#composer updatation failed

[kiwriteswords]

I was listening to Diet Pepsi by Addison Rae (it gives me so much Hotch vibes for some reason??? I love it) and I thought it would be the perfect occasion to make a request for your Thirsty Thursday 👀 I don't have much idea but I guess something in the car, maybe a younger reader so we have a lovely age gap and maybe something that goes with the lyrics "I write my name with lipstick on your chest I leave a mark so you know I'm the best" (don't need to be the name writing of course ahah but I love the idea of lipstick stains on his chest)

You're the absolute best and congrats on your 2k btw!! you deserve thousand more 🫶

Fog up the windows in the parking lot [Aaron Hotchner x Age-Gap!Reader] **

Ki2k Masterlist||MainMasterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 3k|| AN: Hii! Thank you so much for this request--I still can't believe I was listening to this song when you sent this, haha. Great minds think alike!! I hope you like this (I can't write smut to save my life, but here i am doing a smut day.)

Tags/Warnings: female reader, porn without plot honestly, smut, mdni, unprotected sex, car sex, I am bad at writing smut sorry, horny hotch, sorta brat tamer hotch, age gap, you're hotch's controversially young gf, not specified if reader is BAU (so up to your imagination).

Summary: The one where Aaron Hotchner realizes he goes weak in the knees when he sees how tight his much younger girlfriend's jeans are.

Hotch couldn't help himself today, and it was all because of those jeans you decided to wear. Each time you bent over to grab something off the lower shelves at the grocery store, his heart skipped a beat, his mind filled with thoughts that had no place in the brightly lit aisles of their local market. You were oblivious to the effect you were having on him, focused on checking items off the grocery list, your hips swaying naturally as you moved down the aisles.

It wasn’t just the bending or the swaying; it was every little thing you did. Each time you reached up to grab something from a higher shelf, the way your back arched slightly, Hotch felt a pull deep inside him, a stirring of feelings he hadn't expected to be so strong.

When you both loaded the groceries into the car and then reached into the backseat to grab your purse, your jeans hugging you perfectly, Hotch found his eyes lingering. He was usually more composed than this, more in control, but today, those jeans had him teetering on the edge.

Driving home, he kept stealing glances your way, each look like adding fuel to a fire he was struggling to contain. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and tinged with a hint of warning and desire mingled together. "You have no idea what those jeans are doing to me," he confessed, trying to keep his focus on the road but failing miserably.

You turned to look at him, a mischievous sparkle in your eye, fully aware now of the turmoil you were causing. His words, so out of character for the usually stoic and controlled man, only brought a playful smile to your lips.

Hotch knew he was treading uncharted waters, not just with his emotions but with how openly he was expressing them. Despite the teasing from the team, who noticed how much younger you were, and their offhand jokes about him being like a lovestruck teenager, it didn't matter. You brought out a side of him he never knew existed. A side that felt alive, vibrant, and yes, even a bit reckless.

You sighed, looking in your purse for something beside Hotch in the passenger seat. He then all about lost it when you unbuckled your seat belt in the passenger seat and twisted to the back. Your ass was now level with his head, practically drawing him in. He had to keep his eyes on the road--but god dammit. 

The car shifted slightly as he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening from the tension. "You're doing this on purpose now," he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with a mix of exasperation and barely contained desire.

Playing coy, you didn't respond immediately. Instead, you found your lipstick and settled back into your seat, taking your time to apply it carefully, glancing at him to gauge his reaction. His eyes flicked, catching yours, and you saw a flash of something intense in his gaze.

Hotch stepped on the gas a bit harder than necessary, the slight surge forward a clear indication of his growing impatience and agitation. You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction, teasing him further. "You know, you're really sexy when you're all hot and bothered," you pointed out, your tone playful yet sincere.

The remark seemed to hit a nerve, and Hotch took a deep breath, trying to refocus his attention on the road. But it was clear you had effectively distracted him, his mind racing with thoughts he usually kept well under wraps. This side of Hotch, the one that struggled between his composed exterior and the mounting desire you elicited, intrigued you. It was a side of him that came out rarely, and you relished the moments when you could draw it out, loving the way he looked at you when he thought you weren't watching.

You leaned back in your seat, a mischievous glint in your eye, and teased him, "I have a good idea."

Hotch's response was immediate and a little strained, his voice tight as he focused on the road. "The only idea I have right now is getting home and taking a cold shower." He was half-joking, but the undertone of his voice betrayed his growing frustration and need.

You laughed lightly, enjoying the effect you had on him, but decided to push the envelope a little further. "You know," you started casually as if the thought had just occurred to you, "I've always wanted to have sex in the car."

Hotch paused at that, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He glanced at you briefly, his expression a mix of surprise and contemplation. The rational side of him kicked in almost immediately, listing several reasons why that was not a good idea—safety, legality, the potential for discomfort. But before he could voice any of those thoughts, he felt your hand on his thigh.

Your fingers started caressing him, inching dangerously close to his groin. Each touch sent a jolt through him, scattering his thoughts and straining his control. His grip on the steering wheel tightened again, and he drew in a sharp breath, trying to concentrate on the road while battling the surge of desire your bold move had ignited.

He half sighed, half groaned your name, his voice strained as he tried to concentrate on the road. "That's not—"

But he didn't finish his sentence. The sensation of your fingers, the way you leaned closer to him, your breath on his neck as you whispered just how much you wanted this—all of it was overwhelming. Hotch gripped the steering wheel even tighter, the car speeding along as he battled the surge of desire that you sparked with your daring touch.

He took a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of control, but the more he thought about your suggestion, the more appealing it seemed. Here he was, a man always in control, always calculated, yet at this moment, driven to the edge by the simple act of your hand on his leg.

"We should... we should at least pull over," he finally conceded, his voice a mix of reluctance and desire, realizing that resisting you completely was a battle he might not want to win today. As he scanned for a secluded spot to park, the thrill of the impending escapade with you sent a jolt of anticipation through him. 

Hotch pulled the car over, the tires crunching softly on the gravel as he turned off into a secluded spot shielded by trees. Without a word, he reached over the console, his movements deliberate, and captured your lips in a rough, hungry kiss. You moaned into his mouth, your lipstick leaving a taste of cherries against his lips, igniting a fire within him that he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years.

His hands roamed over your body with a sense of urgency and ownership, finally reaching across the console to trace down your legs to those tight jeans that had been torturing him all day. His touch sent shivers up your spine, and you pulled back breathless, meeting his gaze which had darkened with raw desire.

"You’re gonna need to help me peel these off," you suggested with a playful yet sultry tone, motioning towards the backseat, "Maybe back there would be better?"

The idea sent a thrill through Hotch, the tightness in his own jeans growing at the thought. His brain buzzed with a cascade of 'what ifs' — what if we get caught? What if someone sees? Yet, the logical side of him was quickly overridden by the sheer desire to be closer to you, to explore this daring side of your relationship.

Hotch's decision was made the moment you suggested moving to the backseat, but as he surveyed the space, he realized there was enough room if he pushed the driver's seat all the way back. The SUV, similar to the one he drove for the FBI, was spacious, but even then, the two of you fit just barely.

You began to wiggle out of your jeans in the passenger seat, and Hotch reached for his belt with urgency. Typically, your intimate moments were full of foreplay, and you both took your time, savoring each other. But today was different—there was a sense of rush, an urgency in the air as he pulled himself from his jeans, his eyes never leaving you.

"Come here," he said in a low, commanding tone that sent a shiver down your spine. It was a direct, uncharacteristically blunt invitation, but it carried all the intensity of your mutual desire. He adjusted himself, making space for you, anticipation etching every line of his face as he awaited you to straddle his lap.

Your eyes went from his to his hand as he began stroking himself with a semi-achingly slow pace that made your eyes widen. He watched you slide your panties down your legs, kicking them to the floor of the car with your jeans and shoes.

The rush, the spontaneity—it all contributed to a thrilling urgency neither of you could deny. As you moved towards him, leaving the constraints of your jeans behind, the tight confines of the SUV seemed to close in, enveloping you both in a private world where only your intertwined desires mattered.

You slid from the passenger seat, the fabric of the car seats whispering beneath you as you maneuvered yourself toward Hotch. The confined space of the SUV made every movement more deliberate, more charged with an electrifying tension. Your heart raced as you reached him; his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that mirrored the pounding of your pulse.

Carefully, you straddled him, positioning yourself over his lap. Hotch's hands immediately found your hips, his grip firm and sure, anchoring you securely against him. The close quarters of the SUV enveloped you both, creating a cocoon of intimacy that amplified each breath, each subtle shift in movement.

His hand moved from your hip to between your legs, spreading you and finding the wetness that waited for him there. He groaned, feeling it; he threw his head back, opening his neck for you to nip at and kiss. You began unbuttoning his button-up, glad he went without the tie today and just the button-up and jeans--a casual look you loved. 

You reached between the two of you and positioned him before swiftly sinking down with a shared groan filling the walls between the two of you. You felt the pads of his fingertips grip your hips again as you began to rock into him, subconsciously clenching around him. 

His hands caressed the curve of your ass, guiding your hips to rock against him. The way he pressed you so firmly down against his hips had the right amount of pressure on your clit, causing you to roll your eyes in pleasure. 

His hands spread up your sides on your still-clothed top. Through your shirt, he grabbed at your breasts roughly before returning to your ass. 

Hotch got a little rougher, meeting your hips rand ocking against his with a thrust beneath you. You could feel him deep within you. Caught in your throat was a moan, but the pleasure was too immense--too good. 

“You have no idea what you were doing to me today in those jeans,” Hotch panted, his lips finding the crook between your shoulder and your neck as he began to meet you thrust for thrust--so deep, so good--so much. 

“Oh,” You squeaked, “I have an idea.” You laughed, breathlessly. 

“Fucking,” Thrust, “Brat.” The sound of your hips smacking. Your thighs sweaty now against him, and your wetness now audible. 

“You love it,” You breathed, your lips going down to his chest now, kissing him and leaving marks of your lips from your lipstick, stained across his chest. 

“Yes,” He thrusted again, sharper now, but the rhythm beginning to falter. “You better hurry up and come,” he said breathlessly. You clenched around him with a glint in your eyes, “I’m serious.” 

Reaching between the two of you, you began working your clit with a circular rhythm that was old faithful in any situation. Hotch’s eyes squeezed shut then open, continuing to meet you. There was a found tempo from the way your fingers circled your clit and the way his hips met yours.

You felt the coil begin to tighten as your orgasm approached. Your thighs began to shake and you threw your head back. Hotch’s fingers bruising your hips continued with each deep thrust. Over and over and over. Just right. 

You came with a gasp, which was then covered by Hotch’s lips kissing you. His hips beginning to lose control as his own orgasm left him. You felt him empty within you, only adding to the sensitivity you felt deep within you. His hips stuttered against you, resting, but your thighs still shaking against him. As if to hold you into place, his hand rested at the small of your back, settleing you. 

A groan left his lips into your mouth, and the two of you slowed with lethargy. As the intensity of the moment ebbed, Hotch's hands gently caressed your skin, soothing and tender in their touch. The two of you were left sweaty and breathless, the aftermath of your passion palpable in the close, humid air of the SUV. His hands moved slowly, tracing patterns across your back and shoulders, each stroke helping to ground you both as you came down from your highs.

The small space of the car, which just moments ago had felt electrifying and exhilarating, now seemed overly warm and confining. As you both caught your breath, the reality of the situation gently settled in—a mixture of amusement and affection hanging between you.

"We definitely need a shower," Hotch murmured, a slight grin playing on his lips as he acknowledged the state both of you were in. The thought of continuing this intimacy in the shower brought a soft smile to your face.

"And maybe a detail for the car," you added, laughing softly, the sound mixing with the faint hum of the idling engine. The humor of the situation wasn't lost on you, and Hotch's responding chuckle told you he felt the same.

"So, I take it you liked the jeans?" you asked, a playful note in your voice.

Hotch glanced at you, a smirk playing on his lips. His eyes held a glint of mischief mixed with undeniable affection. "I loved them," he admitted, his voice low and enticing. "But for the sake of productivity, maybe never wear them again around me if we actually want to get anything done."

His witty response made you laugh, the sound light and carefree. It was moments like these that deepened your connection, mixing playful banter with the intense chemistry you shared. 

Your fingers trace the outline of your lips marked all along his neck and chest from the now-smeared lipstick you had applied moments before. A mischievous smile spread across your face as you pointed them out. "You know, this might be my favorite look on you now," you said, the playful tone in your voice tinged with a hint of satisfaction.

Hotch raised his eyebrows, a slight blush coloring his cheeks as he reached up to feel the marks, his fingers brushing over the spots you indicated. The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile, appreciative of your boldness and the memory of the moments that led to such disarray.

"Is that so?" he replied, his voice laced with humor and a warmth that reached his eyes. "I suppose it's a good thing we're heading home then. I might need to wear it more often if it gets that kind of approval."

As you watched the fading lipstick marks on his skin, you leaned closer, a teasing gleam in your eyes. "I like marking what's mine," you murmured, tracing a finger lightly over one of the marks, emphasizing your words.

Hotch looked at you, his expression softening into one of deep affection, the playful retort ready on his lips turning into something far more tender. "Sweetheart, you don't need marks to know I am," he replied, his voice gentle yet firm, filled with a sincerity that warmed you through.

You kissed him tenderly there before he patted your bare hip. You smiled against his lips, knowing the two of you had to leave this little intimate cocoon now. “I know, I know,” you sighed against his lips before whimpering, slowly moving off of him, trying not to make an entire mess of his already dirtied car. Hotch groaned, feeling you leave his lap. 

Despite the age gap between you, something about being with you made Hotch feel as though he was losing his innocence all over again; each moment tinged with a freshness and excitement that he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. It was a rediscovery, a rejuvenation of spirit in the best way possible, with every laugh, touch, and shared secret making him feel both wonderfully vulnerable and profoundly alive.

He sure hoped you wore those jeans again. 

[lomlhwa]

scandal (l.c)

pairing: idol!reader x idol!chan

preview: you got into a dating scandal with another idol and chan is not happy. it should've been him, he's your actual boyfriend after all.

tags/warnings: fem reader, mentions of beomgyu and other idols, possessive chan, kisses galore, pet names (pretty, baby, my love, angel), oral (fem.receiving), holding hands while fucking, so much praise, monster cock chan, marking, did i say possessive?, unprotected penetration (wrap it before you tap it), creampie

trigger warnings: n/a

wc: 1.8k

song rec for this fic: obsession by exo

a/n: i tried making fake tweets + texts for this how did i do? also i just threw in random female idols to make a fake group lol

you sigh, putting your phone down and rubbing your temples. dating as an idol is so tiring and sometimes you honestly forget why you even try. but you love your boyfriend so much. beomgyu is your good friend and sometimes you fail to remember to be sneaky when hanging out. even small things like going out to eat together makes fans assume you’re madly in love. this isn’t the first time you’ve been roped into media with beomgyu and you’re certain it won’t be the last. 

with your swift rise to fame, you’ve had many dating scandals in your time. what pisses chan off the most is the fact that it’s never been him that you’ve had a scandal with. you’ve gone out on many public dates before and no one has ever picked up on the fact that you’re together. he even kissed you in the view of a sasaeng one time and they didn’t notice. he wonders if it’s intentional on the media’s part or if they’re seriously just that oblivious. 

you run your hand through your hair, trying to fathom why the general public knowing about your relationship is so important to him. everyone within the industry knows so why does everyone else have to? relationships can ruin idol reputations and he doesn’t seem to care. maybe it’s because you’re both already so big that he’s not worried? or he’s hoping your fans are just accepting enough to be okay with it? 

your members come wandering into the living room and you’re quick to compose yourself. you don’t want them to know you’re having relationship problems again. “you okay, y/n?” minji asks you, concern spreading on her face. you nod and smile to the best of your abilities. “hmm, i don’t believe you but we have schedules so i’m not gonna push,” karina shakes her head before gesturing for you to follow the group out the door. you gather your things and do your best not to think about anything but the late night ahead of you. 

___________________________________________

after a late night at dance practice you finally get the time to check your phone. you know chan had a fansign today so you decide to check on some of his fan accounts. you smile as you’re met with cute photos of him posing with gifts from fans. you find lots of updates on things he said as well. his current favorite movies, foods, tv shows and… songs. of course he mentions you. it’s cute that he listens to your music and likes to promote you to fans. 

you jump as you realize sana is perched over your shoulder, reading your text messages. “he’s gonna get in trouble when people realize he keeps talking about you,” she comments, clicking her tongue. you sigh dramatically, slouching your shoulders. “that’s what he wants.” suddenly all your members are gathered around you, confused as to what you’re talking about. “i got into another scandal with beomgyu and chan is jealous that it’s not him. so he’s putting in extra effort to try and get people to assume things.” your members share a weird look between them before turning back to you. “i think you should go on the most public date ever and make sure everyone knows you’re with lee chan of seventeen,” lily smiles brightly at you. this comment shocks you a little but you agree. 

“will you guys help me set up a giant celebration at the restaurant under our dorm?” you ask and they all agree excitedly. you all rush to get back to your dorm, eager to plan an extravagant dinner for you and your boyfriend. you talk to the owners of the restaurant and they agree to vacate the restaurant for you. they even promise to make food on the house. your girls help you pick the perfect outfit, hair and makeup for the event. they even “accidentally” tell a well known media outlet that you have plans for tomorrow and they should be there. 

___________________________________________

you sit in eager anticipation waiting for your boyfriend to show up. you can see a photographer out of the corner of your eye, waiting for something to happen. you hear the backdoor open and chan walks in, confidence filling his every step. your eyes fall on the suit he chose for tonight. he left his blazer undone, showing off that the buttons resting on his chest were begging to burst open. 

“hello, my love,” he says as he pecks your cheek before sitting down across from you. “what’s the occasion for such a fancy dinner?” his face changes to panic for a moment before he speaks again; “did i miss our anniversary? your birthday?” you shake your head and chuckle just as a waitress comes scurrying out of the kitchen with pre prepared food. you thank her and shoot her a quick wink before turning back to your lover. chan looks at you with an unreadable expression, but you hope it’s positive.

the two of you eat your food happily, the atmosphere feeling very comfortable. your share anecdotes from your lives as idols, laughing that the ridiculousness of your respective companies. before long, your meal is coming to an end. chan gives you a look you know all too well and you’re quick to scurry away, up the stairs and to your dorm. your boyfriend follows swiftly behind you after thanking all the staff. 

you thank your members mentally as you enter your normally occupied dorm. as soon as the door is closed, chan’s hands are on you. he drags you by your hips, crashing you against him. he kisses you with such aggression that you would think he was trying to eat you. your tongues tangle like snakes, drool spilling from the corner of your mouth. “fuck, baby. you’re so sexy, you know that?” he connects his lips to your jawline, sucking on your skin gently. he sucks dark red marks on your collar bones, taking a moment to lean back and admire his work. 

