atinyreads

[atinyreads]

WHERE IT HURTS | KIM HONGJOONG (requested 💕)

pairing : : kim hongjoong x fem!reader

synopsis : : after a late-night argument, things go quiet between you and hongjoong. he thinks everything’s fine—but small changes say otherwise.

genre : : angst, hurt-comfort

warnings : : none.

word count : : 2.2k

—The clock’s red digits glared 1:37 AM, casting a dull glow over the apartment. The only sound was the faint hum of Hongjoong’s laptop fan and the clack of his keyboard. You stood in the doorway to his studio, arms crossed loosely, watching him with quiet concern. His shoulders were hunched, the tension in his back visible even from where you stood. His brows were pinched, lip caught between his teeth—he was deep in it again. Music, deadlines, concepts, endless revisions. The new comeback was eating him alive.

"Joong," you said softly, not wanting to startle him. He didn’t look up. “Did you eat anything today?”

Silence.

You stepped closer. “I made some rice earlier. There’s soup too, it’s still warm—”

“I said I’m busy.” His voice was sharp, quick, like a door slamming shut.

You flinched. “I know, I just… I thought you might want to take a break. Just ten minutes. You haven’t left that chair in hours—”

“I don’t need you to tell me what to do,” he snapped, finally spinning around to face you. His eyes were bloodshot, his expression worn thin. “You think I don’t know how to take care of myself?”

“That’s not what I meant,” you said quietly.

“Then stop hovering. God, it’s like you think I’m helpless or something.”

You blinked. The words hit harder than they should’ve. “I was just trying to help.”

“Yeah? Well, help by leaving me alone.”

That one landed like a punch. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out. You weren't good at fights—not the ugly kind, not when someone you loved looked at you like you were in the way. You felt yourself retreat, folding inward like paper crumpling under pressure.

You nodded once. “Okay.” Your voice was smaller than you'd meant it to be.

You walked out of the room without another word. Hongjoong didn’t look back.

You curled into your side of the bed, the sheets cool and unfamiliar without him. You stared at the wall for what felt like hours, trying not to let the sting of his words replay in your head, but it was impossible not to. You think I’m helpless. Help by leaving me alone. You didn’t cry—you just felt hollow, like something in you had been scooped out.

Eventually, without meaning to, sleep found you.

When Hongjoong stepped out of the studio, the apartment was dead quiet. The kind of quiet that made the back of his neck prickle. He rubbed his face, the pads of his fingers pressing hard against his eyes like it might squeeze the guilt out of his skull.

He hadn’t eaten. You’d been right. Of course you had. And now the untouched bowl of rice and soup sat cold on the counter, a silent reminder of how cruel he'd been. He hated how he heard his own voice replaying in his mind. He hated that it had been aimed at you.

The bedroom was dark except for the sliver of moonlight slicing through the blinds. You were already asleep, curled up small on your side of the bed, back to him. The blankets barely clung to your shoulder, and your breathing was soft, steady. You looked peaceful in the way that made his chest ache.

He climbed into bed carefully, like he didn’t want to disturb the stillness he didn’t deserve to be part of. Then he reached for you, gently, wrapping an arm around your waist. His fingers threaded over your stomach as he pulled you back against him. You didn’t stir. Not even a sigh.

He pressed his forehead to the nape of your neck and closed his eyes, letting the guilt wash over him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice cracked with something he wasn’t ready to name. “I didn’t mean it.”

—The soft morning light filtered through the blinds, painting gentle gold across the room. You stirred slowly, your body wrapped in warmth not entirely from the blankets. There was a weight draped over your waist—a familiar arm, heavy and secure. Your back was pressed against a chest you knew like second nature, the steady rhythm of his breathing grazing the curve of your shoulder.

You blinked at the faint light, taking a moment to register the calm. Then you shifted slightly, turning in his loose hold. Hongjoong lay beside you, eyes still shut, his features finally relaxed in sleep. The tension that had carved lines into his brow the night before had softened, replaced by a boyish stillness you hadn’t seen in days.

Instinct made your hand move, reaching to brush the hair from his face, but you caught yourself. Mid-motion, you stopped—fingers hovering just above his temple. The memory of his words from the night before came rushing back in. “Help by leaving me alone.” You let your hand fall quietly back to your side. You slipped out of bed without waking him.

The floor was cold under your feet as you padded to the bathroom. You didn’t look at yourself in the mirror too long—just enough to brush your hair and splash water on your face.

Then you moved to the kitchen in a quiet rhythm, pulling eggs from the fridge, rice from the cooker, setting pans on the stove. You weren’t even sure he’d eat. You just needed something to do. Something that made you feel a little less like your chest was filled with shattered glass.

The smell of breakfast slowly filled the apartment. You didn’t hum like you usually did. You didn’t peek down the hallway to see if he was up. You just kept moving, focused on not thinking too hard.

Footsteps finally broke the silence behind you. You didn’t turn around.

Hongjoong’s arms found your waist from behind, wrapping around you like nothing had happened. He leaned into you, resting his chin lightly on your shoulder. “Hey,” he said, voice still rough from sleep.

You gave a quiet, almost automatic, “Morning.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just held you there, breathing you in.

Then: “About last night…” His voice dipped lower. “I’m sorry. I was a dick. I was tired, and frustrated, and I took it out on you when all you were trying to do was care for me.” His grip around your waist tightened a little, not enough to trap, just enough to cling. “You didn’t deserve that.”

You stayed quiet. Not out of malice—just because you didn’t know what to say. You accepted his words, but they didn’t undo the way they’d settled in your chest, heavy and echoing.

“I mean it,” he added, nuzzling into your neck gently. “I’m sorry.”

You nodded, gave a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “It’s okay.”

He seemed to take that as enough. He smiled softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Thank you,” he murmured. Then another kiss, this time to your forehead. “I’ll make it up to you.”

You didn’t answer. You just turned the burner down and stirred the eggs, his arms still looped around your waist.

—The days after the apology fell into rhythm—routine, quiet, unspoken. Hongjoong thought things were okay. Not perfect, maybe, but better. You didn’t bring up the fight again. You didn’t ask for another apology. You cooked for him. You kissed him goodnight. You replied when he spoke, smiled when it felt expected.

But something subtle had shifted.

You didn’t lean into him when he hugged you anymore. You didn't brush his hair out of his face like you always used to. A half-second pause before holding his hand. A smile that didn’t reach your eyes. And he, so consumed by work and trying to make things smoother again, didn’t catch it right away.

It wasn’t that you were punishing him. You just… couldn’t shake the way he made you feel that night. Like loving him too much was a burden. Like your care was a nuisance. You’d swallowed it all down to keep the peace, but it hadn’t disappeared. It sat there, quietly, between your ribs.

At first, he thought it was stress. Maybe you were tired too. Maybe you just needed space. But the distance grew—not obvious, not loud, just enough. Enough to notice how you didn’t crawl into his lap while he worked anymore. How you stopped asking if he’d eaten. How your goodnight kisses landed on his cheek instead of his lips. Like you were slowly folding yourself away.

Hongjoong found you on the couch when he came home—curled up with your knees to your chest, a half-drunk cup of tea on the table, and the TV playing something you clearly weren’t watching. The sound was low, just enough to fill the silence. You looked over when he walked in, your eyes tired but your expression unreadable. You gave him a quiet smile—polite, soft, practiced.

"Hey," you said.

"Hey," he replied, but didn’t move right away. He stood there, still wearing his jacket, keys still in one hand, just staring. Something in the way you looked at him—something distant—hit him harder than he expected.

He didn’t go to the bedroom. He didn’t go to the kitchen. He walked straight to you, dropped to his knees in front of the couch, and reached for you like he wasn’t sure if he still had the right.

"Can we talk?" he asked.

You hesitated. Then, quietly, "Okay."

His hands found your legs, resting there gently, grounding himself. He looked up at you, the weight of days spent in silence finally cracking him open.

"I know I said sorry. I know I’ve been trying to make things feel normal again. But you haven’t been the same. And I think it’s because I haven’t really let you say how much it hurt."

You didn’t answer. You didn’t look away either.

"I can feel you pulling back from me. And I get it," he said, voice quiet but desperate. "I told you to leave me alone. I made you feel like you were smothering me. That your love was too much. And I hate that. I hate that the one person who was trying to take care of me... I pushed away like that."

Your eyes stung but you didn’t speak. He exhaled shakily, fingers tightening slightly on your legs. "So yell at me. Scream. Throw something. Hit me. Tell me I’m an asshole. Break my heart if you must. But don’t keep it in like this. Don’t shrink away just to keep the peace. You don’t deserve to carry that weight in silence. Not because of me."

That did it.

Your hands clenched into fists. Your throat burned. All the things you hadn’t said—because you’d been trying so hard to be quiet, to be calm, to be “understanding”—rose to the surface in one breathless wave.

"You made me feel like I was in the way," you said, your voice small, shaky. "Like I was annoying you just by caring."

"I know," he said immediately. "I know I did."

"I made you food. I checked in. I waited until it felt like the right time to speak—and you still bit my head off."

"I remember," he whispered. "And I regret every word. I hated myself the second they left my mouth."

"I felt stupid," you admitted, voice breaking. "Stupid for trying. Stupid for loving you so much that I didn’t know when to stop."

He reached up, cupped your face carefully like it might crumble in his hands. "Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that. You loving me like that? That’s the best thing in my life. And I made you feel like it wasn’t. That’s on me."

You bit your lip, tears spilling before you could stop them. "I didn’t know how to come back from it. I didn’t want to bring it up again because I thought… maybe it would make things worse. Maybe you’d snap again."

"I won’t," he said quickly, earnestly. "I swear to you, I won’t. I’ll listen. I’ll be there. I’ll take every hard word, every tear, every angry look—because I deserve it. And because I want to fix this the right way, not just the easy way."

You looked at him through your tears, your voice barely above a whisper. "It still hurts."

"I know. And I’ll sit with you through every second of that hurt. I’m not running. Not from you. Not ever again."

You stared at him for a long time. Then, slowly, you leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his. He closed his eyes immediately, one hand moving to the back of your neck.

"I don’t want to fight," you whispered.

"Then don’t," he whispered back. "Just be here. That’s enough for me. You—exactly how you are—that’s enough."

He pulled you into him, and you let yourself go, finally, arms around his shoulders, face in his neck. You cried there, not from fresh pain, but from everything that had been bottled up for too long. He held you tighter with every shaky breath, whispering soft apologies, promises, truths.

"I love you," he said between kisses to your hair. "I love you so much. I’ll never stop choosing you."

When the tears passed, he pulled you gently onto the couch, wrapping the blanket around both of you. You curled into his chest, feeling his heart beating fast beneath your cheek.

"Let’s stay like this for a while," you said, voice tired but lighter.

"Forever, if you want."

© kysstar

[atinyreads]

Y/n gets lost

c/w: angst, panic attack(?), fluff Pairings: Owner!Seonghwa x Reader, cat hybrid!San x Reader, fox hybrid!Wooyoung x reader, + surprise~~~ a/n: i accidentally posted this yesterday and 15 notes were on it at that point, so to all of you who read it, i'm sorry, but it's back lol. It's been sitting in my drafts for a whole month i'm so sorry, but here it is now~ w/c: 2.6k

Seonghwa doesn't know how it happened. One moment he was running after San and Wooyoung, the next minute when he turned around, you were gone. He called your name once, twice, and for the first time thrice. For a moment, he really thought he was just tired and couldn't see you, but when he realized you actually weren't there, his heart dropped into his stomach so hard he thought he might throw up.

"SAN!" San recognized the seriousness in his owner's face, stopping what he was doing to come to Seonghwa's call, Wooyoung curiously following behind him.

"Y/n's gone." San and Wooyoung both froze before looking around the park, confirming his words.

"Y/NNIE!" Wooyoung was the one to yell first, trying to use his sense to smell or hear you, but he was feeling so frantic that he couldn't focus. He could smell you but it was faint under's San's scent and he couldn't tell where it was going. Damn San for scenting you so thoroughly before they'd left.

"Y/N-AH!" San roared, running across the park, looking everywhere he went. He could always find her, but upon reaching the other side, void of his beautiful companion, he cried out loud.

Seonghwa asked other pet and hybrid owners at the park if they'd seen her, but they all replied that they hadn't noticed anything. He even asked if they'd seen anyone suspicious walking around, knowing that it was horrifyingly very possible for someone to want a gorgeous, well-bred cat hybrid like her. Still, no one mentioned anything. He was relieved, but only barely, that no one noticed a kidnapper. Weak as she was, he knew his kitten wouldn't let anyone take her without a commotion, but he was still so worried. He'd brought her out because he didn't want her to feel alone at home when he was taking San and Wooyoung to the park, but she was an indoor cat, through and through. He cursed himself for not feeling the need to put a tracking charm on her collar, not expecting her to ever wander too far.

San and Wooyoung searched every inch of the park with determination, or rather, desperation, but found nothing. Their faces were both covered in helpless tears by the time they returned to Seonghwa who wasn't faring much better.

Where could she have gone?

Y/n had seen two butterflies. She wasn't usually interested in fauna, but these two creatures were so pretty, she just wanted to see them up close. She didn't think she'd been following them very long, nor did she think they'd wandered so far. She didn't think much of it when grass turned to concrete and fences turned into houses, and before she knew it, she was in the middle of the road in an unfamiliar neighborhood, with no idea how to get back.

She paused for a moment, not really understanding the situation that she was in before she realized that Seonghwa wasn't here, and she was outside.

It was fortunate that she had wandered into the least busy neighborhood of all time as she fell to her knees, definitely scraping them as her eyes well up with tears, her breaths became shallow and she started to panic.

Daddy? Sannie? Wooyoung? I can't see them. Where are they? Where am I? Do they know I'm gone? Are they looking for me? Where do I go? What do I do?

She choked on a sob before covering her mouth.

"Woah, hey!" an unfamiliar voice called out to her. She looked a little ways in front of her to see a muscular man with a round face. She hiccuped, on edge with a stranger around.

"Hi... what happened? Are you okay?" he asked palms reaching in front of him to reassure her he wasn't trying anything. She scrambled away from him, further scraping her exposed legs, making him wince.

"Hey, hey," he said softly, "I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to help you. Do you know where your owner is?" Tentatively, she shook her head no, but still maintained the large distance between the two..

Jongho really didn't know what he was expecting when he approached the skittish cat hybrid girl in the middle of the road. She was clearly lost and scraped up, but was definitely someone's pet, looking too well-groomed to be a stray. Panicking like that, he could tell she definitely wasn't independent either. He just wanted her to get out of the road so that she wouldn't get hit by a car.

"I don't know you!" she exclaimed when he tried to come closer.

"I just want to help," he'd reply, but to no avail. She was too on guard., so he called the only person he thought might help. "Yunho-hyung!" Jongho yelled, "Can you come help me!?"

pup!yunho in all his golden retriever glory always came when called, jogging over to Jongho. "What's up? What's up?" he asked. Jongho gestured to the cat hybrid a few years away, eyes wide with curiosity. "She's lost and she's too scared for me to help her. Can you calm her down?"

Yunho was already two steps ahead, tentatively stepping towards her. Yunho's scent wafted over to y/n making her pause. It was comforting, already almost lulling her into a sense of security. "Wh-who a-are you,? she cringed at how badly she was stuttering, but she had never been in this kind of predicament before.

"Hi kitty, my name is Yunho," he said, tail low, but wagging. "We wanna help you, okay? Please?"

She let him come closer. Despite his comforting presence, he was very...big. She'd never met a pup before, let alone one this big. She whimpered and his ears pressed into his head in worry, "You have to get out of the road, okay? Don't want you to get hurt, kitty. Can you come to me, please?"

Yunho had something about him that made you trust him, crawling a little toward him before getting up and moving to the sidewalk where he was standing. He collapsed with her when her lip wobbled and she broke down into loud sobs, tightly rubbing her arms to comfort her, trying not to cross any boundaries.

"I-I was just with my daddy, and Sannie and Wooyoung, and- and I saw some butterflies, and I was just gon' look, and I'm a big dummy, I wa'n't even paying attention and I got lost!" She had never sobbed so hard in her life.

Jongho finally approached, albeit standing and still father than Yunho. "We're going to help you find your owner, okay? Can you tell me your name and then come inside and drink some water while we patch up your legs?" He asked.

She calmed a little, sniffing as she wiped her face with the base of her palms, "My name is y-y/n." Jongho gave her a small smile, coming closer and holding his hand out to her. Hesitantly, she grabbed it, letting him lead her inside.

He sat her on the couch, letting Yunho sit by her since he was usually a more comforting presence before getting her water and a first aid kit from the kitchen. She took the cup with both hands and drank, realizing that she had become a little dehydrated from how much she had cried.

Now that she wasn't as panicked, she felt embarrassed for the scene she caused in front of these people she had never met, but she was grateful that they were so kind. She felt small and shy as the muscular man knelt in front of her to patch up her bloody knees.

"U-um," she spoke nervously, fiddling with her fingers around the glass when she stopped drinking, wincing occasionally as Jongho applied the alcohol on her wounds, "What's your name, sir?" She looked up at Jongho who chuckled. "I'm no sir, I'm probably your age, you know, but my name is Jongho."

"Thank you Mr. Jongho." "Aish, stop it," he said, embarassed, telling her his age. She perked, "Oh, that's one more than me!" She looked up at Yunho, the tall giant pup and looked between them, "So your pup... is younger than you?" She said it with awe as if she couldn't believe that size difference between owner and pup could be so different.

Yunho's tail wagged as he laughed, "No, I'm older!" She looked at him surprised. "That's not as uncommon as you'd think," Jongho told her, "But people usually like getting younger hybrids so that they don't have that superiority over them. I didn't really care about that, though."

She nodded, happy to have learned new information, patiently waiting as Jongho finished patching her up.

Now that she was calm, she realized that there was a third scent in the room. She turned her head to where it was coming from, and suddenly there was a low and menacing growl emanating from the corner.

Fearfully, she pulled her legs up to her chest to make herself smaller, hiding from the unknown threat.

"Mingi-ah, stop scaring her!" Yunho scolded.

"Why did you bring her inside! She could be feral!" Mingi complained, coming down the stairs from where he was perched previously. Y/n cowered, realizing that this husky hybrid was also really big. Jongho got up in case he needed to put Mingi in his place, but she defended herself. "I-I'm not feral!," she exclaimed, "I'm a good girl!"

....Okay. Even Mingi's heart skipped a beat at how cute that was.

Yunho laughed, "Yeah, Mingi, she's a good girl! She drank her water and she didn't even cry when Jongho was cleaning her wounds! You can't do that!"

Y/n giggled when Mingi's mouth gaped at Yunho blatantly exposing him and Jongho shook his head with an amused breath. "YAH, don't say that in front of her!" Mingi blushed, and Y/n flinched at the loud noise, moving away from the hybrids to sit next to Jongho who was much quieter, holding and pressing a cheek to his forearm for security.

"You're mean," She huffed at Mingi, turning her nose up at him. He gaped again and Yunho couldn't stop laughing even as Mingi responded, "I'm not mean! I just wanted to scare you a little! You were scared right?"

"I'm not anymore," She shook her head, "Even my daddy is scarier than that."

"Hey, daddies are pretty scary," Jongho said, petting her head. It was an action that stumped both Mingi and Yunho. Jongho never showed anyone affection, ever.

At the mention of her daddy, she gasped, sitting up and smacking herself in the forehead, "I know my daddy's phone number!"

"Ha, you're dumb. Crying like a baby when you could have just asked for a phone," Mingi taunted, making her pout. Jongho reached over and smacked him on the shoulder, "Don't do that!"

Jongho handed her his phone and typed in Seonghwa's number, biting her nail as it rang.

When Seonghwa got a phone call after almost two hours of searching for y/n, he picked it up, thinking it was someone from work, and snapped, "What?"

"D-daddy-" "OH MY GOD, Y/N!" He yelled, "Where are you, baby, who's phone is this, are you okay?" He unloaded a barrage of questions and she answered them one by one.

"I'm okay now, Daddy. I met a nice Oppa named Jongho who helped me and this is his phone and I'm at his house-" "YOU'RE AT HIS HOUSE!?" Seonghwa was hyperventilating.

"U-um," She didn't know what to say, not wanting to get in trouble.

"Give me the phone," Jongho said, and she quickly handed it off.

"Hi, this is Jongho, is this y/n's owner?" "Yes, I'm sorry, fuck. Why the fuck is she in your HOUSE."

"I know how it looks, but she wandered into my neighborhood and was panicking in the middle of the road. She scraped her knees pretty bad so I brought her inside in patched her up before she remembered that she knew your phone number," Jongho explained calmly. Seonghwa released a breath of relief, "Can I have your address or can I give you an address so I can pick her up?"

They quickly exchanged information, setting it up so that they'd all meet in the same park which thankfully wasn't as far as they feared. Jongho with y/n's hand in his and his dog hybrids trailing behind.

Seonghwa had to keep himself from sobbing in front of the younger man as he saw his princess animatedly talking to Jongho with a cute smile on her face, swinging their hands back and forth. When she finally looked at him, she didn't hide her emotions, though. She stopped thinging and she bolted for her daddy, flinging herself into his arm as Seonghwa held her tight.

"Oh my baby, I was so scared. I thought someone took you away and that someone might be hurting you. I couldn't bear it, you never have to come outside if you don't want to again, okay? You're my good girl, I'm so happy you're safe," Seonghwa could go on and on, but he had to properly thank his savior first.

Jongho admired the close relationship y/n had with her owner. His hybrids' relationship with him was much different being more like his silly older brothers than anything else. He didn't know if he could handle her 24/7, though, afraid to hurt her in some way. She was so delicate.

Seonghwa finally put y/n down and composed himself. She was quickly swarmed by Wooyoung and San who were scolding her for running off and crying about how worried they were while Seonghwa addressed Jongho.

Seonghwa gave him a firm handshake, "I'm- I'm seriously in your debt. Thank you for helping her and patching her up. I don't think I would have been able to keep myself together if I saw her hurt. I thought you were really good with hybrids since you were able to get her to calm down, but I can see why." He was referrering to the dog hybrids behind him. Yunho introduced himself immediately. "I'm Yunho, nice to meet you!" he said, shaking Seonghwa's hand, then gestured to Mingi, "This is Mingi." Mingi didn't say anything.

"He's a sourpuss around strangers," Yunho said rolling his eyes, "Y/n is really cute and nice."

"You think so? Thank you," Seonghwa said. Yunho glanced at Jongho once before speaking quickly, "Do you think we could meet y/n again?"

Jongho startled, and Seonghwa looked surprised. "Did you bond that much?" Seonghwa asked. Jongho shook his head, but Yunho disagreed, "I think we got along! I don't know about Mingi, but I like y/n, and I would be sad if I never saw her again." Yunho's ears flopped, worrying that Seonghwa might reject him, but he simply called y/n over.

Once at his side, he asked her, "Did you have fun with Jongho Oppa and Yunho?" She smiled shyly, nodding, "They were very nice to me. Yunho gives nice hugs and Jongho took good care of me."

Seonghwa smiled affectionately at her before turning to Jongho and Yunho, "I don't see why not, then. She likes you. We'll set something up. You have my number now."

Jongho looked surprised at how quickly Seonghwa conceded. He figured that y/n taking a liking to others so well to the point she wanted to see them again was a rare thing if Seonghwa, who'd literally cursed at him on the phone for bringing her into his house, was so quick to accept.

Jongho nodded bowing, "Yes, sure, of course."

Y/n gave Yunho a big hug goodbye, Jongho a kiss on the cheek, and Mingi a pulled eyelid and tongue out, making Yunho and Jongho laugh again. With the promise to see each other again soon, they parted ways. ----------------------- Taglist: @ad0rechuu @spooo00oky @jaerisdiction @soso59love-blog @jaegerist-20

[atinyreads]

Hongjoong takes care of Y/n for the weekend (Atz Hybrid AU)

a/n: (The POV is so inconsistent and I'm too impatient to go back through and fix it, so you're going to see y/n, she, her, and you, all over the place) c/w: smut, fluff, hybrids, presumed toxic power dynamic, not proofread parings: owner!HJ x cat hybrid!reader; fox hybrid!wooyoung x reader, brief owner!Seonghwa x reader and allusions to cat hybrid!san x reader w/c: 2.3k words

"Be good for Hongjoong, y/n," Seonghwa said, petting his kitten's hair as he went to leave Hongjoong's apartment. "When are you coming back?" she pouted, and he chuckled, "Soon, my baby. Sunday." He put his hands on her face and kissed her cheek lovingly. "Okay, daddy," she mumbled. He kissed her nose before Hongjoong, with a smile, bid him goodbye as he left the apartment.

Wooyoung was bouncing on his feet. "You're going to stay with us, Kitty!" he said excitedly. Her ears perked up a little, but her tail stayed low and Hongjoong chuckled, petting her head. "Don't worry, y/n, you're going to have a lot of fun. Time will pass by so fast that you will see Seonghwa in no time." She nodded in acceptance before Wooyoung started showing her all of his toys and his snacks. Her guard quickly fell and she felt as though it was the first time she and Wooyoung had a playdate and she felt comfortable quickly. Hongjoong let them play as he ordered them something to eat. Wooyoung usually did the cooking since he was shit at it, but he was clearly occupied at the moment.

Hongjoong ended up doing work until the food got there, and thankfully the hybrids still had their clothes on as he passed them to open the door for the delivery man. The two were simply cuddling, y/n curled atop Wooyoung's chest as her tail swayed in content. Hongjoong snapped a picture and let them sleep for a little while longer, but eventually got too hungry and sprayed Wooyoung in the face with a water bottle to wake him up.

Wooyoung sputtered and whined angrily at Hongjoong. "Come eat or the food will get cold," Hongjoong said, "Don't let your friend starve." Right on cue, y/n's stomach growled, startling herself awake. Hongjoong and Wooyoung could only look at her with adoration over how cute she was.

"Come y/n, let's eat," Wooyoung said, making her get up with him and holding her hand to lead her to the kitchen as she cutely rubbed her eyes awake with her other hand.

Y/n stretched and sniffed the air, salivating at the smell of the food. "Thank- thank you, sir." She didn't know how to address him... he wasn't her daddy but he was hey daddy's friend, so "sir" felt appropriate. Hongjoong smiled warmly at her sweetness, "Of course, y/n."

After dinner, y/n attempted to sleep with Wooyoung in his bed, tangled with him comfortably, but she just couldn't get herself to sleep. She wanted to twist and turn, but she didn't want to wake up Wooyoung, so she quietly got up, tip-toeing to the living room.

She mewled sadly, missing Seonghwa so much. She took the landlines and dialed his number, almost whimpering when he picked up. "Hello?" "Daddy," She sniffled tearfully, "I miss you."

Seonghwa's heart broke and San curiously asked him if it was y/n. He hushed San and listened to you cry. "Y/n-ah, did anything happen?" "No... but I can't sleep because I miss you."

Seonghwa let out a breath of awe at how cute she was being. He loved his sweet kitten so much. "Were you sleeping with Wooyoung before, baby? Why don't you try sleeping with Hongjoong?" "Do... do you think he'll let me?" "Give the phone to him, I'll ask for you.'

Y/n tip-toed to Hongjoong's room, knocking. There was no response so she peaked in, seeing Hongjoong's form laying on the bed. "Sir," she whispered quietly. She made her way to the side of his bed, kneeling. "Sir," she whispered again, and he let out a small snort as he woke suddenly from his sleep. "I'm sorry for waking you," She said softly, handing him the phone, "Daddy wants to talk to you."

Hongjoong gingerly pet her head as he took the phone up to his ear, his head falling back as he absent-mindely continued to stroke her head and ears as he stared at the ceiling.

"Hello?" "Sorry to bother you, Hongjoong-ah." Hongjoong shook his head though his friend couldn't see him, "No, it's fine. What's up? Is everything okay?"

"Y/nnie is too used to sleeping with me as her owner, she's not used to sleeping with hybrids. She doesn't even sleep with San at night. Do you think she could sleep with you?" Hongjoong looked at y/n who was purring due him so gently touching her ears.

"Come sleep, y/n," Hongjoong called and she quicking got into bed with him, tail waving in content as she curled comfortably against his chest. Hongjoong continued on the phone with a yawn, "Yeah, I got her. No problem." "Alright, thank you, Hongjoong, I'll let you sleep." "Say goodnight to daddy, y/n," Hongjoong said and she did as told, also with a yawn. Seonghwa chuckled, returning her bid goodnight before the call finally ended and both y/n and Hongjoong quickly fell asleep.

Hongjoong's wet dreams were becoming so increasingly vivid, he was worried he might have become a porn addict when the girl in his dream was taking him with her mouth so well that he almost could feel it on his actual dick. However, when he stirred from sleep, the dream fading from his mind, he realized the sensation on his cock still remained and he quickly sat up with a surprised moan as he saw y/n looking up at him, her mouth touching the base of his cock. "Oh shit, y/n," He bucked into her mouth and she gagged, taking it as a good sign as she worked him faster, responding to his sounds. He was different than Seonghwa in regards to how he liked his head, she noticed, but she was determined to please him. He fisted her hair in his hand, though not exerting any force, letting her take him at the pace she wanted before he unloaded into her mouth. As his hips trembled, she swallowed his seed with a lick of her lips, sticking her tongue out to prove to him that she did.

He could only watch her in disbelief as she crawled back up to him, cuddling into his chest. "Did I do good, sir?" Hongjoong, still stunned, couldn't do anything but cuddle and pet her, praising her for her performance, all while feeling like he had taken advantage of Seonghwa's precious kitten. Sure, she played with Wooyoung and San all the time, but in his position as her temporary guardian he felt like he had taken advantage of her, even though she was the one who had woken him up like this. He really hoped he hadn't betrayed Seonghwa.

"You did so good, precious," Hongjoong mumbled, and she purred at the praise. He didn't want her to feel bad at all. She definitely did good, but he had to talk to Seonghwa before this got even more out of hand than it already had.

They could tell Wooyoung had woken up when they heard his cry upon realizing that his kitty friend was not in bed with him anymore. Hongjoong tucked his cock away as he knew Wooyoung would come in here next, and he was right when Wooyoung slammed the door open. Hongjoong snapped at him, "Wooyoung, be careful with the door, you might break the wall!"

Wooyoung recoiled before recollecting himself, huffing as he took y/n out of his arms, "Let's go have a bath, y/nnie". (I'd write this, but it would literally just be me rewriting this already perfect smut by @atinycafe). Wooyoung took y/n by the hand and led her to his bathroom, leaving Hongjoong feeling guilty but satisfied in his bed.

As y/n and Wooyoung were doing lord knows what in the bathroom, Hongjoong sat at his kitchen counter with a cup of coffee and his phone ringing Seonghwa's number.

