#not pictured is dawn who hates all of this

[sideartblog999]

This is my vision for the s5.5 Willow drags Faith out of jail to Sunnydale to be interrim Slayer while she's working on the Buffy res AU.

[summers-pratt]

You know what's insane bananas bonkerballs? After 118 years together, Spike STILL was getting Drusilla Valentines Day gifts. He is out there acquiring the most gaudy gorgeous necklace for his lady love after a century of acquiring gaudy gorgeous jewelry. Wife guy of all time.

[specialmouse]

I hate doing this. It feels like I’m trying to pitch a family’s lives to dispassionate, detached investors.

Today I spoke with Khaled, Ghada’s younger brother who helps her run their campaign, and as I sent him a draft he said something incredibly sobering. I had asked you to raise $500 in 2 weeks because it seemed realistic—and he said, it needs to come sooner, this isn’t urgent enough. My heart dropped when I realized what I had said. I’m tired of capitulating to the whims of reblogs, of finding the language that most appeals to your generosity.

Khaled and his family are freezing to death. His niece, Iman, has osteoporosis and needs leg braces. She is 6 years old. What more do I need to say, and how should I say it? What other pictures of these elementary school children do you need to see? Do you need to see them bleed for you to merely share the post? How much more trauma is necessary until it opens your wallet? I don’t want to shame you—I am trying to wake you up. The reality is that I could say this about any campaign from Gaza. I could say it about Fadel’s, I could say it about Ola’s, or Hanan’s.

But I have gotten to know Ghada’s family and their stories over the past month and it has become personal. When I eat, I wonder if little Amir was able to do that today. When I put on my shoes, I wonder if my sweet Iman is struggling to walk. I see elders in the street and think of Nabil and Fatima, how hard they have worked for their family’s happiness for it all to be stripped away from them. I see families laughing together and think of Ahed and Mohamed, who must witness their beautiful children shiver and cry for their old lives in the bitter cold. I see men my age and think of my dearest Khaled, who did everything right, got his degree and his job and planned his future, and still is forced to wake up at dawn every day to carry water back to his family.

Maybe that’s what you need—you need to realize that the people you see around you are the same as the people in Gaza. Maybe it is hard behind a screen. Maybe the methods we are forced to employ annoy you, or make you feel guilty. The only way to assuage the guilt is to help. If you have the money, please send it. If you can’t, please share. I don’t know how else to combine words anymore to appeal to you, without downplaying the severity and urgency of this.

€8,001/€20,000 - DONATE. JUST DONATE, PLEASE.

@rickybabyboy @sayruq @officialspec2 @nabulsi @valtsvolts @komsomolka-blog @r0zeclawz @chokulit @3000s @ot3 @90-ghost @apas-95 @punkitt-is-here @i-am-a-fish @b0tster @vampiricvenus @turtletoria @tamamita @omegaversereloaded @catsgifsarefun @teaboot @sawasawako @feluka @spongebobssquarepants @skipppppy @paper-mario-wiki @xgoldenlatiasx @postanagramgenerator @memingursa @certifiedsexed @afro-elf @11thsense @spacebeyonce @fools-and-perverts @dailyquests @neechees @evillesbianvillainarchive @taffybuns @nyancrimew @thatdiabolicalfeminist @beserkerjewel @tpwrtrmnky @beetledrink @spaghettioverdose @grox @minmos @paparoach @jackalopescruff @slimetony

[menagerofmischief]

Nugget Update (MV1)

sumary: y/n's always giddy after getting a nugget update, sure she loves her best boy, but it also has something to do with the cat sitter sending the updates

driver!reader x cat sitter!max verstappen -> habs incoming... series masterlist

cw: not fia approved words, a bit of lance hate (I don't actually hate him), mutual pinning, the grid teasing the reader, lot of appearances from the reader's cat, kissing, kinda mean!reader (to the grid)

wc: 4.1k

a/n: this is my first time writing in 2nd person so bear with me. also, I low key hate this and it may be shit. not proof read!

“Well aren’t you a ball of sunshine?” A voice called out, disturbing the peace - or the closest thing to peace you could have near a Formula 1 track.

Your gaze snapped up, eyes narrowing as you took in the man standing on the entry of the RedBull garage. “Hello, Charles,” you replied, a teasing bite obviously heard in your voice as you crossed your arms over your chest. “I know you wanted to experience what a successful garage looks like but I thought Ferrari had a better hold on you.”

Charles laughs, his eyes crinkling as his lips stretch into a smile. Teasing Charles was always a fun time but that’s all it was, just a bit of fun. It never stretched into something meaner, just two people showing affection by teasing each other.

Charles had been your very first real friend on the grid. The first to offer his hand with a smile and genuinely mean it. The first to congratulate you on a win after getting out of the car or the first to say that the next race would be better. Really, he was your best friend, but you would never tell him that or it would go to his head.

“Funny, very funny.” He said, his accent thick. His eyes slid around the motor home until finally meeting your own. “Lot of drivers are going out for drinks, came by to invite you.”

“I don’t Charles,” you started to say, going through your mental list of excuses, searching for the best one to use to avoid this social interaction.

“Oh come on!” He whined, rolling his eyes. He gave you a look that let you know you could stop thinking about an excuse because he wasn’t going to be buying it. “We won’t stay that long and it’s night race tomorrow so you don’t need to wake up at the crack of dawn.”

You pressed your lips together, the lip gloss previously applied making them slide against each other easily. 

Charles kissed his teeth, nodding his head along. Fine, he’ll play the game. “Some of the WAG’s are coming as well.”

“Are you really trying to lure me out by promising female company?”

“Is it working?”

“Eh,” you shrugged your shoulders. “Will you pay my tab?”

Charles scoffed. “Pay your tab?” He asked, sounding as if you had asked him for his firstborn. “You’re filthy rich! You have a bigger salary than me!”

“Yeah, they do pay world champions a bit extra, comes with the title.” You replied, grinning at him, a wide teasing grin, your eyes twinkling. 

“Fine whatever, I’ll pay your tab.” He said, raising his hands in surrender. “Now go take that suit off and shower, you look disgusting.”

“You look like a trash can threw you up!”

“It threw me up because it saw you!” Charles shouted back in response, his back already turned to you as he walked away, back to the Ferrari garage. 

And that’s how you ended up in the bar, an hour later. Squished in the not too comfortable and definitely not meant to sit so many people, booth. With George’s girlfriend Carmen on your left, and Pierre’s girlfriend Kika on your right, and deep in conversation with both of them. 

You feel your phone vibrate under your hand on the table, and the screen lights up, showing off your wallpaper, a picture of your beloved cat Nugget.

You tune off from the conversation the moment the message arrives, grabbing your phone and pulling it in towards you. Your face lights up, lips stretching into a smile as your eyes focus on the sender ID. Maxie.

Or rather Max. The very cute guy who was your cat sitter whenever you were out and about in the world, chasing the racing track. 

With a quick move of your fingers, you swipe up, opening your phone and going into the message app. Fingers quickly tapping along the screen of your phone as you type out your reply.

With a smile you closed the messages app, pressing your fingers against the button on the side of your phone, watching the screen go black before setting it face down onto the table. As you looked back up, Lando’s amused yet teasing expression caught your eye.

You leaned forward against the table, pressing your hands to the wooden surface as you attempted to get a bit closer to the driver on the other side of the table. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh nothing,” he said with a laugh. “Just wondering who you’re texting, that’s all.” He intertwined his fingers, elbows pressed against the table and leaned forward as well. “You were all grumpy cat but then you get a message and suddenly you’re all smiles.”

“Grumpy cat?” You scoff, rolling your eyes at the McLaren driver. “I’m not a grumpy cat. And for the record, that was Nugget’s babysitter and he was sending me a picture of Nugget.”

Lando laughs, there’s a twinkle in his eyes that tells you he wants to say more but he holds himself back. “Can I see? I haven’t seen the orange gremlin in so long.”

“That’s very mean,” you say, opening your phone to show him the picture, that Max had sent you. “Nugget would never say that about you.”

“That’s because Nugget can’t speak.” He looks at the screen and his lips twist upward in a smirk. “Who’s Maxie?”

You breathe out through your nose, teeth digging into your bottom lip. When you speak your voice is sharp, it leaves no room for questioning things or an invite to ask more questions. “The cat sitter.”

“I’m sure that’s all he is.” Lando laughs when you show him your middle finger before settling back into your seat and returning to the previously abandoned conversation with the two WAG’s.

The race went pretty smoothly, as always. Starting from pole, keeping the lead the whole race and with a 20s gap to car in P2. Everything after that was pretty much a blur, the interviews, partying through the night with the grid and boarding the jet early in the morning.

The sun already started setting by the time you made it to Monaco. With a sigh you rummaged through your bag, blindly feeling around the stuff inside before your fingers finally wrapped around the keys.

Opening the apartment door you walked inside, gently laying down your suitcase as your eyes settled on the scene in your living room. Right there, laying on your couch, in deep sleep, and cuddling your cat is Max Verstappen. 

His hair had fallen over his eyes and the position he’s in looks rather uncomfortable, you’re sure his body will be aching when he wakes up. His chest was raising and falling with each breath he took, little sighs slipping past his lips. Nugget was cuddled up to him, curled in a ball.

You looked at him for a few moments before starting to move around as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake him up. 

Max had been cat sitting for you for a while now. Half of last season and now half of this one so almost a year. He was a sweet, kinda shy, mostly nerdy guy you ran into in a coffee shop and spilled his coffee. You offered to buy him a new one and he joined you for the coffee and you got to talking when he said he was looking for a job so you offered him to become your pet sitter.

At that point you really did need someone to look after your cat while you were gone, since you had broken up with your ex who usually took care of Nugget while you were away. And you couldn’t leave Nugget with your parents since your father was allergic to cats.

Now, your best friend who had been working in a different country had returned to Monaco and said she’d be more than happy to look after Nugget - but you wanted to keep Max around. 

Already having grown used to coming home after a race weekend to find him there, just existing in your space.

Nugget’s whiskers twitch, his eyes opening and he pulls himself away from Max, stretches out and then trots over to you, rubbing his head against your leg affectionately while purring. He let out a happy, albeit a bit too loud, meow when you picked him up and on the other side of the room Max began stirring from his sleep.

He opened his eyes, a bit confused, and rubbed his knuckles against his eyes to wake up, blinking a few times as his eyes adjusted to the light filling up the room. 

“You’re back,” he says, his voice is gentle, still sleepy and a bit quiet. His eyes meet yours and he offers you a sweet smile that has you immediately smiling back at him. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep, sorry about that.”

“Oh no, it’s no problem,” you reply, running your hand over Nugget’s fur as the cat lay happily in your arms. “You can use the guest bedroom if you’re tired, you know. The couch may be expensive but that doesn’t mean it’s comfortable for sleep.”

“I didn’t want to overstep,” Max said, pulling himself up into a sitting position. You approached the couch and sat down, the cat nestling in your lap and purring in content. Max smiled, reaching out his hand and petting Nugget.

“Nonsense Max, you’re not overstepping.” You cut him off, leaving no room for argument. You always told him to feel at ease in your apartment, that he was welcome to any food in the fridge and free to use the guest room as he pleased but even after all this time there was still a slight air of awkwardness backed up by the fear of going a bit too far.

Max’s eyes settled on you, your own focused on your cat so you didn’t notice him looking. He watched the way you cooed at Nugget, asking if he was a good boy while you were away and petting him gently, and his lips stretched into a small, careful smile.

He spoke before thinking. The words left his mouth before he even finished the thought inside of his head. “I watched the race,” he said, and your eyes instantly snapped up to meet his. He swallowed, already too deep to back down. “It - “ he licked his lips, trying to decide his next words, feeling like his tongue had tied itself up in a knot. “You were spectacular. It was lovely … simply lovely.”

You let out a breath, the corners of your mouth twisting upwards and you gave him a thankful look. Max swore he could feel his heart beating in his throat, and felt his cheeks heat up. “Thank you,” you said, your voice gentle, holding a comforting tone. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. And it’s nice - knowing you watched.”

“It is?”

You bit your lip, teeth scraping against you bottom lip as you looked at him, your brain running faster than the Sauber (like it’s hard) as you tried to come up with a response. “It’s kind of comforting,” you finally said, after what felt like a small forever.

You hummed, looking down at your nails. “I was thinking about bringing Nugget with me to the next race. It’s been a while since he was in the paddock.”

“Oh,” Max said, an edge of confusion noticeable in the tone of his voice. “Does that mean that you don’t need me coming over next week?”

“Actually, I was hoping you would come with.” You say, before you can talk yourself out of making the proposition.

Max tilts his head to the side, kind of like a confused cat and you try your best not to giggle at the mental image. “I’m not sure I’m following.”

“If you wanted to attend the Grand Prix,” you tell him, running the edge of one of your nails along your skin. “Cuz’ I’m still gonna need someone to look after Nugget, and you do that in general so this would just be an added bonus of traveling.”

Max is silent for a few moments and you think he’ll decline. You wouldn't fully blame him if he did, you know what the pressure of the paddock can be like. You’re about to open your mouth, tell him that ‘never mind, it was a stupid idea anyway’ and put him out of the trouble of finding a polite way to decline when he finally speaks. 

“I suppose, if you want me to then yeah, I’ll come along to watch Nugget.” He says, trying to ignore the nervous feeling building up in his chest when you smile at him, a wide happy smile that makes him instantly smile back.

“Great!” You said, the excitement evident in your voice. “Someone from the team will contact you in a while to arrange the tickets and leave the rest to me.” Max nods, he doesn’t trust himself to speak, not with the way his throat is closing up and it makes him feel like he can’t breathe.

“Look at you all giggly,” Charles teased, gently pushing your shoulder with his hand. He wiggled his eyebrows, a laugh slipping past his lips as you glared at him.

“Charles, why don’t you turn around and flash your pretty face to the crowd.” You said, rolling your eyes. You looked at the stadium full of people who were shouting out for their favorite drivers, waving banners and cheering happily. You smiled towards the stadium and lifted your hand up, waving your fingers to the public. “Give them a wave.”

“See, I always knew you thought I was pretty,” Charles replied, waving at the public. The two of you and the rest of the grid were in a wagon, going around the track for the drivers parade, so essentially you were stuck with him for at least five more minutes. “Now, do tell who’s got you smiling like that.”

“Is it Maxie?” Lando asked, the teasing tone evident in his voice. He pushed himself closer to you and Charles, inserting himself into the conversation. 

“Didn’t your mom teach you not to eavesdrop?” 

“No, no!” Charles said, shaking his head as he waved his hand dismissively as you, his full attention now focused on Lando. “Who’s Maxie?”

Lando smiled at him, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “The cat sitter,” he said in a sing-song kind of voice. 

“The one you brought to your garage?” The Ferrari driver asked, his attention back on you. “The pretty one.”

“Hold up!” Lando almost shouted, raising his hands. “You brought him with you to the Grand Prix?!”

“I didn’t … well I did bring him.” You said with a sigh, there was no escaping this now. “But it’s not like that. He’s here to watch Nugget.”

“And for you to watch him - because boy that is one good arm candy.”

“Charles, your homosexual is showing,” you warned.

“But you’re not denying it,” Charles noted, giving you a smirk.

You rolled your eyes at him but finally gave in. “Yes, I’m not denying it.”

You stepped back into the motor home, your eyes immediately searching for Max and finally you found him talking to your lead engineer. As you approached the two you could start to hear their conversation and quickly realized they were talking about how the car worked and what went on behind the scenes at a Grand Prix. You found it cute that Max was interested in that.

His eyes met yours and his face lit up, the corners of his mouth twisting upwards into a smile. “You’re back!” He said, “After terrorizing everyone around and getting pets, Nugget decided to settle down for a nap. He’s in your driver's room.”

Max gave you a wink after saying that and you had to hold in a giggle. You excused yourself to go to your driver’s room, with Max following behind you. The first thing you noticed when you went inside was Nugget, curled up on the massage bed and sleeping without a care.

The next thing that grabbed your attention was a dozen pastries lined up on a small table next to the couch. They were all individually wrapped in tissues.

“Max,” you said, picking up one of the pastries and unwrapping it. “I really did mean only one pastry, you know?” You bit into the chocolate filled pastry, moaning at the taste of a treat you weren’t usually allowed to have when it was race week. “My trainer will strangle me if he sees.”

“I swear, no one saw anything.” Max said, shuffling over to the couch and sitting down. “I was sneakier than Nugget when he’s stealing my food.”

“Oh, now that’s a very serious claim.” You told him with a laugh, his own laugh echoing back. You picked up one of the wrapped pastries and offered it to him. “Take one, or five. There’s no way I’m eating it all.”

He takes the pastry you’re offering him, his fingers brushing against your own as he takes it from your hand, sending sparks of electricity down your spine. After a second of hesitation you sit down next to him, the two of you eating the treats in comfortable silence.

His thigh nudges against yours and you turn to face him, finding that he’s already looking at you. He smiles and you don’t hesitate to smile back.

The practices go great, P2 in FP1, P1 in FP2 and P1 in FP3. 

The qualifying is where a slight setback shows up, with quali being ended early due to a crash and a red flag, putting you in P10 for the start of the race tomorrow.  

Once the car had rolled back into the pits you wasted no time getting out, putting the steering wheel back into place before storming into your driver’s room. 

You pulled your helmet off, fingers curling into the bottom of your balaclava as you pulled it off, throwing it next to your helmet before bringing your hands up to smooth down your hair. 

“I’m not in the fucking mood, Pepe.” You said without turning around, assuming it was your race engineer coming to talk about the outcome of qualifying. “Fucking Lance and his fucking money made seat - if that little frog screws up another quali, I’ll be the one crashing him out.”

“I’m not Pepe,” the other person in the room says and you instantly turn around, your eyes wide as they meet Max’s blue ones. “And I’m certainly glad I’m not Lance.”

You looked him up and down, eyes trailing over his figure. You took notice of Nugged, cuddled up in his arms and looked at you curiously, and reached your hand out to pet the cat, a long breath slipping past your lips. 

“Sorry,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “I didn’t really mean for you to hear that.”

Max barely heard what you were saying. Too distracted by the sight of you for his brain to properly register your words. Your skin was slightly glistening with sweat, an imprint from where your helmet and balaclava had dug into your skin still visible on your flushed cheeks. Your messy hair, and your chest raising and falling with each breath you took as you were still working on catching up your breath.

Max blinked, finally snapping out of his thoughts and focusing his attention back to what you were saying. “They should have let you finish the lap.” 

“I agree but sadly that’s not how it works.”

Max nodded along, not really knowing what to say to that so he switched to the next topic. “I ran into your friend. He invited you, and me, out for drinks. I think it would be nice to go, you seem like you need a drink.”

“Yeah, I definitely do.” You replied, taking Nugget from his arms and into your own, stroking down the cat’s body. “Which friend?”

“Uh,” Max started, thinking of a way to describe the guy since he couldn’t remember his name. “Wears red, pretty, sounds French.”

You laughed, smiling at him. “That’s Charles. I hope you didn’t tell him he sounds French, he gets offended by that.”

“Then it’s great I kept it to myself.”

You laughed in reply, putting Nugget down to the floor, the cat immediately moving to a cozy corner and curling up into a ball on the floor, shutting his eyes. “The hotel is right next to the track, you can take Nugget back while I shower and then we can go - if you want to.”

“Sounds like a deal,” Max replied with a smile.

You showered and put on a clean set of clothes just in time to meet Max after he finished dropping Nugget back to the hotel, leaving him with toys, food and water. The two of you made your way to the bar to join the rest of the grid for a night out. 

Some of the drivers were playing pool while their girlfriends were engrossed in a conversation so that left you and Max sitting together, sharing drinks and talking.

“I just …” you started, cracking your fingers. “I don’t know, this quali really messed up my mood and I was riding on such a high after the practices going well. It all feels shit now.”

“Maybe you just need more motivation for the race.” Max offered, drinking the rest of the liquor from his glass in one go. 

“You have something in mind, Maxie?” You asked, the nickname slipping past your lips without a thought now that you’ve had a few drinks. 

“How about a kiss if you get on the podium?” He said, his voice suggestive. Normally he never would have dared to say something like that but the alcohol courage really worked wonders. 

Your eyes widened, clearly not expecting him to be so bold or to suggest that. He took your reaction as a bad sign, immediately straightening up as a wave of dread quickly sobered him up.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped out, the expression on his face shifting into a panicked one. “That was stupid. It was thoughtless. It was -”

“A great motivation,” you cut him off, putting a finger up against his lips to silence him. “It was a great motivation.”

His cheeks burned as his eyes met yours. He looked so vulnerable, his bright eyes impossibly wide. “Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“One more corner to go but you’re in the clear,” Pepe’s voice echoed over the radio. You blinked, your eyes focused on the track before you, the checkered flag already visible along with your team gathering in the front. “That’s P1, Y/n. Phenomenal drive today, you deserved it!”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice breathless as you moved your hands, going through the last corner and speeding towards the finish line. “Thank you, Pepe.” You repeated, swallowing your spit. “It was lovely, simply lovely.”

You put the car into P1, getting out and posing for a picture on top of your car. You could hear the shouts, the cheers, the celebration. You took off your helmet, ripping off your balaclava and putting them both into the car before turning around to face the team, eyes searching for a particular face. 

Finally, you spotted Max. Standing besides your engineer, a proud expression on his face as he looked at you with a wide smile. You didn’t hesitate, feet moving before you could think and then you were in front of him, grabbing his shirt and pulling him down, smashing your lips into his.

The kiss was desperate, both of having waited long enough for it. He wrapped his arms around you, the best he could with the fence between you, kissing you back with need. 

You finally pulled away when you felt your lungs burning from the lack of oxygen, learning your forehead against his. Nothing else mattered, not the public, not the team, not the celebration. Only him, finally yours.

“Simply lovely, right?” You asked, your voice breathless.

“Simply lovely!” Max repeated back to you, before kissing you once again. And he really did mean it - everything was simply lovely.

tag list: @formula1-motogpfan @misty-inferno @thelemonque3n @marvel-hotchner @strangemaximoff @folkloresreputation @pippyth3hippy @adharacambridge @theseerbetweenus @sebastianstansblog @tellybearryyyy @six-call @grussellsprout @oikarma @justcharlotte @annimausi

i hope i tagged everyone who said they wanted to be on the tag list. hope you enjoyed this one and keep an eye out for the poll about the next part of the series <3

[dawngyu]

THE SCIENTIST

pairing: popular hueningkai x deaf fem!reader

summary: Kai, who thrived in sound. Loud noise, vibrant conversations, the hum of life. And the quiet girl that sits prettily by the window—had begun to haunt his mind—stirring his heart the way only music ever had.

There must be some scientific explanation for this... right?

warnings: deaf reader, set in 1995 timeline, verbal!abuse, physical!abuse, family-trauma, ableism!(hate this word so much). side character!death, purely work of fiction. subtle implications of survivor guilt, high-school setting but everyone is 18 and above. everything written here is not a description of any idols. characters like chae-won, yun-jin etc are used. if any of the warnings above might be triggering for you, please proceed with caution if you decided to read. (let me know if i missed anything.)

smutwarnings: explicit!smut, pull-out method(pls don't),fingering!, missionary!, virginity!loss. MDNI.

wc: 21k

notes: inspired by twinkling watermelon. while I’ve done some research to better understand what it’s like to be deaf, there may still be inaccuracies. I did my best to approach the subject with care and respect. love knows no boundaries, hence I wrote this piece. a big thank you to @killa-1009 for beta reading. ilysm.

You were born with the inability to hear anything.

The world is nothing but a muted place for you. You never heard the birds singing at dawn, the hum of a bustling street, or the warmth in your parents’ voices—even your own. The sun might be painting the sky with its warm hues, but for you, it was just another day of deafening silence.

And then there was that one particular day.

You didn’t hear the crash, the scream of tyres, or the shattering glass. You didn’t hear your mother's voice, soft and trembling, as she held you close. Eyes brimming with tears, searching yours, face pale and streaked with blood.

You tried—desperately—to focus, to read the words forming on her lips. But your head spun, the world blurred, and all you could feel was her cold hands cradling your face. How can you? When you couldn't even hear your own pained whimpers from the glass that cut your skin. Strangers pulled you. They carried you away—away from her, away from her forever.

You’ve convinced yourself it must be punishment—a cruel reckoning from a life before this one.

Why else would your hearing be taken from you? Why else would the universe strip away the one person who truly saw you, who tried to understand you, even in your silence? What crime could have been so unforgivable that it warranted a lifetime of loss?

You stabbed at the food on your plate, pushing it around without taking a bite. Your stomach churned—not from hunger but from being trapped here. The room was filled with people who called themselves your family. Family—nothing more than a coincidence of living in the same house.

A sharp kick to your foot snapped you out of your thoughts. Your eyes met hers—your stepmother. Her perfectly practised smile didn’t reach her cold, calculating eyes.

She had arrived after the accident, ten years ago, when you were just eight. Back then, she was a tutor, brought in to give your father hope—a cruel, empty hope that you could still learn to speak. She had played her role well, and now she sat at the head of this table, the head of this house, ruling with her own. Her daughters—your stepsisters—sat on either side of her, mirroring her expressions, their eyes flickering toward you.

“Is the food not to your liking?” she asked—you read her lips, something you had to do out of necessity. Her stare burned into you.

You knew that look too well. Behave. Know your place.

And, as always, your father sat there, oblivious. His eyes never caught the disdain in hers, never lingered long enough to notice the cracks in the perfect picture she painted. Soon, he'll be back overseas for another business trip.

"Y/N?"

You hesitated, lifting your hand to sign, then you caught her eye—a sharp, pointed look. Your hand faltered, dropping back to your side.

Instead, you let out a hum. It wasn’t much, just a sound—a vibration you couldn’t hear but felt in your throat. She tilted her head slightly, giving a satisfied nod.

Your father pushed back his chair, standing with the same distracted air he always had. He walked over to you, placing a hand on your head, a gesture so routine it barely meant anything anymore. I’m going now. That was what it always meant.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead briefly, before straightening up. His secretary hovered near the door. You watched his back as he walked out, leaving you staring from the table.

The day your mother left you, you lost... him too.

Seeing the doors close, you rose from your seat, but your stepmother was quicker, blocking your path. She loomed, her face a mask of forced patience. "Do I need to remind you again?" she said, "I said speak. No hand signs or whatever that is. That is not allowed here on this house. Do you want me to get mad at you again?"

Her glare felt like a physical force, pinning you to the spot. Unable to meet her eyes, you nodded weakly, looking at the floor. But she wasn’t done. She stepped closer, grabbing your shoulders in a firm, punishing grip. Her fingers dug into your skin as she shook you, her frustration spilling over.

Everyone watched. They just.. watched. The maids stood frozen in the corner, their expressions carefully blank, devoid of any emotion, too scared to intervene. Your stepsisters whispered to each other, their mocking smiles only adding to the humiliation.

You nodded again, your only escape was to comply. A soft hum escaped your lips, the sound she always, always insisted on, a token of submission that seemed to satisfy her. Her hands drop from your shoulders. The moment her grip released, you ran. Up the stairs, down the hall, into the only place that felt remotely yours—your room.

Once inside, you collapsed at your desk, leaning forward until your forehead pressed against the hard surface. The tears came quickly, spilling from your eyes as sobs racked your chest. They said crying was supposed to help, to lighten the burden somehow. But for you, it only made the weight heavier. You couldn’t even hear yourself cry. The silence made your pain feel endless.

In your despair, your arm knocked into something on the desk. You looked up in alarm, your heart skipping as you saw the mess. Paints, scattered and spilling, teetered dangerously close to the last drawing you had finished the night before.

Frantically, you reached out, your hands moving quickly to fix it. The thought of losing that small piece—felt unbearable. You righted the paints and saved the smudged edges of the paper, tears blurred your vision as you looked at the sketch.

A boy, in your uniform, with bangs that fell over his eyes and the back of his hair just shy of touching his collar, stood smiling softly. In his hands, he held a guitar, fingers resting gently on the strings.

Huening Kai has so much to be delighted for—his mom, his dad, his sweet sisters—but if he’s being frank, what he’s most thankful for is the day he picked up a guitar and found his love for it.

Music has been his refuge during both the small, frustrating setbacks—like failing a math test he poured hours into studying for or losing a manga he cherished so much and never finding it again—and the moments that cut far deeper.

It was there when his parents decided to end their marriage, leaving him struggling at first—to make sense of a family that no longer looked the same. It was there when Lea packed her things and left for college, that he felt the ache of her absence in a much quieter house. It was there when two of his bandmates graduated, their spots in the group left empty, a reminder of how quickly life can change.

Through music, he met people who became his closest friends, his second family—people he couldn’t imagine living without.

It all comes back to one truth: music doesn’t betray you. It’s always there, no matter what. It’s honest, a constant in a world that often feels anything but. It’s there when you need it most, wrapping you in its arms like an old friend who doesn’t need words to understand—even when you can’t find them yourself.

“Huening Kai!” a high-pitched voice calls out. He feels the soft thud of pillows hitting him and a sharp slap against the back of his thigh. Seriously? He had just fallen asleep.

“I’m going to eat all your food if you don’t get up,” the voice threatens. That gets his attention. Groaning, he blinks his eyes open, adjusting to the dim light of his room. Familiar sight of used guitars propped against the wall, the gleam of trophies, and the dark violet hue that wraps around the room.

He blinks. Oh. It’s his sister, Hiyyih.

Hiyyih stands there, a plate in one hand, an annoyed look plastered across her face. Kai can tell she’s been sent by their mom to rouse him, probably against her will. She takes a deliberate bite of scrambled eggs, her eyes narrowing as she gives him a pointed look before turning to leave.

Kai chuckles softly, shaking his head as he rubs his eyes. He stretches, muscles still heavy, and a frown tugs at his lips. Today is the first day of his last year in high school. The final chapter. Soobin and Yeonjun won’t be there anymore. He sighs, swinging his leg off the bed.

He runs a hand to his tousled hair, grabs a hoodie from the back of his chair and pulls it over his head. He heads towards the chatter—smell of eggs, bacon and pancakes makes his stomach growl.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," His mom greets him with a smile. His frame now towering over the kitchen shelves. He catches her watching him, a soft look in her eyes, and it makes him smile back.

"Morning," Kai mumbles, sits down at the table, reaching for a slice of toast.

Hiyyih watches him,"I thought I was going to have to eat all your food," she teases.

Kai rolls his eyes but grins. "You wish."

"Big day, huh? Last first day of school."

"Yeah. It feels… weird. Soobin and Yeonjun aren’t going to be there. Has Lea called yet?"

"She did. She's doing great so far, being a college girl." his mom answers, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure you'll make even greater memories this year."

Kai smiles, appreciating her words. "Thanks, Mom."

Breakfast was filled with small talk, morning routines wrapping around them. Hiyyih busied herself packing her lunch, their mom helping her with a few finishing touches. Being just a year below Kai, their schedules almost mirrored each other, so they will go to school together.

"Kai, want me to sneak some of these into your lunch?" Hiyyih asked, voice dripping with exaggerated sweetness. He glanced over to see her holding up rice balls shaped like hearts and little animals, clearly proud of her handiwork.

"No, thank you," Kai replied, his tone flat but amused.

"Killjoy," she muttered, giving him a mock glare before returning to her task. He watches as she carefully places a tiny heart-shaped piece of seaweed to form a cat's nose. Something he did not understand.

Why go through all that effort?

The three of them make their way to their mom’s old car, a little worn but still reliable. Kai slips into the passenger seat, and Hiyyih climbs into the back, fussing with her hair even though she just brushed it a minute ago.

“Why don’t you let me drive?” Kai asks as the car starts rolling through the neighborhood. “That way you don’t have to keep going back and forth from school to home.”

His mom glances at him, a smile tugging at her lips. “Son, just because you turned 18 last summer doesn’t mean I’m handing over the keys. Besides,” she adds warmly, “I want to do this for you and Hiyyih.”

Kai leans back in his seat, nodding. She’s right. And anyway, it’s not like they head home together after school. His afternoons are spent in the band room while Hiyyih flits between her own plans, always busy with something or some girlfriends.

The car rolls up to the massive school grounds, Kai glances out the window. The sight of students milling around, the towering building ahead—it’s the same as always. He exhales and starts gathering his things.

He steps out, the crisp air latch on his face. With a quick ruffle of his hair, he pushes his longer bangs away from his eyes, though they fall back almost immediately. The strands at the back have grown out too, brushing the collar of his jacket. Slinging his backpack over his right shoulder and his guitar case over his left, he adjusts the weight and sets off toward the main building. Black—headphones rest around his neck.

He’s barely made it a few steps before he feels it—the stares. The whispers.

“Isn’t he one of the handsome seniors?” “The main guitarist of TXT.” — “He’s so tall. And cute.”

Kai shrugs it off, keeping his focus ahead. He’s used to it. Beside him, Hiyyih is already swept up by one of her friends, her laughter fading into the background after she’s pulled in another direction. His feet carried him down the well-worn hallway, a path he didn’t even have to think about. He could probably make the walk blindfolded. The band room.

When he reached the door, he grasped the doorknob and paused, a small smirk tugging at his lips as the low, bassline thrummed from inside. Peeking inside, the sight was just as he expected—home.

“Yo! Huening Kai!” Beomgyu’s voice rang out, bright and animated, as he set his bass down. His grin widened as he crossed the room in a few quick steps, pulling Kai into a hug before he could dodge. “How was your summer?”

Kai let out a soft laugh, prying Beomgyu’s arms off him. “It was fine. I went shopping with Taehyun a couple of times,” he said, making his way toward his guitar shelf. “Watch it.” he added, shooting Beomgyu a look as the other trailed dangerously close behind.

Beomgyu’s eyes landed on the guitar case Kai was carrying, and his grin turned sly. “What’s this? A new baby?”

“Yeah,” Kai replied, carefully unzipping the case and pulling the guitar out as if it were a fragile treasure. “Dad brought it back from abroad.”

Beomgyu snickered, reaching out to pinch Kai’s cheek. “You’re absolutely smitten, aren’t you?”