“jump,” he mutters as he hooks his hands under your thighs. you hop and he catches you before quickly scurrying towards your room. he lays you down on your bed, pressing your legs wide open. he groans as he realizes you aren’t wearing any panties. you bite your lip as he admires you. “stop fucking me with your eyes and fuck me for real,” you demand. chan drops to his knees in front of you, desperation filling his eyes. you lift yourself onto your elbows so you can see him better. he kisses his way up your thighs before meeting his lips with your drenched core. 

his skilled tongue darts out to circle your clit, small whines escaping from your throat. he grips your thighs, holding you exactly where he wants you. he slurps and drinks you up as you twitch and squirm under him. he focuses his attention on your sensitive clit, rubbing his tongue back and forth over it. “channie, please please ple-ah,” he silences you with a harsh smack to your inner thigh. “let me enjoy your cunt. god, i love that you’re mine,” he presses kisses against your slit, licking a fat stripe up it to follow. “fucking mine.”

he grazes his teeth over your clit, drinking in the way you squeak and raise your hips towards his mouth. your hands fly to his hair and drag his mouth back to you. he chuckles before he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking on it before letting it go with a small ‘pop.’ you grind your core against his face, his nose brushing your clit as you get more and more desperate for release. “you have the most perfect pussy, baby. could eat you forever.”

a low moan slips from his lips as he watches you clench around nothing at his words. he places one final kiss to your core before rising off his knees. “you’re so tasty, angel. but i think i might explode if i don’t get inside you.” he reaches down to undo his pants and let them pool around his ankles. he aligns himself with your desperate hole before pressing in gently. “my pretty, pretty girl.” he grabs your hands and intertwines all ten of your fingers with his. a gesture like this always felt so romantic to you. 

he arms flex in reaction as you clench around him in an eager effort to get him to move. he draws his hips back slowly before returning himself to the hilt. your eyes cross and your back arches off the bed as he repeats this ritual over and over before he can’t take the slow pace anymore. he tightens his grip on your hands as he speeds up, the sounds of skin slapping filling the room. he stares between the two of you, watching as he disappears and reappears between your legs.”fuck, baby. you’re all mine. i don’t care what the media says. i’m the one fucking you. not beomgyu, me.” you nod your head, panting like a dog in the summer heat. “say it. who does this pussy belong to?” he thrusts into you faster, as if to make it harder for you to answer. “y-you, chan. fuck, it’s all yours.”

he lets go of your hands and opts to wrap his arms around your waist, pressing his face into your chest. he ruts into you with such vigor you think you might snap in half. he lifts you partially off the bed so you’re kind of sitting in his lap. your grind down on him, desperate for more. “channie… god, need it so bad,” you plead, your orgasm threatening to rip its way out of you. he runs his tongue between the valley of your breasts before pulling back to look at your face.

“keep eye contact with me while you finish. let me see how fucking good i make you feel.” you nod, digging your teeth into your bottom lip as he connects the pad of his thumb to your clit. you let out a deep sigh and fight your hardest not to throw your head back. the way chan looks at you through his sweaty bangs has you seeing stars. “cumming. oh my god i’m cumming,” you cry out as your whole body spasms. “yeah, that’s it baby. squeeze my cock like that.” your arms give out and you fall back onto the bed, gripping the sheets until your knuckles turn white. 

your lover’s orgasm is quick to follow, ropes of cum painting your walls white. he moans and whines out your name like a hymn, gripping your waist so hard you might bruise. you twitch as he rides out the last of his high before stilling completely. he pulls out of you slowly before laying next to you. he pulls you tightly against him, panting slightly as he settles. “i promise i don’t care what the media says. i love you."

___________________________________________

© lomlhwa 2024

[aestherin]

I CAN SEE YOU

track 05: late

NOTE: update bc lenten break started ^^ how are y'alll 👀

It was not a hidden truth to you that your good friend Venti, more known by his penname 'Barbatos', had his way with words. If he didn't, how else would he have had the long list of critically acclaimed works penned under his name? However, there was a first for everything.

You now jokingly doubted whether he actually wrote those poems. You mean — how could someone so articulate and flowery fail to do Inazuma justice?!

Yes, Venti did hype the place up. Yes, he did describe it in positive light. Yes, he was convincing enough to make you extend your stay (for a considerable amount of time at that). But you never imagined Inazuma would be this majestic.

After just a step onto Inazuman ground, freshly fallen petals of varying purples graced your feet. Cold, fragrant breeze embraced you immediately, a stark difference from the warm and gentle winds of your homeland.

Wow. You really left home.

Did you ask permission and tell your parents that there won't be anyone home in your apartment for a long while? No.

Did you care?

Well, actually, yes. It was your first time to go out of town after all. And it is a secret trip, no less. You could not help thinking about the repercussions of your actions, but you forced yourself to, for once, live in the moment and cast those worries aside for later.

Was this how your classmates felt when they used to sneak out past their curfews during high school?

"Your room number is 0616. Here is your key card. Enjoy your stay!" The hotel receptionist flashed a smile, to which you were trained to only respond with a small nod and a slight curve of lips.

A small yet clean room welcomed you. The furnishings, though evidently luxurious, was not to your liking, however. It reminded you of home your family house, where everything was excessively lavish all due to your family's vanity and pretentiousness. No matter. Who expects a hotel room to make you feel at home anyway?

Besides, you were planning to search for a temporary rental space after your very very important meeting tomorrow. If luck permits, you may not even be staying for so long in this stuck-up room.

The only thing you have to do for today is rest well and early in order to be in your best state during tomorrow's meeting.

What the heck is happening?!

Trying to keep yourself seem sane and professional as you converse with a few select officers and staff of Narukami Entertainment when, in fact, you were internally freaking out was not how you envisioned this meeting to be.

You really thought you'd do fairly well.

Constant exposure to pretentious men in suits, masked ladies of high society, and those pretenders claiming to be 'art connoisseurs' your whole life has provided you with ample confidence that you can handle today's affairs flawlessly.

Or at the very least, decently.

Well that was before you saw your favorite singer-songwriter's manager in the same meeting room.

"Here, we prepared a contract." Scaramouche's manager slid a folder across the table. "Go through it first. Feel free to tell us if you wish to change anything, or if you find anything disagreeable."

"Thank you."

You started to go through the contract, meticulously going through each and every clause, assessing each and every word — until one stopped you in your tracks.

'Scaramouche.'

Oh fuck.

Your jests were really just that. Just jests. Not even you believed that it would actually turn real. The state of your mind right now was the exact opposite of what you are projecting, seemingly composed as you were signing the papers.

'Archons, what country did I save in my past life that I get to work with my favorite artist in this life?'

'Will Scaramouche be here?'

'Holy, if I work with him, does that mean I get a spoiler about his next album because I get to make a cover? Can I hear sample songs? Can I know the tracklist? Can I get a signed alb—'

"Okay, so are we all good for today then?" His manager asked as he retrieved the documents.

Oh. So I won't be seeing him.

Maybe they don't really allow their artists to just meet anyone. Understandable, especially since Scaramouche is insanely famous. Maybe you'd never even get to interact with him for the whole duration of the project.

Nevertheless, your heart still leaped at the thought of contributing to his upcoming album.

"Yeah." You flashed a smile. "I think I'm good —"

"Sorry I'm late."

I CAN SEE YOU — scara x reader smau

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[velvetvisionsaurora]

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) y/n gets switched to a real name but it has a purpose. More warnings to be updated.

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Authors note: I was going to post this tomorrow but honestly I couldn’t wait. The banter between Wooyoung and Yeosang is one of favorite parts of this story, I love writing it! Enjoy! And get ready for the next chapter! The big moment is coming! 💜

‼️if you have read chapter 7 already please go back and make sure you have read the reunion part with Ella/yeaosang! It’s after the flash back scene! Something happened with posting and it got removed‼️

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Masterlist

Chapter 8

Hidden Currents

Morning in the ATEEZ's galley was chaotic but organized. Crew members grabbed quick meals before their daily duties instead of sitting down for formal dining. Unlike the officers' mess with its scheduled mealtimes, the main galley stayed open all day to work with the ship's various watch schedules.

Ella paused in the doorway, feeling a bit out of place in the casual atmosphere after her previous meals in the more formal officers' dining room. Pirates in various states of wakefulness sat at scattered tables, some clearly just ending night watch while others were getting ready for day duties. The conversations flowing around the room suggested these people were more like a family than just workers on the same ship.

What caught her eye was how officers and regular crew mixed freely. There was no special seating or service for officers - everyone helped themselves from the same food stations. Seonghwa sat at a corner table with navigation charts spread in front of him, eating absently while making calculations. Two gunners talked with Mingi by the drink station, looking serious enough that they were probably planning something rather than just chatting.

"Ella!" Wooyoung's voice cut through the noise. "Come in! Breakfast is casual today—we're too busy for sit-down service."

He waved enthusiastically from behind a serving counter where he seemed to be cooking three different things at once. Several assistants moved around him in well-practiced patterns that somehow worked despite the apparent chaos.

As she approached, Wooyoung kept cooking while chattering away. "The captain's dealing with some tricky currents today, so everyone's grabbing food when they can. Help yourself to whatever looks good—bread's fresh, and we have actual eggs today, thanks to that merchant ship that should have surrendered faster."

The casual mention of piracy—delivered with the same enthusiasm as his menu suggestions—caught Ella off guard. Even after days aboard the ATEEZ, she was still surprised by how easily these men blended violence and everyday life, how the feared pirate ship also felt like a community.

"Thank you," she said, taking the plate Wooyoung pushed toward her. "Everything looks amazing."

"Of course it does," he agreed without a hint of modesty. "Food matters even more on fighting days—might be someone's last meal, so it should be good."

The dark joke, delivered cheerfully rather than grimly, reminded Ella that despite its unusual culture, the ATEEZ was still a vessel of calculated violence—feared throughout the seas, its black sails striking terror wherever they appeared.

As she gathered food from the available options, Ella noticed Yeosang entering the galley, his face composed despite the morning chaos. He nodded slightly to various crew members as he walked directly to the medicinal tea station near Wooyoung's cooking area.

"You're up early considering your late night," Wooyoung called to him, a knowing grin spreading across his face. "Midnight medicine mixing again?"

Yeosang's neutral expression didn't change, though Ella—watching carefully after their reunion hours earlier—noticed the slight tension that appeared in his shoulders at Wooyoung's teasing reference to nocturnal activities.

"Inventory requirements," he replied blandly, selecting specific herbs with practiced efficiency. "Unlike some, my work benefits from methodical organization rather than chaotic improvisation.

"Chaotic?" Wooyoung clutched his chest in theatrical offense, somehow managing to continue stirring a large pot with his free hand. "This is carefully orchestrated creative genius, I'll have you know."

"Is that what we're calling it now?" Yeosang deadpanned, his tone perfectly neutral despite the subtle barb. "I thought it was simply randomized ingredient selection based on whatever hasn't spoiled yet."

Several nearby crew members snickered at the familiar banter, clearly accustomed to this dynamic between ship's cook and doctor. Wooyoung's exaggerated gasp of indignation only heightened the comedic effect, his natural dramatic flair turning routine morning interaction into entertainment.

"Randomized? Me?" He gestured wildly with a wooden spoon, narrowly missing one of his assistants who ducked with practiced ease. "Everything I create is precisely calibrated for maximum nutritional and morale benefit. Tell him, Ella—wasn't yesterday's breakfast a masterpiece of culinary precision?"

Suddenly drawn into their exchange, Ella found herself momentarily caught between Wooyoung's expectant gaze and Yeosang's carefully neutral expression. The dynamic between them fascinated her—Wooyoung's effusive animation deliberately drawing reaction from Yeosang's controlled reserve, the contrast creating balance rather than conflict.

"The cinnamon wheels were exceptional," she offered diplomatically. "Though I lack comparative experience with your other creations."

"Ha!" Wooyoung exclaimed triumphantly. "Even our newest passenger recognizes culinary excellence when she tastes it."

Yeosang's expression remained impassive, though Ella noticed the slight softening around his eyes that constituted amusement in his restricted emotional display. "Recognition of quality and recognition of spectacle are not necessarily the same thing," he observed mildly.

"Spectacle?" Wooyoung's voice rose dramatically as he waved both arms, abandoning all pretense of continued cooking. "Is that what you call feeding this entire crew of ungrateful pirates three times daily? Creating meals that keep morale high during weeks at sea? Transforming basic provisions into feasts that make even the captain smile?"

His theatrical indignation expanded with each statement, body language growing increasingly expansive until he resembled a performer rather than ship's cook. Several crew members paused their own conversations to watch the familiar entertainment, evident amusement in their expressions.

Throughout Wooyoung's escalating performance, Yeosang continued calmly preparing his medicinal tea, his methodical movements contrasting sharply with the cook's animated gestures. Yet something in his careful precision suggested deliberate participation rather than mere tolerance—as if his controlled reserve provided necessary counterpoint to Wooyoung's exuberance.

"Your creative approach has merit in appropriate contexts," Yeosang conceded with clinical precision, measuring herbs with the same careful attention he would give to potent medicines. "Though I maintain that consistency and methodology produce more reliable results than spontaneous inspiration."

"Consistency?" Wooyoung scoffed, dramatically flourishing a ladle like a conductor's baton. "Do you know what happens with too much consistency, my methodical friend? The same meal, day after day, until the crew starts eyeing seagulls with hunger and contemplating mutiny."

"Methodical doesn't mean monotonous," Yeosang countered, not looking up from his preparations. "It means intentional rather than accidental."

Wooyoung gasped, clutching his heart as though mortally wounded. "Accidental? You think my culinary masterpieces are accidents?" He gestured expansively at the various dishes arrayed across the serving counter. "This, my skeptical friend, is what we call 'intuitive genius.' Something your rigidly organized mind cannot possibly comprehend."

Yeosang finally looked up, his expression betraying the faintest hint of amusement only Ella could recognize from their childhood. "Is that what we're calling the incident with the exploding dumplings last month? Intuitive genius?"

A chorus of laughter erupted from nearby crew members, several calling out supportive comments or making explosion gestures with their hands. Clearly, the dumpling incident was well-known throughout the ship.

"That was a CONTROLLED flavor release!" Wooyoung protested, pointing his ladle accusingly at various laughing crew members. "And every single one of you still ate them, I might add!"

"After they stopped raining from the ceiling," someone called from across the galley.

"And we scraped them off the walls," added another sailor.

"The medical bay treated three burns and one concussion," Yeosang noted dryly. "Your 'controlled flavor release' required more bandages than our last skirmish with the Royal Navy."

Wooyoung swiveled toward Ella, who was watching this exchange with growing amusement. "You see what I deal with? No appreciation for culinary innovation aboard this ship of critics!"

Ella was silently giggling. She looked to her side seeing Yunho already watching her with a soft smile. He gestured to the two bickering and shook his head in feigned exasperation. "Like an old married couple," Yunho mouthed to her, causing a wider smile from her much to Yunho's delight.

Ella turned back to the bickering pair.

"The captain appreciated it," Yeosang deadpanned. "Especially when a dumpling landed directly in his navigation charts. I believe his exact words were 'tactically unprecedented.'"

"It was a difficult nautical element to chart," Wooyoung defended, struggling to maintain his indignant expression as his own laughter threatened to break through. "The captain now has the only sea chart in existence with a dumpling-shaped island in the western strait."

"Which is apparently creating significant navigational challenges," Yeosang continued, his delivery perfectly serious despite the absurdity. "Seonghwa reports that we keep sailing in circles trying to find it."

"It's a migratory dumpling island," Wooyoung declared, completely abandoning his cooking to fully embrace the ridiculous narrative. "It only appears during certain lunar phases and can only be summoned with the proper culinary incantations."

He dramatically raised his hands above his head, wooden spoon pointed skyward like a wizard's staff. In a deep, theatrically mystical voice, he intoned: "By the power of excessive garlic and questionable fermentation techniques, I summon thee, Sacred Island of Explosive Dumplings!"

"Please don't," Yeosang sighed, though his eyes betrayed the faintest crinkle of amusement. "Im still exhausted from the aftermath of the last Wooyoung 'summoning.'"

"The casualties were worth it," Wooyoung insisted, now fully committed to his performance. He turned to Ella, dropping his voice to a stage whisper. "Yeosang's just upset because one dumpling flew directly into his meticulously organized medicine cabinet and rearranged his alphabetical system into what I maintain was a more intuitive categorical framework."

"It spelled 'chaos' in three different languages," Yeosang corrected. "And required four hours to properly sanitize."

"It was a message from the culinary gods!" Wooyoung declared, spinning in a dramatic circle with his arms extended. "They were telling you to embrace spontaneity!"

"They were telling me to invest in stronger cabinet locks," Yeosang countered, finishing his tea preparation with the same calm precision he'd maintained throughout their exchange.

Wooyoung clutched his chest again, staggering dramatically as though mortally wounded. "Such cruelty from our ship's healer! This is why pirates have a reputation for scurvy—medical professionals with no appreciation for culinary artistry!"

Without missing a beat, Yeosang picked up a small orange from a nearby fruit basket and tossed it directly at Wooyoung, who caught it with surprising dexterity despite his theatrical flailing.

"Vitamin C," Yeosang stated flatly. "Medicine's contribution to culinary health. No explosions required."

"Unless you're doing it wrong," Wooyoung quipped, immediately juggling the orange with two apples he snatched from the same basket. "Everything is more interesting with a little danger involved."

As he juggled with impressive skill, he began tossing the fruits higher and higher, his expression one of exaggerated concentration. "Observe the controlled chaos of true culinary mastery!"

Just as the juggling reached its peak, the ship pitched slightly with a wave. One apple went off course, bouncing off Wooyoung's forehead before he could catch it. His expression of complete surprise, combined with his theatrical gasp of betrayal as he pointed accusingly at the fallen fruit, was so perfectly comical that Ella couldn't contain herself any longer.

The laugh burst from her unexpectedly—not the careful, controlled chuckle she sometimes permitted herself in social situations, but a genuine, unrestrained sound of pure amusement. It rang through the galley, surprising even herself with its intensity and freedom.

The room seemed to pause for a fraction of a second, several nearby crew members glancing toward the unfamiliar sound. Wooyoung froze mid-gesture, the remaining fruit forgotten in his hands as he stared at her with undisguised delight. Even Yeosang paused, his normally impassive expression softening into something like satisfaction. Even he had only heard her genuine laugh once in all the time they spent together.

Ella immediately tried to compose herself, years of conditioned restraint making her self-conscious about such unguarded expression. But Wooyoung, sensing the moment's importance, immediately doubled down on his performance.

"The apple!" he cried, pointing dramatically at the fruit rolling across the floor. "It's escaping to join its brethren in the mythical Orchard of Wayward Produce! Quick! Someone stop it before it convinces the oranges to mutiny!"

The absurdity broke through her composure again, and Ella found herself laughing even harder, one hand pressed against her mouth in a futile attempt to contain the unfamiliar sound.

Across the galley, she caught sight of Yunho and Mingi pausing in their conversation, both watching her with expressions that mirrored Wooyoung's delight—Yunho's open and warm, Mingi's subtle but unmistakable. Even Seonghwa had looked up from his charts, his analytical gaze softening as he observed her unguarded moment.

"You see?" Wooyoung declared triumphantly to Yeosang, gesturing toward Ella with obvious satisfaction. "This is why spontaneity trumps methodology! When was the last time someone laughed like that over properly measured tea leaves?"

"Enjoyment and medicinal efficacy serve different purposes," Yeosang replied, though his tone lacked its usual clinical detachment. "Though occasionally they can complement each other."

As her laughter finally subsided, Ella felt strangely lightened, as if some tightly-wound spring within her had loosened slightly. The sensation was unfamiliar after fifteen years of careful self-control, yet somehow reminiscent of childhood moments aboard The Crimson Serpent when Wooyoung had first taught her to laugh silently to avoid unwanted attention.

Now, surrounded by the ATEEZ's crew—men feared throughout maritime waters for precision and ruthlessness—she had laughed openly for the first time since captivity had taught her the danger of unguarded expression.

"I apologize," she said automatically, years of conditioning making her uncomfortable with attention.

"No apologies for laughter aboard this ship," Wooyoung declared firmly, his usual playfulness momentarily replaced by genuine conviction. "Captain's orders."

"Genuine medical benefit as well," Yeosang added, surprising her with his supportive contribution. "Physiological advantages to unrestricted expression of positive emotion."

Their coordinated defense—Wooyoung's heartfelt encouragement balanced by Yeosang's clinical endorsement—revealed complementary aspects of protection rather than contradictory approaches. Despite their apparent contrast, both men sought the same outcome: her comfort and wellbeing aboard the ATEEZ.

"Thank you," she said simply, the gratitude encompassing more than just their current kindness.

Wooyoung beamed, his expression suggesting her laughter represented personal triumph. "My life's mission is complete. I've made Ella laugh—the rest of my culinary career can only be anticlimax."

"A concerning statement from the person responsible for feeding a crew of seventy-three pirates," Yeosang observed dryly, though his eyes remained warmer than his tone suggested.

"Seventy-three pirates with excellent taste and appreciation for culinary genius," Wooyoung corrected, immediately returning to his theatrical self-promotion. "Unlike certain ship's doctors who wouldn't know culinary inspiration if it exploded in their meticulously organized medicine cabinets."

