#Sunrise Remedies

[sunriserem-blog]

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[danielflemingart]

Early Bird.

42x66"

Acrylic on raw canvas.

[sunriseverse]

yes i need to update tsl but listen what if i wrote about the zhang twins galavanting about doing Wuxia Things™️

[tarotsoul]

Ghost in the Wind — Part Five

SUMMARY: Harnessing your power is growing easier by the day, and Madja finds out some interesting things about witches souls.

WARNINGS: swearing, mentions of torture, kissing, teasing, fingering, handjob, oral (female receiving—all of this is somewhat public), mentions of death

WORD COUNT: 6.4k

Series Masterlist

Cassian struggled against the vines that wrapped tight across his midriff, his muscles flexing with power but nothing shifted as they tightened with his every move. His golden skin was coated in a thin sheen of sweat, his shoulder-length hair damp with excursion. 

You were no better. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your skin flushed as your knees began to buckle. Hold it. Rhysand’s voice had continued to purr into your mind throughout the session, guiding and commanding every step of the way. He worked you from sunrise to breakfast, then again from dusk until nightfall. 

It had been your routine for the past two weeks, and with every session, your power and control grew stronger. You could now detain a being with nothing but your mind, could bound and gag with vines and soil. This session, however, was different. Because it wasn’t just vines that wrapped across Cassian’s arms and legs and torso. 

This time, the vines had thorns. And they pierced his skin deeper with every movement he made. 

It had taken an additional two weeks to get to this point. Two weeks of introducing the Inner Circle to your magic, of slowly allowing them past the protective walls your abilities offered. You no longer had to keep your distance from your friends and family. It appeared the only time your magic attacked on its own was when you were startled or afraid. 

You’d been at it for sixty minutes already, your brows dotted with sweat. Rhysand continued to slowly pace the training ring atop the House of Wind. Feyre stood off to the side, a towel in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Nesta watched from beside her, arms crossed against her generous chest as she squinted at the way her mate seethed in discomfort. 

So far, Cassian had not been able to break free from your bindings, nor had he been able to move a single muscle more than an itch. And Rhysand was more than impressed. 

“Good,” he complimented, a noticeably proud smile on his face. At that, you slowly released your power and took a heaving breath of relief. The vines lazily slithered from Cassian’s body, the thorns leaving scratches in their wake that healed almost immediately.

“You’re presenting incredible control. Tomorrow, I’d like for you to make those thorns bigger. And by next week, I’d like to see if you can implement a slow releasing toxin or poison.”

Cassian widened his eyes at his High Lord. “I’m not volunteering for that.”

A smile found your lips as you took a few breaths to settle your lungs again. You had never expected training to be this rewarding. Rhysand was nothing but attentive to your powers and how they worked. He made sure you felt comfortable with everything you tried and he never once tried to push you beyond your limits. 

When you expressed you first wished to harness your power in a defensive way, he was more than happy to oblige. He agreed that perhaps it would be the best way to learn control, and then you could go down the route of healing, learning how to harness it for remediation, too.

And Cassian… well you were unsure if you would ever be able to thank Cassian for the trust he had for you. To allow your wild magic to bind and hurt him, not knowing if you could reign it back if it got too much. 

Rhysand chuckled at his brother. “We’ll work something out.” 

If it were Rhys, he’d practice on one of Azriel’s prisoners—draw out their pain and suffering with toxins and thorns. It would make a great interrogation tactic. But it wasn’t him. It was you. And Rhysand was not prepared to present that situation or idea to you. Not unless you came to him and it was exclusively your suggestion. 

For now, he would figure out another way. 

And Elain had told him as much before she and Lucien left just a week ago, claiming she had to reason to remain. You were safe, you would learn control. And she would visit after her and Lucien’s travels.

Feyre approached with a glass of water, handing it to you and dabbing your damp skin with the towel. From his seat across from you, Cassian gawked and scoffed playfully. “I didn’t realise Y/N was the one to be bound and pricked for an hour.” 

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Illyrian baby. As if you haven’t endured worse.” 

Despite the chuckle leaving your lips, you still offered him the rest of your water, which he happily took with a cheeky wink. You returned the sentiment with a half-smile, your body still struggling to recover from the energy the session took from you.

As much as you were enjoying it—honing your power and taking control—you couldn’t help but yearn for more. You understood the strength of your mothers magic was enhanced by your fathers Fae heritage, and you had been practicing winnowing with Mor whenever she had the time to spare…but your mother…

“I’d like to learn more about witchcraft.” 

All eyes turned to you, some wide, some weary. You cleared your throat, shifted your weight from one foot to another. “As thankful as I am for this—and as much as I am enjoying it—I’d like to learn the other side, too. Rituals, spells…”

No one spoke. You met Rhysand’s eyes and something akin to regret was lit. Your shoulders slacked at the sight. “None of us are exactly versed in witchcraft. And it has been a long while since I’ve met a witch who doesn’t feel inclined to eat me.” 

An attempt at a joke, you understood, but it did not relieve any of your disappointment. Three weeks ago, Madja had confirmed that out of all of your cousins, Elain was the only one to share similar markers in her hair and blood as you. Markers of wiccan ancestry. Rhysand had been the one to suggest Elain’s presence and similar magic may have been what awoke you. 

It had been known that when she was tossed into that Cauldron, it took something from her. Through Madja’s research, she was led to believe it had taken that power and replaced it with her Fae abilities—keeping that nature element but changing its course completely. 

Which meant you were alone. With barely any clue where your ancestry stemmed from, it was useless to even ask. But your mother had been a healing earth witch, that much you were certain of. Surely there had to be books somewhere, even if just to intrigue you until Madja concluded the rest of her research.  

“Gwyn may be able to help,” Nesta spoke. 

You turned to her. Yes, you’d heard of the young priestess, a fellow Valkyrie of Nesta’s. Your cousin had told you much about her position in the library within the House. Yet that was as far as your knowledge on her went. 

Still, it awoke that small shred of hope within you. Hope that one day you could feel close to your mother again. 

Azriel took a sip of his tea, lounging back at the dining table as he watched Cassian shovel heaps of eggs and bacon into his mouth. The shadowsinger couldn’t help but quirk a brow at his brother. Cassian had always eaten like a starved male, but this… Azriel was certain it had been minutes since he stopped to take a breath. 

“It’s not going anywhere,” Azriel quipped above the rim of his mug but Cassian did not slow. He chewed as his gaze met his brothers and spoke through a mouthful of his breakfast. “You let Y/N bind you with her vines and prick thorns into your skin for a solid hour, then you can comment on my eating habits.” 

A smirk kissed at the corners of Azriel’s lips at the thought. He would be more than willing to allow his body to you for practice. Though he wasn’t sure he’d want an audience. Especially not with how his scent was already beginning to shift at the thought alone. 

Gods, after four weeks of tasting you and touching you, he should have his hormones under control by now. But he was no better than any other Illyrian brute. He was starved for you all hours of the day—completely insatiable. He had never experienced such hunger before. It was completely overpowering. 

The sound of Cassian’s plate sliding across the table broke him from the sinful thoughts, and he looked at his brother who now seethed. “Really, Az? While I’m eating my breakfast?” 

Azriel’s smirk faded as his brows rose, taking a sip of his tea. “Are you forgetting about the time Nesta was choking on your cock, right before I was about to eat my dinner?” 

Heat rushed to the apples of Cassian’s cheeks, not from embarrassment, but from the thought of his brother seeing his mate in such a compromising position. And not because he did not trust Azriel, but because he knew that at one point, Nesta had considered the shadowsinger for herself. 

The general cleared his throat and shifted, attempting to reign in that mated protectiveness. “What’s the deal with you and Y/N anyways?”

Azriel took another sip of his tea. “What do you mean?” 

Cassian scoffed. Azriel always did that. Played dumb or completely ignored any conversation when it came to his love life or bedroom habits. “I hear you both, going into each other's rooms at night,” Cassian admitted, “you’re not sneaky.”

Azriel hid his smirk behind his mug. “Not trying to be.” 

The general's eyes squinted. He was used to his brother deflecting, ignoring. He was not used to him being so truthful and open, despite him only saying four words in response, Azriel did not deny his involvement with you. 

“You like her?” 

Azriel remained quiet, watching Cassian with a blank expression. 

“She’s been through a lot,” Cassian probed, noting the way Az’s grip on the mug tightened. 

“I know,” he got out. 

“And this is all pretty new to her… I imagine it's very overwhelming, too.” 

Azriel narrowed his eyes. “What are you getting at?” 

Cassian shrugged, slouching back in his chair as he crossed thick arms over his muscular chest. “Nothing. She’s grown a lot since coming here, and she’s growing more every day. I wouldn’t want her to feel like she’s just a secret to you.” 

Raw pain sliced through Azriel’s chest at his words. He knew you did not feel that way, knew you were always so open and honest and comfortable with him. Yet Cassian’s words still stung. He could have brushed his brother off, claiming he didn’t know what he was talking about. But that would mean downplaying what he felt for you. 

And he was not prepared to even entertain the idea of that. 

“We’re not keeping anything a secret.” 

Cassian smirked. “So there is something going on.”

Azriel finished the rest of his tea, set it on the table and a scarred finger traced the rim of the mug as he considered his next words. He did not have words to describe what continued to bloom between the two of you. Longing stares, subtle touches, heavy kisses and passionate intimacy until the early hours of the morning.

And yet you had not crossed that line, not with him. He would not rush you, would not pressure you. Azriel accepted anything you offered and gave back everything in return. 

“She’s been through a lot,” he repeated Cassian’s earlier words, “I want her to understand that she’ll never have to experience that type of control ever again.”

Cassian did not need to ask anything further. Partly because he understood what Azriel was insinuating—that he was allowing you to set the pace and decide whatever you were—and the other part because it was not his place to press for more information. It was your life, your story and your trauma. He would not invade your privacy like that. 

Cassian respected you far too much. 

So, he nodded his head, pulled back his plate of breakfast and heaped another spoonful of eggs into his mouth. He would not push on the matter, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t toy with his brother a little. 

“Y/N mentioned she wanted to learn some witchcraft. You know, spells and rituals that her mother might’ve used.” Azriel hummed, gaze fixed on the table. Cassian bit back his smirk. “Nesta suggested taking a look in the library for some old books. Gwyn’s going to help.”

Azriel’s eyes snapped to Cassian’s, his face paling just slightly. Bingo. 

The shadowsinger swallowed. “When?” 

Cassian ate another spoonful. “They’re already down there now.” 

Azriel did not bid his brother a goodbye before his shadows guided him to the library doors within the House. His heart was thumping against his chest, an anxiety like no other streaming through his veins. He was yet to tell you about his infatuation with Mor, his brief involvement with Elain, and he had not yet disclosed the same about Gwyn. 

The last thing he wanted was for you to hear anything outside of anyone else’s mouths. It was for him to explain. No one else. 

He entered the library quietly, dismissing his shadows so as to not fright the priestesses. He passed Clotho first, offering a subtle nod in greeting before sauntering further into the dim library. 

Perhaps Azriel should have mentioned this place to you sooner. Despite your love for books, maybe knowing this place was available could have helped with your healing. But you had done so well without it, and Azriel had very selfishly enjoyed every moment of your presence. 

It did not take long to find you, your scent still lingering in the air and he followed that trail to one of the higher levels. There was where he found you. Alone, eyes gleaming in happiness as you looked through the archives of rituals and witchcraft. You already had two books in your arms and Azriel did not hesitate to take them from you as he approached. 

His presence took you by surprise, only for a moment and you offered a wide smile, your chest feeling warm. As it often did when you spent time with the shadowsinger. 

“Az… what are you doing here?” you asked in a way of greeting. 

He held booth books in one arm and offered a grin at the nickname you’d taken to calling him. Gods, he had only seen you yesterday evening and yet it felt as if it had been days. You looked even more beautiful today, the gentle glow of Fae lights casting over your skin. Though he could notice a hint of exhaustion in your eyes, likely from your training with Cassian and Rhysand. 

Az stepped closer. “Cass mentioned you were down here looking for some grimoires. Thought I’d offer some help.”

You squinted your eyes at him playfully, cocking your head to the side. “Didn’t Cassian tell you that Nesta was with me? And Gwyn?”

Colour stained his cheeks. “Yes. But an extra set of eyes and hands never hurt.” He looked around then, in search of his brother's mate and the young priestess that he had saved those few years ago. “Where are they anyway? Nesta and Gwyn.”

You shrugged, returning to look at the bookcase before you. “Nesta wanted to look at some romance novels, Gwyn mentioned she saved a secret stash of the smutty ones for her.” 

You did not mention the way the priestess had looked at you with guilt or embarrassment when Nesta told her Azriel was quite fond of you. Your cousin did not need to say anything for you to understand. There had clearly been something there in the past, something Gwyn felt wrong for. She had no reason to. 

But you did not speak those thoughts to her. Instead, you offered a beaming genuine smile and thanked her for offering her assistance. You had promised to come and visit the library again, and had suggested bringing lunch next time.

It was clear to her that her past involvement with the shadowsinger did nothing to sour your current one. And she was more than thankful for it. 

“And you’re not interested? In the smutty novels, I mean.” 

You turned to Azriel with a smirk, a knowing gaze in your eyes. He mirrored it, cheekily. Gods, he would never fail to make you melt beneath that hungry stare. “Something else has been keeping my interest instead.” 

A grin, and then, “I’d like to keep your interest tonight, if you’ll let me?” 

You quirked a brow, the books long forgotten as you faced the handsome male before you. “Oh? And what did you have in mind?” 

Everything with Azriel had felt so easy in the past weeks. Even this, the flirty… it seemed to fall naturally between you both. Never once had you experienced an uncomfortable silence or nervous pause. 

It felt right. 

Az closed the distance between you, reaching a gloved hand for your waist as he leaned down to brush his nose against yours. “I was thinking of taking you to the Rainbow… more specifically, to the theatre.” 

A grin spread across your full lips. “Really?” Your excitement was palpable, and Azriel had no doubt that if his shadows were here now, they’d buzz around your small frame with adoration. 

He nodded, planting a slow kiss to your mouth. Your lips puckered against his, following his lead. There had been more of this since that fruitful night he touched you at the townhouse. 

Kisses and touches when you were alone, lingering glances when in the presence of others. Often, your nights were spent with him, in his bed or yours, in the private library or in the gardens. 

You had allowed him to touch you, taste you… he had allowed you to do the same. Azriel had given you full control over every situation, every interaction. Whatever this was between you, you could not get enough.  

“I’d like that,” you whispered into the kiss, feeling his mouth stretch into a smile before he kissed you once more. 

You leaned into him, melting under his attentive touch when someone cleared their throat and he gently broke his mouth from yours. Nesta stood to the side, a pile of books in her arms and a brow quirked. 

But Gwyn… she did nothing to hide her grin, the flush of her cheeks or the happiness that glimmered in her teal eyes. You knew she knew of your story, your trauma. And you knew her happiness came from a place of understanding. 

Understanding what it took to break through the past and live in the present. To move on. To heal. 

“Need I remind you that this is a library, not a brothel.” 

You rolled your eyes at your cousin. “You best scamper off with those books then, Ness.” 

She scowled at you playfully when Gywn breathed a choked laugh. Azriel watched her then, his body stiffening just slightly before you. But enough for you to notice, to feel it. 

“It’s good to see you, Azriel.” She offered politely. 

He dipped his head. “And you, Gwyn. Thank you for helping Y/N with the grimoires.” She brushed him off with a waving hand and turned her bright attention to you with a smile. 

Azriel felt his tension slowly dissipate, watching the way you both seemed to communicate with your eyes alone. You knew, he could tell. And you did not think of him any differently. 

Not one bit. 

The play was wonderful. Well, as much of the first half that you had seen. By the time the curtain pulled for a short break, Azriel’s hands had begun to wander. Beginning on your knee and ending between your thighs. 

He had gotten you seats in Rhysand’s private booth. And when darkness shrouded the theater during the interval, his shadows encompassed you both to hide you away from the public. 

His lips were hot on yours, his tongue licking sensually against your own. Your small hand had wrapped around his thick shaft, pumping the way you had grown to know he liked. And his fingers curled deliciously at that spongy spot within you. 

You did not stop when the curtain opened and the play resumed. Neither did he. Azriel had instead lowered to his knees and pried you thighs open, rolling up the fabric of your dress as he stared into your soul. 

Then his mouth was on your aching cunt and your head was rolling back against your seat. His tongue worked meticulously, licking and swirling, his mouth closing to create suction on your throbbing clit. 

Your fingers curled into his hair, tugging at the roots and fingernails scratching at his scalp. The first time Azriel had tasted you, he had you reach that high three times before stopping. And every time since, he had done the same. 

