now you'd heard the stories; the mythology of the island's residents had woven together to form a complex tapestry. And the longer you stayed, the more you realized how little you desired to be a part of it all.

But you didn't have a choice. Whether you liked it or not, Crockett's citizens had already spun your narrative.

Everyone knew how your mother had taken you away from the island at the ripe age of five years old; saving you the heartache of being raised by an alcoholic father. Part of you had always been grateful for it despite how tough it had been being raised by a single mother who hardly had anything to her name. Yet you couldn't help the guilt that poured into your lungs like cement whenever someone mentioned how much your father had suffered before he died.

Because that was the only way you would've gone back to the island that lived in the shadows of your memory: death. And upon meeting Monsignor Pruitt, it became clear that death would also be the only way you'd want to leave.

The relationship that had bloomed between you and him was a humble one. He'd offered to talk you through your grief which you'd promptly denied. Though you attended services, you weren't much for religion and you weren't about to embrace it fresh off of the death of a father who was practically a stranger. It felt disingenuous.

Finding God is reserved for real tragedies, right?

You'd asked the question like it was a joke.

Monsignor Pruitt had merely tilted his head before replying in that lilting, raspy voice of his: Depends on what you think qualifies as a tragedy.

With a quick eye roll, you'd written the answer off as one of those unbalanced moments of his. Over the course of a few months, you'd become well acquainted with them. Going to services and keeping him company was something to do. Something other than rifling through decades of your father's clutter and further entangling yourself with the community. Something other than being reminded of your own wasted potential.

Strangely, the monsignor felt less like an all seeing eye and more like...a friend. And now, faced with his "temporary" replacement, you were finally certain of what qualified as a tragedy to you.

From the moment Father Paul had addressed the church, you were unsettled. He may have been perfectly kind and personable enough, but his mannerisms edged on the uncanny valley. It was the way he spoke during sermons and how that tone rarely changed during one-on-one conversations. Though he couldn't have been older than thirty, he often held himself as if he'd been around the block more times than anyone could fathom. It was easy to chalk it up to his nature. Of course the man of God had an eerie way of making you feel like a puny mortal.

But Monsignor Pruitt had never made you feel like that. You couldn't brush the thought of the old man out of your mind.

Every time Father Paul attempted to placate your worries, it only pushed you deeper into the depths of distrust. Somehow you just knew he was lying.

And for all of Father Paul's wisdom and mystique, he wasn't a good liar. His tone would shift as he glossed over your concerns with a quick reassurance that Monsignor Pruitt was recovering just fine on the mainland. When you felt brave enough to press him for more, he'd wring his hands or squeeze them into fists. Almost as if he had to physically stop himself from reprimanding you. After all, who were you to question him?

When your eyes finally opened, your vision was overwhelmed by the light. Softly, slowly, the light haloed around the head of a figure that carefully came into view. As your sight sharpened, you quickly realized who stood over you. 

The man you held the most wariness for was kneeling over you. His long face wrought with concern, the alarm bells were already blaring in your muddled mind. But as much as you tried to force the air from your lungs to scream, you could only let out a pathetic, strangled squeak.

That was when he spoke. His voice shook with what sounded like uncertainty, "You mustn't overexert yourself. You're still coming back. But don't worry, you'll be yourself again soon. All in due time."

No matter how much you tried to speak, to move, neither of the actions came to you. All you could do is watch as Father Paul pulled your paralyzed body into his arms and cradled you. And as the potency of your helplessness settled in, you vaguely felt tears prick at your waterline. 

Normally, you would've rather died than allowing yourself to cry in front of someone, especially in front of the father. This time you couldn't control the few tears that slid freely down your cheeks, landing on the father's hand where he gripped your still aching shoulder.

He noticed them immediately and let you out of his grasp long enough to stare into your glossy eyes.

You couldn't quite decipher the intent behind the softness of his gaze. But somehow it was enough to allow the nausea that had slowly been rising in your chest to subside.

