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kazumist · 3 days ago

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SWEETLY BAKED WITH LOVE .ᐟ

✩ — in which zayne finds himself in a problem with his older patients relentlessly introducing and telling him about their daughters and granddaughters to him because he's single. what's a good way to shoo them off? perhaps wearing a keyring and fake dating your friend would do the trick!

✩ — includes: zayne x f!baker!reader. fluff. fake dating trope (not executed properly sorry i dont think i gave it justice), not much drama and confession scene is a bit boring imo :/, pace is a bit messy, based of that one part in the cdrama "the best thing", cw: food mentioned (baked sweets and wine), they're both idiots in love, wc: 7,166. i went insane Yes so what.

✩ — note: hi babes @koiukiy-o it's finally finished like can u believe it. i finished it in one fucking day initially but i woke up at 6am in the morning today (its around half past 7am by the time posting this) and added a bit more.

for zayne, being a young, famous, and favored doctor in akso hospital isn’t as pleasing as it sounds. only because the majority of his older patients try to match him up with their daughters with every given chance during their appointments scheduled with him.

at first, it wasn’t all that serious. zayne even initially thought that maybe elderlies these days have started to grow accustomed to sharing stories of their children—of their daughters, specifically, who are coincidentally in the same age range as him. perhaps it was a new thing; yeah, that was probably it.

until the introductions became more frequent.

ONE: AS SURPRISING AS A SUDDEN BLUEBERRY CHEESECAKE AT YOUR DOOR.

from a father whose daughter is a successful certified public accountant (CPA) to a mother whose daughter is currently a cardiology resident in a nearby hospital, the names and positions of these women have started to jumble in his head. all zayne could do is take a deep breath and smoothly deflect the questions of his patients regarding his current relationship status.

“dr. zayne, you know, i have this daughter..." here we go again. zayne tunes out whatever the old woman was saying, nodding every now and then to convince her that he was interested. the old woman’s daughter was something of a business owner, though it’s not like zayne is actually paying that much attention to the description his patient was giving him. his focus is solely on the results that are in his hands.

“do you have someone special in your life right now, dr. zayne?” zayne pauses; the shuffling of the lab reports in his hands stopped as he processed the question.

does he?

zayne doesn’t think that he does.

he has a few people that he cherishes in his life, yes. but does he think of himself settling down with someone by his side? well… not really—not yet, at least. zayne hasn’t given it that much thought himself. “before i answer that question, let’s discuss what your results have given us…” this method of zayne changing the subject works like a charm every time he does it. and with a blink of an eye, the old woman forgot her question and left after getting her new prescriptions from him.

zayne leans back on his chair, taking off his specs and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. he takes a deep breath, until his peace is interrupted by a knock at his door. the old woman should’ve been the last one; yvonne just came in and told him so not so long ago. he sits up right, fixing his posture as his professionalism starts to take over.

yet when the door creaks open to reveal you, zayne’s shoulders relax as he sits back once again.

maybe his peace wasn’t interrupted after all.

“what brings you here?” he asks you, eyeing you suspiciously as you’re obviously hiding something from him behind your back. “i come bearing gifts—one sweet little blueberry cheesecake from your favorite bakery! tadaaaa!” you say, revealing the little box to zayne and settling it on his desk, hoping he’d also envision the imaginary jazz hands you were doing before putting a plastic fork on top of it for him to use.

zayne has a sweet tooth and that’s practically common knowledge to you. and with you owning a bakery... well, let’s just say that the youngest heart surgeon in linkon city plays his favorites when it comes to shops that sell sweet pastries.

a smile cracks onto his face as he sees the box. gently removing the fork on top and opening the box, zayne inspects the blueberry cheesecake before him as if contemplating if he should eat it now or save it when he gets home. “you don’t have to eat it now, silly. i just wanted to drop it off before your work ends today,” you say.

“no, it’s alright. i’ll eat it now. the toppings could get ruined when i travel back home.”

as he starts taking a few bites, you propped your chin onto your palm and lean on it, staring at the sweet dessert that’s slowly being consumed right in front of you. “sooo, do you have someone in your life right now, dr. zayne?” you asked him, putting emphasis on the way you called him as a sign of mockery.

zayne deadpans at your question, suddenly stopping himself from getting another bite. his expression is clearly conveying a message to you wordlessly: are you being serious right now? but zayne just sighs and continues on getting another bite before replying. “how did you know about that?”

“i heard you two through the door. and when your last patient came out—she was a delight, by the way, greeting me so kindly—she suddenly asked me if i was your girlfriend! i obviously didn’t answer her properly and good thing yvonne came in to save the day and escort her out of the cardiology department.” you told him.

the sweetness of the small piece of blueberry glides across his senses as he listens to you. zayne finds himself sighing deeply for what seems like the nth today, twirling the fork in his hand as he thinks. he doesn’t like burdening this problem of his with you, especially when you have nothing to do with it. “seems like you’re thinking about a lot there. are your thoughts being consumed by the numerous names that got mentioned to you?” you teased.

“i beg your pardon?”

“i was only kidding! you looked so deep in thought there. is everything alright?”

zayne doesn’t know either. he doesn’t know how long he could keep deflecting and changing the topics when his patients try to pry into this part of his life. he has a soft spot for his patients, sure, and he’s satisfied with his job. though zayne didn’t know that he would be signing up for this when he became a cardiac surgeon.

“yes, my apologies. i seemed to have spaced out for a moment there.”

you glance over him, observing his mannerisms and his habits. whenever zayne twirls or plays with the item in his hand, it means he’s thinking. whenever he sits back on his chair, that means he’s relaxed. yet you never seen him space out—not until now, at least—and that’s what’s different.

odd.

but you didn’t push the topic further, as you’re well aware that zayne isn’t the type to express himself so freely. and as if a light bulb literally just gained it’s light inside your brain, the gears inside your head started turning as you suddenly got an idea. “i think i just got the greatest idea of my life.” you asked him.

“and what would that be?” he asks back. should i be scared? he thinks.

“you’ll see! just you wait and look forward to the next time i’ll drop by and visit.” you flash him a grin as zayne finishes the last bit of the blueberry cheesecake.

TWO: AS ENTICING AS SIX MACARONS SERVED RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU.

the next time you saw each other, you didn’t visit zayne. zayne visited you, striding towards you sitting behind the counter. today was a saturday. and during saturdays, you open your shop a bit later than your usual opening time during weekdays.

seeing the doctor visit your shop sometimes gives you a pinch of nostalgia coursing through you. you never would’ve expected to form a connection with a praised doctor in linkon in your life. but you don’t really have any regrets about it. you enjoy the surgeon’s company and he seems to enjoy yours.

“and what brings you here today, dr. zayne?” you say, greeting him as his eyes scan the pastries displayed before him. “please, refrain from the formalities. do you have anything new to recommend?” he replies.

your gaze follows his as you join him in looking for a pastry to offer. “hmm… oh! i know! you could taste test a new macaron flavor i’ve been trying. would you mind taking a seat while i got get them for you?” zayne nods before finding himself a seat and you take that as your cue to start running towards the kitchen located at the inner part of your establishment.

when you got out, you joined him at the two-seater table he decided on, sitting across from him. “lately, i’ve been indulging myself in making macarons, right? and i wanted a different flavor for a change so i paired two ingredients together! take a bite and guess what it is.” you said, pushing the box of macarons towards him.

zayne inspects the macarons in front of him, attempting to deduce the flavor. it has a light brown color, with the filling having a deeper shade of brown. could it be two types of chocolate? he thinks.

“staring at it will get you nowhere if you don’t actually taste it, you know.”

he snaps out of his thoughts at your words. he awkwardly coughs into his fist, avoiding your gaze. you stifled a laugh at him but zayne noticed it, feeling his ears grow hot. “ahem. pardon me for that. i’ll taste them now.” he says, grabbing a piece of the pastry. as soon as he takes a bite, the familiar taste of coffee beans (perhaps roasted?) and nutella washes over his tongue.

you were right; this was a different flavor that you don’t see often. “it’s delicious. were the coffee beans roasted? or were they grounded?” a small gasp escapes your lips at his question. “it was roasted, yeah! i’m surprised you noticed that; i didn’t think anyone would.”

“i felt the small chunks of the coffee beans as i chewed. and nutella as a filling balances the taste of the beans. i’d say it’s a good product to endorse.”

“really?”

zayne hums in agreement, finishing the macaron in his hand before grabbing another one from the box. “i recall that you haven’t told me your “idea” yet since the last time we saw each other.” he says, before taking another bite.

“oh! sorry about that; i keep forgetting to stop by akso hospital lately. but worry not—i didn’t forget about my idea!” you replied, fishing something out of your pocket. it was a keyring, though it wasn’t that obvious at first glance. “your idea is... a keyring?” he asks.

“wrong, the keyword is ring!” you say, grabbing his hand to check if it fits on his ring finger.

you seemed unaware of the effect of your actions, suddenly taking zayne by surprise by your sudden touch. he feels the cold metal wrap around the ring finger of his dominant hand. “look, it’s a perfect fit! just remember to always have it on, especially when you have appointments and surely those introductions would be gone, right?”

zayne inspects the keyring around his finger, flipping his hand as he takes it in. “i never would’ve expected that a keyring could act as a marriage ring.” he states. “m-marriage ring?!” you exclaimed. i never really thought of it as that. you thought, mentally sweatdropping. “is it not supposed to be?” zayne’s gaze at you shows obvious confusion. “well… i guess it could serve as that. i just thought of it as some fake promise ring that you could use at most.”

“the purpose is the same. i don’t think it matters what it stands for—the main purpose of this is to show my older patients that i’m taken, right?”

“yup! it’s nothing much, really, but i feel bad for what you have to endure when you have your appointments. do you think it would work?” you reply.

“we just have to play our cards right and then we’ll see.”

“mhm! wait—we?”

“yes, we. did i say something wrong?” there he goes again with the confused look.

“what do you mean… we?” this better not be what i’m thinking. you hoped, bracing yourself for whatever bomb he was about to drop.

but just as your luck to that runs out, zayne replies. “i thought we were both going to be wearing keyrings?” fuck, i knew it. you thought. inside your head, you can envision yourself on all fours, punching the ground as you also try to think of something—anything to reply with.

“but you’re the only one who has this... conflict. what use would it be if i also wore one?”

before zayne could even realize it, he already took a step and started sailing in dangerous, uncharted waters. “you told me a few times, including the time that you last visited, that my patients have wondered and asked if you were my significant other. wouldn’t it be more convincing if we were to uphold that sentiment?”

you swore you could feel your soul drain itself out of your body.

“so you want us to... fake date, basically? so we could stop your older patients from introducing their endless amount of daughters and granddaughters? did i get that right?” you ask again, just to be sure if what you’re hearing is actually right and real.

“yes, you’re quite spot-on.”

“you’re lucky that i have two keyrings by coincidence.”

well, it’s not like it’s going to be anything serious. and it’s also beneficial for me because they also pester me with their questions every time i visit. the offer is way a bit enticing for it’s own good—but everything should be fine.

with a soft sigh and one macaron left on the box (you and zayne were snacking on them as you had your discussion), you spoke again. “you’ve got yourself a deal. you better start wearing that keyring, dr. zayne.”

“i don’t think you should be calling me that when we’re supposed to portray ourselves like a couple.” he remarked.

you choke on your own saliva at his statement. “w-we’ll talk about the other details another day! how does the next time i visit—which i actually promise to do now—sound?” cursing yourself for stammering (but how could you not when he caught you so off guard?), you try your best not to embarrass yourself any further. “that sounds good.”

as the last macaron on the box you served gets consumed, you find yourself securing a peculiar deal with a certain heart surgeon.

THREE: AS SOUR AS A BITE OF STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE MELTING ON YOUR TONGUE.

staying true to your promise, you visited zayne a few days after his visit to your bakery. you had the same keyring wrapped around your ring finger, hoping to find zayne the same. “are you busy?”

he glances at you from his monitor and you notice that his shoulders relax again when he realizes it was you in the doorway. “what pastry do you have in store for me this time?” he asks you as you approach to have yourself a seat on the small couch.

“sadly there’s no pastry today; i accidentally forgot to grab one from the bakery’s fridge before i left but next time i’ll bring you some strawberry shortcake!”

“i’ll take note of that.”

zayne then continues to speak. “about where we stopped our discussion last time... would it be okay with you to completely drop with the formalities in general? you don’t have to call me dr. zayne, especially when we’re in the hospital.”

“what do i call you then?”

“zayne would be just fine. almost no one calls me that here.”

“zayne, huh… zayne, zayne… zayne.” you repeat his name to get yourself used to it. “alright then, doct—i mean, zayne.”

he nods at you in acknowledgement as you shift your gaze at his dominant hand. surely enough, you saw that keyring on his finger. “i see you’re wearing the keyring. did it work so far?” you ask him. “actually, yes, it did. the introductions lessened and i found myself at peace with most of my appointments today.”

“so my plan does work. huh, i never would’ve thought.” zayne takes this as an opportunity to reply. “how about you? did your keyring work?”

“not yet, i guess? when i arrived, yvonne told me that your appointments and checkups were done for the day. so i didn’t really encounter any of your patients today. maybe next time.”

zayne visited your bakery during the weekend again. although unfortunately, you weren’t there. one of your employees said that you were busy with an errand today so zayne just got a slice of yet another blueberry cheesecake on the go and quickly made his leave.

(he doesn’t see why he would stay when he isn’t sure of what time you’d return.)

the next time you and zayne saw each other, you had forgotten to bring the strawberry shortcake you told him back then. but what did happen is that you encountered a few familiar patients of zayne’s. they were all women who looked like they’re in their mid-sixties in a group of three. they were chatting nearby the entrance to zayne’s office when they spotted you.

and apparently, one of them recognized you.

“hello, dear. you’re the one who brings dr. zayne snacks, right? i remember seeing you here before.” she says, approaching you. “ah, yes! that would be me.” you let out a soft chuckle at her. “how kind of you to do so! are you perhaps his girlfriend?” another woman asks. the woman who approached you (who introduced herself as violet), shushes her friend. “don’t throw sudden questions at the lady! sorry about her, dear.”

the third woman in their group suddenly perks up and points at your hand. “look violet, her ring looks familiar... where have i seen it before, i wonder?” as soon as she said that, all three of the women’s attention was now all on your hand with the keyring on it.

“isn’t that like the ring on dr. zayne’s hand?”

there was then a moment of silence before they all realized what that question meant.

after escaping the clutches of their neverending queries (that you tried to answer as much as you could, and you never could’ve escaped without yvonne’s help of escorting them out), you finally got to knock on zayne’s office.

“come in.” his voice sounds muffled through the door.

once you settle down yourself inside, you let out a huge and relieved sigh. “was there a commotion outside? i heard multiple voices through the door, one of them being yours.” zayne asks.

“ah, well it turns out that your patients are really observant. did you know i had to make up some fake story on the spot of how we met?”

“is that so? do you mind telling me what this story is? they might ask about it the next time they come for a checkup.” he replies.

the actual story of how you and zayne met wasn’t really that far off from the one you told the small group of old ladies.

(it was dusk when you encountered zayne on the sidewalk; you accidentally bumped into him and he noticed you were seemingly in a rush. “oh my god, i’m so sorry! i wasn’t looking where i was running.” zayne waves his hand dismissively. “it’s alright, are you hurt?”

“not at all—” you checked the time with your wrist watch. “crap! uhm, excuse me, sir. do you know if there’s a flower shop nearby here? i’m in a terrible need of dried flowers at the moment.” you ask him.

zayne thought about it for a moment, trying to recall if there is one. he then tells you the directions to the flower shop he has seen in the area and you immediately thanked him. “thank you, thank you so much! feel free to drop by the cozy oven. my treat for helping me! thank you again, kind sir!” you say before running off in the direction he told you.

that was first time you met him and you were sure that was also the first time he met you.

but what if it isn’t?)

“oh, you know, i just told them some silly old cliche where i bumped into you while holding two bouquets of flowers and decided to treat you to some coffee as an apology. nothing that out of the ordinary, really.”

“noted. they’ll probably ask me about which bouquet it was next time.” this time it was his turn to let out a sigh.

“oh yeah! one of my staff members said you visited the bakery last weekend. sorry, i was busy that time. my friend ordered a cake for this event and i was also invited to it so i had to leave the job of handling the bakery to my employees.” you told him. “it’s alright, don’t fret.”

that day ended with zayne offering you a ride home.

the next few times you and zayne were together after that, you swear something was changing.

you never thought zayne could be the touchy type; he grabs ahold of your hand, going as far as interlocking your fingers together. hell, he even puts his hand on your waist when you’re walking in public.

you knew what you were getting into when you both agreed on that deal. but it’s just so... strange. scary, if you think about it.

how is he so good at this? no, more like—

why does it feel so real?

zayne is an attractive man, and that was certainly a fact. smart, rich, handsome, and well-mannered—he’s even soft spoken for goodness sake! that man has got it all, which is no wonder why some of his patients would want to set up their daughter with him. any woman would be lucky to experience what it’s like to be loved by him.

but is this what it feels like?

perhaps.

that was all you could say—after all, this is all just a fake setup so you both could shoo away his patients.

yet if it was all fake, why were your faces suddenly so close to one another right now? your lips were close to brushing against each other; one small nudge and you’d find out what it was like to kiss zayne.

the sudden phone ring echoing somewhere in the room snaps the both of you out of it.

as you both pull away out of surprise, zayne picks up the phone. “this is zayne speaking.” he says.

you just sat there on his couch, wondering many things.

it’s just a fake stunt. don’t get sidetracked, (y/n).

but why is it that whenever you remind yourself that it is fake, an uncertain pang hits your chest? you never could tell zayne this; he might think you suddenly have a heart condition and be concerned (and you wouldn’t be surprised because he is someone who is under cardiology).

this could be nothing. no, scratch that; it is nothing. zayne is an impossible man to reach, and he is only a friend to you.

nothing more, nothing less.

the next time you visited zayne at akso hospital, you finally had a slice of strawberry shortcake stored safely in a box for him.

you were still distracted by the time you two almost kissed, but you couldn’t let zayne know that for obvious reasons.

at this point in your fake dating plan, his patients are all convinced that you both are together, finding it cute and squealing in awe when you see each other in the hallway where his office is located. you were surprised at how well you and zayne were pulling this off.

“special delivery for dr. zayne?” you say, peeking through the door to check if he’s busy. “and what did i order this time?” he asks back. you take that as your cue to step inside. “one slice of a promised and long overdue strawberry shortcake!” you told him, setting down the small box and another plastic fork on top of the box.

“about time you remembered.” he says, taking the fork and opening the box. the familiar scent of strawberry shortcake then circulates around the two of you, which made zayne take a bite almost immediately. “are you planning on visiting the bakery this weekend?” you then ask him.

zayne swallows before he speaks. “i have thought about it, yes. and i was actually planning to ask you about your weekend plans today actually.”