Though this time, you knew you had to keep quiet. Your spare hand covered your mouth, your teeth biting at the palm of your hand to stifle the moans and whines that threatened to escape. 

Your hips bucked into his face, his guttural hum sending vibrations through your veins. He was a starved male when it came to you, and you feared you would never get used to that hunger. 

His fingers continued to pummel into your cunt, curling and scissoring to stretch you deliciously. The sounds were obscene, wet and quiet but everything was far too amplified. You only hoped his shadows could also offer some form of soundproofing, too. 

“Az…” you barely managed to whisper, forcing your eyes open to watch him. 

He was already looking at you, his pupils so blown in arousal that you could sparsely see the honey you loved so much. You had never experienced such desire before. Even in the other times you had been intimate with him, it never felt as strong or as dire as this. 

Because this had you wanting to damn any consequences. Damn any trauma you had once experienced. You wanted him, every part of his body and mind and soul. You wanted to feel his thick cock stretch you out, fill you until you were crying and pleading for him to ravage you. 

You’d never once felt such primal need, and Azriel noticed the shift in your scent. Noticed how it changed from arousal to a diabolical sense of unravelling. You’d never looked at him with such ferocity before. 

And Azriel feared he would lay down his life in that moment, if you so asked. 

You tightened around his fingers, your legs trembled. You bit down harder on your palm as undiluted pleasure seized your body. As you cried silently, as your thighs shut tight around his head. As he sucked on your clit at the same time his tongue rubbed against it. 

You came harder than you ever had before. And by the way you heaved a breath through your nose, you knew Azriel had reached his high with you. 

With his hand fisting his long cock and his pleasure dripped down his scarred fingers. Perhaps it was that hunger that remained that had you reaching for him… that had you guiding those fingers to your mouth as you cleaned his come with your tongue. 

He mirrored your actions, removing his digits from your cunt and stuffing them into his own mouth to suck them clean. You watched one another, chests heaving as your pussy throbbed and Azriel’s cock twitched. 

You’d go again, you’d force him into that chair and straddle him, sink down on him until he was buried so deep within you, you didn’t know where you ended and he began. 

And Azriel appeared to have sensed your thoughts and shook his head. He pulled his fingers from his mouth, but you kept his in yours. “Not here. I won’t take you for the first time in the fucking theatre.” 

A grin spread across your lips and you released his fingers, now clean as the faint salty taste of him stained your tongue. 

You batted your lashes down at him. “What if I asked nicely?” 

He huffed through his nose, though a smile graced his face. “Don’t tempt me. You deserve more than that.” 

Your expression softened at the kindness of his words. He always knew what to say, his actions always followed his verbal promises. Another thing you had never experienced before. But Azriel seemed to take pleasure in showing you how you should be treated. 

“You deserve everything,” he whispered. 

You reached for him then, for the knitted wool of his sweater and he followed your lead when you met him in a searing kiss. No words could convey what this male was beginning to mean to you. How strongly you felt for him. 

“I only want you.” 

Azriel’s heart remained steady, despite his mind's racing. He would give himself to you in a heartbeat. All you had to do was ask. 

He was about to tell you as much, when a gentle call of his name sounded in his mind. Azriel took a brief moment to compose himself before allowing his High Lord into his mind. 

Apologies for interrupting. He purred. Azriel fought the urge to roll his eyes. But Madja has concluded her research. She’d like to speak with us, we’re awaiting your return. 

You noticed the distant look on his eyes, the one he only sported when Rhysand called for him. Your stomach dropped slightly, not ready to end the night just yet. But the smile on Azriel’s lips suggested it would not be for the worst. 

“Madja has some information to share. They’re waiting for us at the House.”

He had winnowed you almost immediately to the bottom of the ten thousand stairs. Only then did he take a moment to fix both of your flushed appearances and plant a tender kiss to your mouth. 

He had flown you both to the balcony, gently settling you to your feet. Though your arm remained looped with his as you walked into the House proper, where Rhysand, Feyre, Cassian and Nesta awaited with Madja. 

The elder healer offered a smile in greeting as you entered the lounge, and your arm slipped from Azriel’s. 

“You will be pleased to know that I have finally exhausted all avenues for this research. I have some interesting things that I think would help and that I’d like to share.” 

Your heart thundered in anticipation. By the look in Madja’s eyes, you knew you were about to learn everything. She set three old books onto the table, their pages thick and discoloured. They must be at least five centuries old, but you would not be shocked if their age preceded that. 

“I finally managed to trace your heritage back to your ancestors through your blood and hair samples.” She paused, as if waiting for everyone’s undivided attention. 

“You are a direct descendent of Mother Garmelhia. She was High Witch of the Elesendray coven—a coven of earth witches. They were healers, though through her blood, the abilities were not always passed down to the offspring. Your mother was the first in two centuries to present these gifts. Her sister—” she turned to Nesta and Feyre, ��—your mother did not possess such abilities. Elain inherited a drop of those gifts, which the Cauldron quickly took, but you—” Madja looked to you again, “—you are blessed with the rawest form. The same as your mothers, but stronger.” 

There was no hiding the silver than lined your eyes. A storm of emotions clouded your vision, your mind. Your mother… your beautiful mother… 

“For some their abilities lay dormant until something triggered it. For example, Elain’s did not trigger until forced into the Cauldron, and even then, her power had shifted when Made Fae.”

You processed her words, everything made sense. Your magic had been buried so deep within you, with your mothers mark. But you wondered if your power would have shown had she not glamoured it.

“So mine triggered the moment I passed the wall into Prythian?” you asked. 

Madja’s tight lips quirked to the side as if in thought. “It would appear something happened when you passed through. And with your Fae heritage from your father, that would have also played a part. Do you remember exactly when something felt differently?”

Your mind carried you back to that night, when Nesta took your hand in hers and guided you past that shimmering veil. When you were shoved to the ground and your hands touched the grass for the first time. You shared a look with your cousin, cocking her head to the side as if she was also trying to pinpoint it. 

“Um… right after we passed through. After that creature attacked us. Everything felt clearer, but still slightly hazy. I could sense things but I didn’t know what. I thought it was just because the land held magic…”

Rhys took a step closer, his hands stuffed into his pant pockets. There was a gleam in his eyes, one that demanded more. “Did you find anything else?”

Madja nodded, reaching for the top book of the pile and flipping it open to a random page. Indeed, the book was old, yet it somehow held the scent of something you had never come across before. Something slightly familiar, yet not at all. 

“Yes… have you ever heard of soul-ties?”

Something in your stomach almost exploded. Azriel took a curious step closer, eyes scanning the pages but they were all in ancient tongue—one that Madja clearly spoke or at least understood. 

When nobody replied, Madja went on. “Within the Elesendray coven, and many others in history, soul-ties were the equivalent of a mating bond. Through the brief history I could find, it is said that a witches soul calls to another. Not just any soul. The other half of theirs.”

“So… like a soul-mate?” Cassian piped up.

Madja nodded and she did not break your gaze. She knew something, something you did not. 

“What does that have to do with my abilities?”

“It doesn’t. Not directly at least. But it is also said that when a witch finds their soul-tie and their souls are merged whole again, it is a tether so unbreakable that it exceeds even the strength of a Fae mating bond. And unlike the Fae mating bonds, if a witch does not accept their soul-tie, they will cease to exist entirely.”

Everything went silent and your heart refused to beat. 

“What are you saying?” Nesta’s tone was not one to play with. 

But Madja took a breath and laid a withering hand over the page Azriel could not take his eyes off. “I believe you have found your soul-tie, Y/N.” 

No. There was no way. You didn’t dare look at Azriel. You couldn’t. You didn’t know what it was that grew between you, you did not know where you stood in that sense. But the relationship you had ran deep. Deep enough for you to fear losing whatever he was to you. 

You begged your power not to act, begged it not to show the fear that began to cripple you. You had already once been bound to a man you did not love, a man that did not love you. You would not be forced into it again, with a powerful male this time who could do unimaginable things if he wished. 

You stuffed that fear so far down you almost choked on it. “How do I know who my soul-tie is? I didn’t think there were any other witches in Velaris?” 

“It doesn’t have to be a witch.” Madja’s eyes bore into your very spirit. “A soul-tie would be someone who endured the same agony as you to trigger an ability, to become who they were fated to become. Nothing is by chance, the Mother forges what is meant to be. Especially for witches.”

You were too overwhelmed, scared. “But passing through the wall triggered my powers? Who else would have done that?” 

You were in denial, refusing to believe that this was to be your fate. But it was Rhysand who took a step closer, his lips parted and eyes clouded. 

“You always had your power, passing through the wall just awoke your senses, because of your Fae father. Your mother’s magic was truly triggered when we burned your mark.”

You watched as Rhysand’s eyes drifted to Azriel, to his hands. Your lungs seized, your chest ached. You could not look at him, could not dare meet his desperate gaze when a lone shadow slinked to your hand and weaved between your fingers. 

“Holy Gods,” Feyre breathed.

Azriel remained still, aloof. For if he moved even an inch, he was sure to crumble. He knew. At that moment, he knew. He’d always had his suspicions, even when you were human. His soul called to yours. The missing half of him.

Rhysand came closer again. “When your stepbrothers burned your hands when you were a child, when you were locked away, your ability to wield shadows was triggered.”

Shadowsinger.

You stared at his hands—those beautiful hands. You had not known of Azriel’s story, had not ever wanted to pry. You never felt the need to ask, never considered his hands were anything abnormal. His step-brothers had burned them. He was a child. 

And your magic… burning the mark to set it free…

It was silent for too long, like it was some sick dream and joke and the Mother only ever intended for you to experience pain and agony in your life. But it made far too much sense for it to not be true. 

You had never felt so at ease with anyone before. Had never experienced such comfort and safety than in his arms. You did not need to pretend with Azriel, you did not need to hide or apologise. You just existed. And that was enough for him. 

Because you didn’t feel a change when you passed through the wall, when that creature died. You felt it when you heard something in the sky. When you heard Azriel. 

You dared a glance at him then, at the male you were destined to be with. The one the Mother made for you. The other half of your soul. His beautiful hazel eyes stared at you with such unyielding clarity, like every ounce of pain he had ever endured was worth it. Because it brought him to this moment. To you. 

It almost seemed too good to be true. That he was for you. That he was your fate. Yet your mind would not allow one single negative thought to grow. No seeds of doubt planted, not even one. Because your soul knew, you knew. 

You had no fear in that moment, staring at him. For Azriel’s own eyes mirrored your every thought. For this first time in his life, he truly felt worthy. His mind did not allow his past to dictate if he deserved that happiness. His heart did not allow a beat to falter out of place. Steady, calm. Yet a storm raged in his soul. As it had done for the past eight weeks in your presence. 

Nothing in his life had ever felt so right before. So meant to be. He damned himself a fool for his past behaviours, for ever chasing or entertaining the idea of another. 

Azriel had never truly understood what it felt like to have a home. Not until Rhysand’s mother took him in. But even then, he felt he did not deserve such kindness, that the Mother did not grant him a home of his own for a reason. 

He had always deemed himself unworthy, such a fragile mindset had taken over his entire life. 

But she granted him you. A friend, a lover, a connection so strong it exceeded even his brothers’ bonds. A soul-tie. The literal missing half of him. He had felt honor many times in his life, had felt wanted and needed and appreciated. 

But up until this moment, he had never felt worthy. 

He did not shy from your gaze, from his family watching the scene unfold. He took a step closer as a tear slid down your warm cheek. His soul sang for yours, bellowed and beckoned and begged. That’s what that feeling had been. His soul had been yearning to reunite with yours the whole time. 

“I do not know how much time you’ll have if the soul-tie is not accepted.” Madja broke through the silence softly. 

Azriel took a step closer, almost reaching you. He shook his head. “That is not something to worry about.” 

Your chest ached, your throat burned. You could not look away from him—did not want to. If you had, you would’ve noticed the lack of your family. Would have seen them fade into the shadows with such admiration and happiness in their eyes as they left to give you both privacy. 

Madja had remained, though neither of you offered your attention. She smiled to herself, and piled the books atop one another again. “When you wish to accept the soul-tie, there is a ritual you must follow. I will be happy to guide you when you are ready.” Her words were white noise in your ears as she retreated.

You were almost shrouded in darkness now, Azriel’s shadows working to cocoon you both in a haze of privacy. Words failed you, unable to conjure even a sentence. He was so beautiful, gazing at you with such longing, as if you’d singlehandedly placed the stars in the sky. 

He was closer now, the toes of his shoes mere inches from yours. You could feel his warm breath on your face, feel a scarred hand reach to cup your jaw and his thumb brushed gently across your cheekbone. You melted into his touch, fighting to keep your eyes on him. 

“Hi,” you breathed. 

A wide smile pulled at the corners of his full lips, a row of white teeth peeking through. Your heart trembled. This beautiful male was yours. Yours.

“You want this?” He was not asking for clarity, no. Azriel had no doubt in his mind. But he would be damned if he did not make it clear that you still had a choice. No matter what, you would always have a choice. 

Your head bobbed in confirmation, a smile of your own tugging at your mouth now. Azriel grinned wider, the tip of his nose bumping yours. 

“Yeah?” he asked in a whisper, and you were giddy with excitement. 

Your eyes fluttered closed as your mouth met his. A kiss so tender and soft that your souls hummed in unity. Azriel did not need to look at you to know that flora had tangled in the strands of your hair, in the strands of his. 

Time seemed to stand still as you kissed him. And the realisation that he would get to do this with you forever… Well, it was something that finally made him thankful for his step-brother's cruelty. 

Because what a beautiful thing it was for this to be his fate.

A/N: so this is pretty much the end of the series!! It is very much open to a bonus epilogue chapter in the future that will potentially contain their soul-tie ceremony and shit loads of smut, but for now, my babies are healthy and happy!! Thank you all so much for the incredible amount of love and support you guys have shown on this series, it truly does mean so so much to me!! <3

If you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a like and reblog, your feedback is always appreciated <3

[arilevenatz]

Heart At Sea

Pairing: Pirate!Wooyoung x reader

Genre/trope: Fluff, pirate au

Word count: 14.4k

Warnings: Self-harm, scars, whipping, Imk if I missed any!

AN: Finally woo gets his fic! I'm so excited to finish all 8 fanfictions of the members! I've had so much fun writing this. Also yes I did cry while writing this thank u very much. I just love wooyoung being so sweet and he's extra sweet to mc. I think everybody deserves a wooyoung in their life

Masterlist

On the island of Seagrove, YN was known as the pharmacist's daughter. Her days were spent behind the counter of her father’s small shop, nestled near the docks. With her sleeves rolled up and her hair tied back, she sorted herbs, prepared remedies, and greeted customers with a quiet confidence.

Her father often ventured into the wild parts of the island, gathering rare plants and ingredients, leaving YN to tend the store. Though young, she had learned much from him—how to grind herbs into powders, mix tinctures, and recognize the faintest symptoms of illness. To the townsfolk, she wasn’t just a girl helping her father; she was a steady hand they could rely on.

The shop itself was simple but full of life. Shelves lined with glass jars and wooden boxes gave the space a calming scent of lavender and eucalyptus. The faint hum of the bustling harbor outside mixed with the occasional jingle of the shop’s bell, marking each new customer’s arrival.

A few townsfolk trickled into the small shop as the morning sun cast golden light through the windows. YN greeted each one with a warm smile that seemed to brighten the entire room.

“Good morning, Mr. Harris!” she chimed as an elderly fisherman stepped inside, clutching his back. “Here for the ointment again?”

“Aye, lass. This old spine of mine doesn’t let me forget it,” he grumbled, though his face softened at her cheerful demeanor.

YN bustled behind the counter, quickly grabbing a small jar of salve. “This should help, just like before! And don’t forget to warm it a little before applying—it works better that way,” she reminded him with a wink.

As he handed over a few coins, another customer entered—a young mother with a baby on her hip. “YN, do you have more of that chamomile tea? It’s the only thing helping my little one sleep these days.”

“Of course, I do!” YN said, her voice filled with enthusiasm. She fetched the tea leaves from a neatly labeled jar and handed them over. “Make sure to steep it for just a few minutes—too strong, and it might be a bit bitter.”

The mother smiled gratefully, the weight of her exhaustion easing just a bit under YN’s sunshine-like warmth.

One by one, people came and went, leaving the shop not just with their medicines but with lighter hearts. YN’s genuine kindness and optimism were infectious, and her presence made the small shop a place of comfort for everyone who stepped through its doors.

Every day, YN spent her hours in the shop, tending to customers with her signature warmth and energy. From sunrise until late afternoon, she ground herbs, mixed tinctures, and offered advice to anyone who came through the door. Her genuine care for others made her beloved in the town of Seagrove.