"Which it did," Yeosang reminded him, lifting his completed tea preparation. "Hence the need for stronger locks."

As their banter resumed, Ella found herself still smiling—a real smile, not the careful one she usually put on. Something about their back-and-forth, the contrast between Wooyoung's enthusiasm and Yeosang's calm precision, let her respond naturally instead of calculating every reaction.

She caught Yeosang's eye briefly as he prepared to leave with his tea. In that moment of shared understanding, invisible to everyone else, two survivors of Blackwell's cruelty found an unexpected moment of freedom: through Wooyoung's absurd theatrics and Yeosang's dry comebacks, they'd found space for real laughter after fifteen years of necessary caution.

As she collected her breakfast and found a seat at a small corner table, Ella realized the ATEEZ was more complicated than she'd thought—a feared pirate ship whose culture made room for both Wooyoung's creative chaos and Yeosang's careful precision, for both calculated violence against enemies and kindness toward friends.

This complexity drew her in as she watched the crew's morning interactions. These feared pirates seemed genuinely human in their private moments—laughing at Wooyoung's antics, respecting Yeosang's quiet authority, working together with a sense of community rather than just tactical advantage.

Most importantly, five officers who had once been cabin boys on The Crimson Serpent were still searching for a little girl sold at auction, their childhood promise now the mission that defined their adult lives. And now that very girl sat among them, her identity hidden by choice—a decision that remained hers alone despite the blood oath that had driven five boys to become the most feared pirates on the seven seas.

After breakfast, Ella found herself heading to the upper deck, drawn by the need for fresh air after the crowded galley. The morning sun bathed the ATEEZ in golden light, softening its fearsome look. Crew members worked efficiently, adjusting sails and securing rigging as the ship navigated through challenging currents.

Near the helm, Captain Hongjoong stood with Seonghwa, both focused on navigation charts while occasionally looking toward the horizon. Their conversation seemed intense—clearly planning something important, not just chatting. The way they stood showed their partnership: Hongjoong's stance suggesting leadership, while Seonghwa's precise posture reflected careful analysis—different approaches working toward the same goal.

As she watched from a distance, Hongjoong suddenly looked up, his eyes finding hers with uncanny accuracy, as if he'd sensed her watching. Something like recognition flashed across his face—not of her identity, but of her presence. He said something brief to Seonghwa, who nodded before gathering the charts and walking away, deliberately avoiding where Ella stood.

Hongjoong walked toward her with measured steps, his captain's authority clear yet softened by the same consideration he'd shown since she boarded.

"Good morning," he greeted, his voice carrying easily over the wind and activity. "Was breakfast good? Wooyoung can be... over the top, but he really can cook, despite all the drama."

"Very good," she confirmed, still amused. "Though I hear the 'exploding dumplings' incident has become quite the legend."

A brief smile touched Hongjoong's features—a rare expression that made his usual strategic composure seem more human. "A story we'll be telling for years. My cabin still has dumpling fragments turning up in odd places."

The casual humor, so different from his usual careful interactions with her, gave her a glimpse of the boy beneath the captain's authority—the child who had taught a little girl about stars during secret midnight excursions on another ship long ago. Ella found herself responding with her own small smile, feeling more natural after her unexpected laughter in the galley.

"We're approaching the Meridian Straits," Hongjoong said, pointing toward the horizon where distant land created a narrow passage between open waters. "It's one of Blackwell's favorite shipping routes, which is why I'd value your thoughts. The charts in my quarters would be easier to work with than out here on deck."

The invitation—professional yet somehow personal—offered both practical purpose and a chance for the private conversation she'd been considering since reuniting with Yeosang. After days of watching life aboard the ATEEZ, Ella found herself increasingly curious about the captain himself: the boy who had called her "Treasure" now grown into a man whose brilliance had created the most feared pirate vessel on the seven seas.

"Of course," she agreed, following as he led the way to his quarters.

Unlike her previous brief glimpses of the captain's space, this visit let her really see how Hongjoong had made it his own. Navigation tools shared space with personal touches—carved figures she now recognized as Mingi's work, books ranging from technical manuals to poetry, even a small collection of unusual shells and stones. The room balanced practical function with personal identity—necessary tools alongside touches of humanity.

Most noticeable was the locked sea chest she'd glimpsed before, now positioned prominently near his desk. The antique box, decorated with navigation symbols and secured with heavy iron, caught her attention despite her attempts to look casual. Something about its placement suggested it was more than just storage—almost like a reminder or symbol.

Hongjoong spread charts across his large desk, weighing down the corners with smooth stones that seemed chosen specifically for this purpose. "These show Blackwell's usual shipping patterns through the Meridian Straits," he explained, his focus professional despite the private setting. "Based on your information and our observations, we've found potential weaknesses in his security."

As he outlined their assessment, Ella was impressed by how much the ATEEZ knew about Blackwell's operations. Their understanding went beyond just shipping schedules to include key personnel, communication methods, even emergency plans. The detail showed years of careful study, not just casual observation.

"You've been tracking him for a while," she said, both asking and confirming.

Hongjoong's expression shifted subtly, professional assessment giving way to something more personal. "Fifteen years," he said quietly, the simple words heavy with meaning.

The specific timeframe—exactly matching her years in captivity—created momentary silence between them. For the first time, Hongjoong had directly referenced their shared past without explicitly saying he knew who she was. The opening seemed deliberate, an invitation without pressure.

"May I ask why?" she asked carefully, keeping up her persona while trying to understand more. "Blackwell certainly deserves opposition, but your focus seems... personal rather than just strategic."

Hongjoong studied her for a long moment, as if weighing an important decision. Then he gestured toward two chairs near a small window overlooking the ship's wake.

"Please," he said simply, waiting until she'd seated herself before taking the opposite chair. The arrangement created a conversation space separate from the tactical discussion at his desk—shifting from professional consultation to personal exchange.

"The ATEEZ was built for a specific purpose," he began, his voice carrying a new quality—neither the captain's authority nor strategic calculation, but something more genuine, more human. "Ship and crew gathered around a central mission, not just for profit."

He paused, glancing briefly toward the locked sea chest before meeting her eyes directly. "I wasn't always Captain Hongjoong of the feared Compass Crew. Before that, I was just Hongjoong—orphaned cabin boy on a vessel called The Crimson Serpent."

Though she'd pieced together much of this history through observation and Yeosang's confirmation, hearing Hongjoong speak these words directly created an unexpected emotional response. His simple acknowledgment of his origins offered a potential bridge between her carefully maintained present and buried past.

"The Crimson Serpent," she repeated carefully, showing appropriate recognition without revealing personal connection. "A slave ship?"

Hongjoong nodded, something dark crossing his features. "Though they called it 'labor recruitment' and 'personnel acquisition' in official documents. Captivity hidden behind fancy words."

The bitter observation revealed genuine emotion beneath his usual control—moral outrage rather than just tactical opposition. This wasn't simply professional assessment but personal conviction born from direct experience.

"Five of us were taken as children," he continued, his words flowing more naturally than his usual measured speech. "Myself, Seonghwa, Wooyoung, Yunho, and Mingi. Orphans or street children with no one to report us missing, no one to demand our return."

Ella remained silent, understanding the significance of this disclosure. Though she'd glimpsed aspects of their shared history through observation and hints, Hongjoong's direct story represented a deliberate choice to share rather than a casual revelation.

"We learned to survive together on that ship," he continued, his gaze momentarily distant with memory. "Formed an alliance that became the foundation for everything that followed. But it wasn't until..." he hesitated slightly, "...until another joined us that we found purpose beyond just surviving."

"Another cabin boy?" she prompted when his story paused, careful to maintain her disguise despite her growing emotional response.

"A child," Hongjoong corrected, something soft entering his expression. "Captured during a coastal raid. Five years old, torn from everything familiar, expected to accept captivity without resistance."

The explicit reference to her own history—the first direct acknowledgment from any officer beyond Wooyoung's veiled comments—left Ella momentarily breathless. Fifteen years of calculated survival had taught her to keep her composure during even the most difficult circumstances, yet Hongjoong's simple description of her childhood self threatened that hard-won control.

"What happened to her?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral despite her inner turmoil.

A shadow crossed Hongjoong's features, regret and determination mixing in equal measure. "We tried to protect her. For three months on that floating hell, we created whatever safety we could. Then, during a stop in Halazia, we tried to escape."

His voice hardened slightly, the captain's strategic assessment temporarily displacing personal narrative. "We failed. Badly. A fire broke out during our attempt, creating chaos that separated us from her. The captain used the confusion to take her directly to auction. By the time we could move freely again, she had been sold."

The clinical description of that devastating day—stripped of emotion, reduced to tactical assessment—revealed Hongjoong's continued struggle with their failure. Fifteen years later, he still analyzed the event strategically, identifying errors in planning and execution rather than simply accepting the emotional impact.

"That night, we made a blood oath," he continued, unconsciously touching his palm where that long-ago cut had sealed their promise. "To survive, to grow stronger, to find her again—no matter how long it took, no matter what we had to sacrifice."

He looked toward the locked sea chest, tension visible in his shoulders despite his controlled expression. "Everything that followed—our eventual escape from The Crimson Serpent, our years learning necessary skills throughout the maritime world, our claiming of the ATEEZ and turning it into a vessel feared by slave traders—all started from that single promise. All focused on fulfilling a blood oath made by five children who failed to protect someone vulnerable."

The raw honesty of this disclosure—delivered without theatrical gesture or manipulative intent—affected Ella more deeply than Wooyoung's emotional hints or Yunho's gentle stargazing references. Hongjoong offered neither pressure nor expectation, simply truth: that finding her had defined their existence for fifteen years, that the ATEEZ's fearsome reputation had been built upon the foundation of a childhood promise.

"You've searched for her all this time?" she asked, the question emerging with unexpected emotion despite her efforts to maintain distance.

"Without stopping," Hongjoong confirmed, meeting her gaze directly. "Every port, every auction house, every slave market. Every rumor of a young girl sold in Halazia fifteen years ago. Every possible lead, no matter how unlikely."

He hesitated, then added with quiet certainty: "We'll continue searching until we find her or confirm beyond doubt that she's no longer alive. The oath remains unbroken regardless of years passed or obstacles encountered."

Something in his tone—not just determination but absolute commitment—affected Ella profoundly. For fifteen years, she had survived through calculated isolation, believing herself forgotten or abandoned by anyone who had ever shown her kindness. The reality that five boys had transformed themselves into the most feared pirates on the seven seas specifically to find her challenged fundamental assumptions that had guided her survival since childhood.

"And if you find her?" she asked, the question revealing vulnerability she rarely permitted. "After fifteen years, she would be much changed from the child you knew. Perhaps unrecognizable in ways beyond physical appearance."

Hongjoong considered this carefully, his expression showing deep thought rather than a hasty response. "We understand this," he said finally. "Fifteen years of captivity would necessarily transform anyone, creating a person shaped by survival rather than childhood potential. We're not trying to reclaim what was lost but to fulfill a promise that remains binding regardless of changes time and circumstance have created."

The distinction—seeking fulfillment of promise rather than restoration of past—suggested understanding beyond simple nostalgia. Unlike potential expectation that "y/n" should somehow match their childhood memories, Hongjoong acknowledged the inevitable transformation that fifteen years would create.

"Your campaign against Blackwell," she said, shifting toward practical implications rather than emotional response. "It's connected to this search?"

"Directly," he confirmed without hesitation. "At first, we simply targeted all slave traders as a matter of principle. But two years ago, we discovered Blackwell had purchased a girl that same night, at the Halazia auction. Since then, our operations have focused specifically on disrupting his activities, gathering intelligence about his organization, and systematically dismantling his trading network."

The timeline aligned with her own history—her transfer from Blackwell's direct ownership to his business associate had occurred approximately two years ago, shortly after the ATEEZ had apparently discovered her connection to their target. The correlation seemed unlikely to be coincidental.

"You believe Blackwell transferred her to prevent you from finding her," she observed, the realization crystallizing as she spoke. "That he recognized your campaign's personal motivation and deliberately hid her location."

"It's our working theory," Hongjoong acknowledged, professional assessment temporarily replacing personal narrative. "The timing suggests deliberate countermeasure rather than coincidental business arrangement. Blackwell's records regarding that specific transfer were methodically eliminated—unusually thorough even by his standards of operational security."

The implication clarified aspects of her captivity that had previously seemed arbitrary. Blackwell's decision to transfer her to Calloway—his associate specializing in "premium domestic personnel"—had appeared merely a business opportunity at the time. Now, understanding the ATEEZ's targeted campaign against Blackwell's operations, the transfer revealed strategic dimension beyond simple profit motive.

"He feared you finding her," she concluded, pieces connecting with increasing clarity. "He recognized her value as leverage against a potential threat."

Hongjoong nodded, the captain's strategic assessment evident despite the personal context. "Blackwell's operational methodology prioritizes advantage through intelligence. Once he identified connection between our campaign and his past acquisition, he would naturally implement countermeasures to maintain control of a potentially valuable asset."

The clinical terminology—"asset," "acquisition," "countermeasures"—revealed how thoroughly Hongjoong had integrated tactical thinking into his understanding of their shared history. Unlike Wooyoung's emotional responses or Yunho's gentle reminiscence, the captain analyzed even personal tragedy through a strategic lens—necessary perspective for a leader responsible for crew's survival during increasingly dangerous operations.

"And now?" she asked, careful neutrality masking deeper inquiry. "If this search has driven your mission for fifteen years, what happens if you succeed? If you find this girl who has shaped your existence from absence rather than presence?"

Something shifted in Hongjoong's expression—the captain's strategic mask temporarily giving way to more vulnerable humanity. For a brief moment, the boy who had once called a little girl "Treasure" during midnight stargazing emerged from behind fifteen years of necessary authority.

"Then she would be free," he said simply, the words containing both promise and limitation. "Free to choose her own path without obligation or expectation. Our oath was to find her, to restore the choice that captivity had eliminated. Not to impose new constraints based on childhood connection."

The declaration—simultaneously liberating and carefully bounded—revealed complex emotional territory beneath Hongjoong's strategic exterior. Unlike potential expectation that fulfilling their oath would create specific relationship or outcome, he offered something more profound: respect for agency that fifteen years of captivity had systematically denied.

"Many girls came and went from Blackwell's ownership. I wish I could help you find her. However I don't remember any girl named y/n in Blackwell's possession." She said nervously. "But I will help where I can."

Hongjoong stared at her for a long moment, almost in amusement. "I appreciate the help greatly. However, I never said her name was y/n." His eyes shinning with something she couldn't understand.

Ella's heart rate picked up as she tried to mask her panic. "Wooyoung mentioned this story earlier, he let her name slip." She said stone faced.

"Ah, I see." Hongjoong's amusement never fading. "For an intelligence specialist he has very loose lips."

Before she could respond, a sharp knock at the door interrupted their conversation. Hongjoong's expression immediately shifted, the captain's authority replacing personal vulnerability with practiced efficiency.

"Enter," he called, rising from his chair with smooth movement

Seonghwa appeared in the doorway, his expression revealing urgency despite characteristic composure. "Captain, vessel approaching from eastern quadrant. Flying Southern Trade Company colors alongside official pennant."

Hongjoong moved immediately toward his desk, professional focus displacing the openness of moments earlier. "Distance and heading?"

"Three miles, course suggests interception rather than parallel tracking," Seonghwa reported, his attention briefly acknowledging Ella's presence before returning to the captain. "Yunho confirms it matches the escort class recently commissioned by Blackwell's organization."

"Prepare the crew for potential engagement," Hongjoong instructed, already examining the charts they had been discussing earlier. "Standard protocol—hide primary weapons until identification confirmed, maintain course that suggests we're just merchants rather than trying to run."

As Seonghwa left to implement these instructions, Hongjoong turned toward Ella with an apologetic expression that nonetheless contained the captain's authority rather than personal regret. "I need to handle this situation. Please return to your quarters until we've assessed the threat level."

The abrupt shift from intimate conversation to tactical necessity reminded Ella that the ATEEZ was both a vessel of personal quest and feared pirate ship with a reputation built on precision and calculated violence. The men who searched for a lost girl were simultaneously commanders whose tactical brilliance had created a maritime legend.

"Of course, Captain," she replied, acknowledging both his authority and the necessary transition.

As she moved toward the door, Hongjoong's voice stopped her—softer than his tactical instructions to Seonghwa yet carrying equal certainty. "This conversation isn't finished," he said, something in his tone suggesting significance beyond mere scheduling. "Just paused for now."

The subtle distinction—pause rather than ending—offered connection that went beyond their current interaction. Unlike potential dismissal once practical information had been exchanged, Hongjoong indicated value beyond tactical advantage.

"I understand," she acknowledged, matching his tone. "Until circumstances permit."

Something passed between them in that moment—recognition not of shared past but of potential future, connection based on present choice rather than childhood memory. Then the ship's bell rang, calling crew to battle stations, and the captain's focus returned with practiced efficiency.

As Ella made her way to her quarters amid increasing activity above decks, she found herself processing the implications of Hongjoong's disclosure. Unlike her conversation with Yeosang, which had confirmed suspicions through shared experience, this interaction had revealed emotional dimensions previously hidden beneath strategic exterior—the human motivations driving tactical brilliance, the personal quest underlying fearsome reputation.

Most significantly, Hongjoong had offered his story without demand, history without expectation. Unlike potential manipulation that might have used shared past to extract specific response, he had simply shared truth: that finding her had defined their existence for fifteen years, that fulfilling blood oath remained binding regardless of changes time and circumstance had created.

The ATEEZ's sudden encounter with Southern Trade Company vessel perfectly mirrored her current situation—caught between past and present, between memory and reality, between comfortable anonymity and risky recognition. Like the black-sailed ship now preparing for potential combat, she navigated dangerous waters where decisions carried significant consequences.

As the sounds of battle preparation filtered through the ship—Seonghwa's precise commands, Wooyoung's unexpectedly authoritative coordination of below-deck crew, Yunho's calm instructions to rigging teams, Mingi's low voice directing gunners toward concealed positions—Ella recognized how seamlessly they transitioned from peaceful sailing to potential violence. These men who had shown her consistent kindness were simultaneously feared throughout the maritime world for ruthless efficiency and unwavering purpose.

In her cabin, secure behind closed door as naval confrontation developed above, she whispered, the familiar names carrying new significance after Hongjoong's revelations.

"Joongie, Hwa, Woo, Yuyu, Puppy, Angel," No longer merely comfort ritual but acknowledgment of connection maintained despite fifteen years' separation, of paths converging against seemingly impossible odds.

As naval confrontation developed above decks, tactical brilliance flowing through coordinated action, y/n found herself facing parallel challenge beneath strategic surface—navigating emotional waters more complex than any maritime passage, where recognition carried both promise and risk beyond simple identification.

Taglist: @hopeless-lovex0 @frankielou02 @jilxxasu @kur0kki @lezleeferguson-120 @uniquecloudbread @miniverse-zen @symmieangela @monstacheol @ateezswonderland @hanniehq

[k-hippie]

SIMS 3 WORLD - LOST COVE 2025 ( bold redux )

First, few words related to howto with Lost Cove ;)

There will be 2 posts : one general about the World itself, the ANTS ( Absolute Necessary Things & Stuff ) - the CC used - the stories around Lost Cove - the DL link ... And then a second post related to Lots ( both residential and community ) - the credits - our own CC we made ( yep ... we made some xtra stuff for your eyes only ) <- incredible isn't it ? :D But let's start with some pictures ;)

No way to avoid it, this is a boldy bold update for the 10th anniversary, of Lost Cove, because it has been completely remade from scratch, based on an alternate Isla Paradisio, with new textures, new lots, new ( almost ) everything, and old cc fully remade to be sure to not loose anything this time ;) We tried to re-compose the old Lost Cove. But this time, we cleaned everything which had to be and left the Hidden Lots, the Dive Spots, 4 Ports, and even the Smuggler's Lair :D

Lost Cove has a whole story. And Lost Cove IS a whole story in itself ;)

Lost Cove is born in 2015, from a simple picture posted by SimCookie of their world : the famous and fantastic Sunset Died, an apocalyptic Sunset Valley world, 12 years ago. At this time, I never approached CAW and sims 3 worlds creation before. And frankly, I had no time for this. But the picture of the broken Twinbrook Hall was like an appeal … to do more with the best Sims franchise :D

I wrote to SimCookie to ask them if I may use the same way to place the Twinbrook broken Hall but into a complete different kind of world. They agreed. And so, I began working on Lost Cove during my vacations, based on an empty Isla Paradisio maxis world. I called it the Red Path project.