“oh? why?”

“i was just wondering if you’d like to make plans with me since i’m usually off-duty during weekends.”

you become a bit awkward as soon as zayne says that. and zayne, being as observant as ever, obviously noticed it. “is there something wrong? it’s okay if you’re busy.” you waved your hands at him, “no, no! it’s not like that. well, kinda i guess? ugh, it’s just that…”

“i may or may not have agreed to go on a blind date this weekend.”

if zayne hadn’t listened that carefully, he would’ve missed it. but no, he caught every single word that slipped out of you. the sour taste of the sliced strawberry, along with the spongy texture of the cake, suddenly felt like sand in zayne’s mouth. and as ironic as that, he suddenly feels iffy as soon as you say that—like he was also sour. “is that so… that’s alright. you should enjoy your plans instead.”

“wait. you’re not mad?”

am i mad? zayne mentally asked himself. he doesn’t think he is, but he does somewhat feel disturbed by the idea of you going on a date with another man, and that doesn’t feel right to him either. “i’m not. why would i be mad?” a lie.

you stiffen at your seat, trying to come up with an explanation. that question just slipped off of your tongue; you didn’t mean to ask that. “well, uhm.. you know, because we’re in this fake dating thingy, i just thought it would be weird to you if i were to go see someone else and all that, yeah.”

“you said it yourself; this is all fake. so i’m not stopping you if you want to do that.”

ouch? why does his confirmation that it’s nothing serious get a kick to it? you thought. “really? okay then, thanks for letting me know.”

zayne couldn’t shake off the sourness of the strawberry from his tongue. and the thing is—the strawberries that you use for your products aren’t even that sour. it was more sweet than sour in the first place. so why? why can’t he get the sourness off?

why does he suddenly feel so bitter at the thought of you seeing someone else?

the rest of the hour felt a bit suffocating after that.

FOUR: AS BLAND AS MISSING THE DELECTABLE TASTE OF YOUR COMPANY.

when the weekend rolled around, zayne didn’t visit your bakery. he didn’t find a need to because you weren’t there. he wasn’t close to your staff and he doesn’t really want to get close to them. and zayne isn’t that close with a lot of people in general, so he decided to spend his weekend at home.

he thinks about the conversation he had with you when you brought up the topic of having a blind date scheduled today.

and he still feels sour about that. he doesn’t know why.

then he suddenly remembers the one time when he was so close to feeling your lips on his. zayne hoped that he wasn’t obvious but this moment had perhaps made him short circuit. your face was so close—he could take every little detail of your features with the distance.

but you just had to have this blind date today.

zayne feels even more sour after that.

he was a doctor, yes, but he obviously isn’t an expert in psychology or emotions. so as he unlocks his phone, he opens the web browser installed and types in the search bar.

now, jealousy was a foreign concept for zayne.

he stares blankly at the results his search shows him, a part of him refusing to believe that what he was feeling was jealousy and the rational part of him telling himself that if this isn’t it, what else could it be?

but another question puts him in a dilemma. why is he even jealous in the first place?

of course you can go see other people. he doesn’t have the right to be mad about that. zayne didn’t own you, and you didn’t own zayne. if he were in your position, you’d just let him go on that blind date.

yet the idea of you falling in love with another makes him uneasy.

oh.

zayne wasn’t stupid. he didn’t need to drown himself in any more thoughts on this matter to realize what was happening to him.

he was falling.

falling for you, to be specific.

and there’s nothing that could help him.

being forced into a blind date never goes well. and you swore that you'd strangle your friend who forced you into this in the first place.

“so, what do you do for a living?” your date asks before sipping from his glass of red wine. “oh, i’m a baker. i run a bakery, actually. it’s located nearby akso hospital.”

“is that so? what do you usually bake?”

“i bake all sorts of things! from cakes to macarons—“ you pause when you say macarons. you suddenly recall the day when you asked zayne to taste test your new macaron flavor. you cleared your throat to regain composure.

“sorry about that; something just came to mind. but like i said, i bake a whole lot of cakes and pastries. i like to experiment with new flavors, you see. what about you?”

“oh, i’m currently a resident at akso hospital actually!” the man before you says. “really? under which department?” you ask him. “cardiology. i always found the heart a fascinating thing to study.”

you tried to hold yourself back from choking on your wine. “c-cardiology, you say…?” hearing the term come out of your date’s mouth has something uncomfortable bubbling up inside of you. your mind finds itself drifting back to zayne—

what am i even thinking? get a grip (y/n)! you’re on a date for fuck’s sake!

“mhm. one of my mentors is really nice, a bit cold but i know he’s just really like that. his name is dr. zayne, by the way.” and as if the universe is mocking you right now, your date just had to say that his mentor was zayne of all people.

“i think i’ve heard of him once or twice, yeah. he’s a good heart surgeon, right?”

as time seemed to pass by, you could feel yourself feeling more distracted. when the waiter came to ask if you’d like any dessert, your mind immediately thought of zayne.

while looking through the dessert menu, you wondered if zayne would like what this restaurant is offering. what would zayne’s opinion be on this?

and your date continues to speak, the sole fact that he’s a resident under zayne, was enough to sidetrack your mind towards him.

zayne, zayne, zayne. this whole date has done nothing but remind you of the doctor.

by the time the date was over, you entered the door to your apartment complex (which is located above your bakery) and slid against the door as soon as you closed it.

removing your heels as you were on the floor, you let out a sigh. “what the fuck is going on with me tonight?” you asked no one in particular.

the date wasn’t even bad but nothing about it felt right for you. like there was something clearly wrong with the whole principle of you going on a blind date in the first place but you didn’t know what it was.

you try to recall what happened before the blind date happened, trying to see if something would have triggered your current state.

your recollection brings you to the time you told zayne about the blind date a few days ago.

something felt off about him when you dropped the bomb on him that time. it’s as if something shifted in the air when you revealed your plans for the weekend to him.

“oh, god. you have got to be kidding me.” you facepalmed when the realization dawned upon you.

your thoughts were running. how could’ve i been so stupid? it was written all over my face in the first place! i like zayne. holy shit i actually—

but it all stops there when you then realize what you just said.

you didn’t visit zayne after your blind date. and when he visits your bakery, you hide yourself from him in the kitchen (and you also told your employees to not spill a word about your actual whereabouts, making them form excuses on what you’re up to).

simply to say, you were avoiding zayne.

it scared you. you didn’t know what to do with your new feelings, especially when the whole fake dating thing was still ongoing for the both of you.

how can you keep faking it all up when everything just feels so real? when you couldn’t help but wonder if you’re still friends after everything you’ve done?

zayne: Are you going to visit today?

zayne: I miss getting my special delivery.

you stared at his message, trying to process it. why did he have to say it like that? what does he mean by that? you thought.

(y/n): sorry, i can’t.

(y/n): i need to prioritize some cake orders for now. maybe next time.

zayne: Oh, alright then.

you know full well that there most probably won’t be a next time. you’ll just keep denying and deflecting as much as you can—and as long as you can.

however, zayne knew you were avoiding him and he most definitely didn’t need to be a genius to notice that.

but he doesn’t know why. was it something that he did? were you alright? perhaps you haven’t been feeling well as of late. were you overworking yourself lately?

zayne thinks about the time you two almost kissed again. maybe he should’ve gone for it. maybe he shouldn’t have answered that goddamn phone call. maybe—

maybe he shouldn’t have let you go on that blind date.

your phone vibrates against the pocket of your apron. you pull it out to check the notification and go blank at the sender.

zayne: Have you been well?

zayne: We haven’t seen each other lately.

his clinic hours are not the same as of late. zayne got so used to you visiting him at akso—to seeing you in general—that it just feels... bland now that you’re not present.

zayne misses you. and he wonders if you miss him too.

FIVE: AS SWEET AS KNOWING THAT I WASN’T TOO LATE.

(before you bumped into zayne on the sidewalk, you two had actually met.

once in a cafe, and once in the grocery store... zayne had noticed that since you two lived in the same community, it was bound that you’d encounter each other a lot—although you don’t really seem to notice him.

when zayne met you in the grocery store, the first thing that he noticed about you was that your shopping cart was halfway filled with baking ingredients. there were at least three (or was it four?) dozen of eggs stacked, two packs of all-purpose flour, a small bottle of sprinkles (both the colorful and chocolate ones), and a whole lot more.

at first glance, any other person would ignore you. zayne would be one of them—he had no clue why he noticed you and your shopping cart. he was only in the aisle because it’s the way to where the bread was located.

that was the first time zayne sees you.

the second time he saw you, zayne encountered you in a cafe this time. weeks passed since he saw you while he was out for groceries and you had papers sprawled all over the small table in front of you. zayne didn’t really get a good look at them but he assumed that it was all sorts of cake design from the single glance he got to have.

wedding cakes, birthday cakes, anniversary cakes. there were a whole bunch of designs. perhaps you baked for a living.

again, at first glance, any other person would ignore you. and zayne would still be one of them—though would this become a lie because isn’t it strange that it has happened twice? not like there’s anything bad with noticing you. it’s just... out of his character, per se.

the third time zayne meets you, it was the time you also recall—the encounter on the sidewalk. now, what were the chances that zayne would meet you there that late afternoon? he didn’t know.

and with that small conversation between the two of you happening, zayne’s assumption was correct. the baking ingredients, the cake designs, and now you telling him to visit your bakery—

maybe he should visit the cozy oven during the weekend.)

around three weeks have passed since you started ignoring him. you were surprised at how well you were doing so far. not like it was hard doing so. the real challenge was to ignore his texts and make yourself reply late.

and when he visits the bakery, which is what’s going on right now.

it was almost nine in the evening when you finished closing up your bakery. you heard footsteps getting louder, signaling that someone is walking towards you.

“there you are.” you knew that voice anywhere.

“zayne? what are you doing here at this hour?” you ask him out of surprise. “well, a certain someone seems to be hiding from me, so i thought it was time to change my strategy and do a surprise attack. it looks like it worked.”

“ah. sorry about that... work has been a bit busy. you know?” you take in zayne’s appearance before you, eyes slightly widening at the keyring that is still on his finger.

(how ironic because you were also wearing yours at the moment. your excuse would be “it was out of pure habit.”)

“so busy that even when i visit you hide yourself from me?”

he got you there. “i—no, no! it’s just that—“ zayne cuts you off with another question. “did i do something wrong?”

“what?”

“you heard me. (y/n), did i do something wrong? i understand that you’ve been busy but something feels different. like there’s something more to it than just you being busy.” he then says. why does he have to be always so observant?

the guilt of your decisions as of late started to eat you up inside. “i… i don’t know.”

“you don’t know?” zayne asks again.

“i mean, it’s not like i literally don’t know but it’s just... did we even do the right thing? you know, fake date and all of that.”

zayne could feel the unease creeping up on him with your question. “the plan worked, did it not?”

“no, zayne. what i mean is that did we do the right thing with fake dating in the first place? because for the love of god, we almost kissed! and—and we’re both old enough to realize that friends don’t just... kiss.”

“is this about your blind date a few weeks ago?” you don’t know what he means by that. because you never met up again with that blind date, telling him that as much as it was nice to know him, you’re not really interested in giving romance a whirl for now.

you didn’t know what to answer to that. “so it is.” he then says. you wanted to say no, but no words came out of you. it was as if your lips felt like they were sewn closed. “i guess i was too late then.”

too late?

“wait—what do you mean too late?”

zayne’s look in his eyes confused you. you couldn’t decipher the emotions that were present in his gaze. “aren’t you still seeing your blind date nowadays?”

then it all made sense to you.

zayne thinks the reason you started avoiding him was probably because he thought you hit it off with your blind date. before you could answer his question, he speaks again. “to be honest with you, recently, especially during your absence, i have come to the realization that i like you, (y/n).”

wait. what?

too speechless to cut in, he continues. “i felt off when you first said that you agreed to that blind date of yours. i just brushed it off back then but later i realized that it was because i was jealous. i soon regretted not doing anything about it—and when you started ignoring me, i couldn’t help but think that maybe you didn’t want to visit me anymore in my office as a sign of respect to your new lover.” in other words, i missed you.

you try to process everything that he just came clean about. but there is only one highlight in everything he said—he likes you. zayne likes you.

and you like him too.

“first of all, i’m really sorry for ignoring you, zayne. i honestly only did it out of fear because i recently realized that i like you too.” zayne was about to speak up when you raised a hand to shush him. “let me finish first. i never met with my blind date again after our first meeting. i told him that i kindly told him that i didn’t want to try romance for now—though that was partially a lie because i only find myself wanting to try romance out with you.”

zayne also only got one highlight out of that—you like him too. that’s all that matters to him.

“so i wasn’t too late?” he then asks.

you take a few steps closer to him. “no, zayne. you’re just in time.” zayne’s hands find themselves on your waist. “then can i kiss you?” you shoot him a playful glare. “are you sure a phone call isn’t going to interrupt us this time?” you then say, arms wrapping themselves around his neck.

“i’m sure.”

“then you can.”

and without hesitation, zayne leans in to capture your lips with his. he could feel you smiling in the kiss, and zayne savors the faint taste of your lippie—not minding that it might have smudged on his lips now.

when you both pulled away, you couldn’t help but giggle. zayne’s lips were covered in some of your tinted lip gloss. you reach out a hand to smudge it away before pecking him a quick kiss to his nose and asking him, “do you want to come inside? i have a new macaron flavor for you to taste test.”

“is that so? what is it this time?” he replies, hands not leaving your waist.

“salted caramel! but not the ones that are sweet; i made sure that this one actually has a salty kick to it!”

zayne definitely has a sweet tooth.

yet there’s nothing more sweet than knowing that you like him too.

#( writings )#love and deepspace #lads #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #zayne love and deepspace #lads zayne #zayne x reader #zayne x you #l&ds zayne #zayne #x reader

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cryinggirlnamedhelen · 14 hours ago

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seven - m. kaiser

you were seven years old when you first met the piece of trash named michael kaiser.

sitting on the swings alone with a busted violet lip and ripped jeans and scratched up, bloody knees wasn’t considered the ideal invitation for a friendship. but you had mindlessly approached him, sitting on the swing next to him before waving to him.

subhuman garbage looked up, wondering why such a nice girl would be looking at him, talking to him. but he didn’t question it and instead listened to you talk, introducing himself.

“but i don’t like to be called michael, so don’t call me that.”

“got it! you’re mihya then!”

subhuman shit—no, newly named mihya felt his heart skip a beat. no one was ever affectionate enough to give him a nickname, so such an experience made mihya strangely ecstatic. he nodded, a small smile slowly making way onto his swollen lips. “right. im mihya.”

the second time you saw mihya was only a few days later.

he had been sitting on the swings, crying his eyes out. this time he had a nosebleed, angry red marks on his neck, and his hands were nearly purple. you had approached him, your eyebrows knit together.

“mihya? what’s wrong?”

mihya had sniffled before looking up at you. “will you get mad at me…?” he choked out weakly. your jaw dropped, grasping both of his hands.

“mihya, i would never get mad at you!” you exclaimed. “you’re my friend!”

mihya muttered something incoherent before sighing. “…my dad. he gets mad a lot.”

you blinked a few times, your seven year old mind not quite comprehending the situation. but you frowned, looking up at the sky. “oh, i really hate it whenever mama and dad get mad at me. your dad is always mad? that sounds so bad. im so sorry, mihya.”

mihya nodded. “it’s…don’t worry about it.”

one day, after many encounters and at eight years old, you finally spoke your thoughts.

“i think your house is haunted.”

mihya, who had been chewing on garlic and sugar flavored bread from the bakery, stopped mid chew. “why?”

“well, your dad is always mad, and you’re always crying. you’re outside as much as you possibly can, and you don’t wanna be there. that sounds haunted to me. and when you are, you hide from him.” you muttered. “i don’t like that. i don’t like how you’re always crying and hiding.”

mihya hummed, quick to respond. “well, i guess i really got no other choice. i wanna avoid getting hit as much as i can.”

your chest tightened to the point where it hurt, a frown making way onto your face. “i love you, you know that? to the moon and saturn, i really do love you.”

mihya’s heart stopped.

and eight years old, having such a crush probably won’t end good for him. but no one had ever told him that they loved him before, and yet you say it out of nowhere, and to the moon and saturn? he might just die of happiness.

heat spread throughout his cheeks before he squeaked out. “i-i love you…too?” you gave him a toothy grin and gave him a high-five.

at ten years old, you’re on the swings once more, this time with a blue raspberry popsicle in between your lips. mihya has a strawberry flavored one, bought using your money.

“you know, mihya. we should move away forever. or maybe we could be pirates or something. y’know, like from one piece.” you said dreamily.

“that came out of nowhere. why?” mihya replied, tossing his now empty stick into the trash can of the park.

“so that we could get away from your damn father and you won’t have to cry anymore.” you muttered, pouting. “i’ve never even met the guy, and yet i hate him.” you chomped down on the popsicle stick, breaking it in half.

mihya laughed. “yeah? i want to leave too. and it sounds nice to leave with you.”

at fourteen, the news arrived.

you sat on the swings, sobbing into your hands. mihya had come from behind you, his heart aching when he saw your tears. you were the love of his life (you just didn’t know it yet), and your tears hurt him.

“mihya, im moving.”

three words, and yet it wasn’t the usual three words that was like music to mihya’s ears.

he swallowed, tears stinging his own eyes. “to where…?”

“japan. apparently it’s supposed to be a safer environment there or something like that. i have to learn the language and the customs and everything.” you sniffled. “but i don’t want to. i don’t want to leave everything i know. but i mostly don’t want to leave you, mihya.”

mihya wanted to go to your family and interrogate them and to beg them to let you stay. he couldn’t live without you, he wouldn’t be able to survive without the light of his life. you would leave and forget him within a month or two because you have all new friends, and he’ll just be another piece of your forgotten childhood. but you would still be his whole life; you were his first friend, his only real friend.

the only person who he will ever love and the only person who will ever love him.

“right. got it.” mihya replied, his throat dry.

two weeks later, mihya became subhuman piece of shit again.

however, at fifteen, the subhuman was arrested and eventually scouted.

subhuman became kaiser.

at nineteen, kaiser traveled to japan to participate in the still fairly recent blue lock program. although he was interested in blue lock’s new rising player isagi yoichi, he wondered if he could coincidentally see you.

nothing was impossible, after all.