“Would you stop?” Kai swatted his hand away, but there was no hiding the small, proud smile tugging at his lips.

Before Beomgyu could tease him further, the door swung open again. Taehyun stepped inside, clipboard in hand, expression calm and no-nonsense as usual. “The new auditionees are here,” he announced, motioning to the two figures who followed him in.

“This is Heeseung,” Taehyun said, gesturing to the taller one. “He’s here to audition for piano. And Jay—he’s trying out for drums.”

Kai glanced at the newcomers, giving them a polite nod as Beomgyu rubbed his hands together, mischievous grin returning. "Alright," Beomgyu said, "let’s see what they’ve got."

The next hour flew by with skills checks, and it didn’t take long for them to see that Heeseung and Jay were solid. They were skilled, sharp, and seemed to fit right into the gaps left by Soobin and Yeonjun. It felt like they could pick up the left space and carry it forward without missing a beat.

Afterwards, Taehyun waved them off, heading to his next class, while Kai and Beomgyu walked in the opposite direction. They shared the same class, while Taehyun, ever the academic overachiever, headed to the advanced one.

“Only the brainiacs go there,” Beomgyu says, nudging Kai with his elbow.

Kai shook his head. Taehyun’s class was famous for being perfectly orderly—a stark contrast to theirs, which was noisy and chaotic on a good day. Their room always felt like the epicentre of the school’s commotion, every day.

The rest of the hours passed in a blur of introductions and meetings with their new advisors. And, of course, Kai’s least favourite math teacher made his return, every bit as strict as before.

Kai slouched in his chair, barely stifling a groan as the teacher droned on about equations and formulas. His mind drifted—Why do he even need this? Is he going to calculate the quadratic formula to buy chips at the grocery store? No.

He glanced down at his hands, the faint calluses on his fingertips from hours of guitar practice catching his eye. He’d much rather spend his time until his hands were sore than trying to decipher problems that made no sense to him.

Beomgyu leaned over, “I think your brain just checked out.”

Kai grinned, giving him a light shove. “Math checked me out first.”

The two of them exchanged quiet laughter, abruptly stopping when the teacher eyed them down.

By the time the last class wrapped up at 4 p.m., Kai found himself right back where he’d started his day: the band room. He and his four bandmates were deep into their after-school practice, bestowed in instruments, time slipped by unnoticed.

“Shoot,” Jay muttered, his gaze snapping to the wall clock. 7:30 p.m. Thirty minutes past the curfew for club rooms.

The realization hit them all at once. If the guards caught them here, it would mean one thing: detention.

“Pack up. Now,” Taehyun said, already slinging his bag over his shoulder. The others scrambled to gather their own gear.

Everyone slipped out into the dark, quiet halls, trying to move as silently as possible. The sound of their footsteps seemed louder.

“Hey! Who’s there?” A booming voice cut through, and suddenly, ta flash of light caught them mid-step.

“Go!” someone hissed, and chaos erupted. The guard started running toward them, and they bolted in every direction. Beomgyu let out a panicked squeal as he sprinted with his bass case clutched in one hand.

Kai didn’t have time to think—he just ran, heart pounded as his legs carried him blindly through the halls. He rounded a corner, only to see another guard up ahead. The group split, scattering.

He can’t get detention on the first day. His lungs burned as he pushed himself further. He kept running, not even sure where he was going, until his body… gave out.

Panting, he slumped near the wall, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He glanced over his shoulder and froze. A flashlight beam swept the hallway behind him. His pulse quickened as he realized he was at a dead end.

Frantically, his eyes darted around, then saw a room ahead. Kai’s brow furrowed at the sight of the mop propped against the door handle, clearly used as a makeshift way to keep it shut. Weird.

He hurried over, carefully removing the mop, and slipped inside. The room was pitch dark, save for the faint glow of light spilling in from the high windows. It cast eerie shadows on the walls, but he didn’t care. He just needed to hide.

Kai tried flipping the light switch, but nothing happened. Figures, he thought bitterly. He shut the door as quietly as he could, pressing his back against it to steady his breathing.

“Anyone there?” The sound of footsteps echoed outside. The guard’s flashlight swept across the small window in the door, and Kai instinctively slid to the floor, curling himself. He crawled, akwardly, backwards, toward the corner at the far end of the room, hoping to make himself as invisible as possible.

But something bumped against his foot. He whipped his head around, his breath catching in his throat. Sitting in the corner was someone else.

You.

Your legs were drawn up to your chest, wide eyes staring right back at him.

“Shi—” Kai started to curse but stopped himself, clapping a hand over his mouth—heart hammered in his chest, not sure if it was your unexpected presence in the room that caused it—or the way your wide, startled eyes locked onto his in this small space.

Chae-won, like you, is in her final year of high school, while Yun-jin is a year below. Your stepsisters.

When they first moved in, your twelve-year-old self had hoped you could be... friends. You had imagined shared secrets, laughter, and maybe even sisterly bonds. But the moment your father’s attention shifted elsewhere, it was clear that your stepmother’s whispers had already planted seeds of resentment in their hearts.

You couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it started. When did it all go wrong? Was it because you were the only biological daughter in the house? Because your father, despite his best intentions, never really connected with them either? Or was it simply because you couldn’t speak?

The inability to communicate fully, to bridge the gap between your world and theirs, seemed to widen the chasm. You often wondered if things would have been different if you could—if words could have built a room where silence had only erected walls.

After years of trying, of reaching out and being met with cold indifference or outright hostility, you gave up. You stopped hoping for understanding, stopped yearning for a connection that seemed impossible. The effort of trying to be part of their society when they wanted nothing to do with yours had only broken your heart.

"Watch where you're going, fucking weirdo," Chae-won sneers, her foot juts out, sending you stumbling. The water bucket you were carrying—filled with the murky grey water of used paintbrushes—tips forward, dousing your chest. You don’t hear the laughter, but you can feel it, buzzing around you in the painting room.

You look up, your gaze darts to Yun-jin. She leans against the counter, arms crossed, her painted red lips curved into a smug smirk. She raises an eyebrow, as if daring you to do something about it.

You’re in your school's art room, surrounded by the faint smell of turpentine and dried paint. Art has always been your peace. But your love for it didn’t go unnoticed by your stepmother.

It wasn’t long before she pushed her daughters into it too. You’re not sure if it was to force some kind of twisted togetherness between you, or if it was her way of ensuring they would always outshine you, in everything—even this.

You push yourself up, your clothes clinging to your body, damp. Your eyes narrow as you stare at Chae-won. You want to tell her off, to demand an apology, to ask why she does this—

"Cat got your tongue?" she taunts, her lips curl into a cruel grin. "Oh, wait. You can’t speak. Poor girl. That’s what you get for being such an attention seeker."

Your breath hitches as your brows knit in fury. You can’t reply with words, but actions—actions—will do just fine.

As she turns to leave, you grab her hair, yanking it back with all the frustration and hurt bottled up. She shrieks, spinning around to claw at you, and soon you’re both tangled in a fierce struggle.

The others jump in.

Someone grabs your arm, wrenching it back. Another slaps you hard across the face, the sting reverberating through your skull. A foot connects with your leg, sending you buckling. You hit the ground again, tasting blood on your lips as they shove you down.

Your things are heartlessly thrown at you—your bag, your books, your sketchpad—hitting you like stones. Footsteps retreating, laughter echoing in their faces. They close the door before you can even blink.

You force yourself to your feet, every movement a struggle against the ache in your body. You stumble to the door, testing the handle. It doesn’t budge. Of course, it doesn’t. They’ve done this before.

Silence.

You sink back down onto the hard floor, your chest heaving as tears spill freely down your cheeks. Trembling hands reach up to the corner of your lips, fingers brushing the split skin. The sting makes you wince.

The clock ticks on, indifferent. 4:50 p.m.

You take a shuddering breath and wipe your tears with unsteady hands. You smooth your hair, trying to tame the mess they made of it. With a quick swipe, you clear the blood from your mouth, leaving behind only the faint metallic taste.

All you can do now is wait. Alone—praying—that someone will come and find you in this empty room.

What you didn’t expect was that someone would come—three hours later, long after the sun had set. You’d been staring at the door for so long that when it finally creaked open, you were already halfway to your feet.

But then you froze.

It’s him.

Of all people, it’s him.

You swallowed the surprise in your throat, pulse-quickening as you watched him slip inside, crouching low, moving backward like he was avoiding something.

He was hiding. From what, you didn’t know—not until a beam of light swept across the windows above, brushing against the walls like a searching hand. Your body stiffened, instinct telling you to stay still.

You weren’t sure you could.

When his gaze finally landed on you, the shock in his expression was unmistakable—and you knew yours mirrored his. Suspended in that shared disbelief.

“Quiet, please,” his lips shaped the words. His hand rose, a single finger pressing against his mouth. The dim light barely reached him, but you caught the faint pink of his lips.

Minutes passed. Neither of you spoke, just staring at each other like you were both trying to figure out something. He shifted, his eyes widening in alarm.

“B-blood,” he stammered, pointing at your forehead.

Your hand shot up instinctively, fingers brushing against the skin there. When you pulled it back, you saw it—smudges of red streaking your fingertips.

He's as startled as you, he tapped his chest, like he was trying to centre himself, and quickly rummaged through his pocket. He pulled out a handkerchief, holding it out to you with a slightly trembling hand.

You didn’t take it. You couldn’t. It must be the ache in your bones, the hunger in your stomach, the blood still fresh on your hands—or maybe... your mind was still catching up to the fact that he was here, standing this close to you.

When you didn’t move, he took another step forward, hesitating only briefly before carefully pressing the cloth to your forehead. His touch was cautious, you could feel the warmth of his hand through the fabric.

From this close, you could smell him. Clean, with a faint trace of musk, and something sweet underneath. You hated how your chest tightened because of it.

“What happened? Why are you here?” he asked, his fingers were steady as he wiped the blood from your skin. His brow furrowed as he inspected the small cut, his concern written plainly on his face. “Did someone lock you in?”

You shook your head, hesitant. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, so you let your gaze fall somewhere—anywhere—but on his eyes.

He didn’t press for more. “Let’s get out of here.”

His hand found yours. All you could do was stare at your entwined fingers. You can feel the tip of your ears go warm. He gave it a gentle squeeze before he stood and pulled you up from the cold, unforgiving floor.

The boy who had only ever been a distant figure to you. The boy you’d sketched on countless pages, the one whose smile crinkled his eyes so perfectly it made your chest ache. The boy you were sure didn’t even know you existed.

He pulls you out of this suffocating room. His tall, sure figure led, guiding you as you ran. Every so often, he glances back, his eyes searching yours and for a fleeting moment, you glance down and see your shadows on the wall—together. His hands never let go of yours until you weren't in the dark anymore.

Huening Kai.

Kai slouches in his seat, letting out another heavy sigh. His body’s in class, sure, but his mind? It’s stuck somewhere else—somewhere back last night.

He can’t stop thinking about you. And he's not sure why.

You both made it out of the school grounds safely, and he even helped you gather your things from your locker. He stood there awkwardly, watching when you downed a bottle of water in one long gulp like your life depended on it. His suspicions were confirmed—someone did lock you in that room.

How long had you waited, sitting there in the dark? His stomach churned at the thought. What if he hadn’t been hiding that way? What if no one had found you? The idea of you spending the entire night in that empty space until a teacher or janitor happened upon you made his heart race. It’s… eating him alive.

But the thing that gets him, the part he can’t stop replaying, is how… quiet you were. No explanations, no complaints—just a nod here and there, avoiding his eyes the whole time. Did he cross a line? Say something wrong? Overstep somehow? Did he offend you without realizing? Or worse—do you just not like him?

He rubs the back of his neck. And yet, despite all that, he also can’t stop thinking about how your eyes seem soft under the moonlight, making them look so—

“Dude.” Beomgyu’s voice cuts, “What’s with the brooding? Bell rang.”

Kai glances around the classroom. Almost empty. “Oh. Right. Nothing,” he mumbles, grabbing his bag.

Beomgyu narrows his eyes. “You’ve been sulking like my dog when I don’t share my snacks.”

Kai remained silent, pouting and followed Beomgyu out of the classroom. It’s lunch now, and as usual, they’re headed to meet Taehyun at the cafeteria. Heeseung and Jay will probably join them too.

Walking through the hall, Kai forces a polite smile at the people who greet him. Beomgyu, on the other hand, is his usual exuberant self, grinning and dapping up every other guy who greets him as they pass.

The two make their way into the cafeteria, people stared. They walk toward their usual spot, a table near the centre of the room. No one ever sits there. Everyone knows—it’s their table. Yeonjun made that mark. It's an unspoken rule.

Kai drops into his seat, setting his bag down and pulling out his packed lunch. The cafeteria food doesn’t really do it, not when his mom’s food is always better.

“What do you have?” Beomgyu asks, leaning over.

“Tempura and some beef,” Kai replies, popping a piece of shrimp into his mouth.

“Give me some,” Beomgyu demands, already reaching for his chopsticks. Kai rolls his eyes but slides the container a little closer, watching as Beomgyu happily steals a piece.

Taehyun walks in, weaving the crowded tables with his usual stride. “You're early,” he greets, his seat across from them. "That's a record."

Kai’s eyes flick toward the entrance, catching sight of you slipping. You moved slowly, clutching your tumbler. You keep your head low, glancing around as if to make sure no one’s watching. Kai stands, pushing his chair back abruptly. He can't miss this chance.

Beomgyu pauses mid-bite, raising an eyebrow. “What’re you doing?”

Taehyun gives him a sideways glance. “Kai?” Kai ignored them. He just heads toward you.

“Hey,” he calls out, but you don’t turn. Hesitating for only a second, he gently taps your shoulder.

You whirl around. Your grip tightens on the water bottle, and your eyes widen slightly when you realise it’s him. Around you, a few people glance over.

“Hey,” he says again, softer this time. “How’s your head?” He tilts his own slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of the bandaid peeking out near your hairline. “That looks better,” he murmurs.

“Would you like to join us for lunch?” He points behind him toward his table when you don't answer, where Beomgyu and Taehyun are undoubtedly watching. As he expected, you shake your head quickly, almost instinctively, avoiding his eyes.

The small rejection stings more than it should. Kai nods, trying to hide his disappointment. “Alright,” he mutters. Then, before he can second-guess himself, he gently takes the tumbler from your hands.

He heads to the water station, fills it to the brim, screws the cap on tightly, and hands it back to you. “Here,” he says simply. It's small. But he wanted to do it for you.

You nod, a small, polite gesture, and turn to leave without a word or a backward glance.

Kai watches you, chest tight. When he trudges back to his table, Beomgyu’s smirk is already waiting for him.

“What was that about?” Taehyun asks, leaning forward.

“I was just checking on her,” Kai mumbles, slumping into his seat. “She never talks to me. I don’t get it.”

Taehyun’s gaze sharpens, and he studies Kai for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh. “She can’t,” he finally says, voice calm but firm.

Kai blinks, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“She can’t hear you.” Taehyun explains, his tone softening. “She’s deaf, Kai,”

Taehyun filled Kai in, sharing what he knew about you.

Kai was surprised to learn that you were in the same advanced class. As always, you kept everything to yourself. Taehyun admitted he had tried reaching out to you before—once or twice—but even he hadn’t gotten far.

“She’s… just quiet,” Taehyun said with a shrug. “Not just because she’s deaf, either. I’ve tried writing things down for her, you know? Like, in a notebook, to make it easier. But she only ever gives one-word answers. A ‘yes’ here, a ‘no’ there.” He sighed, “It’s hard to get through to her.”

Kai leaned back in his seat, dragging a hand through his hair. Guilt tugged at him. He’d been so quick to assume you were ignoring him, brushing him off on purpose. But now?

Now, he couldn’t stop imagining what it must have been like for you that night. Locked, no way to call for help, no way to know if anyone was coming. Alone. Not even the sounds of footsteps approaching to give you hope.

He swallowed hard, his chest tightening. Would he have been able to handle that? Sitting there for hours, completely cut off from the world? Probably not. He’d have broken down.

That's why Kai finds himself walking in the opposite direction of his classroom, away from Beomgyu’s puzzled stare. He doesn’t look back. His feet carry him toward where Taehyun had gone—toward where he knows you are.

The hallway buzzes with life. Groups of students linger outside classrooms, laughing and chatting, their voices blending into the hour of lunch break. A few glance his way as he passes, curiosity in their eyes.

Kai’s steps slow as he approaches the room. The back entrance gives him a clear view inside. His eyes scan the rows of desks. Someone calls his name. Heads turn, smiles and greetings thrown his way.

But not yours.

You’re sitting in the front row, by the window, farthest from where he stands. The sunlight filters through the glass, casting a soft glow over you. There’s a sketchbook open on your desk, the pages large and blank except for the lines you’re drawing with practised ease. The way your hand moves—purposeful—tells him this is second nature to you.

You’re so focused, so completely lost, that you don’t notice the subtle breeze dancing through the window. It catches your hair, making it sway just enough to draw his attention.

He watches as you pause, tucking the stray strands behind your ear before continuing with your sketch. You look just like him whenever he's with his guitar. Kai feels something tighten in his chest.

You look beautiful.

He doesn’t even know your name. But now, he wants to. More than anything, he wants the honour of knowing you.

It’s free time now, and the history teacher had just left. Most of the class scattered—some heading out to the grounds, others roaming the halls for a little fun. But you stayed. You always stayed.

The thought of running into your stepsisters made your stomach turn. They acted so innocent the night you came home, as if they had nothing to do with your wound. Your stepmother, of course, scolded you for being late, hurling her usual cutting remarks, but she didn’t dig any deeper. Sometimes you wondered if she knew—if she already suspected it was her daughters who had done it and simply chose to stay oblivious.

You sighed, flipping another page of your book, trying to block out the noise in your head.

The sudden sight of a chair being pulled up in front of your desk jolted you. You look up.

Huening Kai.

He was sitting right there, a small, easy smile on his face. His eyes held a kind of softness you weren’t used to. And then, he waved.

Your eyes widened in surprise, and instinctively, you turned your head to check if he was talking to someone else. Surely, this wasn’t for you. But the room was nearly empty. The only other person was fast asleep at the back.

Kai watches as you glance around nervously, he might have thought how beautiful you were from afar, but sitting this close now—you’re breathtaking.

When your eyes meet his again, questioning, he clears his throat and speaks. “Hi.”

You nod, silent—attentive. His voice softens, deliberate as he says the next words slowly, “Can I have your name?”

It takes a moment for the meaning to click, and then you’re reaching for your bag, fingers fumbling slightly as you pull out a notebook—the one you use to communicate.

Kai watches as you flip through the pages, landing on a blank one. You jot something down quickly and then turn it toward him.

Y/N.

He reads it, and a smile breaks across his face, his dimple appearing. You notice for the first time the delicate constellation of beauty marks scattered across his skin. How it suits him.

“Y/N,” he repeats, your name rolling off his tongue like he’s trying it out for the first time. His gaze lifts to meet yours. “That’s a pretty name.”

The compliment catches you off guard, and heat rises to your cheeks. You look away—embarrassed. His fingers tap lightly on your desk, drawing your attention back.

“How are you?” he asks.

You write, I’m okay.

Kai reads it, his brows furrowing slightly. Without hesitation, he leans in, his voice low but insistent. “Does anyone bother you? You know… when I found you that night. That wasn’t an accident, was it?”

You stare at him, lips parting slightly in surprise. Kai thinks for a moment that maybe you didn’t catch what he said. But then, slowly, you lift your pen: Why?

Just as he opens his mouth to explain, you’re already writing again.

Is it because you pity me? You’re looking at him now—directly, unflinchingly.

He doesn't want you to misunderstand anything. So he gently takes the pen from your hand, his fingers brushing yours for a moment. Without saying a word, he leans down and writes his response in your notebook.

Because I want to be your friend...

Your breath catches as you read his words. He adds another line beneath it, the letters a little bolder this time.

And because no one deserves what happened to you.

Kai looks at you then, his expression earnest and open, waiting. The notebook sits between you, and the sound of a new bridge forming in the back of your mind.

When you didn't write anything back, he glances down and picks up the pen again, his handwriting slow and deliberate.

By the way, my name is—

Before he can finish, you reach forward, your hand brushing his ever so slightly making him freeze. You write, finishing it for him.

Kai. Right?

The faintest flicker of surprise crosses his face when he sees what you’ve written. His lips twitch into a small smile, trying his hardest not to let out a wide grin.

You look up, meeting his gaze again, and shrug lightly as if to say, Of course, I know who you are.

Everybody knows you.

The words hang there on the page, Kai blinks, processing your response, and then lets out a soft laugh, his shoulders shaking gently, lips slightly apart.

You watch him, a strange ache tugs at your chest. You wonder, How does his laugh sound? Does it sound as pretty as he looks? Now, you're wishing for something you’ve trained yourself not to want—a window into the world you’ve long been shut out of.

It'll be nice to hear his laugh.

The two of you spent the rest of your free time in that same spot. You talked—or rather, wrote—filling the pages of your notebook with conversation. He was surprisingly talkative, and before you knew it, you'd used up two blank pages. When the conversation naturally faded, you went back to your book, but this time, you pulled another one from your bag and handed it to Kai. He took it with a small smile and began to read as well.

There you were, two students, sitting across from each other, lost in your own worlds yet somehow sharing the same one. The room felt warmer, leaving just the two of you in the bubble. You were aware of the flush in your cheeks, the way it stubbornly lingered, but you didn’t mind.

You snapped out of your thoughts when you noticed classmates filtering back into the room. Their steps slowed as they took in the scene—Kai, the school’s band guitarist, slouched in front of your desk, reading quietly across from you, the school's outcast. The deaf girl. His long legs stretched out under the desk, almost touching yours.

He didn’t bother to look up. He didn’t greet them or acknowledge the weight of their stares. Instead, his eyes stayed on the page, though every now and then, they flickered back to you. Each time, he’d give you that same small, reassuring smile—the one that made your heart flutter.

He snapped out of it when your foot gently nudged his leg. The classroom was full now, with students bustling back to their seats, most kept stealing glances at Kai. Their eyes darted back and forth, curiosity written all over their faces, as if trying to make sense of why he was here with you.

Out of the corner, you saw Taehyun make his way over. You couldn’t catch their conversation—Taehyun’s body was turned slightly away—but it was clear from his expression that he was asking why Kai was here. Kai gave him a brief nod, and after a moment, Taehyun returned to his seat, still throwing occasional glances in your direction.

You glanced at the clock. Five minutes left of free time. Before you could process it, you felt a light tap on your shoulder. Kai stood, waving a quick goodbye. He slid his hands into his pockets, all eyes on him as he walked out.

He had just spent his entire free time here. Here, with you.

You swallowed hard, your heart thudding in your chest. Your gaze drifted down the newly etched words he left in your notebook.

See you later :>

You found yourself smiling at nothing, the memory of your afternoon with Kai playing over and over in your mind. Back home now, the evening settling around you, it felt.. warm.

With a watering can in hand, you moved through the small garden—your mother’s garden. It was one of the few things left untouched by your stepmother, a living memory of the woman who once nurtured it with care. What had started as a modest patch of green had grown into something more of a sanctuary.

Your gaze fell on the cornflowers nearby, their vivid blue seeming to shine a little brighter today. Maybe it was the light, or maybe it was the joy still bubbling in your chest, making everything around you seem more… alive, more beautiful. You crouched, fingers brushing gently against the petals, and it felt like your mother was right there, as if she, too, could sense the happiness blooming inside you.

Your thoughts were abruptly cut off by an icy cascade of water, soaking you from head to toe. The coldness stole your breath, bit into your skin and you let out a shriek, the shock more than you could bear. Spinning around, you found Chae-won standing there, a smug grin plastered on her face, the empty bucket tossed carelessly to the side. Behind her, Yun-jin stood with her arms crossed, her glare sharp.

"Are you a witch now, too?" Chae-won sneered, her voice dripping with mockery. Her eyes locked onto yours, glinting with cruel satisfaction. "For someone who's deaf, you're pretty damn loud."

Before you could react, she grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking you down with a force that sent you stumbling. Your knees hit the ground hard, the sting of the impact mixing with the cold that seeped into your clothes. You trembled, pain and humiliation washing over you.

"Kai? What did you say to him?" Chae-won continued. "What the fuck did you say to make him hang out with trash like you?"

Tears welled up in your eyes. You tried to stand, but Chae-won shoved you back down, making you cry out in frustration. You reached for her, desperate to defend yourself, but Yun-jin stepped in, pulling Chae-won away, smirking and enjoying your helplessness.

Chae-won then dusted off her shirt as if your touch had soiled her, letting out an exaggerated huff. "You better not think about—"

Her threat was cut short by the arrival of your stepmother. "Chae-won," She approached, her eyes sweeping over your sodden form with a detached disapproval. "Her father might come home today."

That was enough to make Chae-won and Yun-jin roll their eyes, angrily retreating into the house, but not before casting you one last withering glare.

Your stepmother's gaze lingered on the garden, then flicked back to you, her expression unreadable. "Fix yourself," she said coldly before turning away, following her daughters inside, as if she just didn't witness them assault you.

You wiped your tears with the back of your hand. The cold water seeped into your skin, its touch biting deep, while the chill of the night’s wind wrapped around you, amplifying the discomfort.

When—when—would they ever stop? When would they finally fail to crush anything close to the hope you dared to feel? You swallowed hard, heart hurt when you saw one of the cornflowers crushed, the delicate blue petals were bent and broken, scattered across the dirt like they didn’t matter.

Just like what they did to you.

Kai thrummed his guitar, his head bobbing in time with the beat as Jay kept pace on the drums. A wide grin spread across his face as he glanced at Jay, impressed. That guy could really play.

The upcoming festival had everyone excited, especially since their band was set to perform. It wasn’t just their idea; the school had practically begged them to be part of the lineup. Naturally, everyone agreed.

As the final song ended, Kai slung his guitar strap off and gave Heeseung and Jay playful pats on the back. “Good session,” he said, voice light. Taehyun had already disappeared for some student council meeting, and Beomgyu crouched near the amp, fiddling with the cables.

As Heeseung and Jay left the practice room, Beomgyu glanced up, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. “So… you caused quite a stir yesterday, huh.”

Kai paused, brow furrowing. “What are you talking about?”

Beomgyu leaned back, his arms crossed over his chest. “Everyone’s talking about you and… the deaf girl. How you were hanging out with her.”

Kai’s hand stilled on his guitar case. “Don’t call her that,” he said sharply, “She has a name.”

Beomgyu blinked, taken aback by the intensity of the glare Kai shot him. He raised his hands in mock surrender, smirk faltering. “Whoa, okay. Chill, man. That was disrespectful of me. I'm sorry.” Kai didn’t respond, his focus shifting back to securing his guitar. The other could tell he was still irritated.

“So,” Beomgyu's tone was now more careful. “What’s her name?”

Kai hesitated, his fingers pausing over the latch of the case. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, “Y/N.”

Beomgyu caught it—the way Kai’s whole demeanour shifted, softening just at the mention of your name. He grinned knowingly, a teasing glint in his eye.

“Oh, man, you’ve got it bad, huh?” Kai didn’t answer, but the way he bit his lip, was enough. Beomgyu chuckled, shaking his head as he stood. “You’re in deep, dude.”

The two of them walked out of the band room, sunlight streaming across the school grounds as they headed toward their next class. Kai’s guitar hung over his back, his steps light with anticipation. He had a plan for today’s free time—he was going to show it to you.

Then he froze.

“Why’d you stop?” Beomgyu asked, frowning at his friend’s sudden halt.

Kai’s gaze was locked on you. You were walking across the yard, a book clutched in your hand. But something was off. Your steps were uneven, almost shaky, like you were struggling to keep your balance. His chest tightened as he noticed you blink rapidly, expression dazed.

A cold knot of worry tightened in Kai’s chest.

Kai bolted toward you, his long strides eating up the distance between you in moments. The world around him blurred—voices, students, the sun—all of it drowned out by the urgency pounding in his chest. He reached you just as your legs gave up. You fell into his arms.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, voice shaking. His hand settled on your face, and the heat of your skin sent alarm bells ringing in his mind. Scorching hot. A fever.

Your eyes fluttered closed, forehead creased, and face was pale. Too pale.

“What the hell happened?” Beomgyu’s voice came from somewhere behind him, but Kai barely registered it. "Is she okay?"

Without thinking, Kai shrugged off his guitar, letting it drop carelessly to the ground. “Help me,” he said quickly, his voice tight. He grabbed your arm, trying to shift your weight. Beomgyu caught on immediately, stepping forward to assist.

Together, they managed to lift you onto Kai’s back. His arms hooked under your legs, his grip firm but gentle as he adjusted you. “Hold on,” With you securely on his back, Kai broke into a run, his breath coming in quick.

“Slow down, man! You’re gonna trip!” Beomgyu followed close behind, clutching the guitar Kai had abandoned without a second thought—because of you.

The school nurse moved quickly, her practiced hands checking your temperature and administering care as Kai stepped back, his chest still heaving from the run. He stood there, hands on his hips, watching you, his heart refusing to slow down. Beomgyu excused himself, talks about getting water, leaving Kai alone.

His eyes fell on the notebook you had been clutching, which fell on the floor. He reached for it carelessly—a loose page slipped free, back to the floor. He crouched to pick it up, and the moment he turned it over, his breath caught.

It was a sketch. Of him.

Every detail was there, drawn with painstaking precision—the dusting of freckles on his cheeks, small moles he often forgot about, his jawline, his hair. The lines were sure, as though you had poured hours into capturing him just… right.

His throat tightened as he stared, unable to tear his eyes away. Was this really how you saw him?

Kai swallowed hard, and glanced at the rest of the page. Small sketches of cats bordered the margins, their playful forms lightening the otherwise focused artwork. A soft smile enters his lips when his eyes also land on your pen, its barrel adorned with tiny cat designs. His fingers touch the paper, careful not to smudge your work.

You're perfect, he thought, the words echoing in his head, shouting like a whispered confession. How could someone be so perfect?

Kai had to leave you at the clinic to attend classes.

He hesitated, lingering by the door, his eyes darting back to your still form on the cot. You were fast asleep, but the colour slowly returned to your cheeks. He wanted to stay, to make sure you were okay, but he knew he couldn’t. With a defeated sigh, he left. And you were gone when he returned.

"Someone came to fetch her," the nurse explained when he asked. He's still bothered. You were home now, he told himself, safe and resting. Right?

The next morning came, he sat at the kitchen counter. What he wanted to do first thing, was to see you. "Hiyyih,"

She glanced at him over her shoulder, her brow raised. "Yeah?"

"Can you, uh… can you make my lunch today?" Hiyyih stopped, turning fully to face him. "What? But I always make your lunch."

Kai shifted in his seat, awkwardly. "I mean… could you make it like yours?"

"Like mine? What do you mean, like mine?"

Kai hesitated, the words sticking in his throat. Finally, he blurted out, "The cat rice balls. Can you add those?" There was silence as Hiyyih stared at him, her lips tight. Then, she broke into a slow, knowing smirk. "Cat rice balls, huh?"

Kai felt the heat up his neck, and he quickly averted his stare. "Just—just make them, okay?" He groaned, dropping his head onto the counter.

Hiyyih burst out laughing, her teasing ringing through. Oh, he's sure. This was going to haunt him for days.

Kai spent the day in restless anticipation, his usual self replaced with something far more jittery. Even his friends couldn’t ignore it. He fidgeted during class, zoned out at times, and seemed to barely hear what anyone was saying.

It was all because of you.

When he saw Taehyun at band practice earlier, the first words out of his mouth weren’t about music. “Is she coming today?”

Taehyun had nodded, confirming you were attending class, and Kai had been trying—and failing—to calm his racing thoughts ever since. By lunchtime, the decision was made. He slung his bag over his shoulder, he turned to Beomgyu. "I’m skipping the cafeteria today."

Beomgyu just gave him a knowing look, his smirk light, teasing. "Didn’t think you needed to explain," he points out. "Your face already did."

Kai didn’t even bother denying it. Instead, he took a steadying breath and headed toward the one place he knew he’d find you. Your classroom.

His steps slowed when he spotted you inside, seated at your desk. The heaviness in his chest lifts. You were pulling open a lunch box, carefully arranging everything, your expression calm and focused.

He stepped inside, and when he was almost infront of you, you glanced up, your eyes widening slightly when you saw him.

"Hi," Kai said, a small, nervous smile sitting on his lips. You blinked, surprised, but a faint smile broke through as you set your chopsticks down.

He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly feeling warm under your gaze. "I, uh… I figured I’d check on you. Make sure you’re okay, you know… after the other day."

You nod, reaching for your notebook to write a reply, but Kai gently stopped you with a small shake of his hand. “You should eat first, okay?” he said softly, his lips forming the words carefully for you to read.

Your response was simple—a quick thumbs-up—but it was enough to make a boyish grin spread across his face.

Pulling out a chair, Kai sat across from you, his movements just a little nervous, though he tried to hide it. He set his lunchbox on the table, the bright cat decorations catching your eye. It's hard to really miss how much effort had gone into it—cat-shaped rice balls, tiny details, and colourful accents that screamed effort.

Kai caught your expression. "Hiyyih made it," he admitted. What he didn’t mention was how he’d spent an entire morning persuading her to make it perfect, offering bribes, doing her chores, and enduring her teasing, all just to get her to agree.

He opened the lid and carefully moved a portion of the food into your lunchbox. "Here," he said, nudging it toward you.

You glanced at him in surprise, then back at the food, your lips parting slightly before they curved into a smile—a real smile. Not the polite, hesitant ones you used to give him, but a full, bright smile. It reached your eyes, crinkling them at the corners.

Kai froze for a moment, his breath catching in his throat. You’d smiled at him before, but not... like this.

He had never quite understood why his sister went to such lengths with these little creations—why she got up before sunrise to shape rice into animals or why her mood seemed to brighten whenever someone praised her work. But now, watching the way your face softened, the way your smile seemed to linger longer than usual, it all started to make sense.