Seonghwa answered with a yawn, "Morning, Hongjoong-ah. What's up? Was y/n able to sleep?" Hongjoong spoke nervously, "Uh...yeah, she was out like a light. I'm surprised that worked. I thought she wouldn't be able to sleep unless it was you." Seonghwa breathed a sigh of relief, "Yeah, I figured she'd be able to sleep better if she felt more safe with her caretaker, even if it wasn't me. She trusted me to leave her with you, so she trusts you, too." Hongjoong wanted to beat his head on the table from how guilty he was feeling. She trusted him and he went and got his dick sucked. "Fuck," Hongjoong groaned. "What? What's wrong?" "I'm really sorry Seonghwa..." he mumbled, and Seonghwa suddenly got very worried. "Hongjoong, what happened?" "This morning, I woke up, I- fuck, this is embarrassing, but I thought I was having a wet dream, but it turns out she was sucking my cock, and fuck, I didn't tell her to or anything, but she was so fucking good and I fucking let her finish, and I'm sorry for taking advantage of her." Seonghwa was silent. Hongjoong was sure he would rush home, take y/n away, and end their friendship before the older man finally let a laugh slip through. Before he knew it, Seonghwa was in a fit of laughter on the other line, feeling bad for his friend whom he had not warned beforehand. Hongjoong was dumbfounded. "I'm sorry, Hongjoong, I should have told you. She, nor I, have any problem with her taking care of your morning wood. It's like a comforting routine to her. You don't have to feel bad for enjoying it, you're allowed to take advantage of her desire to please." Hongjong felt like he was short-circuiting at Seonghwa's words, happy that Seonghwa was not there to witness his flushed face. "Ah... is that so?" he mumbled, calmly placing his head down on the counter, relieved. "Yeah," Seonghwa chuckled, "Don't worry about it. She can take care of you all she wants, I'm more worried about her being careless with Wooyoung than anything." Hongjoong gave a short laugh, "Yeah, I'm like 90% sure they're playing together in the bathtub right now." "Ahh, jeez. Now that I'll ask you to keep check on. I want her to have kittens if she wants to one day, but definitely not right now while she's so young. You know how desperate she gets with your damn fox," Seonghwa sighed, making Hongjoong chuckle, "Roger that. Sorry for scaring you." "I'm the one who's sorry for not warning you sooner. I'll let you go, though, Hongjoong. I'll talk to you later." With a final goodbye, Hongjoong hung up and was quick to check on Wooyoung and y/n. He could only stifle a groan at the mess of water Wooyoung had made on the floor from splashing around so much. He couldn't exactly see what was going on under the water, but he could tell it wasn't anything innocent as Wooyoung's hands were nowhere to be seen and y/n's heavenly noises reverberated against the tiles of the bathroom. Honestly, Hongjoong could have brought himself to just stand there and listen to the symphony coming out of her mouth, but opted to give you and Wooyoung some privacy since you hadn't gotten to play together like this yesterday the way he had expected you to. After they washed up, Hongjoong just had some cereal for them to eat for breakfast. To his surprise and Wooyoung's childish disappointment, y/n clung to Hongjoong's side. "Y/n, I was very surprised when you woke me up this morning," he said softly, petting her. She worried that she was going to get scolded so she timidly asked, "You didn't like it?" "No! No, I liked it. I loved it, you were very good. You're such a good girl," Hongjoong praised her, making her relax, "But your daddy didn't tell me that you like to do that, so I was very shocked. It's not your fault, though. Now, I know."

She smiled, kissing his cheek before eating her cereal. Wooyoung glared a Hongjoong a little making Hongjoong "tsk" at him. For the remainder of their time together, y/n would spend her time by Hongjoong's feet if he was working and when he was too busy or not home, she would be tangled, skin to skin, with Wooyoung either playing or napping at any given moment. She also continued to aid Hongjoong in the morning as he was expecting it this time.

When Seonghwa came back to pick her up, she nearly cried at the overwhelming feeling of missing her daddy as she jumped on him, legs wrapping around his waist as he chuckled at her crying in his arms, patting her back comfortingly. Hongjoong and Wooyoung had done a great job of distracting her from how much she missed him, but it all came flooding back as soon as he walked through the door.

"I heard you had lots of fun with Wooyoung and took care of Hongjoong like a good girl," Seonghwa said, giving her loving kisses and she nodded eagerly as he stroked the side of her waist. "Oh, my girl missed me so much," he said as she nuzzled his neck. He looked up at Hongjoong who was looking at her fondly while Wooyoung was pouting at the fact that his friend had to leave.

"Will y/nnie come back?" Wooyoung asked, pouting. Seonghwa patted Wooyoung's head, "I'll drop her off again so you guys can have playdates, of course, but I missed my girl so much, I don't know if can go so long without her like this again."

"You know, I didn't understand, before, why you were just as infatuated with her as Wooyoung and San, but I think I'm beginning to understand," Hongjoong said. Morning blowjob aside, he couldn't help but fall for your charm throughout the weekend as you really did take care of him, removing his shoes, cooking for him with Wooyoung, and just being the epitome of a good companion.

Seonghwa could only smile proudly, "That's my girl, of course." His kitten's tail waved in acknowledgment of the praise she was receiving. She definitely enjoyed this weekend.

[atinyreads]

Y/n's first heat

a/n: guys, i wrote two smuts in one day, i'm on a roll (this smut is so mediocre tho i'm so sorry) c/w: smut (surprisingly no breeding kink tho, hmm) pairings: owner!Seonghwa x cat hybrid!reader

Seonghwa was very gentle during her first heat. He had found that she'd locked herself in the guest room, while San was clawing at the door. "She smells so good," he'd had growled, tensely. Seonghwa ended up sending San to stay with his parents while he figured out what was going on. When she could smell that he wasn't in the house, y/n came out of the room. "I was scared," she mumbled, sweat dripping from her forehead, "my body hurts so much..."

"Oh, my baby," he said empathetically, holding out his arms for her to crawl into them, "Are you in heat?" "Heat?"

Seonghwa didn't realize that this was her first heat. The people at the the adoption center did say she was newly mature, but he didn't realize how new.

"Daddy," she mumbled with blush on her face, embarrassed at her next words, "I feel so empty... can you fill me up please?" Seonghwa tightened his hold on y/n, "You know what your heat is, right, y/n-ah?"

"Yeah... I didn't know it was gonna feel like this," she said into his shoulder. "Do you want me to help you through it? Or Sannie?" "I want you, daddy," she mumbled, starting to cry, "I need you, please."

"Okay, okay, I got you. I'm going to take care of you, okay?" He calmed her down as he took her to his room, laying her down. She tugged at her clothes mindlessly, feeling too hot. Seonghwa helped her out of them, straddling her hips as he cradled her face in his hands, hating to see her in so much pain.

"What can I do for you, baby? Do you want me to touch you with my hands or do you just want my cock?" "Want your cock," she almost cried, "Want you inside me, please."

Seonghwa removed his pants and lined up with her entrance. The tip touched her clit as Seonghwa tucked her hair behind her ear, "This is the first time you're taking my cock, are you okay?" "Mhmm, please, please, want you." Seonghwa didn't hesitate any further, sinking himself into her.

He had to keep himself from busting the moment he entered her. He'd had yet to touch her pussy since she often was the one who came up to him to suck his dick without him asking and subsequently not asking for anything in return. Her head was good, and getting better as she continued doing it, but he honestly had never had better pussy than her in his life. Maybe it was because she was in heat and her pussy was almost molding to him, sucking him dry to get him to cum as soon as possible and fill her up with his seed.

But he had to hold himself back. He had to make sure she reached her orgasm first otherwise she'd be milking him until his cock fell off, so once he sunk in he paused feeling her walls pulse around him.

"Daddy, move, move please!" She whined. "I'm gonna move, baby, don't worry, I just need- fuck, your pussy is so good for me. I just need a second, okay?" She whimpered by complied, trying her best not to move as Seonghwa took deep breaths, trying to relax himself. How had he gotten worked up so quickly? Hybrid sex was different.

When he felt confident he wouldn't cum right away, he started to move. Y/n moaned in satisfaction when his cock, slightly thinner but longer than San's, prodded her walls, satisfying her body's craving. She wrapped her arms around Seonghwa's neck, pulling him in to kiss her.

With their lips attached, Seonghwa pumped his hips at a steady pace until he felt her walls start to contract more around him. He thrusted harder so that they both would reach their peak together. Y/n's moans and sobs reverberated throughout the room as she came, and Seonghwa soon followed, letting out a breathy groan of relief as he emptied himself inside of her. He kept them connected for a moment, pulling away from her face a little to stroke her cheeks, "Good girl, you're such a good girl. You did so well. How do you feel?"

"Felt- feel so good, daddy," she murmured, pulling him close again, "Stay here, don't go away." "I'll stay with you for as long as your heat is," he chuckled, "Do you want me to go again right away or do you want to take a nap first?" He really hoped she would opt for a nap. He knew for a fact that he couldn't match hybrid stamina. She shook her head against his neck.

Seonghwa honestly thought it would be longer than this, taking care of her in her heat. He expected to have to do a lot of foreplay and a few rounds during every flare-up of her heat, but it turned out that y/n was very easy to satiate, for now at least.

He pulled out of her, watching his cum drip out of her used hole, resisting a groan. "Fuck, what a good girl," he praised and he felt her body get warm with shyness. He chuckled, pulling her into his chest as she slowly fell asleep. Seonghwa tried to get as much rest as he needed, too. He was going to need it for the next couple of days.

[atinyreads]

When Seonghwa got mad at y/n

a/n: I'm sorry I've been neglecting you all! Here's my apology angst c/w: angst, hurt/comfort pairings: owner!Seonghwa x cat hybrid!reader, cat hybrid!san x reader w/c: 1.6k

Y/n didn't realize Seonghwa was in a bad mood.

At this point, even though she felt bad, it was routine of him to break up with partners because they didn't like her. He'd come home sad, and y/n would cuddle his sorrows away.

This time was different.

This time, Seonghwa came home with a sad aura, but clenched fists. No, he was frustrated, so frustrated. Why were people so closed minded? Hybrids have been a part of society for so long and even if not everyone cares for their hybrids the same way, the extent of his care had been normalized enough by now, he thought. Yet he hadn't met anyone who could accept it.

Y/n wasn't his girlfriend; he didn't want her to be nor did she want to be. He loves her and takes care of her. Sure, hybrids could be in relationships with their owners or with other people, but that just wasn't their relationship. Why was that so hard to understand?

He wasn't mad at y/n, he could never truly be mad at y/n, but in that moment he was just so frustrated. It was moment of weakness, but he seriously resented her, if only for a minute.

But it was in that minute that she crawled over to him, unapologetic smile adorning her face (because she had nothing to feel bad for, he had made sure to reassure her every time before), as she asked for his attention, hands pawing at his trousers.

"Stop it. Move, y/n." His voice was stern and cold and she felt her hair stand on end. "Daddy? Are you okay-?"

Hearing her voice, her sultry, sweet, beautiful voice, he snapped, "GET OFF, Y/N. GET OFF." She flinched away from him, looking at him a little scared, "D-daddy‐?" "I'M SO TIRED OF THIS, Y/N. YOU'RE ALWAYS- YOU'RE ALWAYS THERE. YOU CAN NEVER LEAVE ME ALONE!"

He was yelling, really yelling. No one had ever spoken to y/n like that before, especially not Seonghwa. Sure, he'd scolded her, but he'd never so much as punished her let alone raised his voice like this.

She trembled as he yelled at her, curled up into a ball as she was frozen in fear, waiting for him to finish. "It's like ever since I adopted you, I haven't been able to think of anything but you. I can't be selfish. I can't enjoy myself or be loved for a single fucking second-"

"HYUNG!" San yelled, coming down to hug y/n and shield her from Seonghwa. She was shaking, tears running down her face as she whimpered, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Honestly, Seonghwa had yelled at San like this before, and Y/n was spoiled so he initially had been enjoying her get a little scared. It was only natural for a harsher scolding at least once or twice... but this felt too harsh. San stopped feeling smug very quickly as he came down to comfort their princess.

San's presence snapped Seonghwa out of his rage, allowing him to actually see how y/n was reacting to his anger. He broke his own heart knowing that he made her look like this, trembling with tears falling down her face, terrified noises leaving her. Oh my god, what was I thinking?

"Y/n, I-" he reached out to her but she wailed, running to San's room and slamming the door shut behind her and burying herself in his sheets.

Seonghwa watched her run and then looked at San helplessly, only to be met with San's angry hiss as the feline followed after his mate to cuddle her as she cried.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Seonghwa could still feel his emotions hot in his blood, so he sighed, sitting on his recliner as he waited for his heart to settle.

He didn't realize how badly he had fucked up until he'd gone back to his room. Y/n hadn't come to sleep. She'd always always slept with him in his bed at night. She'd never been able to sleep at night without her owner.

Yet, right now, as he laid awake, waiting for her to crawl into his arms and tuck herself under his chin, it was almost 1am, and his arms were empty.

He hadn't realized how used to her he'd gotten. He felt cold, even with his blanket tucked up to his chin, body crunched into a ball, he felt like his body was trembling. Now he couldn't sleep without her.

Obviously, he couldn't stand to be like this. He got out of his bed and went to San's room, knocking lightly on the door. He thought y/n might be awake. He thought there'd be no way that she could sleep without him.

But there was no answer. "Y/n?" he called softly. Nothing. "San?" A grunt.

Seonghwa opened the door a peek and first saw San's piercing glare. It wasn't the first time he'd been on the receiving end of it, San got pissy with him all the time, but this was the first time it was over someone else. The next thing he saw was his little kitten wrapped in his big kitten's arms, head tucked into his chest as her chest raised and fell in a steady rhythm.

She was asleep.

"She cried until she was so exhausted she couldn't stay awake anymore," San said quietly to not wake her up. Seonghwa felt his heart lurch harder than it ever had before. "I'm not giving her to you, if that's what you're here for."

"No... I don't want to wake her," Seonghwa whispered, "I just can't... I couldn't sleep." San didn't reply. He wasn't in the mood to give Seonghwa consoling words. He'd used them all on y/n already.

Both of his hybrids were upset at him, rightfully so. He sighed, sitting in San's chair that faced the bed. San eyed him before letting out a sigh and cuddling farther into y/n to sleep.

Seonghwa just watched them until he felt his eyes droop and sleep overtook him.

He woke up to a sniffle. It started him awake. The first heartbreaking thing he saw was y/n's face scrunched up in a sob, fresh tears falling down her face.

"Y/n-ah," he croaked, not even letting himself fully wake up before he was on his knees in front of her, "I'm so sorry... I didn't mean it! I..."

"I- I'm sorry... I made daddy's life so hard. You haven't been able to be happy since I'm here-" "NO!" he exclaimed loudly, making San jolt awake, but the big cat went ignored, "I didn't mean it. Daddy was just upset. I was just sad, I didn't mean to say those things. I didn't mean a single word."

She didn't believe him and Seonghwa could tell as she covered her face, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry they don't like me. You never should have brought me here. I'm so terrible."

"Y/nnie, please," he choked, "I'm so sorry baby. I was feeling sad because my partner left me... but I don't need anyone. I only need you and Sannie, my love. I- Everyday, you make me feel so loved, more loved than I have ever felt from even my own mother..."

Y/n sniffed, looking at him properly, but wearily.

"I didn't mean a single thing I said. It was all in anger. Like- like when Sannie says he's mad at you and won't share his clothes, but he still shares them anyway...," he reasoned desperately.

"You should send me away...," she cried quietly. Seonghwa finally broke completely, letting out a sob, bowing his face to the ground, "You are my most important girl in the world, y/n-ah." His voice was cracking and his pain was agonizing, extremely evident from his voice, "No one loves me more than you, and I can't live without you. I can't sleep without you in my arms. Even if you wanted to leave me, I am the one that's selfish. I want to hold you in my arms and never let you go. I want you to get so mad at me for yelling at you. I'll make it up to you forever. I'll buy you so many gifts and treats. I just- I need you to know that I love you so much."

She sniffed, getting out of the bed to kneel in front of him as well. When he heard her change positions, Seonghwa looked up to see her looking at him with teary eyes. A wail escaped her throat as she slipped herself into his arms, sobbing into the fabric of his t-shirt.

His arms wrapped around her so tight she would have suffocated if she was thinking about it. He wasn't loud, but his tears slipped down his face and onto her hair, "No one matters to me more than you. You're my baby. My sweet, y/nnie. I'm sorry, I got upset, but I won't do it again." "I th-thought you d-didn-n't want m-me, any-nymore!" she hiccupped between sobs.

"No my princess. Even if I'm only with you for the rest of my life and everyone else leaves, I'll be happy." San wanted to protest, but he didn't because he was too tired and because he knew y/n needed reassurance more than he needed to reaffirm his existence in the house. She was soft. He'd live.

"I'm sorry, daddy," she whimpered. Seonghwa pulled away to cup her face and press soft kisses all over her face. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I meant it when I told you that you and San are a part of me. No one is more important than us. We're a family, okay? You're my family."

Y/n sniffed and hugged him so tight, nodding into his chest. "You promise?" "Mhmm," Seonghwa hummed, "I'll never let you think otherwise again. Even if daddy gets mad at you again, I promise I will never make you think for a second that you belong anywhere else, but here with me."

[atinyreads]

Ready or Not (1)

Summary: When Jongho realizes he wasn't prepared for your decline post-partum, he makes an executive decision that he can't take back.

dad!Jongho x mom!reader | idol au

c/w: post-partum depression/psychosis, self-harm, attempted suicide, divorce

a/n: fuck the hiatus, imma just write what i want when i want

w/c: 3k

Net: @mirohs-aurora-society

Jongho didn't expect to get married so young, but how could he not? You were beautiful, he was in love, and you were, too. He wasn't the type of guy to play around and waste time. Two years into the relationship, he'd introduced you to his family and himself to yours before getting down on one knee.

Considering that both of you were idols, you both decided that it would be best to keep your relationship under wraps, even after marriage. Sure, getting married at this age with this career might have seemed dumb to others, but Jongho considered you his future. To him, there was no more sensible option than this. The announcement was made at separate times by your agencies that you'd gotten married to someone, but it was never stated who, requesting privacy in regards to family matters.

JONGHO OF ATEEZ ANNOUNCES MARRIAGE TO MYSTERY WOMAN

Y/N OF ILOVE RECENTLY ANNOUNCES HER MARRIAGE TO MYSTERY LOVER! WHO IS HE?

You were devoted to Jongho. You thought that he was worth losing your career for, so when you got pregnant and went on hiatus, Jongho matched your devotion and made sure that you were taken care of on his own. He was the perfect husband. Your pregnancy was stress free, and the plan was to announce after you'd fully recovered from giving birth that you were married to each other and had just brought a beautiful child into the world.

But that was when Jongho's plans went awry. Everything had been smooth, perfect, exactly as planned until the week your daughter was born. Even the delivery was fine, Jongho's grip was strong enough to withstand your pain and not break. He took care of you post-partum to the best of his ability.

So what was wrong with you?

Jongho noticed the rapid decline in your mental health by the end of the first week. He didn't know what went wrong. You never slept, always staring at Eunji and mumbling to yourself.

He came up behind you one night as you were looking at her, wrapping his arms around you tightly, "How are you feeling?"

"I feel like I can't breathe," You whispered, your hands reaching to grasp Jongho's forearms tightly, "I feel like if I look away then she'll die and then I'll die. I feel like- like-"

Suddenly, you got angry, your face scrunched up with rage, "I feel like she hates me. I'm trying my best and she hates me!"

Jongho couldn't help but worry. Your feelings were concerning. He shushed you, petting your hair, but you refused to close your eyes, staring Eunji down like she owed you money.

"Maybe we should let mom come and help you take care of her-" "NO!" You roared, and Jongho quickly covered your mouth with wide eyes at your yell. His eyes quickly darted to Eunji who began to cry. What was wrong with you?

"She's mine. No one can hurt her or touch her. She's mine," you growled, going to pick Eunji up. You rocked her back and forth, hushing her for a few moments before tears sprang into your eyes, "Fuck. Fuck, I can't do this. Why isn't she stopping? Why won't she stop crying, Jongho? Am I so horrible?"

"No, my love, you're not horrible. This just hard, it's okay," Jongho said, rubbing your back as he pulled you into a loose hug with Eunji in between you.

You choked on a sob as you cried into his shirt. "I just... why can't I love her?"

Jongho froze as he looked at you, confusion in his eyes, but he didn't say anything. "I'm trying so hard," You whispered, "To get the overwhelming pit in my stomach that comes with loving something so much that you'd die for it... why don't I feel that way?"

Jongho didn't know how to respond, swaying you and the baby back and forth until both were pacified. You gingerly put Eunji back into the crib and took a step back, staring at her.

"She hates me. She hates me because she thinks I hate her."

"She doesn't," Jongho firmly reassured you, hands rubbing up and down your arms, "I promise you, she doesn't."

"I don't believe you." "Come to bed," Jongho whispered, pressing a light kiss on your temple.

"I can't," you replied, "Everytime that I can't see her, my skin itches."

Jongho, at this point, couldn't remember the last time you slept. Even a week later, he could could the hours he'd seen you sleep on one hand, and it was never in a comfortable position. He couldn't even begin to think about how long it had been since you'd showered.

He thought this would pass soon and that there'd be no harm until he saw you menacingly hunched over the baby, breathing heavily.

"Baby...?" he asked tentatively as he entered the baby room. "I- I didn't mean to, Jongho," You whispered, "I didn't mean-"

At those words, Jongho quickly moved you out of the way to look at Eunji, heart beating a million miles an hour.

His eyes went red when he saw blood on Eunji. He didn't even check her for injuries, he just immediately turned to you with rage.

"What did you do to her!?" he roared, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you, "What did you do!?"

"I don't know!" you cried, "I just remember f-falling asleep a little and then-" Eunji was now crying and Jongho forcefully let go of you to tend to her, he picked her up and examined her face frantically.

You were now hysterically sobbing on the ground, crawling to Jongho and touching his feet. "I'm sorry, Jongho, I didn't mean to hurt her!"

But you didn't.

It was Jongho's stone cold heart and desire to protect his daughter that caused him to abandon you that day.

Not a single hair on Eunji was hurt. That blood was not hers.

It was yours.

You'd been biting your lip at first, to keep yourself awake. You were the only one home (for some reason), and you couldn't fall asleep when you had to watch her. Still, your eyes blurred, and in a sleep deprived and delusional attempt to keep yourself awake and sane, you violently scratched your face down from your under eyes.

You were so out of it that you didn't even feel it. All you saw was your own blood dripping onto Eunji, and you thought you'd hurt her.

And Jongho did, too. Without even looking at you, he took Eunji straight to the hospital to make sure you hadn't really done anything, all while you cried into the carpet of your daughter's room, tears stinging the wounds that your nails had left behind.

Eunji was fine, but Jongho couldn't stand to look at you. He filed for divorce with full custody the next morning.

"W-what?" you asked your mother-in-law, "Wh-why- You just said that Eunji was alright...-" "I don't know," Mrs. Choi said, "He just... he said he doesn't trust you not to hurt her anymore."

"Eomma... eomma, please, you can't let him-" You went to touch her, but she held her hand up, pain etched across her face, "He's my son. I'm not on your side."

"Eomma, please," you whispered, "I'm alone."

"I'm sorry," she said, leaving you with the divorce papers in your hand.

At the hearing, what could you argue against your mental instability with scratches like canyons marring your once beautiful face. Jongho looked at you with horror when he saw the monstrous scabs that had covered the fresh wounds that he hadn't looked at you long enough that day to see. Even your eye was a little red. Had you stabbed yourself in the eye with your own nail in your unstable state?

Your statement was simple.

"Jongho has never once been a bad husband to me," you said simply, "I have been completely blindsided and heartbroken as a result of this proceeding. After the incident, I was diagnosed with sever post-partum psychosis that has since dissipated, at least somewhat since Jongho has taken my daughter away from me, but neither he or I was aware of it before, for whatever reason. If only someone around me had known I needed counseling. Maybe I would not have resorted to harming myself when my mind was helpless to see reason."

"I have never hurt my baby, and I never will. Please... please do not take her away from me. Without Jongho... and now without her, I will be nothing. I am nothing without them."

Your words meant nothing when Jongho's prior testimony included the moment that you told him that you did not love her. How would anyone believe a woman with scratches along her arms so deep it looked like you were attacked by a wolf despite them all being self-inflicted during moments of weakness.

Jongho took Eunji away from you.

Still, he had the audacity to approach you after the hearing. "Y/n," he said, catching up to you as you followed your lawyer and your manager to your car.

You paused to look at him, your face devoid of emotion. "What happened to you? Why are you hurt?"

You didn't respond, so your lawyer responded for you, "I'm sorry, Mr. Choi, but you are no longer her husband to be privy to such information."

"Yeah, Jongho," your manager said, disappointedly, shaking her head at him, "Maybe if you asked her that day, we wouldn't be here right now."

"I- I'm sorry about putting you through all this, y/n," he said, "But you- this... it wasn't part of the plan."

You simply looked at him, tears falling down your face, before wordlessly getting into the car.

Jongho watched you drive away as his younger brother walked up to him. "Hyung... are you okay?"

"Yeah," Jongho said quietly, his face stoic, "I still have to get the baby's things from our apartment... do you mind heading over there to grab them? I don't think she'd like it if I do it."

"Sure, hyung...," his brother said. He wanted to ask a hundred questions. What happened? Why do this? Why not do couple's counseling? Eunji was fine, and y/n was the one who was hurt, so why was she the one who was abandoned?

Truthfully, no one really understood Jongho's thought process. Even his mother, who'd always be on his side, questioned whether it was okay for Jongho to leave you like this. When she'd seen you last... you looked like you just needed help and support.

Jongho's brother felt uneasy going to your apartment after everything. What would he even say to you?

But he wouldn't have to say anything.

When he approached the apartment door, he knocked, only to find the door falling open at his touch. His hair immediately stood on end as he pushed it further to go into the apartment.

"Noona?" he called. No answer. He took his shoes off as he stepped inside. The apartment was kind of a mess, with clothes that he recognized you wearing in the courtroom today.

"Noona!" he called again. Still no answer. His heart was beating so loudly that he felt like he could hear it outside of his body.

He walked into the baby room slowly. "Noona...?"

He looked around at eye level. Nothing.

Then he looked down.

A gasp tore out of his throat as he saw the pool of blood widening around you. "Noona!" he screeched almost at the top of his lungs. He fell to the ground to pick you up into his arms, finding that the blood was coming from your arm.

You were wearing's Jongho's hoodie and a blanket, one that Jongho had send his brother here to retrieve, in fact, was clutched in between your fingers. You were unconcious.

With shaking hands, he called the police, trying to keep the blood from leaving you as much as possible.

Jongho thundered down the halls when he got the call that you were in the hospital. "Excuse me, sir, you can't be here-" "I got a call about my wife attempting suicide. I need to get to her, now-"

"Oh-," the nurse blanched before cringing, "I'm sorry, she's getting stitches and a blood transfusion right now, she lost a lot of blood and she really needs to rest. Um, her brother in law... your brother? He's in the emergency waiting room, so you can just stay there. We'll call you in when she's stable."

Jongho nodded tensely and headed to the waiting room where his brother was there, leg bobbing furiously. For a moment Jongho untensed with guilt for making his brother be the one to endure such a horrible scene when he should have been the one facing you.

In his hands were the things you were wearing. Your undergarments were in a bag while Jongho's now bloodied hoodie and the baby's blanket were in his hands.

"Why are you...-" Jongho's brother looked up at Jongho shocked and weary. "Um," he sniffed, "She was wearing... your thing... and holding the blanket... sorry, hyung, they got... they got messed up."

"I'm not worried about that right now. I'm sorry you had to see that...," Jongho said, his tension returning, "Was she... you saw her... do you think she'll be okay?"

"Honestly, hyung...," Jongho's brother gulped, "I don't think so. I don't know how long she was bleeding out and- I didn't get to check if she was breathing... they said they're doing a blood transfusion... but I heard them say her pulse was dangerously weak..."

"Fuck," Jongho cursed softly, pinching the bridge of his nose. His stress was actively taking place between his eyebrows. This was not what he wanted. But the divorce wasn't something you wanted either. He didn't think you'd try to end your life over it, though.

He felt guilt, but for what he didn't know. Because he left you? Because you were sad? Because he didn't seem nearly as devastated as you clearly were?

But he was devasted, wasn't he?

His outward demeanor was even fooling himself.

The doctors let Jongho and his brother stay in the room when you'd miraculously become stable. They didn't expect you to survive, especially not having known how long you were laying in your own blood.

Jongho hated how pale you were.

But what he hated more was how little you'd changed since the last time he saw you before today.

You'd clearly been deteriorating, but he'd been none the wiser. He'd been doing his best to keep you happy, so why? Why this?

He was left alone to his thoughts as he allowed his brother to go home and rest. Another thing he felt bad for. Now his brother would have to have to deal with his family's questions.

But he couldn't bring himself to think right now, let alone talk. All he could do was observe you and attempt to kill the guilt that was trying to tell him that this was all his fault.

It wasn't... but it also was, wasn't it?

He'd read about post-partum depression, he thought he was preventing it...but he didn't really check to see if it was working, did he?

But unfortunately, these were only fleeting thoughts. The only thing that he was really thinking was that this wasn't part of the plan. It's not my fault. I did everything right. You are the problem.

When he heard you groan, he snapped from his position in the chair next to you to look at you. Your eyes opened and for a moment, seeing Jongho's face, you forgot the very events that happened today. "Jongho," you whimpered, making his heart break in half, "It hurts so much."

Jongho didn't say anything. In your delirium you were confused, but when your mind cleared, you gasped, shaking your head, "Fuck, sorry."

"No. It's fine," Jongho said stiffly. You frowned. Despite everything, how could he be so cold with you? It wasn't like the two of you had fallen out of love... had he?

You didn't have time to dwell on it as you cleared your throat, sitting up as you looked over your arm. "Oh..." You remembered now.

When you'd gotten home, your mind had already been made up. You threw your clothes off, immediately found one of Jongho's hoodies to wear, took Eunji's blanket and went to her room. You laid on the ground, comforted by what remained of your family before attempting to end your life.

In your mind, recovery felt impossible, especially without Jongho and even less so without your baby. In your mind, there had been no other solution.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, mimicking his stiffness unconsciously. "I'm your emergency contact," he explained, "I was called when you were admitted into the hospital."

"I'm sorry," You sighed, "Obviously I hadn't gotten around to it. I'll change it now."

"What? No, it's fine- who else would you even put down?"

"My manager?" you asked rhetorically, voice gradually becoming fully devoid of emotion. You felt numb with Jongho here. You wanted him to leave. To let you rot and die alone like he had no problem doing when he'd taken Eunji away.

"Are you sure you want a work contact to be your emergecy-" "Who else would I put down, Jongho?" you asked the same question making him flinch, his head going down in shame, though his head still spun when he wondered why.

"Why did you do this?" he whispered, "Why-"

"I don't think hearing the answer to that will satisfy you," you said, "I think if I tell the reason, you'll tell me I'm wrong, because you won't like the reason, and then I'll just do it again."

"STOP!" Jongho roared, gaining the attention of nurses outside of the room. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave, there are other patients resting-" "No, I'm sorry, this- this is my wife-"

"No, he's not anymore," You clarified with a straight face, "I'd like to change my emergency contact please."

"Y/n!" "Please, sir, we need you to leave," the nurse said, ushering him out.

Jongho stood outside of the hospital that day, refusing to accept his mistakes but realizing, at least, that he'd truly lost you. He didn't know what else he was expecting to happen.