—

for the past five years, you’ve been lonely.

the language barrier was resolved within three years of hard work, but unknown customs and a personality that didn’t match the japanese status quo just made everything worse. for years, you had no friends, you spent lunchtime alone, and worst of all?

you didn’t have mihya in your life.

there were nights when you felt so alone that you would just curl up with your pillow and remember mihya. your mihya. those beautiful seven years spent with him, years that you will never forget.

there was a night where you forgot what he looked like.

panicked and crying, you had opened up your phone immediately too look at a picture of him. after a few minutes of staring, your tears stopped as you memorized his face once more. you never wanted to forget him, not a single bit.

at nineteen and in desperation of college credit and money, you volunteered to be a manager of the blue lock program. ego jinpachi was a strange man, but everything was worth it for the money.

and you couldn’t help but think of your mihya, who you remembered bought a soccer ball for his twelfth birthday and adored it.

for years, you’ve refused to check soccer news out of heartbreak.

after blue lock won against the japanese u20 team, you were given a two week break, and was afterwards immediately shoved into the hell of the neo egoist league.

responsible for helping bastard münchen (“for it’s undeniable potential” said ego, although you really couldn’t care less.), you had walked to the germany wing expecting to have the rest the next few months surrounded by the company of isagi, kurona, yukimiya, hiori, and the others.

and yet when you entered, the first thing you saw was pale blonde hair.

the same that mihya had.

kaiser turned to you, as did the other blue lockers and bastard münchen members.

and finally, kaiser became mihya again.

BASED OFF OF THE TAYLOR SWIFT SONG “seven”

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cinnamorollcrybaby · 18 hours ago

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begging on my knees, ripping my skin off for shiu kong ANYTHING <3 ily cinna LMAOO

Bullet for my Assassin

Tags: Shiu x fem!Reader, Toji x fem!Reader, mfm, why choose, kidnapping, murder, dead dove, dark romance plot, you're being used for ransom, Toji and Shiu are morally black in this one.

Synopsis: Your dad is a wealthy CEO of Japan, but he hates you because you were born a girl instead of a boy. Toji and Shiu kidnap you and hold you ransom for money. Things ensue???

An: Hiiiii nepo baby, i know you said shiu kong anything. I hope you don’t mind Toji making an appearance. Also, HAPPY (so very late; i'm so sorry.) BIRTHDAY!!! Look, i gotta be honest. I ran out of inspiration for this fic, so I'm posting it, hoping it will revitalize some of that inspiration for a part two. That being said, let me know if I should make a part two.

Being the daughter of one of the wealthiest men in Japan was actually a death sentence. Since you didn’t have a dick between your legs, you’re obviously less than in the world of business.

Your dad pressured your mom into giving him children to inherit the company, but he didn’t want children. He wanted men to inherit the company. You were just a lowly girl!! How were you supposed to manage a company? Girls clearly didn’t know anything about finance or business. (can you smell my sarcasm)

Ruthless and cold, your father never showed you nor your mother an ounce of love. In fact, he had tried multiple avenues to try and prove that you weren’t his kid. Unfortunately for both of you, you share 23 of your dad’s chromosomes.

His anger was growing worse towards you as you got older and developed your own personality. Everything you did was wrong in his eyes. Even though the company was specifically suppose to go to his kid, your father had been toying with the idea of selling out just so you couldn’t ruin what he had built.

Not that you cared, you thought about how if you were the CEO, you’d burn the company to the ground just to spite his wishes. You’d love to see him turn over in his grave as he watched his baby burn because of his daughter.

You basically lived alone. Your mother had passed a couple of years ago due to strange circumstances, and your father never bothered to come home. There would be no point to socializing with the likes of you.

Your mother’s early death rocked you to your core. For your entire childhood, she was weary and exhausted. Your father directed his anger on her, and she couldn’t help but subconsciously put the blame on you. If only you were a boy.

She did a good job of not showing her true thoughts. She wasn’t a doting or nurturing, but she was there for you. She never raised a hand to you, never raised her voice with you, never called you mean names. That was all you could ask for whenever your dad was so vile towards you. While she wasn’t close with you, she was still your mom, and she was the closest thing to parental guidance that you had. Her death was the beginning of your lonely existence.

The mansion was like a prison for you. Since your dad was so prominent in social media, you had an image to uphold, and he didn’t want you ruining that image. So, he didn’t even give you the chance to interact with anyone outside of the house. The only way for you to escape his claws was to either get married or die, and getting married was impossible when you weren’t allowed to interact with anyone on the outside.

You preferred being alone. The empty quiet feelings was better than the anxiety you got when your father was home. He’d always start yelling at the waitstaff about something so minuscule. He harbored so much anger that the house practically turned sour when he came home.

What was the saying? If you grow up with an angry man in your house, there will always be an angry man in your house. The thought of marrying someone like your dad made you want to gouge your eyes out with a butter knife. Being alone was the best option.

Besides, the waitstaff was nice. They cared for you… albeit from a distance, but they cared. It was known that you received the worst of your father’s anger, so they empathized with you.

The house was particularly quiet late one evening. It wasn’t the normal quiet that gave you a sense of peace. It was eerily quiet, giving you a sense of dread. The sounds of hushed talking and dishes clattering was the usual background noise in the house from the waitstaff, but there was nothing right now… as if it truly was just you in the house.

The alarms would’ve went off if someone entered. Not to mention there’s security posted around the perimeter… unless your father was the reason that it was so quiet… Surely, it was just him. Maybe he sent the waitstaff home for the day?

You carefully slipped out of bed, pulling a robe on over your silk pajamas. Being a CEO’s daughter wasn’t all bad. You received luxury items in exchange for feeling void of any real human connection and your dad’s hatred!

Briefly taking a moment to wonder if you were being one of those dumb characters from a scary movie, you quickly pushed those thoughts out of your head. Your life was more of a tragedy than a horror movie.

Slowly stepping out of your room, the click of your door latching filled the space, and you held your breath for just a moment. Nothing.

You soundlessly walked down the hall. Since you were on the second floor, there was a landing where you could look over the rails to see the bottom floor.

Nothing. No- is that a foot? Is someone lying on the ground. You leaned farther over the wooden railing to see. You were surely mistaken, right? Who was lying on the floor?

The feeling of a hand pressing down on the back of your head. Fingers entangled with your hair as the unknown man gripped you from behind. His other hand was steady on your hip. You were being dangled over the side of the railing by a stranger.

Immediately, you started to thrash against his hold, panicking as you did so. “Let me go!” You shouted, kicking your feet out from behind you to try to get away from him.

Turning your head as much as his hand would allow, you only caught the glimpse of a scar on the man’s lip. He shot you a grin before pushing your body closer to the edge, almost making you topple right over the railing.

“Yeah, princess? Want me to let you go?” His voice was husky, teasing almost. It had a raspy edge to it that sent shivers up your spine as you were now trying to push back against him to get away from the edge.

Your eyes were looking at the drop, wondering if it was better to just fall than to face whatever this man was going to do you. Somethings were worse than death…

You switched tactics, pulling away from him instead of trying to get away from the rail. You were going to topple right over it. A growl of frustration left his lips as he easily yanked you away from the railing. Your body collided with his brick wall of a warm chest.

Taking a chance to look up at him, you immediately regretted it. The perpetrator had black hair that came over his forehead and pretty green eyes that you could get lost in. His lips seemed to permanently house a cocky smirk, and fuck, he was built.

“You must have a death wish, brat.” He scowled at you as if he wasn’t the one who dangled you so close to the edge.

Not bothering to answer his taunts, you quickly started to fight against him, beating against his chest with your hands, trying to wriggle from his grasp. He was massive. You were sure that none of your blows were doing anything to him.

Without any difficulty, the hulk-sized man slung you over his shoulder, securing an arm around your frame. He didn’t even flinch or bat an eye each time you hit him. Your fists did little to his toned back.

Not able to fight your way out, you use your next best defense tool: your voice. “Let me go!” You shrieked as loud as possible. “Let me go! Somebody help!” Tears coated your eyes, and your voice went hoarse from yelling.

“Let me goo~ Somebody help mee~” The man mocked you in an obscene high-pitched tone with a laugh. He had done his homework. Even if you screamed, no one would be coming to save you right now.

Every staff member in the house was deceased, and thank god your dear old dad is so paranoid that he put his mansion in the literal middle of nowhere. There were no neighbors that’d hear you either.

You were completely and utterly alone with the man who was kidnapping you. A deep sense of dread and hopelessness filled your stomach, and you continued to cry — weakly begging for anyone to help you.

The man toned you out rather easily as he carried you down the massive flight of stairs. He used his free hand to flip open a burner phone, and he dialed a number before talking.

“The security system is still down?” His gruff, no-nonsense voice returned to him as if he wasn’t just making fun of you moments prior.

Even though you knew it was likely one of his associates on the phone, you screamed for help. Hot tears coated your cheeks as your voice strained.

A firm smack to your ass jolted you, and your voice caught in your throat. Did your kidnapper really just spank you for misbehaving?

“The girl isn’t hurt. She’s just being dramatic. I’m heading to the pickup spot.” He didn’t let the person on the other side answer before he clopped the flip phone shut, effectively ending the call.

“Gonna get me in trouble acting like that, girl.” The man tsked his tongue, and he continued to effortlessly carry you around to the back entrance of the house.

You finally caught a glimpse of your poor staff members. Your heart lurched in your chest. They had families and lives. Now, they were dead on your floor because of this man.

The man didn’t say another word as you cried. He kept his one arm firmly wrapped around you as he so casually carried you out of the house. The security system and the guards had already been dealt with.

Soon, you unceremoniously shoved into the back of a black tinted car. You struggled as much as you could, kicking and scratching. You even tried to bite the man as he tied your arms behind your back.

“Keep fighting. I’ll hogtie and gag your ass.” He threatened lowly, becoming sick of this game with you. He never quite understood why people fought so hard against him when he clearly held the upper hand. It was useless.

Letting out a small sob, you laid against the backseat of the car. The leather interior felt cold and ruthless as your tears fell from your eyes.

“Come on, Toji. We don’t have all day.” The driver reprimanded as if the man was simply buckling in a toddler and not kidnapping a grown woman.

You flinched from the sound of the driver’s voice. You had been so focused on fighting against the Toji guy that you didn’t even realize there was another man idly sitting in the front seat, puffing on a cigar.

Toji tied your ankles together, but he didn’t hogtie you thankfully. Without saying another word, he slammed the door shut before getting into the passenger side seat.

You felt your heart drop as the car started to move. You had an inkling… you’d never see that mansion again. You just knew it. Even though you hated the very frame that house sat on, you longed for the empty feeling of sitting inside. You’d take the void of living in a loveless home over being taken by two men.

Your stomach churned, and suddenly, you felt ill as you faced the grave circumstances. Bile raised in your throat, and your hands struggled against the ropes that Toji had bound you with. Panic set in. You were going to choke on your vomit while you laid face down in it.

“There she goes.” Toji muttered, tone laced with annoyance before he reached back and pulled your arm so your mouth was hanging over the back seat. You threw up safely into the floor.

“I just got this car detailed.” The driver groaned as he took another puff from his cigar.

“It happens every time without fail. Ya should start puttin’ puppy pads back there or something.” Toji responded as his arm was still reached back, bracing your body.

“Yeah, because that’s not suspicious at all.” The driver responded with a sarcastic tone. It was clear that this wasn’t their first encounter with kidnapping someone. You didn’t even want to think about the implications of that.

Your adrenaline was dropping off, and while you knew you should try and stay awake — try to map out the turns the car made, you were exhausted after emptying your stomach contents into the floor.

Your head rested against the cool leather seats, and a moment later, you were out.

“It’s like fuckin’ clockwork.” Toji commented as he saw you dozing off in the backseat.

“Let me hogtie you and throw you into the back of a car, and we’ll see if you don’t throw up and pass out.” The driver grinned over at him.

“Kinky.” Was all the man responded with.

*** *** ***

The next time you awoke you were bound to a chair in a surprisingly well-lit room. It appeared to be a bedroom. Judging by the overly bland decor, you assumed this was an Airbnb or a hotel. There was no way they could’ve hauled your sleeping body into a hotel without being noticed, so it was definitely an Airbnb. Taking in your surroundings, you flinched as you finally caught a glimpse of the two men standing in your peripheral. They were silently watching you.

“So nice of you to join us, sleeping beauty.” Toji mocked with an easy grin, the scar on his lip flexing upwards. If he wasn’t your kidnapper, you would’ve classified him to be rather handsome in a very rugged sense. He just looked like the type of man who could get the job done.

“I thought we accidentally killed ya.” The driver who was now not driving remarked.

You had to be smarter with your words this time. There was no point in begging to be set free. They had already taken you to god knows where, killed your entire staff, and bound you to a chair. There was no going back for them.

“My dad has money. That’s what you’re after, right?” You bargained, taking a stab in the dark. This didn’t feel like human trafficking. This felt like a hostage, ransom situation. Little did they know, your dad probably wasn’t going to pay a single penny to get you back.

“Clever girl.” The driver grinned. He was also another handsome man with chestnut brown hair and a mustache. He seemed much more calmer than Toji, and he had a capable energy to him. You could tell that he was definitely the ringleader. Toji was simply the muscle behind the operation.

The driver took three slow, calculated steps towards you. He was still out of reach as he crouched down to be at your level. His eyes were dark brown as he carefully exam you.

“If you’re good, I’ll explain how this is gonna work.” The man said lowly. His voice was deeper than Toji’s but not as gravely or hardened. He had a voice fit for radio.

You slowly nodded, tears already sliding down your cheeks out of sheer fear.

“Good girl. Keep that same energy for the camera.” The man purred before you directed your attention to Toji. He was setting up a tripod with a nice Canon camera set up on it. He flicked the lights off, but it wouldn’t be too dark for anyone to see.

Your body started to react before you could even fully process what was going on. You rocked back and forth in your chair while crying, trying to fight against the restraints. Toji clicked the record button, and he pulled two black balaclavas out of his pocket. Throwing one at the other man and slipping one on for himself. Their identities besides their eyes were completely concealed.

The nameless man tied a piece of cloth that worked as a gag around your mouth, and you sobbed harder. This could go so many ways, and you didn’t want to consider all the possibilities. Your mind thinking up the most depraved acts.

Then, the nameless man held a voice distorter up to his mouth, like the ones that were used in horror films. Toji suddenly grabbed your hair tightly with his oversized fist, and he made you look directly into the camera.

The nameless man started the video off by addressing your dad by his full name. “We have your daughter.” He plainly stated, going silent so one of your muffled sobs could clearly he heard.

He went on a spill about the ransom and how it was going to work. They were demanding 10 million dollars to be paid in a week. It had to be paid in person by your dad, or they would mail him your body parts.

You choked out sobs and tried to scream. You were going to die. There was no way you were going to make it out of this situation alive.

Toji’s thumb ever so gently caressed the back of your head. He was still holding your hair tightly, making you look directly into the camera, but he was subtly rubbing small circled into your scalp as if he was trying to subtly soothe you.

Whatever his intent was, it wasn’t working. You strained against the rope and the gag. You cried and tried to beg your way out of this. Finally, the nameless man showed the camera a timer. It was set for 168 hours, and it was steadily dwindling down.

Then, he stopped the recording ominously. “Can’t believe we got that on the first try.” He muttered with a laugh before pulling off his balaclava. He then flicked back on the lights.

You looked at both of the men in a confused manner. They were both so calm and casual after recording a literal ransom video. It was eerie. You hated this feeling of distrust and uneasiness that settled into the pit of your stomach.

Toji ripped off his balaclava, and he promptly untied the gag before picking up the camera off the tripod and walking away.

“Alright doll, you did so good.” The nameless man praised as he crouched back down to be at your level. “I guess that means I gotta tell you how things are gonna work now, huh?”

A sheepish nod later, and he continues, "I'm Shiu, and you already know the other old fucker's name is Toji." He starts, gesturing to Toji who was lazily typing away at a computer with a death glare.

"We're not gonna hurt ya until you give us a reason to. You just gotta be good for us and do as we say, and this will be a breeze." Shiu's tone was steady and lighthearted as if he was talking about the itinerary to a vacation and not your kidnapping.

Tears clouded your vision. Your captors seemed to have thought of all the details but one. Your father couldn't give less of a fuck about you, and he likely wasn't going to pay a dime for your safe return.

"And when my dad doesn't pay you two, then what? You two kill me and mail my body off so you can move onto the next mogul's daughter?" You asked -- tone full of resentment.

"We're not amateurs, darlin'." Shiu grins at you, boldly using his thumb to wipe away a few stray tears from your cheeks. You're still bound, so you're at his whim right now. "Toji's workin' on releasing that video publicly. How could the wealthiest CEO of Japan get away with not paying to have his daughter back safely?"

You pursed your lips together, trying to think rationally. None of this felt real. Your heart stuttered in your chest. Would your dad pay to get you back if he risked ruining his reputation?

If he ruined his reputation, companies would pull their stocks and tank his company. It would be hard for him to form partnerships because other companies wouldn’t want to be associated with him. His perfectly curated baby would come crashing down.

He would have to pay to get you back.

Noticing the gears turning in your head, Shiu patted your hair gently with his oversized palm. “We also got a few other tricks up our sleeve. We didn’t do this on a spur of the moment decision, darling.”

They weren’t two petty criminals looking to make it big. These two men were the real deal. They had the knowledge and precision that it took to commit serious crimes. This probably wasn’t even their first ransom situation.

“Glad to know you plotted my kidnapping perfectly.” You muttered in a self-deprecating tone.

Shiu gave another chuckle as his hand stayed on your head. His touch was warm and unwavering. It had been years since someone showed you affection so casually.

“I’d say you’re in good hands, but…” He grinned at you, ruffling your hair before removing his hand. “You’re in capable hands.” He said before he slowly walked around behind you. “Be honest, darling. If I untie you, are you going to try to run?”

Your eyes lingered on the door of the Airbnb. Would you even make it far if you did run? Would it be worth being tied down for even longer? Your eyes wandered to Toji, who was sat strategically near the door. His gaze was still on the laptop, but you could tell that he could easily catch you if given the chance.

Shiu laughed as he could see the inner turmoil on your face. You really wore your emotions on your sleeve, not hiding that you were weighing the option of running. “You wanna see what’ll happen? Try it, princess.” He dared as his fingers worked to loosen the knots around your hands.

Your body was achy from the precarious position of being tied to the chair. You instinctively stretched, feeling your stiff muscles protest.

You looked back up at Shiu, registering that he was offering you to run. “Go ahead. Go.” He said as he nodded towards the door.

“If you make me run, I’m taking it out on your ass.” Toji grumbled from his position near the door. His green eyes were now glaring at you.

Against your better judgement, you ran. You had to run, even if it was clearly a setup. If you didn't try to get away, then someone would say that you wanted this to happen. You wanted to be kidnapped from your prison.

You barely made it to the door and swung it open before two strong arms wrapped around your midsection, hauling you up as if you weighed nothing.

"Fucking brat." Toji's voice rumbled in your ear as he lifted your body up, pressing your backside against his chest as he kicked the door shut.