The shop’s bell jingled throughout the day, announcing each visitor. Sometimes it was a sailor seeking relief for a sore shoulder, or a mother in need of remedies for her child’s fever. YN treated them all with the same unwavering kindness, her cheerful voice and bright smile a constant in their lives.

When the day quieted, YN carefully closed the shop, counting the coins she had earned and tucking them into a small leather pouch. Slinging her basket over her arm, she walked the familiar cobblestone streets back to her home, greeting everyone along the way.

“YN! Thank you for the tea yesterday—it worked wonders!” called a baker as she passed by.

“Anytime! Let me know if you need more,” YN replied, waving with a grin.

The townsfolk adored her. To them, YN wasn’t just the pharmacist’s daughter—she was the heart of their little island, always ready to brighten someone’s day. As she reached her modest home, the warm glow of lantern light spilling from the windows, YN felt content. She had done her part for her community, as she did every day.

Aboard the Halazia, the sea stretched endlessly around the sleek black ship as it cut through the waves like a predator on the hunt. The crew was busy at work, each man fulfilling his role with precision honed through years of sailing under Captain Hongjoong’s command.

On the quarterdeck, Hongjoong stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his sharp eyes fixed on the horizon. His captain's coat billowed in the salty breeze, and a faint smirk played on his lips. “How much longer, Navigator?” he called without turning his head.

“Two hours at most, Captain,” Yunho replied from the helm, his hands steady on the wheel. His calm demeanor matched his confidence in guiding the Halazia through the labyrinth of islands and open waters.

Below deck, Yeosang organized his medical supplies in the dimly lit infirmary. The ship’s rocking didn’t bother him as he meticulously sharpened his tools and checked the cleanliness of bandages. He always prepared for the worst—life aboard a pirate ship demanded it.

Meanwhile, San was in the armory, inspecting the blades and sharpening the cutlasses. His focus was intense, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous energy. As the battle master, he made sure that every weapon on board was in top condition.

On the main deck, Mingi oversaw the crew, his booming voice carrying over the sound of the waves. “Secure those ropes properly! I don’t want to see slack before the next storm!” His role as boatswain made him responsible for the ship’s upkeep, and he took it seriously.

Wooyoung emerged from the galley with a knife in one hand and a basket of freshly cut fruit in the other. “Anyone hungry? I’m not making this twice!” he called out, his mischievous grin suggesting he’d already eaten more than his share.

Down by the cannons, Jongho stood inspecting the weapons that were his pride and responsibility. He ran his hands over the barrels, checking for cracks or defects, and tested the ammunition. Each cannon was polished and ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

Above them all, Seonghwa moved seamlessly between tasks, keeping the crew in line and ensuring the captain’s orders were carried out. As quartermaster and first mate, he was Hongjoong’s right hand and the ship’s enforcer. His sharp gaze missed nothing.

The Halazia wasn’t just a ship; it was a well-oiled machine, and its crew was a family forged by countless battles and storms. Today, however, their mission had a specific target—the peaceful island of Seagrove.

The island of Seagrove had always been a neutral land, a safe harbor for travelers, traders, and even the occasional pirate crew. Its position in the Azure Archipelago made it an essential stop for ships to restock supplies and repair damages, but the island’s policy of neutrality demanded careful diplomacy.

When the Halazia docked at Seagrove, the townsfolk took notice immediately. The sight of its dark sails and ominous figurehead was enough to send a ripple of unease through the streets. While it wasn’t unusual for the infamous crew to stop by, the knowledge of their ruthless reputation made the air feel heavy.

“Looks like the Halazia is back,” muttered an old fisherman, his eyes narrowing as he watched the crew disembark.

“Better keep your heads down,” his companion whispered. “They may not cause trouble, but it doesn’t mean they won’t if given a reason.”

The townspeople moved cautiously, their smiles forced and voices hushed. They weren’t hostile, but they walked on eggshells around the crew, offering a nervous politeness that thinly veiled their fear.

The crew of the Halazia, however, carried themselves with practiced nonchalance. They strode through the cobblestone streets as though they owned them, their weapons gleaming in the sunlight and their gazes sharp.

“Do you think they’re just here to restock?” a shopkeeper murmured.

“They always are,” another replied. “But you never know with pirates. Best to stay out of their way.”

Even as the Halazia crew wandered the town, visiting taverns or inspecting the market stalls, the people of Seagrove remained wary. Neutral land or not, the presence of the crew was enough to keep everyone on edge.

The Halazia crew spread across Seagrove, blending into the island’s usual bustle, though their presence kept the townsfolk on alert. Conversations among the crew were as varied as their personalities, with each man displaying his unique quirks.

In the marketplace, Wooyoung strolled between the stalls, his sharp eyes scanning the goods. He held up a peculiar-looking fruit, turning it in his hands.

“Think this is edible?” he asked, tossing it to Mingi, who had wandered over.

Mingi caught it effortlessly, giving the fruit a skeptical glance. “Edible, sure. But are you willing to test it first?”

Wooyoung grinned. “I’ll pass. Maybe I’ll give it to Yunho—he’s got the stomach for weird stuff.”

Nearby, Yunho overheard and called out, “Don’t think I didn’t hear that, Wooyoung! You’re not slipping anything strange into my food again!”

Wooyoung shrugged innocently. “Last time it was harmless! How was I supposed to know it’d turn your tongue blue?”

Down at the docks, Jongho was inspecting a stack of cannonballs that had just been unloaded from the ship. San leaned against a post nearby, watching him with a smirk.

“You check those like they’re treasure,” San teased.

“They might as well be,” Jongho replied, not looking up. “A bad cannonball could cost us a fight. I’m not taking chances.”

San crossed his arms. “You’re too serious. Maybe you should come spar with me later. Get rid of some of that tension.”

Jongho raised an eyebrow, finally meeting San’s gaze. “Spar? With you? You just want an excuse to show off.”

San grinned wider. “Maybe. But if you’re scared, just say so.”

“Sure.” Jongho rolled his eyes but didn’t rise to the bait.

In a quiet corner of the town square, Seonghwa and Hongjoong stood under the shade of an awning, observing the crew as they mingled with the townsfolk.

“They’re behaving themselves,” Seonghwa said, his tone neutral.

Hongjoong smirked. “As they should. We don’t need unnecessary trouble here.”

Seonghwa glanced sideways at his captain. “You say that now, but when have we ever left Seagrove without some kind of incident?”

Hongjoong chuckled. “Fair point. Let’s hope this time is different.”

In the shaded alleyway near the market, Yeosang stood at a herbalist’s stall, quietly inspecting bundles of dried plants. His sharp eye quickly sorted the useful from the unnecessary.

“These are poorly dried,” he remarked, holding up a brittle bundle of valerian root.

The herbalist, a wiry older man, looked startled. “I—I’m sorry, sir, but that’s all I’ve got right now.”

Yeosang sighed softly, placing the bundle back. “I need quality. If it crumbles before it’s used, it’s worthless.”

From behind him, Yunho approached with an easy grin. “Always so picky, Yeosang. It’s like you expect perfect conditions out here in the middle of nowhere.”

Yeosang didn’t glance back, his hands moving to inspect another jar. “A surgeon doesn’t get second chances, Yunho. The better my supplies, the better I can keep the rest of you alive.”

Yunho leaned against the stall, arms crossed. “Fair point. Still, you could try to lighten up a bit. It’s not all life and death.”

Yeosang turned to him, an unreadable expression on his face. “For you, maybe.”

Meanwhile, Wooyoung spotted Yeosang as he walked away from the stall. “Hey, doc!” he called out, jogging to catch up.

“What is it, Wooyoung?” Yeosang asked, his tone even.

Wooyoung waved a bright yellow fruit in front of him. “You think this could kill someone if I cook it wrong? Or should I give it to the captain and find out?”

Yeosang raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “It’s a mango, Wooyoung. Unless you’re planning to drop it on his head, I doubt it’ll harm anyone.”

Wooyoung grinned. “Good to know! Maybe I’ll add it to dinner tonight. Think the captain likes tropical flavors?”

“I think the captain has more pressing concerns than your culinary experiments,” Yeosang replied, though a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he walked away.

In the distance, Hongjoong watched the exchanges with quiet amusement. Seonghwa, standing beside him, noticed his expression.

“Just as I thought they were behaving. They’re restless,” Seonghwa remarked.

Hongjoong nodded. “Let them stretch their legs. We’ll need them sharp soon enough.”

Seonghwa tilted his head. “And where does that leave us?”

Hongjoong’s gaze drifted toward the apothecary shop again. “For now? Let them play. But keep an eye on Yeosang. He always finds trouble where no one else is looking.”

Seonghwa chuckled. “That’s because he’s too clever for his own good.”

Hongjoong stood at the edge of the marketplace, his sharp gaze fixed on a small shop nestled between two larger buildings. The apothecary. It wasn’t his first visit, though his trips there were rare and purposeful. The shopkeeper had proven useful in the past, supplying him with everything he needed, no questions asked.

He turned to Wooyoung, who was busy juggling a few apples he’d “borrowed” from a stall.

“Wooyoung,” Hongjoong called, his voice firm.

Wooyoung caught the apples mid-air and grinned. “Yes, Captain? Need me to charm someone, or are we raiding the tavern early?”

Hongjoong smirked. “Neither. You’re coming with me to the apothecary. I need someone to carry what I buy.”

Wooyoung pouted dramatically, tossing one of the apples back into a basket. “What, I’m just your pack mule now?”

“Call it an extension of your scavenger duties,” Hongjoong replied, already heading toward the shop.

Wooyoung sighed, but his grin quickly returned as he jogged to catch up. “Fine, fine. But if they’ve got anything interesting, I’m keeping it.”

The bell above the door jingled as they stepped into the apothecary. The air inside was heavy with the earthy scent of dried herbs and freshly ground powders. Shelves lined every wall, filled with jars, bottles, and bundles of various remedies and ingredients.

YN stood behind the counter, her hands busy organizing a set of vials. She looked up at the sound of the bell and froze for a moment. It wasn’t every day the captain of the Halazia walked into her shop.

Hongjoong’s sharp eyes scanned the room before landing on her. He stepped forward, his coat swaying slightly. “You’re the pharmacist’s daughter,” he said, more a statement than a question.

YN straightened, her sunshine-like demeanor returning despite the intimidating presence before her. “That’s right. My father’s away, but I can help you. What do you need?”

Wooyoung leaned against the counter with a grin, glancing around the shop. “This place smells great. Got anything fun for a bored pirate like me?”

YN raised an eyebrow, but before she could reply, Hongjoong spoke. “Focus, Wooyoung.” He turned back to YN. “I need these.” He handed over a neatly folded piece of parchment with a list of items.

YN took it, her eyes scanning the list. Some of the ingredients were rare, but she recognized most of them. “I should have everything you need. Give me a moment.”

As YN moved around the shop, gathering items, Wooyoung leaned closer to Hongjoong and whispered, “She’s surprisingly cheerful for someone dealing with us.”

Hongjoong smirked but said nothing, his eyes following YN as she worked efficiently, placing jars and packets on the counter.

When she returned, she began explaining each item. “This powder needs to stay dry, and the tincture should be kept cool. And this—” she paused, holding up a small vial, “—is very potent. Use it sparingly.”

Hongjoong nodded, impressed by her knowledge. “You know your trade well.”

YN smiled warmly. “It’s my job.”

Once everything was packed, Wooyoung grabbed the bundle, pretending to stagger under its weight. “Oh no, Captain, it’s so heavy! What if I collapse under the strain?”

YN stifled a laugh, while Hongjoong rolled his eyes. “Stop complaining, or I’ll make you carry more.”

As they turned to leave, Hongjoong paused at the door, glancing back at YN. “Tell your father our deal still stands. I’ll be back when I need more.”

Just as Hongjoong and Wooyoung stepped toward the door, YN's curiosity got the better of her. She cleared her throat and asked, “What deal?”

Hongjoong stopped mid-step but didn’t turn around immediately. Wooyoung, on the other hand, raised an eyebrow and shot YN an amused look. “Curious, aren’t we?” he teased, leaning against the counter again.

Hongjoong slowly turned to face her, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp. “Your father and I have... an understanding. He provides certain items I need, no questions asked. In return, I ensure that no harm ever comes to this shop or your family. A fair trade, wouldn’t you say?”

YN blinked, trying to process his words. “So, you’re protecting us? That’s what this is about?”

Hongjoong’s lips curved into a faint smirk. “You could say that. But don’t mistake it for charity. It’s business.”

Wooyoung chimed in, his tone light but with an edge of truth. “Think of it as an investment. The captain doesn’t waste time on things—or people—that aren’t worth it.”

YN frowned slightly, crossing her arms. “We don’t need protection. Seagrove is neutral ground.”

Hongjoong stepped closer, his voice dropping just enough to be serious but not threatening. “Neutrality doesn’t stop trouble from finding its way here. Pirates, mercenaries, kingdoms—they don’t care about rules when desperation strikes. Your father knows this. That’s why he agreed to our deal.”

YN held his gaze, feeling a mix of defiance and unease. She wanted to argue but couldn’t deny the truth in his words. “Fine,” she said, her voice steady. “But if this is about protection, it works both ways. You might find yourselves needing supplies when no one else will sell to you.”

Hongjoong’s smirk deepened, his eyes glinting with approval. “Smart girl. Your father taught you well.”

With that, he turned and pushed the door open. Wooyoung gave YN one last playful wink as he followed the captain. “See you around, sunshine,” he said before the door closed behind them, leaving YN standing there with a mixture of curiosity and newfound wariness.

She looked down at the counter where the parchment list lay. Her fingers brushed against it as her mind raced with questions. Whatever deal her father had struck with the Halazia crew, it was clear this wasn’t just a simple exchange of goods.

After the encounter at the apothecary, Wooyoung couldn’t help but find his thoughts drifting back to YN. There was something about her—a bright, carefree energy that contrasted so sharply with the rough, unpredictable life aboard the Halazia. Her genuine warmth had lingered in his mind longer than he expected, and before he realized it, he found himself making excuses to return to the shop.

A few days later, the bell above the apothecary’s door jingled again. YN looked up from where she was sorting herbs, her face lighting up when she saw Wooyoung standing there, leaning casually against the doorframe with his usual mischievous grin.

“You again,” she said, her tone teasing but friendly. “Didn’t you stock up enough last time?”

Wooyoung shrugged, stepping further inside. “Captain wanted to make sure we didn’t miss anything important. And, well...” He paused, picking up a small jar of dried lavender from a shelf and inspecting it idly. “I thought I’d keep you company. Can’t have you getting bored all alone in here.”

YN laughed, a bright, cheerful sound that filled the small shop. “Bored? Hardly. This place is always busy. Besides, I’m pretty sure pirates don’t come back just to check on someone.”

Wooyoung placed the jar back and leaned on the counter, his grin never fading. “Maybe not, but I’m not like most pirates.”

YN raised an eyebrow, her hands moving automatically as she arranged some vials. “Oh? So what makes you different, Mister Pirate?”

He smirked, resting his chin on his hand. “Well, for one, I appreciate good company. And two...” He trailed off, letting her fill in the rest.

Despite her initial resolve not to get too involved with the Halazia crew, YN found herself smiling. His playful energy was contagious, and she couldn’t help but be drawn into the banter. “You’re smooth, I’ll give you that,” she said, shaking her head.

Wooyoung chuckled. “Smooth enough to get a discount?”

She laughed again. “Not a chance.”

Over the next few weeks, Wooyoung started appearing more frequently. Sometimes he claimed he was running errands for the crew; other times, he didn’t even bother with an excuse. Each visit felt a little more natural, as though he was slipping into the rhythm of her world.

At first, YN kept her guard up. She reminded herself that he was a pirate, part of a crew that carried a reputation for chaos. But Wooyoung’s charm was disarming, and her naturally talkative, sunshine-like personality quickly overshadowed any hesitation.

He’d sit on a stool by the counter, chatting with her about everything and nothing. She’d tell him about the townsfolk, the busy days at the apothecary, and the little joys of living on Seagrove. In return, he’d share stories from the sea—some clearly exaggerated, others tinged with surprising honesty.

One day, as YN handed him a small satchel of herbs, she said with a grin, “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re just here for the company.”

Wooyoung took the satchel, his smile softening. “Maybe I am. Got a problem with that?”

She shook her head, laughing. “Not really. Just don’t scare off my other customers, okay?”

Despite herself, YN found that Wooyoung’s presence didn’t feel like an intrusion. In fact, it felt oddly... comforting. And though Wooyoung never said it outright, he started looking forward to the quiet moments in the apothecary, away from the noise and chaos of life aboard the Halazia.