If something as small and silly as this could make you look at him like this, if it could bring you even the smallest bit of joy, then he thought to himself—he’d start doing it too.

Swallowing, he picked up his chopsticks, forcing himself to eat even as his appetite felt oddly… irrelevant. He stole glances, and it struck him how happy you looked. The memory of when he’d first met you flashed in his mind, alone, wounded and withdrawn. And yet, here you were now.

His stomach fluttered, suddenly feeling full—not from the meal but from something that only your smile seemed to give.

After lunch, Kai didn’t get the chance to spend his free time with you. Beomgyu practically dragged him to practice, which he didn’t resist—especially since seeing you healthy and smiling had already lifted his spirits. His energy during practice was unmatched, his fingers flying over the guitar strings with a renewed vigour. For once, it felt effortless, like his heart was finally in sync with the music again.

When the day wound down, he found himself waiting by the school gates. A few students greeted him as they passed, and he returned their smiles politely, though his attention remained elsewhere. His heart leapt the moment he spotted you walking toward him, your steps purposeful yet light. His lips curved into a small smirk before he could help it.

"I wanted to see you before you went home," he said softly.

Your smile in response made his chest tighten, and you pulled a small notepad and pen from your pocket. After a brief moment of scribbling, you held it up for him to read:

Thank you for everything, Kai.

The simple words hit him harder than he expected, and a warm smile tugged at his lips. “You waiting for your sisters here?” he asked, but as soon as he mentioned them, your smile faltered slightly, and something shifted in your expression.

He remembered Taehyun mentioning that you had two sisters at school, but nothing beyond that. He didn’t press. All he knew was that you usually arrived and left together in the same car.

You scribbled another note. They went home early. Shopping, I think.

Kai’s brows furrowed slightly. Why didn’t they wait for you? Before he could ask, you were already writing your next reply.

I’ll take the bus today.

“Let me take you home,” he said, leaving no room for argument.

The bus was packed, and you followed Kai closely as he led the way. He glanced back, his eyes searching for something until they landed on an empty window seat. With a small nudge of his shoulder, he gestured for you to take it.

Sliding into the seat, you couldn’t help but notice how his arm brushed against yours as he stood beside you, gripping the rail overhead. He leaned down slightly, reaching for the notepad in your hands. His handwriting was a little crooked, he had written quickly, but his message was clear:

Are you okay?

You nodded and took the pen to write your response. Yes.

Satisfied, he smiled. He reaches out, hooking his pinky finger to yours. It stays there, throughout the ride. One that you wished that didn't have to end.

Kai’s eyes widened when you gestured toward your home.

Sure, his own house was comfortable—his family could provide everything he needed—but this? This was on another level. Massive gates, the sprawling estate beyond them, the kind of place that practically screamed wealth, grand estate that made him feel like he’d stepped onto the set of a drama. His thoughts stumbled over themselves as the realization hit: you were a chaebol.

And yet, the thought lingered in his mind: how could they leave you to manage on your own, just because your sisters decided to go out? The question sat uncomfortably in his chest, though he kept it to himself.

You turned to him, drawing his attention back to you. Standing there, you looked up at him, your figure small against his tall, broad frame. He looked so effortlessly handsome it made your chest ache. You wished, fleetingly, to reach out and run your fingers through those dark locks, to feel their texture beneath your hands. He had done so much for you today—more than you could put into words.

See you later?

Kai read it, his lips quirking into a gentle smile.“Go inside,” he said, tapping your head softly. “See you later.”

As you turned and walked toward the house, he stayed rooted to the spot, watching your retreating figure until you disappeared through the gates. He let out a quiet breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his heart beating steadily against his ribs.

He could do this every day, he thought. Waiting for you, walking you home, making sure you were safe. He wanted to do this every day, however many days, as long as you’d let him.

After sending you home, Kai steps into a familiar bookstore, and the scent of old paper hits his face.

The owner greets him, casually mentioning the new volume of Slam Dunk just released, but Kai doesn’t even register the words. He’s already moving past, heading toward the back of the store where the shelves are less familiar.

He stops in front of a section—far away from the music books, the theory guides, and mangas. He picks it up.

Beginners: Sign Language.

You closed the door behind you, the weight in your chest heavier than it should’ve been. Dinner was supposed to be a happy time, right? Eating with your family, sharing moments. But it never felt like that for you. Not in this house.

Your eyes caught the sight of the fax machine on the side table, a piece of paper hanging loosely from the tray. You walk over, your steps slow, uncertain. Only two people know your number: your dad, and… Kai. You grabbed the paper, the handwriting unmistakable.

Come out. Will be there in 20 mins. —Kai.

Your breath caught. Dinner had taken longer than that. You scrambled to the window, heart pounding, and there he was—a silhouette against the dim streetlights, a mess of dark hair leaning casually against the gate.

You didn’t hesitate. Grabbing your pen and notepad from the desk, you ran. The startled looks of the housemaids blurred past you, and even the sharp, judgmental gaze of your stepmother from the couch—teacup poised mid-sip—couldn’t stop you. She doesn’t matter right now. Nothing does but getting to him.

You burst through the front gates, your eyes locking with his. His face breaks into a soft, immediate smile when he sees you, the sight of you in your loose shirt and pyjamas makes his heart skip a beat.

You raise your notepad, writing quickly, then holding it up for him to see. What are you doing here?

You reach for your notepad and pen, the confusion evident on your face as you extend them toward him. But instead of taking them, his hands move, and the world around you seems to pause.

"Hi." His fingers shape the sign, hesitant, uncertain. Your heart stumbles as you watch his hand move again, spelling out your name, letter by letter, in sign language. It’s slow, almost clumsy, but every movement is intentional. He’s trying, and it sends your heart racing.

"How was your—" He falters mid-sign, his hands falling to his sides. You watch as he digs into his pocket, pulling out a small book. The title catches your eye, and your chest tightens. He scratches the back of his neck, looking at you with an embarrassed sort of determination as he mouths, Wait.

And then he tries again, repeating the signs, "How was your dinner?" His movements are a little smoother this time. The question lingers in the space between you, and you feel your throat tighten as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. It feels like you can hear—his voice.

Your body moves before you can think. You step forward and wrap your arms around his neck. Your head presses against his chest, and you feel the slight hitch in his breath before his arms slide around your waist, holding you close. His warmth steadies you as a single tear slips free, trailing down your cheek.

No one had ever done this for you before. No one had ever tried to meet you in your silence, to understand the world you lived in. At home, they’d dismissed sign language, rejected it, treating it like some kind of shameful reminder of what they wanted to ignore. They’d made you feel like you were something to be hidden, something that's less.

But here he was—a boy who, just weeks ago, had been a stranger—bridging the gap, pouring himself into learning just to reach you. Crossing the distance to meet you where you were alone.

For the first time, you didn’t feel stranded on an island of your own.

Kai spent the next few minutes basking in the warmth of your presence. When another tear slipped past your eye, he reached out, his thumb brushing it away with the gentleness of someone afraid to break something precious. His attempts at signing sentences were clumsy at best, and your happiness marked your face—something that made his heart do flips.

"Yah, I'm trying, you know," he huffed, feigning indignation as he stomped his foot playfully. His pout only deepened when you smiled at him, and he could feel the heat crawling up his neck to his cheeks. He wanted to tease you back, but the words caught in his throat when you raised your hands.

It was the first time you signed in front of him. The motion was small but deliberate, the flick of your hand touching your chin before extending toward him. Kai’s eyebrows knit together, his mind scrambling to catch up. He flipped the pages of his book, muttering, “Wait, what does that mean?”

You reached for your notepad, scribbling the word: Thank you.

Before he could process the words, you signed again, your hands moving with a fluidity that stopped him in his tracks. The glow of the moon and the faint light from the lamppost illuminated your every move, casting soft dancing shadows across your face. And Kai—he forgot how to breathe.

You looked… different. You were stunning. Not the shy, hesitant version of you he’d grown used to, but confident and sure. Each gesture was almost poetic, and he was utterly mesmerized. The way your fingers moved felt like a song without sound—it suited you in a way words never could. He didn’t even want to blink, because he was afraid he’d miss something.

All he could do was watch, completely captivated by the real you.

"You didn't really have to. But thank you… for learning it for me."

The moment was shattered by the loud creak of the gates swinging open. Kai turned, his gaze meeting a woman’s sharp, glaring eyes. He opened his mouth to bow in greeting, but he quickly realized her scowl wasn’t for him—it was directed squarely at you.

Confused, Kai glanced back at you, his eyes scanning your face. Panic was written all over it. You hastily scribbled on your notepad, the letters uneven and rushed: Step-mother. Go home now, Kai.

He read the words and nodded, even if he didn’t fully grasp the situation. When your eyes met his again, there was something pleading in them. Turning back to the woman, Kai mustered a polite bow. “Good evening,”

She didn’t acknowledge him. “Go inside or we’ll lock you out here all night.”

Kai froze, the words almost too cruel to believe. He remembers you being locked up that night at school. His jaw clenched, but he kept his expression neutral, eyes flicking back to you. You were already scribbling again: Good night. Be safe travelling home.

He noticed something then—why hadn’t you signed it? He’d learned those words, and he knew you knew them too. But he didn’t ask, didn’t want to add to your distress. Instead, he nodded silently, stepping forward to close the distance between you. He bent down and pressed a light, lingering kiss to your hairline. A small gesture to remind you that he was here, even if he had to leave now. "See you later."

When he straightened, he turned to your stepmother, who was staring at him with thinly veiled disdain. Kai met her gaze, nodded politely, and then stepped back.

He didn’t look away until he saw you retreat inside.

The gates slammed shut with a force that rattled him. Your stepmother's tone echoed in his ears, harsh and dripping with contempt. He hated the way she’d spoken to you, the way her eyes had looked at you as though you did something so wrong.

He walked away, fists clenched at his sides. The thought of you living in a house with someone like that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Kai reunited with you the next day.

He carefully tried to bring up the encounter with your stepmother, but you avoided the topic entirely. He didn’t push, though. Instead, he quietly accepted it when you told him you lived with her, your stepsisters, and that your father was out of town on business. He said he’d wait—that he’d listen when you were ready to open up, when you felt comfortable.

Now, he’s on his way to the band room, arriving half an hour early for practice. His hand is wrapped around yours as he pulls you along. The soft warmth of your fingers in his feels just right. Students pass by, glancing your way, but Kai doesn’t care. Not when you’re here with him.

You agreed to come, though you weren’t sure what to expect. When you step into the room, your eyes widen. Trophies line the shelves, instruments are arranged neatly against the walls, and there’s a large, inviting couch in the corner. There's also a small door that must lead to a private bathroom.

Kai settles you on the couch, his lips curving into a gentle smile as he pulls his guitar out of its case. He tells you he wanted you to see this. He also mentions the upcoming festival in two days—a subtle invitation in his words.

As he strums the first notes, your eyes are drawn to him. The memory of the first time you saw Kai surfaces—your second year of high school. That day, he was being calmed down by Soobin, the band’s previous genius pianist. Even then, he left an impression so strong that you couldn’t forget him, no matter how much time had passed.

Now, sitting here in the band room as he plays his guitar for you, it feels surreal. If someone had told you back then that this would happen, you’d have laughed it off or called it impossible. But here you are, and he glances up, his eyes flickering between the strings and your face.

"I like it," you sign.

Kai’s face lights up. He reaches for something—your eyes are drawn to his hands. There, faint guitar scars run across his fingers, etched into his skin like a map of all the hours he’s poured into his craft.

An idea enters your mind.

Two days later, the school day comes to an end. You quietly pack your belongings, slipping books and papers into your bag as the chatter of students fills the room. The festival is less than an hour away. You’re just about to zip up your bag when movement near the doorway catches your attention.

Choi Beomgyu steps into the classroom, his eyes scanning the room like he’s on a mission. You glance at him curiously as Taehyun notices and stands up, greeting him with a nod then points in your direction. Beomgyu makes his way over with Taehyun trailing behind him. "Hi, Y/N," he signs, the motion catching you completely off guard. Your eyes widen in surprise. Did Kai teach him that? Did he teach both of them?

Before you can even process the thought, Beomgyu hands you a folded shirt. You take it hesitantly, inspecting it as the fabric unfurls in your hands. The moment you see the name Huening Kai printed boldly on the back, your heart skips. It’s his band shirt.

“He’ll love it,” Beomgyu says, a small grin tugging at his lips and winks. He reaches out, lightly tapping your head like it’s the most casual thing in the world. Without another word, he throws an arm around Taehyun’s shoulders, and the two of them leave the classroom together. Some girls in your room look at you with dirty looks. It matters not, you'll have to change your shirt first.

Kai’s eyes catch on your shirt almost instantly, his pace slowing as he closes the distance between you.

Confusion flits across his face, but then realization dawns. His band shirt. His name, his number on your back. His eyes widen in disbelief, and he lets out a laugh.

When you’re close enough, he reaches out, gently turning you around so he can see the full print. His fingers linger lightly on your shoulders. His grin widens, a mix of pride and something softer that you can’t quite name.

“You’ll watch, right?” he asks. His throat feels tight, and it’s not just the sight of you in his shirt—it’s everything it means.

You nod, slowly reaching into your pocket, pulling out a small gift box. You hold it out to him, “For me?” he asks softly, taking it with both hands.

When he opens the box, his breath catches in his throat. Inside are guitar picks, each one smooth and carefully chosen, but what draws his attention is the tiny, handwritten phrase etched onto them. He squints, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tilts the pick closer to the light.

See you later.

The phrase so familiar, a staple in all your goodbyes. It’s what he always waits to hear from you, what he secretly pouts about if you forget to say it. It’s a simple phrase, used by so many people in passing, but between the two of you, it’s different—reassurance that you’ll always find your way back to each other.

His chest tightens, emotion welling up in a way he hadn’t expected. He steps forward, pulls you into a hug, holding you close, his chin resting on your head. "What do I do with you?" He whispers to himself. He finally pulls back, his hands linger at your elbows, eyes searching yours. You lift your hands to sign, your movements slow.

"Good luck, rock star."

Soobin’s hand rested on your back, touch steadying as the crowd began to thicken around the stage. Kai had entrusted you to him and Yeonjun, and though the absence of Kai’s presence made you nervous, Soobin’s calm demeanour offered an unexpected sense of safety.

Yeonjun had gone to grab water, leaving you and Soobin to hold your place by the barricade. The festival was just moments away from starting, with students from your school, other schools, and alumni who had come back for the event. You found yourself gripping the metal tightly, the unfamiliar place… overwhelming. It's your first time to even attend one.

Soobin noticed immediately. He tapped your shoulder gently, “Are you okay?”

You turned to him, his concern reflected in his face. You nodded, returning a small smile. His kindness felt natural. You could see why Kai spoke of him so fondly.

You barely had time to respond before you were pulled into a sudden hug. The embrace was tight, and a sweet floral scent filled your senses. You froze in surprise, but when the person stepped back, the grin on her face was so bright and genuine that you couldn’t help but soften.

“Hi! I’m Hiyyih!” she exclaimed, her face full of excitement, her eyes shining like she’d been waiting forever to meet you. Her name made you pause, recognition flashing through your mind. Your eyes widened slightly, but you smiled back at her, quickly scribbling in your notepad.

Y/N. Nice to meet you, Hiyyih.

She read it, and immediately squealed, her reaction so heartfelt and full of life that it drew laughter from Soobin. “How did my brother pull you, huh?” she teased, shaking her head in disbelief. Then, with mock irritation, she turned to Soobin and added, “Seriously, how?”

Soobin chuckled, clearly amused. “I know. She's too pretty. Magic, maybe,” he offered casually, and Hiyyih groaned dramatically. She hooked her arm through yours, as if you’d known each other for years. You're glad they didn't mention the blush evident on your cheeks.

Yeonjun returned, handing you a cold bottle of water. “You okay?” he asked, his tone just as kind and considerate as Soobin’s had been. You nodded again, clutching the water tightly as you looked between them all—Hiyyih’s bright enthusiasm, Soobin’s quiet reassurance, and Yeonjun’s laid-back charm. It feels nice to be surrounded by people you want to be with.

You could get used to this. Being with people who made you feel like you mattered—more than your own family ever had.

It was dark now, the festival lit only by the vibrant glow of stage lights, casting shifting colours across the crowd. The ground trembled beneath your feet as people jumped and swayed, their cheers blending with the music in an electrifying symphony.

Your eyes scanned the stage, searching—and then you saw him. Kai. There he was, guitar in hand, lost in the music. The way he moved was effortless as if the instrument was an extension of himself. His face was lit up, not just by the stage lights but by a joy that radiated from within. He looked alive. Happy. He belonged there. He owns it.

And then his eyes found yours.

The chaos around you seemed to fade. Slowly, you signed, "You look cool," your hands steady even as your heart raced. You watched as his gaze followed the movement of your hands, his eyes softening with every word you formed. You didn’t need to be close to him. You didn’t need to hear his voice. As long as you could see him—and he could see you.

His lips curved into a smile, and he winked, the playful gesture making you smile back, heart swelling with pride.

The performance was incredible, each member of the band owning their moment, their energy filling the space and igniting the crowd. When the last song ended, the crowd erupted into cheers, and the band bowed together, camaraderie evident even from a distance. But before you could fully take in the scene, Kai was running.

The moment he stepped off the stage, his eyes searched for your face. His shoulders eased as soon as he saw you, surrounded by people he trusts. He loves performing—he truly does. But the thought of returning to you, is louder than any applause. His feet move before his mind can think.

Straight to you.

He reached you in seconds, his chest heaving, adrenaline still coursing through him. "I can't stop looking at you,” he said, his voice low, the words had been waiting to escape all night. His hands cradled your face, calloused by the guitar scars. "I need to kiss you right now or I'll go crazy."

You barely noticed the stares of the crowd or the murmurs of those nearby. All you could see was him. He leaned in, his breath mingling with yours, and his lips brushed against yours in the softest kiss. You’d always known his lips looked soft, but they still managed to surprise you—how perfectly they fit against yours.

When he pulled back, his grin was so wide. His arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you close as if you were the only thing that mattered. Around you, his friends clapped him on the back, their faces proud with congratulations.

“See you later?” Kai signed, his movements fluid, more confident. You nodded with a smile, waving as he stepped back. His grin widened, and he watched you enter the gates of your home.

That smile lingered on your face, carrying you all the way inside. The front doors opened for you, the maids greeting you with quiet bows, and you headed for the staircase, ready to retreat to your room.

But before you could take the first step, a hand seized your wrist and yanked you back. The slap came next, sharp and sudden, leaving a sting that spread across your cheek like fire. Startled, your hand flew to your face, and your wide, disbelieving eyes met the furious glare of your stepmother.

“You skipped your painting lesson,” she hissed, face trembling with anger, “and came home late without even telling me.”

“And what for?” she spat. “To loiter with boys? To parade yourself in public, chatting in sign language for the entire neighbourhood to see? What else do you have left to ruin? Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is for the family?” Her voice grew louder, shriller, her hand resting on her hip as she glared at you like you were something she could barely tolerate.

You noticed your stepsisters standing just out of the line. Equal anger on their faces. It was clear—they had told her. Once, their expressions had the power to make you shrink, to make you doubt yourself. Now you felt nothing but disdain. Family, you thought bitterly, scoffing as you turned your head away.

Your stepmother’s hand shot out, grabbing your chin and jerking your face back toward hers. Her nails bit into your skin as she snarled, “Did you laugh? How dare you laugh at me?”

You shoved her hand away. “Don’t touch me,” you signed, your movements sharp, gaze unwavering. You didn’t care that she couldn’t understand. This was the only way you could speak, and you were tired of swallowing your voice.

Her face twisted with fury. “I said stop using sign language!” she barked.

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you signed again, your hands trembling. “I’m not alone anymore,” you told her, the tears burning at the edges of your vision. “You can be the queen of this house, control everything and everyone under this roof. But there’s a world outside these walls. And out there, I have friends. People who see me. People who care.”

“Talk! Talk like a proper person! I told you to talk!” The slap came hard and fast, snapping your head to the side. Your cheek burned with the impact, but this time, you didn’t freeze. You pushed her. Hard.

The room erupted with a collective gasp.

“Touch me again, and you’ll see your name in the newspaper.” Your glare shifted to Chae-won as she stepped forward, her mouth opening to speak, but you didn’t wait to hear what she had to say.

You bolted up the stairs, your heart hammering in your chest, panic fueling every frantic step.

The space felt thick as you threw yourself into your room, slamming the door shut behind you. You moved toward your desk, your hands shaking as you tore your bag open, yanking out a piece of paper. You didn’t have time to think, only enough to scrawl a desperate message, the words barely legible through the blur of your haste.

The door creaked open behind you. Panic surged. You turned, your pulse pounding as you spotted them—the maids stepping into the room. You bolted to the fax machine, shoving the paper in and frantically typing his number. You had to send it. You had to.

The machine whirred, halfway through sending, when two pairs of hands grabbed you, one on each arm. You thrashed and kicked, trying to wrench free, but their grip was too strong. Your stepmother appeared in the doorway, her smirk was cruel, triumphant, and your stomach churned with dread.

And then you saw it—the glint of metal in her hands. Locks.

"Get her upstairs. Now." Your breath caught in your throat. The room seemed to tilt as a memory surged forward, unbidden and suffocating. The attic. The last time she locked you up, you were fifteen. Your skin crawled at the thought of being trapped there again. You were dragged out, your feet sliding against the floor, your cries echoing down the empty hall. It took three of them—three people to overpower you, until the door loomed.

They shoved you inside, your body hitting the floor with a dull thud. You scrambled to your feet, lunging for the door, but it slammed shut in your face. You pounded on the door, fists aching, tears burning behind your eyes. It was harder for you to breathe.

This was her punishment—her way of crushing you every time you dared to fight back, dared to speak your truth.

She’d leave you here, in the dark, in the suffocating silence, until you broke. Until you admitted she was right. Or until your father’s nearing return forced her to let you out, pretending everything was fine.

You had tried to tell him before. Slipping notes into his pockets, scribbling messages when she wasn’t looking. But her eyes were always there, sharp and watchful, snatching away every chance you had. You can’t help but wonder—if you hadn’t stood up to her, if you hadn’t accepted that small, fleeting chance to feel alive, would you still be here right now? Or would you just be trapped in another kind of prison, shackled to the cycle your stepmother has forced you into?

Dust coated every surface, the faint light that seeped through the cracks wasn’t even enough to pierce the gloom to give you hope. You curled up against the wall, knees pulled to your chest, fingers trembling as they pressed against the cold floor. It was something that you had to endure before.

For years.

Kai was running.

He didn’t care about the stares from strangers or the disapproving grunt as he ran the streets. He didn’t care about his mother’s worried gaze when he bolted out the door or the sting of his lungs from sprinting so fast. None of it mattered. All that mattered was getting to you.

The fax had come just minutes ago. He had been half-asleep when the machine whirred, spitting out a crumpled piece of paper with words that sent a shrill down his spine.

Kai, pick me up. Come get me, please. He knew it was you.

His heart pounded as he reached your gates, the mansion unwelcoming under the grey sky. He rang the door frantically, and when a maid opened the door, her polite greeting barely had time to escape her lips before Kai pushed past her.

“Sir, what are you doing?” she cried, alarmed. But Kai didn’t stop. He pushed through the grand double doors, his eyes scanning the room wildly. His gaze landed on a young woman, about his age—your stepsister, he realized with a flare of anger.

“Where’s Y/N?” he demanded, his voice booming through the space. The room fell silent. The maids froze, glancing at one another nervously, while your stepsister stiffened, her lips tightening into a scowl. “Where is she?” Kai shouted again, taking a step forward. A timid maid finally cracked, her wide eyes darting toward the stairs before quickly looking away. It was all he needed.

Kai took off, his legs carrying him up the staircase two steps at a time. As he neared the top, he heard it—a faint pounding, far but desperate. His blood ran cold as realization struck.

The attic.

Kai’s chest tightened as he reached the door. His fist slammed against the wood, the sound reverberating down the hall. The pounding on the other side grew more. His heart felt like it might tear itself apart.

“Open this door!” he says, spinning to face the maids who had followed him upstairs. “What the hell is wrong with you people? Do you want to go to prison for this? Do you want to be accomplices?” The maid who’d glanced upstairs earlier flinched, her hands shaking as she fumbled with a key.

Finally, the lock clicked, and he shoved the door open. His breath caught as he saw you huddled on the floor, your arms wrapped tightly around your knees, your face streaked with tears. “Y/N,” he breathed, rushing to you.

"You found me." You signed, eyes locking on his. He crouched, his arms wrapping around your trembling frame. He pulled you close, his hand smoothing over your hair as he held you against his chest.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m getting you out of this place.” His eyes darted around the attic, taking in the oppressive walls, scattered drawings—sketches you must’ve made. Some looks old, others newer. They had been locking you up here. Trapping you.

Kai stood, pulling you with him, “Come on,” his hand tightened around yours, and you nodded.

He led you down the stairs, his grip never faltering. At the bottom, your stepmother appeared, her expression twisting into one of fury the moment she saw him.

“Do you even realise what you’re doing right now?” she demanded, her voice sharp and grating. “This is kidnapping. Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?”

Kai didn’t flinch. He didn’t hesitate. His voice was steady, cold, and razor-sharp. “Not as serious as imprisonment. Or abuse.”

Her lips curled into a mocking sneer. “I’m disciplining her,” she spat, as if the word justified everything.

Your stepmother’s eyes flicked to you as your hands moved, signing. “You’re hurting me.”

Her face darkened. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop signing?”

Kai froze, his mind reeling at her words. “What?” he said, voice low. His jaw tightened as he stared at her, fury building in his chest. “How do you expect her to communicate if she can’t speak?”

She sneered. “Return her inside while I’m still asking nicely,”

“No,” Kai snapped, he turned to her fully, standing tall and unyielding. “I’m not talking to you. Tell her father, when he finally gets home, to come find me personally if he wants to see his daughter again. And don’t even think about stopping me. My mother knows I’m here.”

Your stepmother opened her mouth to argue, but Kai didn’t give her the chance. He turned away, tugging you along behind him as he strode toward the door. His glare silenced any maids who dared step forward, daring anyone to challenge him.

“If you walk out that door,” your stepmother hissed, “you’ll regret it.”

Kai didn’t stop. He didn’t even look back.

The cool night air hit your skin as he pulled you through the gates and into the street. He didn’t care about her threats. He didn’t care about what came next. The only thing he knew was—he would regret it far more if he didn’t leave with you tonight.

When the two of you arrived at Kai’s home, his mother was already at the door, her face filled with concern. The moment she saw you, her eyes softened, but they couldn’t hide the shock and sadness she felt at your condition. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said gently, ushering you inside with open arms. “Let’s get you settled.”

She led you to a spare room, “This was Lea’s room,” she explained with a small smile. “Kai’s sister. She’s away at college now, so it’s all yours for as long as you need.”

Kai, stepped outside, pacing the front yard. His hands clenched and unclenched, breathing unevenly as he tried to calm himself. “How could they do that to her? As human beings?” he spits, in disbelief. “Even animals wouldn’t treat someone like that.”

His mother followed him out, gently placing a hand on his arm. “Kai, breathe,” she said softly. “She needs space to process everything right now.”

Kai shook his head, “What you did was good,” his mother continued. “Let her stay here for now. She’s safe with us.”

“And what happens when her father comes back?” Kai snapped, “What then? She just gets sent back to that place?”

His mother sighed, her grip on his arm steady. “Kai, it’s obvious he doesn’t know what’s been happening. Do you think any father would knowingly allow this?”

“That man, he lives in the same house as her. How does he not know? He’s either blind or he doesn’t care because all he does is make money and turn ignorant to everything else.”

His mother stepped closer, pulling him into a hug before he could spiral further. “It’s not your place to decide what kind of father he is, or if she should forgive him. That’s up to her. Right now, she needs rest.”

You sat curled up on the edge of the bed, knees pulled tightly to your chest, your back pressed into the corner. Your fingers picked at your nailbeds. Every breath you took felt shaky, like you were on the verge of falling apart.

It was the first time you’d ever stood up to them—to that whole oppressive house. The weight of it settled heavily on your chest, but more than that, you worried about Kai. About his family. Would they be okay with you here? What if they went after Kai or his family for taking you in? Would your presence bring trouble to their door? You felt like a curse, dragging misfortune wherever you went.

The sight of the door sliding open startled you. You looked up to see Kai’s mom stepping in, her form soft in the dim light. She carried a stack of clothes in her hands, a small smile on her face.

“Hiyyih’s already asleep, so I had to grab these for you,” she said, setting it down in front of you. “These are Lea’s—Kai’s sister. I’m not sure if you’ll like them, but I thought these might fit you.”

You nodded silently, your heart pounding as you glanced at her. You could not shake the fear that she might say you’d put Kai in danger, that bringing you here was a mistake. Or how much trouble you might’ve caused him. The guilt plague, making your stomach turn.

She didn’t say anything at first, just sat there, her gaze soft and thoughtful. Then her smile widened, and her eyes crinkled at the corners like Kai does. “Gosh, you’re so pretty,” she said, as if she was stating the most obvious fact in the world. “Look at your eyes—they’re so clear, so bright.” Her words made your breath hitch.

“Not being able to talk must be so hard,” she continued, face replaced with sadness. “You must’ve felt so upset. So frustrated.” She moved closer, her hands reaching for yours. Her touch was warm, and something about it made the tears in your eyes sting even more.

“But you did such a good job, honey,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “Growing up into such a beautiful, strong young lady.” Her thumb gently brushed the back of your hand, and she smiled again, “I’m proud of you.”

Her words shattered something inside you, breaking through the walls you’d tried so hard to keep up. You bit down on your lip, but it was no use. The tears slipped free, rolling down your cheeks.

“If anyone ever hurts you again, if anyone tries to trap you, you come here,” she said firmly, her tone shifting to one of conviction. “Don’t ever put up with it. Just come back here. Or stay here and live with me." She grinned at the thought, expression animated, like it was the simplest solution in the world.

You couldn’t hold it back anymore. You cried, your shoulders trembling as the sobs punished your body. All the days you had endured in silence. The days they made you feel invisible, like you didn’t matter. The way they looked at you, spoke about you, treated you, as though you were something other, something different. Not belonging. Not normal.

"Don't cry," She pulled you into her arms, holding you tightly as she rubbed your back in soothing circles. You were starting to see it wasn’t true. Starting to believe. And her embrace is so… familiar. It was like holding onto a memory you’d been too afraid to revisit—the one you’d clung to as a lifeline but had started to fade, little by little.

It felt like you were eight again, back in time—cradled in your mother’s warm arms.

Kai stood at your door, it's been an hour when he saw his mother leaving, her eyes red from crying. She had tried to reassure him to give you space, to let you be alone tonight—but Kai's heart couldn’t rest. He knocked softly before slipping inside.

You were facing away from him, the sheets pulled up high against your body. He walked over, unsure of what to expect, and tapped a single finger on your shoulder to check if you were awake. You shifted and glanced back at him, your face still soft with the remnants of tears.

He offered a small smile, his hands signing softly, “Hi.”

You didn’t respond with words instead, you scooted over, making room for him on the bed. He slid in beside you, leaving just enough space between you both. “Are you okay?” he signed, his face filled with concern.

“Yes,” you replied quietly, your fingers moving slowly, tracing the air. “Because you always come whenever I need someone.”

His heart skipped a beat. “Anything for you,” he whispered, gaze never left yours. "I'll do anything for you,"

His fingers slowly lifted to cradle your face, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek. Your eyes fluttered closed at the touch, and Kai could feel your breath hitch. You shifted closer to him, pressing your head to his chest, seeking his intoxicating smell.

He tucked you in carefully, his arm lying beneath your head as his head rested gently on top of yours. His touch was warm and soothing as his hand trailed down your back, the warmth from his skin seeping through the fabric of your clothes. You closed your eyes, feeling the calm settle in your chest, until a small movement in his chest caught your attention.

You pulled back slightly, confusion in your eyes. His face was soft, but his eyes shimmered with tears that hadn't yet fallen. His lips parted, searching for the right words. “How did you put up with all of that?” he whispered, a tear slipping down his right cheek. His chest seemed to tighten with the weight of the question. “What they did to you, it was the worst. I— should've found you sooner. I promise… you will not be alone anymore, okay?”

You nod, tearing up at his words. It was the first time someone made a promise to you that you knew he wouldn't break. A small smile found its way to your lips. His hands moved, fingers gently pressed against your palm as he spelled out.

"You're safe now,"

You wake up slowly, your eyes squinting as they adjust to the soft morning light spilling into the room.

Kai's arms are still wrapped around your waist, his body pressed against yours, his face nestled against your chest. You gently trace the lines of his face with your fingers, captivated by the details you never want to forget—the way his freckles and moles give his features a softness, an angelic quality. He's so beautiful. The light in a world that once felt so dark. In a life that’s often felt like a nightmare, he’s the one thing that pulled you into the almost impossible daylight.

You lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He murmurs in his sleep but doesn’t stir. You smile softly at his innocence, feeling your heart flutter. You try to untangle your legs from his, hesitant to leave the safety of his embrace, but you slowly make your way out of the bed.

As you step into the living room, the smell of breakfast makes your stomach rumble. You find Kai’s mom and Hiyyih already in the kitchen. The latter smiles warmly at you. “Good morning,” she greets, and you return the smile.

Breakfast is simple but comforting. The food amazing, your appetite comes back little by little with every bite.

When you’re finished, Hiyyih looks at you with a bright smile. “Want to help me with the lunch boxes?” she asks, and you nod eagerly. She helps you slip on an apron, her fingers fumbling with the straps as she giggles. It's contagious, and makes you smile.

She pulls her hair back into a ponytail, a few strands fall loose, and you reach for your notepad. You quickly scribble, Let me braid your hair?

Hiyyih’s eyes widen with delight, and she nods. You gather her hair gently, carefully weaving the strands together. A soft smile spread across her face at the comforting touch of your hands.

Kai stretched his arm to your side, but the space was empty.

