#deadly yet... polite

[to-forgive-is-divine]

Eragon killing four soldiers and then thinking, "it was rude to leave them in this random person's living room" and then tossing them out of a window

[tonycries]

Madam Kamo - C.K.

Synopsis. Bréeding kínk? Going feraI? What the hell is that? Maybe your sweet clan leader husband knows the answer…

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, clan leader! Choso, arranged marriage, mentions of heirs, he’s a little ínsane, elders are awful, MARATHONS, he goes FÉRAL, BRÉEDING, creampíes, a lot of cúmplay, semi-public, dóm Choso, oraI (fem rec), cervíx kíssing, making it fit, bulges, cúmflations, matíng presses, dúmbification, overstím, making him CRY, p talking, spítting, HEADLOCKS, slight 5 + 1 things, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 9.3k

A/N. CLAN LEADER CHOSO CLAN LEADER CHOSO

Choso Kamo - firstborn son of the ancient Kamo clan, more of a myth than a man.

Those who attended the sprawling Kamo Estate never dared utter a word about him; and those who didn’t, well, he was all that they could talk about.

He left no evidence, he left no remorse. 

Only rumors of a silent, stoic leader who could slaughter four entirely different clans before he let even a singular whisper of it spread amongst the masses. Ones of pretty mahogany eyes, and a silver bow and arrows that hit the target of your very soul - so fluid it was as if he’d forged the weapon with his own blood. 

And then there were the other rumors - more gossip than anything, really. Spread throughout every nook and cranny of stuffy social functions about how the deadly Kamo clan leader had another, secretive side. A softer side.

But, of course, rumors were rumors. Choso Kamo was simply an enigma.

And…your new husband.

“Zoning out, hm?” A hot gust of breath sends shivers sprinting down your spine, and in an instant you’re snapping your eyes to latch onto deep, hazel ones. Choso’s. The edge of his plump lips curl slightly upwards, “My apologies, this wedding reception is quite droning, isn’t it?”

Hastily breathing, “N-no! Of course not, I…” You’re wincing when yet another wizened elder saunters up to the raised platform of your table. Probably the hundredth of the night. “-yeah, maybe a bit.”

Choso stifles out a rumbling bout of chuckles as he catches your gaze, so close now that his pearly white teeth almost nick your sensitive earlobe. “Let me take care of this, my wife.”

And when Choso shifts over to nod curtly at your oncoming guest, you couldn’t help but appreciate how beautiful he is. All tall, towering lines of lean muscle, his silken black yukata wafting of heady cologne, and delicate features that made him have almost as many admirers as he did foes. 

Or, at least, delicate features that were currently twisted into something hardened. Something exactly like clan leader Kamo of all the stories. 

He’s tilting his head up, long lashes narrowed, “Elder Tanaka, a pleasure.”

“No no! The pleasure’s all mine.” The older man slurs drunkenly, and despite the way his words were just dripping with saccharine sweet politeness, years of suffering through these exact interactions had made it easy for you to spot faux niceties. Like right now. “Or should I say- the new madam’s. You must be glad to marry into a clan as esteemed as the Kamo’s.”

The plastic smile that smears all over your face is painful, and you’re biting your tongue before it betrays you. “Yes, of c-”

“My apologies for cutting in, madam.” You’re startling - but you don’t know whether it’s because of the softened fingerpads that intertwine around yours, or the utter fire curdling in Choso’s eyes. “But I must say, I am the lucky one here.”

Oh.

Elder Tanaka is more impressive than you thought - his mask of respect barely even cracks, other than the jerky twitch of one eye. Honestly, you don’t think he’s ever heard Choso speak this much ever before. Quickly gathering his bearings, “Ah- ah, of course, master Kamo! Correct as always!”

Fuck- you can’t hold back the way you roll your eyes, only remembering yourself when Choso’s engulfing hands loosen from your own to give your thigh a warm squeeze. 

“You have wedded quite the catch, of course of course.” Your unwelcome company finally, finally looks at you properly. A sneer coating his slow blinking, “I-I simply meant that considering the master’s incredible power, wealth, and options, what she brings to the table-”

“-is herself.” Choso finishes off monotonically. “And that’s all I need.”

Choso’s words were husky, his grip on you tight. And you wonder if he even realized just how hard he was clutching onto your heated skin - mountains of his palm dragging a smooth up n’ down your clothed leg.

You knew he was well-hidden underneath the lacy tablecloth, you knew that not a single elder, family member, or friend bustling about your wedding reception could see that particular touch over the dim yolky lighting. 

But something about it just made you feel hot. 

It takes you a few fuzzy seconds to realize that Elder Tanaka was still speaking - in fact, he’d even summoned over a few more members of the council to encircle your decadent table. All the more voices speaking at you rather than to you.

“-that’s what I was saying-” You’re catching croaked-out snatches of conversation, warily eyeing the way the men clap each other supportively on their backs.“-it’s about the right time don’t you think?”

Another one nods, “Jin has been waiting for so long, after all-”

“-yes yes, to have an heir-”

Oh.

That’s what had Choso’s high cheekbones currently dusted with a faintly blossoming rose pink. That’s what had his thickened digits dipping past your luxurious evening yukata to rover between your thighs higher, and higher- like he didn’t even realize what he was doing. 

Like he was yearning for it.

“The Kamo clan shall have an heir.” You’re interrupting their ramblings, the mere sound of your voice enough to make Choso’s fingertips twitch. Smooth skin prickling with heaps of goosebumps already when you lock eyes right with his. “As soon as my husband is ready, right?”

And Choso Kamo was brought up with the most rigorous of training, raised to never show even the barest flicker of emotion - especially one where he’s caught off guard.

But right now he knows that he looks as stunned as he feels.

Coral pink maw falling into a soft oh! dark whirlpools of his eyes glinting with something so utterly raw. The trembling tips of his fingers lurch up just the barest inch to drag a lazy line down your pussymound. 

He’s instantaneously shifting his free hand up in one, fluid motion to cover the feverishly flushed half of his face. Jaw clenching with a sharp click! of his teeth when he swipes the fat pad of his thumb down a fresh bead of your leaking slick, making such a flimsy mess of your drenched panties. Was this all for him?

Because now Choso’s getting…greedy.

And you’re almost letting off a slight whimper when he hastily drags his scouring hand away - that is, before every and any sound dies in your throat once your husband dips his wetted thumb past his lips and sucks. 

Subtly. 

And his voice cracks oh-so-pathetically, “R-right.”

Eyes staring deeply into yours when he parts his doughy fingertips mere millimeters to lather it with a fat wad of saliva. Your breath hitches in your chest, frantically glancing at the babbling group of men who were, thankfully, way too absorbed in themselves to notice your little…tryst.

And it’s only with all his years as a seasoned fighter that Choso’s nuzzling his soaked digits back between your jittery thighs. In a flash.

Planting exactly three soppy smack! smack! smacks! plapped onto the perfect arch of your drooling pussy. Choso’s raising his neat brows at just how those tremors make you squirm in your seat.

“Ch-Cho—so-” You’re gasping under your breath, hips repeatedly shuffling on your cushiony chair when he licks up repeated, sultry circles- no, wait, hearts along the slippery slit of your covered cunt. Up and down. “Th-they might see…”

“Shhh, don’t want them to hear, baby.” He’s leaning in to pant out a murked cloud against your ear, throat bobbing with a ravenous swallow of saliva as he then probes a few stuffy fingers under your panties. “You seem stressed– Let me take care of it.”

Oh, it was a promise - and the rasping growl that bled into Choso’s tone told you that he was well and fully intent on accomplishing his little task. “Spread those pretty legs now.”

With a steady, muscular calf hooked with your own, he’s cracking your thighs evermore parted. The scorching hot press of his big, beefy forearm over your shoulders making you feel as if you’re on the verge of melting. Practically on his lap now-

“Is everything alright, master–?” You’re hearing from what sounds like somewhere over in the distance, even though you already know that it’s from right in front of you.

“Everything is quite alright.” Choso’s plush pecs vibrate with his rapid answer, and you’re finding yourself leaning your weight onto his. Huffing and puffing near the crook of his neck, “It seems the madam is just feeling a little ah…tired, right now. Continue your talk, elders.”

Tired - you couldn’t feel more riled up if you even tried.

“Ngh- Choso-” You’re sinking your teeth into your wobbly lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. High, carved chair singing off a slight creak! when you’re bucking your hips up to jostle his gluttonous fingers closer to where you wanted him the most. “-need you.”

Well, whatever his wife wanted - you got. 

In simple nanoseconds, Choso’s snugly prying away your gauzy lace. Letting the too-thin fabric snap back against your sappy cunt with a teasing little swat!

Before you can blink, he’s gracing your panties with microscopic tears at just how eager he was to give your plump, buttony clit a good, hard push. Cold golden wedding ring perking up against your most tender spots. Flexible wrists bending towards an even vulgarly deep angle to keep you from escaping-

And you think you could scream, you think you could open your mouth to make a scene - before Choso beats you to it. Purring out an oblivious, “Is everything alright, my wife? You seem a little feverish.”

All the while slipping n’ sliding his fingerpads to smear your gluey pussylips open. Mazing down, down, down in a lecherous little pace to plug up your geysering entrance snugly full with two of his fattened digits. 

You’re clutching helplessly onto Choso’s thick yukata sleeve when the elders stare over at you curiously, “I-I’m fine, Ch- my husband. Just a few post-wedding jitters.”

“Awww, that’s alright.” He’s cooing from above you, words sugarcoated with such gentleness - but his hands were anything but. “M’here, m’here.” Setting out a vicious, ceaseless pace that has his manly fingers outlining numerous circles round n’ round your tight, flooding entrance. Motioning in slight, sleazy swirls all around your elastic hole just to fit inside properly. “Your dear Choso’s here, y’know? And I’ll take such good care of you.”

