#Taylor Swift breaks another record

[akdoo]

Taylor Swift breaks another record, becoming the biggest winner in Billboard Awards history

https://akdoo.in/wp-content/uploads/2024/12/Taylor-Swift-breaks-another-record-becoming-the-biggest-winner-in-Billboard-Awards-history.jpg

Taylor Swift has made history at the 2024 Billboard Music Awards by becoming the most awarded artist in the event’s history. She won 10 awards during the ceremony, bringing her total to 49 Billboard trophies, surpassing the previous record held by Drake, who has 42 awards. This achievement solidifies her status as a dominant figure in the music industry.

Key Highlights from the Billboard Music Awards

Record-Breaking Wins: Swift’s 10 wins included prestigious accolades such as Top Artist, Top Female Artist, and Top Billboard 200 Album for her latest release, The Tortured Poets Department .

Nominations: She was nominated a remarkable 17 times at this year’s awards, reflecting her widespread acclaim and popularity.

Emotional Acceptance Message: Although she did not attend the event in person, Swift expressed her gratitude through a pre-recorded video message, calling the awards “the nicest early birthday present” as she celebrated her 35th birthday on December 13.

Fan Acknowledgment: In her message, she emphasized that these awards are a reflection of her fans’ support, stating, “I count these as fan-voted awards because you guys are the ones who care about our albums and come see us in concert”.

Summary of Awards Won

Award CategoryNumber of WinsTop Artist1Top Female Artist1Top Billboard 200 Album1Hot 100 Artist1Hot 100 Songwriter1Streaming Songs Artist1Radio Songs Artist1Billboard Global 200 Artist1Billboard 200 Album1Total10

Swift’s record-breaking achievement not only highlights her musical talent but also her ability to connect with audiences worldwide. As she continues to break records, she remains an influential figure in contemporary music.

[good-enemy]

Can I ask what you think about the Travis relationship? Do you think it’s real or PR? Do you think it will end any time soon? I just hate it so much

Honestly I have no idea, tbh i hadn't really thought about it being PR 🤔 I do think it's real but I wouldn't be like really shocked if it turned out to be PR lol

Idk how soon it will end or if it will end honestly, I feel like they might get married what with how much she talked abt it on ttpd and how much she obviously wants to get married but who knows, maybe she will just never stop working and never have time for marriage :(

[pucksandpower]

can i request charles leclerc x singer!reader when reader is basically taylor swift and their relationship is like her and travis kelce 🥹🥹 also charles telling his fellow drivers but they dont believe him until THE taylor swift!reader is in the paddock kissing him

IF ITS NOT TOO MUCH HASSLE OFC

Charles Leclerc x pop star!Reader - Social Media AU

kymillman

Liked by charles_leclerc, y/nupdates, and 492,815 others

kymillman Y/N MAKES HER PADDOCK DEBUT

Miss Americana arrives at the Circuit of the Americas and receives no less fanfare than the drivers themselves. Y/N Y/L/N will be singing The Star-Spangled Banner before the race later today!

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leclercbae this was only posted two minutes ago and charles has already managed to like it? must be a new record even for him

enchantedtifosa the devil works hard but charles “y/n y/l/n’s biggest fan” leclerc works harder 🫡

leclercupdates did anyone else see the video of charles spotting y/n walking into the paddock as he was exiting the ferrari motorhome?

f1girlie he turned around to go back inside so fast that the automatic door didn’t even have time to open and he slammed his forehead into the glass 😭

scuderialeclerc charles is trying (and failing miserably) to hide that he’s fangirling harder than anyone has ever fangirled before

y/nupdates

Liked by f1wagupdates, ferrarinews, and 683,294 others

y/nupdates Y/N Y/L/N attending the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix as a guest of Scuderia Ferrari today

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lightsoutleclerc crossover of the freaking year

fearlessferrari decade

tifositwilight century

leclercmidnights millennium

f1wagupdates how crazy would it be if the rumors are true and y/n really is at the race because she’s dating charles?

mirrorballeclerc being delulu is the solulu but even my delulu has limits 😂

f1wagupdates well it seems that my delulu is actually trululu

f1wagupdates

Liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername, and 1,085,793 others

f1wagupdates This week one year ago, Charles Leclerc attended The Eras Tour as a fan just like the rest of us. Today, Charles Leclerc proudly kissed Y/N Y/L/N after winning the Azerbaijan Grand Prix. King of our hearts and king of manifesting 👑

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charles_leclerc what if i told you i’m a mastermind? and now you’re mine

yourusername what if i told you none of it was accidental? and the first night that you saw me i knew i wanted your body

charles_leclerc once upon a time, the planets and the fates and all the stars aligned

yourusername you and i ended up in the same room at the same time

f1wagupdates i have managed to run this account for five years without getting jealous but this might be my breaking point

tifositears god really saw how much pain ferrari was putting charles through and decided to make his biggest dream come true as an apology

formurrari he deserved it after 2023

charles_leclerc and i would suffer through another season of driving the SF-23 and every single horrible strategy call again if it meant getting to call y/n my own

yourusername i love you 🥹

charles_leclerc i love you more ❤️

yourusername i love you most 🫶

charles_leclerc i love you mostest 😘

landonorris OKAY WE GET IT

charles_leclerc be nice to me or i’ll tell y/n to take away your tickets to her next show

landonorris … carry on

pierregasly also king of never shutting up about his girlfriend

charles_leclerc and proud of it

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

Hey girl! I absolutely love your work. The way you write Desi reader is phenomenal

I was hoping you could write a Lando fic where he and Reader go to a trampoline park for a date and he's live streaming. He sees that she's very sweaty from all the fun and he comments on it and she says "as if you could make me this sweaty, Norris" AND IT GETS CAUGHT ON CAMERA

If you're not comfortable with the last part maybe only the trampoline park date?

Sweaty Opportunities ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

ᰔᩚ ln x reader 🧸ྀི

ᰔᩚ fluff + humour + smau 🧸ྀི

masterlist ☾☼

date days were y/n's favourite, even more than date nights. of course, date nights had a different class of its own. with the wine, and the fine dining, and the pretty dresses and suits that always end up on the floor of the living room because they couldn't wait to make it to the bedroom. it was amazing, definitely.

but, y/n tended to enjoy the date days more. it contained of spending the entire day exploring, eating, and just being kids. they would be in far more comfortable clothes, and would walk around hand-in-hand everywhere. most of their date days were usually lando's ideas, and they were always something reckless and exhilarating. it always made lando's face a pretty red that y/n could never stop kissing.

this particular date, lando had told her that he was going to be making another landolog since it had been a long time. y/n had readily agreed, well aware of how much lando enjoyed making the landologs.

"babe, are you ready?" his voice called out from the living room.

"coming!" y/n replied, trying to get her anklet untangled from her sock so that it didn't break.

lando stood at the door of the room, with the camera in his hand, "chat, this happens every time! i tell her we need to leave at 12, she starts getting ready 12!"

"liar! i was ready to go before you!"

"apparently not, seeing that i've worn my shoes and everything, and you still only have on sock on," lando teased.

"my anklet got stuck again," y/n looked at him with the best puppy eyes she could.

lando sighed, always unable to resist her cute face, "fine, hold the camera,"

she smiled, making a funny face at the camera before she turned it around to record lando. the man had knelt on the floor, and was focused on getting her anklet untangled.

"he's such a nice boy, taking care of me. mumma approves of you too, na," y/n cooed at him.

lando smiled, shaking his head at her, knowing that she was making fun of him. he made a sound from the back of his throat, acknowledging that he heard her. y/n ran her fingers through his hair, talking in the camera how soft his hair was, and how she was envious of it.

"alright, done," lando said, as he stood up after untangling the anklet. he offered his hand to y/n, and she took it, standing up. lando pulled her close to his chest, the camera stuck between them.

y/n laughed, "lan! you're crushing the camera!"

lando pressed a kiss to her lips, and said, "well, they didn't need to see that anyway,"

the two grabbed their essentials, still bickering and bantering, laughing into the camera, as they left the apartment, and into the car.

the camera recorded the couple singing (read as: screaming) taylor swift songs on their way to lando's surprise date location.

"where are we going?" y/n asked.

"we're almost there, lovie. a little more patience."

"look who's talking about patience!" y/n turned towards the camera, and said, "this man has the least amount of patience i've ever seen, okay?"

"that's not true!"

"you almost burned down our home because you decided to set the oven at double the temperature because you thought it would cook quicker!"

"logically, it makes sense!"

"its a miracle we have a roof over our heads, lando!"

he laughed, a loud, shrieking kind of laugh. 

pulling into the parking lot, lando turned off the ignition, and quickly grabbed the camera to catch y/n’s face change from confusion, to understanding, to childlike excitement. he knew this was one of the few places y/n had always wanted to come to, and now, she would finally have the opportunity. 

“you got me to a trampoline park!” y/n shrieked. 

lando winced at the loud sound, but smiled nonetheless, “happy date day, baby!”

y/n wrapped her arms around her boyfriend’s neck, the camera forgotten on his lap, as he hugged her back. “thank you, thank you, thank you!” she whispered. 

“i love you,” he whispered back. 

she kissed him, letting him know that she loved him too. 

getting out of the car, y/n jumped excitedly as lando laughed, holding the camera. seeing lando lock the car, y/n immediately began running towards the entrance. zooming on the camera to show just how far she had ran, lando said, “chat, she’s a little crazy, but i’m so head over heels for her,” 

following y/n inside, lando handed her the camera as she showed the place around and yapped. meanwhile, he paid for the tickets, and walked to where y/n was. she had been standing by the popcorn machine, talking to the camera like she was talking to another human. sneaking behind her, lando wrapped his arms around her waist and picked her up. y/n laughed, but let him walk towards the entrance of the trampoline park.

she set the camera down, angling it towards them, as the couple removed their shoes, and stored it in one of the cubicles. 

“so, how long are we here?” y/n asked. 

“well, it’s three hours of jumping and bouncing-” 

“that’s what she said,” 

“-and then we go out for lunch, and have cheesecake for dessert, and back home, where we can either sleep or do other things if we have more energy,” lando finished. 

y/n smacked his arm, “you better edit that out!” 

“you’re the one with the dirty mind! i just meant we could bake something or have a movie marathon!” 

“you’re lying, you liar!” lando laughed as he ran from y/n’s smack attack. 

grabbing the camera, he ran inside, immediately bouncing and gaining more speed than y/n. but, she wasn’t far behind. though, once she began jumping on the trampolines, her smack attack on lando was quickly forgotten. the couple went through every zone the park had to offer, playing trampoline basketball, jumping into a ball pit, and obstacle courses that were almost everywhere. 

y/n pushed lando often, laughing every time he fell and bounced back. lando returned the favour. they challenged each other to stupid things, like who could jump the highest. 

“it’s not fair! you’re taller than me! of course, you jumped higher than i did!” 

“that sounds like a you problem, lovie!” 

“bitch!”

or, they challenged each other to who could fall the farthest in the ball pit. 

“i totally won!” 

“no, you didn’t! you moved the balls from the sides, so now we don’t know!” 

“oh, quit crying just ‘cause you lost!” 

“you lost!” 

most of the challenges were unfair for y/n, given that lando only proposed the ones that would benefit him, and in her excitement, she wouldn’t realise it until after she lost. she did try to trick him and win, and that worked. lando said it didn’t count, but everyone knew who the boss was. 

“ready? three, two, one, go!” 

“ow, ow, ow, ow,” 

“lovie? you okay? what’s wrong?”

“i think i twisted my ankle,” 

“oh, baby, lemme see,” 

“ha! tricked you!” 

“wha-? hey! no fair!” 

“sorry, can’t hear you from the finish line!” 

their friendly competitions had resulted in red faces shining from sweat, and bright smiles. the day was exactly what they needed, and y/n had plans to show just how grateful she was to lando for planning such a date. they exchanged kisses, played with the other kids in the park, and tried to outdo one another. it made y/n fall more in love with lando. 

the camera facing towards them, lando watched as y/n jumped on a trampoline square behind him, spreading her arms and legs, making a star every time she was in the air. 

“you’re so sweaty,” lando commented as he looked at his girlfriend’s flushed face. 

y/n smirked, “it's because of the jumping around for three hours. as if you could ever make me so sweaty, norris,” 

his mouth fell open as he processed her retort. she laughed at his expression, and began jumping away. lando quickly grabbed her hand and said, “as if i could ever- come on, we’re going home,” 

“what? why? we still have lunch left!” 

“nope. i’m going to show you just how sweaty i can make you,” 

y/n laughed but followed. she wasn’t going to pass on an opportunity like this. she’d never.

lando.jpg

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lando.jpg i CAN make her that sweaty

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¸.☆¸.♡.¸

hi! i tried to make this desi!reader, but i just didn't find a lot of places where i could incorporate that, so i tried my best to stick to a neutral, imagine-what-you-like character. i hope you enjoy this! i've also got a link for my taglist, prompt list, and all of that you can find here! i'd love your support! https://ko-fi.com/kavi2305

[ghostlycamil4]

haaai looooove your writing <3

realizing ur in love with ur childhood bsf bakugou.. and then panicking even more when u realize he likes u back cus what if everything gets all weird

if ud like, i think a little angst would go well too but THANKU AS ALWAYS

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜: 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑊𝑎𝑠, 𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑊𝑎𝑠 𝑀𝑦 𝐵𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝐹𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑.

anon, tysm for waiting and for sending this req, fr. sorry it took a bit i was lowkey struggling to hit the right vibe, but i think i finally got it down. biggest inspo for this piece was my boy only breaks his favorite toys (first draft) by taylor swift. if you know it or take a sec to listen, you’ll get exactly where my brain (and heart lol) was at while writing. hope u like it!!

The sound of running water told you he was in the shower. You didn’t care. He didn’t care.

You were about to throw yourself onto the bed, probably to wait for him half-asleep or snoop through his shelf of records, when you saw it.

A notebook.

Opened right in the middle.

Almost begging you to read it.

You hesitated.

You shouldn’t.

That cramped handwriting, with the lines disobeying the margin, like writing was also a fight for him.

The first line was brutal.

I hate you.

I hate you because I shouldn't care this much.

I hate you because you make me want to stay still, to listen to you, to look at you.

I hate you because you make me want things I don’t even dare to name.

I hate you because you're always there. Because you know me.

Because you know when to shut me up, when to provoke me, and when to stay silent.

And even then, you don’t see all of this that’s killing me inside.

I hate myself more for not saying it.

For writing this like a coward, because I’m scared to look you in the eye and lose you.

The notebook trembled in your hands. You didn’t know if you should drop it or keep reading. You didn’t know if you should cry or laugh or run. He was right there, just a few steps away, on the other side of the bathroom door, unaware that you had come in. Unaware that you had just seen his heart written in black ink.

Bakugo didn’t say things like that. He didn’t. He pushed, growled, locked himself up like a damn stone fortress. And yet there it was. That letter—that emotional purge—was the most honest thing you’d ever seen in your life.

And the water in the shower stopped running.

You left so fast you almost twisted your ankle. You closed the door without a sound, holding your breath like that could erase what you’d just read.

You leaned your back against the hallway wall, your heart pounding hard. It wasn’t fear that Bakugo would catch you. It wasn’t adrenaline.

It was the letter.

It was him.

Because…

Because you were in love with him too.

Because you had spent years convincing your heart it was one-sided, that Bakugo would never see you that way.

That if he had ever looked at you a moment too long, if his gaze had ever drifted to your hands or to the mole on your neck, it had been an accident.

But it wasn’t.

It wasn’t.

And the worst part wasn’t that he felt the same.

The worst part…

The worst part was thinking about everything that could go wrong.

What if it was just an impulse?

What if you were both confused, if it was a fantasy born from years of closeness, from the habit of having each other?

What if it ruined everything?

Because losing him as a friend…

Losing him completely…

That would hurt more than never being loved back.

So you’d rather never know.

You’d rather keep pretending.

You’d rather keep loving him in silence, than risk turning it all into just another memory.

Because if you lose him…

You lose yourself too.

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

[songbirdseung]

𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑳𝑬𝑵  𝑴𝑶𝑴𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑺  /  𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑲  𝑱𝑶𝑵𝑮𝑺𝑬𝑶𝑵𝑮

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨,𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐉𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐬. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 

A fresh new relationship, both of you inexperienced in the world of romance. Everything felt exciting but nerve-wracking at the same time. You and Jay were each other’s first in everything—first love, first kiss, first deep connection.

But your jobs made it harder than you’d imagined. Jay was a global superstar, still young into the Korean music industry but already in high demand. Meanwhile, you were working toward your college undergrad degree, your days packed with lectures, assignments, and research. Finding time for each other, let alone for yourselves was never easy. You both knew the sacrifices this relationship would require, the compromises you’d have to make. Yet, somehow, you made it work. You understood each other in ways that made it all worth it.

HYBE had been surprisingly generous, allowing the relationship to continue under strict conditions. Keeping things a secret from fans was crucial for Jay’s career and for your safety. That meant no public dates, no subtle hints, no room for rumors. So, your time together was limited to quiet moments behind closed doors. Home dates became your safe haven.

Whenever you had a free day, you spent it in the practice room or recording studio; wherever Jay was. Not just for moral support, but because he was home to you.

And Jay? He loved seeing you there. Sure, he appreciated the snacks you brought, the way you doted on him, but really, he just wanted you.

"Okay, stop for now. Let’s take a break," Heeseung called out, lowering the music as he plopped onto the floor, the others following with exhausted groans.

"I'm so sick of this song already," Jay muttered as he walked over to you, dropping onto the couch beside you.

Without a word, he rested his head on your lap, his warm breath hitting your skin. You smiled, grabbing a face towel and gently wiping away his sweat.

"But your fans will love it for sure," you murmured.

Jay hummed in response, barely nodding. He was drained, his body heavy against you. You handed him a bottle of water, watching as he took slow sips before leaning his head back against the wall.

"Babe, stop staring at me," he muttered, cracking one eye open. "You look like a creep."

You grinned. "I can’t help it. You’re so gorgeous. It honestly hurts."

Jay narrowed his eyes before letting out a soft chuckle. "Is that a Taylor Swift reference?"

You gasped dramatically. "You got it!"

He smirked. "Of course I did. You sing her songs way too loudly in your room."

"Why don’t you audition?" Jay asked suddenly.

You blinked. "You’re funny, Jay."

But he wasn’t laughing. He tightened his hold on your hand, looking at you with quiet sincerity. "I’m serious. I’ve seen you when you’re actually giving your all. You could pass an audition, babe."

Your heart squeezed at his words. You wanted to believe him, but deep down, you didn’t think your skills could compare to his.

"Even ask the guys," he continued. "They love your voice. Remember karaoke night? They didn’t even believe it was you singing."

Jay's smile faltered slightly as another memory from that night surfaced.

"...Then you sang a duet with Heeseung instead of me," he grumbled.

"You didn’t want to, that’s why," you shot back before he could finish.

Sunoo, who had been eavesdropping, dramatically rolled his eyes. "You guys are cute and all, but can you respect us singles? Some of us don’t have a significant other."

"Go get a room or something," he teased, making the others laugh.

Jay, ever the troublemaker, stuck his tongue out before snuggling into you even more.

"Okay, okay, go practice now," you said, pushing him off with a chuckle. You reached for the speaker, ready to start the music again.

This was routine by now. The playful teasing, the soft touches, the warmth that settled between you whenever you were around each other.

And neither of you would trade it for anything.

At the end of the day, saying goodbye was never easy.

"Okay, I’ll leave first and meet you at the dorms later, okay?" You slung your bag over your shoulder, glancing at Jay.

"Are you staying over?" he asked, hopeful.

You nodded. "Yeah, just for tonight."

"For how long? Forever?" He hugged you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"You wish, Jay," you teased, turning in his arms.

He pouted. "Text me when you get home, okay? And be safe."

You smiled as he leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, then your cheeks, before finally capturing your lips in a sweet goodbye.

"I will. See you later, love."

With one last glance, he sighed and turned back to the studio.

The elevator ride down to the garage gave you a clear view of the city. The bright lights of Seoul sparkled, but your eyes drifted lower to the crowd gathered outside HYBE. Fans, cameras, eyes always watching.

A familiar voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

"One of these days, you're gonna have to tell the world, right?"

You turned to see one of Enhypen’s managers, the one who usually drove you home or to the dorms. Over time, you’d grown close.

"Do we really?" you murmured.

"In the future," he said. "Maybe when you two get married. Or have a kid."

Your cheeks burned at the thought. Marriage? You hadn’t even let yourself go there yet.

"That’s way too early to think about," you muttered, hiding your flustered face.

The manager just chuckled.

Back at the dorm, the scent of a home-cooked meal greeted the boys as they stepped inside.

"That smells amazing," Sunghoon said, following the scent into the kitchen. The dining table was set with everyone’s favorite dishes, as if there were something to celebrate.

Jake peered into Jay’s shared room and grinned. "She’s here, isn’t she?"

The others followed, peeking into the dimly lit room, where they found you fast asleep.

"Awh, she’s sleeping," Jungwon whispered.

"Let’s let her rest," Heeseung said. "We should eat first."

The moment dinner started, Riki decided to be a menace.

"Since Y/N cooked for us, the least we could do is make Jay wash the dishes," he declared.

Jay shot him a glare. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah, for sure! You’re the dad here," Sunghoon chimed in.

And that was that. Jay had lost.

When you woke up later that night, you found Jay sulking at the kitchen sink, drying the last plate.

"Did you lose a bet again or something?" you teased, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind.

He groaned. "This is all Riki’s fault."

You laughed, pressing a small kiss to his back. He quickly wiped his hands, then took your hand and led you back into his room.

"Did you eat dinner?" he asked.

"Yeah, before you guys got home."

Satisfied with your answer, Jay collapsed onto his bed, pulling you down with him. His arms immediately wrapped around you, locking you in place.

Poor Jake had to walk in just in time to witness the scene.

Jay smirked. "Jealous?"

Jake rolled his eyes. "Just keep it down, lovebirds."

You and Jay just laughed, settling deeper into each other’s warmth.