___________________

taglist: @ad0rechuu @spooo00oky @jaerisdiction @soso59love-blog @potatos-on-clouds @intartaruginha @hwasa28 @stacey-stonem @skersey33 @altxrr-ego @sunnyhokyu @sunnysidesins

[atinyreads]

BABE I HAD AN IDEA- Reo Mikage ANGST where he calls reader a gold digging whore in the middle of an argument, ultimately affirming all of her insecurities so he has to figure out a way to show that he didn't mean it and that he's sorry without using his disgustingly abundant wealth 💔 anyways ilysm hope you take care of yourself

NO YOU ARE LITERALLY DISGUSTING FOR THIS (affectionate) YOUR MIND >>> YOU ARE SOOOOO RIGHT. SHUT UP THIS WILL LITERALLY BE THE MOST SCRUMPTIOUS FIC EVER BECAUSE I AM LITERALLY ABOUT TO PUT MY WHOLE EARTHUSSY INTO INCORPORATING THIS IDEA SOMEWHERE !!! BUT FOR NOW, TAKE THIS SNIPPET I WHIPPED UP IN ONE SITTING.

girl feel free to come back into my inbox WHENEVER and giving me your juicy ideas bc holy shit i loved this.

CW: HURT/COMFORT - A LOT OF BOTH, SWEARING, UNEDITED - I WAS GOING THRU IT WHILST WRITING THIS DON'T LOOK AT ME!

IMAGINE THIS: it's been a rough night for both you and reo, he's been through a lot in the past weeks because his dad just had to during the middle of soccer season to lecture reo about how to run a big business. the transition process is beginning to happen since father mikage is about to retire and although your purple-haired boyfriend has been preparing for this his whole life, having gone to business school part-time and graduating with honours, there's still a little part of him that feels weary from all the responsibilities.

all this accumulated stress needs to have an outlet eventually, right? welp, you just happened to be there at the right (wrong) time. you were simply delivering a platter of apples to your boyfriend who had his head in his hands, hunched over an endless pile of paperwork that was beginning to irk him with each passing second. countless images of him shredding up the paper flowed into his mind, a fury that manifested into his reality, except the paper was you D,:

one thing evolved into another, reo's endless stream of venomous words didn't stop flowing out of him as he spat poison after poison, burning you with the intensity of it all.

"you're so overbearing, can't you see that i'm fine? unlike you i can handle myself when things get hard," he spits, eyeing you with fury in his eyes, one that makes you gulp thickly.

"reo-"

-but you wouldn't know the first thing about fighting for what you want right, you fucking gold-digger."

that stops you in your tracks, silences you effortlessly, causing you to let your hands drop limply back to your sides as you stare at your boyfriend blankly. you're sinking into an abyss of hurt and insecurity, it's getting harder to breathe because of the way your chest swells with anger.

reo only continues, not noticing the way you physically and emotionally drop. "even if you don't give me attention for one second of the day, i won't forget you exist, so stop being so clingy and unnecessary! my money isn't going anywhere either, you don't need to occupy majority of my day so leave me alone. go shop online or something."

that was it. was that all reo perceived you to be? a dent in his money, the expenses of his bank account?

"fine. goodbye," you simply mutter before slipping through his office door, out in the hallway.

"don't bother me whilst i'm in here," he says with finality, one last declaration before you shut the door behind you.

the luxurious walls of reo's penthouse look down at you mockingly, the spacious area caging you in, chanting 'gold-digger' over and over again until it's all you hear.

staying here feels wrong.

so, you grab your purse and leave, as quietly as possible. slipping down to the garage where your (second hand) car was parked, you start the engine up and begin reversing out of the parking lot.

you begin to reflect on your relationship with reo. you love him, you really do, you love him because he's reo, the man who was always capable of making you smile, laugh, and make you feel like you were on top of the world. his money and fame was an added bonus that you truly didn't care much about.

but ever since dating him, you've had your own insecurities that have been forced on you by other people. there were crowds calling you a 'gold digger' who was only with reo 'for the money', and although you were sure of yourself and your intentions, your armour breaks down sometimes.

what reo said tonight was the final jab that allowed it to fully disintegrate.

you had a stable job of your own and finances to your own name, money wasn't something you avidly chased, sure having a few zeroes in your bank account was nice but that was all you really needed. as long as you could buy necessities and spoil yourself, it was satisfactory, and you could provide that for yourself!

reo loved to spoil you, showering you in luxurious gifts that you never knew how to accept. it would take a great deal of convincing for you to take what he bought you, and when you promised him to stop buying them for you, he agreed before buying you more material stuff.

as you pull up to the parking lot of the apartment complex that you resided in, you get into the elevator with a heavy heart, pressing the button to your floor with a lot of emotions.

the ride is silent. everything is so silent.

your apartment is even more silent. it's unused, slightly barren. your furniture was still there, except some dust had gathered on the tables and cabinets from how long you've neglected it.

the only reason you were able to keep your apartment was because you had no expenses outflowing since reo took care of almost everything. anything you needed, he bought it, groceries, bills, whatever, were charged on his card. for a period of time, your bank account merely grew and never decreased.

and since you hadn't been here for a while, electricity and water bills never bothered you too much.

you flop onto your made bed with a sigh. it wasn't as soft as reo's but you didn't find it in you to care, you just needed some well-deserved shut eye.

well, 'shut eye' occurred for merely an hour before your phone started vibrating violently.

with a groan, you shove your face back into your pillows before blindly reaching for your phone.

you already knew who it would be without looking at the caller id. of course reo would be looking for you, noting your obvious absence in his penthouse.

"hello?" you mutter.

"y/n? where the hell are you?" comes reo's frantic voice from the other line. he sounds genuinely concerned.

"doesn't matter."

"i'm sorry for everything i said. please, come back."

"reo, i'm tired, i can't do this with you right now."

"i'm sorry, i'm really really sorry."

"i don't want to hear this right now."

"i love you."

you sigh and you're sure reo can hear it on his end. unsure of how to respond, you just hang up on him before throwing your phone away. normally, you would feel bad about the way you left him, but that wasn't the case this time. you just needed to sleep on this.

but, it was reo you were talking about, and the last thing he was going to let you do was sleep without him.

at 1:24am, there's a series of ferocious knocks on your door, followed by screams of your name.

oh my god it was so embarrassing, you literally shoot out of bed as soon as you register what was happening and dash for your door. you don't want to disturb your neighbours' sleep and let them hear that the pathetic grovelling of your boyfriend. the entire hallway could hear reo and his shouting.

you open the door, pull him in, and slam it shut behind you again, leaving the purple-haired to stare at you with a bewildered expression.

"what are you doing here?" you hiss.

he looks at you the same way a puppy does when its owner kicked it out of the house.

you should've known that merely telling reo 'i don't want to hear this right now' would not be enough to pacify his determination and the fact that you hung up on him only intensified his pettiness. the purple-haired always sought you out, pulling himself into your orbit like a magnet. where you went, reo followed, even if it was to the ends of the world.

he had the money to do whatever he wanted, you suppose.

"i wanted to make sure you were safe," he pouts. "i didn't know whether you'd be here or not."

"well, i'm safe, and i'm here. so."

"i can see that," he leans against the back of your couch. reo looks so out of place in your small apartment, awkwardly playing with his hands. "so... should we go to bed?"

the audacity. "what do you mean 'we'? go back home, reo, i'll see you some other time."

as you turn around to go back to your bedroom, reo's quick enough to round around you, blocking you from the hallway with his larger figure.

"but you are my home. please, i'm really sorry about what i said, i didn't mean it," he pleads, grabbing your face so you could look him square in the eye.

you step out of his grasp easily, shaking him off. if you were in your right mind, you would've seen the look of heartbreak on reo's face.

"sure, if you didn't mean it then you wouldn't have said it in the first place, mikage."

you swerve around him to reach your bedroom and he follows you the entire time, trailing behind you, desperate for an ounce of your attention.

"i know i fucked up, but i didn't mean to hurt you and project my frustrations like that onto you when you were just trying to care for me." you sit down on your bed with a sigh and reo takes a seat beside you. "you know i love you right? like, a lot."

that's right. if there's one thing about reo it's that he loves you to an endless degree.

"thank you for always caring for me. i know you don't do it because you're after my money or fame, but because you want to ensure that i'm healthy and not rotting in all that i have to do," his voice cracks. is he beginning to cry. "i don't know what i'd do without you."

you let a beat of silence pass by before dropping your walls. he was always going to smash through them no matter what.

"i've always felt insecure in our relationship," you confess, no louder than an exhale and if reo wasn't holding on to every action of yours, he wouldn't have heard you. "being called a gold digger became normal when i started dating you and i didn't really care. well- i tried not to care."

you continue. "i don't want to let these comments get to me, but then you said it and... i don't know, it just felt horrible."

you feel an arm sneak under your leg, and another hand come to your elbow, both of which simultaneously pull you to straddle reo's lap. you don't look him in the eye- something he frowns at.

"i love you for you. you're the best i'll ever have, reo, but sometimes i-"

"-please don't finish that sentence," he murmurs, breath fanning against your face.

you meet his gaze. he's crying freely. tears are running down his cheeks like streams and you instinctively bring use your thumbs to catch the drops. you hate it when he cries.

"i don't want it to be anyone else but you," confesses the purple-haired. "i hate it when we're separated, i can't stay away from you too long or i think i will go insane."

his statement causes you to giggle a little.

"you laugh but i'm telling the truth."

"i laugh because you make me happy."

his arms wound around your waist, keeping you pressed against him, leaving you with no room to escape or part from him. just what reo likes.

"i'm sorry for what i said," he says against your collarbone. "when i didn't see you in our home, i didn't know what to think. i got so scared for a second because i had no idea where you could've gone so i started spamming your number-"

"-yeah wait, was calling me 24 times necessary?"

"i was going to keep calling you until you picked up so it could've taken 24 or 1000 times or more. now let me speak." you nod wordlessly, smiling a little at how silly reo can be. "and when i realised that you went back to your apartment, i felt horrible that i drove you out."

he looks up at you with glossy eyes.

"you came here because you wanted to prove me wrong, right? because you bought all this by yourself and don't need me, right?"

"well, kind of, but i also didn't want to be around you so i came back here."

reo frowns before leaning in to press delicate kisses to your neck. "please don't leave me. i need you by my side," he inhales before whispering his next statement. "even if you don't need me."

a hand of yours go up to thread through his hair. "don't say that," you use your other hand to direct his face away from your neck, pressing a kiss against his puckered lips. "i absolutely adore you, my love. you're my favourite person ever."

he smiles before leaning in again, kissing you with more fervour and passion. you can feel another tear slide down his cheek.

"lets go to bed, reo," you say when you part and he simply nods, laying you on the side of the bed before laying beside you, arms naturally finding themselves around your waist as reo tugs you as humanely close as possible. "sorry if this mattress isn't as comfortable as your twelve grand one back home."

"i couldn't care less," he whispers whilst tracing patterns on your bare skin.

so long as it's you he's next to, reo doesn't have a lot to complain about.

[atinyreads]

To Argue

Just another YOI HC that was teasing me so I had to write it… what happens when they have a disagreement? This might not happen for each argument but it certainly does for this one… well… obviously… 

Keep reading

[atinyreads]

itoshi sae x f!reader tags: afab reader with she/her pronouns, jealous!sae, oliver aiku causes drama, oral f!receiving, hand around throat but not really choking wc: 1.6k

There are very few events you go to with Sae, few that he bothers to attend himself at all. It’s the first thing Oliver notices about you, that out of all the partners to his colleagues, you’re the one he’s seen the least of.

The second thing he notices is that even when you’re there, Sae barely speaks a word to you.

He wouldn’t think you minded if he wasn’t really looking. You’re kind and sweet as you make your rounds to the other players and their partners, much better at small talk and remembering things about people (how’s the new dog? Giving you any trouble? A new house! Let me know your address so we can send you a gift.) than Sae has ever been in his experience. But you’re careful to always keep Sae in your line of sight, like you’re always looking to him for something. Approval, or attention, or something that’s sort of like both.

Sae has his back to you, clearly begrudgingly involved in a conversation with Shidou’s arm resting on his shoulder. This is the first thing Oliver makes sure of before he approaches you when you’re alone at the bar.

“It’s been so long,” he comments as he slides in next to you. He makes it sound casual, smiles sweetly, and you respond so easily in turn.

“Aiku-san! It has, hasn’t it?” you immediately perk up at him, and it’s something he can’t help but find quite adoring. You’re quick to ask him about his life, and he lets you play for a bit until he decides he wants to pay it no mind.

“Sae doesn’t really stay with you at these things, does he?”

His voice almost sounds full of pity, it shocks you with how direct it is.

“Ah! Well- we spend a lot of time together, so it makes sense that he wants to spend time with his friends at these things. They’re a crowd! So he’s busy with them, you know?”

You smile nervously, and it’s that little feeling again that gets to Oliver – like you’re waiting for a validating response.

He could give that to you. But you’d have to give him something first.

Oliver taps the rim of his glass, condensation running down. “Mm. And is he busy a lot?”

“I…”

It’s at this moment that you begin to realize how close he is to you. In the hesitation, he cups one side of your face with his hand, your jaw in his palm and his fingers grazing over your cheek. You’re frozen, staring at him in shock. You’ve been Sae’s for so long, when’s the last time anyone has had the nerve to put their hands on you? His hand moves down to your neck-

Sae is quick to replace Oliver’s hand, wrapping his hand around your neck fully, gently and yet without the constraint or tentativeness Oliver had. You can feel the warm of his body behind you as he pulls you in, so close you can smell his cologne.

He’s got his characteristic neutral, nonchalant face on, save for one quirked eyebrow in Oliver's direction. But Oliver knows, he’s seen Sae on the field-

This is Sae when he’s pissed.

 “Happy to have you join us.” Oliver smiles, but this time it’s something a little more wicked. He knew he would come fetch you at some point, but he didn’t think it’d be this fast, that he’d notice this soon.

“You think this is some type of game?” If Sae was a lesser man, the sentence would’ve been spat in Oliver's face. It’s a near thing.

“Ha? Women are never a game.” Oliver pushes his weight off the counter, walks past Sae with a shrug. “Just didn’t think you liked her that much.”

Sae clicks his teeth, looking like he swallowed something unpleasant. He squeezes your neck a little tighter.

“Let’s go. I’m sick of this.”

~

“Sae-san, I-”

“Quiet.”

It’s not said aggressively, not like a command, but he still watches the way you go silent immediately in the elevator down. Even though you want so desperately to say something, to make things right. You are good to him. He knows it too.

“Oliver likes to mess around,” he sighs, one hand rifling through his hair, an air of exasperation. You don’t entirely get it, but it’s as close to it’s not your fault as it gets with him.

It’s in the silence of the car, darkness illuminated only by headlights and traffic lights, that Sae finally allows you to speak.

“Do you think I don’t like you enough?”

Your eyes go wide immediately, your hands waving in front of you. “W-well, it’s not- I know you’re really busy! And you barely go to these events, so you should spend time with your friends.”

You’re too nervous to notice it, but he watches, listens to you with full intent. His finger taps against the steering wheel.

When he parks and gets out the car, you don’t wait for him to open the door for you. Something in that irritates him, makes him frown. He throws his keys into the bowl in the entryway with a jangle, and when you turn around from taking your shoes off, he’s already in your space.

His hands are on your waist, pressing you against the wall. You try to protest but he silences it with his lips on yours, his hands on the back of your thighs and hoisting you up. Your purse falls somewhere on the ground. But you don’t care. You can’t care, because Sae is hot and heavy against your mouth and between your legs. He presses you into the wall further, grips your thighs tighter, holds you up easily with one arm as he wraps one hand around your neck and kisses the remaining exposed skin.

It's only for a moment before his hand moves back down to roam under your dress, pulling your panties down fervently, the way the fabric sticks to your slick already is something he doesn’t fail to notice. Makes him wonder if he really has been neglecting you.

He tucks them in his pocket and then he’s falling to his knees. You think you whisper his name but you can’t tell over the shuffling. Your feet never touch the ground, he lifts you until your legs are resting over his shoulders, holds you up like this. You try to tell him, “Sae, we’re gonna fall,” (he wouldn’t drop you, don’t you know?) but he doesn’t say a single goddamn thing. Just bunches your dress up and presses his mouth to your cunt.

The broken moan you let out is nothing short of song to him. There’s nothing to stabilize you except for grasping his hair in your hands. You’re a little scared, but he doesn’t stop you, doesn’t reprimand you. If anything, he presses deeper into your cunt. Swipes his tongue up from bottom to top. Makes you sob with the way he zig-zags his tongue up your slit all the way to your clit. He’s always like this – a tease, in control. He holds your arousal in his hands and on his tongue and he knows how and when to make you drip, in a way that ensures only he’s able to drink.

It's sickening, the way he makes your mind fog immediately, makes nothing exist but him in this moment. He does it a few more times before he relents. This is meant to be a reward, after all. An apology, maybe. He presses his tongue to your clit and kitten licks a few times. Envelops the bud in his mouth and swipes over and over, grips your plush thighs tight. You don’t know how long he does it because you feel like you can’t breathe, breath coming short, gasps that are like drowning. He watches you through it, your chest rising and falling, your hands shaking in his hair.And then he speeds up and your core tightens and your body comes crashing, first up, and then down. He holds you steady against the wall as you whine, your hot cum drooling into his mouth that he swallows up willingly, tight core finally relieving.

You heave as you come to your senses, nails scratching at the nape of Sae’s hair as he laps your oversensitive cunt, making you jolt. He licks you clean before he lets up, taking a deep breath. He kisses each side of your inner thighs, and then once more on your clit for good measure, smiling as he hears your broken whine once again.

He finally lets up. Holds you tight so you don’t slump to the ground. He kisses you deeply, lets you taste yourself on his tongue, makes out with you until you’re out of air.

Don’t think I don’t like you. He wants to tell you, but instead he wraps you in his arms, presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Why don’t you go shower first and get in bed, and I’ll meet you there?” His voice is gentle, actions soft, pressing another kiss to your cheek.

You look up at him doe-eyed. “Don’t you wanna-?”

“Mm. Later. You go first, okay?”

You’re too wobbly and wrung out to protest, so you go when he gently leads you both to the bedroom.

The words get stuck in his throat as he closes the bathroom door for you. I really do love you.  

He hopes you might already know.

author's note: sorry to make oliver a bit of a villain in this LMAO in his head he’s just tryna save you from what looks like a failing relationship! if anything he’s your knight in shining armor <3 too bad that didn’t work out how he wanted it to hm

[atinyreads]

That Your Man?

images are mine (except middle LK pic that I got from pinterest). please do not use without permission. Apparently all the ATE pcs are my inspo this time.

part 2 of my skz crack!horror series.

pairing: Lee Minho x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes summary: mugger!Minho holds you and your bf up in an empty parking lot one night, ready to give you the old ‘your money or your life’ routine, but when your bf pushes you into the line of fire so he can run away, Minho has second thoughts.

warnings: Fear, Minho has a gun, attempted mugging (obv), asshole bf, rude Minho, scared but defeated reader, Minho's kinda soft but he ain't gonna admit it, language, satire, unrealistic robbery, unrealistic Minho, food-related insecurity, nerve/muscle/twitch-related insecurity, hurt/comfort, Minho’s a softie but also a criminal coffee.

Comment and reblogs appreciated!

word count: 4k

series info

“Shit, babe, don’t cry.” Your boyfriend pulls you off to the side, a playful laugh on his lips as he uses your scarf to wipe your face. It’s a brand new scarf—he just gave it to you for your birthday, and some of the fibers stick to your face. “It’s just a movie.” He crouches low to your face, diminishing his own height more than necessary in a way that makes you feel so small.

Embarrassment floods your cheeks with heat, and you do your best to pull yourself together. This is not at all how you thought this would go. Crying in front of him is one of the less enjoyable ways to spend an evening, particularly when he’s in a diminutive mood, as he is right now. You’re both standing outside the theater, huddled together in the glow of the neon sign, while people pass you by with the scent of popcorn and chocolate on their clothes.

“Sorry,” You laugh at yourself. It’s easier to deal with him laughing at you when you’re already laughing at yourself. The movie was a biopic on a musician you’ve always loved, and the final scenes had been comprised of the last footage taken of them before their death. You didn’t mean to cry through the credits, but here you are, sniffling into your new scarf.

“Aww, that’s okay, babe.” Your boyfriend coos, and gives your arm a squeeze. He’d thought the movie was ‘sensationalist crap.’ “You wanna grab food? We can get whatever takeout you want.”

That’s how you found yourself crossing the dark parking lot towards McDonalds, Jake’s debit card in hand for his half of the bill. You hadn’t really wanted crappy fast food for your birthday dinner, but while you had been considering your options, Jake had caught sight of the famous golden arches gleaming across the lot.

He couldn’t go with you to collect the food, of course. He had a work call to make and would rather sit in the heat of his car than walk through the cold as he did.

This behavior isn’t new.

You’re used to it.

You’re independent, you can handle being left to your own devices.

And his work calls are boring as hell to listen to, anyway, so why not make the most of the situation and take a walk?

It’s even starting to snow.

It’s a beautiful night for a walk.

As you turn your face to the sky to catch fresh snowflakes on the tip of your nose, you hear running footsteps behind you. “Babe!” Jake’s voice pants.

You turn to find him fighting the slick of the icy parking lot to catch up with you. He’s laughing, rolling his eyes at himself, waving his wallet at you. “I totally forgot.”

You open your arms to catch him as he comes skittering into reach, shiny black shoes nearly slipping out from under him. His long limbs flail briefly before settling against you, his weight thrown against your hip to keep himself upright.

He’s got his earpiece in, his phone clutched in one hand, the word ‘conference’ rolling across the info line. His side of the call is muted so he can speak to you.

You thread your fingers through his jacket, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips, but he’s too busy digging through his wallet to receive it. Your lips glance off his chin and are left cold and unsatisfied.

This is also normal. You’ve stopped letting it sting.

“Here.” He plucks his debit card from your hand and replaces it with another. “Use my work card for my half. I can technically write this off as an expense since I’m working.” He gestures to his phone significantly and then pinches your cheek fondly. “Thanks babe. Love you.”

Derision swirls in your gut, but you fight it down. “Love you too.”

But he’s already checked out of the conversation. His eyes float somewhere above your head, listening to whomever is speaking on his call. A twinge of annoyance twists his lips.

Deciding to leave him to his work, you turn on your heel and continue your jilted jaunt to McDonalds, only to run smack into someone in the otherwise empty parking lot.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” You pull yourself away from the man you’ve just plowed into, looking for his face past the blackness of his hood and face mask to gauge how much you might have just pissed him off.

Because that’s just what you need—getting chewed out by a stranger in the cold.

“Babe?” Jake’s voice wonders behind you. “You okay?”

You don’t answer.

You can’t.

Because you’ve just seen it.

Poking through the folds of the stranger’s dark jacket, the muzzle gleaming in the light of the street lamps, and pointing straight at you, is the barrel of a handgun.

You’re frozen.

The man steps closer and you see his eyes then, narrow and focused. They meet your gaze for an instant, flickering with some unreadable thought, and then settle just over your shoulder. He’s sizing up your boyfriend, still silent as the night.

“Babe, answer me, are you—holy shit.” Jake is standing next to you then, his searching gaze landing on the gun, and his hand grips your arm.

You’re mentally going through your options, working your way through potential scenarios.

Most likely, it’s your average mugging.

Probably nothing like the time you and your nephew gathered up all of his tiny plastic play kitchen mugs and pelted them at your brother, all while shouting “You’re being mugged!” Great fun for a six-year-old, probably not so much for this man.

He’ll take your phones and your wallets, maybe even your car keys, but he probably won’t shoot anybody. He just wants quick cash, maybe for drugs or rent, and he’s probably not interested in being a wanted murderer.

He looks too old to be a teenager, and he’s rock solid, calm and collected, which comforts you. He’s not a stupid kid, and he’s not totally strung out. You might just be lucky enough to rely on some rational decision making.

While you’re thinking your way through your chances of surviving, Jake is erupting into panic next to you.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. This isn’t happening. Oh my god.” His hold on your arm is like a vice, clenching around your muscle with more than enough strength to bruise. Half of you wants to pry his fingers off before they splinter the bone, the other half wants to hide behind him and pretend this isn’t happening.

“Calm down.” The stranger scolds your boyfriend coolly, but he’s cut off.

“Oh my god, please don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me. I have an electric car, just take it.” And then Jake’s scrambling through his pockets, while the stranger’s eyes further narrow into slits.

His gaze darts to you, where you’re still frozen.

“Take it easy, Romeo,” The stranger takes a step closer, an action that completely spooks Jake.

Your boyfriend lets out a wail of terror and promptly dives behind you, his hands hurling you forward. You scream, your body colliding with solid warmth. In the next second he’s gone, bolting back across the parking lot towards his car.

You hardly notice the flash of headlights or the screech of tires as he squeals out onto the street, because your boyfriend’s actions have just launched you directly into the arms of the man who’s trying to mug you.

The stranger had caught you by reflex, his gun now jammed forcefully into your ribs, and you definitely hadn’t accounted for this scenario.

There’s a rush of grunts and tangled limbs and skidding shoes as you shove yourself away from him, your eyes wide, lungs gasping, but the stranger is staring in the direction that Jake just drove off in.

“Shit,” He mutters in disbelief, and finally turns back to you.

You’re still petrified, terrified, abandoned.

Where are you gonna go now? Hoof it to McDonalds and hope the bigger, stronger man doesn’t catch you before you get there?

Well.

Then again.

Might be your best option.

But then the stranger reaches behind himself and tucks the gun into his waistband, bringing his now empty hands back into view. In a second, he’s knocked his hood back and tugged his mask down, revealing shocks of fluffy brown hair and the highest cheekbones you’ve ever seen. He hooks a thumb back towards the street. “That your man?”

It’s enough to open the floodgates.

You burst into tears, so relieved that you’re no longer at gunpoint, terrified because you’re alone with the man who tried to mug you (did he even get the chance?), pissed and hurt because your boyfriend shoved you into the arms of a gunman, confused because the gunman is now speaking casually to you.

It’s a lot.

At your sudden explosion of emotion, the man leans back on his heels, sighing at you. This isn’t how he expected the altercation to go, but now that he’s left in the whirlwind aftermath of your nightmare boyfriend saving his own ass, all he can do is stare as you dissolve into a puddle of tears.

Through sobs, which you barely manage to hide in your scarf, you squint up at him past the falling snow. “What do you want? Are you robbing me?” You might as well ask—what is he gonna do, shoot you?

After a few seconds of pensive silence, the man steps forward with a nod. You flinch backwards, but he just lifts his empty hand, palm up. “Yeah, I am. Give me the card he just gave you.”

You blink, tears momentarily paused. “The card?”

He nods towards where your hand is still clenched around the company credit card. “Yeah I heard all that ‘pay for my half with the work card’ bullshit. I saw that lame-o pathetic kiss, too. He’s a real winner. Gimme.”

His fingers crook at you expectantly, and you’re so tense that you jump and immediately pass the card over. He tucks it into his pocket, and then cocks his head oddly at your scarf. “What is that fucking monstrosity and why are you wearing it with the tag still on it?”

He doesn’t know what to do, either. None of his victims have ever sacrificed their girlfriends to him before; admittedly at a loss, he decides to play it by ear. You haven’t called the cops yet, so he still has some time to see where this goes.

More confused than ever, your eyes fall to the bright orange and blue felt scarf, and realize that there is in fact a tag sticking out of one of the folds. Before you can take a closer look at it, the stranger’s hand snaps out and plucks the scarf off your neck. A rush of cold air chills your skin where the fabric once was.

He’s…stealing your scarf?

“Hey, wait—” You argue, and then freeze when his challenging eyes snap back up to you. “That was a birthday present, please don’t take it.”

He holds up the tag, a neon green discount marker from a local thrift store. “Who gave it to you? Because—”

You snatch the scarf back, humiliated. “My boyfriend gave it to me.” You can’t believe you just yanked something out of the hands of the man with the gun.

He gazes at you for a long moment, hands jammed in his pockets. He doesn’t know much about you, except for the fact that you handle duress better than your boyfriend does, but he did overhear the company card conversation which suggested you were expected to pay for your own dinner while your boyfriend wasn’t even willing to pay for his own, and that you were sent to collect dinner by yourself, and, now, that your birthday gift had been a horrendous piece of second hand garbage that—by the looks of your clothes—isn’t your style at all.

“Your boyfriend got you a thrifted scarf for your birthday.” He repeats blandly.

You sniffle, putting a few more feet of distance between you. “He knows I like cozy things.” There’s not much you can say to defend Jake at this point, but you can’t take any more degradation right now.

“Tell me he got you something better last year.” The stranger scoffs.

You scowl at him. “Aren’t you robbing me?”

His teeth flash in the lamplight, and he waggles Jake’s company card at you. “I already did. Shall we go get him fired?”

Voracious, incredibly stressed laughter bursts out of you. “What?”

This guy holds you up in a dark parking lot at nearly midnight, witnesses the most embarrassing display of emotional betrayal you can imagine, and is now offering to get your boyfriend fired as payback for abandoning you?

He tucks the card back in his pocket with a shrug. “Just seems to me like it’s more worth my time to give that asshole what’s coming to him than to steal the money you probably don’t have, considering he makes you pay for shit.”

There’s nothing in the world that could have prepared you for that.

Your mouth falls open. “I have money!”

“Are you offering?” His hand goes back towards the gun in his waistband, his smirk teasing, and your heart leaps into your throat. His joke falls flat when your gaze drops to the ground, chin tucking against your chest, your entire personality seeming to instantly deflate.

His heart sinks at the sight, which is not something he wants to decipher right now.

“Alright, wait.” He drops the edge of his jacket back down over the gun. “I was kidding, please don’t cry again. I’m Minho, what’s your name?”

“Why the hell would I tell you my name?” You snap. Then you shoot him a look. “Why the hell would you tell me your name?”

He shrugs again—an action he seems very fond of—and nods to the scarf still in your hands. ��Throw that piece of shit away and come with me. There’s a coffee shop right over there that’s still open. You can warm up while you order another ride.”

You balk, moving backwards once again. At this point, you could fit an entire shopping cart train between you, and Minho is smiling.

“I’m not going with you!” You exclaim, clutching the scarf like a shield.

He points to the other side of the parking lot, where a coffee shop pours warm light out onto the pavement. “We would be walking. Just come with me for a cup of coffee. Alright? You said you like cozy things.”

A few seconds of tense silence pass. He blows snowflakes out of his eyelashes and blinks at you expectantly. You can’t understand what the hell is happening right now.

“Why?”

Minho sighs, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “You just got mugged, alright, you’re in distress. You just got stranded here with a dangerous stranger, and you look like you’re turning blue. I can’t just leave you here.”

“You had no trouble robbing me at gunpoint, why can’t you just leave me alone?”

The teasing smile falls from his face and he frowns at you. “Because I just robbed you at gunpoint and that’s not even why you’re crying. That’s a whole new level of pathetic. I can’t in good conscience leave you here.”

You burst into tears all over again.

He lifts his hands in surrender, approaching you carefully. “Alright, listen. I’d rather run up a shit ton of debt on your ex’s company credit card than keep making you cry. So can we start with a cup of coffee? Please? Once you’re in the Uber I’ll be on my way, buying TVs and chipotle gift cards until he’s out of a job. I swear.” He crosses his heart.