“Ah! Of course-” Ring out the replies, evidently your hurried-out shudders were not enough for your guests to lose interest. Or for Choso, either - because he’s just feeding your slobbering orifice with more fat inches upon grinding inches. “-producing an heir is a very integral part of the marriage contract. It’s understandable to be nervous.”

Shivering, “S-sure.”

“Mhm—” Choso’s trawling his pouted mouth down your perspiration-simmered temple, “-a very integral part. But, of course, we’ve got to make sure that my beloved wife is-” Quirking the very edge of his digits to clash right into the target of your g-spot. “-ready, after all.”

The clingy embrace of your warm cunt so cozy that it’s bumping Choso’s metallic ring further and further from his hilled knuckles to dredge out a chilling, languid massage along your channel. 

It takes everything in you to manage up a half-heartedly narrowed glare up at your chatting husband, easily conversing his way through every battering ram being placed on your pretty pussy. 

He doesn’t make a sign - he doesn’t even make a noise. Nothing except for a sharp, sudden inhale once another innocent peck at your lips makes your filthy hole fountain out a fresh lather of sickly sweet juices. 

Dripping all the way down to his wrist with thickly viscous adhesive, he’s making such a fucking mess. And a loud one, too. 

Slurp after slurp being wrenched out with every pound of his neatly cut nails patterning out little indents onto your most favorite spots - ones that have your legs shaking underneath the humid table. Choso’s bouncing his knee to drum out a staccato against the floor, just to cover up your cute little melody.

He has you going insane.

You’re pushing apart your legs to dig into either side of your chair with just how desperate you were for him. For more more more.

Bumping your thigh against one of his, and the mere touch is enough to send shockwaves down Choso’s sloped body. 

“Trying to tease me, baby?” He’s hovering over you even closer, darting out a hefty thud! of two fingertips- no, three - when did he even bully in another one - onto the goopy roof of your cunt. 

“M’not-” You’re biting out, head lolling ever-so-slightly backwards when Choso furrows his brows and pumps out copious thrusts that hit your forbidden g-spot dead on. Engulfed so deeply inside your hot core that the gentle curves of his palm smudge against your clit now. “J-just keep- talking.”

And, truly, it wasn’t just because your company was peering over the two of you expectantly - it was because Choso sounded so very hot. 

Vibrato husky with an animalistic sort of need, tremoring ever-so-slightly-

“Agreed, I would like a few sons and daughters.” Choso’s nodding along smoothly, although his full attention is focused on you. His wife. And the way your sweltering hot gummy walls clench around his bludgeoning fingers even tighter at the words. Faster. “Maybe three. Maybe five. Although, it’s up to the madam.”

In the corner of your eye, you’re catching them all staring at you, and you urgently force out a nod.

“C’mon now, answer them using your words like a big girl, why don’t you–?” He’s humming, tilting your burning face up. Faster. So that you can’t hide.

Lilting shrill just as unbalanced as your head was, “Y-yes-”

But of course, that wasn’t enough - that would never be enough. “Louder. They can’t hear you over the music, baby.”

Can’t do anything but claw down drawings of red, red lines all across Choso’s milky arms when he bustles into the targets of your honeyed spots even harder. Unsteady syllables spilling out from your lip before you can even register them, “Yes- yes. As…many as possible.”

“That’s it- good girl.”

Fuck. 

And those raked scratches make perfect artwork for him to admire - just as he was admiring you right now. 

It was just such a shame that the others here were, too, even if they didn’t know the complete and utter sin happening just underneath the table cloth. Sloppier. 

Choso’s kissing his teeth, broad deltoids of his shoulder positioning to hide you away from any sleazy gazes. Because they could be near, but they couldn’t see. You were his.

“Then, it’s settled-” He’s drawling, hooded eyes locked onto you. Memorizing your every minute twitch and reaction when he urges his free hand to hold onto yours on your lap. Or, at least, that’s what it looked like to the outside. In fact, Choso’s snugly prying apart your silken robes to roll over your throbbing clit and pinch. “-we can look forward to an heir, soon. Right, madam?”

And that’s all it takes for you to cum.

Your head tucking into his sculptured shoulder, thighs closing with a dull clap! as your high crashes into you headfirst. You don’t need to mutter a single sentence for Choso to know.

For his eyes to widen just a fraction at the way your treacly slit only got infinitely dewier, rounded gumdrops of your slick sprinkling down in a weepy sheen all over his messy hands. Mouth going parched at the realization that you’re orgasming right here, right now. 

“O-oh? Seems my wife agrees.” Choso’s waving those elders away now, not taking his eyes off of you for a single second. It was just too adorable how you were shaking like a leaf at his side, “Well, m’glad. So- so…glad.”

Motioning your hips in such salacious semi-circles to bump up his upright fingers against your every extra sweet orifice.

Your sticky walls were so staggeringly tightly wrapped around him that it’s making his forehead bead with sweat, low puffs of air escaping with every peak he fucks you through. Every peak of white-hot pleasure that he draaags out until your guests are finally - finally - walking back to their own tables. 

“Sh-shit-” you’re mewling when Choso barely hesitates - barely even takes a quick sweep around the room to check who might be looking - before parting from your sappy cunt with a resounding squelch!

Immediately popping those viscously-glazed fingerpads into his starved mouth, he’s letting his glassy eyes sprint to the back of his head. Musing out a moan, “Fuck- fuck!”

You can only watch with an awed gape whilst Choso stares right into your heart-shaped pupils as he cleans himself off. One by one. Before trekking his lustrous fingers back over to your cunt, and measuring out a wide few inches - perhaps nine - from the base of your teary entrance up to your tummy.

“Choso…” you’re whispering, hazy eyes blinking up at him as if through molasses. “Wha’s that for?”

And Choso only grins, stray range of knuckles thoroughly bitten underneath his gleaming canines while he measures you up. 

As if he was holding back. Keeping himself sane. And the half-lided greed in Choso’s eyes told you that he’d fuck you all proper right here and right now if he could. “N-nothing- just making sure of somethin’, my wife. Making sure that you can take me.”

Oh. 

This was far from over. You were fucked. 

And you were completely and utterly sure of it even if the topic of an…heir didn’t come up for the next few days after that. 

Not that you didn’t think about it, though - it was hard not to, when your fatally notorious husband showed such a tender side of himself with his younger brothers. 

With you.

And soon enough even through all the bustling meetings and duties of a madam, you’re still figuring out a way to tell Choso that you really weren’t kidding about what you said during that wedding reception.

Sure, you were drunk on his fingers but - that wasn’t just all, was it?

But you’d sorely underestimated just how busy a clan leader could get. And before you knew it, putting off the conversation for the morning after your wedding night had turned into putting it off for the weekend. 

Then putting it off for next week. Two weeks. 

All the way until you’re trudging along the winding corridors of the Kamo Estate during the most unholy hours of the night. Grumbling groggily to yourself about how you’d finally told him and it had ended supremely well - in a dream, that is.

Choso had been absent for almost the entire day today, attending an important land negotiation with a far-off clan, according to Jin. 

Now, you knew just how powerful your husband was - it was impossible to escape the legends and rumors, in fact - and you trusted him. Still, you couldn’t help but toss and turn the entire night away in your coldly empty bed as you wondered just how safe he would get home.

You’d been to such veiled conferences before, after all. 

And it’s simply pure worry that has you dragging yourself out of your king-sized bed to shuffle into the barely-lit kitchen. Stifling half-blindly in the moonlight through cabinets and coolers to find ah! Exactly what you’ve been looking for. 

Thank goodness this place was empty right now, you didn’t know if you could handle it if the chef was here to lecture you about balanced diets when you’re bites deep into your sugary, shaved icing.

And it’s exactly with this thought in mind that you hear a loud thud! emanating from the far end of the hallway. Your eyes widen, ears searching for more-

Footsteps. 

At this time? Your fingers itch towards the sparkling display of knives tucked in one corner of the granite counter. Ready to aim for that tall approaching shadow, ready to fling just as Choso had taught you when-

“Baby?”

“Oh–” Your breath comes out in a heavy gust of relief, eyes unable to tear away from the shaded outline of your husband, taking up every inch of the doorway. “It’s just you, Cho.”

It was. But there was something about Choso that seemed��different. Off. 

But not in a bad way - your eyes rover appreciatively over the tautly flexed muscles of his upper half, peeking out almost-blasphemously where he’d shrugged the upper half of his deep purple yukata off. 

Glinting bow and arrow stained with crimson, held in one tightly-gripped hand. Your nose wrinkles at the slight, dangerous scent of something metallic. Something not his. 

Yet, you can’t help but ogle the slow path of dewdropped sweat trailing down between the curvaceous bulge of his heaving pecs, bumping up and down over his washboard abs, before disappearing below-

It’s like you’re being bolted with an instant flash of lightning as soon as this happens, snapping your eyes over to find Choso’s weighty ones. And oh- the moment you do it’s like something in him melts. 

THUD!

You’re jumping when his weapons hit the floor - uncaring of whether this might alert anyone else in the household, uncaring of anything other than crossing the sizzling distance between the two of you in three urgent strides. 

You don’t even have the time to process it before Choso halts right before you and falls to his knees. Dark lashes fluttering up at you, he echoes, “Baby.”

Like a broken little mantra. 

“Ch-Choso- baby-” It’s just about the only thing you can manage out through hollowed gasps when he’s immediately digging two hands on either side of your hips to easily and pliably seat you on the icy counter. Just where he wanted. “-what’s gotten into you?”