6 weeks long, I learned intensively the basics of CAW. My world was not intended to have a lot of lots, so I concentrated my efforts on textures, trees and objects. I failed a lot of exports. I used both CAW and Super CAW. I woke up at 6 in the morning each day, and worked on Lost Cove hours and hours, all days long :D And then, on a summer hot day, Lost Cove was there. At last ... May we say proudly Lost Cove is the natural child of Sunset Died ? YES !

Lost Cove is a post-apocalyptic world, swallowed by nature, forgotten by time. It all began 28 days after the Sunset Died event : no more electricity, no more roads, no more comfort. Just ruins, silence … and survival.

Like in every sci-fi book or movie, the Sims went too far. Maybe. It was an experiment gone wrong. Or a slow, quiet collapse under the weight of pollution and hubris. A virus ? A comet ? Nuclear fire ? No one really knows. The old world didn’t end with a bang, just a thousand overlapping catastrophes. And Before was over.

The world cracked open. The sea rose like a hand closing around the archipelago. Bridges collapsed. The downtown core sank. Entire neighborhoods vanished underwater. Only one broken road remains now : winding, overgrown, half-erased by time. The islands are no longer connected. No ferries. No cars. Just water, and what courage it takes to cross it. Most Sims never dared.

But nature didn’t wait. It took back everything. Technology ? Forgotten. Trees pushed through asphalt. Ferns choked stairwells. Roots claimed living rooms. Earthquakes opened old wounds in the ground, and storms swept away what was left standing. Power grids failed. Satellites went dark. Digital voices fell silent.

And amidst it all … the Sims adapted. They hid. They learned.

28 weeks later ... By 2020, we released a small and quick update. Nothing fancy just a nudge forward. Something had shifted. Sims weren’t just scavenging. They were rebuilding. Lost Cove had once been a small, tightly-woven community before the Fall. When the end came, many fled inland. They disappeared into the continent in search of family, safety, a future.

But others stayed. Maybe because they couldn’t leave. Maybe because they wouldn’t. A few were stubborn. A few were hopeful. A few were just too tired to start over somewhere else. So they stayed and planted seeds, literal and otherwise.

They started small. A gathering spot. A drink shared under candlelight. A warm body next to yours by the fire. The Bloody Way Bar came first. A place to talk, argue, cry. A spark in the dark. From there, ideas ... Rebuilding, on their own terms. No rules from the old world. No pretense. No mayor, no tourists, no schedule. Just something real. Something possible.

The Nature School came next; rough, messy, entirely unorthodox. A place to pass on what they remembered, and maybe invent something new. Nothing is like it was, but it was a start. And in Lost Cove, a start means everything.

28 months later ... And here we are, present day ;) Life is ( just barely ) better in Lost Cove ... Some homes have been patched up with scrap. The Dispensary is cleaner, stocked with whatever tinctures, herbs or bandages locals could gather. The Nature School is functional, if improvised. The streets ? Still nonexistent. The power grid ? A dream. Forget supermarkets. Forget cars, Forget comfort.

Your Sims hike, every time. Miles of forest, frost, or scorching sun between them and their destination. Every trip is a decision. Every hike is a risk. There are no easy visits, no casual get-togethers. Lost Cove is beautiful, brutal, and endlessly wild.

Winter hits hard. Snow blankets everything. Lakes freeze. Frostbite is real. Wander too far and you might never come back. Even summer, with its open skies and lush overgrowth, hides its dangers. There are forgotten places in Lost Cove — old ruins, sealed bunkers, silent islands — waiting to be uncovered. Not all of them should be.

Some Sims dream of electricity returning. Of clean water, instant noodles, digital music. Others say that dream is over. That the future lies not in recovery, but reinvention. A new way to live. One that belongs here, to this broken place. Tensions rise. Power is shifting, slowly. Questions are whispered in every fire-lit home : Can this fragile community hold together? Will the lights ever come back ? And what will the children of Lost Cove believe in ?

This 2025 Lost Cove update is more than just a patch: it’s a 10th anniversary redux ! As we previously said, we rebuilt Lost Cove from scratch using a heavily modified Isla Paradiso map. New terrain textures. New routing. New or remastered lots. More than 3500 hand-placed trees and plants. All previous custom content has been reworked, nothing lost this time ;D

Lost Cove has now 30 lots : 15 community lots ( + 2sheep fields ) and 15 residential lots. And there are still empty lots here and there :) Lost Cove is unpopulated. But we provide 2 save games :)

1 unpopulated file with very minor details change

1 populated file with different kind of families

The map retains its soul : the hidden islands, the dive spots, the collapsed downtown, and the iconic broken Hall. But there’s more. More decay, more discovery. More survivor hubs, weird spaces, overgrown secrets. We added new spots, simple gathering places for Sims to talk, dream, share — maybe even rebuild something better than before.

Play Lost Cove your way :

Long summers, short winters — for a gentler survival game ...

Harsh winters and sparse supplies — if you want full-on post-apocalyptic realism.

No libraries. No grocery stores. You want to eat ? Grow your own food or barter for it at the tiny Freshy Market. You want to learn ? Grab any rare books at the Oldy Flee Market. You want to live on water ? Build a houseboat. You want to live in the wild ? There’s plenty of space. You want to change the future ? Start now.

You want a more grungy despair ambiance ? Uglify the world.

Lost Cove is yours to rewrite ... In Lost Cove, every journey is different ... Will you build a peaceful village ? A cult ? A commune ? Will you try to bring back the old world ? Or bury it for good ?

Freeze it, evolve it, change it. Make it breathe. And have Fun !

LOST COVE : ANTS & CC YOU NEED

We made a folder with everything which improve the Lost Cove gameplay :)

the ANTS are :

Cyclonesue | Airlock Doors, Windows and Decor

Cyclonesue | Banged Up! Prison Build Set

Cyclonesue | Barbed and Chickenwire Fences

Cyclonesue | Decor for Factory Windows

Cyclonesue | Factory Windows

Cyclonesue | Industrial Tanks and Silos

Cyclonesue | Porta-Potty portable toilets

Cyclonesue | Scaffold-Truss and Steel Columns

Murano - gazstation fuelcan

Murano - gazstation gasbottle

Murano - gazstation gaspump

ATS3 object_festival counter

ATS3 object_festival general register

ATS3 object_julesvernepark stairs

ATS3 object_uglifyyourtown concrete bench

ATS3 object_uglifyyourtown concrete barrier

ATS3 pattern_metal destroy

blackysimszoo-Fischnetz

blackysimszoo-Fischstaender1

blackysimszoo-Fischstaender2

blackysimszoo-FishermansDekoZaun1

blackysimszoo-FishermansDekoZaun2

blackysimszoo-Ruderboot5

blackysimszoo-Ruderboot6

BuffSumm LineaNatura Arch

Cemre PoorandHappy-OldSofa

Gosik Bordeaux Standing Glasses

Murfeel TW3 sheep pack

Granny Zaza Metro Floor1 by GZ

Granny Zaza Metro Floor2 by GZ

Granny Zaza Metro Walls4 by GZ

Granny Zaza Metro Walls5 by GZ

( we put both .sims3packs & .packages for those ones )

Store : AlFrescoMarketSet

k-hippie square Rabbit Holes

1 CC folder with packages to put into your mods/packages folder

( this one is not mandatory or ANTS since many things are encapsulated into the world and every lot via .sims3packs, but we strongly recommend to use it. It's almost the one we use in all our worlds :) Very useful indeed ! )

Due to the difficulty sometimes to get the good links for many things related to the Sims 3 stuff, most of the whole cc stuff is included into the cc folder provided. Some others are just links for a direct download :) So, always thanks the all mighty creators who made a fantastic work for our pleasure since 2009 :

Awesims - Blams - Bluefunk - Gamefreak130 - Jynx - Misty - Nilxis - Qahne - SimAddix - sweetdevil

A quick word for those who are used to play our Sims 3 Worlds : we almost always use the same cc. So you won't have to replace the whole cc ! Just have a quick look ... in case ;)

Inside the packages folder : there are our UPDATED patterns : they are not mandatory at all. We modified the old Lost Cove lots to be free cc compliant BUT ... We made a bunch of 46 walls and 2 floors in a full destroy/metal/oldstone style :D Have fun to use them to recolor containers and houses :D

Oh ! Almost forgot !!! Lost Cove ( and our other worlds ) have now their OWN loading screen ( see the related post ) ... We included the file into the cc packages folder. It's really really great :)

Gamefreak130_LoadingScreenOverhaul

And now ... Welcome to Lost Cove ! :D

Download Lost Cove ( World )

Download Lost Cove ( CC )

Download Lost Cove ( Save Games )

...

[bbina]

alone together ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 . . . don't they?

── taking comfort in the thought that you are together in aloneness through late night talks, heartfelt confessions, and a genuine connection. with your shared experience of recent heartbreaks, you wonder if getting together would be all worth it. in which you find solace in each other's company, that you are alone together.

⋆｡˚ prev | next ˚｡

꩜ notes .ᐟ wc: 1k words. also masterlist finally updated woooo + didnt proof read this so enjoy

꩜ taglist .ᐟ @onlywonb @rosesfortaro @starwonb1n @wonychu @totheseok @dolloie @hyunjinsnumberonefun @binluvsu @onlyhyunjin @annswwa @wonbinsvlle @hakkkuu @ilovejungwonandhaechan @artstaeh @lecheugo @odxrilove @bunni @saranghoeforanton @nujeskz @nakam00t @kyusqult @nctsshoes2 @s9nwoo @daegale @palchokitty @dutifullyannoyingfox @oshakyao @koryutte @b-riize @meowbini @peterm4rker @winuvs @i03jae @rsatoru @enhacolor @dalliesque @sweetiejaeyun @dearestjake @cupidslovearrows @sasfransisco @kkumistars @sngj08 @taroddori @ennycutie @sa3ha @koeuh @astro-doll-the-star @amouriu

wonbin was currently over at your place (like usual) to start composing his duet song for their practical exam next week. not even ten minutes upon his arrival, he already made his way to your bed to "rest his eyes" as he said earlier. he even told you to wake him up in exactly five minutes and so you did

"it's been 5 minutes, bin. wake up" you poke his shoulder as you watch him sleep in your bed. he looks so calm and at peace in times like this

not that you've told a single soul but you two have been sleeping in the same bed for a while now. things really did change after that night during giselle's birthday celebration because wonbin would just end up crashing at your place after your usual nightly movie marathons and convenience store runs

strangely enough, you didn't question it. maybe it's because you've grown so comfortable with wonbin that this almost feels natural for you two to do

it's safe to say it's like you two have been living together secretly

"five more minutes.." wonbin mutters, wrapping himself with your blanket

"you told me that 5 minutes ago" you laughed, now resorting into shaking his shoulder so he could fully wake up

wonbin stays still despite your never ending nudging. right when you were about to kick him as your last measure, wonbin suddenly opens the blanket and drags you under the covers with him

he wraps his arms around your frame as he rests his head onto your chest

"there. much better" he mumbles, sighing in content

you let out a loud laugh before your hands immediately find their way towards his hair, stroking them as you look up at your ceiling

what a weird friendship you two have

"you're going to fail your exams if you keep this up" you joke, gently running your hands through his hair that smelled like mint

wonbin scoffs and moves his head a little that you can feel his breath fan your neck

"that can wait" he says, lips slightly brushing against your neck

you let out a hum. whatever, it's not your project nor responsibility anyway. so instead of pushing him to start working, you just lay there with him in your arms

this is what usually happens when he stays over. quiet moments that it's so peaceful and so mundane that it feels like everything falls into place with him by your side. you can't explain it but it just makes so much sense

a moment of silence passes by that it makes your eyelids feel heavy when you suddenly feel a pair of lips leave a trail of light kisses against your jawline til they gradually make their way up to your cheek. each kiss making your heart pound louder against your chest

your eyes snap open as your breath hitches

"wonbin.." you whispered when his lips hovered near the edge of your mouth. you meet his eyes, his gaze soft yet strong at the same time that it sent goosebumps all over your skin

the next thing you know, you were leaning in as well and so your lips meets his

this was way different from your first kiss with him weeks ago. this time you two didn't hesitate. it wasn't all because you two were caught up in the moment that you felt like you just had to kiss

this is different. it's totally different

because in this moment, you don't want this to ever stop

the kiss gradually went from soft and intimate into something you can't put into words. wonbin had shifted his positon once more. he was hovering above you while your arms are over his neck. with each kiss you take, the more you pull him closer til he was practically lying on top of you

your hands find their way to his hair again, gently tugging them when wonbin deepened the kiss that you accidentally let out a groan in his mouth

wonbin pulls away and moves his lips to your neck again. you let out a small whine when his lips find that sweet spot just below the shell of your ear. you can feel his lips curl into a smirk with what you just did and that just fueled his sudden adrenaline

you cup his cheeks to pull him back to your lips. this time your kisses were feverish, clearly hungry for more. wonbin then begins to trap you in between him, a knee placed in between your legs

things are getting heated in your apartment that the next thing you know was your clothes are slowly thrown onto the floor

you push wonbin off yourself a little to catch your breath, he sits up and cocks his head to the side. is something wrong?

"what are we?" you ask, looking at wonbin who’s lips are now swollen and his neck and collarbones decorated with your art

wonbin blinks before scoffing. he leans closer, smirking down at you as he hovers over you again, trapping you in between his arms

"friends" he says simply, pressing a kiss onto your lips, returning to your previous activity. you just let him for now, his words not really sinking in cause in his defense, you two are friends. nothing more nothing less, right?

wait a minute. friends don't do this. friends don't practically live together. friends don't make out just because, friends don't make you feel like this. friends don't make your heart skip a beat

friends don't do this

you push him off again, sitting up, "friends don't do this, don’t they?" you raise an eyebrow, licking your lips as you stare at the boy who has your heart in his hands

wonbin rolls his eyes playfully, "they do now", pushing you back on the bed to carry on from where you two have left

go figures he would say that. you, yourself aren't too sure where your current status with the boy who’s currently on top of you but either way you don't think about what he meant. all that matters right now is how he's yours at the moment. you think he's yours. he has to be, right?

he's here, with you.

although for some reason, there's a lingering feeling at the back of your head. his answer didn't quite satisfy you but you don't want to press it on much further

maybe it's better this way

after all, if you don't ask, then whatever you have going on with him wouldn't be the end of it. you don't want to hear an answer you don't like anyway

[honeyscara]

Chapter 9

Sieun tutor masterlist | whc masterlist

《prev chapter next chapter 》

The sterile scent of antiseptic hung heavy in the air, far too clean for how broken you felt inside.

You sat outside Sieun’s hospital room, body hunched forward, your trembling hands clutching the hem of your blood-stained shirt. The soft whir of machines inside the room, the muffled beeping of monitors—it all felt like a cruel reminder that Sieun was alive… but barely.

Your tears wouldn’t stop. They rolled down silently now, leaving faint trails along your cheeks. Your chest ached, every breath shallow, as if part of your heart was trapped behind that closed door.

Sieun’s mom was inside the room, her face pale and hands clasped tightly together in front of her lips. She hadn’t said a word, just stared at her son like she was begging him to open his eyes. Your own mother stood beside you, one hand gently on your shoulder, the other wiping at her tears as she looked on with helpless sympathy.

You couldn’t look up.

You didn’t want to see the pain on their faces—it mirrored yours too closely.

Then, the elevator chimed softly.

You looked up, barely registering the sound of rushed footsteps until three familiar figures came into view.

Gotak was first, out of breath and wide-eyed. Juntae was behind him, lips parted in shock, and Baku trailed in last—his expression unreadable, his fists clenched tightly at his sides, his forehead still bleeding from that fight earlier.

All three of them—Gotak, Baku, and Juntae stood silently beside you, their expressions grim as they looked through the glass window of the hospital room. The light inside cast a pale glow over Sieun’s still form, wrapped in wires and IV lines, a bruise blooming dark across his temple. He looked so small in that bed, and it didn’t feel real.

You sat on the bench just outside, your eyes swollen and red, lips trembling as you tried to hold yourself together. But the moment you glanced up at his unmoving figure again, the dam broke all over again.

Baku, quiet and composed despite the storm swirling behind his eyes, moved closer and gently patted your back. The weight of his hand was grounding—steady and warm. It was the kind of silent comfort that said I’m here without needing words. You leaned slightly into the touch, grateful for something solid, something that didn’t feel like it was falling apart.

None of the boys spoke. Not a single word passed between them. They weren’t just here as friends—they were here as family.

Eventually, the four of you moved to sit down along the hallway wall, waiting for Sieun’s mom to return with updates. Your mom had left earlier, promising to come back after handling work—but her absence left a hollowness beside you that made everything ache a little more.

Juntae, sitting besides you, reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of tissues. He didn’t say anything—just leaned forward, his hand stretched out toward you, offering them with a soft, understanding look.

You took the tissues with a small, tearful smile, whispering a hoarse, “Thanks,” as you wiped under your eyes, trying—and failing—not to cry again.

Gotak sat with his arms crossed, head tilted back against the wall, even his usual bright expression was gone. He wasn’t joking. His gaze kept drifting to the closed door.

And Baku… Baku was staring at the floor, his elbows resting on his knees, brows furrowed deep. Whatever storm was raging inside him, he was doing his best to hold it back—for your sake.

The hallway lights flickered slightly above you, and the distant sounds of hospital staff and beeping monitors filled the air, but in that little stretch of space, a quiet warmth settled. Despite everything, atleast you weren’t alone.You were surrounded by the people who cared about him too.

.

.

.

The door at the end of the hallway swung open with a soft click.Sieun’s mother stepped out, shoulders rounded with exhaustion, eyes red-rimmed from tears she’d tried to hide. The four of you rose at once—Gotak straightening first, Juntae beside him, Baku taking a single step forward, and you wiping hastily at your cheeks.

Baku’s voice was gentle, almost hesitant. “How is Sieun doing?”

She managed a weary smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “He’s stable,” she whispered, then glanced at the clock on the corridor wall. “Don’t worry—go home. Your parents must be waiting.”

Baku shook his head. “It’s okay… we’re Sieun’s friends.”

At that, something in her expression shattered. Her shoulders trembled, and she clutched her hands as though it were the only thing keeping her standing. When she spoke again, her voice flatered around every word.

“Please… stop being friends with Sieun.”

The hallway went silent but for the distant hum of fluorescent lights. You understood. Part of you had known she might say it—yet hearing the plea aloud felt like a blade sliding between your chest.

Baku’s lips parted in protest, but no sound came.

Her gaze swung to you, soft but desperate. “Y/N,” she said quietly, “I know you don’t want to… but please, it's for your own sake, i don't want your mom to get worried so please...”

Your breath caught. The world shrank to the thin line of pain on her face and the echo of her words ringing in your ears. You opened your mouth, wanting to promise you’d never leave him, never abandon him when he needed you most. But the grief in her eyes pinned the words to your tongue.

So you nodded. A small, broken gesture.

Tears pooled again, blurring the hallway lights into stars as she turned away—walking back toward the door, toward the son she was terrified of losing.

Around you, the boys stood motionless, every heartbeat loud in the heavy silence. You pressed the crumpled tissues to your eyes, swallowing the sob that threatened to escape, wishing you could promise her everything would somehow be okay—wishing you could believe it yourself.

~

Two days had passed, yet the weight of everything hadn’t lessened—it only pressed harder on you with each breath.

