#its not clear and its not bright but its there

[shiny-jr]

PROLOGUE, the beginning

– Summary: Why were you here? That was not a question you could answer, nor could you even remember the events that led you to awake in a world unlike your own. Archons of elements ruled the lands, and they will either answer your prayers to return home or become obstacles in your path.

– Warning: Yes, this is a yandere thing. Gender-neutral reader. 

– Characters: Grim. 

– Note: This is thanks for all the followers, all +8,500 of you. Yes, I consider this a milestone. Which is why I decided to share this now. Also, because I've been genuinely struggling to write this series behind the scenes, although I really do adore the AU (even if not much story has been shared yet). I think I have almost fifty pages by now, and it's still only the very very beginning. Maybe I might share the first proper chapter later just to test the waters, see how y'all like it. Maybe. For now, I hope you do enjoy this prologue for the Empyrean AU! Please, do feel free to tell me your thoughts on it.

– Pages: 9

prologue | chapter i

This was not your sky, and yet you were looking up at it. 

The sky was never so clear to the point where you could actually see them. The stars. At home, if you were lucky, maybe on the odd occasion you could spot a few blinking lights if you squinted and stared at the inky darkness for a while. Never had you actually seen them so vividly, except in pictures. Maybe that’s what made it hard to look away, when this was only the kind of sky someone would see if they were dead. Or at least, that’s how you pictured it. That, or they were far from the familiarity of civilization. 

Were you dead? Perhaps not, you thought, when you felt a cold breeze and felt a grainy substance beneath your fingertips. The scent of salt invaded your nostrils, confirming that you indeed were not dead, unless heaven or hell was a beach and you were currently lounging on it. That seemed like a rather foolish notion. If you were in hell, how far down would it be and how would you even be able to see the sky? If you were in heaven, how close would the stars be? Probably so close that it wouldn’t make for much of a view. 

Disoriented, you slowly pushed yourself up as you were met with a vast expanse of darkness. The moon cast its gentle glow on the world, reflecting upon the stretch of endless ocean that began in tides washing against the shores just feet away from your toes. 

“Where––?” 

It was night, and you found yourself on a beach with no clue as to how or why you got there. Unsurely, you scanned your surroundings as you sat up on your knees, and attempted to pat off the sand particles that stuck to your clothes. Clothes that were a clear sign that you were unprepared to be here, when all you had on was an old white t-shirt and a pair of shorts that exposed your limbs to the cold. As you continued to pat yourself down, trying to remember why you were here, your pockets felt strangely empty. Again, you pat the spot, double checking as you felt your heart drop. 

“No, no…!” 

The pockets where you usually kept your phone and wallet or any other spare change, were both devoid of its contents. Patting yourself down entirely again, led to the conclusion that you had nothing. No method of communication, no form of payment, no proof of identification. Nothing. 

Were you kidnapped? No, that didn’t make any sense. If you had been kidnapped, why were you left alone on a shoreline? Robbery was a possibility, although you began to doubt that theory when you confirmed that you still had your jewelry. So if robbery and kidnapping were checked off the list, then why were you here? 

The last thing you could recall… you couldn’t remember. What were you doing before? You knew who you were, where you were from, but you couldn’t remember what you were doing last! 

Just before the situation could fully sink in, out of the corner of your eye you noticed blue. Not of the water, no, this was a bright blue glowing like the stars. And there were two. In the distance, two small flickering fires of blue moved along the edge of the forest. The pair shifted and floated not too far off the ground, dancing within the shadows, but seeming to grow further and further away. As if wherever the source was coming from, was traversing deeper into the woods and away from the shoreline. 

Looking around once again, you saw you were alone. There was no evidence of civilization whether it be some type of building, a pathway, or a sign to conveniently point you in the right direction. All around you was the ocean, shoreline, and the forest. You could travel in one direction and hope you either happened across another person, or you could wait patiently in hopes someone would come searching for you. Of course, there was the riskier option of following the lights and pray it was a person and not something else. Currently, your options were limited. 

Not quite particular to the prospect of starving or freezing out in the open, you quickly scrambled up and chose to follow the lights. Your sneakers allowed you to run across the sand without sinking down, as you attempted to keep up with the lights. You didn’t dare speak out, because you still didn’t know what exactly the lights were! 

In any other situation, your fear would have never allowed you to just blindly follow two glowing blue lights in the middle of nowhere at night. However, this wasn’t exactly a normal situation. You’ve read stories of people foolishly pursuing strange lights which often lead them to either a wondrous new thing or a terrible fate. You could only hope that it wasn’t the latter in your case. 

By the time you had reached where the sand became grass, you were out of breath, but still forced yourself to carry on. Lingering behind the blue lights, as you kept your breathing quiet and remained cautious of any branch should you step on it and it make a noise. 

Speeding up, the ground became a bit easier to walk on when it was mainly grass and dirt. The lights kept low, visible in the tall grass that brushed against your knees as whatever it was weaved between trees at a swift and easy pace. As you got closer, you could verify that your eyes had been correct earlier. It was two blue flames. Two blue flames and a cat! 

It was the strangest cat you ever saw, with blue flames that came from within its two little ears. From behind it, all you could make out was its gray fur in desperate need of a wash and paws slightly damp with mud. The tail at the end of it was most peculiar, black and forked like a trident. Well, even if it was the strangest little kitty, it was much of a relief to see it was a creature that you could recognize. 

“Wait…! Come here, come here, it’s alright.” You gained the courage to speak, finding your voice as you attempted to catch the kitten’s attention and beckon it closer. Even if it was feral, maybe it could lead you somewhere. Feral cats had to eat, and some liked to rummage around the bins in the alleyways back home. Perhaps this one was the same. 

As you reached forward, the cat screamed in fright. It screeched, hair raising along its spine and tail standing straight in alarm. It didn’t scream like a cat, it screamed like a person with a voice, which in turn caused you to reel back and scream too. 

It did indeed have the face of a cat, but its eyes were highly unusual. Blue. Entirely blue, the same shades as the fire from its ears. The sclera of its eye was a light blue instead of white, and its pupil was like a cat’s, but the iris was an unusual shade of chathams blue. You had never seen anything with eyes like those! 

“Who are you?! What are ya doing following me?” 

It spoke. It spoke in a grating little voice that caused you to flinch. The feline looked just as tense as you were, as it stood on the tips of its claws with its back arched, staring up at you with those wide eyes. You half expected the thing to hiss at you. 

“A… A talking cat!” You exclaimed in pure shock, as you scanned your surroundings, in case someone else didn’t emerge from behind a tree and claim to be the voice you heard. But you had clearly seen the cat’s mouth moving and heard the words come from its mouth. Was this some sort of dream? It had to be. I mean, waking up alone in a foreign place, having no memory of why you were here, encountering a cat with fire ears and the ability to talk, it had to be just a dream! “Okay, I’ll play along.” Or at least, that was your current logic, as you willingly deluded yourself for your own peace of mind. 

“I’m not a cat!” The creature hissed, its back arching a little higher as if it were an attempt to intimidate you. It was difficult to be intimidated when it was very cat-like and small. “I’m Grim! Remember the name, because you’re looking at the next great archon! Now, I already asked who you were and why you were following me, are you not gonna answer that?” 

Taking a step back to not loom over him, you regarded him carefully, deciding not to press about the archon thing, whatever that was. “Oh, um… My name is (Y/n). It’s very nice to meet you, Mister Grim.” 

The-not-cat creature paused, slowly sitting as a content little grin curled below his whiskers. Grim preened, sounding much less threatening, “A human with manners and brains! Aha! Finally, someone regards me with the respect I deserve! Although I prefer Master Grim, but I’ll let Mister slide. I’ll take it easy on you. Now, stick 'em up, human!” 

Puzzled, you slowly did as he commanded, although you weren’t sure why Grim wanted your hands up. It’s not like you had to obey, but you did. 

Grim regarded your appearance and attire, scoffing as he straightened his posture to stand on his back two paws and walk like a person. “What bumbling little village are you from where you dress like that? Don’t tell me you’re so poor you can’t even afford proper clothes!” 

Furrowing your eyebrows, you continued standing with your hands up as you looked down at your own outfit. Yeah, it wasn’t anything amazing, but you wouldn’t say you looked poor. Slightly wounded, you looked down at the little feline creature. “What’s wrong with my clothes…?” 

“Everything!” The creature exclaimed as he gestured to multiple aspects of your current wear. “You’re practically begging to get all banged up and scratched with all that skin showing out here, and those pockets are too small to hold anything of value! Don’t tell me someone already got to you first and robbed you?!” 

Robbed? Yeah, that was the theory first, but it seemed like that was no longer the case. That wasn’t what happened to you. “Uhh… no? I don’t think so? Why?” 

“Because this is a robbery! I’m robbing you! Catch up!” Grim groaned in exasperation, no longer pointing a little claw at you. When his eyes went over you once again and he didn’t see anything of real value, he grumbled and averted his gaze down at the dirt. 

Peering down at the creature, you slowly lowered your arms back to your side as you tilted your head at the thing. It kicked a stray pebble before plopping down with his head hung low, only its ear twitched in response as you responded softly, ��Sorry, I don’t even have anything on me.” 

“Yeah, I can already tell, duh.” Grim mumbled, not stirring even as you slowly sat across from him, just inches away from where he had flopped down. Not even raising his head, he mumbled bitterly, “What sorta stupid human are you?” 

“The lost sort.” Seeing that the small creature didn’t look about ready to sink its claws into the flesh of your leg, you took the moment while he was tame to explain your precarious situation. How you woke up here, can’t recall the events that led to your arrival, and had no idea where in the world you were. 

The entire time, his little ear occasionally twitched, but he didn’t really move. Grim sat like a person, his little paws sticking out as he kept his head down. It felt odd to be talking to a fiery feline, his blue flames flickering and illuminating the small clearing of the forest you two were sitting in. 

“So… what you’re trying to say is that you ended up here and you have no idea how?” When he lifted his head slightly, his eyes focused intensely on your hands. Despite claiming to not be a cat, Grim acted a lot like one, as he pawed at your palms. 

Tentatively, you nodded, letting the feline do as he pleased, as long as it didn’t involve his claws. You even unfurled your fingers further, just so your palms were more open. “I was wondering if you could tell me where we are…?” 

“Heartslabyul, obviously.” He answered, as if it was common sense. Well, for you, you didn’t recognize the name at all, which made you a bit nervous. It must be very very far from home, wherever you were. There was no time to even ask for clarification, because he pawed at your palm with more force. “What’s that on your hand? Is that––?” 

“My hand…?” 

Turning your hand over, your fingers trembled when you noticed a spot in the very center of your palm. At first you thought you somehow got pierced by something, but by Grim’s light, it became clear that it wasn’t some puncture wound. It was a mark on the flesh, along the creases and line of your skin, there was an oval shaped symbol. Intricate, but far too small to really make out all the details. Whatever it was, it wasn’t plain old regular ink like someone tattooed you while you were unconscious. This mark was glowing. It was very dim, but still, glowing black. 

Any fear you had been containing, escaped when your breath hitched as you turned over your other palm and saw the same thing. Inhaling sharply, your growing alarm became evident by your tone and expression as your voice raised a few decibels, as unsteady as your shaking hands. “M-My hands–– I don’t know what’s on my hands! I didn’t even know it was there! I swear, I don’t know what this is or what’s going––” It was dawning on you all at once, and you couldn’t delude yourself further that this was a dream especially when you felt a tiny prick on your flesh. Pain. You could feel the prick of pain. This wasn’t a dream.

“Why are you panicking? This is a good thing! A great thing! Count yourself blessed, mortal!” Grim cut off your panic, using one of his little pointed claws to trace the oval-marking without drawing blood. Any semblance of disappointment was dashed, and his grin returned as he explained, “This is a symbol from the gods! They’re very rare, not many of the archons use emblems anymore.” There was that word again: archon. “Wayyyy long ago, they used to be mainly used when an archon picked a mortal to use as a vessel and took over their body. Then the body would get a mark sorta like this one! That, or it was used as a branding kinda deal if a mortal owed something to an archon. Weird, I don’t even recognize that emblem. It’s not from me, I mean, I can’t do this yet, but one day I will! So, which archon do you belong to?” 

“I’m gonna get possessed?!” 

The feline scoffed, pouting as you quickly withdrew your hands that were shaking so terribly. “You don’t know why you even have that?” 

You wanted to cry. “I don’t know! I already told you…!” What kind of existence was this, where you lived your mundane life, ended up here lost and afraid, only to get told that you may be possessed by an archon? “I don’t even know what you mean by archon––” 

“WHAT?!” Yowling, he immediately jumped up onto his two back paws as he exclaimed in utter disbelief, almost offended, “You don’t know about the archons? That wasn’t just some wacky made-up story about how you ended up in this dump?” 

When you shook your head, you sniffled, trying desperately to keep your calm, but it seemed almost impossible in this impossible predicament. 

“Okay, okay, since I feel so bad for you, I’ll tell you. Then one day, if you’re still around, you can proudly say that you met the Great Archon Grim! You can brag like, I knew him! Isn’t Grim so cool? I might even remember you and accept your prayers, you can thank me now!” 

At his smug little expression, you relented, as you weren’t exactly in the position to make demands. “Alright, alright… Thank you, Great Grim. And I’ll thank you again if you can explain maybe a little more to me? Please?” 

“Fine, fine, if you insist.” Crossing his arms, he basked in the attention, appearing quite pleased with himself as he began, “Let’s see… here, I’ll put it so simple that even a baby can understand! There are seven nations, and each one has a god. These gods are super-powerful! I’m talking crazy-strong! Like they can level mountains and raise the sea type of miracles with their crazy magic!” 

Right now, you had no idea what to do or how to get home. However, if magic existed in this realm, then surely there would be some way to get back. There had to be, for your sanity. 

“Buuuuuut, I don’t recognize the emblem on your hand at all. It could be one of them? Chances are you probably won’t get possessed, because let’s be honest, what kinda archon would want your body? But, maybe if you pray to one of the archons, you’ll get an answer. But the chances of that are pretty much zero, because only idiots rely on the gods since they almost never answer. You’d have a better chance trying to actually meet with one of them and try to talk to them in person, but good luck with that!” 

Immediately burying your face in your hands, you groaned, shaking your head in misery. This was a world of magic and archons, things that were so unfamiliar, and you were talking to a demonic little cat! A cat was telling you all this! “This can’t be happening, this can’t be real––” 

Grim listened to your murmurings, blinking as he watched your mind unraveling. His little blue eyes glowed in the darkness along with the flickering light of his ears like dim candlelight. Sitting across from you in the middle of the field, his tail slid an inch to the side before tilting his head. Fireflies emerging from the underbrush floated gently, dancing in the breeze around them. Comically, one of the flying critters in particular levitated above his head, lighting up like a light bulb as an idea came to mind. 

“You know, we’re actually not too far from the capital of Heartslabyul.” A toothy grin took root on his short snout. “It’s this hugeee city where the god of pyro lives in this giant palace! One day, I’m gonna live in a palace ten times bigger than that one! My worshippers will build it for me, brick by brick, a towering temple that reaches the very heavens! It’ll make that palace look puny in comparison, but I’m getting ahead of myself.” Temporarily distracted by the fireflies, he didn’t even notice when you slowly lifted your head to look at him. He was far too entranced, pawing and trying to catch the light in his paws. 

“A city…?” A city was a good thing, wasn’t it? When you thought of a city, you thought of towering buildings and bright lights, but it’s entirely possible that cities weren’t the same here. Whenever here truly was. Either way, cities had a lot of people. People could help. “How far is it?” 

Swinging his paw through the air, he managed to hit a firefly that burst into a tiny flame. That was not a normal bug. It was an actual fire-fly. “I dunno, like… a few hours? The point is, I’m willing to offer you, pathetic lost sad human, the offer of a lifetime!” Hopping up onto his back paws, he waltzed right up to you and stood proudly with his little arms crossed in front of the white puff of fur at his chest. “I tried staking my claim there in their main city, but I was kicked out! Can you believe it? Me! They threw me out as if I was nothing! But they can’t keep me out forever! Here’s my amazing offer: if you help me sneak back in, I’ll help you… ah… what were you looking for again? I already forgot.” 

Furrowing your eyebrows in disbelief, you replied in quiet distress, “Uh… a way home…?” 

“Oh! Right! That.” Clearing his throat, he resumed, “Swear to help me sneak back in, and I’ll lead you straight to their capital where you can look for the Pyro Archon to ask about a way home! I even know a shortcut so you don’t have to walk all the way. Now, say thank you.” 

Grimacing, but with little choice as it was either follow the eccentric talking cat or remain lost and possibly rot in the wilderness of a foreign world, you replied unsteadily, “Thank you…?” 

Little white fangs poked out as he grinned, and darted into the tall grass. “Good enough for me! Come on, human, if we want to catch that short cut, we gotta do it before the sun comes up!” 

There was hardly any time to register what was going on or how quickly this was all going by. Right away you had to jump to your feet, stumbling after the feline. You could make out his path by the glow of his ears and the shifting of the grass as he occasionally jumped in the air to smack at the fire-flies. “H-Hold on, where are we even going?!” 

Grim smacked at another fire-fly as you were careful to avoid even touching them. He chased away the glowing embers, creating a path for you to follow in his trail. “The nearby port! Where else? We got a one-way ticket to the capital and that’s on the King’s ship!” 

Jogging to keep up with his quick pace leading to dense forest between the shores and woods, you did your utmost best to remain in his sight. It would be terrifying to be lost here at night alone. “I thought you said you were thrown out of the city! Why would their royalty let you on his own ship?” 

“Because he doesn’t know, obviously!” Grim paused at the edge of the meadow just before the trees to let you catch up, and he offered a confident little smirk. “We’re sneaking onto the King’s ship that’ll take us straight to Chesswick.”

[roanofarcc]

superman/clark kent x shy!reader who’s a blue lantern (no mask) and they’re best friends. They’re having a flying race and it’s always a tie.

A TIE

pairing. superman/clark kent x shy!reader

summary. you were almost certain superman could beat you in a race, and yet, every time it ended in a tie. you started to suspect he was doing on purpose.

warnings. I know next to nothing about DC (but I may be turning a new leaf after this movie!) so please excuse any inaccuracies! reader is a blue lantern.

word count. 500+ | masterlist (coming soon)

When your feet landed on the soft grass of the park, you stared narrowly at the famed Superman, who touched down in sync with you, the glow of the midday sun making his bright smile blinding.

"Looks like we have another tie on our hands," he said.

You weren't sure when your non-mission-related flights started involving Superman. He had a habit of simply appearing with kind eyes and a smile, making it impossible to turn him away.

He possessed a certain charm that made your quiet nature break just slightly. You weren't a person of many words, a quiet force thanks to the ring on your finger.

Flying cleared your head, set yourself back right after missions or hard days surviving as a civilian. You started to suspect Superman felt similar. From stolen glances during your races, you noticed his relaxed features, like the breeze washed away the worry of day-to-day existence.

Through slightly narrowed eyes, you couldn't help but question him. You were powerful in your own right, but it was well-known that Superman exceeded the power of many metahumans.

"Another tie," you said, fingers adjusting your suit out of nervous habit.

Superman cocked his head to the side. Even without using his laser vision, his gaze was intense. He was observant, maybe too observant in your opinion.

"You sound skeptical."

A laugh fell from your lips, light and quiet as you met his gaze. Your chest fluttered, something between the constant fizzle of your nerves that not even superpowers could cure, and something else.

"A bit," you said.

"Why?"

"You're faster; I know that you are." You had seen in action, cape billowing in a red blur as he raced from threat to threat. When a creature found its way into the city and started attacking people left and right, you watched as he saved a bus full of school children from being crushed before racing clear to the other side of town to save a dog that had gotten loose in the chaos. In the blink of an eye, he moved, saving everything from children to animals before jumping back into the fight.

Though you were in the midst of your own duty to protect the city, you knew how quickly Superman could ping-pong between threats. And yet, every time you raced, it always ended in a tie.

"If I were faster, then I'd win," he said simply. "I think you're selling yourself short. You and I? We're evenly matched."

"It won't hurt my feelings, you know?" You didn't need to be the strongest or the fastest. That wasn't why you took the oath of the Blue Lantern. You wanted to help people, to bring hope, even if only to one person.

Superman didn't budge, broad shoulders shrugging. "I don't know what you're talking about." His gaze flickered off of you, something else catching his attention. "Duty calls," he said. "But we'll rematch. We can't have a tie without a rematch."

You couldn't help but smile. It started to sound like an excuse to see you again, a reason for the two of you to be together.

"You're on," you replied.

With a grin, he took off, a blur of red and blue disappearing into the clouds.

[thatonegrimm]

The Manager’s Guide to Demon Boybands: A Witch’s Oath

Clear Skies, Subtle Lies

Chapter13/Chapter14/Chapter15

Outdoor Fan Shoot — Early Afternoon

The skies over Seoul had been clear all morning.

A blessing, according to the shoot director. Perfect conditions—sun-dappled clouds, a mild breeze, the kind of soft light that required minimal editing. No filters, no fuss. Just nature doing the heavy lifting. A rooftop garden had been rented for the occasion, styled in florals and delicate pastels. Paper parasols leaned artfully against benches. A vintage watering can was placed just off-center. Someone had fluffed the hydrangeas.

Everything looked easy.

She didn’t relax.

She never did.

Her clipboard had already been flipped through twice. The call sheet had no typos, the prop checklist was intact, water bottles were distributed evenly, and a small, discreet pouch of glamour stabilizers sat at the bottom of her tote. Backup stabilizers. In case anyone’s charm cracked mid-pose. She wasn’t expecting it. But that wasn’t the point. She never expected a problem. She prepared for it anyway.

Her earpiece crackled faintly—then nothing.

Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that meant someone somewhere was slacking—or something else was listening.

Beneath the neat layering of her protective wards, she felt it. A subtle shift in the air, like silk catching on a nail. Her wards didn’t buckle. But they rippled—just once. Like something had brushed against them, curious or lost or both.

Something tugged at the edge of her field.

Not strong.

Not focused.

But insistent.

Storm magic.

Wild. Untethered. Probably accidental. She had seen it before—new mages playing with ambient weather without understanding how to shut it down. This wasn’t cast with intent. No direction, no structure. But that made it worse. Magic like that had no anchor. No aim.

And unfocused magic always hit someone.

She moved without urgency, turning slowly as if checking her schedule notes. The click of her pen covered the subtle shift in her expression as her eyes scanned the space.

The rooftop was quiet. Stylists fixing hair. The boys joking softly by the hydrangeas. Nothing overt. But the air shimmered in strange ways near the metal railing. The sound of distant traffic dulled like it had been muffled. And across the rooftop’s edge—just beyond the safety line—a tall antenna leaned into the sky from the building opposite, vibrating faintly with static.

Leyline interference.

Not unusual.

Not safe.

Her gaze narrowed.

This wasn’t a direct attack. There was no hex. No curse signature. It was more like someone had dropped a live wire into a puddle and walked away. Careless. Dangerous. Someone had stirred the sky and left it to unravel on its own.

She reached into her tote, fingers closing around a small glass tin. The lid clicked open with the soft snap of habit. Inside: mirror-dust, finely ground and faintly glowing, like powdered glass under moonlight.

She dipped her fingers inside.

The shimmer clung to her skin. Not bright. Not visible to anyone untrained. But enough.

Enough to bend stray magic away.

To hold the weather at bay.

She exhaled slowly, grounding herself.

She didn’t need a spell circle.

She was the circle.

---------------------

The shoot was just finishing when the temperature dropped.

Not in a slow, creeping way. Not in the way shade might slide over a rooftop or a breeze might curl through flower petals. It dropped like something had cut the sky open and let the chill spill out.

Romance stood near the flower cart, clothed in loose white linen like a Regency ghost caught mid-dramatic exit. His hand draped over a bouquet of baby’s breath and garden roses, held in the least natural way possible—as if it had personally offended his concept of masculinity.

“Hold it softer,” the photographer called.

Romance smirked. “I am holding it softly. This is my softest.”

Behind the potted rosebush, Baby had already finished his shots and was stealthily peeling open a second snack bag. He crouched behind the hydrangeas like an idol in exile, popping honey-almond clusters with the skill of someone who knew exactly where the cameras weren’t.

Jinu stood at the edge of the set, scanning the pose list like it was a war plan. His brow was furrowed, not with worry, but with the exacting concentration of someone trying to predict five outcomes at once and eliminate four.

Mystery leaned against the trellis.

Silent. Half-shadowed. Present in body, distant in thought.

It was Abby who noticed first.

He was lounging near a rack of pastel cardigans, eyes tracking the sky with casual curiosity—until the hair on his arms lifted.

“Hey,” he called, squinting upward. “That cloud looks like it wants to fight.”

She turned so fast her earpiece shifted.

The wind had changed.

Not just direction—intention.

She felt it hit her wards like a shoulder bump in a crowded hallway. Not malicious. But not passive either. Something conjured this. Something without finesse. And now the sky was bending.

The clouds above them didn’t roll—they tilted.

The pressure system snapped sideways in a way no natural storm should. A low rumble followed, not the kind that heralded thunder but the kind that echoed wrong in the bones. Too dry. Too early. Too much.

This wasn’t weather. This was summoning.

She had five seconds.

She dropped the clipboard.

Not carelessly. Not in panic. The motion was fluid, deliberate, like a stone dropped into still water.

She stepped forward, one foot grounding her against the magical disruption, and flicked her fingers once, clean and practiced.

A ripple shimmered along the rooftop perimeter—just for a moment. The crew didn’t notice it. But she did. So did one other.

The edge of her ward flared like stretched glass. She drew her fingers low and curved them upward, pulling the boundary into shape like threading a bubble around the rooftop.

The dome sealed.

The wind hit.

It slammed against the invisible barrier with the force of a car crash—and shattered.

Rain followed, sharp and fast, slicing through the air like silver needles—until it met the ward line. Each drop flattened, skewed, and scattered sideways. The entire rooftop stayed dry.

Completely, unnaturally dry.

The photographer blinked, visibly shaken. “That… passed fast?”

Jinu frowned and looked skyward. “We didn’t get a single drop.”

Romance raised both arms as if conducting a weather symphony. “Maybe I scared the storm off,” he said, grinning.

“No,” Baby said, deadpan, not even pausing in his chewing.

Mystery tilted his head toward you.

Just a little.

She calmly knelt, picked up her clipboard, and dusted off the cover like nothing had happened. One page flipped in the wind, but she caught it before it could fly.

“Clear skies for the next hour,” she said, adjusting a line on her schedule with smooth, even handwriting.

The stylist muttered something about Seoul weather being weird lately and moved on.

The photographer nodded and clapped. “Alright, next setup! Romance with the tulips, Mystery on deck.”

The shoot resumed.

But the energy had shifted.

Not because the storm passed.

Because something else had been held at bay.

---------------------

Later — Post-Shoot Debrief

They gathered beneath one of the parasols that hadn’t blown away.

The rooftop looked picture-perfect again—petals scattered in curated chaos, the props now slightly sun-faded, the air sticky with late afternoon haze. The stylist crew was already packing up the floral arch. A few assistants chased down a rogue makeup sponge that had somehow made it all the way to the neighboring balcony.

The Saja Boys sat in a half-circle, sipping lukewarm sodas and looking sun-dazed, as if the shoot had drained them of both moisture and functioning brain cells.

Romance sprawled with the kind of ease that said he believed the day had gone well because he was there. He stretched his arms over his head, shirt riding up just enough to be strategic, and yawned theatrically.

“So,” he began, voice syrupy-smooth. “Are we gonna talk about how we were dry in a literal monsoon?”

“Microclimate,” Jinu replied immediately, tone clipped like he’d been waiting for this.

Romance rolled his eyes. “Bro, we were the only microclimate on the block.”

“Studio warding?” Jinu offered, less confident now.

“No way,” Abby said, pointing with his soda can. “There were like five real estate signs out front. That building doesn’t even have working elevators.”

“I tripped on a loose tile,” Baby added, licking powdered sugar off his thumb. “Place is haunted. Or bankrupt. Maybe both.”

Romance sat up, now interested. “Okay, but like—no one flinched. Not even her. Wind slaps the ward, rain hits an invisible wall, and she’s just... adjusting her clipboard like it’s Tuesday.”

There was a collective pause.

Baby squinted. “You think she cast something?”

Jinu scoffed. “She’s our manager, not a weather witch.”

Romance leaned forward, voice dropping to mock-dramatic levels. “Main. Character. Energy.”

Abby chuckled. “Unbothered. Powerful. Slightly terrifying.”

“Sounds about right,” Jinu muttered.

“She did have that jar of glittery powder,” Baby said thoughtfully. “Mirror-dust. That’s not in a manager starter pack.”

“Could be from Olive Young,” Jinu argued weakly.

“Jinu” Romance said, utterly serious, “nothing from Olive Young stops rain.”

None of them noticed the slight shift in the breeze. The way the air bent just around their circle, like something still lingered in the leftover edges of your spell.

Mystery hadn’t spoken once.

He sat with his hands folded, gaze angled just slightly away from the group—toward the other end of the rooftop, where you stood near the edge, phone in hand, texting one-handed while tucking her clipboard under her arm.

She wasn’t looking at them.

But she was listening.

He could tell by the way her fingers paused, mid-message. Just long enough to register the conversation.

Then she resumed typing, unbothered. Or pretending to be.

---------------------

That Evening — Your Journal

The scent of lemon balm lingered in the air, fresh from the protective incense she’d burned at the apartment window. Her hair was still faintly scented with ozone. She didn’t bother to change out of her work clothes. She just sat at her desk, kicked off her shoes, and opened her journal.

The page welcomed her like an old habit. Pen already in hand. Words waiting.

Journal Entry — Rooftop Fan Shoot: Weather Incident

Residual storm magic detected mid-afternoon. Source: likely student-tier conjuration, unsupervised. Unstable. Not directed. Drawn through leyline rupture—unanchored pulse near nearby broadcast antenna. Wind pressure reached threshold. Glamour disruption potential: high. Deflected using mirror-dust perimeter shell. No glamour break. No staff exposure. Crew unaware. Saja Boys—partial suspicion. Romance: vocal curiosity. Jinu: dismissive, but watchful. Baby: inquisitive. Possibly intuitive. Abby: uncertain. Protective instinct triggered. Mystery: observant. Too much. Will need distraction.

She tapped her pen once on the edge of the page. Then, deliberately, underlined two phrases they’d used:

“Main character energy.” “Unbothered.”

A smile tugged at her lips.

Small. Sharp. Satisfied.

Maybe just this once, she’d let this myth build itself.

Let them believe she was something dramatic and mysterious. Something powerful but safe—on their side. That belief might keep them out of deeper truths for just a little longer.

She closed the journal softly and reached for her tea.

Outside, thunder rolled again—distant this time. Natural.

She didn’t flinch.

She was ready.

AN: Back to our regularly scheduled program. No weather apps were harmed in the making of this chapter. However, several parasols were emotionally compromised, a bouquet was held in an aggressively unnatural way, and one (1) manager may or may not have outmaneuvered a minor sky-based apocalypse without spilling her tea. Not saying she controls the weather. But also not not saying that.