Father Paul raised a hand to cup your face. His thumb carefully stroked your cheek, sweeping away the wet trails left by your despair. And whether it was from your sensitivity or the intimacy of the act, you didn't know. But your skin shivered. 

As you gradually regained the feeling in your body, you realized that the first thing you felt after the pain was him. The inherent warmth of his embrace. And in some fucked up way, it was comforting. Feeling like prey, you blinked back the rest of your tears and allowed yourself to soak up as much of him as you could; anything to get rid of the dull pain that plagued your nerves.

You noticed there were tears brimming his own eyes as he smiled softly. "There, you mustn't cry. You've been so brave and in return you've been blessed."

It was then that you began to regain enough cognizance to question what was happening.

Flashes of memory played each time you blinked.

That damned question had been on the tip of your tongue again.

So you found him in the recreational center. There he’d been, on his knees, praying fervently.

Hopefully you're praying for the monsignor's return.

You regretted the words almost as soon as you'd said them. Because as soon as Paul turned, he gave you that dark look that rarely graced his features. This time he hadn't even tried to hide it with his usual discretion.

He merely stared right past you with his eyes wide and pleading. 

You hadn't had the chance to see the thing that attacked you fully. But you felt its teeth at your neck. You felt your own blood dripping from your neck in such a thick stream that the dizziness came almost as soon as you hit the ground. You felt the rough, pale skin of the creature as it smothered you, greedily devouring every ounce of your life.

Of course you were surprised to find yourself lying on the sheets of Paul's bed in his modest home, but that shock was the least of your worries. How were you still alive?

He told his tale as your body mended itself. You didn't know how much time passed. All you knew is that you were enraptured with the sticky sense of dread that was growing in your stomach as he spoke.

You were acutely aware of just how much it sounded like a sermon. How, whether he was aware of it or not, he was pulling out every stop in the preacher's handbook to try and convince you. And if he didn’t sound so convinced himself, you would swear this was deliberate manipulation. But nothing else could possibly explain his youthful appearance and all that he knew. He could recite your history right back to you despite the fact that you’d never once trusted him nearly enough to give it. Only the monsignor knew your deepest fears and your darkest secrets. But this wasn’t your monsignor.

Father Paul was some new beast; an amalgamation of the sweet old man you’d once known, the deceptive preacher who took his place, and some other supernatural force that you couldn’t quite name.

Though you’d only caught half a glimpse of the creature, you attempted to express your terror. That only spurred him on further as he contended that when an angel of the Lord appeared to the shepherds upon the birth of Jesus, it deliberately told them to not be afraid.

But none of that explained himself. None of it allowed you to comprehend how Monsignor Pruitt could've shed decades of life; how the old man could now stand there, blood drying on the bottom half of his face, and look at you as if you were something he could have.

You didn't have to ask. You knew by then that when the creature had had its fill of your blood, Father Paul had pulled the scraps of you away for himself. The thought hit you dangerously and made something deep inside you rumble. Like a natural disaster, this had unearthed a litany of complications that you never could’ve anticipated.

“We are at a crossroads," Father Paul said gently before letting his conviction surge again, “Now, you once said that finding God was reserved for those experiencing tragedy, correct?”

You nodded sagely. 

Father Paul grasped your trembling hands in his own, “Have you not experienced one of life’s greatest tragedies? The ending of it? You fell right over the edge of life and before the waters of death could claim you, He brought you back. Hebrought us together.”

You shook your head in defiance.

“This was meant to happen. This was part of His plan, for our faiths — our lives — to be renewed.”

With your throat still stiff and dry, you croaked angrily, “There was nothing wrong with my life! There was nothing that needed to supposedly be renewed!” 

He raised his voice suddenly, “Why did you come to this island?”

“Because my father died.”

“A father who was no better than a stranger to you,” he recalled your own words quickly. If the monsignor had been wise, Father Paul was as sharp as a knife, taking his jabs at you with complete accuracy. “You didn’t have to come here. You didn't have to make friends with a crazy old man. By the grace of God, you were led here. You were led here so you could be shown this truth; this gift. And you are denying this gift."