His eyes snapped open, sleep quickly fading as he registered the absence of your presence. He sat up abruptly, fumbling to slide his feet into his house slippers, the soft padding of his steps barely audible as he hurried out of the room.

Where could you have gone? Has someone come to take you home? His thoughts raced, each one more frantic than the last. He barely noticed the cold air of the hallway as he hurried toward the kitchen—then he stopped, heart halting in his chest.

There you were.

The tension melted away as he took in the scene. You stood at the counter, laughter spilling from your lips as you helped Hiyyih pack three lunch boxes. The soft fabric of an apron hugged your frame, and his mother moved gracefully beside you, pouring cups of steaming chocolate milk, a soft smile gracing her lips as she watched the two of you.

Your eyes found his, and the world seemed to slow. A smile softened your features as you raised a hand, signing a simple "Hi," and motioning for him to come closer.

"Good morning," Kai murmured. His heart swelled at the scene before him—three women who meant the world to him. "Morning, Mom."

The two watched as Kai closed the small distance between you and him. He softly placed his hands on your shoulders, the touch gentle. Then, he leaned down, pressing a light, quick kiss to the top of your head. His small act makes you blush.

"Good morning, Son," his mother interrupts warmly, passing him a plate of pancakes and sausages. "Y/N and Hiyyih have already eaten. Here’s your breakfast."

Kai took his seat, the clatter of cutlery mingling with the soft sounds of your and Hiyyih’s giggles. His mother, ever attentive, placed a notepad on the counter, making sure nothing was lost in translation as she communicated with you.

If you truly want to express something, you’ll find a way. And if you want to say even more, you’ll learn, until your heart speaks louder than words ever could.

It was the first time you were in a car, heading to school, and there was a grin you couldn’t wipe from your face.

Everything felt lighter today—the warmth of Hiyyih’s arm gently looping around yours, and every now and then, Kai’s glance in the rearview mirror caught yours.

Last night seemed to burn away, slipping from your mind like smoke on the breeze. The car pulled up, and you all said your goodbyes to Kai’s mom, her lips warm against your cheek as she kissed you. “What food would you like later?” Her question made you pull her into a tight hug, surprising her with the warmth you hadn’t known you had in you. It's true, that if you surround yourself with better people, you'll be better too.

It felt like everyone in school was watching, but you didn’t mind. Kai’s hand in yours felt so right, and Hiyyih was chatting away beside you, making everything feel like a dream. When the time came for Hiyyih to part ways, she also kissed your cheek with a smile, waving goodbye.

Kai’s eyes were on you, a smirk tugging at his lips as you laughed softly. He loved seeing you so light, so happy. When he walked you to your class, you bumped into Taehyun, who ruffled your hair with a grin and a gentle pat on the head. You felt like he already knew, given that his stare much more concerned than it ever was.

Is this what it feels like to be part of something? What a family is supposed to feel like?

You washed your hands in the sink, the corners of your lips still tugged into a faint smile. But the moment was cut short when a splash of cold water hit you, soaking your uniform. You gasped, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to your skin. You only know two people who find joy in these acts. Turning quickly, you saw Chae-won and Yun-jin standing there, flanked by three other girls whose names you didn’t even know but who were always with them.

“Are you done living your life like a victim?” Chae-won’s voice rang out, sharp and biting. A few other students in the bathroom froze, unsure of what to do, before slipping out the door, desperate to avoid being caught in the middle.

“Go home,” she spat, her glare searing. “I’m not letting my mother deal with trash like you.”

Your chest tightened, but you refused to show it. You held her gaze for a beat longer than you thought you could, then turned to leave. The quicker you got out of their sight, the better. You don't want to waste your energy on dealing with her. But before you could make it to the door, two of them grabbed your arms roughly and shoved you back.

“Go home now,” one of them hissed. “Or I’ll make sure everyone knows just how pathetic you really are.”

Something inside you snapped. The words stung, but your hand moved faster than your thoughts. The slap echoed in the tiled bathroom. Chae-won’s face twisted in shock before anger overtook her features. She lunged, pushing you into a cubicle. Her hands tangled in your hair as you tried to fight back, her nails digging into your arm as you struggled to block her strikes.

They always kept it hidden, their cruelty tucked away in the shadows—behind the closed doors of your home, in the quiet corners of the art room, places where no one else would see. Never here. Never out in the open like this. These were the same people you once looked at with longing, the ones you dreamed would someday call you their friend.

Tears blurred your vision as you struggled to catch your breath. The sharp ache in your scalp subsided when Chae-won was suddenly yanked off you, her grip torn away by a rough hand.

Hiyyih. Your eyes widened as you saw her, fierce and blazing with anger. “Get the fuck away from my sister, bitch!” she screamed, face cracking with rage. Before Chae-won could recover, Hiyyih kicked her hard on her thigh, her fury igniting as she saw the blood smeared across your arms.

Another girl was with her, someone you vaguely recognized, stepping in to help. Suddenly, it was three against five, chaos erupting in the cramped bathroom.

Hiyyih glared daggers at Yun-jin, voice trembling with raw emotion. “You think you can just hurt people? You think you’re strong because you can?”

The bathroom erupted into noise—shouting, scuffling, and the sound of feet scrambling for safety. Students crowded at the doorway, peeking in with wide eyes, while others bolted to find a teacher. You stayed close to Hiyyih, your chest tight with fear. What if they hurt her the way they hurt you?

You felt yourself shoved against the counter in the commotion, your pulse pounding in your ears. And then, cutting through the chaos, you saw them. Three figures pushed their way through the crowd, pushing onlookers, unconcerned that this was a girls’ bathroom.

Kai. Beomgyu. Taehyun.

Everything seemed to blur as Kai desperately reached you, pulling you close against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, steady and protective, shielding you from anyone.

“Enough!” Beomgyu shouts. “This ridiculous cat fight ends now.”

Kai’s hands cupped your face, his touch trembling as he scanned your cuts and bruises. His jaw tightened, his eyes dark with anger and fear. His eyes check his sister, now standing between Beomgyu and Taehyun. He exhaled sharply, pulling you behind him, his body a wall between you and the rest of the room.

“Stop this,” he said coldly, his words directed at Chae-won, who was fixing her hair with a smug expression. "This is your last warning—stay away from her.”

Chae-won sneered, venom dripping from her voice. “Why do you keep protecting that… thing?” she spat. “She’s abnormal. She can’t hear. She made us miserable. She’s selfish, always making everything about her. She plays the victim like it’s a sport.”

Her words made Hiyyih surged forward, ready to strike, but Taehyun held her back with a firm grip.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Chae-won blinked, startled by the harshness in Kai's tone—a tone so unlike the boy known for his warmth and kindness. “She’s the best person to ever walk these grounds,” Kai adds, eyes locked on Chae-won. “She’s everything you’ll never be.”

You tried to step out from behind him, to meet Chae-won’s glare head-on, but Kai’s arm gently stopped you, keeping you behind him, his body a wall between you and her cruelty.

“If anyone here isn’t normal, it’s you. Never her.”

For the first time, Chae-won’s smirk faltered, her confidence visibly shaken. Her eyes dart between Hiyyih, Beomgyu and Taehyun. They all look at her in disdain.

Her mind raced, her thoughts spiralling back to the words her mother had drilled into her—how you were less, how people would never care about you. But now—these people—they were standing with you, like they would shield you from anything that came your way. It made her gulp. She bolts outside, Yun-jin was hot on her heels, matching her pace. The other girls had already disappeared.

For the first time, she was afraid—of the consequences that might happen if she ever dared to hurt you again.

“You don’t have to forgive them, you know?” Kai says, his shoulder brushes against yours, as you both sit, legs dangling off the edge of the makeshift bench in the yard. The watermelon ice cream in your hand drips slightly, the heat of the sun melting it. His sister and mother are out of the house, shopping for tonight's supper.

“It’s okay to take your time,” he adds, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “Or never forgive them at all. You can stay here with us for as long as you want. There’s no rush to figure everything out.”

You shift your feet, wiggling your toes against the warm wood beneath you. Both of you are still in the loose, comfortable clothes you threw on after rolling out of bed. No shoes, no plans—It’s a Saturday—your first weekend here.

You look at him, and the light catches his face. A small smile tugs at your lips as you sign, “You know, I’ve never given you a proper nickname.”

Kai pauses mid-bite, blinking at you in surprise at your random words. “Huh?” he mumbles around the end of his ice cream. “What do you mean?”

You let out a soft laugh, your hands moving fluidly as you explain, “Since calling out your name in sign language takes a little more effort, it’s better to give you a nickname. Something simple but special, something that means ‘you.’”

Kai’s heart stutters in his chest. How was it possible that every time he saw you sign, it felt like the first time all over again? "Wha- what would you call me?"

You smile, a little shy. You’d thought of this nickname days ago, waiting for the right moment to share it. “Diamond,” you sign, your hands forming the shape—your thumb and index finger meet to form the letter D, before tracing an elegant upward motion, like a sparkle.

Kai’s breath catches. His chest feels tight, like his heart is swelling too big for the space it’s in. Diamond. The way you did it, the way it looked—it felt intimate. "It’s beautiful."

You smile softly at him, and his entire world shifts. “I can’t hear your voice, but I see it. You shine the brightest when you’re making music. That’s when you look the coolest, like you’re untouchable… like a diamond. But even then, I don’t feel left out when I’m with you. I never felt I don't belong when I'm with you.” Your hands falter slightly, your eyes glassy with unshed tears.

Kai watches every movement, every micro-emotion on your face. He understands every word.

He’s in love with you. Completely, helplessly.

He doesn’t need to be the doctor to diagnose his own symptoms, a teacher to put his feelings into words, or to be the scientist to prove his theory. None of those roles matters because—these things will never speak as loud as his heart. He loves you. And with every moment he spends knowing you, he finds himself falling even deeper.

And now, he can give you his music—something he once thought was beyond him. Loving you has been the easiest thing he’s ever done.

Kai's desperate need consumes him as he grabs your face, his heart racing with aching desire to kiss you. His lips crash onto yours, devouring the sweetness of your watermelon-flavoured mouth. You moan, a little sound that only fuels his need as he leans back. "You're so beautiful. I need you, please." He pulls you closer and kisses you again once you nod, unable to resist his sweet kisses. He breaks away and takes your hand, leading you. Like he always does.

You let him pull you into his room, the scent of him wrapping around you like a quiet embrace. The space feels personal—lived-in. It feels like... him.

Before you can say a word, his arms encircle you from behind, holding you close as his lips brush softly against the side of your head. His hands move slowly, sliding from your waist to your stomach. With a gentle tug, he lifts your shirt just enough to reveal the bare skin beneath. His touch is tender as his fingers graze over you, tracing delicate patterns, and caressing. Kai turns you around.

Kai's mind swirls with uncertainty. He stares into your eyes, and he signs the words that he has been holding back. "I love you." You respond by pulling him close, kissing him fiercely and tangling your fingers in his hair. Your mind is consumed by his confession, and his touches.

He pushes you onto the bed, flooding your senses with his smell. You wrap your legs around him instinctively, surprised at yourself for doing something naturally you haven't done. You're craving his touch.

"I need you," His voice is low, repeating the words. He wants to know. He wants to make sure that you're alright with this. You give a slight nod, granting him permission. He eagerly accepts, his lips crashing against yours in a frenzy of need. His hands roam your body, leaving trails of fire as he hungrily kisses down your neck. He goes down, he bites down on the fabric covering your nipples, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from you.

He gingerly lifted your shirt over your head, revealing your flushed skin. He took one of your hardened nipples into his mouth and gently sucked, watching closely as your face contorted in pleasure and your eyes fluttered shut.

He slides his hand under your silk pyjama top and gently traces the curve of your back with his fingers. He settles himself beside you, leaning as he reaches your waistband. His long fingers slip inside and finds you already wet, he spreads your lips apart and expertly flicks his finger over your clit. He adds another finger and watches your face for any signs of discomfort, peppering kisses along your cheeks as you shake your head in pleasure. Slowly, he inserts them deeper, making you grip his shoulders tightly as he stretches you.

He rolls his knuckles over your sensitive clit. With a swift movement, his hand opens like scissors, his thumb teasing your swollen nub. You let out a gasp and clutch onto his now longer hair, pulling him closer as he continues to pleasure you with his skilled fingers. Your mouths meet in a passionate kiss, his hot tongue brushing yours as he works his fingers in and out of you.

As he pulls out, you can feel his gaze on you, his eyes tracing every inch of your body. Every part of your body is beautiful.

You try to reach for his pants, but he shakes his head with a small smile. "This is all about you." He whispers, and places a kiss on your lips.

He slides into you, causing tears to escape from the corners of your eyes as you feel yourself being stretched and filled. He's so big, hot inside you. "Baby, I got you," He leans in close, his warm breath mingling with yours as he gently wipes away your tears.

Kai searches your eyes and waits for you to signal him to move again, you hummed nodding your head. He presses deeper, and the sensation makes your whole body tingle. With each thrust, he presses you further into the mattress, leaving hot kisses along your skin as his other hand finds its way back to your clit.

His lips found your ears, and he left traces of kisses. The overwhelming pleasure builds and builds until finally, you can't hold back any longer and release with a shudder. But he doesn't stop there; he continues to move inside of you groaning, pulling out before his release, he fists his erection and hot white cum comes undone on his hands. He leans down to give you a quick kiss on your forehead, smirking at your fucked out face.

Kai's touch was careful as he ran the cloth over your skin, wiping away, and cleaning you up. He worked slowly, keeping one of his hands holding your own.

When he was done, he looked up at you with that same soft smile. You feel your lips curve in response, reaching out to touch his flushed cheeks, your fingers brushing against his warm skin. The simple touch makes his smile widen into a boyish grin. You see his mouth open, saying "I love you." The same words he kept repeating over and over again even without you knowing it.

It feels unreal, like a fragile dream stitched together by your desperate mind to escape the torment of your reality. Kai doesn’t seem real—a fleeting fever dream you’re terrified will vanish the moment you wake. Your hands move almost on their own, signing the words your heart refuses to deny. "I love you too."

A floor table is set up in the yard, resting on a wide blanket with soft cushions scattered around it. Plates of food and side dishes fill the table, the space alive with chatter and laughter.

Kai sits beside you, his knee brushing yours beneath the table his hands caressing your back when no one's looking, Hiyyih is in the center, her laughter bright and infectious, while Taehyun and Beomgyu are across from you, locked in their usual back-and-forth.

Or rather, Beomgyu trying to bait Taehyun into bickering, and Taehyun rolling his eyes with amused restraint.

The sliding door opens, and Kai’s mom steps out, balancing a steaming pot in her hands. “Here comes the ramen!” she sings. The broth makes you realise just how hungry you are.

She begins ladling out bowls, and the clinking of utensils signals the start of the meal. As the first bite warms your throat, the cold night seems to retreat, replaced by the simple joy of being here, with them.

You reach out toward the dessert—ripe, glossy strawberries—but your hand freezes as you see Beomgyu grab the last one. He pauses mid-bite when he catches the longing look in your eyes. “Oh,” he says, a smirk tugging at his lips. Slowly, he pulls the fruit away from his mouth, holding it out to you with his chopsticks. “Because I’m a good guy, I’ll let you have it.”

Before you can protest, Kai reaches over with his own chopsticks and snatches the strawberry back. He shoves it into Beomgyu’s mouth, earning a muffled yelp. “You can keep it,” Kai says flatly, shooting a half-hearted glare at his friend.

Taehyun bursts out laughing, pointing at Beomgyu’s shocked expression. “He’s jealous,” he teases, his grin wide.

“I am not,” Kai snaps, cheeks betraying by giving a soft pink hue. “I just don’t want his germs spreading to Y/N.”

Beomgyu, finally swallowing the strawberry, points a dramatic finger at Kai. “You little shi—”

You laugh as Beomgyu leaps to his feet, determined to catch Kai, who’s darting away with that grin that melts your heart every time. Kai—the one who didn’t just save you from your own darkness, but who opened up his world and invited you in, piece by piece.

You sigh, not out of sadness, but happiness—a feeling slowly becoming familiar. It doesn’t feel impossible anymore.

You avoid your father’s gaze, his concerned eyes scanning you with a frown etched deep into his forehead. You shift, positioning yourself behind Kai’s broad back. You can still see your father, but having Kai in front of you makes it all feel bearable—almost safe.

Your father arrived first thing in the morning, dressed sharply in his suit, as though he hadn’t wasted a second to come get you ever since he came back.

He explained everything in a rush—what he’d done back at the house. Your stepmother was gone, and she’d taken your stepsisters with her. Without a marriage binding them, he ended it quickly, as swiftly as he’d once welcomed her into your home, believing she could be a solution, a saviour for you.

The maids who had turned a blind eye or worse—enabled the abuse—were fired on the spot. And now, he was determined to make things right—determined to press charges, to hold accountable anyone who had ever hurt you. His voice cracked when he spoke of it, the guilt etched deep into his expression.

"Would you mind if I speak for a moment?" Kai asks stance proud, and unwavering. Your father looked at him, taking in the way he stood in front of you, protective. It reminded him of the days when he had stood like that for your mother—the only woman he had truly loved.

“My mom doesn’t know any sign language,” Kai begins, “But she still talks to Y/N all the time. They understand each other perfectly.” He pauses, letting the words settle.

“That’s when I realized something,” Kai continues, his gaze unwavering. “You can say anything—anything at all—if it comes from a willing heart.” He pulls out a book. It’s a little worn around the edges, its cover creased from being used so often. It’s the same sign language book he’s been studying with you, the one he’s cherished so much.

He holds it out to your father, “I thought this might help. It’s a good place to start, so you can reach her too.” Your father takes it, his fingers brushing against the cover. His lips part, voice thick with emotion, “Thank you, Kai.” He extends his hand, and Kai shakes it firmly, a quiet understanding passing between them.

Then Kai turns to you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. His mom and Hiyyih wrap you in tight hugs, their warmth lingering long after they let go. You haven’t even stepped outside the gate yet, but they’re already asking when you’ll come back.

You smile, trying to give them an answer, but the truth catches in your throat. The truth is, you don’t know if you can live your life without them anymore.

The trip back to your house was quiet.

You opened the doors, but no one was inside. No one inside, yet it felt more… welcoming than it ever had. You walk into your room, and are about to reach to close your bedrooms behind you. But before it shuts, your father steps inside.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, “For everything.” All you can do is nod silently, feeling the sting of tears welling in your eyes. You’ve thought about this moment a thousand times—how you would say everything you’ve kept inside, how you’d finally tell him that his silence and distance hurt more than the physical abuse they gave.

You wanted him to know what his absence caused, how it made everything worse. You wanted to shout, to let him feel the anger you’ve carried for so long. But as you hear his apology, you find yourself lacking the heart to do so. Because this moment—it’s the one you’ve been waiting for your entire whole life. For him to finally come back to you.

He takes a hesitant step closer, his hands trembling as they reach up to cup your face. His eyes that screams nothing but regret. “You’re the only one left who matters to me,” he says, “I’m so sorry I didn’t see it sooner. I promise—I’ll make it up to you. Somehow, I’ll make it right.” Before you know it, he pulls you into his arms, holding you as if he’s afraid to let go.

The two of you cry, clinging to each other in the quiet of the house. No other words are spoken. The walls that once held the echoes of your pain now bear witness to something… starting to heal.

The horrors of the past don’t, won't disappear, but they begin to blur, fading as you melt inside your father's arms. You close your eyes as you cry—broken sobs, like a child needing comfort after a big bad nightmare, tasting the salt of your own tears as they fall.

It tastes like forgiveness.

"Do you want to come with me on my next business trip?" your father signs, his hands moving carefully beside you in the car. "New York."

You smile at his effort, the clumsy yet intentional movements making him seem more approachable—so different from the figure you once knew.

"I'd love that, dad." His face lights up with your response, a genuine smile spreading across his lips. He looks relieved, maybe even proud, that he's able to communicate with you more clearly now. Your gaze drifts to the newspaper folded in his lap, the bold numbers marking the year—1996.

The car slows to a stop, signalling that you've arrived. Your father leans over, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. "See you daughter,"

You wave goodbye, stepping out onto the pavement, watching as the car pulls away. You clutch your shoulder bag, a soft smile playing on your lips—one that seems to have taken permanent residence these past few months. Your steps are light, your eyes brighter, and your heart hums a melody only you can hear.

Community for the Gifted: Advanced Sign Language

The words on the board seem almost dreamlike. A reminder that you're here. Everything that happened wasn't just a dream.

Before you can dwell on it, your bag is gently lifted from your hands. You turn, meeting his eyes—warm, full of affection. He dips his head, pressing a sweet, fleeting kiss to your lips, followed by another on your nose, and your brows.

"Hi, pretty girl," He says softly, shifting your bag to his other hand. He reaches for your free hand, fingers intertwining with yours. He squeezes it three times.

I love you.

Together, you step through the doors, hand in hand with the boy who loves you in ways you didn’t think anyone ever could. The boy who simply found you in your silent world. It amazes you—how one person can make life feel so undeniably worth living.

Huening Kai, who learned to speak your language, so you won't have to spend your lifetime translating your soul.

THE END.

taglist: i love you @beombunni @hyukascampfire @yunverie @gyu-tori @bamgyuuuri @saejinniestar @xylatox @lovingbeomgyudayone @virtaideen @hyunelixbun @brrytears @fancypeacepersona @tyunningstar @kejingken @usuallyunlikelyfox @ode2soob @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @lilbrorufr @vicurious28

[aprilsprincess]

you are in love | cedric diggory x fem!reader (part 1)

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Cedric was content with what he had. He was prefect, quidditch captain and the unspoken partner of yours. He wouldn't want to risk a thing with you because everything is so good as it is. But when other students are thrown into the equation, at the end of the day, is he truly yours?

warnings: two dummies in love, reader is a Gryffindor

word count: 2.5k

a/n: This is my first fic published so I'm nervous!! But I'm going to try to make multiple parts for this one because it was just getting too long and I have so many ideas for Cedric (bc we were robbed!) Also not proofread! ₊˚⊹♡

Fred pushed the list of self made “Prettiest Girls at Hogwarts” in the new first years’ faces. The tiny moving portraits of the Hogwarts girls looked a little silly in the first years’ minds but the twins insisted that pictures solidify their case.   

“These are who you lot should be aiming for,” he stated with confidence, utterly prideful of the list, “aside from y/n of course, she’s off limits.” 

“Off limits? She said she didn’t have a boyfriend while she toured us though?” a small first year girl chirped. The twins exchanged a knowing look before chuckling slowly. 

“The beautiful Gryffindor prefect, my little unknowing friends, is off limits because ah, right on time as usual” George dramatically cocked his head in your direction.  

You had been eating your breakfast alone quite peacefully when you felt someone in yellow dawned robes slip into the open seat beside you. 

“Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff prefect, quidditch seeker-“ 

“And captain” George sang. 

“And just all around dream boy. All the girls think he’s bloody fit.” Fred concluded. 

“He has kind of an unspoken dibs on y/n. Has had one since last year when they became prefects. No one has even tried to make any advances on her cause of it.” 

“Why’s that?” the first years were now all huddled close to the twins, listening with intense interest. 

Fred rolled his eyes, “because look at the bloke!” A couple of students from neighbouring tables looked curiously in the direction of the loud proclamation. Looking around he leaned in closer to whisper, “Rumour has it he’s planning to put his name in for the Triwizard Tournament this year too. He’s as fit they come!” 

“Not to mention he’s so bloody nice that you can’t even hate the bloke for being so perfect.” George finished as the rest of the table nodded along, absorbing the precious information. 

“He’s not perfect you know.” Everyone whipped their head to see Hermione chiming in, not even looking up from her books. 

“If he was the dream boy you all say he is, they would’ve been together by now. Personally, I think he’s too comfortable for his own good.” 

“What’d you mean by that Hermione?” Fred asked. 

She shut her book with a thud and sighed, “Yes he’s attractive in all ways, but how long do you reckon he’s going to keep stringing her along like that? He’s been flirting with her for as long as he’s known her but won’t do anything about it. It’s sad really.” 

The twins paused while exchanging confused looks, not understanding what was so sad about the two perfect prefects’ relationship. 

“Ugh, boys!” Hermione, exasperated, gave up and opened the thick novel to continue her literature. 

It’s not like Cedric didn’t like you. He liked everything about you, but Hermione was right, he was comfortable with how things were. He wasn’t cocky, not in the slightest, but he was always far from worried when it came to you and other guys at the school. Everyone knew about you two, so he’s never been challenged for your attention. He in all honesty, guiltily enjoyed the lack of complication that the two of you had when it came to your relationship status. There wouldn’t be anything to lose if he didn’t start anything, so he stayed in his comfort with you. 

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“Morning y/n!” Cedric’s presence instantly made you feel relaxed and warm. 

“It’s such a pleasure seeing you here at my house’s table this morning Diggory.” you teased. It wasn’t completely unnatural for Cedric to join you at the Gryffindor table, but he usually felt that as a prefect, sitting at his own house table was almost a requirement. 

“I came bearing quite honourable and exciting news y/n,” he was beaming, so excited that it seemed like he was going to jump out of his seat, “I’ve decided to do it this year. I’ve officially made up my mind that I’m going to throw my name out for the Triwizard Tournament.” 

He was ecstatic, to say the least, and it was difficult for you to match his energy as you had just heard the worst news you could’ve expected from him. The Tournament has had students die while participating, so it wasn’t surprising that you didn’t want the boy you cared so much about to have a chance at it. 

He caught onto your uncertainty fairly quickly; you were obviously smiling but it didn’t reach your eyes. He let out a breath and carefully reached for your hand. 

“I know that you may feel hesitant about it but believe me, I know the risks but there is so much for me to gain from this experience. So please trust in me y/n.” his pleading eyes were too difficult to resist. 

“I do, I do trust you Cedric,” you mustered as much support as you could in that moment, “the Goblet would be stupid not to choose such a fine competitor.” Your words seemed to satisfy Cedric as he jumped out of his seat, gave you a quick kiss atop of your head and sped off to the Hufflepuff common rooms. 

He had made his mind up and the only thing you could possibly do was to try to hex that stupid over-gloried cup in your mind as you prayed to Dumbledore for Cedric’s name not to be pulled.  

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The news that students from other schools were coming to Hogwarts excited the masses. It wasn’t every day they got to see such new faces. Especially faces as attractive as the Beauxbaton and Durmstrang students. 

Everyone was bursting with excitement in the Great Hall, awaiting anxiously for the foreign students to arrive. You on the other hand were busy glancing at Cedric who was chatting happily with his housemates. 

“You’re staring you know.” Hermione’s deadpan voice made your head turn to face her, your eyes lingering just a second longer on the Hufflepuff table. 

“Honestly y/n, we have some of the greatest wizarding students coming in for a tournament that only happens every five years and your focus is on Diggory? Merlin y/n if anything, focus on the OWLs instead.” Hermione wasn’t annoyed, but instead truly baffled as to how you could easily ignore such a large celebration for one boy. 

You held up your hands in defense, but before you could retort, Dumbledore had already started introducing the new guests. 

The vision of blue overwhelmed your senses and you were stunned for a second, only being snapped back to reality by the hollering of the surrounding boys. You shifted in your seat in an attempt to see Cedric’s reaction to the Beauxbaton girls, but the rowdiness of the male students blocked your vision. Sinking back in your seat pouting, you wondered if Cedric was enjoying this as much as the other boys were. I mean, Ron was practically drooling. You didn’t have much time to sulk over the issue as you got simultaneously shoved on both sides by Hermione and Ginny. You craned your neck to see what was causing this female commotion. 

“Oh Merlin y/n, it’s Viktor Krum! And he’s even better up close!” Ginny whispered excitedly. You stared at the older boy not really impressed but you giggled with Ginny nonetheless, feeling left out of the Viktor-Krum-is-so-handsome festivities that were happening at the table. 

From across the grand path of new students, Cedric stared at you as you giggled and whispered with Ginny. Following your line of sight, his eyes were met with the stiff, soldier-like, famous Viktor Krum. Groaning, he hung his head in his hands as the noises of the Great Hall faded in his ears. He was beginning to think, maybe he was, in fact too cocky when it came to you. 

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Your friends were whispering excitedly in the courtyard when you had joined them. 

“What’s got you lot so excited?” you asked while squeezing to sit between Hermione and Ginny on the ledge. 

“Viktor Krum! What else?” Ginny chirped excitedly. Just at the mention of his name, the other girls squealed in pure bliss. You observed your young friends’ excitement happily. You hadn’t had much time to observe the new Hogwarts guests, as the reality of Cedric putting his name into the goblet this year became more and more clear to you. A warm hand delicately tapped your shoulder from behind you, breaking you from your worries temporarily, and you looked up and behind to see Cedric standing behind you while giving you his most infamous, heart-stopping smile. 

“Ladies” he nodded to the group of girls in acknowledgement before bringing his full attention to you. Content, you leaned your head back into his chest as you looked up at the boy who seemed to be radiating sunshine. 

“Cedric! What are you doing here?” you were beaming. He looked like honey. You couldn’t really describe it, but he was just so warm and so sweet. Beautiful really.  Especially in the courtyard sun. 

“I thought you could perhaps lend me your potions books for today?” he grinned lopsidedly at you as you sighed and pulled out the heavy book. How could you ever say no to this boy? 

“You’re the champion of my heart y/n, you know that?” you laughed when he clutched his heart with his free arm. Your heart bubbled with warmth. You let yourself bask in the feeling only for a moment when Ginny moved to head back to the common rooms first. Feeling rather amorous, you told her you would meet her back there soon. You wanted to share your bubbly feelings with someone and Ginny always loved listening to it. 

“Not just your heart Diggory.” Hermione teased quietly seeing that you were distracted with Ginny for a moment. She gestured Cedric towards a pair of Durmstrang students. One in particular seemed to be taking quite an interest in you. As the Durmstrang boy kept glancing at you, Cedric’s hand on your shoulder unconsciously became a little stiffer and he pulled you a little closer. 

Cedric then bent down to reach your ear and whispered lowly, “I really do appreciate it y/n. You’re not only the champion of my heart but also the one who holds my mind, body and soul in all completion.” The cheesiness of his words had you giggling. You knew he didn’t truly mean what he was saying, but the light tinge of pink on your cheeks was evident. 

Stretching back up to stand Cedric held his gaze on the Durmstrang boy, feeling rather confident and accomplished as he watched the boy’s friend pat him on the back consolingly as they walked away. 

“Oh, Merlin! I forgot that I told Ginny I’d meet her in the common room!” you frantically gathered your things and hollered rushed goodbyes. “Don’t forget to return my potions book Cedric!” you reminded and he chuckled lightly to himself in response. 

As your sporadic figure grew smaller in the distance, Hermione turned to face Cedric. “You know Diggory, every guy at Hogwarts may know of your guys’ relationship, but the ones at Durmstrang don’t.” Hermione stated matter-of-factly, making Cedric’s grin falter. 

“What’s that supposed to mean Granger?” Frustrated, Hermione groaned, “It means that although the boys at Hogwarts don’t fancy y/n, that doesn’t mean that the boys at Durmstrang won’t. You can’t pull that kind of stunt again with every Durmstrang boy she comes in contact with. Godric, boys are so dim sometimes!” she huffed as she turned on her heel to leave. 

Cedric rubbed the back of his neck, feeling quite sheepish for being caught in his rather childish act. Hermione was right though, he wouldn’t be able to keep every single guy away from you. So what was he supposed to do? 

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The night of the choosing of names came all too fast for you. You knew he put in his name. You knew he really wanted this. And for some reason, you felt like you knew he would be picked. This weighed heavily on your mind and you honestly could not for the life of you, pay attention to who the other two victors were. 

The paper flew out and Dumbledore caught it. The dread in your stomach increased to a nauseating level, the chatter of the students ringing in your ears and then the room went quiet. It wasn’t actually quiet but suddenly you weren’t able to hear the cheers of your peers as you watched the boy you yearned for so dearly, walk through the aisles in celebratory fashion. Your head started spinning, how many students had entered their names? What were the odds? How was it possible that the one student, the one student that you couldn’t risk being out in that tournament, had gotten picked? 

Cedric was on top of the world at that moment. He wasn’t too interested in becoming legendary or glorified through the Tournament but was simply elated to bring pride to the Hufflepuff House. He would be lying though, if he said that he would gladly take on the glory if it meant you would see him as such. Thinking of you, he searched quickly for your head in the crowd. When he finally spotted you, his grin widened but as he saw your fallen and disconnected expression he grew concerned and tried to move his way through the crowd to your spot. Unfortunately, it was a lost cause as the Goblet erupted once more and the wave of confused students swept Cedric further away from you. 

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“Krum’s got a yes!” Cedric turned his attention away from his house tablemates to the rowdy group of Durmstrang boys that were chirping excitedly. 

“Who’s the lucky woman Viktor? I mean half of this school wants to be your date to the Yule Ball! You have to tell us who you ended up asking!” the boys leaned in eager to hear more about Viktor’s proposal. 

“Who else, I asked the pretty Gryffindor I said I would ask.” he replied shortly, seemingly unamused by his friends. 

“Bloody hell, he’s asked y/n!” Cedric whipped his head around to the first-year Hufflepuff who had also turned to listen in. Cedric’s facial expression dropped. 

Glancing at Cedric nervously one of the older Hufflepuffs questioned the girl, “How in Merlin’s Beard would know that? Krum didn’t even say that he had asked y/n.” 

“It’s obvious!” she smiled as she hurriedly reached into her pocket and fished out a piece of paper. 

“Prettiest…Girls…At…Hogwarts” one of the Hufflepuffs read aloud slowly. Unbeknownst to you, the twins have not only been solidifying their list with the Gryffindor first years, but ALL the first years. 

“Look!” she pointed to your tiny moving portrait on the paper. 

“It says right there: y/n, 6th year, Gryffindor. If Viktor Krum had been talking about a pretty Gryffindor, it had had to be her. She’s a prefect, he would absolutely go for her!” the tiny girl smiled proudly at her findings as if she had cracked a hard case. 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Sitting alone in the Hufflepuff common room, Cedric was deep in thought. 