For now, neither of them thought too hard about what this strange, unexpected connection might mean. They simply enjoyed the moments they had, both of them quietly grateful for the fleeting peace they found in each other’s company.

Over time, Wooyoung became a regular sight in the apothecary. He would stroll in with his usual grin, plop himself onto the old wooden stool by the counter, and watch YN work.

At first, he was content just to chat, but as the days passed, he started offering to help.

“Here, let me do that,” he said one afternoon, stepping behind the counter and shooing YN away as she struggled with a particularly heavy crate of supplies.

She raised an eyebrow at him but stepped aside. “Are you sure you’re not just looking for an excuse to stick around?”

Wooyoung shot her a wink as he effortlessly lifted the crate onto a shelf. “What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”

Soon enough, he became more than just a fixture in the shop. He started assisting her with customers, surprising her with how quickly he learned.

An older woman entered one day, asking for a salve for joint pain. Wooyoung, leaning casually on the counter, chimed in before YN could answet.

“Second shelf on the left,” he said, pointing. “Green jar with the brown lid. That’s the one you want.”

The woman looked at him, then at YN, who nodded in confirmation. “He’s right.”

The woman smiled and handed over her coins, muttering something about how “helpful young men” were hard to find.

After she left, YN crossed her arms and gave Wooyoung an appraising look. “You’re actually pretty good at this.”

He smirked. “Told you. Many talents.”

Not all of his interactions in the shop were so lighthearted, though. Occasionally, a customer would walk in with an attitude—someone trying to haggle too aggressively or speaking to YN with unnecessary harshness.

One such day, a burly man stormed in, slamming a few coins on the counter. “This isn’t enough,” he growled, pointing at a small pouch of medicine YN had just handed him. “You’re overcharging.”

YN opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Wooyoung stood up from his stool and stepped forward, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something far more dangerous.

“She gave you the price,” Wooyoung said, his voice low and sharp. “Take it, or leave.”

The man turned to Wooyoung, clearly unimpressed. “And who do you think you are?”

Wooyoung’s grin returned, but this time it was anything but friendly. He leaned forward, his voice dropping even lower. “I’m someone you don’t want to mess with. Now, are you going to take the medicine and go, or should we make this... interesting?”

The man hesitated, clearly weighing his options. After a tense moment, he snatched the pouch from the counter and stormed out, muttering under his breath.

YN let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said softly.

Wooyoung shrugged, sitting back on the stool and spinning it lazily. “Nobody talks to you like that while I’m here. That’s a rule.”

YN smiled despite herself. “I don’t know whether to thank you or scold you for almost starting a fight in my shop.”

Wooyoung grinned. “Thank me, obviously.”

And she did, though she didn’t say it out loud.

With each passing day, Wooyoung’s presence in the shop felt more natural, like he belonged there. The townsfolk began to notice, too, casting curious glances when they saw the pirate helping YN arrange shelves or handing a bag of herbs to a customer. Some whispered about it, others just smiled knowingly.

And though YN had told herself not to get too involved with the crew of Halazia, she couldn’t deny that having Wooyoung around made her days a little brighter—and a lot more entertaining.

It was an ordinary evening aboard the Halazia when Seonghwa walked into the captain’s quarters, a folded letter in his hand. His expression was calm, but there was an edge of seriousness that made Hongjoong look up from the maps spread across his desk.

“What is it?” Hongjoong asked, leaning back in his chair.

Seonghwa handed him the letter without a word. As Hongjoong unfolded it, his sharp eyes scanned the neatly written words. It was from the pharmacist on Seagrove, a message laced with urgency.

“They’re coming back,” Hongjoong muttered, reading aloud. “The same goons who wanted his land before. He says they’re planning to create trouble, maybe worse. He’s asking us to protect his daughter while he’s away.”

Seonghwa crossed his arms, nodding. “It seems they’re waiting for the perfect moment, knowing the island has no real enforcement.”

Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the table. His mind worked quickly, weighing the situation. The pharmacist had been a valuable ally, and they owed him for the resources he’d provided in the past. Letting this go unanswered would be a stain on their reputation—and, truthfully, Hongjoong didn’t enjoy leaving favors unpaid.

He looked up at Seonghwa. “We can’t ignore this. We’ll need to send someone to keep an eye on her.”

Before Seonghwa could respond, the door swung open, and Wooyoung strolled in, as casual as ever. “Someone say watch over her?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe with a knowing grin.

Hongjoong arched an eyebrow at him. “Eavesdropping now, are we?”

“Not eavesdropping. Just walking by,” Wooyoung said innocently, though his smirk betrayed him. “So, what’s the plan? I’m assuming it involves our little sunshine at the apothecary.”

Seonghwa sighed. “It’s serious, Wooyoung. The pharmacist says trouble’s coming her way, and she’ll need protection while he’s gone. This isn’t just a casual errand.”

Wooyoung’s grin faltered slightly, his playful demeanor softening. “I know that. And that’s why I’m volunteering.”

Hongjoong studied him for a moment, noticing the uncharacteristic determination in his eyes. “You’re volunteering? That’s a first.”

Wooyoung shrugged, though there was no hiding the slight tension in his posture. “She’s a good person, Captain. She doesn’t deserve to deal with scum like that. Besides, I’ve been spending the most time with her. Makes sense for me to step in.”

Hongjoong exchanged a glance with Seonghwa, who gave a small nod. Finally, the captain leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Fine. You’ll handle it. But keep a low profile—no unnecessary fights unless it’s unavoidable. And if you need backup, you call for us immediately.”

Wooyoung grinned, his confidence returning in full force. “You got it, Captain. Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

Later that evening, Wooyoung gathered a few essentials before heading toward the apothecary. As he walked through the dimly lit streets of Seagrove, his mind raced with thoughts of YN.

He didn’t know why, but the idea of something happening to her lit a fire in him that he couldn’t ignore. Maybe it was her kindness, her unshakable warmth, or the way she always smiled, even when dealing with stubborn customers. Whatever it was, he wasn’t about to let anyone take that away from her.

When he reached the shop, the bell jingled softly as he stepped inside. YN looked up from the counter, surprised to see him.

“Wooyoung? You’re back already?” she asked, a smile tugging at her lips.

He nodded, his usual playful grin softening into something more genuine. “Yeah. Looks like I’ll be sticking around for a while.”

Her brows furrowed slightly. “Why? What’s going on?”

Wooyoung hesitated for a moment before leaning against the counter, his voice gentle. “Your dad sent us a letter. Said some people might cause trouble while he’s gone. So... I’m here to make sure they don’t.”

The morning sun bathed Seagrove in a warm glow as YN stepped out of the apothecary with a basket in hand, ready to run her errands. She hummed softly to herself as she walked down the cobblestone streets, her mind focused on the list of things she needed.

But she wasn’t alone.

Though his footsteps were silent and his movements careful, YN could feel the weight of a gaze following her. She smirked to herself, pretending not to notice as she turned a corner, heading toward a quieter part of town.

When the street became deserted, she abruptly stopped and turned around, catching Wooyoung mid-step. He froze like a child caught sneaking sweets, his wide eyes meeting hers.

“So,” YN began, tilting her head and walking backward to keep her eyes on him. “You’re basically a bodyguard now?”

Wooyoung let out a small sigh, shaking his head as he caught up to her. “Careful, you’ll trip if you keep walking like that,” he said, his tone light but protective.

“I’m serious,” she pressed, ignoring his warning. “Isn’t this what bodyguards do? Follow people around, stay hidden, and swoop in dramatically when there’s trouble?”

Wooyoung chuckled, crossing his arms as he walked beside her. “Something like that. But I wouldn’t call myself a bodyguard. More like a... pirate with a purpose.”

YN laughed at that, the sound echoing through the quiet street. “A pirate with a purpose? That sounds so noble for someone like you.”

“Hey,” he said, feigning offense. “I’m plenty noble when I need to be. Like right now. I’m literally protecting you.”

“From what?” she asked, her voice full of innocent curiosity. “There’s no one around.”

Wooyoung glanced around, his eyes scanning the surroundings instinctively. “You’d be surprised. Trouble doesn’t announce itself, you know. One second everything’s fine, and the next... well, it’s not.”

YN stopped walking backward and faced him fully, her brow furrowed. “You really think something’s going to happen?”

Wooyoung’s expression softened, and he shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. But your dad was worried enough to ask for help, and I’m not taking any chances.”

She blinked, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. For all his jokes and playful attitude, there was something reassuring about knowing he took her safety seriously.

“So... what do I call you now? Protector Wooyoung? Sir Wooyoung?” she teased, a playful glint in her eyes.

He rolled his eyes, though a smile tugged at his lips. “Just Wooyoung is fine, sunshine. Now, can we please focus on where you’re walking? If you trip, I’m not carrying you back.”

YN laughed again and turned to continue her errands, her steps lighter than before. Despite the strangeness of being followed, she couldn’t help but feel a small sense of comfort knowing that, no matter what, Wooyoung was there.

A few days passed without incident, though the air felt charged, as if something unseen was brewing. YN went about her routine with Wooyoung never far behind, always lurking in the background or perched casually on her shop’s stool, keeping watch.

But then, late one night aboard the Halazia, a lowly pirate messenger arrived with urgent news.

Hongjoong sat in his quarters with Seonghwa when the messenger was brought in. The scruffy man, clearly uneasy in the presence of the infamous captain, fumbled with his words but got the message across clearly:

“The goons you’ve been watchin’ out for... they’re plannin’ to hit the apothecary. Heard it straight from one of their lot.”

Hongjoong’s face darkened as he leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “When?”

“Soon,” the messenger replied. “Could be tonight, could be tomorrow. They’re waitin’ for the right moment.”

Hongjoong dismissed the man and turned to Seonghwa, who stood silently by his side. “We can’t risk it,” the captain said. “The girl’s too vulnerable in the shop. Wooyoung needs to bring her here—now.”

Seonghwa nodded. “I’ll send the word.”

At the apothecary, YN was cleaning up for the night when Wooyoung walked in, his expression unusually serious.

She glanced up at him and immediately noticed the shift in his demeanor. “What’s wrong?” she asked, setting down the jar she was holding.

“We need to leave,” Wooyoung said, his voice firm but calm.

Her brow furrowed. “Leave? Why? What’s going on?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “The goons your dad was worried about... they’re planning to attack the shop. Captain’s orders are to get you to the ship where you’ll be safe.”

YN’s eyes widened. “The ship? Halazia? You can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious,” Wooyoung said, stepping closer. “It’s not safe here, YN. I can protect you better if you’re with us.”

She hesitated, looking around the shop she’d grown up in. “But... what about the store? What about my father’s work?”

Wooyoung softened, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll make sure nothing happens to it. But right now, you’re what matters. We can’t replace you, sunshine.”

Her heart skipped at the unexpected tenderness in his words, but the gravity of the situation quickly pulled her back. She nodded, her resolve hardening.

“Alright,” she said, her voice steady despite the fear creeping in. “Let me grab a few things.”

Wooyoung watched as YN quickly packed a small bag with essentials—some clothes, a few jars of medicine, and a small book she seemed hesitant to leave behind.

As they stepped out into the cool night, Wooyoung’s eyes scanned their surroundings, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger. The streets were quiet, but he knew better than to trust the stillness.

“Stay close,” he whispered, his voice low but firm.

YN nodded, clutching her bag tightly as they made their way through the town toward the docks.

The journey felt longer than it should have, every shadow and faint sound putting them both on edge. But eventually, the silhouette of the Halazia came into view, its sails swaying gently in the night breeze.

As they approached the gangplank, Wooyoung turned to YN, his usual grin making a rare appearance despite the tension. “Welcome to the Halazia, sunshine. You’re about to meet the best—and most chaotic—crew in the seven seas.”

As soon as YN stepped onto the deck of the Halazia, she froze, her wide eyes taking in the sheer majesty of the pirate ship. The towering masts, the intricate ropes, and the faint smell of saltwater mixed with wood—it all felt surreal, like she’d stumbled into one of her dreams.

Her fear of ships and the open sea had always held her back from venturing onto one, but now, standing here, it felt like that fear had melted away, replaced by pure wonder.

“This is... amazing,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the gentle creaking of the ship.

Wooyoung, who had been following her with her bag slung over his shoulder, smirked as he watched her light up like a child discovering a new world. “You act like you’ve never seen a ship before,” he teased, though his tone was soft.

“I haven’t,” YN admitted, turning to him with an excited grin. “Not like this! I mean, I’ve seen them from the shore, but actually being on one? It’s completely different!”

She wandered across the deck, her fingers brushing against the railings and ropes, her eyes darting to every detail—the cannons lined up neatly, the sturdy wheel, and the faint reflection of the moonlight on the water below.

“This is incredible,” she said again, more to herself than to Wooyoung. “I never thought I’d actually step foot on a ship.”

Wooyoung chuckled as he trailed behind her, carrying her things without complaint. “Well, you’re lucky this isn’t just any ship. You’re standing on the Halazia, the finest vessel on the seas.”

YN turned to him, her eyes sparkling. “The finest, huh? You don’t seem very humble about it.”

“Why should I be?” he said with a grin, leaning casually against a mast. “The Halazia deserves to be shown off. Just like me.”

YN rolled her eyes but couldn’t help laughing. She turned her attention back to the ship, climbing a few steps to the raised quarterdeck and looking out over the bow. The gentle rocking of the ship made her heart race, but it wasn’t fear—it was exhilaration.

“You look like a kid in a candy shop,” Wooyoung said, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and fondness as he watched her.

She spun around, leaning against the railing with a bright smile. “I feel like one. This is so much better than I imagined.”

Wooyoung’s smirk softened into something more genuine as he watched her. He wasn’t sure what it was about her—maybe the way her excitement was so contagious, or the way her wide eyes seemed to find magic in everything—but seeing her like this made him forget, even for a moment, the dangers that had brought her here.

“Alright, sunshine,” he said, breaking the moment. “As much as I’d love to let you explore all night, you’ll need some rest. The captain will want to speak with you in the morning.”

YN nodded, reluctantly tearing herself away from the view. “Okay, fine. But I’m not done exploring. You’ll have to show me everything tomorrow.”

Wooyoung laughed. “Deal. But for now, let me show you where you’ll be sleeping. Come on.”

He led her below deck, still carrying her things as she followed him with the same wide-eyed wonder. And though the weight of what lay ahead lingered in the back of his mind, Wooyoung found himself smiling, content in the moment.

When Wooyoung led YN to a small cabin below deck, she stepped inside and immediately felt the silence pressing in around her. The cozy space was nothing like her home, with its small wooden bed, a lantern casting soft light, and the faint creaking of the ship filling the air.

“Here you go,” Wooyoung said, setting her bag down by the bed. “It’s not much, but it’s cozy enough. You’ll be safe here.”

YN nodded, clutching her arms tightly. “Yeah… it’s nice.” But her voice wavered slightly, betraying her unease.

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, noticing the way her eyes darted around the room and how she hesitated to step further in. “Something wrong?” he asked, leaning casually against the doorframe.

She shook her head quickly, forcing a smile. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m just… not used to being alone, that’s all.”

His smirk faded as he studied her. “You’re scared, aren’t you?”

Her shoulders slumped, and she let out a small sigh. “A little. Back home, I always stayed with my aunt when my dad wasn’t around. I’ve never really been by myself at night. It’s… it’s just something I’m not used to.”

Wooyoung frowned, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed. He could see the fear in her eyes, the way she fidgeted nervously. It wasn’t something he was used to—seeing someone so openly vulnerable. Most people tried to hide their fears around pirates, but YN was an open book.

“You know,” he started, his voice softening, “I could always stick around for a bit. Keep you company until you fall asleep. That way, you’re not completely alone.”

YN’s eyes widened. “You’d do that?”

“Of course,” he said with a shrug, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m your bodyguard, remember? Can’t let anything happen to you, even if it’s just a bad dream.”

A small smile tugged at her lips, and she nodded. “Okay. Just until I fall asleep.”

Wooyoung pulled a chair over and sat down near the bed, leaning back comfortably as YN hesitantly climbed under the blankets.

For a while, the only sound was the gentle creak of the ship and the distant crash of waves. YN lay on her side, her gaze fixed on Wooyoung, who seemed completely at ease, his legs stretched out and arms crossed behind his head.

“You’re really not going to leave, are you?” she asked quietly.

“Not until you’re out like a light,” he replied with a grin.

She chuckled softly, the sound easing some of the tension in the room. “Thank you, Wooyoung.”

“Anytime, sunshine,” he said, his voice dropping to a soothing tone.

Slowly, her eyes began to droop, the sound of the ship and the comforting presence of Wooyoung lulling her into a sense of safety she hadn’t expected to feel. And true to his word, he stayed right there, watching over her until her breathing evened out and she drifted into sleep.

