#Chapter 16: The Rescue | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thatdeadaquarius · 2 years ago

Note

About your language brainrot. I see your "Reader's writing can't match tyvat's long and flowery writing" and bring you "Tyvat isn't used to books over 50 pages long so a short story to the Reader is a whole dictionary to tyvat readers".

Seriously, have you seen how thin the books are? They don't wrote novels, they write short chapters formatted in the way really old stories are. As in, summarizing all the events down into one smooth story then adding a few quotes. Fanfiction writers are insane. They will willingly sit down and write hundreds of words at a time. To them, a proper modern day story of maybe, oh 10k words or so, would probably be like the Oddessy itself.

If we were to combine the two headcanons. It would end up as many historians being intimidated by this insanely long written scripture in the language of the forgotten.

I'm going to take this a step further and say that if the creator asked some people to proofread their things, it would establish a hiarchy of who is able to actually finish the book the creator read and who isn't.

NOW THIS, THIS IS MY FUCKING JAMMMM

I'm so sorry this is so old!! u probably all know this by this point that I've really slowed down as the year has gone on, but I graduated university and then got my first job so its been pretty crazy!

Sun: Reader (you/they/them)

Orbit: Headcanons-ish

Stars: dash of all the book/nerds of Genshin, heavy on Sumeru?

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Cussing, 16+ Mature Audiences, Spoliers for Sumeru Archon Quests/Scaramouche, & Trigger Warnings: mention of shipping/characters shipping themselves with you.

Comment if any missed, please.

☆

FULL STOP.

THE AKADEMIYA, FONTAINE RESEARCH INSTITUTE, HAVE BEEN WAITTTINNGGGG ON YOUR ASS LMAO

You fall from the fucking sky like a 5 star, or pop out of the Irminsul or whatever

and immediately are mobbed by scholars. LMAO jkjk (not really, bc that's what it’d feel like)

can you even imagine the dread older stories(”the classics” to them), that was instilled in the poor students around Teyvat??

id like to think ur works are the most preserved over the thousands of years of Teyvat archeologists excavating them, in comparison to other authors (teyvat just likes you more, suck it William Shakespeare)

also, bc I cant resist language differences/world building I'm sorryyyy 😭 😭

the vocab of Genshin lang vs. ours, has significantly less vocabulary like their actual dictionary is 1/3 the size of ours type of energy

(Omfg all ur fanfics being considered like insanely long realistic romantic classics or tragedies like Jane Austen-level, and only the richest and biggest play companies put on plays about ur stories bc the script goes on for hours)

(ur plays only get put on for rlly big events bc of this, like Lantern Rite or like a Summer/Winter festival/your birthday, which is, yes, an international holiday)

dude the sheer power move of anything you’ve written being essentially “Journey of the West” to them, like Damnnn.

endless like adaptations, plays, Teyvat-short stories condensing it, (THEIR OWN FANFICTION ABOUT UR STORIES)

the power is, in fact, going to your head every time another scholar both deflates at how long ur stuff is, but also lights up bc they get to read it

speaking of scholars… you know who snatched you up first. you know. you don’t even need to read the next line.

Alhaitham.

sneaky bastard he is, absolutely manipulated, mansplained (and manwhored bc he knows he’s handsome, cheeky little shit) his way into getting you to sit down with him and interview you about both translating other classics, your own, giving your own analysis of others works and ur own, and picking ur brain apart of how/why you wrote urs, etc. its fucking endless,

Kaveh had to come rescue you bc u were starving to death after getting stuck with the Haravatat scholar in his office for nearly 7 hours of interrogation discussion about literature

and Alhaitham wasn't even nearly done, he’d informed you as you left that he already had another appointment for later conversation scheduled (how?? you don't even know ur own schedule??? you have a schedule???) and was looking forward to more of your “creative and enlightening input” :)))

(you’re never going to escape him, not even Nahida herself can save you from his stubborn ass)

On another note, Xingqiu is quaking when you agree to autograph his copy of your stories (of which he has all hard covers of the first edition translations)

Zhongli/Rex Lapis is known for having a near-lifelong passion for searching for your works specifically, and learning how to translate them better into Teyvatian vernacular

like the same way he can absolutely speak on Rex Lapis facts/rocks/adepti info, is the same confidence he speaks about knowing ur work lol

(yes he did also ask for several autographs and another sit-down talk about the works, tho a lot more sneaky then Alhaitham bc he just casually gets u guys into it during dinner)

Barbatos/Venti has written some of the most famous songs based on your stuff, he has his favorites too,

but he always claims the best songs are any that have been written in the story, like either when a character sings something, or there are like quotes from songs ur fanfics are based on lol

(he also demanded to hear what they actually sound like from you, yes, you have to sing them for him lol)

Venti also can surprisingly drunkenly ramble the entirety of at least one of ur stories, like, word for word lmao

(Diluc gave in and did give him a drink on the house for that one, just once, Venti doesn’t remember it lol)

(I forgot to mention, u guys still speak the same language, just like, different versions of it)

ur works being one of the few things all the Archons can freely talk about with each other, like it’s neutral ground bc they’re all fangirling about it lmao

Furina and Neuvillette have had like,, fierce debates over the decades about character dynamics and the general drama of ur stories, they’ve gotten into it enough they’ve stopped talking to each other for a couple days a few times lol

Albedo, Sucrose, Kokomi, Yae Miko, Ei, Raiden, have read every single work they’re gotten their hands on in Teyvat (it took them like a literal year or longer)

Albedo drew you fanart for every single story, bc he’s hyperfixated on everything related to you ngl,

Kokomi had commissioned smaller pocket versions of ur works (which later got popular thanks to Yae Miko) both the OG and the Teyvat shortened versions

THE HARBINGERS ARE THE MOST DOWN BAD LMAO

Childe has literally tried to recreate battle scenes from ur works lmao

and gets especially riled up about fighting someone who resembles any characters from them (esp villains, what a cutie)

You cannot fathom the amount of research throughout Teyvat that has been secretly or indirectly funded by Pantalone/Tsaritsa

from the experts to analyze them, to funding play companies to act them out, to actually excavating places to get more of ur stuff unearthed

(the Harbingers absolutely are the first group of people that got to read several of ur stories first bc of this, like the world’s most exclusive secret book club lol)

Scaramouche used to clown on Childe all the time about how he was too impatient to even “sit down and read the King’s classics”, and he was downright insufferable when he found out about Tartaglia’s habit of recreating battle scenes/that being what motivated him to fight sometimes lol

that being said, Wanderer surprisingly never forgot ur stories.

