#i see the concern. i need to know what its for

[jacksabbotts]

✧ caught in the cold — ❪ part six ❫

. ᵒ . ➛ PAIR . dr. jack abbot ( the pitt ) x fem!morguetech!reader . ᵒ . ➛ SUMMARY . after days of avoidance, emotional overload drives you to the hospital roof—six prep sheets too many, one too-loud memory too far. you just need air. silence. solitude. what you get instead is jack abbott. already there. already listening.

. ᵒ . ➛ TRIGGER WARNINGS . lowercase intended!!! emotional spiral / anxious overthinking, self-deprecating inner monologue, implied crush / unrequited feelings ( perceived ), power imbalance ( attending physician x hospital staff ), flirting in a professional setting, profanity

. ᵒ . ➛ AUTHOR NOTES . i am sooo sorry it took absolutely forever to get this posted. i have been struggling on how to get morgue and jack to the next step now that she has confessed and still make it realistic with morgue girl's and jacks differing personality. also so sorry this is so freaking short its just a lil transition chap and trust me it is about to get good. lastly, i want to remind that concepts are not apart of the main universe ( aka the chapters ) and are simple au's for the main universe if that makes any sense at all.

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the door to the roof creaked open with its usual rusted groan.

you stepped through it like a ghost. shoulders tight. breath short. your scrubs hung loose, streaked with powder and formalin and god knew what else. your hands still smelled like bleach. your brain still pulsed with the click of scalpels and body bags and endless, impossible numbers.

six.

six full preps left behind for you. day shift gone. howell’s clipboard full. the day shift tech voice in your head cheerfully reminding you that the medical examiner's day starts at six am sharp!

your shift didn’t even have time for three. so you came up here. for air. for silence. for a breakdown in peace. you didn’t even check if the roof was empty.

'unbelievable,' you muttered, dragging both hands through your hair. 'six bodies. six. like i’m not human. like i don’t breathe. like—like it’s not insane to leave one tech with six fucking preps like that’s normal.'

you immediatly covered your mouth at the curse because that wasn't you. you weren't one to let your anger get the better of you and you weren't one to let words like that slip. all in testament to your predicament. you paced to the center of the roof. breath fogged the air in small bursts.

'i’m so tired,' you whispered. 'and i can’t even think straight because all i can hear is him.' you laughed, dry and cracked. 'what the fuck is wrong with me!'

you squeezed your eyes shut. 'because apparently one sentence—one coat—can short-circuit my entire life. i can’t go five minutes without remembering how he said i wasn’t a practice body.' your voice cracked. 'who even says that?'

a breeze blew. you didn’t notice but you did look up.

and then you saw him. jack.

oh, fuck me.

standing near the far edge. silhouetted against the skyline. arms crossed. head slightly tilted. he turned slowly. quietly. and your blood ran cold.

'oh my god,' you croaked, stumbling back a step. 'i didn’t—dr. abbot. i didn’t know you were—'

'yeah,' he said softly. 'i figured.' his voice wasn’t angry. it was something else. something that made your skin go hot and cold all at once. 'how much did you hear?'

jack took a few steps forward, out of the shadows, into the spill of light from the rooftop bulbs. 'enough.' you wanted to vanish.

'i was just—i needed air, i wasn’t thinking, and i didn’t mean—'

'why are you avoiding me?' his voice was quiet. steady.

you opened your mouth. closed it. because you didn’t have an answer that didn’t sound pathetic. he stepped closer. not too close. just enough that you could see the concern in his eyes. the exhaustion. the quiet ache beneath it.

'was it the coat?'

'no—'

'the compliments?'

'no, i—'

'was it the part where i said i liked you?' his mouth twitched like it wanted to smile but didn’t have the nerve. you finally spoke. quiet. honest. small.

'i didn’t think you meant it.'

jack blinked. 'why?'

you stared at your shoes. 'because people don’t mean things like that when they say them to people like me.'

silence.

dead, still silence.

and then jack stepped over the railing and walked toward you. you stepped back. he stopped. and then he said, voice low and level. 'i'm sorry, for making thinks worse for you.'

jack took one more step forward. gentle. careful. looking for any sign that you didn't want him to move closer to you. 'you know, i’ve been thinking about it too.'

your breath caught. 'the coat. the compliment. your face when i said it.' his voice dropped to something raw. 'and how much i wanted to say more.'

you stared at him.

he ran a hand through his hair. 'i didn’t push. i didn’t follow you after because i thought maybe you regretted the whole thing. that maybe i’d crossed a line. but hearing you talk just now…'

he finally looked at you—really looked. 'i’m not sorry, morgue girl.' his voice cracked open with softness. 'i’m not sorry i noticed. i’m not sorry i care. even if you don't believe me.'

you didn’t know what to say.

so he filled the silence.

'i don’t care how many bodies you’ve got waiting. i don’t care if you label scalpels or talk to corpses or live in the basement like a ghost.' a soft huff of a laugh.

'i like you,' he said. 'exactly as you are. warm or cold. overthinking or quiet. i like you.'

and then, quieter, 'but if you want me to stop… say the word. i will.' you swallowed hard. your eyes burned. and all you could whisper was. 'i didn't say that, i just—'

'what are you saying?' he asked. it should have been an easy question. what were you really saying? what did you want? as much as you wanted to say you wanted him and his sweet words. you couldn't make yourself speak.

he took another step closer. he was now standing right in front of you. 'tell me what you want.' it wasn't a request. it wasn't a question. it was a command, an order.

and god, if it didn't make your stomach swirl. if it didn't make you want to melt on the spot. you wanted to close your eyes. you wanted to break eye contact before you burst at the seams. you wanted to tell him exactly what you wanted. you wanted—

'you have to say it out loud, sweetheart.'

'oh my gosh.' you groaned, finally burying your head into your hands and breaking the eye contact you were sure was about to kill you. but he wasn't having it. he reached for you, finally, and his fingers brushed your own as he gentle pried your hands off your face.

'look at me, sweetheart.' he mumbled. 'look at me and tell me what you want.'

you groaned loudly. because why the heck was he so persistent. you took a deep breath and looked at him, like he told you to. you looked at him honestly and told him the only thing you knew how. 'this is really hard for me.'

he nodded. 'i know.' he mumbled and then untangled his fingers from you and you frowned. he almost thought it was cute. he brought both his hands to both sides of your face.

'i — i like the compliments. i do, its just — they make me loose focus, i can't concentrate because i sit there and i think about them non stop. i think — i think about you . . . non stop.' you confessed in the only way you knew how, word vomit. 'honestly, i don't think its really healthy the way i think about you and how much i think about you. and really its just —'

you stop talking abruptly when you see the smirk on his face and the impending laugh and you think he's laughing at you. and really you don't blame him. you probably sound so pathetic to him right now. 'and now your laughing at me. i knew this was a mistake.'

his smile immediately fell. 'no, no, no — i am not laughing at you. i am just surprised that you told me all that, your not exactly the most open person, sweetheart.'

and melt. you are a puddle on the ground. here lies the contents of you. cause of death, jack mother fucking abbot. 'so does this mean, your going to stop avoiding me like the plague.'

you flush. 'i wanna say yes, but honestly. i might unintentionally avoid you more. but please don't take it personally.' you confess.

you don't know what it is about jack abbot that makes you unintentionally bare your soul for him to judge with a mere request. he could probably say jump and you would shyly ask how high. it makes you both flush with embarrassment and makes you want to hit yourself for being so fucking whipped for a man you met a month ago ( and not to mention a man who yelled at you the first time you met. )

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[binmeister]

Morally grey - Loose notes

Saja Boys x Demon! Reader (Fem)

Brain go bRRRRRRRR

CW: not proofread, angst, potential toxic dynamics, heavily fan HC / ooc, has mild fluff here and there

Keep having thoughts about the things that Gwi-ma does to keep you in line

How he takes portions of your memories from you so you feel empty and then will randomly overload you with thoughts and feelings

How the first time you and Jinu have a pleasant moment together where it’s not hostile and you suddenly go quiet on him with a distant look in your eye before apologising and asking him who he is

Or just as bad, saying to him “I’m so sorry to ask this.. but do you know what my name is?”

Because you've forgotten again

You look listless as you say it and there’s even a shamed expression on your face as you try your damn best to remember but there’s no notes in your head about it

Jinu tells you to quit messing about because that’s unnecessarily rude but when he realises you’re serious.. a small part of him breaks

You’ve been left with shreds of your humanity but at what cost, when do you lose yourself all together if Gwi-Ma can take and give at the drop of a hat

It’s not until at least a month later that Gwi-Ma decides to force all of your memories and emotions on you in a flash and you’re left crying on Jinu’s shoulder over how you forgot him and that you’re sorry for that and you’ll do better

You struggle to remember moments with Jinu aside from the hostile ones because it brings the overlord joy to see you both suffer so much, that Jinu can be held on an even tighter leash when his few moments of joy with you are dangled in front of him and his feelings become one sided everytime Gwi-Ma takes from you

I kinda HC that Baby may be the oldest or second oldest in this one, normally he’s the maknae but to think of him as being one of the oldest in terms of demon years just makes sense

He died young, never developed a moral compass, baby-faced but has lived the longest in terms of demon years

When you found him, he was initially a little hostile but grew attached fast because you were still soft - still had something about you that made him feel safe enough to not be that rough exterior he was forced to uphold

He lets you comfort him when you make assumptions on how he feels but he can’t bring himself to tell you that he’s numb, that there’s not much left to feel and the last few things he revels in is greed and lust

How could he ever tell sweet little you with your head still concerned about trivial human things that he doesn’t care about their thoughts and feelings? That he only listens because its you 

That he’s greedy for your touch so he let’s you hold him so he can stay close, keeps up the pretence that he’s just a lost soul - yeah he can’t read and definitely takes advantage of what empathy you somehow still have - but he’s still a greedy demon that wants to monopolise your thoughts

There’s a part of him that enjoys when Gwi-Ma messed with you, because it made you just that little bit more dependent on him because you struggled to keep yourself steady - but he overlooks it enough to take you to your favourite place: the human world

Baby would hold your hand the entire time and let you people watch, keep you close so you don’t wander off and when you aren’t looking.. he would indulge on his hunger and feast a little - just enough so you can’t tell what he’s done to unsuspecting humans but more than enough to satiate the need

He doesn’t even know his real name, he answers to Baby because you had started calling him that - you’d been the one to coo at his young face and tell him “Im sorry baby..” enough to when Jinu meets him and asks for his name, he just says Baby and thats that

I feel Mystery comes into the picture next, his humanity is already in shambles because of the bloodlust and pact he had with Gwi-Ma and it lingered over for a long while

He’s hostile, outright feral, and has a crippling amount of guilt and self loathing because of it

When he first meets you he outright attacks you, teeth out and even as he hurts you there’s this lingering taste of sadness that makes you not fight back

When you’ve crossed that barrier and are more at ease with eachother, he admits that he’s struggling to remember anything about himself aside from the greed and bloodlust

You keep notes for him, tell him in a gentle voice what you know of him and anything he told you

Then there’s a time where you go stiff and then pause and look at him and ask him for your name because you remember things about him but you cant recall anything about yourself

He quietly lists off your hobby of watching people and there’s that familiar warmth in your eye as you ramble about the people you came across and then it blinks out as you try to remember who you are 

There’s moments where you reach out and hold onto him like he’ll keep you anchored and he lets you, keeps your trembling hand in his as he helplessly watches you struggle to keep your sanity as Gwi-Ma does his best to torture you

Mystery would fight 100 demons for you no questions asked, because you’ve become something that mattered to him and Gwi-Ma knows that - so when he wants to find entertainment and ruin your little group’s day?

He simply flicks your personality off. Takes what little remains from you so youre sitting with no thoughts, no feelings, a simple husk beside them as the three men try to keep themselves afloat while they coax you out of your stupor - its extremely difficult to do when its fresh but steadily over time Gwi-Ma has less and less influence over how much he can mess with you 

But it still happens.

When Abs comes into the equation, he’s a shell of a being - no emotions, no real thoughts or opinions, purely empty

In terms of demon years he’s actually the youngest amongst you - maybe the oldest physically speaking but existence wise, very much the youngest 

Gwi-Ma wiped him clean - doesn’t even torment him with his memories, just pushes him over the edge with overwhelming shame and guilt then takes it away again so he feels empty

You teach him how to smile one day, push the corners of his mouth up with the tips of your fingers and he just lets you because he’s curious what youre doing - at least he thinks thats what the feeling is

His first smile is awkward, hes confused on why you and the others are trying not to laugh as its lopsided and one side of his top lip is folded over a fang but then he tries again when you show him with your own fanged smile and it’s outright attractive and makes you pause - which makes him feel something when he recognises how your eyes dilate like you like what you saw

Then he figures out how to smile genuinely, the muscles in his face functioning properly for once as he gives you a sly open smile that actually reaches his eyes for once

He learns to laugh thanks to you and the others and he learns over time your habits, and eventually it’s his turn to see how your light dims and you quietly shrink in on yourself as you try to get a hold of yourself

He lets you lean on him, sometimes pulls you onto his lap as he just holds you and hopes that Gwi-Ma will piss off soon because Abs has accepted that you’re not a fighter

You don’t resist Gwi-Ma when he’s angry, he picked up on the fact that you quietly accept whatever punishment you’re given even when you havent done anything which makes him fight back more on the good memories he makes with you

You just don’t care anymore to fight back, you’ve spent so much time in this hellish existence that you don’t care - you’re simply waiting for when Gwi-Ma gets bored enough to let you be free but that’s just a woeful hope at this point

You don’t feed on souls so you’re weaker than most demons, and it shows tremendously in terms of power - the guys could all collectively vanquish you with no real struggle but they don’t, not when you show them that theres still some things worth keeping safe

Romance is the last to join your group, he had been around as long as Mystery has as a demon but he was always alone - surprisingly kept to himself more than Mystery did

Abs and Jinu had come across him, thought he was funny and were curious about him enough to drag him over one day

He seemed fine and then his eyes landed on you and you saw the way he froze for a minute, how he immediately shifted his eyes away and seemed to straighten up and appear bigger than he was as a defense mechanism

How he speaks smoothly and freely with the others but is very guarded with you, when you convince them as a group to come up to the human world with you they come along and you notice how Romance stiffens up even more when he sees you in your human form, the way his breath quickens when you get too close but not in a good way - like he’s genuinely terrified 

So you’re more wary of the distance, make sure it’s comfortable enough so that you can exist near him and he doesn’t panic and freeze up - enough to the point that when he opens up to you about his fears and what happened to him.. that he still remembers everything bad that torments him and you openly weep for him, show you care about what he went through and now you’re apologising to him and saying that he didn’t deserve it

He doesn’t know how to cope with it because why is a demon crying for him? Why does this demon care that he was hurt? Yeah he’s still hung up on it because Gwi-Ma doesn’t let him forget but he’s so confused on why you could care about something that happened a century ago when he’s starting to get over it but there’s a day where it hits him that he does still care about it, that it still effects him

Where he holds onto you and cries his eyes out because it finally hits him why it effects him so bad, that the touch of women scared him so bad but now he’s holding onto you because your touch doesn’t hurt him - doesn’t make him sick to his stomach because he knows you actually care about him - what little remains of him as a person

He’s emotionally vulnerable with you, the only one that openly shows how he feels without any hostility but sometimes it’s fake - sometimes he admits to himself that he’s playing it up for sympathy because it’s what he’s always known - something that helped keep him alive when he preyed on women even though their touch burned him

None of their names that they end up up-holding have any relative connection to their real names, they were given by Jinu, yourself or even Gwi-Ma - Romance’s name being what it was, was truly just a sick joke from Gwi-Ma to mock him, Abs was because you couldn’t stop staring at it from fascination - they’re just.. there... and very firm, Mystery was Jinu’s idea because he thought it was a little funny

As Gwi-Ma’s power steadily decreases, he doesn’t have much grip on most of you but the problem is - the guys are steadily losing what little remains of their humanity because they’re feeding on souls, needing to keep themselves strong enough that no one bothers them, no one bothers you

Baby is the furthest gone - still able to keep up the facade of being okay but he’s not 

He’s getting hungrier by the day so he can’t resist when he wanders away from you when you’ve gone up and he feasts until the buzz in his head dies down, and then he’d be hit with a wave of regret that no longer effects him as much over the years of giving into the demonic part of him

Mystery has indulged as well, not nearly to the extent Baby has but enough that his rapidly declining sense of self becomes impossible to ignore sometimes and then there’s a day you’re quietly sat beside each other - he suddenly lunges at you and is hairs form tearing your throat out when he realises what he’s done, it’s the one rare moment where he sees you terrified of him - that you can’t believe that it’s him doing this because you thought higher of him and it stings

Because it shouldn’t give him so much sick satisfaction that you’re terrified of him

Abs had already indulged too much, before he met you and the group he was fending for himself which meant he needed to satiate the hunger to become strong enough that he could stand on his own two feet

On the times he follows you and keeps an eye on you when you people watch, sometimes he slips away for a moment to feed before coming back like nothing happened - catches back up with you and pretends that he had stepped away to look at something and you trust him, even though you know he’s lying to you - you give him the benefit of the doubt anyway because you want to believe that he’s not doing anything

Romance is.. a fiend.. he’s honestly on par with Baby when it comes to how many souls he’s consumed - he feeds off women specifically, some twisted revenge in his mind for what happened when he was alive but after the memories fade and he’s steadily becoming more demonic.. it’s just easy

They’re easy to please, easy to trick, a few sweet words and a pretty smile in an attractive human form and he’s got a free meal

He’s never told you, but you know. You both know.

Jinu doesn’t ever admit it but he’s indulged, it was the few times that the memories didn’t haunt him so he’d take souls without care - the selfish part of him justifying the ends because he’s free for the moment

But he stops after a century or so, doesn’t admit it’s because of you, doesn’t want anyone except himself and Gwi-Ma to know that you changed him and kept him grounded when he wanted to give up and give in

So when you’re being tormented by Gwi-Ma, he steps in and takes the brunt of it - gets tormented by his own warped memories in your stead because he doesn’t like seeing you hollow and empty - thinks that you deserve better, even when it leads to you and him having screaming matches and even occasionally getting physical as he attacks you but you never fight back

It’s to the point during one of these arguments he’s begging you to fight back, to please do something and all you do is laugh at him through broken cries as he drops his head on top of yours and keeps begging you to please fight back - against him, against Gwi-Ma - please

It’s charged, it’s raw, eventually one of the other guys steps in and finally separates the two of you - Baby and Abs checking if your body is regenerating properly and wiping up the blood off of you as Romance and Mystery pull Jinu back, checking for any potential damages as well but they’re a little hostile and rougher with him about it because he shouldn’t of done that

No one talks about that fight, neither of you acknowledge that it happens but the tension is still thick in the air for a few weeks because it makes you think on why you don’t fight back, why do you care so little about everything but you couldn’t find an answer

Being a demon was too much work, fighting back was too much effort, you just felt apathetic to your situation so you kept up your little hobby of people watching for some semblance of emotion - something that not even Gwi-Ma could take from you because no matter how much he messes with your emotions and memories - he can’t stop you from watching how other people act and how they react to things, living vicariously through people

Neither of you ever apologise about it - just silently agree to move on, on a night where you’ve left to go watch the peace of the night with the stars hanging low above you as you just lay on a grassy hill and Jinu shows up, quietly sits down beside you and you just both.. agree to let it pass.. that it wasn’t worth any more effort, what’s done is done

They’re all tall.. obnoxiously so and sometimes they liked to make fun of you over it, a joke gone too far “if you just ate a soul or two, maybe you’d grow taller” and it led to you not speaking to any of them for a month straight which made them all become emotionally constipated and feral because they didn’t like that you wouldn’t speak to him - wouldn’t humour them or even give them a smile of any sort

They eventually apologised to you when they caught when the sun was rising, your patterns shimmered briefly from the light - your face sad as you overlooked what seemed like a funeral happening in the little village you’d frequent and they all stood nearby before sitting with you and even coming down to pray at the little grave of whoever it was that you were mourning

When piercings became a trend - you were actually the first one to get it done, when you came back and the others took note of your freshly pierced ears they’re confused because why did you mutilate yourself and you just shrug and say that it makes you feel pretty

You eventually convince them all to get their ears pierced as well, though Abs and Baby ended up getting rid of them - it wasn’t a bad experience just was a hassle to them, the other guys clearly loved it though

Mystery ended up getting the extra piercings, sometimes he notices when you look at him a little longer than usual because you think he looks nice with piercings and that gave him courage to get a few extra on his earlobe - he liked the look you gave him when you didn’t know what you were feeling

Jinu and Romance look fantastic with piercings, Romance looks great with any elegant or dangly pieces and Jinu just has this masculine vibe about him that makes simple piercings work - Jinu caught you staring at him when you’d both snuck out and were just hanging out on a hill and he teases you like ‘you like what you see?’ and gets flustered when you just agree with a ‘yeah, i do’ - Gwi-Ma had a field day with Jinu over this interaction

Towards the later half of your existence, Gwi-Ma doesn’t mess with you much anymore - yeah he sometimes still wipes your memories and emotions for a few days when he wants to torture the guys but otherwise it’s a lot less than before because he’s getting weak and needs to focus on the idiot demons that are willing to get him souls

It means that in your 3rd century of existing and being around the guys, that you’re all allowed to make memories and actually exist in peace for a little bit - even with everyone’s humanity slipping in and out it’s pleasant that you can continue on even with the occasional hiccup

You found out that Baby likes spicy food by accident, some summer festival in a city or a village and you excitedly ask them to please go with you because it’ll be fun! 

You’re dressed up, you get them to match with you in something nice and you’re eating at various food stalls because you still enjoy the taste of human food and love how it changes over time - you picked up some spicy food and handed it to Baby without thinking and he is going to town on it

Like HOLY “this tastes better than any soul (he’s) ever had before” - he shuts himself up when you look at him because oops he just near shouted that out and he hands the piece of food to the others to try too and they’re all actively dying because why’s it so spicy-

Jinu is trying to look cool about it but he looks like he’s been punched in the gut and when they turn to see your reaction - the way you’re glowing as you laugh at their suffering they take another bite just to see you laugh that little bit longer

There’s a lot of moments when you’re all in your human forms even while in the demon realm, they’d started to get into the same habit of you where you’re just.. humans.. for the comfort it gave even though it was dumb to do they humour you on it and go along with whatever you push for because you don’t ask for much - never expected anything from them other than company occasionally

I have this thought that Abs had confessed to you, but Gwi-Ma took it from you. You have no recollection of the moment it happened, no idea that it even happened at all but there’s this tiny part of your remaining soul that knows that he confessed to you - that he loves you - that there was a moment in time where he had pressed his lips against yours and laughed at how your sharp teeth clanged together as you accepted his feelings but didn’t get the chance to tell him what you felt as you suddenly go silent on him and you lean your head against him as you hollow out and his heart breaks because why now?