You had to admit that your draw to Crockett had been strange. At first you'd attested it to some childhood curiosity. But you'd deliberately put off taking care of your father's run down property, instead opting to spend time walking in the light of Pruitt. In truth, his companionship had been a breath of fresh air. 

Though the people of Crockett adored him, it was always tinged with pity. You'd never pitied him; only admired him for his wisdom and his resilience. 

Paul's expression softened as he held your face in his hands. "Everything I've done...every atrocity, it's been for you." That was when you saw the edges of his wisdom begin to lift and fall away like a second skin he'd crafted over his own vulnerability.

Underneath it...he was simply a man. A man who wanted to save you. 

“Let me give you more. Let me show you how you can trust me," he whispered.

The first kiss inspired an odd mix of emotions in your chest. There was the coppery tang of dried blood on your tongue, strong enough that it took everything in you not to flinch away from his hold on you. But you remembered his reference to the angel and the shepherds.

Do not be afraid.

So you continued, deepening the kiss with a turn of your head. And for all of the worldly experiences Paul had, you became acutely aware that this sort of connection was not among them.

Whether there'd been any true romantic feelings for the aging monsignor, you couldn't quite say. But your fondness of him had transferred to the man before you. Granted, the transfer wasn't smooth, but it was there nonetheless. Somehow it was stronger than ever as he took your hand and brought it to his lips. The kiss he pressed against your palm was slightly tacky with your own half dried blood still lingering.

You brushed a lock of his wavy, dark hair back so you could properly meet his gaze. With the shroud of time having fallen away from his features you could see just how handsome the man was. It was a hesitant sort of attractiveness; as if the banner of God had prevented him from seeing his full potential.

He'd fed on your life and made himself new. And the thought of your monsignor living on in that small way...all because of you? The electric twinges that sparked in your chest were almost too much to bear.

Without fear you devoured him in another kiss. Quickly the mood turned from reverent to ravenous as Paul attempted to keep up with your fervency.

He couldn't remember the last time sin had overpowered his sense of morality. Because he knew in the traditional sense, this was pure sin. No matter how wrong he believed it might have been to let his hands roam your figure, in his bones it was a temptation that finally felt correct. There was none of that hesitance or shame or fear that he'd felt before. The pendulum had shifted on morality and he knew exactly what he needed to do.

Hardly a moment was spared as he tore into the long skirt and the underwear that had kept you modest for far too long. Perfect beauty like this had to be cherished.

So that is what he did. Planted firmly between your legs, he stared up at you with eyes that gently pleaded for permission; for salvation. With your own half lidded eyes, you nodded before spreading yourself open for him.

Like a flower, you bloomed beautifully and Paul groaned at the sight. He could practically feel the thrumming pulse before him as it waited to indulge him. His hot breath teased you and made sparks dance right beneath the surface of your skin. Still you stayed in place, patiently allowing him time to drink in the sight of your folds already puffing and glistening with slick.

Quietly, you heard him mumble something that you only caught the tail end of.

“–forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

It wasn't too long after that when his tongue found a home in that tight, warm crevice. Your hand knitted itself into his dark hair as you searched for something to ground yourself from the overpowering sensation. Something about this new condition of yours heightened every aspect of pleasure.

If you were in your right mind, it would make sense logically considering you'd felt the unbearable pain of your spine shattering and being put back together again. But this was overwhelming in the entirely opposite direction.

You experienced the pleasure on a cellular level as your climax rushed through your limbs. You seemed to feel the vibrancy of every emotion and atom that comprised your being. Nothing was spared from the glory of this blessing. Not your spasming cunt as it contracted around Paul's blessed tongue. Not your heart that was firmly on the track of restoration. And not your mind as it all at once fell apart in time with your quivering thighs. Blood pulsing, every single one of your pores felt more alive than ever as you finally embraced the higher power that had been waiting for you in the shadows all along.

At that moment, you believed it all. From the Angel to Father Paul's divine transformation to the euphoric paradise that enveloped your entire being...it was all real. And most of all, it was all yours. Thanks to the father's grace and generosity, you would create paradise with him. And that seemed possible. After all, with his head between your thighs, you’d both already created one.