“Dunno.” He’s garbling out, and you’re letting your boneless legs tumble further and further open to let him bury his face right at his favorite place - into your fluttering cunt. “Was jus’ thinking about you alllll day.”

And you could tell.

Because Choso’s every movement was depraved. Jerky. His sensory fingertips trembling when they card underneath your cottony sleep garments, bringing it up to his canines to rip–!

All with his mouth.

“Fuh-fuck-” You’re squealing at the sudden hit of cold air - followed very closely by a scorching hot breeze overtaking every inch of your cunt when Choso leans in and sniffs. Long, hard. Curdling out a feral keen at the back of his throat, “-that’s so filthy, baby.”

“Nothing’s filthy for me if s’you, madam.” At the glint of something slobbering and sharp, you can tell that he’s grinning. “If s’you or…her.”

He was enamored with your ready core, curving a gentle thumb down the glossy edges to give your driveling hole a good trickle of spittle. 

And Choso Kamo knew he had perfect aim - he knew he didn’t have to make a mess. 

But oh, he couldn’t keep himself from tilting his head just degrees to the side to let the splatters leave dripping wet splotches down your saturated folds, your inner thighs. 

Tongue so long, lolling out drunkenly to smear away that filthy excess. He’s poking heated ounces again and again back into your soppy entrance. You were practically flooding torrents of sweet, sweet juices around him, already making a mess that lacquers his dimpled chin. 

You were always so sweet - so good for him. And he can feel his ears pop already with the greedy anticipation of what he was craving to do. 

“Think you missed me, too.” He’s snickering, teeth sinking down onto the fleshy nub of your clit. It’s enough to make you want to sob. “Didn’t ya?”

Gyrating your hips in such hypnotizing little swivels off of the smooth counter, you’re feeling his candied breaths hit your gummy walls even deeper. Sloppier. Whimpering out, “Yes- yes. Missed you so badly, Cho–”

“Oh yeah?” He’s tensing up the dexterous edge of his tongue to swipe up unhurried skids of his roughened tastebuds around and around your quivering entrance. In and out. Syrupy slick leaking in heaps right as he does, Choso tilts his head back to let those gooey masses slide down his throat. “Mmm— you’re wetter than usual, baby. How badly do you want the ngh- clan leader on his knees for you, hm?”

It was true - and Choso can feel something coiling and coiling heatedly at the base of his stomach at the idea of giving you perhaps…a kid…or two to make sure you’re not so lonely anymore. 

Ah, he was pussydrunk. 

“So- too badly.” You don’t think you’d ever be babbling away like this if Choso wasn’t making out with your needy cunt like that. 

You’re tangling your fingers hastily into his dark, silken locks - gripping desperately onto his sweat-dampened scalp as you use up all your strength and push. All the way until the very tip of Choso’s button nose was meeting your pulsing clit in a harsh smooch, his chin smacking the teary ends of your cunt.

Words tremoring against the very outer ring of your puffy pussy, silvery strings of saliva n’ sap break off when Choso mutters, “Was talkin’ to her, y’know?”

Fuck. 

And you think you would be huffing and puffing about how he was talking with your dousingly wet cunt instead of you. 

That is, if you weren’t talking back to him from between your legs. 

Because the only thing louder than the slack-jawed ah! ah! ah! leaving your lips with every repeated thrust of Choso’s tongue, was the sound of your soppy squelches. “Ohhh- so that’s how your day was? Tell me more…”

So loud - so embarrassing that you can feel your heart race.

And Choso’s was, too, but for a much more lecherous reason as his tongue clashes even harder to draw out those very same pretty noises from you. He was craning his ears closer - he was addicted. 

“Yeah-  yeah, tha’s right.” Choso’s groaning, eyes faltering droopily until they were almost shut at the way his husking growls only make you wetter. Well, he could help with that. Hitting your hot core with wad after weighty wad of even more sugary spit. “Thaaaat’s fuckin’ right, missed how mouthy you hah- are. My talkative girl.”

“Cho- ngh!” You’re biting down on your tongue to hold back your words when Choso raises up a hand to leave a solid spank right on your bloated pussymound. 

He’s nodding along, head lurching intoxicatedly ever closer and closer. Wiping away a glistening streak of slick painted over his blushing cheeks - his blushing cheeks. “That’s right- would’ve made a- haaaah- a whole lotta b-better points than that stupid council does.”

Before pecking a lingering French kiss on your throbbing clit like a lover would. 

And you count one, two, three- partway through four before Choso seems to remember that he’s still in the middle of his conversation with your cute cunt. It’s rude to leave her hanging, he’s pondering.

“Well-” Stringing himself away with such a pained grunt, cerise lower lip plumping out in a pout at the mere thought of being away from you. “-better points than that stupid council d-did. They won’t be making aaaaany comments ‘bout you anymore, madam.”

Your leaden eyelids struggle to flitter open, “Wh-what do you ngh- mean, baby?”

But the only response you get is a quick staccato of swats at your leaky slit, before Choso’s curling in a thick thumb past your watering lips and in to your slicked entrance. Followed by the delicious drag of his lengthy tongue doubly slipping back inside.

Thrust after thrust. 

So extensive that he was skimming across all your ridges, mapping out every sweet spot of yours on his mouth. Your adhesive walls were clinging onto him like a vice, sappy mushes making him pry apart your thighs even more through furrowed brows. 

“Jus’- just means-” He can’t even bear to speak. To break off from stretching you staggeringly open. Your legs wrap mindlessly around Choso’s ravenous head, “-means I don’t let anyone- hah- say anythin’ about my wife.” 

Without a second thought, your eyes find his splayed-out arrows on the floor. The way they were sullied with red…

Oh. 

But you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything other than let your head jerk backwards, muffing out slight whimpers when he alternates in such sloppy measures between swirling the fattened expanse of his tongue all over every possible spot of your gummy walls and sucking on your clit like his favorite candy.

“They won’t say- do- anythin’—” In so deep now that all you could make out were numerous wet gurgles. And the pure, unadulterated love in Choso’s tone when he twists his thumb to graze right against your bruised and battered g-spot. Hard. “Not when I love her so much.”

He’s gonna raise your kids to love you just as damn much.

And when you cum, you think you might be sobbing - you’re shaking. 

Flurries of stars bursting behind your eyes as you dig your fingers through your husband’s perspired strands. Keening out, “Fuck- m’cumming- m’cumming–”

“I know I know.” He smirks hotly against your puffy pussy lips, so close that you could feel the cratered dimple of his grin. “Yer cute cunt told me, baby– heh- wouldn’t mind being welcomed ah- home by my wife like this every day.”

He lets himself be manhandled, pulled and pushed to your every whim. One of the strongest clan leaders whimpering - whimpering - when you pull just a bit too hard to mash his cushiony mouth in a deeper kiss. 

Hot. Sappy. 

You’re still shaking with sparking bouts of heat that rush down and up your spine, legs twitching when Choso pulls away with a loudly kissed mwah! Overly exaggerated just to see that shy, fucked-out expression on your face. 

He was so unfairly pretty like this - a delicate red blush burning all over his face, eyes half-lidded like he was feverish. A shimmery spray of your juiced slick drips down his chin, his bruised lips, all the way up to his regal cheekbones. 

He made a mess. And he was wearing it like a badge of honor.

Rising up, up, up to shutter your ajar jaw and plant a drenching kiss. Choso always left your mind so melty and stupid no matter what he did. 

“Do you…do you want some hngh- sh-shaved ice?” You’re babbling with your cottony tongue, unsure of what exactly to say after something as intense as…that. 

“Nah-” One kiss. Another Two. Five. “-I jus’ had something a whooole lot sweeter, madam.”

Right now it was so quiet in your kitchen. Just you, Choso, and the gleaming moonlight illuminating his pussydrunken enchantment. Even more so than usual. 

You’re glissading your arms around his sweat-matted neck, reeling him in even closer. He smells so good, piney cologne searing your senses even despite that tint of iron. Nervously musing, “Hmmm, wonder if s’always gonna be like hah- this whenever I get…cravings.”

Well- it wasn’t exactly what you wanted to say, but, better than nothing.

“Cravings, huh?” Choso’s eyes twinkle - and you’re not sure if that’s a result of the muted lighting or because of what you just said. Hopefully the latter. 

“Well- well just saying I wouldn’t mind if-”

Cutting yourself off, you’re sure it’s the latter when he rests a massive palm, warm against your tummy. Just for a split-second before tucking his big, strong arms underneath your body and propping you in an easy princess carry. “If you have cravings then I’d be the one cooking for ya, my wife. 24/7, at your feet.”

Yeah, you were fucked. 

But you never really realized just how much - just how badly - until just a few days later; seated on the polished hardwood floor of the famed Kamo archery dojo. 

It was routine for your husband to practice his pinpoint precise shooting, and by now it was your routine to watch him. 

How could you not? Because it was such a heavenly sight.

Choso’s pristine, white yukata unravelled at one muscular shoulder; showing off the rippling curves and dips of his sculptured back. Strong. His honed eyes filmed with a focus he only ever gets in bed. Adonis-like biceps bulging in a lecherous little flex when he draws the string back, back, back and lets go-

“YES!” Yuji’s resounding cheer thunders across the vast chamber with way too much volume than a six-year-old should possibly have. “Let’s goooo- big bwother hit the target again.”

A simpering smile stretches across your lips as soon as he turns to you for reassurance, gesturing out a slow nod at the way Choso keeps piercing bullseye after bullseye. “He did, your brother is very talented, Yuji.”

Humming, “When I grow up m’gonna be just like him.” 

“Of course.” You’re chuckling at his enthusiasm - the youngest of your husband’s brother’s always did have a special spot in your heart. And you can’t help but wonder when - if - you had an heir with Choso, whether they would be much the same. “You are his brother, after all.”