Maybe the others have also confessed to you in their own way but Gwi-Ma has warped the memories so that you don’t know - he gets satisfaction in the fact they’re all yearning over you and you’re stuck oblivious against your own will - loves when he can feel the shift in any one of the guys as they yearn and ache for you to look at them the way that they look at you, the satisfaction in his eyes when he lets them get a glimpse of what you look like when you’re in love with them but takes it away just as quickly so they’re left grovelling over it because they can’t tell you what it is cause you wouldn’t know

The guilt that eats away at any of them when they want to tell you again and again that they fell in love with you and that there’s something there but they can’t because you don’t know - they could be selfish, beg Gwi-Ma to make you remember and sacrifice something else but then that means they might take away the one thing that definitely makes you happy - the freedom to be you and observe the little joys of life that keeps what little sanity of yours safe

[zablife]

Made for Me

Harry Da Souza x petite reader

Summary: Harry's afraid of hurting his partner bc of the size diff, but little does he realize it's about to unlock a new kink.

A/N: Requested by a lovely anon.

Warnings: 🔞, size kink

The first thing you noticed about Harry was his hulking frame, broad shoulders parting the crowd as he stalked toward you. You'd be lying if you said you weren't intimidated by that first impression, even though you had a nagging curiosity about him.

He could sense your hesitancy when he introduced himself, deliberately softening his expression and voice so you wouldn't reject him. From that moment on you realized Harry was nothing more than a large teddy bear. When you learned about his dangerous work, you didn't need convincing that it was merely a job he could leave outside the door. You knew without a doubt he'd never lay a finger on you.

However, there were times when you wanted him to break that careful facade and show you just how rough he could be. Your curiosity reached its peak the first evening you pulled Harry into your bedroom. Lidded eyes, telling him everything he needed to know about your intentions.

As you undressed one another, your suspicions about his size were confirmed, his impressive cock springing free from its confines in all its glory. You couldn't help but gulp at the sight of him, hard and throbbing for you. And though you were far from a virgin, you found yourself inhaling slow, deep breaths as you considered taking all of him inside you.

After half an hour of his tongue against your clit and two thick fingers scissoring your pussy, you still weren't sure you could take him. As he lay hot and heavy against your thigh, you couldn't help but whimper at the thought of the painful stretch awaiting you.

But Harry had already guessed your concern, hushing your fearful cries with his plump lips. "Going to be a good girl and take it all, aren't you?" he coached, nuzzling his nose against yours.

"M not sure you'll fit," you answered, only half joking.

"Want me to show you?" he offered as you nodded dumbly in reply.

Harry's hand slid between your bodies, grasping himself at the base and slapping his length along your toned abdomen until the tip came to rest at your belly button. "You see that?" he asked, cupping the back of your head with his opposite hand until you were staring at your navel. "That's how far I'll be inside you. A perfect fit."

You bit your lip with uncertainty and confessed on a a quiet whisper. "I don't know if I can."

Harry placed a tender kiss to your temple as he proclaimed, "I do. I know you're going to take it like the good little slut you are."

You nodded pathetically, your whole body trembling at the thought of what was to come.

"S'okay," he soothed, pushing the hair from your eyes as he cooed, "Your pussy was made for me."

He wasn't sure though, he'd never seen such a tight cunt, your hole barely able to take two fingers. How would he ever breach you? But a primal desire stirred within him as he thought of it, eager to see you split wide around him and he felt a rush of adrenaline as he lined himself up at your entrance.

He held your chin as he stared into your wide eyes, needing reassurance you truly wanted him to ruin you this way. There was no part of him that wanted to inflict pain. "This what you want?" he asked, tapping the head of his dick against your clit until you were moaning for him, pussy leaking onto the bedsheets with obvious desire.

"Yes, yes, yes...I want it," you chanted, despite the fear of him tearing you in two with his massive girth. You found yourself holding your breath as he complied, guiding his huge tip into your entrance and stopping the moment you began to pant and claw at his forearms for respite.

"I-I didn't expect it to feel like this," you admitted as his eyes searched yours for approval. "Feel like a fucking virgin," you whined as he pushed the first inch inside you, causing a slight burning sensation. You couldn't imagine taking him further.

Luckily, Harry stopped to lean into you, his skilled fingers pushing up the hood of your clit to reveal the swollen bud underneath. His thumb caressed the sensitive nub, drawing tantalizing circles over it until your hips began to jerk. As the slick between your legs grew, he praised, "That's it, sweetheart. You're getting nice and wet for me. Gonna take me so well."

Something in the deep rumble of his voice, telling you how well you were doing made you want to take even more and you soon found yourself bearing down hard to accept a few more inches. And though your breathing grew erratic with the sensation of the biggest stretch of your life, you were quickly rewarded with a shuddered sigh from Harry's lips, proof he was enjoying this new adventure as much as you were.

"Good fucking girl," he moaned, remaining still though he was only halfway inside. Leaning over to press his lips to yours, his eager tongue began exploring your hot mouth, distracting you from thinking about the remaining length you'd yet to take. He allowed you a few more moments to adjust before sinking in further and your cries of ecstasy reverberated over him, making him throb inside your tender walls.

The sensation was tantalizing and you keened at every harsh pulse inside you. Back arching off the bed, you urged, "M-more."

"Such a slag, begging for it," Harry urged you on, sinking himself deeper into the velvet clutch of your cunt as his large palm pressed down against your lower abdomen to feel himself beneath you. "F-fuck, you feel so good!" he hissed, unable to believe the sensation of his presence inside and out at once. Looking down to watch himself disappear between your glistening lips, his hips finally met yours with a groan of satisfaction.

Your eyes squeezed shut at that moment, a strangled scream escaping your lips as you he pushed so deeply you could feel him in your stomach. The sensation of fullness was overwhelming.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, breath ghosting over your neck hot and insistent.

"Mmmm, just give me a minute," you gulped, hoping he would be gentle when he began thrusting.

After what seemed hours, you finally gave a subtle nod and Harry rocked into you slowly. The discomfort faded with every brush against your g-spot. In fact, you found yourself digging your heels into his lower back to spur him on.

"Taking me so well," Harry praised you as he pumped into you slowly.

You hadn't realized your eyes still remained shut to him until he urged, "Open your eyes, baby. Want you to watch.”

Your eyelids flew open at his insistence, instantly zeroing in on the way your lower abdomen swelled with his thrusts. You entered a hypnotic trance watching your belly rise and fall with his movements, heart hammering against your ribs as you realized how deep he was inside you.

Tossing your head back against the pillows, you felt nothing but delirious pleasure as he ruined you. Harry couldn't help but chuckle at your elated response, happy to know you felt as good as he did.

"Told you, you were made for me," he grunted as he continued to fill and empty you at a dizzying pace.

"Mmmm," you agreed, mind turning to mush as your body began to tingle with an impending orgasm.

"Say it," he demanded, fingers clutching at your hips until his nails dug into you with bruising strength.

"I-I was..." you struggled, breath coming hard and fast as he tipped you over the edge.

"Can't hear you," Harry stressed, a large hand squeezing your neck until you began to see stars.

"M-my cunt was made for you!" you finally managed in a high pitched squeal, pleasure overwhelming you until you cried from the force.

Harry came with a low groan moments later, struggling to hold his weight off you as he released ropes of hot cum deep within your body. He eventually collapsed by your side as he regained his breath, rolling onto his back so as not to crush your small form beneath his. He scooped you up with his left arm, bringing you to rest over his heaving chest as he asked, "Anyone ever made you feel that good?"

"Fuck no," you answered without hesitation. One thing was certain, once you'd taken Harry's cock, no one else would do.

Harry smirked to himself with pride, knowing he'd never want another cunt. And luckily, neither of you would have to worry because you married six weeks later, ensuring you'd never be without each other again.

[shedelulululu]

“why is he needing to get sympathetic and generous and soft spirit at work.” hmmm. love thinking about the ways mel’s naked earnestness and sincere enthusiasm are things frank didn’t know he desperately needed in his life. say more (if you please)

oh if i please? me to psychoanalyze frank langdon and his relationship based on limited information? always.

First thing to establish, either directly or implied or both, in that breakroom scene, Frank explains that he is ALSO a sensitive person, and we definitely get glimpses of his sensitivity but it's not something he's trying to put forward with people, it's trying to stay hidden really.

So, I think for one it's evident to me that Robby has molded him into what he think the Ideal resident is, and we see how he's still trying to correct other residents (Samira, Heather, even Cassie) when their approach goes up against what he thinks the ideal is (not even what he does himself!). Remember Robby giving a talk that and afterwards Dana is like rlly you don't know why they don't wanna talk when you just gave bury your feelings the lecture? so sympathetic and soft he is not! and it's not something he's teaching and encouraging !

Now as far as the relationships we see with the other people at work, people like him, people are entertained by him, people respect him deeply as a doctor, but they aren't checking in on him emotionally. The most sensitive person to him before Mel is probably Dana, and even then it's a tough love, wanting him to be better, kind of thing. She actually is trying to get a sympathetic side out of him (understanding for why Robby is taking extra long time with patients) but she's reasoning with him and lecturing him, so it's really not the same as a soft, generous spirit, even if it's still loving in its own way. Honestly I just don't think Frank learns well this way, I think he's a little defiant so telling him to do something just falls on deaf ears.

So here comes in Mel who isn't asking him to be anything, she's focused on absorbing learning from him! She doesn't lecture him about where things went wrong with Terrance, she leads with example and he sees its successful and that's what helps him understand her when she says it takes a different approach, and that the patient is more than their present concern.

I wouldn't say Mel isn't afraid to be vulnerable or acknowledge her insecurities, I think it is actually very difficult for her, but there's this part of her that just has to acknowledge what is happening because she thinks it's worse if she doesn't (emotional response to death, frustrated when she doesn't get something right away, emotional over her reuniting patients). I think it's probably freeing in a way for him to hear someone else verbalize feelings he's had, now he knows he isn't alone, that someone can be a brilliant doctor and still have all these feelings, that maybe there's a disconnect with how Robby has taught him and what is needed in the ED.

Now we can only infer about his home life, but I don't think it's crazy to say he and Abby probably have fairly traditional gender roles in their marriage. She's the primary caretaker, he's the one with the Job/breadwinner, etc. So assuming certain gendered standards permeate other parts of their relationship, he might be expected to be the Man of the House, it's possible that those expectations plus the severing of emotional vulnerability at work (where he spends most of his time!) has made it so his emotional needs really aren't being met or addressed (and depending on your chosen perspective on addiction in general, and his substance abuse issues specifically, we can see these unmet needs as being supplanted by drugs).

And like I said, Frank learns by being led, and here's this person who is leading with her vulnerability and emotions, and he doesn't want her to change at all.

[naristrawbz]

Tidebound ☠️

Chapter Three

PirateOt8Ateezau x F!Reader/Original Character

- In a fractured, salt-soaked world ruled by magic and machines, the feared pirate crew of the HalaVeil sails in search of a myth, a cursed potion known as Luminaer, said to be the only cure for a deadly affliction slowly killing one of their own. When they cross paths with their most hated rivals, the Blackeyes, the crew demands revenge… and receives a strange girl instead.

You. Betrayed. Bruised. Bound. They call you Curse; a liar, a threat, a scapegoat. But as the storm deepens and the curse tightens its grip, it becomes clear: you might be the key to everything. Or the end of them all. And in the eyes of a crew that trusts no one… you’ll have to survive long enough to prove which. -

Genre: PirateAu, angst, slow burn, enemies to ??, Ot8

Warnings: Violence, swearing, fighting, injury, blood, curses, medical trauma, manipulation, distress, power imbalance, abuse, captivity, implied neglect/abandonment (lmk if i missed any!)

Word count: 15k

Masterlist > Previous > Next

The footsteps paused just outside the door.

You froze.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, the same ribs that still ached from San’s kick, now pulsing with the beat of fresh fear. You couldn’t tell who it was. The shadow under the doorway was unmoving, quiet. Listening? You sat up slightly, the stiff cot groaning beneath you.

Then, a slow, quiet turn of the latch.

The door creaked open. You squinted, ready to flinch. But it wasn’t Yunho. Not Seonghwa. Not even Jongho. It was someone else entirely. He stepped in without a word, shutting the door gently behind him. And when the low lantern light flickered across his face, your breath caught in your throat.

Yeosang.

He looked like a memory. Or maybe a warning. He stood in the doorway like a ghost unsure if he belonged, tall but slightly hunched, like he hadn’t stood fully straight in days. His skin was pale, nearly translucent, but threaded with faint, jagged black veins that snaked out from beneath his collar and disappeared into his sleeves. It looked wrong, like ink had been poured into his bloodstream and never washed out. His birthmark, the crimson splash across his cheekbone, pulsed darker now-  brighter under the lantern, as if fevered or awakened. His eyes were hollow but sharp. There was a trembling clarity in them, like he saw you in perfect detail... and didn’t quite know what to make of you.

You stared.

He said nothing.

You sat up further, confused, afraid, and somehow... concerned. He took a shaky step closer, breathing carefully, like even that effort cost him something.

“Are you...?” you started, then stopped yourself.

His eyes softened a fraction. “I’m not supposed to be here.” His voice was low, ragged. Not cold. Not mocking. Not like the others.

But it still sent a chill down your spine, not because of the tone, but the fragility behind it. Like each word had to pass through pain just to exist. He didn’t move again.

You swallowed. “If they catch you-”

“I know.” His gaze dropped. “They won’t. I… I just needed to see you.”

You weren’t sure what unsettled you more, the fact that he was here, breaking some unspoken rule… or the fact that he looked worse than you did. His hands trembled at his sides. His lips were pale. His jaw clenched as another line of dark vein crept subtly down his neck.

Whatever Echo’s Decay was doing to him… it was spreading.

And fast.

You sat there, speechless, unsure what to do. Say something? Help him? Call for Yunho? Instead, you just asked the first thing that came to mind:

“…Why me?”

Yeosang looked at you then- really looked at you.

And behind all the pain, you swore you saw something you hadn’t seen in anyone else here. Not cruelty. Not hunger. Not power. But curiosity. And maybe even a sliver of hope.

You didn’t know what to say.

The silence between you stretched, carved from tension and something far more fragile- guilt. Not just yours.

Yeosang leaned lightly against the wall, his frame tense with effort, breath shallow. His eyes had lost the sharpness from earlier. Now they looked tired. Not just physically- something deeper. Like he’d been shouldering silence for too long.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he said again, quieter this time.

You opened your mouth, but he beat you to it.

“I don’t want them to know I came.”

His voice cracked, soft and sandpapered, like it hadn’t been used much recently. It didn’t sound like the voice of the man these pirates whispered about. It sounded like someone halfway between this world and the next. He stepped away from the wall, carefully, like his legs barely remembered how. The black veins curled like ink across his throat as he moved. "I know it wasn’t you,” he said.

You blinked. “…What?”

He didn’t look at you. His gaze was on the floor now, as if saying it aloud cost him more than the fever.

“I know you didn’t curse me.”

You stared. The words sank in slowly, like water through stone. You’d waited so long to hear that from any of them, to be seen as something more than a scapegoat. But Yeosang’s next words made the breath hitch in your throat.

“But I do know you were one of them.”

Your heart twisted.

“I remember your face,” he continued. “In the background. Quiet. You didn’t speak. You didn’t fight. But you were there.”

His gaze finally met yours again, not cruel, not angry… but not soft either.

“Maybe you didn’t pour the curse into my drink. Maybe you didn’t know what that captain was planning. But you were part of the crew that let it happen.”

You felt like you’d been struck. But Yeosang wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t throwing accusations. He just looked… tired.

“I don’t hate you,” he said after a beat, surprising you again. “That’s the strange part.”

You looked away, unsure if you believed him.

“I should. It would be easier.”

The room was still, save for the gentle creak of the ship and the buzz of the lantern. He stepped closer, stopping just a few feet from your cot. The black veins pulsed faintly at his collarbone. “But this curse…” he looked down at his hands. “It feels… old. Like it’s not just mine. Like it was waiting. Looking for someone.”

He glanced at you again. “And then… we found you.”

You frowned. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t know yet.”

That honesty, raw and unfiltered, hung between you both.

“I think you’re more important than they realize,” he said, almost to himself. “More than you realize.”

You swallowed, unsure how to respond. Your throat ached. He took another weak step back, gripping the wall for balance.

“I should go,” he muttered. “If they catch me…”

You didn’t move. You didn’t even breathe. Before leaving, Yeosang looked at you one last time.

“I don’t trust you.”

You nodded.

“But I think I want to.”

And with that, he slipped out the door, leaving you alone in the flickering quiet, heart pounding, eyes burning, and unsure which side of the story you were really standing on. The door shut behind Yeosang like a whisper.

Then silence.

Again.

It clung heavier this time. The air felt warmer, like it had soaked up his presence and left behind the memory of his voice. You stared at the wooden planks above you, the low flicker of the lantern still dancing in the corner of your eye. You didn’t dare move for a while. Not because you were afraid someone might return, but because you weren’t sure how much more your body could take. And more truthfully… you weren’t sure how much more your mind could either. Yeosang didn’t hate you. But he didn’t trust you. And somehow, that felt worse.

You let your head roll slightly to the side, cheek pressed against the thin pillow as your thoughts spiraled- loose, wild ropes tangling together in the dark.

You thought about San first.

How could you not?

The sound of his laughter still echoed in your ribs. You could feel the weight of his boot like it had only just landed. He was the most dangerous kind of cruel, the kind that enjoyed it. That looked at you like breaking you was a game, not a crime. And yet… somewhere beneath that sharp grin, there had been something flickering. Unstable. Not just anger. But something… wounded.

Then Jongho. Stone-faced. Cold. Precise. But out of all of them, the only one who had helped you eat, even if it was with the gentleness of a boot to a bowl. He didn’t see you as human. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But he saw you as something worth keeping alive. Even if only for now.

Seonghwa came next in your mind.

That stare.

Unblinking. Calculated. Like he was always ten steps ahead of you, and you were a bug crawling across his map. There was no empathy there. No warmth. Just orders and restraint and a blade sharpened by time. He didn’t curse. He didn’t yell. But you could feel the threat in every quiet word. He didn’t need to raise his voice to control a room- or end one.

And Yunho.

You remembered the way he worked- hands steady, gloves tight, eyes barely flicking up. He didn’t speak to you unless he had to. His voice was curt, clipped. But his skill was unmatched. Everything he did, he did well. Efficient. Logical. He treated your injuries like broken parts, nothing more. You weren't a person to him. Just a job. A wound. A threat wrapped in flesh. Still… he hadn’t hit you. He hadn’t sneered. That was worth something, wasn’t it?

And then… Yeosang.

The cursed one.

The one who shouldn’t have come to you. Who looked like death was already calling. And yet, he’d spoken softly. Honestly. He didn’t scream or scowl. He looked at you. Like a person. Like someone with answers he couldn’t yet read.

You curled tighter into yourself on the cot, mind aching. They were monsters. All of them. But so had your old crew been. You thought of your former captain, the way his eyes gleamed whenever someone cried. The way he laughed too loud. The threats. The silence. The weight of fear pressed into your spine every time you heard your name.

The Blackeyes had betrayed you because it was easy. Because it was convenient.

And now here you were… among your enemies. But at least the HalaVeil didn’t pretend. They were cruel. Blunt. Bloody. But they were real. You weren’t sure if that made them better or worse. And you weren’t sure which side you feared more: the pirates who threw you away. Or the ones still deciding what to do with you.

The sea looked different that morning. It was quiet. Too quiet.

No gulls screamed overhead. No laughter rang out from the docks. Just the gentle lap of tidewater against splintered wood and the low creak of sails not yet caught by wind.

You stood on the deck of the Blackeyes, boots planted against wet timber, eyes staring out across the misted horizon. Siltshore barely peeked over the edge of the world- a sleepy port, half drowned in fog, its rooftops hunched like secrets waiting to be cracked open.

Behind you, the crew moved like smoke, sluggish, grumbling. Men with crooked teeth and crooked hearts, brushing off hangovers and shouldering weapons they barely cared to clean. The Blackeyes never had discipline. Just desperation. Greed. Cruelty that didn’t always need a reason.

The ship groaned as someone dropped a barrel too hard. You glanced back. The deck was slick with the aftermath of a stormy night. Ropes coiled in lazy knots, sails still slack, crates of supplies strapped down beside crates of something else, something no one had told you about. No one ever told you anything. You just kept your head low and your hands busy.

The captain emerged from below deck with a sneer curling beneath his beard. His coat was damp and stained, but his boots still shone. He always made sure of that. Power meant nothing if it didn’t come with polish.

“Move out,” he barked. “Tide waits for no man.”

He passed you without a glance. You didn’t flinch. You’d learned not to. As the crew snapped into motion, sails were hoisted and the hull gave a lurch. The sea accepted you greedily, pulling the Blackeyes from the harbor with a reluctant groan. The wind picked up, slow but sharp. Salt bit your face. The fog grew thicker.

The ship cut through it like a knife through cloth. You felt it, then. That strange shift in the air. Like something had changed. Not loudly. Not suddenly. But undeniably. You glanced toward the captain again, watched the way he reached into his coat, pulled out a flask, took a sip, and smiled to himself.

Smiled.

Like he knew something.

Like he’d already won.

You didn’t know yet what was in that flask. You didn’t know the name Yeosang. You didn’t know what Echo’s Decay was. What it would cost. But the sea did. It always knows before we do.

The Blackeyes drifted into Siltshore like a vulture gliding over a graveyard. By mid-morning, the port was awake, though barely. Most of its townsfolk moved slowly, heads down, carts creaking along cracked cobbles. Salt clung to the rooftops. Fish guts and smoke lingered in the air like fog that wouldn’t lift. You kept close to the rail, eyes scanning the crumbling town from the edge of the ship. A familiar unease was twisting in your gut, the kind that always came when you docked. You never knew what the captain had planned. But it was never anything good.

The first group of Blackeyes crew members filed off the ship like shadows, blending into the town with the kind of menace that didn’t need to be loud. You watched them scatter with weapons hidden in coat folds and poison tucked behind their teeth. You weren’t told what the goal was this time. You never were.

Until—

“You.”

You turned quickly, spine snapping straight. The captain stood near the helm, his face tight with thinly veiled irritation, a half-empty flask swinging loosely from his hand. His eyes locked onto you like a hawk sizing up something disposable.

“Yes, sir?” you managed, trying to keep your voice from shaking.