The streets blurred around you as you walked, backpack heavy, shoes scuffing against the pavement like your legs were moving on autopilot. School had come and gone in a daze. You barely remembered your classes, the stares from classmates, or the murmurs in the hallway about some stupid rumours. All you could think about was Sieun—his broken body, the glass window separating you from him, and the way his mom’s voice had trembled when she asked you to stay away.

You’d tried visiting again. Just once. But his mother hadn’t even opened the door fully this time. Her eyes had softened with regret, but she didn’t waver. “I’m sorry,” she’d whispered through the gap. “Not yet.”

So you were walking home with a hole in your chest, waiting for the bus in the pale orange light of late afternoon. The sun felt far too warm for a day that felt so cold.

You didn’t even notice someone standing a few feet away until a familiar voice called out.

“Y/N?”

You blinked and looked up, startled.

Juntae was standing near the bus stop, his school bag slung lazily over one shoulder. His expression was more serious than usual, a quiet concern in his eyes.

“I’ve been calling you since you turned the corner,” he said, stepping closer. “You okay?”

You forced a small nod, though the tightness in your throat made it hard to say anything.

His gaze softened. “Yeah. Me neither.”

Then you noticed the paper in his hand. It was creased, edges slightly torn, but something about the logo on the top made your stomach twist.

“What’s that?” you asked quietly, pointing at it.

He held it up. “It’s from Daesung Motorcycles. I managed to rip this from a stack before we left that day.”

Your eyes widened. “You—what?”

He nodded, eyes scanning the page. “It’s not much, but there’s something here. Names. Dates. Some weird numbers… could be payment records or something. If we get lucky, this could be enough to put some heat on the Union.”

Hope flickered in your chest for the first time in days. You stepped closer, voice firmer now. “We should give it to the police.”

Juntae hesitated for half a second—then nodded. “Yeah. I was thinking the same.”

You both stood there in silence, the wind picking up, ruffling the page in his hand. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was a fragile thread of something to hold onto. It wasn’t much but it gave you hope to end all this union bullshit.

You and Juntae hurried to the nearest police station, the page clutched tightly in his hand like it was your last lifeline. Every step there felt like running against gravity—like the world didn’t want this truth exposed.

The station was cold and impersonal. An officer behind the desk barely looked up when Juntae placed the paper down, explaining everything—what Daesung Motorcycles was really doing, what you saw, what this paper could mean.

The officer flipped through the page with disinterest, then sighed. “This could be anything. You need more than this to start an investigation.”

“But we saw it!” you argued, your voice trembling with urgency. “They’re laundering money, stealing. This is real—”

“We can’t investigate a place like that based on one ripped page. That’s just not how things work,” the officer said, sliding the paper back across the counter.

A punch to the gut.

Defeated, the two of you walked out of the station, the sun already dipping behind the buildings. Juntae was quiet, holding the paper again like it had lost all its power.

“I really thought they’d listen,” you muttered, your voice hollow. “What’s even the point? They won’t believe us unless someone dies in front of them.”

You stopped walking, fists clenched. “Maybe we should just stop. I’m tired, Juntae. I don’t know how much more we can do—”

You didn’t even hear them approach.

“Yo,” a low voice called out behind you.

You turned.

Four guys. All dressed casually, but their eyes were sharp—too sharp. The kind that made your instincts scream.

“run.…” Juntae whispered, stepping slightly in front of you.

The Union members.

Before you could react, two of them lunged. You tried to run, but arms wrapped around your shoulders and waist, dragging you back. You screamed, kicking and struggling, but they were too strong.

“Juntae!” you cried out.

Taglist: @eijizwrld @night-fall-moon @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @jihooneyluv @hnch33rios @stxr-lilac @mizxuqii @violetwitchmcu @reiofsuns2001 @yourfavoritefreakyhan @slovesyouuu @k1ttyjuice @ellaaa505

[blueberri-blu]

Hi! Can we get Rise Donnie being a flustered mess for he s/o? For the simplest things. Like, reader will just hold his hand, and all of a sudden, his face is flushed, and he's avoiding eye contact. And you know he'll definitely deny it.

Of course anon! As much as I love reading confident Donnie, flustered mess Donnie has a special place in my heart!

Not Flustered 〃〃

〃〃〃〃〃〃〃〃〃〃〃〃〃〃〃〃〃〃〃〃〃〃〃〃

Much to Donnie's dismay, you made him feel things

And the one he felt most often, was flustered. He didn't want to admit it

so you started to do things just to get him blushing

You'd come up and hold his hand whenever he was explaining his plans

You'd kiss him and complement him on his inventions

And even worse...

You'd come into the lab, and press your face as close as possible to his

While caressing his and looking up at him saying

"Come on My Love, let's go eat"

For all instances, he is blushing, eyes wide, and trying to look anywhere else

One time you tried to get him out of the lab by sitting on his lap (you two recently discussed your new/updated boundaries)

And the intelligent ninja Donnie stuttered

He looked absolutely adorable, struggling to find words

Ever since, he has taken to trying his best to compose himself

However, he always fails

And if you ever do any of these in public?

Oh boy

His brain is the Blue Screen, 404 error

Even his neck was red

You thought that it was first and new relationship nerves

But no

Even after a year of being together, and he still blushes when you complement, he still looks away bashfully when you hold his hand

However, beware

Because Donnie will try to tease you back

Emphasis on try

Because although you're blushing, he's blushing harder

One time he tried to straddle your lap and kiss you,

But he ended up kissing you only to hide his face in your shoulder

Overall, flustered Donnie is the best

He'll occasionally get Confidence bursts

But Donnie will quickly change right back to his blushy, flustered self

I didn't have a lot of inspiration when I wrote this, so I might come back and rewrite it!

[gallusneve]

please drop some headcanons and/or facts about lune my liege

Clair Obscur: Expedition 33's Lune Facts

(Fact) Lune loves pups and has a dog named Patte (paw)

(Fact) LOVES viennoiserie (French baked goods)

(Fact) Takes copious amounts of notes since she was 4 years old

(Fact) Actually down to fist fight if you betray her or her loved ones, shoving is the first sign

(Fact) She is a night owl, constantly curious and a worrier

(Fact) Has a sister named Stella and a brother named Sol; she is happy they are living their lives and not be burdened by their parents' research

(Fact) Buries herself in her research/work for her parents "They needed a research assistant who never went home. The obvious solution, birth your own."

(Fact) Music lover, can summon instruments from her Pictos like her guitar and also uses music to escape

(Fact) Does not know familial love and deep down hates her work "My only value to them. Not as a daughter, but as a back up plan. For their legacy" AND "They always said, at the end of the game, there are no points for effort. Only results."

(Fact) Lune will impulsively kiss you on the cheek when you manage to bring down one of her several walls

(Fact) She writes songs and "songs" ;) "Let's go find a comfortable place to compose then."

(Fact) Processes trauma unhealthily by focusing on big picture, the end is what matters, "When one falls. We continue."

(Fact) "I use the pain, I use the fear, the shame, the guilt, the anger. I use it all to keep going. To make sure. I. Continue."

(Fact) Spirals in the face of failure by worrying about the future, "Expedition 32 will be better... we need to prepare them. I need to prepare... Their chances will be better... I should update our journals"

(Fact) Has only let Sciel touch her, only confided to her majority of the time

(Fact/HC) Her and Sciel had history together, mourned their parents together and there's pining in between them "I wish we could've spent more time together… in less hopeless contexts."

(Fact/HC) "Hmm, I should observe you next time you sleep [...] It's for science." Lune would watch you sleep but would keep observational mental notes on you

Headcanons:

(HC) Lune doesn't wear any shoes in battle so she be in direct contact with nature and act as a conduit; harnessing her elemental powers/chroma from nature

(HC) Has failed dates before because she gets lost in thought frequently)

(HC) Would feel guilty for spending time for herself like self care or relaxing

(HC) Genuinely always smiles with her teeth and gets shy so she has to cover her mouth

(HC) Went through several leather gloves when she first started controlling her elemental powers

(HC) Berates herself for catching feelings on anything or anyone

(HC) Lune "we don't get to enjoy long friendships Lumière" interrogates you if you're romantically/platonically interested in her

(HC) Would have frequent neck pain and back pain from researching

(HC) Would get so attached and devoted to you once she lets you in which is why betrayal is so painful

(HC) Her and Sciel have joint parent custody over (Painted) Maelle

[kyri45]

Is it q&a time?

It's q&a time, it is.

✨SBP: Second Star Q&A! 22/04✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If it’s not answered here, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

@dezzyboo ha chiesto: Hi kryi I wanted to ask. In the new part when Mac got upset was that because potentially doing the ritual it had weakend him and so when tang spoke it hurt his ear or did he get upset because he could tell the ritual failed

because the ritual failed.

@elle-the-fan1 ha chiesto: okay. Here is me guessing the stone egg name and gender. If it’s a girl her name has to be Yuebei Xing. If it’s a boy it could be Wei-Chen or Pāramitā, (Depending if you wanna go either Journey To The South or American Born Chinese) HOWEVER!! ….If it’s twins there names could be either Jidu and Luohou or the more popular Rumble and Savage. If it’s triplets, it would be Yuebei Xing, Luohou, and Jidu…..any of the ways work. For me anyways.

good guess to all of them except for Rumble and Savage, who are shadow clones in the AU and already made an appearance .

@goldenunicornmaster ha chiesto: Love the update! I love that everyone is getting involved contributing energy to the new egg. Really shows how big the monkies’ family is. Neither are alone anymore. Sandy tearing up really got me, he’s so sweet and he’s gonna be a great uncle. Also Red! I see you! Definitely getting some ideas of a potential kid ideas with MK in the future. I see you ya aren’t slick.

Oh yes, Red is totally thinking of that (but they are too young to even marry, so yeah)

@pan999flo ha chiesto: Ever considered of drawing Ao Bing once? I thought about him because I always see how cool you draw Nezha etc.

Thank you! Maybe in the future, I liked the movie.

@autism-autobot ha chiesto: We've seen how Macaque acts when he's injured and Wukong's response to that, but what would happen if the roles were reversed? Wukong is injured and behaves a certain way because of it, and Macaque reacts to it.

Wukong would be a drama queen about it for the attention. Mac would be both annoyed for that and angry bc he got himself hurt.

@injuvanillafruit ha chiesto: Hey Kyri 👋, Can you share with us your shadowpeach headcannons. The past and present ones to be exact.

I'll give u just 2 cause I'm too tired and I aint got the time:

Past-> The 2 of them had an almost co-dependency at some point, the ones that even when they argued they would come back to the other because they didn't had a healthy way to be able to solve their own issues by having me-time.

Present-> Macaque still goes almost everyday at his dojo, but Wukong sends one of his clones around midday to quickly check on him and give him kisses (although he gets jealous if the clone start to be too touchy.)

@shevijra ha chiesto: Will you ever draw a fankid for Red Son and MK? And maybe their parents (every single one) reaction to them, or to the news that MK is pregnant or smth. Love your art as always!

yes. once

@twilight-bai-he ha chiesto: Do lmk gang ( Mei, MK, Wukong, Macaque, Red son etc) get emotional when watching movies/TV shows ?

Mei not as always, MK literally everytime. Macaque is more composed and Wukong will try to hide it. Red Son once cried watching star wars: the return of the Jedi.

@chernobylcatfish09 ha chiesto: I’m currently reading your shadowpeach bio parent au for the first time bc it seems to be completed now (I may be wrong, I am pretty lackluster in the smarts department), absolutely delicious btw But question, this ain’t an important question this is just for for funzies: If wukong and macaque collected anything together, what would it be? (examples being like figures, different coin types, plushies, discs of something, anything like that)

I think Macaque is one of those who would collect dools. Or statues. While Wukong kids of collects every single kind of his own merch.

@yourlocalclown-emily ha chiesto: Fav Spicynoodles fics?🙏

I guess Happy and Provided For

@stinkyexhaust ha chiesto: Will Kai also inherit MK's monkey powers?

Some. Not all of them. Actually in terms of powers he's much more Red Son than MK.

@internet-grab-my-tumblr ha chiesto: Am I the only one who thinks it’d be really funny if while everyone is focused on the ShadowPeach baby drama, IronBull decided they also want another kid but don’t bother telling anyone and just…pop up in a few months like “hey we made one too” with no warning and everyone freaks out? And then the ShadowPeach baby gets a buddy to grow up with and Red Son is unexpectedly a big brother too …I may or may not have an IronBull OC I could turn into that theoretical baby lol

it would be so much in character of them bc I bet they went "oh our arch-enemies are having a kid? Then we will have one as well and it will be even MORE powerful than theirs and they shall battle once reached the adulthood!"

@drpepperlover545 ha chiesto: Question, if the baby is born will the celestial realm find out?

Eventually yes, they can't hide them forever.

@selein13 ha chiesto: So... how did wukong and macaque react to the courtnapping tie? Also, how long was Mei laughing at them before she was able to get enough composure back to untie them?

they untied them a couple of hours later. Mac already foresaw how it would have happened and Wukong just laughed and told his kid good job.

@pettrainer ha chiesto: Hi just lil curious will you do a spin off of a time-skip? Like thousand or a few hundreds in the future ( whatever you think is far enough ) of the monkey family. Like what’s going on in there live, who doing what, or if Mac/Wuk have baby # 4 or 5, lol I can see them having a big family, but of course if that’s how you want your story to go.

mmmmhhh probably not. Might write something instead.

@weaverpop ha chiesto: Would Nezha ever take over as Jade emperor? I mean, he IS the rightful heir bc he’s the grandkid of the previous Jade Emp.

he is WHAT?

@loverfella ha chiesto: Sooo what would happen if there was a scenario where Wukong gets jealous and what would he do? I've seen so much Macaque getting jealous I wanna know what would happen if Wukong was the one that got jealous. Same goes for Mk, what would happen if he saw someone flirting with Red Son (I ADORE YOUR ART OMG ITS SO GOOD AIEBEJDJWJSJ)

@quesocheeso made a lot of lovely shadowpeach comics featuring jealous Wukong.

@macaquethemoon ha chiesto: QUICKKKKKKK QUESTION who do you ship more with MK outside of the comic? Mei x mk Or Redson X MK Or chimera(forgot how to say it) Redson x MK x Mei ALSO IM SO INLOVE WITH YOUR ART STYLE AND COMIC LOVIES

red son x MK

@epicloversposts ha chiesto: Hiya just wanted to ask would Macaque ever use the secret knowledge of Wukongs and Mk's weakness against them if he ever catches them trying to over train themselves? Or would he just join them instead?

yes he would. (playfully of course)

@sugerstem ha chiesto: About the ShadowPeach Bio Parent AU, I didn’t see Ne Zha at the coronation, was he not invited or not allowed? My guess is that he wasn’t allowed or too busy but I think surely he would’ve gotten an invite (I say hopefully)

He was the person tlaking to Guanyin

@autism-autobot ha chiesto: How'd the honeymoon go? (Assuming shadowpeach had one)

They went to the othe side of FFM and made it every monkeys problem.

@anxiousbb-witch ha chiesto: Thank you Kyri for making this wonderful AU and for introducing me to LMK with it! It was a roller-coaster of emotions and I still blame you for every tear dropped and everytime I almost snapped my phone in half with your wonderful art and storytelling.

aww thank you!

@craftyphilosophercreator ha chiesto: Are we going to see Bai He and Mk interact anytime soon? I'm curious about their relationship with each other.

maybe, I haven't planned much yet

@amc-2-wild ha chiesto: So side question. Who did you get to voice act for the comic finale you posted on YouTube? Also, I absolutely loved your comic, enjoyed the ride and I can't wait to see what else you create (been following the ISAT AU some and everything you do is amazing thank you-)

@hyperwukong012 as Sun Wukong

Ender as Red Son

@sam-i-am-27 as Mei

@wee-dopey as MK and Macaque

@shevijra ha chiesto: Heya Kyri! Did you perhaps watched the latest Nezha? Even if not, does your AU has Ao Bing, Nezha's boyf- I MEAN- best friend? I'm curious what would happen if our celestial monkey, or/and Mei met Bing, what would happen? He is such a sweetheart, I bet he would be happy for Macaque and Wukong about *you know what* Anyway, I love your works, your sense of humor and your gayness. Be well, my friend!

Well, don't know why he would be happy actually but yeah i watched the movies. Glad you like my sense of humor ahah.

@nanayobiznes ha chiesto: can we perhaps see bai he's fit during the coronation? :]

uuuhhhhh I'm so sorry but unfortunately i really don't have the time to draw that as well rn.

[vaginalvr]

hey! i was wondering if you could write one where spencer gets turned on during the job by bau!reader and they take it elsewhere

content warning: Semi-public sex, fingering, oral (m!receiving), unprotected sex (be safe), mutual desperation, dirty talk, established relationship, reader teasing without realizing, Spencer trying (and failing) to stay composed, power dynamics (Reader has the upper hand), soft roughness.

a/n: hehe yes

word count ~ 1k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

You didn’t even realize you were doing it.

It started back at the precinct. You’d just finished presenting the profile, eyes still on the whiteboard, mind sharp and focused when you caught Spencer staring.

Not just glancing. Staring.

His lips were parted slightly, one hand curled around the back of a chair, knuckles pale with how tightly he was gripping it. You gave him a puzzled look, and he quickly turned away, muttering something under his breath and fidgeting with his tie.

That should’ve been your first clue.

The second was in the hallway, walking side by side. You were updating him on the lead you’d just received when he suddenly stammered, his voice cracking mid-sentence. You turned your head in time to catch the flush creeping up his neck, his eyes darting to your lips and away again.

The third clue? The real one?

He flinched when your hand brushed his lower back. Like it burned. Like you’d caught him mid-fantasy.

You stopped walking.

“Spence?” You asked lowly, stepping a little closer. You were alone in the hallway. “Are you okay?”

He nodded—too fast. “Y-Yeah. Fine. Just—thinking.”

“Mhm,” you hummed. Then your voice dropped. “Are you hard right now?”

He looked like you’d shot him point-blank. His mouth opened, then closed, his eyes wide and panicked.

“Oh my God, you are.” You bit back a grin, your own blood heating.

“I didn’t—I wasn’t—You were…” he stammered, pushing a hand through his hair, avoiding your eyes.

“What, Spencer?” you murmured, leaning in so only he could hear. “Was it when I bent over the table? Or when I said ‘penetrate his defenses’ while pointing at the map?”

He groaned quietly, head tilting back against the wall with a thump. “Do you have any idea what you do to me when we’re in the field?”

You smirked. “Apparently, I do now.”

His eyes flicked back to yours, glassy and full of heat. “We have ten minutes before the next interview.”

“That’s enough,” you whispered.

He blinked. “Enough for what?”

You leaned in closer, lips nearly brushing his ear. “You’re gonna take me somewhere right now, and I’m gonna take care of you. Because if I have to watch you squirm through another debrief with your cock hard, I’m going to lose it.”

The sharp exhale he let out was practically a whimper.

Without another word, he grabbed your hand and led you down the hallway, past a storage room, then another, before quietly nudging open a door marked EVIDENCE LOCKER – TEMPORARY HOLD.

It was small. Cramped. Barely big enough for two people. Perfect.

The second the door shut behind you, Spencer was on you—hands on your waist, mouth crushing to yours with a desperation he rarely let show. You kissed him back hungrily, moaning into his mouth as his fingers dug into your hips.

“Fuck,” he panted against your lips. “You can’t wear those pants around me and expect me to think straight.”

You tugged at his belt with practiced ease. “Then don’t think.”

His pants dropped to his thighs, cock springing free—hard, flushed, leaking. You licked your lips, sinking to your knees without breaking eye contact.

Spencer’s hands went to your shoulders, his jaw slack as you gripped the base of him and swirled your tongue around the tip.

“Oh my God,” he breathed, his head falling back as you took him into your mouth, slow and deep. “We’re—we’re at work—”

You popped off with a wicked smile. “So stay quiet.”

He didn’t last long. You were too good at this. Too confident. Too deliberate.