Even when his memories were wiped for a bit, he found comfort in these fantastical epics still sticking around, even when his old names did not

(he mayyyy or mayyy nottt have secretly namedhimselfafteroneofthetragicprotagonistsherelatesto- )

oh btw, Nahida also found joy and comfort in ur stories when she was trapped, they also helped her literally grow as a person bc she had ur stories to help her sort of process the world/what life was like outside of her dreaming prison 🥺💔❤️‍🩹

◇

OMFG

ANYWAY FULL TONE SHIFT LMFAO-

the ABSOLUTE SPIRAL-RED-STRING-CONSPIRACY-THEORY-BOARD ENERGY IF THIS WAS A BLUNT LANGUAGE AU LMAOOOO

like specifically how Teyvatians like to give all the context ever thru their words, but older deities/beings like you just do simple phrases that can have deeper meanings (whereas teyvat just explains all the meanings behind their words)

STOP there’s like an official display at the Akademiya and Fontaine Institute of red string theory boards 😭😭 (look what you’ve done to themmm LMAO)

for like every story of urs, INCLUDING THE FANFICS STOP

IMAGINE THE SHIPPING WARS IF U EVER WROTE ONE THAT WASNT EXPLICIT OR LIKE ONE OF THE MAIN ROMANTIC INTERESTS HAD CHEMISTRY WITH OTHER CHARACTERS HAHAHAHAA

that's actually what Akademiya scholars argue about the most viciously, it’s like politics you can’t just bring up ships from ur stories casually in regular convos 💀

(poor Cyno has to deal with a shipping war once a year bc someone always makes the mistake of reading ur work for the first time (without being told to not talk to others abt ships lol) and it starts an all out brawl in the cafeteria every time LMAO)

Also yes.

Cyno is a fanboy.

(he has read Creator x Reader-insert fanfiction.)

(As have most of the characters mentioned, and those not lol)

…

(I'm gonna make a whole Creator x reader fanfic post one day i stg lmao)

☆

an iced coffee? for me?? :0

ok but real talk…

wtf do you guys wanna see for new years!!

i didn't do a inktober/october days thingy bc i felt too unprepared (and bc id wanted to post that 1000+ followers eldritch au for Halloween)

but now i kinda wanna, at least for a few days :o

ill post a poll in a minute, so check it out!! but still, please feel free to comment some ideas here! :)

Safe Travels Deafening Dreamer,

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily

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velvetvisionsaurora · 2 months ago

Text

Pairing: Hongjoong x reader, Seonghwa x reader, Yunho x reader, Mingi x reader, Wooyoung x reader.

Summary: Five eight-year-old boys aboard the slave ship Crimson Serpent form an unbreakable bond with five-year-old y/n. before she's sold at auction. Despite their failed rescue attempt, they swear a blood oath on her teddy bear to find her.Fifteen years later, now feared pirates leading the ATEEZ

Warnings: Slavery/Human Trafficking, Separation/Loss, Violence, Eventual Smut. SA(not by any main characters) mxm

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Masterlist

Chapter 16

Recovery

Morning sunlight streamed through the large windows of Yeosang's medical suite, casting a warm glow across the polished wooden floors and pristine white linens. Unlike the cramped medical bay aboard the ATEEZ, this space had been designed with both functionality and comfort in mind—high ceilings, ample natural light, and enough room for proper equipment without feeling clinical or sterile.

Y/n paused at the doorway, taking in the scene before her. Mingi was propped up against several pillows on a bed that actually accommodated his tall frame, unlike the narrow treatment table on the ship. His eyes were closed, but his breathing indicated he was merely resting rather than sleeping.

The change in him after just one night in proper accommodations was remarkable. Color had returned to his face, and though bandages still wrapped his torso, the tension of constant pain had eased from his features. Even in repose, he looked more like himself—the quiet strength that defined him evident in his relaxed posture.

"Are you going to stand there all day, or come in?" Mingi asked without opening his eyes, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Y/n smiled, not surprised he'd sensed her presence. "I was wondering if you were asleep."

"Just enjoying the quiet," he replied, opening his eyes to look at her. His gaze was clearer than it had been since the injury, alert and present in a way that relieved her more than she'd expected. "Yeosang doesn't hover as much here. Too many rooms to organize."

She approached the bed, noting the various wooden carvings that had already found their way to his bedside table—likely brought from his workshop by Yunho or one of the others. "You look better."

"Feel better," Mingi agreed with his characteristic economy of words. His eyes followed her as she settled into the chair beside his bed. "You got my ship?"

Y/n reached into her pocket and withdrew the small wooden ATEEZ Yunho had delivered to her the previous day. "It's beautiful. Thank you."

Mingi nodded, satisfaction evident in his expression. "Wanted you to have something. To mark the journey."

"Yunho told me you made it while you were still in the ship's medical bay," she said, running her thumb over the intricate detailing of the tiny vessel. "You shouldn't have been working while injured."

"Needed to." The simple statement contained volumes, his eyes holding hers with quiet intensity.

"I know," Y/n acknowledged, understanding the deeper meaning behind his words. Like Seonghwa with his precise arrangements and Wooyoung with his exuberant cooking, Mingi communicated most authentically through his craft. The wooden ship was more than just a gift—it was a statement, a welcome, a physical manifestation of his feelings that went beyond what words could express.