He jerked his head toward the docks. “You see that group over there? Moving past the fish carts?”

You followed his line of sight. Three silhouettes moved quickly, cloaked and deliberate, vanishing between alleyways.

“That’s who you’re tailing.”

You blinked. “Tail-? Why me?”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. His stare hardened. “Because I fucking said so.”

You swallowed.

“Keep your distance. Don’t get caught. Don’t ask again.”

You hesitated, just for a second too long. He took a step toward you. “I swear on the salt in your lungs,” he hissed, “if you come back empty or spotted, I’ll carve you up and send your bones to your mother.”

You clenched your jaw.  Nodded. And turned before he could say anything else.

Your boots hit the dock a moment later, a cold sweat running down your spine. You kept your hood low and your steps light, weaving through crates and fish stalls, eyes fixed on the fading shapes ahead.

You didn’t know who they were. Or what they were here for. But something about the way they moved- precise, silent, like they owned the shadows they stepped through, made your stomach twist.

And something colder still whispered at the edge of your thoughts. You’re not following strangers. You’re following pirates. That you could tell straight away. 

The streets of Siltshore were tighter now. Buildings leaned in toward each other like gossiping old men, their wood swollen with salt and age. Clotheslines strung above like makeshift flags, dripping damp laundry and shadow. The ground underfoot was slick with rainwater and alley grime. You moved like you were born to it.

The three figures stayed ahead, darting between market stalls and rusting gates with the ease of men who’d done this a hundred times before. They didn’t speak. Just moved- swift, smooth, coordinated. Professional. You didn’t know who they were yet. But they weren’t normal dockside thieves. They walked like they had purpose.

Siltshore murmured around you, the clatter of fish buckets, dogs barking from balconies, old women swearing as they swept doorsteps. A child ran barefoot past you, laughing with a mouth full of seaweed. Somewhere, a bell rang twice. But you didn’t stop. Not until the three silhouettes finally slowed. You tucked behind a low wall, crouching just enough to stay hidden. They stepped into a narrow street, half-swallowed by mist and the burnt scent of oil. At the end of the road sat a crooked building, an inn, faded sign swinging in the wind:

THE BRINE TOOTH.

The door creaked as they entered.

You waited, breath caught in your throat, before darting back through the back alleys you knew so well. Past crates of rotting shrimp, under the broken archway where rats nested, down the slope of stones that led to the quiet end of the docks. The Blackeyes ship still loomed there, black sails half-drawn like sleeping wings. You found the captain near the stern, leaned over a warped map, chewing on a piece of salt jerky with far too much satisfaction.

“They stopped,” you said, out of breath. “Some run-down inn off Crooked Street. The Brine Tooth.”

He looked up. His eyes gleamed.

“Well, well…”

You hated that smile. It always came before something horrible.

“Good work,” he said, then pointed the jerky at you. “Now go back.”

Your brow furrowed. “Back?”

“Inside,” he clarified. “Sit in the inn. Watch them.”

“What if they-”

“Did I stutter?”

You flinched. He stepped closer, voice dropping to something quiet and sharp. “Stay in the shadows. Sit far. Act like a stray dog if you have to. I want ears in that room. If you get caught…” He grinned. “Don’t.”

You nodded stiffly. He patted your cheek hard enough to make your jaw ache. “That’s my little rat.”

You stiffened and turned away. That nickname...

Back through the alleyways. Back toward the inn. And as you neared the crooked door, heart pounding, you wondered: What exactly am I walking into?

The Brine Tooth smelled like sweat and spoiled rum. Low lanterns cast everything in the same dull amber, making the warped tables and greasy floorboards seem like they were dipped in honey and bile. A haze hung thick in the air, laced with pipe smoke and something iron underneath.

You slipped through the door quietly. The old hinges groaned, but no one turned. Not yet. The inn was small. One main room, a counter at the back, and a scattering of patrons who looked like they’d been soaked in brine and wrung out. A few fishermen. Two women counting coins. A drunk slouched over a broken stool.

And then them.

They sat near the back- cloaks lowered now, hoods pulled back.

Three men. One leaning lazily in his chair, boots up on the table. Another flicking a dagger between his fingers, disinterested but alert. And the third…

The third was looking directly at you. Your body froze mid-step. Just for a second. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t flinched. But his eyes had found yours like he already knew where you’d be.

They were dark- not cold, but calculating. Curious. Pale skin, a splash of red curling under one cheekbone, too perfect to be blood. You looked away quickly. Heart hammering. Throat dry. That couldn’t be them. That couldn’t be… You moved to a far corner, slipping into a half-shadowed booth by the fire. Head down. Hands folded. Just another traveler. A stray. But you still felt his gaze on your skin like it had burned something into you.

It took everything in you not to look again. Because you knew those faces. Not personally. But from the posters. The ones that hung from every naval outpost and trade town bulletin board.

The face of men wanted for treason, for piracy, for disappearing ships whole.

The face on a name stained in blood and myth:

HalaVeil.

You weren’t following strangers. You were sitting across the room from the most wanted crew in Thalrune.

And they had seen you.

Even if they didn’t know who you were yet-

One of them had.

And you weren’t sure how long it would be before that look turned into something worse.

The door groaned again. You barely glanced up. But the air changed. A different kind of weight pressed on the room, one that didn’t announce itself with noise, but presence. Like someone who always knew how to take control without ever needing to raise his voice. You saw him in your peripheral first, a heavy coat draped over his shoulders, thick beard trimmed shorter than usual, one eye covered with a dull brass monocle. A disguise, but not one you’d mistake. Not him.

The Captain.

Even without the black coat he wore on deck. Even without the trident sigil on his rings. You knew the way he walked, like he owned every step, every table, every breath in the room. No one else in the tavern noticed. But you shrank deeper into your shadowed corner, breath held tight in your lungs.

He approached the trio with practiced ease, nodding in faux respect.

“Mind if I join?” he asked smoothly, voice lower than usual. Less like a bark, more like a silver knife.

The man with the dagger in his fingers gave a nod- cautious. The other two exchanged glances. One shrugged. The third, the one with the black eyes and red mark-you dared not look at again.

"Buy us a drink first," one of them said with a half-smile. Probably a joke. Probably not.

Your captain chuckled. “Gladly.”

You watched, frozen, as he settled in. He didn’t act like he recognized them. But he knew who they were. Of course he did. Anyone worth their salt knew what HalaVeil’s crew looked like. The conversation started slow. Weather. Trade. Siltshore’s dwindling supplies. He was warm, polite even. Like a merchant too rich to care about coin. Like a man used to getting what he wanted just by asking.

He offered information too- small, useless scraps about fake fleets and made-up cargo routes. Fishing for their interest. Measuring their reactions. You saw the one with the knife grow bored. The other kept watching the door.

But the silent one -the one who had seen you, kept his eyes on your captain. Silent. Listening. Never sipping his drink.

Not yet.

You flinched when your captain leaned forward, calling over the barmaid with a flick of his wrist. He paid for another round. Four mugs arrived, each filled with dark, spiced ale, strong enough to mask anything bitter. You knew the look he got when he was about to make a move. The subtle curl of his fingers. The twitch at the corner of his smile. You saw it just in time to catch the flick of his hand.

Your skin went cold.

You didn’t know what it was.

You didn’t know why.

But something was being set in motion, something you were too far away to stop.

And the look your captain gave him afterward?

That smug, small smile?

That was the smile of a man who’s just about to seal someone’s fate.

Eventually, the talk died down. One of the men grew tired of the useless back and forth, so he called them to leave. The first two straggle out of the inn with a permanent scowl on their faces. The third lagged behind. The tavern was thick with noise now , laughter rising, boots scraping, a drunken ballad being slurred out by a cluster of fishermen in the corner. The flickering lanternlight cast everything in shades of amber and soot.

Your captain leaned closer to the table, voice quiet, confidential.

“You’ve got sharp eyes,” he said, nodding toward the pirate. “Bet they see more than most.”

He didn’t respond at first. Just narrowed his eyes, like he wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or warned.

“Sometimes,” he said finally.

Your captain smiled that lazy merchant smile. “Ever get too much noise up there? Too many thoughts all at once?”

He tilted his head.

“I’ve got something for that,” the captain continued, slipping a small corked vial from the inside of his coat. The glass was clouded, but inside swirled a faint shimmer, silver against green.

“Old herbal stuff. Clears the head. Calms the nerves. Little trick I picked up from the desert ports,” he lied smoothly.

He set it on the table with a quiet clink, then raised both hands like it meant nothing.

The dark eyed pirate glanced at it. Skeptical. But curiosity glinted in his eyes. He lifted the vial, swirled it once. No scent. No label.

“Try just a drop,” the captain offered. “Works best mixed into something warm.”

He hesitated for a breath. Then reached for his mug of ale, still half-full. Uncorked the vial. And poured it in. The moment the liquid hit, the color shifted — dark amber turning to a murky green. Bubbles fizzed up like carbonation, then sank back down.

He blinked. “Strange.”

“Strong minds need stronger remedies,” the captain replied.

 He lifted the mug. But almost... hesitantly.

You looked away.

You never saw him drink it.

But you heard the captain chuckle softly.

And you would never forget that green.

The HalaVeil groaned in the early morning wind.

Her dark sails hung loose, not yet filled, swaying gently as though still dreaming. The deck was slick with the night’s mist, and the sky overhead was a dull bruised grey- sun not yet risen, but the sea already awake. Somewhere deep in her bones, the ship breathed. And above deck, so did her crew.

Mingi was the first to emerge.

His steps were heavy, not with tiredness, but with the weight of always thinking ahead. He stretched his arms over his head with a quiet grunt, jacket hanging off one shoulder, the coppery glint of his tools already slung at his hip. Pale hair still damp from washing, curls pressed against his forehead. His eyes, however,  sharp and scanning,  already clocked everything. The angle of the sails. The air pressure. The faint tremble of the boards beneath his boots.

He moved toward the starboard gunline, running gloved fingers over the latches. Muttering numbers to himself.

Not far behind him, Wooyoung stepped out.

His walk was slower. Barefoot, unbothered, still shrugging on the thin wrap of a long-sleeved tunic as he moved. His red hair was messier than usual, no product today, just wind-swept and loose. There were shadows under his eyes, but the familiar spark hadn't left. He gave Mingi a slight nudge with his elbow as he passed.

Mingi didn’t look up. “You sleep?”

“Define sleep.”

Mingi hummed. “That bad?”

“Worse,” Wooyoung muttered, turning his gaze toward the sea.

Silence passed between them, not awkward, but known. A silence that came from knowing each other far too long to bother filling every space.

Below deck, heavier boots echoed.

Jongho emerged from below, already dressed in full gear. His hair was neat, tied back at the nape of his neck. His jaw tight, always clenched like he was fighting the urge to tell someone off. His expression didn’t shift when he saw the others. He simply walked across the deck, arms crossed, gaze flicking to the horizon like he could see something in the fog no one else could.

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “He’s got his death glare on extra early.”

“He’s always got that on,” Mingi replied.

“True.”

Behind them, the door to the strategy quarters creaked open. Seonghwa stepped out with the quiet precision of a blade being unsheathed. His black coat swayed lightly as he moved, and even this early, not a strand of hair dared fall out of place. His gaze cut across the deck like he was already calculating which one of them needed correcting today.

Wooyoung offered a mock salute. “Good morning, sir.”

Seonghwa didn’t answer. Just walked past. Stillness returned to the ship. Only the faint hum of the tide remained, lapping gently at her sides. And below deck, hidden in the deeper veins of the vessel, two more still stirred in shadows: Yeosang, weak and fevered in the medbay. And you, alone in the smaller room where they’d left you. Unaware of how much the tide was already shifting again.

You woke with your heart in your throat.

Sweat clung to your skin, sticky at the nape of your neck. Your breath came shallow at first, as if your body hadn’t realized you were no longer trapped in that memory. Your limbs ached. Your ribs burned dully. But more than anything, your mind was clearer. And that was worse. Because you remembered.

Not just the poisoned drink. Not just your captain’s voice in that godforsaken tavern. You remembered the green. The moment it changed. The moment Yeosang’s fate might’ve been sealed, and how you’d just stood there, too scared to ask questions.

You pressed your palms to your eyes, trying to block it out. But it lingered. Crawling behind your ribs like rot. The door opened without a knock.

You tensed.

Yunho stepped inside, carrying a bowl of water and a fresh cloth. He didn’t glance at you at first, just set them down on the nearby table with his usual slow precision. His dark hair was still damp from a recent rinse, pushed back from his forehead. His broad shoulders took up the doorway for a moment too long before he finally crossed the room.

“You’re finally awake,” he said dryly, not a trace of warmth in his voice. You didn’t bother answering.

He pulled a stool closer and sat down beside the bed, eyes scanning you like a puzzle he didn’t particularly want to solve.

“Sleep well?” he asked flatly, like he was reading a script.

You met his gaze, voice hoarse but steady. “I dreamt of poison.”

That caught his attention. Just slightly. One brow twitched up, but his smirk didn’t falter. “Sounds like a you problem.”

Your fists clenched in the sheets. “You’re all the same.”

“Not quite,” he said, leaning forward with a clinical detachment that still somehow felt personal. “Some of us are worse.”

You glared. He didn’t flinch. He grabbed the cloth, dipped it in the water, and began wiping down your forearm, not roughly, but not gently either. His touch was firm, efficient.

“I’m going to do a quick check-up,” he muttered.

He said it casually.

But his eyes lingered for a beat too long.

“…Before I- ” he started, then cut himself off.

He smirked. "Well... I won't spoil the surprise for you. Where's the fun in that huh?"

And that was somehow worse than if he’d finished the sentence. You stared at him, pulse crawling up your throat. But Yunho didn’t elaborate. He just wrung out the cloth again. And you lay there, heart racing, wondering which part of you would be examined next, and which part of yourself would shatter first.

Yunho’s fingers pressed firmly just under your ribs, his brows drawn slightly as he examined the area. You hissed through your teeth, jerking slightly at the pressure. He didn’t apologize.

“Still bruised,” he muttered, eyes flicking to the forming yellow around the edges of the break. “But it’s healing. Fast, actually.”

He sat back, peeling off the gloves he’d worn for the inspection and tossing them into the small bin nearby. His lips twitched with a dry kind of amusement.

“Even your rib,” he added, voice lightly laced with sarcasm. “Guess you’re too stubborn to stay broken.”

You glared up at him.

“Or maybe it’s just the will to punch someone.”

He chuckled, the sound low and unbothered. “Please. You’d pass out before your arm even lifted.”

“I’d still aim for your throat.”

He leaned in slightly, arms folding across his broad chest as his eyes scanned you, not as a patient, but a person he didn’t quite understand. Not yet.

“And here I thought you’d be more grateful. You’ve been given food, water, medical attention. Warm bed.”

“Chains. Threats. Mockery.”

He shrugged. “We’re pirates. Not a health spa.”

You exhaled harshly, forcing yourself upright more fully against the pillows. The ache in your muscles told you it was too soon, but you pushed through it, just to show him you could. “How long?” you finally asked.

His brows raised.

“How long are you all planning to keep me locked up here?”

Yunho’s gaze lingered. And then-his lips curled slightly. Not a smile. A smirk. “Your questions,” he said, reaching for the bandage roll, “will be answered soon.”

You frowned.

“But not by me.” He didn’t elaborate. Just stood up.

And began repacking his supplies with slow, deliberate ease, like he already knew what was coming. And exactly who was about to walk through that door next.

Yunho stayed longer than you expected. He moved with slow, precise motions, the kind that made you feel like time was stalling on purpose. Like the seconds were stretching just to see how long you’d last. He filled a clean glass from the water jug and brought it over without a word. You took it from him, cautious fingers curling around the cool glass like it might vanish. The first sip burned down your throat, not from heat, but from how dry everything inside you had become.

Yunho watched you drink with the detached patience of someone studying a storm cloud. “Don’t get used to it,” he said finally. “You’ll probably be allowed to eat later.”

That word- allowed- slid off his tongue like a knife across silk.

You lowered the glass slowly. “Do I get a treat if I behave too?” He arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Depends. Are you planning to bark or bite?”

You smiled, a small, cold, bitter thing. “Haven’t decided yet.”

The silence stretched. But you were already testing fate, so your voice rose again, quieter this time. “…Is ...Yeosang... okay?” You say his name with an uncertainty.

Yunho didn’t answer at first. Didn’t even look at you.

He began tidying up the table instead, restacking his supplies, tightening a few bottles. Each movement sharp and controlled.

Then he turned. And his face had shifted. No more dry sarcasm. No vague amusement. Just ice.

“You don’t get to say his name.”

You swallowed. The tension in the room crackled like salt against raw skin.

“I just-”

“I don’t care,” Yunho cut in. “Whatever sympathy you think you’ve earned, it doesn’t stretch that far.” His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might walk out.

But he didn’t. He stood there. Watching you. Like he was waiting for you to break again.

Instead, you looked away first. And that’s when the door creaked open. Both your heads turned at once. Boots stepped into the frame.

A familiar figure. But not the one you expected. The room chilled by a few degrees the moment the door opened. Boots stepped forward with silent authority. You didn’t need to look twice.

Seonghwa.

Even without words, his presence hit like a cold gust of wind- sharp, slicing, absolute. He moved like someone who knew control was something he never had to raise his voice for. His long black coat shifted with each step, tailored tightly to his tall frame. Not a hair out of place, not a glance wasted. When his eyes finally settled on you, they didn't linger. Just a flicker, more an assessment than an acknowledgment.

He looked through you.

Then turned to Yunho.

“Is it ready?” Seonghwa asked, voice smooth and low, like the sea before a storm.

Yunho didn’t hesitate. “She’s ready.”

That tone. The emphasis. Like you weren’t even there. Your brows furrowed, heart climbing into your throat. “Ready for what-?”

“No one asked you,” Seonghwa said flatly, not even turning to face you.

Yunho didn’t bother hiding his scoff as he stepped back and began putting his gloves away. “Don’t waste your breath.”

“But I-”

“Be quiet,” Seonghwa cut in again, sharper now. His eyes finally met yours, cold and unreadable. “You’ll know when you need to.”

The silence that followed made your skin crawl. Neither man moved to explain. They didn’t offer answers, didn’t offer comfort. They simply acted like your confusion was irrelevant. Like you were a package being prepared for delivery, not a person.

You glanced between them, pulse loud in your ears. What was ready? What did they mean? And why the hell did it feel like something was about to shift forever?

Seonghwa didn’t need to raise his voice. He just stepped closer, expression sharp as ever, and said-

“Come.”

One word. No warmth. No question. A command carved from ice. You stayed still for a second too long.

His gaze narrowed.

“I wasn’t asking.”

Your spine stiffened despite the dull ache still coiled in your muscles. You shifted, planting one foot down off the bed, then another. The floor was cold beneath your soles. Your knees buckled slightly, body still weak from starvation and fever, but you didn’t fall.

Not yet.

You swayed, one hand gripping the wall as you tried to steady yourself.

Seonghwa watched you with disinterest. Like he was waiting for a dying candle to flicker out.

When your body gave a slight lurch again, he let out a soft breath, not concerned, just annoyed.

“Crawl, then since you can't follow basic instructions.”

The word hit like a slap.

Your head snapped up.

“Go to hell,” you snapped back, voice hoarse but steady.

A slow smirk tugged at the edge of his lips, not amused, but pleased that you still had some bite in you. He said nothing else, simply turned on his heel and started walking. And you followed. You didn’t want to. But you did.

Each step was shaky. Your legs felt like driftwood, barely holding. But you forced them forward one after the other, limping behind him through the narrow corridor.

The HalaVeil creaked beneath your feet, the groaning bones of the ship whispering above and below. The walls were lined with thick pipes, brine-soaked beams, and old netting that swayed with the ship’s slow rock. Crates stamped with foreign symbols were tucked into alcoves, most bolted down. Some were glowing faintly from within - Tideborn tech, no doubt.

Every surface bore the mark of wear. Rust. Scratches. Blood, maybe, dry and cracked in the grooves of the wooden planks. The ship smelled of salt, oil, and smoke.

Seonghwa said nothing as he led you down a winding path, past closed metal doors and bolted hatches. A few crew members passed, some nodded at him respectfully, others cast you long, suspicious glances.

No one spoke to you. No one looked kindly. Somewhere above, a gull cried. Somewhere below, something mechanical hissed and churned. It felt like walking through a machine. A living thing made of tide and blood and iron.

And Seonghwa?

He didn’t spare you a single glance. Just kept walking, sure you would follow. Sure you wouldn’t dare stop. And he was right.

The ship groaned again beneath your feet as you followed Seonghwa through another narrow hallway, this one tighter and lined with faded maps pinned between oil-stained beams. The higher you climbed, the more the air shifted- warmer, heavier. Like the walls themselves had started listening.

Your legs still trembled, but you kept up. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you fall behind. Then, up ahead, you saw someone turn the corner.

Wooyoung.

His stride faltered the second he saw you.

He didn’t speak. Not right away. Just stood there, gaze locked onto you like a question he hadn’t found the answer to.

You recognized him immediately — he had one of those faces you didn’t forget. Dark, sharp eyes under heavy brows, his lips a permanent smirk even when it wasn’t aimed at anyone. He was the first to come and see you when you were trapped in the hold. He was the only one to bare a smile in your presence, even if fake. But this time, the expression faltered. Something flickered there.

Recognition?

Disgust?

Pity?

It wasn’t clear.

What was clear was the way his eyes dipped, just for a second, to your still-bruised ribs, the fading blood dried at the edge of your shirt.

He looked away. Didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.

Seonghwa didn’t stop. He barely spared Wooyoung a nod. Just kept walking, and so did you, though your heart thudded hard in your chest now, loud enough you were sure someone could hear it. Finally, after another short flight of steps, Seonghwa came to a door unlike the others.

Thicker. Darker. The frame was reinforced with bolted steel bands, and the handle glinted like it had been polished recently, a rare thing on a pirate ship.

Seonghwa stopped.

You did too, swallowing against the dry weight in your throat. He didn’t look at you at first. Just stood with his back to the door, glancing down at the worn floorboards like he could already hear whatever storm was about to follow.

Then he lifted his head. And smiled. Not kindly. Not even smug. But cruel. Sharp enough to cut.

“The captain,” he said, voice low and taunting, “will see you now.”

Then, without waiting for a response, he turned the handle.

And opened the door.

You stood frozen in the threshold. The door clicked shut behind you. Seonghwa was gone.

And now… you were alone. Well-not alone.