Had Viktor Krum really asked you to the ball? Had you really said yes? He knew he hadn’t asked you at all but he had assumed it was only natural that the two of you would’ve gone together. Right..?

The more he questioned you and himself the more miserable he became.

[sukirichi]

[ DUSK ‘TILL DAWN : 016 ]

“we who bear the burden of the crown do not need to love. you only need to stay here, with me, in power, in greed, in lust – in victory.”

cw. angst. infidelity. manipulation. lying. mentions of kidnapping. blackmail. sex tapes.

notes. this chapter is dedicated to the lovely @shhh-anon who drew me a lovely naoya piece for some omi crumbs (but i have no self-control and wrote a whole chapter with the long awaited kiyoomi pov!) thank you again shhh anon for that scrumptious naoya art <3 also, please read carefully as there will be lore drop in this chapter!

wc. 11.3k

series masterlist 

[ SIXTEEN ] feels like we had matching wounds but mine’s still black and bruised and yours is perfectly fine now, feels like we buried alive something that never died, so God, it hurt when i found out.

Kiyoomi stood alone in the waiting room of the Yuzuru Estate, surrounded by the fragments and echoes of your past.

The walls were adorned with your childhood photos, each frame capturing the moments of innocence and joy that he now yearned to be a part of. Tracing the contours of your smile in those pictures, his fingers hovered the glass as if he touched the memories themselves. Each image had perfectly captured the bits of your soul, a glimpse into the life you had before he knew you, and he felt your presence in every corner of the room.

The scent of petrichor lingered, mingling with the faint aroma of blooming flowers from the garden outside. The Yuzuru Estate smelled just like you – of innocence, unbridled happiness, and untainted purity of heart.

He could picture it already – you as a little girl, running through these halls with unabashed laughter, your joy as light and delicate as gossamer threads dancing in the breeze.

His heart ached with the knowledge that he had missed those moments, that he had come into your life too late to share those memories. Often, he wondered... if he’d met you as a child like Tooru did Maiko, would the Queen have arranged a marriage between you two?

He figured if he did, then it was a wedding neither parties would be opposed to.

As Kiyoomi waited, the silence of the house seemed to make the voices in his louder, each one a bittersweet reminder of his unspoken affections. Your smiles, so radiant and pure, were the cynosure of his existence, yet they were never meant for him. He wished, with an incendiary intensity, that he could be the one to bring that joy to your face, to be the one you looked at with those pretty, sparkling eyes.

Instead, those eyes were filled with crystalline tears, and your smile was always pulled at the opposite direction.

Kiyoomi studied your photos as he roamed the waiting room, seeing not just the girl you were, but the woman you’d become. The depth of your soul was evident in every image, your very essence woven into the fabric of the house itself. It was as if you’d been molded by graceful hands with the utmost care. Carved to perfection, adorned with elegance, and draped with dignified regality. You would’ve made the perfect Princess if you weren’t tied to their worst Prince.

And so he’d asked himself... what if he’d been yours?

Had you been his wife, his Princess, would you have been happier? It was a silly question, that he knew. Nothing but fleeting musings. Because he knew the Crown never made anyone happy, and the Palace was not a place where childish concepts such as ‘love’ existed.

Yes, he longed to hold your hand, to feel the warmth of your touch, but he knew that such moments were only dreams. You were terribly in love with your husband despite all his wrongdoings. And as much as he hated it, Kiyoomi couldn’t bring himself to convince you otherwise. Even that felt unfair for him. He wanted to be loved because he’d been chosen as the one you loved, not simply because he was the better one. For now, he would remain your steadfast friend, your confidant, and ultimately would find solace in this unspoken connection you shared.

He’d already made a vow to himself to cherish every moment he had with you, even if it meant hiding his true feelings. Being your friend was better than being nobody at all, and he would hold onto that role with all the strength he had. Because his love, a constant and silent force, would be there for you always – even if you never knew the depth of his longing.

“Your Highness!” a feminine voice interrupted his thoughts. Kiyoomi turned away from your framed photographs, greeted by the sight of your parents descending the stairs. “What an unexpected visit. Oh, please do sit down, we’ll have some tea served shortly after.”

Kiyoomi did as he was told.

Your parents, even with their faces lined with crow’s feet and prominent smile lines, were still exactly the same as he’d met them from years ago. Kind, genuine, and compassionate – he briefly recalled how generations ago that there’d been talk spreading about how the Yuzuru Clan would’ve made great country leaders. That if ever the Suna Clan failed and continued with their frivolous endeavours and the Kingdom was plunged into poverty and hunger, your clan would be next to take over.

It had all been nothing but word of the mouth, however. The Suna Clan, if anything, was annoyingly persistent and remained in power for the next years to come. Whilst you, the Yuzuru Clan, remained perfectly content being the Kingdom’s spear.

The tea arrived not long after. The three of them settled into the plush cushions of the settee, the sounds of the teacups clinking against porcelain filling the room.

“Lady Yuzuru, Lord Yuzuru,” smiled Kiyoomi as he gestured to the room, unable to take his eyes off one certain photograph – the one of you and Rintaro, taken during the courtship phase, with his hand wrapped around your waist and you leaning into his chest. He’d placed a white gardenia at the crook of your ear, both your smiles wide and untouched by reality. With a clench of his jaw, Kiyoomi plastered a polite smile on his face and tore his gaze away from it. “You have such a lovely home.”

“Oh, you flatter us too much,” your mother waved her hand, dabbing a handkerchief at her bottom lip before intertwining her hands at her lap. “May I ask what brings you here, my Prince?”

Straight to the point, just as he’d hoped. Setting his tea down, Kiyoomi leant forward. “I’m inclined to say royal duties; Her Majesty has insisted that Her Highness make herself known in the Palace. However... I am here for more personal reasons,” he confessed, his composure finally falling as he dared sneak a glance upstairs, where he hoped your room would be. It’d been three days since you all left the beach house, three days since Rintaro returned to the palace alone.

“I’m very worried for your daughter. How is she?”

Your parents shared a look with each other before your mother sighed, the sound disappointed and crushing him by the core. “So you know about the affair as well.”

Kiyoomi kept his head down. “Yes. It is with a heart heavy with regret that I admit I kept it a secret, too.”

“Pardon me, Sir, if I may be overstepping but... why couldn’t you warn out dear girl? You’ve met her. Your mother knows us and our daughter – you know our girl a sweet, innocent one. She didn’t deserve any of this,” cut in your father, his more-than-salt and pepper hair glinting under the chandeliers. “If you knew, if any of you knew all this time, why didn’t anyone say anything against the Crown Prince’s courtship?”

“I’m sorry, my Lord. I don’t have any excuse for my behaviour,” Kiyoomi sighed, “But I am hoping that you would give me another chance to repent for what I’ve done. I can no longer stand watching the Princess suffer at the hands of my brother and my wife. And I assure you, I have nothing but pure intentions. I simply... I simply want the best for her, my Lady. That is why I am here today – to offer my sincerest apologies, and to see for myself if Her Highness is doing well.”

Lady Yuzuru stood up and threw her handkerchief on the ground. Tears brimmed her eyes.

“She isn’t. Of course she isn’t. She has been locked up in her room for days, refusing to eat, or-or to speak to us. She is heartbroken and won’t even let us comfort her,” she clutched at her chest as if it ached, and immediately, Lord Yuzuru was beside her. His arms wrapping around her shoulders for comfort. “Your sincerity is flattering, but what can you do for her? You cannot take away her pain. She is married, and divorce is not an option. Tell me, my Prince, what can you do for her?”

Kiyoomi sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. He’d already braced himself for this – to have your parents’ fury be directed at him. He told himself he would take it all with stride, but even he knew his honest answer was not the most acceptable.

“I’m afraid this is a battle in which she has to learn the way out for herself. Although I give you my word, I won’t let her face any of this alone. I already promised the Princess I would be by her side at all times, and I don’t intend on backing out anytime soon.”

Your parents exchanged another glance, their brows drawn together in worry. He couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t an easy decision to make – trusting the Crown Prince only for him to break their daughter’s heart, and now having to place that trust on another Prince, the husband of their ‘son’s’ mistress, no less.

“Then we will trust you on this,” they said, and Kiyoomi raised his hands in surprise. It’s enough for him to shoot up in his seat, your mother immediately raising her hand to warn him. “Please, Sir. Don’t make us regret welcoming you into our home.”

Kiyoomi was speechless.

“Thank you, my Lord, my Lady. I promise I won’t waste this opportunity.”

Lord Yuzuru nods, albeit still hesitant. “Can we trust you to look after her for now? I’m afraid duty calls, and we’ve already missed out on a lot because we were too worried over her.”

“She is in safe hands. I promise.”

Your parents left shortly with a quick farewell. Lady Yuzuru needed to attend to the family business as it expanded every day, and Lord Yuzuru spent most of his time in the Palace – always on guard, always prepared for a war that loomed overhead as the surrounding nations turned their backs on Inarizaki. The war never happened, of course. A false sense of security still loomed over the Kingdom thanks to the Queen’s tireless efforts. Still, it was only a matter of time. With the throne losing its power and the Kingdom one scandal away from damnation, one couldn’t be too lax.

Not that any of it was Kiyoomi’s concern. He had more pressing matters in hand. Racing up the stairs, he quickly found your room after being guided by a servant, and softly rapped his knuckles on the door.

“Princess? It’s me, Kiyoomi. May I enter?” No response, not even a stirring groan or a shaky breath. Complete but utter silence. His worry deepened, and Kiyoomi dared to push the door open, his eyes adjusting to the darkness enveloping the room. “Princess?”

You are nothing but a curled-up lump in your bed, your form shivering as you were swathed in heavy blankets. And your face was pale and clammy as the dim lights danced off of your skin. Breaths shallow and labored, your eyes fluttered weakly as you stayed conscious – your head turning in his direction.

Seeing you in such a fragile state when you’d been alit with joy days ago... Kiyoomi’s heart clenched. Something dark pulled and tugged at his very soul.

In quick strides, he’d already crossed his way to your bed, the mattress dipping beneath his knee. He pulled you into his lap without another word, his hands coming to rest at your forehead as you groaned with each movement. As if scalded, he retreats his hand. “Oh, God. You’re burning up.”

Taking care of you does not come as a second thought to him. It is the first, as your safety and well-being was his concern. In the next moment, he’d gently laid you back down on your bed and darted out of the room, searching for water, medicine, and politely asking the resident cooks if he could prepare some soup for you. He didn’t doubt the cooks knew how to, yet he also couldn’t fight off this urge that he had to take care of you. Not the estate staff, not the doctors, not anyone. Quite frankly, he didn’t trust anyone anymore to lay their hands on you. It had to be him, even if it meant running back and forth to dampen towels and changing it every hour to lower your temperature.

Around the third towel, when the sun has begun to set and his phone went off with multiple ignored messages, you finally stirred awake. “Rin? Is that you?” Your voice is weak, throaty and scratched. Your eyes fluttered open as you gazed at the figure beside you, nestling into the warm palm that’s dabbing a damp towel onto your face. “I thought you would never return.”

A sharp of pang pierced his heart. It was a humbling experience – to know that even in your weakest moments, you sought out a man that wasn’t him.

“Rest, Princess,” he muttered, caressing your cheeks as you sighed into his touch – or your husband’s touch – and slowly went back to sleep. I won’t leave you.”

As you drifted back into a peaceful sleep, and your breathing finally began to even out, Kiyoomi told himself to relax.

He stayed vigilantly by your side, his eyes never leaving your pallid face. He feared that if he dared look away for even the briefest of moments, you would wilt before him, and it’d be too late for him to catch you. So he checked your temperature periodically, the gentle press of his hand on your forehead filled with a tender concern. Once reassured your fever was going down little by little, he meticulously arranged the medicine prescribed to you on the beside table – ensuring everything would be within your reach for when you wake. Not that he’d leave your side until you’d woken up. The Palace Guards would have to break down the door to your room and have a fleet of them personally drag him away from you before he even thought to go someplace else.

However, he was only human, and he’d never experienced having this level of worry and anxiety over someone’s health before.

Soon, exhaustion crept up at him, tugging at his eyelids and his muscles aching. He fought against the need to sleep, determined that he would remain awake in case you called out for him. Him, not Rintaro, because he foolishly hoped that you would realize it was never your husband who cared this much for you.

Each time his head dipped forward in weariness, Kiyoomi shook himself awake, unwilling to leave you unguarded for even a moment. Your parents had entrusted you to his care, and he wasn’t going to let them down now.

The hours passed by slowly, the quiet of the night filled with the steady rhythm of your breaths and the occasional rustle of the sheets. In those still, lonely hours, Kiyoomi watched you as he sat across the room – his cheek in his hands, his eyes half-lidded. Much like the flickering candles, his love burned brighter, interweaving with his own fatigue and heartache. His emotions stormed around his soul like a typhoon – his affection for you battling with the hatred he began harbouring towards his brother.

How could one call himself a man when he put his wife into such a weakened state? Your name and the word ‘weak’ shouldn’t even be in the same sentence. Yet Rintaro had a penchant for making the impossible possible, and he’d reduced such a great woman – a great Princess, even – into the battered, bruise-hearted, and shivering person that you were now.

Kiyoomi is nodding off moments later when he heard a slight groan. His eyes shot open, his body lurching forward as if your presence tugged on him like a rope. He’s knee-deep in your bed and cradling your head when you finally turn to him, and realization sinks in.

He waited for it – held his breath and soothed his heart for the hurt to come should disappointment ever cross your face that he hadn’t been Rintaro. It seemed, however, that the Gods decided to grace him tonight, because you never did. Instead, your face lit up, and your chapped lips tugged into a smile as best as it could. And he still found you to be the prettiest thing he’d ever laid his eyes on – even with sleep-crusted eyes and smelling of sickly sweat.

Just the sight of you, so wholly trusting and happy to see him, made him want to engulf you in his arms and never let you go.

Kiyoomi never does. He didn’t have the right, because friends didn’t go around kissing their friend’s foreheads. That wouldn’t be what companionship meant, at least not in his book. He simply holds you, and lets you crawl into his lap as he reaches for the soup he’d made prior. “You’re looking better,” he commends, placing his hand on your forehead one last time as pride fills him with each spoonful you ate. “Is the soup good?”

“Yes, thank you. It’s delicious,” you beamed at him, and placed the bowl back to your bedside table. Kiyoomi had expected you to move away and slide off his lap, yet made no complaints – because why would he? – when you remained on his lap, legs tucked beside his knees and nimble fingers toying with the strings of his shirt. “I didn’t know you knew how to cook.”

“Kanami made me learn all sorts of things. She said, uh...” shyly, Kiyoomi scratches the back of his neck and looks away. “...That women like it when a man was a great cook.”

Your giggle was instantaneous, airy. “She would be right about that,” you agreed, the smile on your face softening as you placed your palms on his chest, right above where his heart lay. He prayed desperately to the Gods you wouldn’t notice how fast his heart raced at the contact. Gazing up at him from under your lashes, you tipped your head to the side. The straps of your nightgown slipped on one shoulder at the motion, revealing smooth, bare skin and the lack of anything else underneath. “Were you... the one who nursed me back to health?”

Kiyoomi shifted you on his lap as to not let your knee accidentally graze his groin. “Yes,” he croaked out, finding it hard to speak when you were so... defenceless like this. It makes his throat dry up, and as subtly as he could, uses a finger to hook your strap back to your shoulder.

“Thank you,” you pat his chest, completely unaware of your hold on him. “And I’m sorry too, that you had to see me in such a state. I swear I didn’t mean to be a burden.”

His eyes darted to your face, offended that you would even imply such. “You are never a burden.”

You smiled at him like you didn’t believe his words. It strikes the dagger of hurt an inch deeper, a pain which he told himself to not take personally. He reminds himself you’ve trusted, over and over, and have been betrayed, over and over again. It must be a reflexive response by now.

“What brings you here, Kiyoomi?” your voice fills the expanse of the room as dread paints your face. “Did something bad happen?”

Kiyoomi swallowed. He’d been so engrossed in looking after you he’d momentarily forgotten why he was here in the first place. It suddenly weighed on him now – the Queen’s wrath at Rintaro’s sudden announcement to divorce you, her orders to bring you back immediately, and the flashing of the muted calls he’d deliberately ignored.

“I believe we should talk about that somewhere else. You could use some fresh air.”

+

You and Kiyoomi wandered through the sprawling gardens of your family estate under the tender glow of the moonlight, your footsteps whispering softly against the dew-kissed grass. The night air was crisp and invigorating – which you welcomed happily, as it was a great change from the stuffiness of your bedroom.

With each step taken, Kiyoomi’s hand brushed against yours, your fingers occasionally intertwining as he offers his silent gestures of comfort. There was a palpable sense of dread now that reality demanded your full attention, an undercurrent of foreboding that neither of you dared to voice, yet it was tempered – even slightly – by the solace you found in each other’s presence.

You told him everything that transpired at the beach house – the ‘romantic’ dinner date, Rintaro’s odd behaviour of acting like Iris never existed, Iris’ sudden appeal for peace. The entire time, Kiyoomi listened without interruptions.

You moved slowly, as if savouring each moment, knowing very well the fragile peace of the evening was fleeting like everything else.

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoomi spoke after a while, his head ducked down.

“What for?” you grinned, “That my husband, who never loved me, finally decided to leave me after all?” you waved a hand in the air. “It’s nothing. It was bound to happen. If anything, I feel a little relieved, you know? It’s like... I’ve wanted to end everything all this time, but I just wasn’t brave enough to call it quits. I was afraid that if I said goodbye, then I would be admitting that he’d made a fool out of me,” you released a shuddering breath, watching as Kiyoomi lifted his gaze and his piercing eyes looked at your soul, through your soul. You found that his penetrating and intrusive gaze didn’t feel... unwelcomed. It was as if you knew that you could show him your worst and everything that made up your flaws, and he would still find a way to notice what was beautiful instead.

He looked at you the way you wished your husband did.

Just like that, Rintaro’s betrayal returned to you in full force, and your smile wavered. “But now that he’s the one who’s decided it, it’s like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I never knew how difficult it was – deciding when or how it had to end.”

“You’ve been brave and strong. Don’t undermine yourself.”

“Was I strong, though? I thought I’d been nothing but a fool.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes darkened with something unreadable. “You were in love. It happens to the best of us.”

You couldn’t help it – your smile was genuine, affection pouring out of your every pore. “You know, Kiyoomi, that’s one of my favourite things about you,” you softened at his taken-aback expression, mustering up the courage to close the distance as you loop your hand around his bicep, and giving it a firm squeeze. “How you always know what to say, and always at the right time. You’re charming without having to try. And when I’m with you... I feel like everything is going to be okay. Is that weird?”

With nothing but the moonlight to illuminate his face, Kiyoomi’s reddened cheeks were partially hidden. “Not at all. I’m honoured I could be a source of solace to you.”

“I hope you feel that way with me too,” you tell him, “I’ve thought about it the entire time I was here – how Rintaro sounded so determined to divorce me. When I asked him about the pregnancy, he looked... mortified, and I couldn’t fathom if it was because he never wanted me to find out. He didn’t look happy about it, but why wouldn’t he? Isn’t that what he always wanted? To have a future with the one he loves?” your brows furrowed as you said it aloud. Moving forward, you walked with your hand still clutching Kiyoomi’s arm, the both of you content enough to not pull away. “Although it struck me as odd... we’re a royal couple. Divorce is impossible. But he’d been so confident, so sure. Like he knew something could tear us apart and it’d be acceptable in the eyes of the law.”

Kiyoomi hummed in thought.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what he was thinking about either. I never really understood my brother, and I’ve long given up on trying,” he shrugs, “He’s a complicated man. That’s what happens when you’re lost and have no true sense of self.”

“He is lost, isn’t he?” you agreed, lifting your free hand to stare at the wedding ring you found so difficult to take off. “I don’t know what happens next now, but it seems as if I’m getting divorced soon.”

“That is good news, is it not?”

“Perhaps,” you mused, “Perhaps it is.”

You couldn’t ignore the call of your duties. It was often an upsetting reminder, the knowledge that being a Princess meant more than wearing frilly gowns, attending balls, and kissing your Prince Charming as you awaited a happy-ever-after.

If you’d known sooner that being a Princess meant being the Crown’s property as well... a small part of you might have hesitated. Might have.

It felt gruelling having to tear yourself away from the safety of your parents’ embrace. For the past few days, you’d been coddled, kissed over by a hundred soothing words. Something a Princess shouldn’t be doing or wanting, to be precise, especially not when you were expected to lead the country someday. It was a show of weakness, an act of incompetence. The Queen never failed to remind you that you weren’t your parents’ child anymore. You were of the Crown, and therefore had to act as the Crown – with dignity, with poise, and quite frankly – with very little heart.

With much hesitance, you bid farewell to the Yuzuru Estate. You left everything behind – the warmth and safety of your bed where no one could taint it, the reassuring and comforting smiles of your parents, and the unwavering support of your people. You headed straight for the Palace not long after, the feeling akin to a lamb walking into slaughter.

Still, you couldn’t deny – Inarizaki struck you mute with its orphic allure.

The cityscape shimmered under the glow of twilight as the royal convoy wound its way through the bustling streets. People of all kind waved and cheered at your arrival. Their smiles, innocent and genuine, sparked all the way from outside the vehicle. Silently, you waved back, hoping that it seemed real enough and no one would be able to tell the tracks of dried tears behind your makeup. And there, the palace loomed ever closer in the distance.

You watched as the grand edifice grew larger with each passing moment. Its towering spires and intricately carved facades were bathed in a golden hue, showcasing its storied past and enduring presence.

Like heaven on earth, a former devotee had once said, their arms gesturing all throughout the Palace grounds. Here where is the light touched us from the skies above, where the Gods have blessed us with their mercy and gave us their angels in the skins of Kings.

As a child, you’d gazed upon the palace with wide-eyed wonder, picturing the Palace as a bastion of wisdom and power – where the rules of the country made decisions that shaped the lives of the people they ruled upon. It had seemed almost holy, a symbol of reverence and awe. But now, as you approached the gates once more, you felt a deep, unsettling sense of selcouth – a strange, eerie unfamiliarity with the very place you had to call home.

The limousine glided through the ornate iron gates, flanked by guards in crisp uniforms.

The grandeur of the palace grounds, with its meticulously manicured gardens and majestic fountains, should have felt welcoming, but instead, it loomed with an imposing majesty that sent a shiver down your spine. The towering walls and endless corridors, once symbols of security and strength, now seemed to whisper secrets of a bygone era, of lives and stories woven into the very stones that built this palace brick by brick.

Stepping out of the car, you were immediately greeted by a retinue of attendants – their faces polite yet distant.

A lamb walking to its slaughter, indeed.

You knew exactly why you were called to return. The Queen had been insisting to speak with you, a call you ignored as you buried yourself into your sheets at the Yuzuru Estate. To say that you’d made Her Majesty livid would be an understatement. That much was clear from the staff’s expressions, their eyes hollow and lips set into a thin, grim line.

If you looked hard enough, maybe one of them would even look at you with pity.

Carefully, you made your way up the marble steps, each click of your heels on the carpeted floor echoing in the silence of the evening. It was eerily silent, like a predator lurked around the corner – simply waiting for the perfect opportunity to lunge for its kill.

The palace doors opened before you, greeting you with its bright, golden beams. Crystal chandeliers shimmered against the polished floors, the opulent decor speaking of centuries of wealth and power. The floors were too clean, too polished, like even a speck of dirt would be considered offensive.

At the back of your mind, you wondered if that held true for the monarchy as well. If the Queen scrubbed everything clean that is shone hard enough to deceive people into thinking that’s what they were – without fault, without flaw, without sin.

As you walked through the cavernous space, alienation blanketed you. The palace, for all its splendour, remained a mystery to you. You knew its rooms and corridors, its hidden passages and secret gardens that Rintaro revealed, but you didn’t know its heart. It was a place built on power and legacy, all with the might of a single family that had ruled for generations.

Your footsteps led you to the grand staircase leading into the Queen’s hall, its balustrade intricately wrought with gold and marble. You paused, your hand resting on the cool stone, and gazed ahead at the looming double doors of Her Majesty’s office.

How many had walked these steps before you? How many lives had been shaped by the decisions made within these walls? The weight of history pressed down on you, and you couldn’t help but ponder the immense responsibility that came with such power. You understood it a little better now – the Crown was not to be taken lightly. Heavy is the head that held the Crown, but heavier the heart might be for all the sins it concealed.

With a final sharp breath, you rapped your knuckles on the door and pushed open.

Her Majesty did not seem to age. She looked as she did on all the official royal portraits plastered on the tabloids and daily mail – elegant, beautiful, with dark eyes that read your every movement, and blood-red lips that dripped venom from each word.

Once, you’d considered her your second mother.

Now? She was nothing but a lonely figure, a formidable individual who you could barely recognize.

“Princess,” she greeted, her smile perfectly practiced and pristine. “I hope your temporary retreat to the family estate has been well.”

There was no ill behind her words, but neither did it carry sincerity. The Queen spoke like a recorded message, straight to the point and lacking of weight. Curtsying, you returned the gesture. “It was, Your Majesty. Thank you. I missed my parents dearly.”

“Sit down, child,” she spoke after a moment, and gestured before her. “Indulge your queen with a quick round, and then we shall discuss everything.”

The ornate shogi board, with its polished wooden surface and delicately carved pieces, was laid out between you both. The setting sun cast long shadows across the room, its golden light filtering through the tall, stained-glass windows, illuminating the intricate patterns it. Timidly, you sat down, pressing your skirts underneath you. You did play shogi, but it’d been a while. You had an inkling that this was one of those times you had to win, as nothing ever was a casual interaction with the Queen.

“...What did you want to talk about, Ma’am?”

“Firstly, your marriage. How is it? On second thought, don’t answer that. It’s written all over your face – you’re unhappy and miserable. Now, we can’t have that can we?” she teased, though her calm composure revealed nothing of her strategies – the tricks she’d hidden under her sleeve. “You are lucky the press has been quiet lately and they didn’t get a photo of your frown. Imagine how that would be interpreted by the people. ‘Princess returns from getaway vacation with her husband and comes back depressed. Could the cheating scandal be true, after all?’”

“It is true.”

“Indeed, but the public doesn’t need to know that,” she quickly retorted, gesturing for you to make your move. “What exactly are your thoughts on marriage?”

You moved your rook forward, aiming to control a vital column.

“Marriage, to me, is about finding a partner who becomes not only your greatest love but also your closest friend, someone who understands your heart and supports your aspirations. I believe marriage is built on a foundation of trust, respect, and unwavering commitment, where two souls come together to create a life filled with joy, love, and endless possibilities. It’s a bond that grows stronger with each passing day, a promise to cherish and nurture each other through all of life's adventures,” you answered, ensuring to meet Her Majesty’s gaze. “That was how my parents’ marriage has been. Beautiful, and enduring. That is how marriages should be.”

The Queen remains unfazed. Responding with a calculated advance of her knight, her move blocked your plans – forcing you to reconsider your strategy. Cornered, you bit your lip, realizing a little too late Her Majesty’s subtle yet effective intentions.

“Your parents married for love. They were both born with a silver spoon in their mouth, a great amount of wealth, and a high-ranking title that granted them the freedom to do anything as they pleased. And I am willing to bet it has never occurred to you that marriages outside your fantasy-like bubble could be different than that.”

You found yourself on the defensive as the game progressed. “There is nothing wrong in hoping and believing that love exists.”

“You are correct,” she nods, her gaze not once leaving the board. “But you are a lot more childish than I expected if you truly thought royal marriages would be the same. You see, child, civil marriages are mostly done out of love, and a commitment to one another. In certain cases, people marry because of unexpected pregnancies, for the need of companionship, or for the combination of assets. It’s easy, straightforward, and like the rest of us in our glorious Kingdom – a commitment. Divorce is not an option for anyone, but do you know what truly separates royal marriages from common ones?”

“That we are bound with more duties?”

The queen’s pieces moved with a graceful precision, each step tightening the net around your poorly drawn defences.

“It is that royal marriages are symbolic. Why is it that the royal family, despite being humans like everyone else, is worshipped and glorified?” she tapped her nail against the board, before leaning back into her seat. The sun’s glow hit her just right, and bathed her with an ethereal gloom. “It is because we offer an ideal, an escape to the bleak, miserable lives of the common folk. We are unlike them. If we lived like everybody else, then these people would have nothing to strive or look up to.”

You gritted your teeth. “But we are just like them. We cry and experience difficulties in marriages like they do. What good does it do the Crown when there is a clear distinction between us and our people? They will find us inscrutable, and out of their reach. How could they trust us to lead them when we live such different lives? How could they believe we would understand their struggles and listen to their cries of help if we do not show our true selves?”

“Because we as people are not perfect, and our true selves are cruel, immoral, and sinful. The Crown is not. The Crown is always flawless, shining like diamonds and standing out amongst the rest,” gesturing to the ornament on her head, the Queen continued. “We represent the Crown. We must mold ourselves into perfection. How could our people find us worthy to lead them if we are just as faulty and miserable as them?”

“So you are telling me to lie about my marriage.”

The Queen snorted. “Oh, I don’t need to tell you to do that, my dear. You’ve done that already by having that journalist write lies about how the scandal is nothing but a hoax,” at your widened, eyes, Her Majesty’s chest rumbled with laughter. “Oh, don’t be surprised. I am the Queen. Nothing you do in my Kingdom will ever be a secret from me.”

“If you knew all this time, why didn’t you stop me from releasing that article?”

She shrugged, turning her attention back to the board and grinning at the pieces – already, the pressure was getting to you. “Simple – because you did all the dirty work for me already. You cleared up the allegations that your husband is innocent, and effortlessly won the people’s trust back. As Queen, I will never stop you from doing things that benefit me, even if you must take a suspicious hand to do so.”

The Queen’s relentless advances pushed you back to desperation. Hoping to create a barrier against the impending threat, you moved your bishop to a defensive position once more. “I didn’t have it written for you, or the Crown. I did it because I couldn’t stand my husband beat himself up after his own people turned against him.”

“And that is exactly why you’d make the perfect Queen for him,” she advanced her gold general, its path clear and purposeful. “I’ll be honest with you. My marriage with the Late King hasn’t been a fairytale.”

Now, it was your turn to snore. “I can figure. He’s done worse than what Rintaro did.”

“Indeed. Eight bastard sons, and a dozen of mistresses he couldn’t even bother to hide from me,” she hummed, and for the first time since meeting with her, the Queen’s mask slowly slipped off.

Gone was the regal woman who everyone worshipped. Sat before you now was an older, more mature reflection of yourself – a woman who’d been torn, ripped apart to pieces, and forced to stay in a marriage she badly wanted an escape from.

“I was useless to His Majesty unless I bore his son, and three miscarriages later, he’d given up and turned to other conquests. With each son born, my title as his wife was threatened, and the Kingdom was slowly growing unstable as his scandals became uncontrollable. Before I knew it, the Crown was falling apart. The people were beginning to hate us. Our allies stopped reaching out, and the whole world thought we were nothing but a joke.”

You were too young to remember everything in detail, but you could recall those days when your parents ran around the estate, their frowns permanent and their voices hushed during dinner. Something about the Crown becoming fragile, no thanks to His Majesty’s endeavours.

“It was a difficult time for Inarizaki. I was growing desperate, and when one was desperate, one would take desperate measures,” mumbled the Queen, “And so Rintaro arrived, and I thought... this was it. This was my salvation. I could restore the glory of the Crown back to the way it was. This boy... he would solve all my problems. So I did, one by one. I arranged the marriage of Maiko and Tooru, feeding a story to the people of childhood friends turned to lovers – the symbol of love. And then came Iris and Kiyoomi’s wedding, to fortify our alliance to Itachiyama by having locals as their representatives. We had to make them feel seen, heard. And then, there was you,” her icy-cold glare met yours, something dark and sinister flashing through them. “When Rintaro told me he wanted to marry you, I couldn’t decide yet if you were going to be a blessing or a curse.”

You moved your knight in a desperate attempt to divert the queen’s attention. “I’ve been your daughter in law for four months now. Have you decided?”

“The decision of whatever you will be is all in your hands,” when the Queen faltered at your movement, you felt a glimmer of hope as she paused, considering the development. “I’m aware Rintaro wishes to divorce you. It’s impossible, but I think you know that already.”

“I don’t know, actually. He sounded pretty convinced we could be separated.”

The Queen’s eye twitched, her free hand gripping the edge of the table. “He is an idiotic child. You cannot divorce him. If you let him do as he pleases, he will marry that whore of his. I cannot risk destroying our already fragile relationship with Itachiyama by hurting their dear, darling Prince.”

“Kiyoomi wouldn’t be hurt. He doesn’t even want Iris.”

“Nobody knows that. All they will see is that his wife was impregnated by our Crown Prince, and chose to leave their Prince for ours. Itachiyama is not to be messed around with, child. They hold a majority of our country’s natural resources. Think of fuel, livestock, and produce. All of that will be withheld from us. Our people will starve. This is why you need to make this marriage work, and let Rintaro take the throne.”

Taking a deep breath through your nose, you gestured for the Queen to make her move. “Ushijima can take the throne. He has proven himself to be reliable.”

“The first Prince cannot be King. I forbid him to.”

“And why is that?”

Just as the hope appeared, the Queen mercilessly crushed it. She’d seen right through your ploy, continuing her methodical advance as she devoured you in one move. “Because he is a good, honourable man. The moment he wears the Crown and finds out the dark secrets of what has made the royal family so powerful, the cruel things we’ve done to ensure we stay in power, he will expose it and push for democracy. I refuse to let my life’s worth of suffering to be wasted over a man with too big a conscience.”

You faltered, your grip on your piece loosening. “Secrets? What are you talking about?”

“The King, my dear. Did you really think a young, healthy man like him died from a heart attack?” throwing her head back in laughter, the Queen clutched at her stomach and wiped away a stray tear. “I killed him. A woman can only endure so much abuse from a man who does not love her.”

Your face fell.