"Your room," Mingi said after a moment. "Does it suit you?"

The question sounded casual, but Y/n recognized the vulnerability beneath it. Of all the areas in their home, her room had been the one where Mingi's influence was most evident—from the carved animals on every surface to the intricate woodwork on the bed frame and furniture.

"It's perfect," she assured him, reaching out to take his hand. "I've never had a space like that before. Something created just for me, with such thought and care."

"Good," he said, satisfaction evident in his tone. His fingers curled around hers, warm and slightly calloused from years of working with wood and metal. "We built it for you. From the first stone."

The simple statement brought a lump to her throat. "Yunho told me. Five years ago."

Mingi nodded. "Fifteen years searching. Needed somewhere for you to come home to. Even if we never found you."

"But you did find me," she said softly.

"You found us," he corrected, a hint of humor lighting his usually solemn eyes. "At an auction. Very efficient."

Y/n laughed, the sound echoing pleasantly in the sun-filled room. "I suppose I did. After you all spent fifteen years searching, I just walked right into your path."

"Worth every minute," Mingi said, his voice dropping lower as his eyes held hers. The simple statement contained no flourish, no theatrical presentation like Wooyoung might have delivered, no careful phrasing like Seonghwa would have chosen. Just pure, unvarnished truth.

Y/n felt her heart beat faster at the intensity in his gaze. Unlike their interrupted encounter in the medical bay, there was no urgency here—just quiet certainty and a depth of feeling that transcended their fifteen-year separation.

"How's your injury?" she asked, partly to focus on something tangible amid the emotional current flowing between them.

"Healing," Mingi replied, shifting slightly to a more comfortable position. "Slower than I want. Faster than Yeosang expected."

"He mentioned the facilities here would help," Y/n remarked, glancing around at the well-equipped room.

"Better than swaying on a ship," Mingi agreed. "And I can work from here soon. My workshop is close."

The mention of his workshop sparked her curiosity. "Is that part of the house?"

A small smile touched his lips—a rare expression that transformed his solemn features. "No. Better. Come see when I'm stronger. Built it myself. Into the cliff."

"Into the cliff?" Y/n repeated, intrigued by both the concept and the enthusiasm in his usually measured voice.

"Natural cave," Mingi explained. "Expanded it. Perfect workshop. Water access below for testing mechanisms. Privacy for experimental designs."

The description painted a vivid picture—a space carved from living rock, a sanctuary where Mingi could create without constraints or interruptions. A place as unique as the man himself.

"I look forward to seeing it," she said sincerely.

They fell into comfortable silence, the kind that had always existed between them even aboard The Crimson Serpent. Unlike the others, Mingi simply accepted stillness as its own form of communication. It was one of the things that had drawn Y/n to him as a child—his willingness to just be present without demanding speech or performance.

Mingi's thumb traced idle patterns on the back of her hand, his gaze thoughtful as he studied her. "You and Seonghwa," he said finally, no judgment in his tone. "Wooyoung mentioned."

"Yes," Y/n confirmed, not surprised by the directness of his observation. "Does that bother you?"

He considered this for a moment, his expression contemplative rather than troubled. "No," he decided. "Different connections. All important."

The simple assessment cut through what might have been a complex emotional tangle for others. Unlike conventional expectations where such relationships would be seen as competitive or exclusive, Mingi approached the situation with the same straightforward clarity he applied to his mechanical designs—seeing patterns and connections where others might see conflict or contradiction.

"You and Yunho too?" he asked, again without accusation or jealousy.

Y/n felt her cheeks warm slightly, but she met his gaze directly. "Yes, though not in the same way. We... talked. And other things."

Mingi nodded, acceptance rather than resignation in the gesture. "Makes sense. You're the center."

"The center?" she repeated, not quite understanding.

"Of the compass," he explained, making a five-pointed star gesture with his free hand. "Balance."

The imagery struck her forcefully—the same compass design that had become their symbol, the five points representing the five officers arranged protectively around a central point. Mingi saw their current situation not as a romantic complication but as the natural fulfillment of a pattern established fifteen years earlier.

"Is that how you all see it?" she asked, genuinely curious if this perspective was shared among them.

"Don't know," Mingi admitted. "Don't discuss feelings much. But makes sense to me. How we've always been arranged."

His honesty touched her deeply. There was no manipulation in his assessment, no attempt to claim exclusive connection or establish hierarchical importance. Just a recognition of pattern that felt inherently right to him.

"And if I wanted to be with just one of you?" she asked, not because she did, but because she needed to understand the boundaries of his acceptance.

Mingi's dark eyes studied her face for a moment before he answered. "Your choice. Always. Freedom means deciding. Even if it hurts others."

The unconditional nature of his response created unexpected emotion in her chest. After fifteen years where choice had been systematically denied, this simple acknowledgment of her right to decide—even if her decision might cause pain—represented a form of respect deeper than mere desire or affection.

"And if I want to be with all of you, in different ways?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"Then we're fortunate," Mingi replied, his own voice dropping to match hers. "And the compass is complete."

He tugged gently on her hand, drawing her closer to the edge of the bed. Unlike their passionate encounter in the medical bay, this gesture held no urgency—just simple invitation, leaving the choice entirely to her.

Y/n moved from the chair to perch on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb his injured side. This close, she could see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes, the tiny scar above his left eyebrow that had been there even as a child, the subtle lines at the corners of his eyes that spoke of years spent in sun and wind aboard ship.

"I missed you," she whispered, the words containing years of separation. Y/n leaned forward, her lips meeting his in a kiss that held none of the desperate urgency of their interrupted encounter aboard the ATEEZ, but something deeper—recognition, connection, homecoming.

Mingi's hand moved to cradle the back of her neck, his touch gentle despite the strength in his fingers. Mingi kissed her with quiet intensity—present and focused in a way that echoed his approach to everything that mattered to him.