Your eyes slowly adjusted to the dim glow of the captain’s quarters. It was warmer here, the air thick with candle smoke, parchment dust, and old sea brine. Shadows flickered along the slanted walls, cast by a dozen mismatched lanterns swinging gently from the ceiling’s beams. It didn’t look like a pirate captain’s room. It looked like a war council disguised as a study. Maps lined the walls, dozens of them- overlapping like a spider’s web. Torn edges, ink stains, curling corners, annotations scrawled in languages you didn’t recognize. Some had pins in them. Others had strings connecting ports and islands, red wax dots marking places you really didn’t want to know about. A few maps glowed faintly. Tideborn-infused. Below the wall of maps was a heavy desk, wide, cracked along the edges, ancient. Spread across it were more papers, scrolls, compasses, and jagged bits of machinery half-gutted and rewired. There were vials too, some empty, some filled with swirling liquid that shimmered unnaturally under the dim light.

And behind it?

Sat him.

Hongjoong.

You knew it was him even before your eyes had fully settled on him. He had that kind of presence, the kind that hit before he even moved. The kind that said this is mine without needing to say anything at all. He sat in a high-backed leather chair, one boot propped up casually against the side of the desk, elbow resting on the armrest, fingers toying with the edge of a small blade that caught the light every time it spun. His hair was brushed back, dark and disheveled but still intentional, like even his chaos was calculated. His cheekbones were razor-sharp, casting deep shadows down his face, and his lips curved with something that wasn’t quite a smile.

But it was his eyes that stilled you.

Sharp. Intelligent. Completely unreadable.

You understood immediately why the crew followed him like gods obeying fate. He didn’t look up right away. Didn’t acknowledge your presence with words. Just let the silence swell until it pressed against your ribs like a rising tide. Your hands twitched. You took one step in. Then another. Every creak of the wood underfoot felt like a scream in your ears.

Hongjoong’s fingers finally stilled. The blade stopped spinning. He looked up. And when he did, the full weight of him hit like a drop in pressure before a storm.

Cold.

Controlled.

Cruel.

And deeply, deeply aware of you.

His gaze swept you once, slow and surgical, taking in your limp, your fading wounds, the bruises across your collarbone, the flicker of defiance still left in your eyes.

Then he leaned forward. Both feet on the floor now. Hands clasped. Elbows on the desk. Waiting. You couldn’t tell if he was about to speak… Or let you hang in silence until you broke first.

The silence snapped like a rope pulled too tight.

“So,” Hongjoong said, voice calm, almost conversational- but laced with something jagged, “you’re not dead.”

Your breath caught. His eyes narrowed slightly, lips twitching into something like a smirk. “That’s… surprising.”

He leaned back in his chair again, gaze still pinned on you. “I half-expected I’d be dragging your body up from the hold by now. Toss you to the sea. Let her judge you.”

You flinched. He noticed.

“Though really,” he continued, voice dropping to something colder, “you’re lucky. San was one of the ones who put you down there. I would’ve bet money he’d throw you into the brig just for fun. Guess he’s developing restraint.” A pause. “Or boredom.”

Your throat burned. “San…?”

You had only heard that name once, but had no face to place it with.  Not with meaning.

Hongjoong’s grin widened.

“The one who gave you that lovely souvenir.” He gestured lazily toward your side.

Your ribs. The ones still bandaged. Still aching. Ah... now you know the name of who enjoyed toying with you when you were on deaths door. You make a sharp note to remember that.

Your fingers twitched over the bandage instinctively, eyes narrowing. He caught it - and laughed. Not loudly. Not with joy. But with something much crueler. Amusement sharpened into a blade.

“He has a temper, our San. You probably noticed. Not the patient type.” You stared at him, jaw clenching. “Why?”

His brow arched. “Why what?”

“Why did he do that?”

Hongjoong tilted his head slightly, as though considering. Then: “Because he could.” The words landed heavy. Like truth soaked in salt.

You didn’t answer. What could you say?

Hongjoong didn’t seem to care for a reply anyway. He just leaned forward again, fingertips tapping slowly against the wood.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“You’re not part of the Blackeyes anymore,” he said, voice quieter now. “But you were. And that makes you ours.”

Your breath caught. Ours. Not a guest. Not a prisoner. Ours. Like possession. Like prey. He didn’t blink as he added, “So. Let’s talk about what that means, shall we?”

You hadn’t realized how hard you were clenching your fists until your nails bit into your palms. Hongjoong hadn’t blinked in the last full minute. Just stared. Like a cat waiting for the mouse to stop trembling so it could finish the game.

Then he said it.

“I don’t care what you were called before.”

You froze.

His voice dropped, smooth and lethal. “What you were named. What they called you. It doesn’t matter.”

He stood now, slowly,  the chair groaning behind him as he moved around the desk. Every step deliberate. Like he wanted you to hear the scrape of his boots against the floor. “You’re on my ship now.”

He stopped just in front of you. Close enough to make your skin crawl. Close enough to see the faint Tideborn shimmer in his irises under the low light.

He looked you over again, jaw tight. His lip curled slightly. Not at your appearance, but at the defiance still burning in your eyes. Then he smiled.

“You’re Curse now.”

The word echoed in the room like a chain dragging across wood. “That’s what my crew will call you. That’s what you’ll answer to. That’s what you are.”

Your stomach twisted. It didn’t feel like a nickname. It felt like a sentence. You stared at him. “What the fuck am I doing here?” The second the words left your mouth, you regretted it.

Hongjoong didn’t flinch. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. His expression darkened so subtly, so coldly, that it made your breath catch in your throat.

“What,” he repeated, stepping even closer, “did you just say?”

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. His eyes were fire now. Not burning bright. But the kind that smoldered after everything else had already been reduced to ash.

“You don’t speak to me like that,” he said. Quiet. Measured. Terrifying. “This ship runs on one thing.” He tapped his chest. “Me.” His hand dropped, fingers grazing the hilt of a dagger strapped to his hip. “You want answers? You earn them. You want mercy?” His grin returned, sharper now. “Too late.”

Then he turned. Walked back to his desk like nothing happened.

“Now sit,” he said without looking back, “before I really decide what to do with you.”

You didn’t sit.

Not right away.

You stood there, locked in place, heart pounding like cannonfire in your ears, part from fear, part from fury. You hated him. Hated the way he made the room feel too small, too hot. Hated the way he hadn’t raised his voice once, and yet it had you trembling.

And he saw it. He always saw.

“You think I’m cruel,” Hongjoong said casually as he sat again, flipping open a worn map on his desk like you weren’t even there. “I see it in your eyes.”

He didn't look at you, not yet.

“But let me ask you something.” He raised his head slowly, fingers still tracing the map.

“Did your old captain ever call you by your name?”

Your mouth stayed shut. His head tilted slightly, waiting. “Did he care if you made it back on board each night?”

Still silence.

“Did he let you eat if you disappointed him?”

The lump in your throat burned.

“You think you were free over there?” he asked, voice still soft. Too soft. “You weren’t. You were just forgotten. Here? Here you’ll be remembered.”

His eyes glinted. “For better or worse.”

He stood again.

“You’re not with the Blackeyes anymore. And you’re not some innocent little survivor I’m rescuing from the sea.” His gaze dragged over you like a knife.

“You’re mine.”

You flinched before you could stop it. He smiled. “Not a guest. Not a prisoner.”

His hand reached out, fingers lifting your chin before you could recoil. Not rough. Not bruising. Just sure.

“You are what I say you are. And you will do what I say you’ll do.” He leaned in, and his breath was cold despite the heat of the room.

“Because now, little Curse... you belong to the HalaVeil.”

You jerked your face away from his touch, a weak spark of defiance flashing through your chest. “And what exactly do you want from me?”

He didn’t answer right away. He just turned from you, picking up a rolled parchment and flicking it open with a single snap.

“To save Yeosang.”

The name landed like an anchor. You blinked. “Why would I-?”

“You don’t get to ask why.” He cut you off, voice slicing through yours like a blade through rope. “You’re going to help us fix what your crew started.”

He walked slowly to the wall of maps, eyes scanning paths and symbols drawn in crimson.

“Whether or not you actually cursed him doesn’t matter anymore. You were theirs.” He turned his head. “Which means you know something. Even if you don’t realize it yet.”

“And if I don’t?” you whispered.

He smiled again. Not kind. Not merciful.

“You will.”

He didn’t speak at first when looking over his papers. Just stood there, back turned, tracing a path over the maps with his finger like your future was etched somewhere in the lines. The silence wasn’t peaceful. It was a held breath. A storm that hadn’t decided where to break yet.

Finally, he spoke,  low and pointed. “There’s something poetic about it, don’t you think?”

You blinked. “About what?”

He turned his head slowly, eyes burning into you.

“About the fact that you were left to rot in the dark by the people you bled for… only to be dragged into the light by the ones who hate you.”

He took a step forward. “I wonder which hurts more.”

You swallowed hard but said nothing.

“Don’t bother answering,” he added, voice smooth and mocking. “I already know.”

He moved again, coming out from behind the desk. It was the first time you’d seen him fully rise to his feet, not slouched over - and somehow, the room felt smaller for it. He wasn’t towering. Still taller than you, yes- but not in the way some of the others were. He didn’t need to be. Because it wasn’t about size.

It was about presence.

About the sharp angles of his jaw, the way his coat flared like it had weight, the Tideborn glint in his eyes that shimmered like a storm just beneath the surface. The energy rolling off of him was the kind that made your skin crawl and your knees ache, the kind of authority that didn’t ask to be respected.

It demanded it.

He approached slowly, gaze flicking over your face with something unreadable. Then, that smirk returned. Cold. Final. “Well,” he said. “You’re not dying anymore. Not tied down. Not pissing yourself in the infirmary.”

Your jaw clenched.

“Which means it’s time.”

You frowned. “Time for what?”

He tilted his head. “To meet the rest of the crew,” he said simply. “Properly.”

Your stomach dropped.

“You wanted answers, didn’t you?” he added, turning toward the door and pulling it open. “You want to know what you’re doing here?”

He looked back at you one last time, the candlelight catching in the gold of his earring, in the cruel glint of his eyes. “Then come see the people you’ll be doing it with.”

You barely had time to speak. The door hadn’t even shut behind you before Hongjoong grabbed a fistful of your collar, the same one soaked with blood, salt, and days-old sweat, and shoved you forward.

You stumbled, caught yourself, but not fast enough.

Another shove.

Then a hand tangled into your jacket, gripping the torn fabric like a leash.

“Move,” he growled, voice low and tight.

You bit your tongue as the hallways blurred past in dim lantern light, your feet dragging, your ribs aching with every jolt. The floor beneath you creaked with age and fury. You passed doors, bolts, hatchways, none of them opening. None of them welcoming.

No one stopped him. Of course they didn’t.

You were the Curse now.

The filth under their boots. The thing dragged behind the captain like an animal too pitiful to kill. Your boots scraped against the floorboards, your balance barely holding as you were yanked down another corridor, your jacket soaked through with old blood clinging to your skin like guilt. Not one fresh thread on you. Just the same torn sleeves and stained collar you’d arrived in.

Not one of them had offered better.

Not even Yunho.

The last turn was the worst. Because you knew what was waiting behind that set of double doors.

He yanked them open without ceremony.

And silence met you.

A large room- the largest you’d seen, stretched out before you in deep candlelight and shadows. The dining hall of the HalaVeil. A long, dark table carved from sea-oak took up most of the space, its surface cluttered with half-eaten meals, old maps, liquor bottles, and weapons too casually discarded.

And there they were. All of them. Seven pairs of eyes turned toward you.

Jongho, cold and unreadable, sitting with his arms crossed near the end of the table.

Wooyoung, expression tight, fingers tapping something absentmindedly, not even pretending to hide his discomfort.

Mingi, eyes darker than usual, jaw stiff where he leaned forward.

San, sprawled too comfortably, grinning wide like he’d been waiting for this.

Seonghwa, pristine posture, gaze sharp and lined with contempt.

Yunho, leaning against a side wall, arms folded, unreadable as always, though something flickered in his stare.

And Yeosang… slouched quietly near the middle. Pale. Fragile. His eyes barely met yours before they turned away.

And then Hongjoong pushed you one last time, hard.

You stumbled into the room, breath catching, legs shaky. The silence was suffocating.

“Everyone,” Hongjoong said calmly, stepping in behind you and letting the door creak shut. “You’ve met our guest.” He paused. “But not properly.”

His hand rested on your shoulder like a weight, fingers tightening just enough to make it clear: you weren’t allowed to speak.

“This,” he said, voice slicing the silence cleanly, “is Curse.”

Not your name. Not who you were. Just what you’d become.

“Get used to it.” You wasn't sure if that was directed to them... or you.

The silence didn’t break when you stepped in. It worsened.

Every flickering candle in the room seemed to draw attention to the grime crusted on your skin, the dried blood spattered across your sleeves, the bruises coloring your jaw. Your feet were unsteady, your pulse too loud.

No one spoke. Not a word.

Hongjoong’s hand dug into your shoulder once again, a silent command - before he shoved you down into the nearest chair. The wood creaked beneath your weight. Your spine jarred with the impact, ribs throbbing instantly in protest.

You didn’t dare meet their eyes. The silence stayed. Heavy. Crowded. Like the air itself didn’t want to move.

Hongjoong stepped forward and claimed his place at the head of the table, arms wide, posture easy, king of this warped kingdom. His coat fell perfectly around him, gold thread glinting at the edges, a smirk carved deep into his face.

You could feel them all staring.

They smelled it first.

You smelled it.

Salt, sweat, dried blood, infection, the rank scent of someone who’d been caged like an animal for days, left to rot in their own skin. No soap. No clean cloth. Not even water for most of it. You wanted to shrink into the floor.

“Comfortable?” San’s voice cut through like a blade.

You looked up. He was directly across from you, lounging in his seat with his chin resting lazily on his hand. His lips curved in an amused, malicious smile. He was loving this. You didn’t answer but just glared ahead.

“Thought so,” he said, eyes glinting.

Jongho shifted beside you, not bothering to hide the way he angled his body away, like your stench might spread. Your fists clenched under the table.

Opposite you, next to San, sat Seonghwa, pristine and composed, not even looking at you, like you were beneath notice.

Mingi swirled a drink around in his hand, not speaking, but his expression was unreadable. Wooyoung’s jaw was tight. Yunho glanced between you and Hongjoong, eyes calculating.

And Yeosang?

He was at the far end. Furthest from you. Quiet. Distant. Pale. He didn’t look up. Didn’t need to.

The distance said enough. You were the filth in the room. The curse.

And as the crew finally started to talk again, low murmurs, a few dark chuckles, one clink of a blade on wood, you realized something far worse than being hated.

You were outnumbered. And absolutely alone.

The voices died again after the first few murmurs.

You could feel their stares brushing across your skin like blades. The sound of cutlery scraping against plates. A mug placed too hard on wood. The flickering of a candle behind you casting your shadow in ways you didn’t like.

Then-

“I’ll ask what everyone’s thinking.”

The voice was sharp. Clipped. Icy.

Seonghwa.

He hadn’t looked at you once, but now his gaze was pinned forward,  jaw tense, black hair smooth, pale skin lit by golden candlelight. There was no curiosity in his voice. Only command.

“What are we doing with that?” he asked, nodding slightly toward you like you were a piece of furniture that didn’t belong in the room.

You didn’t flinch, but your eyes lowered. You weren’t sure why.

Hongjoong didn’t answer right away.

He took a long sip from his cup, leaned back in his seat, fingers steepled lightly. He watched Seonghwa - then let his gaze drift to you, just long enough to make your chest tighten.

“She’s going to help us,” he said finally. Calm. Unbothered. A few heads turned sharply. Someone scoffed.

“What?” The voice was lower - angry. San. Of course. “She’s from them. The fuck is she gonna do, apologize the curse away?”

Your eyes snapped up to meet his. San’s face was already twisted into something mean, but the second you stared back, it worsened.

“She’ll slow us down,” he said, turning his attention to Hongjoong. “She’ll ruin everything.”

The room went tense again. Not even Wooyoung moved. Hongjoong didn’t blink. He didn’t yell. Didn’t stand. Didn’t threaten. Just smiled. Slowly. Dangerously.

“Do I look like I’m taking votes?” he asked softly.

San went silent.

Hongjoong leaned forward, arms on the table now, voice still quiet, but colder. Much colder. “If I wanted her gone, she’d be ashes in the sea by now.”

He didn’t need to raise his tone. His words did all the slicing.

“She has knowledge we don’t,” he said. “Whether she knows it yet or not.”

Your chest tightened.

“She’s here until she stops being useful,” he continued, glancing your way. “And trust me…” That smile deepened into something cruel.

“She wants to be useful.”

No one spoke after that. Not even Seonghwa. And for the first time, you weren’t sure if silence was better than what might come next.

The quiet remained, but it didn’t last. Hongjoong pushed his chair back. The scraping of the wood against the floor rang out like thunder. It echoed through your bones.

You tensed. Everyone stilled.

He stood slowly, smoothing down the front of his coat. Gold thread gleamed like veins across dark crimson fabric. His rings caught the candlelight- sharp, heavy, deliberate. His eyes swept across the table, then fell squarely on you.

“Stand up,” he said.

Your stomach turned. You didn’t move.

“I said-” his voice sharpened, “...stand up.”

You pushed yourself up on trembling legs, your chair scraping harshly behind you. You stood unevenly, every muscle aching, every rib flaring with heat. Your tattered clothes hung limp, stained from days of fever and filth.

The crew watched. You felt like meat on a butcher’s hook.

Hongjoong stepped closer. You could hear his boots on the floor, measured, exact. He stopped only a foot away, head slightly tilted, lips curled into something unreadable.

“Tell me your name,” he said.

You stared up at him. Your lips parted. You hesitated.

“…A-,” you said quietly.

His smile dropped like a blade  as he cut you off.

“No,” he said. “Try again.”

Your brow furrowed.

“I said—what’s your name?”

“…I just tried telling you”

His hand moved faster than your eyes could track. It wasn’t a slap, it was a shove. Hard, direct, to your chest. You stumbled back and hit the edge of the table, gasping as your injured ribs screamed in pain.

“You don’t tell me who you are,” he said coldly. “You are mine. What I call you is what you are.”

You barely stayed upright. The others didn’t move. Not one of them flinched. Not even Yunho. You felt your heart racing, fury and helplessness clawing inside you like dogs in a pit.

“What do you want me to say?” you spat through gritted teeth.

He smiled again.

“Good,” he said softly. “There’s that fire.”

He turned slightly and faced the others, his voice loud enough for all to hear. “She wants to know what her name is,” he said. “Should we remind her?”

A few of them chuckled.

Mingi looked away. Yeosang was still silent. Seonghwa’s gaze was icy.

Hongjoong turned back to you.

“Your name is Curse.”

The word fell heavy and final.

“That’s what you are now,” he said. “That’s what they’ll call you. What they’ll remember you as.”

He stepped closer again. You refused to back down this time.

“You don’t eat unless I say. You don’t speak unless I allow it. And you don’t breathe unless I still think you’re worth the air.” He turned, began pacing around you now, like a shark scenting blood in the water.

“But…” he said slowly, “we need you. For now. So let’s see just how useful you can be.”

He gestured to Yunho, who stood with a small satchel in hand. He brought it over and dropped it on the table with a dull thud.

“Inside this bag,” Hongjoong said, “is an object we recovered from the dockside temple where we last traced the cursed aura.”

Your throat tightened.

“Touch it.”

You blinked.

“…What?”

He stepped back, allowing the satchel to sit between you and everyone’s eyes.

“Touch it,” he repeated. “If you’re cursed, if your blood ties to it- let’s find out.”

You looked around. No one moved to help. Your hand slowly reached out. Your fingers brushed the satchel.

Then paused.

“You said I was going to help,” you rasped. “Not that I was some kind of-”

“Test subject?” Seonghwa offered smoothly from his seat.

You looked at him, and he didn’t bother looking back. You clenched your jaw and reached into the bag. Your fingers curled around something cold. Smooth. Sharp-edged.

You pulled it out slowly, a shard of obsidian, etched with runes, humming faintly with a pulse you couldn’t hear but could feel.

The second your fingers closed around it-

You gasped.

Your head pulsed.

A flash of something- a scream, a face, something wet and wrong- shot behind your eyes.

You dropped it instantly, stumbling back.

The room watched in eerie stillness. Your body shook. You couldn’t breathe.

But Hongjoong smiled.

“Interesting,” he said.

He picked up the shard himself, as if it meant nothing. Tossed it back into the bag. “Well then,” he said, his voice satisfied. “It seems we’re getting somewhere.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. But you could feel the word burning into your skin like a brand.

Curse.

The silence that followed Hongjoong’s announcement was heavy, like the ship itself was holding its breath.

You were still gasping, knuckles white as they clutched the edge of the table, trying to ground yourself. That obsidian shard had sunk something sharp into your chest, something old, something terrifying.

But what terrified you more… was the voice that came next.

"Stop."

It was soft. Barely there. A whisper scraped from worn lungs. Heads turned. All eyes shifted.

Yeosang.

He was sitting on the far corner of the table, hunched and pale. His body was wrapped in layered dark cloth, a blanket over his shoulders. But it was his skin that caught the light, the black veins spiderwebbed under the surface, dark and crawling up his neck. His birthmark flared a deep crimson, as if it were pulsing with heat. His lips were dry. His hair clung to his forehead. But his gaze… that was steady.

Mingi, seated closest to him, leaned forward immediately. "Yeosang, don’t. Don’t speak-"

Yeosang weakly shook his head. "I said stop."

Hongjoong raised a brow, clearly amused. "Speak of the devil."

You locked eyes with him, the man whose fate you were supposedly tied to. Yeosang’s eyes weren’t cruel. Not like the others. But they weren’t soft either.

"She didn’t curse me," he said. Every word was effort. "Not her."

San scoffed from across the table. "How would you know? You were drugged by her captain."

"I felt it before that," Yeosang rasped. "Before I drank it. Before she was close. It was already in me."

You blinked, unsure if you were hearing right.

Yeosang continued, breath stuttering. "If she was the curse... I’d already be dead."

Hongjoong said nothing. Seonghwa looked unconvinced. Wooyoung watched Yeosang like a storm cloud waiting to break.

Mingi stood slowly. "You’ve said enough. Come on. You need rest."

"I’m not done," Yeosang whispered, though his body was clearly failing him.

You watched as Mingi stepped closer and gripped Yeosang’s shoulder gently, but with force.

Yeosang’s face twisted in pain. Not from the touch. From the truth pressing behind his lips.

"Let her speak," he said. "If you want me to live, we need her... I need her."

You didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know why your throat felt tight. But for the first time since being taken aboard the HalaVeil, someone had spoken on your behalf.

And it was the one dying the fastest.