Undaunted, the Queen leant forward to place her hand on yours in what seemed to be an attempt for reassurance. It is anything but, not with the Queen’s cruel smile. “It’s scary. Trust me, I know. I have been in your shoes and experienced far worse. But do not be scared, Princess, because you have me. So let Rintaro become King, and once you have gotten all the power from being Queen, then you can make Inarizaki flourish. And when the time comes that you grow sick of that boy... you can always tell me. It wouldn’t be the first time this Kingdom lost their King at the hands of their Queen.”

Your mind conjured up of the most horrid of images. Of Rintaro perishing at the hands of his own mother, of your husband’s eyes slowly losing its light.

And to think she was someone you’d once thought of as your own family.

“You are insane. Yes, he has hurt me. Yes, he has crushed my pride with his fists, but to kill him? To take the life of my husband? I could never be so cruel. And what makes you think Rintaro would want to be King, anyway? He already plans on divorcing me!”

“He will be King if I tell him to. He has no choice. He is the Crown Prince–”

“You cannot force him–”

“Yes, I can, because I am the Queen and I am all he has! He will do as I say unless he wants to be exiled!”

“Exiled?” you echoed, laughing in disbelief. “Why would he be exiled?”

The Queen suddenly shot up, and slammed her hands on the table. “Because he isn’t my son, or the King’s! He is a nobody. He’s just a random gardener’s boy. I took him from his parents to secure my title. If he refuses to be King... then you leave me no choice but to exile you both.”

The revelation struck you like a bolt of lightning.

Breathless and trembling, your world tilted as the truth unfurled before you – your husband, the man who you believed to be a true Prince, the only and treasured Crown Prince, was nothing more than an imposter.

Your heart pounded in your chest as betrayal and disbelief clouded your thoughts. You sat there frozen, eyes wide with shock, unable to process the enormity of his deception. The lavish room around you began to blur and fade, your once cherished memories of being the chosen, the lucky one for being the Crown Prince’s wife, was now tainted bitterly by his lies.

Could it be... that he knew all along?

It all made sense now. His insistence for divorce, his need to push you away. Divorce, or annulment, would be possible once you’d revealed it was never a royal marriage.

Your throat ran dry. Nevertheless, you remained seated, refusing to give in to the Queen’s baits as you drew out a shaky breath. “Go ahead. Exile us. I don’t care. Ushijima will still be King even if Rintaro refuses–”

“There is one more Prince who could be King, one I am confident I can control, and one I am certain will do well in hiding my secrets,” she smirked with a triumphant and wicked glint in her eye. “All I need to do is have him marry that actress, threaten him with the sex tape, and he will happily be King if it means he could have all that he wants.”

Your stomach dropped. It was impossible – Kuroo had deleted all and any traces of that tape. But truly, what did you know? This was the Queen you were up against. This was her kingdom, her playground. As she’d said, nothing could be hidden from her, but to think Atsumu would and could be King... “No. H-He can’t be...”

“Oh, but he can,” her smile grew sharp, malevolent. “And you have no idea the things Atsumu would do to Rintaro once he learns that your husband is nothing but a no-name lowborn nobody.”

“How could you do this to him? You robbed him of his life!”

Scoffing, the Queen reared back. “It was hardly a life. His parents were both poor and starving to death. I saved him from that fate and offered him the luxuries of a royal,” she spat out, shifting her skirts behind as she plopped down on the seat before you.

As you looked back at the game, the reality of your position became undeniable. The queen’s pieces were everywhere, controlling the board with ease. You could see your end approaching, your king cornered with no escape. The Queen knew this, too, an air of triumph surrounding her as she chuckled.

“You see now, don’t you? Everything was already set in stone. Rintaro will be the King. It’s the only way he can remain alive and breathing. If he dares to go against my will and my word, I will not hesitate to kill him. And when he dies, no one will mourn him. He will be remembered as an adulterer, and a new, better, rightfully deserving King will take his place.”

The queen moved her rook into position, the final piece in her flawless strategy.

You stared at the board, recognizing the inevitability of your defeat. As much as you hated to admit it, you could see the beauty in Her Majesty’s play – the way each move had been part of a larger plan, a dance of strategy and foresight perfected through years of manipulation.

“Make your marriage work,” the Queen warned, leaning back against her seat. She knew she’d already won. “It’s the only way you can stop this Kingdom from being burnt to ashes. And if you wish to make a difference? Well, my dear. The Crown is all you need.”

With a deep breath, you moved your king as you acknowledged your defeat.

The Queen’s face lit up in pure joy. “Checkmate.”

You promptly left the queen’s office, your steps slow and heavy as if each stride carried the weight of the world.

Around you, the palace corridors seemed to close in around you. Your mind churned with the devastating realization that all your foolish hopes of escaping the royal confines and finding freedom now slipped through your fingers.

The conversation with Her Majesty unravelled the last threads of your resolve, revealing a cruel ultimatum that nearly drove you mad – stay and sacrifice your dreams of peace, or abandon the kingdom to ruin.

The queen’s words echoed in your mind with each step, her words like a dagger effortlessly piercing any fragile hope you clung to. It wasn’t an easy decision either – if you stayed, you would be bound to a life of duty and subjugation, your own desires forever stifled beneath the weight of the Crown’s expectations. Yet, the alternative was even more harrowing – to leave would be to condemn the kingdom, your people, to chaos and despair. You couldn’t do that; couldn’t be so cruel to let the Kingdom fall under the rule of the heartless Miya Atsumu.

The gravity of having that decision placed in your hands left you reeling, your heart caught in a vice of impossible choices. It was only a question which was more important now: your freedom, or this country’s downfall? Was the price of your divorce really worth the suffering of millions of innocents?

The palace, with all its grandeur and beauty, was no more than a prison now. The one you would spend a lifetime locked in should you choose the right thing to do.

As you walked back to your chambers, your gaze remained fixed on the floor, where the marble tiles glistened coldly beneath you. How could you notice only now? The Palace had always been this way – cold, unfeeling, and empty. It was impossible to find love within these walls, not when dark secrets lurked at every corner, and blood was spilled to remain in power. But innocent you were not, because regardless of the Queen’s sins, you couldn’t blame her for it.

When one’s humanity was constantly tested, monstrosity would soon break through the skin.

If you truly wish to make a difference, the Crown is all you need.

The Queen was right.

Long before you stepped into her office, she’d already read your mind, known what it is you would say. You would advocate for peace, become a paladin to pave a better way for the people. But to do such would mean to hold power greater than everyone else. And if one did not wield that power properly, territories would be split apart, cities would fall, and your Kingdom would be nothing more than a tragedy that went down in history.

The fate of your people was now all up to you.

With that in mind, the air around you seemed heavy with the weight of impending doom. You moved with a sense of numb resignation, each step a reminder of the bleak future that awaited you.

Before you knew it, you’d arrived at your chambers, emptily staring into the mahogany double doors. Behind these doors... there’d be no more Suna Rintaro. Just Rintaro, you told yourself. The son of a nobody, a man who is a nobody. To think that he’d known all this time, and still dragged you into the belly of the beast that was the Crown... it was difficult to fan the flames of your hatred. You had to remind yourself to keep it down – to not let it consume you. If it did, then you wouldn’t be any better than the Queen. If you hated him more, then you might risk it all and leave Inarizaki to its own damnation.

If I loved him less, you gripped the doorknob, biting the inside of your cheek as memories of your husband flashed in your mind, I could save this Kingdom.

“Princess, you’re back!”

Your eyes shifted to the bumbling figure before you. Airi scuttled towards your way, her eyes wide and nervously fiddling with the way your hands hovered over the doors. The gesture made you frown, and you dropped your hands to soothe her. “Hello, Airi. How have you been?”

“I’m good, but... I should be asking you that, Your Highness.”

“I am well. I just want to rest now,” you told her, brows pinching together when she suddenly stood between you and the door, her gaze planted at her feet. You sighed. “Airi, why are you blocking my way?”

“Uhm, you see...”

You’d been in this situation countless of times before – around wary maids with their gazes bouncing between you and the doors. It didn’t come as a question anymore. Those looks only ever meant Iris. This time, however, the thought no longer squeezed the life out of your heart. You merely sighed and pushed past Airi, her protests falling on deaf ears.

And truly, it shouldn’t come as a surprise anymore that it would involve her, but you couldn’t fathom this happening even in your wildest of dreams.

Your bedrooms had been stripped bare. Gone were all your clothings, your shoes, your perfume and makeup on the vanity table. The heady scent of vanilla cloaked over the room so heavy it felt suffocating. Iris was everywhere – her wristwatch on the table, her folded nightgown on your bed, her fluffy slippers right next to your husband’s. On the coat rack before your bedroom were their coats hung together, his necktie delicately intertwined with her scarf.

It was as if you never existed in the first place.

Your jaw clenched, fists balling at your sides. You deliberately ignored Airi’s desperate pleas after you, and stormed right into the bedroom. Iris was nowhere to be seen, but Rintaro was there. Sleeping on the couch without a care in the world, a book covering his face as his chest fell with his steady breaths.

“Rin. Rintaro,” you poked his chest, your irritation further fuelled when he didn’t budge. Gritting your teeth, you swatted his book to the side, careful to not let the hard-bound edges nick his nose. “Suna Rintaro!”

Your husband’s eyes shot open. Panic flooded his gaze upon the sight of you, until he groaned, falling back into the couch as he went back to slumber. “Oh. You’ve returned.”

You tried to ignore the way he’d sounded so disinterested, like you were nothing but a bother. You crossed your arms against your chest instead, and demanded for an explanation. “Why is Iris’ belongings here in our room?”

“It’s our room now. I had your things moved.”

“Moved where?”

“Belleview Manor.”

Your jaw dropped. “You – you can’t do that! You can’t move my things around without my permission!”

“I just did,” came his bored reply. Then, he sat up, resting his arms on his knees as he lazily rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Odd, considering he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “Listen, could you... could you stop screaming? It was the doctor’s orders. He said as the father of the child, I needed to be by her side at all times. She might feel sick in the middle of the night. I have to be there for her.”

The weight of the harshness of his words pressed onto you like a physical force.

You detested it – the way he looked at you, or through you. Three days he did not call. Three days he did not bother to even leave a text. Three days since he’d left abandoned you like he did a hundred times before, with not even a trace of guilt present on his face.

“And what about me?”

“What about you?” he raised a brow, challenging you as he stood up to his full height and turned his nose down at you. “I told you already, didn’t I? I don’t want you anymore. So go. Don’t make yourself look even more pathetic by staying around and hoping I’ll change my mind.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Rintaro’s cold rejection struck you like a slap. Your heart clenched painfully at the cruel finality of his command, rendering you frozen and unable to grasp reality. Time itself had fractured. The room around you seemed to dim, the deepening shadows darkening the hard features of his face.

Your vision blurred with unshed tears as you felt the ground beneath you sway, the emotional blow rendering you unsteady. With a last, fleeting look at the man you had once adored, you turned away.

“Fine.”

You spun on your heel and ran out of the room. The sting of his rejection propelled you through the grand corridors of the palace. Tears blurred your vision, and you furiously wiped them away, each swipe a desperate attempt to not drown in the flood of sorrow.

You could hear the final pieces of your marriage crumbling, the sound a haunting melody of betrayals that echoed within your soul. This was it. You wouldn’t tolerate anymore of his cruelty. You’d had enough – your chest aching with a numb, all-consuming hurt. You longed to scream, imagining the echo of your agony bouncing off the empty hallways of the palace, but no sound escaped your lips. It was as if your lungs had exhausted its air, just as your heart had lost all its will to beat again for the man you married.

As you burst through the palace doors and into the open air, the sky mirrored your inner turmoil, the dark clouds gathering ominously.

The first raindrops began to fall, mingling with your tears. You couldn’t focus on anything but to run, run as far away from here possible, to keep running until your legs could no longer.

You suddenly stumbled upon the length of your dress, your steps faltering on the slick ground. You tripped over your own feet as your strength failed you, and you fell on your knees, your hands plunging into a cold puddle. It soiled the ends of your pristine dress, with mud caked on your shoes and your knees scratched from the pavement.

The rain poured down harder, a relentless deluge that matched the intensity of your sobs.

You cried so hard it felt impossible to breath, your body wracking with despair. Each thunderclap overhead felt like the heavens themselves roaring in sympathy with your agony.

Your mind whirled with thoughts of broken promises and unfulfilled dreams. The life you’d envisioned with Rintaro – his promises, the beach house, the dogs, the children to be had and loved, the life to have been lived – it was now nothing more than a shattered illusion. And the pain? It cut deep, leaving its mark until it embedded itself into your bones. You could die and be buried and the remnants of your hurt would remain carved up in your carcass, never to be healed, never to be withered, never to vanish even long after your death.

You felt lost in a cosmogyral spiral, the universe spinning with your loneliness as its epicentre – your existence reduced to a solitary point in an endless void.

You wanted to run, to hide from the pain he had caused and inside. To scream and cry until the hurt faded, yet it remained, a stubborn shadow clinging to your soul and refusing to let go. You aimlessly clawed at your chest like you could rip out your broken heart, and throw it to the next clueless person to come across you.

Through the curtain of rain, a dark silhouette approached.

You looked up, and the onslaught of rain suddenly ceased above your head, replaced by the soft patter of raindrops on an umbrella. The dark figure finally bent down his legs, his face illuminated by the gummuservi on the puddles.

Kneeling before you was Kiyoomi, his eyes filled with a sorrowful kindness that pierced through your pain like a cold balm on a cut. The umbrella he held cast a protective halo over you, sheltering you from the storm.

You felt... protected. Shielded from the world with nothing but his umbrella, warmed by the heat of his body. He studied you with an intensity that made you feel seen, truly seen, for the first time in a long while. His eyes traced the contours of your face, absorbing your pain as if it were his own. And when he tenderly said your name, the rain became a mere whisper, the world fading into the background as a silent understanding passed between you.

He didn’t speak anymore, but his actions conveyed what words could not. Gently, he took your hand and guided you to your feet, his grip firm yet tender.

“He made you cry again, didn’t he?”

In that moment, the storm seemed to lose its ferocity. The thunder rolled away in the distance as if giving you a moment of respite.

“It hurts so much, Kiyoomi,” you cried out to him, eyes closing when his thumb reached over to swipe at a fallen tear. “What... what did I wrong? What did I do to deserve this? How could he keep doing this to me? He-he pushes me away, betrays me, and then says he loves me and each time I think that maybe I’ve changed his mind – because I’m nothing but a fool – he reminds me, time and time again, that I hadn’t done a thing at all! I couldn’t... I could never change his mind. He is never going to love me. And it’s entirely too late but I think – I think that I no longer love–”

“–You’re right. He will never love you,” Kiyoomi’s eyes darkened, tentative as he takes two steps to close the distance. “But I do.”

“What?”

Your eyes widened as Kiyoomi’s sudden confession fell upon your ears. The world around you seemed to momentarily freeze, the vibrant colours of the garden blurring into muted hues. Your hand instinctively flew to your mouth, stifling the gasp that escaped you.

The serene beauty of the surroundings, with its delicate flowers and tranquil fountains, froze in the passage of time.

“I love you,” he says, sounding broken and wholly unsure. “I always have.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you loved him, and I had to live with the fact you would never look my way,” just as the moment started, it broke – Kiyoomi took a step back as if needing to distance himself away, but still with his umbrella hovering protectively. “My apologies, Princess. I did not mean to add more on to your burdens–”

You didn’t let him finish speaking.

Without another word, your hand moved with a swift and determined grace as you reached up, grasping Kiyoomi by the collar. The fabric, cool and smooth beneath your fingers, was tugged gently but firmly to draw him closer – needing more of him, wanting more of him. You could breathe him in and consume him whole, and it still wouldn’t be enough. He had to be certain of this, too, and you kept your touch tender and insistent, a silent command that left no room for hesitation and argument.

Kiyoomi’s breath caught in his throat as he felt the heat of your proximity, felt your breasts crushing his chest, the racing of your heart against his. The world was entirely bending to your will as it narrowed to the space between you and him.

In a single, fluid motion, your lips met his.

The kiss was a fierce, passionate declaration – charged with all the emotions that had been restrained and unspoken. It was a melding of fervor and tenderness, every unvoiced feeling poured into this single, electrifying contact that set your nerves alight.

Kissing Kiyoomi was akin to being in a comic explosion.

The kiss ignited a cascade of feelings, a burst of heat that seemed to set the very air around you ablaze. It was as if a thousand fireworks had been set off in the quiet of the night, each spark and burst of light a vidid expression of all the affections you’d held back. Because by the Gods, how long have you thought about this? How many kisses had you played in your mind before it finally took place? The initial contact was electric, a jolt of fervor and longing surging through you, ripples of euphoria cascading through your entire beings.

And when he finally kissed you back, his moan soft and nearly muted like a secret he’d whispered, Kiyoomi unfurls like a blossom in bloom.

It was an ardent embrace of sensation that led to intoxication, a symphony of fireworks that ignited every nerve, flooding your senses with an addicting blend of his heat, sweetness, and the stray drops of rain.

In that fleeting moment, the world around you ceased to exist. The universe only held you and Kiyoomi in this ephemeral moment, his face now cradled in your palms, along with his soft, sweet moans swallowed and kept at the back of your mind. Time stood still, as your hearts and lips intertwined in this dance of longing acknowledged.

The need to breathe caught up eventually, forcing the two of you to slowly draw apart. Gazes locked, reflecting the hungering and unsatiated desire born from that first explosive contact.

Kiyoomi’s arms encircled you not a moment later, drawing you closer as if to hold onto the fragile, precious connection that had been forged. The intensity in his gaze softened, and you smiled up at him, frightened – realizing a little too late at what you’d just done.

You’d kissed Kiyoomi.

You’d kissed a married man.

Frantically, you scrambled away from him, ignoring the dejected look on his face when your actions caused his umbrella to drop. He, too, began to be soaked in the rain. His shirt clung to his skin, his curls now plastered against his face. Yet, he made no move, and remained where he stood – his chest rising and falling with each, staggered breath. And god, he looked ethereal like this – face flushed, lips bruised from your kiss, and his hands twitching by his side with the need to pull you close.

But he never does. He’d let you be the one to decide on that. His submission, his decision to give up and place all the power in your hands, was written all over his face.

If we are to kiss, it would have to be me instigating it.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

“–It’s not a mistake, and I don’t regret it,” Kiyoomi declared, his gaze hard and firm. Then, he makes a show of slipping of his ring and throwing it to the side – the gold band swallowed up by the puddles. He’s in your space the next moment, his eyes closed yet vulnerable as he takes your palm, and rests his cheek there. “Use me. If you need me to forget him, if that’s what it takes... then use me. I am yours.”

[vinylmango]

On our own terms

Nicholas Alexander Chavez x black!famous!reader

Description: When the paparazzi images of Nicholas out with a “mystery girl” go viral OR a continuation of part two.

Warnings: not really

Note: the last part will be published tomorrow morning! (my timezone is EST)

Parts: one two THREE four five

masterlist

———

celebriteagossip

Tagged: nicholasalexanderchavez & (y/n)

Liked by nicchavezismine, no1nacsupporter, and 16,452 others

celebriteagossip Some pictures have been sent to us of actor Nicholas Alexander Chavez out with a mystery girl while on vacation. The actor was spotted in Italy with a group of friends including the mystery girl this past month. The theory is that the woman is (y/n). This comes after the actor wrapped filming of his upcoming Netflix drama. Chavez posted about the Italy trip on his Instagram confirming he was there and so did (y/n). More to come as we uncover who the mystery woman is, but all we know is that she is one lucky lady!

user1 this is such an invasion of privacy

user2 he’s going to stop posting if this doesn’t stop. Can’t he just enjoy life and post about his gf when he’s ready?

nicchavezismine he’s so hot 😩😩😩

user3 I wonder how long they’ve been together for, they seem really comfortable together.

no1nacsupporter that definitely looks like (y/n)! I know they have mutual friends but I didn’t think they were together. Either way you shouldn’t post this kind of stuff about him, he’s obviously very private for a reason.

user4 oh yeah! Wasn’t (y/n) in Italy around the same time?

ilovecooper maybe the girl is friends with (y/n) and sof? Nicholas was part of a big group with Cooper Koch, some GH people, and a couple other random celebrities. Maybe they’re mutual friends?

View more comments…

(Y/n)ismother

Tagged: (y/n)

Liked by (y/n), (y/n)loml, aestheticblackgirls, and 700 others

(Y/n)ismother How is she real?? Every second she breathes she just reaffirms why she is mother. And if she is dating Nicholas Chavez good for them, he better treat her like the queen she is or we ride at dawn…and that goes for whoever that guy she started posting on her insta is whether it’s Nicholas or not.

(Y/n) you are so sweet omg 🫶🏽 thank you for hyping me up love

> (y/n)ismother OMG THANK YOU! You’re such a good role model for young black and brown girls 🫶🏽

User1 HOLY SHIT SHE LIKED AND COMMENTED

User2 her body is so tea. That’s what happens when you’re unproblematic and just a good person.

User3 let’s be real. Can Nicholas Chavez even handle all that?…like sir she is a goddess.

nicchavezismine he’s so much hotter than her omg

> user1 girl be so fr rn

> user2 why are you even here leaving hate when this is a page only about y/n?

> user3 real weirdo behavior 😒

> user1 and their face cards are an equal slay…obviously exponentially better than yours tho <3

(y/n)loml she is literally an angel it’s unreal

View more comments…

deuxmoi

Tagged: nicholasalexanderchavez & (y/n)

Liked by (y/n)ismother, no1nacsupporter, and 50,000 others

deuxmoi Thanks to some eagle eyed fans we are able to confirm that Nicholas Chavez and (y/n) were in Italy together. It’s unclear if they went together as a couple or just met while there. We don’t know how long they’ve been together, but keep sending in info. They are one good looking couple!

(y/n)ismother who keeps sending this stuff in?! (Y/n) is notoriously private when it comes to who she’s dating and what she puts out surrounding that. I don’t know much about Nicholas, but I can assume he’s the same way. This is so disrespectful to them! They’re people too!

user1 how do you even get that close to them without being some weirdo stalker?!

user2 they are really hot but this is such an invasion of privacy. Please just leave them be.

nicchavezismine ewww get off of him! She looks like such a slut. Who lays like that on the beach?!

> (y /n)ismother Your mother. Hope this helps 😊

user3 they look so comfortable together. I wonder how long they’ve been together

View more comments…

(y/n)

Tagged: nicholasalexanderchavez

Liked by ryandestiny, chloesevigny, (y/n)loml, and 2,123,326 others

(Y/n) Booo the internet is so lame 😒 ANYWAYS happy national boyfriend day to my best friend, travel buddy, and love of my life 🩷 I love you 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨

user1 someone check on that hater account nicchavezismine lol although now he never will be 😘

> nicchavezismine never say never 🥰

>> user1 weirdo

user2 parents

user3 FINALLY

nicholasalexanderchavez i love you baby

Liked by (y/n)

nicholasalexanderchavez my gf is HOT HOT HOT 🥵🔥🙂‍↕️

> (y/n) ahh 🤭🥰🫣

>> user8 me too girl

nicholasalexanderchavez rip to (y/n)loml now I can just do it on main

> user4 (y/n)loml WAS YOU?! OMG

> user5 I hope one day I will experience love like this

sofcruz CUTIES 🥰

> user6 ngl I thought he was dating Sof for a sec

> nicholasalexanderchavez no 😟

> sofcruz 😟😵‍💫🤢 no offense btw but im strictly for my bf 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨

>> user7 OOO WHO?

nicholasalexanderchavez

Tagged (y/n)

Liked by javierbardem, sofcruz, lexiloo6, and 1,765,432 others

nicholasalexanderchavez i would’ve rather said it myself instead of random insta pages…but i love you i love you i love you i love you

(Y/n) my man my man my man 🥵💗

Liked by nicholasalexanderchavez

user7 what a time to be alive 🙌🙏

cooperkoch finally I was scared I was going to be the one to accidentally say something 😅

> tomholland2013 no mate that probably would’ve been me 😂

> user1 LOL Tom 😭

user2 so when’s the wedding

user3 forget the wedding for a sec we want a tell all. Tell us the meet cute plsssss 🥺

> user4 I like the way you think

> (y/n)ismother yes pls

no1nacsupporter I’m so happy for them they look so happy and good together 😭

nicholasgalitzine yay! now everyone can see how sappy the two of you are 🤢🥴 lol jk I’m happy for you

> user5 lol are they cringy?

> nicholasalexanderchavez we aren’t sappy

> nicholasgalitzine 🤨

> nicholasalexanderchavez ok fine maybe a little

> (y/n) you love us tho

> nicholasgalitzine unfortunately true 😪😖

> sofcruz weren’t you the one to introduce them in the first place

> nicholasgalitzine I am 2/2 now 😤. Call me a matchmaker ig

>> user6 who’s the other couple? 👀 you can’t just say that and not tell us

taglist: [comment or dm to be added!]

@hockeyboysarehot @jukeboxsweethearttt

[lemonlover1110]

Double Trouble

Dad Series

Toji Fushiguro

Warnings: Pure Fluff

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“I want a baby sister!” Koemi randomly spurts out one faithful morning. It makes Toji choke on his breakfast, hitting his chest a couple of times to cough up the bit of food that’s in his throat. There’s no way that Toji will agree to that, especially after he got them into a preschool and he has his life back.

Toji has never glared at Koemi before, but for the first time in his life he does. You agreed you don’t want more kids because twins are more than enough. Toji looks at you, and you’re taken back just as he is. You shake your head, and Toji says, “Never in a million years.”

“It’s not fair! Kisho has Megumi and I have no one.” Koemi yells, and Toji decides that he won’t start his day by arguing with someone that still has their baby teeth.

“You have your brothers, honey. You don’t need a baby sister.” You assure her, but that isn’t enough to convince her tiny brain. She’s stubborn, just like her father.

Koemi is smart, she knows how to convince you. She sneaks and takes the photo album that you have for the twins, leaving it on the coffee table. She runs to you when you notice it and pick it up, looking innocently as she asks, “What’s that, mommy?”

“Oh, nothing, baby. Just photos from when you and your brother were babies– When you couldn’t properly talk since you two are still babies in my eyes.” You tell her, and you decide to take a seat on the couch and look through the album, making Koemi join you.

You look at pictures of the twins from the first ultrasound to their first steps. Newborn babies aren’t all that cute but you had the cutest babies. They cried a lot, but you always managed to take pictures because they were too adorable. The biggest smile comes to your lips seeing a picture of Megumi with the twins, he holds Kisho while Koemi is on the couch, trying to reach her twin brother. Then a picture of Megumi who manages to hold both of the twins on the couch, who look to be around five months old.

You keep going back to this one picture that’s three pages in, it’s what gets you. Toji smiling at his newborn babies. Toji has many more pictures in the book, but that has to be the best one because you had never seen Toji so happy before. Sure, he was over the moon when he married you, but this was a level of happiness that only his kids could achieve.

“What are you–” Toji approaches you, and his eyes fall on the photo album. For the second time, he glares at Koemi. Given the tears that are welled up in your eyes, she’s convinced you. She’s a sly one. She’s his daughter after all. He has to think of some way to get her to back down. What’s something that’ll make her stop wanting a sibling? And then it dawns on him.

“Koemi, since you want a baby sister so bad, you’re going to learn how to share your toys. Mommy and I will call the stork if you’re willing to share all your toys.” He says, knowing that Koemi hates sharing. Toji makes sure to get two toys each for the twins since it’s a never ending fight with them, because of her. That’s something he doesn’t bother correcting because Toji also hates sharing. “Even with Kisho.”

She furrows her brows and ponders on it. She shakes her head, and Toji takes it as her backing down. She’s not willing to share her toys. “I don’t want a sister anymore.”

She ends up standing up and walking away, but that doesn’t fix the mess that she caused. Toji doesn’t have to think much about convincing you though, he only has to mention, “Morning sickness.”

“She’s right, she doesn’t need a sister.”

[stcrmade-illusions]

uhhh…is love and deepspace bringing me out of my inactive era / writers block?? This is probably ooc since I just started playing the game and I haven’t written anything in a while soooo…yeah. Just bare with me :)

boyfriend!sylus x blk fem!reader

minors, ageless, haters/harassers dni!!

boyfriend!sylus who absolutely loves every hairstyle you wear but he makes it very clear that he loves your natural hair the most. he loves the entire process of helping you with your hair, from taking it down, to detangling washing and blowdrying. He’ll just sit next to you to hand you whatever you need. Ponytail holders, pins, gel, brushes etc. When you’re finished styling it, he always has a small grin on his face. He pulls you to his chest, biting softly at your cheek and mumbling a low “beautiful” in your ear.

boyfriend!sylus who currently has you bouncing on his thick cock right after you just got a silk press! the car windows are foggy and you’re already sweating. “sy - sylus, i just got my fucking hair done!” you whine, partly because you really wanted your hair pressed for the weekend activities you had planned and partly because your deranged boyfriend is drilling inside your pussy like there’s no tomorrow. he grabs your chin and mutters a “sorry, kitten. It couldn’t be helped.” before slipping his tongue inside your mouth, effectively making you forget how pissed off you are.

boyfriend!sylus who starts making his chefs incorporate some of your favorite meals into their meals. he notices how there’s certain things you don’t particularly like and remembers you babbling about some of the meals your grandmother used to make you before her unfortunate passing.

boyfriend!sylus who sees you wearing a bonnet for the first time since you’ve started dating. he tilts his head in confusion and you can’t help but think he looks like a really cute puppy. you explain what it is and why you wear it, when you’re done he just nods his head and places a kiss on your forehead. the following weekend, there’s a box delivered with bonnets of all sizes and colors.

boyfriend!sylus who sees you taking pictures during golden hour and he just lays on the bed admiring how good you look.

boyfriend!sylus who wastes no time in beating the shit out of a man who made a very disgusting and cruel comment about you and ‘your kind’. Sometimes his violent behavior startles you and other times it makes you want to ride him from dusk to dawn.

boyfriend!sylus who’s helping you pick out a dress to wear for your dinner date. “which one? black or burgundy?” you hold up both dresses so he can take a closer look, after a few moments of silence he hums. ruby eyes flick over to the bed to look at all other dresses you pulled out, he clicks his tongue “what about the gold one?”

you scrunch your nose. “but your tie?” he huffs. “don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll change it.” he’s already reaching to towards his neck when you speak again. “you sure?” he takes a step closer and leans down so you’re eye to eye. “yes, love. I love this color on you, wear this one.” He picks up the dress and hands it to you, gently pushing you towards the bathroom.

boyfriend!sylus who will never admit it out loud but he hates being away from you too long. he needs you around him and in his space at all times or he starts getting grumpier than usual. whenever he’s stressed or pissed off, he seeks you out and plops you in his lap so he can kiss you and play with your hair. He might even use your boobs at stress balls but you tease him about it sometimes but he just huffs and ignores you.

boyfriend!sylus who has your legs thrown over his shoulders while he takes his time teasing you with his hot velvety tongue and long, thick fingers. he’s had you wound up so long that you can’t even remember how much time has passed. “sy…please. I need it.” a low hum comes from his chest, it vibrates through your whole body. his eyes flutter open and lock onto yours immediately. “do you honestly think you deserve it? after being a brat the whole day?”

when you don’t respond, three thick fingers sink back into your cunt, making your body arch. “answer me, kitten.” except you can’t answer him and he knows you can’t because he’s curling his fingers inside you, pressing against that spot and god you’re so close. So fucking close! Just a few more thrusts and — “no!” your voice comes out weak and betrayed, you can feel the tears start to well. His fingers slow then come to a complete stop.

a soft kiss is placed on your thigh, followed by a sharp bite. “you know I don’t reward bad behavior, be a good girl and I’ll give you want you really want.”

— 𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑹𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻𝑺 𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑽𝑬𝑫 © 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 𝑾𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑩𝒀𝑯𝑨𝒀𝑫𝑬𝑵! 𝑷𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑺𝑬 𝑫𝑶 𝑵𝑶𝑻 𝑪𝑶𝑷𝒀, 𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑨𝑳 𝑻𝑹𝑨𝑵𝑺𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑬 𝑶𝑹 𝑹𝑬𝑷𝑶𝑺𝑻 𝑨𝑵𝒀 𝑰𝑭 𝑴𝒀 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑲𝑺!! dividers from @cafekitsune

[bobbertskeetz]

Hi! How are You? Hope u are good.

Can I request Spencer with a reader that had unsub parents? It can be female ir male

You can ignore this is You want! Thank u for hearing me

I'm so sorry for the delay on this request, I'm crap at trying to come up with unsub plot lines but I hope this somewhat lives up to the imagine you had envisioned my love !! Thanks a million for the request and I hope you enjoy <3

ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟɪᴇꜱ ꜱ.ʀ x ɢɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Summary: After half a decade, Spencer's worst fears are assumed to come true...

Themes/Warnings: gn!reader, pre-established relationship, mentions of kidnapping, unsub parents, angst, general themes and violence of the show. | PSA!! This imagine is loosely based on Mosely Lane |

You hated having your picture taken. The knowledge that you could never truly have control over what will be done with it haunts you even to this day.

The physical danger may be gone, but your memory, one which was shared with the many children who, unfortunately, found themselves locked away behind the dingy cellar door, forever remains.

Spencer knew of the horror stories. Of course he did. You made it your mission to tell him yourself before one of his FBI buddies could find out for themselves. However, hearing the admissions fall from your mouth did nothing to soothe Spencer's fear and anger. Fear, for your safety. Anger, for the knowledge that you lived in fear for the majority of your life. Anger, for the knowledge that the only thing separating you from your parents was a couple layers of cement and a cell door. He knew first hand just how ineffective prison can be for victims safety - if an unsub wanted to achieve something or other, all it took was speaking with the right person. He hated that he knew that.

Especially when he received a token in the mail.

A small parcel, barely the size of his palm. A little thin package addressed to Whom It May Concern. Assuming nothing of it, he opened it. You had already left for work, bidding him his goodbye kiss and promising a home cooked meal by the time he returned from the office. There was no sense in waiting until you were both home to open it, what if it was urgent?