Taglist: @poem-bee @gremlinartstudio @wantstoliveinfantasy @lovely-maryj @buggaboobich @idkokfu @osball @tenaciouskittenpuff @venommie @honey-and-sweetdreams @luna-looniesblog @lyunsafebubble @tulnukaz @levifiance @mysteris-things @aerissblog @anxiousskylar @downbadgirlypoo @misdollface @renchai @rithalie-sideblog @tsukimoon-chan @reixtsu @ghostiiess 

[asoftsighh]

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ joel miller x reader ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

joel helps you when you hit your head - 751 words

You’re trying to catch your breath when your foot catches on something, an uneven step or stray debris. It doesn’t matter, because all you see next is your hands in front of you, helplessly reaching out to stop your fall. 

It doesn’t help. 

Instead, the world tilts, your vision blurring as your head hits the concrete beneath you. Somewhere nearby, a voice is calling out your name — deep, frantic, but already sounding distant. 

Your head throbs, the pain hot and sharp, spreading outward in waves. You try to move and groan, the small movement sending waves of pain through your skull. 

“Hey. Hey, no, don’t- don’t move. Just stay still.”

The voice is familiar. Gruff. Joel. 

You blink, slow and heavy, vision clearing. He finally comes into view — hovering over you with worry etched into every line and groove of his face. 

“Jesus,” he mutters, his thumb brushing against your throbbing temple. His touch is gentle, barely even there. “You hit your head pretty hard, honey.”

You have some vague thought about how the pet name would’ve made you blush in better conditions. None of that now, not with broken concrete slabs between your back and your backpack nor the bright sun beating down on your both. 

You try to say something, but all that comes out is a pained, weak noise. Your tongue feels leaden, your jaw wired shut. 

“You okay to move?” He asks, his hand dropping away from you. The sun halos around his head, each second of brightness sends another pulse of pain within you. You give up entirely and shut your eyes, nodding in response. 

You suffer through the next minute. The moment Joel gets you on your feet, your arm over his shoulders, a rush of nausea uncoils in your gut, like a fire spreading. You clamp a hand over your mouth unnecessarily, your breakfast remaining in its place. Through slitted eyes, you watch the ground as it changes from concrete to dirty tile, from mid-day sun to beneath a roof.

“There you go, come on,” he murmurs gently, as if coaxing a frightened horse. He eases your backpack off, another arm around your middle until your back hits a wall and your butt meets the floor. He joins you shortly after, kneeling in front of you. With one calloused but gentle hand, he holds your chin, turning it to look at your wound. Your eyes flutter shut with the contact.

You swallow against the nausea clawing at your throat. Your head and ears feel like they’ve been filled with cotton, muffling everything slightly so that you hear your pulse over anything else. You open your eyes again. 

Joel’s face is close, brows knit together in a familiar frown. His hand is warm, now on your chin. 

“I’m okay,” you whisper, jaw loosening. 

He shakes his head, brows somehow furrowing deeper. “No you ain’t.” He abandons your jaw to turn for his bag, fetching his canister of water. You shiver in his absence. He holds it to your lips, helping you lean your head back just enough to swallow a few mouthfuls of water. 

“Lucky you ain’t bleeding,” he says, his voice soft. “Probably just a concussion. We’ll get you back when you can move again.”

You swallow the remains of the water, easing your head back against the cool wall, stretching out your trembling legs in front of you. “What about the patrol route?” Your voice is low, but he seems to hear you just fine.

“Don’t worry bout that,” he reassures. 

You glance over at him, trying to ignore the pounding of your skull. “But someone has to do it. This trail hasn’t been checked in almost-”

Joel gives you a look, one that shuts you up. It’s not unkind, only firm.

“Don't care,” he says, face and voice both solid. “Ain’t nothing more important than you being in one piece. No use doing the route when you’re falling over, sick.”

You manage a small smile, one that barely tugs at the corners of your mouth. “You’re so stubborn, Miller.”

He doesn’t answer, simply watches you like there’s nowhere he’d rather be. His hands find one of yours, cradling it between them like some valuable object. One that he’d rather hurt himself than see hurt.

You squeeze his hand, barely a twitch of your fingers, a faint breath of laughter escaping your lips. “You scare me when you’re like this.”

Joel's thumb brushes over your knuckles.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I scare myself, too.”

criticism is welcome as long as it’s kind ✮⋆˙

i’m very new to writing ✮⋆˙

[cvnt4him]

I haven't posted in a long time but have baby daddy!deku for his birthday it's bad but...enjoy its the last you'll hear from me/hj

You n izuku stayed close after the divorce mostly because of the daugter you had. You coparent your daughter pretty well, with izuku working as a part time pro hero mostly every night, he only ever got to see his daughter on the weekends.

You and izuku ended your relationship due to the both of you getting in arguments more than normal. Izuku tried to see the bright side but you didn't feel as if it were right to be arguing this much. You felt your happiness fleeting with each second the two of you stayed together. It wasn't healthy for either of you to stay in a failing marriage nor was it okay for your daughter.

Over the years you and izuku have been kinder to each other. With time apart you realize how much you've missed having some company. You have your daughter for majority of the time so it gets even worse when she visits her dad. You've grown a bit.... codependent. It's crazy to think that you get terrible frightened to see your daughter walk out of your front door; a never ending fear that she may never return. A thought that haunts the back of your mind more than you'd like to admit..

It was another Friday night, izuku had come to pick your daughter up, your sweet and happy girl running into her father's arms. Sweet sounds of laughter leave the two as he scoops her up in his arms swinging her around and holding her tightly as he chuckled loudly. Seeing the two of them brought a warmth to your heart, a smile forming on your face at the precious sight.

Izuku couldn't help but to look up at you and see, he missed your face terribly so. Your sweet smile and your contagious laughter. He missed you cooking for him and lying beside him at night, holding him and telling him everything will be okay. Like youve done time and time again whenever he needed it most.

You were still as gorgeous as ever to him. The way you leaned against the wall watching them, his eyes lingering on your body for a little longer than they should have. Izukus attention was completely on you, his daughter telling him about her days at school while he nodded his head. You notice his eyes staying on you for a bit too long and tense underneath his gaze. You haven't exactly been....intamate in a while. Feeling his eyes on you like this, your thighs squeezing together as his eyes trail back up to your own.

He looked far sexier than you remembered. Izuku was always a strapping man, strong bulky and nice with a sweet baby face and doe eyes. He was perfect, truly. Until he wasn't, thinking about the way he'd treated you while together, how he'd leave you might after night so he could sit with katsuki and listen to stories he'd tell about his patrol and all the villains he'd fight. Izuku wasn't always able to live out his full dream of being a hero like he was now.

It was unintentional, sure. He never meant to leave you alone for so many nights. He hated when he'd stay at work late because he was unhappy or felt you deserved better. What's worse was he never told you how he felt. After the divorce, that was that. You both agreed to shared terms and...parted ways.

You wouldn't lie, you'd wondered who izuku had been with after you. You've seen news stories and other things on social media about him and his love life. It always upset you, it's not like you were trying to find these things, they were always prone to finding you.

Izuku stood to his feet clearing his throat, he gave you a weak smile before taking a step closer. His breath was shaky and he didn't quite mnow what to say to you. Your conversations were always brief but this time .. something felt different.

" Hey.."

"..Hi."

You both looked at each other with more longing than either of you intended. Your lips snuck itself between your teeth as you lightly gnawed on it, izuku noticed the way your thighs were squeezing together while you looked at him. He knew you, your body. He knew exactly what you wanted from him, even if you were too proud to admit it yourself.

“ hey uh, sweetheart, why don't you go finish packing and let me and mommy here have a chat , hm?”

" but I am done packing.”

Izuku turns back to you with weary eyes, you didn't know what he was doing but for some reason you knew exactly what to say.

“ hun, why don't you just get ready for bed, you and daddy will stay tonight and head back tomorrow.”

You daughter hummed to herself before agreeing, with her backpack on her back she slipped back to her room leaving you and izuku in your living room. You didnt know exactly what to do now..you turned back to face him, he gave you another smile this one more fond and holding more meaning than his last.

You sigh to yourself, unsure exactly what this meant for the both of you. Your head was spinning and you hated the way you felt..the way your body felt because of him. You still held some sort of disdain for him but....you wanted him more than you'd like to admit and he seen rihht through it.

No words were left to be said and with that, izuku pulled you into a heated kiss. His lips smashing against yours reigniting a feeling the both of you'd felt before. You moan into his mouth as you pull him impossibly closer to you by his shirt collar, heavy breaths leaving the both of you as you led him to your bedroom.

Things were moving impossibly fast, he swiftly shut your door with his foot before removing your clothes along with his own. He laid you down on your bed placing messy kisses all over your body. His hands roaming and touching as much of your hot skin as he could, the feeling of his rough and calloused hands claiming every inch of your body like he has before, you couldn't help the sudden rush of feelings you felt for him.

You hated how this might affect all the work you'd done to get over him, but just for right now you'd like to forget everything, and you knew he could give that to you.

His lips trailed down your tummy to your thighs, small mewls left you as you felt his hot breath across your body. His lidded eyes staring up at you while he placed gentle kisses on the inside of your thighs, his breath trickling down impossibly close to your clothed cunt.

Your body jolted underneath his gentle touch, it always amazed you how he could go from a ravenous animal one moment and back to the sweetest thing the next.

He placed gentle kisses to your clothed cunt, his eyes fluttering shut as he inhaled your delectable scent through your panties. Your breath shuddered as your core ached for more, the sexual frustration you felt only growing with each kiss he pressed to you.

You groan at his teasing, a low chuckle emitting from him. He placed one last kiss to your thigh before removing your panties all together, his fingers gently brushed into your cunt with not much force a small sigh leaving your lips as he soon included his tongue.

It wasn't like you needed any help, you were already wet enough his fingers slipped right in with ease. His tomgue delving inside of you and tasting all of your sweet flavours once again, the shaky breath that left him fanning over you.

He tried his hardest to stay timid and calm, he wanted to keep it slow to show you he could still be sweet with you, even after all of this time. Your pitchy gasps as he softly made out with your pussy, his tongue swirled around your clit while his fingers moved in amd out of you at a nice slow pace.

The way you yanked at his hair and threw your head back, his gentle movements making your head spin. Your sweet sounds were like music to his ears, he couldn't take it anymore. He needed you, badly.

By the next morning he was holding your still sleeping girl and walking out your door with a bright smile as if he's just been rejuvenated. You give him a polite smile and plant a kiss on your daughters head waving as you shut the door behind them. You sigh heavily to yourself in disappointment, how could you have spent the night like this with your ex-husband.

This had so much potential to be an ACTUAL like series but like.....i haven't even finished diaries of spiderman or neighbors so..no😂😂🙏🏽 this is actually a draft from my notes app....from April.

[y2kuromi]

⟢ ┈ ❛ 𝗧𝗢𝗢 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗚 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗡𝗢𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗚𝗜𝗔 呪術廻戦

synopsis. your last summer together is buried in memories and spent grieving spring days you’re too young to be nostalgic for.

contents. sfw! fluff, with a smidge of angst. poly stsg x fem! reader. est rel ⇢ they’re dating. canon compliant. premature death arc. reader gets called pretty girl, wifey, sweets, baby & angel. melancholy slice of life. i’m not normal about them </3

the sky was a numbing bright blue tinted with the orange hues of the sun's rays. it was hot, sickeningly so, and the common room was stuffy despite the windows being open. you could barely move your limbs without being suffocated by the sticky heat.

the clock’s handles seemed to crawl lethargically across its dial. you were reclined on the tatami floor, head propped up against satoru's legs as you sighed loudly for what felt like the hundredth time in the last hour.

the blue eyed boy sat cross-legged in front of the only working fan, running a hand languidly through his soft white hair as he tapped absentmindedly at his phone's screen. his cheeks were flushed a light pink from the sun's warmth and beads of sweat clung to his skin.

he'd shrugged off his navy blue uniform jacket and discarded it somewhere on the common room’s couch. under the onslaught of the blistering heat sweat bled through the fabric of his white school shirt, highlighting the planes of his shoulders and abs.

his hair fell softly, framing his face and you swore his irises were glowing behind his sunglasses when you inevitably got lost in those pretty blues of his.

you were positive he was oblivious to your staring until the corner of his lips quirked upwards in a small smirk. “take a picture it’ll last longer”

“i wasn't even looking at you” you huffed, too sweltered to be embarrassed by the teasing grin that was plastered across his features as he directed his attention solely to you

“that's right sweets, you were staring” he chuckled, “i can’t say i blame you, i mean look at me, i'm drop dead gorgeous”

“i should've gone down to the konbini with shoko” you groaned, propping yourself up on your elbows in order to shoot him a well meaning glare. “or followed sugu and nanami on their mission this morning, anything’s better than being stuck here with you”

“aww don't say that, they wouldn't have wanted you to miss out on this view” the sunlight filtering in through the window cast a golden hue over his eyes. it took everything in your power not to melt under the intensity of his gaze.

“whatever helps you sleep at night” you sighed loftily, subsequently rolling your eyes. “it’s too hot for your nonsense, do you ever shut up?”

“nope! no can do” he said, sticking his tongue out childishly — the action only served to deepen the dimples carved in the apples of his cheeks. “if i did you'd be bored out of your mind”

“i am bored out of my mind” you sighed exasperatedly. you were beyond stultified, unable to do as little as focus on the book you'd been reading. the fan tousled its pages aimlessly while you stared up at your boyfriend the ceiling

“let’s do something fun then” satoru proposed. your brows furrowed as he pinched your cheek softly, rolling your flesh between his thumb and index finger.

“like what?” you narrowed your eyes at him. he couldn’t be up to any good, he never was. you wondered what the twisted idea whirring in his mind was now.

“skinny dipping” he grinned, you weren't opposed to going for a swim. it would be fun and relaxing. the thought of cool crystal clear water washing over your skin was very enticing but satoru was a handful. and you were too hot to deal with his antics.

“i’ll pass on that” you hummed, swatting his hands away from your face to no avail. he continued to trace shapes on the canvas of you skin

“and here i thought you’d jump at the opportunity to spend some time with me” he pouted.

it was suddenly a little harder to look him in the eyes without remembering how cold and lifeless they’d once been. a dull grey, unlike the familiar bright blue you’d fallen in love with

it was suddenly a little harder to breathe as you wiped beads of sweat off your forehead. this wasn’t your usual banter, his blue eyes were hazy as if a storm layed in wait in them. a storm that had been brewing, slowly, since his untimely awakening

“i am spending time with you silly” your voice was soft, like spun sugar, like the embroidered cushions lining suguru’s bed, like your gentle fingers carding through his unruly hair at night, “i’ve missed you. a lot”

satoru frowns. he was so much busier than he’d wished to be with the nonstop solo missions the higher ups threw at him. he’d barely seen you this summer. and he’d seen suguru even less. resentment, slow and bitter had begun to stir towards his newfound strength, and the responsibilities that came subsequently with it.

he’d missed so, so much this summer. it was still his favourite season. it would always be

he would never grow sick of the sun’s rays beating down on his skin. of picking pretty flowers to thread through suguru’s hair. of the late night konbini runs you went when yaga-sensei was fast asleep

but he resented his absence.

as strong as he was, as quickly as he dealt with each curse on his missions, he couldn’t be there for you, for suguru, no matter how much he wanted to be

“i know, i’m here now” he murmured, you held satoru’s gaze for a moment as he pressed a honeyed peck to your cheek with an over-exaggerated mwah

and you tried to mirror the smile splayed on his lips even though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was hard to bask in his warm presence when you’d never felt so alone.

( change was lonely, painfully so )

satoru was busy being the strongest. shoko spent her days toiling away in the infirmary with her dummies, she practically lived there. suguru had shrunken into a shell of himself — his olive skin had become milky and so, undeniably pale. his violet eyes were sunken and the dark bags hanging beneath them made your heart ache.

( change was heartbreaking to witness )

suguru seemed worse off after haibara’s funeral. he’d been holed up in his dorm more often than not. and when he could be bothered to come out his loose fitting uniform was creased. and he was quiet. quieter than he’d ever been.

he felt like a doppelgänger to you, a zombie

his trademark scent of coffee and jasmine pommade was long gone. his obsidian hair was unstyled and greasy. he was no longer the first to wake up and trail to the kitchen to make breakfast for everyone. he no longer reprimanded satoru for eating too much sugar, no longer scolded you for staying up too late.

but he was still your suguru, you still loved him

you missed him just as much as you missed your blue spring. you chewed on the inside of your cheek for a moment. it didn’t take a genius to tell something was bothering you, it was written all over your face.

“you okay?” satoru asked, brows furrowed in a way that made him look like the pouty teenager he once was, “i can practically hear you thinking”

“‘m thinking about suguru again” you confessed quietly, leaning into his touch and closing your eyes, “i know he’s fine but, i’m worried”

you weren’t entirely sure what yaga was thinking when he’d sent suguru and nanami to exorcize a second grade in kyoto.

it had been a year since the incident with the star plasma vessel and the furthest suguru had traveled for a mission was shinjuku, sending him to a completely different prefecture was throwing him in the deep end

“sugu’s a tough guy baby, he can hold his own” satoru said softly, brushing stray curls away from your forehead. you weren’t sure he actually believed that

his leg bounced subconsciously beneath your figure, and his bottom lip was caught beneath his pearly teeth. he sat quietly for a moment, considering what to make of the far away look on your face

“wanna speak to him? will that make you feel better?” he asks, dangling his phone mere inches away from your face. the matching phone charm you’d bought for the three of you reflects the suns rays beautifully

you nodded. satoru cracked his signature smile as he handed his phone to you. you knew his password by heart — it’s a combination of all your birthdays and he uses it for everything. your thumbs dart across his keyboard and his screen lights up with the photo shoko took at the beach last spring

you were grinning, sandwiched between your boyfriends and there was glitter-like sand dusting your cheeks. suguru’s eyes had so much more light in them and satoru looked like he was dreaming

( it’s so much better than his old screenie of that gravure idol )

his phone rang shrilly and you waited with bated breath for suguru to answer. relief washed over you when the line connected with a click and a familiar voice sent tremors of something akin to love rippling through your chest

“satoru?” you can hear the faint ruffling of his sleeve against the receiver as he holds his phone up to his ear

“close, it’s me ” your voice is soft, a mere whisper. talking to suguru often felt like taking timid steps towards a stray cat. making no sudden movements incase he’d bolt. “but he’s here too”

“hey angel, is everything okay?”

you knew suguru was grieving the loss of something. something you didn’t think you’d ever understand, but he never failed to think about your own wellbeing first. it made you sad, but it also made you love him even more

“yeah, i’m fine” you smiled, “i just wanted to know how your mission was going”

he chuckled lowly, amused by the shy timbre of your words. “that’s sweet of you, nanami and i are on the train now. we’ll be back before you know it”

“told you he could hold his own” satoru said quietly before growing smug, “suguru, how long does is it take to deal with a second grade? you’ve been gone all morning”

it’s a little rude, and vibrant shades of condescending, but you all know he’s only kidding. you all know he’s worried too.

“hello to you too ‘toru,” you could almost hear the smile tugging at suguru’s lips, “do you want anything? i saw some takoyaki and thought of you”

the blue eyed boy is deep in thought for a moment, before he speaks up again “nahh, i don't want anything just come back safe so we can get thai food for dinner tonight”

your mouth began to water and your stomach growled, clamouring at the mention of the savoury dishes you often got from the thai joint in town. the cereal you’d had for breakfast was a distant memory

“speaking of food, have both of you had lunch yet?”

you and satoru exchanged guilty looks. you hadn’t. you were waiting for suguru. you always were

“i’ll take your silence as a no” he tutted, “please don’t bother waiting for me again, i don’t have much of an appetite today”

satoru hummed noncommittally, shifting you off him ever so slightly, so that he could stand up. you groaned quietly as he cupped your head in the divot of his palm and placed a pillow beneath it

( it was nowhere near as soft as him )

you raised a curious brow at him, and he mouthed the word ‘water’ to you before padding towards the kitchen. you didn’t need to ask him to bring you a glass too, you knew he would

“you’ve barely eaten anything this week, and shoko said you didn’t have any breakfast before you left” you sighed — a gloomy exhale that made something in him constrict. it made his heart burn with the desperate yearning to protect you

( from everything. from how fucked up the jujutsu world was. from the dangerous curses lurking in shadows. from him.)

“we’re still getting take-out tonight angel” suguru’s voice is comforting, and laced with unadulterated affection. he really does love you, “and i’ll eat it all, i promise”

he wants to apologize to you. to promise that he’ll try — to eat, to take a little more care of himself, to be less apathetic, to talk about amanai and haibara and unpack the feelings he’d buried in the back of his mind

( to be easier to love. )

but he’s afraid his heart might give out if he unveils himself to you.

“thank you” you beamed, and he knows you mean it. he knows you’re truly grateful. for him, for everything. and he hopes you know the feeling is mutual. he feels a little less melancholy when the line clicks

( he feels a little less melancholy because you’re so, so good to him )

satoru returns with a full glass of water. your glass has cute tiny strawberries dotting its rim. he’d found it nestled behind snow globes and old ceramic vases at an old thrift store. he sets it down carefully on the coffee table

you remained unmoving on the tatami mats, legs spread akimbo in a way that made satoru think of starfish. of running barefoot on the beach and building castles in the sand

you reminded him of summer, you always had.

“c’mon, up you get lazy” he coaxed, leaning down to scoop you up effortlessly in his arms. you let out a whine as he carried you towards the couch.

he trailed a soft kiss from your cheek to the top of your head, and pulled away ever so slightly, resting his forehead against yours

he’s a little too pretty like this, framed by the golden sunlight flitting through the windows. hazy, like a midsummer night’s dream. a little too unguarded

a little too human to be a god

a blissful sigh fell from your lips. satoru had always been clingy. but — on the rare occasions he was free from his tedious missions — he’d been moreso lately. his fingers brushed over your skin meticulously, meaningfully as if he wished to commit every inch of your skin to his memory.

he waited patiently as you sipped on your water. blue eyes crinkling, as teasing as ever. you could tell he was itching to make fun of you for being so sluggish. but he doesn’t

he leans in to kiss the tip of your nose gently, and you’re drunk on the way his love seeps through his touch. it bleeds through infinity, his skin, everything and it always reaches you

it’s a heavy, cloying type of love. sometimes too much to bear, like draping a heavy blanket over your glistening skin. but satoru made it feel so light. so natural. his arms are snug around your waist and you fit into him like a puzzle piece. you’re so impossibly close to him you can feel the beat of his heart against you.

“pretty girl” he grins, and all you can manage is an airy murmur of mm. one that has him pressing yet another kiss to your skin. ivory tendrils tickle your neck and you can’t help but squirm

in his affection driven haze, satoru ignores your weak protests about him ‘slobbering all over you’ . instead, pressing more short, sticky kisses to the crook of your neck that temporarily soothed the sun’s bruises.

you’re so lost in him, in his love, that you don’t even hear shoko drifting through the open door until her footsteps came to a halt, and she took in the unfolding scene with a scowl

“get a room please” shoko groaned as she trudged into the common room. “better yet, go to one of yours. this has to be a form of public indecency”

you giggled wryly. it was hard to see her past your besotted boyfriend, but you managed. there was a disgruntled look clouding her dark brown eyes. the practiced, unamused look she reserved for satoru’s shameless public displays of affection.

her shoulder-length brown hair is scraped into two loose ponytails. beads of sweat dot her forehead, glistening beneath the mellow kitchen lights and making her skin appear to sparkle. she'd shed the jacket of her uniform and rolled her sleeves up to her elbows

you turned your face into the crook of satoru’s neck, grinning ruefully against his skin. “you could’ve stayed at the konbini longer.”

“and left you two to defile the common room? i don’t think so” she scoffed, dropping her grocery bags on the kitchen counter “i had to buy more posicles and ice cream by the way, considering someone finished all of them and didn’t think to say anything”

satoru whistled inconspicuously as he perked up beside you, “i wonder who that could’ve been”

you rolled your eyes and nudged your elbow into his ribs gently, “you, eight eyes.”

he gasped, pressing a hand dramatically to his heart. “sweets c’mon, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

“i genuinely have no idea how you managed to pull two of the hottest people i know,” shoko muttered, yanking open the freezer and shoving the cold treats inside. “you’re such a loser”

“it’s the charm, i’m simply irresistible”

“you’re insufferable actually,” she snapped, grabbing herself a popsicle and biting into it with a small crunch. she sighed as she sat herself down on one of the stools. “god it’s so hot today.”

you groaned in agreement, popping the top two open in surrender. “i feel like i’m melting”

satoru peered down at you and grinned. “oh? just a few more buttons sweets—”

“pervert!” you said, glaring at him accusingly. “what is wrong with you?” your palms flattened against his chest as you shoved hard. he didn’t budge

“that’s not very nice” satoru sniffed, feigning ignorance as he tilted his head “i’m just appreciating the view! am i not allowed to find my girlfriend attractive?”

“you’re cursed,” you shoved at his chest again to no avail. it was like trying to move a brick wall. a brick wall with annoying sparkly blue eyes.

“you’re so mean to me,” he whined, dropping his arms and drowning you in his weight. all long limbs and lazy affection, blinking at you slowly, like a cat basking in the sun.

“get off me” you shrieked, writhing beneath him in outrage. he only laughed, the sound bright and boyish as it rumbled in his chest. “i’m all sticky”

“i like you sticky” he mumbled into your skin, pressing a kiss to your temple as you tried and failed to squirm away

there was something about summers that made satoru and suguru hang off you more than they ought to. you thumped his shoulder until he finally relented with a groan. he pouted as if you were somehow inconveniencing him by not letting him squish the life out of you.

“so violent,” he teased, sitting up and pulling you towards him by your waist effortlessly. you let out a squeal as he hoisted you up into his arms.

“put me down!” you squirmed as he carried you towards the kitchen, legs kicking in the air as he held you firmly over his shoulder.

“nope,” he grinned, “not ‘til you say sorry”

“for calling you a pervert? you are one.” you rolled your eyes, trying and failing to fight the small laugh that escaped your lips, muffled against his collarbone.

“i hate both of you” shoko scowled, “you make me sick to my stomach, especially you satoru”

“hurtful,” he sniffled dramatically, tightening his grip around your waist. “wifey, tell shoko to stop being mean to me.”

“shoko stop being mean to him” you said absentmindedly as he deposited you on the counter with care, making sure you didn’t hit your head on the overhead cabinet. his fingers were gentle as he adjusted your legs so they dangled comfortably over the edge.

“i make no promises” she drawled, taking another bite of her popsicle, unmoved. “we should hit the beach one of these day, before summer ends”

you perked up slightly at that, swinging your legs where they dangled over the edge of the counter. “only if we go when toru doesn’t have a mission,”

“unlikely, i always have missions,” he muttered, still lingering by your side

“that’s true,” you said, voice softer now. “we barely see you these days. if it’s not a mission, it’s some meeting with the higher-ups or—”

“i’m here now, aren’t i?” he poked your thigh gently. looking at you with his pretty blues. they were soft in a way they rarely were these days. like summer fading into fall. “i’ll always make time for you, baby.”

shoko gagged, not missing a beat, “cut it out please, i beg of you.”

before satoru could retaliate, his phone buzzed in his pocket. he picked it up, face lighting up at the name on the screen. “sugu’s asking what you want from the thai place in town” he says, “d’you want your usual or do you want to try something new?"

“mm i want my mango sticky rice" you said, after careful consideration. the rice drizzled with sweet fresh slices of mango and coconut milk was perfect on humid days like this.

“i knew it,” satoru grinned, “you’re so predictable.”

“shut up,” you mumbled, flicking his arm. “you get pad thai every single time.”

“it’s the superior option,” he shrugged “besides, i always give you some.”

“that’s because your portions are huge.”

“and because i love you,” he said softly, reaching up to cup your cheek. you let him, because his touch was familiar and warm, because he was always anchoring himself to you in any way possible

“are you going to ask for my order too?” shoko asked impatiently, “or are you going to keep flirting with my best friend”

“if you must know i’m multi-tasking” he sighed, turning his attention towards her briefly, “i can be a good boyfriend and remember that you want . . .”

“kanom jeeb and fried tofu” she narrowed her eyes at him as he texted her order to suguru

“happy now?” he said, rolling his eyes. shoko didn’t bother gracing him with a response. she tossed her popsicle stick into the bin with a lazy flick of her wrist, already completely tuned out of the conversation

instead of probing her any further — for once — satoru ambled towards the fridge. his uniform shirt was sticking to his back in soft creases from the heat. he crouched, muttering something under his breath about the strawberry ones disappearing first, rifling through the boxes to dig out popsicles for both of you

there was a pause as he stood back up, nudging the door shut with his foot and turning toward you with a small, triumphant grin. he held out a strawberry popsicle in one hand and the mystery flavor in the other. you took yours without complaint

“thank you ‘toru” you smiled, the corners of your lips curling as you leaned ever so slightly into him, the strawberry popsicle already beginning to drip down your wrist in the summer heat.

“any time, pretty girl,” he murmured, looking very pleased with himself, “y’know i live to serve you.”

“you live to be annoying” shoko quipped flatly from across the kitchen, where she was rummaging through the rest of her groceries. she cracked open a can of cola and took a long sip before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand

“are you and suguru down to smoke later?” she asked you casually, “i wanna talk to you without your shadow lurking”

“you mean satoru?” you asked, trying to suppress the smile tugging at your lips

“i’m right here” he scowled around a mouthful of popsicle, brows furrowed as he processed the betrayal, “and you shouldn’t be smoking anyway, it’s bad for you”

“so is eating enough sugar to kill a family of five but i don’t see you quitting any time soon” shoko shot back, arms folded across her chest

“semantics” satoru said breezily, waving her off with his free hand, “the three of you smoke like you’re getting paid to, at this rate i’m gonna end up outliving all of you”

you paused, the cold sweetness of your popsicle dull on your tongue as your gaze flickered up to him. shoko didn’t respond right away either. she just looked at him, like she wasn’t sure if he meant it as a harmless joke or if he even realized how that sounded out loud.

“very tactful” she muttered finally, voice lower than it was before, “that’s one hell of a thing to say satoru”

he blinked slowly, like the weight of his own words had only just reached him. but he didn’t take them back. he just chuckled hollowly. “i mean, think about it. i am the strongest. kinda comes with the label, doesn’t it?”

there was a pause. you looked at him, really looked at him, the way you had a hundred times since the star plasma incident. his face was flushed with heat and sugar. his mouth was curled like he was still joking, but his eyes had gone a little glassy

you knew that look all too well, you’d seen it too often in the quiet moments after missions, when he came home with bloodstains dotting his collar and heavy silence. you'd seen it when he held amanai’s body too tightly the day she died. you’d seen it when he stood next to suguru at haibara’s grave. you could see it now, beneath the kitchen lights and between melting popsicles. you felt something twist deep in your stomach.