You’re frantically hovering your hands behind him once he bustles to a haphazard stand. Stumbling only a few times as he races over to the neat line of inventory, “Then- I’ll be just like him now.”

“Be careful!”

Ah, he really was a handful - which meant, you really didn’t expect it to go over perfectly smoothly. You’d known that simply wouldn’t have been possible as soon as you met Itadori Yuji. 

Yet, you didn’t expect everything to go so wrong in just a mere matter of seconds. 

Before you can even blink, Yuji’d tottered his way over to one particularly large, wooden bow - one used only by Ryomen Sukuna whenever he visited. Puffing out his chest as he reeled out the massively heavy weapon - overly heavy, way too much for even the most determined child-

CRASH!

“Yuji!” You don’t know who yelps louder - you, or Choso. But with your proximity, you’re the one that reaches him first, cradling the sniffling boy in your arms. 

You jostle away the weighty bow - honestly, how he even managed to lift this in the first place you have no idea. 

“Awww, don’t cry don’t cry–” You’re cooing, distantly registering the worried pants of his older brother skidding to a stop beside you. He always did have him curled around his little finger. Pushing away the pinkish curls from his forehead, “-you’re alright. See? You’re alright.”

“Are you hurt? Are you dizzy? Are you feeling nauseous-”

“Choso.” You warn, catching the way Yuji’s eyes widen in panic. 

Taking a few deeply necessary breaths to calm down. “You- don’t do that-” Choso’s hissing, but you could practically feel the worry seeping into his tone. Thumbing slow circles on his aching shoulders, “-ask me for a bow instead.”

You have to bite back a grin - with the watery glaze taking over his eyes, you wondered who was really hurt - Yuji or Choso himself. 

“M’sorry big bwother.” Blubbering through big, pearly tears that dry salty streaks down his chubby cheeks. He’s batting those lashes in a way you’re sure gets him out of any sort of trouble. Ever. The full, merciless force of it hits your poor heart as Yuji turns to you. “Sorry, mama.”

Mama. 

Mama. 

You freeze. Choso freezes.

Hell, even the twittering birds outside freeze mid-song. 

It seems like everyone in the entire world freezes except for an oblivious Yuji who only continues inching his tiny hands closer towards that guilty bow. Clearly not having learned his lesson - but you didn’t even register that right now. 

You’re staring at Choso, only to find that he’s staring right back. Droopy eyes uncharacteristically wide, blinking rapidly - it didn’t even look like he was breathing right now. 

Maw parting and closing stupidly agape, and you’re almost tempted to reach out and check whether he’s doing okay - before he finally finds his voice again. Finally. Husking out a choked-out, “W-well- maybe we should- ah- should-” He’s turning towards his contrastingly okay younger brother, “Yuji?” 

“Big bwother!” Comes the, unfortunately, helpless answer. 

And something in his beaming expression seems to jolt Choso out of his reverie, something that makes him let out a tight nod. Scooping up the giggling boy over his shoulder, he calls out at you, “Wait here.”

As Choso walks out of the doorway, you could only watch.

Only sit there for what could be four seconds - or maybe even four hundred years - until he’d presumably dropped off Yuji at the safety of Jin. Taking steady, focused strides back to you that thud! thud! thud! right along to the beat of your racing heart.

Choso’s expression is blank - pale as if he’s seen a fucking ghost. And he doesn’t even look at you, can’t even bear to once he walks back to the thickened air of the dojo. Now pointedly alone. 

Very, very alone. 

Wordlessly, he picks up his famed bow. And you swear that you can see his practiced hands tremble. Something was happening. 

It’s like an artwork that you can’t look away from. The fluid motion of aligning a singular arrow to aim for his final, rounded target. Doughy pads of his fingers pinching the string back, back, back until it snaps!

And misses. For the first time in years.

“Fuck.”

You barely have the time to compute - to even suck in a gasp of surprise before your husband comes and crashes into you. It’s as if he was magnetized and couldn’t get away even if he wanted to. 

It’s a frenzy of white billowing sleeves and powerful arms, throwing you over Choso’s shoulder in only two seconds flat - much the same way that he’d done with Yuji moments prior.

Except more…urgent. 

“Choso- Cho!” You’re squealing, as he lurches into hurried treads away. Legs kicking weakly in the air, only for your stubborn self to be granted with an unapologetic spank! right on the mound of your ass. Your nose crinkles as his long, inky locks tickle your face, “What is-”

“Be quiet.” Choso’s rasping, so small that it could not have been more than a whisper. So close that you’re drinking in heady wafts of his masculine cologne. 

Something in his snarling tone makes your stomach tighten. Digits grappling precariously onto the toned curves of his shoulders, your fingertips slide down the sweltering expanse of his exposed skin. 

And only too late do you recognize the familiar pathway towards your shared bed chamber- oh. 

So that was what it was. 

And judging by the dark, primal look swimming in the clan leader’s eyes you could only hope that you made it out alive-

SLAM!

You don’t know what’s forcing you more out of your excited little reverie - the shuddered slam! of your mahogany double doors, so hard that it makes the golden hinges shake, or the way you’re thrown haphazardly on the bed. 

Like some glorified toy. One of Choso’s favorites. 

You’re throwing your arms over his broad shoulders as you fall, lugging him in even closer with each springy bounce on the bedcoils. 

But closer wasn’t close enough for your husband - he’s bullying into every ounce of your personal space, caging you in between two splayed-out palms on either side of your thoroughly spinning head.

“Mama, is it?” Choso starts out. Slow. Thick. Like he was approaching a cornered prey. “Baby, I want…I want it.”

You’re blinking up at him through eager eyes, “Want what, Cho?” 

“I want an heir. I want to make you…” He gulps. The circles of his fingertips were so warm on your skin, trailing down lovingly all across your cheek. Your collarbones, your heaving tits - down to where you predictably flinched as he palmed your tummy. “-a pretty momma.”

Fawny strands of chestnut brown curtain his gaze, but you could tell just how serious he was. Just how greedy. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Choso like this in his entire life. 

All you can breathe out is a crackling, “Yes.”

You said it. You finally said it after all these weeks. 

And it’s the only thing you hear before your yukata is all but torn off of you, Choso doesn’t even realize when he’s doing so. It’s melting away like butter underneath his strength, mere obstacles to where the real prize is - your gorgeous, shivering body.

Pebbles of goosebumps rise onto the surface of your flesh when he throws away those useless pieces of fabrics onto the tatami floor - you can have more newly tailored anyway. Many, many more with just how round and full you’re about to be very soon. 

He’d take care of it for you.

“Oh, madam- madam.” He’s spitting into your unfastened mouth, low growls sounding out across each four corners of your room. Held hostage by the arousal in your eyes, he can’t stop staring. “M’gonna ruin you.”

And Choso is feral like never before. 

Usually one to take his time during sex, finetuning you into it like a sultry waltz. His favorite hobby was to drive you mindlessly wild before he even thought of stuffing you full. But now…

Still not breaking his dreamy eye contact with you, Choso hooks a rapidfire finger over the cute bow-tied hem of your panties. Slurring down an oozing little snail trail of slick that laminates your jittery thighs with evidence of just how badly you wanted him. 

You feel the blistering pant of his mindless oh! fanning your features, leaning backwards with a loosened maw to admire just how glistening you are in this lighting. 

How ready.

With a low, fucked-up whimper breaking at the back of his throat, he rubs over the bloated curvature of your needy pussy. Slipping ever-so-slightly at the saturated puddles leaking out, Choso has no hesitation or shame when he tugs his fingerpads into his mouth once. 

Twice. Thrice. 

Dipping back down for more and more and more-

“Can’t-” He’s guttering out, eyes crinkling and- fuck, were those tears? “I c-”

You reach your hand up to smear away his hot rivulets of salt, and Choso stops his prattling like a broken record forced to a halt. He jolts as if your touch has just sent a zillion shocks of voltage down his spine, all the trekking trailway down to his furious, aching cock. 

Unsteady hands flinging apart his snowy robes - barely even bothering to remove them and wrench down his undergarments before you see it. You finally understand why Choso was so…restless.

Because he’s never been harder. 

Fuck being furious, his bawling cock was seething. Equally as red as the ripest of strawberries, the split-ended crown of his cockhead was just as plumply swollen. All proud inches nestled underneath his painfully-clenching breeder balls, ballooned and lush. Only the barest of your gaze is enough to make Choso’s lustrous tip twitch, laminating himself with a freshly dripping glaze of translucent pre. 

Though, it’s not like you were doing any better. 

Your gluey lips pucker and pout up at him once he’s wrangling your legs into a boneless hold. The feeling of his palms underneath your thighs are so soft - even despite his battle-hardened calluses. Worshipping. 

But the way he’s resting your legs on his shoulders, and folding you in half like a whining lawnchair is the complete opposite. Mercilessly into a-

“M-mating press-” Choso’s getting out through strangled breaths, as if the sole words had his poor sanity fraying at the edges. “-mating press- a- a-” Something he’s never tried out before. His head dips down, pearls of sweat simmering across his trembly upper lip as soon as your sticky folds leave a wet snog on his fattened mushroomy tip. Topping it with a generous heap of honeyed sap, “Well, hello there, baby. I have you in a mating press n’ m’gonna…gonna…”

He couldn’t even finish his sentence. 

Couldn’t even finish his thought before Choso was doing - body moving miles and miles ahead of his stupidly saccharine-sweet mind. 

“F-fuuuuck–” You’re letting off the keenest of whines, the edges of your nails leaving neat crescents all over his toned back. It was the perfect little present for the way he had you so split open. 

And he was barely even pushing past the tip. 