Shiu chuckled as he made sure to lock it back. He really just enticed you to run to piss Toji off. He had to keep things interesting after all.

A grunt passed your lips as you were unceremoniously slung onto the plush bed in the room. You tried to kick and fight your way out of Toji's hold, but his hands expertly held you down and forced your arms above your head. You squeezed your eyes shut.

Here it comes... the part where you wish they would've just killed you...

The sound of metal jingling caught your attention, and you hesitantly opened your eyes to see Toji handcuffing you down to the headboard.

As soon as one of your wrists were cuffed and bound, Toji got up off of you. "Until you can learn how to behave and not be stupid." He muttered as he turned his back to you and went back to sit down.

Well, that wasn't what you were expecting.

"Technically-" You spoke up, looking between Toji and Shiu as they watched you with amused eyes. "I was behaving since he told me to run." You pointed out, nodding your head towards Shiu.

"And I told you what would happen if you did run. You're lucky I haven't bent you over my knee yet." Toji countered, crossing his arms over his chest with a lopsided grin.

"Yet-?"

"I haven't decided if I'm going to do it or not, but your smart mouth is pushing me, brat."

You swallow thickly, realizing what you were truly dealing with here. Your eyes leave Toji's figure, and you look up towards the handcuff chaining you to the bed.

You were kidnapped from one prison and brought to another, and yet, a strange voice in the back of your head is telling you that your kidnappers have better intentions with you than your own dad.

"Don't listen to him," Shiu's low voice rumbled, breaking your line of thought. "He's all bark and rarely any bite,"

"He killed all of my staff members," you retort, staring at Shiu with furrowed eyebrows. How could he act like Toji was anything less than a killing machine?

"Touché," was all Shiu responded with as he looked over at you with a relaxed grin.

Toji was back to lounging as he tilted his head back. His adams apple bobbing as he closed his eyes. He wasn't really going to sleep next to the door, was he?

Shiu had walked off out of sight, and you could hear him responding to a phone call.

Moving around on the bed, you figured you may as well get comfortable while you're trapped.

220 notes · View notes

tea-writes19 · 2 days ago

Text

besties | p.p.

pairing: peter parker x f!stark!reader

summary: your friendship with your dad’s intern turns into something more

warnings: friends to lovers, swearing, these bitches being oblivious, comedy, dad tony, mentions of past affairs, suggestive content, fluff galore, slow burn, underage drinking

a/n: i’m not usually a peter girlie as i love him and mj together but i wanted to write some fluff so here we are. also i’m laughing at petey’s intials. set post endgame but tony lives and steve doesn’t go back in time. nat’s still dead tho :(

liked by peterparker, nedleeds, tonystark, and others

yourusername: your fave upstate & queens duo

tagged: @/peterparker

view comments below

user1: MY FAVES

user2: imagine being friends w/ the y/n stark😩

user3: THIS

nedleeds: can’t believe y’all got food without me…

peterparker: sorry!

yourusername: no we’re not

peterparker: never getting in a car with you driving AGAIN

yourusername: IT WAS ONE CURB

user4: like father like daughter😭

user5: omg😂

tonystark: how many people from queens do you even know?

yourusername: that doesn’t matter

peterparker: they hate when we serve orphan & nepo baby

yourusername: 🗣️🗣️

user6: not the dead parents—

user7: i bet peter is the funniest person alive😭

user8: bro’s got trauma for days😭😭

pepperpotts: so this is why it took you two 6 hours to get the olive oil i asked for…

yourusername: should’ve sent happy🤷🏻‍♀️

jamesrhodes: you act like y/n doesn’t have tony’s horrible time management skills

pepperpotts: and peter?

jamesrhodes: spends too much time with tony and y/n

user9: god i want to live in nyc so bad

user10: pov: you saw y/n stark hit a curb today

liked by nedleeds, yourusername, mjjones, and others

peterparker: lab days🛠️🥽

tagged: @/tonystark

view comments below

yourusername: YOU GOT FIVE GUYS WITHOUT ME?!??

peterparker: BLAME YOUR DAD!! IT WAS HIS IDEA

tonystark: that was supposed to stay between us kid😑

user11: is that a new iron man model i see👀

peterparker: nope, just fixing rhodey’s suit :)

yourusername: surprised uncle rhodes is letting you touch that old thing

jamesrhodes: HEY! the war machine suit works fine just the way it is

yourusername: clearly not if it had to be fixed…

user11: oh god what have i started🫣

user12: five guys👨‍🍳🤌

user13: looks so fun!

nedleeds: man you HAVE got to convince mr. stark to let me come with someday

tonystark: not happening hacker

nedleeds: 😔

mjjones: THIS was more important than acdec?

peterparker: YOU DON’T JUST SAY NO TO TONY STARK MJ!!!!

yourusername: i do all the time🤨

user14: 😭😭

user15: love how peter is just friends with all the starks

user16: i’m pretty sure he’s tony’s personal intern

user17: ^^^

user18: oh my god i thought he was another bastard from tony’s playboy days😭

user19: lmao nooooo

user20: tbf i forget y/n isn’t pepper’s kid sometimes soooo….

liked by nedleeds, mjjones, peterparker, and others

yourusername: a happy meal is the only true serotonin one needs in life

tagged: @/peterparker @/nedleeds

view comments below

tonystark: what am i? chopped liver?

yourusername: yes

tonystark: ouch

user21: imagine calling tony stark chopped liver😭

nedleeds: i’m pretty sure we broke the airplane wheel

yourusername: shhhh…don’t let ronald hear you

peterparker: thanks for the nightmare fuel tn

yourusername: anytime🫡

user22: happy meals >>>

user23: mcds cokes >>>

yourusername: ronald mcdonald🥵

user24: one of these is not like the others…

user25: LMAO NOT RONALD MCDONALD😭😭

peterparker: i’m just glad we took the subway this time

yourusername: WOW

yourusername: AND TO THINK WE WERE BFFS

peterparker: I’M SORRY I DON’T WANT TO DIE YOUNG

tonystark: that is the most bullshit response i’ve ever heard from you

user26: this comment section is so unhinged😭😭

user27: lol what’d you expect??? it’s the starks

tonystark: morgan would like a happy meal

yourusername: we all know that’s just the excuse for you to get one too but that’s ok

liked by tonystark, yourusername, steverogers, and others

pepperpotts: cozy day with the family🤍

tagged: @/tonystark @/yourusername

view comments below

user28: you guys are so cute!

yourusername: i would like everyone to know that dad pushed me into the pond after that pic was taken

user29: omg noooo😭😭

peterparker: did you save your drink at least?

yourusername: obviously…i’m not a monster pete

user30: i’m crying at the thought of tony stark pushing his daughter into a pond😭😭

user31: ^^^

tonystark: this is defamation

steverogers: glad to see you guys doing well pep!

pepperpotts: you should come over for dinner sometime soon!!

tonystark: please leave the 2 assholes that follow you around at home thanks

pepperpotts: TONY

yourusername: bring them for the bit

samwilson: i’m going to get morgan the loudest fucking toy for christmas now

user32: this thread is a mess😭😭

user33: it’s so weird to see y/n without peter lol

user34: lol frfr

user35: i’m kinda starting to ship them ngl

user36: omg yes!!

user37: you guys can never let a boy and girl just be friends😒

tonystark: my arms are so tired from pushing morgan in that swing all day

yourusername: sounds like a skill issue

peterparker: ^^^

tonystark: i’d like to see you two single-handedly save new york from an impending nuke

user38: 😭😭😭

jamesrhodes: looks like a perfect day for the stanks!

tonystark: you’re never letting that go are you

jamesrhodes: nope!

yourusername added to their story —>

[caption: when the trip makes it out of the family group chat >>>]

story replies

peterparker: can’t wait!!!

yourusername: i am so beating you to the best room

user39: i just know the pics are abt to be fire🔥🔥

user40: where are you going?

mjjones: i’m expecting a real life nemo

yourusername: 🫡🫡

liked by peterparker, pepperpotts, mjjones, and others

yourusername: us virgin islands? this american def ain’t a virg—

tagged: @/peterparker @/tonystark @/pepperpotts

view comments below

user41: HELLO?!?

user42: GIRL WHAT!?

peterparker: ain’t nothin’ virgin abt this isla—

yourusername: 🏝️= 👉👌

user43: WHAT IS HAPPENING?!?!

user44: YOUR PARENTS FOLLOW YOU Y/N

mjjones: the island after y’all left: 🤰

yourusername: MJ I’M SCREAMING😭😭

nedleeds: so was the isla—i’m gonna stop

user45: 😭😭

tonystark: sometimes i think i asexually reproduced you like a plant

yourusername: surprised you didn’t clone yourself in a lab or smth

jamesrhodes: don’t give him ideas

user46: i’m freaking out over the caption

user47: no fr…

user48: AND PETER’S COMMENT

user49: 🎶i think they did it but i just can’t prove it🎶

steverogers: there’s definitely an innuendo in here somewhere but i’m just going to pretend i’m blind and go

yourusername: good choice

user50: CAPTAIN AMERICA SIR—

user51: mom come pick me up i’m scared

liked by yourusername, nedleeds, tonystark, and others

peterparker: i have sand in my ass

tagged: @/yourusername @/tonystark @/pepperpotts

view comments below

user52: love how peter was invited on the family vacation

user53: he really is just part of the fam

user54: so convinced he and y/n are dating

user55: god i hope so

nedleeds: simp

peterparker: damn right - y/n

user56: not y/n stealing peter’s phone to comment this

user57: simp you say👀

yourusername: damn who that hottie in slide 2?

peterparker: you boo😘 - y/n

yourusername: aww thanks boo🥰

user58: 😭😭

steverogers: and that’s enough instagram for me tonight

tonystark: i still don’t know what y’all were looking at

yourusername: your ego obviously🙄

user59: oh to go on a hike with tony stark

user60: oh to be dating y/n stark

user61: they never said they’re dating…

user62: shhh let us be delusional🤫

liked by pepperpotts, jamesrhodes, yourusername, and others

tonystark: the difference between morgan and y/n on vacation…

tagged: @/pepperpotts @/yourusername

view comments below

user63: omg😭😭

user64: y/n is such a mood

peterparker: morgan is a menace at go karts

yourusername: she plays too much mario kart fr

jamesrhodes: when one gets pepper’s genes and the other yours…

yourusername: i can’t believe you’ve done this

tonystark: oh but tis has

user65: i wanna say i’m morgan but in reality i’m y/n

user66: thisssss

user67: same😭

pepperpotts: to be fair y/n was hungover in the second pic…

yourusername: the porcelain gods did not grant mercy on me😔

liked by tonystark, peterparker, steverogers, and others

pepperpotts: great vacation with even greater company💕💕

tagged: @/tonystark @/yourusername @/peterparker

view comments below

peterparker: thank you for the invitation mrs. potts

user68: stop he’s too cute

user69: peter you’re adorable

user70: what a wonderful time to spend with family!

tonystark: i love you mrs. potts

pepperpotts: i love you mr. stark

yourusername: 😖🤮

jamesrhodes: glad to see tony still somehow manages to end up in the er on every trip

tonystark: i have a world record to hold up😤

user71: lmao😭

yourusername: i’m still full from that feast

peterparker: none of my pants fit after that salmon😩

user72: LOVE🤍🤍

yourusername added to their story —>

[caption: 🌟🌊]

story replies

peterparker: you really are the best

yourusername: you too pete💞

user73: holy shit holy shit holy—

user74: omg i’m so happy for you

steverogers: so did you two…fondue?

yourusername: OH MY GOD

liked by yourusername, mjjones, nedleeds, and others

peterparker: another post bc we leave tmrw

tagged: @/yourusername @/tonystark

view comments below

yourusername: gonna miss sneaking out…

tonystark: oh please you do that back home too

yourusername: it’s not the same🙄

nedleeds: can’t wait to see you man!!

peterparker: so ready for our mandalorian marathon!

mjjones: nerds

yourusername: ^^^

user75: lmao tony😭😭

user76: he’s keeping an eye out for selener

user75: STOP😭

tonystark: andddd you’re grounded from the lab for that pic

peterparker: awww man😔

yourusername added to their story —>

[caption: when he cares abt school🤭🫠]

story replies

peterparker: you were just making fun of me for studying🤨

yourusername: semantics

user77: automatically makes a guy hotter

yourusername: hear hear🗣️

mjjones: that better be acdec work…

liked by mjjones, peterparker, tonystark, and others

yourusername: here’s the hard launch for you bitches

tagged: @/peterparker

view comments below

user78: OMG OMG OMG—

user79: I CALLED IT

peterparker: so happy to call you mine🫶🏻

yourusername: 😘

mjjones: abt damn time…

nedleeds: ^^^

tonystark: ^^^

jamesrhodes: ^^^

pepperpotts: ^^^

steverogers: ^^^

samwilson: ^^^

happyhogan: ^^^

yourusername: damn ok then

tonystark: keep the door open

tonystark: and don’t even THINK about fonduing in my house

yourusername: PLEASE STOP

#tea ☆#peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker #peter parker smau #marvel smau #mcu smau #kinda don’t like the ending of this #but wanted to get it out for y’all #peter parker drabble #peter parker fanfiction #fixed the ending

177 notes · View notes

brawberryz · 2 days ago

Text

touch me i scream

Batfam Yan! × Elizabeth Afton!Reader

《Platonic》

Note: English is not my first language, sorry if there is any translation error / I don't know if this could be considered "neglected" reader since the negligence is only on Bruce's part, so maybe)? / FNAF AU!

Tw: child neglect, abuse, child murder, murder, maltreatment, yandere behaviors , self-harm, brief mention of suicide, isolation, knife use, toxic relationships, domestic violence, brief mention of drugs, psychological abuse, manipulation, dark themes

Weird

That's how you could consider your life, it was quite strange and boring, you always spent your time at home

Summer vacation had started and all you could do was stay home

You didn't have any friends, you only had your brothers

Your life was quite lonely, the only one you trusted too much was Damian

But these last few months he was behaving in a strange way, he had dark circles under his eyes and he never slept

The only times he did was for a short time, he seemed scared most of the time

Every time you got up in the early morning to drink water you found him crying on the floor of his room

He said he saw monsters, terrifying versions of the animatronics your father built

Those nights you used to accompany him so he could sleep but even so his paranoia didn't stop

A lot of blame was also because of Jason, he kept scaring Damian with that stupid foxy mask

You had tried to defend him but still Jason never he stopped

He always found a way to scare Damian

Richard had been the only one who managed to stop Jason's pranks

He was the older brother, he was hardly ever home before because he spent his time with his friends or at university

But since your mother disappeared he had to take care of all of you, he had to be a mother and father at the same time

Because he knew that Bruce didn't care about any of his children, sometimes you wished you could get away from here

Escape far away from this stupid "home", it stopped being considered home years ago

Your "father" who didn't even deserve to be called that, was an idiot and violent

At night you could hear your mother crying, she always fought with Bruce

It was normal for them to fight, and your father didn't mind hitting or insulting your mother

Richard tried many times to defend your mother from Bruce But the only thing he earned was a hit

You didn't understand why your mother She never fought back, she just accepted the blows and insults

But one night, you couldn't sleep because of the screams in the kitchen, they were fighting again

You slowly got out of bed to go spy, you wanted to know what was going on

It was a little weird that your parents were fighting at this time of night, you got a little closer to the door

Not enough, but you could barely see anything

The last thing you could hear was your mother screaming as she begged Bruce not to do it

You ran scared to your room, you could barely process what you saw

Your mother's screams and pleas were still in your head since that day

You hated yourself for never being able to tell what you saw

But your fear of ending up the same way as your mother prevented you from doing so

That day you realized what kind of monster your father was

You hated him so much, too much

You hated having to Seeing his face every day, you hated him touching you or just giving you a hug

You felt like gagging just thinking about him, he was the most reprehensible human being ever

And you hated him more for what he had done to Tim

Tim was your father's assistant, he used to work at the pizzeria with him

He also used to be a security guard at night

You could consider him a friend Even though he was much older than you

Sometimes you used to accompany your father to work and those days you took the opportunity to go talk to him

When you went back to accompany your father to work you looked for Tim all over the pizzeria, then your father told you that Tim had decided to quit

You frowned, you knew he was lying

He always lied, you just nodded pretending that you understood

Until one time your father asked you to take out the trash at the pizzeria, he said it would be good if you were useful for something

You just accepted it, a little offended by his comment. As you walked out the back door and put the trash in the bin, you saw something strange in a bag.

A little disgusted, you put your hand inside the trash and pulled out an identification plate.

But it wasn't just any old one, it was Tim's.

It had some dried blood stains, the blood didn't look old, it still had that red color.

You swallowed nervously and you felt like gagging. You fell to the rough ground and small tears fell from your eyes.

Someone you cared about had disappeared again and you couldn't do anything, absolutely nothing.

After that day, the streets of your neighborhood were full of "wanted" posters with Tim's face.

His parents were devastated by the disappearance of their son. He was so young and had a secure future.

Your father gave his condolences to Tim's parents.

What a hypocrite.

That was the only thing your head could think. Maybe you were just a little girl. but you understood much more than others would think

I hate you, Bruce Wayne

You officially hated this family

From one day to the next your brothers started acting weird, a few days ago you met a boy

They were the same age and he was your first friend in a long time

But as soon as they found out you made a friend they went crazy

Richard didn't let you go out alone anymore, and he sent Jason to keep a close eye on you

You could barely get close to your new friend without Jason giving you a murderous look

And because of that you had lost a friend, he was the first one you had

And he was gone, then you had a talk with Richard

He tried to justify himself saying that that boy wasn't a good influence

Why do you need friends when you have your brothers? They are much better than anyone you could ever meet

Also Damian had been clinging to you too much, his paranoia was multiplied by a thousand

You thought that this paranoia was because of those "pills" that your father gave him

You knew that they were not sleeping pills, those pills made him hallucinate

Bruce wanted to destroy each one of his children, and then he was going to rebuild them the way he wanted

Who would think that you would be his next victim, too bad things didn't go as well as he thought

Your father's new pizzeria had opened to the public, "Sister location"

This time he opened the pizzeria without Clark's help, the two of them used to be best friends

Bruce and Clark opened the first pizzeria together, but since the death of Jon his son everything had changed for him

He had fallen into great guilt and depression

The death of his son and the unexpected divorce with his wife had left him in a bad state

He had decided to withdraw from the project

Leaving Bruce alone, and it was something that didn't bother him either

He had gotten what he wanted, he had already gotten Clark and his stupid morals out of his way

Your plan was almost complete, he had justice on his side

He had made sure that not a single policeman suspected him, you could say that he was about to commit a perfect crime

You found yourself crying on the floor, your cheek hurt from your father's blow

You had decided to enter your father's study without permission and spilled coffee on his plans

Bruce had become furious, you tried to apologize but it only made his anger grow

"Can't you do something right!?"