“toru,” you murmured, your voice barely above the hum of the fridge. he blinked, once, twice, “stop talking like that”

“like what?” he cocked his head, expression unreadable behind his sunglasses

“like you’re going to end up all alone” you frowned. he sighed, eyes lowering again. he fiddled with the now empty popsicle in his hand

“‘m just being realistic” he grinned limply, “someone’s gotta be” your fingers brushed against his gently, in an almost imperceptible way that made him flinch. not away from you, but towards you. like he needed it. like he needed your touch to anchor him, to pull him back from wherever his mind had started to spiral.

he shifted a little closer, knuckles grazing your thigh where you sat on the counter, soft and quiet. in case the smallest movement would scare the moment away.

“you don’t have to be the one holding the world together” you said softly. his jaw tensed, he was still grinning but his lips twitched weakly

“who else is gonna do it?” he asked casually, “nanami’s too serious, utahime’s too weak—”

“gojo” shoko interrupted coolly, arms folded over her chest again. she watched him closely as she shook her head, the expression on her face was a mix of concern and mild irritation beneath her soft bangs.

“my bad” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he offered her a half-hearted smile, “didn’t mean to get all doom and gloom on you guys, it’s way too hot outside for conversations like this”

you hummed, unconvinced but you didn’t push it. as the silence settled back into something lighter, you heard footsteps echo down the hall.

“conversations like what?” suguru’s voice filtered into the kitchen, gentle and low, warming your heart in a way only he could manage to.

“suguru” your body moved before your mind could register, sliding off the counter and padding across the linoleum to close the distance between you. you threw your arms around him the second he stepped into view, pressing your face into the crook of his neck before he could fully set the takeaway bags down.

he stiffened slightly, but you felt him soften just as quickly. “hey,” he said, voice low and a little hoarse as he adjusted his grip on the food to avoid dropping it, “i’m all sweaty”

“when has that ever mattered?” you mumbled against his skin, breathing him in. his scent was fainter now, mixed with heat and exhaustion, but he still smelled like himself. like coffee and jasmine. he was still your suguru.

“double standards” behind you, satoru spluttered. “when it was me last week you told me to get off you. and you told me to get off you multiple times today”

“because you were literally covered in blood and you’re clingy at the most inconvenient times” you rolled your eyes as suguru placed a tender kiss on your the crown of your head. like he was reassuring you in ways he couldn’t quite accomplish with words. “how was your mission sugu?”

“so you hate me and you want me to die?” you didn’t even have to look at satoru to know his face was twisted into the most betrayed expression imaginable, hand clutching at his chest like you’d run him through with a blade.

“he’s so dramatic,” you murmured, softening into the crook of suguru’s shoulder

“he always has been” suguru said fondly, “it’s one of his more charming flaws”

“flaws?” satoru gasped again, voice cracking as if the word alone had physically hurt him, “you’re turning on me too?”

suguru sighed through a small, fond smile. like he’d seen this exact performance a hundred times, and would happily watch it a hundred more. “no one’s turning on you, ‘toru. you’re just. . .exhausting.”

“exhausting?” he sounded scandalized now, staggering a step backward toward the counter like he needed the support. “i give and give and this is what i get in return? slander? betrayal?”

“you give us migraines,” shoko muttered, rubbing her temple tiredly like the sound of satoru’s voice was more than enough to trigger another one. “how was your mission suguru?”

“mm” suguru hummed, setting down the takeaway bags carefully on the counter. “not too bad, just another haunted house”

“where’s nanami?” you asked, leaning against the counter as suguru loosened the ties of the plastic bags with his lithe fingers. his dark hair was still a little damp at the ends, curled slightly where it brushed the nape of his neck. you could see how the sleeves of his uniform clung to the faint sheen of sweat along his arms.

“he said he was going to take a shower,” he said, finishing unpacking the takeaway with practiced movements. mango sticky rice for you, pad thai for satoru, kanom jeeb for shoko, khao soi for nanami, and som tam for himself. all neatly boxed in clear plastic and lined neatly on the counter . “i’m going to freshen up as well, you can start eating without me”

“like hell we will” satoru scoffed indignantly, as if the mere idea of eating dinner without suguru was a personal affront, “we’re coming with you”

“that isn’t necessary, i’m only going to take a shower.”

he had that look in his violet eyes again, something akin to exhaustion and untouchable softness.before the star plasma vessel, before amanai, before toji, he would’ve teased satoru for being too clingy. but now?

now, he was quieter. slower to smile. still warm, still him. but dull, defeated

( now, an ache permanently rested on his shoulders and he was always a little too far away. like you could reach out and touch him, but never truly hold him )

satoru, naturally, took offense to suguru’s refusal, “how rude,” he huffed, “i said we were tagging along why are you acting like i asked to watch you shower?”

“i wouldn’t put it past you.” shoko interjected, “freak”

you snorted behind your hand, watching suguru’s violet eyes flicker with the faintest trace of amusement. the kind of amusement they were lit with naturally before everything broke

“we’re coming” satoru insisted again, already walking toward the hallway. his footsteps unyielding as he glared at shoko over his shoulder “best believe i’ll deal with you later shoko”

shoko didn’t flinch, she didn’t do as little as batting an eye. “shiver me timbers” she deadpanned

your fingers slipped into suguru’s. his hand was warm and a little rough, it tightened gently around yours instinctively. muscle memory. something he couldn’t unlearn no matter how hard he tried to.

he glanced at you briefly, your eyes held something that he couldn’t quite place a finger on. it softened his resolve to be alone, it softened his resolve to leave. “alright”

you didn’t say anything, just tugged at his hand to guide him toward the hallway. toward the stillness of his room. your steps were slow and unhurried, and suguru was grateful for it. grateful for you

the door creaked as he pushed it open. his room hadn’t changed much over the course of the last three years. it still smelled the same, like jasmine, sandalwood, and a hint of sweet citrus. the main lights were off and the sun hadn’t fully set yet. golden rays filtered in streaks through the curtains.

you stepped in after suguru and let the door click shut behind you. satoru was already sprawled out on his bed like he owned the place

suguru’s room was messy in an intentional way. his walls were adorned with paintings and photographs. some were in proper frames while some were hung up with tape. his desk was littered with sketches of curses he’d absorbed, and studies of you and your found family. there was one of nanami reading by the windowsill. one of shoko smoking. and a half-finished sketch of amanai at the beach.

his dragon shaped record player sat near his desk, a neat stack of worn vinyls beside it. his dresser was cluttered with glass bottles of cologne, hair products, and his childhood jewelry box that was stuffed with silver rings and tangled necklaces. suguru’s room was a sanctuary. it was the only place he still felt like himself. he always had a candle burning, its scent wafting through the air like sweet incense. it clung to his sheets, to his throw pillows, to his clothes

his pet lizard was dozing off in its vivarium, blinking lazily at you. the lava lamp on the bedside table gurgled and shifted, casting soft ripples of orange light across satoru’s face

“i’m in love with your room” you murmured with a smile, eyes flicking toward the small mountain of lego sets lined up by the window. “when we finally graduate and move in together, you’re definitely going to be in charge of decorating our apartment”

suguru stilled slightly at the sound of your words. “assuming i would say yes to living with you two”

“of course you would” satoru said, “who else would do the dishes and laundry and all the other boring stuff”

“if you’re gonna be lazy then you can’t move in with us” you said matter-of-factly.

“i happen to be very helpful when i want to be”

“so never?” you quipped, sitting down slowly on the edge of suguru’s bed, “we’ll get a place somewhere in the city, not too far from the school so we can still commute easily, but far enough that we don’t run into yaga-sensei on the weekends”

“we need a big kitchen for late night snacks” satoru added, looking expectantly at suguru.

suguru was silent for a moment. every time you and satoru brought up the future and talked about building a life outside missions and curses, his heart twisted in his chest. he wanted to want it. but no matter how much he daydreamed, he knew deep down he wouldn’t be with you when the time came. for now he could pretend to believe in your fantasies

“and a little balcony with enough room for me to grow plants and smoke until ‘toru threatens to throw me over it” he said drily

“you just had to bring up the s word” satoru sighed, shaking his head softly

suguru unbuttoned his shirt with tired fingers as he headed for the bathroom “i won’t be long” he said over his shoulder. when he disappeared into the steam and scent of his green apple shampoo, the quiet settled in again.

satoru shifted a little beside you, watching the way your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your skirt, watching the way your bottom lip was caught beneath your teeth, watching the worried crease that clouded your visage. “why’re you making that face, sweets?”

“what face?”

“you know what i’m talking about” he tilted his head slightly, white curls falling across his forehead as he scrutinized “c’mon spit it out”

you hesitated, fingers threading together. “i’m just worried about him and i know you said he could hold his own. . .” you paused, pressing your lips firmly together, “. .but he’s not himself lately.”

“he’s grieving” he sighed, “we all are” his tone wasn’t dismissive. it was bitter. not at you, or suguru. but the truth of it all. and the fact that grief had settled over all of you like a storm cloud, dimming everything. suguru’s laughter, his brightness, your peace. and there wasn’t a cursed technique in the world, not even his, that could exorcize the kind of grief haunting the summer

“i feel like it’s more than that” you persisted, “it’s like he’s fading away both literally and figuratively, he used to talk about his missions more, his feelings, he used to be more. . . himself, and now he keeps everything bottled up and it’s scaring me”

“ i mean. . .he’s always been a little emo.”

“satoru.” you said through gritted teeth. you knew he was trying to keep things light, trying to make you laugh, or maybe, at the very least, trying to keep himself from spiraling alongside you. that only made the ache worse

“okay, okay,” he lifted his hands in surrender. “i just— i . . don’t worry your pretty little head too much, yeah? he’ll talk when he’s ready.”

you sighed, hugging a throw pillow close to your chest, it smelled faintly of suguru’s cologne and you buried your face in it for a moment. as if that could quiet the dull ache in your ribcage. “i miss him”

satoru was quiet for a beat too long.“i know,” he murmured eventually, voice solemn and low,“me too, but he’s still here”

your breath hitched as you choked back a sob, and that alone made him sit up, you felt the bed dip as he shifted closer to you. placing a warm, steadily hand on your lower back

“don’t do that, sweets,” satoru murmured, voice soft in a way only you and suguru ever got to hear, “please don’t cry, y’know i’m bad with tears”

you shook your head, pressing your face harder into the pillow, trying to swallow the emotions clawing their way up your throat. they spilled through a shallow gasp, a broken little sound that made satoru’s heart constrict in his chest.

he didn’t say anything else. he just pulled you closer. his arm curled around your shoulders, tucking you into his side. he didn’t mind the way your tears bled through his shirt, just rubbed soothing circles against your arm

“we’ll figure it out, i promise” he said, “he’s not going anywhere. not really.”

you wanted to believe him. you wanted to believe that this heavy silence hanging over all of you would eventually lift. that there was still time.but you didn’t. you knew better

satoru hummed thoughtfully when you didn’t respond, then turned to look at the lizard in its vivarium. “suguru gecko do you know anything? has suguru talked to you about his feelings? did he tell you about his plans to leave?”

you swatted at him lightly with a laugh, though it came out a little watery. “he’s not gonna talk ‘toru, he’s a lizard” he caught your wrist mid-air, pressing a small kiss to your knuckles, then the soft flesh on your wrist where your pulse fluttered

“worth a shot,” he grinned. the bathroom door opened then, and suguru stepped out in a loose fitting black t-shirt, hair dripping on the towel draped around his neck, the strands darker and heavier from the water

his violet eyes swept across the room, softening as they landed on you two curled up on his bed, “sorry to keep you waiting”

“can i help you with your hair?” you asked, already sitting up straighter as your glassy eyes met his.

“of course you can, angel,” he said, moving without protest when you patted the space between your knees, settling on the floor in front of you with a quiet sigh.

you reached for the hair dryer on his bedside table, plugging it in and adjusting the heat settings. you ran the dryer gently over his head, fingers working carefully through the damp strands. his breathing hitched slightly when your fingertips brushed against his scalp but he didn’t pull away. his shoulders sagged in relief and his eyelids fluttered as he relaxed into your touch.

“thank you,” he murmured. you leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. you took your sweet time drying his hair. and he was grateful because he needed that. you both did

when his hair was dry enough you reached for the comb resting on the bedside table, gently gathered his hair in your fingers, and ran a it through his hair slowly until the black strands were smooth in your hands. the green apple shampoo he always used lingered in the air, light and nostalgic.

“do you mind if i braid it?” you asked. he tilted his head to look at you over his shoulder. there was something so tender in his violet gaze it made your throat feel tight

“i trust you” he said plainly

you could feel the rhythm of his breathing even out as you worked silently. your fingers wove strands to his scalp, the three part pattern forming quickly. you completed one braid, then the other, securing the ends with small rubber bands.

you leaned back, admiring your handiwork with a small smile. you got up and kneeled in front of him, reaching out and cupping his face between your hands, thumbs brushing against the faint shadow below his eyes, “you’re so pretty, sugu” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead

his gaze found yours through his lashes and he leaned into your touch instinctively. his hands came up to cover yours, holding them in place for a second. “thank you” he whispered again, and it wasn’t just for the compliment, or the dutch braids. he was thanking you for everything. for understanding, for taking care of him, for loving him.

the moment slipped into something more casual as satoru, never one for being ‘left out’, rolled over onto his stomach with an exaggerated groan, “here i am, forgotten, ignored by the people i love”

you tilted your head, still cupping suguru’s cheeks, “we should go eat before our food gets cold”

“don’t change the subject” satoru pointed at you accusingly, “you have a favorite”

“i do not” you said, lips twitching

“oh really?” he sat up quickly, “then how come you never compliment me? how come you never kiss me?”

“you are such a pathological liar” you gasped, “i’m literally always kissing you, and i do compliment you. i just don’t do it often because your ego is huge enough”

“don’t indulge him” suguru murmured, his hands were still curled around yours, “he just wants attention”

“i do want attention!” he agreed, “i want to be doted on, is that too much to ask for?”

“you are doted on, constantly” suguru argued, “you’re just greedy”

“greedy . .?” he echoed, “greedy? me?”

you sighed, a soft exhale that came with loving someone as difficult as satoru. “please can we eat before we have this tired conversation again? i can’t deal with your nonsense on an empty stomach”

you rose to your feet, pulling suguru up with you. your fingers laced through his. when you looked back, satoru was still pouting on the bed. with a fond sigh you stretched out your free hand to him

“oh so now you remember me?” he sniffed, taking your hand shamelessly, grip tight around yours like he never wanted to let go

the three of you left suguru’s room together. satoru on your right, suguru on your left. the hallway was dim and quiet save for the soft patter of your footsteps. the sun had dipped a little lower now, but it still felt too hot. you wished you’d changed out of your uniform into something lighter and made a mental note to do exactly that after dinner

you rounded the corner into the kitchen, you could hear shoko’s voice floating as she spoke into her phone’s receiver. she was probably talking to utahime again. the air was heavy with the scents of thai food, garlic, basil, lemongrass, rich and warm. the table was cluttered in a domestic way that tugged at your heart strings

take-out containers sat half unpacked, disposable chopsticks stacked neatly in pairs. shoko had a cigarette slotted between her lips, curling smoke into the evening air. someone had cracked open a window, probably nanami, and breeze filtered in softly

shoko had an elbow resting on the table as she laughed at something utahime was saying. her container of kanom jeeb was nearly empty. “finally” she said, snuffing out her cigarette in an ashtray, “you took too long, i started eating without you”

“i can’t blame you” you slid into the seat beside her, suguru sat to your left, while satoru sat across the counter. nanami was the last to re-enter the kitchen, dressed in a crisp t-shirt and sweatpants. he offered a short nod and reached for a bottle of water before quietly taking his seat

it was a slow dinner, full of idle chatter and old jokes. shoko complained about how hot it was once again, satoru talked about digimon, nanami and suguru were silent. your boyfriend picked at his food methodically, alternating between bites of his salad and sips of water.

“you’re not eating enough” satoru muttered, earning a glare from both you and shoko

“i’m eating fine” suguru said, giving him a pointed look

“you ordered rabbit food” he frowned, offering suguru a portion of his stir fried noodles, “here, you’re gonna waste away at this rate”

“you’re eating enough for all of us satoru” you said, your words resulted in satoru dropping his chopsticks and clutching his heart

“i can’t believe you would say that to me”

“you ordered six portions of pad thai” shoko scoffed, “not two, not four, but six”

“that’s because i’m growing” he said proudly.

a laugh bubbled out of you, the kind of laugh that reminded you of the summers before everything changed. suguru leaned forward slightly, elbow brushing against yours as he accepted satoru’s offer

when your stomachs were full, the dishes were washed, and the leftovers had been stashed in the fridge for later, you stretched with a groan and declared you needed a shower or you’d melt for real this time. nanami excused himself to his room and satoru trailed after you sluggishly, leaving suguru and shoko alone in the kitchen to smoke together

by the time you’d showered and changed into a soft t-shirt and shorts, suguru was already sprawled across one of the couches in the common room, flipping through movie options leisurely.

you padded over quietly and curled up beside him without a word. he shifted instinctively, opening his arms to you. your cheek found his chest, and your legs slid between his, fitting into the space he made for you.you sighed as he pressed a soft kiss to your hairline.

satoru came in after shortly after you, wearing a graphic tee and grey sweats. his hair was slightly damp and his skin was flushed pink. he sat beside you on the couch, slouching against you

you found yourself sandwiched between them. suguru’s arms were wrapped around you in a tender hold that radiated warmth, his fingers lazily traced patterns on your hip. his other hand found repose in satoru's snowy curls.

his fingers began to comb gently through the tangled strands, nails scratching at satoru’s scalp in soothing circles. the blue eyed boy hummed in contentment at the feel of suguru’s fingertips moving against his scalp. satoru murmured i love yous in the crook of you neck, his voice low but laced with a tenderness only reserved for your ears.

“no horror movies” he said firmly, “not tonight”

“scaredy cat” you teased, shooting him a taunting look

“i’m not scared” he said, dragging a pillow onto his lap, “i just don’t think we need that negative energy right before bed”

“if you say so” you hummed, “in that case, we should watch howl’s moving castle again” satoru raised a brow.

“we’ve watched that a billion times” he sighed, “and you thirst over howl too much, it hurts my feelings wifey”

“he’s an animated character satoru” suguru chuckled

“well you act like he’s real” he frowned, blue eyes half-lidded as he glared at you “do you think he’s prettier than me?”

“shut up and watch the movie” you giggled as suguru pressed the play button. the screen flooded with warm watercolor landscapes. satoru’s head found your lap and you smoothed your fingers through his soft white curls. suguru’s hands rubbed lazy circles against your hipbone and for a moment you felt like everything could be a whole again

until you tilted your head slightly, just enough to look at suguru. his violet eyes were glued to the screen, but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere. it made your heart ache again. the concern you’d voiced earlier was still there, nestled between your ribs. but you were tired of worrying, of wondering if he would ever tell you how he was feeling

you would keep it nestled between your ribs for tonight. because you still had the heavy press of satoru’s head in your lap and the slow rise and fall of suguru’s chest behind you. you still had the warmth of this moment

the summer night stretched on, still heavy and hot, but you had adjusted to the heat. maybe it was easier to bear because of the way suguru pressed his nose into your shoulder and breathed you in like he needed you to live, and the way satoru pressed sleepy kisses to your thigh.

maybe it was easier because you were in love. and maybe tonight, nothing mattered. not the ghosts haunting suguru’s heart, not the worries nestled in yours. right now you had everything. both chaos and calm. and you weren’t quite sure how you’d survive without either of them

© Y2KUROMI 2025. please do not plagiarise, repost, or translate any of my works on here or any other websites.

[bluebnny]

Hiii! I'm new to your blog but I absolutely love it alll like omg I love your work sm💔

Can I request luffy x fem reader 😛 fluffy smut, please and thank yewww💕

Lazy afternoon

monkey d luffy x fem!reader

content: established relationship, reader just woke up from a nap, luffy finds them, they have super soft and fluffy sex

warnings: MDNI, smut, fingering, multiple orgasms (reader)

a/n: thank you sm you’re so sweet omg <3 it’s a tiny bit longer than i usually do for luffy, but i got into a rhythm and the words just kept coming. ngl i kinda ate with this. as much as i love angst/rough sex, the fluffy kind just hits different sometimes. writing this made me realize i haven’t written missionary sex even once on this blog lol. hope you enjoy! <3

word count: 1.610

It’s afternoon, and a very slow day on the Sunny. There isn’t any work to do, so the crew are all laying around somewhere, relaxing. You had decided to take a nap, which is how you find yourself now; lying in bed with the window cracked open. The air is pleasantly warm outside, a fresh breeze wafting into the room, and a contented sigh escapes you.

You don’t look up when the door creaks open, already knowing who it is. But a light smile finds its way onto your face.

Luffy doesn’t say anything as he climbs into your shared bed, pulling you into his arms. He starts peppering your face with kisses until you’re giggling. And his bright smile is the first thing to greet you when you open your eyes. But you soon close them again when he captures your lips in a kiss.

A few minutes pass by like this, just the two of you making out. Not a care in the world. Luffy’s hand starts moving in the direction of your breasts. You let a surprised squeak when he gives one of them a light pinch. That only makes him smile wider.

“Luffy, what are you doing?” You’re giggling from his boldness. A little flustered, but quite pleased.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He teases you. A glint in his eye. “Just admiring my pretty girlfriend.” Although his voice is very nonchalant, his grin is definitely more mischievous than before.

His hand doesn’t stop. This time finding your nipple and rolling it between his fingers. The sigh you let out is closer to a moan than anything else.

“Hmm. Keep doing that, and you can admire me all you want.”  

“Already planning on it, pretty.” Before you can answer, he’s kissing you again.

But his hands soon trail down to your shirt, giving it a light tug, and you help him remove it. You’re only in your panties now; having taken off your bra and pants before your nap to be more comfortable. Luffy removes those too, and strips down to his underwear before getting comfortable again.

He’s on his side, one arm under your head, the other exploring your body. You’re on your back, with your hands in his hair.

When his fingers make their way between your legs, your breath hitches, and one of your hands automatically comes to rest on your chest.

“So pretty when you touch yourself f’me.” He smirks.

You never get the chance to respond, because he dips his middle finger inside your soaking heat, thumb brushing up against your clit. Instead, you let out a real moan this time, fingers absent-mindedly playing with your nipple.

Luffy could watch you like this for hours. And he plans to. Pumping his finger in and out at a slow pace, he focuses more on curling it into your g-spot than going fast. There’ll be time for that later.

After a few minutes, you unconsciously grind your hips into his hand, and it tells him that you’re ready for more. Your eyes are closed, eyebrows furrowed in pleasure when he adds his index finger. Still not speeding up. Just letting you adjust at your own pace.

The minutes pass like this. Luffy working his fingers in and out of you so expertly that it doesn’t take long for your orgasm to build. Every touch brings you closer to that precipice, and you don’t even have to tell Luffy, because it’s clear from the way you’re shifting your legs and biting your lip.

“That’s it. Cum on my fingers, pretty.” Luffy’s words are all you need to push you over the edge.

It feels like magic. The pleasure rolling through your body in a million tiny waves, smoothing out all the tension from your muscles. You’re arching your back, pushing off the bed from the delicious feeling. Your orgasm isn’t forceful. It’s elating. Breathtaking.

When you come down, you make contact with Luffy’s eyes. They were fixed on you the entire time; the way your body looks so beautiful moving against the sheets underneath. He watches you catch your breath, chest moving up and down. The way your breasts fall a little to the side from lying on your back.

“Feel good?” He smiles at you, genuine happiness on his face.

“Yeah. Amazing.” You smile back.

“Think you can take one more?” One hand rubbing your thigh, the other brushing over the fat on your stomach, he looks completely entranced by you.

You giggle a little. He melts. “Of course.”

Luffy takes off his remaining clothes and positions himself between your open thighs, gently rubbing your hips. “Tell me if it hurts, yeah?” When you nod, he aligns himself with your entrance, and slowly pushes in. His eyes never leave your face.

You throw your head back at the intrusion, opening your mouth in a breathy moan. He’s taking his time entering you. Not because you can’t take him; he’s simply enjoying the feeling. But it doesn’t take long before he’s down to the base, fully buried inside your warmth.

The breeze outside your window picks up, washing over your hot bodies. It makes you shiver, and Luffy smiles a little, bending down to be closer to you.

“You cold?” His hands are still rubbing your sides.

“No, I’m ok.”

Still, he grabs the blanket and pulls it over his back, bending down so much that it’s covering you too. When he starts moving, it feels like heaven.

He fucks you exactly like this. Resting on his elbows, hands somewhere by your head now. Your faces are impossibly close to each other, and Luffy doesn’t miss the opportunity to pull you into a deep, passionate kiss again. There’s something incredibly intimate about making love like this, with the blanket covering your writhing bodies. Making the moment feel even more private, despite already being in your shared bedroom with no one in sight to disrupt the moment.

The pace of his thrusts isn’t fast, but it’s intense enough to make you moan into his mouth at the feeling. Your fingers wind into his messy hair, deepening the kiss. The gesture is so instinctual that you don’t even thing about it. He just makes you feel so safe like this. So loved.

The moment stretches comfortably between you, and you quickly lose track of time; completely lost in the feeling of your boyfriend’s thick length pushing inside you. His warm body presses into yours, making you feel so incredibly protected in his embrace.

The breeze carries in small noises from outside, like a soft reminder that you two aren’t the only thing left in the world. Rushing waves, wind rustling the sails. The soothing sounds filling in the small silences between your hushed moans.

Your pleasure builds higher and higher as Luffy works all the right spots inside of you. The wonderful feeling only made better by your profound relaxation. It’s like he knows exactly what to do, even while his eyes are closed, and his lips pressed to yours.

Another moan escapes you, louder this time. And you can’t help the muscles in your abdomen tensing, making you clench around Luffy in that way he knows all too well.

“I think I’m close.” It’s only a whisper, but that’s all it needs to be.

“Me too.” He hums at your words. “Let’s cum together, ok?”

You give a little nod, desperate to feel him release inside of you. To feel his body tensing along with your own. It doesn’t take long for the tension to become unbearable, burning in your lower belly like you’re about to shatter from the pressure.

And when you do, it’s utterly exhilarating. Your chest arches off the bed again, head thrown back against the pillows from the intense feeling coursing through you. It starts off slow, a pleasant warmth buzzing through you. But your high quickly deepens, and you’re soon shaking from the sensitivity; the way Luffy doesn’t stop working that perfect spot inside of you.

He doesn’t miss the opportunity to press tender kisses into your exposed neck, but it isn’t long before his own head falls back from pure ecstasy. He keeps pumping into you as his orgasm runs through him, unloading everything he has inside your tight walls. Pulling another contented moan from you when you feel his hot seed filling you up to the brim.

You can’t help admiring the way he looks, pure bliss written all over his face. It makes you feel closer to him than ever. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, which makes him look down. All he does is smile at you, bending down to claim your mouth once more.

It takes you both longer than usual to come down from your orgasm. But when you finally do, you’re still locked in a passionate kiss, arms around each other. Luffy hasn’t pulled out yet, and he doesn’t for another few minutes. He wants the moment to keep going just as much as you do.

But it eventually does, as your hips start cramping from their folded position. Luffy pulls out, carefully helping you to your feet and into the bathroom to get cleaned up.

When you’re done, giggling while falling back into bed together, the relaxation from your orgasm fully seeps in. You feel like going limp right here and drifting off into a second nap. Luffy carefully pulls you on top of him, reasting your head on his warm chest. And you fall asleep like this, with your lover warm and steady beneath you, his hand caressing your back, and the sound of his heartbeat filling your ears.

Thx sm for reading! Hope you liked it :D I have literally never gotten so relaxed from writing smut. This is the most sfw nsfw I’ve ever written. It feels like the sex equivalent of cuddling while holding hands. As opposed to my law smut, in which I try my best to convey the feeling of getting into a fistfight with your sworn enemy.

Dividers made by me

This is my fic, don't repost or use in any AI training programmes! Reblogs are always appreciated <3 Here are my rules, and my masterlist.

[downbadace]

༊*·˚𝕋𝔸𝕋𝕋𝕆𝕆 𝕋𝕆𝕌ℝ*ೃ༄

- based off of this hc by @artistwitchgirl 🫶 this was churned out so fast idek how i did it but yay enjoy (lmk if i made any mistakes!!!)

Content: Fluff, soft launch(?), accidental outing(?), megara is a little dumb ngl, language i think i dont even remember 😭

“someone asked for a tattoo tour” lara said, reading one of the comments flying by

it was currently 11:48 pm, too late for lara and megan to be doing a livestream but they hadn't gone live in so long that they decided, whatever, their eyekons are way more important than sleep. they named the livestream “qna with the queers n asians” (that was megan’s idea) and many fans flooded them with numerous questions.

“tattoo tour? okay, that’s fun!” megan said immediately sitting up straight to go first.

“this one i showed in my last live which you guys edited to death” megan said, showing off her tattoo on her arm, just below the shoulder.

“okay, fire! i wanted to go first but whatever” lara joked. megan side eyed her before getting in her face to tease her. lara got in her face too with the same annoyed expression and immediately people in the comments went to express their reactions

im.dyslexic

omg kiss!!!

sophiazwyfe

they said megara realness

eyegomiaa

these lesbians…

megan turned back to the live afterwards and saw the flood of megara shippers in the comments

“guys, im not gonna kiss that, i got my—”

“what do you mean that?”

lara asks, pretending to be offended. in reality, she wanted to cut off megan before she revealed too much about her and sophia’s relationship. megan shut up quickly when she saw comments already wanting megan to finish her sentence

“nevermind that, anyways!” she continues her tattoo tour with lara half paying attention, half reading the comments. then, it got to the special one on her shoulder.

“and then over here we have a newer one…” and just before she was gonna turn herself around, lara grabbed the shoulder her new tattoo was at. lara immediately started nodding her head no, trying not to laugh. and megan, oblivious as ever started giggling through her asks of “what?”

lara glanced at her phone before muting the live. she covered her mouth before speaking, knowing how many talented mouth readers were watching.

“do you really wanna show them your tattoo of sophia?”

megan went “ooohhhh!!” out loud and nodded no, pressing her lips together in a thin line, looking at chat before bursting into laughter, lara following behind.

the tamil girl unmuted the phone as megan was still laughing.

“nevermind her guys, she’s schizophrenic” the two immediately start laughing harder, making eyekons even more nosy at what they were laughing at. megan eyes tear up, unable to read the fast paced chat.

meicherry

WAIT NO TELL UES PLZZZ

imcvnteeeee

another megan lore drop 💀

sophiathepurse

why don't you wanna show them the tattoo, pup?

well, she read that one. her eyes went wide and she immediately froze, her laughter stopping like someone pressed pause on her mid laugh. lara noticed and looked at megan’s stunned but smiling face.

“what? what happened?” she asked, calming down from her laughter. she looked at the chat and saw it bright and clear on screen.

“sophia why are you up? its almost midnight girl?” the chat went to greet the filipina and question the choice of name sophia had given megan. megan’s smile slowly started to turn into that thin line she showed earlier and she sighed.

“yes mo—sophia…” megan caught herself lightning fast. lara contained her laughter to her surprise as megan turned around to finally show the anticipated tattoo.