“Oh. Oh.” Choso’s grunts are throaty, as if they weren’t coming from the man himself but somewhere murked and dark inside him. And the same went for his feverish thrusts - tight, rigid little pushes past your slicked-up hole just to fit inside. He’s spitting into your slacked mouth, “C’mon- c’mon c’mon–”

Usually, it takes so long to prepare you to take his nine- no, ten inches. But currently, fast just wasn’t fast enough.

There’s a thundering slam! abovehead - only hours and hours later do you have enough brainpower to realize that it was Choso striking his palm down on the headboard - and it makes your clingy walls grip onto the battering mountain of his dewy head. 

Squeezing in a repeatedly adhesive-like tempo, Choso’s nose crinkles at the rubbery resistance of your snug hole. Still molding to the slightest curves and ridges of his drowned slit with every desperate rut-

“Please- take it- fucking take it.” His voice was trembling on the edge of a crack, thickened exactly the way one does when he’s about to cry. “H-how can I fuck! How can I breed ya…if I don’t-”

And you’re swearing you see his ruddied cheeks glisten with a few slipped-off tears - though, that just might be from the way that your own vision mists over when his stray hand plugs up your spilling entrance to pry two thickened, scissoring digits inside and stretch. “Fucking- take that big fuckin’- cock-”

Bullying in a few more long n’ girthy inches- You’re so full that it feels like Choso’s pushing his bloated crownhead against the spongy edges of your lungs. 

The bed dips and moans with frequent soft creaks! when he plants his curved knees firmly further apart. Flexibly so. And you’re getting a good, greedy eyeful of his pale, bulky thighs - angling at the perfect bend to snap his slender hips and jackhammer-

“Sh-shit-” Your head sinks into the cushiony pillows underneath you, and it already feels like you’re in heaven. “-don’t- don’t know if it’ll fit, Cho–”

With a bitten lip, Choso rovers down his sturdy hand from the surface of the bedframe to measure out ten solid inches. Bringing it down much the same way he did during your wedding reception, “Y-you can, baby–”

“But-”

“You will.” He’s gasping, gracing you with a soft brush of his curvaceous mushroomed head along one of your utmost favorite hidden sweet spots. It’s enough to make you buck. “Gonna take my cock, n’ you’re gonna haaah- take my seed ‘ntil you’re bloated. So I’ll make it fit- fuck- watch, I’ll make it fit.” Before you know it, that very same hand finds itself crowning your head, threatening to push you down- “C-can you say hngh- ‘biiiig stretch’ f’me?”

You’re hiccuping out, “B-big stretch?”

“Nuh uh-” By the time that Choso shakes his head, you’re being sprinkled with loose flecks of his sweat. He was in so deep now. “Say it with me- b-biiig stretch, baby–”

“B-biiig- stretch!” It takes you everything in your body to hold your own against the vicious pounds being planted and struggled into your goopy depths. Choso was determined. Frenzied. 

And god, the way you’re dumbly parroting his words is so hot. He can’t help but dollop out muggy icings of pre that slosh and swab at every nook and cranny inside you. 

“Good girl.” Rewarding you with a slow heart being patterned right on the throbbing peak of your clit, the roughened edges of his fingertips rub you just right. Not too hard. Not too soft. Your husband nuzzles his flushed head into the havened crook of your clammy neck, “S-say it again, madam.”

“Biiig-”

Honestly, it’s a wonder you manage to get exactly two syllables out at all. Because soon enough, Choso’s taking your distracted few seconds to lace his fingers onto your scalp push. To bump his hips back until your geysering cunt was struggling around his fat, bulbous tip.

Before stuffing you full all the way in-

“Fuck- no.” Choso’s spitting out venomously against your thrumming pulse, sharp fringes of his teeth digging in animalistically. Bottomed out but still pushing and pushing- Slamming a lazy stripe of luscious precum down your spongy cervix, “No- no no–”

No sooner are you full of all his massive, rummaging length, he’s making you take even more. This time in the form of dribbling, ribbony volumes of cum that leak and leak and won’t stop from his heated divot. 

It’s ballooning up your tight channel even more. Swashing around and sticking to your gummy walls like a treacly lacquer. Filling you to your very brim-

“S-so much.” You’re gaping, through tear-strung lashes. The shivering edges of your fingers subconsciously dance downwards to splotch over the puddling globs of seed tricking from either side of your sloppy slit. Squeezing out even more to coat Choso’s bulky base with creamy rings upon rings. 

And, usually, your husband might be just a bit embarrassed. Usually, he would have pulled out to make out with your pretty pussy until your scores were more than tied.

But that wasn’t your husband right now. 

“Don’t.” Choso clicks his drunkenly heavy tongue, lips pulling back into what almost looks like an oh-so-feral snarl. And you have to admit that it looks so sexy on him. He’s rudely swatting away your curious hand, “Move that fucking hand n’ let me see.”

It takes only a split-second for both your hands to be pinned underneath one of Choso Kamo’s. 

“Tha’s not enough to take.”

And only one more split-second for him to flip you over onto your tummy and stuff your head into the cushy pillows. 

He’s fucking you like he’s using you. Like he’s pumping his mushy, swollen head to nudge in the weighty heft of his cum deeper and deeper and deeper-

“Y’know I hate hngh- disrespectin’ my wife, baby–” He leans over to sigh against your ear in craving hisses, pinning you with his body. His muscles. You could count each n’ every one of Choso’s bulging abs, glissading damply against your perfectly arched spine. Bubblegum pink nipples pressed roughly into your scorching skin, “Hate it- but…”

You gasp at Choso’s audacity next - at the way it makes you so traitorously soaked when he hikes up one of his feet to rest upon your head. 

Gurgling out a stupid. “Ch-Cho–”

But he didn’t seem to hear you - you didn’t know if he was even managing to breathe at this point. Only letting his devious lips twitch up, up, up into such a satisfied grin. “-but ‘ntil I get my hngh- heh…heir, you’re gonna hafta be my cumdump, madam.”

And if the saturated slurps singing out at a near-deafening tone from your dripping pussy said anything - it was that you loved the idea. 

Especially when the changed angle makes his scouring cockhead maze between the most treasured spots of your jelly-like walls to strike numerous, merciless hits dead-set on your g-spot. 

Ah, there it was, pipes up that small voice in Choso’s overtaken brain. Jostling your hips back onto his with a sudden spank on the target of your drivelling hole, the stinging pressure makes you bump your tenderest spots again and again into his ruthless batters. 

It’s bruising - the proud circumference of his plummy cock against your elastic cervix with every recoiling bounce, the rounded patterns of his balls against the hind of your pretty pussy with each thrust.

If you didn’t think you were being fucked stupid before then you were sure now. 

Your velveteen pillowcase dampens with the ever-flooding saliva spilling from your mouth every time Choso rears his aching shaft back to plant rapid, precise strikes where you wanted him the most. 

Whimpering at how every ramming dab of his split cockhead leaves leakages of pearly white cum all over the bottom of your pussy. That sultry swirl of his dumped heaps inside of you making your head spin just as dizzily. 

You almost don’t notice it when Choso’s drifting both hands to skirt over about halfway down your tummy. Feeling for that bloated, cylindrical outline of him vulgarly messing up your insides, “Gonna be e-even fuller here soon, y’know-” He’s giggling - giggling. Erratically letting his hands slide down to your clit to give the peaked ends just a tiny pinch. “-have you all round. Full. Full-”

He can’t say anything else.

He can’t do anything else - other than watch in purely entranced awe when that makes you cum all over his fucking cock. 

So big n’ thick that your claggy walls can barely even squeeze around his throbbing shaft. The thought makes you huff as he rams rigorously through your blinding high - teeth grit, your fingers fist at the pillows and make sure you can clench-

When you do- oh, when you manage to cling your gummy cunt onto his girth as if to suck out his fucking soul, it makes Choso cum, too.

Fatigued hips somehow matching his cadence, your knees shiver on top of the softened mattress stuttering through every dousing mass of cum gliding inside your cute cunt. It was so heavy having his massive torrentials inside of you, spraying the door to your womb with a slippery sheen.

It was maddening. 

And maybe it’s been hours - maybe it’s been mere minutes. But all you know is that you’re put through rounds and rounds and more rounds. But he’s still not stopping. Still dredging out the tiniest of hollowing grinds. 

Until much, much later Choso’s breath hitches in feverish stutters. It was so steamily hot inside you, only getting more humid by the minute as you ride out yet another crashing high.

“G’na milk e-every ngh- drop-” He titters, fleshy edges of his fingers closing in around where your pussylips were the most buxom. The most leaky. “-n’ you’re gonna ngh- keep it. Keep ‘ntil you give me an h-heir. Remember that, baby– keep it.”

You’re fighting against the weight of his muscular leg on top of you. Was he clamming your pussy shut? 

“Choso, baby.” Your straining out, throat drier than the Sahara at this point. Even despite how the hypnotized way your husband looks at you makes your tongue lather with watery saliva. “Want- want more.”

You think you might just have broken Choso Kamo.

Might just have made him reach another surprising high all over again with just your simple request. He’s lifting off the powerfully pressurized foot crowned on your head in favor of lurching downwards to grab your tender throat into a headlock.

Manhandling you as he pleased. Lifting you off of the tattered pillow, the completely splintered bed frame now. 

Your chin juts over his thick, bulging biceps, fighting for both air and the space-

“More- more, she says-” He’s chuckling out, words cracking a few octaves higher than normal. From the corner of your eye, you sneak glimpses at the way that Choso’s eyes were wide, crazed. Flashing all sorts of feral promises when he plants one, two, three long thuds against your soppy cervix. “Fucking- m-more.”