You kept eye contact, lips slick and cheeks hollowed, bobbing your head with just enough pressure to have him panting, biting the back of his hand, trying not to cry out. When you felt his thighs tremble, you let him slip free with a wet pop and stood up, voice low.

“Turn around.”

Spencer was pliant, already spinning to face the wall, bracing his hands against it. You made quick work of tugging your pants down just enough and pressed yourself against his back, teasing the head of his cock between your folds.

“Tell me you want this,” you breathed into his neck.

“I—I need it,” he gasped. “Please, I’m going insane.”

You slid down on him in one slow, perfect motion, both of you muffling moans as the stretch burned just right. Spencer shuddered against the wall, muscles tense under your hands, trying not to lose it too fast.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he whispered brokenly. “You always feel so—fuck—”

You rolled your hips, arms around his waist, fucking him from behind with dirty, deliberate control.

“This is what happens,” you growled in his ear. “You get hard during work, and I use you like this. Like you’re mine to fuck whenever I want.”

He whimpered, nodding helplessly.

You bit his shoulder—just enough to leave a mark—and increased your pace, feeling him get sloppy, desperate, cock twitching inside you.

“I’m gonna come—please, can I come?” he choked out, hips jerking.

“Yes,” you hissed. “Come inside me, Spencer. Right now.”

He let out the softest, filthiest moan as he came, cock pulsing, his whole body shaking. You clung to him, still grinding slowly, chasing your own high, and just when his head started to clear, he spun you around and dropped to his knees.

“Your turn,” he rasped, mouth hot against your core.

Your back hit the wall with a gasp as Spencer’s tongue found you, licking you through your afterglow, desperate to return the favor. His fingers gripped your thighs as you rode his face, your hand tangling in his curls, grinding down.

“Fuck, Spencer—” you moaned. “Yes, yes, right there—”

You came fast and hard, thighs trembling, and he kept going until you were whining from overstimulation, tugging him up for a messy kiss.

You both stood there, panting, clothes half on, grinning like idiots.

“You are so dangerous,” he whispered, kissing your jaw. “You can’t just weaponize your voice like that.”

You adjusted your pants, smoothing your hair. “Then next time, behave yourself.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You smirked, stealing one last kiss. “Come on, Doctor. We’ve got a killer to catch.”

[inkedcerulean]

an alliance in waiting | chapter 3

jacaerys velaryon x fem!frey reader

summary: your courtship continues; you spend some time with jacaerys in the courtyard and the library.

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of war & death

general notes: this chapter took a LONG long long time, i know... going forward, i don't expect updates to take as long as i have written most of this fic during my hiatus. hope you enjoy 💗

jace taglist: @hotdhoe @chimmysoftpaws chocotorta2027 @drvcosstuff @emilly-adopted-mcmann @charlottelaffin @suniika @princessofthereach @twilightzone24 @ghizlana @yohanseyebrowmole @fairyjuhak22 @francislovergirl @viserraslawyer @ackerman0-0 @shi-toshi

In the corridor the next morning, Jacaerys reminded you of something. The hallways were long, and each of you were at opposite ends. An image from your childhood flickered through your memory, and so when Jacaerys crossed your path, you tapped him on the shoulder. And of course you could not help your smile. But when you noticed that he did not attempt to follow you, you turned your head and raised your eyebrows.

He stopped and turned towards you, his eyebrows raised. “My lady?”

“You— you will not pass it back?” When he remained silent, you asked, “You’ve never played corridor tag?”

“No,” he said.

“It’s a game I used to play. As a child.”

He nodded. “I… see.”

You flushed and cleared your throat. “Dinner’s waiting.”

The schedule these days was only arduous in the daytime. The wedding arrangements were made in long meetings, but in the evening, Jacaerys dined with you and your family. The same was true tonight.

“Do you have any siblings, Jacaerys?” Thimbus asked. 

You, Marsella, and Gunther looked at him.

He cleared his throat. “I do.”

You looked at Jacaerys, but he did not meet your eyes; he wore a pained expression that your younger siblings did not catch onto. He looked… composed, in a way that spoke to maturity. Soon, your duty would be to take care of your husband as he was. And instinctively, you thought that you ought to reach for his hand or touch his shoulder, but your courage failed you.

Thimbus’ face brightened. “Will we meet them at the wedding?”

“Yes, all of them will be there.” 

His eyes were on his plate as he carefully sliced the duck— which he had requested three days in a row— and remained there. His mannerisms told you all you needed to know. He was not to be touched.

The next day, you saw him sparring with your brother in the courtyard. Your brothers often practiced their swordsmanship here in the training area. You shifted nervously in the corner near a bush. You knew your brother to be mischievous, having learned wit well before you were aware of it, and you did not know how Jace would respond. It was an even dance, but your eyes stayed on Jace’s form, his grip on the sword, and the sway of his hair.

You stepped into the light. “Gunther,” you said, and tilted your head to the right.

Your brother bowed in front of you before taking his leave.

“You are skilled indeed,” you said.

Jacaerys nodded at you and held his sword out with both hands. “Would you…”

“Want to hold it?”

He nodded.

You took the sword from him, trying to copy the way that he held it. It was obvious that he had more practice in this than you, and you could feel your wrist and hand shake from its weight. His hands hovered inches from your own, but when you did not drop it, he backed away from you.

“Now, strike.”

You did so, thrusting it into the air. It felt silly; there was no one in front of you to match your action.

“Your grip is wrong,” Jace said. “Here.” He stood behind you, reaching an arm out to change how you held the sword. He angled your hand lower, and you felt then, a subtle change.

He removed his hand from you.

You tried it again, and now it was less awkward. 

You nodded and handed the sword back to him, which he put back in his sheath.

“Thank you,” you said.

He nodded.

Then, as you crossed the courtyard to go back inside the castle, you tapped him on the forearm.

“We are not in a hallway," he said.

You stopped, turned towards him, and smiled. "A reflex test, then.”

He shifted his stance, tilting his head with a pleased air. “When does it end?”

“It holds you in its grasp for perpetuity, yet it is invisible,” you said.

If it suits you, My Prince.

It was late into the night. The halls of the West Tower were silent, and yet your bedchambers held no interest to you. You were in the library, seated in a tufted chair, a table in front of you to rest your embroidery hoop on. Threads of red and black were the only thing that you were concerned with. The lighting in the room was dim, a fireplace ten feet away from you, which left room for error to sneak into the stitches. But it was only practice.

There was something blocking the light. You frowned and looked up. Jacaerys stood there, a hand on his sword, gesturing to the armchair beside you. You nodded, turning your attention back to your handiwork.

“What are you working on?” he asked, taking a seat.

“Just practicing," you said, thumb pressing against the underside of the cloth. Then, you looked up. “Would you like to try?” you asked, holding the hoop out.

He took it from you and held it in front of himself. You swallowed as he examined the stitches, before he picked the needle up and pierced through the fabric. His fingers, nimble in their movements, stitched the thread from below and above. After about a minute of this, he shook his head and handed the hoop back to you.

“You wield the blade steadier than I.”

You looked at his work. Indeed it was a little messy, but there was some consistency within it.

“The same cannot be said for my swordsmanship.”

Jacaerys met your eyes then, smiling.  “You enjoy the quiet?”

“Immensely.”

Jacaerys looked around the room. The maesters did not do a good job keeping up with the library’s inventory. You loved returning the old and rare books to their shelves, but there were far too many added to keep up with. Haphazard as it was, Jacaerys did not comment on it.

You placed your embroidery on the table when he spoke next.

“There are times when I miss Dragonstone. Being doted upon, and the abundance of people in the Red Keep, it can be hard to find a moment alone.”

You tilted your head to the side. “Well, I would think, as the Prince…”

“That I should expect it. I know.” Jacaerys released a small breath of air and thrummed his fingers on the velvet arm.

“You never find yourself lonesome?”

“What do you mean?”

“As of late,” you began, “Too much solitude does ill to me. Even though I often seek it.”

Jacaerys frowned, which you felt guilty for. 

The candles flushed your cheeks. You were so captivated within your own mind that you hadn’t noticed how untoward this sounded to another person. You did not mean to hand him all of your sorrows, but you could not help in testing it. He was to be the person you spent the rest of your days with.

“I have spoken too much,” you chuckled, shaking your head.

“You may tell me anything you wish.”

He did not need to say more. “I had a close circle of friends once,” you said. Your lips turn into a smile with the barest hint of melancholy. “We spent the days of our youth together, learning… a lady’s way of things.”

“And what became of them?”

“None were hurt. But they left more suddenly than I imagined, for fear of the war. I have not seen them in nearly three years. Crossings can be a lonely place when you’re the only one who stays, while the rest pass through you.”

“I am sorry,” he said,  low and softly. “But,” he continued, his voice more inquisitive. “What if I made a suggestion?”

“What kind of suggestion?”

“The wedding celebration. We could send them an invitation, and I’ll see to it that they are on the list. I am sure that they have heard the news already.”

“That… is an excellent idea,” you said as he nodded at you. “I must confess, I had thought of it before, but I willed it to the back of my mind. It’s a scary thing, seeing someone you once loved after so long.”

“I understand,” Jacaerys said. “When my family went to King’s Landing the night that King Viserys died, I saw my mother’s side of the family after several years, at the feast.”

You looked at him and swallowed. “With Aemond Targaryen?”

He nodded and looked down. “I cannot say that I love him now.”

His face was not in the light now, but you knew what he was thinking, which pained you. You could not imagine losing one of your siblings. The steel created within oneself would be irreversible. Though the Prince composed himself with the diplomacy and composure that the realm spoke of, you now saw what sorrow existed in concert. Grief, from bereavement or otherwise, could be the loneliest thing in the world. 

There was no other choice of what to do next. Love, if it was ever fortunate enough to come to that, needed your own freewill. You leaned forward and reached for his hand. He looked up slowly then, and as he did, the heat of his palm in yours grew. 

“You have a good nature to you, Jacaerys.”

He remained silent at this, parting his lips only slightly.

You widened your eyes. “Was… that not good of me to say?”

“Not at all,” he affirmed.

Jacaerys stood up and brought your hand to his lips. He kissed it, a small ambiguous warmth while you stared at him above you, half his face illuminated by the faint moonlight of the high windows.

“My lady,” he said. And with that, he let go of your hand and walked out of the room.

You looked at your embroidery by your side, while the fireplace crackled, and saw how the stitches looked like the pattern of dragon wings, coarse and scaley.

[cuppasunu]

» DEOBI DAY SPECIAL REQUEST DELIVERY »

to: ally @winterchimez <3 req: sangyeon | dear me, by gentle bones summary: navigating the highs and lows of married life is never easy, but how will you fight for what you believe in? — doctor!sangyeon x reader warnings: mature language genre: fluff, angst, established relationship  wc: 1.3K words (????) an: guys, trust me... i thought this was just a short drabble. then, i finished and suddenly there were more than a thousand words. lovely song, allybear.. thank you so much for the request. i hope you like it! (join my taglist for updates!) stars: @winterchimez @hyungseos-cafe @carrotsworld

masterlist | @deoboyznet taking in your requests!!! — send a tbz member + song that reminds you of spring (or any song you like tbh lol)

"so, that's it?"

sangyeon winces at your tone, but he doesn’t pause. he continued walking towards the counter to fetch his keys. the bag on his shoulder was heavy, but it did not compare to the weight looming over his head. 

he simply sighs—not much of a response to your question, but a reaction nonetheless.

you hate when he does that. words and complaints easily crawl out of you, sometimes almost bursting at the seams. raising your voice used to be a rare occurrence but you can’t count how many arguments you’ve had this week alone. 

now, his back is facing you, a couple steps away from the front door. you don’t see him close his eyes in frustration, but through sheer familiarity, you can sense how much he’s trying to hold back.

“sangyeon, don't walk out on me. please..”

“y/n, i’m just heading to work,” he says, plainly.

“-to work? it's only 3pm, your shift doesn't start until 6!”

sangyeon drops his head. his bag hits the floor and he massages his temples. still, he’s not turning around to face you. before you know it, you’re curling your fist at the corner of the throw pillow ready to be launched at his head but you caught yourself before doing it.

“why are we doing this again?”

“doing what? we need to talk-”

“no. we don't,” sangyeon stays firm. 

his sharpness catches you off guard. your heart is pounding, all too aware of how loud it is in comparison to the silence in the room. after taking a moment to compose himself, sangyeon noticed your lack of response. his deep breath broke the tension in the air and he shifted his body to face you—your expression unreadable.

expecting a smug, annoyed look on his face, you weren’t prepared to see his tired eyes face to face. he seemed small and weak, without a hint of contempt you were convinced would lash out at you.

fighting was never his pick of poison, so where did it all go wrong?

your gaze darted away, attempting to hide the tears forming in your eyes. 

“is there somebody else?” you ask, laughing in disbelief. you know it’s a question even you think is beyond ridiculous, but you had to.

“woah- hold on.” 

sangyeon’s shoulders tensed up as if his body had a visceral reaction to what you were insinuating. it wasn’t a surprise to see him speechless, the thought that you would even consider the chance he would become unfaithful never even crossed his mind.

“another woman? another man? shit- i dont know,” you rambled on, not knowing what to make of his response. 

“how did you jump to that, god- y/n no! of course not!”

“I don’t know! sangyeon, can’t you see? you’ve been so distant. i’m not one to hold the tiny things against you, but you’re missing dates? failing to show up over and over again for the past few months- without explanation. and- and you’re cold! putting up your walls.. hiding something from me.”

breathless, you pushed through your words and ignored the blurred vision from your dampened eyes.

you stop for a moment, “out of everyone, sangyeon, you’re holding things from me?”

“i'm not seeing anyone else.”

he remained calm despite your outburst. his eyes are clear, staring back at you like you’re a figment of his imagination. 

sangyeon keeps his clothes neat and pristine; cleanliness is a must for a physician. but his shoes are a constant reminder of his hard work.

you look down at his beat-up shoes, worn down from all the walking. the last time you brought up buying him a new pair, he brushed it off claiming that he loves that his shoes were worn in because it’s more comfortable that way.

but, that’s all you hear about his work.

he rarely shares anything about how he’s doing, much less talking about how he’s struggling.

so, you don’t press. you don’t want to pry. 

snapping out of his trance, sangyeon sees you hesitate. he knows that look on your face when you want to ask something you’re not sure you can ask. he takes a moment to choose his words carefully and notices how he’s starting to forget how this argument even started. 

“please tell me,” you pleaded.

“it's mom.”

"what?"

you’re confused. you’ve only heard about sangyeon’s mother through his stories and seen her through a few pictures. clearly, she hasn’t been present in your lives other than a painful reminder of his tumultuous childhood.

"she's back.."

now, his small and defeated child-like demeanor made sense. 

“when?”

“she came in through the er a few months ago. i haven't seen her in years. and - i thought that when i finally do, she'd be living big, you know? that’s how i always imagined her after she abandoned me with that man-”

sangyeon ran his hand across his face, “actually seeing that would have been better. for everything to have been worth it, but she... she's not doing good.” 

his voice broke, struggling to continue his last sentence. the man you’ve shared your life with is breaking down at your front steps, and for the first time, you don’t know what to do.

“those calls, going back to the hospital late at night? all for…” you asked.

he nodded.

“sangyeon, were you- not gonna tell me? were you planning to shoulder all of this alone? carry all this burden all by yourself?”

“at first, i didn't think it would be severe-”

“-babe..”

“i know, i know. i just thought.. you didn't have to know. so yes, i would have kept it hidden for as long as i can because..” his voice trails off.

you come up to him, your steps are calm yet urgent. you held his hand and he felt like you just caught him from falling. your other hand caressed his cheek, lifting his gaze back to you. 

he’s trembling like the whispers of his thoughts tried to escape his lips.

“see you like what?”

“i don't want you to see me like this, broken, falling apart. this is not the man you married. i'm sorry…you didn’t sign up for any of this. i- i’ve been struggling for a while now, but i’m trying. believe me, i’m trying.”

he smiles weakly, finding it a little funny that you’re wiping his face dry as your tears are drenching your own. you mirrored his expression, completely taken by the vulnerability that the love of your life has displayed right then and there. 

sniffling, you managed to say, “you’re not falling apart. not when i’m here. and babe, we talked about this. i can’t read your mind, i won’t know your struggles unless we talk, and i- i know i can be more patient, but you can’t assume we won’t overcome this together if you can’t trust me.”

sangyeon rests his forehead on yours. your arm sliding up his back as his embrace opens up to bring you in closer. 

“i got scared,” he whispered, barely audible.

“why?”

“i had to accept that i’m not as strong as i thought i was.”

you broke the hug to look him in the eyes. you squinted, meaning to chastise, but the warmth of your palm against his face spoke a million words. 

“you would be a complete idiot to think i didn’t sign up for everything that involves you- even the messy days, the breakdowns, moments you feel like shit- i signed up for all of it the day i said yes. it’s important to me that you understand, okay?”

you waited for him to nod in response. asking over and over again until he complies, making him chuckle, even if it was for just a second.

“okay,” sangyeon rubbed his poor swollen eyes.

“so, i’m coming with you to visit her today?” you asked, waiting for confirmation, then sensed his body finally relax. he nodded and smiled in relief, feeling the weight on his shoulders gone.

“you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

that's when sangyeon knew he’d never run out of reasons for loving you.

an: oh, this is totally inspired by the pitt. imagine a distressed doctor trying his best while juggling a hundred million things. brainrot has combined in all my fixations oh yeaaaah... very indulgent, very nice :)

[velvetvisionsaurora]

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) y/n gets switched to a real name but it has a purpose. More warnings to be updated.

<<Previous Next>>

Masterlist

Chapter 10.5

Reconnections Cont.

The walk to Hongjoong's quarters passed quickly, the ATEEZ's corridors now familiar territory after days aboard. Unlike her initial exploration characterized by strategic vigilance, this journey carried different purpose—movement toward reunion rather than careful reconnaissance.

When she reached the captain's door, y/n paused briefly, years of conditioned caution creating momentary hesitation. Then, with deliberate resolve, she knocked firmly—an active choice rather than passive response.

"Enter."

The single word, carrying both authority and unmistakable anticipation, created unexpected nervousness in y/n’s chest. This wasn't approaching a dangerous captor or potential ally, but the boy who had first called her "Treasure" during midnight stargazing aboard another ship fifteen years earlier.

She opened the door to find Hongjoong standing near his desk, hands clasped behind his back in a posture that suggested prepared formality despite obvious emotion in his expression.

"You came," he said simply, the observation containing both gratitude and lingering disbelief.

"I did," she replied, matching his direct approach.

For a moment, they simply regarded each other across the room, fifteen years of separation creating a distance that went far beyond the physical space between them.

"How is Mingi?" Hongjoong asked with genuine concern.

"Improving," she answered truthfully. "Still unconscious, but responding more strongly. Yeosang seems cautiously optimistic."

Hongjoong nodded with visible relief. "He's strong," he said quietly. "Always has been, even before circumstances required such strength."

"Please, sit," he offered, gesturing toward comfortable chairs positioned near his cabin's small porthole.

As they settled into their respective seats, momentary silence stretched between them—not awkward tension but necessary adjustment, recalibration after fifteen years of imagined possibilities on both sides.

"I don't know where to begin," Hongjoong admitted finally, unexpected candor replacing his usual strategic approach. "Fifteen years planning this conversation, and now all those carefully prepared words seem completely inadequate."

"I know what you mean," y/n acknowledged. "I've recited your names every night for fifteen years, and now actually sitting across from you feels..." she hesitated, searching for the right description, "...both completely surreal and strangely familiar at the same time."

Something shifted in Hongjoong's expression—surprise followed by dawning comprehension. "Every night?" he repeated. "For fifteen years?"

She nodded, the confession emerging without calculation. "Joongie, Hwa, Woo, Yuyu, Puppy," she recited softly. "Like a prayer or a spell. The one thing I had that Blackwell couldn't take away, couldn't even know existed to try destroying."

Hongjoong's composed expression cracked momentarily, his hand moving unconsciously toward the inner pocket where Mr. Hugs had traveled for fifteen years.