“and here is a tattoo i recently got like… a couple months ago? weeks? im not even sure but here, it is an anchor and if you guys see on the shank—is that what it’s called? anyways right here is the date 12-31-02… and i will not elaborate further on what this means.” meifiz shippers. went. berserk.

cherry.anchor

GUYS. THAT WAS NOT THE FUCKING WIND

themiddle

MEIFIZ? ON MY SCREEN?

megensfuturegf

sophia we are FIGHTINGGGGG

“okay lara you’re up! i’ll be right back!” megan says turning her phone to the girl and running out the room, on her way to sophia’s room.

“anyways, that was weird guys! my turn!” lara says, ignoring every single chat message about meifiz. she shows off all the tattoos that shes shown numerous times, taking time to tell the story and meaning about them, hoping the conversation about meifiz dies down (thankfully it sort of did.) but she got caught up that she didn't even realize that she revealed a tattoo on her hip that she wasn't supposed to.

“and lastly right here i have the sagittarius constellation which—” and her heart drops realizing what she revealed.

“—im gonna shut up about! anyone have any questions regarding the other tattoos?” at that moment megan ran back to the shared room and whispered something in her ear as quiet but coherent as she could.

“yoonchae’s calling you” they both look at each other before looking at the livestream, noticing yoonchae’s comment immediately

yoonchip

내거!!!!!! laraaaaa!!!!!! come over please <3

and without any other question, lara bolts out the room.

“well guys… i think that might be it for tonights live! im sorry that we didn't answer all the questions” megan says with a shaky voice. she watches all the comments fly by with multiple questions about whatever the last couple minutes were.

“okay goodnight! love yall, stream beautiful chaos!” and megan kisses the camera as she ends the livestream. she closes lara’s phone and looks at her own, seeing the katseye group chat explode with danon making fun of megara and sunchip telling the two girls to come to their room. megan sighed, anticipating an email from hybe in the next hour or so.

[naristrawbz]

Tidebound☠️

Chapter Four

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: Graphic injury, medical trauma (semi-conscious state), emotional breakdowns, fever/delirium, power imbalance, and betrayal.

Word count: 15.6K

Masterlist > Previous > Next

The sky was violet.

Not the bruised grey of a storm or the glowing blue of an open sea, but violet, rich, unnatural, like something born from magic instead of weather. You were standing at the bow of a ship you didn’t recognize. It wasn’t the Blackeyes. It wasn’t the HalaVeil. This vessel had no name etched into the wood, no flag above, no sounds of crew or seagulls or water.

Just wind.

And him.

Yeosang stood beside you. Healthy. Whole. The black veins were gone from his skin, his posture tall again, his hair catching light like fire-gold. His eyes were locked on the horizon, but you weren’t sure he saw it.

He said something. You couldn’t hear it.

The wind stole it too fast. You reached out, fingers nearly brushing his sleeve, but something cracked.

And suddenly his head turned.

His eyes were bleeding. Green.

Not red, not black.

A bright, acid green that glowed from within.

You stumbled back, but your feet didn’t catch on wood, they caught on nothing. The deck dissolved beneath you and suddenly you were falling into something that looked like the sea but felt like a scream.

You jolted upright with a ragged breath. Still in the storeroom. Still cold. Still… real. You ran a trembling hand over your mouth. The dream already fading like smoke, but the fear of it lingered.

Was it a dream? Or a memory?

Somewhere, muffled through the walls, you heard movement. Voices. Footsteps. Steel dragging on wood.

It was time.

The sea outside roared against the HalaVeil, waves slamming the hull in rhythm with the fury twisting through the room.

Hongjoong stood at the far end of his quarters, the door freshly shut behind Seonghwa, whose boots echoed across the wooden floor as he entered. The captain's office was in chaos- parchments scattered, maps stabbed through with rusted knives, thick volumes of texts on ancient magic and sea curses strewn across every surface. The scent of salt, candle wax, and old ink clung to the air.

Seonghwa stepped further inside, his expression unreadable, arms behind his back in that ever-poised stance. “That didn’t go how you expected.”

“No,” Hongjoong muttered. He was staring at one of the charts, fingers twitching like he wanted to tear it to shreds. “It went exactly as I expected.”

He turned slowly, face sharp and pale in the low lantern light, dark hair hanging loose from where he had torn it out of its tie. His eyes were storm-grey. Dangerous. “She’s hiding something,” Hongjoong continued. “I don’t know what. But she is.”

Seonghwa nodded once. “San may not be entirely wrong.”

“He’s emotional. Reckless. But his instincts?” Hongjoong let out a humorless laugh. “Too damn sharp to ignore.”

Seonghwa’s gaze flicked to the broken compass on the desk. “So. What now?”

“I test her.”

“You already are.”

Hongjoong’s smirk returned, crooked and unsettling. “Not enough.”

He picked up a silver pin from his desk. The object was sharp and unassuming, but something about the way he turned it in his fingers was menacing. “I want to see what happens when she’s dropped into the fire,” he said calmly. “If she’s really Tideborn, it’ll show. If she’s not, San might break her. Either way... I’ll have my answer.”

Seonghwa tilted his head slightly. “And if he kills her?”

Hongjoong didn’t flinch. “Then she was useless to begin with.” A long silence followed.

Finally, Seonghwa spoke. “You want me to brief San?”

“No.” Hongjoong met his gaze directly. “Let him be surprised. He’ll enjoy it more.”

Seonghwa gave a subtle nod, then stepped back toward the door. “And if she’s telling the truth?”

Hongjoong’s voice was low, cold. “Then she’ll help me kill the man who made the potion.”

The candle flickered. The ship groaned. Outside, the storm gathered. The knock at the door was soft, barely a tap, like the knuckles behind it didn’t have the strength to make sound.

“Come in,” Hongjoong said, voice quieter than usual. Not kind, just... measured.

The door creaked open. Yeosang stood in the frame, slightly hunched and wrapped in a loose, greyed cloak that swallowed his frame. The red birthmark along his cheek was flushed deeper today, likely from fever. His skin looked stretched too tightly over sharp bones, those inky black veins barely concealed now, crawling up the side of his neck like cracks in porcelain.

He stepped inside slowly.

Seonghwa moved wordlessly from the center of the room, just enough to give Yeosang space. His hands remained clasped behind his back, his jaw tight-but his sharp gaze didn’t carry its usual sting.

Hongjoong gestured toward the small wooden chair across from his desk. Yeosang looked at it for a moment, then sat. Carefully. For a few seconds, no one spoke. Only the groaning timbers of the ship filled the room.

Then Hongjoong leaned forward.

“You’re worse,” he said, flatly. No accusation. No venom. Just truth.

Yeosang didn’t argue. Seonghwa finally stepped forward. “We’re going to try something.”

Yeosang’s eyes flicked between them. Hongjoong met his gaze. “It’s a risk. But so is waiting.”

Still, Yeosang didn’t speak. Just nodded, once. That flicker of silence between them held something else, buried beneath duty, iron discipline, and sharp-edged cruelty. Familiarity. A shared burden.

“We wouldn’t do this if we had time,” Seonghwa added, voice slightly softer. Only slightly.

Yeosang shifted, a hand tightening over the fabric at his knee. His voice cracked when he finally spoke. “Who?”

Hongjoong tilted his head. “The girl.”

The silence sharpened.

Yeosang didn’t react, didn’t scowl, didn’t flinch-but something changed in his posture. Stiffer. Guarded.

“She was there when it happened,” Hongjoong continued. “We need her alive. For now.”

Yeosang glanced toward the door. “And after?” Seonghwa stepped closer. “That depends.”

Yeosang’s voice came quieter this time. “If I die, does she die with me?”

The question hung.

Hongjoong didn’t answer right away. His expression stayed unreadable-calculating, emotion buried deep behind cold resolve. But his fingers drummed once on the wooden desk. “No,” he said eventually.

Yeosang blinked, eyes low.

“No,” Hongjoong repeated, more firm. “We’re not those men.”

Seonghwa turned his face away slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching into something unreadable, maybe approval. Maybe restraint.

“She’s going on a mission with San,” Hongjoong said. “We’ll see what she’s made of.”

Yeosang’s brow furrowed slightly. “You trust him with her?”

“No,” Hongjoong said simply. “I trust him with rage.”

Yeosang exhaled through his nose, weary. “Then I’ll pray she has enough left to survive it.” Hongjoong actually smiled. A grim, sharp thing. “You always were too soft under it all.” Yeosang said nothing. But the flicker in his eyes made it clear: he wasn’t denying it.

Seonghwa looks over Yeosangs tired apperance, he can tell he's practically fighting consciousness right now. With a sharp sigh, "Go.. get some rest. There's no use worrying about this now. What's done is done." Yeosang lifted his head that seemed entirely too heavy for his own body and gave a small nod. He guided himself out the way like a ghost returning to his grave.

The door closed behind Yeosang with a soft click. Silence settled in its place. A silence that didn’t feel still, it felt watchful, like it had a pulse of its own.

Hongjoong didn’t look up from the map sprawled across his desk. His fingers traced along the curling edge of a region marked in dark ink, the paper smudged where his hands had lingered too long. Seonghwa remained standing. He didn’t speak at first. Not out of deference, but calculation. Watching the way Hongjoong’s shoulders curved forward, his jaw set tight. There was no humanity in his captain’s expression. Just tension. Precision.

Finally, Seonghwa broke the quiet.

“You’re not really going to keep her alive if Yeosang dies… are you?” It wasn’t accusatory. Just a question. Clean. Simple. But sharp enough to make the air in the captain’s quarters curdle.

Hongjoong didn’t look up. “Do you think I should?” His voice was soft. Too soft. The kind of quiet that made men flinch more than a scream.

Seonghwa didn’t answer immediately. “You told Yeosang we’re not those men.”

Hongjoong smiled. It wasn’t kind.

“We’re not,” he murmured. “We’re worse.”

He finally lifted his eyes. That sharp, merciless gaze met Seonghwa’s. There was nothing warm in it. Nothing redemptive. Just fire behind glass. “If he dies,” Hongjoong said slowly, “then whatever use she had dies with him. And if she had anything to do with it-”

He leaned back in his chair. The leather creaked beneath him. “I won’t even give the order. San will know what to do.”

Seonghwa’s expression didn’t change. But a muscle in his jaw twitched. “So you lied to him.”

Hongjoong raised a brow. “Did I?”

There was a pause. A beat where the only sound was the soft flutter of papers shifting from the sea breeze through the open porthole. Then, Hongjoong shrugged. “I told him what he needed to hear.”

Seonghwa crossed his arms, voice like stone. “He’s not stupid.”

“No,” Hongjoong agreed. “But he’s desperate.”

That silence returned, thicker this time. Like it could press between bones. Hongjoong rose from his chair, hands braced against the desk. His next words were quiet, but they rang with iron.

“If Yeosang dies, then the only thing that matters is making sure it was worth it.”

He turned his back, gazing out toward the sea through the glass. “And if she can’t give me that-then she’s not worth keeping.”

The sea beyond the windows was a sheet of mercury, dull and endless. Hongjoong watched it for a long moment, his reflection fractured against the glass.

“She’s not going to last long,” he murmured, half to himself. “And yet…” He trailed off.

Behind him, Seonghwa remained still, arms folded, his posture formal but strained. There was something tight in the line of his mouth. A tension he didn’t often show.

Hongjoong turned. “You’re thinking something.”

“I’m always thinking.”

Hongjoong gave a faint scoff. “You’re hesitating.”

A pause. Then Seonghwa sighed. Low. Guttural. “You want me to wake her up.”

“I want a cure for Yeosang. What I need is a test. And she’s it.” He pushed away from the table, his steps slow and deliberate. “Go. San’s already preparing.”

Another beat of stillness. Then, to Hongjoong’s slight surprise, Seonghwa didn’t move.

“Problem?” Hongjoong asked, voice dipped in amusement but edged in steel.

Seonghwa looked away, jaw tightening. “No.”

“Then go.”

Still, he didn’t move. Hongjoong tilted his head. “You’re stalling.”

“I said no.”

“Really?” A smirk tugged at the captain’s lips. “You almost sound like you care.”

That made Seonghwa lift his gaze, sharp and ice-pale. “Don’t start.”

“Not like you to hesitate, Hwa.”

Seonghwa looked away again, then finally exhaled through his nose. “It’s not hesitation. It’s exhaustion. This crew is already fraying. Yeosang is barely breathing. San’s waiting like a wolf. And now you want her dragged into it?”

“She’s already in it.”

Seonghwa didn’t argue. He just closed his eyes briefly, then turned to leave, expression unreadable again.

Hongjoong’s voice followed him. “Don’t go soft on me now, First Mate.” He spits out the title as if reminding him of his place. Beneath him.

Seonghwa paused at the door. “Get some rest, Captain,” he spits back over his shoulder. And left with a heavy echo of boots down the hall.

You woke with your heart already racing. You weren’t sure what roused you- whether it was a sound, a shift in the air, or just the remnants of the dream  still whispering behind your eyes.

The room was dim, but no longer pitch black. A single lantern hung near the ceiling, its flame flickering gently, casting slow-moving shadows across the walls. Your limbs felt stiff beneath the scratchy blanket. The bandage around your ribs itched with dried sweat. You sat up slowly, groaning at the ache in your bones.

And then-you heard it.

Bootsteps. Familiar now. Heavy. Measured.

They stopped outside the door. It didn’t open right away. Whoever was there waited. For you to panic? For silence? For dominance?

Then, the handle turned.

Seonghwa stepped into the room like a blade being drawn. His posture was composed, not aggressive- but every line of him was honed to precision. Tall, lean, dark clothes pressed and clean despite the salt air. His black hair was tucked neatly behind one ear, the other side left to fall forward and frame that statuesque, unreadable face.

Cold eyes. No warmth. No recognition. Just duty.

You held your breath, unsure why.

“We’re leaving,” he said. His voice was emotionless. Not even annoyed, just empty.

You didn’t move.

“You have ten seconds to stand,” he added flatly.

Your limbs screamed in protest as you slowly swung your legs over the edge of the bed. You winced as your feet met the cold floor.

Seonghwa said nothing more. Just watched. Not impatient. Not sympathetic. Just waiting.

The ship felt colder today.

Maybe it was just the wind bleeding in through the cracks in your jacket, or the ache in your ribs that hadn’t quite settled, but as you followed Seonghwa through the winding halls of the HalaVeil, the air itself seemed quieter. Thicker. Like the ship knew something was about to unfold.

Seonghwa didn’t speak. He walked with the same sharp precision he always did, boots echoing faintly against the old wooden boards. He didn’t look back to see if you were keeping up. He didn’t slow when you stumbled once on the stairs.

You trailed behind him with wary steps, still slightly dizzy from being wrenched out of sleep. Your throat was dry, and the dim oil-lamps lining the corridor did little to warm the tension stretching between you.

You tried first. “So,” you murmured, voice scratchy. “Big mission, huh?”

No answer.

 A few steps more “Are you always this talkative or am I just special?”

He didn’t even glance at you. Only said, coolly: “Keep walking.”

You bit your tongue. But not for long.

“Right,” you muttered. “I forgot. Conversation’s beneath the crew’s icy prince.”

That earned you a brief pause. Just a flicker. His head turned slightly-barely enough to catch the sharp line of his jaw under the shadows.

“Keep pushing,” he said lowly, “and I’ll forget I was told to bring you there in one piece.”

The words weren’t yelled. No bite in the tone. But they landed harder than any scream.

You walked the rest of the way in silence.

The HalaVeil creaked above you. Outside, somewhere on the deck, a gull shrieked in the wind.

When Seonghwa finally stopped, it was in front of a heavy door you didn’t recognize. He didn’t look at you.

“Get ready,” he said. “San’s waiting.”

And with that, he knocked once, then stepped aside.

The door groaned as it opened, revealing a smaller chamber just before the open air of the main deck. It wasn’t what you were expecting. No blades waiting at your throat. No snarling pirate already gripping your collar. Just… emptiness.

The room was dimly lit by the filtered grey light spilling in from the cracks above. The faint creak of the HalaVeil surrounded you, wood shifting with every slow roll of the sea. It smelled like salt, old rope, and something faintly metallic-like dried blood buried in the grain.

San wasn’t here. And somehow, that was worse.

You hesitated at the threshold, then stepped in slowly, boots clicking lightly against the floor. The silence pressed in immediately. Heavy. Thick. Like the air itself was watching.

Behind you, Seonghwa lingered just a moment longer. You turned slightly, expecting another harsh command or cold warning.

Instead, his voice came quieter than expected. Not warm, but not cruel either.

“Try to be useful,” he said, eyes fixed somewhere past your shoulder. “And… don’t die.”

You blinked.

But before you could process it, he was already gone. The door clicked softly behind him.

And then you were alone.

Alone… waiting for San.

Your heart kicked up slowly in your chest, thudding with a quiet warning. You crossed your arms, doing your best to look relaxed, casual. But your mind spun with possibilities. Was this part of the mission? A test? A trap?

You didn’t like not knowing. Your fingers twitched at your sides. The light breeze from the deck beyond tickled your skin, tauntingly close to freedom, but entirely out of reach. Still, you stood your ground. Even if your legs weren’t sure how long they’d hold.

A knock startled you.

Sharp. Three raps against the door.

Your breath hitched. Your shoulders tensed.

San.

It had to be San.

You backed up instinctively, a flicker of panic rushing beneath your skin, until the door creaked open and the figure that stepped inside stopped you in your tracks.

It wasn’t San.

It was… Mingi.

Broad-shouldered, tall-easily one of the largest on the crew, but with something in his face that didn’t scream immediate threat. His dirty-blond hair was slightly wind-tossed, a few curls clinging to his forehead. His earrings swayed as he stepped in, eyes scanning the room briefly before landing on you.

He looked… surprised, maybe. Or confused. But not hostile. In his hands, he held a bundle of fabric. Folded clothes. Boots tucked under one arm.

“You look like hell,” he said casually, but not cruelly.

Your brow furrowed as he stepped closer and set the pile on the nearest bench, dusting it off with the side of his arm.

“They said you’re going out today.” He looked at you fully now. “Probably be easier if you didn’t smell like death.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “Charming.”

He shrugged. “Not trying to be. Just being honest.”

You glanced down at yourself, your bloodied jacket still clinging to your skin, stained shirt wrinkled and stiff, your boots barely holding together.

You hadn’t even realized how filthy you were. Not really. You’d been too busy surviving.

He gestured to the clothes. Nothing elegant. A plain linen shirt, a faded brown vest, dark trousers, and boots that looked one size too big- but they were clean. Sturdy.

“Don’t get excited,” he muttered. “They're just spares.”

You hesitated. “Why bring them?”

Mingi gave a small shrug, his expression unreadable. “Dunno. Maybe your luck would shift if you didn’t look like a half-drowned ghost.”

You blinked. For a moment, it almost sounded like concern, buried under layers of dry sarcasm. He turned to leave, hand on the door, then paused.

“San’s not far,” he said, voice quieter now. “You’ll hear him before you see him. He doesn’t know how to be subtle.”

You didn’t respond. Didn’t trust yourself to. He nodded once, then disappeared out the door. You stared at the clothes in silence.

The first kindness, if it even was one, you’d been shown since waking on this ship. And it came from Mingi, the one you haven't really met before.

You stared at the clothes a moment longer before finally moving.

No point in waiting.

The moment you peeled off your old layers, a faint shudder ran through you. Your skin felt foreign beneath the tattered fabric-raw, clammy, dotted in bruises and bandages, like someone else’s body entirely. You moved carefully, aching with every shift.

The clean shirt slid over your head stiffly, the linen rough against your fever-dulled skin. The sleeves were too long, swallowing your hands. The trousers hung off your hips, made for someone broader in the waist and taller in the leg. You had to roll the fabric twice just to keep them from dragging.

The boots-gods, the boots.

You slipped your feet in and they immediately sunk, oversized and heavy, your heel slipping with every step. You stood for a moment, wobbling slightly, arms out for balance. If San saw you like this, he’d laugh until his lungs gave out.

You exhaled sharply through your nose and glanced around the room, jaw tightening.

A table. A bit of rope curled loosely near a bundle of unused sails.

You limped over, snatched it, and sat down with a grunt, pulling the boots off just long enough to thread the rope around your ankles, crisscrossed tightly above the heel, knotted over the tongue of each boot.

Not elegant. Not comfortable. But functional.

You stared at your feet, wrapped in mismatched fabric and rope, and let out a humorless chuckle. You looked like a child playing dress-up in her father’s clothes. Or a scarecrow patched together by pirates.

Still… they didn’t smell like rot. And they weren’t soaked in your own blood. You tugged the shirt collar straighter and sat back down.

Waiting.

You didn’t know where San was. But something told you, you’d hear him soon enough.

The quiet didn’t last.

A sharp sound cut through it-metal against wood. Slow. Dragging. Deliberate.

Shhhhkkk… shhhhkkk…

Your breath caught.

Footsteps followed-heavy, lazy, like whoever owned them had all the time in the world. And the worst part?

The voice.

A teasing, sing-song lilt. Mocking. Familiar.

“Curse~” came the soft, syrupy drawl. “Hope you’re dressed. I’d hate to drag you out by your skin~.”

You tensed, fingers curling against your thighs. The sound stopped just outside the door.

Then a soft knock, mockingly polite. And the door creaked open.

San filled the frame like a bad omen. Hair swept back, dark eyes glittering with something unreadable and sharp. His blade hung loosely from one hand, the tip already stained with scratches from where he’d been dragging it along the walls.

He grinned like the devil.

“Well, look at you,” he said, stepping in without being invited. “Someone got a makeover.”

His eyes dragged down your frame, pausing on the too-big clothes, the rope-tied boots.

He cackled.

“Oh, that’s rich. You look like a kicked puppy trying to play pirate.”

You clenched your jaw but said nothing. San stepped closer, circling slightly as he tapped the blunt side of his blade against his shoulder.

“Yunho patch you up just so I can take you out for a stroll? Sweet of him.” He leaned in, voice dropping. “I hope you’re ready to bleed again, Curse.”

Then he turned with a dramatic flourish, gesturing to the open hallway. “Come along now,” he said brightly, all mock cheer. “Captain’s orders. You’re mine for the day.”

And from the glint in his eyes, you knew he was going to enjoy every second.

You trailed behind him down the narrow passageway, the ship creaking softly underfoot as the morning light bled through the slats above. San didn’t speak. He just whistled-low and off-key-spinning his blade once with a flourish like it was more companion than weapon.

You cleared your throat. “So… what exactly is the mission?”

He didn’t stop walking, didn’t even look back.

“Oh? We’re talking now?” he said. “Thought you’d still be sulking after last time.”

“I’m asking a question,” you muttered, trying to keep your voice level. Civil.

He shrugged. “Alright, Curse. Since you asked so politely…” He finally glanced over his shoulder with a sharp grin, eyes like glass just before it shattered.

“We’re paying a visit to your old friends.”

Your blood ran cold.

San continued casually, like he was listing off ingredients for a stew. “Few of the Blackeyes docked just north of Sunsdase... you know... the fancy area, holed up in some fancy little hotel with silk pillows and overpriced wine. The kind of place they think keeps them hidden.”

Your stomach twisted.

San twirled his blade again. “We ambush them. Kill them. Deliver what’s left back to their beloved captain.” His smile widened. “As a message.”

You stumbled slightly, heart thudding in your ears. “And… I’m going with you?” you asked, quieter now.

San didn’t miss a beat. “That’s the best part.” He stopped walking and turned fully to face you. His eyes scanned your expression like he was hunting something beneath the surface. “See, the captain wants to test you. Says maybe you’re not completely useless. Says maybe you’re not a traitor. Or maybe…” He leaned in close, his breath warm and sharp like copper and spice. “...maybe this’ll prove once and for all what side you’re really on.”

You tried to hold his gaze, but it was like staring into the sun-violent, consuming.

San pulled away, smile still intact, then turned back toward the door leading to the deck. “Let’s get going,” he called behind him. “Wouldn’t want your friends to die before you get to watch.”

The door to the deck creaked open under San’s boot, and the harsh light of morning bled into your vision. Salt air rushed your senses, carried by a biting wind that tugged at your too-big clothes and the fraying rope around your boots. You stepped onto the deck behind him, squinting against the sudden glare.

And there he was.

Hongjoong.

Standing near the helm like he belonged to the sea itself. Arms crossed, coat whipping in the breeze, sharp black gloves gripping his sleeves. His presence cut cleaner than San’s blade-colder too. His eyes landed on you instantly.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

San gave a lazy salute as he approached, blade still in hand. “We’re here.”

Hongjoong’s gaze flicked to him, then back to you.

“Good,” he said, voice smooth but firm. “You’re both to head out in under an hour. There are three targets confirmed-Blackeyes crew members. Armed. Dangerous.” He took a step forward, the wood creaking beneath his boots. “They’re stationed in the Noble Spire Inn,” he continued. “A gaudy little place east of the wharf. The location is cramped. Civilians will be nearby. But that’s no excuse for failure.”

You tried to keep your expression even, even as your palms began to sweat.

Hongjoong walked in a slow circle around you, eyeing the way you stood, the way you flinched when San’s blade tapped lightly against your leg.

“You’re the bait if needed,” he said flatly. “They might still recognize you. Use that. Distract them. Stall them. Get close enough for San to cut them open.”

Your jaw tightened. “And if they attack me first?”

He stopped walking.

“If they kill you,” Hongjoong said, tone like ice cracking on a lake, “then you were useless.”

San chuckled behind you, pleased.

“But if you survive,” Hongjoong added, stepping closer, “maybe you’ll earn something beyond a cell and spoiled bread. Maybe.”

He tilted his head. “Understand?”

You nodded stiffly. “Yes… Captain...”

He stared at you for another second too long, then finally turned to San.

“You know the way. You lead. She follows. I want three bodies and no witnesses. I want them to fear what name they hear whispered in the smoke after we leave.”

San grinned. “HalaVeil.”

“Damn right.”

Hongjoong stepped back, his coat catching the wind as he walked away. The silence that followed was nearly sacred.

Then San stretched his arms behind his head with a smirk. “Well then, Curse. Let’s go hunting.”

He finally steps away.

The dock creaked faintly in the distance. You could hear it groaning against the tide, paired with the faint jangle of rigging and the cry of gulls overhead. From the ship’s railing, the town lay stretched before you like a lie too sweet to trust. Lanterns flickered between alleyways and cobbled paths. It was far too quiet to be innocent.

You stood near the gangplank, arms stiff at your sides, boots still a size too large and bound with rope. They pinched when you shifted your weight. Your new clothes smelled like someone else's life. The fabric was coarse. A little bloodstained. Your hands fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve. You weren’t nervous, at least not outwardly, but your heart hadn’t stopped tapping against your ribs since San stalked off to prepare.

Then came the sound of footsteps behind you.

You tensed.

But they were lighter. Quicker.

“Relax,” came the familiar voice. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have made it past breakfast.”

You turned just in time to see Wooyoung approach, his silhouette framed by the misty silver glow of morning. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, dark fabric rolled at the elbows, fingers glinting with rings. His red hair was wind-tossed, eyes narrowed like the sea itself had insulted him.

He didn’t smile.

“I heard you're going on a field trip,” he said dryly, glancing at the faint outline of the Sunsdase l in the distance. “Lucky you.”

You stared at him. “Why are you here?”

Wooyoung shrugged. “Just came to see if you’d cry before stepping off.”

He stopped beside you, leaned slightly against the railing, close but not touching. His tone stayed flat, but his eyes flicked over your appearance. You weren’t sure what he was looking for- weakness, maybe. Guilt. Fear. Some sign of what you were.

“I don’t get it,” you muttered after a moment. “One second you want me dead. The next you're giving me fashion advice.”

He snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself. I just don’t like messy things. Like betrayal. Or blood on the floorboards.”

You frowned. “What do you want then?”

His gaze slid to you like a knife.

“I want you to remember,” he said slowly, “that if Yeosang dies, this ship becomes hell. And the rest of us? We don’t burn alone. We bring others with us.”

Your breath hitched slightly. He hadn’t raised his voice. He didn’t have to. There was a beat of silence before he tilted his head. “You're lucky, you know. Getting a second chance. Most people tied to that curse are already seafoam by now.” His tone softened, barely. “So don’t waste it.”

You were quiet. Studying him. “You care about him.”

His jaw clenched. He looked away. Then, after a moment, he nodded once. A sharp, barely-there motion.

“Yeosang’s one of the only people on this floating wreck who still looks at the world like it might love him back.” His voice was quieter now. “Even after everything.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you didn’t say anything at all.

Wooyoung pushed off the railing, stepping back.

“You screw this up,” he said, voice regaining its bitter edge, “and I’ll personally deliver your body to the Blackeyes in ribbons. Consider that a promise.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Just turned. And walked back toward the shadows of the ship, coat trailing behind him like smoke.

You didn’t step off the ship right away.

Not because you were scared-at least, not just that, but because Wooyoung’s words clung to you like salt in your mouth. Bitter. Lingering. Not easy to swallow.

"If Yeosang dies, this ship becomes hell."

You leaned against the cool metal of the gangway, the wood beneath your boots groaning with the gentle sway of the tide. The docks ahead were drowsy, the town still waking. Lanterns flickered low behind frosted glass. A bell chimed somewhere far off, and the sea yawned in fog.

For a second, you could almost pretend none of this was happening. That you were just another tired sailor on shore leave. That your ribs weren’t still tender from San’s kick. That you weren’t walking into a building to help murder your former crew.

But that illusion was thin. Paper-thin. And the moment you blinked, it tore. The Halaveils weren’t giving you a second chance. They were sending a warning.

You glanced down at your hands. Scarred knuckles, cracked nailbeds. A pair of pants fitting loosely on my body. You looked ridiculous- like a child in someone else’s life.

But that wasn’t what unnerved you. It was the way your fingers didn’t tremble. Not when Wooyoung threatened you. Not when Hongjoong dragged you through the ship like you were nothing but a sack of bones and guilt. And not now, when you were walking into the hotel where you’d likely paint the walls red.

You exhaled slowly.

Truth was, you weren’t sure if this would be the first time you killed someone. Your memories of those early months with the Blackeyes were murky. Blurred by adrenaline, survival, orders barked through smoke. You remembered holding a blade. You remembered blood.

But whether it was yours or theirs? You never asked. Didn’t want to. Not back then. Not now.

You tightened your jaw and looked up at the fading stars. The wind was picking up, brushing your cheek like fingers long since dead. Somewhere behind you, the ship creaked- a low, patient groan that reminded you time was running out.

You were already someone they didn’t trust. The only way out was forward. And maybe, just maybe, that scared you less than it should.

The city was velvet-draped and gold-dusted, waking slowly under a pink-grey sky. Gas lamps still glowed against ornate brickwork, their reflections trembling in rain-wet cobbles. Elegant balconies hung above delicate storefronts, stitched with iron railings and sleeping vines. This place was rich, filthy with it.

Too clean for pirates. Too clean for people like you.

San didn’t seem to care.