When they finally separated, Y/n remained close, her forehead resting against his. "I should let you rest," she said, though reluctance was evident in her tone.

"Stay," Mingi requested, the single word containing more than mere invitation. "Just talk. Want to hear about you. Years to catch up on."

The request touched her deeply. Unlike potential expectation that might have demanded more physical connection despite his injury, Mingi sought the equally intimate exchange of stories and experiences—connection beyond mere physical presence.

"Where would you like me to start?" she asked, settling more comfortably beside him.

"The beginning," he replied simply. "After the auction."

And so, in the warm morning light of a room designed for healing, Y/n began to share the story she had kept tightly guarded for fifteen years. Not all at once—some chapters would require more time, more trust, more healing before she could speak them aloud. But it was a start—opening doors that captivity had kept firmly locked.

As she spoke, Mingi listened with the same focused attention he gave to everything that mattered to him—present, observant, absorbing each word without judgment or interruption. His hand remained clasped with hers, a physical anchor in the sometimes turbulent waters of memory.

Outside the windows, sunlight danced across the sheltered cove where the ATEEZ rested at anchor. Birds called from the gardens, and distant sounds of activity drifted from other parts of the house—Wooyoung's theatrical exclamations from the kitchen, the rhythmic sound of Seonghwa directing the unloading of supplies, San and Jongho's voices raised in friendly argument about the best way to repair the garden wall.

Life continuing, ordinary and extraordinary all at once, as healing began for both body and spirit in this place that had been created for exactly this purpose—a home where the lost could be found, where the wounded could heal, where the scattered could reunite despite cosmic forces aligned against such possibility.

For Y/n and Mingi, recovery had many meanings beyond the physical mending of injured flesh. And in this sunlit room, the process had truly begun.

"Blackwell kept me for seven years after the auction," Y/n continued, her voice steady despite the weight of the memories. "I was too young to be useful in the way he usually... employed girls. So he decided to train me for domestic service for the time being."

Mingi's hand tightened slightly around hers, a silent acknowledgment of what remained unspoken in that simple statement.

"That's where I met Yeosang," she said, a small smile touching her lips at the memory of her childhood friend. "He was apprenticed to Blackwell's physician. Eight years old and already learning to stitch wounds and set bones."

"You were friends," Mingi observed, not a question but a recognition of a connection he'd noticed aboard the ATEEZ.

"Yes, though we had to be careful about it," Y/n explained. "Blackwell deliberately kept his household isolated from each other. Connection meant resistance, and he couldn't have that."

"But you found ways," Mingi said, understanding flowing beneath the simple statement.

Y/n nodded.

Mingi's expression remained calm, but Y/n could see something shift in his eyes—a deep understanding of what she wasn't explicitly saying. Unlike others who might have pressed for details, Mingi seemed to sense what lay beneath her careful words without requiring her to expose every painful memory.

"The worst part wasn't the work," she continued, needing to explain what had truly damaged her during those years. "It was the constant reinforcement that I was property. Not a person with thoughts or feelings, just an object to be used until I broke or became inconvenient."

"You never broke," Mingi stated with absolute certainty.

"I came close," she admitted, vulnerability flowing without calculation. "Especially after Blackwell sold Yeosang when we were fifteen. He discovered our friendship and decided it was too dangerous to keep us together."

"Seven years you were together," Mingi calculated quickly. "Then separated."

"Yes," Y/n confirmed. "Neither of us knew what happened to the other after that. I was eventually sold to one of his associates and Yeosang..." She hesitated, not wanting to tell Yeosang's story for him. "Well, he had his own journey before joining the ATEEZ."

"He never mentioned knowing you," Mingi said thoughtfully. "Even after two years with us."

"We both learned to keep our histories private," Y/n explained. "Sharing your past makes you vulnerable. And neither of us knew you were looking for me specifically."

Mingi nodded, understanding flowing beneath the simple gesture. "Must have been shock. Recognizing each other aboard the ATEEZ."

"It was," she agreed with a soft laugh. "Though Yeosang hid it better than I did. He always had more control."

"When did you tell each other?" Mingi asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

"When Yunho took me to the medical bay for the first time. We recognized each other immediately, but kept it hidden until we could speak privately." She admitted.

"Explains some things," Mingi mused. "His extra attention to you. Different from how he treats other rescues."

"We protected each other for seven years," Y/n said simply. "That kind of bond doesn't disappear, even with years of separation."

"Like us," Mingi observed, his dark eyes finding hers. "Different people now. But connection remains."

The parallel struck her forcefully. Despite the different circumstances of their separations, both relationships had survived against impossible odds—bonds formed in childhood proving strong enough to withstand time and distance.

"Yes," she agreed softly. "Like us."

A comfortable silence settled between them, filled with the gentle sounds of morning and the distant activity of the household. Mingi's thumb traced idle patterns on the back of her hand, his expression contemplative as he processed everything she'd shared.

"Not saying everything," he observed after a while, his tone free of accusation or pressure. "Some wounds still private. Understand."

His perception—that he recognized she was holding parts of her story back without demanding she expose them—created a surge of gratitude in her chest. Unlike an approach that might have pressed for complete disclosure or offered false reassurance, Mingi simply acknowledged what he saw without judgment or expectation.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "For understanding that some stories take time to tell."

Mingi nodded, his dark eyes holding hers with quiet intensity. "When ready. If ever. Your choice."

The simple acknowledgment of her freedom, touched Y/n deeply. After being denied any choices, this recognition of her right to decide what she shared and when represented connection and respect.

"Build something for you," he said after a moment, his tone shifting to something lighter. "When I can work again. Something special. For your room."

"You've already made me so many beautiful things," Y/n protested gently, gesturing to the wooden ship in her hand and thinking of the countless carved animals that decorated her new bedroom.

"Different," Mingi insisted. "Something new. To mark new beginning."

His determination brought a smile to her face. "What did you have in mind?"