You could only look down as more tears fell from your eyes

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do it, it was an accident..."

Bruce sighed angrily before forcibly lifting you off the ground and telling you to get out of his studio

You just nodded scared, running out the metal door

You hated this, sometimes you just wished you could die

You didn't want to be here, you wanted this to be over once and for all

You walked through the aisles of the pizzeria, your cheek still hurt

Your tears had dried but your hate and sadness were still there

Your body stopped as soon as you saw Baby

The animatronic that your father had made for you, one day you gave him a drawing and he used that as inspiration

That day you were so happy, for the first time you had felt your father's love

Too bad this was a trap disguised as a gift

You entered the shameless room where the animatronic was

It seemed strange to you that it was separated from the other animatronics

As soon as the animatronic detected you, its eyes sparkled

"Baby..."

The animatronic's name came out of your lips, your eyes sparkled with happiness

After a long time you could finally see it

The animatronic's stomach opened surprising you

A small ice cream came out of it, it was your favorite flavor

You thought that your father had made it just for you

You approached slowly, your arm getting close to the ice cream

You could barely react when the claw pierced you and threw you towards the animatronic

A scream of pain was heard throughout the room, you felt your ribs breaking and your organs being crushed by the claw

The last thing you felt was your bones being destroyed as you completely entered the stomach of the animatronic

The animatronic barely caught your body inside its stomach when it turned off, her task had been completed

The only thing left in this bloody scene was the blood on the floor and the stomach of the animatronic

That day the innocence of another child had been snatched away by Bruce Wayne's claws

And this time the victim was his daughter

A small tinkling in the eyes of the animatronic illuminated the empty and dark room, they had changed color

The same color as your eyes

Bruce had gone to He checked the animatronics, he thought they had completed their mission

He was very surprised when he found your body crushed between the wires of baby

At that moment something changed inside him, you weren't supposed to end up like this

If one of your brothers had ended up like this he wouldn't care much, but you?

Yes, he was a horrible father but there was a part of him that cared about you

But he also discovered something, remnant

Your body had produced that

Also your soul had merged with the animatronic, it was something he realized when he saw baby's eyes

That day he had fallen further into imminent madness

But everything has its end

Richard sighed tiredly as he parked his car in front of the "Sister location" store

It had been a year since everything happened

Too bad your death wasn't the only incident that happened in the family

Since your death Richard began to neglect his other brothers, guilt consumed him and he had no one to vent to

Also the jokes had increased on Jason's part, and he had begun to take it out on Damian

And his jokes began to become more dangerous

until one day on Damian's birthday Jason decided to play one last joke on him

He decided to put him inside the mouth of one of the animatronics, too bad not everything went well

The animatronic's jaw ended up crushing Damian's skull while he asked Jason to get him out of there

That had marked Jason forever, he had fallen into a deep depression

Your death and Damian's death filled him with guilt, he had killed one of his

He was a murderer

After a time of depression and self-harm Richard found him hanging in his room

Richard's mental state began to worsen, it seemed as if the world was against him

His life was full of misfortunes

The only thing that kept him afloat was a little voice in his head that told him not to give up

It sounded just like you

Then Bruce decided to disappear by moving somewhere and only leaving a farewell note

From time to time he sent Richard money but he had to work so as not to end up on the street

Because Bruce cared very little about his safety

Until one day Bruce called him, told him to go to sister location

He was going to refuse until Bruce confessed everything to Richard

You were there, or well

Your body was there, he told him that you died because of an animatronic and that your soul and body were there

And the only way to Freeing you was going back there, that was the only thing Bruce needed to tell Richard before he grabbed all his things to go to that abandoned pizzeria

He sighed nervously as he approached the pizzeria, he had lost you years ago

And the guilt continued to eat away at him

But this time he had another chance and he had to do whatever it took to free you from that hell

But it was just a trap, a trap disguised as hope and sweet lies

Your soul had been corrupted and the only thing left was hate and resentment

Resentment for the hate of the man who did this to you, the purple man

I hate you Bruce Wayne

But this time I will have my revenge, we will have our revenge

I am not afraid of you anymore, not anymore

reuploaded because for some reason tumblr deleted it lol

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mordredpendragon · 2 days ago

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how mordred was slain by arthur, and how by him arthur was hurt to the death, illustration by alfred pollard ; vulgate lancelot, death of arthur

a passage i think about all the time. the ray of sunlight in the wound is also mentioned in dante's inferno in canto XXXII, where mordred is in the 9th circle of hell. he's submerged in a frozen lake in caina, for treachery towards kin.

pretty neat!

#mordred #sir mordred #arthur #king arthur #arthuriana #arthurian mythology #arthurian literature #knights of the round table #thus did the father kill the son and the son mortally wounded the father.............#vulgate cycle #i was also going to put the mordred vs arthur scene in excalibur 1981 but it would make this post too long #its also a great scene tho go watch it #tbh arthuriana in the divine comedy is a whole post for antoher day #lancelot's also there in hell. somewhere #sir girflet #sir griflet #griflet #sorry i forgot to tag you king

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vmlnrzmp4 · 6 hours ago

Note

Hiiiii!! I've been waiting for your requests to be open to send in a request lol I love your blue lock dad series so I wanted to request Blue lock dads reacting to the tiktok prank where the mom tells the child to do something and the child tells the mom to shut up to get the dad's reaction.

I hope you understand what I'm trying to say 😭 Thank you <33

"𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘱, 𝘮𝘢."

a/n: this except that it's not a tiktok prank, the daughters are bratty for real. and im glad you like my works :)

itoshi sae

the second the words left natsuki’s lips, everything turned cold. sae, who had been scrolling through his phone, immediately stopped. he turned to look at his daughter with a firm look.

you sighed, shaking your head, "natsuki, that was so uncalled for."

but before you could say more, sae interrupted, "apologize."

natsuki stiffened, "but—"

"now."

he didn't yell and there was no anger in his voice. just firm disappointment.

natsuki swallowed, now feeling guilty, "...i’m sorry, ma."

sae looked away from her, "go to your room. i don’t want to see you right now."

and that hurt. more than his actual scoldings.

itoshi rin

everything froze. sakura never ever spoke to you that way, but today..."...what did you just say?" rin questioned, his voice was dangerous.

"i—i didn’t mean it like that—"

"repeat that," rin ordered firmly.

"i was just mad—" sakura tried to reason but was cut off.

"i don’t care if you’re mad. now will you repeat that?"

sakura stayed silent.

"that's what i thought," rin looks at you if you're alright, your eyes filled with sadness, "apologize."

sakura looked down, mumbling an apology.

"louder. look up."

"...im sorry ma."

isagi yoichi

"yuki," yoichi calls sternly, his voice was so so scary, "how could you say that to your mother?"

"papa, i didn't—i—"

"is that how i raised you yuki?"

the guilt hit yuki like a truck and she looked down, not wanting to see her papa's disappointed face. "...i’m sorry, papa," she whispered.

"don’t apologize to me."

she turned to you immediately, eyes filled with tears, "i’m sorry ma."

frustrated, yoichi runs his hand over his face and yuki sees the displeased look on his face and she couldn't help but let out a sob.

michael kaiser

for once, there was no teasing, no jokes, no laughter. michael was mad. "...repeat that," he asked in a stern but angry tone.

anne hesitated. "...papa, i didn’t mean—"

"repeat it."

she couldn’t.

michael scoffed.

you placed a hand on his arm, but he stepped away, "you know, anne, when i was a kid, i never had a mother who cared enough to argue with me. you? you have that. and you just—" he cut himself off, shaking his head, "go to your room, anne. just...go."

anne had never seen her father so tired, "...i’m sorry, papa," she sobbed but he had already turned away.

she then turned to you with teary eyes, "im sorry ma," she apologizes, her eyes telling you she was sincere. and that she didn't want her papa to be mad at her anymore.

taglist: @anuverse @luciddre @kongkhoi @illyriakrasniqi2007 @passw-0-rd @x3nafix @levihanmyotp @vellichorira @sapph1r3x @tamashithe2nd @p1z-d0n7jud6em3 [open]

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 17 hours ago

Text

warnings: language, a bit angsty "Daryl, stop—"

"This is what she wanted, wasn't it?! Huh?!" he roared, hoisting the bottle in the air and spilling a good amount of moonshine down the front of himself. "Time for a little party, righ'?" He took a deep drink and wiped his mouth on his forearm. "This is how white trash gets drunk!"

"You're acting like an ass!" you yelled at him. Beth was sitting back on her heels, her eyes wide.

He scoffed. "Yeah, well, maybe I am an ass! C'mon... I think we all know that neither of you woulda said a damn word to me in the old world! Tha's what she really just meant," he spat, drinking again.

"No, it wasn't—" Beth tried.

"I'm just some dumb, redneck piece of shit!" he yelled, pointing at Beth, wavering on his feet a little.

"I didn't mean it like that!" Beth insisted, rising to her feet now and yelling back.

He scoffed again and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, 'm fuckin' sure. Ya dun know nothin' 'bout—"

"DARYL! SHUT UP!"

He finally looked at you, really looked. The color was high in your face and your expression was determined and somewhat furious.

"Outside. Now," you snapped.

He heaved a sigh, the bottle of moonshine still dangling by his side, but he stomped outside into the open evening air. He took another drink until you snatched the bottle out of his hands.

"What the hell is wrong with you!? You're acting like a dick! Grow up!" You lowered your voice, a flame seeming to grow in your eyes. "She just lost her father horrifically. And maybe her sister too. And you're making a drunken fool of yourself. She didn't mean anything by it!"

"I ain't actin' like anythin'," he drawled, his words markedly slurred.

"What?"

"I ain't actin'. This is what I am. Ya just dun like what yer finally seein'."

You rolled your eyes. "Don't be an idiot. You think I've spent all this time around you and somehow haven't been able to see who you actually are? You're drunk and acting dumb. That's all that's happening here."

Daryl studied your face for a long moment and the angry fire seemed to leave him. His voice was soft when he spoke again. "Nah. We both know 'm righ' 'bout what I said before. Ya wouldn'ta even looked at me in the old world. And ya pro'bly shouldn't now." He ducked his head. "'M sorry. I ain't what ya think I am."

You sighed and shook your head. "You've got it backwards. You aren't what you think you are. You're much, much more."

Prompt: "I'm sorry. I'm not what you think I am."

#daryl angst #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

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mingumis · 3 days ago

Text

redemption | jww

it's a beautiful thing, to be a protector.

on the day of her fifteenth birthday, a neglected princess disappears without a word, and when she returns to the court of her family and friends after almost a decade, they find that she has been sharpened into a lethal blade in desperate need of saving.

please refer to this lore drop for descriptions of the noble families and their roles within the royal court!

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f!reader genres/themes: angst, fluff, romance tags: older brother!seokmin, sworn siblings!hoshixreader, princess!reader, generally set in a joseon-esque kingdom but medical technology is somewhat advanced (bc i'm too lazy to come up with period-specific alternatives aha), nothing suggestive beyond kissing tw: neglectful parents, reader has some (many) issues, violence, mentions of killing and death, injuries and blood a/n: this took so long to complete sorry,, redemption is the longest completed thing that i've ever written aaaaaa it's quite rough around the edges, but it is my brainchild so i hope you will enjoy! wc: 13.8k

From your earliest memories, you’ve known that your parents haven’t loved you. It was no secret that while your mother had been ever-present during your older brother’s infancy, attentive to a fault, you had been reared by a nanny, an older great-aunt in a lesser branch of the clan whom you loved very much, but at the hands of another nonetheless. Despite your father’s assurance and your brother’s affection, there had always been a simmering hatred in your mother’s eyes whenever she’d looked at you, and you had known it, even as a child.

At first, you wondered if it was because you were born a girl, but she had had Seokmin as a perfectly happy, doting son by the time of your birth. You wondered if it was because you had been too late to receive a spot on the throne, but your cousin, Chan, had already been born a year prior, receiving the birthright of Voice and completing the Triumvirate, so your mother had had no logical reason to despise you for merely that.

You wondered if it was because you looked nothing like Seokmin, and consequently, nothing like her. Instead, everyone always insisted that you were the spitting image of your father’s youth. Adults of the royal Inner Circle and members of the court had insisted that siblings didn’t always have to look similar. After all, take a look at the Head, Heart, and Voice of the current generation; don’t each of them vary in height, looks, and demeanor?

Seokmin remains the joyful, caring child that he was, while you, tainted by your father’s disinterest and your mother’s loathing, grow withdrawn and cynical.

It’s no wonder that the court murmurs with rumors of your illegitimacy.

To Seokmin’s credit, he has never once forsaken you. He shields you from your mother’s wrath, shares your father’s brief moments of attention, pulls you into the Inner Circle as if your place within is your birthright. Despite only being a few years older, he becomes your protector.

But a brother’s love can nurture a young girl’s soul only so much. When you’re deemed too old to simper out from under your old nanny’s skirts, they send her away from the estate, back to her humble shack of a home. You remember howling and begging to be sent from the palace grounds with her, sniveling for days on end until finally, your own mother silently shot you the iciest of glares and put an end to your tantrum for good.

Neglect turns a child resentful, and in you, the hatred grows inward. There’s a tempest that brews deep inside your stomach, churning like the eye of a storm. A fear that you’ll be forgotten by all, an anger that you’ve been overlooked by the ones who should love you most in this world, a longing for a larger role than the unwanted second daughter of a second son.

On the eve of your fifteenth birthday, you slip from your room, with nothing but a single cloak in your possession, and disappear from the only world you’ve ever known.

–

“Ready for your big, dramatic entrance?”

You barely stir from your meditative state, legs folded tightly beneath you as you sit atop a neatly made bed. The inn had been clean enough, but the sounds of the other patrons had kept you awake all night. Not that your writhing nerves would have let you sleep at all, even if it had been quiet as a church.

Gathering a shallow breath, you open your eyes against the early morning darkness, spying Kwon Soonyoung in the corner through the first beams of dawn trickling through the slits of the window. The First Blade of the kingdom, of your family’s dynasty, looks like a mere boy, facial features smudged and softened by the shadows. The only thing about him that gleams through the dim are his eyes, burning intensely, the gaze of a tiger.

Your sworn brother gives you what you’re sure he considers an easy smile, but it looks like the taunting grin of a hunter watching its prey fall into a trap. It’s been eight years since you’ve run from home and arrived at the Kwons’ doorstep, begging for shelter and a chance to become a Blade. It’s been eight years that you’ve spent beside Soonyoung, training and bickering and bleeding with him. He’s the one who picked you up whenever you stumbled during the rigorous training regimen, the one who mended your bumps and scrapes and cuts and bruises. Sometimes, you still feel shivers at the realization of what a lethal weapon he is, despite it all.

“Dramatic,” you echo through a scoff, finally detangling yourself from your pose and rolling the stiff muscles of your neck. “We’re going for my father’s funeral, not to cause a scene. Besides, I doubt there’ll be much fanfare for the likes of me.”

Soonyoung shrugs, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he ambles up to the side of your bed. When he drops to a crouch to peer up into your face, you catch the barely-there concern, tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Despite everything, it makes you smile. “Why? Are you worried for me?”

It’s the man’s turn to scoff as he shoots up to his feet, turning his back on you to stare out the window towards the ever-brightening sky. “The First Blade doesn’t worry about anything except the choice of his weapon when he kills.” There’s a slight jut to his lips as he speaks, and not for the first time, you wonder how he has ever become the bloodiest killer in the kingdom.

“Well, good.” You rise and stalk over to the wooden wardrobe, where a single cloak, a relic of your past life, has been hung up. “Because I’m about two seconds away from hurling everything in my stomach up.”

–

It’s strange, you think to yourself, how you’ve forgotten the way from the city to the palace grounds to the inner quadrants that belong to your family, but the moment you step foot past the threshold of your ancestors’ estate, your body seems to remember every footpath, every tree and its roots, every door and where it leads.

Soonyoung slows his pace when he notices that you’ve fallen behind, eyes darting from the golden gingko trees lining the paths, to the intricately carved dragon gargoyles on every point of the ancient rooves, to the ripples that have been raked into the gravel meticulously by the servants. Everything is so familiar yet foreign, as if you have stepped into a world that once belonged to you but you no longer belong to.

“Come on, Tigress.” Soonyoung prompts, voice not urging but firm. “The Circle awaits, and Jihoon hates to be kept waiting.”

You nod absentmindedly and quicken your pace to catch up, nerves all but anxiously frayed now.

Soonyoung leads you to a grand pagoda beside the glassy pond in the gardens. Your mother had loved it there, so as a child, you had avoided it at any means possible. As you approach closer, voices of varying pitch and volume and enthusiasm peal from the structure, and you try not to look at the various figures of the people within it.

The First Blade stalks forward, calling out to his gathered friends. Thankfully, you’re still obscured behind him so it gives you a moment to catch a few breaths and still the hummingbird that seems to have gotten trapped inside your chest.

A tiny voice in your head reminds you of the person you are now, the one that you have trained to become in the past eight years. You’ve completed the training that it takes to become a Blade, worked your way up from the bottom, in rudimentary lessons beside five-year-old Kwon boys and girls. You are no longer the spineless, vapid girl made small by every hateful glare from your mother.

You force your head up, rolling your shoulders back and swallowing away the fear that threatens to make your knees buckle.

Killing is like dancing, Soonyoung had once told you the words of his family. The battlefield is your stage.

You were never a dancer. As much as you could keep up with Soonyoung’s intricate maneuvers in disarming, paralyzing, maiming, you could never follow through with a simple box step, feet tangling up with one another until you tripped and crumpled to the ground, glaring as he cackled. You were never a dancer but you are a performer, and you think that you finally understand the Kwon words when you walk up the steps to the pagoda and it feels like entering the fray of war.

Instantly, twelve pairs of eyes clap onto you, like lightning striking a tree. You look straight ahead, cooly meeting the stare of Lee Jihoon, the Ruby Dragon, future Head of the Triumvirate. Your cousin’s face betrays no emotions, and if he’s surprised, he doesn’t show an ounce of it. Merely, his eyes narrow so imperceptibly that only the trained vision of a Kwon Blade would catch.

Soonyoung squares his own shoulders, clasping his hands behind his back like a soldier. In the firmest First Blade’s voice you’ve ever heard from him, he announces, “Might I introduce to the Ruby Dragon, Head of the Triumvirate, and the Blessed Inner Circle, her Royal Highness, the Dragon Diamond.”

You slowly pull yourself into the same stance as your sworn brother, back and head straight, hands twined together behind your waist to keep them from trembling. A quick inhale and then the words that you’ve practiced over and over in your head since the day that you left home tumble from your lips.

“I am the second child and only daughter of the late Heart. Upon completing the training as a Blade from the Kwon Clan, I have come to offer myself to the services of the Triumvirate as they see fit, if the Ruby Dragon and His Blessed Inner Circle will have me.”