"We searched everywhere," he said, his voice rougher than usual. "Every port, every auction house, every slave market. Every rumor of a young girl sold in Halazia fifteen years ago."

"I know," she replied gently. "Yunho and Wooyoung told me. And I heard you yesterday, in this room, when you explained your mission to Ella. When you had no idea I was her."

Hongjoong's gaze met hers directly. "When did you know?" he asked. "That we were the boys from The Crimson Serpent?"

"I suspected almost immediately," she admitted. "The way you all interacted—your patterns, your distinctive mannerisms, the specific ways you moved together. Fifteen years changed so much, but those core dynamics remained recognizable."

"Yet you said nothing," he observed, the statement containing a question.

Y/n considered her response carefully. "Survival required certainty before disclosure," she explained. "I needed to be sure it was truly you, not coincidence or manipulation. That Joongie, Hwa, Woo, Yuyu, and Puppy had actually found me after all this time."

"And what convinced you?" Hongjoong asked with genuine curiosity.

"Everything," she replied honestly. "Wooyoung's spiced honey cakes. Yunho's stories about the stars. Mingi's compass mark on everything he creates. Seonghwa arranging objects in perfect right angles. Your habit of Rubbing the back of your neck.”

These specific details created visible impact on Hongjoong's face. Her observations revealed genuine recognition beyond surface appearances.

"You noticed all that?" he asked softly, wonder in his voice.

"Survival depended on observation skills," she explained simply. "Predicting others' actions, anticipating responses before they happened, seeing patterns others tried to hide—these weren't optional abilities during fifteen years as someone else's property."

The blunt assessment created momentary silence between them.

"I kept him with me," Hongjoong said abruptly. "Every day, everywhere we sailed."

Without further explanation, he rose and moved to the locked sea chest she had glimpsed during earlier exploration. With practiced movement, he retrieved a key from around his neck and opened the chest's intricate mechanism.

From within, he carefully lifted something wrapped in protective cloth, his movements containing reverence beyond mere caution. With gentle precision, he unwrapped the bundle to reveal its contents: a worn teddy bear missing one eye button, its fabric patched in multiple places, stuffing periodically renewed yet still unmistakably itself.

"Mr. Hugs," y/n whispered, childhood memories rushing back at the sight of her long-lost companion. "You really kept him all this time."

"We found him after Captain Redmond took you to auction," Hongjoong explained, his voice thickening with emotion despite his attempt at control. "In the harbor mud, near where the gangplank had been. Like you'd deliberately left him where he might be found rather than simply lost in the struggle."

The memory surfaced with unexpected clarity—her final moments of freedom before Blackwell claimed ownership, desperate calculation amid terror and grief.

"I did," she confirmed softly. "I knew I couldn't keep him with me, that captivity would mean losing everything I valued. But I hoped somehow—if I left him where you might find him—that you'd have something to remember me by."

Hongjoong's composed expression fractured further. "We used him to make our oath," he said with difficulty. "That night, after failing to protect you. Our blood, our promise to find you again—no matter how long it took, no matter what sacrifice was required."

"May I?" she asked, hands extending instinctively toward the teddy bear that had been her sole childhood comfort aboard The Crimson Serpent.

Hongjoong hesitated fractionally before deliberately placing Mr. Hugs in her waiting hands.

The familiar weight settled against her palms, memories flooding back. This wasn't simply a childhood toy recovered, but tangible proof that five boys had remembered, had searched, had transformed themselves into the most feared pirates on the seven seas specifically to fulfill an oath made during childhood failure.

"Hello, old friend," she whispered, fingers gently straightening his worn bow tie with movement identical to her childhood ritual. "You've had quite the adventure while I was gone."

Hongjoong watched this reunion with visible emotion despite his attempts at control. When y/n looked up, she found his eyes suspiciously bright.

"We failed you," he said abruptly. "That day in Halazia. Our escape attempt caused the fire that created the perfect diversion for Redmond to take you directly to auction. If we'd planned better, secured proper resources, established a backup meeting point—"

"Stop," y/n interrupted firmly. "You were children. Five against an entire crew of experienced sailors and armed guards. The fact that you even attempted rescue shows extraordinary courage beyond what most adults would have shown."

This perspective created visible impact on Hongjoong's face. Unlike vague reassurances, her specific acknowledgment addressed the core of the guilt that had apparently survived fifteen years.

"But we promised to keep you safe," he countered, though with less certainty. "And instead created circumstances that accelerated your capture and sale."

"You did keep me safe," she insisted. "For three months aboard that hellish ship, you five created protection that allowed me to remain whole when everything around me threatened to break me. You made space for laughter when terror seemed the only possible response. You showed me stars when darkness seemed absolute."

She held Mr. Hugs gently against her chest, body remembering the comfort from childhood. "And most importantly, you showed me that genuine connection could exist even within captivity—that human bonds survived despite deliberate attempts to prevent them. That lesson sustained me through fifteen years when Blackwell and others systematically worked to eliminate any sense of self beyond what they defined."

Her honest assessment created space between them for acknowledgment beyond blame or dismissal. Unlike empty absolution, her perspective offered reconsideration based on specific impact rather than just general reassurance.

"We kept searching," Hongjoong said finally, acceptance gradually replacing his self-accusation. "Even when logic suggested it was impossible, when years passed without leads, when false hopes repeatedly appeared then vanished."

"I know," she replied softly with genuine understanding. "The ATEEZ itself stands as evidence of that commitment—your reputation, your operations, your specific targeting of slave traders rather than just profitable vessels. Everything you've built represents extension of that original promise from The Crimson Serpent."

Something shifted in Hongjoong's expression—surprise followed by dawning recognition. Unlike assumptions that reunion represented completion of their mission, y/n’s assessment acknowledged the ongoing nature of their commitment—a fundamental purpose that had grown beyond just finding her to address the systemic injustice that had facilitated her captivity.

"It started as search for you specifically," he confirmed honestly. "But eventually expanded beyond personal mission to address larger patterns we witnessed throughout the maritime world. Your captivity became emblematic of widespread suffering that demanded response beyond individual rescue."

"And that expansion makes your oath more meaningful rather than less," she observed. "What began as promise to a single child grew into commitment that has freed countless others from similar captivity. The girl you knew aboard The Crimson Serpent would consider that fulfillment beyond original intention, not deviation from it."

This perspective—acknowledging growth beyond original parameters rather than just static adherence to childhood promise—created visible impact on Hongjoong's features.

For several moments, they sat in comfortable silence, Mr. Hugs resting against y/n’s chest while Hongjoong watched with expression containing both joy and lingering disbelief despite confirmed recognition.

"I still can't quite believe you're really here," Hongjoong admitted finally, genuine wonder in his voice. "After so many years searching, so many false leads and disappointments, to actually have you sitting across from me feels..." he hesitated, seeking adequate description, "...like a dream suddenly becoming reality despite everything suggesting impossibility."

"I understand completely," she replied with a gentle smile. "I spent fifteen years believing myself forgotten or abandoned by anyone who had ever shown me kindness. To discover that five boys not only remembered but transformed themselves into the most feared pirates on the seven seas specifically to fulfill a childhood promise—it challenges fundamental assumptions that guided my survival for fifteen years."

Hongjoong leaned forward, his eyes fixed on hers with an intensity that made the captain's usual strategic calculation fade away. For a moment, he was just a boy who had made a promise long ago.

"Not a single day passed that I didn't think of you," he said, his voice low and rough with emotion. "At first, I thought the pain would fade with time, but it never did. It just... transformed. From that sharp, desperate grief into something more focused. More purposeful."

He ran his hand through his hair, a gesture that reminded her of the fidgety child he once was. "There were nights when I stood on deck, looking at the same stars Yunho had taught you about, and I swore I could feel you out there somewhere. Even when logic told me the chances were impossible, even when others suggested we redirect our efforts, that feeling never went away."

Hongjoong's eyes glistened in the cabin's soft light. "We became pirates because we had nothing to lose. We became feared because we had everything to gain. Every ship we freed, every slave trader we crippled, was a message to Blackwell and his kind. But it was also a message to you, wherever you were – that you weren't forgotten. That you mattered enough to change the course of our entire lives."

His voice broke slightly as he continued, "I needed you to know that. That you were never just some child we failed to protect. You were our compass point. The reason we kept going when everything else fell apart. And now you're here, and I—" he stopped, overwhelmed for a moment, "—I don't have the words for what that means. I've commanded ships and men for years now, but sitting here with you, I feel like that eight-year-old boy again, making promises I wasn't sure I could keep." 

A single tear escaped, which he quickly wiped away, smiling through it. "But this time, this one time, I kept the most important promise of all. We found you, Treasure. And nothing – nothing – in fifteen years of sailing has ever felt as right as this moment."

Before y/n could respond, gentle knock interrupted their conversation—reminder that ship operations continued regardless of personal revelations. Hongjoong's expression immediately shifted toward captain's authority, though without completely displacing genuine connection established during their exchange.

"Enter," he called, automatically straightening his posture.

The door opened to reveal a messenger rather than officer—young crew member. "Captain, Quartermaster Seonghwa requests your presence regarding salvage operations from yesterday's engagement," the young man reported respectfully. "Says timing flexibility is available given non-critical nature of discussion."

The report, delivered with specific acknowledgment of interruption's limited urgency, revealed consideration beyond mere hierarchical demand. Seonghwa had clearly indicated room for personal judgment regarding appropriate timing—respect for privacy despite operational necessity.

"Thank you," Hongjoong acknowledged with genuine appreciation. "Inform the quartermaster I'll join him shortly."

As the messenger departed, closing the door with careful precision, momentary silence settled between them—not awkward pause but necessary transition, adjustment between profound personal connection and inevitable operational reality aboard working vessel.

"Duty calls," y/n observed with understanding smile, no criticism coloring her acknowledgment. "Ship operations wait for no one, even when fifteen-year quests finally reach fulfillment."

"Unfortunately," Hongjoong confirmed, though regret remained visible beneath captain's responsibility. "Though I'm grateful for Seonghwa's consideration in noting timeframe flexibility. He understands the significance of this conversation despite his own... current adjustment difficulties."

The diplomatic phrasing—acknowledging quartermaster's emotional distance without criticism—revealed care beyond mere tactical assessment. Unlike potential judgment that might have interpreted withdrawal as rejection or personal failure, Hongjoong demonstrated understanding beyond immediate reaction.

"He needs time," y/n agreed, matching his careful consideration despite the lingering hurt she felt at Seonghwa's coldness. "Space to reconcile fifteen years of searching with actual reunion. To adjust expectations developed during extended separation with present reality that inevitably differs from imagined outcome."

Hongjoong studied her thoughtfully, genuine appreciation flowing beneath tactical assessment. "Your understanding shows remarkable compassion given his apparent withdrawal following your identity confirmation," he observed. "Many would interpret his response as rejection requiring defense rather than adjustment deserving patience."

"Fifteen years navigating complex social hierarchies during captivity teaches careful distinction between genuine rejection and self-protective withdrawal," she explained simply. "Seonghwa isn't rejecting connection but creating necessary space for internal recalibration. The difference matters significantly, even if it still hurts."

The insight created visible impact across Hongjoong's features. Unlike casual assessment based on surface behavior, her analysis demonstrated perception beyond immediate appearance to recognize underlying emotional reality.

"You've become remarkably perceptive," he said quietly, genuine admiration in his voice. "Though perhaps you always were, even as a child aboard The Crimson Serpent, and circumstances simply sharpened existing abilities rather than creating entirely new characteristics."

His perspective—acknowledging essential continuity despite necessary adaptation—offered recognition beyond mere observation. Unlike approaches that might have separated childhood identity from adult development, Hongjoong suggested integration rather than division—connecting past and present.

"Sometimes I wonder," she admitted, unexpected candor emerging without strategic calculation. "How much of me survived fifteen years of systematic attempts to eliminate independent thought or identity. Whether the girl you knew aboard The Crimson Serpent still exists beneath necessary adaptations required for survival as someone else's property."

This vulnerable disclosure created momentary silence between them, significance flowing beyond casual exchange. Unlike tactical revelation designed to extract specific response, her genuine wondering invited shared exploration.

"I think," Hongjoong began carefully, each word containing deliberate consideration, "that core aspects endure despite external pressure to eliminate them. That essential characteristics persist beneath necessary adaptations, transformation occurring without complete replacement."

He gestured toward the unconscious movement of her fingers gently straightening Mr. Hugs' bow tie—identical to childhood ritual performed countless times aboard The Crimson Serpent. "That gesture hasn't changed in fifteen years," he observed softly. "Nor your habit of breaking honey cakes in half before eating, arranging objects at right angles when distracted, watching horizons with that specific combination of wonder and calculation."

These simple observations affected y/n more profoundly than elaborate declaration might have. Unlike abstract discussion regarding identity continuity, Hongjoong offered tangible evidence of characteristics that had survived fifteen years' systematic attempt at elimination—concrete proof rather than merely comforting hypothesis.

"I never realized," she whispered, unexpected emotion flowing beyond calculated response. "That so much remained visible despite years of deliberate concealment."

"Not to casual observation," Hongjoong clarified, no criticism coloring his acknowledgment. "Only to those who knew you before, who recognized essential patterns beneath necessary adaptations. To others, your careful presentation remains exactly as intended—strategic composure revealing nothing beyond deliberately selected disclosure."

This distinction offered understanding beyond mere observation. Unlike potential approach that might have suggested failed disguise or inadequate protection, Hongjoong recognized both effective concealment and specific connection that transcended general perception.

Before further conversation could develop, second knock interrupted their exchange—gentle but distinct reminder that ship operations required captain's attention despite personal significance of current interaction. Unlike previous messenger's supportive approach, this signal carried subtle urgency beneath its restrained delivery—genuine need rather than merely scheduled interruption.

"You should go," y/n said, understanding flowing without resentment or disappointment. "The ATEEZ needs its captain regardless of personal revelations. The crew depends on your leadership beyond individual preference or private connection."

Hongjoong nodded, genuine appreciation visible beneath returning captain's authority. "This conversation isn't concluded," he said. "Merely paused by circumstance."

"I know," she replied with gentle smile. "Until circumstances permit its continuation."

As she rose to depart, still holding Mr. Hugs against her chest, Hongjoong's voice stopped her momentarily—softer than his captain's tone yet carrying equal certainty.

"Keep him with you," he said, gesturing toward the teddy bear. "He's been waiting fifteen years to return to his rightful owner."

This simple statement created unexpected emotion within y/n, gratitude flowing beyond strategic calculation. Unlike potential retention that might have maintained control through limited visitation, Hongjoong offered complete restoration without qualification—genuine return rather than merely supervised reunion.

"Thank you," she said simply, the words containing multitudes beneath their minimal surface. "For keeping him safe when I couldn't. For carrying him through fifteen years when I had no way to protect him myself."

"He carried us just as much as we carried him," Hongjoong replied, unexpected vulnerability flowing beneath returning captain's composure. "Reminder of promise that sustained us when circumstances suggested impossibility, tangible proof of connection that survived despite cosmic forces aligned against its persistence."

For a moment, they simply regarded each other across shortened physical distance that nonetheless represented vast emotional terrain—fifteen years of separation creating space requiring navigation rather than simply physical proximity. Then, with mutual understanding that transcended verbal confirmation, they moved toward their respective responsibilities—Hongjoong toward ship management demanding captain's attention, y/n toward injured gunner whose recovery represented another aspect of their collective reconnection aboard the ATEEZ.

As she returned to medical bay, Mr. Hugs held securely against her chest, y/n found unexpected certainty settling within her. After fifteen years believing herself forgotten or abandoned, she had discovered truth beyond memory or whispered ritual: five boys from The Crimson Serpent had never stopped searching for her, had transformed themselves into the most feared pirates on the seven seas specifically to fulfill blood oath made during childhood failure.

More significantly, sixth connection had manifested through seemingly impossible coincidence—Yeosang joining the very crew specifically searching for his childhood friend, their separate paths converging aboard notorious pirate vessel despite cosmic forces aligned against such intersection. The wooden wolf they had shared during captivity now joined by Mr. Hugs returning after fifteen years' separation—tangible manifestations of connection that had survived despite systematic attempts at elimination.

And y/n, who had survived fifteen years of captivity through necessary disguise and strategic isolation, had finally reclaimed identity beyond mere survival—authentic presence rather than tactical necessity, genuine connection rather than merely calculated alliance. The wooden wolf, tiny sparrow, and now Mr. Hugs remained tangible proof of bonds that had survived fifteen years' separation—physical manifestations of connection maintained despite systematic attempts at elimination, reunion achieved against impossible odds.

Taglist: @hopeless-lovex0 @frankielou02 @jilxxasu @kur0kki @lezleeferguson-120 @uniquecloudbread @miniverse-zen @symmieangela @monstacheol @ateezswonderland @comicnerd557 @pixie0627 @fumaluvr @princesscallie @green-moon @starryjoong-jeongcheollie @wiccanmetallicrose @atinyapple1117 @sassy-snassy @soulphoenix1618

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

This political cartoon by Louis Dalrymple appeared in Judge magazine in 1903. It depicts European immigrants as rats. Nativism and anti-immigration have a long and sordid history in the United States.

* * * *

Trying to understand Senator Mike Lee.

June 17, 2025

Robert B. Hubbell

As I begin to write this newsletter on Monday evening, a sense of foreboding hangs over the news cycle. Trump cut short his disastrous appearance at the G7 meeting in Canada to return to DC for an emergency meeting of the National Security Council. Trump’s abrupt return followed a social media post in which he advised residents of Tehran, Iran, to flee.

Whatever is happening, the clueless Trump will be advised in the situation room by Marco Rubio (serving as Sec. of State and National Security Advisor), Pete Hegseth (cosplaying as Sec. of Defense), Pam Bondi (cosplaying as Atty. Gen.), Stephen Miller (Deputy W.H. Chief of Staff), Tulsi Gabbard (Dir. Nat. Intel.), Sebastian Gorka (Dir. Of Counterterrorism), among others. See Institute for Global Affairs, Who’s Who On Trump’s National Security Council?

Let’s hope and pray that the amateurs in the Situation Room have the humility and good sense to listen to lower-echelon advisers with actual knowledge of foreign affairs and experience in matters of war. Sadly, the National Security Council lost key staff members after fringe extremist Laura Loomer convinced Trump to rid the NSC of staff members who weren’t giving Trump the answers he wanted. See AP (4/3/2025), Trump fires several national security officials over loyalty concerns.

When partisan loyalty triumphs over truth-telling in national intelligence, the decision-makers are making decisions based on facts that cannot be trusted. A very dangerous situation.

Without knowing more, it feels like the US may be positioning itself to be an active participant in a shooting war in the Middle East—something that two decades of experience counsels against. See Institute for Study of War, Iran Update Special Report, June 16, 2025. (“The United States is deploying additional forces to the Middle East to “provide options to defend US assets and interests.”)

Update: The Lucian Truscott Newsletter has provided a much more detailed analysis of what is happening in the Middle East as of Monday evening. For those interested in the details, I highly recommend Lucian’s analysis: Something big is about to go down in the Middle East.

We often overlook the damage to national security that Trump's election inflicted on US interests. However, we may soon discover just how much we will regret the steady hand of a wise and experienced leader during a time of crisis.

Trump's short but disastrous trip to the G7 meeting in Canada.

The G7 is a voluntary forum for the world's leading economic powers, committed to liberal democracy and representative government. It is composed of the US, UK, Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Japan, and the EU (as a non-voting member). Meetings of the G7 are high-profile events where world leaders discuss trade policy and global security.

By departing early, Trump avoided a meeting with Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy, which was planned for Tuesday.

Despite his short stay, Trump inflicted maximal damage to relations with our closest allies by calling for the readmission of Russia into the G7. Russia was expelled from the group for its invasion of Ukraine. Trump also called for the admission of China, a country that (like Russia) fails the “liberal democracy, representative government” test for admission to the G7.

As noted above, in our rightful focus on resisting Trump's attempt to overthrow the Constitution, it is easy to overlook the damage he is causing to our relationships with our closest allies.