The next morning, Wooyoung leaned against the doorframe of YN’s cabin, watching her stretch and yawn as she woke up. Her face was lit with the same cheerful glow he’d come to recognize, her fear from the night before seemingly forgotten.

“Morning, sunshine,” he greeted with a teasing grin. “Sleep well?”

YN sat up, her hair slightly messy, and nodded enthusiastically. “Like a baby. I guess ships aren’t so scary after all!”

He smirked, stepping aside to let her step out. “Told you you’d be fine. Now come on, let’s get some food. The others are already up.”

As they walked toward the breakfast hall, YN’s natural curiosity bubbled over. “So… aren’t you ever scared the ship’s going to sink?” she asked, tilting her head.

Wooyoung snorted, looking at her like she’d just said the most ridiculous thing. “Scared? Me? Sunshine, this ship is sturdier than a fortress. She’s not going anywhere.”

“But what if a giant wave crashes over it?” she asked, her eyes wide with imagined catastrophe.

“Then we ride the wave,” he answered smugly.

She hummed thoughtfully before hitting him with another question. “What if a whale bumps into it? Wouldn’t that cause trouble?”

He gave her an incredulous look. “A whale? Do you think whales just swim around bumping into ships for fun?”

She giggled, shrugging. “I don’t know! Maybe they’re curious.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, but the fond smile tugging at his lips gave him away. “Alright, sunshine, what’s next? Got any more doomsday scenarios for me?”

“Many. What about sharks? Aren’t you worried they’ll try to bite through the hull?”

Wooyoung stopped walking, staring at her for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Sharks, YN? Biting through the hull? What kind of stories has your dad been telling you?”

She shrugged with a playful pout. “I don’t know! I just thought… maybe it could happen!”

He shook his head, still grinning as they resumed walking. “I promise you, sharks don’t want to eat wood. You’re safe.”

“What about storms?” she asked next, her voice full of innocent curiosity. “Have you ever been caught in one? Like, a huge one that flips the ship upside down?”

Wooyoung gave her an exaggeratedly serious look. “Oh, sure, all the time. And we just flip her back over and keep sailing.”

YN gasped. “Really?!”

He laughed, ruffling her hair as they walked. “No, sunshine, not really. But we’ve weathered storms before. This ship’s been through it all.”

As they reached the breakfast hall, YN slowed down, looking up at him. “One more question,” she said, her tone quieter but still curious.

“Shoot,” he replied.

“Have you ever been scared on this ship?”

For a moment, Wooyoung paused, his grin fading into something softer. “Maybe once or twice,” he admitted. “But not because of the ship. Because of what might happen to the people on it.”

YN blinked, surprised by his honest answer, but before she could ask more, Wooyoung opened the door to the hall with a dramatic flourish.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced loudly, “the sunshine of the seas has arrived!”

As YN stepped into the breakfast hall, the chatter of the crew quieted, and all eyes turned toward her. Though most of their expressions were neutral or curious, the sheer presence of eight men in one room felt overwhelming. She froze for a moment, clutching Wooyoung’s shirt from behind like a lifeline.

Wooyoung glanced over his shoulder, noticing how she shrank behind him. He let out a soft laugh but didn’t comment, allowing her to use him as a shield.

“Don’t be shy,” he teased lightly, his tone warm. “They don’t bite. Well… maybe San does, but only if you get on his bad side.”

“Hey!” San called from across the room, earning a chuckle from the others.

Hongjoong, seated at the head of the table, gave her a reassuring smile. “Good morning, YN. Don’t let them intimidate you. They’re loud, but they’re harmless.”

She nodded shyly but didn’t let go of Wooyoung’s shirt. The rest of the crew exchanged glances, some amused, some curious.

“Alright, alright,” Wooyoung said, clapping his hands to break the awkward silence. “Let’s get the introductions out of the way so sunshine here can relax.”

He stepped aside, gently nudging YN forward, though she still kept close to him.

Hongjoong stood first, his presence commanding yet calm. “I’m Hongjoong, the captain of this ship. You’ll be safe here, YN. If there’s anything you need, let me know.”

Next was Seonghwa, who gave her a polite nod. “Seonghwa, the quartermaster and first mate. Welcome aboard.”

Yunho, the navigator, grinned warmly. “I’m Yunho. I make sure we don’t get lost. Nice to meet you, YN!”

Yeosang, the quiet surgeon, gave her a small smile. “Yeosang. If you ever get hurt, come to me.”

San leaned back in his chair, flashing a mischievous grin. “San, the battle master. Don’t worry, I only bite if provoked.”

Mingi, the boatswain, waved enthusiastically. “Mingi! I keep the ship in shape. You’re gonna love it here!”

Wooyoung gave her a playful nudge. “And you already know me, your personal bodyguard and scavenger extraordinaire.”

Finally, Jongho, the master gunner, nodded firmly. “Jongho. I handle the cannons. Welcome to the Halazia.”

The introductions helped ease her nerves, and soon enough, the crew’s warm smiles and lighthearted jokes began to make her feel more comfortable.

“Thank you,” she said softly, glancing around at the group. “It’s nice to meet all of you.”

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way,” Wooyoung said, guiding her to a seat at the table, “let’s eat. Sunshine needs to keep her energy up, after all.”

As the crew returned to their meals, YN slowly started to join the conversation, her natural warmth and curiosity shining through. By the end of breakfast, she wasn’t hiding behind Wooyoung anymore—instead, she was laughing along with the rest of the crew, feeling like she might actually belong.

After breakfast, Wooyoung led YN back out onto the deck. The crew had dispersed to their duties, leaving the ship relatively quiet. He decided it was the perfect time to give her a small tour—not of the whole ship, but just the places he knew she’d actually need.

“Alright, sunshine,” Wooyoung said, walking ahead of her with a slight bounce in his step. “Since you’ll be with us for a while, you should know your way around—at least enough so you don’t get lost.”

YN’s eyes sparkled with excitement, her earlier shyness completely replaced by her usual sunshine-like demeanor. “Okay! Show me everything!”

“Not everything,” he corrected with a chuckle. “Just the essentials. Come on.”

He started with the main deck, pointing out where the crew stored extra supplies and how to tell which ropes were safe to touch—“Don’t go pulling random ones unless you want to drop a sail on your head,” he teased.

YN followed closely, hanging on to every word he said, her excitement growing with every little thing he explained. She’d occasionally gasp or ask a question, her enthusiasm contagious.

“This is where the weapons are stored,” Wooyoung said, gesturing to a small hatch near the mast. “But you probably don’t need to mess with that. Leave the fighting to us.”

“Noted,” YN said with a grin. “No weapons for me. I’ll stick to not breaking anything.”

They moved below deck next, where Wooyoung showed her the mess hall, the kitchen (“Wooyoung’s kingdom,” as he called it), and a few storage rooms.

When they reached the small infirmary, YN gasped. “Oh, it’s so organized!”

“Yeosang keeps it that way,” Wooyoung said with a shrug. “Don’t mess with his stuff, though. He’ll know.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, her eyes wide as she peeked inside.

Finally, Wooyoung led her back up to the quarterdeck, where the ship’s wheel stood. YN looked out over the vast ocean, the sun sparkling on the water like diamonds. Her grin grew even wider, and she spun around to face him, her hands outstretched.

“This is amazing, Wooyoung! I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s like a whole new world!”

Wooyoung leaned against the railing, watching her with a soft smile. Her joy was so genuine, so unfiltered, that it tugged at something deep in his chest. He’d spent years on this ship, but he’d never seen it through someone else’s eyes like this.

“Glad you like it,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

YN turned back to the ocean, leaning against the railing as the wind played with her hair. “I can’t believe I was scared of this. It’s beautiful.”

Wooyoung found himself staring, his heart doing something strange—something he didn’t quite understand. He’d been around plenty of people, but there was something about YN’s presence that felt… different.

Shaking off the thought, he smirked and nudged her lightly. “Well, sunshine, you’re part of it now. Welcome to the Halazia.”

She looked up at him with a radiant smile. “Thanks, Wooyoung. I think I’m going to like it here.”

He didn’t say anything, but as they stood there, watching the endless expanse of ocean together, he couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he was starting to like it even more now too.

As they leaned against the railing, watching the endless stretch of blue, YN broke the comfortable silence with a quiet question.

“Are you scared of the ocean?”

Wooyoung glanced at her, slightly taken aback. “Why do you ask?”

She shrugged, her fingers lightly tracing the wood of the railing. “It’s just… it’s so big. And unknown. You don’t really know what’s down there. I’m scared of it. Always have been.”

Wooyoung’s gaze softened as he watched her. For all her bright and cheerful energy, there was a vulnerability in her words that struck him.

“I’m not scared of it,” he said after a moment. “But I get why someone might be.”

YN turned to look at him, her eyes searching his face. “You don’t think about it? How deep it goes? How it could just… swallow you up?”

Wooyoung chuckled softly, leaning his elbows on the railing. “I guess I’ve been around it so long, I don’t think about it that way anymore. The ocean’s unpredictable, sure, but it’s also… home. It’s dangerous, yeah, but it’s beautiful too.”

“Beautiful and dangerous,” she echoed, looking back at the waves. “I guess that makes sense.”

He glanced at her, his tone softening. “But it’s okay to be scared of it, you know. Everyone’s scared of something. The important thing is not letting it stop you from living.”

YN nodded slowly, his words sinking in. “I guess that’s why you’re here, huh? To make sure I don’t let my fear stop me?”

Wooyoung smirked, his usual teasing tone returning. “Exactly. Think of me as your very own fearless tour guide of the seas.”

She laughed, the sound light and free, and for a moment, her fear seemed to fade. “Thanks, Wooyoung. You’re not as scary as you pretend to be.”

“Don’t let the others hear you say that,” he said with a wink. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

YN smiled, her earlier worry replaced by warmth. Maybe the ocean was still scary, but with someone like Wooyoung by her side, it didn’t feel quite so overwhelming.

As the day passed, Wooyoung found himself growing increasingly aware of YN’s presence. Whether it was her soft laughter when she found something amusing, the way she tilted her head with curiosity at every little thing he showed her, or even the quiet moments when she was simply taking in the ship’s vastness—he couldn’t help but feel something stirring within him.

It wasn’t just her cheerfulness that got to him. It was the way she spoke with an honesty that seemed so rare, the way she made everything feel a little brighter, even in the vastness of the open sea.

At one point, YN was sitting on a crate near the mast, her feet swinging lightly as she hummed to herself. Wooyoung had been organizing some ropes nearby, but his hands slowed as he glanced over at her. She was just sitting there, doing nothing in particular, and yet he found himself staring.

What is wrong with me? he thought, shaking his head.

“Wooyoung?” her voice cut through his thoughts, and he turned to see her looking at him with her usual wide-eyed curiosity.

“Yeah?” he asked, quickly snapping out of his daze.

“Why are you staring at me?” she asked bluntly, tilting her head.

He blinked, caught off guard. “I wasn’t staring.”

She gave him a look that clearly said she didn’t believe him. “You totally were. Do I have something on my face?”

“No!” he said quickly, waving his hands. “I was just… lost in thought.”

“About what?”

“Stuff,” he replied vaguely, avoiding her gaze as he returned to the ropes.

She frowned a little but didn’t press him further. Instead, she hopped off the crate and walked over to him, standing by his side. “You’re weird,” she said with a laugh, nudging him lightly.

“Thanks, sunshine,” he muttered, though there was no bite in his tone.

As the day wore on, Wooyoung couldn’t shake the strange feeling. It wasn’t a bad feeling—just… unfamiliar. He found himself smiling more than usual, his mind wandering whenever she was near.

By the time the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Wooyoung was leaning against the railing, watching YN as she marveled at the view.

She turned to him, her face lit up with excitement. “Is it always this beautiful?”

He nodded slowly, though his eyes weren’t on the horizon—they were on her. “Yeah,” he said softly, his voice barely audible. “It is.”

And for the first time in a long while, Wooyoung found himself wondering if the ocean was truly the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

A few weeks had passed since YN stepped onto the Halazia, and in that time, the ship had somehow begun to feel like home to her. She leapt around the deck with her usual cheerful energy, helping wherever she could, whether it was Wooyoung in the kitchen, Yeosang in the infirmary, or even Seonghwa and Hongjoong with their work.

“Hold this for me, YN,” Seonghwa said one afternoon as he handed her a map while he adjusted the compass in his hand.

“Like this?” she asked, holding it up as if she were presenting a prized treasure.

Seonghwa chuckled. “Perfect.”

When she wasn’t assisting Seonghwa, she was often seen pestering Yeosang in the infirmary, her endless questions making him both amused and slightly exasperated.

“What does this do?” YN asked, pointing to a jar of some strange salve.

“It’s for burns,” Yeosang replied patiently, though he didn’t miss the way she scrunched her nose at the smell.

“That smells awful!” she exclaimed.

“It’s medicine,” Yeosang said with a small smile. “Not everything can smell like roses.”

She laughed and quickly moved on to the next question, her curiosity never-ending.

And then, of course, there was Wooyoung.

She spent the most time with him, naturally. Whether it was helping him in the kitchen or following him around during his scavenger tasks, she was always by his side, her bright personality lighting up even the dullest moments.

But for Wooyoung, those weeks had been… confusing.

The strange feeling he had whenever he looked at her had only grown stronger. It was there in the way his heart would skip when she laughed, or the way he’d find himself looking for her whenever she wasn’t around.

“Wooyoung!” YN called out one morning, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah?” he asked, turning to see her balancing on the railing, arms stretched out for balance.

“Look! I’m not scared anymore!” she said, beaming.

“Get down before you fall!” he scolded, rushing over to steady her.

She laughed, hopping down with ease. But not without Wooyoung holding onto her. “I wouldn’t have fallen. You’d catch me anyway, right?”

Wooyoung sighed, shaking his head, though there was a small smile on his lips. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re grumpy,” she shot back with a grin, poking his arm.

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the warmth that spread through him. She had that effect on everyone, he realized—not just him. She had somehow charmed the entire crew, even the usually reserved Yeosang and the ever-serious Seonghwa.

But for Wooyoung, it was different. The way he felt when she was near wasn’t just fondness or friendship. It was something more, something that made his chest tighten and his heart race.

And as he watched her skip off to bother Hongjoong about something, laughing and smiling as if the world was nothing but sunshine, Wooyoung realized he was in trouble.

Big trouble.

That night, like every other, YN was tucked into the small bed they’d arranged for her in one of the crew’s spare quarters. Wooyoung sat on the floor near the door, leaning back against the wooden wall, his legs stretched out comfortably. It had become their nightly routine—talking about anything and everything before she drifted off to sleep.

“Wooyoung,” she started, her voice soft and a little drowsy already, “why do you like being a pirate? Isn’t it scary, always running into danger?”

He chuckled, resting his head against the wall. “Nah. It’s what I’m good at. And besides, it’s exciting. Who doesn’t like a bit of adventure?”

She smiled faintly, her eyelids heavy but still determined to stay in the conversation. “I think it’s cool… but I’d be too scared to fight. I’d probably just hide behind you.”

“You already do that,” he teased with a grin.

“True,” she murmured with a sleepy laugh. “You’re good at making me feel safe, though.”

His heart clenched a little at her words, but he kept his tone light. “Of course I do. That’s my job, sunshine.”

For a while, they continued their usual back-and-forth, her words growing slower and quieter with each passing minute. Wooyoung found himself doing most of the talking, filling the silence as she nodded off.

Then, mid-sentence, he heard her breathing even out. He paused, looking over at her. She had fallen asleep while he was talking, her head resting on the pillow, her face peaceful and relaxed.

A soft smile spread across his lips as he watched her, the moonlight filtering through the small window casting a gentle glow on her features.

“She’s cute,” he muttered to himself before he could stop the thought.

It hit him then, like it had been building up for weeks and finally clicked into place—he was falling for her. Hard.

But Wooyoung knew one thing for sure: even if it was love, he wasn’t going to say anything. She was his friend, his sunshine in an otherwise stormy world, and the last thing he wanted was to burden her with his feelings. She had enough to worry about, and he wasn’t about to make things harder for her.

Instead, he sighed quietly, leaning his head back against the wall as he closed his eyes. If staying silent meant she could keep smiling and talking his ear off every night, then he’d take that. For now, just being close to her was enough.

Wooyoung stood up quietly, ready to leave her room and let her sleep peacefully like every other night. But as he turned to glance back at her one last time, something caught his eye.

Her blanket had slipped down, revealing her arms—usually hidden under long sleeves. He moved closer, intending to fix the blanket like he always did, making sure she was comfortable.

But then he saw it.