[youngsadlesbian]

THE ONE SHE CHOSE

pairing: taylor swift x reader

summary: what started as a secret turned into heartbreak. but when taylor finally chooses love over fear, will you be able to trust her again?

a/n: my first with taylor x reader in a romantic way. hope u like it <3

word count: 2,5k

warnings: angst but with a happy ending <3

The first time you met Taylor Swift, it was at a high-profile music industry party—one of those events where champagne flowed endlessly, executives laughed a little too loudly, and every conversation felt like a transaction. You had just landed your first major record deal, your name beginning to make its way through the industry like an echo of something promising.

And Taylor? She was already Taylor Swift. The empire. The legend. The woman whose songs had narrated your teenage heartbreaks and dreams in equal measure.

You hadn’t expected to meet her, much less talk to her. But somehow, fate—or maybe just good timing—placed you right beside her at the bar.

She turned her head, those piercing blue eyes locking onto yours, and smiled. "I don't think we've met yet."

Your throat dried instantly. "Uh—no. I mean, I’d remember if we had."

Her laugh was soft, effortless. "You’re the one everyone’s talking about. The rising star."

You tried to play it cool, shrugging as you picked up your drink. "And you’re the one everyone’s been talking about for, what? Almost two decades now?"

She smirked, swirling the wine in her glass. "Touché."

That night, the two of you talked like old friends. It was easy—too easy. She made you feel like you belonged, like you weren’t just another newcomer struggling to prove your worth. The industry could be ruthless, but in that moment, with Taylor by your side, you almost believed it didn’t have to be.

And so, the friendship began. The kind that was private, stolen between studio sessions and late-night texts.

The kind that turned into something more before you even had the chance to realize it.

It started as an adventure.

The kisses behind closed doors, the whispered secrets in dimly lit hotel rooms. You told yourself it was fine—this was Taylor Swift, and of course, things had to be complicated.

"Just us," she’d murmur against your lips, her hands tangled in your hair. "No cameras, no headlines."

And for a while, you didn’t mind. You were still finding your place in the world, and she was offering you something so intoxicating it felt worth the secrecy.

But then, the contract happened.

You had known about Hollywood relationships being fake before, but when you heard about this one—Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce, the golden couple—your heart clenched in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

At first, you pretended it didn’t bother you.

"He’s just for the public," she told you, lying in your bed after sneaking away from yet another high-profile event with him. "You know that."

And you did. But knowing didn’t make it any easier.

Because then came the moments you hadn’t prepared for—watching her hold his hand in public, hearing her gush about him in interviews, seeing her eyes light up for him in a way that looked too real.

The way you had always wished she’d look at you.

The breaking point came on a quiet evening in your apartment. You were supposed to be happy—your album had just gone platinum, your name was no longer just a whisper but a headline of its own.

But all you could think about was Taylor.

About how you had been the one there in the silence, in the moments in between the flashing lights. And yet, she could never claim you the way she claimed him.

When she walked through your door that night, you didn’t even let her speak before saying, "I can’t do this anymore."

Her brows furrowed. "What?"

"This." You gestured between you. "Loving you in the shadows while the world thinks you love someone else."

She stepped closer, panic flashing in her eyes. "You know why I can’t—"

You shook your head. "I did know. And I let myself believe it was enough." You swallowed hard. "But it’s not."

Her hands reached for yours, but you pulled away.

"I wanted to be the person you’d be proud to love in front of the world," you admitted, voice breaking. "But I can’t keep pretending that hiding is the same thing as being loved."

The silence between you was deafening.

And then, barely above a whisper, she said, "I’m sorry."

But "sorry" wasn’t enough to stay.

So you left.

Years passed.

You became someone. The world knew your name, your music, your story. You stood on the biggest stages, your voice echoing in sold-out arenas.

And unlike Taylor, you had made the choice to be open.

You came out, let the world see you for who you were, and never hid the way your heart loved. And the world loved you for it.

Taylor never stopped watching from the sidelines.

She cheered for you in private, liked your posts from a secret account, hummed your songs when no one was listening.

She never stopped wanting you.

And then, one night, she found you again.

At another industry event, just like the first time.

You felt her before you saw her. And when you turned, there she was.

Older. Wiser. Still the most beautiful person you’d ever seen.

"Hey," she said, as if no time had passed at all.

"Hey," you replied, though your heart was hammering in your chest.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

And then, softly, she asked, "Are you happy?"

You hesitated. Because the truth was, you were. You had built a life for yourself, one where you didn’t have to hide, where love wasn’t a secret.

But Taylor had been your great love, your burning red, your almost.

And so you answered honestly. "I am."

She nodded, exhaling. "Good."

You should have left it at that.

But then, before you could stop yourself, you asked, "Are you?"

She looked at you for a long time, as if debating whether to tell the truth.

And finally, she whispered, "I could be."

For a moment, you weren’t sure you had heard her correctly.

"I could be."

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest. Because that wasn't a yes, wasn't a declaration of contentment—it was a quiet admission that somewhere along the way, she had lost herself in the life she had chosen.

And then, as if realizing she had said too much, Taylor cleared her throat and offered a small smile. "I, um—I've been keeping up with you."

You raised an eyebrow, attempting to ignore the way your pulse quickened. "Oh?"

"Yeah." She tilted her head, watching you carefully. "You've been doing amazing. Headlining stadiums, breaking records." A pause. "Coming out."

You swallowed. That had been a turning point for you, a choice to live freely, without fear or shame. A choice you had made knowing full well that Taylor could never make the same one.

She shifted on her feet, gaze flickering away before she murmured, "And… dating a certain British pop star?"

Ah. There it was.

You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. "Are you fishing for information, Swift?"

She gave you a look, one that was half-amused, half-something else—something unreadable. "Can you blame me?"

You thought about lying. About teasing her, leading her to believe the rumors were true just to see if it would crack that perfectly composed exterior of hers.

But you weren’t that person.

"She’s a friend," you admitted, watching her carefully. "We’ve collaborated, we spend time together, but—" You sighed. "No. I’m not dating her."

Taylor let out a breath, something that sounded dangerously close to relief, but she quickly masked it with a sip of her drink.

Still, you saw it.

You felt it.

"Why do you care?" you asked, keeping your voice soft but steady.

Her fingers tightened around the stem of her wine glass. "I don't know."

Liar.

She did know. She knew exactly why she cared.

"Taylor—"

"I shouldn't have let you go."

The words slipped out so quietly, so suddenly, that for a second you thought you had imagined them.

But then she was looking at you, truly looking at you, and you saw it—the weight of all the years, all the regrets.

And just like that, you were twenty-two again, sitting in your apartment with your heart in your hands, listening to her tell you she couldn’t.

Couldn’t love you the way you deserved.

Couldn’t give you a future where you didn’t have to hide.

Couldn’t be brave enough to choose you.

Your throat tightened. "Taylor, don’t do this if you’re not sure."

She stepped closer. "I am sure."

You shook your head, exhaling sharply. "No, you’re not. You weren’t back then, and I can’t—" You swallowed hard. "I can't go through that again. I won't."

Her eyes softened, and this time, when she spoke, it was almost a plea. "I've spent years pretending that I don’t miss you. That I don’t regret every single moment I let you believe you weren’t enough for me."

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to ignore the way your heart was screaming at you to believe her.

"Let me prove it to you," she whispered.

You hesitated. Because this—this was everything you had wanted back then.

But was it still what you wanted now?

Could you risk it?

Could you let her back in, knowing what it had cost you the first time?

Taylor reached for your hand, fingers barely brushing against yours.

"You don’t have to decide right now," she murmured. "But if there’s even a part of you that still believes in us, I—" She swallowed. "I won’t hide anymore."

The weight of her words settled between you, heavy and undeniable.

And for the first time in years, you felt something crack open in your chest.

Hope.

Maybe—just maybe—this time, you wouldn’t have to be her secret.

Maybe this time, she would choose you.

You didn't give her an answer that night.

Despite the raw honesty in Taylor's words, the years of unspoken longing, and the way your heart ached to believe her, you weren't ready to just fall back into her arms.

She had to prove it.

And she did.

Slowly. Patiently.

Taylor started texting you again—not in the casual, distant way she had before, but genuinely. She wanted to know how your day was, if you had eaten, what book you were reading. She sent you songs she had been working on, asking for your opinion. It was a small thing, but you knew what it meant coming from her—sharing her work had always been the most intimate way she could express herself.

Still, you kept your distance, only meeting up with her a few times over the next couple of months. And always in private.

Because as much as you wanted to believe she had changed, a part of you still feared history repeating itself.

But then she started doing something different. Something she never would have done back then.

She started mentioning you in interviews.

Nothing obvious at first. Just small things. A passing comment about how talented you were. A story about a song you had written together years ago.

Then, she started going to your shows.

It was discreet at first—backstage visits, sitting in the VIP area with a hoodie pulled over her curls. But the real shift came when she posted about your album.

Not a cryptic like on a tweet. Not an anonymous Spotify playlist addition.

An actual Instagram post.

"This record is magic. I'm so proud of you, always."

The internet exploded.

For the first time, Taylor Swift wasn’t pretending you didn’t exist.

For the first time, she was acknowledging you in a way she never had before.

And you? You felt something shift inside of you.

But it wasn’t enough.

Not yet.

The real turning point came one night in New York.

You were at an awards afterparty, chatting with a few friends, when you felt it—the unmistakable weight of her gaze from across the room.

When you looked up, Taylor was already making her way toward you, completely ignoring the small group of people she had been talking to.

Your heart did that thing again. That stupid, hopeful, aching thing.

But you forced yourself to stay put as she finally stopped in front of you.

"Hey," she said, voice warm but hesitant.

"Hey," you returned, tilting your head. "What are you doing over here? Thought you were busy charming the room."

A small smirk played at her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "I got bored."

"Of them?"

"Of pretending I wanted to be talking to anyone else but you."

Your breath hitched, but you refused to let her see how much those words affected you. "Smooth, Swift."

She huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. But then her expression softened.

"Come outside with me?" she asked.

You hesitated, but something in her voice, in the quiet please hidden between her words, made you nod.

The air was crisp as the two of you stepped onto the balcony, the city buzzing below. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, Taylor exhaled and turned to you. "I meant what I said."

You looked at her, waiting.

She swallowed. "That I don’t want to pretend anymore. That I want to be with you—for real, this time."

Your chest tightened. "You say that, but—"

"I'm going to tell them," she interrupted, voice firm.

You blinked. "Tell who?"

"Everyone."

It took you a second to process her words. "Taylor—"

"I don’t care what happens. I don’t care about the rumors, or the media, or the backlash. The only thing I care about is you."

Your throat felt tight. "Are you sure?"

She stepped closer, reaching for your hands. "I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life."

And when she looked at you like that, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, you believed her.

Maybe—just maybe—this time, she really had chosen you.

It happened a week later.

It was a random Tuesday, and you were in your apartment when your phone started blowing up.

You frowned, unlocking it, only to see her name trending everywhere.

With shaky fingers, you clicked on the video that everyone was talking about.

It was a clip from an interview. Taylor, sitting across from the host, answering a question about love.

And then, with a soft, almost nervous smile, she said your name.

Out loud.

In front of the whole damn world.

"She’s incredible. One of the most talented, kind, and beautiful people I’ve ever known. And, um—" She laughed, almost to herself, shaking her head. "I guess what I’m trying to say is… I’m very, very in love with her."

You stared at the screen, barely breathing.

Taylor had just confirmed it.

No contracts. No secrecy. No hiding.

She had chosen you.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe—

This was the beginning of something real.

[sterredem]

Legends

Taylor swift x driver!reader

Face claim Olivia Rodrigo

Summary the most iconic couple that exists right now, and the new mile stones.

Warning not proofread, spelling mistakes

A/N I loveeeee ittt

Also this was a request!! I hope you like it!!

Instagram

12.524 liked

WAGupdate! Taylor Swift seen entering the Abu Dhabi paddock! The shake it off singer is dating Mercedes driver Y/n Y/l/n, and is now at the last race of the season. This might also be the race where Y/l/n officially wins this season.

View all 92 comments

User1 I LOVE the glitter!

User2 she’s so hot

User3 SUPPORTIVE GIRLFRIEND!!

User4 I hope she wins!!!

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Instagram

Liked by Taylorswift and 1.725.836 others

Yourusername The 2024 season has come to an end! And with that I take many trophies with me! What a good end. I want to thank Mercedes for this amazing season, and to many more to come!

Now on to a break with lots of training, to be back stronger next season!

View all 264.151 comments

Mercedesmgf1 See you soon😉

User5 Congratulations!!!!!

User6 always knew women in f1 would be top tier

TaylorNation Were proud of you!!

User7 I hope we see her and Taylor at the prize giving gala!!

User8 sooo… contract extension confirmed??

User9 Another broken record!!

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Instagram

92.725 likes

F1updates Taylor Swift and Y/n Y/l/n have arrived at the FIA prize giving gala! They are both in custom drgear sees, the singers one is from Gucci and Y/n’ is a Vivienne Westwood dress. We hope that they both have a lovely evening!

View all 9.721 comments

User10 THEY LOOK SO HOT!!

User11 🥵🥵🥵

User12 I love that you can see the other drivers and wags looking at them like…… wtf

User13 I just know they are JEALOUS!!

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Instagram

72.624 likes

Celebrity_News Y/n Y/l/n and Taylor Swift seen at the after party of the FIA prize giving gala, the after party was hosted by a few of the drivers and the couple was later spotted leaving with a few of the WAGS. They are all knows to have a good relationship.

View all 989 comments

User1 just fell to my knees in Walmart

User2 They are GORGEOUS (pun intended)

User3 Love the red and gold (just thing about the song red and daylight) it’s soooo cuteee and a little Easter egg if you think about it!

User4 I love their and the WAG’ relations!!

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Instagram

Liked by SabrinaCarpenter and 2.624.123 others

Yourusername What an amazing evening! Thank you so much for this! It has been an amazing season! Can’t wait to be back the next one!

View all 253.143 comments

User5 fav driver got a reason!!

Author just pretend that they are together in the 6th picture

User6 the fact that she isn’t allowed to mention Taylor in the caption but she can put her in the photos is so funny to me

User7 wait why can’t she?

User6 Because some of the country’s are against gay relationships the FIA and Mercedes made an agreement that as long as Taylor isn’t mentioned as her girlfriend with anything F1 related (from her) than they can be public, but she can still put her in the posts because for all they can know they are best friends.

User7 ooohhh that makes sense

User8 🥵🤍❤️

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Instagram

Liked by Taylorswift and 3.624.131 others

Yourusername vacation dumppp

View all 153.524 comments

Gracieabrams cuties

Taylorswift ilyyy

User9 AAAWWWW

User10 that’s a lot of food……. I’m jealous……

User11 have a great vacation!!!

User12 Is Y/n going to the eras tour now that she’s free for a bit??

User13 I hope so!!

Author Just pretend that Taylor is still doing the tour when the F1 season ends (the time line and stuff won’t add up otherwise)

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Instagram

Liked by yourusername and 4.524.142 others

Taylorswift recharging before another leg of the tour!

Comments are disabled

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Instagram

Liked by Conangrey and 1.624.142 others

Y/n_jpg Vacation captured by Taylor and me

View all 98.825 comments

Conangrey Take me with you next time

Sabrinacarpenter see you soon!!

User1 Awwwwwww

User2 the fact that most pictures of are Y/n so that means that she took more pictures of her… is so cute to me

User3 Love 2.0 when???

User4 I love them!!!

|———————————<3—————————————|

Yourusername posted a story!

User4 replied to your story

YOURE THERE!!!!

User6 replied to your story

ILYYY

User7 replied to your story

Silly Taylor

User8 replied to your story

Your winning in life

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Instgram

Liked by Sabrinacarpenter and 7.935.264 others

Taylorswift A prophecy tells one there future… but it can be changed… My new album The Prophecy. Out march 20

View all 98.926 comments

SabrinaCarpenter CANT WAIT!!

GracieAbrams So exited!!

User9 wait… isn’t that there anniversary……

User10 the fact that the song on her last album was also the prophecy and that that was sad… and now an album also called The prophecy that will most likely be happy…

User11 I think this is gonna be a Sabrina prophecy instead of a Taylor one….

User12 AAAAHHHH

User13 I think this is gonna be something we have seen before… because WHY IS EVERYONE IGNORING TGAT THE COMMENTS ARE ON????

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[nouvellevqgue]

✦ ALL COVERED, L. NORRIS

nobody knows about the relationship between lando and the famous cooking influencer is real, not until george and himself (accidentally) spoil it.

fc: tess maylo

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ⋆｡✦

yourusername

liked by selenagomez, haileybieber, emmawatson, and 340,187 more

yourusername fresh from the oven! ❤️ see you on my next live with another mysterious guest!

view all 29,561 comments...

username okay we got brie larson and sean evans, i'm waiting for an unexpected guest rn.

username it must be that good selena and hailey are in one like

maxfewtrell 🤫🤫

⤷ username if you really are the guest, then you shouldn't be here and spoiling it

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⤷ landonorris sorry in advance, he left his brain home.

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username what is max doing?????????💀💀

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⤷ username apparently yes

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lilymhe ooh i want it sm🥹😞 alex_albon

⤷ alex_albon why me though?

selenagomez i'm loving the recipe, it came out so gooooodd

username how does she look so amazing when she cooks

username yeah, like i'm probably will get dirty in a minute

yourusername

liked by calamawy, karengillan, maxverstappen1, and 150,143 more

yourusername record store is my favorite 📼💿

view all 10,781 comments...

username are you moving on from cooking?

⤷ yourusername no, i'm not taking a break from cooking, nor moving on from it. this just me making a new hobby:)

⤷ username you scare me right there

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⤷ username folklore is the best for cooking fr

username i loooove the jacket it's so cool

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⤷ logansargeant yes i do

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yourusername

liked by honeymoon, sza, zendaya and 210,319 more

yourusername ta-da! slightly burnt and super sweet fruit cake is ready!! see you next week loves<3

view all 11,700 comments...

yourusername you can see my face at the burnt sight, but it's okay. you just have to bake it on a low heat for 25 minutes (and don't forget it)

⤷ username what makes her forget about her her baking? she never do this before

⤷ username she's texting and smiling then getting out of the frame for idk how many minutes i logged off

⤷ username i think that's that

⤷ username WITH WHO

carlossainz55 it should be 25, you did it for 34

⤷ yourusername 😐😬 sorry...

username but see her face; she still smiling while her cake is quite a disaster

username hm wondering who's with her to make her to be all smiley and forgoting abt her cake like this

⤷ username idk but i'm thinking of that logan guy

⤷ username who is he?

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⤷ username he is💀

⤷ username nah but i'm thinking lando

⤷ username and who is he again?

⤷ username again, an f1 driver

⤷ username HER TASTE IS A DRIVER?????

⤷ username pretty girl love man in car<3

yourusername

liked by landonorris, georgerussell63, maxfewtrell, and 460,911 more

yourusername 2 b-day 4 u

view all 5 comments...

username happy birthday!!

username idk but her fit is always be so good

username spill the recipe bestie

username whose birthday is that?

⤷ yourusername my bf<3

comments has been limited

yourusername

liked by ellefanning, lailahasanovic, isahernaez, and 612,948 more

yourusername winter baking❄️ see you next timeeee

view all 10,501 comments...

username she's so cute

username thank god she remembered her cookies

username does she have tiktok or something else other than instagram?

⤷ username she has discord and twitter

georgerussell63 where's lando

this comment has been deleted

oscarpiastri fuck

maxfewtrell new guess who's back now

⤷ username MAX NO😭😭😭

username george what the hell

⤷ username wait

⤷ username OH SHIT WHAt the

username they'll be like "george when i catch you george, when i catch you george, when i catch you-"

⤷ username i know he's screwed

⤷ sabrinacarpenter omg

⤷ carlossainz55 georgerussell63 i wish you the best for now

ˑ⭒ʚ ִtwitter ݁.٭

ˑ⭒ʚ ִinstagram ݁.٭

landonorris

liked by mclaren, carlossainz55, alex_albon, and 23,400 more

landonorris rodeo-ing

view all 2,319 comments...

oscarpiastri mate it's not on your private

oscarpiastri hello??

carlossainz55 the hell is the caption

carlossainz55 oh shit we are in trouble

georgerussell63 fuck fuck we are fucked

mclaren oops

username i didn't expect this but i'm not surprised

charles_leclerc he's drunk

lilymhe yourusername yourusername

maxverstappen1 oh crap

username OH WHAT THE FUUUCKKK

username it's not y/n her hair's different

⤷ username girl wym it's obviously y/n

username it's him being drunk or is he just hard launching

username LANDO???? Y/N????? WAIT HOLD ON WAIT A MINUTE

username oh so it's him who makes her forgot about her baking

⤷ carlossainz55 sorry in advance, he left his brain home

this post has been deleted

landonorris added to their story!

ˑ⭒ʚ ִtwitter ݁.٭

yourusername added to their story!

caption: gala tonight💌

ˑ⭒ʚ ִtwitter ݁.٭

f1updates

liked by maxverstappen1, username, and 32,590 more

f1updates mclaren driver, lando norris is seen sharing a sweet kiss in the middle of busy brooklyn street with a cooking influencer, y/n l/n. many sources said that they've dated since a couple months ago, with this is their private date in y/n's house in brooklyn.

click the link in our bio to read more of our stories!

view all 1,802 comments...

username i mean with lando's ACCIDENTAL story and post and he do it TWICE LIKE GIRL PLS JUST POST HER FACE ALREADY

⤷ username yeah like bfr

username bro what??? PRIVATE DATE?? but if it's private how do yall get the pics?

username there's a lot of hidden paps around

username the tea's so good max is already liking this

⤷ username max is us tho

username HELP Y/N IS NOT LIVESTREAMING TOO💀💀💀

⤷ username what the hell is it really???

username just respect their privacy pls

yourusername added to their story!

caption: our last bake for the season! see you soon next season

yourusername and landonorris

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, mclaren, and 1,285,610 more

yourusername it's all covered until it's not. i love you so much my lovely<333

comments on this post has been disabled

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[piinkgore]

I love you, it's ruining my life

bunch sad taylor swift lyrics always has me breaking my own heart writing fanfiction *sighs* guess this is my debut in the gf fandom as a writer !! hiiii

warnings: sfw, gn!reader, established relationship, language, angst

“You are the most terrible mistake I’ve ever made.”

The words still echo even when the sentence is already finished, growing faint as the seconds pass by but never fading at all; still on the back of your mind, replaying over and over again as if they were part of a broken record.