“He’s not my ex.” You sniffle, because he’s not. Who wouldn’t be terrified in the face of an armed robbery? You can’t totally blame Jake for his reaction, as miserable as it makes you feel. Did he even think about coming back for you? What if you had been shot after he left?

Minho shakes his head at you and watches you crumble all over again. “Come on, jagi, why are you this upset over that deadbeat nobody? You’re making me feel funny.” Pity. The nurturing monsoon swirling in his gut is pity—something he’s never felt for somebody he’s mugged before. His eyes lift to take in the movie theater behind you, and then at the scarf still clenched in your fists as you weep.

“Don’t tell me today is your birthday.”

You sob harder, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. You’re not afraid of this strange criminal anymore, rather heartbroken and disappointed that your already lame evening has taken such a miserable turn.

“Well, shit.” Minho mumbles. “Wait, shit. He was going to make you pay for your own fucking McDonalds on your birthday?”

“Why do you care so much?” You screech, reeling away when his hand touches your arm.

He throws up his hands in equal amounts of frustration, eyes widening as much as yours. “Because you look like an abandoned fucking kitten and I’d be a horrible person to just leave you here.”

“You are a horrible person.” You shout back, and then your mouth clamps shut. Your hand slaps over your lips, staring at him in utter terror as you realize that you’re firing insults at someone who could just shoot you if he decides you’re offensive enough.

But he just laughs at you. “Yeah, fair enough. So, come on—coffee?”

Without a single sane reason to support this decision, you walk across the parking lot with him and step into the comforting heat of the busy coffee shop. It’s weird, it’s definitely weird, but in the past five minutes he’s showed you more interest than Jake has in three months, and you can’t help but want to spend a few more minutes in the company of someone so attentive.

And as the light washes over his decidedly attractive face, you realize that he’s not so bad to look at, either.

After all, he robbed Jake—not you.

Minho stands at the counter, ordering your drinks, and then nudges you and points at a display case full of cake. “Eh? For your birthday?”

Your stomach rumbles with hunger, but your face flushes with heat. “Oh, no, I’m good.”

He frowns. “I’m not going to make you pay for it, not after the way that ass treated you.”

“Because it was so much worse than the way you pulled a gun on me?” You hiss, eyes flashing to the barista who miraculously doesn’t hear you.

Minho rolls his eyes. “If you were my girlfriend, I never would have pulled a gun on you, much less pushed you in front of one. It’s completely different. Get a slice of cake.”

The barista’s eyes go wide.

You wave his suggestion away. “No, really. Thanks anyway.” The cake does look incredible, though.

“I can hear your stomach growling. Would you rather go get something different? Protein?” Minho pushes, glancing around your person as though he expects you to faint right in front of him. It’s almost sweet enough to cancel out your suspicion of him as he waits for you to order a slice of birthday cake.

You step away from the register instead. “I’ll eat at home.”

Minho squints at you. “You don’t eat in public?” It’s sarcasm.

“…No.” It’s not sarcasm.

“Because…”

You’re getting antsy, the barista’s getting antsy, and the three people in line behind you are getting antsy.

Minho doesn’t care.

Why would he? He’ll just rob them all later.

“Because I have a facial spasm when I eat.” You whisper, embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

The man before you looks like he’s not surprised at all by this information. “So? That’s not uncommon.”

“But it embarrassed my boyfriend—”

“Your ex.”

“It embarrassed him so we stopped doing meal dates in public.”

He stares at you. “You’re fucking with me.”

“No, my face twitches really badly and it’s embarrassing. Just the coffee please. Please. I can’t take this anymore.” You can’t stand the fact that you’re spending so long holding up the line, so you shake your head at him and move towards a table in the corner, refusing to delay the process any longer.

Your retreat forces Minho to turn around and complete his order, paying with Jake’s company card, but a few moments later he’s approaching your table with two plates of cake. He puts one in front of you with a hard set frown. “Just eat the damn cake. Your ex is shit. It’s not like your side of the booth faces the room anyway, so you won’t feel uncomfortable.”

He sits across from you, scooting his own plate closer to himself.

“He’s not my ex.” You argue quietly. “And my side of the booth still faces you.” It shouldn’t matter, to show one of your more mortifying qualities to the guy who held you up in the parking lot, but it does. You want to put your beautiful slice of cake into a to-go box and take it home to eat it curled up in your armchair where no one can see you.

Minho doesn’t look up from his cake. “He’ll be your ex boyfriend after tonight. There’s no reason for you to be holding on to the bitch ass who throws you at the barrel of a gun on his worst day and is too ashamed of you to take you to dinner—or let you fucking kiss him—on his best. Now eat your cake before he becomes your late boyfriend.”

Blood drains from your face as you reach for your fork. “Please don’t hurt us.” The words break past your lips in a whisper, but you scoop up a bite of cake. It nearly wobbles right off your fork as your hand trembles, but you manage to keep it onboard. “I really don’t know what you want from me.”

“I want you to chill out and have some birthday cake.” Minho glances up at you right as you take a bite and lift your hand to hide your face politely. He frowns as you chew. “Put your hand down. Did I tell you to cover your face?”

Your eyebrows lower, tears pooling in your eyes. “You’re being kinda mean to me.” It’s too weird, the juxtaposition of the man who mugged you at gunpoint outside and the man who is having cake and coffee with you in celebration of your birthday.

Though, to be fair, he didn’t really get the chance to rob you before Jake freaked out, so does it really count?

He just stares at you blankly. “Would you rather I take you out back and mug you again?” Before you can start crying again, he nudges your foot under the table with his own. “You’re safe, jagi. I’m sorry I scared you out there.”

It takes a second, but you convince yourself to relax. You’re safe.

You eat your cake, you drink your coffee, you smile every time Minho calls you jagi, exactly as he intends; you force yourself stop paying attention to the twitching in your cheeks while you chew, not even knowing that he’s watching you because it’s cute, not because it’s weird. He spends ten minutes trying to convince you to break up with Jake, and by the end of the meal—the first meal you’ve had in public since you started dating Jake a year and a half ago—you’ve decided you agree with him.

No more Jake.

Minho all but cheers. No more Jake.

At the end of the night, he watches you order an Uber, and then he borrows someone else’s phone. Actually borrows it, doesn’t steal it.

“Yes, hello, police? A woman has just been mugged. The guy had a gun, and he drove off in an electric car—” And, despite your insincere protest, he gives a description of your boyfriend as the assailant before hanging up. Minho returns the phone, waits with you for your Uber, and then sends you off with a cheeky wave of Jake’s company card.

He keeps the scarf.

Let me know what you think! (And look out for Changbin next <3)

taglist:

@whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @estella-novella @babyphotos0325 @softfor-svtptg @furfoxsake22 @tubelightanyaa

[atinyreads]

Fashion icon™

SKZ Travel Log #3｜SKZ CODE Ep.65

[atinyreads]

𝓽𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽

pairing: pirate!seonghwa x princess!reader au: pirate au genre: angst with happy ending word count: 9.3k synopsis: she refuses to be wed to someone she doesn't love. Her last resort? to run away with the pirate that stole her useless crown. warning(s): toxic family relationships, screaming match. cursing. please let me know if i miss anything else!!

" don't go to far, please - the last thing i need is a headache from one of you," Hongjoong spoke, mainly looking at Wooyoung and Yuna who held a sheepish smile.

Hongjoong sighed as he crossed his arms, his gaze fixed on Wooyoung and Yuna. They both wore matching sheepish grins, looking like kids caught sneaking cookies before dinner.

"I'm serious," Hongjoong continued, his tone firm but tinged with a familiar exasperation. "Just stick to the group and don’t make me come looking for you. This isn’t the kind of place to mess around in."

Wooyoung, ever the troublemaker, raised his hands in mock surrender. "Relax, Captain. We’ll behave. Scouts’ honor."

Yuna nudged him playfully, suppressing a laugh. "You’ve never been a scout a day in your life."

"Details," Wooyoung quipped with a grin.

Hongjoong shook his head, muttering under his breath about regretting every decision that led to this moment. “I mean it, Wooyoung. No wandering off, no dumb dares, and definitely no—”

“Hongjoong, we got it!” Yuna cut in with a giggle, grabbing Wooyoung’s arm to pull him toward the others. “Come on, let’s not give him a real headache.”

As the pair walked off, Hongjoong pinched the bridge of his nose. Seonghwa chuckled as he walked up to his captain, " i'm sure they'll find trouble one way or another,"

Hongjoong let out a weary sigh, his shoulders sagging as he turned to face Seonghwa. "That’s exactly what I’m afraid of," he muttered, his tone a mix of frustration and resignation. Hongjoong shook his head as he walked back to the ship, mumbling under his breathe as Seonghwa laughed.

Yeosang and Luna came with a wide smile placed on their face, " we'll keep an eye on them. Shouldn't be to hard since cap just want's to rest up for a little."

Hongjoong glanced at Yeosang and Luna, his expression skeptical but hopeful. "You two?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "You’re volunteering to babysit them?"

Yeosang nodded, his ever-calm demeanor unshaken. "It’s better than letting them run loose. Besides," he added with a faint smirk, "how much trouble can they really get into in one evening?"

Luna grinned, hands on her hips. "Don’t answer that, Captain. We’ve got this. You go rest before you stress yourself into an early retirement."

Seonghwa chuckled, falling into step beside Hongjoong as they headed toward the ship. "See? Delegation. You’re learning."

Hongjoong rolled his eyes, though the hint of a smile crept onto his face. "Fine," he relented, pointing a finger at Yeosang and Luna. "But if I hear even one yell, crash, or scream, you’re both cleaning the whole deck tomorrow."

"Deal," Luna chirped, giving an exaggerated salute. "Come on, Yeosang. Let’s make sure the chaos twins don’t set anything on fire."

As they headed off in Wooyoung and Yuna’s direction, Hongjoong let out a long breath. "I’ll take what peace I can get," he muttered, heading for the ship’s cabin.

Seonghwa nudged him with a grin. "See? Maybe they’ll surprise you for once."

"Don’t jinx it," Hongjoong shot back, his tone dry but amused.

---

" yn, if you don't take your princess duty seriously you'll never find a husband!" your mother yelled, following behind you as you huffed in annoyance.

You stormed down the grand hallway, your footsteps echoing against the marble floor as your mother’s voice followed closely behind, sharp and insistent.

"Yn! Are you even listening to me?" she snapped, her tone climbing in frustration. "You can't just waltz around avoiding your responsibilities. A proper princess is dignified, poised, and knows her role!"

Turning on your heel, you faced her with an exasperated glare. "Mother, I don’t want to find a husband just because it’s expected of me," you shot back. "I have more important things to focus on than playing the perfect doll in some fairytale."

Her expression hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You think this is just about you? This is about the kingdom—about your duty!"

You crossed your arms, refusing to back down. "And what about what I want? Have you ever considered that?"

She stepped closer, lowering her voice but losing none of its intensity. "What I’ve considered is the weight of this crown and the legacy you’ll inherit. Like it or not, you don’t have the luxury of selfishness, Yn."

She let out a long sigh as she walked up to you, her heels clicking as you turn away from her.

" yn, you and i both know that since we're born as women, we're nothing but breeding mares for this kingdom,"

Her words struck a nerve, freezing you in place. You didn’t turn back to face her, your hands trembling slightly at your sides. The weight of her statement settled over you like a heavy shroud, suffocating and inescapable.

"That’s not fair," you whispered, your voice low but laced with defiance.

"Life isn’t fair," she replied, her tone softer now but no less resolute. Her heels clicked against the floor again as she approached, the sound a steady rhythm that seemed to echo the inevitability of her words. "Do you think I wanted this life? To be defined by my duty, my marriage, my children?"

You turned to her then, your eyes blazing with frustration and pain. "Then why force it on me? If you hated it so much, why make me follow the same path?"

She paused, the lines of her face softening as her gaze met yours. For a moment, she looked less like the stern queen and more like a tired woman who had carried too much for too long. " my love, your father would have both our heads if we dared."

Your mother placed a hand on your shoulder, turning you to face her. Her touch was gentle, but her words carried a weight that made your chest tighten. You met her gaze, and for a moment, the mask of the ever-dutiful queen cracked, revealing the vulnerable woman underneath.

"Yn," she began softly, her voice trembling just enough for you to notice, "I understand more than you think. There was a time when I dreamed of more, too. But your father—" She paused, glancing away as if the mere mention of him cast a shadow over the room. "He is not a man who tolerates defiance."

You swallowed hard, the mention of your father sending a chill through you. "That doesn’t mean we have to live in fear of him forever," you said, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat.

Her hand tightened slightly on your shoulder, her eyes searching yours. "It’s not just fear, my love. It’s survival. Every choice I’ve made has been to protect you—to protect us."

"Protect me from what?" you challenged, your frustration bubbling to the surface. "From living? From being more than what he expects of us?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but her eyes softened with a sorrow that seemed to stretch back through years of quiet sacrifices. "From his wrath," she whispered. "From a world that will not forgive us for stepping out of line."

You shook your head, your heart aching with a mix of anger and compassion. "I don’t want to live like this, Mother. I can’t. I’ll find a way to be free, even if it means facing his wrath."

Her eyes glistened, and for a brief moment, you thought she might cry, but she held herself together. "You’re braver than I ever was," she said quietly. "But bravery can be a double-edged sword. Promise me you’ll be careful, Yn. Please."

"I promise," you replied, though you weren’t sure if it was a lie or not.

She gave you a faint, bittersweet smile, her hand lingering on your shoulder a moment longer before she let go. "Then may the gods watch over you," she said, turning to leave, her regal composure returning with every step.

---

Seonghwa weaved through the bustling market stalls, his sharp eyes scanning the vibrant scene around him. The air was thick with the mingling scents of spices, fresh bread, and roasting meats, while the hum of chatter and the occasional bark of a merchant echoed through the narrow streets. Yunho kept pace beside him, his easy smile drawing glances from passersby.

Behind them, Jongho walked with a steady stride, his expression calm but alert, his arms crossed as he kept a watchful eye on the group. Mingi, on the other hand, couldn’t help but drift from stall to stall, his curiosity pulling him toward anything that glittered or smelled enticing.

"Keep an eye on Mingi before he buys half the market," Seonghwa murmured to Yunho, a hint of amusement tugging at his lips.

Yunho chuckled, glancing back to see Mingi enthusiastically inspecting a tray of sparkling trinkets. "I’ll rein him in if he starts haggling. You know how he gets."

San trailed just behind Mingi, clearly enjoying the lively atmosphere. He paused to admire a display of ornate daggers, his fingers brushing the intricate carvings on the hilts. "These are nice," he said, glancing over his shoulder at Jongho. "Bet you’d like one of these."

Jongho raised an eyebrow but didn’t break stride. "I’d rather not have to use one, but thanks."

Seonghwa slowed his pace, letting the group catch up as they reached the heart of the market, a wide square where performers entertained small crowds and merchants hawked their finest wares. "Stick together," he said, his tone firm but not unkind. "We don’t want to draw unnecessary attention."

"Too late for that," Yunho teased, gesturing subtly to a group of onlookers whose curiosity was clearly piqued by their presence.

Seonghwa sighed, adjusting his cloak to obscure the insignia on his chest. "Just stay sharp. We’re here for supplies, not trouble."

"Trouble always seems to find us anyway," Mingi said with a grin, finally stepping away from the jewelry stall to join the group.

"Let’s hope it takes its time today," Seonghwa replied, his eyes sweeping the square once more before leading them toward the next row of stalls.

The sudden yells from guards caught their attention as they see wooyoung, yuna, luna and yeosang running pass them. Wooyoung halting as he held a grin on his face.

" hyung, hold this for me yeah?"

Seonghwa barely had time to register what was happening before Wooyoung shoved a small, wrapped bundle into his hands, the grin on his face both mischievous and unapologetic.

“Wooyoung—what did you do?” Seonghwa asked, his tone sharp as his eyes darted to the approaching guards, their shouts growing louder.

“Nothing you need to worry about, hyung!” Wooyoung called back as he started running again, laughing as Yuna tugged at his sleeve to keep him moving. Luna and Yeosang were right behind, both looking equal parts amused and panicked.

Mingi blinked, staring at the fleeing group before glancing at the bundle in Seonghwa’s hands. “Uh…should we be concerned about whatever that is?”

San smirked, crossing his arms. “Knowing Wooyoung? Absolutely.”

Seonghwa let out a frustrated sigh, quickly unwrapping the bundle just enough to peek inside. His eyes widened slightly as he caught sight of crown.

“Are you kidding me?” he hissed, his gaze snapping back to the fleeing figures.

Yunho chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, it’s Wooyoung. Are you really surprised?”

“Not the point,” Seonghwa snapped, shoving the bundle under his cloak as the guards approached, their faces flushed with anger.

“You there!” one of the guards barked, pointing at Seonghwa and his group. “Did you see four troublemakers run through here?”

Seonghwa straightened, his expression calm and unreadable. “Troublemakers? No, but the market’s busy today. They could’ve gone anywhere.”

The guard narrowed his eyes, clearly not convinced, but another called out, “They went that way!” pointing in the opposite direction.

As the guards ran off, Seonghwa exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on the bundle. “We’re going to kill him.”

" not before captain does, so should we bother saving them?" Jongho asked, amused.

Seonghwa paused mid-step, glancing at Jongho with a raised brow. “Captain’s wrath is inevitable,” he admitted, tucking the bundle deeper into his cloak. “But if we don’t step in, they’ll probably end up in the dungeon—or worse. And you know who will have to smooth things over then.”

Yunho chuckled, hands resting on his hips. “That’s true. I’d rather deal with Captain’s yelling than a week of palace politics.”

Mingi nodded enthusiastically. “Same. Last time Wooyoung got caught, I spent three days explaining to the magistrate why we weren’t a band of criminals.”

San smirked, leaning slightly against a nearby stall. “Let them sweat it out for a bit. Maybe they’ll learn something.”

Jongho tilted his head, his expression unreadable save for the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Unlikely, but it’s a nice thought.”

Seonghwa sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If we leave them, Captain will hold us accountable for not intervening sooner. So yes, we’re saving them.”

“Fine,” San said with a mock sigh, pushing off the stall. “But only because I don’t feel like listening to Captain’s lecture either.”

“Agreed,” Jongho said with a small smile, already falling in step with the group. “Though I still think it’s entertaining to watch them dig their own graves.”

Yunho clapped a hand on Seonghwa’s shoulder as they started moving again. “You’ve got to admit, though, they make life interesting.”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes, though a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Too interesting,” he muttered, picking up the pace. “Let’s make sure they don’t burn the entire market down before we get to them.”

--- Seonghwa crouched low, his dark cloak blending seamlessly with the shadows as he approached the massive palace doors. The weight of the task ahead pressed heavily on his chest, but he refused to let it show. His eyes, sharp and calculating, flicked over the guards stationed at their posts—he could slip past them, he knew it. He was the Seonghwa, Hongjoong's first mate, after all. He’d navigated worse situations before; this was nothing compared to the battles and escapes he had mastered in the past.

Still, the closer he got to the door, the more the dread settled in his gut. There was something about tonight—about this mission—that felt different. The palace held too many secrets, too many eyes watching. Every step felt like it could be his last if even the slightest mistake was made.

Seonghwa took a deep breath, forcing the tension out of his body, and reminded himself of the importance of the mission. He wasn’t here to be caught. He just needed to place the crown back before the realized it was stolen.

He glanced back at the shadows where Mingi and Yunho were waiting, their eyes flashing with silent determination. The rest of the crew would stay on standby, ready to move if needed. But Seonghwa didn’t want it to come to that.

He focused on the door again, studying the guards’ movements. Timing was everything, and he knew the exact second to make his move. A guard yawned, shifting his position just enough to allow Seonghwa the window he needed.

With a practiced grace, he moved, slipping into the palace hall with barely a sound, his heart beating only slightly faster than usual. The grand hall was quiet, the only noise the distant echoes of the palace's humming life. He didn’t have much time before someone would notice he had entered.

He moved swiftly through the corridors, his boots soft on the marble floors, but his mind was alert. There were more guards inside than he’d anticipated, and the risk of discovery increased with each step. But Seonghwa trusted in his skill, in his ability to navigate even the most heavily guarded places.

"Focus," he whispered to himself, mentally shaking off the unease that tried to take root. This was just another challenge, another step in the game. He had overcome far worse than this.

And he would get out. He would finish this.

Finally, he reached the familiar doors—the ones that led to the chambers where you were likely being kept. His heart pounded now, but it wasn’t fear; it was the sharp anticipation of success. He reached for the hidden key he'd stolen earlier from one of the servants, his fingers trembling just slightly as he slid it into the lock.

With a soft click, the door creaked open. Seonghwa slipped inside.

Seonghwa moved swiftly, his cloak swishing behind him as he placed the crown back into its original position on the velvet pillow. His breath slowed, and for a moment, it felt like everything had fallen into place. He had done it. The crown was back in its place, and the plan could continue without any major repercussions.

But as he turned to leave, his heart skipped a beat. The faint sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway just outside the chamber door. The guards were coming. They had to be.

Seonghwa’s eyes darted around the room, looking for a place to hide, but there was nowhere near enough time. His pulse quickened as the door handle began to turn. He had to make a decision, and quickly.

With a final glance at the crown—now safely restored—he slipped into the shadows, holding his breath as the door creaked open, praying that the guards wouldn’t notice the subtle shift in the room. The smallest movement could betray him. The smallest hesitation could ruin everything.

He remained still, blending into the darkness as the guards entered, their voices low, but their presence filling the space. The tension was unbearable, each second stretching on forever as Seonghwa prayed they wouldn’t see him, wouldn’t find him hiding in plain sight.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the guards turned and left, oblivious to the fact that someone had been there, so close to the crown they had sworn to protect.

Seonghwa let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. He moved quietly toward the door, already planning his next steps. The crown was back. Now, he just needed to get out of the palace undetected and reunite with the others before it was too late.

" ahem,"

Seonghwa’s breath caught in his throat as the voice pierced through the stillness of the room, his body going rigid with shock. He had been so close to escaping undetected, but now... now he was caught. His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his blade, but he stopped himself just as quickly. There was no immediate threat here, no alarm ringing out, but the feeling of being exposed was enough to make his heart race.

You stood there, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips, watching him closely. The flicker of moonlight from the nearby window caught in your eyes, making them gleam with mischief and a hint of something else—something that Seonghwa couldn’t quite place. He felt his muscles tense as he quickly scanned the room, but there was no way out now. You had him cornered.

"Well, well," you said with a teasing edge to your voice, taking a few more steps toward him. "I must say, I’m surprised to see you here. The Park Seonghwa, first mate of captain hongjoong."

" get on with it," Seonghwa hissed

You paused, your smirk widening as you noticed the flicker of impatience in Seonghwa's eyes. His posture had shifted slightly, the sharp tension in his body betraying just how on edge he was. But you weren't about to make it easy for him.

"You really thought you'd sneak in here unnoticed, huh?" you teased, taking another step closer, your eyes never leaving his. "I mean, first mate of Captain Hongjoong—quite the title, don’t you think? Surely, you’re used to getting away with anything."

Seonghwa’s patience was wearing thin, but he forced himself to stay composed, his voice low and controlled. "Get on with it," he repeated, the command sharp, but his gaze still wary, measuring you.

You didn’t flinch at his harsh tone, your gaze unwavering. "Alright, alright," you said, drawing the words out slowly, savoring the moment. "I’m not here to ruin your little heist. If that's what you’re worried about."

Seonghwa’s eyes flickered to the crown for a split second before returning to you, suspicion rising. "Then what do you want?"

" freedom,"

Seonghwa looked at you confused, " freedom? you're the fucking princess and you're asking a pirate for freedom?"

You chuckled softly at Seonghwa's reaction, the confusion in his eyes only making your smirk widen. The idea of freedom, of escape, was something you knew all too well. You took a deliberate step forward, close enough now that you could almost feel the tension crackling between you.

"Yes, freedom," you repeated, your voice steady despite the fire in his gaze. "The kind of freedom you can’t buy or steal. The kind of freedom that means being in control of your own life for once. That’s what I’m after."

Seonghwa's eyebrows furrowed deeper, disbelief written across his face. "You want freedom?" He scoffed, taking a half-step back, disbelief and annoyance mixing in his expression. "You're the princess. You’ve got everything handed to you. Power, wealth, luxury. What the hell do you need freedom for?"

You held his gaze, unflinching, your voice lower now, almost a whisper. "You think I don’t know what people like you think of people like me?" There was a cold edge in your words, one that matched the resolve in your eyes. "You think I’ve spent my entire life locked away in some gilded cage, waiting for someone to save me. But that’s not the kind of freedom I want."

Seonghwa was silent for a moment, his confusion giving way to a flicker of realization. "So what do you want from me?" he asked, voice quieter now, as if the game had shifted.

You tilted your head slightly, the smirk still playing on your lips, though it was tempered by something more dangerous now. "You’re a pirate, right? You live by your own rules. You fight for your own freedom every damn day. I need someone like you to help me escape this place. And I’m offering you a deal in return."

Seonghwa’s gaze narrowed, and for a brief moment, his mind seemed to be working through all the angles. You were the princess, but there was something in your demeanor—something in the way you spoke—that made him wonder if you were telling the truth. You weren't the helpless, sheltered royal he had expected. You were calculating, strategic. And maybe, just maybe, you were a risk worth taking.

"You want me to help you escape," he said slowly, still processing the idea.

you nodded, a sigh escaping Seonghwa as he held his hand out. Your heart practically leaped out your chest as you grabbed it. This was it, you're finally leaving.

---

Seonghwa stood tall, his back straight, even as Hongjoong's frustration seemed to fill the entire room, thick and suffocating. Wooyoung, Yuna, Yeosang, and Luna remained quiet, the weight of the moment pressing down on all of them. They knew stealing the crown would bring punishment, but to have Hongjoong this furious was not on their agenda.

Hongjoong’s pacing grew more erratic, the sound of his boots on the floor sharp, each step echoing in the cabin. His gaze snapped to Seonghwa, his voice sharp as a whip. "This was not the fucking plan, Seonghwa!" Hongjoong spat, his eyes burning with anger. "You were supposed to bring the crown back, not bring back a fucking princess. The princess at that!"

Seonghwa’s jaw tightened, but he refused to let his gaze falter. He could feel the tension in the room, could practically hear the others holding their breath, waiting for the confrontation to unfold.

"You don’t understand," Seonghwa finally said, his voice unwavering, though there was a hard edge to it now.

Hongjoong scoffed, looking at the four, " the four of you out. now"

The command was sharp, and the weight of it hit the room like a slap. Hongjoong’s gaze swept across the four of them—Wooyoung, Yuna, Yeosang, and Luna—each of them tense under his gaze. None of them moved immediately, all of them holding their breath, unsure if they were meant to stay or if their captain's words were final.

Yuna was the first to step back, her face set with a mixture of uncertainty and resignation. Yeosang followed suit, his eyes flicking between Seonghwa and Hongjoong before silently turning to leave. Luna hesitated only for a moment, then moved with quick, quiet steps toward the door, her head lowered.

Wooyoung, however, stayed rooted in place, his usual mischievous grin nowhere to be found. He exchanged a glance with Seonghwa, an unspoken question in his eyes. But even he knew when to back down—at least for now.

"Come on, Wooyoung," Yuna called softly from the doorway, her voice breaking the tense silence. "Let’s go."

With a reluctant sigh, Wooyoung turned toward the door, the weight of the situation settling heavily on his shoulders. He gave Seonghwa a last look, his expression unreadable, before following the others out of the cabin.

The door closed softly behind them, leaving Hongjoong and Seonghwa alone. The air in the room felt thick, like the calm before a storm. Hongjoong stood there for a long moment, his anger still simmering just beneath the surface.

"You’ve lost your fucking mind," Hongjoong muttered , his voice lower now, quieter, the anger still simmering beneath his words.

Seonghwa wanted to roll his eyes, but he knew better.

" you're my first mate for a reason Seonghwa. What made you think it would be a great fucking idea to bring a princess on board?"

Seonghwa bit back the urge to roll his eyes, knowing that Hongjoong was far too sharp to miss any sign of defiance. He stood straighter, forcing himself to remain composed, even though the question felt like an obvious one to him.

" she wants freedom like we do captain. Isn't that why you made this crew? for us to have freedom that we couldn't have?"

Seonghwa's words hung in the air, and for a moment, Hongjoong paused, his back still turned to Seonghwa. The question had landed squarely in the captain's mind, and for the first time in a while, doubt crept in.

Hongjoong’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his voice low but tinged with the weight of his past decisions. "I didn’t form this crew just for freedom, Seonghwa," he muttered, his eyes staring out at the endless ocean, as though seeking answers from it. "I formed it to survive. To fight back against the system that kept us shackled. But freedom—true freedom—it’s a luxury. And it doesn’t come easily. You’re talking about taking a princess on board as if she’s just another crew member, but she’s not. She’s royalty. She’s got her own ties, her own rules, and all of those ties will pull her in directions we can’t control."

Seonghwa's scoff echoed in the tense silence, and the moment it left his lips, even he felt the sharpness of his words. He hadn’t meant for his frustration to slip through so visibly, but it was too late to take it back. Hongjoong turned his head quickly, his sharp eyes narrowing on him as if searching for any sign of weakness.

"I’m not some fucking foster home to keep bringing in strays, Park Seonghwa. First Luna, now Yuna, now you’re bringing me a god damn princess."

Seonghwa’s gaze hardened, but he refused to let Hongjoong's words throw him off course. "You want to talk about strays, Captain?" His voice was low, but the underlying edge made it clear he wasn’t backing down. "What about us? What about you? We’re all strays. Pirates, outcasts, cast aside by the world we were born into. None of us fit in anywhere. We made this ship our home, and we fight for the freedom we never got. And you want to call her a stray?"

Hongjoong’s fist slammed onto the desk with a loud crack, the force of it making the wood shake beneath the impact. The sudden motion made Seonghwa flinch, his body stiffening as the captain’s anger surged in the room like a storm.

"She is a princess, Seonghwa," Hongjoong snarled, his voice seething with frustration.

"Oh, but it was fine when Mina joined, huh?" Seonghwa’s voice was laced with frustration, but there was an edge to it that Hongjoong hadn’t expected. "It’s not my fault she left you!"

Seonghwa's words hit the air like a slap, sharp and cutting. Hongjoong froze, his face hardening at the mention of Mina. The room seemed to freeze for a moment, tension crackling between them like a storm about to break. The mention of Mina, a name that had always carried so much weight in Hongjoong’s life, caused a flicker of pain in his chest. His fists clenched at his sides, the words stinging more than he wanted to admit.

"Get out," Hongjoong snarled, his voice cutting through the tension in the room like a blade.

Seonghwa’s throat tightened, the weight of his words crashing down on him. He had never seen Hongjoong this angry, this raw with emotion. He opened his mouth to speak, to apologize, but the words caught in his throat. He wasn’t sure what to say anymore.

"Now."

Seonghwa hesitated, regret gnawing at him as he looked at Hongjoong, but he knew better than to push further. The captain was done, and Seonghwa had overstepped. With a final glance, Seonghwa nodded, a knot of guilt forming in his stomach.

" captain -"

" OUT SEONGHWA!"

Seonghwa hesitated for a split second longer, wanting to explain, to make things right, but the door to reconciliation had already been slammed shut. Without another word, he turned away from Hongjoong and walked toward the door.