The table sat heavy with silence again, the echo of Yeosang’s words still clinging to the walls like smoke. Mingi had finally coaxed him to sit back, though his hands stayed tense on Yeosang’s arm, half-comfort, half-anchor. Across from you, Wooyoung’s eyes were unreadable, lips pressed in a tight, bitter line.

San broke the silence first, scoffing. “So what? She gets a pass now because the ghost said so?”

“She didn’t deny it,” Jongho said coolly, arms crossed. “She’s just been breathing and glaring.”

“Enough,” Seonghwa snapped, voice like frost against metal. “We’re not here to argue circles.”

You pushed your chair back slowly, the wood groaning beneath your weight. Legs still weak, but your spine was steel now. You stood. The crew watched.

Your eyes went to Hongjoong, still seated at the head of the table like a god among executioners.

“What the hell was that thing?” you asked. “What did you put in my hand?”

He didn’t answer. Not yet. So you pressed.

“That shard. It wasn’t just some test. It… it burned. It knew something.”

Hongjoong finally looked at you, eyes sharp and unreadable. “It’s called a Tide Fragment,” he said simply. “It reacts to deception. Echoes memory. And it left a mark.”

You looked down. Your palm still stung faintly, the faint trace of a scar glimmering like a healed brand.

“What does it mean?” you whispered.

“That you know something,” Seonghwa answered. “Even if you don’t realise it yet.”

You exhaled shakily. “Then I’ll tell you,” you said.

They looked at you again-some surprised, others skeptical, and Hongjoong… intrigued.

“I’ll tell you everything I remember from that day at Siltshore,” you said. “The day Yeosang was cursed.”

The room grew impossibly still. Because for the first time, you weren’t just a prisoner. You were the only lead they had.

You hadn’t even drawn breath to begin when a voice cut through the quiet:

“Don’t lie.”

It was Seonghwa.

His tone was calm-too calm. Like a blade right before it’s drawn. You glanced toward him, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was looking at Hongjoong. Waiting for the order.

Then Hongjoong stood.

The captain didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. His very presence dragged the room into silence like gravity pulling at the spine. His gaze pinned you where you stood. “You lie,” he said slowly, “you won’t get another warning.”

The quiet in the room deepened. Even the creaking of the ship’s bones seemed to still.

Hongjoong stepped forward, just once. Just enough to let you feel the weight behind the threat.

“You’re not special,” he said, eyes locked onto yours. “You’re not clever. You’re a leftover from a ship of cowards, and you’re only still breathing because you might-might-be useful.”

You didn’t move. But your jaw clenched.

He tilted his head. “So speak. Truthfully. Because the last person who wasted my time...”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

Somewhere across the table, Mingi shifted. Wooyoung’s gaze flicked to Yeosang’s fragile figure, then back to you, like a silent reminder of the stakes.

You swallowed.

You didn’t know what that shard had done to you, what it marked or measured. But something told you that even if you wanted to lie, it might not let you.

What you didn’t know was the cruel irony wrapped around this interrogation. You were being warned not to lie in front of Yeosang. The one person who, before he was cursed, could have told them if you had. But now? That power was gone. Clouded. Tainted.

And all they had left… was you.

Your truth.

And their mercy.

You stood there for a moment longer, heart thudding painfully beneath your ribs. You could feel all of them watching you, some cold, some curious, some already sharpening their judgments. But you didn’t shrink.

You straightened your back, even if your legs trembled. You spoke.

“I didn’t know what they were planning. Not the full thing. Not the curse.”

You scanned the room-Wooyoung’s narrowed stare, Jongho’s icy focus, Mingi’s conflicted glance, San’s smirk. Seonghwa was unreadable. And Hongjoong… watched like a hunter with nothing but time.

You continued.

"The day started like any other. We’d docked early. Blackeyes doesn’t waste time when there’s coin on the line, and the Captain-"

You faltered for a breath.

"-he was already too quiet that morning. That’s when I should’ve known."

You described the docktown in vivid detail. The salt-flecked air, the creaky old planks of the Siltshore wharf, how the market smelled like fish guts and overripe fruit. How the sky was split between grey and bruised blue.

“I was ordered to tail a group,” you went on. “Didn’t know who they were, just that they were pirates who split from the main crowd and might be scouting.”

You glanced briefly at Yeosang- still quiet, still pale and withdrawn. “Now I know.”

“I followed them through the markets. I didn’t get close, just kept my head down like I was taught. Watched them stop outside a tavern. Not the best place in town, but not the worst either.”

You hesitated. “And that’s when he came.”

They knew who he was. The Blackeyes' captain. A name you hadn’t dared speak aloud since you’d been brought on board. You didn’t have to say it, his reputation preceded him like rot.

“He had a disguise on. I almost didn’t recognise him. But then he smiled that smile, like he was carving you up before you even said a word, and I knew. He walked into the tavern and sat down with them.”

You looked down. The memory tasted bitter.

“He was... pleasant. That’s the worst part. He laughed. Talked. Pretended to be some merchant. Said he had something to help with navigation or focus, I don’t know. It sounded innocent.”

You paused, hands clenching.

“He pulled out a vial. Tiny. Glass. Clear liquid inside, but when the light hit it, it shimmered green. Told him- Yeosang, to put a few drops in his drink. Said it’d help with the headaches? ... I think.”

You glanced at Yeosang again, quieter now. “He didn’t even hesitate.”

There was silence.

“I didn’t know what it was. I swear I didn’t. If I had-”

“Then what?” Wooyoung’s voice cut in, low and sharp.

You didn’t flinch. “Then I would’ve stopped it.” A pause. You added, more quietly, “Or tried.” You kept going.

“I was told to stay. Keep watching. The Captain left soon after. He looked... satisfied. I knew that look too well.”

You clenched your fists. “I reported it, but no one said anything about curses. They just... smiled. Like the job was done.” You looked up again, letting your voice grow stronger.

“I never wanted any of this. But I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I’m innocent either. I worked under him. I did what I was told. I survived. That doesn’t make me trustworthy. But it does mean I remember things.”

You met Hongjoong’s eyes dead-on.

“And if you want to save him-” you nodded toward Yeosang, “-then maybe you should stop treating me like I’m the enemy. Because I’m the only one who saw it happen.”

The silence afterward was different. Not trusting. Not soft. But it wasn’t the same disgusted silence as before. You breathed in. You’d done it. You told them your truth. Now all you could do… was wait to see if it meant anything at all.

You hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

But the words slipped free, like breath from cracked lungs.  “There’s one thing I can’t wrap my head around…”

You stared at the wooden floor beneath your feet, brows drawn, voice quieter now. Your throat felt tight. Like the thought had been lodged there for days.

“Why he drank it.”

A long pause stretched the room like a drawn blade.

“Why he didn’t hesitate. Not even a blink. Like… like he was supposed to.”

You looked up, slowly, catching the flicker in Wooyoung’s eyes. He was frozen. A muscle jumped in his jaw. You pressed on, the memory haunting your tone. “He didn’t question it. The vial. The stranger. The timing. It felt... unnatural. Like something was already off.”

The silence that followed was heavier than before. For the first time since you were brought aboard the HalaVeil, no one interrupted. No one mocked. They were listening. And not because they wanted to. Because something you said scratched at something in all of them. Yeosang hadn’t hesitated. And that was the most dangerous part of all.

The silence shattered like glass underfoot.

“You think he wanted it?” Wooyoung’s voice was a whipcrack, sharp and accusing. He’d stood without meaning to, fists clenched tight at his sides. “That he chose this?”

The others stirred. Jongho’s gaze sharpened. Mingi’s jaw tensed. Even Seonghwa’s eyes flicked up with new intensity, glinting like frost.

“That’s not what I-”

“You just said he didn’t hesitate,” Wooyoung spat. “Like he knew. Like he wanted it.”

You took a step back, panic pressing into your ribs.

“No-no, that’s not what I meant!” You looked at Yeosang, then quickly back at the others. “I just...he looked off before he drank it. Off in a way I didn’t understand until now. Like… like he already felt something.”

Seonghwa’s voice was low and cold, slicing through the noise. “Be very careful with what you’re suggesting.”

“I’m not suggesting he wanted to be cursed!” Your voice cracked, raw from exhaustion and frustration. “I’m saying something was wrong before the drink ever touched his lips. Ask him. Ask him!”

All eyes turned to Yeosang. He hadn't moved from his seat, head still low. But his lips had parted, breathing just a little faster.

“I felt it,” he whispered.

The room stilled.

His voice was like crumpled silk, weak, fragile-but it carried enough weight to silence even Wooyoung.

“I felt it before,” Yeosang repeated. “Something in my head… dull. Like fog. The moment he sat down beside me.”

He didn’t lift his gaze. Just breathed. “I didn’t hesitate… because it already had me.”

“Enough.”

Hongjoong’s voice wasn’t loud. But it sliced through every voice, every breath, with a finality that echoed.

Even Wooyoung stopped mid-step, lips parted as if caught mid-curse. Seonghwa lowered his head slightly. Mingi leaned back, tension rippling in his arms.

Hongjoong remained still, seated at the head of the table. His fingers tapped once against the wood, sharp and deliberate.

He didn’t look at you. He looked at Yeosang.

“Tell me,” he said. “In your own words. Everything you remember from that day.”

A pause.

Everyone turned to Yeosang. It was the first time he had been asked. Really asked.

Before now, the curse had rendered him too weak. Half-conscious. Sweating, shaking, delirious. Yunho had kept him away from full conversation, afraid of accelerating the spread.

But now, he looked up.

His face was gaunt, skin pale with veins still spidering faintly beneath. The red birthmark on his cheek blazed brighter in the low lamplight, as if his body was warning them all.

His voice was hushed. Gravelly from disuse. But steady.

“We’d just finished clearing the storage behind the inn, we stole everything we could,” he began, slowly. “I was tired. My head hurt, but I thought it was just the noise from the docks. So we sat down for a drink and waited for the informant”

He paused to breathe, eyes locked somewhere far away.

“Then he walked in. Merchant clothes. Too clean. I remember thinking that. Too clean for Siltshore.”

Everyone was listening. No one moved.

Yeosang’s fingers twitched slightly.

“He bought us drinks. Said we looked like men who could use a rest. He was charming, almost… too charming. But I was too fogged to care. I kept rubbing my temples.”

He pressed his hand briefly to his head, like the memory itself still ached.

“Then he handed me a vial when the others left before me. Said it would help clear the pain. Clarity, he called it. I asked what it was.”

Yeosang’s lips tightened.

“And he said, ‘Truth.’”

A silence settled again, heavier than before.

“I didn’t even question it,” he whispered. “I poured it in. It turned green. I laughed. Thought maybe it was just some fancy herbal thing.”

He finally looked up - and it was like his gaze passed through all of them.

“But it didn’t feel like something new entering me. It felt like something waking up. Something that was already there.”

He exhaled shakily.

“Like a curse that had been waiting.”

“Bullshit.”

The word sliced through the stillness like a blade.

You flinched.

All eyes shifted, toward San.

He leaned forward from where he sat, arms draped lazily over the back of his chair, but his jaw was tense, and his eyes were burning.

“Don’t you get it?” he said, voice louder now, dangerous. “She did it. Not the bastard in the bar. That was just the final strike.”

You blinked, heart in your throat. San pointed at you, eyes locked and merciless. “She cursed him before that. That’s why he drank it so easily. That’s why he didn’t hesitate. The curse was already in him, she planted it. And the captain just activated it.”

“That’s not-!” you started, but San cut you off.

“Shut up.”

He stood up slowly now, and the tension in the room thickened.

“You show up with the Blackeyes-our enemy. You’re already caught spying on us. You admit to trailing us before it happened. And now you just happen to remember all this convenient detail?”

Wooyoung’s brows furrowed. Jongho shifted in his seat. Mingi didn’t look at you. Seonghwa’s expression remained unreadable, but his eyes… sharpened.

“She cursed him,” San said again, dead serious now. “She’s Tideborn. That’s why she’s alive. That’s why the curse didn’t kill her when she cast it. It wants him. Not her.”

Your breath caught.

“She’s been rotting in our hold for days and hasn’t died,” San growled. “Even after the fever. Even after no food, no water. And her wounds? Healing too fast.”

He looked around the table. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

A low murmur rippled through the room.

And for the first time, you saw the doubt flicker in their eyes.

The table had gone silent. But Hongjoong’s stare hadn’t.

He sat still, elbow resting on the arm of his chair, one hand pressed thoughtfully to his mouth. He was watching you- no, studying you. Like a specimen in a cage. Like prey that didn’t know it had already been snared. The silence dragged long enough that the others grew uneasy. Only the ship’s creaks and the distant hum of waves filled the space.

Then, slowly, he dropped his hand.

“You know,” he murmured, “San makes a compelling case.”

Your pulse thundered. His voice was calm. Casual, even. But behind his gaze was something serrated, something gleaming in the dark.

“You arrive in chains, half-dead. And yet…” He tilted his head. “You survive things most men wouldn’t.”

He stood. A subtle movement, but it shifted everything. The air grew tighter. He circled the table slowly, boots tapping softly against the wooden floor. As he passed each crew member, they straightened. Watched him. Waited.

When he reached your side, he didn’t stop.

He stepped behind you.

His voice was at your ear now. Low. Cold.

“You ever wonder why you lived?”

You gritted your teeth.

“Why the fever didn’t kill you. Why your ribs mended faster than Yunho expected. Why you were even conscious after what San did?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You could feel his eyes burning into the back of your skull.

“You think you’re just unlucky?” he murmured. “Wrong place, wrong time?” A soft scoff. “I think you’ve known something was off for a long time.”

His fingers lightly grazed your shoulder. Just for a second. You flinched anyway. “I don’t think you’re normal,” he continued. “And I don’t think you think you’re normal either.”

He walked again. Calm. Pacing like a man enjoying the tension.

“I think you know what you are,” he said. “Or at least… you’ve guessed.”

He turned back toward the head of the table, meeting your gaze across it now. His face unreadable.

“But I won’t say it yet,” he added softly. “Not until I prove it.”

A shiver crawled down your spine. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“You’ll show us soon enough.”

Hongjoong hadn’t sat back down.

He was still standing at the head of the table, hand braced lightly on the chair he hadn’t reclaimed. The light above him flickered with the rhythm of the ship’s slow rock, casting his face in shifting shadows, a crownless monarch bathed in ghostlight.

You didn’t dare speak. You were still caught in his last words. “You’ll show us soon enough.”

“Let’s make it simple,” he said at last, voice cutting through the silence. “We test it.”

You frowned.

He met your confusion with a slow tilt of the head, like he pitied your ignorance. “You say you’re not involved in Yeosang’s curse.” His fingers tapped once against the wood. “You say you didn’t know anything about what was given to him. You even claim you care that it happened.”

He raised his chin slightly. “Fine. Prove it.”

Your eyes narrowed. “How?”

He smiled. And that’s when you felt it. That icy drop in your stomach. Like you were standing on the edge of something very, very deep.

“You’re going on a mission,” he said.

You blinked. “What?”

“Dangerous one,” he clarified. “One none of us want to waste time on. A message needs to be delivered , violently. A warning to those who may be considering siding with the Blackeyes.”

Your mouth went dry.

“I want them to see what happens when they try to poison my crew. And who better to send than the poison herself?”

He turned to the side without waiting for your reaction.

“San.”

There was a scrape of wood, a stretch of silence , and then slow, deliberate boots on the floor.

San rose from his seat like a shadow peeling off the wall. His smirk was already there, too wide. Too pleased. His sharp jaw clenched just once before he cracked his knuckles without breaking eye contact with you.

“Really?” he said, tone like honey over blades. “You’re sending me with her?”

Hongjoong nodded. “You’ll lead.”

San chuckled darkly. “Good.”

You felt your blood chill. San started to circle the table slowly, not unlike Hongjoong had earlier, except there was no control to him. No poise. Just energy coiled like a fuse waiting to snap.

“I’ve been so bored,” he muttered. “And she’s still breathing.”

He stopped right beside you. Bent slightly. Grinned down. His breath right on your neck.

“I’ll take good care of her,” he said to no one in particular. “Promise.”

You felt your body tense. You didn’t mean to, but your hands curled slightly into fists. Hongjoong noticed.

“Oh, don’t look so offended,” he said. “Think of it as your chance.”

“To earn your place here,” he continued, stepping forward again. “To prove your loyalty.”

San leaned down further, mouth now just beside your ear. “Or to be dragged back in pieces,” he whispered.

“You’re being watched,” Hongjoong added, tone sharper now. “If you run, San will kill you. If you lie to the people we’re sending you to, San will kill you. If you hesitate?”

He didn’t need to finish. You swallowed the bile rising in your throat.

“This is the price of breathing,” Hongjoong said coldly. “Take it. Or I can take that, too.”

San straightened beside you, eyes glinting. “When do we leave?”

Hongjoong smirked.

“Dawn.”

The room they left you in was small again. Not the same one as before, this one was darker, colder, and smelled like gunmetal and damp wood. Maybe a storage room, cleared out just enough for a body.

You sat on the floor. Arms around your knees. Trying to stay warm. Trying not to think too hard. But it was no use.

San’s grin still haunted your ears. Hongjoong’s words echoed in a loop. The poison herself. You scoffed. Bitter. Shaking. But something else too.

You didn’t sleep.

You thought.

And when you did, your memories came like water. Slippery. Refracting. Changing shape depending on the angle.

You remembered Yeosang’s face. Not as he was now - pale, veined with creeping black - but that day in the pub. Sitting at the table, just beyond the shadows. The way his eyes flicked up when you entered, the flicker of recognition.

Did you recognize him first?

Or did he recognize you?

You weren’t sure anymore.

And then… that vial.

You remembered seeing it, maybe. You thought you saw the Blackeyes captain slip something across the table. Or was it just a gesture? A trade of words? The memory blurred.

You remembered his drink changing color. Vivid green. Sickly. Too fast. Too wrong.

But… was it green?

Or was it just the lighting? The tinted glass of the bottle? The smoke in the room?

Your eyebrows furrowed.

You’d sworn he looked different before he drank it. That something about him already felt… off. Distant. Hollow. But maybe that was just hindsight. Maybe your mind was twisting it because you wanted there to be a reason.

Because otherwise-

You stopped the thought before it could finish. You pressed your forehead to your knees.

But the memories didn’t stop.

You remembered the Captain- your old one- pulling you aside. That slick smile, those dark eyes. He whispered something to you, didn't he? Something about watching closely. About proving yourself.

Wait. No.

That wasn’t then. That was weeks before.

Wasn’t it?

You tried to anchor the timeline, but the past was a shifting map and your hands were shaking too hard to hold it still.

You didn’t hear the door open. You didn’t notice the figure standing just beyond the threshold. But if they’d been watching, they would have seen it.

The moment your eyes glazed over, not with fear - but calculation.

They would have seen your fingers twitch. As if reaching for something long gone.

And your lips moving silently. Not a prayer.

A name.

Who was you really?

Taglist- open: @nijisanjigenshin @littlebear005 @jellyjellyghost @deafeningpandareview @ramadiiiisme

[ta3mint]

okok i LOVEDDD blush, now i need a part 2 of the reader and minho walking back to the dorms after leaving the party ofc y/n is still pretty out of it from the alcohol and the whole walk back y/n is being very giddy and flirty bc they both just confessed their feelings to each other so she’s giving him praises and being very h word towards him (bc lowkey i be like that too when im drunk and sometimes when you’re drunk people just seem a lot more attractive) minho is a lil taken a back but loving every second of it, once they reach the dorms y/n has now sobered up a bit, she remembers the confession, but doesn’t remember anything else she said/did (doesn’t really recall making out with him either) after that and minho is teasing her about it they end up finishing what they started at the party, but decide to go a little further 👀. i also just wanna see domesticated lee know taking care of y/n to feed my acts of service love language

Blush (Part 2)

Contains: sequel to Part 1, university au Minho x female reader smut

Warnings: minors do not interact!!, Mentions of alcohol/being drunk, cursing, vague mentions of nausea, Minho being a possessive little shit, teasing, kind of dom Minho but not too crazy (still a consent king), use of the word slut, fingering, unprotected piv sex (don't do this!!)

Word Count: 6,000

Author's note: okay okay, I tweaked the order of events just a bit because I like the way it ended up flowing <3 I hope it's what you're looking for and that you like it!! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) you know where to find me.

Despite Minho offering several times to get someone to drive you back to your dorm, you declined each time. Something told you that being in a car right now would only make your stomach churn even more than it already was, now that the alcohol was trying to work its way out of your system.

Minho reluctantly continued walking you back to your dorm, supporting your weight as much as he could when you were walking more slowly with each step you took.

You groaned suddenly and Minho froze in concern.

"Maybe we should sit down on the sidewalk for a second, (Y/N)."

He didn't let you agree or disagree with him, and instead settled you down on the nearest part of the sidewalk before sitting down beside you.

You had to admit, not moving felt great for the time being. Some of your mental clarity had started to come back, and some of it...had not. You couldn't remember exactly what had happened at the party a little while ago besides the confession, but you knew that you were grateful for Minho to be here taking care of you.

The more you thought about it and thought about him...the more wild your imagination began to be. And the more you imagined, the more came out of your big mouth.

"Minho, thank you for taking care of me," you giggled, leaning over onto his shoulder for support. You reached out your hand and placed it on his thigh closest to you, squeezing it hard in your drunken, maybe slightly turned on state. "I've always wanted to feel these," you finished in a whisper.

Minho watched where your hand landed on his thigh and he swallowed hard.

You couldn't help but notice the sheen of sweat on his skin, likely brought on by him basically supporting your entire body weight on this long walk back to your dorm room. The way his chest rose and fell, the way his breath fanned across the top of your head...it was driving you crazy.

"Are you just saying that?" Minho asked you quietly, the slightest hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

You shook your head almost violently.

"No, no. I mean it," you whispered, sitting up slightly so that you could see his face better. "You are beautiful, every part of you. I've always thought so."

Minho gave in to his urge to smile before he stood up. He reached out a hand to you to help you up, and you returned his smile as a ''thank you''.

"Come on, then. You can tell me more about it once we get to your room."

~

Thankfully, you were almost there. You could see your building now, at least. But sitting down for a few minutes had really helped. You felt more steady while walking this time around, and your thoughts weren't as clouded.

Minho got to the bottom of the steps that led up to the second floor where your room was at. You were trailing behind just a bit, but not too much. Once you closed the gap, Minho glanced between where you stood and the top of the stairs a few times.

"I don't know if you walking up the steps right now is a good idea," Minho said, rubbing his chin in thought.

"Oh, please. I'll be fine!"

You brushed past him and put one foot on the first step. Looking at all the steps after that one though...