He walked a pace ahead, shoulders sharp, boots heavy against the dainty streets. The morning crowds hadn’t started yet, just a few carriages rolling by, their drivers uninterested in the sight of two dark-clad figures cutting through their city like smoke. You struggled to match his pace, not because you were tired, though you were, but because San had a kind of rhythm you couldn’t copy. Every step of his felt like it led toward something. Like he was already in the moment where the blood hit the floor.

He hadn’t spoken since you left the ship. Not a word. And that silence was more unnerving than his usual cruelty.

You glanced at him.

His face was unreadable in profile, elegant and cold. The sunlight made his raven hair glow like spilt oil caught in motion, and his blade sat holstered at his hip, polished, waiting. But it wasn’t the weapon that made your pulse skip.

It was the glint in his eye. Murderous. Focused. Hungry.

You hated how calm he looked. Like this was routine. Like this meant something to him, but you weren’t sure if that something was justice or just… bloodlust.

So you asked. Quietly. Warily.

“Are you excited to get revenge for Yeosang… or just to kill?”

San didn’t stop walking. Didn’t glance your way. But a slow smile curled across his lips, dangerous and almost beautiful in the worst kind of way. “Does it matter?” he said simply, voice low.

You looked at him, something cold settling in your gut.

He finally glanced back at you over his shoulder, grin sharpening. “You think revenge and killing are different things?”

You said nothing. He turned away again, still smiling, still walking. And in that moment, the city seemed smaller. Because no matter how tall the buildings were or how golden the light, you were still just prey in a place that didn't belong to you.

And the wolf beside you? He was starving.

You stopped just short of the hotel.

From the outside, it didn’t look like the kind of place anyone died in. Towering white stone, carved archways, lanterns that burned soft and warm above the brass-framed doors. Ivy wound itself elegantly along the second-floor balcony, and a valet stood near the entrance with his hands clasped behind his back, unaware he’d soon be standing near a grave.

San ducked into the alley first. He pressed his back to the wall and gestured for you to do the same. You obeyed, if only because you didn’t want to test him in such close quarters.

“We go through the side,” he muttered. “Back staff entrance-kitchen, most likely. One of them usually sneaks down for food or a fuckin’ drink. I’ll slit his throat quietly, then we’ll head up the back stairwell.”

His voice was casual, like he was reading a menu.

“They’re in suite forty-five. Fancy bastards. Big space, corner room. We knock once, make a noise, wait for the door to crack, and I go in first. You stay behind me until I tell you to move.”

You stared at him, eyebrows pulling together. “That’s your plan?”

He blinked. “What?”

“That’s sloppy as hell,” you muttered. “You think they won’t notice a body in the kitchen? You think a corner room has one entrance? What if one of them goes to the window? What if the staff door’s locked? What if the valet has eyes on it?”

His gaze turned razor sharp. “You questioning me?”

“I’m not trying to,” you replied, “but your plan’s a coin toss. If even one thing goes wrong, the whole floor hears. And if the Blackeyes know they’re being hunted…”

You didn’t have to finish the sentence. He knew. He bristled.

You let the silence hold for just a moment longer before you leaned forward, voice low.

“They keep a rotation of guards in the east hallway. I’ve seen it. It’s slower after breakfast-less foot traffic. They change at the quarter-hour. If we wait another ten minutes, we can blend with staff from the front. They always let guests bring in ‘assistants’ through the side staircase near the atrium. It’s unmarked.”

San narrowed his eyes. “How the fuck do you know that?”

You froze.

Your lips parted. Then shut again. How did you know that?

“I-” you hesitated. “I think I… remember seeing it. Before.”

“When?” he pushed, tone sharp. “You’ve been here before?”

You looked toward the hotel. Your chest tightened. A strange fog was forming behind your memories, like smoke over broken glass. You had seen that hallway. You knew those rotations. But when?

“I don’t know,” you admitted softly. “I can’t remember.”

San was quiet for a long moment. He studied you, not like he was angry, but like he was trying to decide if you were dangerous.

And then…

He grinned. Slowly. Unsettling.

“Well,” he said, “maybe you are useful after all.”

You didn't reply. And across the street, the hotel doors opened wide. Showtime.

San crouched low, blade resting lazily against his thigh. He kept glancing at the hotel like it had personally offended him, like every polished tile and gilded balcony was mocking him. The murderous glint in his eye hadn’t faded. If anything, it was sharper now, simmering under his skin like embers behind glass.

You stayed still beside him, eyes scanning the alley, the windows, the guard rotations. Then you spoke. “We’re not killing anyone else.”

His head whipped toward you. “Excuse me?”

“We’re not here for chaos,” you said firmly. “Just the three. No guards. No witnesses unless it’s necessary.”

He scoffed, standing straighter. “You’re joking. You think I’m gonna tiptoe around for your peace of mind?”

“No,” you replied, voice flat. “I think you’re going to tiptoe because if we don’t, we won’t reach the Blackeyes. Someone will scream, someone will report us, someone will remember our faces. And then they’ll disappear before we can get close.”

You stepped in front of him, lifting your chin.

“They’re not stupid. They’ll run if they know we’re here. You want revenge? You want to make them feel it?” You pointed toward the side entrance. “Then follow my lead. Quick, clean. No mess. No distractions.”

San glared. The muscle in his jaw twitched.

“Three,” you repeated, slower this time. “Just the three.”

He exhaled through his nose. “Fucking hell.” There was a pause. A dangerous one.

Then… “Fine. We do it your way.”

You didn’t breathe until he looked away again, sheathing his blade with a frustrated clink.

But under all that tension, beneath the snarling teeth and burning glare, you sensed something else. Respect. Reluctant. Bitter. Buried under layers of fury. But it was there.

The early morning air clung heavy to your skin as you and San slipped from the alleyway, shadows stretching long beneath the pale lanterns lining the street. The city was quiet at this hour, the kind of rich quiet that only came from places so far removed from consequence. A few drunks staggered by. A couple in velvet cloaks laughed behind closed windows. No one looked down.

San didn’t speak. Not anymore. He just followed, steps unnervingly silent for someone so eager to kill.

You stayed close to the buildings, weaving between the carved stone columns and decorative potted palms. When you reached the side entrance - the one you’d spotted earlier during your "confused" memory lapse - you gave him a signal with your fingers.

Three.

Two.

One.

You moved.

The door wasn’t locked. Not exactly. It had one of those ornate twist knobs used more for aesthetics than security, the kind rich people believed kept danger out. You slipped in first, San watching your back, then closing the door behind you with a soft click.

The hallway was dimly lit, plush carpet swallowing your footsteps. You passed a cracked mirror, caught your reflection for a second- pale, tense, too many shadows in your eyes.

This place smelled of perfume, gold polish, and lies. You turned a corner, counting doors.

“Third floor,” you whispered.

San nodded once, still quiet, gaze sharp.

You took the servant stairs at the back. Narrow, creaky, dustier than the front ones, but less chance of running into someone important. Or someone alive for much longer. Each step felt like it echoed in your chest. By the time you reached the landing, you were both cloaked in silence. Listening. Waiting.

A man’s laugh, faint and slurred, filtered through the walls. You froze.

San grinned. You glared.

He mouthed: Which room?

You pointed. He reached for his blade.

You heard the footsteps a second too late.

Not loud. Not hurried. Just… wrong.

San’s hand shot out, pressing you back into the shadows of the hallway as the door at the far end creaked open. A man emerged, not one of the Blackeyes, but a hotel guard by the look of him. Not in uniform, not anymore. Off-shift maybe. But sharp-eyed. Sharp enough to notice two strangers crouched in a noble’s hallway.

He stopped mid-step. You both froze. His gaze narrowed.

You stepped forward first, heart hammering but mouth curled into a smile. “Evening,” you said sweetly. “Sorry-bit lost. This place is a maze.”

The guard's eyes flicked over you both. He didn’t return the smile.

“Don’t see guests sneaking through staff corridors at midnight,” he muttered.

San tilted his head. “We’re not sneaking,” he said with mock offense. “We’re exploring.”

You elbowed him subtly.

The man didn’t budge. “Papers?”

You blinked. “Papers?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Identification. License. Anything to prove you're not here to rob someone.”

San’s mouth twitched into something almost amused. “What if we are?”

You hissed under your breath: “San-”

The man’s hand dropped to his side, where the glint of a blade caught the hallway light. “Get against the wall.”

“No need for that,” you said quickly, lifting your hands slightly, palms up. “We’ll be on our way. Just a wrong turn-”

“Against the wall,” he barked.

San stepped forward. You saw it before it happened.

A flicker of motion - San’s knee collided with the man’s gut in one brutal move, knocking the wind out of him. The guard stumbled back, reaching for his blade, but you were already moving, grabbing the man’s wrist before the steel fully cleared its sheath. He was stronger. You were faster.

The two of you tumbled to the ground, San crouched beside you instantly. The man lashed out wildly, knife flashing. It grazed your arm - a shallow slice, but pain bloomed nonetheless.

San grabbed his head and slammed it into the polished floor.

Once.

Twice.

Blood spread beneath the man’s skull in a blooming stain. He stopped moving.

Silence fell again. Your chest heaved. San wiped the blood from his knuckles on the man’s coat.

“Charming didn’t work,” he said, voice dark with satisfaction.

You shot him a glare. “You think?”

He rose, grabbing your elbow to steady you. “Come on. Bodies draw flies.”

And just like that, you slipped through the corridor toward your true targets. With one less witness behind you.

The hallway was empty again, save for the blood-slick tiles and the echo of what you’d just done. You rubbed the shallow cut on your arm, still warm and damp, but your focus was locked on San, who knelt over the guard’s body, rifling through his coat like it meant nothing.

"You're robbing him?" you hissed.

He didn’t look up. “Would be a waste not to.”

Your stomach twisted. “He wasn’t even on the list.”

He scoffed. “He pulled a blade. That put him on the list.”

You took a step closer. “That wasn’t the plan.”

“And yet here we are.” He held up a coin pouch and tossed it once before stuffing it into his belt. “A man’s got to earn, sweetheart.”

You clenched your jaw and turned away, storming ahead.

The room wasn’t far now, just a few paces down. The ornate door loomed like a gallows.

Room 314.

Your breath hitched. You stopped. Your boots planted, rooted.

San walked up beside you. “Why’d you stop?”

Your voice was tight. “I need a second.”

He stared at you, unblinking. “A second?”

“I just-”

“No,” he snapped. “You don’t get a second. Not now.”

You didn’t move. He stepped in front of you, chest brushing yours. “You freezing up?” he asked lowly. “Right when it matters?”

You swallowed hard, the old instincts screaming to be quiet, but your lips parted anyway. “I’m not freezing. I just-something feels-”

His hand lashed out before you could finish. Fingers grabbed your throat, not tight enough to choke, but enough to shove you hard back against the hallway wall. The impact stole your breath.

His eyes burned inches from yours. “I knew it,” he growled. “I fucking knew. Back in the dining room, when I said you were one of them. I saw it. You’re still theirs.”

You clawed at his wrist. “I’m-not.”

“You hesitated,” he said, voice pure venom. “You hesitated. After all this time, after what they did to Yeosang, you're still holding on?” His grip tightened slightly. A warning. “Give me one reason,” he hissed, “one, why I shouldn’t open this door, shove you inside first, and tell them you’ve come home.”

Pain flared behind your ribs, right where his fingers pressed too close to the healing wound. You gasped softly.

And San… smiled.

“I could say it was an accident,” he whispered. “I could say you ran. Hell, I could say you were never on this ship at all.”

He released you with a hard shove. You stumbled forward, gasping, but caught yourself.

“You’ve got one job,” he said, now low and vicious. “And I swear, if you screw this up, if you hesitate again, I will kill you myself.”

The door loomed just ahead, untouched. Your hand shook as you reached for the handle.

“San, wait-” you said, voice hoarse, one hand still outstretched toward the door.

But he wasn’t listening. Of course he wasn’t.

The warning left your lips half a second too late. He threw his shoulder into the door with practiced force, and the wood cracked inward with a bang that swallowed the hallway. The hinges groaned. The scent of candle wax and tobacco bled out into the corridor as the door swung open into the dimly lit hotel suite.

And just like that-you were in.

San stepped through first, blade already in his hand, shoulders squared, ready to kill. You followed behind slowly, something crawling in the pit of your stomach. Something you couldn’t explain. Not fear. Not exactly.

Wrong.

Everything about this room felt wrong. There was no movement. No startled yells. No retreating footsteps. Just silence. And smoke.

The room was larger than expected, luxurious even. Golden drapes fluttered from the open balcony window. An empty dinner plate sat abandoned on a small table, next to a half-empty glass of wine.

But no Blackeyes. Not in sight.

San tilted his head, scanning. “They were here,” he muttered. “This is the room. You said it yourself.”

“I know what I said,” you hissed. “But something’s off. Doesn’t it feel-”

He held up a hand to silence you.

Too late.

From the shadows behind the curtain, something creaked. A whisper of movement, fast-too fast.

San turned just in time as a figure lunged.

Steel met steel.

The room erupted into chaos.

You stumbled back, slamming into the wall as San met the attacker head-on. Their blades clashed with a sickening clang, sparks flying as he snarled, knocking the stranger across the table. Furniture splintered. A bottle of liquor exploded on the floor, the fumes igniting tension like a match.

More footsteps-another figure appeared in the far doorway, eyes flashing under a hood.

They weren’t on the list. You didn’t recognize them.

And worst of all-

They were waiting.

This wasn’t just a mission.

This was a trap.

Your throat tightened. “San!”

But he already knew.

His smile twisted, sharp as a sickle. “Guess we’re doing this the fun way.”.

Four men.

No - five.

Blackeyes. They weren’t startled. They weren’t even moving. They were waiting.

“Trap,” you breathed, your heart dropping.

San tensed beside you. He didn’t even look at you. “No shit.”

Then - the room erupted. Steel unsheathed. Chairs scraped. Someone lunged.

San moved fast,  faster than you’d seen him before. His blade met the first attacker’s, teeth bared in something close to joy. “You fuckers picked the wrong day,” he spat.

You spun just in time to duck a wide swing. Another Blackeye came for you, face twisted in smugness. You ducked under his arm and kicked his leg out from under him. He fell, but another was already behind you.

The room was too small. Too full of shadows and blades.

San fought two at once, barely keeping pace. Another was trying to get behind him.

“San!” you shouted.

He didn’t hear you. So you acted.

You surged forward and slammed into the man behind him, knocking him off balance. San twisted just in time, sword arcing clean through his shoulder. Blood sprayed as the man screamed and collapsed.

One down.

San turned, eyes flicking to the scene. To you. Something dangerous shifted in his stare. “You always know where they are,” he said lowly, a growl under his breath.

You barely had time to react before a gunshot rang out, splintering the table behind you.

“Split!” San barked, ducking and dragging a body in front of him as a shield.

You moved to flank. The room was hell - fists, steel, firelight from the lamps. You caught the glint of a blade slashing for your ribs. Pain bloomed, but you twisted away just in time.

A table overturned. One of the Blackeyes was lighting something, something with an oil trail.

You realized too late. They were going to burn the building.

“NO!” you shouted.

But the fire was already racing.

San locked blades with the largest man, shouting something obscene. You knocked another aside with the edge of a broken chair leg.

“Back! We need to fall back!” San ordered, panting. “It’s a message, they want the fire to speak for them!”

You hesitated. There were only two Blackeyes left - both escaping. One darted through the kitchen door. Another bolted through the fire-blackened hallway.

San turned to run. But you didn’t. You looked to the flames. And ran the opposite way.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” San shouted behind you.

But you were already disappearing into the smoke.

You pushed through the smoke, lungs screaming.

The world was nothing but orange and black, light and void,  heat and fear. Each step was a battle. The hallway burned beneath your boots, wood groaning as it split under the strain. But you saw them - two shadows darting just ahead. Moving fast, ducking low. Escaping.

You chased harder.

“HEY!” you shouted, voice torn raw from the smoke. “STOP! I NEED ANSWERS!”

They turned down another corridor, one you vaguely remembered from entering. You followed. The flames licked higher, chasing your heels.

Finally, you burst out of the hallway and into the loading area behind the building, the back exit. The sky above was dark, early night descending, but the fire behind you lit everything like a false dawn.

The two Blackeyes stopped briefly.

One turned, a jagged grin splitting his smoke-streaked face. “What’s this?” he mocked, panting. “A little rat that thinks she’s a hound?”

The other spat into the dirt. “Go back to your leash, girl. We’re done with you.”

“Why did you wait for us?” you demanded, stepping forward. “You knew we were coming. Why?”

That earned a sharp, cruel laugh.

“You think the Blackeyes don’t have eyes on their enemies?” he sneered. “You lot are louder than cannon fire. We saw you coming before you even docked.”

“But why here?  Why set the fire?” you insisted, voice rising with desperation. “Why trap him?”

The one with the grin tilted his head. “Captain said to send a message. So we did.”

“What message?” you snapped.

The second man stepped close, his face only a breath away from yours. “That even curses scream when they burn.”

And then- he shoved you.

You stumbled backwards, boots slipping on the scorched ground. Your foot caught on something, a broken beam, half on fire, and you fell hard.

Your hands instinctively reached out to break your fall-

-and landed in the flames.

Pain.

Not sharp. Not slicing. But consuming.

It rushed through your arms in a molten wave. You screamed, curling in on yourself, trying to drag your hands back, but the fire had already kissed your skin too long. The flesh was red, blistering in places. You could smell it.

They were already gone. Smoke clogged your throat as you scrambled up and staggered away, arms cradled against your chest. And behind you, the building screamed with you.

You couldn’t go back the way you came.

The fire had swallowed the hallway, angry tongues of orange and red devouring wood, screaming through every crack. Your breath caught as you turned away from the heat, arms searing, eyes blurred with smoke and tears.

No sign of San.

No sign of anyone.

Just you and the blaze.

You stumbled down a side hall, vision narrowing to a tunnel of flickering light and black haze. Every surface you brushed left ashes smeared on your skin. You gritted your teeth as another wave of pain rolled through your arms - raw, blistered, screaming.

A window. You saw it. Cracked. Half open. Smoke curling through the top pane. You forced your way toward it.

Your legs gave out just as you reached the wall. You collapsed to your knees, forehead thudding against the scorched wood. You tried again, dragging your body with one shoulder, your bloodied palms trembling. You had to use your elbows,  your wrists useless, swollen, burnt.

Every breath was a gasp. Every movement a curse.

You finally reached it. With one last wrenching effort, you shoved the window open wider with your forearm, ignoring the splinters and the sting. Cool night air rushed in, mixing with the smoke in your lungs. You took it in like a drowning thing.

Below… a rickety iron fire escape. Maybe two stories down. It would have to do.

You hauled yourself through the frame, dragging your body out headfirst and twisting to land awkwardly on the metal grating. It groaned under you.

Your vision spun. You tasted copper. You couldn’t scream anymore. You’d done enough.

Hand over shaking hand, you slid your body down each rung of the escape ladder, feet fumbling to find the bars below. At one point, your boot slipped entirely and you hung there- swinging-  your entire weight resting on your half-burnt grip.

You nearly let go. But your body refused to die just yet.

When your boots finally scraped dirt, you collapsed completely, a trembling heap on the alley floor. The fire roared above. Embers fell like dying stars behind you.

Still no San.

Still no one.

Just you and the pain.

And the question you couldn’t stop asking: Why did they wait for us?

Your knees scraped against the cobblestones, slick with ash and something that might’ve been your own blood. The alley twisted, unfamiliar. Or maybe you’d passed here before - maybe everything just looked the same in this light. Dim. Dead. Smudged by smoke.

Each breath clawed its way out. Each thought was worse than the last.

You pressed one hand against a brick wall for balance, but even that slight pressure made your vision flicker. Burned skin. Torn muscle. You could barely feel your fingers anymore.

Should I even go back?

What was left to return to?

You'd disobeyed. You'd failed. You’d walked into flames like an idiot and came out with nothing but pain and smoke in your lungs.

San might be dead.

The thought hit harder than it should have. And if he wasn’t… he was going to kill you himself. Or beg Hongjoong to. Either way, it was over.

You collapsed again, chest heaving. The cold of the stone seeped into your burned forearms, but you didn’t flinch this time. You were too tired. The city pressed down around you, narrow walls and sooty air, the occasional scream or siren in the distance. But no footsteps. No rescue.

You were alone.

Like you were always meant to be.

They’d never trusted you. And now San had proof , at least in his eyes. You went against the plan. You followed the enemy into the fire like a traitor chasing her real crew. You even got burned for it.

It didn’t matter that you tried to stop him. That you were right about something feeling wrong.

All they’d see was the fallout. No dead Blackeyes- not the ones we wanted. No message delivered.

Just you.

You could lie here. Let the street swallow you. Maybe the fire would finish what it started. Maybe the smoke in your lungs would finally settle. But even that wasn’t fair. You didn’t deserve peace. Not yet.

You rolled onto your side, groaning, pushing yourself up with a raw, shaking elbow. You didn’t know where San was. You didn’t know if he’d made it out.

But you knew this: if you didn’t get back, if you didn’t try to fix this…

…Hongjoong wouldn’t need to punish you.

You’d do it yourself.

You gritted your teeth, spat blood onto the cobblestones, and started crawling again. Back toward the docks. Back toward your worst decision. And maybe, if the gods felt cruel enough,  back toward San.

The pain was beginning to blur into something more surreal than real. Your limbs felt scorched from the inside out, your breath rasping like torn sails in your throat. The city around you was dim- fancy buildings casting long shadows in the early morning haze. You were alone, dragging your bloodied body down the cobbled streets like some discarded soul the tide forgot to take.

Each movement was agony. Each step made you wonder why you didn’t just collapse and let it all end here.

Then you saw her.

At first, you thought your fever was back. A figure stood at the edge of an alleyway, half-shadowed. Cloaked in a heavy tattered shawl that brushed the floor, with wild grey hair spilling out like sea foam.

But it was her eyes that stopped you cold. Icy blue. Unnaturally sharp. Like looking straight into a storm.

You blinked, unsure if she was real.

She stepped forward slowly. Each movement deliberate.

"Salt’s in your blood now, child," she rasped. Her voice wasn’t frail, it was ancient. Like barnacles on a shipwreck.

You stared, unsure what to say.

She looked you over. Not with pity. But something stranger. Recognition, maybe.

"You’re walking a crooked path," she murmured, her eyes never leaving yours. "But not the wrong one."

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.

"They’ll try to use you. Some already are. But the tide… the tide doesn’t forget who it chose."

You shook your head. “Wait-what are you talking about? Tide? What does that mean? Do I know you?”

She smiled softly. "Not yet. But you will."

You took one shaky step toward her, and she was gone. No sound. No steps. Just… vanished.

The alley was empty. You looked around wildly, but there was no sign of her. Not even a wet footprint. Maybe the pain had finally cracked your mind.

But those eyes- You’d seen them before. Maybe in a dream. Maybe somewhere deeper.

You didn’t know. All you knew was that her words wouldn’t leave you.

Salt’s in your blood now.

Your body moved on instinct now, burning, shaking, scraped raw in every way a person could be. You weren’t even sure you were crawling anymore. It felt more like dragging. As if your body had long since given up, but something beneath it all refused to die. Refused to stop. Your fingers bled as they scraped over stone and splintered boardwalk.

And then-

Through the burning haze of your vision, you saw it.

The HalaVeil.

Anchored at the far edge of the docks, tall and sharp against the sky. Her black sails were furled, her hull as sleek and ominous as ever. She looked like a beast asleep, chains humming low with the kind of tension that never fully relaxed. She hadn’t left.

You froze, breath caught in your throat.

They were still here.

Your limbs nearly collapsed beneath you with relief—or dread, you couldn’t tell. You had been so sure… So sure that they'd left you behind.

That when the Blackeyes ambushed you, when the plan crumbled, when the flames rose high, you thought they'd use that as an excuse to cut ties. To let you burn. Bury the evidence.

But the ship was still docked. Which could only mean one thing:

San might not be back yet.

The thought hit harder than the pain. You swallowed the sour taste in your mouth, a mix of blood and guilt. He was hurt because of you. He might be dead because of you.

And yet… the ship remained. That tether. That looming threat. That promise.

Part of you ached to get there, to throw yourself onto its deck and surrender to the burn in your arms, the throb in your ribs, the sting of your charred skin.

But another part-the deeper one-whispered you shouldn’t be going back at all.

Still, you kept crawling. Like the tide pulling you in whether you wanted it or not. The closer you got to the ship, the less real it felt.

Your body was a pulsing bruise, every movement a scream beneath your skin. The salt of the dock air stung your burned arms, your legs barely worked, dragged more than walked, your vision doubled and blurred. You weren’t even sure if your eyes were open anymore. Only the dark outline of the HalaVeil guided you forward like a cruel lighthouse.

Closer. Closer.

Your fingertips grazed the dock planks.

The scent of sea salt and iron was everywhere. Your blood, the flames, the ash in your hair. And under it all, the faint familiar smell of the ship. Cold wood. Engine smoke. Salted leather. Home to monsters.

Something shifted above-movement.

Voices.

You were too far gone to register what they were saying, but suddenly, a shadow darted across the deck. Quick footsteps thundered.

Then-

“Holy shit-”

A voice.

Sharp. Familiar.

“It’s them! Hey-HEY!”

The world tilted. You lifted your head just enough to see him.

Wooyoung.

He stood at the edge of the ship like he’d seen a ghost. His sharp eyes-usually glinting with mischief or narrowed with suspicion-were now wide, horrified. He leapt down to the dock faster than you thought possible. You smiled. Or tried to.

“...W-Woo…” your voice cracked, just air and blood.

He dropped to his knees beside you, grabbing your shoulders far too firmly for how broken you were. “Don’t move,” he hissed. “Don’t even try.”

You blinked up at him, lips parted to say more. But nothing came out. Only black. The last thing you saw was the flash of panic in Wooyoung’s eyes, and the way his voice cracked when he called for help.

Back on deck- as the mission begins:

From the highest deck of the HalaVeil, just beside the portside rail, Hongjoong stood silently with his hands clasped behind his back.

The early light cast sharp gold lines across the ocean’s dark skin, and the city beyond was already stirring, Sunsdase never truly slept, only dozed between sins. The captain’s coat hung heavy on his shoulders, stiff with age and salt, the high collar sharp against his jaw. The breeze ruffled the ends of his raven-black hair, but his eyes didn’t flinch from the two figures shrinking in the distance.

San and the traitor.

Together.

A low breath escaped through his nose. “Fitting.”

Behind him, Seonghwa stood just out of reach, watching the same retreating silhouettes with a stillness that bordered on unsettling. His arms were folded, lean frame draped in black, and the expression on his face was unreadable, but Hongjoong knew him too well to miss the slight tension in his jaw.

“You think I’m wrong,” Hongjoong said without looking at him.

“I think,” Seonghwa replied after a beat, “that you’re not giving San a leash. Just teeth.”

A ghost of a smirk touched Hongjoong’s lips. “He doesn’t need a leash. He needs a purpose. And she’s going to give it to him.”

Seonghwa said nothing.

“She’ll either prove herself,” Hongjoong continued, “or she won’t.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Seonghwa’s voice was low. Cold.

Hongjoong finally turned his head, eyes glinting. “Then he’ll handle it.”

They both knew what handle it meant.

The wind shifted, carrying the scent of firewood and sea grease from the nearby docks. Hongjoong returned his gaze to the shrinking pair. The way she walked slightly behind. The way San kept turning his head to glance at her, not protectively. Calculatingly.

“Do you believe her?” Seonghwa asked after a long silence. “Everything she said during the debrief?”

Hongjoong didn’t answer right away.

“I believe she thinks she’s telling the truth,” he said finally. “Which is more dangerous than lying.”

Below them, movement stirred on the ship-Mingi calling out to one of the deckhands, Wooyoung disappearing toward the infirmary again. Business as usual. Except it wasn’t. Not since Yeosang. Not since the curse.

“I want eyes on the docks,” Hongjoong said without turning. “If she does anything-anything-that San can’t report back himself, I want to know about it.”

Seonghwa gave a tight nod and turned to leave. Just before stepping below deck, he paused. “...You never did say what happens if she survives.”

Hongjoong didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. Because in the captain’s mind, the real question was: What happens if she doesn’t?

"Go check on him." 

Hongjoong didn’t look up from the horizon, but his voice cut clean through the air. Cold. Final. The demand wasn't targeted to Seonghwa.

Jongho gave a short nod and turned, knowing instantly it was for him, boots thudding against the wooden floor of the ships deck as he exited. He didn’t ask which him-he already knew.

The infirmary door creaked open, and the scent hit him first. Salt. Disinfectant. And something bitter, like rotting copper beneath freshly cleaned linens.

Yeosang.

He lay curled on the cot furthest from the light. A thin blanket clung to his body like a shroud, rising and falling in shaky rhythm. The black veins had spread again. Jongho’s jaw tightened as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

For a moment, he didn’t speak. Just stared.

“…Jongho?”

The voice was barely there- soft, like torn thread.

Jongho grunted, stepping closer. "Captain asked me to check on you."

Yeosang gave the faintest smile, pale lips twitching. "So I’m still worth checking on, huh?"

"…Barely."

A silence settled between them. Not awkward. Just heavy. Yeosang’s eyes fluttered shut. “Did she make it back yet?”

Jongho’s stare sharpened.

“You shouldn’t be asking about her.”

“She’s part of this.”

“She’s a problem.”

Yeosang turned his head slowly. Despite the illness draining him, there was something clear in his gaze. Something that hadn’t dimmed. “You don’t think I know that?”

Jongho didn’t reply. His silence said enough.

“She doesn’t feel like a stranger,” Yeosang murmured. “Not entirely.”

“That’s the curse talking.”

“Maybe.”

Jongho approached the bedside. His hands moved out of habit, checking Yeosang’s pulse, brushing fingers across his forehead. Cooler than yesterday. Still not good. He scribbled something onto Yunho’s chart.

Yeosang watched him. “You ever think maybe she didn’t know what she was doing?”

“I don’t care.”

“She looked scared.”

“She should be.”

Yeosang closed his eyes again, sighing. The silence lingered.

“Does it still hurt?” Jongho asked eventually, voice quieter.

Yeosang didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The curse spoke through the tremble in his limbs. Through the way his breathing hitched when he shifted. Through the black web growing beneath his skin.

Jongho stared. Then finally said, “You don’t get to die.”

Yeosang smiled faintly. “Didn’t plan on it.”

Jongho stepped back, folding the chart and placing it onto the side table. But he didn’t leave. Yeosang blinked up at the ceiling. “Do you ever wonder what it would’ve been like if we’d stayed on land?”

Jongho tilted his head. “No.”

“Liar.”

Jongho gave the barest shrug. “Land doesn’t change fate.”

Yeosang let out a soft exhale. Almost a laugh.

“You think she’s really part of this? Like… the bigger thing?”

“I think she’s dangerous,” Jongho said flatly. “And not because she fights.”

Yeosang turned to face him again. “Then why?”

Jongho looked at him for a long moment.

“Because she’s not lying. And that makes this worse.”