----

Yn watched from her position by the railing, her gaze tracking Seonghwa’s retreating figure. She could see the tight set of his shoulders, the way his footsteps lacked the usual confidence, and she knew something had happened. She could feel the tension in the air, thick enough to taste. It wasn't hard to guess that the argument between him and Hongjoong hadn't gone well.

Seonghwa’s eyes didn’t meet hers as he passed, his expression a mix of frustration and regret, but he didn’t slow down. His focus was entirely on the quarter deck, where his duties awaited. Yn felt a tug in her chest, unsure whether she should approach or give him space. But the coldness in his demeanor made her hesitate.

Yn turned at the sound of Yunho and San’s voices, both of them standing a few steps behind her with understanding smiles. It was clear they had noticed the same tension in the air, but unlike her, they seemed unfazed by it.

"Don’t worry about him," Yunho said gently, his tone reassuring. "They both just need to cool off."

San chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with amusement. "It’s always like this with them. They’re both stubborn as hell. They’ll figure it out."

Yn gave them a small smile, though her mind was still caught up in the events of the day. She knew they were right—Seonghwa and Hongjoong both had strong personalities, and clashes were inevitable. But the way Seonghwa had walked away, his usual confidence gone, made her wonder how deep the rift had really gone.

Yn turned at the sound of Mingi's voice, his playful grin immediately catching her attention. He leaned casually against the railing, arms crossed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Behind him, Yeosang, who had been quietly observing, gave her a soft, knowing smile.

Mingi raised an eyebrow, his gaze filled with curiosity. "So, a princess, huh? What made you want to run away?" His tone was light, teasing, but there was a genuine interest there too. It was clear he was intrigued by her decision, and despite his usual easy-going demeanor, he wasn’t afraid to ask the tough questions.

" you try marrying a person you don't love" You said, sticking your tongue out.

Mingi chuckled at your response, shaking his head as he reached out and lightly ruffled your hair. "Fair point," he said, his tone filled with amusement.

" but i can assure you, you're not our first princess, princess" Yunho said, chuckling.

You raised an eyebrow at Yunho's words, the teasing tone in his voice sparking your curiosity. You turned to face him, a smirk playing on your lips. "Oh?" you asked, genuinely intrigued. "And who might the other princesses be?"

" me"

You looked at a girl - who was clinging onto wooyoung who held a friendly smile. You smiled at her, jumping up and clung to her arm.

" you're going to be my new best friend"

----

It had been a week since Seonghwa had brought Yn aboard the ship, and the tension between him and Hongjoong was still thick in the air. The crew had begun to adjust to the presence of the princess among them, though things still felt unsettled. The laughter and lighthearted moments that had once filled the ship’s decks now seemed tempered by the silent rift between the captain and his first mate.

Yn, for her part, had tried to adapt to life on board, finding comfort in the camaraderie of the crew. She had formed a bond with Mingi and Yunho, and even the quieter members like Yeosang had made her feel welcome. Despite everything, the sea felt like the freedom she had been seeking, even if she knew things were far from perfect. But she couldn't ignore the unease whenever she passed Hongjoong or Seonghwa.

Hongjoong hadn’t spoken much to Seonghwa after their heated argument. The captain had kept his distance, his cold stares and sharp words hanging over their interactions like a storm cloud. It wasn’t just the crew who felt the divide; it was the air around the ship itself—heavy, charged, like a brewing storm just waiting to break.

Seonghwa had done his best to keep a low profile, sticking to his duties, but there was an underlying tension in his every movement. He tried to interact with the crew as normal, though it was clear that his thoughts were elsewhere, constantly shifting between guilt and frustration. His attempt to bring Yn into the fold had backfired in a way he hadn’t anticipated, and the guilt of betraying Hongjoong’s trust weighed on him more than he cared to admit.

For now, everything seemed to be in a holding pattern. The crew was going about their work, the usual banter and laughter returning in fits and starts, but there was still a heavy silence whenever Seonghwa or Hongjoong were around. It was clear that something needed to give, but no one could say when or how.

" hwa.."

Seonghwa looked at the princess, his chest tighten as he went back to peeling his orange. you huffed in annoyance, sitting beside him.

"im sorry for having hongjoong yell at you..."

Seonghwa's hand paused mid-peel, the orange's skin half-removed as his gaze softened. He had been avoiding this conversation, but the sincerity in your voice made it impossible to ignore. He let out a slow breath, his fingers carefully continuing their task as he glanced at you, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Yn..." he began, his voice quiet but steady, "It's not your fault. Hongjoong has his reasons, even if they don’t always make sense to the rest of us."

You watched him for a moment, sensing the weight in his words. The crew might have laughed and joked, but you could see how much this whole situation was taking a toll on him. You reached out and placed a hand gently on his arm, your voice low but determined.

"I don’t want to be the reason for any more tension between you two," you said softly.

Seonghwa shook his head, " it was my decision princess, don't worry about it." You frowned, watching Seonghwa as he meticulously separated a segment of the orange and popped it into his mouth, clearly trying to end the conversation. But you couldn’t just let it go. His nonchalance only made the guilt in your chest heavier.

"But you’re paying for that decision," you said, your voice tinged with frustration. "Hongjoong hasn’t spoken to you in a week, Seonghwa. That’s not fair."

Seonghwa sighed, placing the rest of the orange down on the railing beside him. He turned to you, his dark eyes softening slightly. "Life isn’t fair, Princess. Especially not out here. I knew what I was doing when I brought you on board. I’d make the same choice again, even knowing the consequences."

Your heart clenched at his words, the conviction behind them making it hard to argue. Still, the guilt gnawed at you. "I just... I don’t want to be the cause of a rift in your crew. You’re all like a family. I’ve seen how much this ship and these people mean to you."

Seonghwa gave a small, bittersweet smile, brushing his hands off on his pants. "We are a family, but even families fight. Hongjoong will come around—he always does. He’s stubborn, but he’s not unreasonable. He’ll see why I made the choice I did, even if it takes time."

You stared at him for a moment, taking in the calm assurance in his voice. Even in the middle of this storm, Seonghwa seemed so composed, so unwavering.

"And if he doesn’t?" you asked quietly.

Seonghwa tilted his head, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "Then I’ll just have to live with it. My loyalty to this crew isn’t in question, Princess. I brought you here because I believe you deserve a chance at freedom, just like the rest of us. If Hongjoong can’t accept that... well, I’ll deal with that when it comes."

Your chest tightened at his words, a mix of admiration and worry filling you. "You shouldn’t have to sacrifice so much for me," you said softly.

Seonghwa chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "You’ll find, Princess, that sacrifices are part of life. Especially out here. You just have to make sure what you’re sacrificing for is worth it."

He reached out and gently tapped the back of your hand, his touch reassuring. "And you are. Don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise."

months later ~

Hongjoong’s gaze was sharp as he leaned against the railing near Mingi, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were fixed on Yn, who was kneeling beside Yuna, both laughing as they worked on cleaning the fish they had just caught. Her movements were clumsy, a clear sign that she wasn’t used to such tasks, but her genuine effort seemed to amuse Yuna.

Mingi glanced at the captain, sensing the tension radiating from him. He shifted slightly, keeping one hand steady on the wheel while glancing between Hongjoong and the scene below.

“Still not warming up to her, huh?” Mingi asked, his tone light but careful.

Hongjoong’s lips twitched slightly, though he quickly masked it with a deep sigh. The sound of Yuna gagging in exaggerated disgust echoed across the deck as Yn doubled over in laughter, holding her sides.

“Oh, come on, Yuna, it’s just a little fish guts!” Yn teased, holding up her hands, which were covered in the slimy remains.

Yuna dramatically turned away, clutching her stomach. “Ugh, you’re worse than Wooyoung! I didn’t think that was even possible.”

“Hey!” Wooyoung called out from where he stood with Seonghwa, his mock-offended tone drawing more laughter from the crew.

Mingi grinned, glancing at Hongjoong out of the corner of his eye. “She’s fitting in, Captain. Whether you like it or not.”

Hongjoong didn’t respond, his gaze flicking back to Yn. She had taken a step closer to Yuna, holding out her hands playfully as if threatening to wipe the mess on her. Yuna shrieked and darted away, the two now engaged in a spirited chase across the deck.

Seonghwa hesitated for a moment as he approached you, his usual stoic demeanor faltering just slightly. Despite the fact that you were smeared with fish guts and laughing like a child, there was something about your smile that made his heart stumble in his chest.

“You’re making quite the impression, Princess,” he said, his voice laced with teasing as he crossed his arms over his chest.

You grinned up at him, wiping your hands on your already filthy cloak. “What can I say? I’m a fast learner. Yuna’s just being dramatic.”

From behind you, Yuna groaned loudly, still recovering from her exaggerated reaction. “Dramatic? You’re disgusting, Yn!”

Seonghwa chuckled, the sound soft but genuine. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a clean rag and offering it to you. “Here. Maybe clean up before someone mistakes you for part of the catch.”

You took the rag with a playful roll of your eyes, but your smile never wavered. As you wiped your hands, you looked up at him. “I don’t think I’ve seen you laugh this much since I got here, Seonghwa. Are you finally warming up to me?”

Seonghwa smirked, leaning slightly closer. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Princess. I’m just amused at how quickly you’ve adapted to life on the ship. Even if it’s... unconventional.”

You pretended to be offended, placing a hand over your heart. “Unconventional? I’ll have you know I’m blending in perfectly. Right, Yuna?”

Yuna, now leaning against the railing and catching her breath, shot Seonghwa a look. “She’s your problem now, Hwa. I’m done.”

Seonghwa shook his head, trying to suppress a laugh as you turned back to him with an innocent expression. “Looks like I’m stuck with you,” he said with mock resignation.

“Could be worse,” you replied, giving him a wink.

Seonghwa's smile faltered as his gaze shifted upward. Standing on the upper deck, Hongjoong’s figure loomed above, his expression unreadable. Their eyes locked for a brief moment, a silent exchange passing between them. Seonghwa’s chest tightened as he braced himself for whatever silent judgment his captain might be harboring.

Without a word, Hongjoong turned away and disappeared into the shadows of the helm, leaving Seonghwa standing there, the weight of that look settling heavily on his shoulders.

You followed Seonghwa’s gaze, frowning slightly. “He’s still upset, isn’t he?”

Seonghwa exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as he tore his eyes away from where Hongjoong had stood. “Hongjoong’s always thinking five steps ahead. He’s not upset—he’s calculating.”

“Calculating what?” you asked, your tone gentle but curious.

Seonghwa hesitated, his jaw tightening. “Whether I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life bringing you here, Princess.”

Your heart sank at his words, but before you could respond, Seonghwa turned back to you, his expression softening slightly. “Don’t take it personally. Hongjoong doesn’t trust easily—it’s not just you. He’s always been like this.”

You gave him a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Still... I don’t want to be the reason things are strained between you two. I’ll prove I’m worth the risk.”

Seonghwa’s lips quirked upward in a faint smile. “You’ve got guts, Princess. I’ll give you that.”

As he spoke, the sound of Wooyoung’s laughter carried over from the other side of the deck, followed by Yuna’s mock protests. The ship seemed alive with energy, but the weight of Hongjoong’s lingering gaze hung in the back of Seonghwa’s mind.

“Come on,” Seonghwa said, nodding toward the rigging. “Let’s get you out of Yuna’s hair before she decides to throw you overboard.”

----

Seonghwa stood at the edge of the deck, his arms crossed as he watched you splash in the water with Yuna and Luna. The laughter that echoed across the ship was infectious, pulling a rare smile from his lips despite his usual stoic demeanor.

Yuna’s tail shimmered brightly under the sunlight, its scales catching the rays and casting iridescent patterns across the surface of the water. She flicked it playfully, sending a spray of water your way, making you squeal and shield your face. Luna’s laughter joined yours, her voice carrying easily over the gentle lapping of the waves.

"They’re like kids," Wooyoung muttered beside Seonghwa, leaning casually against the railing. His grin was wide, his eyes filled with amusement.

Seonghwa didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on you as you tried to splash Yuna back, only to trip slightly in the shallow water and laugh at yourself. There was something so unguarded, so free, about the way you moved. It was a stark contrast to the formality you’d arrived with.

Seonghwa shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watched you. "She deserves it," he murmured, more to himself than to Wooyoung.

Wooyoung, leaning lazily against the railing, raised an eyebrow at Seonghwa’s uncharacteristically soft expression. "You’re really gone, huh?" he teased, his grin mischievous. "Who would’ve thought Park Seonghwa, the unshakable first mate, has a soft spot for a runaway princess?"

Seonghwa shot him a look, but the blush creeping up his neck betrayed him. " say's the one who also helped a princess escape."

Wooyoung smirked, unfazed. " touche " he said with a shrug.

" when did you first knew you love yuna Wooyoung?" seonghwa asked, your laughter filling the air.

Wooyoung leaned against the railing, his trademark smirk playing on his lips as he glanced at Seonghwa. But when he noticed your laughter echoing in the background, his grin softened into something more genuine.

"I think it was the first time she threatened to drown me."

Seonghwa’s eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at Wooyoung. "You’re telling me you fell in love with her because she threatened to drown you?" he asked, his voice a mix of incredulity and concern.

Wooyoung, however, seemed entirely unfazed, chuckling under his breath. "What? I like my women spicy," he replied nonchalantly, his grin never faltering. "Yuna was fiery from the start, and that’s what I liked. She wasn’t scared to speak her mind, even if it meant threatening to drag me under."

Seonghwa blinked at him, clearly trying to process the absurdity of it all. "You’re insane, Wooyoung."

Wooyoung just shrugged, still amused by the whole memory. "Hey, it wasn’t just the threat. It was the way she stood her ground. Most people would’ve run off or apologized right away, but not her. She looked me in the eye and said, ‘I’ll drown you if you don’t let me go,’ and I respected that."

Seonghwa sighed, rubbing his temples as he let the words sink in. "Only you, Wooyoung."

"Well, yeah," Wooyoung said, flashing a playful grin. "But you can’t say it didn’t work. I’m still here."

Seonghwa glanced at Yuna, who was laughing with you at the edge of the water. His expression softened slightly, despite the ridiculousness of Wooyoung’s words. "I think we all know you’re a lost cause when it comes to Yuna," he muttered under his breath.

Wooyoung caught the look in Seonghwa’s eyes and nudged him lightly with his elbow. "Don’t look at me like that, Hwa. You know how it is. Once you meet someone like her, there’s no turning back."

Seonghwa didn’t reply, but the quiet understanding between them was enough. Seonghwa watched as you waved at him, your hair glistening with droplets of water, a soft smile on your face. For a brief moment, there was a quiet tenderness in his gaze before it was interrupted by Luna, who tackled you into the water with a loud splash. Seonghwa couldn’t help but chuckle at the playful chaos unfolding in front of him. Yeah, he knew you would be the one.

----

" alright, now that we are on port. Seonghwa and yn will be the ones to head to the market and get our supplies. You four are to stay here. understood." Hongjoong said, glaring at the wooyoung, yeosang, yuna and luna.

The crew stood in silence, their attention on Hongjoong as he issued his orders. Wooyoung, Yeosang, Yuna, and Luna exchanged looks, none of them exactly thrilled with the captain’s decision, but they didn’t argue. Hongjoong's tone left little room for protest.

"Understood, Captain," Seonghwa said smoothly, his voice carrying the weight of authority, though he kept his expression neutral. He shot a quick glance at you, offering a faint smile that was more reassuring than anything.

"Yeah, yeah, we got it," Wooyoung muttered, crossing his arms as he leaned against the railing, clearly less than thrilled with being left behind. "But don’t take too long, alright? We’ll get bored without you two."

Yuna rolled her eyes, though her lips twitched in a smile. "I swear, Wooyoung, you act like we're going on some grand adventure. It's just supplies."

"You don’t understand," Wooyoung responded dramatically. "I need my entertainment."

Luna, standing beside Yuna, snorted with laughter, shaking her head. "You always need entertainment, Wooyoung."

Hongjoong ignored their banter, his eyes sharp as he turned toward you and Seonghwa. "Get what we need and don’t get distracted. Keep it quick, and be back by sundown."

"Of course, Captain," you replied, giving Hongjoong a small but respectful nod.

Seonghwa gave Hongjoong a quick salute, and with that, the two of you made your way down the gangplank, stepping onto the bustling port. The air was filled with the scent of fresh fish, spices, and the sounds of merchants calling out their wares. The market was as lively as ever, a perfect mix of locals and travelers all haggling over goods.

As you moved through the bustling market with Seonghwa by your side, you couldn’t help but notice the way his hand hovered just above your hood, always careful to make sure it stayed securely in place. His attention to detail, the way he made sure you were safe and concealed, was endearing in its own way. It was as if the world could fall apart around him, but he would never let anything harm you—no matter how small the threat.

Your heart fluttered a little as he moved closer, his presence a calm anchor in the sea of noise and chaos around you. You could feel the slight brush of his fingers near your hood every now and then as he adjusted it, making sure it stayed tucked perfectly, hidden from the prying eyes of the market.

"Seonghwa," you began softly, your voice a little more than a whisper to avoid drawing attention. "You’re really careful, aren’t you?"

He glanced at you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "It’s better this way. I don’t want anyone to notice you—especially not now."

There was something about the way he said it, so matter-of-factly, that made your chest tighten with a mix of appreciation and something deeper. It wasn’t just about keeping your identity a secret; it was about looking out for you, taking care of you without question.

"Thank you," you whispered, the words soft but meaningful. You weren’t sure why, but something about the way he was being so attentive made your heart race, the fluttering growing in intensity as you kept walking beside him.

Finally heading back, seonghwa pulled you aside - taking you a different route. Seonghwa gently pulled you to the side, his hand briefly grazing your arm as he steered you away from the main road. You shot him a curious glance, wondering why he was taking a different route back to the ship.

"Seonghwa?" you asked softly, your voice filled with a quiet question as you glanced back toward the main thoroughfare. "Why are we going this way?"

Seonghwa's smile was soft, but there was a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Taking the scenic route," he repeated, his voice a little more playful now. "Seems fitting, don't you think? A quiet walk before we get back to the chaos of the ship."

You couldn't help but smile back at him, the tension easing just a little as the humor in his tone reached you. "I suppose you’re right. It’s nice to have a moment of peace."

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a brief moment before he continued, guiding you along the less-traveled path. "We don’t always get those on board, do we? But sometimes, it’s good to slow down... even if only for a little while."

As you walked beside him, the atmosphere felt lighter, more relaxed. The market’s noise was a distant memory now, replaced by the sound of your footsteps on the cobblestone and the faint rustling of the wind. It was a rare, calm moment, one you found yourself savoring in his company.

"Are you always this careful with everyone?" you asked, teasing lightly but also genuinely curious.

Seonghwa chuckled softly, the sound warm and comforting. "Not always," he admitted with a shrug. "But I’ve learned to look out for the people who matter."

His words lingered in the air between you two, and for a moment, you both walked in silence, the unspoken connection between you growing with each step.

As you neared the ship again, you felt a little reluctant to let go of this calm moment. But Seonghwa’s steady presence beside you made the transition back to the chaos of the crew feel a little more manageable.

"Thank you, Seonghwa," you said again, your voice sincere. "For everything."

He glanced at you, his smile softening even more, and for a brief moment, you saw something deeper in his eyes, something that made your heart flutter again.

Your breath hitched as Seonghwa's arm wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you in closer. The world around you seemed to blur as his presence filled your senses. His proximity, his warmth—it all felt so overwhelming, and yet comforting in a way you couldn't quite explain.

Your eyes locked for a brief moment, your heart racing as you felt the heat between you grow. His gaze softened, but there was something intense in it, something that made the air between you both crackle with unspoken words. The space between your faces closed, your noses brushing lightly, sending a shiver down your spine.

You took a steadying breath, the pulse in your chest quickening as you made the decision. In a sudden movement, you pulled Seonghwa closer, closing the gap between you. His breath caught in his throat as your lips were mere inches away, the heat of your bodies pressing against each other. The world around you seemed to stop for a brief moment, leaving only the intensity of this connection.

Seonghwa’s eyes widened, surprised by the sudden boldness, but there was no hesitation in his actions. His arm tightened around your waist, pulling you in even closer as if he’d been waiting for this moment, too.

The closeness between you two was undeniable now. Your hearts beat in sync, and as you tilted your head slightly, your lips finally brushed against his. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if testing the waters. But it quickly deepened, the warmth of his lips, the pressure of his touch—everything about the moment was magnetic.

Seonghwa's hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you gently but firmly as the kiss grew more intense, more urgent. You responded in kind, feeling the sparks of connection surge through your veins, the tension that had built over time finally being released in this single act.

The world faded away as the two of you were lost in the moment, the only things that mattered being the closeness, the intimacy, the feeling of finally crossing the line that had always been just out of reach.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and with hearts still racing, Seonghwa’s gaze was intense, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath. His forehead rested against yours as he whispered, voice hushed, "I've wanted that... for so long."

You swallowed, your fingers still lightly tracing his jaw. "Me too," you admitted quietly, your voice shaky but filled with the truth of the moment.

Seonghwa gave you a soft, crooked smile, his eyes softening as he leaned in to kiss you once more, but this time, slower, as if savoring every moment.

[atinyreads]

MINGI ILY BUT NO

01. The Captain — By Order of the Black Pirates

An 'Ice On My Teeth' Comeback Special Series

Pairing: gang leader!Hongjoong x fem!reader

AU: gang au

Word Count: 18.1k

Summary: The Captain of the Black Pirates—respected, feared, and unmatched in strategy—lives by his sharp mind and unshakable resolve. But his carefully constructed world begins to crumble when a grave mistake leads him to torture an innocent suspect nearly to death. Haunted by guilt, his quest for redemption takes an unexpected turn, awakening a part of him he never thought existed: a desire to protect and care for someone.

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Trigger Warnings: violence, torture, abuse, blood, scars, mentions of murder and SA, language, contains dark themes in general

SERIES MASTERLIST | ATEEZ MASTERLIST

The dim glow of lantern light flickered across the room as the gang leader held the letter between his fingers, turning it over with a scrutinising gaze. His brow arched slightly, the ivory wax seal bearing the unmistakable insignia of the White Serpents—a gang notorious for their cunning and deception, their pristine image masking venomous intent. Silent but deadly, serpents poised to strike. And Hongjoong knew them well.

"Well?" His voice was calm, almost amused, as he studied the coded message in his hand.

Yunho exhaled sharply with a shake of his head, frustration etched across his face. "She's stubborn. Won't admit to a thing. Twenty-four hours, and still nothing."

The Captain's smirk widened, dark amusement playing in his eyes. "Really? Even with this treacherous letter in her possession?" He tapped the envelope lightly. "Twenty-four hours… that's impressive. No dog has ever lasted that long." His tone was laced with mock intrigue. "Perhaps she's an especially loyal one. How interesting."

He leaned back, nodding toward the heavy iron doors leading to the basement, his voice low and confident. "A tough one to crack, no doubt. But they all crack… eventually." The distant echo of chains rattling and the creak of the doors opening sent a chill through the air. The game had only just begun.

Let's see just how long you can last.

The room was dim, suffocating in its silence, the air thick with tension and the metallic scent of damp stone. Your breath hitched as consciousness clawed its way back, and the cold, unforgiving chill bit at your drenched skin. You blinked through the sting of icy water clinging to your lashes, your trembling gaze rising to meet the source of the voice that shattered the oppressive stillness.

"Congratulations, miss!" The sudden, mocking boom made you flinch, fear coiling tighter around your chest. "You're the first to last a full day in these chambers. How very impressive!"

The man before you was smaller than the one who had been 'questioning' you earlier—a tall, lanky figure whose blows you could still feel—but this one's presence was far more terrifying. Cold authority radiated from him, his smile a twisted mockery of warmth. He stepped closer, his sharp eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "I trust my boys have treated you well."

A shiver tore through you, body wracked with uncontrollable tremors—whether from the bitter cold or the malice in his voice, you couldn't tell. His grin widened, and the false politeness only made it worse. "Fear not, my lady," he purred, his tone soft and deadly. "I'll treat you even better… until you decide to be honest, of course."

Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach, despair crashing over you. You tried to shake your head, but your body was too weak and cold to offer feeble resistance. And yet, you knew—this was only the beginning.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you wished for the thousandth—no, the millionth—time that this was all a nightmare. The cold seeped into your bones, but it wasn't just the chill that made you tremble. It was the gnawing fear, the hopelessness that clung to you like a second skin.

How did it come to this?

You replayed the events over and over in your mind, searching for an answer, but all you found was confusion. Just a day or two ago, you had been weaving through the bustling port, arms laden with imported goods for your employer. The crowded streets were alive with noise—merchants shouting, sailors hauling cargo, smugglers slipping through the shadows. You had only wanted to return to work, unaware that fate had already marked you.

Then it happened. A sharp turn into an alley. The sudden grip of rough hands. Black-clothed men cornering you like wolves circling their prey, eyes sharp and merciless. Their accusations—espionage, treachery—made no sense. You tried to explain, voice trembling, but they didn't listen. Not until they tore through your belongings and fished out a letter—one you had never seen before.

The blow came swiftly, a fist to your face, and the world went dark.

Now, here you were. Broken. Bleeding. Trapped in a nightmare you couldn't escape.

"P-please… I d-don't know who the Wh-white Serpents are," you stammered, forcing your swollen eye open to meet the man who seemed to command the room, his presence suffocating. "I s-swear…"

Hongjoong's tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, his irritation barely concealed behind a mask of feigned calm. "You know," he said, his voice laced with a dangerous softness, "I was really hoping you wouldn't say that again." He exhaled in a mock sigh, his patience wearing thin. "Now you've left me no choice."

With deliberate steps, he moved toward the glowing embers at the far side of the room. The fire crackled, and your breath hitched when he wrapped his hand around a hot branding iron, its tip glowing ominously.

No, please...

Panic surged through you, and tears spilt uncontrollably down your cheeks. You didn't even have the strength to sob anymore. You could only watch in frozen terror as he turned back, the iron in his grasp radiating heat and menace.

"Come on," he cooed, voice deceptively gentle. "I'd really hate to ruin such pretty skin. All you have to do is be a good girl—tell me what this blasted letter says. Tell me the name of your boss." His grin was sharp, dangerous, but beneath it, you sensed his patience was threadbare.

The White Serpents. The name alone ignited his fury. Their faces were always hidden, their identities a mystery. Even their leader remained a ghost, a phantom in white. And that infuriated him more than anything—an enemy he couldn't see, couldn't predict.

And now, you were his only lead.

The room seemed to shrink under the weight of his frustration. The dim light flickered over the cold stone walls, shadows dancing like spectres of every soul that had suffered here before you. His grip on the branding iron tightened, the metal searing hot in his hand, glowing with menace. He didn't want to take this step—truly, he didn't. But the memory of how they found you replayed in his mind, solidifying his certainty.

You were guilty. You had to be.

He clenched his jaw, recalling the chaos at the port. The Black Pirates were in the midst of a crucial covert operation, tensions strung taut like a wire. They had been waiting for the White Serpents to make a move, for the elusive spy to slip through their defences. The streets were crowded, the perfect cover for deception.

Then there was you.

A simple girl, or so it seemed, navigating the busy market with unsuspecting ease. Unbeknownst to you, the real spy—the one they had been hunting—moved silently through the crowd. In a calculated move, the informant slipped the coded letter into your bag and vanished into the sea of bodies before anyone could catch him.

Hongjoong's men, sharp-eyed and vigilant, saw the handoff. They reacted swiftly, believing they had caught the elusive spy. You were cornered in the alley, fear etched across your face as you begged for understanding, your confusion only cementing their suspicions. The letter was damning enough. Evidence was evidence, and the Captain trusted his crew's intelligence.

But now, staring at you—broken, trembling, tears staining your bruised cheeks—he felt the edges of his certainty fraying. You persisted in your pleas, clinging to innocence with a desperation that should have crumbled by now. And yet… you hadn't.

"Last chance, woman," he said coldly, his voice like a blade drawn slowly from its sheath. The heat from the iron radiated, the threat palpable. "There will be no going back from here. I'm sure you know that."

He meant the words as a warning for you, a final offer before he left mercy behind. But deep down, perhaps they were a warning for himself, too—a foreshadowing he didn't yet grasp.

You shook your head weakly, trembling from exhaustion and terror. Still no confession. Still the same maddening persistence.

Hongjoong raised the branding iron, holding it close to your battered face. His eyes burned with something dangerous, something teetering between anger and frustration.

"Well then," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, the finality in his tone sealing your fate—or so he thought.

ـــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

The air in the torture chamber hung heavy with the acrid stench of scorched flesh, mingling with the damp chill of the stone walls. His cold, calculating gaze never wavered as he watched you, unconscious and crumpled on the floor, your body trembling even in unconsciousness. The mark of the Black Pirates seared into your back, raw and angry, a testament to the brutality you'd endured.

"That'll scar for life," one of his men muttered, a mix of awe and amusement in his voice.

Hongjoong let out a low, humourless chuckle, his eyes dark with unrelenting resolve. "For life?" he echoed, tilting his head slightly. "How optimistic. I doubt she'll live long enough to see the next sunrise if she continues to be this stubborn."

His voice was void of emotion, laced with a chilling indifference that sent a shiver through even the most hardened of his men. He didn't enjoy this—not exactly—but he had no patience for weakness. If you wouldn't talk, you were nothing but a liability, and liabilities were dealt with swiftly.

He turned away for a moment, tossing the branding iron back into the fire with a careless flick of his wrist. Embers exploded in every direction, but he paid them no mind. "We've wasted enough time on her," he said, voice cold and final. "If she doesn't confess after this, end it. Finish her."

The room fell silent, save for the crackling of the fire, the finality of his words hanging in the air like a death sentence. One of the guards nodded, his expression stoic. "Of course, boss."

Hongjoong motioned toward the bucket of dirty water beside you, its murky surface rippling with the slightest movement. "Wake her," he commanded, his voice devoid of mercy, anticipating the agony that would soon follow.

The guard lifted the bucket with ease, the liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim as he approached. Without hesitation, he tilted it, the filthy water cascading over your battered body. The moment the contaminated water hit your wounds, especially the fresh burn, your body convulsed violently.

A scream ripped from your throat, raw and guttural, piercing through the oppressive stillness. It wasn't the kind of scream that came from fear—it was the sound of pure, unfiltered agony.

The Captain didn't flinch. He stood tall, arms crossed, watching with a detached curiosity as you writhed on the floor. "That's better," he muttered, almost to himself. "Now, let's see if you're ready to talk."

He crouched down beside you, his face an unreadable mask. "Final chance," he said softly, almost tenderly, as if mocking your suffering. "Who sent you?" His voice dipped lower, dangerously calm. "Or would you prefer to die in this filth, unloved and forgotten?"

The only response was the ragged sound of your breath, broken sobs wracking your body. His patience was wearing thin, and though he was a man known for his control, he was ready to end this.

A shuddering breath escaped your lips, each gasp searing through your lungs like fire. The icy water clung to your battered body, every drop seeping into your open wounds, amplifying the unbearable pain. Your vision blurred, the dim room spinning into shadows and smoke, but you clung to the fragments of your thoughts, the last remnants of who you were.

This is it, you thought, the realisation settling over you with a strange, hollow calm. This is how it ends.