"Okay," you sighed in defeat, "Maybe not."

Minho chuckled. "Like I said..."

"What are we supposed to do then? The elevator has been broken for days, Minho."

He looked up the stairs once more and then back at you, a mischievous glint forming in his eyes. He then pondered his next words carefully.

"You said you like it when I take care of you?"

You nodded slowly, not sure exactly where this was going.

Minho put a hand on your shoulder, sending what felt like electric currents through your body. You sharply drew in a breath as he leaned in close to your ear, like he wanted only you to hear what he was about to say.

"Then be a good girl and let me carry you to your room."

The hallway around you started spinning. Whether it was the last bit of the alcohol or his words...you weren't sure.

"Okay," you whispered in return.

Minho bent over slightly and placed one arm under the back of your legs and the other behind your shoulders. With surprising ease, he swept you up into his arms and glanced down at you.

"This okay?"

"Mmhmm," was all you could manage.

"Good," he breathed out with a smile.

You couldn't look anywhere else other than at his face while he carried you up the steps. His smile alone was enough to make you melt, and it always had been. But he looked so gorgeous from the side like this, you felt as if you were studying him like a textbook. Had he always looked this good?

Who were you kidding, of course he had.

Minho could feel you staring and despite knowing better, he couldn't help but eat it up.

"See something you like, (Y/N)?"

Heat crept up from your neck into your cheeks, and that was what it took for you to finally blink after staring for so long.

"Sorry, I can't help it. I've looked at you from what felt like far away for so long...it's nice to finally be able to see you up close."

"The feeling is mutual."

Minho glanced down at your lips and back up at your eyes, so quickly you weren't sure if you had imagined it or not. But now you were at your door, and he was setting you down.

You rummaged in your bag and got your key out to unlock your door. It creaked open, and you stepped inside, Minho standing behind you almost timidly compared to how he had acted a few moments ago.

"You can come in, you know."

Minho blinked a few times and stepped in after you, looking around your living room.

It still looked just like you had left it. Clothes everywhere from trying to decide what to wear and accessories strewn about on random surfaces. But this was where you normally got ready since you had a better mirror in here compared to the one in your bedroom.

"Sorry for the mess...getting dressed for the party was stressful."

You tugged at the bottom of your skirt, suddenly hyper aware of how short it actually was. Minho followed your movements, before clearing his throat and turning around.

"Let's get you something to eat and drink that isn't alcohol."

As soon as he finished speaking, your stomach grumbled.

"Yeah, I'm starving. And I feel a lot better now," you said as you flopped onto your small couch by the door.

"Good," Minho said earnestly.

You watched as he dug around your small kitchen cabinets. He was wearing a loose hoodie with a white tank top underneath. This was the first time that you noticed how built he actually was. Lean, taut muscles pulling against the fitted white fabric of his tank top, covered up every few seconds by his hoodie when it shifted as he moved. The silver necklace he wore swayed and bounced against his perfectly defined chest. Not too big and not too obvious. It was like a secret he kept, and you were just now hearing it for the first time.

"Are these okay?" Minho asked, holding up two packs of instant noodles.

His words cut your thoughts short, and you gave him a thumbs up, not trusting your mouth right now.

Minho turned to get some water for the noodles and you decided you needed to look at something else. Like literally anything else, for right now.

You pulled out your phone and instantly saw how many messages were in the group chat with you and the guys.

Felix had sent that video only minutes after you left the party, and the guys were letting you have it.

"Finally, it was getting painful."

"Geez, Minho, didn't know you had it in you."

"It should've been me!!"

Okay, so maybe your phone was something you didn't need to look at right now either. But you couldn't remember exactly what happened in the video Felix took. So, against your better judgement, you clicked on it.

Your cheeks were on fire as you watched yourself grab at Minho and him eventually kissing you.

Felix was struggling to not make any noise, and you could tell he was trying not to laugh.

"What are you looking at?" Minho asked, coming over to sit next to you with two bowls of noodles and two bottles of water.

"Did I...uhh...on the bench...did we?"

Minho snickered, setting the bowls down to cool off.

"You practically begged me to."

You groaned, covering your face with your hands as it all came crashing back to you. The plan you made, getting Felix to help you...all of it.

"That isn't how I really wanted our first kiss to go..." you trailed off, reaching for your noodles that were still slightly too hot. "I was just so nervous. I thought alcohol was the answer."

Minho listened to you speak, a genuine expression on his face. But he didn't interrupt.

"I hope you don't think differently of me."

He shook his head, reaching out to brush some hair out of your face.

"Never. I was nervous too. Now, eat your noodles, and let's relax, okay?"

The two of you ate silently, the only sounds in the room being your forks hitting the sides of your bowls. Finally eating something was definitely what you needed, and you were becoming your usual self.

But...

Your thoughts started wandering again. This definitely wasn't the alcohol anymore, this was just you. Finally giving into the fact that you and your best friend had confessed to each other, and you were sitting right next to him in a different context than before.

Something caught you off guard as you ate the last bite of noodles, however.

During the course of your thoughts wandering, Minho had removed his hoodie and threw it on the back of the couch behind him. Now he was sitting beside you in just the white tank top and his tight black pants.

You nearly choked on the last bite when you realized, and Minho almost jumped out of his skin.

"First day eating, too? Shit, you scared me," he grumbled as he clapped you gently on the back.

The choking had subsided, but tears had formed in your eyes in the meantime from how hard you had been coughing.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," you stuttered, wiping your eyes forcefully. "Just warn me next time you start stripping in my room. You're lucky I don't have roommates."

Minho scoffed. "You call this stripping? I only took off my hoodie because the noodles made me hot. Look at you, talking about stripping. Your ass has been hanging out of that skirt all night."

You froze, an icy wave of surprise taking over your body. These words were in stark contrast to the ones from before, when the both of you had been talking about how nervous you were. But it only took a second to recuperate, and you decided to have some fun with him. The way he looked, the way he sounded, the way he talked...it had been driving you wild since you started walking back to the dorms, drunk or not. You wanted to finish what you started.

"How would you know? Had you been looking?"

Now it was Minho's turns to be caught off guard, his ears turning a deep crimson.

"Don't play dumb. How could I not have looked? A few hours ago, I had what I thought was an unrequited crush on you. I had to stare in secret. Now, I can stare as obviously as I want." Minho threw his arm lazily over your shoulders before continuing. "Unless you don't want me to."

He gave you a quick side eye and instantly laughed when he saw you open and close your mouth several times, not being able to make words come out. Looks like he was better at playing with you than you were at playing with him.

"You are my girlfriend now, right? Isn't that what this is?"

You shot to your feet without thinking, Minho's arm falling to his side on the couch.

"I...I'm going to the bathroom!"

Minho called out to you in concern, but you ignored him. Your heart was threatening to beat out of your chest and you needed a minute.

You all but ran to your bathroom, shutting the door behind you in a hurry. Then you made the mistake of glancing at yourself in the mirror.

Your hair and makeup were a mess, but your clothes looked okay. Your skin was flushed and slightly shiny from what you could safely assume was a layer of nervous sweat. It looked like you but also...didn't.

You decided to fix your hair and take off all your makeup, since it was ruined anyway. This alone helped you feel cleaner and more put together. You couldn't believe that this version of you was what Minho had been looking at for the last little while. It made you cringe. Just for the sake of feeling even more like yourself, you also decided to quickly brush your teeth.

You made your way back to the couch, but Minho was no longer there. You sat down and watched as he rinsed out both of your bowls and placed them in the sink. His arms were another dirty little secret he had been keeping, perfectly sized muscles flexing as he worked in the dim light of your kitchen.

You could't help but imagine what they would look like wrapped around you, holding you close as-

"Hey, there you are." Minho was walking back over to where you had sat back down on the couch. "Feel okay?"

The way he was flipping back and forth between teasing you and being concerned for you was enough to make your head start spinning again.

"Oh, yeah, I just wanted to freshen up. I felt gross."

Minho hummed and knelt in front of you, giving your ankle a quick poke.

"You still have these heels on. Do you want them off?"

You gulped, looking down at him as he made eye contact with you from below. He looked almost ethereal now, the way his eyes glistened and his brows knit together, waiting on you to answer him so he knew what he had permission to do.

"Please," you all but squeaked.

Minho laughed quietly.

"So you like being taken care of and teased huh? I'll remember that."

You watched as he undid the first heel, seemingly getting the hang of all the straps pretty quickly. Using one hand to pull the shoe off, he used the other to grip your heel in order to keep you balanced. Then he repeated the same thing for the other shoe.

"Feels better, right?"

You managed an "mhmm" as you stared at where his hand still gripped your left heel, even though the shoes were long gone.

"I can't decide," Minho said suddenly.

You tilted your head to the side in confusion, not sure what he was referring to.

"I can't decide if I should be polite, or..." he whispered, dragging his hand from your heel to your knee, and then finally to your exposed upper thigh, "If I should let you know just how crazy you've been making me this entire time. All your little comments and the way I obviously make you feel...I've already slipped up a few times tonight. But here we are. And I never thought we would be here. It's enough to make me wanna lose any control I have left."

Your breath caught in your throat and your heart sped up again, so much so that you could hear it beating in your ears.

"I've been in love with you for years, (Y/N). I have dreamed of being this close to you, of being able to touch you like this," he continued, fiddling with the edge of your skirt on your thigh, "But I also try my best to be a gentleman. The kind of man you would want for a long, long time."

The room suddenly felt heavy and oh, so hot.

"So, now that you are feeling more like yourself and can give me honest answers, I just can't help but be tempted..." He stood slowly, placing his other hand on your right thigh.

Now that both of his hands were on you, gripping you tightly as he leaned over you on the couch, you felt as though you were short circuiting.

But it ended as soon as it started.

Minho let go of you suddenly with a groan and reached for his hoodie.

"I should go now," he said, as if the past five minutes didn't happen. "It's getting really late. And you need to sleep."

He turned back around and placed a quick kiss on the top of your head. You barely registered anything that was going on. You were completely stunned after having been thrown into a complete 360. The almost shy, sarcastic boy you had been crushing on for years had a completely different side to him that you had never seen.

You wanted to see more.

"Text me in the morning, okay?"

Minho started walking towards the door, but your hand was on his wrist the second he turned away. He stumbled a bit and looked back at you in confusion.

"Stay," you whispered, almost inaudibly. "Please."

"Why?"

Your head was spinning, your thoughts bouncing off of each other and then disappearing before you could say anything that made sense. All you knew was that you didn't want him to leave. You wanted him to stay and above all...you wanted to feel him touch you again.

"Why, (Y/N)?" Minho repeated.

You swallowed hard.

"Because, I..."

Minho watched as you struggled to decide what to say. He couldn't help but be amused with the way he made you feel.

"I want you to kiss me again. But for real this time. I want to remember it."

Minho paused for a few seconds. You stood up from the couch to be closer to him, your chest rising and falling rapidly. He couldn't help but stare at the way your breasts pushed against the fabric of your low cut top.

"I'm your girlfriend, right? Isn't that what you said? I want you to kiss me."

That was all it took for Minho to fall apart completely.

He dropped his hoodie on the floor, not caring where it landed. Then he grabbed your face forcefully and his lips crashed into yours.

This kiss was beyond different from the one you shared on the bench at the party. That one had been fueled by giddy nerves and cheap alcohol. This one was laced with something deeper, something more primal. Minho kissed you hard...telling you things that he didn't need to say with words. At least, not yet.

At first, you had frozen. But once you registered what was going on, your entire body melted into him. His hands fell from your face to your hips, which he then used to turn you around so that you were backed up against the nearest wall. He was gentle, yet firm, so as not to hit your head.

Your fingers tangled in his perfect, dark hair to steady yourself, and he shivered at the feeling.

Minho gripped your hips tighter, his fingertips threatening to leave tiny bruises on your delicate skin. Your mouth parted slightly at the sensation, and Minho took the opportunity to slot his tongue against yours. It quickly got even more heated, both of your chins covered in remnants of each others' saliva.

Tongue and teeth and slippery skin...it was enough to make heat start to pool between your legs.

Minho pulled away to take a breath, and you were glad he did since you needed to breathe as well. But Minho seemed to catch his breath more quickly than you, turning his attention to your neck.

He left a trail of sloppy kisses down from your chin to your shoulder, and you gladly tilted your head back to give him more access. You felt almost drunk again, but this time you weren't drunk on alcohol.

Minho was the first to speak.

"(Y/N)," he sighed, nipping at the soft skin of your collarbone. "Tell me to stop and I will."

You laughed breathlessly.

"You are a gentleman after all, right?"

Minho smiled, his mouth an inch away from your skin.

"I can be. But I'm sure you've noticed that I can be...something else." He pulled away from your neck and looked you in the eye, placing a hand against your cheek. "Am I still what you want?"

"Yes," you breathed out, the certainty obvious in your voice. "I've been in love with you too, Minho. I just didn't know how to say it. I love all of you, and I want all of you."

He groaned, sounding like he was almost in pain. But then his grip on your cheek tightened slightly and he leaned in even more, impossibly close.

"Then show me."

The sensation between your legs was undeniable by this point. Minho, being his usual observant self, immediately noticed that you were rubbing your thighs together, trying to generate even the smallest bit of friction to relieve the feeling.

He scoffed, but there was a familiar, gentle shimmer in his eye.

"Or how about I take care of you a different way?"

All you could do was bite your lip and nod. Of course he had noticed. But you were so, so glad he did.

"Put your arms around my neck and jump," Minho commanded softly.

You immediately obliged, and his hands fell to your ass, which he used to hold onto you as you jumped. He supported your weight with ease, and you nearly started drooling at the way his muscles were now completely flexed.

Minho then carried you back to the couch, where he laid you down on your back. Carefully, so as not to crush you underneath him, he propped himself up on the arm of the couch with his left hand behind you. He settled himself on top of you, but not touching you, with either leg on the sides of your hips.

His right hand traced a line down from your cheek, to in between your breasts, all the way down to the top of your skirt, where it finally came to a halt.

You practically went cross-eyed watching his silver necklace dangle in front of you. But the feeling of Minho hooking his index finger underneath the top of your skirt snapped you out of it.

"Tell me," he said quietly, "Did you wear this for me?"

In the span of a few seconds, you had a heated internal battle over whether to tell him the truth or not. Ultimately, you decided he already knew and he just wanted to hear you say it.

"Yes...I did."

The corner of his mouth curled upwards as he looked down at where his finger sat, pulling against the thin fabric of the skirt.

"Silly girl. You don't have to get drunk and dress like a slut just to get my attention."

You held your breath as he slowly slipped the rest of his hand under the fabric.

"I have dreamed of doing this with you...just the way you normally are," Minho continued.

As he spoke, Minho's fingers dipped lower and lower, until the tip of his pointer finger came in contact with the next to nothing panties covering your sopping core. You immediately drew in a breath, so hard you thought you were going to choke on the air.

Minho chuckled, circling over your clit lazily through your panties.

"Is this where you want me?"

Overcome with the heat and desire filling your every limb, you nodded vigorously, reaching one hand behind Minho's neck to hold onto him softly.

"Okay," he whispered, barely audible. "But try to be quiet, hmm?"

Before you could argue, Minho slid his pointer finger under the edge of your panties, instantly parting your lips and making contact with your bare clit.

This light touch alone was enough to send a jolt through you, and Minho couldn't help but laugh slightly at your obvious pleasure.

He then tentatively pushed his pointer finger inside of you, waiting to see how you would react.

You were so wet, it slid in with ease. You shivered at the sensation, and dug your nails into the back of Minho's neck. He hissed at the sensual pain, beginning to move his finger inside of you slowly.

"Mmmm," you whined, bucking your hips up to try and push his finger further inside. "I need more, Minho. Please."

He swiftly leaned down and hushed you with a chaste kiss.

"This needy for me already? How about this, is this enough?"

Minho shoved his middle finger inside of you as well, more forcefully this time, and immediately scissored you open with an ever-increasing speed.

"Yes! Please, don't stop."

If it weren't for how good you felt right now, you would be embarrassed at the way you were speaking. But he was unraveling you by the second, the two fingers inside of you pulling the strings holding you together.

The sounds of your wetness nearly echoed throughout your small living room. You knew you were humiliatingly close to your release, and Minho picked up on that as well.

Without saying anything else, he curled both fingers inside sharply, almost instantaneously finding the spot you needed him most. Stars swirled around in your vision, the feeling of his fingers and the cold metal of his necklace against your sizzling skin the only things keeping you grounded.

Then everything came crashing down in a searing, slick mess.

You threw your other arm around him as you clenched so hard on his fingers, you were worried you'd cut off his circulation. Your arousal dripped down the back of your ass, soaking your panties and Minho's wrist. Both of your thighs were locked up and quivering against Minho's forearm, essentially keeping him trapped there.

But eventually, the stars faded and you could see and feel properly again.

With a smirk, Minho pulled his hand away and wiped it on the back of his pants. As you watched him do so, you happened to notice just how badly he needed you, too. His arousal was painfully apparent through the tight pants he was wearing, and it made you swoon all over again.

"Let's go somewhere we have a little more room, shall we? And I'll take those ruined clothes off of you."

You weakly agreed, your throbbing sex already becoming hot again.

For the third time tonight, Minho leaned over to pick you up. This time though, he simply draped you over his shoulder, knowing that you wouldn't need to be carried for long.

He made his way into your bedroom, lightly pushing the door open with his foot. He then laid you on your bed and looked down at your beautifully disheveled state from where he was standing by your legs.

"So pretty like this," Minho whispered, bending down and kissing your forehead. "But then again, you're always pretty."

Even in your blissful condition, you couldn't help but blush at his words.

"But before we do this...I need you to tell me something. And be honest," Minho began, the atmosphere now turning more serious than playful. "Will you really be mine, (Y/N)? Mine only? Because once I have had you in this way, I won't want to share."

You watched him attentively. His eyebrows were knitted together in genuine concern, and his eyes searched your face for any hint of an answer you might give him. This was where you saw the shy side of him that you initially fell in love with, and you knew that despite how he may show another side of him with you intimately, that he was always being his true self, no matter what. That part of him that craved your validation and your love was what truly guided his actions.

"If this is your way of officially asking me out, Minho, then I accept." You giggled and reached for one of his hands. "I don't want anyone else. I just want you by my side, always, okay?"

Minho shyly giggled in return, squeezing your fingers slightly before letting them go.

"Okay. Then let's get these off you."

He gripped the edge of your skirt and pulled it down, the cool air hitting the dampness of your panties and making you cringe. That didn't last long, however, because Minho then did the same to your panties, practically peeling them off you due to how sticky they were.

You tried not to shy away from his gaze as he placed his hands on your knees and spread you apart to finally look at you fully.

His nostrils flared and his eyes fluttered shut at the perfectly overwhelming sight of you. He chanted a broken mantra in his mind to keep from diving into you right then and there. God, did he want to taste you. But that was for another time. His painful erection needed to be taken care of soon, and he wanted to be inside of you more than anything else right now.

"Is something wrong?" you asked quietly.

Minho snapped out of his thoughts and his hand instantly found yours again.

"No, no. Everything is perfect, you're perfect. I just... needed to compose myself," he said, his eyes darkening in the dim light of your bedroom.

"Oh," you giggled nervously.

Your anticipation only grew when he stepped away from you and yanked his pants and boxers down in one go, erection springing free and pulsing in the cool air.

"Oh," you repeated, this time more nervous than before.

Even from where you were laying on the bed, you could see how angry and red his tip was, a pearlescent bead of precum threatening to drip onto the floor. Minho gripped himself with one hand, pumping slowly to relieve some of the pent up tension he was holding onto.

"Change your mind?"

You shook your head, your "no" clear as day.

"Good. But tell me if you do. Can you lay like you normally would against your pillows?"

You followed his instructions, bringing the rest of your body onto the bed and laying your head against your pillows. Minho followed, crawling over top of you once more, and kneeling between your legs. You wrapped your legs around his hips to provide him better access, and he quickly positioned himself with one hand at his base and the other gripping the headboard of your bed.

"I'm not going to last long," he grunted. "But I need to feel you now."

"It's okay, Minho. I need you, too."

Without another word, Minho brought his tip to rest against your entrance. He tapped it lightly a few times, before sliding between your folds to spread your increasing wetness.

"Oh, fuck, (Y/N). I could lose it right now," he moaned, his head falling backwards.

He was absolutely beautiful. His thighs that you had been so fixated on earlier were now on full display, muscles taught underneath his perfect tan skin. His white tank top now clung to his chest even more thanks to the layer of sweat that sat against it. And God, the way his hair was sticking to his forehead...the way his mouth fell open slightly in a silent moan...his eyes screwed shut in concentration...it was all too much. You needed him just as badly.

With no further hesitation, he pushed into you, bottoming out instantly. His forehead came to rest against yours and you couldn't help but squeal at the immediate pleasure.

"Mmm, that's right," Minho sighed, regaining control of his hips. "I could listen to that sweet sound forever."

He dragged himself out of you slowly, before crashing back into you, his balls slapping distinctly against your ass. Over and over he want, the sounds of his slick skin against yours ricocheting off your bedroom walls. The only thing louder was the lewd series of sounds coming out of your mouth as your pussy clenched around him in a vice grip.

"Ahh," he moaned loudly, hips stuttering slightly. "Careful, pretty girl. If you keep doing that, I might accidentally make you a college drop out."

Your cheeks flushed as he started pounding into you again. He was obviously getting close to his release already and you were getting close to your second one of the night.

"Look at me," Minho said in a low voice. But he didn't give you a chance and instead gripped your chin roughly with one hand. "Come for me again, I won't last much longer."

His words, coupled with his gaze and his rough hand against you were enough to send you into orbit again. The second your walls squeezed around him, Minho withdrew with a curse under his breath. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry as you throbbed around the sudden emptiness inside of you. But you were quickly brought back to reality as ropes of Minho's release landed against the inside of your thighs and on top of your pelvis.

Now the only thing you could hear was your heartbeat and your breaths mixed with Minho's. A comfortable silence fell between the two of you, and it remained unbroken as Minho gently slid out of you and pulled his boxers and pants on. He walked over to your nightstand and grabbed some of the tissues you kept there. He then came back around to you and wiped you off as best as he could, which earned him a sincere smile from you.

"Thank you, Minho."

"Hmm, for what? I've done so many things tonight."

You punched him weakly as he sat down beside you, and he chuckled.

"Well, I did the best I could. But I think a bath is in order. And also probably new sheets. Aaaand panties, for that matter."

"You're not wrong about the bath, that sounds nice. Run one for me?"

Minho stood up excitedly, happy that he could help you feel good in so many ways tonight.

"Of course. Then, let's get some sleep."