His breath hitched as his eyes fell on her wrists, faintly illuminated by the pale moonlight. There were marks and scars, some faint and others deeper, etched into her skin like silent memories of pain.

Wooyoung froze, his heart tightening painfully in his chest.

No… he thought, his mind racing. She’s always smiling. Always happy.

He couldn’t reconcile the sunshine YN he knew—the one who laughed at his jokes, who skipped around the ship with boundless energy, who asked him silly questions every day—with the person who bore these scars.

For a long moment, he just stood there, staring at her sleeping form. She looked so peaceful, so innocent, and yet those scars told a story he didn’t know—a story she had never shared with him.

He clenched his fists, a wave of emotions crashing over him. Anger, sadness, confusion. How could someone as bright as her carry so much pain? And why hadn’t she told anyone?

Wooyoung gently pulled the blanket back up, covering her arms again. His hand hovered for a moment before he stepped back, his movements slow and deliberate as if he might wake her.

He sat back down on the floor, his back against the wall, his thoughts a chaotic mess. He replayed every interaction they’d had, every laugh, every smile. Had he missed the signs? Had she been hiding this from everyone the whole time?

And yet, despite the questions and the pain in his chest, one thought rang louder than the rest.

I’ll protect her.

Whatever she had been through, whatever had caused those scars, Wooyoung silently vowed that she would never have to feel that kind of pain again. Not as long as he was around.

The morning came with the usual rhythm of life on the Halazia. The crew went about their tasks, the sounds of footsteps and distant laughter filling the ship. YN, as always, was a ball of energy. She skipped onto the deck, her bright smile lighting up the day as she greeted everyone she saw.

“Good morning, Wooyoung!” she called, waving cheerfully as she spotted him leaning against the railing.

He smiled back, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Something had shifted within him since last night, and even though YN seemed like her usual, bubbly self, he couldn’t stop the protectiveness that now gnawed at his chest.

As she wandered off to help Yeosang in the infirmary, Wooyoung found himself watching her closely, more vigilant than ever. His heart felt heavier, knowing the scars she carried beneath her sunshine exterior. He couldn’t let this eat him up inside—it was too much.

Without thinking too much about it, he made his way to the captain’s quarters.

Hongjoong was seated at his desk, a map spread out before him as he carefully marked their next route. He glanced up when Wooyoung knocked and motioned for him to enter.

“What is it?” Hongjoong asked, leaning back in his chair as he crossed his arms.

Wooyoung hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to put his swirling thoughts into words. But this was Hongjoong—his captain, his guide, his second guardian. If there was anyone he could trust, it was him.

“It’s about YN,” Wooyoung began, closing the door behind him.

Hongjoong’s brow furrowed slightly. “What about her? Is she alright?”

“She is,” Wooyoung said quickly. “At least… I think she is. But…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair.

“But what?” Hongjoong pressed, his tone serious now.

Wooyoung took a deep breath and looked down at the floor. “Last night, I… I saw something. She always wears long sleeves, and I never thought much of it, but her blanket slipped, and I saw her wrists.”

Hongjoong didn’t say anything, but the sharpness in his eyes told Wooyoung to continue.

“They’re scared,” Wooyoung said quietly. “Like… she’s been through something. Something bad. And she’s always smiling, always acting like she’s fine, but I don’t think she is, Captain. I don’t think she ever was.”

Hongjoong leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk as he processed Wooyoung’s words. “And you’re telling me this because…?”

“Because I don’t know what to do,” Wooyoung admitted, his voice almost breaking. “I want to protect her, but I don’t know if I’m doing enough. I don’t want her to feel like she’s alone. And—” He hesitated, swallowing hard before continuing. “I care about her, Captain. More than I probably should.”

For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of Wooyoung’s words hanging in the air.

Hongjoong studied him carefully, his expression unreadable. Then he sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Wooyoung, you’ve always been someone who cares deeply about the people around you. That’s one of your strengths. But you need to tread carefully here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Hongjoong said slowly, “that YN isn’t just anyone. She’s someone who’s clearly been hurt before, and if you push too hard or too fast, you might end up hurting her even more.”

Wooyoung nodded, his fists clenching at his sides. “I’d never hurt her.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Hongjoong said, his tone softening. “But she might not be ready to talk about whatever’s happened to her. You have to be patient. Be there for her, but let her come to you when she’s ready.”

Wooyoung exhaled shakily, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “I just… I hate the thought of her suffering alone.”

Hongjoong gave him a small, understanding smile. “You’re doing more for her than you realize, Wooyoung. Just keep being her friend, her safe place. That’s what she needs most right now.”

Wooyoung nodded again, his resolve strengthening. “Thank you, Captain.”

As he left the room, Wooyoung felt a little lighter, though his heart still ached for YN. He would take Hongjoong’s advice to heart. He would wait, be patient, and let her set the pace. But in the meantime, he’d keep being the one thing she could always count on: her protector, her friend, and her silent guardian.

Wooyoung stepped out onto the deck, the salty breeze ruffling his hair as his eyes scanned for YN. He spotted her near the railing with San and Jongho, her arms waving animatedly as she spoke. The two men stood there, half-amused, half-bewildered, listening to whatever silly tangent she was on this time.

“Wait, wait, let me get this straight,” San said, holding up a hand to stop her. “You’re asking me if a sword can cut through a cannonball?”

“Yeah!” YN exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “I mean, they’re both metal, right? So if you hit it hard enough…”

San burst into laughter, clutching his stomach. “You’ve been reading too many stories, kid.”

Jongho, who had been leaning against the railing, shook his head but couldn’t hide the faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Even the sharpest blade would shatter before it cut through solid iron.”

“Aw,” YN pouted, crossing her arms. “I thought pirates could do anything!”

San laughed harder, wiping a tear from his eye. “We’re not magicians, sunshine.”

Wooyoung stood off to the side, watching the scene unfold. A warm smile crept onto his face as he saw how easily YN interacted with them now. When she’d first come aboard, she’d been hesitant, hiding behind him whenever the others were around. But now, here she was, chatting away with San and Jongho like they’d known each other forever.

It felt good to see her like this—happy, carefree, and finally warming up to the crew.

“You’re really curious about everything, aren’t you?” Jongho said, his deep voice carrying a hint of amusement.

“Of course!” YN said brightly. “I’ve never been on a ship before, so I want to learn as much as I can. Like… do you guys ever get scared of storms? Or, oh! What happens if someone falls overboard? Do you just throw them a rope, or—”

“Whoa, slow down,” San said, holding up his hands. “One question at a time, sunshine!”

Wooyoung chuckled softly as he approached them, leaning casually against the mast. “Looks like you’ve been keeping my brothers busy.”

YN turned to him with a beaming smile. “Wooyoung! Did you know San once fought off five guys by himself?”

San puffed out his chest, clearly enjoying the attention. “It was six, actually.”

“Here we go,” Jongho muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.

Wooyoung laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t let him fool you, YN. He probably tripped over a barrel and took them all down by accident.”

“Hey!” San protested, but YN was already giggling, her laughter light and infectious.

As they continued talking, Wooyoung couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. She wasn’t just his sunshine anymore—she was becoming theirs, too. And that made him happier than he could put into words.

The gentle sound of the waves lapping against the ship provided a soothing background as Wooyoung and YN sat on the deck. The sun was beginning to set, casting the sky in shades of orange and pink. YN was carefully folding a piece of parchment, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration as she tried to perfect the origami bird Mingi had taught her.

Wooyoung watched her with a soft smile, his elbow resting on his knee as he sat cross-legged beside her. He loved seeing her like this—calm, happy, and free to express herself.

“Wooyoung,” she suddenly said, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Let’s play a game.”

“A game?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes! It’s simple. One person asks a question, and the other has to answer truthfully. No skipping. Deal?” She held out her pinky finger, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

Wooyoung chuckled and linked his pinky with hers. “Deal.”

The game started innocently enough, with lighthearted questions that made them both laugh.

“What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done?” she asked.

“Once, I fell off the ship during training and blamed it on a loose rope,” Wooyoung admitted, grinning sheepishly.

She burst into laughter, nearly dropping her origami. “You didn’t!”

“I did. Yunho still hasn’t let me live it down,” he said, shaking his head.

When it was Wooyoung’s turn, he asked, “What’s your favorite food?”

“Anything sweet,” she answered easily. “The sweeter, the better!”

The game continued, each question becoming a little more personal, a little more revealing. Wooyoung learned that YN’s favorite color was blue because it reminded her of the ocean and that she used to dream of being an adventurer before life tied her to the store.

Then, as the playful banter lulled, Wooyoung asked the question that had been weighing on his heart.

“Where are the scars from?”

As soon as the question left Wooyoung’s mouth, YN froze, her body stiffening as if all the air had been sucked out of the room.

“W-what?” she stammered, her voice shaky, eyes darting to her hands in panic.

“Your wrist,” Wooyoung said, his voice softer this time but unwavering. “I saw the scars. Tell me what happened.”

Her heart raced, her palms growing clammy as she clutched the half-folded paper bird. She couldn’t face him, couldn’t answer the question. Without another word, YN shot up from her spot and darted away, her footsteps echoing across the deck.

“YN!” Wooyoung called after her, but she didn’t stop.

She didn’t know where she was going, her mind clouded with panic, but her feet carried her to Seonghwa’s quarters. She knocked quickly before opening the door, her chest heaving as she stepped inside.

Seonghwa was seated at his desk, a book in his hands, but he looked up at her abrupt entrance. He immediately noticed her pacing back and forth, her hands trembling as she fidgeted with the sleeves of her shirt.

“YN,” Seonghwa called gently, setting the book down and standing up. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” she started, but the words caught in her throat. She stopped pacing and turned to him, her eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears.

“YN,” he said again, walking over to her slowly, his voice calm and reassuring. “Breathe. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I…” She hesitated, her mind racing. She couldn’t tell him about her wrists, couldn’t tell him about the scars, but she didn’t know how to explain the storm of emotions swirling inside her.

Seonghwa waited patiently, his arms crossed but his gaze kind. When her bottom lip quivered and her eyes spilled over with tears, he stepped closer and placed a steady hand on her shoulder.

“Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone,” he said softly. “You can tell me, YN.”

Her shoulders shook as she wiped at her eyes with the back of her sleeve, trying to compose herself. “It’s just… it’s too much,” she finally whispered.

“Too much?” he prompted, his voice careful, coaxing.

She nodded, her voice trembling. “I—I don’t know how to explain it. Everything’s just… overwhelming.”

Seonghwa nodded in understanding, guiding her to sit on the edge of his bed. “Take your time,” he said, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and handing it to her.

She clutched the fabric tightly, sniffling as she stared at her lap. “I just… sometimes I feel like I can’t keep up. Like I’m trying so hard to be happy, to be… me, but it’s exhausting.”

Seonghwa crouched down in front of her, resting a hand on her knee. “You don’t always have to be the sunshine, YN. It’s okay to feel tired. It’s okay to need help.”

YN's chest rose and fell rapidly, her breath coming in shallow gasps as the weight of her emotions overwhelmed her. Her hands trembled as they clung to Seonghwa’s forearm, her grip so tight it felt as though she was holding onto him for dear life.

Seonghwa didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Instead, he stayed perfectly still, a steady anchor in the storm of her panic. He knelt in front of her, his calm presence a stark contrast to her spiraling emotions.

“YN,” he said softly, his voice like a gentle tide. “Breathe with me. In through your nose, slowly… and out through your mouth.”

She shook her head, her tears streaming freely. “I—I can’t,” she choked out, her voice cracking.

“You can,” Seonghwa reassured her, his tone unwavering. “I’m right here. Just focus on me. Look at me, YN.”

She hesitated but finally met his gaze, her teary eyes locking onto his calm, reassuring ones.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Now, follow my breath. In… and out.”

She tried, mimicking his slow breathing, though her breaths still hitched with sobs. Her fingers dug into his arm, and he didn’t so much as wince. Instead, he reached up with his free hand and gently dabbed at her tears with the handkerchief, his movements deliberate and careful.

“It’s okay to cry,” he said softly, his voice unwavering. “It’s okay to feel scared. You don’t have to apologize for how you feel.”

Her sobs quieted slightly, though her grip on his arm remained as strong as ever. She clung to him as though letting go would cause her to crumble entirely.

Seonghwa stayed patient, his calmness never faltering. He wiped her tears every so often, his hand moving with the same care as someone handling something fragile. “You’re safe here,” he reminded her. “Nothing’s going to hurt you. Not while I’m here.”

His words were like a lifeline, grounding her enough to slow her racing heart. After a few moments, her breathing began to even out, the tightness in her chest loosening bit by bit. She loosened her grip on his arm but didn’t let go entirely, her fingers still clutching him lightly as she hiccupped through her tears.

“Better?” he asked softly, his eyes searching hers.

She nodded weakly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied gently. “You’re not alone, YN. You never will be.”

Though her tears hadn’t fully stopped, a flicker of warmth spread through her chest at his words. Seonghwa’s presence was steady and unwavering, and in that moment, she felt just a little bit lighter.

After leaving Seonghwa’s room, YN made her way to her quarters. Her steps were slow, her mind a swirl of emotions she couldn’t quite pin down. She opened the door quietly, her gaze immediately landing on Wooyoung sitting cross-legged on the floor near the door, as he always did at night. His head lifted when he saw her enter, concern evident in his eyes.

“YN, I—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted firmly, her voice steady despite the whirlwind inside her. She stood before him, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for the hem of her sleeves.

Wooyoung’s eyes widened slightly, and he opened his mouth to say something, but she silenced him with a look. Slowly, she rolled up her sleeves, the fabric slipping upward to reveal the scars etched into her wrists.

Wooyoung’s breath hitched as he saw them up close for the first time, the pale lines stark against her skin. His heart ached, a heavy weight settling in his chest as he looked at her, at the vulnerability she was showing him.

“This is what you wanted to know, right?” YN said, her voice soft but laced with a mix of courage and apprehension. “You wanted to know where the scars came from. Well… here they are.”

Wooyoung stood slowly, his movements careful as if afraid any sudden action might scare her away. He didn’t say anything at first, his gaze flicking from her wrists to her face.

The silence lingered for a while before YN took a shaky breath, her fingers twisting together in her lap. She stared at the floor, her voice barely above a whisper as she finally began to speak.

“My mother…” she started, pausing to collect her thoughts. “She wasn’t… normal. She was cruel. A maniac, really. She’d punish me for anything and everything—spilling a drink, speaking too loudly, even just… existing.”

Wooyoung sat perfectly still, his gaze fixed on her, his heart breaking with every word.

“And her punishments,” YN continued, her voice trembling, “they weren’t like what most kids go through. She didn’t yell or ground me. She… she used a whip. Always on my wrists. Always in the same place. I can still feel it sometimes, even now.”

Wooyoung’s fists clenched at his sides, but he didn’t interrupt, letting her speak at her own pace.

“My father tried to stop her,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “He did everything he could, but she didn’t care. She was… relentless. And then, one day, she just… overdosed. Died right there in the house.”

She swallowed hard, her hands shaking as she rubbed at her sleeves. “You’d think I’d feel relief, right? That the nightmare was over. But I didn’t. I fell into this… dark hole. A part of me hated her, but another part of me missed her. I was so confused, so… lost. And that’s when it started.”

Wooyoung’s breath caught in his throat as she glanced at her wrists, her voice quieter now, as if she were confessing a sin.

“I started hurting myself,” she admitted, tears welling up in her eyes. “At first, it was just to feel something—anything other than the emptiness. But then it became… addictive. Like I couldn’t stop. Every time I felt overwhelmed or scared, it was my way of coping. It felt like the only thing I could control.”

Her voice broke, and she wiped at her cheeks, the tears now falling freely. “I hate it. I hate what I’ve done to myself. But it’s so hard to stop. Even now, there are days when the urge comes back, and I have to fight it with everything I have.”

Wooyoung moved closer, his heart heavy as he watched her crumble in front of him. “YN…” he said softly, his voice laced with pain and understanding.

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of vulnerability and shame. “I didn’t want you to know,” she whispered. “I didn’t want anyone to know. I thought I’d be fine keeping it to myself, but now… now I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to do this alone anymore,” Wooyoung said firmly, his voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside him. “You have me. You have Seonghwa, the captain… all of us. You’re not alone, YN. Not ever again.”

Her lips quivered, and for a moment, she looked like she wanted to argue, but then she nodded, the smallest bit of relief shining through her tears. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Wooyoung reached out, hesitated for a moment, and then gently placed his hand over hers. “You’re stronger than you think,” he said softly. “And I’ll remind you of that every day if I had to”

For a moment, she saw nothing but sincerity and warmth in his eyes. “I’ve already burdened Seonghwa enough tonight,” she said with a small, forced laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

“You’re not a burden,” Wooyoung said immediately, his voice firm. “Don’t ever think that. Not to him, not to me, not to anyone.”