Once spoken, that fucking phrase couldn’t be swallowed back, less forgotten. God knows how long it would take for them to be gone for good, and not a haunting whisper to follow you through your worst nightmares; one of them now becoming reality.

But that’s not the beginning of your history with Ford. No, it's the end. 

Feels like carving the epitaph on a tombstone. In memory of a love which once lived greatly, now may rest forever in the cold embrace of death. Quote, the most terrible mistake I’ve ever made, unquote. Should you credit Ford Pines in the end? The motherfucker who just put the final nail on your coffin?

You wish you could tell him to shut the fuck up and leave you alone, pretending this won’t be anything but another stupid fight you will manage to forget tomorrow. Maybe you could’ve, if you weren’t too occupied with your hollow chest, asking yourself where did you heart go — or if it was too broken to even manage a last beat.

"What the hell did you just say?" you don't even have the energy to shout back at him. It all comes out in a whisper, one that is not enough to fit your anger; less your sadness. Sometimes, you've got to recognize a lost battle. Yet, this one changed the course of a whole fucking war, one you were exhausted to fight. 

So there you stood: the loser. Feeling small and insignificant as one of the particles of dust hovering in the thick air between you. The body count so far: your home, your engagement, your love, your heart. And the last thing you could ever lose, a loss to mourn for all of your days, was already slipping through your fingers.

Just one last battle to thrive: the tears threatening to flood through your eyes, which you were trying hard to keep for yourself. Ford does not deserve them, not anymore, not when he doesn’t show a single trace of remorse.

You knew he meant it, and that was the very reason it hurt so bad. Sometimes, retrieving the knife from the flesh just meant more pain. You should’ve let it there, rooting in between the bones of your ribcage instead of opening a fresh wound. 

"You've heard me quite well." 

Your throat goes sore, unspoken words scratching it, trying to climb out of your mouth. The last sparkle of a long gone flame lights up, enough fuel for you to bite back. "Right. So I am the mistake, while your freaking muse-"

Sadly, the great amount of bad words on the tip of your tongue didn’t have a chance to be spoken.

"Do not bring Bill into this again,” his words cut you off; more bleeding to stanch on the way.  Ford was responsible for the hollow inside of you, a quiet torment bursting out to destroy what was left from the previous catastrophes. Lies pouring from lips which once kissed you so dearly and now couldn’t even speak in your favor. “It was never about him, any of it."

"It's always about him!” frustration wins, and a restless tremble finds your fingers as the volume of your voice grows louder. It hurts to speak, to think — existence itself feels excruciating. Your last strings of hope were now cut, disappearing into nothingness. What’s left, you still don’t know. “There's no you and me, not anymore. Not without Bill, not without the portal.”

A shredded breath has your whole body shaking, your cue to remember breathing; unevenly as it may be, you still need it to survive, no matter how your frenetic heartbeat tells you’re going to the very opposite way. Whenever your anxiety hit such a peak, Ford would be the one by your side. Now, he was standing on the opposite corner of the room, staring at you as if you do not belong there.

In this, you both could agree. It’s been so long since you’re no longer part of his equation, but an unpleasant variable Stanford, the genius himself, can’t solve, which would end up better erased; long forgotten. 

“Fine,” you barely manage a mutter, rubbing your temples to ease off the ache pulsating through your skull. Someone could have hit you with a hammer and the pain would be softer. “Fiddleford is already gone, and now you want me out of the picture,” you capture your lower lip between your teeth, grazing the soft skin. The taste of blood somehow leaves your mouth less bitter, still not enough to stop you from actually being bitter. “Maybe it will give you and your triangle partner enough space to shove that stupid machine up your ass.”

He’s outraged, of course. Bill has become his everything, dethroning you from that spot you once thought was granted forever. How dare you speak so low of him? His muse, his mentor, his… fuck, to think of finishing this sentence is makes you nauseous. 

Storming out of the room with Ford hot on your trails, you let a few tears find their way out. It’s fine as long as he can’t see you crying, nor hear your strangled sobs under his own voice. You don’t want him to be a testimony to your misery any more. It’s terrible already the whole house seems to have eyes staring at you from every wall.

If Bill was actually watching, you can bet that fucking triangle is damn amused.

Your own thoughts are too loud for you to hear what Ford is saying, or best, vomiting at you. Yet, you can distinguish the screaming is there as you lead the way to what used to be your shared bedroom. 

God, when you’ve come this? 

The love of your life now inhabits the skin of a stranger, and you can’t bear his shit for longer than you already did. You could’ve endured anything for your Ford, but that wasn’t him. Where did he go? When did you lose him for good? But it’s a little too late to ask yourself these questions, and you know the damn answers already, so it’s pointless to keep the torture of knowing the truth.

You feel the urge to crash every small piece of triangular shaped decoration on your way. They are everywhere, in every damn corner, even in the pattern of the curtains when not resting upon the furniture — standing in the middle of your family pictures, among vases with dead flowers, a cemetery of memories from better times.

You stop your tracks for a while just to wander your eyes on some of them, lips trembling to conceive a faint smile at the sight of the portraits. One displays you and Ford outside a newly built shack, smiling from ear to ear as your faces are pressed together so tightly his glasses went crooked. If you squint your eyes enough, you can see a red blur in the bushes just behind you — a little gnome hiding just in time. 

Suddenly, it becomes harder to keep the tears away as reality hits you hard. Those times are gone, and nothing you could do would bring them back to you. 

“You don’t understand,” you can hear Stanford clear as day now, as if you had just emerged from underwater and abruptly became aware of your surroundings. Ford has been repeating this same bullshit nonstop from what? Weeks from now. Nedless to say you were fucking tired of such a nonsense accusation. “The work I’ devoted my life to is about to change the whole world for good and you can’t even-”

Your turn is so abrupt that Ford stops himself from finishing the sentence, swallowing a gasp. “Listen to me,” biting your lip to not curse at him, all of your strength is dealt into the final blow — more like a last resort. “You think Bill is about to make you someone as if I didn’t spend the last years seeing you as my fucking north already,” he’s a little taken aback by your sudden burst out, you can tell by the tip of his ears going pink. “I did everything for you, Stanford. Your dream, your house, your anomalies… and what the fuck you did to me in return? Not even bothering to sleep in the same bed as me for months?” shit, saying it aloud only made it sound more pathetic than it already was. “Or having the nerve to accuse me of not understanding you after everything I gave up to be with you in this shit hole of a city?” 

Ford's response was nothing but silence. Of course it was. What could he say on his behalf when you’re damn right? This time, though, you wish you didn’t.

But you waited for him to say something nonetheless. Anything would do, really. Worse than his rage, his hatred and the damn obsession for his muse was the indifference he has been meeting you with.

The meanings of you have been changed in his dictionary long ago. Did it matter now?

Every move of his was strategic, closer and closer to a checkmate — his dream coming true. And if you were to be sacrificed so he could win… well, a side effect. As long as his king was safe, pawns were pawns.

You’ve just taken too long to realise it.

“Don’t you think you can come crawling back to me after this,” it’s a statement more to yourself then to him; a reminder to not let him inside your heart again after all the damage Ford has done. “When your false god gets tired of toying with you, when your ego stops being enough to feed your delusion, I won’t come back to pick up whatever’s left.”

You stare at him — at Stanford’s eyes. He’s perfectly still, aside from the dramatic rise and fall of his chest with each deep breath he takes. While your eyes silently begged him to change his mind, to take back what he just said… his did not show any emotion but resolution.

Ford is a man of science. He would never affirm something with such a conviction if he wasn’t absolutely sure of it. And as it seemed, he thought of you as a mistake with certainty enough to say it out loud and keep his mind until the very last minute.

“Fine.”

So this is it. The end.

“Fine it is,” you wipe the tears away with the back of your hand, dampening the sleeves of the sweater you’re wearing; which is actually Ford’s. You debate whether to leave it behind or keep it with you while packing your things.

Ford doesn’t stay any longer after this. No goodbyes were said, and his last glance upon you earns a cold shiver running down your spine. You could’ve spitted right into his face and he would still be less mad than he was at the moment, thanks to your audacity of blaming Bill on the failure of your relationship. 

It’s not like Ford needed you, or anyone else at the matter. He had gifts you failed to comprehend, and a view where you were the one crawling back to him as soon as the portal was completed.

Delusion upon delusion… which of you were the worst?

You were left alone, but the whole house was watching silently — every triangle window had an eye of its own, and the dark corners somewhat got darker, casting enormous shadows around you.

Ford must be down at his lab, in the company of his muse… fuck, you don’t want to think of them and whatever they did when you’re not around. Which now would mean pretty much every time. 

It’s a bright summer day outside when you leave the shack, but not even the warmth of the sun seems to be sufficient to dispel the coldness clinging to your bones.

Your fingers are still trembling since the whole fight went out of track, and so they stood while you were folding your clothes slowly, still thinking that things would change by some miracle… and now, as you open the door to your car.

You tell yourself to not look back, and shit, it's not easy; especially when your own mind don't shut the fuck up. For the hours you spent wandering around the city, you leave the radio on the highest volume and keep the cool. You come and go until you’ve reached the "you’re leaving Gravity Falls" sign.

With nowhere else to go, you throw your engagement ring out of the window and speed up to God knows where. As long as it’s far, you suppose you’ll be fine.

[chanelsweetx]

coloring books

matthew sturniolo

hey guys this story is based off the coloring pages on their fridge. this story is based off my own experience with anxiety but almost twisted into the perspective of someone with autism. i hope you enjoy reading and please leave requests!!

me and matt have been dating for a few months. he knows about my sensory issues with loud noises but right now his knowledge wasn’t really kicking in.

matt and his brothers are currently recording in the kitchen and im lying on the couch.

as i stand up to go to the bathroom the noise of the triplets bickering at each other escalates 100 times.

i squeeze my eyes shut and cover my ears walking into the bathroom, i do my business and stand up in the bathroom. i pull my AirPods out of my pocket and put them in my ears. i turn them on noise cancelling, i play some taylor swift, and exit the room.

i go over and grab my coloring book and markers out of the tv stand, i decide to stay upstairs to be closer to matt so i sit at the table.

i look over at matt and he smiles sadly “sorry” he mouths “its okay, i love you” i mouth back.

i turn back to my coloring book and start coloring. after a couple of minutes, i feel a tap on my shoulder. i take out one of my airpods and turn to matt. “hey we’re taking a bathroom break, i'm really sorry i'm trying to tell them to be quiet but they ar-“ “baby, its okay i have my airpods in. do you like my coloring?” i respond “yes baby i love it, can i hang it on the fridge when you're done?” i blush “sure” “okay i love you i’ll be back in like 15 minutes” he says with a parting kiss on the cheek, “i love you more"

i finish one page and start another before i feel matt sit next to me. he takes the airpod closest to him and puts it in his ear before lying on my lap. i use my non-dominant hand and put it in his hair while i finish this page.

once i finish my page i look down at matt to find him asleep. i tap him on the ear “matty?” “mm-baby” he slurs “c’mon lets go to bed” “m’kay”

he grabs my coloring pages and hangs them on the fridge using 4 pieces of scotch tape. i smile and place a kiss on his lips. he hums into the kiss grabbing the back of my neck. he pulls back and places a kiss on my nose. he grabs my hand walking us down to his room. once he makes it in his room he pulls off his shirt and changes into his sweatpants and flops in bed.

i take off my shirt and bra putting on his shirt.

i climb into his bed as he rolls over and lays his head on my chest with his arms tightly around me. “i love you so much baby. ‘m sorry we were being s’ loud” “it's okay matty, thank you for noticing and quieting down. love ya’” i say placing a kiss in his hair. “mhm” he sighs.

[ilguna]

☼ the great war pt1 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; your relationship has been rocky with finnick lately, and each time you think you can let it go, it comes back full force. it isn’t until you’re injured on the way to storm the capitol, are you able to slow down and fix what’s wrong.

warnings; swearing, blood mention, ehh gore, weapon use, death/death mention, torture mention, emotional/mental abuse, cheating, use of derogatory names such as whore, slut, etc.

wc; 8.3k

notes; based off of the taylor swift song!!

part two.

--

Lately, you’ve spent a lot of your time reflecting on what could’ve been, instead of focusing on what is. It’s a process that you’re no stranger to. It’s a defense mechanism you turn to when you know a big storm is coming. And in this case, you’re facing two fronts, neither of which you actually want to look in the eye of.

There are a few events you’ve lived through that have permanently damaged the way you think and operate around problems. Which is why you like to hide in the past, hoping it’ll offer more comfort than the present, when it’s far from it. Your actions and life-changing decisions are usually made on a whim, done to inflict pain on another person after they hurt you.

Some of those times are obvious, starting when you volunteered for the Sixty-Eighth Hunger Games at seventeen, with absolutely no experience that would help you. It was done out of spite, hatred directed at your grandfather when he told you that you had no future working for District Four.

Your labor would have no real worth, because you’d be doing it for free beneath him. It was the ‘least you could do’ after he ‘rescued’ you from the group home, when he could’ve let you get lost in the system. He wanted you to work for him on the docks for the rest of your life, and you knew that if you agreed, you’d never get out.

So, you made a rash decision. When the Capitol escort asked for any volunteers following the original reaping, you jumped at the opportunity. You thought, ‘either I’ll die in the arena or I’ll come out a winner’. As long as you wouldn’t be working under that hateful man, you would accept your fate as it came.

To this day, you still call it one of your biggest mistakes. You’d been contemplating volunteering for weeks leading up to Reaping Day. Training had crossed your mind several times during that period, and you never got around to doing it. You got stuck on a fence, until your grandfather eventually pushed you to one side. You made the decision a couple weeks too late.

The Hunger Games went like they normally did, except nothing was in favor of Four that year. District Two had a distinct advantage from the beginning when it came to favoritism during the Tribute Parade, and for the longest time, you think their mentors were tipped off on what the arena would be, due to their costumes. 

While they usually dress for masonry—that year they looked like they belonged in a dust storm. A prophecy of what was to come. They proceeded to get the highest scores, the best audience reaction, and a perfect position when they came out of the tubes. One of the tributes from Two, the boy or the girl, were destined to win.

The arena was a sandy desert, and they had placed the Cornucopia right smack in the middle of it. There were cacti, tumbleweeds and rocks, but almost no coverage from the sun as far as the eye could see. You were a fish on dry land, and you were supposed to die.

The only reason why you won was because of a fight you had with the girl from Two, the only other surviving tribute after the twentieth day. You had suffered through strong and unwavering record-breaking heat, and shivered your way through terrifying thunderstorms that drowned everything in sight and left low visibility. The Gamemakers were going to extremes during the end, desperate for a quick winner.

Xanthe had run across you while you were trying to cool down in the shade of a cactus, applying aloe vera to your worsening sunburns. Your skin hurt no matter what you did to get some relief. You wasted two bottles of freshly cold water, donated by a sponsor to pour it on tender skin. The aloe vera worked for so long before your skin was just slimy. And no matter how hard you begged, sunscreen seemed to be off the table due to expense, or banned from being sent completely.

She tried to sneak up on you from behind, but you were ready. You knew that she had been tracking for a while, it was just a matter of time before she finally came across you. She swung her sword, you dodged, and then tore her apart with your knife. For a girl that had spent most of her life training for this very moment, she was too slow. 

And it cost her life. 

It took about fifteen minutes before you immobilized her. There was no coming back from an injury that severe. Once she was on the ground, you gave her a quick death, and then collapsed beside her. With your knees pulled to your chest, hyperventilating because of how hot the air was, you listened to the announcement of your win. 

The arena ruined the way you work entirely, especially after your district partner turned on you on the third day. During the fight, they claimed it was because you knew what you were doing, and it was scaring them. If they eliminated you, they’d be one step closer to the end.

It also taught you not to trust the people that surround you. The doctors that rescued you out of the arena had to strap you down because you were convinced they were going to kill you. When Finnick and Mags tried to gently guide you in the right direction with the interviews, you said that they were trying to control and silence you. 

And when you got home, it worsened. You were repeatedly told that you had to wait for your victor house to be ready, so you were instructed to stay with your grandfather in the meantime. He drove you crazy. Every single hour, almost on the exact same minute, he hounded you, claiming that you owed him part of your winnings. And if you didn’t pay, he would never leave you alone.

Between him and the Capitol cameras following you everywhere in District Four, you broke. Your complacency went out the window, as you threatened to turn your grandfather into a forgotten memory and told the paparazzi that you’d bring them to the wrong side of town if they didn’t get lost. 

No one took you seriously, of course. It wasn’t until you were in the middle of strangling your grandfather, did the district have to step in. Finnick was instructed to be on your elbow, no matter where you went, because you didn’t seem to mind him. He kept everyone at a distance, and ensured that you moved into your victor house five weeks before it was due to be ready.

By the time the Victory Tour came around, you’d begun to settle down. You cut contact with your grandfather permanently, and the mayor had him removed from your victor benefits, leaving him penniless. You begrudgingly went on tour, partially enjoyed the Capitol banquet, and then you were free.

Well, as free as you could be until the next Hunger Games came around in July, which is when another life-altering event took place. With you taking over for Mags, it opened new chances for President Snow. He let you have the first day, so the Tribute Parade went without a hitch, as you followed Finnick’s instructions while learning the usual protocol.

On the second day, the first training day for the tributes, you were pulled to the President’s Mansion, and told that you’d be joining the small group of victors that did his bidding. It was horrible news to receive, but you didn’t react that way, surprisingly. You took it and left. 

The whole situation alone was enough to kick up a lot of past problems. Finnick was apologetic, of course, telling you that he knew it was a possibility, but he thought that he would hear it first, at the very least. You didn’t blame him, it’s not like he was the one that suggested it to Snow.

Either way, for the longest time, physical touch gave you the chills. It didn’t matter who accidentally brushed against you, or put a hand on your shoulder. The fact that you didn’t know their intentions was getting to you. You never would have guessed that half of those Capitol citizens had the heinous thoughts they did.

Well, there was one person you didn’t mind, and that was Finnick. He was a year older than you, going through the exact same thing. He taught you some trade secrets that he’d gotten from the other prostitutes, and told you to use it to your advantage. If you wanted money, jewels, clothes or expensive and exotic foods, then you should press for it, because they would give you anything you wanted. 

It’s the only reason why Finnick has survived as long as he has in this industry. If he wasn’t getting what he wanted, he would’ve found a way out by now. 

Three years after you won, you went through a rebellious phase, and you got a boyfriend. By then, Annie had already won, and failed to take the attention off of you, like you’d hoped. She wasn’t stable, at all. The Capitol refused to focus on her, which meant no cameras, a short Victory Tour, and then she was swept under the rug. She wasn’t even recommended to take over mentoring.

It drove you up the wall. You understood why they did what they did with her, but it wasn’t fair. You wanted her to be your relief, the key to your freedom, and you would’ve had it, too, if she was just a little stronger than she is. 

When you first started dating your ex, Vaughn, it was perfect. He isn’t a victor, just one of the many district workers from the boats. He worked early morning shifts that ran into the evening some, but left his nights open so that he would have free time outside of work. 

You met him one night by accident at the market. You were running an errand for Mags before it got late, because she was going to host breakfast for all the victors at her house to discuss the upcoming Quarter Quell the following morning. It was four years away, but she wanted everyone to be prepared for the worst. Anything could happen. 

Vaughn had bumped into you as you were taking a step, almost knocking you over, if he hadn’t caught you first. He apologized profoundly, said that he hadn’t seen you next to him, and helped you straighten out your canvas bag with the goods inside. 

You don’t remember exactly what sparked the conversation. You think he may have recognized you as a victor, asking why you were on this side of town. Everyone knows uptown goods are more expensive and only slightly better in quality, which is why you don’t mind going downtown to shop for groceries. Especially since you know the people better.

You two got to talking, surprisingly had a lot in common, and agreed to hang out in the near future. From there, you hit it off, and quickly became attached at the hip. You vaguely recall Finnick getting uptight about it, but if he had something to say, he swallowed it, because he never told you.

Now, looking back, it’s obvious that he didn’t want you to date Vaughn. You’re sure that’s one of his own many regrets. If he had just told you how he felt back then, you wouldn’t have been put through two years of hell that have ruined your brain chemistry. 

Like you said, Vaughn was perfect. He knew you had victor responsibilities in the district and never held them against you. You’d usually take care of it in the morning, that way you could spend as much time with him as possible at night. And when the Hunger Games came around, he kissed you goodbye and wished you a good trip.

When you came home with no winner, he wasn’t there to greet you at the train station. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen. You spent three days looking for him all over District Four. And it took you waiting at the docks during shift change for you to catch him.

He was livid.

Vaughn started screaming at you in front of everybody, causing feet to slow, as men and women stood conflicted on whether or not to intervene. While his voice became louder and his motions more aggressive, you never flinched. Your expression didn’t change from confusion, as he called you every name off the top of his head associated with infidelity.

He called you a cheater, a liar, an adulterer, a whore, a slut.

It wasn’t until he started advancing on you, face turned a deep shade of red, did you place a hand on his chest to keep him back. You told him if he stepped a foot closer he would regret it, because you’d teach him how you like to solve problems when they appear violent.

That got him to snap out of it. He finished what he was doing on the dock, several passersby asked if you were okay, and you brushed them off. Your threat to injure him wasn’t a joke, you were fully capable of doing so if there was a need to. 

When he was done, you found a private street that was dead and dim. You told him that if he tries screaming at you, you’d walk and that’d be the end of it. So, he needed to explain to you why he was upset because you couldn’t understand the allegations. You were loyal. You are loyal.

You don’t know who did it, maybe one of the other victors in the village, or maybe it was speculation from someone in town, but he was informed that you had more than just mentoring duties in the Capitol. They didn’t use the word prostitute, they called you an escort. Which is almost the same thing, but it’s not exactly.

You were quiet for a while, trying to figure out who sabotaged you this way, and repeatedly drew up blanks. When you tried to tell him that you had no choice in the matter, and it was ordered by President Snow and you couldn’t just back down, he wouldn’t believe you. No matter how many times you explained it to him or if it was done in different ways, he thought it was bullshit. 

Even after you told him that you weren’t the only victor put in this position, he was insistent that you were cheating. The fact that you didn’t tell him of your duties beforehand solidified it in his mind. As long as you were a prostitute, you’d be cheating on him, and he wouldn’t see it any other way.