You didn't know why these monsters had dragged you into their nightmare, why they believed you were a spy. You didn't understand the cruel fate that had brought you here, only that it had. And now, there was no escape. The man before you, with his cold eyes and cruel smirk, had made that clear.

Your body trembled violently, not from the cold but from the acceptance creeping into your heart. Death will be a mercy, you thought. Better this than more agony.

Closing your eyes, you let the numbness wash over you, a strange kind of peace taking root beneath the layers of fear. You thought of your friends—the laughter shared over simple joys. You thought of your family, their faces blurred by memory but still holding warmth. And you thought of your employer, the one person who had seen worth in you when the world turned away. You prayed they would not grieve too long. You prayed they would find solace.

I'll watch over them, you promised silently. From wherever I'm going.

The wet, acrid air filled your lungs, heavy and suffocating. Every second stretched into eternity, and you waited for the final blow, the one that would release you. Your heartbeat slowed, the frantic rhythm giving way to a dull, distant echo.

And then, the room grew deathly quiet.

Hongjoong remained crouched, studying you, his iron grip on control unwavering. He didn't speak immediately, and that was almost worse. The silence pressed down, a suffocating weight, as if the world was holding its breath.

"Still nothing?" His voice was soft now, eerily gentle, like a predator savouring the last moments before the kill.

You didn't respond. Couldn't. There was nothing left to say. You were ready for the end.

And then, with a slow exhale, you heard him murmur almost to himself, "What a shame."

The gang leader let out a long, slow breath, his head shaking slightly, a humourless smile curving his lips. His eyes lingered on your broken form, slumped over, trembling and soaked, but utterly still, as if you had already crossed into death's grasp. Your eyes fluttered shut, the last spark of defiance extinguished. With a heavy sigh, he rose to his feet, dusting off his coat with deliberate care, and with a curt nod, gestured toward his men.

"Finish it."

The words were cold and final, slicing through the room like a blade. One of the guards stepped forward, the metallic click of his gun cocking echoing in the dim space, followed by the low scrape of his boot on the wet floor. Hongjoong turned his back on you, jaw tight, waiting for the shot to ring out, waiting for the moment to pass so he could move on from this wasted effort.

But then— footsteps. Quick and urgent, echoing down the stone stairway.

"Wait."

The voice was calm but firm, cutting through the tension like a sudden gust of wind. The room froze, the guard's finger hovering over the trigger as all eyes turned toward the stairs. Yeosang emerged from the shadows, his usual cool composure replaced by something unsettled. His sharp gaze darted toward your barely conscious form before locking onto his captain, his face unreadable, but his unease unmistakable.

Hongjoong's brow lifted in mild curiosity, though his patience was wearing thin. "What is it, Yeo?" he asked, voice clipped as the Phantom strode forward, his expression grave.

Yeosang leaned in close, his voice low but firm as he murmured something into the gang leader's ear, too quiet for the others to hear. Whatever he said, it landed like a blow. Hongjoong's entire posture shifted. His jaw clenched, his fists curling and uncurling at his sides as he processed the whispered words.

The room held its collective breath.

After what felt like an eternity, the Captain straightened, his eyes dark with a new kind of frustration, though there was no mistaking the glimmer of something else—regret? Anger? It was impossible to tell.

His voice, when it came, was sharp and decisive. "Release her."

The room erupted in a flurry of confusion, but no one dared question him. The guard with the gun hesitated for only a second before lowering it, stepping back. Another moved to untie the chains binding your wrists, the cold iron clattering to the floor as your limp body crumpled forward.

Hongjoong's gaze never wavered, his face carved from stone as he watched you collapse. His men obeyed without question, though their confusion was palpable, the tension still thick in the air.

As you slumped to the ground, barely conscious, he let out another breath, slow and controlled, his eyes narrowing in thought.

"Take her to the infirmary," he commanded, voice icy but steady. "And keep her alive."

His men exchanged uncertain glances but quickly moved to obey, lifting your frail body with care as they carried you out. He remained rooted, his eyes lingering on the bloodstained floor, his fists clenched once more as Yeosang watched him silently.

"I hope for your sake," Hongjoong muttered under his breath, "this wasn't a mistake."

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The heavy oak door to his office slammed shut behind him, the echo reverberating through the grand but cold space. Hongjoong paced across the dimly lit room, the fire in the hearth casting flickering shadows on the walls, but offering no warmth. His hand shook slightly as he poured another shot of whiskey, the amber liquid splashing over the rim. He didn't care. He downed it in one swift motion, the burn doing little to drown the bile rising in his throat.

Wrong person.

His brother's words replayed in his mind like a curse, each syllable a dagger to his pride.

"Hyung, we got the wrong person. She's not the spy—the real one escaped. This woman was just... there. A scapegoat."

He squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. The whiskey glass slammed down on the desk, the sharp crack of glass against wood making his men just outside the door flinch. But none dared to enter. They knew better.

His fists balled at his sides, trembling with suppressed rage—at Yeosang, at his crew, at himself. The sight of your bloodied form flashed in his mind, the raw agony in your voice as he pressed the searing iron into your skin. He could still hear the echoes of your pleas, the desperate, broken words you had whispered over and over: I'm not who you think I am... please...

He should have known.

How could he have missed it? The way you had looked at him, not with defiance or guilt but with pure, unfiltered fear and confusion. He was Kim Hongjoong, the Captain of the Black fuckin' Pirates—his instincts had never failed him before. Yet this time, he had been blinded by rage, by the need for control, and it had led him to commit an unforgivable mistake.

His knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the desk, the polished surface groaning under the strain. No amount of wealth or power in this city could erase the image of your battered, broken body lying on the cold floor. The branded mark he had burned into your back would scar, not just on your skin but in his mind, forever.

The Black Pirates were ruthless, yes, but not reckless. Innocents were not meant to be collateral unless there was no other choice. This... this was different. It was unacceptable.

He let out a low, bitter laugh, hollow and laced with self-loathing. "How could this happen?" he muttered to no one, his voice cracking. "I'm the one who doesn't make mistakes."

But this was a mistake. A fatal one, if Yeosang hadn't intervened.

The storm inside him raged on, unrelenting. No amount of whiskey could drown it, no fire could warm the cold knot in his chest. For the first time in years, Kim Hongjoong felt something foreign and unwelcome searing through him.

Regret.

He sank into the leather chair behind his desk, elbows on his knees, head bowed. His hands covered his face, shaking as if he could scrub away the guilt, the shame. But it was branded on him now, just as deeply as the mark he had scorched into your skin.

After what felt like hours, he remained in his office, standing by the window, the golden light of the waning sun casting a sharp contrast against the deep shadows in the room. His gaze pierced through the glass, locking onto the tall, black gates of their mansion—gates that symbolised power, control, and security. Yet today, they felt like bars of a prison. He imagined how those gates must have looked to you, cold and foreboding, as you were dragged inside, far from the life you knew, thrust into a nightmare you hadn't earned.

He clenched his jaw, fists curling at his sides as the weight of his guilt continued to press down on him. One mistake. One mistake. That's all it had taken to bring you here. A mistake from his men, from him, and it had led to your torture. His throat tightened as those cruel memories clawed at him: your ragged pleas, your broken body, and worst of all, his voice—cold, detached, ruthless—demanding answers you didn't have.

Remorse surged through him, an agonising tide that refused to ebb. His own words echoed in his mind, venomous and unforgiving: "Be a good girl and tell us what this blasted letter says." His stomach twisted, the taste of bile bitter on his tongue.

He turned away from the window, squeezing his eyes shut as he clutched his head, fingers digging into his scalp as if the pain could drown out the memories. But it only intensified the haunting vision that consumed him: his mother's lifeless eyes, staring into nothingness, wide with fear and betrayal. She had died for nothing—used, discarded, and left to rot by men who saw her as collateral damage. All for debts that weren't hers to pay.

He had been just a boy—useless and powerless—as he watched her lifeblood seep into the dirt, all because of his degenerate father, who had left them behind with nothing but mountains of debt. The loan sharks had spared him, a mistake they didn't live to regret. Hongjoong had spent years rising from the ashes of that helpless child, becoming the monster who hunted monsters, the leader who swore to tear down anyone who preyed on the innocent.

Yet now, here he was, no different from the men who had taken his mother from him.

He slammed a fist onto the desk, the sharp crack splitting the heavy silence. His breathing was ragged, uneven, as his mind spiralled into the past. He had sworn not to harm the innocent.

But he had failed. He had repeated the very sin that had shaped him.

They weren't heroes. The Black Pirates were thieves, smugglers, outlaws. But they lived by one code: never harm those who didn't deserve it. They stole from the corrupt, the greedy, those who exploited the powerless. They were not saviours, but they were not supposed to be butchers either.

And now, because of his blindness, you lay broken and scarred—an innocent woman caught in the crossfire of his rage.

His hands trembled as he dragged them through his hair, staring blankly at the dark wood beneath him. His reflection in the glass across the room looked unfamiliar—haunted, lost, and consumed by a regret that would never fade.

How can I ever make this right?

The oppressive silence in the room was broken by a familiar deep voice, one he always sought when the weight of leadership became too much. "She's stable," Seonghwa said, his tone calm yet sombre.

Hongjoong exhaled a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, relief flooding through him like a tide that couldn't quite wash away the guilt. "Stable," he echoed, the word offering little solace.

His brother stepped closer, the soft creak of the floorboards the only sound between them. "They've patched her up... but I don't think some of the scars will ever go away." His voice dipped into something quieter, almost apologetic. "Especially not that mark."

The gang leader winced, his fingers tightening into trembling fists. The brand—his brand—seared into her back, a permanent testament to his cruelty. "The mark," he muttered, voice hoarse with regret. "She'll carry it because of me."

Seonghwa leaned against the edge of the desk, folding his arms, watching him with a measured gaze. "Because of us," he corrected, though the words offered no comfort. "But this isn't like you. You don't make mistakes like this."

Hongjoong let out a hollow, bitter laugh. "And yet, I did. I fucked up. She begged, Hwa." His voice cracked, raw and ragged. "She begged, and I didn't listen."

The eldest's face softened, but he didn't look away. "Regret is pointless if it doesn't drive change," he said quietly. "We can't undo what's been done. But maybe... maybe we can still make it right."

Hongjoong looked up, his eyes hollow but desperate. "How?"

Seonghwa met his gaze, steady and unwavering. "By giving her a choice. Her freedom. Protection if she wants it. You can't erase the scars, but you can make sure she's never harmed again."

The Captain's jaw clenched. "And if she wants nothing from us? If she wants nothing to do with the Black Pirates?"

"Then you let her go," Seonghwa replied simply, his voice steady. "With the assurance that she'll never have to fear us again."

Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, tension coiling in his shoulders. "I don't deserve forgiveness."

"No," the Gentleman agreed softly, his voice firm but kind. "But it's not about what you deserve. It's about what she does."

The words hung in the air, heavier than any weapon, cutting deeper than any blade.

Hongjoong dragged his hands through his hair, the tremor in them betraying the turmoil within. "Tell them to keep her comfortable," he whispered, voice barely audible. "And... let me know when she wakes up."

Seonghwa inclined his head, moving toward the door but paused before stepping out. "You may never forgive yourself, Joong," he said, his voice softer now, "but that doesn't mean you can't try to do better."

As the door clicked shut behind him, the leader was left alone with the echoes of his guilt—and the faintest, most fragile glimmer of hope.

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The quiet hum of the infirmary filled the air, broken only by the soft rustle of sheets and the faint crackle of the oil lamp on the bedside table. Hongjoong stood frozen in the doorway, his eyes locked on your still form lying on the cot. The sight twisted something deep inside him, the sharp pang of guilt slicing through him once again.

"Hyung?" Jongho's voice pulled him from his reverie, soft but laced with surprise. "Why are you here?" His brows knitted together in confusion as he stepped closer. "Seonghwa hyung said to only inform you when she's awake. She's not—"

The gang leader cut him off with a subtle shake of his head. "I had to see if she's okay... for myself." His voice was low, almost a whisper. "You're dismissed. I'll take over."

Jongho hesitated, his eyes searching his leader's face, filled with concern and something unspoken. "Hyung..."

"I won't..." Hongjoong's voice faltered, his throat tightening. "I won't hurt her any further, Jongho."

The youngest sighed softly, the tension in the room heavy between them. "That's not what I—"

"I know," Hongjoong interrupted, closing his eyes and swallowing hard. "It's fine. Just... go thank the doctor for me."

Jongho lingered for a moment, his gaze lingering on the Captain's worn expression. Finally, he gave a respectful bow of his head. "I'll be nearby if you need me."

With that, the Anchor left, the door clicking softly shut behind him, leaving Hongjoong alone with the stillness once more.

He stepped forward, the floor creaking beneath his boots, and sank into the chair beside the bed. His hands trembled as he clasped them together, resting them on his knees. He could barely bring himself to look at you, the bandages wrapped around your body stark against your pale skin, the ghost of the agony he had inflicted still lingering in the air.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, the words breaking like fragile glass. "Fuck, I'm so sorry."

The apology felt hollow, inadequate, but it was all he had. He sat there, staring at you, hoping that somehow, even in sleep, you might hear him. But the only response was the steady rise and fall of your chest, the rhythmic proof that you were alive.

Alive, but not whole.

He leaned back, his head tipping against the wall, the weight of everything crushing down on him. For the first time in years, Kim Hongjoong—the feared Captain of the Black Pirates—felt utterly powerless.

His eyes, unwilling to linger any longer on the bandages covering your wounded body, drifted downward. There, beneath the cot, something caught his attention. A crumpled, dirt-streaked tote bag sat neglected, its once vibrant fabric marred by careless fingerprints—his men's fingerprints.

He furrowed his brows and leaned forward, retrieving the bag with careful hands as if it might break apart at any moment. The stitching was amateur but charming, the drawings simple yet endearing. Scrawled in bright, cheerful lettering at the centre were the words Marigold Gift Shop.

It looked so out of place here in the dim and sterile infirmary, like a splash of sunlight drowning in shadow.

He set the bag on his lap and gently pried it open. The contents were jumbled, chaotic, but it was clear that everything inside once held meaning. Trinkets, small souvenirs from the port—a handful of seashells, a hand-painted keychain, and a delicate glass charm in the shape of a flower. These were not the belongings of a spy.

He reached deeper and pulled out a tiny notebook, its edges worn from use. His fingers brushed over the cover before flipping it open. The pages were filled with neat, dainty handwriting—simple lists:

Small wooden carvings

Candles (lavender & sea breeze)

Handmade bookmarks

Seashell jewellery

It wasn't just a list of purchases—it was a routine, mundane, innocent.

Hongjoong's throat constricted, and his hands trembled as the realisation struck him anew: you had been working. You had been on an errand for your job at the Marigold Gift Shop when they dragged you into their nightmare.

His vision blurred, his breath catching in his chest.

You had no idea who they were. No idea what danger you had stumbled into. You were just there, in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it cost you everything.

Hongjoong squeezed the notebook shut, resting it against his forehead as though it could somehow absolve him of the crushing guilt. People must be looking for you—your friends, your family, your employer. The ones who had sent you on this errand, trusting you would return safely.

And now, what could he give them? A broken, scarred version of the vibrant soul they had lost. How could he face them? How could he return you to them like this?

He sat in silence, the only sound in the room the steady rhythm of your breathing and the occasional drip of water from the infirmary's ceiling. His gaze lingered on the crumpled tote bag resting on his lap, its cheerful colours muted beneath the grime. His fingers traced the fabric absentmindedly before he noticed the bucket of clean water and a spare rag near your cot.

For reasons he didn't fully understand, he stood and reached for the rag, dipping it into the water. The cloth came away damp and cool, and he squeezed out the excess with slow, deliberate movements. It was a strange sight—Kim Hongjoong, feared leader of the Black Pirates, bent over a bag, carefully wiping away the dirt and grime.

He worked in silence, the world narrowing to this singular task. Each stroke of the rag against the fabric felt like an apology he couldn't utter aloud. Slowly, painstakingly, he cleaned the tote, rubbing away the stains until the bright colours began to peek through again. The cheerful drawings and stitched patterns reemerged, fragile yet resilient beneath the care of his steady hands.

Piece by piece, he began to arrange your belongings. The trinkets were cleaned and carefully set back in place—each seashell, the delicate glass flower charm, the hand-painted keychain. He smoothed out the tiny notebook, the pages no longer crumpled but straightened with the same precision he reserved for the most critical of plans.

As he worked, he felt a strange lightness settle over him. He hadn't noticed the small smile tugging at the corners of his lips until it faded, replaced by the weight of reality as his gaze shifted back to you.

The bag, now pristine, sat neatly on the table beside you, a quiet testament to his care—a care no one, not even his brothers, had seen in years.

He stood there for a long moment, staring at you, at the bandages wrapped around your broken body, and the regret clawed at his chest again. His smile had vanished entirely, replaced by the grim determination that only guilt could bring.

How could he make this right? How could he even begin? Would you ever be able to forgive him, or himself, for what he had done?

The questions lingered unanswered in the stillness as he sat back down, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly together.

He didn't know the answers. All he knew was that he had to try.

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The world swirled in an agonising haze as your consciousness began to claw its way back. Every inch of your body screamed in pain, each bruise, cut, and wound making itself known like fire crawling beneath your skin. It was almost impossible to grasp the full weight of the agony—how could anyone describe the sensation of pain this overwhelming? It was a deep, suffocating thing that made every breath feel like a battle.

You tried to open your eyes, but even that small movement was an assault on your senses. The brightness behind your eyelids was too much, the pressure of it sending a wave of dizziness crashing over you. When you managed to blink, your eyes watered uncontrollably, the effort alone nearly too much to bear. The burn on your back, the curse of that mark—his mark—lingered like a red-hot brand, the pain compounded by the memory of it being tainted with filthy, contaminated water. You couldn't even tell if the pain had dulled or if it was just the agony of everything else making it seem like the worst of it. Even if you didn't die from your injuries, you were certain that infection would claim you before long.

Slowly, with a whimper that barely escaped your cracked lips, you arched your back, instinctively trying to relieve the burning pain from the mark. The movement was weak, your body screaming in protest, but the sensation was a small reprieve. As you forced your eyes open again, blinking over and over to get your bearings, your vision began to sharpen, and the haze of confusion began to recede, bit by bit.

The white ceiling above you was a sharp contrast to the hellish basement you had been trapped in. A sterile smell filled the air, the kind that only came from a medical facility. You were no longer in that filthy, oppressive place. Were you safe now? Had someone rescued you? Was it the authorities? Or perhaps your friends, your family, or your employer had noticed you were missing and raised the alarm? Had they found you in time?

You desperately hoped for any answer that could bring you some sense of peace, but the sight before you shattered that hope in an instant.

Turning your head slightly, you froze. The tears that had started to retreat at the thought of safety now rushed back with full force. There, sitting in a chair beside your bed, was the man who had nearly ended your life.

His face was shadowed in exhaustion, his posture slumped slightly as if he'd nodded off in his seat. His presence hit you like a blow to the chest, a knot of raw fear twisting in your gut. The man who had tortured you, who had burned you, who had broken you was right there. The man who was responsible for every inch of pain you'd endured.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and despite your body's desperate need to remain still, the fear surged within you. You couldn't help but tremble, a silent cry of terror rising in your chest.

But even in your panic, something else stirred—a strange, foreign confusion. He was here. In this room. But he wasn't hurting you. Was he... watching over you? Was this some new kind of torment? A psychological game? The thought made your head spin.

Tears fell down your cheeks as you tried to shift, but your body refused to obey. You were broken in every sense of the word, and now, trapped by your own fear and pain, you couldn't make sense of anything. All you knew was that the man who had caused all of this—the man who had dragged you into this nightmare—was right there, inches away from you.

And you had no idea what it meant.

Your attempts to keep your sobs quiet failed, the soft, broken sounds escaping against your will. Each tremor in your chest seemed to echo in the sterile room, and despite the pain, your body recoiled in fear as you saw him stir. His brow furrowed, eyes fluttering open slowly, the grogginess of sleep fading as he registered the sound—and then, his gaze locked with yours.

Panic surged through you, your breath hitching violently as his dark eyes met your own, wide and trembling, your irises blown out with terror. You wanted to scream, to run, but your body betrayed you, too weak and broken to do anything but sink further into the thin blanket covering you. All you could do was shrink back, the ache in your body drowned out by the overwhelming fear coursing through your veins.

Hongjoong froze, his expression unreadable for a heartbeat. Then, he sat up straighter, slowly, deliberately, as if trying not to startle you further. His jaw clenched, and for a second, the silence stretched unbearably between you. He raised his hands carefully, palms facing you in a universal gesture of peace, his movements measured and cautious, like one might approach a wounded animal.

"Hey," he began softly, his voice low and careful, as though it might shatter you further. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

You didn't believe him. How could you? The fear in your eyes deepened, your body curling instinctively beneath the covers, though every movement brought fresh waves of agony. Your eyes darted around the room, seeking escape, seeking anyone else—but it was only him.

He sighed, a heavy sound filled with something that almost resembled regret. He stayed seated, keeping his hands up, as if showing he was unarmed would make any difference to the scars he had already left on you. "Nobody will hurt you again," he said, and his voice trembled, just barely. "That... that includes me."

You watched him, breath ragged, your body trembling with the effort to stay still. He swallowed hard, the guilt written in every line of his face as he continued, his tone thick with something you couldn't name—shame? Guilt? Desperation? "I know this is all very confusing, and you have no reason to trust me, but we made a mistake. I made a mistake."

He paused, his throat bobbing as he swallowed again, struggling with the weight of the words. "You're not who we thought you were. And for that—for everything we... I put you through—I'm sorry."

His apology hung in the air, but it did nothing to ease the terror in your heart. It sounded sincere, but sincerity didn't erase the pain, the scars, the nightmare that still lingered in your mind. It didn't change the fact that this man, who now sat before you looking so remorseful, had been the one to destroy you.

Tears continued to stream down your face, and all you could do was stare at him, disbelieving and broken, the word sorry echoing hollowly in your mind. He had taken everything from you, and now he expected that word to make it right?

The silence stretched between you, fragile and suffocating, as you lay there—shattered, terrified, and unsure of what came next.

As if your body had decided to break the unbearable silence itself, your stomach let out a loud, insistent growl. The sound was jarring in the stillness, so absurdly out of place that it caught both of you off guard. You gasped, clutching the thin blanket tighter to your face, cheeks burning despite the pain radiating through your body. Humiliation and fear clashed within you. Would he be disgusted? Would he regret sparing you? Was this the moment he'd change his mind?

You couldn't help but brace yourself.

But instead of anger or disdain, he simply blinked in surprise before his lips parted, and he mumbled softly, "Oh, right. Stupid me. You must be starving." His voice carried a gentleness that was almost foreign, as if the words were meant more for himself than you.

The wooden chair scraped lightly against the floor as he pushed it back, the sound startling in the quiet room. He stood slowly, the motion casual, almost hesitant. "I'll bring you something to eat," he said, the words so ordinary, so kind, that they felt unreal.

And then, just like that, he walked out of the room, the door closing quietly behind him.

You lay frozen, staring at the spot where he'd been moments ago, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Your mind spun in confusion, trying to reconcile the man who had tortured you with the one who now spoke softly and promised food. Was this some twisted game? Was he really going to bring you food—or was it laced with poison, a final, cruel trick?

But if he wanted you dead, why not just finish it when he had the chance? Why tend to your wounds, only to kill you later? The questions swirled relentlessly.

You bit your trembling lip, tears pricking the corners of your eyes again. He could have killed you. You had seen it in his eyes that day—the moment he gave the final order. You had accepted it then, surrendering to fate, your body succumbing to the darkness.

Yet here you were. Alive.

Still shaking, you turned your head to the door, trying to comprehend the reality before you. Was this real? Was he truly changing—or was this a prelude to something worse?

The confusion and fear gnawed at you, but beneath it, a glimmer of something unfamiliar lingered.

Hope.

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"Here," he said softly, holding out a spoonful of chicken soup to your lips. The aroma was heavenly—rich and savoury, exactly what your starved body craved after days without food. Your stomach clenched painfully in response, desperate for sustenance. Yet, despite the temptation, you frowned and turned your face away.

He sighed, his hand lowering slightly but not withdrawing entirely. The bowl in his other hand trembled ever so slightly as if he wasn't sure what to do next. Finally, he set it gently on the table beside you, the warm liquid inside rippling quietly.

Eyes trailing after his movements, you caught sight of your bag resting there. It wasn't in the state you remembered—no longer a crumpled, filthy mess. It had been cleaned meticulously, every stitch visible and tidy, the fabric now free from dirt and grime.

His voice interrupted your thoughts, soft and almost hesitant. "Oh yeah, your bag. I... got busy while you were sleeping and cleaned it up."

You clutched the blanket tighter, sceptical. Him? Cleaning your bag? It was absurd.

"Everything inside too," he added, a small smile pulling at his lips. "You have some pretty cool stuff."

Your eyes widened, heart racing. He touched your things? Against your better judgement, you reached out, wanting to verify the state of your belongings, only to let out a sharp cry as pain flared through your body with the movement.

He was beside you instantly, his hands hovering, unsure whether to touch or retreat. His face twisted in something that looked suspiciously like hurt when you recoiled, sinking back into the bed to avoid him.

Clearing his throat, he asked, voice soft, "You want your bag?"

You nodded timidly, watching him closely. His small smile returned, gentle and relieved. "Let me help you," he murmured, pulling his chair closer. He placed the bag on the bed between you both, unzipping it carefully for you to see inside.

For the first time since waking up, your eyes softened. Everything was as he said—clean, neatly arranged. Trembling fingers reached out for the glass flower charm nestled inside, your favourite trinket. But before you could touch it, your stomach betrayed you again with a loud, desperate growl.

Humiliated, you drew your hand back, shrinking into yourself.

He chuckled softly, reaching for the bowl again. "I know you don't trust me, and you shouldn't," he admitted, his tone gentle and sincere, "but I can assure you, this is safe to consume." To prove it, he scooped a generous spoonful and took a bite himself, letting out an exaggerated hum of satisfaction.

You swallowed hard, the sight and smell tormenting you. Still, you hesitated when he held out another spoonful.

"If you won't eat it," he said with a sigh, "then I'll finish the rest." He raised the spoon toward his own mouth as if to follow through.

Before he could, you opened your mouth quickly, and his grin softened. Gently, he fed you, the warm broth sliding down your throat like liquid gold, soothing and comforting. The flavours were simple, yet after days of deprivation, it felt like the most luxurious meal you'd ever had.

He remained calm, every action slow and deliberate, offering care despite your fear and mistrust. His patience was unsettling, yet... somehow, in that moment, the terrifying man you had known felt like a distant memory.

But the pain in your body lingered. And so did the scars.

Hongjoong felt a warmth he couldn't explain swelling in his chest as you finished the final spoonful, the empty bowl resting between you both like a fragile truce. His eyes softened as he watched you, vulnerable yet still defiant, the faintest remnants of tears glistening on your lashes. He reached forward, hand poised to wipe the corner of your lips, but before he could, a sharp knock on the door shattered the moment.

He blinked, and it was as if a mask fell into place. The softness in his gaze vanished, replaced by the cold, commanding demeanour you knew too well. He set the bowl on the table, the clink of ceramic against wood too loud in the heavy silence. Straightening in his seat, shoulders squared, he uttered a firm, "Come in."

You shrank back into the bed instinctively, your body curling as far from him as your injuries would allow. The door creaked open, and another man stepped inside—his brow raising slightly when he noticed you were awake.

"Hyung," he said, his tone both respectful and urgent, "you're needed at the meeting. To discuss our next steps, now that the..." He hesitated, casting a brief glance your way, as if unsure how much to say in your presence. "The actual spy remains at large."

Hongjoong nodded, the authority in his posture unwavering. "I'll be there. Thank you, Jongho." His voice was clipped, businesslike, a stark contrast to the gentle tone he'd used with you only moments before. "Summon the doctor. Have her checked thoroughly and ensure she's comfortable."

The man named Jongho gave a short nod and left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him.

For a moment, the Captain remained seated, his back straight, tension radiating from him. Then, as if reminded of your presence, he turned to you once more. His expression softened, just for a second, as he offered the faintest smile—fleeting but genuine. "It's okay," he murmured, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. "No one will hurt you again. I won't let them."

Before you could react, the smile vanished, his face hardening once more as he rose to his feet. Without another glance, he strode to the door and exited, the soft thud of his boots fading into the distance.

You lay there, staring at the closed door, heart racing, mind spinning. The man who had nearly destroyed you had just promised your protection. And despite everything, a single, terrifying thought whispered through your mind:

I believe you.

The room felt unnervingly quiet after his departure, the air still heavy with the remnants of his presence. You stayed frozen for a moment, listening to the silence, your pulse still thundering in your ears. Slowly, cautiously, you shifted beneath the blanket, every movement sending fresh waves of pain rippling through your battered body.

But you endured it, your gaze locked on the bag resting beside you. Trembling fingers reached out, brushing against its fabric, now pristine compared to how you last remembered it—torn, dirtied, ruined. Carefully, you pulled it closer, clutching it to your chest like a lifeline, tears welling up as you stroked the surface. Your fingers traced over the familiar stitches and doodles, remnants of happier times, of days spent working, laughing, living.

Were your loved ones searching for you? How frantic must they be, wondering if you were still alive, hoping, praying for your return? The thought broke something inside you, and you wept silently, the tears streaming down your face as you reached inside the bag.

Piece by piece, your belongings greeted you, neatly arranged—your keychain, your tiny souvenirs, even the little trinkets you'd collected on that ill-fated day. None of them bore the grime and cruelty you had last seen, each one painstakingly cleaned, cared for. Despite yourself, a hollow sob escaped your lips, and you hated how much it affected you.

At the very bottom of the bag, your trembling hand closed around the familiar worn edges of your notebook. You pulled it out, your tears falling freely as you held it close, opening the cover with a sniffle. Flipping through the pages, you found the list you had written, the innocent to-do list that had led you into this nightmare. Your thumb traced the ink of your handwriting—dotted with tiny stars and hearts—and you almost smiled through the pain.

But it wasn't your handwriting on the newest page. You froze, blinking through your tears as you stared at the words, scrawled in a neat, unfamiliar script:

I'm sorry. I will make it right again, I promise.

Your breath caught in your throat, a sob escaping that you couldn't suppress. He had written it. The very man who had branded you, broken you. And yet here, in this quiet, fragile moment, his apology was inked into your most personal possession.

It wasn't enough. It could never be enough.

But it was something.

The notebook fell from your hands, landing on your lap as you curled around it, weeping not just from pain, but from the deep, agonising confusion that tangled with it. You didn't know what to feel anymore. Hatred? Grief? Or some terrible, unbidden hope that his words weren't just lies?

As the tears blurred your vision, you whispered brokenly to no one, "Why does it hurt more now?"

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The days stretched into a haze of silence and uncertainty. You hadn't seen him since that moment when he fed you soup and scribbled his apology into your notebook. In his absence, Jongho became a constant presence—a quiet sentinel, always bringing what you needed but never lingering too long. Aside from him, the kind doctor, with her gentle hands and soothing voice, tended to your wounds, her care meticulous and soft. But it was always just Jongho and her. Never the Captain.