And so he did.

And oh how he wished he never had.

There in his hand, sat a small polaroid of a child. At first, he didn't recognise you - for the ten years he had known you, and the five you spent living together, you have all but refused to dig up any childhood photographs. However, the longer he stared, the more he noticed your teary eyes. Your scrunched nose and furrowed brows. The same expression you wear to this day when you wake from a nightmare, when you watch a scary movie, and when you first told him of the horror house your parents ran. When you told him of the polaroids you were forced to take of your 'brothers' and 'sisters', and of your task of lugging those who disobeyed your mother to the crematorium.

Yet you'd failed to tell him that your picture was taken along with the other victims. That your little face had been a part of the morbid photo album which remained in the evidence case. Perhaps you didn't know? Did you even remember having this picture taken, you couldn't have been more than 7 years old. Spencer felt sick. Suddenly, it dawned on him what he was holding. How did he come to have this. Who had left this at your shared doorstep. They knew where you lived.

They knew where you lived.

He just about caught the bile in his throat before he felt his pocket buzz.

Struggling to pull his gaze from the omen in his hand, he reached for his phone and answered, failing to see the caller ID.

"Reid?"

"Yeah. Hotch I know, but I might be a bit late."

Before he could provide a half-assed excuse to buy himself some time - time to think on how he was to go about bringing this up to you and the team - Hotch beat him to it.

"Reid," His voice was solemn, yet calculated, "We've received a package. Well - JJ has."

"It's them Hotch."

The silence was pregnant. Deafening.

"I know."

--

Your foot shook, in a desperate attempt to self-soothe. The fluorescent glow of the BAU was straining your eyes, leaving a slight pound in your temples. However, the main focus of your stress induced headache remained on the ambiguity surrounding as to why David Rossi appeared at your work to escort you to Quantico. And why your boyfriend has locked himself and Aaron away in the conference room for the last forty minutes. You were scared. You couldn't let it show, you'd learnt that the hard way. But, in a room full of profilers, it was hard to hide - you were convinced that they could all genuinely smell fear.

In fact, your fear was so prominent, you failed to hear Morgan calling your name until he was crouched in front of you.

"How bout we go into Reid now, huh?" You met his eye only briefly.

Carefully, you chose your next words, "Will you all tell me what's going on?" Pleading with your eyes, Morgan felt his stomach twist.

"C'mon sweetheart."

You didn't take much convincing. All you wanted was Spencer, to curl up into him and forget all about this disruption to your day. Part of you began to wonder if you were being completely over dramatic and misreading the situation, maybe he had a surprise for you. A date? But you knew, in your gut you knew. They'd come back to haunt you. Why else would this dread be bubbling in your stomach?

Derek opened the door for you, leading you gently by the shoulder. There, you saw your boyfriend, bent over the table resting his hands on either side of what looked to me scraps of paper. His sleeves had been messily pushed up over his elbows, top button undone and his hair was tussled, a tell-tale sign that he had been pushing his hands through his curls. But for why? You still didn't truly know.

He looked up. His stomach dropped.

Wringing your fingers together, you stood before him with a sheepish look across your face. He knew you suspected something, something bad. And maybe you were right. It still didn't make telling you any easier.

"C'mere honey," He held his arm out to you, inviting you to slot into his chest, "Can you look at these with me? I'm right here."

You wished you'd stayed at work.

There on the table in front of you, sat three polaroids. One, you recognised to be Laney, the girl you had befriended for years. The photo, you had taken of her, as you had of all the others, to keep in an album. Why? You didn't know. Proof? Maybe a part of you knew that one day the horror would stop, and you'd need to show someone some day what had happened in your house. Someone had to remember all those who couldn't survive. Like your Laney.

The other two forced your head to bury itself into Spencer's chest; one, was of your bedroom, or rather your cell, and one of you. Little you. When it was taken, who had taken it? You weren't so sure. Laney? Your father? Everything was a fuzzy mess of guilt, shame and fear, so much so you couldn't remember the half of it.

The one thing you knew for certain, you remembered hating having that photo taken. For what reason? You couldn't place. But you did know that to this day, you still hated having your picture taken. That would never change.

"Where did you find these?" He almost missed your words completely, you spoke so softly, voice strained and distant.

A shaky breath left his lips.

"They found us angel, I'm so sorry."

Your heart lurched. Surely you had heard him wrong. You asked him, silently begging you had indeed misheard, but to your horror, that just was not the case.

Just then, JJ stepped forward, a small piece of paper outstretched to you, "Spence received the one of you at your home. We were sent the other two here, along with this note."

Shakily, you grasped for the paper, sparing Spencer a short glance before guiding your eyes to the words scrawled out in front of you.

Your old home address, a date and time. A demand for you to be there alone, or you would be 'collected' regardless of your showing up or not.

Your head spun, had it not been for Spencer's firm grasp around your waist, you were sure you'd have collapsed then and there.

Tears welled up as your eyes locked with his. His own frown matching the drop in your stomach.

They were back. You both knew it, and for once, Spencer didn't have all the answers.

[jiminrings]

four seven eight, phase three: intermission.

wordcount: 3k

glimpse: jungkook hasn’t had any drinks so far, but he’s the rawest he’s ever been.

alternatively, jungkook has three separate conversations while he’s at the club.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale — complete series masterlist, from phase 1 to 3 ]

Yoongi always finds some way to piss Jungkook off.

Your husband isn’t sure if he’s just that easy to piss off or if Yoongi really is an extremely annoying person that gets on everyone’s nerves (his especially), but regardless, your friend always finds some way to set him to the edge.

Jungkook almost bended a fork with his teeth when you called out baby along with your subsequent request for him to pass the sauce, but even before he could reach for said container, Yoongi (who was sitting on the other end of the table) dashes over to your seat to give you sauce and piss him off in the process.

He almost grabbed Yoongi by the hair that one time when you were on your last shot on your film camera and you wanted to take a photo of them, but right at the last second of you taking it, Yoongi told him there was a cockroach by his feet which immediately made it look like Jungkook was bowing to him. He’s already ripped up the picture as soon as you got it developed, but the anger at the seemingly surface-level tricks he pulled on him always ate at him.

Jungkook only texted Yoongi awhile ago, and while he wasn’t expecting an immediate reply given the time difference, he almost wished the latter didn’t even respond in the first place. 

you’re hwayoung’s godfather

look after her while i’m gone

The two of them have been civil, maybe even friendly at best, since yours and Jungkook’s month-long break before Hwayoung came along; Jungkook doesn’t expect much from Yoongi except for the bare minimum — the problem is that Yoongi himself wants to go above and beyond.

i know that

i don’t need you to be gone for me to look after hwayoung lol

Jungkook huffs at the insinuation, brows immediately knitted as he tries to focus his eyes on his phone that seems to be the brightest source of light in the dimmed, packed club.

?

He can admit to himself (to you too, but never to anyone else especially Yoongi) that he can sometimes go overboard looking in between the lines. It’s this nagging feeling in Jungkook’s brain that he needs to analyze everything from all angles when it concerns you and the people who are fond of you. It’s this irritating quirk of his that he himself hates because he can’t be placated at the thought of something, someone, getting in between the two of you.

Especially if it’s Yoongi, even if he’s already sworn up and down that he’s moved on from you.

Most especially Yoongi, who’s close to his family in more ways than one, now that he’s left for the meantime.

i’ll take care of y/n too dw :)

Jungkook seethes at that, his thumbs already moving on their own accord to type out a reply he barely has the consciousness to discern. He can’t bring himself to read in between the lines now; now, when he’s apart from you and Hwayoung and there’s neither a husband nor father figure at home, and now, when everything dawns on him that everything that’s happening now is real.

go fuck yourself

Everything in and out of Jungkook’s reach is real. The fight you had two days ago was indeed real, and what reminds him of that is your messages that only detail about Hwayoung and nothing else. Yoongi being h*mself which is an annoyance within its own, is real and is proved by the laughing reaction that he only attached to Jungkook’s very genuine, very offensive profanity.

Jungkook doesn’t have it in him to entertain the possibility that Yoongi’s only messing with him as per usual. He doesn’t have the energy to detangle the complicated knots in his mind that all point to him being the reason for his own undoing.

The only energy that your husband has at the moment is to switch apps, regulate his breathing, and head straight to the live footage from the security camera in Hwayoung’s room. Jungkook feels sane again (maybe even the feeling greater than contentment, but not more than happiness) when he sees the two of you pop up on screen, your laughs immediately drowning out the blaring music.

“My pretty girls,” he mumbles under his breath, his thumb twitching to switch between apps again and finally have the courage to actually talk to you about what happened and not just fawn over how Hwayoung’s breezing through her milestones while he’s been gone.

He hasn’t had anything to drink yet, and while he’s relieved at that, there’s a sense of cowardice that creeps up in Jungkook’s throat. He feels pathetic and unsurprisingly, characteristically weak when it comes to you.

Your husband settles for pushing the button that makes the security camera ding, indicating that he’s indeed watching you and Hwayoung, before he screws his eyes shut in fear that you’ll only scowl at him through the screen.

You don’t.

Instead, you only smile lightly. You’re tired and you’re filled with pent-up sentiments because you can’t exactly gossip to Hwayoung how her dad has been frustrating you to no end lately, and yet, you still smile for him because she’s watching.

There’s a knot that forms in his throat when you prop Hwayoung in front of the camera and coo at her to wave because he’s watching. There’s this unmistakeable sting behind Jungkook’s eyes because he’s reminded yet again that everything’s real; that unlike him, you’re not weak. 

You’re filled with so much love as evidenced by the way you look at Hwayoung with no fear at all of messing everything up, and it makes Jungkook choke over nothing. You have your fears too, but not one of them comes close to the degree that his doubts are in — perhaps you do have a fear of losing everything just like he does, except the resounding difference is that you’re not a coward like him.

Namjoon’s jostled him atleast three times for the past ten minutes and he’ll succumb to his friend sooner or later, but not now when Jungkook rethinks every word he’s ever said and how he misspoke, not now when he’s made the mistake of even calling Eunsu as his muse when he can’t even grasp the weight of the word when he calls someone else that in front of his wife.

Jungkook’s still a coward, with or without a drink, but he’s in the latter state when he brings out his other phone to finally call you.

He sees you flinch silently through the security camera, gaze averting from a napping Hwayoung on your lap to your phone that’s ringing. You purse your lips in hesitation yet you don’t quiver, accepting his call but not without looking straight at the camera before you do.

You’re neither unattached nor resigned with Jungkook — you’re simply stuck in the middle with him, even if the demarcation about who gets the shorter end of the stick is unclear.

“I didn’t mean anything I said last night,” he admits straightly, sparing no time as his chest tightens.

“You sounded like it,” you frown, absent-mindedly stroking Miso’s fur who just conjured out of nowhere at the exact time your husband called you.

“At the time, yes,” he sighs heavily, the knot in his throat refusing to unravel even if he’s already baring his truth. “But at that time too, I was beyond stupid a-and emotional. I wasn’t thinking straight, and I know me being drunk shouldn’t be an excuse,” Jungkook swallows, his hand cupping the air instead of a shot glass reminding him of his stupidity. “I was out of it. I couldn’t keep everything in check.”

Your voice remains hushed, but you don’t have it in you to discern if it’s only because Hwayoung is sleeping on your lap, or if talking to Jungkook lately robs you of your will to be on the same level as him.

“You could’ve told me as soon as you felt… that way, Jungkook.”

He sucks in a breath, chewing on his bottom lip as he tries not to cry rethinking about your fight. “I did try to, but as soon as you did, you asked me if taking care of Hwayoung felt like a chore to me.”

“Does it?” you ask again, ironically coinciding with Jungkook’s point that it makes him chuckle lightly. You were always so stubborn — almost always similar to his temperament.

“I respect you a lot, Y/N. You put a roof over over our heads, you put food on the table, you have everything figured out.”

“Jungkook,” you mumble, sensing the inevitable conjunction that separates the both of you further.

“But I’m the one who knows what I’m feeling the most, not you,” Jungkook sighs shakily, voice hushed even quieter than the way you look at him silently through the screen. 

He can see you, but you can’t see him. 

“We’re both parents to Hwayoung at the end of the day but in that— in that same day, you spend more time being the working parent while I’m the stay-at-home parent,” he confides, his tone gentle and slow unlike the way his drunken nature persuaded him otherwise. “Taking care of Young-ie isn’t a chore for me. Yes, it’s repetitive. I-it could be exhausting and draining but that’s what it comes with being a dad. I’m her dad. I’m the one who’s with her. I’m bound to feel this way,” he pauses, breath hitching. “I’m not asking you to forgive me right away for all the shit I said. I’ve been unfair springing all of this on you on such short notice.”

You look straight at the camera, bottom lip quivering as you wrap your head around Jungkook’s sober vulnerability.

“I’ve been unfair too,” you mutter, eyes downcast because even if you can’t see Jungkook, there’s a false image of him that floats in your mind, belittling you for not being enough. “I didn’t see it from your point of view.”

There’s only silence between the two of you, the noise of the club being expertly drowned out even through the distortion of the line.

“You can forgive me tomorrow or next week, even— but the sooner the better, of course,” Jungkook chides playfully after a few seconds, smiling to himself when he visibly sees the tension melt away from your shoulders.

“You’re annoying.”

“I’m asking you to give me a chance, baby. Give me a little leeway,” Jungkook pleads, in between light chuckles and strained desperation that an honest, sober husband like him could give to you while you’re long-distance. “Give me a little time to figure out a balance. I-I can’t be the best husband and dad that I want— need to be if I can’t figure myself out.”

“I get it,” you nod, your thumb unconsciously adjusting the wedding on your ring finger that’s become slightly askew. “But you promise me that you’ll come home, Jungkook,”

“I promise.”

“You have to promise me too that there’s no one else.”

“Y/N,” Jungkook tuts warningly, his confused frown at you being genuine in nature as if you could see him in real time trying to digest your paranoia. “Where’s this coming from?”

“Promise me,” you repeat again with a short-lived whine, the stirring of Hwayoung on your lap making his heart soften and your call interrupted.

“I promise.”

Jungkook relaxes into his seat, eyes still fixed on the security app on his phone as he watches you rock his daughter to sleep, pointing to the camera every now and then to tell her that her appa’s watching. 

Namjoon and Eunsu come over with drinks, and as much as there’s a momentary wave of relief that washes over Jungkook because he’s seeing familiar people, there’s a dubiously-coated type of tension that replaces the knot on his throat.

“Ah, my pretty producer,” Eunsu hands him his drink, looking past the platinum wedding band that Jungkook hadn’t dared to take off even once the whole trip, along with his phone that displays his family in full brightness. “I believe we haven’t met properly.”

[bbydoll18xx]

Pet Names and Airplanes (Part 3)

Paige Bueckers x reader

It’s Paige’s turn to call the shots.

Themes: smut!! dom!Paige, friends to lovers

Word Count: 2.5k

Part 1

Part 2

A/N: IT FINALLY LET ME POST HALLELUJAH!! You sweetie pies asked for a part 3 and here it is! And to whoever was the original anon who sent me the idea for Pet Names and Airplanes, i love u

~

Seattle had crushed Indiana, although that was pretty much a given. What you hadn’t expected, though, was Paige’s attitude after the game. The whole time, her hand was placed possessively on your thigh, fingers only leaving the soft flesh to be thrown in the air in a joyous celebration of Seattle scoring. And you certainly delighted in the way Paige kept sneaking peeks at one of the hickeys she had left at the base of your throat, threatening to expose the sheer naughtiness that had gone down yesterday. And this morning. 

The relationship between the two of you had changed dramatically in the last 48 hours, leaving you with an undeniable giddiness that bubbled in your chest. And now here you were, talking to Nika on the sidelines of the basketball court, feeling the blonde’s eyes on you, the heat of them radiating off of you in a way that had you shivering. 

Your arm was wrapped around Nika’s waist in a friendly hold; you had missed the Croatian girl, but Paige’s body language suggested that if you didn’t back away, you’d be in deep shit. Her eyes narrowed as you scooched in closer, meeting her gaze with a smug look that said ‘Whatcha going to do about it?’ 

It was not long before she was pulled away by yet another throng of young, adoring fans. She posed for pictures and signed basketballs and shirts, a fond smile adorning your face as you watched, thinking that if anyone deserved all of this, it was Paige.

You are pulled out of your thoughts by Nika who was elbowing you in the side with a shit-eating grin plastered on her face.

“When are you gonna tell her that you love her?” She questions smugly, and your mouth falls open in shock.

You splutter, not even remotely able to form a coherent sentence for a second. She was able to read you like a damn book, and you felt momentarily embarrassed to think that you were that transparent. You had always worn your heart on your sleeve, but you longed to be one of those girls that were just effortlessly cool and almost mysterious. You hated how people could see what you were feeling just by looking at your face, and while you knew your emotional disposition made you who you were, sometimes it felt like it was your personal downfall.

The blaze of your cheeks add fuel to the fire, and Nika giggles as you hide your face in your hands. You sigh defeatedly. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

“It’s Paige,” she soothes. “You guys have always had something more than just a friendship. It’ll work out.” She pulls you into another hug, just as Paige walks back over to the two of you. She clears her throat loudly, and you and Nika separate, meeting her eye with your cheeks still flushed from Nika’s observation. 

“Ready to head back to the hotel, princess?” Paige asks you, her blue eyes staring into yours, and she wraps an arm around your waist possessively, drawing you into her and away from her old teammate. 

You smirk at her blatant jealousy, mentally high-fiving yourself that at least she also lacked subtlety when it came to you.

“I don’t know, P,” you trail. “Maybe we should hang out with Nika some more.” You wet your lips as you look up at the Croatian girl, who is looking between you and Paige with a confused look on her face.

“I want you. All to myself,” she responds bluntly, sending a wave of butterflies soaring through your belly and straight down to your pussy.

Paige sends a glare in Nika’s direction, and a flash of realization dawns on the brunette, her face morphing into a look of pure revulsion.

“Hell no, you two better not be getting me in the middle of whatever this is” Nika scolded, her accent coming out, mixing with the disgust in her voice. She was smart, and she clearly saw your attempts to make Paige jealous.

“I’ll see you two tomorrow. Just go fuck each other like I know you want to,” she says crudely, holding back a laugh. “But thanks for coming. I love you both,” Nika beams, waving and walking towards the Seattle locker rooms. 

“Finally,” Paige mutters, interlocking your fingers with hers and pulling you towards the exit.

The uber back to the hotel was eventful, and if Paige’s possessive grip on your thigh during the game didn’t have you completely dripping, the open-mouth kisses she had been pressing to your neck and jaw certainly did.

It was difficult to hold back your moans in front of the uber driver who was already eying you and Paige suspiciously, and you let out a sigh of relief as he pulled in front of your hotel. Racing through the hall and opening up the door, you rush in, Paige hot on your tail. 

“Finally got you all to myself,” Paige murmured, looking down at you through lustful, hooded eyes. Her voice was deep and husky, dripping with want, and it reignited the swarm of butterflies in your belly. 

“About damn time,” you respond flirtily, before connecting your lips with hers with a moan. Her lips taste like the cherry slushy she had drank at the game, and the smoothness of them has you pressing up into her, desperate for more. 

Paige opens her mouth for you, intertwining her tongue with yours before suddenly pulling away. You chase her lips with a pout on your own, confused as to why she was stopping. You look up at her with fake indignance, and she gazes at you with a sadistic glint in her eyes. 

“Strip and get on the bed.” 

Her tone is firm, and the dominance oozing from her words makes every nerve in your body light up, temporarily putting you in a daze. You bite your bottom lip in a bruising tug, looking up at Paige with wide eyes. 

“Now.” 

The forcefulness of it sends jolts through your most intimate area, and you pull your top over your head, throwing it onto the floor haphazardly, your jeans following shortly after. You are left standing in a black bra and matching panties, and Paige has moved to sit in the chair, legs spread wide. 

“I want you completely naked, baby. Don’t get shy with me. Want to see those pretty little marks on your tits,” she drawls, and her voice alone has you nearly panting with lust. There was something so naughty about her watching you strip, and your body erupts in goosebumps in anticipation. 

Your bra comes off first. The cool air of the hotel room hits your nipples, perking them up in a way that makes Paige run her tongue across her bottom lip, soothing it from the incessant biting. Your panties soon follow, and your body flushes as you notice the stickiness of your inner thighs from your own slick. 

You climb onto the plush bed, ass sticking up in the air, wiggling provocatively in order to get a rise out of the watchful blonde. Settling against the mountain of pillows with your legs slightly spread, you stare back at Paige, trying desperately to avoid covering yourself up. Her gaze is burning into your skin like tiny pinpricks of lustful want, and you squirm at the lack of stimulation. 

You knew you looked needy, but Paige loved it, reveling in the mild humiliation of you being spread out for her viewing pleasure.

Not wanting to back down just quite yet, you hold her eye contact until she stands, sauntering over to the end of the bed. Her gaze lowers slowly, starting at the base of your throat where the myriad of hickies begin, trailing down to your tits and across your stomach, landing on your glistening center. 

A shiver runs down your spine, tightening your nipples even more, and you lick your lips in anticipation of what’s to come. 

“You gonna be a good girl for me, princess?” She asks, arms crossed and biceps bulging. 

A slight whine leaves your throat. “Yes, always good for you,” you promise.

However, Paige looks unconvinced, a wry smile plastered on her gorgeous features. “You weren’t being very good after the game. Hanging all over Nika like a little slut.”

Your heart pounds at her degrading words, and you try to come up with a decent excuse. “I-” 

She cuts you off with a wave of the hand and a scoff. “Save it. You think you’re a good girl? Prove it.”

Before you can even ask how to prove it, Paige is stripping and laying on the bed with spread legs. You crawl over to her, wanting to do everything possible to please her, but she stops you before you can attach your mouth to her sopping center.

“If you want to taste me, you gotta beg,” she claims smugly, and you flush at her words. Just yesterday, you had the upper hand, and now here you were, about to beg to eat her out. 

“P…” you trail off, but she was devilishly unrelenting. A wide smirk adorns her face as she spreads her legs a bit more, beckoning you closer towards her slick warmth. 

Realizing that you were in fact going to have to beg, you decide to give in, losing the battle between your pride and your sanity. 

“Please, Paigey…” you whimper, lips in a prominent pout. “I’ll do anything for you. Just let me have a taste.”

Paige pretends to think about it for a second, mockingly tapping her chin. “I suppose a little taste won’t hurt,” she relents, and before she can go back on her words, you dive in like a woman starved. 

A long moan is pulled from the depths of her throat as you lick a long stripe across her pussy, and you welcome the taste. She was obviously just as turned on as you. The sheer depravity of the situation hits you, and you reach down in between your legs to take care of the burning ache. Two small circles against your clit is all you manage to make before Paige is leaning down to swat your hand away with a dissatisfied tut. 

“Nuh uh. Don’t be touching your pretty, little pussy.” 

Your cheeks burn, but she quickly grabs your hair into a makeshift ponytail and guides your head back down. And that’s all the encouragement you need. Soon enough she’s a moaning mess under you, coming undone with your name on her lips, and you’re licking your own, as if she was the most delicious meal you’ve ever had.

“Fuck, baby,” she moans. “Such a good girl for me.”

And before you can preen at her praises, she is on top of you. Hot, open mouth kisses are being pressed up and down your neck, alternating between sharp bites and soothing licks, adding to the purple marks. Paige trails her fingers up and down your sides before squeezing at your hips, melding the flesh experimentally. 

“Need more,” you pant out, and she hums against your skin, the vibrations shooting through you add to the overwhelmingness of everything. She is descending down your body now, your belly and hips peppered with kisses, all the way down to your inner thighs. She purposely ignores your aching pussy, and your hips fly up to try and meet the softness of her lips, desperate to feel some stimulation.

“Fuck, P, don’t make me beg again,” you whine, and Paige gives you another wide smirk from between your legs. 

She blows cool air across the heat of your dripping pussy, and mutters, “But it’s so sexy when you beg for me, baby.” 

“Paige, please,” you whimper, drawing out the syllables of her name, and finally she acquiesces. A long string of expletives leave your parted lips as she plunges two fingers into you and swirls her tongue around your swollen clit. Paige’s fingers were magic, pumping unabatedly into you and curling expertly against the ridges of your g-spot. 

You bring a hand up to pull roughly at your nipple, causing Paige to let out a low groan at the sight of you playing with your tits, and the vibration shoots straight through your core. If you hadn’t been so comfortable around Paige, you would almost feel embarrassed about how fast you were coming undone. 

This was some teenage boy shit. 

Your moans grow louder and louder as she adds a third finger, the stretch feeling like nothing from the amount of juices slicking the entrance of your pussy and sliding down your inner thighs. She continues to curve her fingers up to that sweet spot, causing you to see stars, and eats you out with unwavering persistence.

“G-gonna cum,” you moan, and before Paige can respond, you are gushing around her fingers with a high-pitched whine and her name on your lips. She slows down her movements, allowing you to ride out your high, before removing her fingers from you and licking them seductively. 

Fuck she was so hot. 

Paige watches your chest rise and fall while you try to catch your breath, strung out from how good she just fucked you. She thinks that you had never looked so beautiful, skin glowing from the lamp of the hotel and the sheen of your sweat adding to the radiance. You’re looking back at her in sheer adoration, wondering how you got so lucky to be in this predicament. 

“God, that just keeps getting better every time,” you giggle once you catch your breath, and Paige chuckles, nodding in agreement. She heads to the bathroom for a washcloth to clean you up, and once she does, she pulls you under the covers, and you think that life could not possibly get better. 

The two of you bask in the glow of orgasms and an overall fondness for one another, both silently musing over how much your relationship had changed in the last few days. As if Paige was reading your thoughts, you hear her whisper, “I don’t think I can go back to just being friends with you.” 

Your heart skips a beat. “I was thinkin’ the same thing,” you mumble, grateful that you could forego the awkward ‘what are we’ conversation. “I don’t think we were ever really just friends,” you add, you cheeks pink as you recall all the flirty moments that had occurred between you and the blonde.

“True,” Paige says, nuzzling her face into your neck. “Well, glad we figured that out.” She pulls you in for another kiss, this time sweet and innocent, without the fire that sex tends to follow. It was all you really needed. Paige was all you really needed. 

And when you sit down in your seat on the airplane the following day, you smile as the memories replay in your mind. Love was forged from nothing but a friendship reformed due to a silly little plane ride and a silly little pet name. 

~

woohoo! let me know what you think!! xoxo

[awrkive]

angst + 14 + with jk make it HURT miss dee i trust you with my life 🙏🏻

14.  "If you walk way from me, I don't want you coming back."

note: im genuinely so annoyed i cant keep my words bcs this drabble is 2.5k words but i promise the next ones are gonna be under 1k 😭

Two lines. 

The first one is clear as day, and you’ve tried so hard to blind yourself from the other one that’s just barely there – barely because it’s faint but you’re not stupid and you know it is there. That it exists. That it’s crystal clear there are two. Fucking. Lines on the damned test.

Two lines. 

It’s funny how a single plastic stick can ruin your life in a matter of minutes. 

Your mother didn’t lie at all when she said that you’d know these things. That you will feel it when it’s there. A month ago you didn’t get your period and while you could have an irregular cycle sometimes, you had a bad feeling about this particular one; the fatigue didn’t feel usual, your hips and breasts are growing and it didn’t make sense. You hated key lime pie for most of your life but recently you feel like you could eat it for the rest of your days. 

That was not fucking normal. 

And when you vomited again this morning after waking up, you decided to take a test.

It was past 7pm when you got home from the drugstore, and thirty minutes had passed since then when you found out the result. There are three sticks in the strewn paper bag all over the sink – all of which shows you the same thing. 

Two damn lines. 

You’re pregnant and you don’t know what to feel about it. 

But who are you lying to? You know exactly what you feel about it. You feel like utter shit. Absolute fucking shit and there’s a lodge in your throat that breaks into a sob when it finally dawns on you that holy fuck you’re fucking pregnant. There’s a baby growing in your womb and you can barely feed yourself waiting tables at a shitty restaurant downtown. 

You cry.

Your shoulders shake as you sob silently in the lavatory of your tiny bathroom, the chipped edge of the mirror and the broken faucet reminding you once again that you are not ready for this. You’re only 23. You’re barely making ends meet. The gap year you took off school that was only supposed to be one year stretched into two because of financial issues and now… this? A kid? What would you do with a child? You aren’t ready. You just aren’t ready. 

This was not supposed to happen. 

You think that over again. This was not supposed to happen. It repeats in your head over and over again like a broken record until you break into yet again another sob.

You dig your fingers in the porcelain sink, let your body fall low as you cry until your throat hurt. Tears flowed until you felt numb inside. You wept until your body trembled, weak and unsteady, struggling to throw the sticks into the trash, wrapped as carefully as you could manage in your fragile state, afraid Jungkook might find them. 

He comes home in two hours. 

And for those two hours, you lie on the couch with tear-stained cheeks, thinking about what he would say; how he would react. 

You wish you live in the timeline where this news could be good rather than bad. Wish this could’ve brought you to tears of joy instead of… this hollow ache in your chest trapping your airflow you could barely breathe. 

But that timeline is non-existent. You’re living in the now. You’re a twenty-three-year-old woman living with your twenty-five-year-old boyfriend – and while both of you have jobs to sustain yourself in a rundown, shitty, sketchy apartment, having a kid is not ideal. It’s not in the picture. It never fit in the picture – not at all. You’ve never discussed this and you were mostly certain Jungkook would not receive this news with open arms and a wide grin. 

The thought brought you to tears again until you fell asleep. 

——— 

“Babe?”

Jungkook feels like a kid on Christmas day. He feels a bout of energy, and he wants nothing but to unleash it on you – and there are fun ways he can unleash it on you, alright – things that you both will enjoy on this cold January night. 

He can’t help it. His grin only grows wider when he steps into the threshold of your house and the waft of home fills his nostrils. This part of town is shitty but you’ve done your best to make your apartment smell good. It’s that citrus… lavender… whatever the fuck candle you buy, Jungkook thinks.

Hah. He should’ve bought you one or two, huh? You fucking love those scented candles. You hoard the hell out of them even though they could be expensive. It’s worth it though… and with the bonus he’s holding in his wallet, why not? 

The thought only makes him smile even more. 

You’d love the news. You’d light up in that usual way you do when Jungkook does something remotely good. Anything that means he’s straying away from the destructive life he’s always led before he took your relationship seriously – you love it. And Jungkook admits he loves it, too. Loves doing good for you. Loves when he makes you happy. 

He doesn’t believe in changing for other people because fuck that, this is his own life and he does whatever he wants with it – but you’re a part of it now, a great part, and Jungkook will be damned if he loses you. He certainly did before – and for all the dumb decisions he’s made in his twenty five years, that one was the worst. 

“Baby?” he calls again when you give no answer. He’s sure you’re home by now, though, and so he crosses the distance to the threshold and living area, finding you in the couch cocooned like a burrito.

Chuckling, he steps closer and lets the cushion dip in his weight when he sits on it. You’d give him an earful if you see him letting his outside clothes touch your sheets but right now all he gives a fuck about is you hearing the news about his promotion at work. Granted, it’s not “promotion” per say, it’s just that he’s going up from being an apprentice to an actual tattoo artist at the shop. He can finally quit that job at that shit-paying convenience store and can focus fully on the shop which he actually likes doing. And he can finally get a more formal pay as well. It’s all for you. 

When Jungkook rolls you to his side, he swiped away the hair that’s gotten all over your face. You stirred, but when you wake up, Jungkook frowns. 

“What the fuck happened?” 

Your eyes are puffy and red. Swollen. You look tired, drawn, exhausted. And Jungkook couldn’t have mistaken the tear stains on your cheeks for anything other than you've been crying.

“H-huh?” You say, obviously still not fully conscious.

“Were you crying?” Jungkook asks, concern growing heavy. He tries to think if you texted him today about something – but other than your usual texts of I love yous and I miss yous, there was nothing. So what could you have been possibly crying about? 

It seems like you’ve snapped the haze of sleep off your mind because you quickly turn away from his touch, untangling yourself from the sheets and sitting upright. 

“Nothing.” 

Jungkook’s brows crease even more. 

“What?” 

“I said nothing!” You snapped, which surprised the both of you. Jungkook doesn’t have a clue what the fuck is going on – but then you turn around to look at him and you look so fragile and scared shitless and sad and broken that it just sends him into utter confusion when you stutter, “I’m– I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Jungkook says, a bit irritated now because he doesn’t like it when you skirt around what you feel. “What happened?” 

He tries to ignore the fact that when he lifts his hand to put it on your thigh, you flinch and your muscles grow tense. As if you don’t want his touch. 

“I was… I was watching a movie.” you say, lips tilting into a small smile Jungkook knows is fake. 

Now he’s just perplexed. What the fuck is all this about? You’re flinching at his touch and you can’t even look him in the eye as you fake a smile at him. 

He peels his hand away from you and stands up from the couch.

“Yeah?” He knows he has a temper. And it definitely shows when he continues to saracastically add, “Pretty fucking dramatic movie, huh?” 

You stay quiet but you definitely have a physical reaction to his sharp tone.

Every single second that passes and you still don’t utter a single word, Jungkook begins to feel like this air is growing into tension. 

And his defense mechanism gets the best of him. 

“Alright, lay it on me,” he says with a leveled tone, staring at you coldly. “Are you breaking up with me?” 

Jungkook thinks that must be it. There’s no way there’s another reason why you’re acting like this; looking at him in that solemn way. 

Two years. Two years of trying to fix him and you’ve finally reached the rim of your dam. You finally realized he’s not worth your time, that you could have so much better, be with better men, have a better life with them than whatever the fuck you have and will ever have with him. 

Jungkook’s always been aware of that. It’s not even self-deprecation, it’s just facts. 

But fuck if it didn’t hurt to confront it this way. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

Two words. 

Two words and it’s enough to make Jungkook’s head spin. 

“What?” He asks again, because there’s no way you just said that. 