He wouldn’t hear you out, so solving the problem wasn’t even an option. You were forced to let it go, assuming this would be the last you’d hear about it, and it’d be brought up again in a year when the Hunger Games came around again. 

It’s clear it affected your relationship. For a while, he was distant and quiet, and he wouldn’t engage with you if you were in the mood. He stopped spending as much time with you after work, it didn’t matter if you had made plans, he’d bail and apologize later on. Although, none of them seemed sincere.

The more time grew on, you were sure that you’d be breaking up. When you tried to get him to talk out his feelings, he brushed you off and told you that he was busy. By November, you were getting ready to tell him you’d rather be single than be waiting on him everyday. 

He changed one weekend, and the two of you went back to normal. Vaughn went right back to hanging out with you, treating you to dinner, spending the night at your house. It was like the past four months didn’t happen at all. It was weird, and you were hurt by it, but chose peace over answers.

Which wouldn’t matter in the end, anyway. The Victory Tour came around for the most recent victor in January, and conversations came back full-force. He wanted to have a discussion about everything that happens in the Capitol, and got increasingly upset by the details. You were trying to be honest, and all it did was make things worse.

And then he scared you. Vaughn took a deep breath, the red in his face slowly diminishing as he told you it was okay. He’d already spent time making it even between you two, and he’d do it again next year when you went to the Capitol. He said that he’d repeat the process as many times as necessary until President Snow changed his mind.

In the three weeks you were away, he met a girl and slept with her. And then he proceeded to have a relationship with her for the next four months. He was moody and distant because he was ‘managing’ two girls at once, and he couldn’t handle it. When he came back to you in November, it was because he’d finally broken it off with her, believing that he’d made things right.

You didn’t know how to react to that information. You’re pretty sure you lost a little bit of yourself, going back on years of emotional progress. You couldn’t trust him anymore, and you made the mistake of telling him that. Vaughn promised you he’d do better, that he was all-in from then on, and he’d never touch another girl.

It seemed like it from the outside, and you even believed it. The truth is, for the next year and a half, he subtly tortured you. He didn’t do better, he was worse. Instead of cheating, he threatened to do it whenever you made him angry. He held the fact that he had no issue doing it at any time if he truly wanted to, and you wouldn’t be able to stop it. He dangled that girl above your head to keep you in place, and for some unknown reason, you let it work.

He made you miserable, but you didn’t want to leave him. You wanted it to work out with him. Besides, you were starting to see Capitol citizens back off when they realized that you had a district boyfriend. To them, you weren’t in pristine condition. You were dirty, you were being touched by someone that wasn’t like them. 

You hoped that if you held on for a little longer, President Snow would retract the agreement, and everything would go back to normal with Vaughn. Before he found out that you’re a prostitute.

When you came back from the Capitol after the Seventy-Third Hunger Games, you found out that he’d begun cheating again. It was the final straw with him. You thought he didn’t mean what he said about doing it every year, especially when you had been in a good spot. He warned you, though. He told you exactly the type of person that he was going to be, it was your fault you didn’t want to take his word for it.

The good news is that you’ve learned from this experience. Unfortunately, you learned from it in the exact same way you did with everything else you’ve lived through. 

You can’t trust the surface.

The breakup with Vaughn was messy and irritating. It took two weeks for him to finally understand you weren’t kidding when you said that you weren’t going to work it out with him. You didn’t want to put up with his bullshit. You were sick of feeling ashamed and upset all the time. You had to move on.

Of course, during the process of him accepting this, he never left you alone. It didn’t matter what time it was or what you were doing or where you were. He always found his way to you. You could’ve been in the middle of the district with Mags, you could’ve been at home with all the lights off or with Finnick in his house—he would come knocking on the door to talk to you.

It wasn’t to beg, either. It was to reason, which made the situation a hundred times worse. You might’ve entertained the idea of him apologizing and getting on his knees and telling you that he was stupid and he didn’t know what he was thinking. Instead, he fed you the exact same lines that he had before about getting even with someone else.

He was persistent. And it wasn’t until Vaughn showed up at Finnick’s house for the fifth time, demanding to see you, did Finnick snap and get the message through your ex-boyfriend’s skull. You didn’t want to be with him anymore because he was scum. You had better things to spend your time on, and he wasn’t on that list. 

Finnick was a lot meaner when he explained this to Vaughn, cursing like a true resident of District Four would. You remember standing behind the door, watching Finnick lose his patience, his tanned skin turning a deeper shade of red with every passing minute. 

Finnick had made you feel safe and seen.

Lately, it seems like you and Finnick can’t see eye to eye, anymore.

A lot has changed in regards to your relationship over the past year and a half. For a while, Finnick had been dating Annie when you’d been together with Vaughn. He broke up with her shortly after he stood up for you that night. And then for the longest time, the two of you were single, pouring your energy into the upcoming Seventy-Fourth Games.

Unfortunately, all effort was wasted, as it was a relatively short mentoring trip. The boy died during the bloodbath, and the girl was gone when Katniss Everdeen dropped the tracker jacker nest on the Career camp while they were sleeping. Your distractions were gone in the matter of a couple weeks, when you’d been hoping to have them for a little while longer.

Even worse, President Snow refused to allow you and Finnick to go home, despite how early your tributes had died. So, the idea of going back to District Four and rotting away in your house was out of the question. The only good news was that the clientele was slow, most likely enamored by the girl from Twelve that was defying the fate of those who came before her.

It left a lot of freetime, which you mainly spent on the couch with Finnick, watching the Games slowly roll on. There’s not much to do inside of the apartment, and it wasn’t like you could leave the Tribute Center, as much as you wish you could’ve. Snow had you on lockdown unless you were going to an appointment. 

It was boring at times, but you never felt lonely. You and Finnick were close—best friends, even. Although, it seemed as if you perceived each other differently, because being locked in a place together sealed the nail on a coffin you didn’t know you were laying in.

Finnick decided that he was going to ask you to be his girlfriend. However, he didn’t act on it until months later, during Katniss and Peeta’s Victory Tour, when he was sure that you’d had enough time to heal from the wounds that Vaughn inflicted. It was perfect timing, too, because you were beginning to think the same thing. 

Now, almost a year into your relationship, you’re starting to doubt whether it was the right choice to say yes to him. Especially since there seems to be unresolved feelings on both of your sides.

“Jackson, set up a two-person, round-the-clock rotation on Peeta. I need to have a word with Soldier Everdeen.” Boggs suddenly barks, sliding his communication device back into his pocket. Judging by the look on his face, the conversation with President Coin must’ve gone in the wrong direction. Or he didn’t hear what he was hoping to hear.

If you had to guess, it’d likely be the fact that Peeta shouldn’t be here with Squad 451—also known as the Star Squad—because he tried to kill Katniss. A few short weeks back, he, Annie and Johanna had been rescued from the Tribute Center in the Capitol. Following the abrupt ending of the Quarter Quell, half of the victors that were left alive had been split between District Thirteen and the hands of the Capitol.

Luckily, you, Finnick, Katniss and Beetee had been rescued out of the arena. Those remaining were taken and tortured, and in some cases, not. For example, they let Enobaria go completely because of her affiliation with District Two. And they never bothered to lay a hand on Annie, much to Finnick’s relief.

In all honesty, it’s probably not a great idea that Peeta’s here, but not much can be done about it, now. What Coin says, goes. You found that out when she told you that she was assigning you to this mission. Haymitch informed you that she was tired of listening to you and Finnick squabble all the time.

You’re not sure how your arguments have been affecting her, considering that you have spent maybe an hour with her, out of the months you’ve been in Thirteen. At the time, you were just thankful you were being let out of the cement tomb.

Boggs and Katniss begin to walk away from the Squad, leaving you with Jackson, the second in command. She makes a list on paper, pairing people together in silence, before announcing it aloud. To no one’s surprise, you’re made to be with Finnick. 

He wastes no time turning to you, “I wonder what made them decide on Peeta.”

“It’s not like they can send Johanna, she failed her final test.” You tell him, looking off at the train station. “I’m sure she’s feeling really useless right now, but they can use her elsewhere.”

“That’s not who I meant.” Finnick says, causing your face to twist.

You turn your head to look at him, finding his eyebrows pushed together. You squint at him, watching the distant look on his face grow. You clear your throat, “What? You think Annie would do better?”

He looks at you, the expression on his face fleeing, “This again? Really, (Y/n)? We’ve been fighting about this for weeks.”

“You’re the one that’s been talking about how worried you are about her state of mind. Of what she’ll do without you nearby.”

“I already explained to you what I meant, I thought we agreed to not bring it up again.”

You shake your head at him, “I didn’t agree to anything.”

“Well, I remember telling you that I wasn’t going to argue about it, because it seems like you just want to be upset by it.”

“I’m upset by a lot of things when it comes to you and her.”

“I know.” Finnick closes his eyes, sighing. “Can we please not talk about this right now?”

“Fine, if that’s what you want.”

“I want you to trust me.” He says, taking a step to walk away. “And for the record, I was talking about Haymitch, (Y/n).”

He leaves, heading for your shared tent. You cross your arms over your chest, looking at the ground, pushing the dirt around with the top of your shoe. When Jackson announces that she needs a couple volunteers to help Peeta set up his tent, you’re the only one that willingly agrees to it, wanting to keep your hands busy.

Leeg is ordered to help you. The two of you work together to shove the poles through the thin fabric, being careful not to puncture it. Peeta stands nearby, hands at his sides, watching you do this, expressionless. Behind him stands Messalla and Mitchell, guarding him.

It isn’t long before Katniss and Boggs return, both sporting the same unsatisfied look, meaning that conversation must’ve gone sour, too. Katniss’s face screws tightly, “What time is my watch?”

Jackson looks up from her paper, eyes narrowing into a squint as she stares at Katniss for a long second. “I didn’t put you in the rotation.”

“Why not?” Katniss asks.

“I’m not sure you could really shoot Peeta, if it came to it.” 

Katniss raises her voice, “I wouldn’t be shooting Peeta. He’s gone. Johanna’s right. It’d be just like shooting another of the Capitol’s mutts.”

You can’t help the way your lips curl with disgust. You stomp the last stake into the dirt, securing the tent to the ground to keep the winds from blowing it away. Leeg gives you a nod before she goes to talk to Messalla and Mitchell.

“Well, that sort of comment isn’t recommending you either.” Jackson says back.

“Put her in the rotation.” Boggs tells her.

Jackson blinks, shaking her head. She writes on the paper. “Midnight to four. You’re on with me.”

The dinner whistle sounds, cutting off the conversation from proceeding any further. In silence, you all follow Boggs to the canteen. For the first minute of the walk, you’re by yourself, until Finnick shows up. Nothing is said between you two, but it’s clear the annoyance is still present.

One by one, you collect your dinner, which looks more appetizing than what you were eating in Thirteen. There, all food was calculated to give you the most amount of nutrients without feeding you too much. You can’t say that you were hungry after dinner, but the portions were disappointing.

The squad gathers together in a circle to eat, you sit on the ground with your legs crossed to make it easier to hold the tray. Finnick starts by standing beside you, picking at the food. Eventually he crouches down, offering you part of his tray.

“I’m good.” You murmur.

Finnick lets out a sigh, “(Y/n)...”

You abruptly get to your feet, not wanting to listen to a lecture. You take a few steps away, dropping the partially empty food tray into a bucket that’s already halfway filled with other squads’ trays. 

While avoiding eye contact with Finnick, who’s gotten to his feet, you look at Boggs. “I’m turning in for the night.”

“Goodnight, (L/n).” Boggs nods.

You give him a smile that’s weak at best, and then turn to head to the tent that you share with Finnick. You flip the fabric open, step inside, and almost zip it completely shut behind you. And even though it’s late, and the pillow feels nice after a long day, you can’t force yourself to fall asleep.

In fact, you can’t sleep at all.

You spent the hours waiting for your shift to guard Peeta tossing from side to side, recycling the same thoughts you’ve had since you were sent on this mission; if dating Finnick is the best idea. Or rather, if Finnick is actually in love with you.

It seems like a ridiculous thought on the surface, but every time you go over what’s happened this past year, and compare it to what you already know about relationships, it becomes serious. The way Finnick acts reminds you of someone you try hard to forget.

You felt secure with Finnick in the beginning—for maybe the first couple of months—but as soon as the Quarter Quell was announced in the winter, it was like the center of his world shifted. Where you had just begun to hold the key to his heart, it was suddenly taken and regifted.

Finnick was worried about how Annie would react to the news and the possibility. He wanted to preserve her feelings and her mental health, so he began to work to get her on the same level as you and Mags, at the very least. Except, it was clear he had other expectations in mind, when he constantly brought up the idea of volunteering because she’s so fragile.

In the end, you let him win. When reaping day rolled around, you took one for the team and volunteered for Annie so that Mags wouldn’t have to. You cherished Mags far too much to let her go back, and you were hoping that Finnick would finally shut up about it. 

There was no gratitude from Annie, there was barely any acknowledgement from Finnick. Due to this, the loathing started, but can you really be the one to blame for it? You did something selfless for someone that had started to pull away the person you’d just begun to call yours.

The Capitol praised you for your act, you were quickly overshadowed. You weren’t the only fan favorite victor that was coming back this year. Cashmere, Gloss, Enobaria, Brutus, Beetee, Wiress, Finnick, Johanna, Chaff, Seeder, and Katniss and Peeta? Not to mention some of the lesser known but touched the hearts of the older Capitol citizens like Blight, Cecelia and Woof.

It was surreal, being thrown back into activities you hadn’t touched in years. You’d gotten so used to mentoring your tributes, that it wasn’t until you touched some of those weapons or life saving stations did you realize you were rusty. Or they had new protocols that could save a tribute faster than your old school techniques.

Either way, you knew you were in frigid water with Finnick during the interviews. You had poured your heart out, telling the citizens that you had found new meaning to life, and you were excited to see it through. You wanted the opportunity to grow old like Mags and have children like Cecelia. And you were hoping to do this with Finnick, under the assumption that he loved you the same way.

When it came to Finnick, he took his interview down a completely different path, destroying the idea of love you set up between you two. You were hoping if the tribute lineup had another set of lovers, they’d protest harder. He didn’t care for this. He went on to talk about the most important people in his life, where Annie was mentioned by name, and you were implied in there somewhere.

The seeds of doubt that were planted in the winter finally began to sprout in those three minutes. You were reminded of Vaughn, who took that girls’ feelings into consideration when he was cheating on you. You didn’t matter at all, because you were already in a relationship with him.

And there you were, going through the same process again.

The problem just continued to snowball, getting bigger by the day. The arena was fine for the most part, but as soon as you were rescued from the arena and brought to Thirteen, you never heard the end of it regarding Annie. It was the topic of every conversation you had with him.

How cruel it was that they took her from Four and brought her to the Tribute Center. They better not be torturing her because she can’t handle it. How could they use her as a weapon against him. What he would do if he ever got his hands on the doctors that touched her.

You were relieved when they finally sedated him and medically induced him into a coma because he was driving you crazy. Even Haymitch saw it, and while he tried to offer his own words of wisdom, it was useless in the situation that you’re in. You know that Snow took the people he loved, but you watched your ex-boyfriend take matters into his own hands to get back at you. 

You repeatedly got cheated on, managed to get out of the relationship, only to get with Finnick to watch the same warning signs start. 

He was worried sick when they sent the volunteers on the mission to retrieve the victors from the Capitol. He was restless waiting for them to land. He ran to her in the hospital.

And you watched from the corner of the room as they slammed into each other in an embrace that was not appropriate for exes. Between then and now, there have been dozens of fights you’ve had with Finnick over her and their uncomfortable friendship. He thinks that you’re exaggerating, and of course, you think that there’s something else going on there.

He won’t even hear you out anymore, acting like you enjoy having this fight every other day. The truth is that you’re tired of bringing the topic up and not seeing an ounce of change in his actions. It makes you question whether or not you’re making the right choice by staying with him.

It would be so much easier to let go than to continue to waste your breath.

Finnick must decide that it would be better if he slept outside tonight, because he never comes inside to join you. You feel a little guilty for this, but only because he only has the fire outside to keep him warm. He’s a grown man though, so he can make his own choices.

“These last couple of years must have been exhausting for you. Trying to decide whether to kill me or not. Back and forth. Back and forth.” Peeta says, breaking the recent silence. 

You’ve been listening to one of the soldiers cry since you decided to go to bed. If you had to guess, you think it’s Leeg. She just lost her twin sister yesterday or the day before, and Peeta has been sent as her replacement. It was a mislabeled pod that sent out blades instead of insects. The good news is she died quickly.

“I never wanted to kill you. Except when I thought you were helping the Careers kill me. After that, I always thought of you as… an ally.” Katniss responds.

“Ally.” Peeta says the word slowly, like it’s foreign on his tongue. “Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancee. Target. Mutt. Neighbor. Hunter. Tribute. Ally. I’ll add it to the list of words I use to try to figure you out.” He spits. “The problem is, I can’t tell what’s real anymore, and what’s made up.”

Some heavy breaths have been taken in the surrounding tents, as they accidentally disrupt those who have managed to fall asleep.

“Then you should ask, Peeta.” Finnick’s voice is nearby, practically outside of your tent. “That’s what Annie does.”

“That’s what Annie does.” You mock quietly, which is most definitely heard by him, because you can see the way his head turns to the side briefly, before focusing back on the fire in the center of camp.

“Ask who?” Peeta says. “Who can I trust?”

“Well, us for starters. We’re your squad.” Jackson tells him.

“You’re my guards.” Peeta points out.

“That, too.” She agrees. “But you saved a lot of lives in Thirteen. It’s not the kind of thing we forget.”

A silence follows as he digests this. You roll over in your sleeping bag so that your back is facing the light from the fire. You close your eyes, feeling your eyebrows push together as the annoyance washes over your body at the mention of Annie coming from Finnick’s mouth.

You just want to be done with this.

The following day is agonizing to get through without picking a fight in everything that Finnick does. It’s partially caused by the fact you didn’t sleep much. You were able to doze off sometime after Katniss and Peeta’s conversation came to an end, but awoke shortly after from a nightmare you had regarding Annie and Finnick.

With it being time for you and Finnick to take over for Katniss and Jackson, there was no time to fall back asleep. You spent four hours staring into the flames, brushing off Finnick every time he tried to get you to talk to him. At eight, Boggs woke everyone up for breakfast, and you were released from your duty of guarding Peeta.

Still, there was no time to sleep as Gale, Finnick, Katniss and you were swept away by the camera crew to shoot the glass windows of buildings for their clips. It didn’t last long, you were out there just past eleven. By the time you came back to camp, the soldiers from Thirteen were sitting with Peeta, playing a game called “Real or Not Real” where Peeta would ask a question and they’d have to answer whether or not it happened.

This went on for a while, until Jackson broke everyone up into a different watch, splitting you from Finnick. She does this so that Peeta has access to a soldier and someone that knows him relatively personally. You get paired with Messalla, who is thankfully more talkative than you are, because you can feel yourself shutting down more by the hour.

Unfortunately, you get stuck in your head for the rest of the day, lips almost completely sealed. If you pretend you’re not bothered by how close Annie and Finnick are, it’ll eventually become true, right? If you don’t let conversation about Annie get to you, then you won’t get fired up enough to get in a fight with Finnick. You two will be okay.

However, the only downfall of pretending was that every time Peeta had a question about District Four or what happened with Annie, you quickly deflected it, forcing Finnick to answer it. Which only continued to rub you the wrong way, despite the fact you had to remind yourself that it’s your fault.

It’s spineless, but it’s better than having an argument. It was clear in your actions that you were angry or at the very least upset, yet you never verbalized it. You let Finnick’s mood dampen until he could hardly stand to be around you except for dinner. And even though you sat side by side outside the tent, and it was pretty obvious you had something to say to him—you never did.

This time, you want to take another approach. All those arguments have brought you nowhere, and you’re tired of going in circles. If you try to talk about this with Finnick again, he’ll get defensive, you’ll get angry, and once again, you’ll be back where you came from.

So, you’ll just shut up and be quiet.

The next afternoon, Boggs informs the whole squad that you’re all needed to stage a propo a few miles out. Peeta claims that it’s because Coin and Plutarch are unhappy with the footage, and he’s right. It’s no one’s fault except for Thirteen, though, for practically wrapping everyone in bubble wrap. 

You’re not actually on a mission, you’re behind the front lines. You move camp every couple days to be close, but you’re never in real danger. Except for when pods are mislabeled and accidents happen, like with the Leeg twin. 

Nothing changes today, though. On the way to the area to film, Boggs tells everyone the block they specially set aside for you to play with is relatively out of danger. There’s even a couple of active pods they left behind for you to trigger. One of them should spray gunfire, and the other releases a net to trap the invader.

The group of you are made to suit up in heavy armor just for precaution’s sake, including the camera crew. Cressida talks to Boggs about how she’s planning on using more smoke bombs and adding gunfire as a sound effect to please those in Thirteen. Each person is given a gun, or allowed to take their specialty weapon, including Peeta. Boggs makes sure to tell him that his gun is loaded with blanks. 

Peeta shrugs. “I’m not much of a shot anyway.” He says, and then spends most of the journey in silence. Katniss and Jackson seem to keep a close eye on him, afraid that he’ll fly off the handles. At the halfway point, he finally speaks with irritation. “You’re an Avox, aren’t you?”

You glance over your shoulder to see that he’s talking to Pollux, face screwed tightly. “I can tell by the way you swallow. There were two Avoxes with me in prison. Darius and Lavinia, but the guards mostly called them the redheads. They’d been our servants in the Training Center, so they arrested them, too. I watched them being tortured to death. She was lucky. They used too much voltage and her heart stopped right off. It took days to finish him off. Beating, cutting off parts. They kept asking him questions, but he couldn’t speak, he just made these horrible animal sounds. They didn’t want information, you know? They wanted me to see it.”

When he’s finished speaking, he looks around and notices that everyone has stopped walking, staring at him. No one knows what to say, he asks, “Real or not real?” Silence. This upsets him more. “Real or not real?!”

“Real,” Boggs says slowly. “At least, to the best of my knowledge… real.”

Peeta’s shoulders fall. “I thought so. There was nothing… shiny about it.” He sighs, wandering away from the group, talking to himself. 

It’s quiet for a while while this information is settled in your mind. Only the sound of glass crunching beneath your boots fills the still air. Until Finnick clears his throat slightly, looking over at you.