You agreed, fighting a yawn as he walked into the bathroom.

Against your better judgement, you reached into the pocket of your skirt and pulled out your phone. Despite it being the middle of the night, there were numerous unopened messages from your friends.

Based on what you read with a quick glance, several of them were making bets on where Minho was right now. A few of them were concerned though, since they hadn't heard from him or you since the party.

You decided to cheekily help them out.

You took a quick selfie, making sure to accentuate how messy your hair was and how pink your cheeks were. Then you sent it to the group chat with the caption: "Turns out Minho liked my blush a little too much, guys. Don't wait up xoxo."

Your message was instantly read by the whole group, and replies started flooding in faster than you could read them.

"Thank God you guys didn't do that here, smh."

"I guess you guys are a thing now?"

"Jeongin, you owe me $5!!!"

You could hear Minho chuckle from the bathroom as he shut the water off. He then sent a short message of his own, but tagged Felix in it directly.

"You'll still need new clothes, Felix. I hold grudges."

~

[adoresia]

YOU MADE ME MALLEABLE : CHARACTER PROFILES

— TOLY HITS !!

SERIES M.LIST ᧔࿔᧓ MAIN M.LIST

Y/N :: emotionally detached from reality , ghosted your therapist , used to believe in soulmates but now you believe in nothing except caffeine and the dopamine hit from ignoring your feelings , balancing uni and work terribly , radio static , over sweetened coffee , headphones at full volume , spontaneous side quests in the middle of the night , worn out hoodies , karaoke at 2am , collecting weird flyers and stickers , forgetting things on purpose

NAGI SEISHIRO :: skips half his classes but somehow still passes , sleeps like its a sport , always has snacks , casually emotionally unavailable in the way that makes people fall for him , video games at 3am , deadpan one-liners that accidentally hit too hard , shrugs in place of apologies , will ghost you and ask if you’re mad three days later , actually cares but doesn’t know how to show it

REO MIKAGE :: looks expensive because he is , says hes emotionally stable but has cried during a business pitch , lives off validation from nagi and overpriced matcha , very unhinged and gives into you easily

CHIGIRI HYOMA :: your emergency contact and only source of rational thought , late night drives in silence , says ‘your better than this’ while passing you a drink , swears up and down that he doesn’t care but memorised your schedule anyways , biggest pretty boy rights advocate , knows everyones intentions with you but you never want to listen , wants better for you and tells you to stop playing people like you don’t care

ANRI TERIERI :: emotionally intelligent but like in a deeply concerning way , tells you the truth even when it ruins your week , graphic tees with existential slogans , works the same shitty job as you but never ever complains , would never hurt a fly , quietly knows everything

KARASU TABITO :: knows you dont see him more than what he is but wont stop trying anyway , lingers in doorways like a question waiting to be answered , shows up unannounced and overstays , gentleman but cheeky , voice note philosopher who overthinks your silence; but in silence , buys you food in an attempt to figure out more about your past , everybody can see how badly he wants you but you dont want it back , trapped between a friend and something more , caught in the drag of unrequited fixation , knows about all the guys you’ve been around with but still tries anyways

BEHIND THE SCENES :: 🎬

First day of the semester yay lets get drunk!!! 😊😊😊😊 - y/n

security cameras caught them running down the street without shoes on uh oh

karasu was following after them in his car (he almost ran them over)

people actually buy from reo believe it or not (the rich are unfortunately getting richer your so right karasu 💔💔💔

Nagi lives of mountain dew can you tell? it gives him energy + hydrates + nourishing (according to him) so what more does he need?

he spills some into choki’s plant pot and then wonders why it’s dying

Reo has to water it for him because he’s so silly

Reo also bought nagi all his followers but like some of them are actually from streaming but theyre still paid to watch… he doesnt really care though but for Reo its income for nagi so #winwin

Reo pays for everything as you may have guessed

karasu stop being a beg challenge failed sorry hes probably ooc actually idc

anri is a year above them btw

TAGLIST ;; 13/50

⤷ @s6rine @pumpkintoad @howtfuspellgorjous @kiss-my-asscheeks @masterrbaiter @matchaveins @andysdrafts @kaalwanan @jellychee @peaktora @vinzcoke @tlissablr @soph1sticatedly

a/n :: hi lina if you are reading this i stole the ‘why is he lying’ sticker from you please dont punch me and punch me and punch me

[aurorafandomblog]

Actually, nevermind. im making my own post instead of waiting for some rando's permission to info dump. tags exist for a reason.

Why is no one talking about this scene except for the critics???

Superman 2025 spoilers below; please engage with me in this discussion please, i feel like im going feral over this. lol

The scene I am specifically talking about is the criticism about the writing choice to have Luthor broadcast to the world Superman's Kryptonian parents' message in full.

Critics think this is the writers deciding to demonize Clark's biological parents.

I personally think anyone who says that is missing the point of the scene.

If we back up, the audience is specifically made aware that Luthor is determined to dig up dirt on Superman, at any and all cost. We see his absolute hatred of Superman be underscored and emphasized over and over from the beginning to the end of the movie. So when he went into the arctic fortress and he saw the first half of the message and that the file was corrupted, he KNEW that Superman had only ever heard the first half. It was OBVIOUS the first half that Superman only ever got to see had zero indications of some ulterior motive. Saying otherwise was a blatant lie. He knew that the second half couldnt possibly affect Supermans behaviour or motives. He. Did. Not. Care.

Instead he subjected a woman into physical and memtal distress to force her to recover what was very corrupted data with zero concerns for her well being because Luthor was laser focused on his hatred of Superman. We see this obsession highlighted later when he risked the destruction of planet earth itself just so he could have a chance to kill Superman. Its even the one thing that made him start the war: his hatred for Superman. He wanted an excuse to kill him and he didnt care how many human lives were killed or ruined in his determination to do so.

Then we hear the second half and it is very clearly spoken in Kryptonian. This is not just a foreign language, this is a language that didnt even originate on Earth. This message is the only known Kryptonian media for translation teams to work with.

To fully understand the gravity of how cruel and deliberate Luthor's 'exposé' on Superman's parents was, you also need to understand how language and translation actually works.

Do you know why Google Translate is so bad at actually translating from language to language? Its because of word for word translations. Its because it is a robot that cannot understand tone or linguistic mannerisms or language culture. It is over literal and cannot translate with any nuance.

now dont get me wrong, translating word for word absolutely has benefits, namely for learning a new language and to help you understand the way that language culture thinks. But it is trash for actually conveying true meaning. All word for word is, is a STARTING place for translating. Thats it.

We see the issue of language culture and mannerisms clearly when we compare the English language from the United States to Europe to Australia. The same word can mean drastically different things, but it is all still English. Thats because culture has a massive influence to the actual meaning of the individual words.

This is true of ALL. LANGUAGES. And then on top of that, you have individual mannerisms and tonal inflections. In some cultures, talking loudly is considered normal communication style while in a different person or language culture, speaking loud is rude and indicates anger and conflict. Even pacing of the syllables can change a meaning and so can facial expressions!

All these are nuances within just the languages on earth where there is (usually) a very great abundance of material for translators to work with.

But Krypton has only one known living person in existence (until Kara shows up, but thats neither here nor there). This lone survivor knows NOTHING about his own people. planet. Culture. If not even HE knows anything, there is no way possible to form an iron clad translation of the only kryptonian material they have to work with.

So when Lex Luthor told the interviewer and the world that Superman's "secret goal" was to build a harem and rule the world.... thats the interpretation he was looking for. Not the actual intent behind the message. The interviewer even ASKED Luthor if there was any room for an alternative interpretation. But Luthor, despite everything he should know about linguistics that i stated above, LIED and said no.

FYI, there is ALWAYS room for interpretation, even in your own native language. Thats why we have dictionaries! and the thesaurus! Thats why you have to be certified to become a language interpreter! Thats why its called spinning a story in your favour- which, by the way, is exactly what Luthor was doing.

He made the most disingenous interpretation of the message he possibly could. A much more likely and KINDER interpretation of the footage would be something to the effect of "You are the last survivor of Krypton. Please, do not let us go extinct. Get married and have children so that the legacy of Krypton will live on. The people we sent you to are of a much simpler civilization, they are very far behind technologically. you must help guide them to a better way of life."

So what Luthor effectively did was destroy Superman's reputation, self esteem, sense of identity, sense of purpose, AND stripped away from him the one and only thing that tied Superman to his birth world and people, parents, and culture.

The movie didnt ruin his parents. That was solely Luthor's manufacturing.

[pixiescribes]

PROMPTS FROM MY UNFINISHED WRITINGS

Some prompts taken from my own writings of the last approximately 10 years. Some are from novel wips, some just random sentences I had stuck in my brain. Feel free to adjust as needed.

"I'm happy for them. If i tell myself that often enough, perhaps I will start believing it."

"I'm just curious. Is that so bad?"

"I'll leave you alone, if you prefer that."

"Those scribblers have always been vicious."

"The danger is real. You can't just ignore it and hope that it'll go away."

"Calm down and carefully consider your next steps, if you truly want to help."

"To be quite honest, I don't even know what I'm supposed to feel yet."

"Why the hell does nobody believe I'm capable of some delicacy?"

"Thanks. I didn't expect to laugh today."

"You're coming with me then. It'll be perfectly safe."

"You can allow yourself to make mistakes."

"You had a future and an inheritance. And you threw it all away."

"Why is it so easy for you to see your own weaknesses, but not anybody else's?"

 “Nobody is without fault and nobody makes the right decisions all the time."

"Ideas cannot be killed."

"You haven't dedicated your whole life to a single cause, only to find out it's all a lie."

"I always knew you aren't a damsel in distress, waiting for a noble hero."

"Does my face reveal that much?"

"It can be dangerous in the streets alone at this hour. I will accompany you, if you don't mind."

"You look like the food has suddenly become stale in your mouth."

"Are you so desperate for an adventure, that you just throw all caution to the wind?"

"The concern for you has urged them on, more than anything else."

"I'm not sure I ever heared you utter that many words at once before."

"You can easily gather information at a tavern. Just one of its many advantages."

"You've caught me off guard. But that's no excuse."

"You are not alone. And you've got people around you who will always care."

"I only know that I won't return to where I started."

"We agreed on keeping a low profile, in case you've forgotten."

"I've been fine on my own my whole life and I'll continue to be. Saves you a lot of trouble."

"Forgiveness is the true virtue. It demands more courage than hate."

"We will overcome this. Bruised and broken perhaps, but still alive."

"I don't deserve your lenience."

"Pain and heartbreak have entered and once inside they are hard to banish."

"There is no right time for happiness. You just hold on to every little moment of it and hope that it'll carry you through."

"I've always believed you're capable of everything - courage, strength, determination ... but never wrath."

"I'm afraid of ruining everything."

"You won't lose me. Never."

"How does it feel? To kill someone?"

"Do you honestly believe I would hesitate driving that knife through your heart? After everything you've done?"

"You want me to trust in myself ? Then I'm asking you to do the same."

"I've trained to wield the sword. Words have never been my strong point."

"Would you stay? If i asked you to?"

"I don't need anyone to fight my battles for me."

"What if they feel like they could be happy elsewhere, even if it means leaving everything behind? Is that worth it?"

"It wasn't enough. End of the story."

[cenedrariva]

watched the old guard 2

so, how i would have done it, start with nile still having troubling dreams about quynh, it's not just drowning now but fire, stabbings, other violent deaths. then cut right into the opening action scene on some thematic element. later when they're all chilling after the mission it comes out that nile has been hiding the content of the dreams from the group so as not to distress andy too much

discord shows up in the photo, but she's not an immortal, she's head security consultant of a private mercenary firm, which had been hired as extra security with the mob manor they just massacred. copley produces a photo of this Concerning New Target, nile freaks though because she recognises that face from her quynh dreams and that should be impossible

quynh and booker meet. quynh explains she broke out of her own coffin, with age the metal weakened, 6 months ago she clawed her way onto a beach. in her rage and pain she wanted to destroy people and got involved with local organised crime but she's doing Not Great and ended up burning them all down again. Discord found her, offered her support. purpose. someone to explain the modern world at least. she abandons booker when its clear he has no clue about where andy is

so discord. turns out when merrick was experimenting on the team last movie, discord had been committing corporate espionage and witnessed the escape across the cameras. copley did successfully delete their files later but discord herself couldn't unsee it. she's obsessed now with catching and enslaving the immortals as an elite team

joe and nicky fight over joe seeing booker like canon, and booker lets them know quynh is free, except they don't know where she is. andy is freaking out. copley manages to find recent footage of discord so andy tries to run off recklessly to see quynh. nile demands to come with as emotional support. in the end, andy doesn't know what to say, quynh curses her, furious and hurt, and andy is so shaken by her words she barely tries to stop quynh leaving with discord

tuah is still around but he's a descendent in a family that has a legend about being saved by immortals and keeps like resources for them. he doesn't believe they're real until they show up asking his help, and finds this quite exciting. in the end he helps prevent whatever quynh rigged to blow up from blowing up using his technical knowledge, which helps save some civilians

joe, nicky and booker are having a spat in the background for all of this, booker is trying his best to not get kicked out again but it just ends in arguing about why he thought helping merrick was a good idea, and eventually it comes out that joe is very hurt and upset that booker could have been in so much pain while at their side and that joe failed to see it and help. nicky was more ready to forgive booker when he saw booker's remorse back in the lab, but he didn't want to go against the decision they came to as a group (but also he's hurt joe didn't include him in the secret plans to go see booker). there's a half reconciliation

discord offers nile a job with them, that'll have great benefits and luxuries and nile turns it down, discord tries to take her by force. the boys catch up and help nile escape them, meanwhile while thhey're distracted andy runs off after quynh

andy and quynh meet again and andy tries to tell quynh discord is evil. they fight and it gets flirty and steamy somehow, they remember each other, the fight is a dance together, but still ends in angst and hurt because they're not really in sync yet. quynh spent centuries thinking andy was also trapped, then centuries knowing andy wasn't looking for her (from booker's dreams) and its agonising for her. andy is injured and this is how quynh learns andy is not immortal. quynh is shocked and horrified, but discord hurries her away before she can process

final mission now, they need to go after discord to save quynh. by this point quynh's rage has cooled enough she just wants to be back with her family, but discord won't let her go, maybe using some kind of bomb collar thing for compliance? anyway the tension is more about will andy survive the combat long enough to reunite with quynh, all the immortals terrified about this, and it calls back to some thematic line between joe, nicky and booker about having time enough with people you love to forgive them

i think afterwards, having a shot of nile spying on her family and seeing how they're moving on without her, how they've been getting on with life even when she was deployed, there's so much unfamiliar. copley finds her, and she says she understands why she can't be with her family but it sucks that she can't reach out. then together they return to their new family, that feels more joyous and at peace now, with booker and quynh part of things again

also andy is ambigiously maybe healing again

[swanimagines]

Hii! I just saw you had your requests open so I was wondering if I can ask for a Sandman scenario (I actually have a million ideas, but I’m trying to choose which one to ask 😅).

I have two main ideas in mind, you can choose one of them if you want!

1- Morpheus x reader scenario where he has a crush on her (but she doesn’t know that) and he sees her kissing another guy at a party (she secretly likes him too but thinks its not reciprocated).

2- Morpheus x reader, where he meets a reader with maladaptive daydreaming and he tries to understand her and help her maybe? (not sure if you’re okay with that but u don’t need to write if u don’t want to). Can be a scenario or oneshot, what’s best for you!

Also sorry for the long text lol

A/N: I chose option 1 because I've seen lots of fics where Morpheus tries to help a reader with maladaptive daydreaming.

LOVE YOU NOT?

Morpheus didn’t love you.

Why would he? You, a human. Why would he love a human? He was so godlike, otherworldly, shimmering with power, and you… were you. Normal. Boring. Definitely not fit to ever become his Queen.

It was a wonder he even looked at you, cared about you. That you had become friends. That he valued you enough to spend time with you while you explored The Dreaming. He was always so stoic, felt cold sometimes. You admitted you had tested the waters but he didn’t seem to react so you took it as a sign that he wasn’t interested in you like that.

So, you tried to move on. Your amazing friend group noticed you had heartbreak problems, so they invited you to attend a beach party to get thoughts elsewhere.

And that’s when you saw him. A boy you had had the biggest crush on in high school. And he definitely hadn’t changed. If anything, he had only become more charming than before, even if he had matured with his ways of flirting.

You ended up chatting with him. For hours, and your thoughts about the Dream Lord faded into the background.

And when the party neared its end, he leaned in… and your lips met. Careful, testing, before he pulled back to see if you wanted it.

And you hesitated, which made him scoot away from you.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… I should have asked,” he mumbled and stood up before you could say another word, disappearing into the crowd. You stood up, intending to go after him, to tell him you wanted it, you just were surprised and froze because you didn’t think he likes you back… but then stopped after just one step, and decided to turn and walk from the door instead.

Because you didn’t want to lie. You didn’t want him. You wanted the impossible and wasn’t ready to let go of that, even if you knew it was stupid.

The brisk night air hit your face and you breathed out steam, glancing back at the house, where lights were already being turned off. You didn’t want to see your friends, to have them ask questions about that guy, gush about him to you, or anything like that.

You just needed to get away.

As soon as you opened your apartment door and shut it behind you, you felt a presence inside your apartment and sighed. You knew who it was even before you turned around. “What do you want?”

Morpheus was quiet for a moment. “I saw you.”

You shrugged the coat off. “Saw me?”

“Yes. You seemed to be very close with him.”

You fell silent, just staring at him, mouth slightly agape.

The silence stretched for a moment longer, before you sputtered out, “You… were stalking me?”

He let out a long breath through his nose. “I merely wanted to see you are safe. That house had intoxicated humans and I know how human men can be while intoxicated.”

You blinked and then snorted. “Since when have you been concerned for my safety like that?”

He was quiet again for a moment, before he finally mumbled, “Since I cannot bear to see you in the arms of other.”

That made you freeze. Your heart felt like it stopped, along with your breath. You just stared at him, before your mouth started opening and closing, as if you were a fish gasping for air.

He turned his eyes away from you and turned away, but you forced yourself to snap yourself out of it and basically jumped to him, tugging him closer to you before your lips met with his.

He didn’t kiss you back, which made you pull away and breathe heavily. “I kissed him because I thought you… that you don’t love me back. You told me the story about Nada and… I thought it just wouldn’t be possible.”

He swallowed, staring into your eyes for a moment before he cupped your cheek. “You will never be impossible for me.”

You let out a teary laugh and let yourself to be held by him, in your dark apartment — and Dream hoped the world would forgive him for loving you.

Requests are open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

[novalityy]

No going back, Part four.

⋆·˚ ༘*🔭 In which a call is way more concerning than it seemed.⋆·˚ *🔭

Call of duty taskforce 141 x reader. Warnings *ੈ✩‧₊˚ - Blood, fighting, arguments, framing, crying, torture(mentions of), taskforce 141 being mean, angst, regret, new special forces????

Uhhhhh, Hi, I'm back again..IM SORRY OKAY I LEFT. but daddy's home.

Back on a serious note, it wasn't going that well, i had to put some things down for me to focus on some more serious shit, but i'm fine now so that's what matters now!

Can y'all tell me what way you want this to go? I don't know....

You didn’t answer right away.

You couldn’t.

Your throat felt tight, your chest aching, not just from your injuries, but from the memory.

The betrayal still bled inside you like an open wound.

Laswell saw it in your eyes: the shift from confusion, to fear, to something colder. Sharper.

You weren’t just hurt.

You were angry.

“I don’t want to see them,” you rasped. “I don’t want them anywhere near me.”

Laswell’s expression hardened like stone. “They won’t come near you. Not again.”

You swallowed, jaw clenched.

"I'm leaving, I'm not staying here any second longer."

Laswell nodded,

"You need to heal first, under my watch,"

She paused, pleading you with her eyes.

"Please."

You looked up at her, eyes watering.

You just can't say no to her, she saved your life after all.

You nodded, laying back down.

＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚

The healing was tolerable.

What wasn’t, was the waiting.

Sitting in silence, doing nothing but replaying what they did to you, that was its own kind of torture.

Almost worse.

Almost.

A therapist can't do much.

You didn’t just hate them.

Hate was too soft, too human.

What you felt was colder. Sharper.

A kind of fury that didn’t burn, it froze.

When you pushed the door open, you forced the thoughts down.

Not away. Just deeper.

You’d need them later.

This place reeked of memory.

Every hallway a trigger.

Every sound a reminder.

Coming back to base felt wrong. Alien. But this wasn’t about comfort.

You had unfinished business.

And you intended to finish it.

Fishing your phone from your back pocket, you double-checked the room number: 115.

Right door.

Right place.

Unfortunately.

You looked up, then pushed the door open with a little more force than necessary.

The bang echoed through the room.

Was it rude? Sure.

Did you care? Not in the slightest.

They were all there.

Every single one of them.

Laswell included.

You gave her a brief nod, tight, respectful. The only one in the room who deserved it.

Then you walked in and took your seat, your movements calm, deliberate.

You didn’t rush.

You didn’t flinch.

You just looked.

One by one.

Not a single pair of eyes met yours. Cowards.

At least they had the decency to look ashamed. Or maybe just afraid.

Good.

Your stare landed on Gaz last.

Your brow throbbed, dull, rhythmic, right where his fist had landed.

Guess you'd be wearing that memory a little longer.

A souvenir. One of many.

“So,” you said, voice like ice,

“is anyone going to talk, or are you just here to waste my time?”

The room went still.

Finally, Price lifted his head, eyes meeting yours.

“We want to apo—”

“Apology denied.”

Your tone cut through him like a blade. “Are you done?”

Soap tried to speak next, words tripping over each other.

“Please, we didn’t know—we just—we—”

“We-we- we…” you echoed mockingly.

“I don’t give a single goddamn fuck. You did what you did. And now, I’ll do what I need to do.”

You turned to Laswell without hesitation, voice steady.

“I’m leaving. Turn in my resignation, I’m done here.”

Finally, they all looked at you.

Gaz stood up abruptly, his face streaked with tears. Real ones.

“Please,” he choked out, “come on… I’ll do anything. Everything. Just let me make this right.”

You clenched your jaw so hard it hurt. You’d expected desperation, maybe even begging.

But the tears?

You hadn’t expected that.

And God, how you used to hate it when Gaz cried. Keyword: used to.

Your voice came low, sharp, and bitter. “What, you want me to comfort you now? Wrap my arms around you, tell you it’s okay?”

You stood slowly, stare locked on him like crosshairs.

“Do you remember when I cried?” you asked, tone flattening to something deadly calm.

“When I begged you to stop? When I pleaded for you to listen, that if fucking hurts and you didn’t even flinch?”