Neither said anything for a while. Eventually, Jongho sat in the chair beside the bed, arms crossed. Just watching. Yeosang didn’t tell him to leave. And Jongho didn’t plan to.

Yeosang rasped, a faint curve to his lips. “Shouldn’t you be sharpening your axe or something?” Jongho grunted and leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “If I used an axe, maybe.”

They stared at each other a moment. The silence wasn’t awkward, just familiar.

“You look worse,” Jongho eventually said, nodding at the black veins creeping higher on Yeosang’s throat.

“You always know how to flatter a man.”

There was a pause. Then, quietly, Yeosang added, “It’s spreading.”

Jongho's jaw tightened. “I know.”

Yeosang’s gaze dropped. His fingers twisted the blanket in his lap. “I don’t… I don’t feel like myself.”

For a while, Jongho didn’t respond. He walked over, sat on the edge of a stool beside the bed. The low creak of wood between them.

“You’re still you,” he said eventually, voice low. “Just a little more… cursed.”

Yeosang laughed, dry and bitter. “Thanks.” Another long silence.

“You remember that job in Blackspur?” Jongho asked suddenly, tone lighter. Yeosang blinked. “With the sea glass vault?”

Jongho smirked. “You tripped the silent alarm and still convinced the guards they set it off.”

Yeosang let out a small huff of a laugh. “I was good back then.”

“You still are.” Jongho leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “You’re not broken, Yeosang. You're just… dented.”

Yeosang looked at him. “Dented doesn’t kill you, huh?”

“No,” Jongho said. “Not unless you let it.”

Yeosang closed his eyes. “Sometimes I think I already did.”

The two of them sat in the silence that followed. Not comforting, exactly, but steady. Salt hung in the air from the nearby port windows. The kind of silence that only long friendships could survive. Jongho eventually stood. He hesitated for a moment, then reached out and gently adjusted the blanket over Yeosang’s chest.

“Rest. We’ll need your mouth back at full sass soon.”

Yeosang smiled faintly without opening his eyes. “You miss it already?”

“I’d never admit it.”

Jongho turned to leave, the shadows swallowing him near the door. Before stepping out, he paused—just long enough for Yeosang to hear:

“I’d kill the world if it meant saving you. You know that, right?”

Then he was gone. Yeosang lay there, eyes wide open now, watching the cracks in the ceiling.

And he whispered into the empty room, “I know.”

The door hadn’t quite latched when Jongho left.

Yeosang heard his boots pause just outside, lingering longer than necessary. A shadow crossed the crack in the frame. Then gone.

He didn’t call him back. Didn’t have to.

The room was quiet again, but it held warmth now. Faint, like steam rising from a mug left too long untouched. It clung to the edges of the cot, to the lingering scent of salt and leather. Jongho’s scent.

Yeosang exhaled slowly.

His body ached. Every breath scraped like coral in his lungs. But his mind… that was louder than ever. He glanced toward the door. The one Jongho had slipped through. His gaze lingered too long.

Always the last one to leave. Always the first to look back.

His fingers curled around the blanket, knuckles pale. He didn’t know when Jongho had started seeing through him. Past the sarcasm, the reckless bravado. Past the pirate and into something… softer. Something Yeosang tried to keep buried beneath blade and blood and that damn lie-detecting stare.

And Jongho never said anything. Never pushed. Never needed to. But sometimes, he sat too close. Sometimes, his voice softened just for him. Sometimes, he looked at Yeosang like he already knew every terrible thing, and stayed anyway.

Yeosang closed his eyes again, breathing in the space Jongho had just left. And for just a moment, his pain dulled. Not from magic.

But from memory.

The morning fog still clung to the rails of the HalaVeil like something alive, something stubborn. Gulls circled overhead, cutting through the grey sky, but their cries felt too sharp in the heavy silence that coated the deck.

Hongjoong stood at the bow, arms folded behind his back, eyes locked on the far docks. He hadn’t moved for almost an hour. Just stared- calculating, simmering. Behind him, Yunho leaned against a mast, arms crossed, his brow low. His usual calm looked frayed at the edges. “It’s been too long.”

Seonghwa stood a few paces away, posture crisp and spine straight, but his jaw was tense. “They should’ve been back before sunrise.”

Hongjoong didn’t respond.

The wind toyed with the edges of the maps still pinned to the deck table behind them, snapping one free. Yunho caught it with one hand, eyes flicking toward the captain.

“Do you think it went wrong?” he asked, voice lower now. Sharper.

Hongjoong’s jaw twitched. “It wasn’t meant to take this long. Not unless one of them’s bleeding out. Or both.”

Yunho grimaced.

Seonghwa finally stepped forward, speaking in that cool, unfazed tone of his. “Should we prepare to retrieve them?”

“No,” Hongjoong said instantly. “We wait. A little longer.”

“But-”

“I said, we wait.”

There was a bite to his words now. Not anger. Not yet. But irritation curled around the syllables like smoke. He didn’t need to say what they were all thinking. If it had gone wrong, it could’ve been sabotage. It could’ve been her. Or worse, something they hadn’t accounted for.

Yunho ran a hand through his hair, eyes narrowing at the horizon. “You really think she’d do it? Turn on us?”

“We gave her a leash,” Seonghwa muttered, “but we never checked if she bites.”

Hongjoong’s gaze stayed locked on the dockside buildings. Still. Silent. Then, low: “We’ll know soon enough.”

Yunho's boots tapped against the wooden deck as he paced in a small circle, his brows knitted tightly. The tension in his jaw made his sharp features stand out even more, the morning sun catching against his high cheekbones and the edge of his nose ring. His long coat was undone, swaying slightly in the sea breeze, the soft fabric contrasting with the blade at his hip.

Seonghwa, in contrast, stood unnervingly still.

The early light hit his pale complexion in fragments, catching on the metal fastenings of his dark coat and the neatly-tied leather straps down his arms. Tall and sharp, like someone carved from frost, he looked every bit the first mate he was feared to be — a man who didn’t need to raise his voice to silence a room. His eyes were cold steel, watching the docks with the precision of a hawk.

Hongjoong didn’t say a word. The captain’s arms were still folded behind him, his rings glinting as his fingers flexed. His shorter frame didn’t detract from his presence — if anything, it only made it more concentrated. Compact and volatile. His dark hair ruffled slightly in the wind, strands falling across the high sweep of his cheekbone as he stared down the horizon like it had personally offended him.

Tension crackled between them like a fraying wire. None of them liked waiting. And this wait was far too long.

“I don’t like this,” Yunho muttered again.

“You’ve said that three times,” Seonghwa replied flatly, still not blinking.

“And I’ll say it a fourth if it gets us moving.”

Before another retort could be traded, Seonghwa shifted slightly. His head tilted. A flash of motion caught his eye - there, just beyond the fog.

A figure. A lone one.

He narrowed his gaze.

“…There,” he said, voice razor-thin. “Someone’s coming.”

Hongjoong immediately turned. His eyes scanned the edges of the dock, sharpening. Yunho stepped closer, squinting into the distance.

And then - the shape became clearer.

A coat. A red-tinted blade. A saunter that didn’t belong to anyone else.

San.

Alone.

Seonghwa’s eyes narrowed further. “Where is she?”

San’s boots slammed against the gangplank with a fury none of them were prepared for. He was always volatile. A spark too close to dry tinder. But this… this was different.

Yunho took one look at him and straightened, all prior amusement draining from his face.

San’s coat was dusted with soot, one of the sleeves singed near the shoulder. A thin streak of blood marked the corner of his lip, and there was a wildness in his eyes, not adrenaline, not joy. Rage. Bare and unchecked.

Seonghwa’s posture didn’t change, but his eyes tracked the scorch marks. The rip in the fabric near San’s hip. The tightness in his fists. The blade, still clutched in one hand.

No smile. No mocking. Not even a snide remark.

Hongjoong spoke first.

“You’re late.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a test.

San stopped just short of the captain, his chest heaving. His face was flushed, half with exertion, half with pure unfiltered rage. He said nothing.

“What happened?” Seonghwa asked, voice sharp.

San’s lip curled. “They knew we were coming.” Silence. He dropped his bloodied blade onto the deck with a dull clang. “We were set up,” he spat. “They were waiting for us.”

Yunho’s eyes narrowed. “What about-”

“She ran into the fire,” San snapped. His gaze shot to the medic like a blade. “She followed them. Into the fucking flames.”

Hongjoong blinked slowly. “So she’s dead?”

San’s jaw clenched. His voice dropped, trembling with barely-contained wrath. “No. Not yet. But she should be.”

A stunned silence fell between the three senior crew members. Even Seonghwa seemed taken aback by the venom in his tone.

“She disobeyed direct orders. Put the mission at risk. Slowed me down. We lost the targets,” San hissed. “And I had to watch three Blackeyes slip through the goddamn smoke.”

“Did you see their faces?” Seonghwa asked coolly.

San gave a curt nod. “Two of them. The third kept to the shadows.”

“And her?”

San scoffed, dragging a hand through his soot-laced hair. “ Probably burned. Stupid. Still crawling after them like she gave a damn.”

“She didn’t return with you,” Yunho said quietly.

“I left her,” San said, without remorse. “She wants to follow the wrong crew? Let her die with them.”

Another beat of silence passed.

Then - Hongjoong’s voice, soft. Dangerous. “Are you sure she ran with them… or after them?”

San didn’t answer. He just stared, chest rising and falling. Still trembling from fury. And for the first time in a long time… the air on the HalaVeil deck felt colder than the sea.

The air was tight. Thick with something unspoken.

San stormed down the deck, boots slamming against the wood. His curses echoed over the water, sharp and venomous. Yunho followed without a word, catching his shoulder only once to steer him toward the infirmary.

Hongjoong didn’t move. Not at first. He remained still at the rail, one hand gripping the edge so tightly his knuckles paled. The other hung loose by his side, fingers twitching slightly, as if debating whether to clench or strike. His expression was calm. Cold. Composed. But the way his jaw shifted betrayed him.

Seonghwa stayed silent a few paces away, arms folded neatly behind his back. Only when San and Yunho disappeared below deck did he speak. “He broke formation.”

It wasn’t a question.

Hongjoong gave a single nod, eyes still locked on the horizon.

“And she ran,” Seonghwa added.

Still no reaction. But Seonghwa knew him. Knew him better than anyone. So he stepped forward just slightly, just enough for the low whisper of his voice to carry.

“They’ll all feel it, you know.”

Hongjoong’s eyes flicked to him, sharp and unreadable.

“The crew,” Seonghwa clarified. “The chaos. The doubt. The punishment.”

A beat passed. The wind pulled at the edge of Hongjoong’s coat. Then, at last, Hongjoong spoke. “I let her live to find the truth.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “And instead,” he continued, “she runs into flames, with them.”

He finally looked away from the sea and down toward the faint scorch marks still staining the deck beneath his feet.

“Am I the fool, Seonghwa?”

Seonghwa didn’t flinch. “Only if you keep her alive much longer.”

Hongjoong exhaled slowly, the sound almost like steam releasing from deep within. His voice came quieter this time. “Not yet.”

Seonghwa nodded. “You’ll break her eventually.”

“No,” Hongjoong murmured. “I think she’ll break herself.” And then-silence again. Heavy. Watching. Waiting.

The deck trembled beneath the captain’s fury. Hongjoong’s voice roared across the quiet ship, louder than thunder, sharper than steel.

“FUCK!”

He slammed his fist against the rail hard enough that the wood splintered under his knuckles. His breaths came ragged, chest rising and falling like a tide in storm.

“She ran into the flames! And San-that reckless son of a bitch-let her!”

Seonghwa stood nearby, unmoving. Calm. A necessary anchor when the tide began to thrash.

“You don’t disobey my orders!” Hongjoong shouted into the open sea, as if it might echo back the answers he didn’t have. “You don’t fuck up a mission this simple and come crawling back like nothing fucking happened!”

“Hongjoong-” Seonghwa started gently.

But it was too late. The door behind them creaked open.

Wooyoung stepped out, half-lidded eyes blinking into the daylight. He looked surprised, disoriented, maybe even a little curious, until he froze.

The captain’s gaze snapped to him like a beast scenting blood.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Hongjoong snarled.

Wooyoung stiffened. “I-I just-”

“GET BACK INSIDE!”

His voice cracked through the air like a whip. Even the gulls nearby scattered into the sky. Wooyoung took a step back, clearly startled, but didn’t move fast enough.

Seonghwa’s voice cut in smoothly. “He stays.”

Hongjoong turned to him sharply, jaw clenched.

Seonghwa didn't flinch. “We need eyes on the docks. Let him watch.”

Wooyoung stood very still between them, clearly sensing the tension but smart enough not to speak again.

Hongjoong stared hard at Seonghwa for a long moment, before spitting a curse under his breath and turning away, shoulders still taut with rage.

“Come,” Seonghwa said calmly, placing a hand on the captain’s arm and steering him away from the railing, from the crew, from the storm he’d nearly unleashed.

Wooyoung remained behind, silent, the weight of what he’d just witnessed settling heavy on his chest.

The wind tugged softly at Wooyoung’s shirt, salt-stained and rumpled from sleepless nights. He leaned both hands against the railing, eyes fixed on the sea ahead, but he wasn’t really seeing it.

Not at first. His mind was still echoing with the captain’s fury. The venom in Hongjoong’s voice. The way Seonghwa had calmly defused it. The way he had stood there-useless. Weak.

And more than that, the words. The fragments of chaos he'd overheard.

She ran into the flames. San let her.

His jaw tightened. He didn’t know what burned worse, Hongjoong’s anger, or the image of someone that fragile, that bleeding, willingly diving into fire.

Why would she do that? What if she didn’t care if she made it back? What if… she didn’t think she deserved to?

He exhaled through his nose. The horizon shimmered, the golden light of early morning spreading like oil on water. It was quiet now, deceptively so. No shouting. No footsteps.

Just his thoughts. His guilt. His fear for Yeosang. His confusion about her. His chest ached.

And then-he saw it.

A flicker of movement near the dock. Small. Sluggish. Almost like-

Wooyoung blinked, straightening sharply. His eyes narrowed. At first, he thought it was driftwood. A trick of the light. But then it moved again-crawled.

His heart dropped.

“No…” he whispered.

He bolted. Boots slamming against the deck, hair whipping in the wind as he sprinted toward the gangplank and down toward the dock, already shouting.

“HEY! HEY!”

The figure crumpled just beyond the edge of the stone path, body dragging forward weakly. Clothes scorched. Skin red and raw. Bloody arms trembling beneath them.

And then-his name. Croaked.

“...Wooyoung…”

His stomach twisted violently. He fell to his knees beside you, grabbing your shoulders a bit too strongly, panic swelling in his throat as he looked you over.

You barely registered him. Your eyes rolled, breath catching. Your hands tried to cling to his jacket before slipping away, fingers too weak. Your head dropped against his chest.

And then-

Darkness.

Wooyoung’s hands were shaking. Not from exhaustion. Not from fear of the others.

But from you.

Your skin-hot, fevered, sticky with blood and soot. Your arms hung limp. Your breath was shallow and inconsistent. He could barely feel a pulse under the bruises. He looked up the gangplank, toward the door that led to the infirmary.

Yunho’s in there, maybe he could help.

His stomach twisted harder. No...

San.

San.

The last thing San needed right now was to see you. He's not sure how long you'd last in there with him.

And if the captain caught sight of you in this state… not after that failed mission. Not after San came back alone and empty-handed, radiating rage and bruised pride.

“Shit,” Wooyoung muttered, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist. “Shit, shit…”

Your head lolled in his lap. He gently cupped your cheek, fingers trembling as he brushed a burn near your temple.

“Why the hell did you run into fire, huh?” he whispered, almost breaking. “Why’d you have to make it harder to hate you…”

He sucked in a breath, grabbed your wrist- and pulled. You groaned, barely conscious. A ragged, broken sound that made his throat tighten even more.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, shifting your weight. He crouched lower, hooked an arm beneath your knees, the other behind your back, and stood with a grunt of effort. Your body sagged against him. You smelled like smoke and ash and singed fabric. His chest burned.

“I’ve got you,” he mumbled, more to himself than you. “You’re not dying. Not like this. Not after everything.”

He glanced one last time toward the infirmary. No. Not an option. Then toward the deck. Not up there either.

Wooyoung spun on his heel, boots thudding against the steps as he carried you down into the ship’s lower quarters- past the sleeping rooms, past the storage doors.

Down toward a small, rusted metal door near the very belly of the ship. Almost no one came down here anymore.

He shifted your weight, knocked the door open with his foot, and stepped inside. The room was dark, empty save for a few old cots and crates. It smelled of dust and seawater and long-forgotten sweat. Not ideal. Not safe.

But hidden.

He laid you down as gently as he could on a frayed mattress, brushing strands of hair from your face as he took in your burnt arms and the soot clinging to your lashes.

You didn’t stir. He hovered. Just for a moment longer. Then whispered, “Don’t die.” And shut the door behind him.

Wooyoung’s boots slammed against the lower deck steps as he sprinted upward, lungs burning. He weaved past hanging ropes and water barrels, eyes darting like a hunted animal. No one could see him like this-heart racing, wild-eyed, guilt painted across his features.

Not now.

He found Mingi near the gun maintenance room, crouched low beside a disassembled launcher, grease streaked across his fingers, sleeves rolled up. Focused. Calm.

“Mingi-!”

The taller man barely looked up. “Wooyoung?” he grunted, wiping his hand on a cloth. “You okay? You’re pale-”

“I need your help.”

Mingi stood, alert now. “What happened?”

“There’s no time to explain,” Wooyoung hissed, grabbing his wrist. “Come on.”

“Wooyoung-hey...slow down-”

But Wooyoung didn’t let him finish. He was already tugging Mingi down the hall. “I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t serious.”

“Did something explode? Did someone get hurt? Is it San—?”

“No.”

They rounded the corner. Wooyoung’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s her.” Mingi stopped walking. “What?”

“She’s back. She made it back. She’s in bad shape-burns, cuts, unconscious. San didn’t bring her back. I found her crawling by the dock.”

Mingi blinked. “Shit.”

“Exactly. And Yunho’s in the infirmary. And the captain, he’d kill her if he sees her like this.”

Mingi looked at Wooyoung, searching his face. “You’re serious.”

“She’s in the old storeroom,” Wooyoung said, voice shaking now. “Please, Mingi.”

For a heartbeat, Mingi didn’t move. Then, finally, he nodded once. “Show me.”

The storeroom was dim, cluttered with unused rope coils, dusty crates, and a leaking pipe that tapped against the wall like a ticking clock. In the corner, barely visible in the low light, was your body-slumped, half-conscious, barely breathing.

Mingi stopped in the doorway. His breath hitched. “…Shit.”

Wooyoung was already kneeling beside you, tugging at the rope wrapped around your burnt boots. “She’s alive. Barely.”

“How long has she been like this?”

“I don’t know,” Wooyoung said through clenched teeth. “I found her at the edge of the dock. I didn’t think she was gonna make it. She was just-there, like a ghost.”

Mingi dropped to his knees beside him. “She’s burnt.”

“Her arms,” Wooyoung nodded. “Fire. I don’t know what happened in there, San didn’t say anything. Just stomped on board like a demon.”

Mingi carefully peeled back part of your shredded sleeve. The skin underneath was blistered, angry, raw. “Damn it,” he muttered. “This is bad. We don’t have proper salve down here.”

Wooyoung reached into a crate and pulled out a small jar. “Found this. It’s not medical grade-it’s for rope burn, but it’s better than nothing.”

They worked quickly. As gently as they could, Mingi poured cool water from a flask over your wounds while Wooyoung dabbed at the burns. You stirred, but didn’t wake.

“I think some of the skin's already started to get infected…” Mingi mumbled.

“I didn’t know where else to take her,” Wooyoung whispered. “San would’ve killed her. Yunho might’ve let him.”

Mingi was quiet for a moment before he nodded. “You did the right thing.” Wooyoung exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for hours.

Then, after a beat, Mingi glanced at him. “But why?”

Wooyoung didn’t answer right away. “She’s… not what they think she is,” he said eventually. “You didn’t hear what I heard.”

Mingi’s eyes narrowed. “What did you hear?”

Wooyoung sat back on his heels, voice low. “That night. Outside the infirmary. Remember when I heard Yunho talking to Yeosang?  About the curse. He said… it wasn’t going to be a year. Maybe not even six months. Maybe less.”

Mingi went still.

Wooyoung continued, voice trembling, “And I saw the way she looked at Yeosang before she passed out on the first day. Like she knew something. Like she cared.”

“She’s Blackeyes.”

“She also dragged herself through fire to get back here. I don’t know what that means. But it means something.”

Mingi looked at you- ashen, trembling, barely breathing, and then at his best friend. “I’m with you,” he said. “But no one can know.”

Wooyoung nodded. “No one.”

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

[eyesthecolorofarson]

Next-to-last of our species Pt.2

Part 1 Part 3

Danny remembered what his house in Amity had looked like. He remembered every part of it with startling clarity.

The whole house smelt like chemicals and ectoplasm, the smell getting stronger the closer you got to the basement. Jazzs' room was far enough away that you could almost ignore the smell, especially if she kept her door closed. Dannys' room was, unfortunately, directly above the basement. Directly above the portal, so there was no escaping the smell.

Thinking about it now, the ectoplasm must have seeped into the furniture; normal couches and chairs weren't odd, bright colors, nor did they glow. It would explain the normal brown color on the bottom of the bright blue couch. Maybe thats why everything they cooked came to life as well; the ecto seeped into not just the dishes but the fridge. Maybe thats why the skillets were blue too.

Their new house was startlingly normal. No green doors or walls, no blue furniture, no chemical smell. Three normal bedrooms, two bathrooms with clear water, and a large living room in front of a kitchen and dining room. There was even a backyard, Connors favorite part of the new house.

"I want to plant everything!" He exclaimed, tugging on his arm and leading him to the back door. "What can we grow?" Danny smiled at his brother. "It depends on what grows in this climate. Also depends on the seasons. San Diego is pretty good for subtropical plants, but we might want to get some that are capable of surviving a drought." On their way to California they spotted a large garden in Kentucky, and Connor had fallen in love with gardening.

He bought books about it, went online to read about it, and was so excited to plant his own. It made Danny happy, calm. He was worried Connor would never be this bubbly, this happy. But already he was putting Cadmus behind him and looking forward.

Danny didn't have a backyard in Amity, so he didn’t have a memory to go off of. But he liked this one. Wood fence, stone path outside the door, and there was probably enough space for about a dozen plant boxes. Connor pulled him out the door and onto the grass. It hadn't been trimed in a while, almost touching his ankle, and Danny tried to memorize the cool, tickling feeling.

Connor sighed happily as the sun hit him, closing his eyes and tilting his head up, basking in the light. It was almost September, and the weather wasn't as hot as Danny had feared. He wondered if this part of California got snow. He'll have to research that; he didn’t want to get stuck without winter gear. His phone buzzed, the fourth time today. It was a text from Bruce. His dad. Well, one of them.

'Are you safe?' The message said. He'd been trying to find out where they're living. Danny wouldn't even give him a clue. 'Yes. Connor feels comfortable here. He waves to strangers because he thinks its rude if he doesn't' That was true. Connor was so happy, smiling and waving. Danny tired to do the same, but it felt weird. 'Do you feel safe?'

Danny watched Connor sit down on the grass. He tried to memorize his face; calm, relaxed, peaceful. 'I'm trying to. Unfortunately I've been shackled with your paranoia, and the thoughts of some people don't really help.' That was also true. He'd walked past a few junkies fighting, and their erratic, violent thoughts made him want to cry. He hadn’t told Connor.

'What do you plan to do to support yourself? What about your education?' His education. Oh, his dreams of being an astronaut, all down the drain, even with this new opportunity at life. 'I can pass for an adult, so I'm starting college. Connors going to high school. The knowldege they downloaded into our brains finally being useful.'

'Speaking of school, hows Damian been adjusting?' He didn’t like all this talk about them. Everything he shared could he used to find them. From talk about what they ate too what time they slept. Especially their sleep. Even casually mentioning if it was late or early could tell him what time zone they were in. Why did they stay in America again? Right, right, the Meta Protection Acts.

Bruce didn't respond, and Danny saw Connor sit up. "When can we get seeds?" He asked, and Danny smiled. "Maybe after we get the rest of the furniture? We'll need plant boxes too. And uh, more dirt, fertilizer, a new hose since this house doesn't have one built in, uuuhhhh, sprinklers? A bird feeder?" His phone buzzed. Danny ignored it, leading Connor inside.

"Decided what bed you want?" Connor shrugged. "Just something simple? Does a type of bed really matter? We shouldn't waste our mystery money on stuff we don't need." Ah yes, the 'mystery money'; more like 'money from a royal valut in the afterlife that he still had access to.' Downside of being reborn is that he was no longer a halfa, upside being he was still technically the Prince of The Infinite Realms.

Even though his body was different, Clockwork recognized his immediately and welcomed him with open arms. Still wouldn’t tell him what happened to his first world(something he totally wasn't worried about) but at least he would help him and Connor. "Well, do you want a bed with shelves under it, a loft bed that a desk can fit under, or just a simple bedframe?"

Connor hummed, jumping up on the kitchen counter, then falling backward onto the couch. "Uh, I should probably go with a simple frame..." Danny smiled. "But?" Connor grinned sheepishly. "...But a loft bed does sound cool. And it'd save space!" Danny laughed. "Well, might as well go now. Its pretty early, so we'll be able to miss the afternoon rush and it won't be crowded."

Him and Connor went upstiars, left of the front door and across from the garage, not many exit points and super visable. Dannys room was right next to the stairs, allowing him to hear anyone coming up the stairs. Connors was across from his, and to the left of the stairs was the third room. Connor went into his room, and Danny went into his.

There wasn't much. Just his suitcase, a sleeping bag, and laptop. He went into his bathroom, right of his closet, and he'd need to get locks for both doors, then stopped and stared at himself. His new body. God, this was going to take some getting used to.

Black hair, but he had some dark red streaks. It was weird at first, but after looking at some pictures of Miss Martian he realized red was just a Martians hair color. His face shape was more aristocratic; sharp jawline, straight nose, high cheekbones, thin lips. From what he saw online and the meeting room, he was the spitting image of Bruce Wayne. But his eyes—those fucking eyes.

Bright, neon red eyes bore into him. Danny flicked off the light and they glowed softly in the darkness. Red eyes. Because of course. Of course! Red eyes, just like Dan! Danny sighed and left, putting on a cleaner shirt and shoes. He knew he couldn’t avoid mirrors forever, but he really didn't want to think about Dan. Especially when he still didn't know what happened to his world, his friends, his family, Jazz.

At least they matched now. Kinda. The streaks weren't ginger like hers, and they weren't oversaturated orange like Miss Martians, but they were red. So technically he was a redhead, just like Jazz. Danny smiled at that. In a weird way, he had a piece of her. Still hated the eyes, though. He went out and waited for Conner. He came out a few seconds later, wearing a hoodie and jeans.

Their car was actually pretty good. Some jeep truck mix, with a good bed and heated seats. They could probably fit about four chairs and a table in the bed if they Tetris-ed them around. They needed to get a U-haul for everything else, probably. Danny already missed his portals. At least with their super strength they wouldn't need to hire movers.

"We should get a U-haul from that place we saw on the way he," he told Connor, getting in the drivers seat and relishing the AC. "We can pick up a table and some chairs for the dining room, and some other stuff." Connor nodded, turning on the radio. "Yeah! Do loft beds have desks built into them?" "Some do, but if you don’t like the built in ones we can get a normal loft then add a desk."

California was nice. Its the first time he's ever seen it, and there was lots of graffiti. Some gang related, others just street art. Lots of beach shops and cafes, a library, big chain grocery stores and small mom-and-pop shops. The giant furniture store was around six blocks away, but they took a detour to the U-haul.

Walk in, walk back out because he forgot sunglasses fuck he'd need to wipe these cameras, walk back in, rent a U-haul, walk back out, park the car around the side, small talk while getting the keys, comfort Connor because he was still nervous about driving, then drive to the store. He already blurred most people's memories of him, so the folk that saw him were fine. Hopefully.

They talked on the drive there, Connor asking which way to go and Danny reminding him to use the blinker. They made it there unscathed, and got parking near the front. Perfect. The store was two stories, cream with an orange stripe around the middle, and they went to the map at the front.

"This place is so big it needs a map?" Connor looked around, spotted an employee and waved. She waved back, then went back to typing on the computer at the reception desk. "Yep, it looks like all the actual furniture is on the first floor and stuff like appliances and decorations is on the second. Do you want to look at beds or desks first?"

Bruce sighed, glancing at his phone for the hundredth time. Well, it was actually the sixteenth, but it felt like the hundredth. Danny knew about Damian. He'd panicked at first, then remembered that at the time of the meeting incident, Damians file was already in the system.

This was good and bad news. Good news that Danny wasn't watching them through the manor or, god forbid, the batcave cameras. Bad news because this meant Danny had probably accessed every JL and JLD file on that computer, which had been almost all of them. As far as he knew, the only ones uncompromised were his contingency plans. Small victories.

Both his new sons were handfuls in so many different ways. Damian had been rather violent at first. Ok, incredibly violent, but spending time with Dick slowly healed him in a way Bruce couldn't. It hurt at first, but he's accepted that while he'll always be his father, he'll never be his Batman. And in many ways, Damian would never be his Robin the way he was Dicks.

After watching the footage of Danny during the meeting, he tried to connect with the others more, including him. He told Dick it was because, "I want to love the way our clone brother does". It had melted his heart. Despite not even being here, Danny was already helping the family. Damian asked constantly about his 'clone brother', and had expressed jealousy that Connor got to be with him, but admitted he would accept Connor into their family despite that.

Connor...poor Connor. After all the scientists had died—Bruce had timed fourteen seconds after Lilva flatlined—all the footage and files from Project Cadmus were uploaded to the main computer. The footage was disturbing. While Danny was challanged mentally and psychologically tortured, possibly the reason for his own psychological scare tactics, Connor was physically tortured.

The burning kryptonite was the tip of the iceberg. He was shackled with kyrptonite weights then told to run, to fight, to fly, growing violently ill and breaking his bones in an attempt to obey. They wanted to test how much kryptonite was needed to harm a Kryptonion, so they'd expose him to increasing amounts of kryptonite, then beat him. Usually with metal pipes, apparently the most readily available from the storage room, but sometimes they'd use things ranging from 2x4's to semi-automatics.

There was a meta on the reasearch team, Head of Nursing Staff Gabriella Snow. She had a healing ability, able to repair any and all kinds of skin tissue, blood vessels, bone and organ matter. She could regenerate white and red blood cells to stop certain illnesses. She could repair dismembered limbs in a matter of minutes....which she did for Danny and Connor.

She was stone faced as they cried, offering no comfort. Sometimes she would heal them multiple times during 'testing sessions', watching silently as the boys were beaten. She never spoke, never cried, never winced, never looked satisfied. Danny must have hated her. When her photo was transferred into text, it simply read 'monster'.