[bird-in-the-space]

Bayverse Version (Part 15)

Under Ironhide's guidance, you train in combat. However, as the days pass, you find it difficult to concentrate and keep gloomy thoughts at bay.

Warnings: a bit of angst, combat training, reader feeling a bit gloomy about things, Ironhide and Epps being a bit supportive, and possibly reader overthinking things.

-------------------------------------------------

The sun shone brightly in the sky. The seagulls flew over the waves, occasionally diving into the sea to catch fish. Soldiers moved around the base, entering and exiting the building or undergoing some training. It was a rather calm day at Diego Garcia. 

Outside the base, you slam hard against the ground. A groan leaves you, as the landing was pretty painful. You push yourself off the ground, feeling your body aching, as this was your fourth time meeting the ground.

Ironhide stands over you. 

“You leave yourself too open, and your reaction time is slow. You’ll be dead before you can even take cover,” he stated. 

You release a sigh. Since the day you came back, the bots decided that you should learn some combat skills. Optimus agreed to it, and he appointed Ironhide as your trainer. You didn’t want to be rude, and knowing how to defend yourself didn't sound like a bad idea, so you agreed. Now you kind of regret it because most of the time, it's your face having a date with the ground. 

Ironhide at the beginning of your training said that he was not gonna go easy on you, but now you are certain he’s going too much not-easy on you. 

While you were training, Que and Ratched tried to figure out a way to separate the connection between Emily and her Allspark fragment, so far, nothing. And honestly…  

It has not improved your state of mind. 

“Get up and let’s try again,” Ironhide said. 

You sigh again. Maybe once you would have been interested in learning combat, but with everything going on in the background, it had not been easy to focus.  

When you didn't get up, Ironhide frowned at you. “What’s the matter with you? Your helm has been in the clouds lately. Do you remember what I said at the start…” he asked. 

“Stay focused or you’ll be dead metal,” you finished, having heard that sentence many times. 

“You know, I get why you guys decided that I should learn some self-defence, but shouldn’t I be able to stay away from violence and combat?” you questioned. 

“Is that what has been bothering you and made you focus like a scraplet?” Ironhide asked. 

“Kinda…” you mumbled before looking him in the eyes. “I was told I could just do the bare minimum and stay away from violence. But now the Cons are after me because of this stupid ability, and it feels like eventually, I’ll have to fight just to survive.”

“You guys keep telling me I have choices—but it doesn’t feel like that," you stated.

“‘(Name), you get to stay, but you’ve gotta do this or that. Hey, this one guy thinks you’re freeloading, so you need to be useful. Oh, and (Name), you better learn how to fight because the Cons are after you, and if you don’t, you might just die,” you vented, throwing your hands up before letting them drop to your knees.

“I have no control over my life, or whatsoever!” you exclaimed, hugging your knees. Your voice fell quiet as a wave of shame washed over you. You wiped away the tear that threatened to fall after your outburst.

You felt foolish. You didn’t usually let yourself break like this, and now Ironhide probably saw you as nothing more than a whining child.

Ironhide released a sigh. 

“Listen, kid. I get your frustration. You were not part of this war in the first place, and it should not be your war to fight. If it were for me, I would keep you out of the battlefield and places where you don’t belong,” he started. 

“But unfortunately, things just are how they are now. You are a transformer now and have an outlier ability that the Decepticons want. And they will do anything to obtain it for their own gain, and they will not care what you think or how it will affect you,” he continued. “And trust me, they can be very persistent,” he emphasized.

“Thus, you are bound to have a target on your back. This is the reality you have to accept and adapt to,” he said. 

You stared at the ground for a moment, hating that he was right about it. 

“The least we can do is help you learn how to defend yourself,” Ironhide said. “That way, you might be able to keep yourself from getting killed.”

“And one day, you’ll need to find the courage to start hitting back.”