A rare, full smile transformed his usually solemn features. "Surprise," he declared, an uncharacteristic playfulness in his eyes. "Need to design first. Test ideas."

"Now I'm intrigued," Y/n admitted, charmed by his enthusiasm.

"Good," Mingi replied with obvious satisfaction. "Like when you watched me carve as children. Same curiosity. Same eyes."

The observation—that he recognized something of the child she had been in the woman before him—created a warmth that spread throughout her chest. Unlike potential focus solely on how she had changed, Mingi saw continuity beneath transformation—essential aspects that had survived despite fifteen years of systematic attempts at erasure.

Before she could respond, the medical suite door opened to admit Yeosang, carrying a tray of supplies for changing Mingi's bandages.

"I see my patient is awake and talking," he observed with professional satisfaction. "A significant improvement from yesterday."

"Good company helps," Mingi replied, his gaze remaining on Y/n.

"I can imagine," Yeosang said, his typically composed expression softening as he looked between them. His eyes met Y/n’s with the silent understanding that had characterized their connection since childhood—recognition flowing without requiring words.

"Did he behave himself?" Yeosang asked her, a hint of warmth breaking through his professional demeanor.

"Perfectly," Y/n assured him with a smile. "Though he's making mysterious promises about building me something once he's recovered."

"As long as 'building' doesn't involve getting out of bed before I approve it," Yeosang replied, giving Mingi a pointed look that held equal parts warning and affection.

"Reasonable condition," Mingi conceded with the barest hint of a smile.

Yeosang set his tray on the bedside table, their familiar interaction speaking of the bond they'd formed over the two years Yeosang had served aboard the ATEEZ. Despite their different temperaments—Yeosang's precise formality and Mingi's quiet intensity—there was genuine respect flowing between them.

"I need to change his dressings," Yeosang explained to Y/n, his voice gentler than his typical professional tone. "You're welcome to stay if you'd like, but it might be more comfortable for everyone if you return later."

Where others might have simply ordered her out or made her feel unwelcome, Yeosang created space for her choice while acknowledging practical reality.

"I should let you work," she agreed, rising from her seat. "And I promised Wooyoung I'd visit him in the kitchen once I'd checked on you."

When she leaned down to place a gentle kiss on Mingi's forehead, Yeosang turned away slightly, busying himself with arranging his supplies—a small gesture that offered them privacy without making an obvious show of it. The subtle consideration brought a smile to her lips.

"Come back later?" Mingi asked, his dark eyes holding hers.

"Of course," she promised, giving his hand one final squeeze before releasing it.

As she reached the door, she paused to look back. Yeosang had moved to Mingi's side, his hands already unwrapping the old bandages with practiced efficiency. Despite his professional focus, he glanced up and caught her watching, a small smile softening his features.

"He'll be here when you return," Yeosang assured her, understanding without being told what she needed to hear. "And in slightly better condition, if I have anything to say about it."

"I'm counting on it, Angel," she replied, using the childhood nickname that had once been their secret in Blackwell's household.

Something flashed in Yeosang's eyes—recognition, warmth, shared memory—before he dipped his head in acknowledgment. "I've never let you down before, have I?"

"Not once," she confirmed, the simple truth encompassing seven years of childhood protection and their recent reunion aboard the ATEEZ.

With a final nod that contained promise rather than merely acknowledgment, Y/n slipped through the door, leaving Mingi to Yeosang's capable care.

One conversation, one connection, one day at a time.

Y/n followed the sound of clattering pots and theatrical exclamations to the kitchen. Unlike the cramped galley aboard the ATEEZ, this space was expansive and sun-filled, with large windows overlooking the gardens and multiple workstations designed to accommodate several people cooking at once. Copper pots hung from a rack overhead, and open shelves displayed an impressive collection of herbs and spices arranged in rainbow order rather than alphabetically—Wooyoung's doing, no doubt.

The cook himself stood at the center island, dramatically waving a whisk in one hand while tasting something from a wooden spoon with his other. Three different pots simmered on the massive stove behind him, and the air was filled with the mingled aromas of cinnamon, cardamom, and something citrusy Y/n couldn't immediately identify.

"This," Wooyoung declared to no one in particular, "is an absolute TRAVESTY! How can I be expected to create culinary masterpieces without proper saffron? That shipment from the eastern markets was clearly mislabeled!"

He hadn't noticed her arrival, too caught up in his passionate soliloquy to the spices. Y/n leaned against the doorframe, enjoying the opportunity to watch him unobserved. There was something endearingly authentic about Wooyoung's theatrical nature—unlike the calculated performances she'd witnessed during her years in captivity, his expressiveness flowed naturally, without manipulation or hidden agenda.

"Cinnamon, my faithful friend," he continued, addressing a jar of spice with earnest intensity, "you must bear more of the aromatic burden today. Can I count on you to rise to this momentous occasion?"

Y/n couldn't contain her laughter any longer. "Does the cinnamon usually answer back?" she asked, pushing away from the doorframe and entering the kitchen.

Wooyoung whirled around, surprise quickly giving way to delight. "Little bird! My savior! My muse! The only person in this house who truly appreciates the ARTISTRY required in my domain!" He swept into an elaborate bow, narrowly avoiding knocking over a bowl of what appeared to be cake batter. "And yes, the cinnamon frequently consults on important culinary decisions. Unlike SOME people, it never suggests I'm using too much spice."

"High praise from a jar of bark," Y/n observed, walking closer to inspect the bubbling pots. "What are you making that requires such intense negotiations with your spice collection?"

"Only the most magnificent welcome feast in the history of piracy!" Wooyoung declared, spinning back to his workstation with fluid grace. "Fifteen years of missed celebrations, condensed into one glorious evening of culinary ecstasy!”

His enthusiasm was contagious, bringing a smile to Y/n’s face. "You've been planning a meal for me?"