You’re letting off a tiny whimper - your orgasm nothing but tingles at this point. Yearning for that the piping hot streak of seed flushed into your already-overspilling cunt. Syruping in with the rest of his numerous goopy volumes, it’s thick and needy. 

Only one.

“Sh-shit.” He’s wheezing against your ear, free hand flying down to tug at his reddened base for more more more- one’s not enough. Every possibly wiry wisp and speckle that could fill you up. Could give him an heir. “Can’t cum dry- won’t- oh.”

Rutting into you like Choso won’t stop - didn’t know if he even can stop anymore. You flinch at the suddenly hot splatter! of something warm…and wet at your shoulder. 

“Cho- oh!” Not only was the clan leader drooling out glossy spatters of saliva, he was crying. Hugging you even closer, you’re showered in neverending streams of overstimulated tears.

And Choso can only babble away, “Hope- hope s’a daughter, madam.”

A/N. AYYY y’all have been wanting more dom Choso saurrrr- Anyways hope you have a lovely week <3

Plagiarism not authorized. 

[drchucktingle]

the curve

somehow ive found myself in a position where folks come to chuck in times of strife for encouragement. lets get the big part of this conversation out of the way LOVE IS STILL REAL and that is the thing to remember. that north star remains. today there is more to talk about though

existence pushes towards love community and freedom, because CREATION is what we were built to do and creation thrives with these things as fuel. IT GETS BETTER. LOVE IS REAL. however this change comes in up and down waves. its not a straight line and should not be expected to be

some of these waves are short and small, and some of the slopes are years or decades long. there is no mincing words here, we are entering a massive downward wave. the implications are huge and it is okay to mourn that. FEEL THOSE FEELINGS. it is an important part of the ride

the most telling sign post on our slope is this: tromp won the popular vote (or likely will when the votes are done). we can talk POLITICAL STRATEGY all day about electoral college or who should court the center or the left and on and on but ultimately THIS is the real story

to me it signals a TRUE cultural shift. likely conservatives will have presidency, senate, house, and supreme court. WHAT A GIANT SLOPE. HOLD THE HECK ON because we will be riding it for a while, deep into the pit of the void. hold your buds tight, prove love at the local level

but heres the thing, MASSIVE waves have happened before. theyll happen again. mind numbing slopes into the abyss and great soaring leaps into the sky. in fact the inertia almost ALWAYS causes them to happen right after each other. hippies or punks back in the day, buckaroos now

politically we were trapped in a basically fifty fifty trot for a long time, but it was not always like this (just look at old election maps what the heck). to be honest, tromps map looks like one of those old maps right now. and DANG did COUNTER MOVEMENTS blooms from those times

in other words, THERE WILL BE A COUNTER CULTURE MOVEMENT THAT WE HAVE NEVER SEEN BEFORE IN OUR LIFETIMES. you are now a rebel for the resistance and the wave that will swing back towards love will awe us in ways we cannot even imagine yet.

but for now, feel those feelings, mourn, prove love, stay safe. do not let the hope i am espousing feel like a distraction from the very real, even deadly consequences of the terrible pit we are plummeting into. it is a horrible day, and FUTURE HOPE does not diminish that, BUT

get ready because that counter culture wave is coming and YOU are a part of it. if you want to shout HECK OFF DEVILS then shout it LOUD, if you want to cry then cry HARD, if you want to love then love with your WHOLE HEART. thats the start of the movement that we dont know yet

when that movement takes shape we will feel the inertia of the curve and it may make us sick from the rollercoaster turn, and that pressure will be uncomfortable and scary, but THEN buckaroo, we will soar, and ill be so dang glad to be holding on tight with you when we do

[swordsandholly]

Been thinking about the 141 boys coming to visit your southern family…

Price ends up out back with your papaw and uncles staring at a riding mower that they haven’t been able to get back up and working. Beer in hand, hip cocked, mimicking their ‘uh-uh’s and ‘yep’s. He tries to help with grilling but your dad won’t let him anywhere near it because “damn brits can’t cook out to save their lives. I’ve seen what y’all eat.”

Ghost gets a little overwhelmed by the women fussing over him. He’s on his third plate of food and your mimi is still loading him up with more mac n cheese because “He’s just such a big boy - he really needs to fill up! Are you sure you’re feeding him enough?” Luckily Simon is a literal human vacuum - a total garbage disposal. He drinks about a pitcher of sweet tea by himself because you can’t tell me that man doesn’t have a deadly sweet tooth. You have to drive home after the food coma they put him in.

Gaz is the decided favorite son-in-law (never mind that you aren’t married yet.) He’s just so polite, happily helping wherever needed. Quick witted and more than prepared to participate in the small town gossip. Giving genuine, dramatic gasps at the news that the preachers son of your family’s rival church took a trip (went to prison). It just makes sense that boy always had a screw loose, after all. He picks up on the cooking easily enough, asking your mom for all her recipes to make both you and her a lovely custom cook book of family recipes.

Soap goes absolutely hog wild on the four wheelers with your cousins. Regaling the younger ones with stories of his ‘adventures’ (pranks on the other 141 members.) He picks up some of your slang for the fun of it. After all, sigogglin’ just works with a Scottish accent so well. Unfortunately he can’t handle the jalapeño corn bread - it’s just too spicy for the poor boy.

[okwonyo]

USE YOUR HEART ✶ forbidden romance

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐕 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖽𝖾𝗏𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝖼𝖾𝖺𝗇

𝟏𝟔𝟖𝟏𝒾──── bodyguard!enhypen 𝗑 f!rea ✿ fluff 𓂋 kissing skinship ❞ 𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 ｡

rbs ！ ✶ 𝗔 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦 for @flwrstqr ◜ ᴗ ◝

HEESEUNG

you are the day greets you with heeseung’s soft, bare, broad chest sitting politely under your head. you want to bury your face further into your pillow.

the sunlight reflects in your face— right into your eye and as you scratch it, realizations hit you. he is absolutely not supposed to be there.

you almost get dizzy from how quickly you sit up. shaking his shoulders softly, you hush his name like a desperate prayer, “heeseung, heeseung, wake up.”

he hums, his voice deep and filled with sleep. he doesn’t wake up, changing his position to hug your waist instead of laying on his back. it’s endearing, but you keep shaking him.

“babe, please.” he whines.

“heeseung, you fell asleep last night, if someone sees us you are fired,” his eyes open abruptly. “you are supposed to protect me, not cuddle with me.”

he gets up in a storm, stumbling over the covers as he gets out of bed. you sniffle a laugh as he looks for his thrown shirt, contemplating his broad back while he puts it on.

when your bodyguard turned secret boyfriend sneaked in your room last night, you swore he was going to leave in less than ten minutes. yet, this morning, he cups your face to give you a quick kiss before storming out of your room.

JAY

he waits until the attention is not on you anymore to drag you into an empty room and pin you against the cold walk. he doesn’t waste any time to smash his lips against.

jay has been waiting for this moment all day long. from the second bus shift started—when you woke up—he wanted to kiss you until none of you could breathe again.

his heart pounds in his chest when your hands slide on his neck, his own holds onto your waist for dear life, pulling you closer to his body more and more.

you kiss him with as much fervor has he does. you melt onto his touch, your body warming up as the kiss goes on. you ruin his slick back barely a few seconds in, leave your lipstick all over he mouths— and he loves it.

“we shouldn’t—” he kisses you. “we shouldn’t do—” its your fault for giving up on your sentence as soon as his lips touch yours. “we shouldn’t do this.”

you always say the same thing. since the very first time this happened, you never fault to remind him that kissing in hidden places is dangerous. jay knows it: he knows no one is rooting for your relationship but he can’t stop.

he smiles at his own homelessness, roaming his hands all over your body, “i know, angel,” he kisses you harder, even more eager. “but it’s too good to stop.”

JAKE

if jealousy is a disease, then he is deadly sick. it’s like he doesn’t try to hide it—not only he stares burning holes through the guy’s body but he isn’t afraid to complain your ears off about him.

you didn’t even kiss the guy or talk to him for more than a second, but apparently a dance is all it takes to make the walk alone from the car to your room extremely noisy, whiny and headache worthy.

you find it endearing, how easy it is to make him jealous. and jake on the other side, feels a little silly. he knows he can’t be mad at this random man for dancing with you at a ball, because nobody knows about the two of us.

but he can’t stand seeing other people have what he cannot have— the chance to be publicly smitten for you, “he was literally eye-eating you—” perhaps he made this expression up. “oh princess, you are so pretty tonight—”

he is so immersed in his jealousy that he doesn’t hear you calling for his name. you decide that it’s enough when he starts to imitate the guy’s voice.

you take his black tie and yank him close to you, shutting him up with your lips on his. jake heart’s stops, dropping in his stomach. you didn’t look around to see if anyone was there— you don’t care. you needed to shut him up.

he is stunned when you pull away, “please, be quiet.” he nods, mouth agape as you start walking again.

SUNGHOON

if you could pick one word to describe him, it would be ridiculous. dramatic. sunghoon is always doing too much, the most he can, as if he was in an action movie.

your parents love him. he is very good at his job. yes, nothing bad or any uncomfortable encounters happened in his presence. he is the perfect bodyguard, actually, he seems to truly have fun in his job.

but, “is this absolutely necessary?” you sigh, getting out of the car. it’s raining but the rain and your skin are kept apart by the umbrella sunghoon is holding above your head.

“there is no other option,” his tone is deep, face serious, the entire situation is commedic. he hands you the umbrella and he makes sure you are holding it well before letting go.

you roll your eyes when your boyfriend picks you up bridal style. it’s absolutely not necessary, you keep on telling him this. “it is, we can’t risk your pretty heels getting wet, can we?”

his sly look and smirk makes you stomach ache, full of butterflies. your heart burns with the urge of kissing him— but you can’t. you bite down your lower lip as he walks to gala’s entrance.

this is probably going to be ok the headlines tomorrow: the princess can’t walk by herself? or something amongst these lines, but you don’t care. later.

later. you’ll make sure to hide well enough to kiss him without creating a scandal.