“The harder you hit, the less inclined they’ll be to pursue you. The 'Cons might be persistent, but they don’t like prey that’s hard to catch,” he added. “Otherwise, they’ll never leave you alone.”

Then, he offered his hand.

You took it, and he pulled you up. 

“For now, try to learn to keep yourself focused on what’s happening right now. It will keep you alive. You can always brood about things later,” Ironhide advised. 

“Okay…” you uttered. 

“Now, let’s try again,” Ironhide said, positioning himself. 

You positioned yourself as he taught you. 

Slowly, Ironhide began moving his fists. You blocked them, staying focused—even though everything still felt heavy in the back of your mind. You couldn’t help but think about the possibility of having to fight those Decepticons. Sleep had been hard to come by since the incident, and the thought of facing a life-or-death situation sent shivers down your metallic spine.

After an hour or two of training, Ironhide finally called it a day. You felt a wave of relief as most of the session had been you kissing the ground and collecting bruises across your frame.

You walked inside the hangar with the bot. 

“You had a better reaction time this time, but you still have a long way to go,” Ironhide patted your shoulder.

You only released a sigh before you were met with the sight of Emily and Que, the older bot giving the Allspark fragment back to her inside some kind of locket.

“What’s going on over here?” you asked. 

“Oh, (Name). Good that you are here. I figured you would want to know the results of our investigation on the connection between Emily and her Allspark fragment,” Que said when he saw you. 

“And?” you waited for him to continue. 

“Well… we tried, “ he revealed. “But it seems we can’t sever the connection between Miss Walkerson and the Allspark fragment.” 

Your spark felt heavy with the revelation. 

“But… with the help of your human scientist, we were able to create a locket that masks the Allspark fragment’s signature,” Que explained quickly. “It will allow both the fragment and Miss Walkerson to remain hidden from Decepticon detection. We’ll also assign her a guardian to ensure she stays protected—at least until we can find another way to sever the connection in the future.”

“So what happens now?” you looked at Lennox. 

“Well, we can’t keep her here forever. We have done what we could, but she’s still a civilian. So, she will be watched over by a guardian until we find something else,” Lennox answered. 

“And who will be her guardian?” you asked. 

“Sideswipe has volunteered for that task. He will watch over her safety,” Optimus stated.  

“I watch over your friend,” Sideswipe confirmed, shifting his weight.

A small part of you felt relieved that Emily would have someone capable of keeping her safe, but you still couldn’t help feeling down about the whole thing. The Allspark fragment hidden in her necklace made her a target, and it would be pure luck if the Decepticons didn’t find out about her before the Autobots figured out another solution.

Emily looked up at you. “Don’t worry about me. We kinda suspected this would happen. I’ll be fine—especially with a bot like him by my side,” she said reassuringly.

“You better get going now,” Lennox said, tapping her shoulder.

Emily turned to you. “I’ll give you a call when I get home, just so you know I made it back safe.”

You nodded quietly.

“Ready to go, little lady?” Sideswipe asked with a grin.

“Ready when you are, big guy!” she smiled, and the two of them left together.

You watched them board the plane that would take them back to your hometown. Despite the assurances that Emily would be safe, you couldn’t shake the unease of her having to carry the Allspark fragment, especially with Decepticons potentially lurking around every corner. But what could you do? You can’t even fight without ending up kissing the ground.

After Emily’s departure, you went to your driving lessons. You figured it’d be easier to learn the rules of the road from your own kind. Of course, Galloway had raised complaints about the earlier chase, conveniently ignoring the fact that you were escaping from a Decepticon.

You nearly felt like flicking that guy across the room. 

Even Emily did not like him and questioned why someone like him was assigned as a liaison between the humans and aliens, especially when he hated the latter. 

So, besides your combat training, you learned to drive on the side. Most of the time, it was your dad and Lennox, but sometimes Epps agreed to fill in when they were busy. You had become relatively good at driving in your alt-form, and transforming was no longer a challenge for you.

You waited in the small training area while Epps prepared to begin your lesson for the day.