“They must’ve done the same thing to Johanna.”

You hum, giving him a quick shrug. You wouldn’t say that. What they did to Johanna was completely different because Peeta and her are far from similar. Johanna has no one she loves, and she lacks the same compassion that Peeta has. She’s strong mentally, which is why they waterboarded and electrocuted her. It’s why they shaved her head to take away her individuality.

With Peeta, he cares more deeply about the people around him. He has a driving character. It was more meaningful to show him people that were familiar and to take away the ability to help them. Peeta’s the type of person to save others first, sometimes over himself. And he’s very memory-reliant, he likes to reminisce, which is why they made it hard for him to do without getting confused.

“Don’t you think?” Finnick asks, once he realizes you’re not going to respond without being prompted.

“No.”

“No?” His face twists.

“They’re different people. It’s clear the Capitol took different approaches.”

Two different people. You and Annie. You and Finnick.

“What about Annie? Do you think they—”

You sigh through your nose. “They didn’t have to do anything to Annie because being in the Capitol was torture enough. She can hardly leave the house without having a meltdown—something that you coddled. Snow didn’t have to lift a finger. You know this.” You snap.

Finnick doesn’t speak for a couple minutes. “That was unfair of you to say that about her.”

You roll your eyes and turn your head away from him. Maybe if you’d stop speaking to me about her, you think bitterly. Every conversation you have, she’s brought up. The doctors at Thirteen have told you two that she’s fine, and the memories she’s recounting are from when she was rescued out of the arena. Which was five years ago. 

They know this because the technology she’s recalling has been discarded. They use different machines now. And the medical team they used then have since retired, because there’s a strict contract on how long they can work for. Finnick doesn’t want to believe this, he just wants to listen to Annie because she’s the victim.

You’re not blaming her for being traumatized, you’re blaming him for enabling it. Again.

The air is tense, but you’re right around the corner from the residential building the prop will be taking place in front of. Boggs pulls out the Holo to show you a projection of the street. The gunfire pod is about a third of the way down the street, above an apartment awning. Bullets should be enough to trigger it.

When it comes to the net pod, it’s at the far end, almost around the next corner. This makes several people perk up, everyone volunteers to set off the pod, except for Peeta, who doesn’t seem to be interested. Katniss gets skipped, and she’s sent to Messalla to fix some blemishes on her face.

Boggs takes this time to direct everyone, Cressida sets up Castor and Pollux to capture the perfect angle. Messalla throws a couple of smoke charges to set the scene, with Cressida calling, “Action!”

Together, you walk down the purposely hazy street, which vaguely reminds you of the Block back in Thirteen. You blow out a couple of windows as you were told, but Gale has been assigned the real target. When he hits his designated pod, everyone ducks for cover. You settle for crouching behind a pale green wall with white florals painted on. 

A hail of bullets sweeps back and forth. As soon as it’s finished, Boggs orders you forward. Before anyone can move, Cressida declares she needs close-up shots, meaning you’re forced to reenact your reactions one-by-one. Thankfully, your position was fairly captured, so she excuses you, but tells you not to move a muscle.

The others have to fall to the ground, dive into alcoves and grit their teeth. Katniss presses her lips together in discontent, yet she participates anyway. The good news is that there is one terrible actor in the squad, and that happens to be Mitchell. Castor plays back the new footage of Mitchell grinding his teeth and flaring his nostrils.

It turns mostly everyone into a giggling mess. Even Boggs, who firmly orders, “Pull it together, Four-Five-One.” Only to turn away and smile to himself. 

You watch as he pulls out the Holo, checking the location of the next pod to be safe. He lifts the device in the air to get a better look at the projection. He takes a step back on the orange paving stones.

An explosion splits through the air.

[rikiiholic]

ʜᴏᴘɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɢᴇᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ - ᴘ.ꜱʜ

Standing here, hoping it gets to you

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: Sunghoon was the younger of two sons in the Park family—the most powerful royals in all of Decilis. And you? You were just the maid, a background figure in their grand tale, a side character meant to be seen but never noticed. The same maid who slipped him anonymous letters, unaware that he wasn’t nearly as oblivious as the world believed him to be.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢꜱ: Prince!sunghoon x Maid!reader

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Royalty au, fluff, and a little angst if you squint, forbidden romance.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: not really any just sunghoon crashing out at one point, jealousy, heart break (can u tell I like broken hearts?), happy ending.

ᴇxᴛʀᴀ: Jay is Sunghoons older brother, Ning Ning (aespa) and Wonyoung (IVE) (Ning Ning is a bit annoying but its just for the plot)

ᴡᴄ: 13.8k (another long ahh fic)

You knew things about the Park family that no outsider, not even the most trusted noble, could ever dream of uncovering. Secrets buried beneath layers of polished smiles and royal etiquette. Like how the eldest son of one of their distant relatives—once hailed as the pride of his bloodline—had an affair with a village girl while still married to his noble wife. And when the girl became pregnant, instead of facing the consequences, he used his status to force her into an abortion, simply because she wasn’t of royal blood. It was cruel, calculated, and completely erased from the official family record—just another scandal swept under the royal rug.

The only truly good royals in the entire Park bloodline were the two sons—Jay and Sunghoon. Unlike their cold, calculating parents, the brothers possessed a rare warmth that set them apart from the rest of the family. While the royal court whispered arrogance and superiority into their ears from the moment they could walk—telling them that villagers were born to serve, to kneel, to revere the ground that nobles walked on—Jay and Sunghoon never bought into it. Instead, they rejected that cruel hierarchy, quietly defying everything they were raised to believe. More than anything, they valued kindness, fairness, and the belief that every person, no matter their birth, deserved to be treated with dignity. And in a palace built on pride and power, that made them dangerous.

Then there was you. You weren’t a princess, nor did you carry a title or boast a drop of noble blood. In fact, the only reason you knew the truth behind the palace walls was because you had spent nearly your entire life living within them. Your mother had been the Park family's first and most trusted maid—loyal, discreet, and utterly irreplaceable. But when illness stole her strength, the responsibility of her duties fell to you. From a young age, you stepped into her shoes, not out of choice, but out of necessity. You became the palace’s most cherished maid, not just because of your mother’s legacy, but because you were quiet, observant, and knew when to disappear into the background. It was in that silence that you saw everything—heard everything. Things not even the nobles whispered about in daylight.

You could say you were the only person in the entire palace whom the King and Queen ever addressed with genuine respect. As the youngest maid in the royal household, you were seen as something of an anomaly—young, diligent, and utterly indispensable. Your mother’s reputation may have opened the door, but your own quiet grace and unwavering loyalty earned you a place of strange privilege. The Queen, in particular, treated you almost like a daughter. She would brush your hair from your face with a tenderness she rarely showed to her own staff, offer you silks she no longer wore, and ensure you were never mistreated by other nobles. But even that affection came with its walls.

"Stay away from my sons," she would often whisper in a tone that was both loving and stern. A warning laced with something colder beneath. It didn’t matter how highly she thought of you—you were still a village girl, and in her eyes, no one of your status would ever be good enough for Jay or Sunghoon. They were heirs, bearers of legacy, and their futures were already written in ink and expectation. The Queen made it painfully clear that no woman born of the lower class could ever satisfy the duties of royalty. And though she never said it outright, her message was loud enough for you to hear: no matter how close you stood to them, you would never truly be allowed to have them. And eventually, you began to believe it too.

Which is why your infatuation with the youngest heir—Sunghoon—remained tucked away like a delicate letter never meant to be opened. You never dared to speak of it aloud, not even to yourself on the quietest nights. But it grew, slowly and steadily, nurtured by the small, gentle moments you were lucky enough to witness. He was nothing like the other royals—never loud, never entitled. A quiet soul with a kind heart. You’d watch him from a distance, hidden in your daily routines. Every morning, while the palace stirred and the maids began their chores, Sunghoon would slip into the garden with a book in hand, greeting the early light like an old friend.

He moved with the ease of someone who didn’t feel the need to command attention, yet still had it effortlessly. One morning, as you were picking flowers for the Queen’s table arrangements, lost in the rhythm of your task, you heard his voice—soft, curious, and unexpectedly close.

"May I join you?" he asked, gesturing toward the blooms in your basket.

Your hands had stilled, heart jumping before you could mask your surprise. For a brief moment, it felt like the world had forgotten about rules, bloodlines, and expectations. Just a prince in a garden, and a maid with dirt-stained fingers, sharing a quiet piece of morning.

“Yes, Your Highness,” you replied softly, lowering your head as you shifted to the side, making room for him among the blooming rows. Your fingers hesitated just briefly over the stems as you adjusted your posture, careful to maintain your composure.

Sunghoon gave you a small, polite nod before kneeling beside you, moving with an elegance that somehow still managed to feel grounded. He was careful—almost too careful—not to let the edge of his royal tunic touch the damp grass, though he didn’t seem overly concerned about it either. His hands, slender but strong, reached toward a cluster of roses with practiced ease, as though he’d done this before.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked casually, his voice low and smooth, pulling a deep red rose from the bush and inspecting it.

You kept your gaze on the flowers in your lap, fingers busy arranging them by color as you answered. “The Queen requested fresh centerpieces for the receiving room. She said the palace was beginning to smell like dust.”

A soft chuckle left him. “She does have a dramatic way of describing things, doesn’t she?”

You allowed yourself a small smile, but didn’t look up. Being this close to him—close enough to smell the faint trace of his cologne and the garden around him—felt like toeing the edge of something dangerous.

Sunghoon picked another rose, more slowly this time. “Do you do this every morning?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” you murmured. “It’s part of the routine.”

“I think I’d rather do this than sit through another hour of diplomatic reports,” he muttered, half to himself, twirling the stem between his fingers before adding it to your basket. Then, quieter: “It’s peaceful here.”

You glanced at him briefly, just enough to catch the softness in his eyes before looking away again. “It is.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the rustle of leaves and the distant clatter of cleaning from inside the palace. And in that stillness, something unspoken passed between you—something gentle and uncertain, like the brush of petals against skin.

You never realized how sweet this moment could feel—how something so simple, so quiet, could make your chest ache in the gentlest way. Being alone in the garden with the prince had never been on your list of duties, nor had it ever crossed your mind as something that might actually happen. Yet here you were, sitting beside him in the early morning sun, your hands brushing over petals while his voice lingered softly in the air.

There was a kindness in Sunghoon that you hadn’t expected to see up close. A softness that didn't match the sharp cut of his royal robes or the weight of his title. He was calm, almost cautious, like someone used to keeping pieces of himself hidden behind polished smiles and princely obligations. But here, away from the eyes of the court, you saw something quieter in him—something more real.

He plucked a daisy from the grass, twirling it between his fingers with a thoughtful expression. You watched the movement, then risked a glance at his face. He looked relaxed, but there was a tension beneath it, like a thought he hadn’t yet spoken.

You opened your mouth before you could stop yourself. “Your Highness… if I asked what you really think of the other royals… would you tell me?”

He paused, eyes lifting to meet yours. For a moment, you thought he might dismiss the question with a smile or a careful response. But instead, he tilted his head slightly, his lips curving just barely.

“I’d have a lot to say,” he replied, voice quiet but sure. “But most of it would get me into trouble.”

You smiled, a real one this time, and he noticed. Something softened in his gaze—just for a moment—and it felt like the garden itself exhaled around you.

"I'm not really allowed to talk about royal stuff to people like you," he said casually, plucking another flower without thinking.

The words hung in the air like an unexpected chill.

You froze, your fingers tightening around a stem as you felt the sting of those five careless words. People like you. The phrase echoed in your mind, sharp and familiar—reminding you of every unspoken line that separated your world from his.

Sunghoon must’ve sensed it immediately. His hand stilled. His shoulders tensed. He didn’t look at you right away, but when he did, his eyes were wide with regret.

“Wait—I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, his voice laced with panic. “That came out wrong. I just meant… I’m not supposed to talk about palace affairs with staff. It’s a rule. I wasn’t trying to—God—”

He sighed, pressing his fingers to his temple in frustration. “I wasn’t trying to insult you.”

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, surprised by how flustered he looked. Most royals wouldn’t have even noticed, much less cared about the weight of their words. But Sunghoon looked like he genuinely hated himself for it.

“I know what you meant,” you murmured after a beat, your voice softer than you expected.

His gaze met yours, searching your expression for any trace of anger or disappointment.

“You sure?” he asked, voice quiet, unsure.

You gave him a small nod, though part of your heart still ached. Not because he meant harm, but because even he, as kind as he was, had been shaped by a world that always reminded you of your place.

Still, the way he looked at you—hopeful, apologetic, almost desperate to fix it—made it harder to hold onto the hurt.

“Yeah, no, I get it. Don’t worry,” you said with a soft chuckle, brushing a petal from your skirt as if it could wipe away the awkward moment too.

You weren’t offended—not really. If anything, your heart had skipped a beat the moment he started stumbling over his words, trying so desperately to explain himself. Royals didn’t explain. They didn’t have to. But he did—his voice flustered, his brows furrowed, like the thought of hurting your feelings actually mattered to him.

And that… was dangerous.

Because instead of thinking about your place, about the rules, or the Queen’s warnings, you were busy thinking about how cute it was. How unexpectedly sweet it felt to see the prince—your prince—fumble over an apology like a boy who didn’t want to be misunderstood.

He let out a breath, clearly relieved by your response, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a sheepish grin. “Still… I’ll try to be more careful. I’m not great with words.”

“You seemed fine just now,” you replied, allowing yourself a teasing smile. “At least you didn’t call me a peasant.”

That made him laugh, the tension finally melting from his shoulders. “Not yet,” he joked, nudging a daisy into your basket. “But I’m full of surprises.”

The silence at the table was sickening. It wasn't the peaceful kind—it was the heavy, suffocating quiet that wrapped around your chest like a vice. The kind that made every clink of silverware echo louder than it should’ve. You moved carefully, hands steady as you placed trays of delicately prepared dishes before the King and Queen, their expressions unreadable as they waited for the arrival of the Jangs and the Nings.

The tension wasn’t just in the silence—it was in the air itself. You could feel it in the way the Queen’s fingers tapped against her wine glass, in the sharpness of the King’s stare, and in the way Sunghoon and Jay sat rigid in their chairs, saying nothing.

You knew why. Everyone in the palace did.

The princesses from the Jang and Ning families were on their way—royal guests dressed in silk and status, arriving not for diplomacy but for something far more binding. Engagements. Alliances. Futures planned in ink and sealed by bloodlines.

Jay and Sunghoon were set to be promised to them. The Queen had made the arrangements, proudly boasting of how the unions would strengthen ties and preserve royal legacy. But what she refused to acknowledge—what she would never understand—was that both her sons had already said they wanted something else.

You had overheard them in the garden weeks ago, their voices low but honest. Jay, shaking his head in frustration, muttering that he didn’t want to marry someone he could barely hold a conversation with. Sunghoon, quieter, simply saying, “I want to choose.”

Now, as you stepped back into your place along the wall, hands clasped in front of you, you glanced at Sunghoon from beneath your lashes. His jaw was tight. His eyes focused on the untouched food in front of him. You wondered if he was thinking about the flowers from that morning—or if this silence was the beginning of the end of the life he wanted.

And maybe, just maybe, the end of whatever fragile thing had been growing between the two of you.

After the final dish had been served and the guests were seated—smiling through tight politeness and rehearsed laughter—you slipped away like a shadow into the halls behind the palace. No one noticed. No one ever did when you disappeared into the maze of stone corridors and servants’ doors. That was part of your role: to be invisible until needed.

Your feet carried you on instinct alone to the small chamber you called home—a modest room tucked behind the eastern wing. It wasn’t much, just a narrow bed, a cracked window, and a worn wooden desk barely big enough to hold the few possessions you had. But tonight, it felt like the only safe place in the world.

You sat down at the desk, lit a small oil lamp, and stared at the blank page in front of you. You weren’t sure what compelled you. Maybe it was the stiffness in Sunghoon’s shoulders at the dinner table. Maybe it was the way your heart ached seeing him sit across from a girl he’d be forced to love. Or maybe it was just the need to feel something real in a world built on performance.

Your pen touched the page before your mind fully caught up.

He was standing in the garden when I first noticed him. Not in the way that a servant notices a prince, but the way a person notices something they aren’t supposed to want. He wasn’t doing anything grand—just reading. Breathing. Alone. And somehow, even that felt noble.

You kept your handwriting small, delicate—almost cryptic. You were careful not to use names, never anything direct. Just fragments. Moments. Feelings.

He never looked at me like I was beneath him. That’s the part that still catches me off guard. Everyone else sees a uniform, a station, a role. But sometimes, he sees through it. Or maybe… he chooses to.

You paused, the pen hovering in the silence.

I know he’ll never be mine. Not really. But if I don’t write this down, I might forget what it felt like to be seen—even if it was just for a second.

You folded the paper gently when you were done, slipping it beneath the loose floorboard under your bed—a secret for no one but yourself.

And still, as you lay back in the dimness of your room, staring at the cracked ceiling, one thought remained: You weren’t sure if writing it made it easier… or harder.

You hadn’t meant to send the letter at first. It was supposed to be for your eyes only—a quiet confession folded in ink and tucked safely where no one would find it. But as the days went by and the palace grew louder with talk of alliances and wedding preparations, the weight in your chest grew heavier. You couldn’t hold it in anymore. You needed him to know—even if he never knew it was from you.

So you wrote more.

One letter became two. Then three.

Each one carefully worded, cryptic enough that no one could trace it back to you, yet honest in a way only he might understand. You wrote about mornings in the garden. About the way his eyes softened when he thought no one was watching. About how he never quite fit the mold the palace tried to force him into.

And then, one early morning while the sky was still a deep indigo and most of the palace slept, you slipped through the servants' corridor with a folded letter tucked safely in your apron. Your heart thudded wildly, but your steps were steady—you’d memorized the route by now. Past the west wing. Down the corridor with the cracked marble tile. Left at the tapestry with the lion’s crest.

Sunghoon’s chamber was at the end of the hall, just before the royal library.

You hesitated only a moment, then bent down and slid the letter beneath his door—quickly, quietly, just as the royal mailman would. It was how they always received messages: no knocks, no noise, just silent slips of parchment that disappeared into the room beyond.

And with that, you turned and left, your footsteps lighter than they’d felt in days.

It became a ritual after that.

Every few mornings, when your thoughts became too much to bear, you wrote him another letter. You always made sure the ink had dried before folding it with care. Sometimes it was two lines. Sometimes it was pages. But it was always honest. Always you.

He never responded.

But you didn’t expect him to.

Because in a palace built on silence and duty, your words were the only rebellion you had—and giving them to him, even secretly, made you feel just a little less invisible.

a little later

The room was colder than usual.

You stood by the hearth, carefully pressing the intricate embroidery on Sunghoon’s royal ball attire. The gold trim shimmered faintly under the firelight, a painful reminder of where he was meant to be tonight—at an engagement ball with Princess Wonyoung. His fiancée, or so the palace liked to call her. It wasn’t official yet, but everyone knew it was only a matter of time.

The silence was broken by the soft click of the door opening behind you.

You didn’t turn. You didn’t have to.

The subtle scent of his cologne mixed with the steam from his recent shower, and you could practically feel the warmth of his skin from where he stood, towel-drying his hair. Water still clung to the ends of it, dripping onto the floor.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Then, suddenly—“Have you seen any letter?”

You froze, your hand suspended above the garment as your breath caught in your throat. Slowly, you turned to face him.

His eyes weren’t cold. They weren’t curious either. They were searching.

The way he looked at you—expecting something, hoping for something—sent your heart into a frenzy. The fact that he even asked you that question... it said everything. He’d read them. All of them. Every folded piece of your heart, slipped beneath his door in silence. And now, on the one morning you hadn’t left one, he was looking for it.

For you.

You quickly lowered your gaze, willing your face to remain neutral.

“No, Your Highness. I haven’t,” you said, voice steady despite the storm inside your chest. Then you turned back to the ironing board, pressing the fabric like nothing had happened, like your world hadn’t just tilted slightly off balance.

Behind you, there was a long pause. No footsteps. No reply.

Just the sound of silence and water dripping onto the stone floor from his wet hair.

You stood near the edge of the ballroom, a silver tray clutched tightly in your hands, though no one seemed to need anything from you. The chandeliers above shimmered with gold and crystal, casting a warm glow over silken gowns and polished shoes. Laughter echoed off the marble walls, accompanied by the soft hum of string instruments playing a waltz far too beautiful for the ache in your chest.

You weren’t meant to be there—not in the way they were.

The maids had been asked to serve discreetly during the ball, dressed in muted colors that would blend into the walls. And yet, you felt more exposed than ever. Because your eyes wouldn’t stop drifting toward the center of the room—toward him.

Sunghoon.

He looked perfect, as always. Regal. Poised. But his face told another story. He danced with Wonyoung, his supposed fiancée, their hands barely touching, their movements too precise to be natural. His expression was blank, almost bored, like he was doing what was expected of him and nothing more. His gaze didn’t linger on hers. It didn’t soften. It didn’t shine.

And still, watching them together made something twist painfully in your stomach.

You hadn’t even noticed the figure who appeared beside you until you heard his voice, smooth and laced with quiet confidence.

“He doesn’t want to marry her.”

You startled slightly, turning to find Jay—his older brother—standing next to you with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He wasn’t smiling, but there was a faint amusement in his eyes as he watched the scene unfold with a kind of detached awareness that unnerved you.

You lowered your gaze quickly, unsure of what to say, unsure why he was even speaking to you.

“I—I don’t know what you mean,” you said quietly, your voice almost drowned out by the music.

Jay took a slow sip of his drink, eyes still on his brother. “You do,” he said simply. “You’re just pretending you don’t.”

His words weren’t cruel. They weren’t mocking. In fact, they were oddly gentle. Observant.

He finally looked at you then, his gaze sharper than you expected. “You should see your face. You’re trying so hard not to care, but it’s all over you.”

Your cheeks flushed, shame prickling at the back of your neck. You turned slightly away, clutching the tray tighter.

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“Fall for him?” he cut in, his voice quieter now. “Yeah. That’s usually how it happens. Especially with him.”

You looked up at Jay then, surprised by the weight in his tone. It wasn’t judgment. It was understanding. As if he, too, knew what it felt like to want someone the world said you couldn’t have.