“I’m pregnant.” you repeat again, this time louder. Jungkook sees you inhaling a sharp breath, and it’s clear to him when your eyes begin to tear up. “I’m pregnant, Jungkook.” 

His mouth closes and opens like a fish in a tank. He goes from confused then disbelief then just… nothing. 

“You’re… you’re pregnant.”

You obviously take his tone as something different, and Jungkook can’t blame you when you snap once again. “When you put your dick in me without a condom, that’s what usually happens, so yes, I am pregnant with your child, Jungkook.” 

“You let me put my dick in you without a fucking condom,” Jungkook retorts, looking at you incredulously. “What the fuck, __? What– what happened with– are you not taking your pills?” 

“Fuck you!” You roar, venomous and mostly hurt. 

Jungkook knows you’re feeling more like the latter. 

He knows that, and yet, he decides to press more. 

“What did you fucking expect, babe? That I was gonna smile and laugh and carry and spin you around this fucking– this fucking tiny apartment?” Jungkook gestures around wildly, and he hates that when he looks at your face it's now contorted into tormented pain. Your shoulders shake as you sob silently. But his head is on a haywire and he feels like he can’t think straight. You. A baby. You two. A family. He runs a hand along his face. “We’re barely making ends meet. You wait tables while I only rely on commissions from my apprenticeship at the shop and earn shit at that convenience store five blocks away. We can barely afford the fucking AC and – and now you’re telling me you’re pregnant? What the fuck do we do with a fucking child, __?” 

“I don’t know!” You say exasperatedly, abruptly standing up from the couch. You sniff as you rub away at your eyes – red from all the crying you must have done and been doing. 

“So why the hell would you get mad at me for reacting this way?” Jungkook answers, because frankly, he doesn’t understand. And then he says the next words he thinks of, “Are you keeping it?” 

He regrets it the moment it comes out of his mouth. 

You usually look at him with so much adoration in your eyes – so genuine and loving that Jungkook gets confused sometimes – but now you look at him with nothing but pure distaste. Hatred. And even he was taken aback. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck the answer to that horrible question is. But whatever the hell I do, you decide if you want to be part of it or not – and with the way you’re acting right now, I’m assuming you want out,” you say, voice firm and full. Gone was the fragility, all Jungkook could see was a stone-cold person in front of him who didn’t give a fuck about whether or not he stays in her life. And your next words further prove that. “But there’s something I want you to know and make sure you remember this: if you walk away from me, right now, I don’t want you coming back. Ever. And I mean that. I mean that, Jungkook.” 

Jungkook stands glued there in the middle of the living space, heart squeezed to fuck and his lungs tightening as he processes your words. 

He follows your figure as you disappear in your bedroom, feeling like the room is suddenly spinning when you leave.

Jungkook lets himself fall on the sofa and for the first time in what felt like years, he cries. 

[mydearlybeloathed]

── 𝐀 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 ²

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Joining your brother's crew hadn't exactly been on the agenda, so when it hits you that this crew is a family, you can't help but feel out of place.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: luffy's sister!reader x strawhats

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.5k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: reader's backstory revealed! reader gets sad :( kind of a filler part, luffy is a good brother

𝐎𝐏 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐁𝐈𝐆 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒, 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

With one hand raking through your hair, you kept the loose strands out of your eyes as the wind threatened to blind you. Your friends—three of the large crew of mercenaries that took you off Dawn Island—laughed alongside you. Your little boat rocked on the heavy seas, bounding up and down on the waves as the boat sped away from Marine Headquarters.

One of them clapped a hand on your shoulder, but you hardly heard what she said, her words like white noise against the chaos in your mind. Your whole body shook, shot with adrenaline. The oldest of your four came up beside you and fastened a rope. “Did you find what you’re looking for?”

You shook your head violently, prying a curious frown from the boy. “Then why’re you so happy?”

“I don’t know!” You laughed, unable to help it. You spotted a marine snapping a picture of your gleaming smile, knowing soon enough you’d have the bounty poster to show your success.

Marine Headquarters smoked with fires set by your friends—distractions so you could slink in and find Vice Admiral Garp for a brief chat. The toppled towers and buildings really sealed the deal on your legitimacy as a threat. You’d dragged the ground around underfoot, causing erosion and quaking as you made your escape. The Vice Admiral hadn’t been home, but you felt a kind of jubilation you never had before.

“I’m just… hopeful.”

Your friends met your smile tenfold, coming together as the nights drew on and the mornings promised a future side by side.

(A few years would pass before you got curious again, like a cat who forgot it hates water).

You and your three friends once again left the safety of the mercenary crew to venture off for your past. This time, you wouldn’t return. The four of you had a decent ship together, so it was finally time to start your own crew. Life was limitless.

“What if what you find isn’t what you hoped?” the eldest asked when you finally set off.

You gave him a shrug. “I move on.”

Unlike the first adventure for your origins, you found your target, the only one who could know anything about where you come from. 

In routine formation, your comrades formed a distraction, luring Garp’s subordinates away from the ship so you could sneak your way to his office. Not a soul spotted you, your path unhindered as you ghosted down the halls and burst into his office. Vice Admiral Garp sat hunched at his desk, his eyes slowly lifting at your entrance. He looked entirely unsurprised.

“Your performance at Marine Headquarters was impressive,” he said, nodding to the seat in front of him. You remained standing, face hard.

“I won’t stay long, mostly because I know you’ll arrest me.” Your adoptive grandfather nodded. “But answer me this, please, for old time's sake?”

Garp waited patiently. You stole a breath and shoved the question out. “Who are my parents? Did you know them? How did you find me?”

He gazed softly at you, or as softly as he could manage, and denied the one request you’d ever asked of him. “I can’t do that.”

Your jaw hung open. “What?”

“I can’t.” Garp adjusted as if he was uncomfortable, like the words you needed sat awkwardly on his chest. “Trust me when I say you don’t want to know.”

All the years of almost fondness came crashing down as your eyes went steel-cold. “That’s not your decision to make, Vice Admiral.”

His eyes bored into yours. “I’m giving you five minutes.”

“Garp—”

“Four.” He stood, towering over you. “Four minutes to get out before I become a marine again.”

The situation was falling from your hands. You stepped toward him firmly. “Grandpa.” He made no move. “I need to know. Why was I left alone?”

Though his hand rested on his pistol, you never flinched or batted an eye. He wouldn’t hurt you, his granddaughter. Despite all your differences, despite the blood you didn’t share, surely that still held you together. 

“Please,” you begged. The floor rumbled the longer your fists clenched. “Tell me.” His eyes darted up to meet your own. You nodded firmly. “I can handle it.”

Garp turned his back on you and heaved a sigh that shook his great shoulders, his brow pinched between two fingers. You had him. You knew you did. Any moment he would say a name, or a place, or anything that could lead you home. A home you’d never seen but felt deeply set in the cavern of your chest. And once you had it back, you’d be whole. Surely, this chasm created by the loss of your faux-brothers would be filled and you would be a full person once again—

“Red Hair.”

The floor stilled. The tide out at sea fell to a halt. On bated breath, you willed him to look you in the eye again. “Sorry?”

He had to have muttered. You heard wrong. Because those words with that tone could only mean one man, and if his answer truly was that man then your whole childhood you’d been on the cusp of fullness and he had to have known who you were, which meant many more things you couldn’t bear to think. 

But Garp opened his eyes and glared down at the piece of rotting floor at his feet. “Red Haired Shanks brought you to Makino and left. Makino was too young, had too many worries. So I stepped in.”

The seafloor broke in tandem with your heart. Somehow, the whole crew survived the sinking of Garp’s ship—somehow your friends had been captured along the way, and somehow you managed to escape and leave them behind. 

And ever since, the Silent Death roamed the seas, shaking islands and toppling cities in your wake, falling into anonymity as you lost every connection, every employer, every friend till the name was near forgotten.

Sometimes, though, in towns so small they don’t make it on a map, there are still whispers of the Earthshaker, swearing up and down there was something off about that girl ghosting down the street.

જ ⁀ ➴

You thought about that day often. How it ended. What it meant. Every time you found yourself happy, your laughter trailed off as the perfect image of Red Haired Shanks crossed your mind, or maybe it was the frightened looks on your friends' faces. 

Either way, you slipped out of the conversation as swift as the wind, drawing into yourself and growing eerily quiet. 

You liked to think yourself nonchalant, mysterious even, and no one could tell what went on behind your guise; not a single person on that crew could agree. As kind as your brother's friends were, they were nosey as hell. 

The faster you could get away from them, the better. 

It was just your luck Luffy’s next destination was the damn sky.

Luffy always knew how to defy the laws of the universe, always fooling around until gravity and physics gave way under his touch—but this was something else, even for him. The thought struck you as the Going Merry rode the knock-up stream, clinging to the mast as the pressure of the wind made your skin feel like it was going to fly right off. 

Though bleary vision you gazed up at your brother. He held onto his hat for dear life, the sound of his laughter overpowering the roaring waters of the geyser. The Luffy I knew could only ever dream of this. He was much stronger than the brother you left behind, and you suppose he had these friends of his to thank for that. The whole crew was crazy beyond compare; the Strawhat Pirates deserved each other, belonged together.

You hugged the mast closer as the brightness of the sun broke through the storm. Do I belong anywhere? You didn’t have the chance to fathom an answer. The Going Merry burst from the clouds and made a beautiful arc across the sky before plummeting down to meet the waters of the White Sea.

જ ⁀ ➴

The bonfire twisted and turned ferociously at the center of the celebration. What was being celebrated? You didn’t have a clue, but at least everyone was having fun. Luffy certainly was, dancing hand-in-paw with the weird wolves of the Upperyard. 

He was so happy that it made you a little sick inside. When you first joined Luffy on his ship, you thought maybe, just maybe, your luck would turn around. You wouldn’t feel so alone anymore, not with your brother at your side… but he wasn’t at your side. He was at theirs, these new friends he’d gathered. His new family. 

Luffy never did need you, not like you needed him, but he’d always been there. Now, sitting at the edge of the campsite, Luffy felt miles away on a jovial island where he got everything he ever wanted: a ship, a crew, a quest of sorts.

The issue was that you didn’t know what you wanted. How could you reach for something you couldn’t name? 

Robin moved from her place in the outskirts to join you in yours, settling down beside you. Her eyes glimmered and reflected the fire as it rose to its highest peak. 

“You’ve been quiet ever since we landed at the altar,” she said.

You hugged your knees to your chest. “I haven’t had anything to say.”

“I doubt that.” Robin cast you a sideward glance. “You seem far away.”

You jazzed your hands with a dismissive air. “Hate to disagree, but I’m right here, Miss All Sunday.”

It was like the air around her shriveled up and choked you violently. Robin narrowed her eyes into slits as she turned away. “That’s not my name. Not anymore.”

“I know,” you quipped, only a little sorry. “It still rings though, doesn’t it?” 

She stood with a final huff and trudged to join Zoro at a nearby log. Alone again. How you tended to be. It became more and more natural with every passing day. You rested your head on your knees to block out the sounds. You missed Ace. You missed Sabo. And despite his close proximity, you missed Luffy.

Nothing was turning out how it was supposed to. Nothing…

You wondered if you somehow made your way back to Dadan, then you would realize she was the family you’d never appreciated… but that was stupid. She hated taking care of you. You stood silently and turned to wander into the forest simply because you felt like making stupid decisions. Besides, maybe being alone would make everything make sense.

You hadn’t made it five minutes before someone called your name and you stopped, sighing sharply. Luffy stumbled through the brush to chase after you, a smile planted on his face despite the perplexed quirk of his brow.

“You know, most people walk into the woods to be alone,” you huffed.

Luffy’s brows vaulted. “Why would you wanna be alone? Everyone’s having so much fun. And it’s dangerous out here too.”

Searching for an answer, you took to leaning on a wide tree, propping your foot up against it. “I wasn’t having fun. I just—need to be by myself. Okay?”

He didn’t understand one bit, that much was clear from how he plopped himself down on the ground. Luffy crossed his arms with an expectant flair, nodding to the space right in front of him.  You rolled your eyes, considered bolting into the dark, and eased yourself onto the dirt. 

Ever since you were kids, Luffy would occasionally get this contemplative look about him. It frightened you to no end, especially now that he was older and grown into himself. 

“What happened?” he blurted.

“What do you mean?” you asked, head tilted. He could be so cryptic.

Luffy readjusted to lean forward a bit, the look in his eyes scrutinizing you head to toe. “I mean that you’re acting weird. Did something happen?”

You puffed indignantly. “I’m not acting weird.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

It was childish, maybe, but it didn’t stop you from glaring with an apparent pout on your face. Luffy rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “Are too. Everyone can tell.”

You glared with all you had till it fell apart in a shouted whisper. “Everyone?”

He gave a firm nod. “Yep.”

Begrudgingly, you grunted and stomped over to sit in front of him, your crossed knees touching his. “I don’t believe you.”

“Well, I noticed.” Then there was that. “Something’s wrong and I can’t fix it unless you tell me.”

An empty laugh peeled out of you. “You can’t just fix this, Luffy.” You can’t just fix me.

“Try me,” Luffy challenged, and if there was one thing he knew about you, it was that you never turned down a challenge. Or, at least that’s how he remembered you. But when you met his gaze and all he saw was something so starkly grey and sad, he realized just how dire the situation was. You’d lost your spark. “C’mon. Tell me.”

“Luffy…”

“Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me~”

“Shut up!”

“You fess up!”

With a growl almost feral you launched yourself at him, hands clawing at his shoulders as he rolled over and tried to get the upper hand. You kicked at his gut and flipped over once more, glaring down at him. 

“Stupid!” he shouted, pushing at your face and accidentally pressing on your eye, dragging a shriek from you.

“Idiot!” You yelped as he shoved you off and sent the two of you tumbling down a short hill until you rolled to a stop in a patch of wild grass. Chest heaving, you stared at the night sky through the trees, listening to Luffy grumble about a bruise in his belly.

Finally calming your pulse, you lolled onto your side and glared with the fire of a thousand suns—until that flame fizzled out instantly, exhaustion winning over. Luffy sat up roughly and you eased yourself up too, your heart picking up pace as the words bubbled up within you.

“You wanna know why I’ve been so… weird?” You met his eyes tentatively, finding not an ounce of anger or teasing anywhere in his gaze. Only genuine seriousness, a rare sight in your brother.

“Well, yeah.”

You puffed a sigh. “I don’t know if you ever knew, but I’ve always kinda wondered about where I come from, who my parents were. Dadan didn’t know, and Garp was never around…”

“I never knew that,” Luffy said to himself, brows taut.

“I never really mentioned it, but it mattered to me, y’know? To know where I was born… to who.” Instantly thoughts and worries washed over you. You closed in on yourself, arms wrapped around folding knees. 

Luffy shifted closer. “Did you ever find out?”

You couldn’t dare to look at him. What would he do if he knew? You’d both known Shanks, followed him around, pestered him with questions. He was Luffy’s hero. What exactly would this do to him?

“I found out.” Luffy ducked around to catch your fleeting gaze, draining the air from you. That hat was snug on his head, red ribbon dull in the darkness. “I don’t think I should tell you.”

Rolling his eyes, Luffy flopped over dramatically into the grass, taking to carding his hands through the soft blades. “Just spit it out already. Nothing you say is gonna make me think differently ‘bout you.”

“I… I went to see Grandpa a few months ago with some friends on my old mercenary crew. I stormed in and forced him to tell me. Never was able to leave well enough alone… I got so freaked out that I sank his ship and got my friends captured. And I just ran away. I never looked back.”

“Ace said you were in a tough spot,” Luffy hummed. “I didn’t really get it. So, you gonna tell me what’s the matter?”

Always to the point. You tried to crack your neck but the satisfying snap never came, only leaving an uncomfortable strain in your muscles. You lifted your heavy gaze and settled him with a final, hard look. 

“Shanks.” As soon as you shoved the word out a heavy weight lifted off your chest. Luffy tilted his head even as understanding washed over his expression, as if he refused to process what you meant. “Shanks is my father, Luffy.”

The silence was palpable, sticking to your skin like tar, filling your throat and choking out all the air. That weight was back tenfold now, triggered by Luffy’s stiffness. “Luffy?

“Sorry,” he said with a shake of his head, blinking out of a daze. “I just don’t understand. He never said anything.”

“I know, but why would Grandpa lie? It kinda makes sense. Shanks always had this look when he looked at me, like he… like he regretted something big. A kind of wince.”

His jaw set all of a sudden, his hand raising to take his precious straw hat off his head and hold it in his lap. The both of you stared at it a long time before he mumbled, “Are you mad?”

That was the question, sucking in a breath and releasing it roughly. “Honestly? I don’t think so. Yeah, it was a dick move to stick around the island but never say anything, and I’m kinda frustrated Makino never said anything either, but what would it have changed?”

“Then why’re you so upset?” 

“‘Cause I…” I don’t have a place. I thought maybe I came from a solid ground that I could return to and feel whole again. But I was born a drifter and a drifter I’ll die. “I don’t really know.”

Luffy set his hat on your lap. “You wanted a home, right?”

Your brother was always oddly perceptive. You tried to answer but the words got caught on the way up, a strangled sound leaving you at that familiar burn of tears rose in the back of your throat. “I guess. It’s stupid.”

His hands grabbed your shoulders and jerked you around to get your attention. Luffy wore his signature grin. “You don’t need Shanks. You’ve got me and Ace, and my crew too.”

You couldn’t help but scoff as you wiped at your eyes. “They don’t care about me.”

“What? Of course they do!” Luffy shook you gently. “They all like you, and they’re worried about you too.”

“Really?” You sniffled miserably, daring to believe him.

He nodded and dropped his hands only to light up and slap your shoulder. “You wanted to join my crew, right?” 

“I-I never said that,” you choked.

“But you do.” Luffy was getting excited excited. “I miss you. I miss our adventures.” 

“Well, yeah, me too…” 

“So join my crew!”

The offer was tantalizing, hanging just overhead like a delicious fruit. “I… can’t. This is your place, your family.” 

“It can be your place too.” As true as that may be, it would never feel like it. You’d be stuck feeling like Luffy’s add-on sister.

And so it struck you oddly. A thought you’d felt in the back of your mind for months now. All your life you’d felt out of place and on the side. Your origins didn’t provide an out, and your brothers couldn’t do that either. What you needed, you realized, was a home you made yourself.

“I know,” you nearly whispered. “But I know there’s somewhere out there for me. A place that’s mine.” 

Luffy only let himself wallow in the disappointment two seconds before he smiled scantly and flicked at your forehead, drawing a startled blink out of you. “Then I’ll help you find it.”

Your jaw hung slightly as he rose to his feet and reached out a hand for you. Swallowing thickly, you smiled and took it firmly in yours. He pulled you to your feet and braced for impact as you all but threw yourself at him.

“I have missed you,” you mumbled. “More than you know, big brother.”

You bolted away the moment Luffy let slip a gasp, cackling into the wind as he collected his wits and took off after you.

“So you admit it!”

“No one will believe you! Haha!”

“Hey—No fair!”

જ ⁀ ➴

bonus..

All around the camp, the party fizzled out as one by one the wolves and pirates alike drifted off to sleep. 

She stood on the outskirts just like she had been earlier, yet now she held this inexpressible content look about her. Even with a slight smile, she was probably the scariest woman you’d ever seen. Stealing a breath, you headed over.

“Uhm, Robin?” Her smile fell instantly, brows rising just so. Welp, it was now or never. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I know that’s not who you are anymore and it was—insolent of me to do that.”

Robin’s eyes took you in like some kind of hawk, seeming to relish in your discomfort, till finally a grin chanced its way across her face. “It’s all right, I suppose. Thank you.”

You nodded gratefully and were just about turned to leave when she said, “I trust you figured yourself out, then?”

You glanced over your shoulder, unsure. “I think so. Yeah, I think so.”

She smiled. “Good.”

How odd all of Luffy’s friends were. How strange that they were all so bold. And how lovely that they cared, as hard as that was to believe.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

@lostfirefly @emmaiscool22 @thenightsflower @sylum @therinkuu @meritxellao @kultofkorii @100520s @kryscent

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (ii)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky at his little shit supreme, obnoxious reader, mentions of hauntings and the things that come with (body harm, priests, etc). images all have alt texts.

A/N: if you're familiar with the format of BuzzFeed unsolved videos, the pictures in this chapter make more sense. anyway we're starting small to warm up but i assure u there's like actual paranormal shit from next chapter onward <3 thank u for the chaotic response to chapter 1 ily guys sm ! as usual, please send me things you'd like to see in the series! it always make me so happy

Previous part || Series masterlist

Bucky loves the compound. The sentiment carries a lot, considering he’s made it a non-negotiable part of his personal brand to hate everything. 

The lush landscape is quiet, spacious enough that he isn’t forced to run into anyone he’s actively avoiding, and has state-of-the art security that lets him sleep soundly, assured that no one will be able to get to his floor in an assassination attempt. 

All of his deep love and fond admiration disappears when it’s the crackass of dawn and his oakwood door receives the beat down of a lifetime. 

He snaps awake instantly, unsure of whether there was someone actually trying to kick the shit out of his door or it was just another nightmare that often blurred lines with reality. 

But after the third deafeningly loud knock confirms it, he scrambles for a pair of pants just so that he isn’t caught entirely vulnerable. 

The thrashing doesn’t cease, and by the time he makes his way to the door and yanks it open– 

There’s no one on the other side. 

Except a coffee cup on the ground and a note scribbled haphazardly on the side.

Shoot day. See you at the studio!

He stares wordlessly at the cup, unable to differentiate whether the feeling coursing through the very fibres of his being currently is pure blinding rage, or confusion that you apparently knew his coffee order. 

The studio is fucking empty. If Bucky wasn’t still reeling from the effects of being startled awake by a fake intrusion at 5am, he’d have been over the damn moon.

He does his part as a man of honour and righteousness– calls out a very quiet ‘Hello?’ and then doesn’t bother feeling guilt when his heart explodes in joy at the lack of response.  

He spins on his heel to march out, only to come to an abrupt stop when he almost runs into you. He didn’t even fucking hear you come in. 

“Oh, hey.” You look at him, hand on a bagel. “You actually showed.”

Bucky’s smile falters, and he returns to his default Grinchian state. 

“You made sure I fuckin’ did,” he grumbles. “How’d you get on my floor?”

“I have my ways.”

Bucky’s glare presses hard into you almost like a palpable entity. 

“I did a gig as an escape artist for a while. Paid super well,” you dismiss. 

He doesn’t blink once, trying to decipher whether you’re telling him the truth or not. 

You offer him a bite from your bagel in return, seemingly having moved on from the conversation already. 

“Where’s everyone else?” he asks, turning away from you.   

“Maya didn’t actually think you’d show up on time so she told everyone to come an hour later.” You speak through a mostly full mouth. “I figured you could use the company.” 

Bucky immediately feels defensive, as if that wasn’t exactly what he tried to do. 

He grumbled all through the morning when he saw fifteen text reminders sent to him through the night telling him he had to shoot a video that day. He grumbled when he couldn’t use traffic as an excuse to not show up because the studio is two streets away from the compound. He grumbled when the toaster actually works for once. Everything is right in the world. This was, of course, devastating to him. 

He finally shuts up when Sam gives him a piece of gum. Then he just glowers, but his jaw is otherwise occupied. 

“She set you on me this morning?” Bucky questions, tone on the verge of being ticked. 

You shake your head, swallowing before taking another bite. “No, that was social service.”

Bucky’s eye twitches. 

“I’ll come back in an hour,” he mumbles, arms crossed over his chest. 

You give him a look that lets him know you’re entirely unconvinced. “Will you?”

Well. No.

“I’m gonna look around the studio. You’re welcome to join,” you say instead, looking past him. “We’ll need to know where we’re working for the next few months.”

Few months? No no– few hours at max, if this were to go exactly his way. 

“Video’s not gonna do numbers,” he reminds you in a dull utterance.

“With an enthusiasm like that, it’s hard to see why you’re not universally beloved, Barnes,” you comment seriously, before clapping his shoulder. “Come on. You ever look at yourself in a mirror? You’re gonna be a star, baby.”

Bucky, in his current chosen avatar, looks less 'man of the world' and more 'reject of the jungle’. 

But the sentiment is appreciated.

The studio is moderately big. 

You find joy in messing around with set pieces of the other Avengers video series that were being shot there. Bucky finds joy in locating every possible escape route within a three foot vicinity. 

He’s admittedly surprised by learning how much actually goes into making a simple video. He just figured they’d stick a camera in his face and teleprompt him and get it over it. 

You chat animatedly about the use of gimbals and different camera gear, lighting setups and sound quality.

“You into this stuff?” He raises an eyebrow.

“No, I just did a stunt as a wedding videographer once,” you wave off, “It was great. You could always tell which couples were gonna get divorced within a year.”

Something unrecognisable flashes in his eyes. 

“Escape artist and wedding videographer,” he repeats.

You stop talking to look at him.

“Yes,” you say simply and go on to provide no further explanation. 

If the morning’s antics weren’t enough, now he’s convinced you’re fucking with him.

“Anyway, they’ll probably stick us in makeup before we go on camera because it–”  

“Makeup?”

“Well– yeah. For the video.” Your eyes dart toward him, sizing him up in a quick glance. “If you look any paler, you’d basically be translucent.”

Bucky can’t even debate it. His skin looks like it hasn't felt the gentle touch of a sunray in millennia.  

“Just say it’s part of the theme.”

You snort. “The first ghost I hunt cannot be one who sits beside me.” 

So Bucky gets his makeup done. 

By the time the studio fills in, he’s already drunk two cups of the shitty breakroom coffee and found fifteen innocuous things to fashion into weaponry if things were to go awry.

The large bright lights force him to keep wiping beads of sweat away from his forehead. Everything exists in a contrarian state of frenzy, and coordinated down to the second as if it were a damn rocket launch. He’s already had three staff members dart about him cross checking if he’s hydrated and if he’s signed the right forms. 

“Oh, you actually showed,” he hears for the second time from Maya, who doesn’t even make an attempt to hide the earnest surprise from her voice.

Bucky wants to scream.

“The team’s picked a really simple case since it’s the first video. You just need to read it out,” she explains breezily, switching from you to him, “and you need to react.” 

You flash her a thumbs up. Bucky doesn’t move an inch. He’s convinced it’ll trigger another round of people meddling with his hair until it looks ‘sufficiently casual but not artificial’. 

 Maya hurriedly leaves after wishing you good luck, probably to fix the walking PR disaster that was Clint, who unceremoniously went live on his Instagram the night before after consuming something he procured from some guy in an alleyway, who described it as ‘carbonated milk’. Bucky watched it for a few seconds and immediately shut down the app when Clint offered to take one article of clothing off for every million people that tuned in.

“I asked for there to be as few people in the room as possible,” you whisper to him. 

“Still a lot,” he replies under his breath, watching them buzz around him, still brushing up his face and dabbing at his hairline with a napkin. 

Someone hands you a folder full of papers. “We lose any more and we’re filming this video ourselves.” 

“All ready!” The camera guy, Shane, announces. 

“Copy that,” you call back, before leaning forward in your chair, grinning. “Chill. I’m gonna do the talking. All you gotta do is say a few words and look pretty.” 

That sounds…doable. 

“Make it fast,” Bucky mutters, crossing his arms over his chest.

Whether he was talking about the video or his death is still up for debate. 

“Recording in three…two…one–”

The whole studio waits with bated breath, but Bucky stares right ahead. 

“When I said a ‘few words’, I did mean one or two, possibly more,” you talk through your smile.  

Bucky continues looking into the camera like it stole his ancestral property.

You exhale, soldiering on, lips still upturned. 

You look at Bucky, hopeful that he will at least answer a question. He doesn’t offer the same kindness, and now you understand why Maya reached out to you for this. 

So you do what needs to be done, as a person with a responsibility to all these fine and tired souls gathered here on a weekend.

You kick him under the table. 

The crew waits for Bucky to say more. He very pointedly doesn’t. 

At least one sound has been procured from him, which is more than what they can say for some other videos.

You continue, “Our story takes place in 1954, in the quaint, rural town of Ravenswood. Irene–”

Bucky scoffs. “You made that up.”

Would now be a good time for him to bring up your previous job experiences you  had dropped so casually or was this enough to let you know he was onto you? 

Your eyebrows pull together, scanning over the sentence. “I haven't even said anything yet.”

“A horror story. Taking place in Raven’s Woods,” Bucky emphasises. “Really.”

Bitch.

“First of all, it’s Ravenswood, not Raven’s Woods,” you shoot back. “And it exists.”

“Where?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“I don’t know– fuckin’ West Virginia?” You shuffle through the papers. “Does it matter? You wanna move there?”

Bucky doesn’t add anything further. 

You observe him for a moment before deciding to continue. 

“In the quiet town of Ravenswood,” you side eye him but he doesn’t look affected. “Irene Wendelin, a 35-year-old woman moved into a house on the outskirts to save up money. She lived alone, had no immediate relatives and worked as a secretary at the local press.”

Bucky continues chewing his gum. You’re not even sure he’s listening, but everyone got paid by the hour regardless of whether he did, so who gives a shit. 

“Within a few weeks of moving in, strange incidents started to take place. Irene’s friend Thelma, who also worked as a secretary at the press, recalled how Irene developed a persistent cough, was constantly fatigued, and had issues sleeping due to her skin itching. Thelma suggested solutions from ointments to medication, but not one remedy that she provided seemed to work. As time went by, Irene’s symptoms escalated into severe respiratory problems, leaving her breathless just from climbing up a flight of stairs. She even reportedly started having hallucinations of people crawling around in her house in the dark, but she was never able to catch them in their entirety.”

“How long did this take?” Bucky questions out of the blue, arms still crossed over his chest. 

“I think within a couple of weeks of moving in.” You try not to look too surprised. “Further, Thelma recalls Irene saying she heard strange sounds at night which kept her up. The only time the woman felt normal was when she left her house to stay with her cousins for a month.”

Bucky’s head snaps to you, eyes narrowing.  

“What?” you challenge.

“Nothin’,” he says instead. “Go on.”

You cast a look at the crew, who look just as confused as you, but you continue regardless. 

“Things escalated when one day, Irene showed up to work in complete disarray. Thelma says that upon a closer look, Irene had bite marks over her hands and legs. Thelma, a devout Christian, insisted on getting the place checked out by the church since all else had failed. Father Gabriel, a local priest, agreed to visit the house, but upon setting foot inside, claimed it was haunted by ‘forces of evil whose reality existed beyond mortal comprehension’. This was the last straw for Thelma, who had Irene move into her house until she found a new place to stay. Within a few weeks, Irene was back to normal, and the house is still considered one of the most haunted places in the country to this place, with no one allowed to enter.” 

Bucky looks at his arms, jaw tightening. 

Your eyebrow twitches.

You could see Maya shaking her head from across the room, entirely fucking defeated. 

You wait a few seconds but receive no response. Bucky’s gaze doesn’t shift from the table top. 

You start gathering the folder with the story in it, getting ready to read out your conclusion. 

You stare at him, but he doesn’t look up at you.

Collectively, every spine in the room straightens. 

“Asbestos?” you echo.

“Or mold. Could be either.” Bucky shrugs, chewing on the same stupid piece of gum that had lost its flavour hours ago. 

You look at him in bewilderment, partly because you weren’t expecting him to say anything at all, much less this. 

“Had an aunt once who thought she was possessed. Turns out her walls were full of mold.” 

You stare at him. “You’re lying.”

He finally turns to you, no traces of humour on his face. “She got remarried and moved out. Good as new.” 

“That doesn’t mean it’s asbestos.”

“Had the same symptoms an’ everything. Itchy skin, breathing problems, fatigue.” 

“Hallucinations?”

“Stress. Being poisoned twenty-four hours a day’ll do a number on anyone.”

“And the bite marks?” 

“You never had an itch so bad you just bit it?”

“On her legs?” you ask incredulously. “She bit her legs? Is that what you’re saying?”

Bucky shrugs. 

You look like you’re going to lose your mind. 

You clear your throat. “What about the priest?

Bucky snorts. “What ‘bout him?” 

“'Forces of evil whose reality existed beyond mortal comprehension’?” 

“Maybe it was her,” he fires back. “Maybe that's just how she was, how would you know?”

“You’re saying the forces of evil are just… her bad vibes?” you say it slowly, as if that would make it better. 

“Maybe.” Bucky’s shoulders rise and drop again. “My aunt was a real stick in the mud too. I coulda called her a force’a evil when she didn’t let me fire a bottle rocket into the tree.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. Bucky looks back innocently.

“You’re bullshitting.”

“About my aunt?” he scoffs. “I would never. Rest her soul. Made some damn good cranberry pie.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not asbestos.”

“Then why was she fine every time she moved out?”

“Because the house was haunted.”

“By mold.”

Maya clears her throat, pointing to her watch. 

You look back at her and clear your throat as well, shuffling around your papers. 

“Right. So that’s it for this episode.”

The camera guy yells “Cut!’ and you turn to look at Bucky.

But he’s already gone. 

The video goes up that weekend. 

It takes a considerable amount of time to edit, considering they had to bleep out  the steady stream of expletives that you didn’t even know Bucky was muttering under his breath, but got picked up by the mic anyway.

To Barnes (Work):

are you ready for your influencer era

He leaves you on seen. You think you’ll send him more memes of his stupid face.

To Barnes (Work):

influenza

Five hours since the video has gone up, and your phone starts buzzing more than usual. Nat’s already sent you a clearly AI generated article titled ‘Everything We Know About the Latest Avenger’, full of incorrect information and straight up lies. 

The first reviews are promising. Sort of. The newest generation of kids on Twitter are saying shit and using terms that are beyond you, but it looks good. You think.

And then somewhere close to midnight, your phone chimes with a text from a number you hadn’t yet saved. 

From unknown

Hey. Steve Rogers here. Great job on the video.

Your eyebrows shoot up, discarding your refreshing of the Subreddit that has popped up in your name. 

From unknown

Just letting you know though– he was lying.

From unknown

He doesn’t have an aunt. 

Motherfucker.

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