At first, you felt like a prisoner, wondering what the end of this strange hospitality would bring. Would they let you go? Was this kindness a façade before some darker fate awaited? But as the days went on, your thoughts turned inward, your hands finding comfort in writing. You filled parchment after parchment with letters—letters to your parents, your best friend, your employer. They were full of reassurances you weren't even sure you believed. I'm alive. I'm safe. I will come back. But the ink soothed you, even if you knew they might never be sent.

Today was no different, except for the soft murmurs between you and the doctor as she changed your dressings. Her hands worked deftly, the cool air brushing against your skin as she peeled away the layers of gauze and replaced them with fresh, clean bandages. You let your mind drift, thinking of the promise he had scrawled in your notebook. He said he'd make it right. But how? Will I get to leave? Will I ever see my old life again? And if I do… will I ever be the same?

The faint creak of the door interrupted your thoughts, and you looked up instinctively, expecting Jongho's usual unhurried entrance. But it wasn't the Anchor.

It was him.

Your breath caught, and you froze, eyes wide as you met the gaze of Kim Hongjoong. He, too, stilled in the doorway, his expression unreadable, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of something—guilt, perhaps? Regret? His gaze fell to your back, to the horrid brand etched into your skin, and you saw the way he flinched.

He wasn't the only one.

Your body trembled involuntarily, an instinctive recoil from the man who had caused you so much pain. The doctor, blissfully unaware of the tension thickening the air, glanced up with a warm smile. "Oh, you're here! I'm almost done, just give me a minute."

The gang leader nodded stiffly, but he didn't speak. He quickly averted his gaze, turning away as if the sight of you was unbearable. Perhaps it was. Perhaps it should be.

But not for the same reasons as before.

You watched him from the corner of your eye, clutching the edge of the blanket as the doctor finished her work, her hands light on your skin. She hummed softly, her presence a soothing balm to your raw nerves. But your focus remained on him—on the way his shoulders tensed, on the way he refused to meet your eyes again. When he did chance a glance, he caught your gaze, and you saw it clearly: shame.

His lips parted, but no words came. You wanted to demand answers. Why are you here? What do you want from me? But your voice remained trapped in your throat.

The doctor stood, packing up her supplies with a satisfied smile. "There we are," she said brightly, glancing between the two of you. "I'll leave you to rest now." She nodded respectfully to Hongjoong before quietly excusing herself, leaving you alone with him.

The door clicked shut, and the silence between you thickened. You stared at him, your heart pounding, as he stood there, still and unsure. He finally spoke, his voice low and rough, as if it hurt to say the words.

"I didn't mean to... interrupt." He looked down, hands clenched at his sides. "I only came to see how you were."

You didn't know what to say. Under normal circumstances, perhaps a thank you would have been appropriate—but this wasn't normal, and he didn't deserve that. So you kept quiet, your lips pressed into a thin line, your hands fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.

He sighed softly, the sound barely audible, before clearing his throat and moving to sit beside you, just as he had that day with the soup. He settled into the chair with a quiet grace, attempting a small, hesitant smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. His gaze flickered to the books, papers, and pens scattered across the nursing table beside your bed.

"I hope Jongho managed to get you everything you asked for," he said gently, his voice low and careful, as if afraid to startle you. You nodded, but kept your eyes downcast, focused on your wringing hands.

His gaze followed yours, landing on the letters you had written—the stack of parchment covered in your careful handwriting. For a moment, you tensed, waiting for the inevitable backlash. Would he order his men to burn them? Would he scold you for daring to think of leaving, for daring to hope?

But instead, his voice was soft. "Would you like me to deliver them?"

You froze, lifting your head slowly, your wide, disbelieving eyes meeting his earnest gaze. He gestured toward the letters with a slight movement of his hand. "The letters," he clarified. "I could send them for you."

Your disbelief must have shown on your face, the way your brow furrowed and your lips parted slightly in shock. He saw it. He felt it. And it cut deeper than he expected. Of course, you still saw him as a monster. Why wouldn't you? He had given you every reason to believe that. If he wanted to change that, he would need to do more—much more.

He closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself, before looking at you again with an expression that was raw and unguarded. "Look," he began, voice heavy with something that felt dangerously close to regret. "You're not trapped here, in case you're wondering. You're free to leave whenever you want."

You blinked, your heart racing at the words. Could you believe him? Could you trust that freedom was within your reach?

"It's just that…" He trailed off, searching for the right words. "After everything we—I've done to you, the least I can do is help you heal. To nurse you back to health, to give you what you need. I need to make it right. That's all I want. For you to get better, to return to yourself. And if there's anything you need to make that happen… just say the word."

His voice dropped to an almost pleading tone. "So tell me—do you want those letters delivered? Is that it?"

You stared at him, searching his face for any trace of deception, any hint of insincerity. But all you saw was honesty. Whether or not it was real, you didn't know. But the sincerity in his tone, the earnestness in his eyes—it was undeniable.

And you couldn't lie to yourself. The letters were what you wanted. To set your mind and heart at ease. To reassure your loved ones that you were still alive, still here, even if only barely.

So you nodded.

He exhaled slowly, as if relieved, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw a glimmer of something softer in his expression. "Okay," he said simply. "I'll make sure they're delivered."

You struggled, the words stuck in your throat like stubborn stones, not fear this time—but something else. Something unfamiliar and unsettling. You nodded again, the gesture small and hesitant, and to your surprise, he seemed to find it… endearing. His smile softened further, and though you wanted to resent him for it, there was something disarming about the warmth in his expression.

Noticing the way you hesitated, as if wanting to speak but unsure how, he shifted in his chair, intertwining his fingers and leaning forward, careful in his every movement. He stopped just short of your space, close enough to offer comfort but far enough to avoid overwhelming you. His eyes, soft and patient, held yours, and the corners of his lips tugged upward in that same gentle smile—a silent reassurance: I won't hurt you. It's okay.

He seemed aware of how much he was smiling, almost as if surprised by it himself. His eyes glimmered with something that felt out of place in a man like him—genuine kindness. It struck you then, how foreign that smile must have been on his face, as if it had gone unused for too long. You wondered who he had once been, before this life of cruelty hardened him. And you hated that part of you, the part desperate for softness, wanted to know.

"It's alright," he said softly, his voice gentle and warm. "You don't have to be afraid. Just tell me—what do you want?"

The tenderness in his tone felt unreal. This was the same man who had once stood over you, cold and unyielding, ready to snuff out your life. And yet here he was now, speaking to you as if you were fragile, precious even. It was maddening. Confusing. And yet, damn you for being nothing more than a frail human aching for kindness, your guard cracked, just a little.

You didn't know why you asked it, why this question had been sitting in the back of your mind, waiting for its chance to escape. But when you finally spoke, your voice was soft, barely above a whisper, trembling with vulnerability. "Your name."

He blinked, caught off guard. For a moment, silence stretched between you, his expression shifting from surprise to something softer, almost regretful. And then, in that quiet space, he realised the truth: from the very beginning, through everything he had put you through, he had never once told you his name.

He sat back slightly, exhaling a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. "Hongjoong," he said, his voice steady but tender, as if offering you something sacred. "My name is Hongjoong."

Your lips parted, and though you had imagined feeling hatred for this name, it didn't come. Instead, all you felt was the raw ache of everything left unsaid.

"Hongjoong," you repeated, tasting the name on your tongue like a fragile thing, and the way you said it felt like the start of something neither of you could yet name.

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Hongjoong had made it a point to visit you every evening, just before the world outside your room fell silent for the night. At first, you dreaded those moments, unsure of his intentions or what he might say. But as the days turned into weeks, those visits became routine. He would sit beside your bed or across from you at the small table, his demeanour always calm, his tone soft and steady, and slowly, piece by piece, he unravelled the mystery of who he was, what this place meant, and how you had been drawn into their world.

His name, you learned, was more than just a name. He was the leader of this place, a sprawling mansion that served as the heart of a powerful syndicate—a gang, as you quickly realised. The people here, the ones who moved with deadly precision and cold efficiency, were his crew. Not just criminals, but men who had pledged their loyalty to him and each other in the face of a world that sought to destroy them.

You had been caught in the crossfire of a feud between two factions, mistaken for an enemy spy in a moment of chaos. It explained the brutality with which you had been treated, the mistrust that lingered until the truth emerged too late. "You weren't supposed to be hurt," he told you one night, voice thick with regret. "I didn't know who you were. If I had known..." He never finished those sentences, leaving the unsaid to hang in the air like a bitter aftertaste.

And now, the pieces fit. The puzzle you had struggled to solve finally made sense, but with that clarity came an unsettling reality: you were surrounded by criminals. Even if Hongjoong had promised safety, you were in a den of people capable of murder, of violence, of unspeakable acts committed in the name of survival and loyalty. It went against everything you believed in—your sense of morality, the honest life you had led until now.

Yet, despite your fear and discomfort, you knew you had no choice. What had happened could not be undone. The only hope you clung to was for a swift recovery, a chance to leave this world behind and return to the life you had once known.

As your injuries healed, you grew stronger. The sharp, constant pain dulled to a distant ache, and with the doctor's meticulous care, you were soon able to move around. Hongjoong had a proper room prepared for you—one more fitting, spacious, with large windows that let in the light. It was more comfortable than you dared to expect, but you knew better than to interpret it as anything more than a gesture of atonement.

Still, you couldn't deny the strange, unspoken connection that had formed between you and him. You wouldn't call it friendship—you couldn't. He was still the man who had brought you to the brink of death. But there was something. Something fragile, a bond woven through shared guilt and reluctant trust. You found yourself relying on him in ways that shamed you. You hated it, hated how you felt a strange sense of calm when he was near, as if the very person responsible for your suffering was now the anchor keeping you steady.

It was complicated. Confusing. And worst of all, it made you question whether the lines you thought were so clear—between captor and captive, between right and wrong—had begun to blur.

Unbeknownst to you, Hongjoong wrestled with the same confusion—especially about the emotions that had begun to surface lately. He couldn't shake the persistent need to be near you. It gnawed at him like an unrelenting tide, wearing away the walls he had built over the years. He told himself it was duty, responsibility. After all, he was the reason you had nearly lost your life. If he hadn't acted so quickly on false information, none of this would have happened. He reasoned that it was only right to take full responsibility, to ensure your recovery—physically and otherwise.

That logic gave him something to hold on to, but it didn't explain everything. It didn't explain why his eyes instinctively sought you out whenever he walked the halls or the strange calm that washed over him when he saw you safe. It didn't explain the warmth that bloomed in his chest when he heard your voice or glimpsed your rare, hesitant smiles. No, it wasn't just responsibility anymore. It was something deeper, something he wasn't ready to name.

After another gruelling meeting filled with discussions of crisis management and strategies to track down the elusive spy, the Captain's head buzzed with tension. His face remained a mask of cold authority, his steps measured, his shoulders squared. He passed his men without sparing a glance, his thoughts elsewhere. Always on you. The dining hall was empty, your room vacant, and the painting room—where you often sat doodling, lost in thought—was deserted. A strange, unwelcome worry tightened in his chest.

Relief only came when he pushed open the heavy library doors and saw you standing there. You stood in a sunlit aisle, the golden light streaming through the tall windows, bathing you in a soft glow. The light illuminated your features—now mostly healed, the bruises reduced to faint shadows, the cuts mere whispers of what they had been. You were beautiful, he realised, and the realisation ached in a way he hadn't anticipated. He closed the door quietly behind him, the sound muted, careful not to startle you. His steps were slow and deliberate as he approached, his heart inexplicably racing.

You were focused on a pressed flower bookmark tucked between the pages of a book, your head tilted slightly as you admired it, your fingers gently brushing the fragile petals. The scene was simple, ordinary. Yet it stirred something in him, an unspoken truth he wasn't ready to confront.

"Marigold," he said softly, his voice low to not disturb the tranquillity. "That's my favourite flower."

You looked up, startled at first, but your expression softened when you saw him. "Really? It's mine too," you replied, your voice steady, though a hint of curiosity lingered in your tone.

A small smile tugged at his lips, softer than usual, though it carried the weight of everything left unsaid. "It is? Then you should keep it," he said, nodding toward the bookmark, surprising even himself with the offer.

"But—" you began, gesturing toward the marked page.

He chuckled quietly, shaking his head. "I never had time to finish the book anyway. Can't even remember what it's about. Just take it. It's yours now."

Anything you want, it's yours.

For a moment, the silence between you stretched, fragile yet profound, like a delicate thread holding more than either of you dared admit. Hongjoong didn't know what this feeling was, only that it was growing. And being near you eased a part of him he hadn't realised was broken.

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The evening air was still, and the faint glow of the lamp in your room cast a soft halo beneath the door, a beacon that drew him to check on you one last time before retiring. He knocked gently, expecting the usual soft response or even a brief acknowledgement, but there was only silence. His brows knitted in concern, and he knocked again, the sound a little firmer this time. Still, no answer.

Then he heard it—a muffled yelp.

Panic surged through him. He couldn't wait. "I'm coming in," he called, his voice urgent but not harsh, and without hesitation, he pushed open the door.

The sight that met him stopped him in his tracks. You were sitting on the edge of your bed, your shirt halfway unbuttoned, exposing your shoulder and part of your back. The fresh bandage you had been attempting to wrap around yourself lay unravelled on the floor, a tangle of gauze mocking your efforts. Your face was flushed with embarrassment, and the moment you realised he was there, you scrambled to pull your shirt back up, your movements frantic and clumsy.

He didn't look away, not out of disrespect, but because he couldn't ignore the mark on your back. That cursed brand. Every time he saw it, it felt like a punch to the gut, a cruel reminder of his failure. If he could change one thing in his life, it would be that—undoing the moment that left such a permanent scar on you. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, before finally speaking, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it.

"Do you need help?"

Your immediate response was a firm shake of your head. "I'm fine," you insisted, though the tremble in your voice betrayed you. He could see it all: the mess of your hair, the exhaustion etched into your face, the slight tremor in your hands. You had been at this for a while, stubbornly trying to do it alone, and it was clear that you were anything but fine.

Hongjoong sighed quietly, stepping closer, each movement deliberate and gentle, as if afraid he might scare you away. "You're not," he said softly, without accusation, without pity, only quiet understanding. He knelt in front of you, eyes level with yours, and held out his hand, palm up, an unspoken offer. "Let me help."

You hesitated, biting your lip, your pride warring with the exhaustion. But eventually, you let out a shaky breath and nodded, your eyes downcast. He reached for the discarded bandage on the floor, his movements slow, deliberate, as if trying not to disturb the fragile air between you.

Carefully, he unbuttoned your shirt just enough to reveal your shoulder, his fingers never straying more than necessary. The moment felt intimate but not in the way that made you feel vulnerable. It was gentle. Respectful. As he wrapped the bandage around you with practised precision, his hands were steady, careful not to brush against your skin more than needed.

"You don't have to do everything alone," he murmured as he fastened the bandage, his voice like a balm. "I know you're strong, but you can let someone help you."

You didn't respond immediately, the warmth of his words sinking in as you sat in silence. Finally, you whispered, "Thank you."

He gave a faint smile, one you didn't see but could hear in the softness of his voice. "Anytime."

You finally turned to face him, your breath catching when you realised just how close he was. His face, so much softer now than the man who had once been your captor, was mere inches away. As if more modest than you, he quickly moved to help button your shirt, his fingers deft but gentle, avoiding your gaze as if giving you privacy in a moment that was anything but private. Your eyes, however, couldn't stop following the sincerity etched into his expression, hating the way it made your heart race. How could your body betray you like this, reacting to someone who had once been so cruel?

You swallowed hard, trying to banish those thoughts, and lowered your gaze. That's when you noticed his wrist peeking from the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. It was the first time you saw them, the scars that twisted from his elbows to his wrists like angry, jagged reminders. Your brows furrowed, curiosity—and something deeper—propelling you forward. Without thinking, your hand reached out and grasped his as he pulled away, holding it gently.

"H-how'd you get these?" your voice trembled, more from the vulnerability in the air than any fear.

Hongjoong stilled. The small smile on his face faded, replaced by a haunting stillness. He pulled his hands back gently, as if realising for the first time he had no right to be near you, no right to touch you. He placed your hands carefully back in your lap, almost reverently, and turned toward the window, the fading sunlight casting shadows across his face.

A humourless chuckle escaped him, low and bitter, as he glanced at the scars on his arms before shifting his gaze to the darkened horizon. "Let me tell you the story of a boy," he began, his voice void of emotion but heavy with pain, "who had everything taken from him. Not that he had much to begin with—only a mother who loved him more than anything." His voice cracked, almost imperceptibly, but you caught it. "Even that wasn't enough for fate."

He didn't look at you, eyes fixed on the darkening sky, as if it held all the answers. "My father was a worthless drunk with a gambling problem. He left us with nothing but debts, and my mother… she worked herself to the bone, trying to keep us afloat. But it was never enough. The loan sharks came one night." His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I was too young to understand what they wanted, why they were shouting at her. But I remember… I remember watching them beat her to the ground."

His voice dropped to a whisper, but it cut like a blade. "I watched them strip her, violate her, and when they were done, they slit her throat as if she were nothing." He exhaled shakily, his jaw tightening. "They left me there with her body. Taunted me. If they had known what they created that night… maybe they wouldn't have left me alive."

You sat motionless, your heart aching at the raw truth of his confession. Suddenly, everything made sense—how he had become this way, hardened and cold. You could understand now, even though it hurt to. Perhaps you would have become the same if you had endured such horrors. No one is born evil. We are all blank canvases, shaped by what we experience, by the pain life forces us to endure.

His eyes fell to the scars on his arms, and a bitter smile tugged at his lips. "These," he murmured, flexing his fingers as if feeling the memory burn anew, "are souvenirs from that night." His voice grew colder, distant, as if reliving the moment. "I remember their nails clawing at my arms, desperate to cling to life. But it didn't matter. Those bastards were never going to escape."

Despite the chilling edge in his words, you felt no fear. Instead, you saw the boy hidden beneath the armour, a boy the world had broken too soon. He turned back to you, his eyes no longer cold but filled with a deep, aching regret. "And that's why," he said, voice trembling with emotion, "I wish I could undo what I did to you. I swore I'd never harm the innocent, never become what they were. But I failed." His voice cracked. "I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry. Nothing I do will ever make this right."

To his surprise, you reached out, your hand resting gently on his shoulder, offering comfort where he expected none. He turned to you, his eyes glistening with tears he refused to let fall.

"It's okay, Hongjoong," you said softly, your voice unwavering yet gentle. "Everyone makes mistakes."

And then you smiled—a small, genuine smile, brimming with forgiveness. It shattered something within him, but it also healed something far deeper, a part of him he thought was long dead.

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Things had shifted significantly between you since that fateful night when he first bared his soul, revealing the shadows of his dark past. Your understanding unlocked something in him, and in turn, you also began to open up. Little by little, you spoke more, smiled more freely, and allowed yourself to be vulnerable in his presence. Hongjoong, too, had changed. What once were brief visits to check on you became shared meals, quiet conversations, and the gentle ritual of him changing your wound dressings daily. It had become a routine—a comforting rhythm filled with tender moments, lingering touches, deep gazes, and countless almosts.

Almost kisses. Almost confessions. Almost something more.

Just a little longer, he told himself, fighting the constant urge to feel your lips against his. He needed to earn your trust fully before daring to take that step. He knew he didn't deserve you—but the heart wants what it wants.

But of course, just as he allowed himself to believe things were finally settling, reality reminded him otherwise. He should have known better than to think peace could last in his world. You and he had grown closer, but the life he led was never one to offer tranquillity for long. Conflict loomed on the horizon. An important meeting was fast approaching—a meeting arranged long before you had entered his life.

The Black Pirates, an organisation that had always operated with an exclusively male force, had struck a delicate negotiation with the Red Room, a renowned spy training facility specialised in producing elite female operatives. Though both syndicates had thrived independently, they saw mutual benefit in an alliance, especially as the shadowy threat of the White Serpents continued to grow. A treaty was in the works and was supposed to be one of Hongjoong's top priorities.

Yet, things had changed. You were here now, and part of him refused to leave you. The thought of being away, of leaving you vulnerable even for a moment, gnawed at him. So he made a decision: Seonghwa would attend the meeting in his place. The eldest, the Gentleman, was their best negotiator, and if anyone could secure a favourable outcome, it was him.

"It's set then," he said, his tone final. "Seonghwa will represent me for this." He leaned back slightly, eager to conclude the meeting and return to you.

But he should have known better than to expect it would be accepted without protest.

The moment the words left his mouth, Mingi's hand slammed onto the table, the force reverberating through the room. "Really, hyung?" he spat, his voice heavy with frustration. "You're going to send someone else on your behalf for something this important? I was already fed up with this nonsense, but enough is enough!"

The screech of the temperamental member's chair echoed as he shoved it back, rising to his feet, the fire in his eyes blazing. Yunho reached out, gripping his arm in warning, but Mingi shook him off, his glare fixed on their leader.

"No!" he growled, his voice rising. "When will this madness stop?! I'm sick and tired of you being distracted by her. At first, I understood—you felt guilty, like you owed her something. But now? You're letting it go too far! You've been wasting precious time hovering around her, growing soft! And now you're putting our work at risk. When does it end, huh?"

The room fell into a tense silence, the air thick with the weight of Mingi's accusation. Hongjoong remained seated, his fingers interlocked on the table. He met the taller man's gaze with a cold, unwavering stare.

"Sit down, Mingi," he said quietly, his voice calm, but the authority in it was unmistakable.

Mingi didn't move, his jaw tight, defiance radiating from him. "Answer me," he demanded. "When does it end?"

The room seemed to hold its breath.

"You think I'm neglecting my responsibility," Hongjoong said, his voice low, even, and far colder than before. He rose slowly, pushing his chair back with a deliberate grace. "You think I'm growing soft. Maybe you're right." His eyes, sharp and cutting, bore into Mingi's. "But everything I do is for this gang's survival. Including ensuring her safety."

Mingi scoffed, disbelief written across his face. "Her? She's not one of us. She's a—"

"Enough," Hongjoong snapped, the steel in his voice cutting through the room like a blade. He stepped closer, towering over Mingi now. "You question my judgement again, and it won't be this quiet." His voice softened, but the danger in it was palpable. "I trust Seonghwa to handle this. And I trust you to remember your place."

For a moment, it seemed as if Mingi might push further, but his best friend, the Enforcer's hand tightened on his arm, a silent plea. He growled in frustration and, after a tense beat, finally sat down, seething but silent.

Seonghwa's calm voice broke the heavy quiet. "I'll handle it, Cap. You've made the right call." He shot a glance at Mingi. "We all want the same thing: to be stronger, united. Let's not lose sight of that."

Hongjoong's shoulders relaxed slightly, though his eyes never left Mingi. "Good," he said, his tone final. "Then it's settled."

As the others filed out, Mingi lingered near the door, shooting one last glare at his leader before leaving without another word. The Captain remained behind, letting out a long breath, the weight of the confrontation pressing on him.

He should have known peace wouldn't last. But as his thoughts turned to you, one question echoed in his mind.

How much more would he have to sacrifice to protect you before it all fell apart?

Fortunately—and unfortunately—you had already found the answer to his unspoken question.

"Hongjoong," you whispered, your voice trembling as it cut through the stillness of the dimly lit library.

The soft glow of the lamps cast gentle shadows over the shelves, wrapping the room in an intimate quiet. Across from you, he sat, his eyes warm and attentive, watching you with that familiar, close-lipped smile—the one that always made your heart stutter. His expression was gentle, full of a quiet tenderness that you both craved and feared.

But tonight, that smile felt like a dagger. It broke something inside you, making what you were about to say hurt even more.

"Yes?" he responded just as softly, his voice a soothing balm you didn't deserve. He leaned forward slightly, the care in his gaze evident, as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

You swallowed hard, your fingers trembling as they clutched the delicate bookmark he had given you, your lifeline in this moment of unbearable heaviness. "I'm… I'm all better now," you began, the words sticking in your throat. "I wish to leave. I want to go home."

The change in him was immediate. His smile vanished, and his hand shot across the table, grasping yours before you could pull away. His touch was warm but trembling, desperate. "Wha—where is this coming from?" His voice cracked, panic threading through every word. He hadn't known how long he'd have you by his side, but he never imagined losing you this soon. He wasn't ready. "Was it Mingi? Did he say something to you? I swear to god, if he—"

"No," you interrupted, shaking your head firmly, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. "He didn't do anything." You squeezed his hand, trying to draw strength from the contact. "I just… I think it's time. Time for both of us to return to our own lives."

His grip tightened, his eyes wide with disbelief. "No," he whispered, shaking his head as if refusing to believe your words could make them untrue. "You don't have to do this. You don't need to leave yet. The doctor—I'm having her work on something for the mark. You're not healed, not really."

You bit your lip, his raw emotion tearing through your resolve. You wanted to stay—God, how you wanted to stay—but the memory of that argument was too fresh. You had stood outside the meeting room earlier, waiting for him to finish, only to hear Mingi's voice raised in anger, accusing him of neglect, of weakness. And you had heard Hongjoong's silence—heavy, burdened. You couldn't be the reason for his pain. You couldn't be the weakness he couldn't afford.

"I heard it all," you confessed, voice trembling. "The argument. I know how much I'm complicating things for you." Tears blurred your vision, but you blinked them away. "It's not fair—to you, to them. We're from different worlds, Hongjoong. You and I… we were never going to work." Your voice softened as you finally named what had been unspoken: the feelings between you both.

His face crumpled, the pain etched into every line devastating to witness. "Don't do this," he begged, his voice breaking. "Please… don't."

You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. "This is how we make things right," you whispered. "You wanted to fix what you did, to give me a chance at freedom. This is it."

Silence engulfed the room, thick and suffocating. Slowly, he let go of your hand, as if releasing it would break him entirely. His head bowed, shoulders slumping under the weight of your decision.

"Oh…" It was all he could manage, and the raw pain in that single word nearly undid you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The quiet of the library, once a sanctuary, now felt suffocating. You had made your choice, and you believed it was the right one.

So why did it hurt so much?

"I'm sorry," you whispered, standing from your chair. You hesitated, wanting to offer some kind of solace, but knowing it would only prolong the pain. "Goodnight, Hongjoong."

With every step you took toward the door, it felt as though pieces of your heart were left behind. And when you reached the threshold, you heard it—his broken, whispered plea.

"Don't go."

But you didn't stop. You couldn't. Because sometimes, love wasn't enough.

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As if running from you could change the inevitable, Hongjoong buried himself in work, pouring over plans and strategies like a man determined to forget. Meetings stretched longer, tasks multiplied, and he worked late into the night, ignoring the hollow ache growing in his chest. But no amount of work could silence the truth—or erase the memory of your soft, breaking voice.

He could only run for so long.

One day, the quiet was broken by Jongho's hesitant knock on his office door. The youngest cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably under the Captain's tired gaze. "What is it?" he sighed, leaning back in his chair, trying to mask the weariness in his voice.

Jongho straightened, his eyes darting to the barely open door behind him. Hongjoong followed his gaze and froze. There, framed by the narrow gap, was the unmistakable outline of your back.

"It's her, hyung," Jongho said softly, his tone more hesitant than usual. "She... she asked the doctor to give her one final check. To make sure she's fully healed." He paused, as if reluctant to continue. "She expressed her desire to leave."

The words struck like a blade, sharp and final. For a long moment, Hongjoong said nothing, his eyes locked on the empty doorway as if he could will you to return. But deep down, he knew there was nowhere left to run.

He had been a fool to believe that anything could make you stay. He put himself in your shoes for a fleeting moment, imagining what it must be like. You had a life beyond these walls—a life waiting for you to return. And even if you chose to stay, how long could he truly keep you safe in his dangerous world? How long before the life he led consumed you, too?

And even if, by some miracle, you stayed—would your loved ones ever accept him? A gang leader with blood on his hands and sins too deep to cleanse?

No. The answer was clear.

As much as it tore him apart, he knew this was the mercy you deserved. He couldn't chain you to his darkness, couldn't selfishly hold on when letting go was the only way to truly love you.

"You're right," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "You have a life of your own. I can't ask you to stay."

The Anchor remained silent, watching his leader with a rare softness in his eyes.

Men like him were never meant to love. Not after all the sins he had committed, all the lives he had taken, all the wrongs he could never make right. He didn't deserve you—not your kindness, your laughter, or the warmth you so effortlessly gave.

No matter how much he wished otherwise.

With a heavy sigh, he turned away from the door, his voice steady but hollow. "Thank you, Jongho. I trust you to make the proper arrangements for her departure."

The youngest hesitated for a moment, but when he met the finality in Hongjoong's eyes, he nodded and left quietly, the door clicking shut behind him. Silence settled over the room again, heavy and oppressive—until the door creaked open once more. The gang leader's head snapped up, irritation flashing in his eyes, but it melted away the instant he saw who it was.

You stood hesitantly in the doorway, peeking in like you weren't sure you belonged there anymore.

He shot up from his seat, his movements hurried. "O-oh, it's you. Come in..." His voice softened, and you offered a small, tentative smile as you stepped inside. He gestured toward the worn leather couch. "Please, have a seat."

But you shook your head. "No, I shouldn't stay long. I just… came to thank you for respecting my decision."

He exhaled, a bitter sound escaping his lips. "Don't thank me for that." His voice was low, laced with frustration, though not at you. "It shouldn't have taken me this long to agree. You were right." His lips curved into a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. The pain there was unmistakable, and it clenched your heart painfully. "This… it has to end eventually. After all, I'm the one who did this to you. I can't possibly expect you to return my feelings—"

"Stop," you whispered, closing your eyes, shaking your head as if to ward off the self-loathing in his voice. Too late. You already had returned those feelings, and hearing him like this shattered you. "No, Hongjoong, don't say that. I just..."

He stilled, his gaze searching yours as you opened your eyes and met him, resisting the desperate urge to reach out and cup his face, to pull him into the comfort you knew he craved. But you couldn't. So instead, you smiled, soft but trembling, and extended a hand toward him.

"I'm feeling a little hungry," you said gently, your voice trembling just enough to betray your emotions. "Want to have dinner together?"

For a moment, he simply stared at you, as if unsure if he had heard correctly. But how could he possibly say no? Besides, this could very well be your last meal together. Everything else could wait—damn it all.

Until the moment you were safely returned home, you were all that mattered to him.

Just until tomorrow.

Jongho had arranged your ride back tomorrow.

Hongjoong couldn't pretend anymore. He knew this would likely be the last time he'd have you like this, in this fragile peace. So, tonight, he let the walls fall. He no longer resisted the urges that had haunted him for weeks. When he reached out to feed you, gently wiping a stray bit of food from the corner of your lips, you didn't flinch. When he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips brushing your skin with a tenderness that made his chest ache, you didn't pull away.

And you didn't say a word. You just let him.

By the end of the meal, when he saw the glimmer of hesitation in your eyes—knowing you were preparing to retreat to your room—he acted quickly, grasping your hand before you could leave. His touch was firm but not forceful, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, almost pleading.

"Would you like to… walk with me?"

You looked at him for a moment, your eyes searching his as if trying to memorise everything about this moment. Then, wordlessly, you nodded. He led you through the grand halls of the mansion, out to the sprawling, maze-like garden, where the soft glow of lanterns illuminated the paths.

Your hands remained entwined the entire time.