You’ve had the hood of your cloak pulled tightly over your head, but you tug it down, revealing yourself. You keep your attention on Jihoon, afraid that if it wanders through the crowd, you’ll seek out Seokmin and his face will be the undoing of your bravado.

Only a few feet before you, Jihoon, the Head of the Triumvirate, sovereign prince of the kingdom and all its lands and people, holds his head up high, slender neck straight. His carriage has remained as impeccable as you remember from your childhood, having been groomed into every bit the regal figure he is supposed to be. He’s swathed in layers of red, his color. You expect him to open his mouth, voice powerful and commanding, as he demands you to grovel at his feet for entrance into the court, but the silence stretches for a moment too long and you lift your gaze from his chin to his face proper. To your surprise, Jihoon merely grins impishly, as if he’s just caught you within an inside joke.

“I was wondering when you’d make your appearance.” The Ruby Dragon’s voice lilts delicately, as if speaking in melody.

You clamp your jaws shut tightly to prevent any hasty words from slipping through. Instead, you turn your head to Soonyoung, where the First Blade still stands at attention, expression impassive aside from a tiny twitch of his lips. You should have known. Soonyoung and Jihoon have been thick as thieves since birth.

“You knew.” It’s a confirmation, rather than a question.

Jihoon shrugs a single shoulder. “I’m the Head of this kingdom. I tend to know most things.”

More and more memories come back to you as you sweep your gaze across the Inner Circle and recall the families, their callings. Of course. The Yoon Clan and their Whisperers would have caught news of your disappearance even before you landed at the Kwons’ doormat. The Boo Singers would have coaxed the secrets out of even the wind with their song.

The realization that you might have not completely disappeared from your past life then begs the question. Did your brother–

Finally, finally, your defenses crumble and you’re seeking out the face of someone who existed as a god, radiant and warm, in the memories of your childhood. He’s there, much taller than when you last saw him, slender yet strong, like a taut bowstring. He’s older, and so are you, but he looks the same as he did when you left his side without so much as a goodbye.

Seokmin stares right back at you, gaze hardened and unyielding. The shadows underneath his eyes clue you in to how sleepless the recent nights must have been for him, mourning the death of your father, handling the responsibilities that come with being the first son, the Heart of the Triumvirate, the only child left. No, not only the recent nights, every night past for the eight years of your absence.

Suddenly, you feel your heart thudding, heavy in the pit of your stomach. Guilt trickles into your veins and poisons the bloodstream. You have no choice but to tip your head to your brother, in reverence, in apology, in condolence.

Because the irrefutable truth in the tears clinging to his lashes is that until mere moments ago, Seokmin had believed that you had been all but dead.

–

You wince at the deep pulsing ache in your head, pressing firmly and incessantly against your forehead. The lack of rest you’ve gotten the night prior finally catches up to you, but it’s too early to let go of your resolve. Once the Inner Circle had been dismissed by the Head and before he took off with Soonyoung, Seokmin had requested your presence at his wing of the estate, where you now stood, hovering before the doors to his living quarters, catching the trail ends of a conversation coming from within.

“You kept my sister away from me for eight years.” Your brother’s voice comes clipped short, a bridled emotion simmering beneath the smooth placidity of his unwavering tone. If there’s one thing that you know well, it is anger, and the myriad of ways it appears in people.

Soonyoung knows it well, too. He is the one who taught you to read it in others, after all. The First Blade waits a breath before he responds as gently as he can muster.

“I did as the princess bade me. It was her wish for nobody to know. The others who acquired this knowledge did so of their own means; I did not tell a soul.”

“You watched her grow into a young woman while I was left to think that she died a child.”

Seokmin isn’t listening. He’s losing the grip he holds over himself, throat warbling with more and more ire. Even as a child, he had been emotional, which, as the future Heart, their mother had celebrated. To be aware and cognizant of one’s feelings, understand their origins, and be able to apply them to rulings, was the mark of a wise and judicious Heart. Their father, however, had worried that Seokmin would be poignant to a fault.

You understand his concerns now. Rage at the hands of someone who knows it well could be shackled like a wolf, kept at bay until the apt time came to loosen and utilize it. Rage at the hands of a stranger is nothing but a lit candle in the middle of a forest, wick nearing the end of its life, flame lapping at the kindling at its feet.

A wildfire waiting to happen.

You rap your knuckles against the heavy wooden door that divides you from the murmured argument. Both men on the other side fall silent until you clear your throat.

“Brother, you called?”

You hear the hiccup of a heavy sigh. “Come in.”

As you swing open the entrance and press yourself inside cautiously, Soonyoung passes, stalking his exit briskly. You briefly catch a glimpse of his jaw ticking, but the First Blade merely nods at you before disappearing without a sound.

Inside, Seokmin stands before his desk, back turned towards you and head bowed. The line of his shoulders quivers as he gathers his breaths, and you wait patiently, taking in the presence of your brother for the first time in a long time and marveling at how instantly you feel at home.

When he finally shifts, looking at you over his shoulder, his eyes are guarded, careful. As if he doesn’t trust that you really are his sister. You cannot blame him.

“You’ll have to excuse the state that I am in,” Seokmin sighs again, lifting a palm to drag across his face. “It has been a whirlwind of a few days.”

You dip your head. “And I’m sure I haven’t made things any easier,” you try to break the ice delicately, but your voice sounds too thin against the gravity of the atmosphere. Instead, you offer, “My sincerest condolences for your loss of the former Heart. I cannot begin to imagine the grief you must feel.”

Your brother’s face twists into a mask of confusion to hide the contortion of pain in it. “He was your father, too,” he reminds quietly, as if allowing you the grace to mourn.

When word of your father’s death had echoed through the palace, arriving in the Kwons’ courtyards on the wings of a Songbird, you had felt no grief. Merely, your heart ached for your brother, who you knew had loved your father, from leagues away, wondering if he could hear your words of comfort for him on the breeze.

Gently, you say, “He loved you more than he ever loved me.”

No matter how kind of a lie it would be, Seokmin never holds an untruth on his tongue, so he elects to remain quiet instead. He takes another stretch of silence as a pause, and you watch as your brother gathers himself, slowly but steadily, into the prince that is required of him. For the first time since morning, his eyes are wiped dry, spine pulled into a straight, solid column, as he struggles to press his lips into a smile.

“I am glad that you are not dead, my sister.”

You bow your head again. “I’m sorry for leaving.”

“I’m sure you had your reasons.” Seokmin’s words come kindly, but his gaze searches yours, imploring for answers. Out of a primal, animal instinct, you throw your walls back up, the tiny hairs on your nape bristling. Perceptive as ever, your brother gives the smallest of nods and backs off.

“I’m sorry for deceiving you for so long,” you continue your litany of regrets, nerves grating raw until you get every single one on your list off your chest.

Your brother’s expression flickers with hurt, and he holds a hand up, halting you in the midst of your next sentence. “We–” He winces, “We’ll have to continue talking about that another time.” Seokmin exhales heavily, and you wonder if his lungs will fare alright with all this sighing. “I called you here because I thought we might discuss some family matters.”

You blink in surprise, first at the sudden formality of his tone, then at the inclusion of you within the topic. Sure, technicalities make you part of the family on paper, but you had lived the past eight years, denying your membership in the Lee dynasty, taking on Soonyoung’s dumb nickname for you in a defiant act of renouncing your given name. Just a few hours ago, your brother had thought you good and dead. You cannot help but feel unworthy of his ready acceptance of your return.

You shift nervously from foot to foot, watching impatiently as Seokmin circles the corner of his desk and sinks into his seat on the opposite side of the wooden counter from you. He tilts his head curiously, nodding at the chair before you to sit.

“I–” You start, but your voice gets caught somewhere in your throat as you realize that you’re not sure what exactly to say. Obediently, you awkwardly settle onto the cushioned armchair, grasping for some semblance of intellect. The Kwons had been a clan of few words, choosing to speak with their fists or weapons whenever they could. You’d grown out of practice in the solemn palatial manner of speaking.

Seokmin waits until he seems sure that you have nothing left to say. “The late Heart’s funeral is set to take place in two days, and almost all of the preparations have been completed. His body will be held by the Redeemers until the pyre is lit. Would you like to view him in private before the ceremony?”

Your eyes flutter shut. In the swirling depths of your childhood recollections, you catch fleeting glimpses of your father, who everyone claimed you looked like. Whenever you stared in the mirror at yourself, you pored over every feature, wondering if your father scowled the way you did, frowned the way you did, glowered the way you did. From the few snatches of memories, you had decided that he did, in fact, carry the same mask of gloom as you. You never remember your father’s smile in your own.

“No.” The word escapes before you can even think to hold it in, for the sake of sparing your brother’s feelings, at least. “No need to go through all that trouble for a wayward daughter,” you quickly amend.

To your brother’s credit, he simply moves on. “We, obviously, did not expect your presence in the processions,” Seokmin says with an apologetic grimace, as if he is the one at fault for being unprepared. “But the Kims have a daughter, Mingyu’s sister, who I believe is roughly the same build as you, and she has offered to lend you some of her clothing for the ceremony.” You nod along to his words gratefully, until he quietly murmurs, “I don’t think Mother’s old clothes would work.” Your breath hitches. Blurred edges narrow the scope of your vision, clouding your brother’s face, and suddenly, you’re back in the body of the apprehensive, frightened little girl, who trembled like a leaf at every little thing that reminded her of her mother. For all of the agonizing that you had done over reuniting with your brother, attending your father’s funeral, you had, somehow, neglected to consider the presence of your mother in all of this. Perhaps you hadn’t wanted to.

Seokmin calling your name wrenches you back into your current body, the sound of your given name and on the lips of your brother, no less, startling you into the present. He examines you wordlessly, prompting a response.

“Mother.” The name lodges in your throat until you clear it and spit it out into existence. “Is she well?” It pains you to ask.

Your brother frowns, forehead creasing and fingers coming up to knead at his temples. “Not entirely,” he hesitates. “She lives, but I’m afraid that Father’s passing has caused her a lot of mental distress. She requested for a royal pardon from the Head to be absent from the funeral processions and has left for her family’s estate.”

You suppose that you should be relieved, having been spared a reunion with your mother, the phantom that has haunted your every nightmare since childhood. Instead, a wash of disappointment bitters your tongue.

“A pity,” you say, hollowly.

There’s a knowing shadow that flickers across Seokmin’s expression that you just barely notice before it’s gone. Neither of you acknowledge the moment before your brother proceeds with his agenda.

–

“Your Highness,” the boy indulges you with a quick dip of his chin before brazenly hurrying away, as if he could not stand another moment accompanying you. The servants of the palace, overwhelmed with the preparations for your father’s funeral, had already been buzzing here and there, and your appearance, you’re sure, had not been a welcome one at all. Just within a night’s stay, you could almost taste their wariness in the few interactions you had had with them.

Fortunately, you’d been able to grab hold of a passing stableboy for the brief walk it took for him to escort you westward to the physician’s pavilion, where Seokmin had insisted you at least receive a glance over from the First Redeemer. “To ease my mind in the matters of your wellbeing, at least,” he had said with wide, pleading eyes.

You couldn’t have refused him that.

As you climb the steps to the pavilion, you reach into your oldest memories, recalling everything that you know about the clan of Redeemers. Your father’s physician had been the figurehead of the Jeon family, a man just a few years older than him, with a thin, friendly visage and the heavy twang of a dialect from the outer provinces. Satisfied with the expectation of the faint image conjured up in your mind, you turn the corner into a hallway and announce your arrival with a knock into the first door on your left, as instructed by the rude attendant.

“Come in.” The voice that answers rumbles low and deep, with barely a lilt of the accent that you thought you remembered.

When you slip past the sliding doors to the vast room that awaits on the other side, your attention lands onto the silhouette of a man in the far corner, as he attends to a large shelf almost as tall as him. From your vantage, all you can catch is his side profile, a delicate pair of eyeglasses perched atop the bridge of his nose. Black hair cropped short, face like a dagger, all of his features angled and sharp. He’s young, much younger than the blurred memories of your past, and you blink in surprise when he shifts to look up at you.

“Ah.”

“I’m looking for the First Redeemer. The Heart scheduled a meeting for me.”

The man slides a book onto the shelf from the crook of his arm, nodding a few times before fully turning towards you. “That would be me,” he finally speaks more than a few words at a time, lips quirking into a smile that looks a little innocent compared to the previously aloof expression he had been wearing. “Jeon Wonwoo.” He crosses over the distance between in a few strides, holding a hand out in greeting.

You clasp his palm with yours, admiring the slide of his smooth skin against your own, uncouth with callouses. Back in the early days of your residence at the Kwon estate, you had practically lived with a blade in your hands, determined to shed off your clumsiness and catch up to the children who were eternally more graceful than you. When your blisters popped and your raw palms tore and you cried for the first time since you ran, Soonyoung had wrapped them up in strips of cloth, muttering, “Stop crying. Soft hands make for soft people. This is you getting stronger.”

Despite his smooth, soft palms, your first impression of Wonwoo is not that he would be weak. Your face warms a little at the thought, and you lower your gaze to stare at his nose, murmuring, “I remember my father’s Redeemer being much older.”

Wonwoo laughs, a quick bark of mirth, as if he hadn’t expected to be humored, and you can’t help but grin too. “That would be my father,” he responds, pulling his arm back to his side, much to your disappointment. “I took over his position just a year ago, when he stepped down to handle the enterprises.” He gestures for you to take a seat in an armchair placed beside a massive work desk, made of glass and metal.

You obey and sit, skin prickling with anticipation. The Redeemer shuffles around his desk, pulling drawers open and picking out various items, not many of which you’re familiar with. Watching the wide expanse of his back, flush against his silken robes of violet as he moves, you swallow the tight knot in your throat, mouth dry. You drop your gaze shamefully, before the cinch of the sash accentuating his narrow waist greedily takes over your attention again.

It’s not like you haven’t been in the presence of a grown man before. Though the Kwons had provided you a private room of your own, you had preferred the barracks of your fellow Blades in training, hopelessly lonely in a silent room, leagues away from home. Once Soonyoung had offered you his blood and his life and you had promised yours to him, he had cleared away a corner of his own quarters, shoving a cot into it for you to sleep in instead. You’d seen the First Blade through most things, as he sweat through his shirts during training, as he opted to sleep bare chested during the humid summer nights, as he sagged against you, bleeding from a nasty slash that split his skin in half and left a canyon of a scar across his back.

You shut your eyes against that image, suppressing a shudder and trying to shake away the memory of panic and despair that had consumed you, imagining the possibility of losing another brother.

“Nervous?”

You jerk your head up, unexpectedly meeting his gaze, and all thoughts scatter beneath the scrutiny of his sharp eyes. Wonwoo has shut all of the drawers of his desk and carefully arranged the array of tools that picked out onto a neatly folded towel. There’s a slight furrow to his brow, which you puzzle over until you realize that your breath has caught shallowly in your chest, turning your inhales and exhales into quick, accented huffs.

Embarrassed, and a little shy, at having lost the hold you try to keep over your emotions, you give a sheepish shake of your head. “No, I just got lost in my thoughts for a moment.”

“Does that happen often?”

The man’s demeanor shifts ever so slightly, but it’s enough for you to realize that he has reoriented himself into the First Redeemer. Belatedly, you pull yourself into a proper sitting form, putting on airs to at least look the part of the royalty you’re supposed to be.

“Sometimes,” you shrug. “It’s something Soonyoung says I have to work on. Keeping my emotions under control.”

Wonwoo snorts, before muttering, “Rich, coming from him.”

You’d agree with him, but the curiosity sparked by his familiarity of scoffing at the First Blade grows stronger than the desire to tease Soonyoung out of earshot. “Are you two close? He…never really mentioned the palace to me while I lived with the Kwons.”

Wonwoo reaches for his desk, picking up a stethoscope as he hums. “Sure, we grew up together,” he smiles as he plugs his ears and holds the bell firmly against your chest. “Blades are always getting hurt, and they’re always in need of Redeemers. Breathe in.” The instruction he ends with dips low in pitch and sends a shiver up your spine, and an inhale snags within your throat in a hasty attempt to comply.

In, out, in, out, he directs, and you follow as steadily as you can manage, trying desperately not to look up at his face, down at his hands, ahead at his chest so close to your own. It feels like an eternity later when he leans back, pulling the stethoscope off. When you can finally manage to sneak a glance, Wonwoo’s nose is scrunched in concentration as he counts numbers in his head.

“Heartbeat’s a little faster than what’s considered average,” he thinks out loud, and you’re mortified, cheeks immediately flushing hot. You shift in the armchair, wondering if you should say something, pull some excuse out of your ass to explain for it, something, anything.

“There you are!”

The doors slide open, and you heave a sigh of relief when the sudden crashing of noises shatters the stifling silence that has settled over the room. You whip around to find Kim Mingyu at the entrance to the room, his giant hulking frame crumpled as he catches his breath.

An exasperated sigh eludes Wonwoo, “What is it, Mingyu?”

The Sentinel lifts from where he’s bent over, hands against his knees. “Well, I was supposed to escort the princess here, but when I got to the estate, the servants told me that you harassed a stableboy to take you instead.” You roll your eyes at your brother’s best friend, amused at the wrinkles in his clothes in his rush to find you, at the hiss of a lisp that he doesn’t seem to have corrected since childhood. “I waited fifteen minutes for you. I wasn’t going to be late on account of you.”

Mingyu pulls over a wooden chair from a corner of the room with much familiarity, clicking his tongue. “Five more minutes, and I would’ve been there.”

Wonwoo muses, “You probably overslept.” He dips his head towards you like he’s sharing a secret, and you marvel when his cheek dimples slightly. “It’s his fatal flaw.” When Mingyu huffs, “It’s my only flaw,” you barely pay him any mind, the image of Wonwoo’s smile etched into the back of your eyelids.

–

“Heard you and the First Redeemer are friends,” you ponder mildly, sidestepping a well-placed sweep that Soonyoung crouches to throw out.

The First Blade makes a satisfied hum before he straightens. “Wonwoo?” The name that he calls out curiously makes your stomach warm.

“Mmhm.”

“Yeah, why?”

“Just wondering.” “I’m telling Seokmin.” “Telling him what?”

“That it has been two days since you’ve reentered the palace and that you’re already eyeing pretty boys.”

You bite, like a fool. “You think Wonwoo’s pretty?”

Thwack.

Soonyoung cuts you a glare, but his mouth curls into a satisfied grin. He clears his throat, pulling his arm back from the smack he’s landed on your shoulder.

“We are mere hours from burning your father’s body,” your sworn brother deadpans, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment. “Have some decorum.” He pulls away, wiping the sweat off of his forehead with the hem of his shirt.

You wrinkle your nose in offense, spitting, “Fuck off. Low blow.”