Trying to understand Senator Mike Lee

Following the horrific political killings and attempted assassinations in Minnesota, Senator Mike Lee posted a series of tweets that mocked the killings and falsely claimed that the perpetrator was a “Marxist” Democrat. See The Guardian, Trump and other Republicans mock Democrats after Minnesota lawmaker killings.

I won’t repeat Senator Lee’s cruel posts, but they have earned him more than the usual share of condemnation, although not a word has been heard from his fellow congressional Republicans.

Can we understand what motivated Senator Mike Lee to abandon his sense of decency, morality, religious principles, and empathy as a father and husband?

No, we can’t. Trying to understand Senator Mike Lee is a waste of time. There is no explaining, rationalizing, or excusing Senator Lee’s grotesque behavior. Instead, we should condemn Lee and everyone who fails to condemn him—and then move on.

There is a path for redemption for Mike Lee, but it is up to him to take it. That path involves a level of introspection, regret, shame, sorrow, and determination to be a better person that is far beyond Mike Lee’s current level of self-awareness. Let’s not wait for a sincere effort by Mike Lee to seek redemption and forgiveness. We have a democracy to save, and trying to understand Mike Lee’s depravity is a diversion we cannot afford.

DEAR READERS: Shortly before publishing, I made the decision to omit the remainder of my discussion regarding Senator Mike Lee. The discussion was too dark and angry for inclusion in this newsletter. I do not want to provoke anger or despair in readers. In place of the remainder of my essay, I link to a communication from a Senate staffer to Senator Mike Lee, as published in the Salt Lake Tribune: Minnesota US Senate staffer sends Mike Lee a scathing email. Read it here.

What Mike Lee did was reprehensible. Our remedy is to take control of the House and Senate in 2026 so that we can re-establish norms of decency and decorum among members of Congress. In a rational world, the Senate would censure Mike Lee, at least.

Republicans run roughshod over the Constitution and federal law every day.

In the noise, confusion, and chaos caused by Trump's high-velocity constitutional violations, it is difficult to see the pervasive way in which he is ignoring the Constitution and federal law every day.

On Monday, we learned the following:

The Department of Homeland Security is spending money in excess of its congressional appropriation and is diverting funds appropriated for one purpose to a different purpose. See Raw Story, 'Spending like drunken sailors': Kristi Noem risks criminal charges over ICE

Secretary of Transportation Sean Duffy threatened to withhold appropriated transportation funds from “blue states” based on Duffy’s subjective perception of whether those states were enforcing immigration laws. See Raw Story, Sean Duffy to withhold transportation funds from cities with anti-ICE protests.

Withholding funds appropriated by Congress is a violation of the Constitution and the Impoundment Control Act of 1974. Multiple court orders have ruled that efforts to withhold funds by other agencies violate federal law and the Constitution. Yet, Sean Duffy is proceeding as if those court rulings do not exist.

A US District Judge in Massachusetts ruled that cuts to funds appropriated to the NIH violate federal anti-discrimination law. See HuffPo, Judge Rules Some NIH Grant Cuts Illegal, Saying He's Never Seen Such Discrimination In 40 Years.

As reported by HuffPo, Judge William Young, Reagan-appointee, said,

After 40 years on the bench, “I’ve never seen government racial discrimination like this,” Young added. He ended Monday’s hearing saying, “Have we no shame?”

The Guardian reported that the Veterans Administration had modified a rule so that it is now permissible for the VA to refuse to treat patients based on their party affiliation. See The Guardian, ‘Extremely disturbing and unethical’: new rules allow VA doctors to refuse to treat Democrats, unmarried veterans.

Per The Guardian, new regulations eliminated “[l]anguage requiring healthcare professionals to care for veterans regardless of their politics and marital status.”

A spokesperson for the VA initially seemed to confirm the change:

In an emailed response to questions, the VA press secretary, Peter Kasperowicz, did not dispute that the new rules allowed doctors to refuse to treat veteran patients based on their beliefs or that physicians could be dismissed based on their marital status or political affiliation, but said “all eligible veterans will always be welcome at VA and will always receive the benefits and services they’ve earned under the law”.

In a later response, the administration strongly denied it would refuse to treat patients based on party affiliation, but did not address the rule changes that omitted protections based on party affiliation. See The Hill, Trump administration denies report of new VA hospital rules.

Given the active efforts to deny federal funding to “blue states,” the removal of protections for patients based on party identification rightfully raised concerns about the intent of the rule change. It may be that the uproar over the rule change forced the administration to back down from a plan to deny healthcare to Democratic veterans.

Trump administration reverses reversal of decision regarding raids on farms, hotels, and restaurants.

Last week, Stephen Miller suffered a temporary setback to his plan to “Make America White Again.” The Department of Homeland Security issued an internal communication advising ICE agents to refrain from arresting immigrants working on farms, in hotels, and in restaurants.

On Monday, that “exemption” for farms, hotels, and restaurants was lifted and ICE agents were told they were free to resume raids at those locations. See Reuters, US reverses guidance pausing ICE raids on farms, hotels and restaurants, WaPo reports.

This development is bad news for all Americans, regardless of their immigration or citizenship status. ICE is detaining people based on their “appearance.” The agents are brandishing assault rifles while covered in body armor and emerging from unmarked cars.

After the tactics used by the killer in Minnesota—impersonating an officer, wearing a face mask to conceal his identity--the resumption of detentions in restaurants and hotels is likely to spread public panic and result in impromptu public resistance, the combustible mixture that led to unrest in San Diego and Los Angeles.

Richard North Patterson serializes a book-length essay on Substack called “America on the Precipice.”

Noted author, long-time reader of this newsletter, and friend, Richard North Patterson, has begun publishing a serialized book-length essay on Substack called “America on the Precipice.” It is a “bottom-up” review of how we got here, concluding with “Recovering American Democracy.” The first installment is here: America On the Precipice Section I and is free to read.

Ric and I don’t always see eye-to-eye on how to approach our democratic crisis, but his views represent the outlook of a good number of readers of this newsletter, especially those who favor the editorial stance of the Bulwark (my gloss, not Ric’s). Check out Ric’s America on the Precipice if you are looking for a deep and thoughtful dive into how we got here, and where we go from here.

Concluding Thoughts.

Apologies for a “tough news” edition of the newsletter. We should all still be riding high from the incredibly successful protests over the weekend. Like you, I am seeing ever-higher estimates of the total number of participants in the No Kings Day rallies. I will wait for a firmer estimate before amplifying the higher numbers, but I am inclined to believe that the initial 5 million estimate was low. Stay tuned.

The New York Times published an informative news analysis regarding the law firms that capitulated to Trump. See NYTimes, Trump’s Strategy in Law Firm Cases: Lose, Don’t Appeal, Yet Prevail (Accessible to all.)

The point of the article is that many (most?) of Trump's executive orders are so blatantly illegal that even he doesn’t believe they will hold up in court. The point is simply to cull the herd by picking off weak participants who would rather settle than fight an illegal order.

As the Times notes, Trump hasn’t even bothered to appeal the losses he suffered in court at the hands of law firms who refused to capitulate. Despite the obviously illegal and unconstitutional nature of the executive orders against the law firms, about a dozen concluded it was easier to surrender than undertake a principled defense of the Constitution.

There is a hugely consequential lesson for us in the capitulation of a dozen of the world's most powerful and wealthy law firms: Trump is nearly all bluster. He will press his advantage until someone stands up to him. He will then retreat and pick on someone else, until the new crop of victims finally stands up against him.

“We, the people,” are calling Trump's bluff and standing up to him in an unprecedented manner. We must continue that effort until he retreats--or rather, until his corporate overlords tell him to retreat because they cannot afford the disruption to their businesses. That day is closer than we think.

Keep up the good work—and look for the next opportunity to get back in the streets.

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]

[sofreddie]

Sins of the Past - Part 3

Summary: In the aftermath of that horrible place, Sam and Dean search for answers and find more questions.

Characters: Dean x Y/N, Sam Winchester x OFC Imogene “Gene” Sutton, Castiel (mentioned), Garth (mentioned)

Warnings: SAW/Soulmate AU, Angst, Separation Anxiety, Fluff

WC: 2,580

A/N: A bit of respite for our tortured souls. But now there's more problems! Please heed the warnings. Feedback is appreciated. : )

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

Part 2

The brief silence was ripped apart as Y/N woke, blood-curdling screams leaving her lips as if she were picking up where she left off, with Dean slicing and digging into her chest.

“Y/N,” Dean jumped and dashed to her side. He grabbed her hand tightly, “It’s okay, it’s okay, we got out. It’s over now.”

With a hiccupped sob, she opened her eyes and saw Dean beside her. She weakly pulled her hand from his, and tears streamed from her eyes. “Please. Please don’t hurt me anymore.”

Sam’s mouth hung open at her words before his heart clenched, seeing how much her reaction broke Dean's heart. Trying to smooth over the situation, he came to Y/N’s side. 

“He had to,” he said in the softest voice he could muster. “He didn’t want to, Y/N. But he saved all of us by doing it.”

“I-it’s over?” she responded. “C-can I go home?”

“Something tells me we’re not doing that any time soon,” Gene mumbled, her knees still bunched to her chest as she stared into space, trying to come to terms with everything she just heard.

“You’re safest here, okay?” Sam looked at both girls and tried to reassure them. “It’s one of the safest places in the world, practically.”

“That man literally appeared in the room right in front of me. I’m not feeling great about that,” Gene scoffed.

“She’s right,” Dean said, his voice barely audible as his eyes fixed on the ground. “We need to increase the warding,” he said before leaving the room, not looking at anyone or waiting for a response.

“I have to go home,” Y/N pleaded, hopping off the chair. “I need clothes, and I have a job and bills and…”

“You can’t,” Sam said, a little more forcefully than he intended. He clenched his jaw, shook his head, and composed himself. “Look, why don’t I find some clothes for you two? You can shower, and we have a ton of rooms here. You can rest.”

Y/N and Gene reluctantly nodded and silently followed Sam. Gene felt like she could trust him; maybe that was their connection. Y/N was still terrified and in shock and didn’t know what to think or feel. But she didn’t have a choice and complied. Sam promised he and Dean would take a drive to get their things before leaving them to rest.

-

Once on the road, Sam called Garth to update him on the situation. While Garth was glad they had found Imogene, another hunter reported that her family had been killed. He also had someone working to pack up her things and would bring them to Sam later.

Dean and Sam failed to contain their anger and guilt. They had both dreamed of finding their soulmate - something most people had, though not all - and their lives were ruined once they did. But Sam said the women would need them even more now because the brothers were all they had left.

Y/N lived in Kansas City, so it wasn’t too far for them to get to her apartment. Sam located her family on the other side of the city with some research. They wanted to ensure they were okay since Gene’s family was murdered. But when they got there, the house was surrounded by emergency vehicles and flashing lights, several bodies on gurneys wheeled out of the single-family home.

They drove to Y/N’s apartment in silence, unsure what they could say to each other or themselves to make any of what happened better. When they arrived at the small, one-bedroom apartment, it had been tossed like Gene’s family home and left in disarray.

“Who’s doing this?” Dean muttered to his brother as he examined the damage.

“I don’t know,” Sam sighed heavily.

The brothers drew their guns when they heard a noise from the back of the apartment. Sam nodded at Dean, who took the lead. Hurried steps carried him down the hall, where he kicked open the slightly ajar door to the bedroom. Two men were searching the room, tossing drawers and items about. 

“Winchesters,” they sneered.

“Demon scum, I presume,” Dean retorted.

However, when their eyes didn’t change, and long, silver blades extended from the sleeves into their waiting hands, he knew they weren’t demons.

“Angels,” Dean growled.

He tucked away his gun and retrieved an Angel blade from his jacket, facing off against one of the angels. Sam did the same, turning toward the second man. The angels were somehow stronger and more challenging than most they’d faced, which led to the brothers taking quite a beating before stabbing and killing their opponents.

They each climbed to their feet. The room was worse than before, with furniture smashed and walls filled with holes and dents from impacts. They were once again bloodied and bruised, as if Cas had never healed them, to begin with. They weren’t sure they could get him to respond and help this time. 

“You think Cas is behind this?” Sam huffed.

“I really hope not,” Dean responded, though the thought crossed his mind.

After gathering some clothes and potentially sentimental items from the debris, the guys returned to the Bunker, unsure how to deliver the awful news.

-

The Impala was packed with anything the guys deemed necessary for the women to have from their homes—at least, the salvageable things. As Dean parked the car in the garage and turned off the ignition, they both sighed in relief at being home.

They decided since it was the middle of the night and they were covered in a myriad of cuts and bruises, that unpacking could wait. They were too worn out to bother and still had to face the women and the heartbreak they’d likely endure.

Y/N and Gene were fast asleep in their rooms, and neither stirred when Sam and Dean checked on them. Dean grabbed a bottle of whiskey en route to the infirmary. They would need several drinks to get past what happened and help tend to their wounds. 

Despite their injuries, neither wanted to contact Cas if he had been involved. His parting words didn’t instill confidence. Besides, it wasn’t the first time they’d had to patch and heal the old-fashioned way, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

“What are we gonna do about Y/N and Gene?” Sam asked as they worked to clean and patch themselves and each other.

“We have plenty of room,” Dean said. “They can stay here as long as they need. Not like we’re in a hurry to get rid of ‘em.”

“We can’t keep them locked up here like prisoners, though, Dean,” Sam sighed. “We can’t do to them what Dad did to us just because we’re afraid of what might happen.”

“Based on what I saw out there, we don’t have a choice, Sam,” Dean shook his head in defeat.

“I’ve been researching,” Sam said as they finished tending to their wounds. “As far as I can tell, death is the only way to break a soul bond.” He sighed, running his hands through his hair.

“I think we’re at the point where even if the bonds could be broken, it still wouldn’t remove the target off their backs.”

“Well, there’s something else I read,” Sam sighed, looking over Dean cautiously as he sat opposite him at the table. “Can I ask...did you feel a sort of separation anxiety while we were gone?”

“All I wanted to do since leaving here was high tail it straight back, if that’s what you mean?”

Sam nodded slowly, “I think that’s part of what Cas meant by being distracted. From what I’ve learned, soulmates can’t be too far apart for too long when a soul bond is made. Something like going to work is fine, but you’re eager to get home. But with what we do, being gone so long sometimes and far...I don’t know if we could handle the separation,” he sighed. “How bad was it? How bad was the need to return?”

Dean stayed quiet for a moment, looking at Sam with a gloomy expression, “I kept...it’s like my brain just kept showing the millions of things that could have happened while I was gone. Most of them, if not all, not exactly have the best outcomes, to put it lightly.”

“I felt the same things. And, no offense, Dean, but your mind always goes to the worst,” Sam chuckled lightly before quieting down again. “From what Cas said and what I’ve read, we have two choices. Either train them to be hunters or early retirement.”

“We need to talk to them and tell them everything. This isn’t just our call.”

-

The following day, Sam and Dean met in the kitchen over coffee. Sleep avoided them both as their minds reeled over what had happened and the new guests under their roof. 

“I know, I thought about it, too. I’d give the world a month before it gets destroyed without us?”

“A lot of those ‘world-ending’ things were because of us,” Sam grumbled.

“Not all of them?” Dean countered with a slight shrug. “Look, we can’t force the girls to fight or leave them behind, so...it’s up to them. Whatever they decide, we’ll do.”

“You think it’ll be that easy?”

Dean paused to think, chewing on his bottom lip, “I think we need to figure out who’s behind all this. Who kidnapped Gene and Y/N? Who knew they were our soulmates? We also need to find out if Cas ordered the angels to kill their families.”

“I can call Garth to see if he can’t get others on hunts and if there’s any info he has or can find relating to this.”

The sound of shuffling from down the hall drew both brothers’ attention as Y/N made her way into the kitchen. She stopped in the doorway, looking like she would run at any minute. Dean watched her, desperate to get her to look at him but anxious that just being there scared her.

She turned and looked at them, first at Sam, his expression gentle and open. Then she looked at Dean, who looked eager and heartbroken.

“Um, can...is it okay if we...I thought maybe we could talk?” she finally spit out, her eyes locked on Dean’s.

“Yes,” Dean answered quickly. “Of course, absolutely, definitely. " 

He shuffled in his seat and gave Sam a side-eyed glare. Sam smiled at Y/N as he passed by her. He turned around, mouthing to Dean from behind her back, Don’t fuck it up.

In Sam’s absence, Y/N fidgeted with her hands as she shuffled on her feet, glancing at Dean and away again repeatedly as if she couldn’t find any words.

“Do you want some coffee?” Dean offered as he poured a cup, bringing it to the table and setting it in front of her before he retook his seat at the kitchen table across from her.

“Thank you,” she finally said, forcing herself to look at him.

“Just coffee,” he mumbled with a shrug, but his head perked up when she giggled.

“Well, that, too,” she laughed. “But I meant about what happened and what…what you did. I know what happened wasn’t easy on any of us, but you saved us. So...thank you.” She took a long breath.

Dean was momentarily speechless. Even with her thanks, it didn’t alleviate his pain, as flashes of what he had done flitted through his mind. But he also knew he needed to bite the bullet and inform her of what had transpired at her home and with her family.

“Look, I don’t want to drop even more on you, but some things happened while we went to get your and Gene’s things.”

“Somehow, I’m not surprised,” she said with a long sigh. At this point, the overwhelming bad she’d endured had made her almost numb.

Dean explained how they found their homes, the angels they fought, and their families' deaths. Y/N took it all in but didn’t speak a word. Instead, she began to cry, and Dean rushed to sit beside her, offering comfort.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “No one should ever have to endure that; you’ve done nothing to deserve it. And it’s my fault." He clenched his jaw. “But, with all of this that we’re now all wrapped up in, I mean it when I say I won’t let anyone ever hurt you again.”

“I know you’ll try,” she said, taking comfort in his touch and warmth. “But you can’t promise that. Not really,” she said. With a deep breath, she forced herself to continue.

“I’ve been thinking over everything. And I know I hurt you when I freaked out, and I’m sorry about that. I was hurt and scared, but if I had to choose between my position and yours, I think I would’ve chosen mine. I think doing what you did would have been significantly harder. It didn’t just happen to me; it happened to you, too.” 

She shrugged before chuckling slightly, a slight blush over her face as she hesitantly met his eyes again, “For what it’s worth, and as crazy as it sounds, I kind of missed you while you were gone.”

A tiny smile tugged on Dean’s lips as he felt his heart swell. She was talking to him. She wasn’t scared of him. She’d missed him.

“I missed you too,” he said bashfully, his cheeks tinged slightly pink. “You have no idea how much resistance it took not to spin that car around and speed right back here.”

“Is it because of the soulmate thing?” she asked, meeting his eyes. Dean let his hands slide from her as she pulled back to look at him, but he was already missing the feel of her. “I’ve been feeling odd, the missing you thing and other things. Is that the bond?”

“Sam just told me something about there being ‘separation anxiety’ buried in the soulmate fine print,” Dean shrugged. “So I guess so. We were just discussing whether we could keep doing our jobs now.”

“Right,” Y/N nodded. “Uh...monster hunting, right?”

“You know,” Dean chuckled. “Just your standard nine-to-five monster-hunting gig.”

“Sorry, I’m trying,” she laughed. “But I get the impression you’re too important to walk away from all of that. So what does that mean? For Gene and I? Cause I can’t go home, and I don’t really wanna put myself in harm’s way, which I guess is sort of inevitable at this point…” she muttered, dropping her gaze to the table. “A-and now we’re in your home, practically strangers…”

“Hey,” Dean interrupted her softly. “Don’t worry. Nothing has to be decided yet. We’ll work it out one step at a time, okay? I just want you to feel safe and welcome here as long as you need.”

Y/N nodded and smiled. When Dean opened his arms, she accepted, tucking herself into him as his arms came back around her, holding her close. She’d never felt so safe and warm in her life. Even though she’d discovered the supernatural was real, and even though Dean had cut into her and held her heart - something that felt more violating and intimate than anything ever could - she didn’t want to leave. She knew she couldn’t go home, but beyond that, she didn’t want to part from Dean, no matter what did or could happen.

PART 4

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