"Meals are memories made manifest," Wooyoung said, his theatrical delivery not diminishing the genuine sentiment behind his words. "Each dish tells a story—where we've been, what we've seen, how far we've come. And YOUR story, my dear, deserves nothing less than my absolute best."

He handed her a spoon dipped in something golden and fragrant. "Taste. It's honey from the islands where we first started tracking rumors of a girl sold at auction in Halazia."

Y/n accepted the spoon, the sweet flavor blooming on her tongue with unexpected complexity. "It's wonderful," she said, genuine appreciation in her voice. "I've never tasted honey like this."

"The bees feed on flowers that only grow on volcanic soil," Wooyoung explained, a rare moment of straightforward information without theatrical embellishment. Then, just as quickly, his dramatic persona returned. "Now! Since you've graciously offered your assistance, I shall put you to work! These spices need grinding, and I trust no one else with proper measurement."

"I don't recall actually offering—" Y/n began, amusement warming her voice.

"Details, details!" Wooyoung waved dismissively. "You're here, I'm here, CLEARLY the universe has aligned to place you at my culinary disposal!"

As he arranged various spices and a mortar and pestle before her, Y/n noticed something she might have missed in the past—beneath his exuberant exterior, Wooyoung was watching her carefully, gauging her reactions, adjusting his energy to match her comfort level. Unlike the overbearing personalities she'd encountered during captivity, his theatrical nature contained genuine awareness of others—performance with perception rather than merely seeking attention.

They worked side by side for several comfortable minutes, Wooyoung chattering about his garden and the new varieties of herbs he'd planted during their absence, Y/n grinding spices with the careful precision that years of domestic service had ingrained in her. The familiar motions were oddly comforting—similar actions but in an entirely different context, freely chosen rather than compelled.

"You're good at that," Wooyoung observed, momentarily setting aside his dramatic persona as he watched her hands work the pestle. "Your wrist motion is perfect."

"Years of practice," Y/n replied without elaboration. She didn't need to explain; they both understood what those years had entailed.

Wooyoung's expression softened, his usual animation giving way to something more genuine. "I used to imagine finding you in kitchens wherever we went," he admitted. "I'd walk into taverns and merchant houses when we were gathering intelligence, and my eyes would always go to the kitchen staff first. Looking for a girl, then a young woman, with your particular way of moving."

The simple confession—delivered without his usual theatrics—touched something deep within Y/n. Unlike elaborate declarations, this quiet admission revealed the reality of their fifteen-year search—the constant looking, the persistent hope despite repeated disappointment.

"Did you ever come close?" she asked.

"Once," he said, stirring one of his pots with uncharacteristic stillness. "Four years ago, in a northern port. There was a girl with your coloring working in a merchant's kitchen. I watched her for hours, trying to decide if it was you. She had a similar way of breaking bread—always in half before eating."

"What happened?" Y/n asked softly, recognizing the weight of the memory in his unusually subdued tone.

"I finally approached her," Wooyoung continued. "Asked about her past. She'd been born in that port, never traveled south. Had a whole family there—parents, siblings. It wasn't you." He looked up, meeting her eyes with rare seriousness. "I think that was the closest Seonghwa came to giving up. He'd been so sure from my description... the disappointment hit him hardest."

The glimpse into their years of searching—the hope, the disappointment, the persistence despite repeated failure—created an unexpected knot in Y/n’s throat. These men hadn't just made a childhood promise; they had actively pursued it through years of increasing difficulty, refusing to abandon their oath despite every reason to believe it was futile.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"For what?" Wooyoung asked, genuine surprise breaking through his momentary solemnity.

"For all those years of searching. For all those disappointments."

His expression transformed, seriousness giving way to something warmer as he stepped closer. "Don't you understand yet?" he asked, his voice gentler than his usual theatrical delivery. "Finding you now makes every disappointment worth it. Every false lead, every setback, every moment of doubt—they were just parts of the journey that brought us here."

Before she could respond, Wooyoung moved with surprising swiftness, stepping behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. Unlike his usual exaggerated movements, this gesture held a different quality—deliberate rather than impulsive, intentional rather than merely theatrical.

"Besides," he continued, his breath warm against her ear as he rested his chin on her shoulder, "the best stories always have complications before the happy ending. Makes the finale so much more satisfying."

The casual intimacy of his embrace—comfortable yet undeniably purposeful—created a flutter in Y/n’s chest. Unlike the others, Wooyoung's approach carried a playful warmth that somehow made it easier to accept, less weighted with expectation or significance.

"Is this a happy ending, then?" she asked, leaning back slightly into his embrace. "Finding me after fifteen years?"

"Oh no," he replied, his lips brushing against her neck in a touch so light she might have imagined it. "This isn't an ending at all. It's a beginning."

His mouth found her pulse point, pressing a deliberate kiss against the sensitive skin that sent an unexpected shiver down her spine. Y/n’s breath caught, her hands stilling on the mortar and pestle as Wooyoung continued a trail of feather-light kisses along her neck.

"I should warn you," he murmured against her skin, "that unlike our stoic quartermaster or our solemn gunner, I have absolutely no intention of maintaining dignified restraint or composed distance."

Another kiss, this one at the junction of her neck and shoulder, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot in a way that made heat pool low in her belly. "I've spent fifteen years imagining finding you," he continued, one hand leaving her waist to brush her hair aside, exposing more of her neck to his attention. "And in none of those fantasies did I stand politely across the room engaging in profound conversation."

The declaration—playful yet unmistakably sincere—drew a soft laugh from Y/n. Despite the desire building under his touch, there was something refreshingly straightforward about Wooyoung's approach. Where Seonghwa's careful control and Mingi's quiet intensity could feel weighty with significance, Wooyoung's playful directness offered connection without unnecessary complication.

"No profound conversation at all?" she teased, turning in his arms to face him. "Just straight to this?"

"Well," he conceded with an exaggerated thoughtfulness that didn't quite mask the heat in his eyes, "perhaps SOME conversation. I'm quite talented with words, after all. But they'd be considerably less philosophical and significantly more... descriptive."