The First Blade snickers, which makes you snort, and for once, you’re glad for the daily schedule that he keeps that requires you to spar with him at dawn. If others had overheard the crass conversation ringing through the courtyard, they surely would have condemned the lack of grief you displayed for your recently deceased father.

After the training session, you barely have enough time to scrub and wash the sweat from your skin, before attendants are swarming over you, brushing your hair, smearing powder against your sun-burnished face, pressing you into a wardrobe of lended clothes. Mingyu’s little sister must have grown a yard in your absence because her clothes drape onto the floor, and the servants flutter about, fastening metal pins here and there to match the length to your height.

The skirt and overcoat are cobalt blue, your brother’s color, and you run your fingertips against the imperceptible pinpricks, where you’re certain that the red wolf of the Kims have been ripped from the cloth. A skilled embroiderer has hastily replaced the image with the stitching of a dragon in a white thread that shimmers silver when you pull it up to glance at the details in the lighting. As a child, you had always hated being born under a Diamond moon, feeling left out even in the assignment of a personal color. Now, as you admire the handiwork, you warm a little at the artisan’s attempt to represent your color in a manner that goes beyond just the color white.

Once the pampering has been completed, the attendants place you before a mirror before leaving your room in a flitter. The woman that reflects back at you looks misplaced in such an ornate robe, meant for noble ladies. You trace your gaze from head to toe, contemplating the face that everyone claims you inherited from your father, attention catching at the top of your cheekbone, where they caked a bunch of powder to obscure a tiny scar that Soonyoung gave you as bickering teenagers. Your hair, brushed to a shine for the first time since you’ve left home, holds only a single white pin, meant for the chief mourners to wear. You feel absurd, having dressed up for an affair that doesn’t involve you, wearing a dutiful daughter’s symbol of grief when your bleak heart doesn’t even stir for your deceased father.

You stand in front of the mirror for a long time, unmoving, until a quiet cough from outside announces Mingyu’s presence to escort you to the pyre. Mumbling out a response, you take one last breath, grasping at all the ugly thoughts that threaten to spill out from you and swallowing them back in, hoping that they’ll stay contained in the depths of your stomach at least until the day is over.

When you emerge, Mingyu beams at you so brightly that you wonder if he knows that he’s bringing you to a funeral. “My sister’s dress seems like it worked out,” he inspects, nodding thoughtfully. “She’s tall,” you comment, lifting at the hem of the skirt to reveal where it's been pinned back. “The attendants were all but convinced I was doomed and the gods would condemn me for wearing a dress too long for my legs.”

Mingyu chortles, “Well, I suppose it runs in the family.” He preens, puffing out his own chest to stretch his own height out taller before tripping over a tiny pebble, and he’s so ridiculous that it makes you laugh.

The Sentinel merely flashes you a grin, as if relieved.

As is tradition, the funeral takes place in the innermost courtyard within the palace grounds, strictly out of public view in the rear gardens that are considered sacred and visited by the gods. The pyre has been constructed extravagantly, out of large slabs of red pine, fit for a member of the Triumvirate. Onto the uppermost slab, your father’s body, wrapped tightly in white strips of cloth, has been laid. From the ground, he looks tiny, insignificant in the vastness of the world. You avert your eyes quickly, discomfort pricking at your nape.

The attendance is kept small, meant only for members of the royal family and their Inner Circle, but that means that the Kwons have trekked their way up to the city for the ceremony. Mingyu leads you beside them, making sure that you’ve been delivered safely to the clan of Blades before he slips away to his own family with a wink.

Lady Kwon breathes a quiet gasp when you tug at her sleeve with a smile before she pulls you into an embrace. In the years of your residence at the Kwon estate, she had never once complained of your imposition, taking you in effortlessly as if simply gaining another child. She now fusses over you, despite only having been apart for a few days, brow furrowed, the spitting image of her son.

“I’m alright,” you assure with a quiet chuff, leaning around her to greet Lord Kwon with a quick dip of your head.

“Mom, you coddle her too much,” Soonyoung grumbles as he also steps in line beside you. He, for once, has cleaned himself up, dapper in the gold and black of his clan. Though he tugs at the tight collar of his overcoat uncomfortably, he looks more at ease in the formal wear than you, the proper image of a First Blade. He completes his own inspection of you, lips curling in amusement, “Guess you are a princess after all, huh?”

The window of opportunity for you to retort back closes with Jihoon’s appearance and the subsequent sweeping of everyone dipping towards the Head in reverence. When you straighten from your bow, your gaze jumps across the gathering, as if lured by a silent call, to where Wonwoo stands beside his father, both wearing violet. When Wonwoo lifts his head up, he notices you too and offers a polite nod, which you return with a flutter in your stomach.

Jihoon calls the ceremony to a start, and the first order of business brings in a shaman to lead a series of rituals to exorcise evil spirits that may attach themselves in the presence of death and to help guide the spirit of the deceased to a peaceful afterlife. Once the rites have been completed, the gathering parts for one of Jihoon’s higher court historians, who has been granted the role of recording down the details of the ceremony. The attendant stands before the crowd, holding a scroll out and reading from it. “We mark today as a most sorrowful day as we part with the former Heart of our exalted Triumvirate. The late Heart is survived by the subsequent Heart, the Sapphire Dragon, his first son.” A hush settles over the gathering as the historian hesitates and hastily adds, “And, er, her Royal Highness, the Diamond Dragon, his daughter.”

You prickle at the unwanted designation, keeping your gaze cast low towards the ground. From your left, Soonyoung offers you his hand, palm faced up. You reach for it, fingers twining tightly around his.

Once the formal announcements have been made, Jihoon wordlessly hands over his post to Seokmin, and you watch as your brother takes his place at the center of the gathering, right in front of the pyre. He looks nervous, you think, and your heart aches for him, for the tint of red in his watery eyes. Before he starts, Seokmin looks towards you, and you try to press your lips into a reassuring smile.

Your brother, who loved your father despite all of his shortcomings, lets a single tear fall. “I speak before you all today so that I may impart my father’s legacy within you as witnesses. My father, the former Heart of the Triumvirate, was not a perfect man, but I knew that he loved me and that I loved him.”

You listen to Seokmin’s stories of your father throughout his childhood. Of when he broke your mother’s favorite vase and your father helped him sweep the shards away and took the blame for it. Of when Seokmin fell asleep at the desk during his Heart lessons and your father let him sleep for the rest of the session. Despite it all, you find yourself smiling at his memories of the loving father that you never got to experience.

Your brother had asked, if you had also wanted a chance to speak at the ceremony. At that time, you had instantly refused without much thought. Now, as you hear Seokmin’s speech, you realize that you wouldn’t have a single fond memory of your father to share.

The proceeding comes to an end with Seokmin, calling for whoever wants to say a personal farewell to come up to the pyre. The Kwons make their way up, leaving you and Soonyoung behind.

You watch the queue of the former Inner Circle members go up one by one to dip their head to your father’s body, murmuring quiet words to send him off to the afterlife. Curiously, you note that all of these people seem to have a myriad of things to say, while you, his child, cannot come up with a single kind word for him.

“Oh, man,” Soonyoung groans softly, “Mom’s crying.”

You follow the crook of his finger, where Lady Kwon, sure enough, dabs at her eyes as she waits for her turn, whereas you, his daughter, cannot even squeeze out a single tear for him.

The First Blade squirms at your silence, squeezing at your fingers still clutched in his. “Tigress, you alright?”

You’re mute as everyone says their goodbyes, as Seokmin receives the lit torch and presses it against the pyre, as the flames leap from slab to slab until it consumes your father’s body and swallows it whole.

Your father who leaves you, in a giant plume of smoke and ashes, with nothing but his face to remember him by.

–

You’re in a dream. You know that you’re in a dream because although it hasn’t happened in years, you’ve been here before, in this dark, directionless world with swarming shadows that bind over your body and cut you with their sharp edges. There was a time when you’d grown quite adept at identifying the illusion and had been able to force yourself awake and into reality within a mere handful of minutes.

You suck in a deep breath, hold it in your chest, and shudder as it releases, but there’s no signs of waking up. In fact, the shadows grow clearer, sharper, and bite into your arms and legs and torso with more conviction. You hold back a yelp, trying to gather your concentration into escaping. It gets harder and harder to focus when the pain shifts from stinging to burning and more and more blood sluices from the wounds.

Weak.

The first of the voices hisses, and you realize that you’ve lost the opening to escape. When the whispers start, you sink one level deeper into the darkness, rendering you paralyzed with fear and leaving you to endure through the dream until your body wakes on its own.

Useless. Worthless.

Your own parents abandoned you. What makes you think that the Kwons won’t too?

The poor Heart only has you left as his remaining family.

The First Blade is a fool for swearing his life to yours. You’ll get him killed one of these days.

Because you’re weak.

You wince feebly, straining against the tethers that the shadows have formed into, unable to do much but lie there, suspended in a web of the truths you’ve been desperately trying to outrun.

It could have been hours or days later when you open your eyes again, this time to a darkness that glows blue, not black. Moments pass as you blink at the sky above, and another handful of seconds later, you recognize the pattern of wood as the ceiling of your room. You’ve woken up from the nightmare in the midnight calm of your childhood bedroom, and suddenly, you relive the early morning of your fifteenth birthday, when you had woken up from a similar dream and decided that you had to run.

You wrench yourself out of bed, detangling your limbs from where the sweat-soaked blankets have wound themselves around you.

Soonyoung is your first coherent thought. The few times that he had witnessed your nightmares, he had sat awake with you for the rest of the night. A silent but steady presence. But he left after the funeral earlier to accompany his parents back home. He won’t be back for a few days.

You think about Seokmin, but he had all but disappeared into his quarters upon lighting the pyre, looking withdrawn and exhausted. Your brother deserves his rest and his peace.

There’s nobody to seek out, nowhere to go. You can’t stay here in the confines of your mind. You slip out into the frigid night, breath crystallizing in a white cloud that reminds you of the smoke from earlier that day. Your vision flashes with the red and orange and gold of the flames on the pyre.

Washed white under the moonlight, the courtyard flickers hazily, as if you’re still stuck within a world of dreams. The thought unsettles you. You take off, feet frantic as it leads you somewhere, anywhere. The recognition of the paths within your family’s estate when you first returned quickly dissipates as you round corner after corner. In your desperation and the confusion that the cloak of night brings, you find yourself losing your way, deeper and deeper in the bowels of the palace grounds. The palace is silent and still, punctuated only by the rough drag of your lungs as you take painful gulps of the freezing air.

Where am I? What am I doing here? Why am I back at Court? Did I really think that they’d welcome me that easily?

You slow your pace, shaking your head in hopes of defying the voices that have followed you out from the dreams. The shadows are here too. You can feel their edges tightening and nipping into your skin. It’s no longer an illusion but real life.

“Princess?”

A voice, a real human voice, shatters the ever-darkening night, and you latch onto it greedily, desperately. When you lift your head, panting all the while, he’s there, like a savior gleaming in the moonlight. The sight of him shocks you awake because there’s no way that something so gentle, so alluring would exist in your nightmares. You return to yourself haltingly, unable to look away as your heartbeat settles and then steadies.

Wonwoo has discovered you, wandering before the physician’s pavilion in the dead of night, feet and shoulders bare, having neglected a cloak to drape over your nightwear. You barely notice that you’re trembling until the Redeemer crosses over the courtyard to where you stand, pulling at his own coat to place around you, wrapping you in a swell of warmth and the scent of lilac that instantly begin to seep into your bones.

The man doesn’t say anything as he winds an arm around your shoulders and begins guiding you forward. You keep your head dipped low, eyes glued to the ground, as you follow in shame. The brief journey ends with Wonwoo tucking you into a hallway and closing a door behind the both of you. For a moment, there’s nothing but darkness and you feel the stab of panic again until you hear the strike of a match, see a tiny flame tossed into a furnace. The room that appeared as a yawning void opens up with light, and you peer around, gathering details and piecing together an impression.

Along the leftmost wall, you catch the counter of a tavern, fashioned from a long, polished slice of wood. Beneath the surface lines an array of barstools, each standing at varying heights. On the opposite end of the room, a cluster of armchairs and lounge chairs have been gathered, a hodge-podge collection of furniture. The fabrics and leathers of the seats are worn and sunken in with use, which is a comforting thought, as if people have lovingly used them as intended, unlike the pristine condition of everything else in the palatial rooms.

“Where are we?” You croak, wincing at the sound of your own voice, cold and ragged, in the warmth of the mysterious room.

Wonwoo remains quiet, pattering around the room to throw more kindling into the fire, to strike another match and start up the stove, to shake some leaves into a pot for tea. When he finally stops bustling, he returns to your side, an arm a steadying brace again at the small of your back, as he guides you to sit in one of the couches.

You sink into the plush seat, staring up at him patiently, while he busies himself to fasten the cloak still over your shoulders tighter, tugging over a blanket from another chair to pull over your lap. You want to tell him to stop, stop moving, stop fussing, but there’s such a determination set to the clench of his jaw and the crease in his brow that trying to stop him feels like a transgression.

Instead, you decide to steal this opportunity for yourself, slowly observing the man that you’ve already become so inclined towards. Without his overcoat in the way, the strong line of his shoulders outlines his figure, giving way to lean arms, narrow waist, an expanse of legs. The short clipped style that he wears his hair in, his angled face, his slender yet strong build, everything about him leans towards the image of a soldier, much like the ones who you trained as Blades beside. And yet, you recall the dimpled smile as he quietly teased Mingyu, the soft skin and slender wrists of a hand that has never felt the heft of a weapon, the lingering touches that have been nothing but gentle. The juxtaposition bewitches you, and you fall headfirst into the charm.

Beautiful, the thought forms effortlessly.

The Redeemer comes over, finally, dipping to a knee in front of you to close your fingers around a clay vessel, hot and fragrant with tea. He insists with a nod until you take a sip, hold the mouthful to savor its warmth, before swallowing it. Ever so slightly, the tension in the grit of his teeth eases, and he takes a drink from his own cup, motionless in his kneel at your feet. Several heartbeats of silence follow until he breaks it with a murmur. “This is the safe haven I’ve created, away from the court, away from the nobility.” Wonwoo wears a modestly proud smile. “It’s meant for all of us. The Circle and the Triumvirate, I mean. Though Soonyoung likes to take advantage of it as his own personal clinic.” He adds the last bit with a fond scowl.

You contemplate his words, taking another analysis of the space. Tucked away into a corner, there is a trunk, not unlike the one in his office at the pavilion. You guess that it would similarly contain a supply of medical equipment.

With every subsequent sip, the tea that Wonwoo brewed brings you an inch closer to reality. Once you near the bottom of the cup, the Redeemer finally ventures to ask. “What happened?”

You think that you would be able to answer him, if he wasn’t so earnestly peering up at you from the floor. With a sobering surge of courage, you tell him so, motioning for him to come up beside you on the cushions. Wonwoo sits so close that your shoulder brushes his and you smell the lilac that seems to cling to him like a second skin.

It’s not hard to find the words to say. After all, you’ve had this conversation once already. A few years ago, when Soonyoung had caught you readying yourself to run again, on a night so dark that the shadows swirled and suspended in the air, like ink in water. He had held you at arm’s length by the shoulders, demanded what was required of him to stop you from disappearing from your family and life for the second time.

“I have these dreams. These nightmares. Shadows cut into my skin and make me bleed, but they’re not as bad as the voices. They tell me the things that I want to avoid accepting.”

Wonwoo takes it all in stride, politely keeping his eyes off of you as he stares down into his mug and inquires, “What kinds of things?”

“That I’m not enough. That I’m going to let everyone down.”

He considers this in silence, leaving the space for you to continue talking, as if now that you’ve started, you can’t seem to stop.

“They tell me that Soonyoung is a fool for swearing an oath with me because I’m weak. Inevitably, he’s going to die because I’m going to fail to protect him. They tell me my parents didn’t love me because I’m no use to them.”

Wonwoo bristles against you, his entire body growing taut and still. “Do you really believe that?”

You close your eyes.

“It doesn’t matter if I believe it or not. It’s the truth.”

Whether intentional or not, the conversation lulls to an end, and the warmth of the room drains the adrenaline from your restless night, easing you into the blurred boundary of being conscious and asleep.

When you wake, you find yourself in an unfamiliar room, cheek pressed against a warm, worn leather. Haltingly, you come to each of your senses. The soft cotton of a blanket that has covered you overnight. The musty scent of a secret room and the drying peels of oranges laid out to combat it. Water babbling as it boils in a kettle. Pale sunlight filtering through the window slits.

You press yourself up to sit, seeking out the one presence in the room that you couldn’t stop thinking about even as you dozed restlessly. Wonwoo, despite having spent the night in this stale room, looks as undisturbed as always. He doesn’t look up from his hunch over the tea that he’s meticulously tending to when he calls, “I’m to report to the Head’s living quarters later this morning for a routine check-up. Would you like to accompany me?”

You blink, stunned at the request from the Redeemer, who has actual responsibilities within the court, unlike you. You should politely deny the offer. You should pretend to be preoccupied with other prior commitments, play the false part of a princess who is beloved and desired and important. Instead, your heart betrays your head, and you nod wordlessly.

Later, when Wonwoo has completed his business, the two of you amble through Jihoon’s courtyard, enjoying the rare sunlit morning.

“Plum blossoms,” Wonwoo says thoughtfully, tall enough that when he reaches up, his fingertips brush against the buds that are beginning to sprout their white and pink petals. “They flower in the late winter. You’re supposed to prune them right after they flower, to help them grow better.” You hum curiously, craning your neck to admire the massive tree stretching wide above. “The symbol of the Lee Clan,” you muse, “And yet only Jihoon’s yard gets to have them planted in it.”

“He probably doesn’t even realize that they’re here,” Wonwoo’s laughter makes his voice trill, and you beam at the branches, fighting to hide it away from him.

“When I was a kid, I used to beg my nanny to sneak me away from home and come over to see the flowers here,” you reminisce, the taste of the memory bittersweet on your tongue. “Our yard only has gingkos, so everything was bare during the wintertime.”

A smile plays at the man’s lips. “A nanny? That’s very princess-y of you.”

You snort in response before you can even think to hold it in, “Only because my mother didn’t want to have anything to do with me.” Wonwoo’s face falls, and you snicker at his dismay. “Don’t worry, everyone’s known this for decades at this point.”

The Redeemer’s mouth twists in deliberation as he tips his head to the side, wondering if it’s the truth or if you’re just trying to make him feel better. He flusters on, choosing to change the subject.

“My parents refused to let anybody intervene with their parenting,” he shrugs. “They didn’t let anybody coddle or reprimand us. They decided that the best and the worst should always come from the parents.” Wonwoo laughs, but there’s a misty rasp to it, as if nostalgia threatens to steal him away. Shaking his head, he reaches overhead and pinches to pluck a tiny blossom off, delicate in his lithe fingers.