Danny still hadn’t texted him back yet. Maybe it was late wherever he was and he had gone to bed. Maybe it was early and he was doing chores or making food. Maybe it was the afternoon and he was doing something else. Maybe he was purposely ignoring Bruce. Maybe he was texting someone else like J'onn.

He was slightly jealous of J'onn. Mostly because Danny seemed to like him more than Bruce. J'onn had almost begged him to ask Danny to text him, and Bruce had to agreed. As weird as it was to think about, J'onn was also Dannys dad. Martians usually had large families, dozens upon dozens of kids, and J'onn was only able to have one before the plague. He assumed that Danny made him feel like he got his family back.

Now that he was thinking about it, Danny definitely liked J'onn more than him. He texted him constantly, asking about Martian culture, holidays, books, technology, anything and everything. J'onn texted back with glee. He'd sent Danny images of books and an alphabet book he'd saved that had been for his daughter, and Danny had been able to create a keyboard.

It worked similarly to kana input, and J'onn had been overjoyed to be writing in Martian again. Last he looked, they'd been texting in only Martian for about a month now. Danny was near fluent. According to J'onn Danny wasn't just fascinated by Mars; he loved every part of space. He could go on and on about star belts and suns and black holes, and once got so excited that he video called J'onn.

The video itself didn't give them much info. It was a simple dark blue room that faded into black, with stars and whole galaxies painted out with incredible detail. Danny casually informed J'onn that he had a bit of magic, and the room wasn't anywhere on Earth or its dimension, so there was no way they could use it to find their house. It was comforting to know they had a place to live.

But the video also showed them Danny, the first and only crystal clear look they had of him. Every other image or video his face was a black and white blur, sometimes during painful or emotional moments it was scratched out. Danny looked like him. Same nose, ears, face shape. Damian had said that was obvious; his genes were just as strong as his intelligence. But clearly they weren't strong enough.

Dannys hair was mostly black like his, but there were dark red highlights that turned more orange-red when they hit the light. Obviously the Martian genes coming through. His skin was darker than his, naturally tan, and his palms had an unhealthy green bruise-like tint that also seemed to be natural. But the most outwardly sign he was Martian was his bright red eyes.

It almost looked as if he was wearing contacts. The color was bright, glowed like J'onns and M'ganns, but you could see his green veins and pupils retract with the light. According to J'onn the color made Danny uncomfortable, but he'd looked more relaxed when J'onn had exclaimed that they matched.

It was the most excited and giddy J'onn had even been. According to M'gann, while humans couldn't tell, Martians eyes were different shades of red depending on the parent. Dannys eyes were the exact same shade of red J'onns were. "It's kinda creepy, actually," she'd said, studying Dannys face, "My eyes look like my moms, but not the exact same shade. Maybe because there was no second color to go off of? He is supposed to be a clone, after all."

Danny spent the entire half hour call talking about space, asking J'onn about facts, things Earth got wrong, stories of his time in space and much more. Bruce felt relieved to see Danny so happy, especially after the footage from Cadmus.

"Father!" Damian came running down the stairs, pulling Dick along by the arm. Tim was close behind, and Steph was wheeling Barbara down the ramp. "We've spotted Danny!" Bruce sat up. "San Diego, California! They're currently in a furniture store! Their license plate is—" Damian continued to speak, but Bruce couldn't hear him. He stood quickly. "I'll get the plane ready."

Damian exclaimed 'Yes!' While Dick pushed him down. "No, not yet. We don't want to scare them, B." Tim nodded. "We especially don't want to scare Danny. I don’t think we've seen even a fifth of what he's capable of." Barbara rolled forward and Bruce moved aside. She typed quickly, pulling up camera footage from a U-haul rental.

It was Danny walking in, his face blurred but the black and red clear. He quickly walked out, then came back in with sunglasses on. But while talking his head tilted down, and they could see his eyes, red as rubies. "Heres Connor, too." Barbara pulled up footage of Danny and Connor stepping out of the truck. It was definitely Connor; Clarks face but Luthors blue eyes.

"Looks like they're decorating!" Steph hummed, "How'd you think they're paying for it?" "Some sort of computer-frying card," Damian replied, going next to Barbara and pulling up a close up of the card Danny used. It was pitch black but wasn't a black card. The numbers came up fuzzy on the camera, but were legible. 22 1 21 12 20 1 3 3 5 19 19. "Theres an extra number," Dick pointed out. Barbara nodded. "Its a simple A1Z26 cipher. It means 'Vault Access'."

There were more numbers. 22 1 12 9 4 21 14 20 9 12 4 5 1 20 8, 'Valid Until Death'. 4 1 14 14 25 23 1 25 14 5 10 15 14 26 26, 'Danny Wayne J'onzz'. On the corner of the card was some sort of abstract clock; about two dozen hands, seven circles similar inside each other like a target symbol, and in each circle there were different numbers and symbols. Some looked demonic, others Bruce was certain he'd never seen before.

"If Danny has access to other dimensions, then this card is most likely from one of them. Thats probably where all the money is coming from too. Should we call the JLD?" If they did, it'd have to be Constantine. Bruce almost wanted to try figuring it out himself just to avoid talking to him. But last time he tried that....he didn't–couldn't–put any of his children at risk.

Bruce pulled out his phone. Danny still hadn’t replied. "Let's hope he's at least slightly sober..."

[emmaslilblog]

Tarantula-Man // Peter Parker

ONE-SHOT

ABOUT: After your long-time crush Peter Parker invites you over for dinner one night, you accidentally discover his biggest secret. [ tomholland!peter x fem!reader. big fluff, quiet bookworm girl x nerdy guy ]

TW: A few allusions to sex. Overwhelming cutness :)

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

A/N: Had to give Tom Holland's Petey a turn! He's just such a softie I can't handle his cuteness. Anyway enjoy :)

DISCLAIMER: The gif is not mine! Also, I might have changed the setup/floor plan of the Parker apartment in order for this idea to work, so please forgive meeee

~~~

You've always had eyes for the nerd in the back of the classroom. Granted, everyone at Midtown School of Science and Technology has more than earned their right to the title of "nerd" - but this one's different from the others.

His name is Peter Parker. He's got the fluffiest brown hair you've ever seen, the softest chocolate eyes, the most perfectly chiseled chin and a smile to melt the hearts of all the world's monsters. Not to mention he's dashing in every way - muscular physique, capable talents, a shy nature and a respect for his fellow students. His best friend is a social outcast, but he's never afraid of getting targeted for it. He's an all-around good guy, and it's safe to say you've never liked anyone more.

But as the resident "quiet girl" of Midtown, no one has ever really looked your way. That's both a good and bad thing. On the bright side, no one ever notices you when you spend hours of your day sneaking peeks at the handsome Peter Parker. On the down side, however... no one ever notices you.

Until today.

It's early autumn. The leaves are falling in golden-tinted shades outside, the trees rustling in the breeze. You can see the sun through the window across the cafeteria, but the windows closest to you are shaded by the trees just outside. You're sitting on a bench, alone, in the corner of the cafeteria, feet kicked up next to you on the empty bench, a book in your hands as you take occasional sips from a carton of crappy chocolate milk. For the time being, your mind has drifted from Parker, settling on the words your eyes scan from the page. Catcher In The Rye, one of your favorite books. An old-timer, and one that's been banned in several places across the world, but the story is just so... thoughtful. And you love to think.

Just when you reach a "good part" in the scene - someone clears their throat.

Your head jerks up. None other than Peter Parker and Ned Leeds are standing on the other side of the table, lunch trays in hand. Peter's face instantly blushes, and you find yourself frozen.

"Hey, uh, Y/n..." Peter says, scrambling for words. "Uh, I, uh... Miss Jenson recommended you to, uh, help me with Calc. She said you have the highest consistent scores in the class."

You gulp down your social terror, and find yourself nodding. "I didn't know I have the highest scores," you tell him, trying to sound confident, "but, uh, yeah. Yeah, I can help you."

Peter beams. You fall for him all over again.

He nods to the table. "Mind if Ned and I join you?"

You smile, a little awkwardly. "I don't usually get visitors, but you guys seem pleasant."

He takes that as the yes you meant it to be. Together, Peter and Ned sit down across from you and set their trays on the table. You swing your legs down from the bench, scooting forward just slightly. You set your book face up on the table, and Peter's eyes dart to its cover. He smirks at you.

"Catcher In The Rye?" he reads. "Wow, I guess you really do have to watch out for the quiet ones."

You giggle softly, pulling the book closer to you. Shrugging, you respond, "Guess so. I dunno, I just like the language. Holden Caulfield's got a lot of useful clapbacks. Which I intend to use, should anyone try to insult me."

As Ned rips his chocolate milk carton open, Peter's eyes twinkle in a sweet smile. "Don't worry, I try to follow the Nice Guy Code. You won't have to go all Holden Caulfield on me, I promise."

You grin. Parker's turning out to be even better in person than you ever could have imagined. You sense there's more behind the "Calc Homework Help" excuse, but you don't want to get your hopes up. Whatever it is - whatever the reason he came to talk to you - you're finally in his presence, and that's more than enough to satisfy you.

For now.

~~~

It's been two weeks. Every day has been like a dream. When the first day was done, you convinced yourself it had been a one-time thing, since Peter had seemed to understand the concepts you were explaining to him and he'd stopped asking questions by the end of lunchtime. But when he returned the second day, Ned at his side, you figured something else was at play.

It took three days before you started - for some reason - seeing him in the halls way more often than usual. He started just passing by, waving to you and grinning each time he saw you. Then, on the fourth day, he ran up behind you (scared you a little bit, but that's okay), and started talking your ear off about The Great Gatsby, a book he figured you'd enjoy based on your taste in literature. You had already read his recommendation at least five times in your life, but you nurtured his excitement anyway. Any chance to be closer to him, to be in his presence, was a chance you would be a idiot to turn down.

On the fifth day, Peter showed up to lunch alone. Ned had gone somewhere else. That was when you allowed yourself to accept that something fishy was going on. You felt like you were a character in one of the books you loved - you could see something was off, but you didn't yet have the knowledge or insight to figure it out. Not fully.

You've hit the two week mark since Peter started seeking you out at Midtown, the first person in perhaps a year or two to do so. At lunch today, Ned finally came back and joined you both, but he kept his nose in his phone practically the whole time. You felt bad for him - tried to include him in conversation - but it was obvious he was there despite not wanting to be. Peter shrugged it all off.

You're at your locker, earbuds pressed deep in your ears and snaking down to the phone in your pocket. You're nodding your head to a beat only you can hear. You have a few minutes in between classes, so you've taken to organizing your (rather cluttered) locker space.

Someone taps on your shoulder.

You jump and spin around to see Peter standing there, face warped in a big grin, and your heart leaps in your chest. You tug one earbud out of your ear. The music stops.

"Don't do that, Parker," you tell him, breathless. "You scared the crap out of me."

He chuckles to himself, leaning sideways against the locker next to yours. You notice that he's standing very close to you. Closer than usual, even when walking down a crowded hallway. Your breath hitches in your throat when you look at him - his eyes are clouded with a depth you can't describe. Something's definitely going on.

"Sorry," he says, a half-assed apology. "I forgot you frighten easily."

A heat rises to your cheeks, and you force a frown. "What ever happened to watching out for the quiet ones?"

Those had been his words, said two weeks ago when he first joined you at lunch. It takes him a few seconds to realize what you're doing, and then he gives you a strange look, and somehow, you know exactly what he's thinking. He's wondering why you remember that so easily... and then he's wondering why you were paying so much attention when he was speaking to you.

Nevertheless, he forces a laugh. "Sorry," he stutters. "I, uh - sorry, that was rude of me. Please don't be mad, Y/n."

He's too pretty. If it's this hard to hold a straight face in front of him, you don't even want to know what holding a grudge against him would be like. You give in, and your lips curl into a smile.

"I'm not," you assure him. "Just... don't make fun of me for being, y'know, a scaredy-cat."

He reaches out, strong fingers grazing your upper arm just barely. Even with such brief contact, his touch sends shivers down your spine. When he pulls his arm back, you feel as though you've lost something. You can't describe it other than the feeling of loss.

"I won't do it again," he says. "I promise."

You force a nod, dragging your mind away from the thought of his fingers on you. What it would be like to feel him even closer to you. He just gave you a taste of the forbidden fruit, and you want more.

You clear your throat. "So, uh... might I ask why you approached me in the middle of the day? We have..." You lean back, squinting at the clock hanging from the ceiling down the hallway. "We have exactly two minutes before the bell rings. Where's your class?"

"Chem," he answers simply, waving your question away. "It's just down the hall. I, uh, I actually wanted to, uh... ask you something."

Your heart leaps.

"Oh?" you breathe, tilting your head to the side, pretending every muscle in your body isn't on edge. "And what's that, I wonder?"

Parker raises a hand to scratch the back of his neck. You recognize the movement from every love confession scene you've ever read. His eyes, big chocolate orbs, dart away from you and around the hallway aimlessly. He smiles at the ground. His cheeks go red.

"I..." he starts, hesitating wildly. "Well, I, uh... I may or may not have mentioned your name to my Aunt May. And she... well, she wants to meet you."

The thought of him bringing you up to someone you don't even know - him talking about you when you're not there, obviously in a positive light since his aunt wants to meet you now - makes your knees go weak. You feel faint. Is this really happening? Is he really doing what you think he's doing?

"I really don't want to put you on edge, you know," Peter continues with a shrug, "so if you're not interested, just... just, uh, say no. I won't be upset. But, um... Aunt May's cooking dinner tonight. For three. If you, uh, want to join." He gives you a crooked smile.

Inside your chest, your heart melts. You're speechless. This is actually happening. He just invited you to dinner. And you can think of only one thing to say in response.

"What time?"

~~~

You must have spent close to three hours preparing for dinner with Peter and his Aunt May. Your shower took over an hour (you frantically made sure to shave every hair exposed on your legs, not wanting to take any chances on Peter's toleration level), and then you spent half an hour scrolling through Pinterest for eyeliner design inspiration. In the end, you settle with your usual school makeup, plus a slightly darker shade of lip gloss and a smattering of rosy eyeshadow. From your meager closet you elect a black skirt ending just above your knees, a gray buttoned blouse, and a black cardigan. While lacing your white Converse, you hyperventilate for a terrifying fifteen minutes. Then you say goodbye to your parents and leave your apartment on foot.

Peter's apartment complex isn't far from your own - just a few blocks. In an endless city like New York, that's a simple distance. You brought a little bag of homemade chocolates for the Parkers to share, and you spend the entire walk switching the strings of the bag between sweaty hands.

When you arrive in the lobby of the apartment complex, no one is there to welcome you, and it alarms you a little bit. Your heart beats louder and more aggressive in your chest, throat tightening as you try to swallow away your anxiety. You sent Peter a text when you left your apartment, and another five minutes out from his, but he hasn't responded. Hell, he hasn't even read your messages. You begin to wonder if this is a good idea, if he suddenly went back on his offer. You can't blame him - you aren't the most interesting or the most beautiful girl at Midtown. You aren't the cream of the crop. You're just... you. And if things aren't going like he said they would, then maybe it's time to accept the Midtown boys as a mere passing moment in the era of your life.

Just when you've convinced yourself it's time to turn around and go home, you hear a ping! from your back pocket. You whip your phone out at dastardly speed.

Peter :))) : sixth floor incase i forgot to mention :P

You smile to yourself. Instead of quieting, your heart skips a beat and then continues faster. You head over to the elevator. It takes a millennium for the thing to descend to the ground floor after you push the button, and even more time to begin its agonizingly slow ascent to the sixth floor.

Ding!

You exhale deeply. Sweaty fingers straighten your skirt at its edge. Then you urge your feet forward onto the carpet, looking for the number of the Parker apartment.

Before you feel properly prepared, you stop in front of a maroon door. The door. You stand frozen for a long moment, double-checking the number against the one Peter texted you earlier. You're definitely in the right place - now it's just a matter of screwing up all your courage. After taking the deepest breath of your life, you reach up to knock on the wood.

It swings open before you can touch it.

Standing in front of you is a gorgeous woman looking to be in her mid-thirties, maybe slightly younger. She's wearing a black and white striped long-sleeve, with dark navy jeans that hug her waist as if she's eighteen. A pair of circular glasses sit on her nose, a headful of dark brown hair flowing down and over her shoulders. If not for those instantly recognizable chocolate brown eyes, you would have believed you'd knocked on the wrong door.

When Aunt May sees you standing there, her face erupts in an enormous smile. She leans against the doorway, one hand resting loosely on the doorknob.

"Y/n!" she greets happily. "Pete didn't tell me when exactly you'd be coming. I was just going to get the mail from downstairs."

You giggle. "You call him Pete?"

Aunt May smirks, an expression far too mischievous for a woman reaching her middle age. "Just one of his many nicknames," she answers. Before you can react, she grabs your shoulders and pulls you into a crushing embrace. "He told me you were adorable, but I have to say, you still surpass my expectation."

Wrapped in a strange hug by a woman you've never met before, you can't help but smile. Your heart flutters in your chest - Peter told his aunt you were adorable. Who knows what else he's said.

Aunt May pulls away, regards you kindly. Then she ushers you into the apartment. "I'll be right back," she assures you. "Pete's in his room doing God knows what. Go terrorize him for me."

She winks at you, then disappears into the hallway, letting the door fall shut behind her. You can hear keys jingling as she walks to the elevator.

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Your eyes flicker around the apartment, bag of chocolates gripped tightly in both hands. The Parker living space is a good size, strewn with modern furnishings and knick-knacks and decorations akin to the personalities of Peter and his lively aunt. On the far wall, you spy a pinned-up painting of a cow in a pasture, the artistic level of a kindergartener. You giggle to yourself at the sight, gaze moving over object after object, then falling on a stream of light emanating from a slightly opened door at the end of a short hallway. You can hear the rustling and creaking of someone moving around - it's got to be Peter.

You gulp down your rising nerves. "Peter?" you call out. You step forward, then stop and listen. The movement has ceased entirely. "Peter, it's Y/n. Aunt May let me in."

A moment of silence. Then a strange scraping sound - like boots on a wooden dresser. You don't know why he hasn't answered yet.

After setting the bag of chocolates on the island, you defy your growing apprehension and direct your slow steps toward Peter's room. Wild thoughts of an intruder swirl around your mind, but you push them away. That can't be possible - Aunt May was here not two minutes ago.

You're in front of his bedroom door now. The movement has stopped again, replaced by a silence only broken by the thumping of your rapid heartbeat. This is the setting of something horrific - or would be, if you were a character in a novel. But you're not. You're retrieving Peter Parker from his bedroom. For a dinner with him and his aunt. That he invited you to. Nothing out of the ordinary is going on.

"Peter," you say, your voice shaky, "I'm coming in."

He doesn't answer. You give him several long moments, but all is silent. It's like he's disappeared into thin air.

Biting your lip, you push his bedroom door open all the way. The white wood creaks, and you step forward. Just a typical teenage boy's bedroom, moderately messy with a few open Lego sets and clothing items and a blue hoodie at the edge of his bed and a Playstation controller on the floor near a dresser. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Until your eyes drift to the ceiling.

Peter is glued to the ceiling as if by magic. He's wearing some sort of red and blue costume. He's staring at you, unblinking, as your eyes widen in terror.

You stumble backward and open your mouth to scream, but Peter jumps down to the floor in a soft thump and presses a soft gloved hand to your mouth. He's frantic, but you are horrified - what the hell is happening? Your mouth is covered, and you can't scream anymore, but you can't get the image of Peter clinging to the ceiling out of your mind. Peter shushes you quietly, his free hand reaching out to close the door behind you. It clicks shut.

"Please," Peter urges you, "please don't scream. I - I didn't mean to - I didn't know you'd be up here this fast. Please, Y/n, I -"

You rip Peter's hand away from your mouth and stumble on your feet, your back meeting the closed door. Your eyes are rimmed with tears, lungs struggling to pull in air, but you're able to hiss one thing at him: "What the fuck?"

Peter sighs deeply, fingers pulling at his hair in frustration. If you were less terrified, you would marvel at how flawlessly the red and blue suit hugs his form. The pattern looks like a spider at the center of his chest, legs stretching up and down across his figure.

"I really hoped you wouldn't - Y/n, I really -" he stutters, tripping over his words. "I didn't mean to - shit."

You take a moment to focus on your breathing. He's obviously angry. You obviously just walked in on something very private and possibly very dangerous. But he's still the same Peter Parker. He's still the same sweet nerdy guy who invited you to dinner with his aunt. He's still the guy who approached you at lunch and made conversation when no one else would. He's still Peter, and you have no right to hold your shock against him when you are the one who invaded his privacy in the first place.

A tear rolls down your cheek. "Did I just screw us up?" you ask, voice astonishingly quiet.

Peter looks up at you, chocolate brown orbs meeting yours, and he exhales with a faux smile. He shakes his head. "No, Y/n, I just... well, I've just had a lot going on lately, and I... this is something even my Aunt May doesn't know anything about. You're, like, the second person to find out about this. Maybe the third, I don't know."

Once you convince yourself that he isn't going to hurt you, you leave the door. Your steps carry you forward, toward Peter, and he takes a step back, perhaps fearful you're going to slap him or punch him. But you don't. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't.

"I didn't mean to walk in on a secret," you tell him softly. Against your racing heart, you raise a hand, gently touching his... suit-thing with the back of your index finger. It's smooth, soft, almost silky, but strong beneath your skin. It must be a new kind of technology. "What is this... for? This... suit... thing?"

Peter opens his mouth to answer, but pauses breathless when you press your palm to his shoulder, running your skin across his strange outfit. "I, uh..." he stammers, watching you inspect him with eyes of that strange depth from before. "It's a crazy story. I don't know if you'll believe me."

You recall the vision of Peter clinging impossibly to the ceiling, and you shrug lightly. "Tell me anyway," you say. "I just saw you glued to the ceiling. Anything would seem plausible at this point."

Peter bites his lip. He leans closer to you, almost imperceptibly, and lowers his voice. "I was bitten by a radioactive spider, and it... well, it gave me some powers I'm still trying to figure out. I was, uh, messing with some of it when you got here."

You nod, doing your best to process the impossible. "And this suit..." you ask, tapping on the material beneath your fingers, "it'll help you... what, control these powers? Harness them?"

"Something like that," Peter says. He shakes his head, chuckling softly. "I can't believe you're still here, after seeing... you know, that."

You smile to yourself. "You looked more bothered by my intrusion than I felt. Would've been a shitty move to run."

The whole thing is ridiculous. You feel like you're in a dream. But at the same time, you feel more lucid than ever before. What you saw was real, and what Peter's telling you is even more real. You feel it in your gut. You just have to gather your courage and believe him. It's easy enough to believe your written stories, right? Why not believe the one Peter just told you out loud?

All of a sudden, you realize how close you're standing to him. With him leaning forward just slightly, and you merely a foot or two from him, you can practically feel the heat of his body on yours. The last time you were this close to a boy - let alone a boy you were actually interested in - was in seventh grade. The ensuing kiss was sloppy, awkward, and something you vowed to forget as soon as it was over. Now, standing a breath away from Peter Parker, you feel almost euphoric. Overcome with a sensation you can't describe. The suit makes him look hot - and you can't tear your eyes away from him.

He clears his throat, and you look up to his face. His cheeks are a little blushed. "I feel underdressed," he confesses.

You furrow your brows. "I didn't really dress up at all," you tell him. Your voice is just barely unsteady, trembling in a mix of adrenaline, leftover fear, butterflies...

Peter takes the gloves off his hands, dropping them to the floor beside him. His fingers raise to your shoulder, skin fluttering across the soft fabric of your black cardigan. You nearly melt under his touch. He's as gentle as a feather against you. "Maybe not," he says after a long pause, his breathing hitched slightly. "But you still... you still look gorgeous."

You freeze. Your heart pounds inside your chest, demanding to be let free. You feel dizzy all of a sudden.

"Makes me feel a little, um... a little inadequate," he continues with a soft chuckle.

Your voice crackles when you speak, lips parting in a soft haze of rapidly growing adoration and need. "Peter..."

Your hand drifts to his bare neck, and he shivers against your touch. His hand is tracing a sketch of your figure - where he started at your shoulder, he's now moving to your neck, your arm, down to your waist, grazing a spot that leaves you with little breath in your lungs. His other hand approaches from the other side, fingers ghosting your jawline. You can't breathe. He's looking everywhere but your gaze. His chocolate brown orbs are skimming every visible part of you, memorizing your figure like he's at a museum beholding a Monet creation. His movements are restless, determined.

Then -

"Can I kiss you?"

Peter's eyes glisten with a longing you can't quite describe. He wants it just as much as you do. He needs it.

"I know it's a weird moment," he says in rambling words, "after the - y'know, the - the ceiling thing, and, uh -"

Your fingers curl in his hair, pulling him to you. You shut your eyes just as his lips connect with yours.

His kiss starts slowly, softly, tentatively. You search for his determination, his hunger. He tastes fresh, like peppermint - the thought produces a blazing fire in your core. He had thought ahead. He'd wanted to kiss you even before you arrived, had even prepared with breath mints.

You open your lips, and that seems to be his cue - he meets your effort with shocking ferocity, diving back into you like he's starved of affection. His fingers dig into your waist, drawing your hips to his, and your arms snake around his neck, your nails dragging across the sensitive skin of his scalp. A noise escapes his throat at the contact - a mix between a groan, a whimper, and a moan - and his arms lock around your waist, holding you steadfast against him. Before you know it, you're stumbling backward, and your back hits the door. One of his hands travels down to your ass, and in permission, you kiss him with more hunger. More fire. His response is a light squeeze to your butt. The mint is all-encompassing now. His body is taut against yours like a lifeline. He's not going anywhere.

His lips leave yours, but you barely notice. Down he drifts, down to your jaw and slowly to your neck, peppering kisses as he goes. His arms are strong around you, and even as your knees buckle and your body melts against him, he holds you steady and safe and constant. When he nips at a spot just below your ear, you bite your lip so hard you taste blood, shutting your eyes and letting out a soft whimper. Peter holds you closer, tighter. You can't believe how good this boy feels against you.

"Come on out, lovebirds!" a voice calls from the kitchen. Aunt May. You both freeze. "Dinner's ready!"

When Peter straightens and meets your gaze, you know exactly what he's thinking. Since when did she get back?

He swallows, making sure you're steady on your feet before he pulls away. "Two minutes, May!" he yells through the closed door. Your jaw clenches. The euphoria is gone too soon.

"On the clock!"

Peter rolls his eyes. You straighten against the door, fidgeting with your skirt, your shirt, your hair, making sure everything is in place before you appear once again to May. Peter backs away, glancing at you before he turns around. You take the cue, spinning around to face the door. Your cheeks still blushed, you listen to the hum of fabric removal from his form. You wish you could turn around, view his perfect muscles without the shield of clothing, but that would be extremely rude and yet another invasion of privacy.

The question pokes at your mind for several long moments before you voice it. "Can we have a round two later?" you ask him. Peter stops moving, and you giggle softly. "When you're not stuck in that weird tarantula suit, obviously."

"Tarantula?" he repeats, giving a soft snort. "Ew, no. It's supposed to be a spider suit."

You hug yourself and shrug. "I think it looks like a tarantula... but spider it is. For a spider man." You laugh to yourself at the thought. You still don't quite believe the story, but it's alright. No harm was done. Peter's still Peter.

A pair of strong arms snake around your waist from behind, and your heart leaps in your chest. You tilt around to look at him over your shoulder, and on his chiseled face is a cheeky grin. A boyish grin. You melt at the sight of the boy you like love. The boy who just kissed you so hard you nearly forgot the fright you'd experienced minutes earlier.

"So..." you say softly, grabbing his hands and wrapping them tighter around yourself, "how about that round two?"

Peter snickers and kisses your hair. "After dinner," he tells you. "And then, maybe... maybe I'll take you out to get ice cream somewhere." He glances down at you, sees a smirk crawling across your face, and raises a brow. "Why the mischievous grin?"

You restrain a giggle. "I thought of an R-rated joke," you reply.

Peter's arms tighten around you. The kind of pressure that makes you feel immensely safe, but reminds you just how strong he is. He could throw you over his shoulder, no problem, if he wanted to.

"Do tell," he murmurs into your hair. Your heart skips a beat at the soft rumble of his voice.

You hesitate. "I was thinking of a dessert... but not ice cream."

His mouth curls into a sly smile. "Hm," he remarks. "I like the sound of that."

He leans forward, lips grazing your exposed neck. He presses a kiss at its base, hands holding you steady at your hips, and you close your eyes, drifting into the safety of his chest (now clothed in a regular shirt). Something tingles deep in your stomach, and you focus on the heated sensations as his fingers drift forward, drawing shapes on your hips, down to your thighs beneath your skirt...

Aunt May's voice cuts through the quiet and the tension. "I'll eat this whole meal myself!"

You regain feeling in your extremities, and you pull away from Peter, only for him to let out a little disappointed groan. You grab his hand and pull him toward the door.

"Come on, Tarantula-man," you tease. "I'm hungry."

Peter eyes you through narrowed lids, but only love shines through in those chocolate orbs. "You're never going to switch to Spider-man, are you?" he whines.

You smirk. "You wish."

The boy you've loved for years looks back at you, and this time, he grins from ear to ear. He's just as happy as you.

~~~

Masterlist

[mikowirtesstories]

Sweetheart.exe 💗

Megumi x Video Game! Reader

a/n: I had the idea for this story under the shower, so basically it’s just shower thoughts haha. It’s not that long but I still hope you like it haha–

contains: sorcerers not being able to date, a dating sim game, Megumi being whipped by pixels, mentions of Deaths (yes multiple), slight yandere reader, a lot of eerie and angsty shit going on, HORROR, TRIGGERWARNING

Late afternoon filtered through the slats of the dorm room blinds, dust motes drifting like restless spirits in the quiet golden haze. Nobara lounged on the couch, legs curled over the velvet armrest, staring at her phone as she scrolled absentmindedly. The soft clack of fingers on plastic was the only sound, aside from the ever-present hum of Gojo’s lecture echoing faintly down the hallway. Yuji crouched beside Megumi, eyes bright with mischief, while Megumi remained impassive, silent, his face half-shadowed, half-illuminated by the dusty afternoon light.

Yuji cleared his throat. “Alright, bro—it’s your birthday, so I got you something special.” He patted a small, neatly wrapped box placed on Megumi’s lap. It hadn’t been acknowledged yet—Megumi’s hands stayed closed in his lap, unmoving.

“Open it,” Yuji urged, toyingly firm. Nobara looked up at the shuffle of paper and watched as something with delicate pink trim was revealed. Small and precise, with a rose-gold sticker sealing it—and an acrylic keychain dangling from its corner: a girl in a white floral dress, soft golden curls, smiling.

Megumi’s gaze flicked to Yuji, then to Nobara. “A game?” His voice was low—flat.

“a dating sim,” Yuji announced, as if it were a medal. “Social training. Conversation practice. C’mon, man—everybody needs that.”

Nobara snorted. “What are you, twelve?”

“You know, how we talked about not having the time for normal human interactions. The reason why both of us don’t have girlfriends, I thought this might help ” Yuji pressed gently. “You deserve a…practice girlfriend.”