His hands settled at her waist, thumbs tracing small circles against her ribs as he leaned closer, their faces now inches apart. "For example," he continued, his voice dropping lower, "I could tell you exactly how I've been dreaming of kissing you since you came to us. How I've imagined the taste of your lips, the sound of your breath catching I—"

Y/n closed the remaining distance between them, cutting off his words with her mouth. Unlike her other encounters aboard the ATEEZ, this time she initiated the contact, choosing rather than responding. The simple act of deciding, of acting on desire rather than calculating advantage, felt like another small reclamation of self after fifteen years of having choices systematically denied.

Wooyoung made a sound of surprise against her lips before immediately responding with enthusiasm, his hands tightening at her waist as he pulled her closer. Where Seonghwa had been precisely controlled and Mingi quietly intense, Wooyoung kissed exactly as one might expect—with theatrical passion that somehow remained genuinely heartfelt, expressive without being overwhelming.

When his tongue traced the seam of her lips, Y/n opened to him without hesitation, her arms winding around his neck as the kiss deepened. He tasted of cinnamon and honey, warmth and spice blending in a combination that seemed perfectly suited to his nature.

Wooyoung backed her slowly toward the massive center island, his hands never leaving her waist as he guided her across the kitchen. When her lower back met the edge of the counter, he lifted her effortlessly to sit on its surface, stepping between her legs without breaking their kiss.

"I should warn you," he murmured against her lips between kisses, "that I have absolutely no intention of stopping unless you tell me to."

His honesty—delivered with characteristic directness despite the playfulness in his tone—gave Y/n a moment of clarity amid building desire. This was her choice, her decision. After fifteen years where such autonomy had been systematically denied, the simple power to say yes or no represented freedom more profound than merely physical pleasure.

"Good," she replied, her fingers threading through his hair as she pulled him back to her. "Because I have absolutely no intention of telling you to stop."

Something flashed in Wooyoung's eyes—heat mingled with something deeper, more significant than mere desire. Then his mouth reclaimed hers with renewed passion, one hand sliding up her back to cradle her head while the other traced the curve of her hip with deliberate appreciation.

Unlike her encounter with Seonghwa, carefully conducted behind closed doors, or her interrupted moment with Mingi in the medical bay, this was happening in the kitchen—the heart of the house, a space anyone might enter at any moment. The thought should have concerned her, yet Y/n found it oddly liberating. After fifteen years of secrecy and calculation, there was something powerful about not hiding, about claiming connection openly rather than in shadows.

Wooyoung seemed to read her thoughts, a smile curving against her lips as he pulled back slightly. "Scandalous, isn't it?" he murmured, eyes dancing with mischief. "The quartermaster would have heart failure at such impropriety."

The mental image of Seonghwa's horrified expression made Y/n laugh despite her quickened breath and flushed cheeks. "Hongjoong would probably just take notes for strategic purposes," she countered, surprising herself with the ease of the teasing.

"And Mingi would watch silently, cataloging every detail for future reference," Wooyoung added, his grin widening. "While Yunho would blush magnificently and try to decide whether to leave or stay."

The shared humor—comfortable despite their intimate position—created another layer of connection beyond physical desire. Unlike calculated seduction meant to achieve specific outcome, this held genuine enjoyment of each other beyond merely physical response.

Wooyoung's expression softened, his theatrical mask slipping to reveal something more vulnerable. "I missed you," he said simply. "Not just these past fifteen years, but these past days when you've been reconnecting with the others. I've been waiting my turn, trying to be patient—not my strongest quality, as you may have noticed."

The admission—delivered without his usual elaborate flourish—touched Y/n deeply. Unlike a manipulative attempt to claim exclusive attention, his honesty acknowledged the complex reality of their situation with straightforward acceptance.

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting," she replied, her hand rising to cup his cheek. "I'm still adjusting to... all of this. To having choices. To being allowed to want."

"Never apologize for taking the time you need," Wooyoung said, turning his head to press a kiss to her palm. "Contrary to my dramatic nature, I can actually be quite patient for things that matter." His smile returned, wicked at the edges. "I just prefer not to be, when there are much more interesting alternatives."

His mouth found hers again, this kiss deeper than the ones before, his hands growing bolder as they explored the curves of her body with appreciative attention. When his fingers found the laces at the front of her bodice, he paused, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes.

"May I?" he asked, theatrical persona giving way to genuine care.

The simple request—acknowledgment of her autonomy in even this small matter—created another surge of warmth in Y/n’s chest. This wasn't the calculated compliance of captivity but authentic choice freely given.

"Yes," she breathed, the single word containing fifteen years of reclaimed agency.

Wooyoung's fingers made quick work of the laces, loosening her bodice with practiced ease that suggested considerable experience. Yet despite his obvious desire, his touch remained attentive rather than demanding, invitation rather than expectation.

As the fabric parted beneath his hands, exposing the thin chemise beneath, Wooyoung drew in a sharp breath. "Even more beautiful than I imagined," he murmured, reverence replacing his usual theatrical delivery. "And believe me, I have a VERY vivid imagination."

His hands moved to her shoulders, thumbs tracing her collarbones with careful appreciation. Unlike potential focus on physical attributes alone, his attention felt like recognition of her entirety—desire for the person rather than merely the body.

"I should tell you," he said, uncharacteristic hesitation entering his voice, "that I've also been imagining this moment for fifteen years. And in my imagination, I was always much smoother and more sophisticated than I'm managing right now."

The confession—vulnerable beneath his typical playfulness—created an unexpected tenderness in Y/n's chest. This wasn't calculated seduction but genuine connection, nerves and all.

"I like you exactly as you are," she assured him, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "Theatrical and honest all at once."

Something flickered in Wooyoung's eyes—gratitude mixed with deepening desire. Then his mouth found hers again, kissing her with increasing hunger as his hands resumed their exploration of newly exposed skin. When his thumbs brushed the sides of her breasts through the thin fabric of her chemise, Y/n gasped against his lips, her body arching instinctively into his touch.