He gave a soft sigh and turned back to the ballroom. “Sunghoon’s too loyal for his own good. He’ll do what they ask. Unless…”

You blinked. “Unless what?”

Jay didn’t answer.

He simply smirked faintly, finished his drink, and walked away—leaving you alone with a heart that beat too loudly and a thousand unspoken questions hanging in the space between you and the boy you loved.

You sighed, the sound barely audible over the sweeping melody echoing through the ballroom. It wasn’t just disappointment—it was resignation. The kind that settles deep in your bones when you realize a dream might always stay just that. A dream. Sunghoon twirled Wonyoung gently, their movements elegant and flawless, but his expression never changed. Not a single spark of joy. Not a flicker of warmth.

Still, it hurt to watch.

Just as you were about to turn and disappear into the crowd, Jay reappeared beside you—quiet as a shadow, yet far too noticeable for someone who was supposed to blend in with the rest of the royals. He leaned in, the scent of whiskey and something sharp and earthy clinging to his coat.

“Unless he’s truly in love…” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, low enough that only you could hear, “then he’ll fight for his lover.”

His breath brushed your ear, sending a chill down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold marble beneath your feet. Your breath caught in your throat, and you turned your head just slightly—but he was already pulling away.

Jay walked off without looking back, his hands casually tucked in his pockets, his smirk lingering like an echo in your mind. As if what he’d said was nothing—just idle chatter between sips of expensive liquor.

But it wasn’t nothing.

Because it struck you with the force of something dangerous—something hopeful.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you stared ahead at Sunghoon, who now stood at the edge of the dance floor, momentarily alone as Wonyoung greeted some noble from the East Wing. His eyes weren’t on her.

They were searching the room.

And for one fragile second… you swore he looked right at you.

Your breath hitched.

The moment your eyes met his, it was like the entire room disappeared—the music faded, the clinking glasses and idle chatter dulled to a distant hum. Sunghoon didn’t look away. He didn’t blink. He just watched you.

There was something intense about the way his eyes held yours, as if he was trying to decipher every thought you’d ever had, every word you’d ever written to him. His gaze wasn’t soft—it was calculated, focused, like he was searching for a truth you hadn’t meant for him to find. And yet, there was no malice. Just… curiosity. Conflicted interest.

It should’ve been easy to look away. You should’ve looked away.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

He had you, completely, and you were drowning in it.

Then—snap.

Wonyoung’s fingers waved briskly in front of his face, her expression puzzled and a touch annoyed. “Sunghoon,” she called, tone light but strained. “Are you even listening to me?”

He blinked, startled, as though yanked from a deep dream. His shoulders straightened, his attention dragging reluctantly back to the woman beside him. “Yeah,” he said, the lie painfully obvious. “Sorry.”

You exhaled softly, the connection between you two broken, and instantly felt colder without it. Like sunlight had passed behind a cloud.

You looked down, willing your pulse to slow, your fingers tightening around the tray. That look—it meant something. It had to.

As the grand clock in the ballroom struck midnight, its chimes echoed through the gilded halls like a final warning.

You flinched slightly at the sound—twelve sharp, the unspoken curfew for anyone without a royal title. No matter how long the celebration lasted, no matter how busy or beautiful the evening had been, maids were never allowed to stay past midnight. The golden rule of the palace. Unfair. Rigid. But absolute.

You clutched the silver tray a little tighter for a second before quietly placing it on the serving table and slipping away from the noise and lights. Your heart was still racing—partly from the stolen glance you’d shared with Sunghoon, and partly from the lingering echo of Jay’s words.

"Unless he’s truly in love..."

You couldn’t shake it. Couldn’t stop yourself from replaying that look—those eyes locked onto yours like they knew.

As soon as you reached the narrow corridor near the servants’ wing, you picked up your pace, heels clicking softly against the stone floor. You rounded the corner and hurried into your small chamber, exhaling only when the door clicked shut behind you.

The quiet felt suffocating after the grandeur of the ballroom.

You moved straight to your little desk tucked under the window, grabbing the worn diary you always kept hidden beneath a stack of folded linen. Pages already stained with ink and emotions, now ready to hold more secrets.

Sitting down, you opened to a blank page, your hands still trembling slightly.

You had to write. You needed to.

There was something desperate about the way you uncapped your pen, as though pouring your thoughts onto the page might steady your breath or silence the thunder in your chest.

Because tonight wasn’t like the others.

Something had shifted.

The corridor was still and dimly lit, the only sound coming from the soft patter of your steps and the distant hush of moonlight filtering through stained glass. You held the folded letter close to your chest, your fingers trembling just slightly. This one had taken longer to write—your words had been more honest, your feelings laid bare in ink you could never take back.

You reached his door, heart pounding against your ribs like a war drum. You knelt slowly, fingers reaching toward the floor to slip the letter underneath, just like all the nights before.

But this time, before the paper even touched the marble—

"What’re you doing?"

You froze.

The letter remained pinched between your fingers, inches from the ground, as his voice—soft, calm, and devastatingly close—cut through the silence.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

He stepped forward, bare feet padding softly against the cold floor, dressed in a loose white shirt and black silk pants. His hair was slightly tousled, damp at the ends like he’d just come from the bath. There was no anger in his voice, no edge. Just quiet realization.

"Is that…"

His eyes flicked down to the paper in your hand, and he took another slow step toward you.

"You're the one sending them," he said, more to himself than you.

Then, he scoffed—but it wasn’t mocking. It was disbelief. Shock. Like the truth had always been there, just beneath the surface, and he’d finally let himself see it.

You swallowed, still crouched, your body frozen in place. The palace was dead quiet, the world holding its breath.

You stood slowly, your face burning. You didn’t speak—you couldn’t. What was there to say?

But then his eyes met yours. Really met yours.

And he didn’t look away.

“You knew it was me?” you finally whispered, voice barely audible in the stillness between you.

Of course he knew. Who else in the palace wrote like that? Who else spun words with the kind of softness and pain and quiet hope only someone truly watching could express? You'd always dreamed of being a writer—someone whose words could touch hearts from behind a curtain, never needing to be seen to be felt. And yet here you were, exposed under the silver glow of the palace corridor, your story no longer a secret.

Sunghoon’s eyes didn’t waver from yours as he spoke.

“I’m not an idiot,” he said plainly, stepping just a little closer, his voice low and steady. “Nor am I blind.”

That’s when the thought hit you—sudden and jarring.

He was supposed to be at the ball.

He was supposed to be with her.

Your brows furrowed slightly as you looked past him, toward the empty hallway, the absence of the usual music and laughter suddenly ringing louder than ever.

“Wait…” you breathed, realization dawning slowly. “You’re not at the ball. Did you—did you follow me?”

His expression shifted, almost imperceptibly, but you saw it. A flicker of hesitation, followed by something more vulnerable than you’d ever seen on his face.

“I noticed when you left,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “And when I didn’t find a letter tonight, I… I knew where you were going.”

Your heart was pounding.

“You left Wonyoung… for this?” you asked, almost afraid to believe it.

Sunghoon exhaled through his nose, his hands sinking into the pockets of his coat. “She didn’t notice,” he said with a bitter sort of amusement. “But I did.”

He took another step forward. The space between you was almost nonexistent now. The letter still sat in your hand, but neither of you looked at it anymore.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he murmured. “Not at first. I didn’t want to assume. But every word… it felt like you’d written it from inside my own head. Or heart. Or both.”

You blinked up at him, stunned. Speechless. He continued.

“I couldn’t stop reading them,” he admitted. “Every morning. They became the only part of the day I looked forward to.”

And just like that, it wasn’t a secret anymore.

It was real.

It was shared.

To him, it hadn’t just been a collection of words.

It had been a friend.

A silent companion waiting for him each morning, nestled under his door like a secret the world hadn’t yet tainted. A single sheet of paper that somehow understood him in ways not even his own blood ever tried to. The kind of understanding that couldn’t be faked, that didn’t ask for anything in return, that simply was.

His gaze lowered slightly as he spoke, and for the first time, you saw it—real, unfiltered vulnerability flickering behind his princely composure.

“They made me feel… seen,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Like someone was finally listening. Not to the title, or the responsibilities. Just… to me.”

He looked at you again, softer now.

“And it was you,” he added, more to himself than to you. “It was always you.”

The weight of his words settled heavy in your chest, but not in a painful way—like a warmth you didn’t expect, seeping into all the cold, silent places you had kept hidden. You weren’t supposed to matter. You were just a maid. You’d always told yourself that.

But to him?

You were the only one who did.

His fingers twitched slightly at his sides, as if he was debating whether to reach for you—or whether that would be too much. Too soon. Still, he didn’t step back. He didn’t retreat behind his title or the rules his family lived by.

He just stood there, looking at you like you were something he’d spent his whole life searching for without knowing it.

He stepped closer.

So close that the air between you grew too still, too heavy. Your breath caught in your chest as his eyes locked with yours—searching, quietly desperate. Inch by inch, he closed the space until your faces were just a breath apart. You could feel the warmth of him—his breath brushing against your lips, the quiet rise and fall of his chest mirroring your own.

But he didn’t touch you.

Not even a brush of his fingers.

That restraint told you more about him than any words ever could. He could’ve taken—could’ve stolen a moment for himself in the shadows of the palace—but he didn’t. Because he was respectful. Because even here, even now, he cared more about how you felt than what he wanted.

His gaze softened, searching yours for even the slightest flicker of discomfort. But he found none.

And still… he didn’t move.

For a second, it felt like time might stop altogether. Like maybe, just maybe, the world would give the two of you a single moment untouched by rules or names or rings.

But then, like a wave crashing over him, reality returned.

He exhaled shakily and stepped back—just enough to break the spell. His hand rose slowly, deliberately, as if the very act pained him. And then he showed you.

A silver ring on his left hand.

It glinted dully in the low light, cold and cruel in its simplicity.

“My mother betrothed me to Wonyoung today,” he said, voice quiet but heavy, as if the words weighed too much for his lungs to carry.

He didn’t look at the ring. He looked at you. And that made it hurt more.

“I didn’t want this,” he added, almost a whisper now. “But I don’t get to want things.”

His eyes lingered on you, the way you stood frozen, silent. There was so much behind that look—regret, longing, heartbreak wrapped in the prince’s golden cage.

And you realized it wasn’t just his freedom that had been taken.

It was yours, too.

The morning air in the dining hall felt heavier than usual—almost suffocating. The kind of silence that wrapped itself around your throat like a collar. You had been summoned to stay and eat with the royal family, something that almost never happened.

And that alone told you something was wrong.

The table was grand, as always, lined with silver cutlery and crystal glasses that shimmered in the soft light spilling in through the high windows. The King sat tall at the head of the table, his face unreadable. Beside him, the Queen wore her usual expression of composed superiority, her gaze occasionally flitting over the table like a hawk observing its prey.

Jay sat across from you, calm but noticeably stiff, next to the ever-poised Ning Ning, who smiled politely at everyone—even if the warmth didn’t quite reach her eyes. And then there was Sunghoon.

Seated right next to you, but feeling miles away.

Wonyoung, on the other hand, was practically glowing. She laughed softly at nothing, spooning fresh fruit into her mouth with all the delight of someone who had everything she wanted. Her gaze often slid toward the Queen, as if seeking approval—and always receiving it.

Sunghoon didn’t touch his food.

He sat slouched in his chair, eyes heavy with the kind of exhaustion no sleep could fix. His shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched. Every now and then, he’d glance at his plate and back down again, as though even eating felt like a task he couldn’t bear. He hadn’t said a word since sitting down.

And you—trapped between the two of them—kept your hands folded neatly in your lap, doing everything you could to seem invisible.

But it didn’t matter.

Because you could feel it.

The weight of his sadness.

The way he was shrinking into himself with each passing second.

And despite Wonyoung’s smiles and the Queen’s satisfied silence, something about that table felt deeply wrong.

Like a celebration no one actually wanted.

“So, Y/n,” the Queen’s voice rang out, calm but unmistakably sharp as she delicately placed her utensils down on her plate with a soft clink. Her gaze shifted to you, piercing and unwavering. “Where did you go after the ball last night?”

Your fork froze halfway to your mouth.

The question cut through the quiet murmur of the dining hall like a blade.

Your heart thundered in your chest. For a moment, the edges of your vision seemed to blur, every sound around you dulling as if the world had pressed pause, waiting for your reply.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced a steady voice. “I went back to my chambers, Your Majesty.”

A lie. Small, quiet, but a lie nonetheless.

The Queen leaned back in her chair, poking the inside of her cheek with her tongue, her expression tightening ever so slightly. It was subtle—elegant, even—but it spoke volumes. She was angry. Not the kind that shouted. The kind that simmered. The kind that could destroy with a whisper.

“Y/n,” she said, her voice soft but laced with steel, “I care about you a little more than I care about the other staff in this palace.”

The room seemed to still, your breath caught in your lungs.

“And because of that,” she continued, her gaze narrowing just a touch, “you should know that I hate lies.”

The weight of her words sank into you like cold water.

Jay shifted slightly in his seat across the table, eyes flickering toward you, but saying nothing. Sunghoon remained motionless beside you, his expression unreadable, though you could sense the tension in his body.

You felt as though you were on trial, sitting not in a dining hall, but in front of a throne.

The Queen wasn’t just a ruler.

She was a mother.

A mother who would do anything to protect what was hers.

The sharp clink of cutlery echoed as Ning Ning’s voice suddenly pierced through the stillness of the hall.

“She was with Sunghoon, mother-in-law!” she burst out, eyes wide with theatrical disbelief. “I’m telling you—they’re having an affair!”

The word affair landed like a thunderclap in the middle of the royal table.

Your breath hitched. The room spun. Your eyes snapped to her in shock, completely blindsided by the accusation. It wasn’t just a misunderstanding—it was a complete distortion of the truth, twisted into something vile.

Jay froze mid-sip, and even Wonyoung’s spoon paused halfway to her lips, stunned.

You felt the shift beside you before you saw it.

Sunghoon.

He sat rigid, shoulders tense, his grip tightening around his silver fork until his knuckles turned ghost-white. His jaw clenched hard, as if he were physically holding back the flood of fury rising in him.

But Ning Ning wasn’t done.

“I have a picture,” she added smugly, producing a folded photograph and handing it across the table with far too much satisfaction. The Queen took it with calm, regal precision, unfolding it slowly like a verdict being read aloud in court.

The image said enough. A snapshot taken in the dim corridor just outside Sunghoon’s chambers—capturing the exact moment he’d leaned in toward you, the air between your faces too close, too charged, too easily misinterpreted.

“Can you believe he’d do such a thing to Wonyoung?” Ning Ning pressed, voice dripping with false sympathy. “Honestly, Y/n might’ve… I don’t know… spiked him. That’s probably the only way she could even get his attention.”

Your blood ran cold.

The insult stung more than anything else—like you were some lowly temptress manipulating your way into his affections instead of simply being someone who cared. Someone who had stayed silent. Loyal.

Sunghoon slammed his fork down.

The sudden noise cracked like thunder, making the Queen’s hand still mid-air, the photograph paused just inches from her face.

He turned to Ning Ning with a look that could freeze fire. His voice, when it came, was low and shaking from how hard he worked to restrain himself.

“Don’t you dare speak about her like that.”

The silence that followed was deafening. The collective breath of everyone at the table seemed to hitch in unison.

Sunghoon—the prince—had just defended you.

A maid. A lowborn village girl.

The gasp of disbelief came from every direction. Wonyoung’s eyes widened in shock, her mouth agape. Ning Ning, momentarily silenced, held her breath in stunned realization. Even Jay, ever the observer, couldn’t hide the slight shift of his gaze as he took in the scene unfolding before him.

Sunghoon’s hands slammed down onto the table with such force that the cutlery rattled. His chest rose and fell with every heavy breath, his usually composed expression now twisted with raw emotion. This was something more than anger. It was defiance.

And for the first time in your life, you felt like someone was standing in your corner—not just as a maid, but as a person.

His gaze never wavered as he turned to face the Queen. The air between them crackled, thick with tension, as his words hit like an undeniable truth.

“Mother,” he began, his voice steady but dripping with the weight of what he was about to say. “Never once in my life have you asked what I wanted—what Jay and I have wanted. Instead, you’ve paraded me and my brother through a string of women like we’re nothing but tools to secure your royal alliances.”

His tone was fierce, unlike anything you had ever heard from him. It cut through the silence like a blade.

The Queen, ever so poised and authoritative, actually flinched. The vulnerability in her expression was fleeting, but it was there. A crack in her regal armor.

“You go out and find me a suitable wife,” he continued, his words ringing out like a challenge. “A woman to fill your idea of what’s best for this kingdom—while I’m left with no choice, no say. And now, this,” he gestured to the scene around them, his voice rising. “You accuse me of betrayal because I stood up for someone who deserves my respect. Deserves my loyalty.”

The Queen’s lips parted, but no words came. She was frozen—stunned into silence by the force of her son’s declaration. For the first time in her life, it seemed like Sunghoon was no longer the obedient prince she’d molded him to be.

And he wasn’t done.

"You don't get to decide who I marry," Sunghoon’s voice dropped, quieter now, but with an intensity that was unmistakable. "And you don't get to tear down the one person who has stood by me, when all I've wanted was to choose for myself."

You watched, breathless. He was no longer the perfect son she’d expected. He was his own man now.

The moment was electric. The tension in the air was so thick you could almost feel it pressing against your chest.

Sunghoon’s hand shot out, gripping yours with a force that sent a jolt through your body. You froze, eyes wide, unsure whether to pull away or lean in. But he didn’t give you the option. His fingers intertwined with yours, holding you firmly beside him as if claiming something that belonged to him, something he had finally made the choice to fight for.

The rest of the room seemed to disappear, fading into nothing but echoes of the soundless reactions. Every eye was on him now.

The Queen’s eyes widened as Sunghoon stood tall, his posture shifting from the dutiful prince to a man taking control of his own destiny. He was no longer the son who obeyed without question. He was speaking with the passion of someone who had spent too long hiding his true desires.

“You asked me a long time ago who I wanted to marry,” Sunghoon said, his voice surprisingly calm for the storm of emotions roiling beneath it. “And back then, I followed your rules. I stayed loyal to the principles of royalty, the image you wanted. I said Wonyoung, because I thought that was what I was supposed to do.”

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, both from the weight of his words and the warmth of his hand holding yours, steady and certain.

Sunghoon paused, his gaze flicking to Wonyoung. The coldness in his eyes could have frozen the entire room. It wasn’t just indifference—it was hate. A deep-rooted frustration that had been bubbling under the surface for so long, finally erupting.

“I know what I want now,” he continued, his voice gaining strength, each word an anchor to the truth he was finally claiming for himself. “And it’s not Wonyoung. It’s not this royal status that you all built with your authority and power, using it to control everything around me.”

You could feel his thumb brush over your hand in a rare, tender motion.

His eyes locked onto you, unwavering, his gaze softening but still fierce, full of something raw and genuine. Something he had never shown to anyone—especially not to the Queen.

“It’s Y/N.”

He said your name, and it was as if the entire palace fell into a hushed reverence, a quiet acknowledgment that the prince had spoken his truth.

The Queen sat frozen, her hand still gripping the edge of the table as if she needed it to steady herself. Wonyoung’s lips parted, her expression a mixture of shock and disbelief, but there was nothing she could do.

The atmosphere in the room shifted. What was once tense with uncertainty, now pulsed with a chilling certainty. The Queen’s words hung in the air like a poisonous fog, but they couldn’t break the force of Sunghoon’s resolve.

"Are you crazy?" The Queen’s voice was barely a whisper, but it carried enough weight to crush any lesser person. It wasn’t anger—it was disbelief. The kind of disbelief that came when a parent’s world was shattering before their eyes. She couldn’t believe her son, her prized heir, the one she’d molded and controlled his entire life, was choosing you.

"You know what we did to the villager your cousin tried to—"

But Sunghoon wasn’t having any of it. He was done with her threats. Done with the suffocating chains of royalty and the power they held over everyone else.

Before she could finish, Sunghoon cut her off, his voice ice-cold with finality. “I will protect her with my life. If you want to kill her, kill me too.”

The words hit the room like a thunderclap, making even the most stoic of the servants flinch. He was no longer just the Prince of this palace. He was a man with his own will, a man with his own heart, and he had made the choice.

“I don’t care when I fell for her," he continued, his gaze unyielding as he turned it to his mother. "Maybe it was in the garden, or maybe it was before either of us knew each other's names. It doesn't matter now."

His eyes locked onto yours, softening for a moment as he took a step closer. His voice lowered, but his determination grew stronger. “I’m in love with her.”

The words were a confession, a battle cry, and a promise all at once.

The air grew heavy with tension. The Queen, who had always held control over the palace with an iron grip, was speechless—stunned into a rare silence. The kind of silence only broken by the raw, unfiltered truth that came from a son who had never truly been allowed to choose for himself.

"Dare I say," Sunghoon added, his voice cold and unwavering, "If you touch a hair on her body, I won't stand still."

The room went deathly still.

His words sent a chill down everyone’s spine. There was no hesitation in his tone—no room for negotiation. He was serious. He would go to war for you. And the promise he made was as dangerous as it was resolute.

Even Jay, who had remained quiet until now, couldn’t hide the surprise in his eyes. He understood the weight of Sunghoon’s words—the finality in them. For the first time, Sunghoon wasn’t just a prince. He was a man prepared to risk everything.

The room was frozen in time. No one dared to move, speak, or even breathe.

Sunghoon’s hand trembled slightly as he removed the engagement ring from his finger. The ring that symbolized the future the Queen had chosen for him, the life he had been expected to live. But as he held it in his palm, you could see the weight of that expectation shattering with every passing second.

With a cold, deliberate motion, he walked over to Wonyoung. Her expression was a mixture of shock and sorrow, but there was no anger in her eyes—just understanding. She knew what this was, what this meant. She had long known Sunghoon’s heart was not in their engagement, even if she had tried to convince herself otherwise.

Sunghoon held out the ring to her, his fingers slightly trembling as he placed it in her hand.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, though it was not regret that filled his voice. It was more of a solemn apology for the role he had played in this charade. “But I want to marry Y/N. And that’s my final choice.”

The words hit like a declaration of war. The air thickened, as if even the walls of the palace were holding their breath. The tension had escalated to an unbearable point, and yet, in that moment, it was clear that Sunghoon had made his decision. No matter the consequences.