SUNOO

anyone can be easily fooled by his pretty face. when you first met him, you thought his cute face couldn’t do much— well too lovely to protect you correctly. god knows how wrong you were.

underneath his black word suit, sunoo muscles get more obvious each day. you would know. your hands touch them whenever he kisses you. his grip is always strong on your hips.

that’s why you never forget how strong he can be and that, being your secret lover apart, he is your very protective body guard.

you get a little bit uncomfortable, worried and scared when a guy comes to you at a party. the man in front of you reeks alcohol and stands a little too close to you for your own comfort.

you tell him to leave you alone politely but he doesn’t want to. until your knight in shining armor grips his collar and yanks him away from you.

“is this guy bothering you, sunshine?” sunoo asks, with a bright smile. his grip on the stranger’s collar is strong and the other seems to be close to choking.

you watch him, with wide eyes, make the young rich man get on his knees and beg for your forgiveness. you have to tell sunoo that everything is fine a million times for him to let go.

JUNGWON

he doesn’t know what happened. he just sees you run out of your father’s office, with tears in your eyes and your hand in front of your mouth. you ran away as soon as he tried to ask you what’s wrong.

“princess!” he yells your name, out of breath. he barely is able to speak, “princess— tell what is wrong!”

you stop running after a while. jungwon lets out a sigh of relief, he takes a while to catch his breath. “damn, the things i do for you, doll.”

you show him absolutely no mercy. he yelp when you push his shoulder, harshly enough to make him hiss right after. “why didn’t you tell me that you quit your job?”

oh. this is what this is about. jungwon should have guessed, he didn’t even have time to tell you about it, “princess, listen—” he tries to reach for you hand but you step away.

“no, won,” you sniffle. “i don’t want other bodyguard, i just want you. you—you can’t leave me.”

his heart breaks, watching your tears drop from your pretty eyes. he doesn’t give up when you push his hands away whenever he tries to reach for you. he gets to cup your face at the end.

“i’m sorry for not telling you sooner.” he shushes your sobs, pulling you in his embrace. “i quit because i don’t want to hide anymore— i am so desperately in love with you.” his whispers smooth your heart. “i just want everyone to know and i will be able to if quit. don’t be sad, everything i do is for you.”

RIKI

it’s late at night when you hear a knock at your door. you finish putting your earring before getting away from the mirror and opening it.

“wow,” his voice is low, deep, barely above a whisper due to his awe. he stays speechless for a while and his gaze scanning your body makes you nervous. he steps closer to you, “i could kiss you right now.”

you giggle as he leans in. his cologne intoxicates you in a good way, as well as does his mouth gently meeting yours. he puts his hand on your waist, pulling you closer to him.

honestly, he was just aiming for a peck. however, he can’t stop, “riki,” a kiss. “riki—” another one. “we can’t kiss here.”

he hums against your lips. then upon pulling away, he gives you a lingering smooch. he

smiles when he stands straight, “you’re so pretty.”

your giggles are hushed, well too aware that there is ears everywhere. if anyone sees how close you are standing to your bodyguard, how your lipstick is still remaining warm on his lips— it’s over.

riki offers you his hand, “let me steal you away for a night.” he pulls you out of the room in a hurry. you both run away from the palace, unable to keep your laughs quiet.

분지 ܃ wrote this just to make my wife happy >< enjoy !

© 𝖮𝖪𝖶𝖮𝖭𝖸𝖮 ୨୧ 𝟐𝐎𝟐𝟓 ── taglist ( open )

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 piña colada

synopsis: some women just can't take a hint... good thing Zoro's only got eyes for one girl.

cw: nsfw (oral: female receiving), this woman is really shameless, surprisingly tender Zoro, you two are so in love, kinda magical ngl, etc.

"Hey, there," a woman—who was in the tiniest bikini known to man—hummed, tone low as she approached the lounge chair. "I don't think I've seen you on this island before."

'For fuck's sake...'

Annoyed, Zoro let a heavy sigh out from his nose, not even bothering to glance in the girl's direction as his sunglasses shaded his harsh side eye.

You'd think after seeing eight other women walk dejectedly away from his umbrella, the others would catch the hint?

"Not interested," he stated, curtly, hands firmly tucked behind his head as he looked out to sea.

The woman chuckled, softly, completely ignoring his comment and taking a seat in the sand.

She sat criss-crossed, dropping her hands in her lap and using her arms to slightly push her tits together, attempting to endearingly lean closer to your swordsman.

"Don't be so hasty," she sweetly smiled, taking his rudeness in stride. "Haven't even given me the chance to speak."

"Well, that's 'cause I really don't give a shit what you say otherwise," he sighed, shutting his eyes.

"I can name ten other men off the top of my head that would beg to differ," she countered, slyly.

"I'm not other men."

"You certainly aren't..."

'Walked right into that one.'

His brows flattened, and for a moment he wondered if this was a real person talking, slightly glancing around to see if he could find a camera crew of some sort.

Yet, to his surprise, there was none.

"I have a girlfriend," he dealt the finishing blow, delivering the final line that scared away all the other women from before.

He could finally get some peace and quiet.

"I don't see her here," the woman shrugged, simply, as if what he just said made no difference to her.

Zoro threw his head back with an irritated groan, wanting nothing more than to drop kick the woman away and go back to napping.

This was all Luffy and Usopp's fault.

The crew had been docked on a tropical summer island for a few days, and for all of them, you and Zoro had gone down to the beach together and lounged in the sun—tanning, napping, eating, and drinking in rotation.

But on that particular day, the boys had whisked you away to go explore some cove they found on the beach's edge, leaving your swordsman to fend off the wolves by himself.

And at first, it wasn't that bad.

The girls that approached were polite and had pure intentions, and actually respected his wishes when he said he was uninterested.

But numbers four through eight?

Hell, the woman sitting next to him?

Less so.

"Are you deaf or somethin'?" he asked, brows furrowed as he sat up, not appreciating her comment at all. "I already told you, I'm not interested. So get lost."

"Oh, c'mon," she rolled her eyes with a laugh. "There's no way you actually have a girlfriend. No girl in her right mind would leave her man alone on a beach like this, especially if he was as handsome as you."

"Maybe that's why she's my girlfriend and you're not," he scoffed, sarcastically.

Her brow twitched, the remark clearly striking a nerve as her posture suddenly straightened, her sickeningly sweet tone turning sour in a second.

"Well then, maybe your girlfriend can step up and we can see who's really the shit," she spat, standing from her spot in the sand. "Since she's so fuckin' great, let's see how she fares in a fight."

A smirk rose to the woman's lips, her hand coming to rest cockily on her hip.

"I might not look it, but I'm this island's martial arts champion... And I've yet to lose a fight. So let's see how she does with her face in the sand."

Zoro paused a moment, almost disbelieving, lifting up his sunglasses and taking a breath to see if the woman was serious.

She was.

Deadly serious, actually.

'HA!'

The man threw his head back in a burst of uproarious laughter, the sound causing the woman to jolt with surprise, and slight fear.

She'd never seen his expressions range anything past annoyance, so seeing him so amused seemed almost uncanny, especially since he was nearly howling with hilarity.

But he couldn't help himself.

You, the woman with a bounty over one billion?

You, the woman with the devil fruit of the personified spirit of death?

You, the woman who has fought literal monsters with her bare hands?

Lose to a random martial arts lady on a peaceful summer island?

It was almost too much.

The woman's brows furrowed, face warming at the mockery.

"The hell's so funny?!" she huffed with a childish pout.

Attempting to regain his composure, he wiped a tear from his eye, slightly clutching his stomach as his laughs died down.

"She'd fuckin' kill you," he chuckled, shoulders bobbing. "Like actually."

Furious, the woman broke into a long-winded tirade about why she would win... or how badly you would lose... or something along those lines.

If he was being honest, he zoned out the moment she started talking, something more interesting seeming to catch his eye.

You.

Like a dog with a bone, he watched, mesmerized, as you made your way over, hips looking ripe and tender for the grabbing.

'Goddamn...'

After days in the sun, you'd developed a delectably smooth tan, the sunscreen you had him apply earlier giving your skin an alluring shine.

Eyes scanning over your body, he took in the light (f/c) of your bikini, which had a few complimentary, (o/c) flowers decorating its corners, along with the waist beads resting lazily over your stomach, not to mention the gold anklets and bracelets that littered your ankles and wrists.

You looked good enough to eat—a thought he didn't mind indulging in later.

"Hey! Are you listening to me?" the woman continued pestering him, her hand coming up to rest on his bicep.

Huge mistake.

Faster than she could even see, Zoro grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand off and staring her down with a deadly glare, his patience long since run thin.

The woman froze, fear slowly creeping into her chest at the sharpness of his eyes.

He looked like he had half the mind to slit her throat right there.

"I'm only gonna tell you this one last time..." he warned, tone leaving no room for argument. "Get. Lost."

Roughly, he let go of her, and she quickly scrambled to her feet, scurrying back over to the safety of her friend's towel just as you arrived.

"Hey, Zo'!" you chirped, taking a seat on your swordsman's lap as you took a sip of your cocktail, which was in a cut-off coconut.

"Hey, pretty," he greeted with a smirk, placing a kiss on your neck. "Whatchu got there?"

"Some kinda coconut-rum drink," you answered, plucking the pineapple off the rim and taking a bite out of it. "The guy at the bar called it a Piña Colada."

Zoro nodded, "S'it any good?"