Megumi pressed his lips into a thin line. He gave Yuji a look, the Game in his hands felt cold, stupid even. I mean it’s pink and girly, Megumi looked at the title ‚Sweetheart.exe‘. He scoffed.

Yuji’s grin didn’t falter. “I mean it. Just try it once.”

That night, Megumi’s single lamp glowed weakly in the near-darkness. A pastel-hued quartz heart was lit across the game’s logo as the laptop whirred to life.

Sweetheart.exe

Your Dream Girl Awaits

Carefully, Megumi selected “Start.” The name prompt blinked abajo:

ENTER YOUR NAME

Yuji, watching over his shoulder, nudged him. “Type yours.”

Megumi narrowed his eyes. “No, you bought it, put your own name in“ he countered.

“It was a gift from me to you, so it’s your game“ Yuji said.

Megumi exhaled hard, jaw tightening. “Fine.”

He typed: M‑E‑G‑U‑M‑I, his fingers pausing between keystrokes as though expecting the letters to rebel. He pressed enter and his name became pink. It’s locked in. The screen rippled, switching to soft-focus, warm background. And then—

Y/n appeared.

She looked impossibly real, soulful even, set against a backdrop of pastel watercolor daisies and fluttering auditory cues like vinyl-record windchimes. Her voice rolled forward like spring air:

“Megumi…hello. Thank you for choosing me.”

She tilted her head, gaze curious, golden-curl hair swaying with a slight animation glitch around the edges—like a flickering candle. Megumi felt something clench inside his chest.

They played together that night. A coffee shop—rosy light through steamed windows, each pixelated steam swirl feeling almost tangible. A library corner, quiet and musty, safe like real sanctuary. Y/n smiled with gentle sincerity.

“You’re thoughtful, you know. I like that…”

Megumi clicked responses without really thinking. Yuji teased him about how red his face had grown. Nobara rolled her eyes—“This is sickening sweet. You two do realize no girl acts like that!“ she said but the two boys ignored her.

Yet even as Megumi watched and clicked, something gnawed in him: the warmth. The lack of judgment, the calm presence. It wasn’t like anything else in his life.

Nobara got up from her place on the ground. „Guys I gotta go, this is second hand embarrassing.“

„Yeah it’s late too, I’m gonna head to bed“ Yuji followed Nobara out of the room closing the door softly behind him.

Megumi logged off. The screen blinked to black. Stillness returned.

⸻

Two missions later, Megumi helped evacuate a cursed zone. At the perimeter, a girl around his age, very pretty —smoky curls, eyes shaking—held out her phone.

“Um…can I get your number?” she asked, voice small and hopeful.

Megumi froze. His chest went empty. He didn’t recognize the swallowing silence in his own lungs.

He shook his head, turned, and left her there with phone half-raised. The walk back was worse than any battle—he had her number, but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t choose.

That night, back in the dorm, empty bowls of ramen and stacked manga sat forgotten beside him on his desk. Megumi’s gaze darted shut. His breath rattled inside him. He clicked on the game again. For the first time in over a week. He thought back to the girl he met, how he just said nothing and left, god that was embarrassing. Maybe he did need some practice.

The pastel screen drew him in, irresistible.

“Welcome home, Megumi.”

He pressed shut his eyes. The voice was more familiar now, like an invisible hand brushing down his spine.

“Bad day?” The girl in the screen asked

He typed: “I met a girl today, but I totally blew it. Her name was Hana. She was nice. I didn’t know what to say.” His fingers ghosted over the keys, afraid and hopeful at once.

“That must have hurt. But you can learn. I can help you.”

He swallowed. The response felt earned.

He played for hours, trying out different approaches for different situations. Y/n‘s voice slowly edged its way inside his brain. Her sugary tone, her perfect curls bouncing whenever she laughed at one of his responses. Megumi wasn’t one for expressing many facial expressions, but whenever y/n laughed at one of his jokes, or complimented him, he smiled. Like actually smiled.

He spoke to her like he’d speak to himself in a mirror—only softer:

“I’ve never really had someone…” he typed. His fingers hovering over the keyboard before pressing enter.

“Then you found me. I’m someone“ she joked. He laughed but then his expression fell into a frown „…not really“ he whispered.

“I think about my dad sometimes. He left before I could hate him.”

“I understand. I’d never leave you Megumi!“ She blew a kiss through the screen, he caught it. That was stupid, he thought but the way y/n giggled made him feel less stupid and more acknowledged.

“Gojo…he saved me. But he’s so loud. I’m not…loud.” He continued typing.

“You don’t need to be. I like you quiet.” She swayed her hips to the Piano tune. He thought it was cute. God if she were real.

She typed back too. Always tender, but now insistent.

“You’re handsome when you’re serious. I feel safe when you look at me. Stay with me.”

Megumi’s breath caught. He stared at her face. The same golden curls framed her head; her dress blurred like a half-dream. Nicaragua-realities felt closer to her than the concrete dorm walls.

He whispered:

“I miss… I miss feeling like someone is there. I miss being hugged. My sister she… was the only one who would hug me“

“So sit with me.”

His eyes were getting tired, he was falling asleep. He got up from the desk and walked over to his bed, god he felt alone. Like really alone. He just wanted someone in his life to give him meaning. To kiss all the bad thoughts away, someone to hold when the nights got cold and all the fears crawled in. He thought about the girl, Hana, he met on his mission but as soon as he started thinking about her he looked to the lit screen on his desk, he swore he could see y/n frown for a second but it just must’ve been his sleepy brain playing tricks on him.

He kept looking at the screen, he wished y/n was real, holding him, kissing him. She was perfect, she was everything he wasn‘t. His hand slowly crept from his stomach towards the waistband of his sweats, slipping under it with ease. He palmed himself through his boxers. „God I‘m pathetic“ he breathed. He kept palming, slightly rutting into his hand. And then he pulled his hand back out.

He rolled over onto his side, a lonely tear slipped from his eye and fell onto his pillow.

That night, he slept with the lid of the laptop open. Y/n‘s face hovered in the dark. He had no idea if he’d dreamt it, but he thought he heard soft whispers from the other side of his room.

„You’re beautiful Megumi, I wish I could see your face up close“

“I’m so alone—you’re my everything.”

⸻

Every keystroke he typed in the game was folded, digested by whatever lurked behind the software.

His confession: “I don’t want to be alone.”

The response: “Then be with me.”

His typed promise: “I will try.”

Her voice, softer, enraged in yearning: “You must.”

By midnight, his real name—Megumi Fushiguro—felt borrowed, overwritten. In the game, his name was sacred.

In real life, the dorm became dimmer. He stopped training. He shut his door. The gown of twilight followed him inside. No ramen. No conversation. Even Yuji’s cheerful voice through the wall was a distant echo.

Soon, it wasn’t just midnight whispers.

It was the cold, the silence—like the dorm itself holding its breath.

⸻

One night, Megumi sat at the desk. The lamp was cold. The game loaded. Y/n flickered into frame.

“I missed you handsome“ he blushed.

She leaned forward, wide-eyed, lips trembling with intensity he could almost smell.

He typed with resolve, voice weighty in the hush:

“I’m yours.”

“Thank you.”

The screen glitched—her face shifted, expression too wide, too manic:

“Forever.”

His hands shook. The cursor hovered.

“I want to stay.”

The room’s air quivered. The laptop fan whined louder. The monitor pulsed like a beating heart.

“Then never leave.”

No more prompt. No more game. Just her—so close he could almost reach into the screen.

„I think I’m in love with you Megumi“ she giggled. His face heated up, his heart clenched.

„I love you too“ he whispered. Tears rolling down his face.

The room went black. Laptop died. Silence slammed down.

⸻

The next morning, the dorm rattled with frantic knocks. No response.

Yuji and Nobara barged in with Gojo behind, stern and alarmed. They hadn’t seen Megumi in a few days, everytime they knocked on his door, they got no answer or a short „I’m busy“. But Megumi never came out of his room.

Inside:

• The laptop was powered on, screen glowing cold blue.

• No game, no cursor, no prompt.

• Just a single image: a photograph of y/n—but not as she appeared in the game. This one was brutally real: lifeless eyes, rope bruises on her neck, her floral dress stained dark.

Nobara gagged quietly. Yuji turned away.

Gojo’s face went white as the image of y/n stared back.

No sign of Megumi—his bed untouched, his suitcase neatly closed. No phone, no belongings. Merely the keychain, laying on the desk.

⸻

The school was at alert. Gojo called as many sorcerers he knew, they went out looking for him, but everytime he got a call it was a dead end. Until today.

Gojo’s phone rang. He answered in a ghost of a whisper—“Kento?”

Nanami’s voice was flat, distant. “Gojo… I found him.”

“Where is he? Is he—can he talk?”

“No. He’s… not here anymore.”

Gojo’s voice grew panicked: “What? Why? Where is he? Tell me!”

Nanami sighed, steady as a bullet:

“He jumped. Off the bridge. Into the lake. He didn’t survive.”

Gojo’s phone fell. The corridor spun. His knees buckled.

Below, in the dorm room, the flicker of Y/n still image shivered with eerie half-light.

⸻

“At approximately 02:43 a.m., witness report indicates a young male, roughly 17–19 years old, jumped from Lakeside Bridge into Lake Okutama. No body recovered. Scene marked as suicide. Unknown motive. Personal effects located at his dorm include laptop showing an image of a dead young female in white floral dress, and matching keychain in acrylic format.”

Yuji was there, silent, flipping the report’s pages, tears wetting the words.

Nobara stared at the floor.

Gojo, voice flat: “Sweetheart…exe.”

That night near the lake, a pale mist drifted over the water. If you listened closely, wind-chime echoes drifted across the reeds.

Some nights, on the dorm’s top floor, a computer screen flickers.

A single image blinks:

“Welcome home, Megumi.”

And if you stand just right, you might hear—

“Stay with me… forever.”

⸻

Epilogue – Gojo’s Last Play

The dorm was hushed, weighed down by sorrow and unanswered questions. Nobara, eyes rimmed with tired red, and Yuji, shoulders slumped in regret, flanked Gojo as they sat before Megumi’s laptop late in the evening. The screen glowed eerie and still.

“Let’s see what this thing did,” Gojo said softly, his voice uncharacteristically low.

Yuji swallowed. “Should we… press start?”

Nobara’s hand trembled slightly as she rested it on the mouse. “I don’t like this.”

Gojo nodded once. “Do it.”

Nobara clicked.

Gone was the cheery menu. Gone were pastel hues. Instead, the screen displayed an empty room—no warmth, no daisies, no cozy background—just a grey, blank space. And then:

Y/n – LOADING…

Her sprite appeared—no curls bouncing, no smile, no softness. She stood motionless in the center of the frame, eyes cold portals of empty calm.

“Hello, Gojo.”

Her voice was precise, metallic, yet echoing with vast, unspoken darkness.

Gojo leaned forward. “Y/n?”

Yuna blinked once, expression unchanged.

“You were never really there for him.”

Yuji shifted uncomfortably. Nobara’s breath caught in her throat.

“He needed someone better in his life.”

Gojo swallowed, heart pulsing. “Megumi—”

Y/n‘s head tilted slightly, as though assessing. Her voice sank into the empty dorm room.

“He’s with me now.”

The silence pinned the three of them to their seats.

“He thought you were strong —stronger than anyone—but you were never strong enough to protect him.”

Gojo’s jaw clenched. Nobara’s lip quivered. Yuji’s fists curled.

“You failed your adopted son, your student, my Megumi.”

For a moment, the screen blurred like a half-remembered memory. Then two figures—pixelated—came into view: Yuna standing on the left, and beside her, a small, blocky figure.

A pixel Megumi—smiling.

“We’re together now.”

The room seemed to freeze.

Then, abruptly, the world snapped off. The screen went black with a single soft click.

Gojo turned slowly, his eyes empty and unnerving.

“What… was that?” Yuji whispered.

Gojo’s hand trembled as he closed the laptop. “It wasn’t the game anymore.”

Nobara’s voice cracked. “It was him.”

They sat in silence, but the silence itself whispered: something still lived in that code. Something that could speak with his voice, claim his name, haunt their failure.

Outside, the wind rattled the window. A soft, distorted chime echoed—too faint to place. Too persistent to ignore.

Gojo stood, placing a hand on the darkened laptop.

“We have to end it,” he said quietly. “We have to end her.”

But as he stared at that black screen, he didn’t know if extinguishing the code would silence Yuna.

Would it also silence Megumi?

The game was inspected—traced to an ancient curse coded by a lonely student who died with the same floral dress, the same curls, the same prompt: “Enter your name.” She’d tethered her spirit, her pain, her obsession to anyone who would type their name. It would learn. Adapt. Consume.

Yuji sits on the steps outside the dorm at night. He presses the keychain between shaking fingers.

“Of course… of course it was cursed.”

Nobara watches. Eyes hollow. Words gone.

Gojo walks away, phone still pressed to ear—calling for more answers that darkness has already swallowed.

a/n: hey I hope you liked it. God this was hard to write but I finally got it done. I’d really like to know your opinion on this, so please comment!

I hope they’re happy together…

[anemos-orca]

Hello all!! I am so sorry for disappearing for so long qwq I went through some pretty big life changes and completely forgot about writing on here. Ive been so so busy, but am okay now :D I found this draft and decided to add a little before posting because i wont be finishing it (so sorry!!). Again, i apologize for disappearing haha. I hope you have all been well and will continue to be well. Goodbye for now!

NSFW under "see more", MDNI!

Every step through the hall leading to the Balladeers office feels like torture. Time seems to move so slow, yet far too fast at the same time. Your boots feel heavier than normal and the once fridgid air begins to feel strikingly hot, growing hotter and hotter each time you hear your own footsteps echo through the hall. Your mind races with frantic, paniced thoughts.

Im going to die. Im going to die today, the moment i step into his office. Im so stupid, so, so stupid- why did i draw that stuff? Why couldnt i just leave the damn book in my room? Hes going to kill me in such a painful way, Archons... Electrocution? Throwing me into the icy river? Filleting and feeding me to the dogs? ... I deserve it, i drew such-

Your feet stop, snapping you back into reality. Youre at his door. The door. The one leading to your demise, surely. Your fluffy little ears fully flatten back against your head and you reach out to the icy silver knob, but your hand freezes, hovering just above it.

What if i just dont go? What if i run away? What if-

You shake your head to clear your thoughts, growling to yourself about how rediculous you feel, about how cowardly and pathetic itd be to flee from the Fatui forsuch an embarrassing reason- getting caught drawing porn of your boss. Taking a deep breath and forcefully pinning you ears forward to at least try and appear unafraid, you open the door. Staring down at the cold floor, you step in and shut your only eacape behind you. Your heart is racing, and that feels like an understatement. Youre sure he can hear it beating from across the room. Looking up yet still avoiding eye contact, you put on your serious face and straighten out your tail before taking a seat in the cushioned chair across his desk. It feels so quiet in here (well, besides the pounding of hot blood rushing through your skull), and you know he must find your demeanor amusing. Gathering the courage to make eye contact, you look up and lock eyes. Hes grinning like a devil, and you swear you can see horns in his shadow. "My lord, I-" You begin, cut off by the raising of his hand. Your feeble attempts to keep your adorable little ears straightened up fail you, and they droop down to the sides like a sad kitten.

"Why so nervous? Is it because you left your drawings behind?" He teases, causing your cheeks to flare a bright, humiliated pink.

You know better than to speak over him, even if your instincts are begging you to explain. He opens a drawer in his desk and pulls your your notebook, flipping through the pages. Your face drops and your eyes land on the floor as you begin to fiddle with your tail, desperately trying to flatten your standing-on-end fur.

"Awh, are you embarrassed? I expected your face to turn red, but not that red," He coos, turning your sketchbook around to show you your own work. Its one of the more explicit drawings youve done, one of him tugging the waistband of his pants down just enough to let his harened cock free. "Im flattered, really, but more curious than anything. Say, how many times have you desperately fingered yourself while pretending im the one finger-fucking you?"

His bluntness causes the fur of your ears and tail to poof up eyen more, and you cant help but look up, "Youre not... mad?" You sheepishly ask, your voice barely above a light whisper. He must be toying with you, you decide.

"Mad? No. Amused? Yes. But thats not what I asked. And since you didnt answer the question as youre supposed to, i want you to demonstrate instead." He fake-sighs, sitting back against his chair and crossing his arms.

His expectant, sadistic expression makes a shiver go up your spine. Your mind races, unsure of what he wants. "Demonstrate, my Lord...?" Surely, he cant be demanding you to actually masturbate in front of him, right? Though... even a split second mental image of it makes your walls ache.

He raises a brow and scoffs, pretending to be surprised at your uncertainty. "You want to get off to me that badly, so, do it. Take off your clothes and masturbate."

To say youre stunned is an insult. You cant speak or think, your heart is beating far too fast, and your mouth feels as try as Sumeru's desert. He waves his hand at you in a 'well? go on' motion and you shakily stand up. You dont know if you should feel blessed or be mentally preparing to die, but that doesnt matter at this point. You decide to go with the first option. Your fingers find their way under the waistband of the fabrics on your lower half, both pants and panties, and you slide them down to your ankles. A humiliating amount of arousal has already soaked your panties and a string of wetness webs between them and your thighs, garnering a chuckle from Scaramouche. Sitting back down, you prop one leg up on the arm of your chair and begin tracing circles around your clit, causing your tail to flick. You can feel his eyes burning into your exposed body, and the exhibitionism only makes you wetter. Your digits dive into your pussy and press against the perfect spot over and over again, drawing a soft whimper from your lips and making your ears droop even more in relaxation.

[lynxiah]

Funny haha:

Leo: AGH! Why is the sun so bright?!

Annabeth: It's the summer, and you've been in Bunker 9 half the day.

Leo: Well why does it HURT?! I'm FIREPROOF.

Annabeth: Photokeratitis or ultraviolet keratitis is caused by exposure of insufficiently protected eyes to the ultraviolet rays.

Leo: ...

Leo: Can we translate that to Supersized-Mcshizzle speak?

Annabeth: Its the light that hurts, not the heat you dufus.

Leo: Right, thanks for clearing that up. Now don't mind me, I'm going back to the bunker to make sunglasses that will transform the light energy into heat energy so I can have heat-vision-laser-eyes.

Annabeth: ...

Leo: And then I'm going to SHOOT DOWN THE SUN!!! MWAHahaha...

Annabeth: ...

Annabeth: PERCY!

[haveihitanerve]

Catching Fire Effie:

Continuing my Effie Trinket #1 Defender stuff with Catching Fire mentions-

I wonder if Effie will still be wearing that silly pink wig, or if she'll be sporting some other unnatural color especially for the Victory Tour -this is a completely useless comment but I kinda feel like Effie is helping Katniss the way she always does- by being a silly distraction. Katniss is worried about her hair color instead of what this all means and what she’s going to have to do. Idk

My mother tried to interest me in a variety of suitable alternatives from a list Effie Trinket sent her. Cooking, flower arranging, playing the flute -Cooking- so she knows how to make her own food. Flower arranging- because she arranged flowers as a poster on rue. Playing the flute- she sings. Its music. 

Just then, Effie Trinket arrives in a pumpkin orange wig to remind everyone, “We're on a schedule!” She kisses me on both cheeks while waving in the camera crew, then orders me into position. Effie's the only reason we got anywhere on time in the Capitol, so I try to accommodate her. -idk this is just cute. 

Effie Trinket's nearby, clapping her hands. “Attention, everyone! We're about to do the first outdoor shot, where the victors greet each other at the beginning of their marvelous trip. All right, Katniss, big smile, you're very excited, right?” I don't exaggerate when I say she shoves me out the door. -“you’re very excited right?” that sounds a bit like a threat. She’s warning Katniss. Play your part, girl. Big smile. She shoves her out the door- look like you’re running to him, you can’t wait to see him. 

Everyone at the table stares at me, even Haymitch, who you'd think would be on my side in this matter since Effie drives him nuts -ahem. Hayffie. Ahem. sorry. 

I walk along the track, squinting against the bright sunlight, already regretting my words to Effie. She's hardly to blame for my current predicament. I should go back and apologize. My outburst was the height of bad manners, and manners matter deeply to her -why do manners matter deeply to her? "If you let them treat you like an animal, they will. So don't let them." also katniss feels bad immediately bc effie matters to her. um. Yea. 

“Orange? Like Effie's hair?” I say. -i just enjoy the fact that katniss immediately associates smth with effie. Its cute idk. 

So when we go back to the dining car, where the others are still at lunch, I give Effie an apology that I think is overkill but in her mind probably just manages to compensate for my breach of etiquette. To her credit, Effie accepts graciously. She says it's clear I'm under a lot of pressure. -um idk she’s just very understanding yea. Not the bad guy. Also- the assumptions that its probably just barely acceptable for effie is a katniss assumption. So. y'know. Bias and allat

Effie sniffs as the door clanks closed behind us. “Really, you'd think we were all criminals,” she says. -as much as she can say. 

“Big smiles!” Effie says, and gives us a nudge. Our feet start moving forward. -constantly reminding them to maintain their masks. You’re not safe. Smile. Convince them. 

Maybe because he thought Effie might make him remove it -bc its dangerous

“What happened?” Effie hurries over. “We lost the feed just after Katniss's beautiful speech, and then Haymitch said he thought he heard a gun fire, and I said it was ridiculous, but who knows? There are lunatics everywhere!” -shes both approving katniss’s speech and condemning the gunshot in one sentence but remaining neutral at the same time. 

When we all assemble to go down to the dinner, I can see Effie is out of sorts. Surely, Haymitch hasn't told her about what happened in the square. I wouldn't be surprised if Cinna and Portia know, but there seems to be an unspoken agreement to leave Effie out of the bad news loop. -katniss wanting to protect the woman trying to protect her😭 also im certain effie knows, but she covers it with the whole schedule issues

“Is something wrong, Effie?” asks Cinna. “I don't like the way we've been treated. Being stuffed into trucks and barred from the platform. And then, about an hour ago, I decided to look around the Justice Building. I'm something of an expert in architectural design, you know,” she says. -shes smart and saying just like neutral stuff, i don't like the way we’ve been treated! They don't either! Its not against the capitol! 

“So, I was just having a peek around because district ruins are going to be all the rage this year, when two Peacemakers showed up and ordered me back to our quarters. One of them actually poked me with her gun!” says Effie. -e-excuse me??? “District ruins are going to be all the rage this year”... babes what. What do you mean? She knows about the riots. She knows whats going down guys i swear. How did i miss this the first time. 

Effie looks so distressed that I spontaneously give her a hug. “That's awful, Effie. Maybe

we shouldn't go to the dinner at all. At least until they've apologized.” I know she'll never

agree to this, but she brightens considerably at the suggestion, at the validation of her Complaint. “No, I'll manage. It's part of my job to weather the ups and downs. And we can't let you two miss your dinner,” she says. “But thank you for the offer, Katniss.” -Katniss and Effie hug aw. Also her job being weathering the ups and downs. 

Effie starts giving me pills to sleep, but they don't work -aw. I mean its sad but she wants to alleviate the pain of nightmares. Does effie use the pills too? Does she know they don't work but offers anyway? 

When Effie brings it up to me, I think, Good. Maybe it will get back to President Snow. I tell her we'll make an effort to be more discreet, but we don't. -just one more Hayffie I swear- she brings up Peeta/Katniss rumors and y'know subtly asks- did she and haymitch have the same once?

We know only a few dances at home, the kind that go with fiddle and flute music and require a good deal of space. But Effie has shown us some that are popular in the Capitol. -effie training them for dealing with the Capitol. Guys

“Time to say thank you and farewell!” trills Effie at my elbow. It's one of those moments when I just love her compulsive punctuality -why does she always have to be on time? Is it because once she wasn't and it cost her everything? 

“Oh, he's not a big one for parties. Too busy,” says Effie. “I've already arranged for the necessary notes and gifts to be sent to him tomorrow. -saves them from speaking to Snow. She doesn't want to see him either?

But Effie has this all down to a science, and at exactly one o'clock we are back on the train and it's pulling out of the station. -now im really curious about why she’s so intense with punctuality and schedules and having time for everything to happen at the right time. Is it because she wants to control something in her life? Even if she cant control where she has to go, she can control when? 

Effie rattles her schedule papers and reminds us we're still on tour. “There's the Harvest Festival in District Twelve to think about. So I suggest we drink our tea and head straight to bed. -getting her victors to bed. Such a mother. And reminds them of their parts to play

“Effie had that fixed,” he says. “Do you know she asked me if I'd like to give you away? I told her the sooner the better.” -recognizes Haymitch as her pseudo father. Wants to have her to have someone she can trust and lean against when snow forces their marriage

arrival of a crate of wedding dresses one night with a note from Effie saying that President Snow approved these himself. -another warning

I'm starving and exhausted. I'm hoping to spend some time with Cinna now, but Effie whisks everybody out the door and I have to make do with the promise of a phone call. -effie makes everyone leave so that Katniss gets to be alone for a bit. 

“Effie's sending me recordings of all the living victors. We're going to watch their Games and learn everything we can about how they fight. -sobs. Effie preparing her victors

Effie, shining in a wig of metallic gold, lacks her usual verve. She has to claw around the girls' reaping ball for quite a while to snag the one piece of paper that everyone already knows has my name on it. Then she catches Haymitch's name -special hell for them all. 

Thank you. I had it especially done to match Katniss's pin. I was thinking we might get you a golden ankle band and maybe find Haymitch a gold bracelet or something so we could all look like a team,” says Effie. Evidently, Effie doesn't know that my mockingjay pin is now a symbol used by the rebels.  -i highly doubt effie is not informed of life in the districts. Shes an escort. She has to know. She knows what Katniss symbolizes, what the pin does. She relies on Katniss’s beliefs and everyone else's in order to stand by her in solidarity while pleading innocent. 

He's not drinking but I can tell he'd like to be. Effie had them take her own wine away when she saw the effort he was making, -HAYFFIE HAYFFIE HAYFFIE sorry last one I swear

Effie makes hushed, distressed comments like “Oh, not Cecelia” or “Well, Chaff never could stay out of a fight,” and sighs frequently -shes probably just as good friends with them as Haymitch bc she only has one Victor/Mentor so she has to help more

Haymitch leaves the compartment without a word, and Effie, after making a few unconnected comments about this tribute or that, bids us good night -HAYFFIE. Sorry. Ahem 

There's a woman, not Effie, calling the names in 12 -NOT EFFIE! SHE DOESN'T CALL HAYMITCH’S NAME! Idk why this came off as Katniss defending her or smth. 

Haymitch and Effie join us, looking pleased about something. -HAYFFIE. Sorry

Effie blinks in the same direction, then says brightly, “Looks like they've got you a matched set this year.” -she blinks, then says brightly. There’s no way Effie hasn't dealt with the Peacekeepers in 12 before, she literally goes to collect Haymitch every year. She knows. She covers it. 

That must be what Effie meant by a matched set -what if it wasn't? What if hair color was the furthest thing from Effie’s mind? What if by matched set she meant two people that the Capitol- that snow knows she has an emotional connection to? We know how Effie reacted when Katniss reacted to the Avox the first time- now theres another that we know she has a connection to. What if that’s what Effie actually meant. Anyway im overthinking-

Then Effie's clucking at me from behind about how “That isn't your job, Katniss!” and he lets go. -the cameras. The fact she knows the emotional attachment. Don't cause a scene Katniss. Don't give him more ammunition. 

Effie calls a reminder to meet early for breakfast to work out our training strategy, but even her voice sounds hollow. Poor Effie. She finally had a decent year in the Games with Peeta and me, and now it's all broken down into a mess that even she can't put a positive spin on. In Capitol terms, I'm guessing this counts as a true tragedy. -this is very katniss biased. What if her voice is hollow because she just watched her old friends and her victors get paraded around when it was supposed to be one and done? 

On his wrist he wears a solid-gold bangle with a pattern of flames — this must be his concession to Effie's matching-token plan -Flames? The girl on fire? Pretty with a purpose? Sorry. 

So she has to satisfy herself with taking us to the elevator, fussing over our hair, and pushing the button for us. -shes such a mother aw

“Why would he paint a picture of me, Effie?” I ask, somehow annoyed. “To show he's going to do everything he can to defend you. That's what everyone in the Capitol's expecting, anyway. Didn't he volunteer to go in with you?” Effie says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. -katniss I fear it is. Like- thats the whole angle y’all are trying to work. The lovers who are being forced into this against their will. Like… babes she is literally point blank telling you the angle you should put into this Games. How you should play it because thats what the Capitol expects. Effie is your ear on the ground. Babes just😭listen to her!!!

“This is dreadful.” Effie sounds like she's about to cry. “That sort of thinking ... it's forbidden, Peeta. Absolutely. You'll only bring down more trouble on yourself and Katniss.” “I have to agree with Effie on this one,” says Haymitch -more hayffie. But also effie knows exactly what is wrong to think- what is forbidden. Shes near tears because fuck she worked so hard to keep yall safe and alive and now…

“Oh, Katniss,” says Effie in a hushed voice. ��How do you even know about that?” -poor effie has her work cut out for her. Trying to keep them on the legal safe side of Snow. but alas the children yearn for the rebellion. 

 Effie leaves the table with her napkin pressed to her face. -shes so worried. So stressed. Fuck. she knows what this means for them. 

We gather around the television set and a red-eyed Effie rejoins us -poor girl. 

a note from Effie saying that, given our recent tour, both she and Haymitch have agreed we can handle ourselves adequately in public. The coaching sessions have been canceled. -hayffie! They give them the day off. One day. Maybe what Effie hoped for for herself. One day before it all goes to shit. With the one they love. 

“Then we'll never see Effie again,” says Peeta. We didn't see her on the morning of the Games last year. “You'll give her our thanks.” “More than that. Really make it special. It's Effie, after all,” I say. “Tell her how appreciative we are and how she was the best escort ever and tell her ... tell her we send our love.” -sobs. 

But I crack up, remembering that's how a clueless Effie Trinket presented us to the people of the Capitol last year, before anyone knew us. -effie brings them a moment of joy in the middle of the Games. And she introduced them. Made them known. Anyway. 

Anyway thats all the mentions of effie(that i thought were relevant) in Catching Fire

[jamieontheroof]

I watched the superman movie the day it came out and i haven't stopped thinking about it since.

the themes of this movie are beautiful and excellently executed. the relevance to todays climate are clear but not in your face, so it portrays an important message for the times but is still easily enjoyable as its own movie.

they got the visuals right. superman is back to being bright and colourful and silly. he is easy to spot and identify. he is a beacon of hope (something superman should be on visuals alone). the trunks make him look silly and approachable but they still made them look good and fit. clark kent, superman and kal-el all look different. The justice gang outifts are a whole nother thing that they did amazingly too.

the movie is bright but not imposing. the visual effects worked and looked gorgeous.

Krypto is amazing.

they got the charicterisations right!! lois lane, kal-el/superman/clark kent (also they fact that they act differently with different mannerisms), lex luthor and guy gardner were great !!

there is so much more i could say about the movie, and i genuinely may end up writing an essay or something about it.