“I... I want to marry Y/N,” he repeated, his voice more certain than ever. “Kick me out of the palace, beat me, execute me for this choice—I don’t care.”

His voice didn’t falter, didn’t break. It was steady, firm, and resolute. Every single word carried the weight of a promise—a promise to you, to himself, and to the world that nothing would ever stop him from following his heart.

You felt your chest tighten. His declaration wasn’t just a rebellion against the Queen—it was an act of defiance against everything he had known, everything he had been taught, everything he had been expected to uphold as a prince.

And he was throwing it all away for you.

You glanced at the Queen. Her face was a mask of fury, disbelief, and betrayal. Her eyes were dark with rage, but underneath, there was a flicker of something else. Was it... fear? Fear of losing control over her son? Fear of the kingdom’s image shattering?

But Sunghoon stood unwavering, his back straight, his chest proud. His heart belonged to you, and he wasn’t going to let anyone take that away.

The silence in the room was suffocating. No one moved. No one spoke. But the tension was palpable, like a storm waiting to break.

The tension in the room remained thick as Sunghoon left for a brief moment, leaving everyone in stunned silence. You could feel the eyes of the royal family on you, waiting for what he would do next. The sound of his footsteps echoed down the hall, each step adding to the weight of the moment.

When Sunghoon returned, he was carrying something precious—something that would change everything. Your letters.

He held them up, each one in his hands, like a sacred relic. His mother’s eyes flickered between him and the letters, confusion clouding her face as she wondered what he was about to do.

Without a word, Sunghoon walked up to the Queen and placed the stack of letters in front of her. The Queen’s expression hardened, but there was a trace of uncertainty in her eyes. She glanced at him briefly before turning her attention to the letters.

“No girl has ever shown me love through letters,” Sunghoon began, his voice quieter now, but still full of conviction. “Until Y/N.”

His words hung in the air, and you could see the Queen’s eyes flicker with something you hadn’t expected: a brief moment of vulnerability. She took the first letter in her hands, flipping it open, and began to read.

You held your breath as she read through each word. You had written those letters with so much care, pouring your feelings into every sentence. It was a side of you no one had seen before—raw, vulnerable, and completely open. The Queen’s expression was unreadable at first, but as she continued reading, you saw the subtle shift in her face.

Her lips parted, just barely, as her eyes scanned the pages. Each word was like a thread, weaving a story of emotions, admiration, and love. And as she reached the end of the last letter, something shifted in her demeanor.

The Queen’s hand trembled ever so slightly as she held the final letter. For a brief moment, her gaze softened. She glanced at Sunghoon, her eyes flickering with a rare vulnerability, something you’d never seen from her before.

“You… you’ve never spoken like this about anyone,” she murmured, her voice low and almost wistful.

Sunghoon remained silent, his eyes fixed on his mother as he waited for her to process.

Her gaze then dropped to the letters again, and this time, you could see it—something had shifted. The walls that had been built up between her and Sunghoon, between her and you, were cracking. Maybe it wasn’t forgiveness yet, but there was understanding.

The Queen’s emotions seemed to waver between anger and something else—something close to regret. She couldn’t bring herself to fully acknowledge the love that had blossomed between you two, but she couldn’t deny it either. These letters were proof of something real. Something she couldn’t control, no matter how hard she tried.

She exhaled slowly, and for the first time, the Queen looked at you—really looked at you. You felt exposed, but there was no turning back now. Sunghoon’s choice was final.

Her voice broke the silence, but this time, it was quieter, softer than you expected.

“Sunghoon, I... I didn’t realize. I didn’t see it before.”

You couldn’t tell if she was speaking to him or to herself, but it was enough to send a wave of uncertainty through you.

You had never expected this moment. The Queen—cold, calculated, and unyielding—was, for once, not as powerful as she seemed. She was just a mother, faced with the reality that her son had chosen a path she could neither control nor predict.

The room seemed to freeze once more, as if the very air held its breath. Sunghoon’s words were like thunder in a storm, echoing across the cold, regal halls of the palace. There was no hesitation, no wavering in his tone. His declaration was firm, unyielding, and filled with the kind of conviction that only true love could bring.

"I'm going to marry Y/N in a month from now," he stated, his voice cutting through the tension with undeniable strength. "And none of you are going to stop me, understand?"

His gaze swept across the room, locking eyes with his mother, the King, and even his brother, Jay, as if daring anyone to challenge him. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and for the first time, it seemed as though the Prince was no longer bound by the expectations of his royal lineage. He was fighting for what mattered to him most—you.

As Sunghoon spoke, you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell with emotion. He was doing the impossible—choosing you over everything he had ever known, over the kingdom, and over his royal duties. There was no turning back for him now. No matter the consequences.

For the first time in your life, you truly understood the meaning of love being a force that could not be stopped. Sunghoon was determined. He was willing to risk everything for the chance to be with you.

You glanced over at Jay, who was quietly watching the entire exchange with an almost amused expression. His words from earlier echoed in your mind: "When he’s in love, he’s unstoppable."

You could see it now—Sunghoon wasn’t just making a choice, he was staking his claim on his own happiness. And nothing in this world, not even the power of his mother or the rules of royalty, could sway him.

The Queen’s eyes narrowed, her fingers gripping the letters so tightly it almost seemed as though she might tear them apart. She was seething, yet there was something else beneath the anger. A small, almost imperceptible flicker of something she hadn’t shown before—resignation. As if she knew that Sunghoon had already made up his mind, and that no amount of fury could change that.

The King, usually a man of authority, didn’t speak. He simply looked at Sunghoon, his gaze hard but unreadable, as though calculating the repercussions of his son’s rebellion. It was clear that this was not a simple defiance. Sunghoon wasn’t merely rejecting an arranged marriage; he was rejecting everything the kingdom stood for when it came to royal duties and expectations.

Finally, after a long, suffocating silence, the Queen’s voice broke through the tension.

“You think this is easy?” she asked, her words tinged with a mixture of disbelief and anger. “You think you can just throw everything away—your future, the family’s legacy—all for a lowly maid?”

Her voice cracked, but she quickly regained her composure. “If you marry her, Sunghoon... everything will change. The kingdom will see this. The nobles will revolt. Your place as the future ruler will be in question.”

Sunghoon stood tall, his shoulders squared, his resolve unshakable.

“I don’t care,” he said simply, his gaze unwavering. “I’ve already made my decision. I’m marrying Y/N.”

The room was silent again, but this time it wasn’t the kind of silence that felt oppressive. It was a silence of finality. The storm had passed, and what was left was the undeniable truth of his words.

In that moment, you realized the power of Sunghoon’s love was not just about his feelings for you—it was about him finally choosing his own path. No longer a prince bound by the expectations of his family and the weight of tradition, but a man who knew exactly what he wanted.

And what he wanted... was you.

The room fell into an unsettling silence again, but this time, the atmosphere had shifted. Sunghoon’s words were like an unexpected revelation, a soft blow that carried so much more weight than anyone could have imagined. He wasn’t just rejecting the throne—he was relinquishing it willingly, handing it to his older brother, Jay, without hesitation.

He turned his gaze to his brother, Jay, who had been silent and distant this entire time. His posture was stiff, his eyes downcast, as if avoiding the truth in the room, but Sunghoon’s words hit him like a tidal wave.

“Jay is a better choice for king,” Sunghoon continued, his voice steady and sincere, but there was a quiet ache underneath the surface. “He’s older than me, more mature, he follows the rules—couldn’t you see that he wants it more than I do?”

The words hung in the air, delicate but raw. Everyone at the table—his mother, the King, Wonyoung, and even you—couldn’t have predicted the direction this conversation was taking. Sunghoon was not only defying his mother's expectations and his duty, he was giving Jay the one thing he never asked for: the throne.

Jay, who had always been in the shadows, who had followed his duty and remained in line with the family’s desires, now found himself the center of attention. His heart raced, and his throat felt tight. He had always admired his younger brother’s spirit, his courage, and for once, he was the one who felt vulnerable under Sunghoon’s words.

Jay refused to make eye contact with anyone, his face flushed and his heart heavy. Sunghoon had just defended him—his brother had stood up for him in front of the most powerful people in the kingdom. His protective older sibling was now shifting the entire weight of the royal world onto his shoulders.

And Jay wanted to cry.

For once in his life, he felt the raw sting of emotion that Sunghoon was carrying for him. Sunghoon, the one who had always been seen as the more rebellious, headstrong one, was now openly acknowledging that Jay had the qualities needed to rule. But Jay had never wanted the throne—not like this.

He had always been the responsible one, the dutiful one. But to be seen as a ruler by his family—by his own brother—was something he had never truly prepared for.

The Queen's face was a mask of disbelief, her lips trembling as she absorbed Sunghoon's words. She had never expected such a declaration. For Sunghoon to not only renounce the throne but then offer it to Jay so selflessly? It shook her to her core.

The King, too, was silent. His gaze turned slowly to Jay, his eldest son, his heir. But Jay couldn’t meet his father’s eyes. The pressure was suffocating, and he could feel the weight of everyone’s expectations suddenly closing in on him.

“I don’t need it,” Jay muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible, but the sincerity was there. “I never asked for it. Sunghoon... you should be the one who—”

But Sunghoon cut him off, stepping forward, his tone firm but filled with an unexpected tenderness.

“Jay, I know you’ve always followed the rules. I know you’ve carried the weight of this family’s expectations without complaint. But the truth is—you’ve always wanted something else. You deserve a life of your own, not one decided for you.”

Jay felt his heart wrench as his brother spoke. For all the years they had spent under the same roof, in the same palace, Sunghoon had always seen more in him than he ever allowed himself to see. Sunghoon, despite everything, knew what his brother wanted even if Jay couldn’t say it himself.

The Queen’s expression softened just a little, but she still held the weight of the crown on her shoulders. This situation was far from over, and she wasn’t ready to let go of her son’s future so easily.

“I don’t care about the throne anymore, mother,” Sunghoon added, his eyes still locked on her. “What I care about is Y/N. She’s everything to me. And if that means giving up everything I’ve ever known, then so be it.”

The Queen’s lips trembled as she watched her son. She had always known he was different, but she had never imagined he would go this far. The once unyielding power she held over him, over all of them, seemed to slip through her fingers.

Jay still didn’t meet anyone’s gaze, but his heart was pounding in his chest. For the first time, he felt like Sunghoon wasn’t just his younger brother—he was his protector. Sunghoon had defended him, given him the chance to choose his own future. Jay swallowed hard, his emotions swirling in a way he had never felt before.

And you? You were standing there, watching it all unfold, your heart racing as the love of your life fought for you, for the life you both dreamed of.

The palace seemed quieter as you walked beside Sunghoon, his hand gently holding yours, and you couldn’t help but feel like the world had shifted on its axis. The halls that once felt so distant, so far beyond your reach, now felt strangely familiar, as if they were finally becoming yours in a way you never imagined possible.

Every step felt like a dream—one that had been carefully built on secret letters and stolen glances in the garden. But now, everything was different. You were no longer the lowly maid, hiding behind the curtains of the palace's grand halls. No, now you were walking hand-in-hand with the prince, the man who had just declared his love for you in front of everyone.

Your heart was still racing from the earlier confrontation. The words Sunghoon had spoken, the way he had stood up to his mother, to everyone in the room—it all felt surreal. His declaration wasn’t just for your love, but for your future. He had made it clear that he wanted to be with you, and he was willing to risk everything to make that happen.

“I can’t believe it…” you finally spoke, breaking the silence. Your voice trembled slightly, still processing everything that had just transpired. “I never thought this would happen… I never thought I’d be… I mean, me? The prince’s wife? I was just a maid.”

Sunghoon stopped walking, turning to face you. His expression was soft, his eyes searching yours with such tenderness that it made your heart flutter. He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it.

“You’ve always been more than just a maid, Y/N,” he said softly. “You’ve always been more than that to me. You’ve always been my equal. And I’ve always seen you that way. Not as someone beneath me, but as someone who deserves everything I can give.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat. His words—those simple yet powerful words—struck a chord deep inside you. Sunghoon, the prince, had always seen you for who you were, not for the title you carried or the status you were born into. And for that, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of emotions you had kept hidden for so long.

“But what about everything?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Your family... the crown... They won’t just let us be.”

Sunghoon’s eyes darkened for a moment, the weight of his family’s expectations hanging heavily between you both. “I don’t care about the crown anymore,” he said, his voice steady, but filled with a newfound resolve. “I care about you. I care about us. And if that means stepping away from all of this, then I’ll do it. I’ll do anything to be with you.”

His words were more than just promises; they were the kind of declarations you never thought you’d hear from someone like him. Someone who was supposed to be tied to the throne, bound by duty and tradition. But here he was, standing before you, his hands still holding yours, ready to face a life that didn’t come with a crown but with something far more valuable: love.

You didn’t know what the future would hold. The road ahead would be difficult, filled with opposition, uncertainty, and the wrath of his family. But in that moment, as Sunghoon stood before you with such sincerity, you knew one thing for sure: together, you would find a way to make it work.

Sunghoon leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “We’ll make it work, Y/N,” he whispered. “I promise.”

And in that moment, with his words and his touch, everything felt right.

The day had finally arrived. The grand halls of the palace were filled with people, all gathered to witness the union of the youngest prince and the maid who had captured his heart. The air was thick with anticipation, the weight of the decision that had been made a month ago still hanging in the air, but there was a lightness to it now. A new sense of hope, of change.

Sunghoon had spent the last month standing by his decision, unwavering in his commitment to you. The wedding preparations were nothing like you’d imagined for a royal marriage—there were no forced smiles, no pretending. There was only a quiet, serene understanding that this was what was meant to be. The queen had reluctantly accepted, but the more she saw how happy Sunghoon was, the more she realized this was the right path for her son.

You stood in front of the mirror in your chambers, the reflection staring back at you almost unrecognizable. The delicate wedding gown draped over your figure was nothing like the humble attire you’d worn as a maid, and yet, somehow, it felt like it belonged. This was the beginning of a new chapter, one that you had never dared to dream of.

You thought about everything that had led up to this moment—the secret letters, the stolen glances, the way Sunghoon had stood up to his family for you. There was so much to be thankful for, and yet, so much that still felt surreal. How could this be your reality? How could the boy you once admired from afar be standing by your side, ready to pledge his life to you?

The sound of knocking pulled you from your thoughts. A maid entered, carrying a bouquet of white lilies, your wedding flowers. She smiled gently, placing them in your hands.

“It’s time, my lady,” she said, her tone soft, almost reverent.

You nodded, your heart racing in your chest. Today was the day you would marry Sunghoon. Today, you would finally become his.

The ceremony was held in the grand ballroom, the space beautifully adorned with flowers and silks. The royal family was seated at the front, the queen’s expression softer than usual, her gaze following her son as he stood at the altar. There was no denying the change in her. She no longer saw the royal duties and status as the only things that mattered. She saw her son, truly happy for the first time in years, and that was enough for her.

Sunghoon stood at the altar, his eyes scanning the room for you. When you entered, the moment everything shifted. His face lit up, his gaze never leaving you as you made your way down the aisle. He looked so different today—like he was free, like he wasn’t bound by the weight of a crown or the expectations of his family. He was just a man in love, ready to start his life with you.

When you reached him, he took your hands, his fingers warm and firm. The priest began the ceremony, but everything felt like a blur. It was hard to focus on the words when the only thing that mattered was the way Sunghoon was looking at you—like you were the most important person in the world to him.

“I do,” Sunghoon said when it was time to vow.

The words came easily for you, though your heart raced. “I do.”

The room seemed to hold its breath as the priest declared you husband and wife. A cheer erupted around you, but all you could hear was the steady beating of your heart as Sunghoon pulled you close and kissed you, sealing your vows.

When you pulled away, you found Jay standing at the back, his arms crossed but a soft smile on his face. He wasn’t one for grand gestures, but the pride in his eyes told you everything. He had supported his brother through this decision, even if it went against everything they were taught. Sunghoon wasn’t just a prince anymore—he was his own person, and Jay had respected that.

The rest of the royal family, though tense, seemed to accept the union with quiet grace. The queen—despite her initial reluctance—looked content. She saw the love between you two, and in that moment, she realized this was the best choice for Sunghoon, and maybe for her, too.

As the night went on, the ball began. The guests mingled, the laughter and music filling the air. But through it all, Sunghoon and you remained side by side, your hands intertwined. You were no longer the maid, and he was no longer just the prince. You were partners now, standing together against the world.

And as the night grew late and the stars sparkled in the sky, you realized that everything had changed—your life, your future, and most importantly, your love for Sunghoon.

In that moment, as you danced with him, you felt a sense of peace, of belonging. No matter what came next, you knew this was where you were meant to be.

Wonyoung stood there, the clink of her champagne glass a soft accompaniment to the music filling the room. Her eyes were locked on you and Sunghoon, watching the two of you move together on the dance floor. The soft sway of the music seemed to only heighten the intimacy between you, the way Sunghoon held you close, his expression filled with a quiet joy that she'd never seen before.

For a moment, she allowed herself to feel the sting of it, the loss of the future she had imagined with him. But deep down, she knew this was right. Sunghoon wasn’t hers to have. They had never truly been a match, not in the way he was with you. And while it pained her to see him with someone else, she could also see the happiness in his eyes—the real, unguarded happiness that only you had been able to bring him.

She took another sip of her drink, her gaze softening. She couldn’t hold onto something that wasn’t meant for her. She had learned that the hard way, through all the years of pretending, all the attempts to fit into a mold that wasn’t hers. Sunghoon had always been a dream she chased, but dreams weren’t always meant to come true.

As the music continued, Wonyoung found herself smiling, even if it was bittersweet. She knew the palace would whisper about this, about the unconventional nature of this union, but she didn’t care anymore. The world would keep turning.

She had her own path to walk, and while it didn’t include Sunghoon, she was finally ready to start walking it. The past was no longer something to hold on to, and the future was hers to shape.

Watching you two, she realized something important. You had something real, something she would never have with Sunghoon, and she would be a fool to try to stand in the way of it. So she stood there, silently acknowledging your bond, accepting the way things had turned out—because in the end, love was about letting go, even when it hurt.

And as she turned to walk away from the scene, her heart felt lighter than it had in months. Wonyoung was done fighting for something that wasn’t hers, and that was okay.

Wonyoung stopped, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor as she turned slowly to face you. Her expression was unreadable, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. The champagne in her hand had long been finished, and her gaze seemed far away, like she was still processing everything that had happened tonight.

"Y/n," she replied softly, almost as if she hadn’t expected you to come after her. "What is it?"

You hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right words. You had seen the way she had watched you and Sunghoon together, and though she’d put on a brave face, you could see the quiet sadness lingering in her eyes. You understood that kind of heartache—being in love with someone who could never love you back the same way.

"I just... wanted to say thank you," you began, surprising both her and yourself. "I know this isn’t easy for you, and I want you to know that I’m not trying to take something from you. Sunghoon is his own person, and I never wanted to hurt you." Your voice softened, the words flowing more naturally now. "I think you’re really strong for being able to stand here and face everything."

Wonyoung’s eyes softened, a small, almost imperceptible tear glistening at the edge of her lashes before she blinked it away. "You don’t have to say that," she murmured, shaking her head gently. "I never truly had a chance, did I? Sunghoon... he’s always been different with you."

"You were both pushed into this," you said, stepping closer, your voice filled with empathy. "None of this is your fault. I just... wanted to make sure you knew that."

Wonyoung took a deep breath, her lips pressing together in a tight line as she absorbed your words. There was a long pause before she spoke again, her tone softer now, almost like she was confiding in you.

"You love him, don’t you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as if the question carried more weight than any others. She wasn’t accusing you; she was asking because, in that moment, she understood.

"I do," you admitted, your heart feeling lighter as you spoke the truth out loud. "I never imagined this would happen, but... I do love him."

She nodded slowly, as if she had already known, but hearing you say it aloud somehow made it real. A small, wistful smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and despite everything, it held no bitterness. Just an understanding.

"I hope you both find happiness," Wonyoung said quietly. "Maybe it’s not the way I envisioned, but if he’s happy with you, then I’ll learn to be okay with that." Her words, though tinged with sadness, carried a sense of acceptance.

You reached out to her, your hand brushing hers gently in a gesture of solidarity. "Thank you, Wonyoung. I promise, I’ll do everything I can to make him happy."

She glanced down at your joined hands, her gaze lingering for a moment before she nodded once more, her voice barely audible as she spoke one final time.

"Take care of him, Y/n. He deserves someone who truly understands him. And I think you’re the one who does."

With that, Wonyoung turned and walked away, her steps quiet but resolute. You stood there for a moment, watching her retreat, a mixture of emotions swirling inside you. There was sadness, yes, but there was also a newfound respect for her strength, for her grace in letting go.

You turned back toward the ballroom, your heart heavier, but in a way that felt like progress. And as you made your way back to Sunghoon, you couldn’t help but feel a deeper sense of gratitude for the path you and he were now walking together—no matter how complicated, no matter how unexpected.

You walked back toward the ballroom with a heavy heart, your thoughts still lingering on Wonyoung. Despite the whirlwind of emotions you had felt since the moment you’d met Sunghoon, you couldn’t ignore the sadness that had settled in your chest for her. She was beautiful, graceful, and strong—there was no doubt in your mind that she would find someone who truly deserved her. But it didn't make watching her walk away any easier.

As you neared the ballroom doors, you paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. You had done the right thing, you reminded yourself. You had spoken to her honestly, given her the respect she deserved. The world wasn't always fair, but maybe in time, she’d find her own peace with it.

You pushed open the doors to the ballroom, the warmth and bright lights flooding your senses. The music was still playing, and the laughter and conversation filled the air, but there was a shift in the atmosphere now. You felt different, like something had changed in your heart.

Sunghoon was still standing in the center of the room, waiting for you. His eyes locked onto yours as soon as you entered, and you saw the relief in his gaze, like he'd been waiting for this moment. He smiled at you, a soft, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat.

Without a word, you walked toward him, the weight of the night still pressing down on you but somehow feeling lighter now. When you reached him, he held out his hand, and you placed yours in his without hesitation, the connection between you both undeniable.

“You okay?” Sunghoon asked softly, his voice gentle, as if he could sense the quiet storm inside you.