The corner of her lip twitched upward, a small, grateful smile breaking through. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Wooyoung nodded, his expression softening. “Always.”

Without another word, she sat down on the edge of her bed, and Wooyoung returned to his spot on the floor near the door. The air between them was quieter now, but it wasn’t heavy. It felt lighter, like a silent understanding had settled between them.

And for the first time in a long while, YN felt a small sliver of peace.

The following days on the ship were like a fresh breeze in YN’s life. The weight she had carried for so long didn’t feel as heavy anymore. She laughed more, her usual sunshine-like personality shining even brighter now that the storm inside her had started to clear. She could feel it—she wasn’t alone anymore.

Wooyoung noticed the change in her, and it made his heart swell with pride and affection. She still leaped around the ship like a child, asking silly questions and sometimes pestering the others for answers. But now, there was something different about her—the way her laughter came from a place of genuine joy, the way her smiles reached her eyes.

And Wooyoung… he couldn’t stop looking at her. Every time she smiled, every time she glanced his way, his heart raced. He knew what it was now, that feeling that had been growing inside him from the moment he met her. He loved her.

She had become his light, his reason to be better, his reason to fight. And though he wasn’t brave enough to say it aloud, he showed it in every little thing he did. Whether it was sitting outside her door at night to keep her company or silently slipping her favorite snacks into her bag, his love for her shone through his actions.

For YN, Wooyoung had become her pillar, her safe place. She loved the feeling of knowing someone had her back, someone who cared for her as deeply as he did. It was something she’d never had before, and she treasured it more than anything.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in hues of gold and crimson, YN sat on the deck, her feet dangling over the edge. Wooyoung sat beside her, his usual playful demeanor softened by the quiet moment.

“Thank you,” she said suddenly, her voice carrying a softness that made Wooyoung turn to look at her.

“For what?” he asked, tilting his head.

“For being here,” she replied, her eyes fixed on the endless ocean before them. “For being my friend, for being my… everything.”

His heart skipped a beat, and he smiled softly. “You don’t have to thank me for that, YN. I’ll always be here for you. Always.”

She turned to him then, her eyes shining with gratitude and something deeper. “You’ve made me feel… safe. Happy. I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before.”

Wooyoung’s breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t say anything, afraid he might ruin the moment. Instead, he reached out and gently took her hand in his, giving it a light squeeze.

And in that quiet moment, with the ocean stretching endlessly before them and the stars beginning to appear in the sky, they sat together, content in the knowledge that they had each other.

For YN, it was the start of a new chapter, one where she wasn’t defined by her scars but by the happiness she was finally allowing herself to feel.

And for Wooyoung, it was enough to simply be by her side, loving her quietly but completely, knowing that she was his light just as much as he was hers.

[adore-laur]

hiii lovely i don’t know if you take requests but if you do please can we have an angsty piece for dadrry, like i know we had the christmas fight but like maybe h says something super mean to yn during an argument or he’s been super busy with work and he ends up being neglectful and stuff, and like i wanna see the groveling!!! it’s just a request if you don’t do angst i get it, but i would really love to see it !! no pressure tho xx

NEED YOU NOW

——

The time was 7:55 p.m., nearly three hours past when Harry had promised to be home. The plate of food you had made him sat cold on the countertop. It’d been his to make, but when you heard that he was staying late at the restaurant, you threw a quick meal together that was subpar even by your standards.

Truthfully, you were livid. Harry's paid paternity leave expired a week ago, and he was already breaking promises. I will always be home for dinner, he had vowed when you began to dread the day he put his white chef coat back on and left you to parent alone. Remarkably, he had upheld it thus far. You just didn't think he would let it collapse so soon.

You stewed over it in bed while trying—and failing—to put your four-month-old daughter down to sleep. It was the first time you had to do it by yourself, and to say it was shaping up to be a colossal catastrophe was an understatement. You didn't possess Harry's deep, soothing voice that was practically a lullaby of its own, nor did you possess his natural, rhythmic hip sway while rocking her to sleep. So, yes, there was a tiny kernel of resentment building pressure inside of you because of your shortcomings as a parent, and it could explode any second now. Because missing dinner was one thing, but missing the baby's bedtime? Outrageous.

Restless cries rattled around the room as her body squirmed in the bedside bassinet. The probability of you joining in on her meltdown was soaring higher as the sky darkened. Nothing you were doing was successful in calming her conniption—not nursing, ocean air, white noise, or even her trusty pacifier could settle those high-pitched wails that simultaneously broke your heart and frazzled your nervous system beyond its regular state. You were determined to remedy the situation as a perfectly capable mother, but in your heart of hearts, you knew that sometimes you weren't the needed parent. Tonight, Harry was the desired nurturer. And he wasn't here.

With clammy palms, you surrendered your pride and unlocked your phone to call Harry. The last text he had sent was at 4:37. It read: I won't be home until late tonight. Don't know what time. I'm sorry. Out of frustration, you had left him with no response.

The ringing tone droned, and you held no hope that he'd answer. Realistically, there was no open opportunity to take a phone call in a fast-paced restaurant kitchen. The cogs needed to be moving at all times—otherwise, the wheel would splinter. You had accepted it years ago.

When you first started dating Harry, it had been strenuous finding time for each other. On a lucky day, you'd talk to him during his lunch break. Weekends bestowed the moments that made the relationship flourish. It should have gotten more manageable after many years, but as a new mother, it wasn't something you could handle like a champ anymore.

Therein lay the problem: You had become too comfortable with having Harry home for twelve weeks. Calibrating to the changes that parenthood presented was much easier with a dedicated husband ready to face them with you. It had been a luxury to be a team from sunrise to sunset and every nocturnal hour that you both spent devoid of energy. Your steadfast lover, now far away from you.

"Hello?"

You jolted, surprised to hear Harry's voice. It caused relief and rage to clash within you—not a pleasurable combination. "How much longer are you working?"

His sigh was smothered by scattered voices speaking in the background and kitchenware clanging noisily. "I don't know. We're finishing the dinner rush, and there's still loads of cleaning to do. Trust me, I've been trying to make an exit for the past two hours, but the orders keep coming."

"I need you here, Harry," you said shakily. "I can't do this by myself."

"Do what by yourself? What's going on?"

Rage won the internal battle and staked its claim over your sensibility. "Seriously? I have a baby that won't stop crying, a husband that has been missing in action for the past three hours, and I'm on the verge of a mental breakdown."

"You never texted me back," Harry said, sounding like his focus was split half on the conversation and half on whatever task he was doing. "Have you tried walking her around outside? Maybe some fresh air will help."

You stood and started pacing around the room. "I tried that. I need your help. She wants nothing to do with me."

"Honey, I... I can't right now. I have to be here."

"Please," you begged, panic crawling up your throat. Could he even hear the baby crying on your end? How could he possibly understand your crisis through a muddled phone call? "I'm telling you I need you now."

"And I'm telling you I have a kitchen to run," he replied firmly. His tone softened when he added, "If I could leave right now, I would. It's just not viable when it's been this busy."

You stayed silent, chewing on his weak explanation. All your pent-up exasperation was simmering and had nowhere to go, so you infused your next words with it. "You're being neglectful."

"What?" Harry said. You could picture him with that cute little divot between his eyebrows, except the reasoning behind it wasn't so cute this time. "Wait, hold on, hold on. Say that again? Shit, I can't focus." A loud clattering of metal punctuated his rambling.

There was no fight left in you. Numbly, you walked over to the bay window and watched the ocean tide swell under the moon. "Never mind. Go finish what's clearly more important."

"Listen, it's hard to hear you in here. Can I call you back in... um, I don't know, fifteen minutes?" He didn't seem angry and didn't sense the urgency you were conveying. He just seemed distracted, and it felt like a bruising kick while you were already down.

"Bye, Harry." You hung up, not regretting your stubbornness. His communication during the day had been meager. He should have known to keep you in the loop after three hours of waiting for him to come home. You had hung on by a thread and wondered if this would become the norm. You thought he was done with his old tendencies of being a yes-man.

What mattered to you the most was that Harry knew when to put family first, and tonight, you and your daughter were put on the back burner.

With two tears slipping down your cheeks, you succumbed to the feeling of utter helplessness.

——

Harry unlocked the front door, trying to recall the last time he had come home at nine-thirty at night. Surely months ago, when you were heavily pregnant and couldn't sleep. He used to take you for slow drives around the neighborhood and play with your hair in hopes of lulling you into a deep slumber. Worked like a charm every time.

God, he knew you were pissed at him. He was in the doghouse for good reason. Usually, you'd greet him at the door, happy to see him. Now, the quiet bounced off the walls uncannily.

He had barely been able to concentrate on anything while in the thick of dinner service. Too many stressors flew around the kitchen like bullets. It had been the absolute worst moment to respond to your panicked phone call. Why had he said yes to staying late? The agreement was to work from seven to five, Tuesday through Friday. He failed you today, and it killed him.

Ever since the baby was born, Harry had turned into a homebody. He loved seeing every room hold signs of his little girl. Milk bottles in the refrigerator; tiny onesies in the washer; storybooks on the nursery's rocking chair; the tummy time mat on the living room carpet; the foldable bathtub in the kitchen sink (he planned to research if adults could use baby shampoo since the smell was irresistible). He had gotten so attached to the routine that it came as no surprise: his first week back at work had been hell. He had messed up several times, struggling to get back in the groove. His hands moved slower, his mind on overload as he played catch-up with the twelve weeks he missed. Everything there felt foreign, and it sparked a realization that nothing came as close to feeling natural as being a dad did.

Harry shook his head to clear the tornado whirling around his brain and turned on the kitchen light. He immediately spotted his plate of dinner waiting for him, a depressing reminder of his broken vow.

An awful feeling sank like a stone in his stomach. This was all wrong. It was supposed to go like this: Harry, ravenous and in dire need of affection, would arrive home at five, the sun still shining. He would kiss you in the foyer as you passed over his daughter. She would coo happily, the weight of her in his arms a precious comfort. He'd then carry her and entertain her with silly voices and other theatrical dad antics before getting started on cooking dinner. Then the night would slowly progress, and as everyone's eyes grew heavy with sleep, he'd wait until you were done nursing before burping a full-bellied baby and setting her in the bassinet.

And who was to blame for blowing that beautiful sequence to smithereens? This guy.

When Harry reached the hallway, he shivered. Was the window open? There was a chilly draft floating around, and when he peeked his head past the bedroom doorway, his assumptions were proven correct. There you were on the cushioned windowsill seat, the glittering moonlight illuminating your sleeping frame as you held his baby girl against your chest. She was asleep as well, with her limbs tucked all cozily in your motherly embrace. Harry just stood and watched for a minute, the day's stress cascading off his shoulders. Home. This was what remained the most paramount part of his life. He needed to apologize before you formed a grudge.

He didn't want to wake you or the baby, especially considering the overwhelming night you had helmed, so he hopped in the shower to contemplate the best way to handle... whatever had occurred over the phone. Harry knew that the postpartum phase was treating you roughly—your anxiety was a tight rubber band ready to snap at any moment. He hadn't fully grasped the reality of you doing the bedtime routine alone. How hard it probably had been with a baby experiencing major sleep regression. He'd thought your using the word neglectful was harsh, but it was fair.

With a cleansed body and mind, Harry exited the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. The breeze blowing in from the open window was too brisk for his liking, so he walked over and reached past you to close it. It squeaked, and he winced when you stirred awake. He stalled his movements as you came into consciousness, slowly and with weariness.

How motherhood looked on you was a thing of beauty. Even in the most ordinary moments, you were radiant, emanating warmth and solace. You were this family's guiding light.

Eventually, you swung your legs over the edge of the windowsill seat and stared at him blankly. Guilt struck Harry speechless, and all he could do was sink to his knees and press his face into your shin, like Stephan Sinding's Adoration. "Please forgive me, baby," he murmured, kissing your almond-scented skin. "I'm so sorry. There's no excuse."

When you remained silent, Harry lifted his face and looked at you. The sight of your expression crumpling and tears welling in your eyes shattered his heart. He got up to sit beside you, pulling you and your daughter into a remorseful hug. "I've made you cry. I'm awful, aren't I?"

You sniffled. "No, you're not. I just don't understand."

"Can I try to explain?" he asked.

You nodded and let your head fall limply on his shoulder. Harry was grateful you weren't shunning him. After pressing a soft kiss to your temple, he said, "You needed me tonight, and I fell short as your husband and as her father." He stroked his baby girl's back, his palm nearly covering the entirety of it. "It was an unexpectedly chaotic day at work, and I... I don't know, it's like I forgot how to hold the reins. All my skill retention just vanished. It was bizarre, and I'm sure it has to do with being sleep-deprived, but it shouldn't have pushed me to stay late. I should've put our family first, and I'm sorry you felt neglected. That wounds me to hear that." He grabbed your hand and held it against his heart, leaning down to kiss your knuckles tenderly. "So, from now on, I will be home for dinner. I will be here for bedtime. I will be here when you need me, for whatever reason. Because when you hurt, I hurt. And I don't ever want to make you feel like that again. Don't want you to doubt starting a family with me."

You were crying against his neck, and Harry couldn't tell if it was a good or bad sign. Every word he had said was honest. Poured straight from his soul. It was a vow to be better and to learn from his mistakes. The adjustment from a blissful four months experiencing fatherhood at home to transitioning right into a forty-hour workweek had been messy, and it still would be in the weeks to come, so he hoped you understood that he was trying. It would all balance out soon enough. It just took time.

"Talk to me, sweetheart," Harry whispered to you. His daughter was making whiny noises now, so he carefully took her from your arms and cuddled her close. It felt like his vital purpose.

Meanwhile, you inhaled a few deep breaths to collect yourself. Your hand gripped the towel around his waist, and you gasped before saying, "This whole time, I thought you were naked."

He laughed, thankful for the brief levity. "I think you're still dreaming, sleepyhead." A small smile lifted your lips, and he had no choice but to kiss them. He'd been gone for far too long today.

"I forgive you," you said quietly. "I trust that you won't let this become a habit. I think there were heightened emotions from both of us, for valid reasons, and I found it hard to communicate exactly what I needed."

"You needed me," Harry replied, feeling guilt creep its way back into his mind.

"I know, but I can't always expect you to drop everything when you're needed elsewhere. That's not fair."

He nodded. "Still, you're my partner. It's my responsibility to make you feel adored, and since I blundered that today, how about if I take all the night shift duties this weekend?"

Your eyes fluttered shut, relief softening your facial features. "That would make me feel very adored."

"Yeah?" He kissed your forehead. "And since tomorrow's Saturday, I think I'll treat you to breakfast in bed."

You hummed, pleased as punch. "Tell me more."

"We'll sit on the porch swing and drink coffee," he continued, the domestic visualization sending a rush of heat through him. "Watch the sunrise and listen to the mourning doves."

"No, I meant tell me more about treating me to things in bed."

"Oh, my sincerest apologies," Harry said with an amused laugh. "Are we talking about innocent bed activities, or...?"

You were in a reverie, no doubt thinking of not-so-innocent activities. "Remember our wedding night when we tried using that—" A sudden and sharp wail sliced through your sentence, and in Harry's mind, he caught a brief flash of the memory: you, perched seductively on the living room sofa in the newly purchased beach house, more breathtaking than the ocean view in the distance. Harry, unable to believe he had found you and got to treasure your love for life. And yeah... he couldn't possibly forget that ridiculous toy he'd been gifted with at his bachelor party. Moving on.

"Let's all get some sleep so we can act alive tomorrow," Harry said. When he stood to start rocking the baby, the loosened towel dropped to the floor, leaving him stark naked in the moonlight. You giggled, and the sound was like a shot of bliss straight into his veins. He laughed too, drowsiness finally hitting him. It would be a long night ahead, and although he would likely rack up a measly four hours of sleep, knowing he’ll wake up beside you and have only dad-related obligations for the next three days made it sound peachy.

For the first time that day, a sense of calmness washed over him. Home, sweet home.

——

[savameh]

RIGHT LIKE IVE BEEN SAYING

also I’m shocked that Beetee has a son because let’s be honest he gave me total girldad vibes

[thir10th]

I’m not sure you all understand the huge meaning the milk probably had in “sunrise on the reaping” and why snow took it so personally, and although this is only a theory of mine, I thought maybe some of you wanted to know.

The first thing to keep in mind is when Snow asks for the milk and why. He does so after having tasted a poisoned oyster dish that he had used to kill an enemy. As Finnick told us in Mockingjay, Snow always takes a bite or a sip from dish or the glass to avoid any suspicions.