“Alright, let’s see what we’ve got today,” Epps said as he climbed into your driver’s seat. He glanced over the list of driving lessons your dad and Lennox had put together to track your progress and the skills you still needed to learn. So far, you’d covered all the basics.

“Okay, how about we run through some driving and parking,” he said, nodding toward the course. “Go through there.”

You started moving, quietly focusing on the road ahead, trying to keep your thoughts to yourself.

“You have been rather quiet. Did something happen?” Epps asked. 

“Uh… uhm,” you stumbled, trying to find the right words. 

“No. Nothing really happened,” you answered.

“I... just can’t stop thinking about Emily and that she’s stuck with the Allspark fragment,” you confessed. 

“Yeah. I heard about that. An Allspark fragment is not something you wanna be stuck with,” Epps said. “I watched how the Decepticons went crazy trying to get it when it was still a cube,” he shared. 

“But with the signature hidden and a bot guarding her, she should be fine,” he added.

“Yeah, but I can’t stop thinking that something might go wrong. If the Decepticons find out she has the fragment, it will be hell for her,” you said. 

“They literally kidnapped me when we least expected it,” you added.

“You really care about her, huh?” Epps asked with a smile. 

“Of course I do. She’s my best friend,” you replied.  

“I lost all control of my life when I became this. I don’t want that to happen to Em, or worse…” You uttered, thinking of the possibility of her getting killed. 

“I know how you feel. I would do anything to see my buddies get back home safe and sound as well. This is relatively dangerous business we’re dealing with,” Epps admitted.

“But think positively. Maybe the bots will find a way to keep her safe sooner or later, and if you finish your combat training, they might even let you be Emily’s guardian,” he continued, offering a hopeful glance.

“And you can trust us to keep her safe. All you gotta do is have some faith in us,” he finished with a reassuring nod.

“I’m not sure how. It feels like nothing is in my control or there’s nothing I can do,” you murmured. 

“I would assume, as a giant robot, there are many things you can do. You can transform, take on guys bigger than us, and even have a superpower—which is like, super rare to the bots,” Epps remarked with a grin. “I’d say that’s pretty cool,” he added with a shrug.

“I wish I could think positively like you do,”

Epps chuckled. “Nah, I figured you might be feeling a bit jealous about Sideswipe becoming Emily’s guardian,” he said.

“I won’t lie—I would’ve liked that,” you admitted. “But honestly, I feel better knowing someone skilled in combat is watching over her. So far, my best combat move is kissing the ground.”

Epps laughed. “You’ll get there eventually. Come on, let’s get this lesson over with.”

You continued your driving lesson as usual. It went relatively smoothly, and the conversation helped ease some of your worries about Emily. Even so, the thoughts still weighed heavily on your mind, especially the ones about your future.

During the lesson, you suddenly recalled the dream you had seen in your memories—the strange symbols and the metal planet in the sky. You had nearly forgotten about it, but now it lingered in your mind, leaving you to wonder: what could it mean?

Taglist: @beirynart

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I see an ask and became curious too, how is YOUR 🫵 opinion about the murder time trio? For a long time I thought they were just a fandom delusion, and only recently did I realize that there is a LOT about them (even though none of them have any canon relationship). I know your focus is on Killer, but I think it's interesting to know what you think of these two additions the fandom gives him (additions being Dust/Murder and Horror)

This one’s gonna be kinda short ‘cause I really agree with @signanothername’s interpretation of the trio quite a lot.

I do think Murder will always be a flight risk and Killer is pretty much placed on babysitting/warden duty. I doubt Killer truly gives a single flying fuck about their histories or pasts, but that doesn’t mean he won’t use the information he knows against them whenever he wants to be a bitch. Or even if he just wants to figure out what would happen.

I wouldn’t be surprised at all if Killer had a loathsome tendency to fuck around with them both, like they’re interesting lab rats. Killer’s SOULs in jars, except they still get to keep their SOULs.

I’m sure Killer will occasionally divulge information and tips about Nightmare, the castle, whatever he’s learned. Simply because he likes controlling the flow of information, and he likes being able to have some control over others’.