The garden was silent except for the rustle of leaves in the breeze. He guided you to the centre, where a marble fountain stood, the gentle sound of water trickling into the basin adding to the quiet serenity. Clearing a spot on the cold concrete, he shrugged off his blazer, laying it down carefully before gesturing for you to sit. You did, settling beside him as the horizon stretched before you, bathed in soft, silver moonlight.

"This is nice," you murmured, breaking the silence, your voice almost lost in the cool night air.

He smiled, his gaze softening. "It is, isn't it?"

For a while, neither of you spoke. The dim lanterns cast a golden glow, wrapping you both in a warmth that felt almost unreal. Slowly, as if afraid you might slip away, he placed his hand over yours once again. This time, your fingers intertwined naturally, effortlessly, as though they had always belonged that way.

No words were necessary. Every touch, every glance, spoke of everything you felt but couldn't say.

Your heart raced as you turned toward him, only to find he was already watching you. His eyes were dark, filled with emotions you didn't dare name. He leaned in, bit by bit, closing the space between you. Your breath hitched, trembling, but you didn't move away.

"Just for tonight," he whispered, his voice rough and raw. "Can we be together? Just for tonight."

Your eyes burned with unshed tears, your heart aching with the weight of the unspoken goodbye. You nodded, your voice barely above a breath.

"Please."

And then, there was no more distance between you.

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The morning light streamed softly through the curtains, painting the room in golden hues. Hongjoong stirred awake, the weight of sleep heavier than usual, but a comforting warmth grounded him. Instinctively, he snuggled closer, burying his face into the inviting scent that had become his solace.

It took only a moment for the realisation to hit him. The feminine scent, delicate and intoxicating, filled his senses. His heart skipped a beat as he opened his eyes to find you still in his arms, your back pressed against his chest, your breathing soft and even.

For a long moment, he stayed still, simply taking you in—the way your hair spilt over the pillow, the peaceful rise and fall of your shoulders, the warmth that radiated from you. Leaning closer, he pressed a tender kiss to your bare shoulder, the memory of last night rushing back like a tidal wave.

Kisses. Endless, intoxicating kisses, your lips against his as if you were trying to fill every unspoken word between you. His fingers tangled in your hair, your hands gripping his shirt, neither of you willing to let go. The clumsy, desperate stumbling through those kisses until you landed on the expanse of his king-sized bed—so often feeling too big, too empty for just one.

Articles of clothing had been shed piece by piece, carelessly scattered across the floor. And then… pure, unrestrained bliss. The feel of your skin against his, the soft sighs and whispered names, the way your bodies moved together like they were meant to fit. It was a night he would never forget, and one he knew he could never have again.

He swallowed hard as reality settled in. It was bittersweet, finally knowing what it was like to have you this close, only to face the cruel truth that he would have to let it all go soon. His gaze fell on the mark on your soft skin, the one that started it all, and he sighed deeply.

It was the right thing to do.

He repeated the mantra in his head, clinging to it like a lifeline. You deserved more—someone who could give you the kind of life you were meant to have, one without fear, without shadows. Someone who wasn't him.

But for now, just for this fleeting moment, he allowed himself to be selfish. He tightened his hold on you, his arm curling around your waist as if he could stop time by keeping you close. He etched every detail into his mind: the way your warmth seeped into him, the way your presence calmed his restless heart, the way this morning felt like a fragile dream he never wanted to wake from.

Because soon, it would all be over.

And he would have nothing left but these memories.

His temporary haven shattered with a jarring intrusion. The door to his bedroom flew open, and Jongho rushed in, his expression a mix of concern and urgency. "Hyung, she's not in her room—"

The Anchor's voice faltered mid-sentence as his eyes landed on you, curled up in his leader's embrace. The man sat up quickly, pulling the blanket to cover you to your neck, his glare sharp enough to cut steel. Jongho froze like a deer caught in headlights, his usual composure obliterated by the scene before him.

You stirred at the commotion, blinking yourself awake. It didn't take long to realise what had happened. Your cheeks flushed a deep red as you scrambled to free yourself from the blanket and darted off to the attached bathroom. "Excuse me," you mumbled hastily, your voice barely above a whisper, before closing the door behind you.

Jongho stood awkwardly, visibly cringing under Hongjoong's icy glare. "I didn't mean to—"

"Out," the Captain growled, his voice low and dangerous.

The youngest didn't need to be told twice. With a quick bow, he fled the room, muttering apologies under his breath.

Hongjoong exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples as the weight of the morning settled on his shoulders. Deciding to give you the privacy you needed, he rose from the bed, grabbed his robe, and slipped it on before leaving the room.

As he stepped into the hall, he was greeted by none other than the Firestarter, leaning casually against the wall with a smirk plastered across his face.

"Had fun, Cap?" Mingi drawled, his voice laced with mockery. "Hope that pussy was worth everything."

Hongjoong's expression darkened instantly, his eyes narrowing into a glare that could rival a storm. "Speak for yourself, Song," he shot back, his voice steady but laced with venom. "Come mock me when you don't need an exiled noblewoman to save your ass time and time again."

Mingi's smirk faltered as Hongjoong took a step closer, his words cutting like daggers. "Don't think I haven't heard about your multiple near-failures. At least I haven't fucked up anything critical. Also," he added, his tone dropping into something bitter and final, "she's leaving today. I hope you're happy."

The weight of Hongjoong's words left Mingi speechless, his cool façade crumbling. His jaw tightened as he struggled to muster a response, but nothing coherent came to mind.

Clearing his throat, he straightened and forced a shrug, attempting to reclaim his composure. "About damn time. Good riddance," he muttered, though his voice lacked its usual edge. Without another word, he turned and stalked off, leaving the gang leader standing there, his chest tight and his mind racing.

As much as he loathed the confrontation, he couldn't help but feel a bitter sense of satisfaction. At least now, Mingi might think twice before throwing careless words around. But the victory was hollow, his thoughts quickly returning to you.

With a deep sigh, he leaned against the wall, his fingers tracing the edge of his robe. The hours ahead loomed like a storm on the horizon, and he knew they would be some of the hardest he'd ever faced.

ـــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

The air was thick with the weight of unspoken emotions as the black car idled behind you, its engine a soft hum against the gloomy backdrop. The overcast sky seemed to mirror the heaviness in both your hearts, the grey clouds threatening rain at any moment. You stood before Hongjoong, your trusty tote bag slung over your shoulder, dressed simply but beautifully, your hair pulled into a messy yet endearing style. You tried to smile, but it trembled at the edges, betraying the storm within.

Neither of you spoke right away, the silence filled with everything you wanted to say but couldn't. Instead, you reached into your bag, pulling out the glass flower charm—the delicate token you had cherished for so long.

"Give me your hand," you murmured softly.

He stepped closer without hesitation, his hand extended between you. The roughness of his palm contrasted sharply with the fragility of the charm as you placed it gently into his hand. His fingers curled around it instinctively, the same hand that once had only known destruction now cradling something so delicate with utmost care.

"For you," you said, your voice steady but laden with emotion. "It's no marigold, but—"

He cut you off with a bittersweet smile, the pain in his eyes unmistakable. "I'll cherish it," he promised, his voice quiet but resolute, as though the words themselves were a vow.

He didn't let go of your hand, his grip warm and steady. You nodded, returning his smile. "Good. Treat it with care," you said, stepping closer, your proximity making his breath hitch.

The scent of his familiar cologne wrapped around you as you leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek. Your lips brushed against his skin as you whispered, "You did it, Joong. You made it all right."

His eyes fluttered closed, savouring the moment, the warmth of your presence etching itself into his memory. But then, as much as he wanted to keep you there, you pulled away gently, slipping out of his grasp.

Your backward steps toward the waiting car felt like a slow unravelling, each step tugging at the threads of his heart. He fought every instinct to run to you, to pull you back into his arms and beg you to stay, but he knew he couldn't.

As you slid into the car and shut the door, he stood rooted to the spot, his chest tight, his fists clenched at his sides. He watched helplessly as the car began to roll forward, taking you further and further from him until you were nothing but a distant blur.

"It's for the best," he whispered to himself, though the words felt hollow. "You did the right thing."

The sound of approaching footsteps broke through his haze of sorrow. Turning, he found one of his men standing hesitantly nearby. "Boss," the man said carefully, "we received an update from Seonghwa. His visit to the Red Room is going to be extended due to... undisclosed circumstances."

And just like that, Hongjoong was thrust back into the chaos of his world. He nodded, his voice cold and detached. "Got it. I'll speak with the others."

He turned and strode back toward the mansion, his steps purposeful despite the turmoil inside him. His men watched him carefully, unsure if the heartbreak would erupt into anger, but he remained composed, his demeanour unreadable.

Once inside, he glanced down at the delicate charm still resting in his palm. It caught the dim light of the hall, glinting faintly like the remnants of a dream. His grip tightened around it, not enough to damage it, but enough to ground himself.

It hurt—god, it hurt—but he found solace in the fact that he had been able to love again, even if only briefly. He didn't know how long it would take for the ache to fade, perhaps it never would, but one thing was certain: he would never forget you.

ـــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

The dim light of the room cast long shadows across the walls, the flickering of a single desk lamp providing the only illumination. The figure leaned back in his chair, his gloved fingers tapping rhythmically against the polished wood of the table. Before him lay a folder, its contents an intricate web of intel painstakingly gathered. At the very top, clipped securely, was a photograph of the Black Pirates.

The leader's face was circled in white ink—a mark of vulnerability disguised as power.

"Seems we've secured the Captain's weakness right from the start," the figure murmured, a sinister grin spreading across his face. His tone carried a disturbing mixture of amusement and certainty as he flipped the folder shut, the sound of paper against paper breaking the tense silence.

A subordinate stood nearby, his posture stiff, his eyes darting to the file with barely concealed curiosity. "Should we proceed then, sir?" he asked, his voice low but eager.

The figure chuckled, a sound devoid of warmth, and shook his head. "There's no hurry," he replied, his gloved hand resting atop the closed file like a predator savouring its next move. "Time is what we've got. Let them believe they've found their footing. Let them think they're safe."

He pushed the file to the side, leaning forward, his grin widening as his eyes gleamed with cruel intent. "We'll gather them all, one by one. No need to rush—it's always better when the prey doesn't see the trap until it's too late."

The subordinate nodded, though a hint of unease flickered across his features. "Understood, sir."

The figure reached for a glass of whiskey sitting untouched on the desk, swirling the amber liquid as if it contained the answers to every question. "Patience," he said, almost to himself, his voice low and reverent. "Patience wins wars. Let's see how far the mighty gang can go when their carefully constructed world begins to crumble."

He raised the glass in a mock toast, the light catching the golden liquid. "To the Black Pirates. And to the beginning of their end."

The room fell silent again, the only sound the faint creak of the leather chair as the figure leaned back, eyes fixed on the file. Somewhere, far from the machinations of this dark plot, Hongjoong might have felt a shiver down his spine. But for now, he was blissfully unaware, the weight of his loss still fresh, the memory of your departure his only torment.

And so, the game began.

Would you believe it? About 90% of this was drafted in a sleep-deprived state HAHA the first thing I do as soon as I get home from work is write this, so I genuinely hope this met expectations!

Are you or are you not surprised by the lack of a happy ending? If you know me well (especially readers who have been here since TWTHH), you probably saw this coming🤠

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

[atinyreads]

By Order of the Black Pirates

An 'Ice On My Teeth' Comeback Special Series

"N-No, please! Spare me! I was wrong! I swear I'll never do it again!" The man's voice cracked as he grovelled on the damp ground, tears carving paths through the grime on his face. His trembling hands offered up the tiny diamond he'd been foolish enough to steal—his last-ditch effort to appease the eight figures towering over him like shadows of death.

He'd heard the whispers, the warnings: Never cross the Black Pirates. Never touch what belongs to them. Never even think of betrayal. Yet greed had blinded him. Now, staring into their cold, merciless eyes, he knew his regret was far too late.

The leader of the gang stepped forward, a smirk tugging at his lips as he tilted his head, studying the pitiful man like a cat sizing up a doomed mouse. "Didn't I ask you to screen these rats better?" he drawled, casting a sideways glance at the eldest among them before shifting his focus back to their prey. "No time to waste. Finish him."

A low chuckle echoed through the tension-filled night as the gang's usual executioner, a broad-shouldered figure clad in his signature fur coat, stepped forward, his grin as sharp as the blade in his hand.

"Sorry, buddy," he mused, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "This will be the night you take your final breath—by order of the Black fuckin' Pirates."

ـــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

Watching the harrowing scene from a distance stood a figure with crossed arms, his voice low as he muttered to his right-hand, "Every man has a weakness. Find the Black Pirates', and we'll knock them off their high horses."

"And if they have none, sir?"

The figure's lips curled into a dark smile. "Then we'll make sure they do."

Pairing(s): gang members!ateez x fem!reader

AU: gang au

Summary: One by one, the Black Pirates uncover their greatest weakness. But when the cracks begin to show, will they stand firm or let their vulnerabilities bring their empire to its knees?

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Trigger Warnings: violence, torture, abuse, blood, murder, language, contains dark themes in general

A/N: Credits to the wonderful @sundaybossanova for giving me the idea of something Peaky Blinders inspired. Thank you so much and ily💖

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

Hongjoong

‣ The Captain [Coming soon]

The Captain of the Black Pirates—respected, feared, and unmatched in strategy—lives by his sharp mind and unshakable resolve. But his carefully constructed world begins to crumble when a grave mistake leads him to torture an innocent suspect nearly to death. Haunted by guilt, his quest for redemption takes an unexpected turn, awakening a part of him he never thought existed: a desire to protect and care for someone.

Seonghwa

‣ The Gentleman [Coming soon]

The Black Pirates' poised diplomat, celebrated for his refined demeanour, sharp wit, and unmatched negotiation skills, is always in control. But his composure falters when he encounters an unwilling captive trapped in the Red Room—a ruthless training ground for spies. Driven by an unexpected urge to save her, he finds his carefully maintained boundaries beginning to unravel.

Yunho

‣ The Enforcer [Coming soon]

The towering enforcer of the Black Pirates, both disarming and deadly—his easy charm capable of winning over enemies, while his legendary fury dominates the battlefield. But his unbreakable facade begins to crack when he meets a psychologist during a mission—someone who can see through his carefully crafted mask, just as he can see through hers. Beneath her confident exterior lies a frightened soul lost in a dark world, and for the first time, he finds himself compelled to protect someone in a way he never expected.

Yeosang

‣ The Phantom [Coming soon]

Mysterious and elusive, the Black Pirates' intelligence expert is known for his sharp instincts and unparalleled skill in espionage and reconnaissance. But when he crosses paths with a woman who surpasses him in both skill and wit for the first time, his confidence begins to waver. As she outsmarts him at every turn, he finds himself unexpectedly drawn to her, eagerly anticipating each challenge—because the thrill of being near her is something he never expected to crave.

San

‣ The Tempest [Coming soon]

The Black Pirates' most unpredictable force is a whirlwind of fiery passion and unbridled energy—always the first to leap into action when chaos erupts. But his world tilts when he stumbles upon a woman who, unlike his victims who always begged to live, is on the brink of ending her own life. Upon discovering she's terminally ill, he finds himself gripped by an unfamiliar and urgent desire to save her, igniting a battle within himself unlike anything he's ever faced.

Mingi

‣ The Firestarter [Coming soon]

The Black Pirates' wild card is notorious for his fiery temper and even more explosive schemes—a dangerous yet irresistibly charming presence. But his confidence takes a hit when one of his near-disastrous plans is salvaged by an unlikely passerby: a composed and resourceful former aristocrat, exiled and stripped of her wealth, now navigating the world's harsh realities. Her icy demeanour and unshakable poise captivate him, leaving the ever-impulsive man unexpectedly drawn to her.

Wooyoung

‣ The Charmer [Coming soon]

The Black Pirates' negotiator and master of distractions is renowned for his confidence and flirtatious charm, which can sway almost anyone. But his ego is severely wounded when he encounters the loyal bodyguard of a high-profile target, someone completely immune to his usual tricks, during a high-stakes mission. Frustrated by his failure yet captivated by her unwavering resolve, he finds himself unable to stay away, drawn to the challenge—and to her—in ways he never expected.

Jongho

‣ The Anchor [Coming soon]

The steadfast foundation of the Black Pirates is renowned for his unfaltering strength and calm under pressure. As the gang's moral compass and protector, he's always put duty above all else. But when a rival gang's attack threatens the life of their kind-hearted hired doctor, he begins to realise that his priorities extend beyond just his brothers. Torn between his loyalty to the gang and his growing feelings for her, he faces an agonising choice: protect his family or save her.

Voila, my loves! As promised, I finally managed to come up with a little something for this comeback teehee. I hope you're as excited about this as I am! Truthfully, I just returned from a 10-day trip in Shanghai and am back to work on Monday already - which means I might not be able to write much until the following weekend but I will do my best to get the parts out ASAP!

Super excited to hear your thoughts on the concept! Do let me know which member's summary enticed you the most!✨ and of course, just leave a comment if you'd like to be tagged for when the parts are released!

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[atinyreads]

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[atinyreads]

Hello. I just want to say your stories are amazing ❤️🥺 can you please write sylus × y/n where sylus pushes the reader away for some reason and later on regrets it ( full angst to fluff ) thank you 🥺❤️

sylus pushing you away because he’s an idiot

Sylus sat behind his desk, eyes scanning through an endless stream of reports, his brow furrowed in deep frustration. The tension in his body was palpable; nothing seemed to be going right today.

The missions were falling apart, the data was incomplete and the pressure to resolve it all was suffocating. He hadn’t eaten, hadn’t rested and every small problem felt like a spark waiting to ignite the fuse.

Then, the door to his office suddenly burst open.

“Hey, Sylus—”

You barely made it past the threshold before Sylus snapped, his sharp gaze lifting from the desk to you in an instant. His voice, usually calm and measured, came out harsh and cutting. “Who do you think you are to be barging in here without knocking?”

You froze in place, the words hitting you like a slap. Sylus rarely ever raised his voice at you and when he did, it was never like this. Shocked, you stammered, trying to apologize. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Leave.” The word came out cold and dismissive. His eyes narrowed, his tone biting, leaving no room for argument. “Just go.”

Your heart sank. You hadn’t meant to interrupt him, only to check if he needed anything. You always looked out for him, especially when he was drowning in work.

But now, standing there, your presence felt like an inconvenience. You muttered a quiet apology, backing out of the room, closing the door softly behind you.

For a while after you left, Sylus didn’t move. The anger he had let loose still simmered beneath the surface, but it was slowly being replaced by something heavier—guilt. He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his silver hair.

Hours passed and Sylus tried to refocus but your absence gnawed at him. You always popped by to bring him food or just to make sure he was okay and now the silence in his office felt suffocating. He hadn’t eaten all day but without you, even the thought of food made him feel sick.

Eventually, he gave in, reaching for his comm to call you. It rang once, twice… but you didn’t pick up. His stomach twisted. He waited a few minutes, trying again but there was still no answer.

“Damn it” he muttered under his breath, tossing the comm onto the desk. The realization hit him harder than he expected: he had pushed you away. Again. He was always doing this, keeping people at arm’s length. But you… you were different. You were the only one who saw through his walls and instead of letting you in, he’d shoved you out.

Days passed and Sylus felt the weight of his mistake grow heavier. Without you around, he was a mess. He hadn’t eaten properly, his sleep was fitful and work had become unbearable. He kept expecting to hear your voice, see you bring him something to eat or just feel your presence nearby. But there was nothing and it was his fault.

He couldn’t take it anymore. The guilt gnawed at him until he finally decided to go to you.

Standing outside your door, Sylus hesitated. He wasn’t good at apologizing, never had been. Words got stuck in his throat, his pride and guilt twisting together in an uncomfortable knot. But he couldn’t leave things like this. He knocked softly and waited, feeling his heart pound in a way he wasn’t used to. When you opened the door, your expression was far from warm.

“Sylus” you said, your voice flat, arms crossed. “What do you want?”

He stared at you, his usual confidence faltering. He hadn’t expected the bitterness, though he probably deserved it. “Kitten…” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I… came to talk.”

“About what?” You raised an eyebrow, clearly still upset. “Yelling at me and kicking me out of your office?”

He flinched at your words, guilt surging through him. He had hurt you, more than he thought. “I shouldn’t have done that” he mumbled, his voice quieter than usual. “I was… frustrated but that’s not an excuse.”

“Frustrated?” you echoed, clearly unimpressed. “That’s all you’ve got?”

Sylus sighed, his hand falling to his side. Apologizing was harder than he thought it would be. “I know I screwed up, alright? I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I just… I wasn’t thinking.”

You frowned, still not satisfied. “You didn’t think to call me either or at least check in after you threw me out like that.”

“I did call” he admitted, shifting uncomfortably. “You didn’t answer.”

You blinked, surprised for a moment but quickly masked it. “Maybe I didn’t want to answer.”

The silence between you stretched, tension thick in the air. Sylus felt like he was sinking deeper into his guilt, unsure how to fix this. He’d never been good at dealing with emotions, especially his own but now, seeing the hurt in your eyes, it was killing him.

“I missed you” he finally muttered, the words almost foreign to him. He looked down, avoiding your gaze, feeling the weight of his own failure press down on him. “You’re… the only one who gives a damn about me and I pushed you away. I haven’t even eaten properly since you stopped coming around, sweetie.”

You bit your lip, torn between being angry and feeling sorry for him. Sylus was always like this—closed off, pushing people away, even when he didn’t want to.

“I didn’t mean it” he added quietly, his voice rough with guilt. “I don’t want you to leave me.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. Then, with a sigh, you stepped aside, letting him into your place. “You’re an idiot, Sylus” you said, though there was a touch of softness to your words now. “But come in. I’m not letting you starve just because you don’t know how to say sorry.”

Sylus walked in, the relief evident in his eyes but the guilt still hung heavily over him. He sat down awkwardly, watching you move around the room, unsure how to make things right. But for now, he was here, with you. It was a start.

[atinyreads]

A Rising Sun

Summary: Thirteen missed calls and twenty unread text messages. Not even Mephisto could track you. “You’re really starting to worry me here, kitten.” Sylus pressed the phone to his ear, eyes glued to Mephisto’s live feed as he soared through the N109 Zone’s darkest alleys, “If it was something I did, let me make it up to you.” Tags: Sylus/Reader, gender-neutral, slight angst, hurt/comfort, reader is mc, established relationship Word Count: 1.8k A/N: requested by @hrts4hanniehae read on ao3 | masterlist

Crystal clinked loudly against a mahogany table as Sylus put the empty glass down with a seething glare. He would’ve slammed it were it not for your sleeping form just several feet away, however. Your chest rose and fell under his satin sheets, and he counted each breath like a rosary bead; you’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine. He unstopped a priceless bottle of whiskey and poured himself another drink, but the tremor in his hand sloshed amber liquid over the sides. Sylus huffed but didn’t bother wiping up the mess. Instead, he downed the whiskey in one go and squeezed his tired eyes shut. The burn was nothing compared to the chill down his spine when he found you. 

Thirteen missed calls and twenty unread text messages. Not even Mephisto could track you. “You’re really starting to worry me here, kitten.” Sylus pressed the phone to his ear, eyes glued to Mephisto’s live feed as he soared through the N109 Zone’s darkest alleys, “If it was something I did, let me make it up to you.” The begging in his voice grew more obvious as the voicemails went on, “—Please. Just let me know you’re okay.” Sylus drew closer to the hologram, helpless, as Mephisto investigated another possible location, “I can’t…” Another dead end. The mechanical crow cooed softly before swooping into another street, and Sylus heard his voice catch in his throat, “...I can’t feel you anymore.” 

Beep. The call ended, leaving a loaded silence in its wake. 

He considered leaving yet another voicemail when Mephisto turned a sharp corner and pointed his eyes at a dark figure slumped against a wall. No, no, no. His worst fears were realized when the crow perched himself on your knee and cawed loudly, as if scolding you for causing so much trouble. Then his lens panned over the blood. So much blood. Sylus couldn’t recall the ride there, which car he took, how fast he was going. Trivial details, to be frank. Your name was the only thought in his mind, the only language he understood—you, you, you. Sense returned to him when he clutched your limp body in his tight embrace, and you groaned weakly in his arms. “I’m here,” Sylus sighed against your ear, “Always here.” 

The sheets of his bed rustled as you shifted your weight, and Sylus shot you a look. “Sylus,” You called weakly, and winced as you sat up.

“Don’t lean on your arm.” Despite your discomfort, his narrowed gaze remained fixed on the empty glass in his hand. He made no move to approach you, “You’ll disturb the bandages.” Out of the corner of his eye, he watched you take note of the gauze wrapped around your bicep. The bleeding stopped a while ago. “That wanderer missed your artery by a hair,” Sylus drawled, and your confused gaze met his cold look, “Your luck never ceases to amaze me.” Then he stood, your confusion morphing into panic, “Let Mephisto know if you need anything.”

“Sylus, wait—” You outstretched your hand, the bandaged one, and immediately hissed in pain. Sylus froze, but like before, remained where he stood, “How long have I been out?”

His lip twitched. “Three hours now,” A beat, then he was reaching into his pocket, “Here.” Your phone bounced against the mattress at your feet, and Sylus watched you pick up the shattered screen. Wincing, you turned it on, and he quietly studied your distress.

“I’m sorry,” You began softly, but Sylus forced his eyes to the floor. He couldn’t stand the guilt in your eyes, “I got so caught up I didn’t—”

His raised hand cut you short, “Don’t.” And he turned away sharply, “Just focus on resting.” The lump in his throat was difficult to swallow around, so he grabbed the leftover whiskey and rushed out.

Cooling down with some vinyl records had been his first instinct. Dusting them off, running his fingers over the plastic covers, then finally settling on just one. Fretting over their display was a nervous habit of his, his go-to when he needed a distraction. But it proved too difficult to position the needle correctly with trembling hands, and Sylus watched the needle stutter over the grooves with a grimace. Instrumentals kicked in over the stereo quietly, but it still wasn’t enough to drown out his swirling thoughts. He should be with you right now. Tending to your every need and shushing you gently to get some rest. Instead, he hid away with his records, inhaling and exhaling to relax the tight ball in his chest. You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine.

He repeated this useless prayer to himself to prevent other thoughts—darker thoughts—from bubbling up. It didn’t work, though. “Sylus?” His eyes widened at the sound of your voice, before they suddenly narrowed in suspicion. As if on cue, Mephisto breezed to his perch in the corner of the room, and Sylus shot the crow a withering glare. So much for keeping you away from him, damn bird. Mephisto only pricked his feathers innocently in response. Your bare feet then padded across the room, but Sylus refused to turn around. You shouldn’t have to see him like this. “Sylus, would you please look at me?” You insisted again, stronger this time, “Are you angry?”

Usually, he craved your bluntness. Right now, he resented it. “I should have locked him in his cage.” Your steps drew closer, and Sylus concentrated on the spinning vinyl.

Your tired sigh gripped his heart. “I heard your voicemails,” You announced quietly, “It’s…It’s okay if you are. You have every right to be.” 

It’s just so like you to put his feelings first. As if he had been the one bleeding in an alley for hours. Sylus pinched the bridge of his nose, “And if I was?” He turned to face you, finally, and noted the half-step you took back. Sylus couldn’t help the scowl that tugged at his lips, “Why aren’t you?”

You frowned at him and rubbed your arm distractedly. “I…feel bad for making you worry. I’m sorry, and I totally understand where you’re coming from.” You then tugged nervously at your clothes, avoiding his sharp gaze, “I would be angry with me too, believe me. Especially after I said I’d be more—”

Sylus couldn’t help it, a humorless laugh erupted from his bitten lips. You only stared in bewilderment as he raised a hand to cover his mouth, “Angry at you…?” He shook his head as another wave of trepidation passed through him, “You misunderstand,” Then his voice fell ominously low, “I’m not angry at you.”

Surprise gripped your expression, “I don’t understand, then. Why are you angry?”

“Why?” It was Sylus’ turn to give you a bewildered look, “Why?” The answer was so obvious, he almost felt ridiculous spelling it out for you. Through gritted teeth, he tried anyway, “Because I failed to protect you, that’s why.” That lump in his throat returned, so he promptly shut up. His words clung to the air for several moments, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off you now. A flurry of emotions overwhelmed you; perhaps you were realizing that, yes, he did fail you tonight. That realization never quite reached your eyes, though. Instead, you slowly shook your head before falling back to get comfortable on his couch. 

“Come sit with me.” You patted the area next to you and watched him expectantly. Sylus stared. You always did find new ways to surprise him, somehow. He fought three wars in his head—before losing them all—and hesitantly took his place by your side. The big, bad Onychinus leader avoided your soft gaze. “What happened tonight, neither of us is to blame.” Your voice fell hush, and he didn’t need to look at you to know you saw right through him, “You can be angry, but please don’t hold a grudge.” You scooted yourself closer to take his hand in yours, and his eyes numbly flicked to your linked fingers. 

“If Mephisto hadn’t found you…I didn’t know what to think.” His voice trailed off, and he swallowed thickly, “Your aether core. I couldn’t feel it.” His thumb caressed yours gently, “Fear like that isn’t easy to forget.”

Guilt brimmed in your eyes again, and he wished he hadn’t said anything. “You found me,” You began fiercely, “And I’m okay now, thanks to you. Because of you. You could never fail me.” Your words only deepened his scowl. It should never have gotten to that point in the first place. You should never have been in that position—alone. Your interlocked hands tightened, “Sylus…” Your murmur, spoken like a wish, was accompanied by a sudden warmth between your palms. He inhaled sharply as he watched your hands glow, evols linking as you resonated with his. The feeling was difficult to explain. Resonating with you blanketed him in a warmth like no other, like he was morning dew glowing under the rising sun. Like it was the first and last time he’d ever feel sunlight. You were alive. You were well. And if you harbored any ill will toward him, then resonating wouldn’t have come so naturally to you. He’s glad it did. 

The resonance ended all too soon, however, and the light of your evols dimmed to nothing. Sylus’ record played softly in the silence. “Thank you,” He murmured at last, feeling calm for the first time that evening, “...And I’m sorry.” You made it difficult to stay upset. You had no idea how much power you held over him—over his mind and body alike—how easily you could mold him like putty in your precious hands. Right now, though, you guided those precious hands to his chin and looked him over properly. The dark circles, the disheveled hair, the cracked lips; you drank all of it in and let worry settle in the crease of your brow. He hid his embarrassment behind wisecracks, “Like what you see? A picture might last longer.”

You shot him a look, “You should take a shower, you’ll feel better.” Your expression then softened, and your thumb caressed the side of his smirking mouth, “But hurry, so you can join me in bed.”

He swore he felt traces of your evol smoldering within him, “Easy, kitten, you’re still recovering.”

Amusement sparkled in his ruby eyes when you abruptly pulled away, flustered, “You know what I meant!” Tsk, it was too easy sometimes. Sylus tried and failed to hide his smile before unexpectedly lifting you off the couch, “Sylus—”

“I’ve got you—yes, I do, now stop squirming,” Hanging on with your good arm, Sylus held you tighter than he’d ever done before. Letting you down would never be an option again. “Save the struggling for later, sweetie.” You merely huffed and settled into his secure embrace, but your free hand clutched his shirt just as tightly. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. 

Morning dew, meet rising sun.