By the time he gets Plutarch and Haymitch, he is spitting up blood. At this point, we can assume that he must have already consumed the antidote, otherwise he would have died. However, as Finnick points out, they don't always work entirely well. When he starts coughing in front of them, Plutarch offers him water, but he refuses and asks for (and insists) on milk.

If you didn’t know: this is probably because milk is a natural antidote, a remedy for almost any poison that is ingested. Milk produces mucus in the stomach and slows the absorption of acids. So if you ever ingest something like bleach or something similar, and you need to slow down the effects as much as possible, protect your stomach, or are simply unable to vomit, drinking at least two large glasses of milk before seeking medical attention could save your life.

In my opinion, it's not far-fetched to think that this detail is accurate and that's why Snow refuses the water and specifically asks for milk. When Haymitch drinks it, he's not only denying him something to drink, but unbeknownst to him, he's risking his life.

It's very sad and ironic that Snow then insists on sending him milk once he's out of the arena. He sends him milk every day until he returns home, and Lenore Dove eats the gumdrops. When Haymitch begs for help, when he asks if they have any pills or anything else after she insists she can't throw up, some milk could have actually have saved her life; at least it would have given her uncles time to react. Snow let Haymitch binge on milk for weeks, only to then kill his girl, and therefore, because he drank all the milk, he couldn't give it to her.

So, maybe the last metaphor it's a bit far-fetched, but it's all true, and knowing Suzanne Collins, I don't think such a meticulous detail was random. Anyway, let me know what you think!

[someweirdoreblogger]

How often do you think Burning Spice Cookie will dress up his favored? In a lot of different attire, mayhaps?

You're like a doll, kept as a living trophy for your newly appointed Lord of Destruction, a merger piece of eye candy. Burning Spice Cookie would dress you far more than even Shadow Milk Cookie would, and he takes a fair amount of pride in his knits and kits of deceit.

There is a sort of shameless, dark repetition in the mysterious Jester's fine lace, but Burning Spice Cookie's is not one for subtlety. The Destruction's own taste is a fickle blaze, it rises and falls with history, changing with the tides of the ocean and the phases of the Moon. How his genosity flavors you is how much he himself, the fortunate one, favors you in entirety.

Burning Spice Cookie pampers, he even implures you to take advantage of this; it will shower you in gold and privileges. He begrudgingly admits such personally, as he coats you in his most recent luxurious spoils and creamy wools of war.

But pay heed, he always expects appreciation.

When Burning Spice Cookie ravages you in mountains of gifts, aplenty spices, and remedies, he fully anticipates you to unpack and wear them next sunrise.

Gods grant no miracles. Power doesn't like being questioned. He will answer your prayers of luxury and glory, but never at no cost, at his own personal behest.

He will send over boats, keep tallys, and receive your belief as obligation.

[4pfsukuna]

Bed Peace

Debrief: Touch deprived and exhausted Terry always finds solace in your bed. Fluff

‘Curled up with my head on your chest is the best remedy for the pain and the stress’

The first thing you notice when your eyes open is that you aren't home alone. You don't move though, instead just listening to the sounds fluttering through your apartment before noticing it's the early hours of the morning right before the sun rises and the sky is that wicked purple color.

The morning breeze flutters through the room making the curtains rustle,  goosebumps raise slightly on your skin, the brown silk sheets not helping to keep you warm. You settle for closing your eyes letting your head sink further into the plush pillows, scarf somewhere on the floor.

It's when the bed dips slightly and you feel a pressure on your lower abdomen that you finally relax. Being on edge for weeks not knowing if he was okay or where he even was. It's when your hands come down to the nape of his neck playing with the hair there that he sighs heavily, finally wrapping his arms around your waist, fingers curling into you as if you're going to float away if he doesn't.

As if this is just a dream that he's going to wake up from and be back in training.

As if this a dream and he’ll go back to the nightmare his reality turned into.

“I'm here” you promised, squeezing his arm watching the large man visibly sigh, one arm falling to hang off the bed as he begins to doze off the fatigue of the past few days finally catching up to him. Fatigue from constantly running, moving, planning, executing… PACING.

Running your fingers down his spine, the nape of his neck, ears, sideburns and even his hair for what feels like minutes but is actually hours and in your own way this was your version of how he curled his fingers around you to really make sure he's there. Not that he minds between falling asleep and basking in your soft touch does he notice how touch starved he actually is. 

The next time he wakes up is only 2 hours later the sunlight dancing through the spaces in your blackout curtains flashing through his eyelids. The heat of the morning sun warming up the parts of his skin you weren't still rubbing, caressing and it eases him again though he hates he can't stay asleep past the sunrise.

“Sorry i forgot to close the curtains” you whisper, reaching for it not expecting his hand to grab yours placing it back on his neck his own way of saying he didn't mind… as long as you kept touching him.

And when he doesnt feel your hands moving on him he lifts his head green eyes looking unreal in the morning sun, fucking perfect. Flawless skin, pretty and thick lips… who was talking about who?

“Just say you wanted to see my eyes in the sun” he teases watching as you smile a small giggle erupting past your lips before he pulls the curtain closed this time laying on your chest. He's quick, wrapping and arm around you, his hand sliding up your shirt fully locking you in place and you aren't even sure who's holding who any more as you tangle your legs in his and that's when he really sighs.

It's like you were holding him down, keeping him grounded.

“Missed you” he murmurs into your neck inhaling your scent of strawberry vanilla unfamiliar since he was so used to your coconut scent. He keeps inhaling, holding you tight each time he does.

“Stop it” you giggle pushing him not that it does anything from how tight he's wrapped himself around you.

“You smell good” his morning voice rasp and it takes everything in you not to shudder. It's probably for the better if you couldn't see his eyes right now. And it's silent for a while. you almost think he dozed back off until—

“Really missed you” 

“You're safe with me, it's just us. You and me” you promise and it's your turn to squeeze him tight. 

“You can stay right here. Just lay right here. Everything is okay right here” you soothe running your hands down his cheeks over his broad shoulder feeling the gauze pad and then his spine— another gauze pad.

The sadness fills your heart for him and the way that THIS is the only thing he wants. The only thing he needs.

“You can stay right here” you squeeze tighter, pulling a soft groan from him as he nuzzles further into your chest.

“Just lay right here” your hand runs over his head caressing and stroking with your thumb his eyes closing and just focusing on your words and the feeling of your body against his.

“Everything is okay right here” you promise, leaving a kiss on his forehead running your hands over his hot skin once more before the two of you slowly doze off locked in another unable to move.

[war-in-time]

I’ve got another hot take about Sunrise on the Reaping.

Lenore Dove is not only a redundant character that strips Haymitch of his own personality and development, but she’s also extremely stupid. Her death is what supposedly drives Haymitch to alcoholism from the way that sotr is written, instead of his memories of the arena, the deaths of his actual family, or being forced to mentor 46 kids to their deaths. His only reason for joining the revolution and trying to take down the capital is because of her, and not his own experiences with the capital and how they’ve drained and broken him, just some promise he never actually made to a dying girl.

Her death itself is what actually makes the least amount of sense and proves that she lacked critical thinking skills. Lenore (presumably since she acts extremely shocked to see Haymitch in the meadow) didn’t know he’d survived or gotten home from the Capital because she spent the entire hunger games in jail, and the peacekeepers probably didn’t let her watch tv. So knowing that the bag of candy she received from Haymitch was at her home, she didn’t even question why there was another random bag of candy on the ground in the forest?

She found the gumdrops before she knew Haymitch was even alive, so there is no was she could assume he’d left them for her when he wasn’t physically there. So why does she not question a random bag in the middle of the woods and instantly picks it up to eat them???

It’s also the worse way Snow could have chosen to kill her. What’s stopping Haymitch from Romeo and Julieting the situation and taking a few gumdrops himself? In fact if we’re to believe that Haymitch is so in love with this girl that he’s obsessed with her 25+ years after her death, you really expect me to believe he wouldn’t kill himself on the spot to be with her?

This entire problem could have been remedied if Snow just had Haymitch’s mom, Sid, and Lenore executed in the town square for as soon as Haymitch gets off the train. Why wouldn’t he send a message to the entire district? Don’t fuck with the games or we will kill your whole family? That’s a missed opportunity to keep everyone in line since everyone saw how Haymitch won the games.

Edit to add: Snow had no way of knowing if Lenore would even find/get the gumdrops. Unless he magically figured out her exact favourite spot in the woods without her being there (again she was locked up for the entire game, even if he was spying on her she’d been in custody), any random person in the district could have picked those gumdrops up and eaten them. We know Burdock goes into the woods, what are the odds that he wouldn’t find them first and eat them?

[the-fever-pitch]

Ey, handsome, let me be your personal cupid this Valentine's Day! Tell me, who's going to be your date tonight?

— An innocent angel trapped just for you, ready to be corrupted. Unable to free himself from his chains, he looks at you in fear from the mattress. He knows that if he tastes the pleasures of the flesh, he will be completely submitted, to them, to you. You will be their new god, blindly devoted.

— A werewolf ready to hunt you. The night is long and who knows what is hiding, lurking in the shadows of the trees. He’ll come for you, pin you to the ground and fuck you all night until there is no room left for more cum inside you. An animal in heat. Or maybe you are the one who wants to have a victim to hunt? 

— A demon ready to corrupt you. The priest of your church considers that your sins have no remedy, so he has tied you up and sold you as an offering to infernal beings. But it's not hell if you like how it burns. Each fluid corrupts you more, pain becomes pleasure and before sunrise you’ll be the perfect toy for his carnal desires.

— A beautiful bunny with a tight bodysuit and fishnet stockings ready to fight you tonight. He wants to play and tempt you until he pushes you to your limit. Ready to tame a brat?

— A big cowboy, good at roping and ready to teach you how to ride like a real man. After all, a pretty thing like you can't wander around alone, and he needs something to relieve stress after long days at work.

— A beautiful little puppy covered in a leather outfit, educated and ready to obey. Prepared to kneel before you and beg for everything they want you to do to them, willing to do anything to get it. So desperate, how adorable.

— A doctor, with a broad back and straight posture who invites you to his office for an examination. And of course, you trust him, he knows what is best for you. Plus, we both know that the sound his gloves make when he puts them on, when they run over your skin, it makes you so so horny. Maybe he can do something about it.

Not seeing anything you like on the menu? It's okay, ask me and I'll give it to you. I love to please my guests.

[fix-it-darlin]

D.A.M.N. Crew Headcanons

Freelancer

Doodles on the back of their hands

Never really specialized in anything as a kid and had way too many hobbies. They view this as a negative thing, but the rest of the crew is delighted to hear about their many interests.

Chicken scratch handwriting that only they can read most times.

Attempted to learn shorthand to remedy this but couldn't stick to it long enough to make much of an impact on their note taking style.

Didn't like their hair for a while and so they were always wearing some kind of hat. They still wear a hat a lot, but they've started to get more comfortable with it, especially as Gavin teaches them how to style it better.

Never had a close friend group before the D.A.M.N. crew and usually spent time in groups that seemed to just tolerate them while they were in school.

Used to read voraciously, but hasn't read a full book in about a year. They can manage articles and short stories, but a full book is asking a lot.

Talks to themself a lot and has nearly filled their phone's storage with all the voice notes they make.

Gavin

Gave himself dimples

Wears lots of rings, but one from Freelancer is worn on a chain rather than his hands

Favorite movie is the Princess Bride. The D.A.M.N. crew gets together for a movie night every few weeks and this is always his first suggestion.

Learned how to knit just so he could make Freelancer a hat for their birthday. It was a messy first attempt, but Freelancer loves it all the same.

Great gift giver

Damien made him join a book club with him after figuring out that he hasn't read a book in his life. Gavin gripes about this, but he's actually delighted to have someone to read with and keep him accountable there. He's tried to bring Freelancer into it too, but recognizes that they're too busy for books at the moment.

Damien

Has a very particular taste in energy drinks and doesn't like tea very much.

Black nail polish

His mom pushed him to be good at art as a kid, and he was, could render incredibly realistic studies of nature, but he hated it. He doesn't draw much in present time, but Huxley discovered one of his old sketchbooks at one point and was seriously impressed. Damien wanted to throw out the sketchbook, but Huxley's kept it for now.

When he does draw, it's these shitty little cartoons (I'm talking stick figures and shaky lines) he uses to make Huxley laugh, and only when he's particularly inspired.

Loves to take runs at the crack of dawn just so he can catch the sunrise and the early morning dew.

Has never seen snow in person

Huxley

Loves graphic novels (read all the Bone books as a kid)

Definitely has a rock collection, knows how to skip stones

Goes to poetry open mic nights with Lasko as a way to improve his diction but also train himself to formulate his words better. Some hilarious haikus and free verse have come out of this. Huxley's favorite is the one he performed about a raccoon trying to get tickets to a concert

Is incredibly gentle with his touch as though he's afraid that he'll hurt people with his hugs.

Has dressed up as a bulbasaur for Halloween before

Passed notes with Damien during a lecture that they shared. It drove Damien nuts, but Huxley wasn't sure how else to talk to him at the time. He and Damien still leave each other sticky notes on the mirror and Huxley treasures each of them.

Lasko

Has glasses and they slip down his nose all the time

You know the trope that when people take their glasses off, all of a sudden they're super hot? Yeah, Lasko is the exact opposite way because his lenses are pretty a high prescription and make his eyes look much bigger than they actually are. Take those off and he's immediately squinting and those eyes don't look so big anymore which makes him look uncanny. He's pretty self-conscious about that.

Listens to Mitski

Can quote the entirety of The Hobbit word for word and has very strong opinions about the movies. (He saw them against his will once and has never gotten over it)

Pretty deep morning voice surprisingly enough

Started doing yoga with Dear as a way to keep loose and relax although it's debatable how much relaxing is actually going on towards the end of their sessions and how much of it is just excuses to tease and flirt with each other.

Dear

Top two buttons of their shirt are always unbuttoned, they've got quite the collection.

Loves Lasko's squint that he gets when his glasses slip too far down his nose.

Was on the swim team when they were in school and were pretty good at it (this is an understatement, they set a couple of records for their school)

Nails are always very neatly trimmed and they usually have a clear coat or white nail polish on them

Loopy, neat handwriting

Has always been called a good listener. Little does anyone know that they talk Lasko's ear off just as much as he does their's. They know an insane amount about different species of coral and sea cucumbers and have a collection of books, photos, and articles about them that they've built up over the years.

Very good at figuring out people's strengths and makes a point of complimenting them on it. They are proud to say that they've flustered Huxley with their compliments because it took them the longest time to figure out what would really hit for him.

Has a tattoo on their back

Is part of Damien's book club and always has some of the most detailed notes on the books they read. It's become a bit of a competition between the two of them to see who has the best notes. It's all in good fun though.

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Fic Titles: Song Edition

Part I

Softly we tremble tonight - Cat and Mouse, The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus

We're so happy (we could die) - Blood & Glitter, Lord of the Lost

There′s no remedy for memory - Dark Paradise, Lana del Rey

Love is the warmest colour - Nara, alt-J

We gotta stop pretending who we are - Don't speak, No Doubt

A force more powerful than gravity - Satellite, Lena Meyer-Landrut

They turned to dust (all that I adored) - Things we lost in the fire, Bastille

Lose all sense of time - Coastline, Hollow Caves

Sometimes quiet is violent - Car Radio, Twenty One Pilots

I′ll show you mine (if you show me yours first) - Swing Life Away, Rise Against

So beautiful and wild - Tonight, Reamonn

See your face lit by starlight - Colorado Sunrise, 3OH!3

Misunderstandings and words unspoken - Don't waste my time, Victor Lundberg

When we stole the night - Another heart calls, The All-American Rejects

The way that we love (like it's forever) - Happy Ending, Mika

But it's home to me - Boulevard of Broken Dreams, Green Day

Like memories of dying days - Savior, Rise Against

Electricity between both of us - Landfill, Daughter

I slept in last night's clothes and tomorrow′s dreams - Uma Thurman, Fall Out Boy

There'll be a riot (cause I know you) - Robbers, The 1975

All of your flaws and all of my flaws - Flaws, Bastille

Crossing all the lines - Girls Like Girls, Hayley Kiyoko

Misery's your master - She's the blade, Sugarcult

But we go where we want to - Lane Boy, Twenty One Pilots

Between the lines of fear and blame - How to save a life, The Fray

There's a heavy cloud inside my head - Lemon Tree, Fool's Garden

A very common crisis - Fluorescent Adolescent, Arctic Monkeys

Turn the light out, say goodnight - Fake Empire, The National

Let′s write a song that we can dance to - Jersey, Mayday Parade

There′s strangers everywhere - This isn't everything you are, Snow Patrol

More titles!