Heat rose through your spine like a fire lit from the base of your skull.

This was about to go sideways, fast.

And for once, you were ready to let it.

Then you turned to a certain man.

“Funny,” you said, voice venom-laced,

“you’re awfully quiet for someone who almost killed me.”

Ghost didn’t flinch.

The only thing you could see were his eyes behind that damn mask, and they pissed you off more than anything.

You almost laughed at the sheer frustration rising in your chest.

But then he spoke, rough, low, and unflinching.

“No matter what I do… I don’t deserve your forgiveness. Or your time,” he said, voice hollow. “I did what I did. There’s no excuse for it.”

You stared at him, silent for a beat. The rest of the room held its breath.

“Finally,” you muttered, dry and sharp. “At least one of you bitches is man enough to own it.”

Your gaze swept across the others like a scalpel.

“Too bad it doesn’t mean a fucking thing.”

“Laswell,” you said evenly, “I’m done here. Thank you, for everything.”

You stood, slow and deliberate, then tossed your badge onto the table without a second glance.

It landed with a dull clack, final and absolute.

Without another word, you turned and walked out.

Your dignity weighed more than anything left in that room.

Footsteps echoed behind you, but you didn’t stop.

Not for them.

You heard your name once, twice. Desperate. Weak. But you kept walking.

Let them sit in their guilt. Let it rot them from the inside.

You’d given them pieces of yourself—time, trust, loyalty—and they shattered every last one without hesitation.

You pushed through the base’s main doors and stepped into the sunlight. It was harsh, too bright, but it felt like the only honest thing you’d experienced in weeks.

There were no more chains on you. No more pretending. No more silence.

You exhaled, slow and sharp.

This wasn’t closure. It wasn’t healing. Not yet.

But it was power. Yours.

＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚

Arriving home, you sighed.

It was already night, quiet, still, the kind of silence that should’ve brought peace.

But the second your boots hit the porch, something felt off.

You stepped closer, narrowing your eyes at the door.

The handle was down.

You always left it up.

Always.

A flicker of adrenaline crawled up your spine.

Someone was inside.

Grabbing the Glock from your hidden holster, your grip tightened as you pushed the door open with practiced force.

The air inside was still, but heavy.

You cleared the kitchen first. Nothing.

The living room, quiet. Too quiet.

Your hallway creaked under your steps as you made your way upstairs, each movement calculated and quiet, heart pounding in steady rhythm.

Your body remembered what your mind tried to bury: what it felt like to be hunted.

Sweat beaded along your brow as you neared the bedroom door.

You didn't hesitate.

One solid kick.

The door flew open, slamming against the wall.

And there, on your bed, like he belonged there, sat a large figure.

Relaxed. Patient. Watching.

Your blood ran ice cold.

“What the—” you started, voice sharp, finger already tightening on the trigger—

“Сюрприз.”

The voice was thick with a Russian accent.

Calm. Controlled. Amused.

＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚

god this shit was ass.

Tag list＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚ -> @gaiagurl05 @msjaeger @notsochillnerd @cocklivers @sensiblesomething @kaoyamamegami @ryanisasleep @wqlverines @riameriash @perfect-insomniac

[frostyharbor]

MODERN WARMANCY

"STATE OF MIND II"

A Wizarding World x Call of Duty crossover simon "ghost" riley x witch!Reader index + intro here

notes: a continuation of "State of Mind", and also makes references to "Intro" and "Mobile Home". Stirling and Cat are, respectively, the barn owl and the Kneazle introduced in "Familiar".

“It might have helped to bring the tester back in one piece.”

One of your colleagues bends, scowling, over the remains of the rifle that had been dumped out by Simon and Price.

For the first time since you met him, Simon is wearing his skull mask again. The sight still sends a shiver down your spine, but you don’t fall into the panic of that first meeting again.

Still. Your palm itches, like it wishes it were holding your wand.

The captain growls. “It might have helped to not put my man in the field with a dangerous weapon.”

The wizard sneers, and you impatiently step in before they can get into an ego match. 

“The rifle was tested before it was sent out with Lt. Riley.” You pick up the broken scope and the fractured lens winks back at you mischievously. “Extensively so.”

Something like amusement races up your arm to tickle your brain, a faint giggle ringing in your ears. You’re quick to replace the scope with the rest of the fragments. “But these weapons are still experimental at this stage. Anything could happen.”

You look at Simon—or, at least, what’s visible through the eye holes of the mask and balaclava. “At any point before your incident with John, did you notice anything strange?”

He remembers the whisper in his ear, the gentle goading to pull the trigger. “I started hearin’ it a couple of days after I first used it. Kept gettin’ worse as the mission went on.”

Why didn’t you say anything? The question sounds confrontational to your own ears, and you don’t know how these men will react to being pressed.

Price does it for you. “Shoulda spoken up, son.”

Simon grunts. “I wouldn’t have believed it, if it were me. How many mens’ guns start talkin’ to ‘em?”

“These aren’t normal guns,” you interject, crossing your arms. “They’re highly volatile prototypes spelled six ways to Sunday. If there’s something wrong, we need to know.”

When Simon gives you a flat look, you soften a bit. “Magic doesn’t always make sense, and, yes, some of it sounds silly. I was a muggleborn—someone not born into a wizarding family,” you add, seeing their blank stares. “Exposure to magic was an adjustment to me, too. I won’t think you’re stupid or crazy if you have a problem.”

After a moment, and with a meaningful look from Price, the man awkwardly bends his head a fraction in acknowledgement. 

“Alrigh’.”

At a quarter past three in the morning, you lay your pen down and give your revised schematics another once-over, feeling satisfied and concerned in equal part.

The problem had originated from the many charms placed on the rifle; it isn’t uncommon to layer spells, but it can have dangerous, unintended side effects when two or more are combined that don’t necessarily agree with one another.

Or, in this case, agree with each other a little too well.

The scope had been charmed to be just aware enough of its environment that it would correct aim if it could sense the targets were protected by some kind of shield. 

The pistol grip had also been designed to only accept one holder—Simon—and was uniquely keyed to him alone. 

The longer Simon had carried the weapon, the more attuned it had become to him. The personal signature woven into the grip had crossed with the awareness of the scope, creating a sort of pseudo-sentience that had latched obsessively onto Simon’s mind. It had taken some time for the consequences to take effect, so it had been missed during early testing.

That, combined with the fact that the weapon’s purpose to fire upon targets, had been a recipe for disaster. 

You think back to the early days of your career and the scared people in the copied photo, and shiver. 

The unexpected consequences of innovation, indeed.

It could have been so much worse.

The following afternoon, you notice that the task force is one short of their usual number.

“Where’s Simon?” You tap your rolled up notes against the palm of your hand. “I think I figured some things out that I wanted to share with him.”

“Indisposed,” Price replies shortly, and it’s clear you’ll get no further explanation from him than that. 

The mood is slightly subdued as you go through the next demonstration, a modified ghillie suit that’s light as a feather and changes with the environment, but they seem suitably impressed by the end.

It’s Gaz who pulls you aside. “Price put him on leave,” he mutters. Behind him, Johnny and Price are still passing the suit back and forth, examining it as it changes color. “Said he could have killed Soap because he didn’t speak up. Told him he could come back when he could be responsible for his sergeant.”

Harsh.

You hadn’t just been trying to soften the blow when you had said you understood his reluctance to speak. Even now, you could remember being eleven years old and at Hogwarts for the first time, afraid to ask questions that everyone else already seemed to know the answer to. 

It’s hard to be thrown into a game only knowing a fraction of the rules.

“It’s not his fault.” You sigh. Gaz hums, doubtful. “Alright, yes, he should have said something. But he might not have been in his right mind, either. Magic can be unpredictable. I know that. But you guys don’t.”

The notes are getting crumpled up in your hands from how you keep worrying the pages. “I’d like to talk to him, if you think that would be alright.”

Gaz points to their rucksack in the corner of the room, and you have to suppress a laugh.

Of course. Hiding in plain sight.

There are two things you notice when you descend down into the little flat hidden in the backpack.

One, Simon is sitting in the kitchen with Stirling perched on his knee. One hand—ungloved—strokes the owl’s breast feathers absently.

Two, he’s not wearing his mask.

Feeling like you just walked in on the man naked, you look immediately up at the ceiling.

“Er, I can leave if you want.”

“S’alright,” he says bluntly.

You’re certain that one word isn’t a license to stop and stare, but you can’t help it.

He’s handsome, in a rugged sort of way. His nose is large and slightly crooked, like it had been broken more than once and healed poorly. His full mouth is pulled up at one corner by a scar that runs up from his chin across his right cheek. When you look closer, you see it’s not the only one; his face is littered with white lines, some thicker than others.

“Gonna stare all day or what?”

Embarrassed to be caught out, you hurry to one of the chairs situated around the wooden table. Stirling clacks his beak at you when you pass, like he’s telling you off for ogling one of his masters.

Shuffling your notes in front of you, you clear your throat awkwardly. “I came because I thought you’d like to know what happened with the rifle.”

Simon doesn’t turn to face you, the back of hand still smoothing over Stirling’s feathers. 

“Hardly matters, does it,” he says bitterly. “Didn’t speak up when I should’ve.” Stirling nips at his sleeve in a reassuring sort of way, but Simon ignores him. His voice is very quiet. “Coulda killed Johnny.”

You feel like you don't know Simon well enough to be having this conversation. He's been present at all of the demonstrations and trainings, yes, but in his aloof and coolly polite manner. And yet, your reach across to him anyways, letting your hand rest on the table in front of where he's sitting.

"You didn't know what would happen. Making one mistake doesn't make you a bad man."

He's a bad man for other reasons, your mind whispers. You ignore it; now isn't the time for a tête-à-tête on the morality of war.

Simon doesn't take the offered hand, but he doesn't react negatively to it, either. His only motion is his breathing and the rhythmic rise and fall of his hand where it brushes over Stirling's feathers.

Floundering for something to say, you aim for comfort. “You must be dedicated to him, to have been able to break the rifle. Those enchantments were strong.”

He hums, expression pensive. You're not used to being able to see his face so clearly, and chase every shift in his features with interest. “I’m his commanding officer,” he says at last. “I’m responsible for him. Magic or not.”

You’re spared from answering when Kyle’s Kneazle—who they’ve simply been calling Cat since they brought him home—jumps up into your lap with a purr. You scratch behind one of his large ears as he twists happily onto his back.

There's an amused huff from across the table. “Must like ya.”

“Jealous of the attention Stirling’s getting, more like,” you chuckle, rubbing under Cat’s chin. Unable to resist a bit of ribbing, you add slyly, “I hear Kneazles can sense untrustworthy people. This—” you gesture to where Cat is making biscuits in the air, clearly at ease “—must make me an upstanding citizen.”

Simon smiles. It’s a small thing, but genuine. “‘Course. He’s been under the table the whole time and didn’ even leg it when you came down.”

“So you’re saying I’m trustworthy?”

“He thinks so, anyway." He reaches over to rest a hand between Cat's ears. You feel the heat of his skin even through your clothing. "But the bugger puked in Price's boots this morning, so he's maybe not the most intelligent beast."

You roll your eyes. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

notes: a bit longer than my usual but I couldn't resist an unmasking. I think that Simon isn't one for a dramatic reveal so the day you see him without a mask he's just like...there. Like it's normal. What do you all think? How do you think he would do it?

[newbieschaos]

A Bit of a Push Part II

Description: After Anakin voluntold you to join Obi-wan for tea. You both end up talking about your adventures while ignoring the clear signs of attraction between you both.

Pairing: Obi-wan Kenobi x Jedi!Reader

Warnings: None

Author’s Note: I noticed someone wanted a part 2 AND I LISTEN. Any feedback, suggestions, or comments are appreciated. Also if any warnings were missed please let me know.

Previous Part: Part I

Next Part: Part III

You breathe as you begin to observe your surroundings. It’s not often you get to see another Master’s room. Especially someone like Obi-Wan who has built up a habit of avoiding you. It’s just as expected simple and kept in order. Exactly what you would expect from someone like him. There are very few personal items which isn’t shocking—seeing as Jedi were discouraged from having many personal items at all.

You notice the neutral tones that are carried throughout the room. And notice how it’s almost darker in here than the rest of the temple. Creating a more comforting atmosphere and welcoming the light from the window.

You then turn to look at him as he prepares tea for you both. He seems at ease in his own environment. Peacefully and almost automatically making everything without thought. While you often see him wandering the temple you rarely get to see him in such a relaxed manner. It nearly felt intimate watching him do something so mundane.

His movements are soft and natural. While the sun hit him just right making him appear golden. You couldn’t help but admire him. Not for his looks alone but for his mannerisms and self. You look back at the table as you notice him beginning to turn to return to the table. Where he puts down two cups filled with tea you notice yourself to be unfamiliar with.

You notice he’s nearly stiff in his seat. So you decide that is an invitation to begin some sort of conversation. “I heard you and Anakin had to go on a mission of sorts maintaining the safety of a Senator correct? How did that go?” He smiles “Yes, well it all worked out. However, I can’t help but be concerned about Anakin’s headfirst nature.” He ends up sighing in what sounds like exhaustion. You smile sympathetically “Yes well knowing Anakin sometimes it’s act first think later.”

You notice him smile and begin to lose tension in his body. Becoming more at ease. You reach towards the sugar leading to you both brushing hands as he reaches as well. Before you can apologize or pull back you feel his hand being pulled back immediately. You watch as he begins to look away and you look down confused. While it may have been an awkward experience you didn’t expect him to flinch at the idea of minor physical contact with you. You begin to look at your hand looking for an explanation on why he was so quick to pull away other than what you assumed to be his dislike towards you.

However, while observing your hand you miss the red that begins to reach Obi-Wan’s ears as he looks away. Avoiding having to look at your face and reveal his clear reaction and attraction towards you. You shake away the thought and add sugar to your tea. You need to leave a better impression on him because something must have happened to make this reaction towards you.

You take a sip of your tea before looking down at it in shock. “This is lovely I’ve never tried something like this. Where did you get it?” He slowly looks back at you processing your words. “ Ah yes, this is Karlini Tea. Recently it’s becoming more popular and has been making its way towards the Core Worlds. However, I maintained this one from the planet Naboo.” You smiled at his response glad he appeared to recover from the prior experience.

“I should’ve expected something like this. After all, Anakin often talks about how much you like tea.” He regains confidence “Earlier you were talking about how teaching the younglings was going. You’ve been with them quite a lot. How have these past few weeks been?” You never knew he noticed what you were doing.

“Oh well, it’s been pretty difficult and incredibly exhausting. However, fulfilling in the best way. I mean as much as I could go on about how overwhelming the job may be. I find it so important and rewarding to work with them. They’re so young and excited to learn about the Force. I can’t help but truly enjoy and appreciate having the opportunity to guide them. Not only that but they can make a simple day incredibly bright. I truly do enjoy working with them.”

Unknowingly through your rant, Obi-Wan begins to lose himself in you. He watched as your eyes lit up at the mention of the younglings. As you speak with so much passion and joy about working with them. Watching you speak and admiring your presence in his home. “You are truly beautiful.” Without a thought in his head, the words slip. A whisper in the room just quiet enough you almost couldn’t hear it. “Sorry, what was that?”

You watch as he coughs. Fearing that he found your speech to be irritating. “Sorry, what I said was that working with the younglings sounds like a beautiful experience.” You smile glad he didn't appear annoyed talking to you. "Well then you are more than welcome to join me sometime. I'm sure they'd adore having you help. Between you and me I'm quite sure I've heard a couple of them talk about you and Anakin."

And as you began to talk away about the idea of him helping with the younglings. Smiling in excitement with a look on your face that he would want to see every day. He can't help but find it impossible to say no to the opportunity to be near you more.

[dreamerwitches]

Sigh, big sigh, huge sigh

I was so excited to be allowed into the Connect Zine. Until this morning I realised....

They are letting in Iroha/Yachiyo. The ship, romantic.

It pains me so much but I will no longer be contributing to this zine. I'm not going to bash on anyone who WILL. But... I dont think anyone should support this zine. This zine that will support PEDOPHILIA

I stated my concerns and got this response.

"Hello! When MagiReco released, and until 2022, the legal age of adulthood in Japan was at 20 years old, meaning that Yachiyo was considered a minor in the cultural context in which she was written. Her and Iroha in-game are not officially written in any way that exhibits or endorses the problems that is very real for real people who might share their ages, neither do they cause or endorse any of that harm. There are many cases of subtext pertaining to their feelings regarding one another that indeed puts them as one of the main sapphic pairings in the game, and their relationship is as vanilla and non-problematic as it gets when the dynamic and interactions between them are analyzed for who and what they are. We do not feel that it is unreasonable for something as official and safe as them to be a part of this completely SFW zine, especially not when the franchise has a hefty amount of potentially toxic pairings that no one bats an eye at while Iroha and Yachiyo specifically are always the duo that are vilified.

We understand if you are uncomfortable with this and would no longer like to participate in Connect, and that is entirely reasonable. We hope that our stance also makes sense as reasonable even if you disagree. And please keep it mind you may also curate who you interact with here and avoid or block those who are creating for pairs that personally make you uncomfortable if you wish to still participate."

I get this point... but man, doesnt it reek of 'UMMM THE AGE OF CONSENT IN JAPAN IS 13!!!!!' To me, the problem isnt so much set in stone numbers, it's that Iroha is 15 and Yachiyo is 18. Really think about it, in the real world. Think of a 15 year old in middle/secondary school, now imagine them IN LOVE with an 18 year old in high school/college. Yeah it's fucking disgusting right? Or heck, think of when YOU were 15. An age gap like this is just so gross. There is such a power imbalance there.

And the 'that's how the game writes it'. Like, they.... they kinda portray the amane sisters like a ship, heck, iroha and ui too. (and before you say anything, no i hate these, I DONT see these as ships) Cmon dual units are ships. Rika and ren, masara and kokoro (I dont know anything about nayuta and mikage though, so i cant use them as any evidence here). But do them existing mean, oh well I have to support incest, or, well incest is fine if aniplex says so :) (the answer is no.) Japan is gross about shit like this (heck im sure other countries are too), there are published manga of relationships like this. THAT DOES NOT MEAN ITS OKAY

Comparing pedophilia to a problematic ship like say, madoka and devil homura. Come on man... this is a real world problem versus angsty teen fic. One of these is a real issue that hurts minors, one is just for drama.

Saying it's fine because its sfw. Kids can be groomed without sex. They can be mentally manipulated and traumatised without sex. Romantic pedophilia is still pedophilia.

And i know im going to hear ITS FICTION SO ITS FINE, ITS JUST LINES ON PAPER. Fiction affects reality, bitch. People who like stuff like this use fictional material to satiate themselves. What if this makes them feel comfortable with their disgusting interests so much that they want to move on and hurt someone in the real world. Huh? I know one tiny zine in the big ocean of the internet isnt going to make a difference. But we need to squash any tiny instance of this no matter what. Pedophilia will never be okay. EVER

I am very disappointed in all the mods of this zine because this felt like a curated response and they specifically chose to let these two iroha/yachiyo entries in. Very disappointed

[k-jacobs-hn]

"You're the hero, sort this out"

I don't need to be sorted out, Karl wants to tell him. But he's a little occupied at the moment trying to get a hold of-

Red Chaos. The blood god. Eris too, but not enough of a comfort. All in clothes red, red in someone else's blood. Snow. The air, the city, the ground. White with snow. Rose, an ashy grey, eyes closed.- forever? Turn, run. Run as fast as possible with his fox tail between his legs.

Or. "Hey guys---i found us a car!"

No. No. Not him. But- Rose is dead, by Eris' work most likely. Karl takes another long inhale. His eyes are dry- thats good- and staring holes into the ground.

He doesn't think he's ever wanted to see those ram horns, before now. But he needs to know what happened after. For Quackity. For him, he needs to see-

Himself. On the ground. Hurt? Determined. Shaking with half-breaths. Reach forward, out. Slow steps. Forward. Backward from the plan. Away from a moving towards Red.

Dream, unmoving, whispers agitatedly. He looks awkward. Which was concerning, despite how much Karl had enjoyed it on air. But he doesn't have time for this hero right now.

A big van. Open white doors. But dull white. And dimmer than the pearly snow on L'manburg streets.

Turning his back. To the woman under grey flowers. The red gone with the hero and the villain into the van.

The red, the rot returning blurring with bone white-

Karl clenches the recorder with another deep breath. Rose is definitely dead, he thinks. More blood on Shlatt's hands. He needs to do something before blood of someone he loves joins. Not that he thinks Rose was someone who deserved death, unlike a lot of vigilanties, Karl doesn't want all the Heroes gone.

If he did he wouldn't be so well contained on his knees, wet, 5 feet underground and Wilbur wouldn't be leaning casually, unscathed.

The L'mantree opens its reaches to the falling snow, to the dotted sky-

-to Karl with bony fingers, red-

Smash.

Karl punches the recorder into the ground. He can feel the hero and the villain both freeze.

A jerky flinch. Silence resonates. Turn to the other. Or,

"Jacobs? Whats go-"

Get out. Slam the door too. Then, run. Run. They're all in the van. They won't chase. Foxes are good runners. But it won't matter. They'll track him. Hunt him

Or. He closes the door. No escape. Slams it. Good measure.

Sorry Fundy, he thinks, exhaling, letting go. And like the relief and ache of a splinter being pulled away, the connection severs. His mind clears a piece more. He really can't afford expendables at the moment. And-

A snowflake twirls. And-

"-ing on?"

And Karl lets out a scream through gritted teeth. The powerful magic arm leaving him reeling. Its different than the unyielding wall blocking him from Quackity, holding that connecting taught like a line about to snap back and whip Karl mentally. Its more deliberate. But still a barrier nonetheless.

This one severs with a snap. Karl gathers the energy spilled out.

Left tunnel. Lost. Helpless. Nothing to follow.

A little maze. Little lines, empty, barren spaces. No arrow, no direction to follow. Illuminated by a flaming arm, frozen in front of a fork in the path.

Nothing to follow. Helpless. Lost. Right tunnel.

"Uhh Dream?" Wilbur asks, probably too far to hear Dream's entire, incredibly unsubtle whisper conversation going on. Wait-

"What is it?!" Whirling around at the irritating interruption. Giving it entirely away- or-

"And how do you want me to help him?!" Barely even counted as a whisper anymore. Said with his nose in his hoodie. Hiding green in folds of neon green-

Dream draws the head of his hoodie up.

Karl turns his gaze upwards, zeroing in on Hero, straightening up a bit himself. "Slime?"

Have I mentioned my hate of heroes before?

Yes?

Well you're hearing it again. I hate them