He might take up a “teacher” role at some point just for the hell of it, assuming he doesn’t quickly lose interest in Dust and Horror and fucks off somewhere on his own again. I doubt he’d really care to listen to or follow either Dust or Horror on the field unless Nightmare enforces it or it’d be more beneficial to do so.

I’m sure Dust and Horror would keep their distance from him, simply because Nightmare always seems to have an eye on Killer and they don’t want to be involved in that. Killer would notice, but wouldn’t care all that much. The other two likely view him as Nightmare’s toy or pet, so they keep away.

I’m sure Dust would have a problem with how Killer doesn’t care or even attempt to escape. (Assuming this is something Dust or Horror even know. Maybe Killer keeps that a little secret, instead just allowing/wanting everyone to think he chose to join Nightmare. Let people think he has more control than he does.)

Dust and Killer might occasionally talk shit about the human together and Killer might make an idle comment on how he sees Papyrus too, but I doubt it’d really go anywhere.

Killer doesn’t like talking about his past or being reminded of it, and he doesn’t even consider himself Sans anymore—he’s unlikely to connect to the concept of Papyrus, a brother, friends, or family the way Dust and Horror do and can.

He probably knows, logically, he once was Sans—and so therefore he likely had a brother, a Papyrus. But he also doesn’t..connect to those fragmented memories, so long ago and so alien to him he struggles to tell if they’re real or not.

In Killer’s eyes, not killing somebody is probably a sign of tolerance. Friendship is..something more complicated, tainted by foggy memories of Papyrus and his experiences with his closest and longest “friend,” Chara. So at most he probably just considers Dust and Horror coworkers he likes to fuck around with for fun—because considering them friends has implications for Killer.

There’s probably also this sense of unspoken “if you break them, you fix them” thing between Killer and Nightmare. Like, Killer’s allowed to play and mess around with the new additions, but he cannot push them too far that they become useless to Nightmare. And if he does, he has to put them back together.

So I’d imagine that whenever Killer manages to drag Murder back from his escape attempts, he’s also kinda required to play nurse for a bit and get Murder back into working shape. It’s a humiliating and dehumanizing experience for Murder, but Killer does pretty well in the physical sense of caring for someone—not so much on the emotional and mental front though.

Horror and Killer also have their “not eating” issues. Horror because of his famine and 7 year starvation, Killer for undisclosed canon reasons—possibly because of his own food trauma (such as food triggering sudden emotions or memories, like ketchup or spaghetti), perhaps his dissociation and unawareness of his limits, maybe eating doesnt inspire any emotions in him very often, maybe starving himself helps gain a sense of control. Who knows, but it’s something that they have in common.

They’d probably all work together when they have to—they’re all dealing with the same shitty boss—but I doubt their idea of friendship would be typical. These guys probably torment eachother and it’s taken as something almost affectionate even.

But they’ll probably be some invisible, unspoken line between Horror & Murder and Killer. They view Killer as Nightmare’s. Horror will likely be disgusted by both Killer and Murder’s actions, what they did to their brothers—Murder will likely see far too many similarities between Killer and the human to be comfortable with him completely, and meanwhile Killer just isn’t capable of caring.

Meanwhile, Horror and Murder have that “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” thing, but they both ultimately have their own goals.

Murder wants to get back to his AU and would probably ditch Horror in a heartbeat if it means doing so. Horror still has his brother to look after, so I’m sure he’ll rat Murder out if it keeps his Papyrus and AU safe. I’m sure they both understand that about eachother, though.

Sorry if this wasn’t really all that interesting. I’m kinda basically just repeating another’s views on it because I already agree with that interpretation 💀.

On another note, should Killer ever go into Stage 1 while in a Bad Sanses AU, I’m sure he’ll keep his distance from the others; either by staying in his room or leaving the castle frequently. I’m sure it’ll be quite a long time before Killer allows himself to be Stage 1 around the others, and Stage 1 would do his utmost to avoid them, and it’s possible that if they ever did encounter him like that, it’d be an unplanned, unpleasant accident.

( @qin-qin16 ).