You feel like Wonwoo hesitantly opens up about his own childhood as a response; you shouldn’t pry further.

“How do you know so much about flowers?” You inquire instead, absentmindedly holding a palm out when Wonwoo gestures to you and drops the blossom into your hand.

Almost instantly, the defenses come up in his expression, and you understand, feeling the walls as fervently as if they were your own. The straight line of Wonwoo’s shoulders grows taut, a shadow flickers across his gaze, and he responds through his teeth, “My mother loved flowers.”

You nod once, guilty for asking, and that’s that.

–

“There’s a whisper in the wind.” You stare back at the Yoon man, who Jihoon has appointed as his chief Whisperer. You hadn’t met him in your childhood before you left, but you’ve gathered that your brother and cousins trust Jeonghan with their lives. Nevertheless, you’re a little wary of the man whose innocent visage, you know, obscures a mischievous streak within. Even the way he got ahold of you, slipping in step right beside you as you took your late afternoon stroll amongst the barren trees unsettles you.

Whisperers, in general, have always discomforted you. Your uncle’s chief Whisperer had been a snake of a man, with an easygoing smile and eyes that flashed like lightning. Even as a child, you had squirmed even being in the same room with the man. The moment you had landed eyes on Jeonghan upon your return, you had known that he was the spawn of the serpent in your memories.

“What do the whispers say?” Your curiosity triumphs over your unease.

For once, Jeonghan’s lips aren’t upturned into a smile. Instead, there’s a slight crease to his forehead, and he looks the proper part of a man burdened with the secrets of the entire kingdom. “Lord Jeon has broken a longstanding deal with the Park clan, regarding the private ownership of their clinics, and the Parks aren’t happy.” Your head twinges, unused to the politics of business-dealing. “Why did he do it?”

Jeonghan shrugs a shoulder, dipping his head closer to you. “The Parks have always coveted the Jeons’ proximity to the Triumvirate. They think that once Lord Jeon passes, they can topple his empire.”

You frown but still don’t understand where this leads. The Whisperer’s gaze softens at your confusion before he delivers the objective.

“The whispers tell me that they want to exterminate his sons, so that there will be no heirs to inherit the empire.”

There’s a high-pitched ringing in your ears that deafens you from your own voice asking, “How do they know?”

You return to your senses just as you catch the tail end of Jeonghan’s response. “They recently hired a band of bloodswords. The whispers say that they’ve been bustling all night and morning, and they suspect that they’ll make their move soon.”

You should’ve listened to Jeonghan.

The sky had been red as blood when you woke that morning. Usually, it reads as an omen of a storm, but it had felt like something worse. Your mind had gone to Jeonghan’s words instantly, but Wonwoo is securely tucked into the palace grounds. Surely not even bloodswords are capable of slipping past the Sentinels.

You should’ve listened to Jeonghan.

When the incessant alarm in your head doesn’t let up, you decide to check in on the physician pavilion with Mingyu, who isn’t hard to wrangle up at all. Soonyoung, on the other hand, tosses sleepily in his bedsheets, grumbling something about having taken an overnight shift for Seungcheol. You frown, unimpressed, but leave him in his room with a mutter that if you, and Jeonghan, turn out to be right and Wonwoo really is in danger, he’ll be sorry for it.

Wonwoo’s not in his office. The chairs have been thrown, overturned here and there. The glass top of his desk shattered to oblivion.

Immediately, your concern rots away into dread, and it rises in the back of your throat as bile. Mingyu’s quick on his feet, already lisping through his next thoughts out loud, but you can barely hear what he says, your own mind reeling in panic and fear and despair.

“Tigress,” Mingyu barks, fingers bruising as he grips your shoulder, “pull yourself together. We need to find Wonwoo.”

You nod, mumble out your agreement. The Sentinel takes off, and you follow closely, barely aware of where he leads. Mingyu makes quick work of his hunt, like a hound closing in on a scent, and it feels like only a few heartbeats when he skids to a pause in the gateway to a secluded courtyard, one hidden away from most of the palatial grounds, most frequented by servants. The night swarms in, dark and smothering, and there’s barely a sliver of the moon in the sky to provide light but you see him.

You see Wonwoo, crumpled on the floor and trying to shove himself deeper into the corner that he’s been backed into. There’s a man merely a few feet in front of him, much farther away from you, who inches closer and closer to Wonwoo, a sickly sardonic laugh rattling out of his chest. Like a hunter, triumphant as his prize awaits.

There’s a horrid cut splitting the pale flesh of Wonwoo’s cheek, weeping blood. Staring at the man before him, he holds out the dagger that Soonyoung gave for protection in their childhood, but it’s too loose in his trembling grip. You see the Redeemer as he once was: a gentle boy, raised by a healer and a nurturer, who grew up wanting nothing but to care for others, the way he was cared for by his parents. Wonwoo couldn’t kill anyone, let alone harm them, even if he wanted to, and the thought makes your insides burn like wildfire.

“Wonwoo.” Your voice barely comes out, but he hears you, jerking his chin up. His eyes, stretched wide with terror, land on you, and the world around you tips on its axis. They hurt him, put a mark on a man who would never wish harm on another. “No,” you whisper, fingers curling tighter against your weapon, clinging to something desperately so that you don’t lose yourself in the storm. “No. You don’t get to lay a hand on him. You shouldn’t have done that.” The words escape as a sigh from miles away.

The bloodsword swivels his head over his shoulder before barking out another scoff. “Get lost, little girl. The grown-ups are dealing with business.”

The man’s words fall innocuously on deaf ears. There’s half a thought forming in your head that maybe you should just disarm him, incapacitate him just enough to have him out of the way so that you can check on Wonwoo. You look back at the Redeemer, see the cut on his face, and a roaring starts up in your ears, as the thought sputters and fizzles out.

Without a word to Mingyu, you surge forward, but you know that he’s there, hot at your heels. The man puts up no real fight; after all, bloodswords are amateur assassins. The man swivels on his feet, just in time to meet you as you reach him. You barely duck under the swing of his knife, but his movements are clumsy and unpracticed. He tries to lash out several more times, but you weave through each of his attempts.

You should kill him quickly–there’s Wonwoo to get to–but the grating noise of his awful laugh echoes in your head. How dare he laugh at the thought of hurting Wonwoo, of killing him? Your head gets loud again, you shift to the right a little too slowly, and the man’s swipe catches you across the chin, jerking your head to the side. It doesn’t hurt, you only feel the force of it and nothing else, but it’s enough. You drop into a crouch and slash at his calves with your blade, smiling when his muscles tear and his knees buckle beneath his weight.

A pitiful yelp of a cry spills from the man, but it’s too late for you to care. You wrench his shoulder, flip him around so that he’s crumpling onto his back, as you loom over him. He has no choice but to look at you now, standing before him with the blade steadying your hands. There’s a slow satisfaction that bubbles in the pit of your stomach, before spreading, warm in your veins, as you see the man’s face contort from anger to despair to finally fear. It delights you, knowing that he has realized his mistake.

The man dies screaming, and you revel in the way his voice gurgles as he chokes on his own blood before it cuts out entirely.

Other bodies thud to the floor around you as Mingyu takes care of the hoards that continue appearing, and the reprieve allows you to crouch beside Wonwoo, pressing a quivering palm to his unmarred cheek.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” You demand firmly, searching his eyes and any visible part of his body for signs of injury. “You’re okay now,” you whisper fiercely, feeling your heart tear at the sight of blood slipping from his face, over his jaw, and down his pale throat, of the panic in his usually unruffled expression. “We’re here now.”

The Redeemer shakes his head, and the dagger clatters out of his fingers as he tugs at you and you crash into his chest. “You’re safe,” he mutters, but you can barely hear his voice over the hammering of his heartbeat against your ear, the blood rushing furiously through your head.

You want nothing more than to stay in the warmth of his embrace, but you force yourself to push away and up. “You’ll be safe with Mingyu,” you promise, for the sake of yourself, if not for Wonwoo’s. You hear him call your name, a frantic howl of a noise, but rage pulses through your veins and it calls you back, back into the throng of the violence.

You advance, cutting through the outbreak of invaders like stalks of grass with a scythe. The anger, the fear that Wonwoo could’ve been hurt even worse blinds and deafens you. You move ceaselessly, bending and crouching and lunging and slashing. You dip to slice at the heels of one man, shoot yourself up and twist to tear the throat of another. A constant rhythm that never lets up, just like the Kwons taught you to, because a motionless warrior is a corpse. This is what dancing must feel like.

Just a bit up ahead, there’s another figure whirling and carving down the rest of the men with his twin blades. You take the moment to catch your breath, reel in the emotions that have gotten too unruly, fraying the edges of your minds and taking control of your body. In the middle of counting to a hundred, eyes squeezed shut, a gentle weight lands atop your head, grounding you. You don’t need to see to know that it’s Soonyoung, heat and the stench of iron nearly vibrating off of his body.

“Wonwoo?” The First Blade prompts quietly, and you can still hear malice in his voice because no matter how much more control he has over himself, you and Soonyoung are cut from the same bloody cloth. While your rage consumes your entire body in a deafening inferno, his fury makes his world go silent, like he’s swimming in frigid, subzero waters.

“We got to him just in time. I left him with Mingyu.” The words coming out of your throat sound like they’re coming from another person. They’re quiet, but the rest of your body is still so loud. Buzzing with the need to kill, kill, kill.

A muted sigh escapes Soonyoung. He drops his hand from your head to your face, fingers brushing at a spot on your jaw that smarts at his touch. “Tigress. He’s safe. That’s all that matters for now,” the man mumbles gently. “Go see him. We’ll kill the rest of the Park bastards another day.”

His promise is not enough. Your body yearns for more bloodshed, here and now, but you force yourself to nod and let yourself be tugged away from this battlefield to the next.

–

The physician pavilion has been wrecked, so there’s only one place that Mingyu could have taken Wonwoo.

The speakeasy-turned-clinic welcomes you like a second home as you step into its dim warmth, followed closely by Soonyoung. Only once you pass the threshold into the main holding room and see for yourself that Mingyu and Wonwoo are truly alive and well, you let yourself go lax, shoulders sagging as the weight of the world releases you.

Wonwoo sits on a barstool as the Sentinel hovers before him, stitching up his cheek with deft fingers. You’re so relieved that your knees threaten to buckle beneath you. There’s a moment when Wonwoo realizes your arrival and glances up, expression raw and melting with relief. You struggle to say something, anything, but your head swarms with loud thoughts of mine, mine, mine. It’s a bizarre feeling, wanting him so viscerally, when all your life, you’ve denied yourself. Distantly, you feel the stick of blood on your palms at the carnage you’ve just rendered, and guilt festers, reminding you of how undeserving you are of him.

“Tigress.” The sound of Soonyoung’s nickname for you sounds foreign and clumsy on Wonwoo’s tongue, and it startles you into stumbling a few steps forward.

You shake your head, no, as your feet crash into the stool Wonwoo sits on. Somewhere in your mind, you recognize that Mingyu’s arms come up around your shoulders to right your body as it careens forward, but all you can think is my name, my name, my name until the Redeemer calls you by your name and the infernal world around you finally hushes and settles.

He got hurt because of you, because you didn’t get there on time, because you didn’t take Jeonghan’s whispers seriously at first. All because of your own shortcomings as a Blade. The thought unravels you.

“I’m sorry.” The words spill faster than the tears do. “I’m sorry.”

Wonwoo’s nose crinkles with concern. “What are you sorry for, princess? You saved my life.”

You want to reach up, you want to hold him, but there’s so much blood on your hands. You’d only be tainting him. Like how you ruin everything else.

You get knocked into the darkness, it rushes in and sucks you under like a tidal wave, and you don’t know how to swim out.

“–ey. Hey.”

Another call of your given name. Still foreign after all this time. It rattles your entire being, and the words, barely formed and uncouth, fight their way off of your tongue clumsily.

“I let you get hurt,” you despair, fingers clenching and unfurling around empty air. “I’m not enough. I’ll never be enough to protect you. I need to be perfect–”

“Stop.”

You flinch at the anger brimming in Wonwoo’s voice. It’s foreign in your ears, and you’re not sure that you like it very much. Unlike yours and Soonyoung’s, the Redeemer’s rage feels not like a weapon but more like a manacle. Your throat burns with the desire to free him from it, so you clamp your jaws shut obediently, swallowing down the rest of the venom.

Wonwoo stands, knocking the stool backwards. The noise as it topples over and clatters through the floor returns you to the present, just enough for you to glance up and around the room, discovering that both Mingyu and Soonyoung’s presence have disappeared. You’re both relieved and anxious for it, unsure of what demons the privacy might lead you to bare next. The thought barely skims through your mind, before there’s a heat pressing into you. Confused, you look back forward, and it’s all Wonwoo. Wonwoo, clasping a hand to your cheek, the other settling heavy on your hip. Wonwoo, searing an inspection along the perimeter of your face, where you’re barely aware of a cut steadily weeping blood. Wonwoo, mumbling quietly, breath soft and warm and sweet against your mouth.

“You’re hurt,” he says simply.

It’s everything and nothing all at once. It’s so trivial that you want to brush him off. It’s so profound that you want to wholly consume the moment, greedily swallowing it away for yourself. As you dither, Wonwoo makes the decision for you.

He only tips his head back, lips brushing faintly against yours like a question, like a promise.

Once offered, you have no mind to do anything but take, take, take, and you’re pressing forward desperately, wanting nothing but Wonwoo’s touch to be burnt into your skin like a brand. In response, a quiet whine escapes him, pitched high with delight. He reciprocates with a relentless fervor, mouth melded to yours, breathing fire down your throat.

You swallow it eagerly. When your chest feels close to tearing apart from lack of air, you resentfully pull back for a moment to suck in a breath. In the lapse, the Redeemer smiles down at you, a gentle thumb sweeping over your face.

“I don’t need a perfect you,” he professes, soft and earnest. “I have never expected perfection.” As you grasp for shallow breaths, you puzzle over his words, as his polite smile widens into blatant amusement. “You don’t remember, do you? I’ve seen you before, when we were children. Multiple times, in fact.”

You frown. There’s nothing of Wonwoo in your faint recollections of your childhood, aside from the blurred images of his father. Try as you might, not a single picture of what he might have even looked like in boyhood exists in your head. After all, if he had been in your life back then, maybe your childhood wouldn’t have been as miserable as it was.

As if he notices your dejection, the Redeemer soothes you with a chaste kiss against the forehead. “No matter,” he whispers delicately. “It was always from afar anyway, whenever my father had me tag along to the palace with him. I was too quiet and shy to say anything to you.”

Despite yourself, you quip, “Even quieter than now?”

Wonwoo grins, “Hard to believe, isn’t it?” He continues a bit more seriously, brows drawn together, “You were younger than me, and the princess, but you always looked so unhappy. It was strange.” Shaking his head slightly, he corrects, “It was concerning.”

“I was unhappy,” you concede, but you don’t want to think about it, at least not right now. There will come a time when you bare your whole heart to Wonwoo, you decide then and there. He will witness the deepest and ugliest parts of your soul, and you will leave it up to his judgment if he deems you worthy of saving, of his redemption. Until then, you think that you’ll have to make do with being less than perfect for him. To have him and to give yourself to him as you are.

Wonwoo meets your gaze, knowingly, as if he understands your resolution and acknowledges it for himself as well. You smile, grow lax at the weight taken off of your chest finally, and lean in to kiss him again. Straining up to reach his height isn’t enough, despite the sharp angle that he crooks his neck at, so you urge him backwards, still clutched within his embrace, until the backs of his knees meet the edge of an armchair and you’re falling forward into him, into the seat.

He huffs out a breath, as his fingers trail along your ribcage, hot, like flames licking along your skin. You hold yours, afraid that if you move or make a sound, the spell will break and the moment will shatter. It’s not enough, the slow, intentional sweep of his hands that hold you like fragile glass.

“My mother grew flowers,” he pants into your mouth, words nearly going unnoticed by the haze in your head. “Kept flowers that grew in every season, every color of the rainbow. Raised her boys as she would her flowers, she would say.” Wonwoo’s murmurs rattle you to the core, and you wish that he had told you this when you were in a state to receive it more appreciatively.

You press a palm against his chest firmly, wincing as you deny it when he dips his head back low to get closer. Working hard to reel in your ragged breaths, you hook a finger beneath his chin, lifting his face to examine it. His pupils grow wide, darkening his gaze, and you watch it happen curiously.

Wonwoo rasps out a laugh, which sends your stomach tumbling, but you’re too far gone to care. You recognize it for what it is. He continues speaking in that quiet rumble of his, and all of your senses amplify, seeking out his voice and hanging on every word.

“I was scared that I would grow weak,” he admits like he’s telling a secret, “Flowers are pretty, but delicate. I envied Soonyoung and Mingyu, who were raised as warriors.” Wonwoo smiles and brushes his knuckles against the bruise blooming across your jaw. “Of you, even. A princess who was brave enough to become a Blade.”

You smile back, remorse bitter in the back of your mouth. “It’s not a proud thing, to be a weapon.”

“It’s a beautiful thing, to be a protector.” He argues fiercely, and his gaze burns so intensely that you think you might believe him.

–

Every passing day, every passing moment that you find yourself unable to tear your gaze away from Wonwoo, you think of your mother. You don’t glance at him because he prompts you to, you don’t pore over every shift of his expressions to gauge his emotions, you simply look for looking’s sake. The mere sight of him brings a calm that you never thought you would know in life.

Your attention is wholly yours to have and to give as desired. Without even thinking to, you give your attention to Wonwoo, even when he doesn’t demand it, because your head and your heart are magnetized to him. You realize, slowly, begrudgingly at first, then rapidly all at once, that this is what love must be.

You’ve always known that your parents never loved you. As a child, you had writhed and twisted and bent over backwards to get them to glance your way even for the slightest of seconds and see that you were smiling as angelically as you could to gain favor. You understand now that there would have been nothing that you could’ve done to receive their attention because there was no love in their heart for you. You know it but don’t think that you’ll ever comprehend it. Not when your concentration slips away from you so effortlessly, like sand through a sieve, and your thoughts scatter away from your mother to the Redeemer, merely a few feet across of you atop a barstool, head crooked into his book, fingers playing at the edges of the next page.

Love. The word tingles on the tip of your tongue and your mouth waters at the taste of it.

“You’re staring.” Wonwoo doesn’t move as he speaks, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve imagined his velvet soft voice.

Cheeks flaring hot at getting caught, you stubbornly turn your head away, looking at anything but him.

You think that Wonwoo might love you, too.

For when you can’t last longer than a few seconds staring at the wall and your gaze draws back to him inevitably, like a moth to a flame, his mirthful eyes are already on you, ready to receive your attention.

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