You nodded, smiling up at him, trying to push aside the lingering thoughts of Wonyoung. "Yeah. Just... thinking about everything, I guess."

Sunghoon’s expression softened, and he took a step closer to you. “You did the right thing,” he murmured, as if he could read your mind. “You’re not alone in this, Y/n. I’ve got you, okay?”

You swallowed, the weight of everything in that moment almost overwhelming, but the warmth of his words helped steady you. You looked up at him, really looked at him for the first time tonight, and for the first time, you felt a true sense of certainty. This was real. All of it.

“I know,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “I know.”

And in that moment, you couldn’t help but feel that whatever came next, whatever challenges you’d face together, it was all worth it. You weren’t just a maid anymore. You were Sunghoon’s—his equal, his partner. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to make everything else fade away.

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: This story is NOT based on the song, I put the song on there for the sake of the title so please do not come at me! thank you for taking your time to read this story- I wanted to make something refreshing rather than my sad ass angsty stories so I hope you enjoyed!

[visionsoffutile]

"Well, did she make you cry? Make you break down"

Gold dust woman: chapter one

The soft hum of music filled the small, dimly lit music store. You leaned against the counter head nodding slightly to beat of Gold dust woman by fleetwood mac off of the rumors album. You'd picked the album for to start the day off. The air smelled of aged records,wood,and faintly something sweet-like vanilla. The smell made the morning less dull.

It was just another slow Saturday. Or you thought.

The small door bell chimed as it opened, letting the cool autumn air in.

In she walked.Regina George.

It was not hard to notice her, it never was. Blond hair, perfectly styled. An outfit that scremed 'fall core', from designer boots to the soft cashmere sweater that hugged off her shoulders just right. She carried that self confidence that most people don't have.

But she walking straight towards you. You swallowed hard,pushing off the counter and trying to compose yourself. Regina fucking George in a music store? This felt like a storm was upon you. Couldn't figure out why she came in or hell even picked this store.

"Hi, can I help you?" Your voice came out more casual than you felt. Inside your heart was racing. You were used to customers, but not customers like her.

She didn't respond right. Instead her eyes roamed the shelves, barley acknowledging your presence at first, as though she was weighing whether you were worth her time. She drifted her fingers across a row of vinyl records, her expression unreadable then finally glanced up at you with those piercing blue eyes.

"I'm looking for something...I have to get a friend a birthday present" she said her voice smooth as a honey but with edge. "Like a taylor swift or lana del rey album."

"Well uh,I got a few suggestions." You said stepping around the counter and making towards lana del rey and taylor swift records. You could feel her watching as you moved, and it sent a shiver down your spine. 'Don't trip, don't trip' mentally chanted.

You pulled out two records one from both artist and showed to her. "So whose birthday?". "Karens" she responded. You put the lana del rey record back. "Taylor is definitely her is vibe."

She stepped closer, inspecting the record in your hands. She was so close now you could smell her perfume, something expensive and intoxicating. You could feel the heat rising in your face.

"You're cute when you're nervous" she said causally, like she was commenting on the weather. Your brain short circuited for a moment. Was Regina George flirting with you? Or just playing some twisted game like she known for?

You cleared your throat, trying to pull yourself together. "So you want the record or...".

Regina looked at One more, Then back at you."Yes." She shrugged , but there was something in her gaze that felt almost... predatory. It sent a thrill through you.

As you rang her up at the counter you couldn't help but still glances at her. She was on her phone looking on bother, like she hadn't just made your heart do a weird flip.

When you handed her the bag she took it with a smile. "Thanks, what's your name?". You stammered it out, surprise she even cared to ask.

"Hmm." Regina smiles deepend,eyes flickering over you one last time. "I'll see you around y/n."

With that she turned on her heel.And walked out of the store leaving you dumbfounded. The door swung shut behind her soft chime, and the store was suddenly quiet.

You exhaled a breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

Somehow you knew this wouldn't be the last time,Regina George walked into your life.

[cherryblossomfairyy]

I did something bad

Pairing : spencer reid x unsub!reader

Summary : reader is avenging the abused and murdered wives of the rich and powerfull men in Virginia. Sadly she gets caught, and meet Dr Reid. Who isn't completely against here. Along the lyrics of the song "I Did Something Bad" by Taylor Swift

Masterlist

The sun broke over Charleston like a blush on porcelain, casting golden beams over a sprawling estate nestled behind iron gates. A Mercedes purred down the private drive and came to a stop. At precisely 7:00 AM, Margot Alvarez, housekeeper of twenty-three years, stepped out in crisp white sneakers and a linen blouse. She fumbled with the key, opened the massive front door, and walked into quiet opulence.

"Mr. Whitmore?" she called, already knowing she wouldn't get a response. The silence was too perfect. The air too still. When she entered the study, her scream fractured the morning calm. Charles Whitmore III sat upright in a leather wingback chair. A crimson silk tie had been pulled tightly around his neck. His face was wrapped in cellophane, his eyes open in terror. Soft classical music played from hidden speakers, and on the desk lay a single white camellia.

Virginia's elite had a secret—well-kept behind high gates and manicured smiles. Their wives were the silence that lined every luxury. But silence has a breaking point. She called herself Vesper. By day, a shadow. By night, a reckoning. Each name on her list had left a woman bruised or buried, protected by power, immune to justice. Not anymore. Not while she breathed. They called it a string of high-profile suicides. But the city whispered. These men were being hunted.

The city lights shimmered in the distance, a pulsing heartbeat beneath her fingertips. She leaned back in her seat , a glass of deep red wine in her hand. She had played this game before. It always started the same way—with a charming man who thought he had the upper hand.

"Never trust a narcissist. But they loved me"

And that was their first mistake. She made them feel invincible, like kings of the world. Then she played them like a violin, making it look effortless."Cause for every lie I tell them. They tell me three." Each promise she whispered in their ears, every lingering glance, was calculated. And she savored every moment.

"This is how the world works"

Tonight’s victim was Adrian, a silver-tongued businessman and politician with a penchant for expensive scotch and an ego too large for the room. "Crimson red paint on my lips." She had met him at an art gala, where he had tried to impress her with his wealth. She let him think he had won her over.

What he didn't know is that she came looking for him. Specially picked from her mountain of files, files about abuser and murders that got away. Never persecuted for their crime, why? Cause they got money, influence and nobody would testify against them.

She had met enough of them, in the high profile circles. And if the police wasn't gonna do it, she would.

The BAU got called in when the third victim was found.

"Third victim in three weeks," Emily Prentiss said, tapping the crime scene photos. "All white, wealthy men. All found staged in their homes." "And all with sealed records of domestic abuse," JJ added. "Restraining orders never enforced. Non-disclosure agreements bought and buried." "She's choosing her targets," Tara Lewis murmured. "This isn't random. This is justice. Her kind of justice."

Dr. Spencer Reid flipped through a tablet. "The tie—a crimson Mulberry silk. Not owned by the victim. Purchased boutique, cash, two weeks ago. Same type used in all three murders." David Rossi leaned back. "Organized. Patient. She’s hunting men who present one face to the public and another in private."Prentiss looked around the room. "Pack your bags. We're heading to Charleston."

The Whitmore estate buzzed with law enforcement. Prentiss, Rossi, and Reid combed through the study. The air was heavy with leather and old money. "She didn't just kill him," Reid said. "She performed this." Rossi pointed to the flower. "Camellia. Symbol of admiration... or mourning."

JJ walked in, holding a tablet. "Whitmore's wife filed for divorce four times. Each case withdrawn after private settlements. Hospital visits. Bruises logged, but never pursued." Tara joined them. "We're not looking for a killer. We're looking for a moral avenger. One who believes the system failed."

The next day the team had their profle completed and were ready to inform the police. The room is dimly lit. Crime scene photos of Charles Whitmore and Evan Masters are pinned to the whiteboard. A digital map marks both murder locations. Local detectives, a few media advisors, and the mayor’s liaison sit anxiously as the BAU steps forward. "We’re looking for a female unsub," Prentiss began. "Mid-20s to early 30s. Highly intelligent. Socially adept. She infiltrates her victims' lives through trust." "These murders are not just personal," Rossi added. "They're symbolic. The silk tie, the plastic, the posing. She wants us to see the truth they kept hidden. And she’s good at it. She’s careful. She studies her victims. She blends in. You won’t find her breaking windows or leaving prints. You’ll find her on security footage shaking hands, making polite conversation—just another face at the fundraiser.“

"She's likely a survivor of abuse herself," Tara said. "Possibly a witness to it growing up. This isn’t about rage. It’s about control. She’s displacing her rage. These men represent every abuser who walked away clean. She’s rewriting the narrative." Tara started her next words with a heavy sigh.  “This isn’t vengeance for a single wrong. This is mission-oriented. She sees herself as a kind of moral executioner—righting wrongs the legal system won't touch. That kind of psychological drive comes from deep, personal trauma.”   

"She volunteers somewhere," Reid said. "A domestic violence shelter, a counseling group or women’s charities. Somewhere she has access to stories, names, patterns."                                                                      Reid said with a speed that was hard to keep up with for most policeman at 8 am “She’s building dossiers before she even steps foot inside their homes.”

JJ looked around. "She believes she’s saving women. That makes her incredibly dangerous. Because she thinks she’s doing the right thing. She’s not done. She’s methodical. That means she has a list—and she’s checking names off, one at a time."             

 Prentiss said with a final and commanding voice. “This woman isn’t a monster. She’s a survivor who believes she’s the only one doing the right thing. And that makes her dangerous—because in her mind, she’s saving lives. Find the list, and you find her next victim.” The room goes silent as the team stands firm. The local lead detective slowly exhales, finally understanding the stakes.

Her name surfaced through DNA genealogy. A single eyelash found on the second victim’s silk tie. Y/n Y/l/n. Twenty-seven. Degree in la wand social work. Works part-time at The Harbor, a women’s shelter. Clean record. Calm eyes.

But her ex-husband had died ten years ago in a boating accident under suspicious circumstances. She was 19 when she married him. 23 when she was hospitalized with broken ribs. No charges ever filed. "She's reliving her trauma," Tara whispered. "Only this time, she wins."

She had met enough of them, in the high profile circles. And if the police wasn't gonna do it, she would.

But alas everything has too end someday. She got caught, after she poisoned Adrian. A quick, clean and effective method. After she left the scene, she forgot to turn the securitycameras back on. The security company found the error and send someone to check it out. The body was found the next day and the police got called.  The team knew with certainty hat this was her work. But it was rushed. Her normal rituals and signatures were missing.

Across town she had found her next victim

Senator Thomas Redgrave. Progressive. Vocal on women’s rights. Secretly monstrous. His wife had checked into The Harbor two months ago. Left within 48 hours. Never gave a statement. She was already in the senator's coastal retreat, posing as a new private chef. She greeted him with a soft smile and poured his wine. "You know what it feels like to scream and have no one hear you?" she asked softly. Redgrave frowned. "Excuse me?" She slipped the silk tie from her apron. "I'm here to listen.

Arrogance always gets caught. Her last job was too loud. Too fast. Too angry. She was captured before the blood on her hands had even dried.

And now here she was, still in her deep red dress, cuffed to the table in an interrogation room. The first who came to talk to her was a dark haired women. She introduced herself as Uniet chief agent Prentiss. After an hour with no words from her, the agent left. Before she closed the door she heard "If a man talks shit, then I owe him nothing. I don't regret it one bit, 'cause he had it coming."

Behind the mirror stood the team of other agents, and sight. She was the unsub, they knew it. But wasn't talking much. Seeing as the method of a female agent didn't work, they had to make a new plan. A plan that would help them make her give up her kill list. While the other agents were huddled together, Spencer was staring at the handcuffed women. Her posture confident and voice smooth that pulled him in. He couldn't see her eyes, yet he knew they were mesmerizing.

After some back and fort they decided that Spencer should go try. As he didn't look like an alpha male, the men who she hated and hunted. Spencer entered the room without a word. After 5 minutes of silence he introduced himself "Hello my name is Dr Spencer Reid. I'm with the BAU, you're in Quantico." his words seem to pull her attention. As they locked eyes for the first time. It felt as if electricity ran down their spines..

She didn’t expect him. Dr. Spencer Reid. FBI’s profiler with haunted eyes and a voice that could lull demons to confession. But he didn’t look at her like she was a monster. He looked like he understood.

The eye contact so sharp they both didn't dare to look away. In her smooth and steady voice, she said “They say I did something bad” to Dr. Reid. He wanted to tell her that she indeed did something bad, she murdered 5 men in total. But before he could, a grey haired, older, male agent, walked in the room with heavy footsteps and threw the crime scene photos on the table.

"You did something terrible. You killed these men without an ounce of sympathy. These men had lives, and you robbed them of it. Why!?" he yelled at her. She didn't react to the yelling and kept her gaze on Dr Reid as she slowly said "But why's it feel so good? Most fun I ever had. And I'd do it over and over and over again if I could" With a smile that would make Spencer blush if they met under different circumstances.

Even if he wanted to, he couldn't deny that he was intrigued. She was gorgeous. Her pretty eyes focused on him the whole time. As the gears of his mind whirred with newfound fervor, he wanted to know more, know her. What caused this reaction, why di dit happen like this, how did she fell into this world, what had happened to her…?.

His thoughts got cut short when the other agent asked her why she would do it again.

She sighed, knowing that the agents wouldn't understand her reasoning. The thrill was simply said, intoxicating. The look in their eyes when they realized they had been outplayed—priceless. She took justice in her own hands, because power was the most addictive drug of all. That why she would take every chance she could to scrap a name of her kill list.

She "never trust a playboy" , but they always fell for her lies. She "let them think they saved me", swooping in like knights in shining armor. "They never see it coming" what she did next.

The dark haired agent calmed his voice down and told her "if you confess and tell us who else is on your list, we'll tell the DA that you cooperated."

“Don’t throw away a good thing,” Dr Reid told her. “You’re smarter than this,” he said quietly, in the cold interrogation room. “I was smart. Then I saw what your system let slide.”

If the jury would convicted her, she would be locked up for life.he hoped that wouldn’t be the outcome of this case. All the uproar she caused would be lost. Maybe if the jury would swing in her favor, her good work coulg go on, legally then. He knew that it probably wouldn't be possible, but he still liked her to try. Yes he isn't supposed to agree with a murderer. But he couldn't deny that those men deserved to die. "The judge could be more lenient if you cooperate, and with your list we, the BAU, can make the men pay for their crimes. In prison, not in death. With your help, we can stop these men." The gray haired agent said.

She just smiled, completely ignoring the agent. All her focus was still on Dr Reid. From his beautifully messy light brown hair, to his soft dark blue cardigan. He looked sweet, like a men she could learn to trust. She could see he wasn't compulsed by her actions, he actually agreed with her. "It just felt so good." So good to see that justice is finally here". She avenged their abused or murdered spouses. In ways that the law never could.

The city below was alive with whispers. Whispers that the FBI caught the women who killed the men with the dark past. Some where saddened that there will still be many men out there who's actions made them dangerous. Others, they were always quick to call women like her witches."They got their pitchforks and proof. Their receipts and reasons"

She was getting bored and cold, sitting in the interrogation room for hours. Yes, Dr Reid was fun too look at but she rather talked without all the extra eyes on her. She looked to the mirror, knowing that the other agents were behind it. She said, with a loud and clear voice "I will tell you who's on my list, before any of my other witches find them. But only if you deserve it. I will only speak with Dr. Reid, if he passes my test, then maybe they won't have to die."

Spencer agreed to the conditions before the other agents could deliberate. He felt a rush of adrenaline, hearing that she wanted too talk to him, only him. He saw a glint in her eyes that told him she felt the same pull towards him as he felt towards her. On the one side he wanted to do his job, save those awful men of death and made them pay for their crimes. On the other he wanted to know more about the women who sat before him. Her confidence and opinions called to him, he felt the need to avenge the spouses who couldn't do it themselves, and prison felt like an too easy option, they deserved worse.

"They're burning all the witches." She said "Even if you aren't one." Being a women witch-like creature was enough for the rich en powerful men to hurt them.

"So light me up, light me up. Light me up, go ahead and light me up." and she would stand in the flames, smiling.

Because "it just felt so good."

The cell was cold. Not from temperature—sterility. The kind of cold that seeped into bones and made everything feel washed out, like she didn’t exist anymore.

But she did. They hadn’t broken her. Not yet. They tried—endless questions, psychological evaluations, a rotating cast of agents trying to pick her apart. But it was always Dr. Reid who stayed the longest. Who came back. “Why really did you start?” he asked her one night, after the others had left.

“You’ve read the files.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

Vesper leaned back, handcuffed to the table. “One of them put his wife in a coma. Her name was Lyla. I met her in a shelter where I volunteered. She was scared to breathe too loud. And the court? Called him a 'pillar of the community.'”

She looked up. “So I became the earthquake.”

Reid blinked slowly. “You know, for someone so calculated, you’re awfully poetic.” She smirked. “I’m not sorry.”

There was a flicker in his gaze—not judgment, but the kind of silent math geniuses do when calculating the cost of morality.

“Some of those wives had filed reports. I read the sealed files,” he said softly.

Her jaw twitched.

He leaned in. “I’m not saying you were wrong. I’m saying you didn’t have to do it alone.”

She laughed—bitter, hollow. “You think justice listens to women with no last name, no backing? I did what needed to be done. And I did it well.”

“You’re not a sociopath.”

“I never said I was.”

“You had patterns. Rituals. You left evidence—but just enough. It was a challenge, wasn’t it?” She leaned forward. “It was a message. I wanted them to know. To fear what they’d made.”

He didn’t answer.

She smiled. “You don't hate me.”

“No,” he said after a long pause. “I hate that you had to become this.”

Silence fell.

When the guards returned to take her away, she didn’t resist. But as they led her out, she looked over her shoulder and said:

“They say I did something bad—so why did "it just felt so good."

And he watched her go, the line between justice and vengeance burning like a fuse.

A week passed. No trial date. No visitors. Just headlines. Some outraged. Some disturbingly admiring. Then, an envelope. Slid under her cell door. No return address. Inside: a single note. “They’re not done covering for each other. Stay alive.” She stared at it, heart pounding. Someone out there still cared—or wanted her to think so.

Reid came the next day. “I didn’t send it,” he said before she could ask. “But... I’m glad someone did.” She raised an eyebrow. “You believe me now?” He looked at her, softer this time. “I think you believed in something. And I think the system is afraid of women who stop asking permission.” She tilted her head. “Are you afraid of me, Dr. Reid?” He gave a tired smile. “No. But I am afraid of what the world did to make you necessary.”

They moved her to solitary. They said it was for her safety. She knew better.

They called it The Vesper Case.

No one said her real name anymore. She had become a myth, a media obsession, an antihero draped in chains and black suits. Protesters outside waved signs. Some cursed her. Some worshipped her. "They're burning all the witches, even if you aren't one..."

She sat at the defense table like a storm bottled in human form—silent, but crackling. The prosecution called her calculated. Cold. A predator who "manipulated trauma into motive." They showed photos, autopsy reports, financial trails.

But the defense? They had one strategy: make the jury feel. One by one, they summoned the widows, the surviving wives. Lyla, in her wheelchair. Another woman, who had fled the country. A daughter who'd watched her father beat her mother half to death before Vesper “intervened.”

Each one broke the courtroom like waves. The judge was visibly shaken. Reid watched from the second row every day. Always silent. Always with that expression—not pity, not judgment. Something heavier.

during the cross-examination the prosecution asked: “Did you think you were above the law?” She replied “No. I knew the law didn’t see people like me.”

“Is that why you became their executioner?”

“No,” she said, voice sharp as a blade. “I became their reflection.”

Murmurs erupted in the crowd. The judge banged the gavel. It was time for the closing arguments. The prosecutor repeated his earlier words “She is not a vigilante. She is a serial killer.” Her defense spoke in clear, firm voice without a stutter “She is what happens when justice looks away too long.”

Outside, the press screamed. Inside, the jury disappeared into deliberation.

Three days passed. Three days in silence. She slept maybe four hours in total. Reid visited once. “They might convict you,” he said. “I know.” “They might not.” “I’m not hoping.” He nodded. “You don’t need saving, do you?” “No,” she said. “I am the fire. I don’t need a rescue. I burn.”

It was finally verdict day. The room was still. Cameras lined every inch. Jurors filed in, pale and tight-lipped. The foreperson stood.

“On Count One—Murder in the First Degree... We find the defendant...”

A beat.

“Not guilty.”

Gasps. Then—

“On Count Two—Murder in the First Degree...”

“Not guilty.”

One by one, the charges fell like dominoes. Acquitted. Cleared. The judge barely kept order. But Vesper... didn’t smile. Didn’t flinch. She stood like a statue carved out of righteous rage.

The verdicts fell like thunder in reverse—explosive, but emptying the room of oxygen instead of sound. Vesper stood motionless, dark eyes locked forward, unreadable. Cheers burst outside. Cries of outrage, too. Protesters clashed. Pundits screamed across networks.

But inside that courtroom, it was the judge who spoke next. He removed his glasses, looked down at her like a man exhausted by his own power. “Miss Vesper,” he said, slowly and deliberately, “this court may be bound by law, but I am not blind to what you've done.” She tilted her head. Still silent.

“You are acquitted—but let me be clear: You are not innocent. You may believe yourself a sword of justice, but justice without due process is just revenge. And revenge is a dangerous drug.” A pause. “I do not presume to lecture you on the pain you've witnessed. Nor the failure of institutions to protect the women who trusted them. But this is your official warning.” The courtroom quieted again.

“If you take the law into your hands again... this court will not show you the same mercy twice. You will not walk out next time.” Still, she said nothing. But her gaze burned like a brand. Not defiance—truth. Because both of them knew: mercy hadn’t saved her. Fear had.

Later, walking out of the courthouse, flanked by her attorney, she caught sight of Dr. Reid through the crowd. He didn’t approach. But he didn’t leave either.

“What do you say to people who call you a killer?” She met the camera dead on. “I say you should ask why I had to become one.” Then she walked through the crowd untouched—like a ghost, or a goddess. Reid watched the footage that night. Alone.

And then she was gone. Not vanishing into the crowd—but becoming part of the story again. Not as a killer. Not as a savior. Something in-between. Something still watching. Because just outside the court’s reach, the world kept breaking.

And Vesper was still listening.