"Responsive," Wooyoung observed with evident appreciation, his mouth trailing down her neck as his hands grew bolder.

His lips followed the path his fingers had taken, trailing along her collarbone before dipping lower, kisses pressed against the swell of her breasts above her chemise. When his teeth grazed a particularly sensitive spot, Y/n's fingers tightened in his hair, a soft sound escaping her throat that seemed to encourage rather than deter his attentions.

Wooyoung's hand moved to cup her breast through the thin fabric, thumb circling her nipple with deliberate pressure that sent sparks of pleasure through her body. His mouth continued its downward journey, hot kisses trailing along the edge of her chemise until he reached the peak of her breast. Even through fabric, the heat of his breath made her shiver with anticipation.

"Tell me what you want," he murmured against her skin, looking up through his lashes with an intensity that belied his playful nature. "I want to hear you say it."

The request—invitation to express desire rather than merely receive attention—represented another form of freedom after fifteen years where her wants had been systematically disregarded. Choice extended beyond yes or no to include preference, desire, active participation rather than passive receipt.

"I want your mouth," Y/n replied, voice husky with desire as her fingers tightened in his hair. "Here." She guided him to her breast, the word transforming from request to demand as her confidence grew.

A smile of genuine pleasure curved Wooyoung's lips at her directness. "With pleasure," he replied, the theatrical cadence of his usual speech giving way to something more primal as his mouth closed over her nipple through the thin fabric.

The sensation drew a moan from Y/n's throat, louder than she'd intended in the open kitchen. Wooyoung's responding groan vibrated against her sensitive flesh, his hand raising to attend to her other breast as his mouth continued its deliberate attention.

The combination of his clever hands and talented mouth sent waves of heat skittering across Y/n's skin, building a tension that coiled low in her belly and spread outward in pulsing waves. Her back arched, body seeking more contact as her breath came in quickened gasps, every nerve alive with sensation.

When Wooyoung drew back slightly to blow cool air across the damp fabric, her entire body shuddered, a broken sound escaping her lips that held both protest and need. "Already so sensitive," he marveled, voice filled with admiration and something deeper. "I can only imagine when there’s nothing between us."

He raised his head to capture her mouth again, the kiss fierce with shared hunger as his hands slid beneath the loosened bodice to finally touch her skin directly. The absence of barriers heightened every sensation, his touch electric against her bare flesh.

Lost in sensation, neither of them heard the approaching footsteps until a theatrical gasp broke through their absorbed focus.

"Well, WELL, WELL!" San's voice rang through the kitchen, amusement and surprise mingling in his animated tone. "Apparently Jongho owes me twenty gold pieces! I TOLD him you'd claim the kitchen as your domain in EVERY possible way!"

Wooyoung pulled back reluctantly, though his hands remained at Y/n waist in a gesture that managed to be both possessive and supportive. Unlike Seonghwa's mortified reaction to being discovered with Y/n, Wooyoung merely looked over his shoulder with an expression of theatrical annoyance.

"Your timing is ATROCIOUS," he informed San with dignified outrage somewhat undermined by his disheveled appearance and the flush on his cheeks.

San leaned against the doorframe with a grin that matched Wooyoung's usual mischief. "On the contrary," he countered, "my timing is IMPECCABLE. Any later and I'd have been treated to a FAR more comprehensive display of your culinary techniques."

Y/n expected embarrassment to overwhelm her—being discovered in such a compromising position by someone she barely knew should have triggered the protective withdrawal that fifteen years of captivity had ingrained. Instead, she found herself laughing, the absurdity of the situation somehow liberating rather than mortifying.

San's eyebrows rose at her reaction, then he joined in with his own laughter, warm and genuine rather than mocking or judgmental. "I like her," he declared to Wooyoung, approval evident in his tone. "She handles interruptions much better than you do."

"She hasn't had fifteen years of your INFURIATING habit of appearing at precisely the wrong moment," Wooyoung retorted, though there was no real anger in his voice, only fond exasperation.

He turned back to Y/n, helping her retie her bodice with unexpectedly gentle hands. "I apologize for my friend's complete lack of manners," he said loudly enough for San to hear. "He was raised by particularly ill-behaved wolves."

"Wolves with EXCELLENT timing," San corrected cheerfully, making no move to leave despite Wooyoung's pointed glares.

Once Y/n was properly covered again, Wooyoung pressed a kiss to her forehead that managed to be both chaste and deeply intimate. "To be continued," he promised in a whisper meant for her alone. "When we can ensure NO INTERRUPTIONS." This last part was aimed directly at San, who merely grinned wider.

"I look forward to it," Y/n replied, enjoying the flash of heat that returned to Wooyoung's eyes at her directness.

"Now," Wooyoung declared, theatrical persona fully restored as he turned back to his neglected pots, "since you've RUDELY inserted yourself into my kitchen, San, you can make yourself useful. These spices won't grind themselves, and I have a feast to prepare!"

As San pushed away from the doorframe with exaggerated reluctance, Y/n found herself watching the easy camaraderie between the two men with a sense of wonder. This was friendship without calculation, teasing without cruelty, connection without exploitation—the natural flow of relationships built on mutual respect rather than power imbalance.

Another piece of normal life she was gradually reclaiming after fifteen years where such simple human interactions had been systematically denied. Like the private room with its personalized touches, like the freedom to choose intimate connections, like the ability to laugh openly without fear of consequences, these small moments of ordinary happiness accumulated into something extraordinary—a life rebuilt from fragments, a self reclaimed from captivity.

As Wooyoung drew her back into the cooking preparations, his hand occasionally brushing hers in touches that promised more to come, Y/n felt something unfamiliar yet welcome settling in her chest—not merely desire or affection, but genuine belonging. This house, these men, this new reality they were building together—it was becoming home in every sense of the word.

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