"Might be a bit too sweet for you," you shrugged, holding it out to him. "But try it."

Leaning forward, he sipped a bit from the straw, his nose scrunching slightly.

It was incredibly sweet.

"Yeah, I figured as much," you giggled, amused by his expression as you took it back. "By the way, who was that girl that went running away from here? She looked scared."

Slightly, you leaned over to glance at her, who was sitting not too far away, and raised a brow as she quickly turned around, terrified by your gaze. 

'The hell?'

"Was she in trouble or somethin'?"

Zoro chuckled, knowingly, his hand sliding up your side to give your hip a lackadaisical squeeze. 

"Nah," he shook his head, finally leaning back and allowing himself to relax in the chair. "Just needed help takin' a hint."

"So... I miss anything while you were on your trip with Luffy?" Zoro asked with a smile, slowly gliding his oar through the sparkling ocean.

You lit up with excitement, suddenly reminded of the events of the day.

"I wish I dragged you along! You woulda loved it," you sighed, leaning back in your spot in the canoe. "Turns out this island isn't as peaceful as we thought. When we went to the edge of the beach, we found tons of monster-sized crabs and lobsters, all of them strong as hell."

You smirked, holding up your fist.

"Me an' Luffy made a game over who could beat the most, while Usopp kept count. And we ended up in a draw."

'Damn.'

That blew his day fighting off women right out the water.

He should've gone with you.

"What about you? Anything interesting happen while I was away?" you asked.

"Eh," he shrugged, moving his oar to the other side. "Nothin' worth mentioning. My day was honestly pretty boring."

But he was hoping to change that.

While you were gone, he found Nami and Robin on the beach, and managed to weave through theirs sea of admirers in order to ask some advice.

Things had been going really great between the two of you, and since you were always so good with surprising him with gifts and gestures, he wanted to try his hand at it.

Of course, he had no idea where to begin.

And while Nami was little to no help, spending most of the time talking his ear off about how brutish and hopeless he was, Robin recommended taking you out to the nearby cove for a romantic night.

So, after scrounging up his island allowance and buying some booze and a canoe, he swept you away, all of the day's tribulations fading to the back of his mind as he watched you sit down in his lap.

"Y'know, this is really sweet of you, Zoro," you smiled, your fingers carefully tracing the scar across his chest. "Makin' me feel all special..."

He nodded, eyes raking over your face with an almost analytical look.

God, you were so fuckin' pretty.

It was almost baffling.

If he wasn't in this canoe—

"Figured you deserved something nice," he cleared his throat, warding off the less than decent thoughts creeping into his head.

He couldn't keep the romance up if he was too busy thinking about jumping your bones.

But little did he know... you were thinking the same thing.

Shifting your position, you rested your knees on either side of him, smoothly moving to bury your face in his neck, placing firm, meaningful kisses on his flesh. 

Instinctively, the man leaned into your touch, one of his hands coming up to steady you at the small of your back, while the other continued to paddle.

Gliding your manicured hands up his body, you rested them on his strong shoulders, using them for purchase as you continued to nip at him.

His chest rumbled with a deep hum at the feeling, relishing in the way your lips felt against his pulse point, sucking a hickey onto his skin.

Yet, just as it was getting good, you pulled away with a soft pop, moving to obscure his view of the water.

"I'm blockin' you. You can't see. What're we gonna do?" you grinned, cheekily, continuing to move in front of him as he tried to peer around you. "Oh, my Gods, we're gonna crash."

He looked up at you with a small smirk and a raised brow, amused, as you continued your antics.

"Oh, no. What's gonna happen?"

Suddenly, his hand roughly pulled you into his side, a soft squeal leaving your lips as he chuckled, allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck and continue your kissing assault while his two hands returned to the oar.

Nuzzling into the crook of his neck, you peppered lazy kisses on his skin, your hand coming up to card through the hairs at the base of his neck.

Tenderly, Zoro placed a few kisses of his own on your shoulder, his eye perking at the sight of your destination.

Robin had given him impossibly thorough instructions on how to get there, which is the only reason why you two hadn't miraculously made it to the next island.

"Hey..." he lightly nudged you as the boat approached the shore. "We're here."

Lifting your head, you carefully flew out his lap, touching down on the dry sand as he hopped into the shallow water, walking around to the back and pushing the canoe onto the shore.

"Oh, wow," you gasped, in awe at the beauty laid before you. "This is beautiful! Look at the view"

The moon hovered over the water, making the waves crystallize like diamonds below, just as the stars in the ink-black sky.

The sea breeze wafted your hair and cooled the sweat on your body from the heat of the day.

It felt good to get away from people, the serenity too nice to put off.

Suddenly, Zoro scooped you up, you in one arm and the case of booze in the other as he began walking toward the cove.

"It gets better," he smirked, leading you over to where the tall rocks flattened out and arched upward, turning themselves into a natural cabana.

Placing you down, he quickly gathered some sticks from nearby, before bringing them back and starting a fire.

And as he did so, you couldn't help but marvel at his body, thick, corded muscle flexing and extending under his skin at each minute movement, looking delicious enough to bite.

And that wasn't the blood-sucker in you talking.

You sighed in contentment as you tipped your head up towards the sky, admiring the stars twinkling above

Finishing up, Zoro plopped down beside you and threw an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side with a proud smile.

"Nice, right?" he chuckled.

You lazily nodded, wanting to stay there forever—among the water, stars, and him.

You peered up at him through your lashes, hesitant to speak in fear of ruining the moment.

Slowly, he wrapped his arms around you, engulfing you in them. And you let yourself be pulled into him, sighing when your head met the crook of his shoulder.

You embraced him back, crushing your breasts against his hard chest. 

There, you two stayed, holding each other, linked together like magnets.

"You smell nice," he murmured into your skin, taking a deep inhale of you. "Like coconut."

You smiled, shyly, warmth rising to your cheeks at the compliment.

And after a few silent seconds, he pulled away from you, his eyes dark as the night sky.

"I'm gonna kiss you," he stated, curtly, his gaze alight with enamor.

You didn't get to say a reply, too preoccupied with the lips pressing against yours.

The kiss was hungry, your lips moving against each other's like you both were starving for one another.

And you were.

You could tell Zoro wanted the same thing you did when his hands moved below your waist to squeeze your ass, the feeling making you moan into his mouth.

He replied with his own grunt and pulled away, his eyes glazed over with lust.

"I wanna see you," he stated, his voice a deep rumble.

There was a molten tenderness in his gaze that had you shivering in pleasure and anticipation, wondering what else he had in store for you.

So you stripped.

Catching the hint, your hands glided up your back, pulling the string of your bikini top and letting your breasts fall out of the cups, along with the strings to your bottoms.

Zoro's eyes raked over the sight of you as if you were a piece of art he was admiring in a museum.

"Shit," he softly hissed to himself, amazed at the sight of your brown, hardened nipples.

You softly whimpered at his calloused hands caressing your sensitive breasts, causing him to move on to other matters.

He leaned in and latched his lips onto one of your nipples, where he began to suckle on.

You threw your head back to stare at the endless sky, your mouth open in an O as pleasured moans fell from your lips.

You couldn't help yourself, especially when Zoro began to suckle and flick his tongue along the sensitive bud of your nipple, his hand kneading your other breast in the process.

Then he switched, giving your other breast the same treatment.

Your hands found his hair, your fingers aimlessly wandering through the green strands.

You were ruining its somewhat even style, but he didn't seem to care.

He was more concerned with nibbling along your nipple, making you sharply inhale before your voice choked on a broken moan.

You couldn't take it.

All of this was going straight to your core, which was now throbbing and begging for attention between your thighs. 

"Please, Zo'..." you whined, gripping his hair. "I need you to touch me."

With a cocky smile, the man nodded, slowly leaning forward to lay you down in the sand.

Your eyes flitted up to the torch lit beach across the water, realizing any eagle-eyed person could come out and see you naked.

"Wait... what if someone sees us?" you asked, uncharacteristically timid.

A devious smirk rose to his lips, and he pressed a reassuring kiss on your lips.

"Let 'em... They'll be in for a show."

Gently, he pried your thighs open, revealing your sobbing, wet core.

You watched his face change from playful to downright feral as he stared at your cunt.

You flushed at his expression.

'Gods, give me strength...'

"Zoro, I'm serious—"

He shushed you, leaning forward to press wet kisses along your inner thighs.

"No more talkin', pretty," he growled against them. "All I wanna hear is my name on your lips."

He continued to pepper you thighs in kisses while his hands pinned your legs apart, his hold on you firm.

He didn't want you hiding from him.

And it felt good.

You didn't stop him when he dove right into your pussy, first peppering your lips and clit in open-mouthed kisses as if he was making out with them.

It had been so long since the two of you'd gotten intimate like this, you nearly forgot the way the man worked his mouth.

Especially when he started to flick his tongue against your clit.

His tongue swirled around it and flicked it gently based on your responses.

And shit, you were responding well.

Your body couldn't help but react pleasantly to the sensations—your toes curling; your back arching; your eyes fluttering shut; your mouth falling open into an O as moans and gasps fell from your lips.

Zoro was not only good with his tongue, but good with his hands.

He reached up and played with your titties, tweaking and pinching your nipples according to your verbal cues.

"H-Harder, please!" you begged, to which he pinched the hard, brown peaks a little harder, the burst of pain making you gush all over his lips.

"Fuck, Zo'," you moaned. "That feels so good..."

Zoro hummed approvingly into your cunt, the vibrations making your clit quiver pleasurably.

"Keep feelin' good for me, pretty," he said between the wet flicks of his tongue on your rosebud. "Lean back and wrap your thighs around my head f'me."

Before you could even say anything, he was already tugging you closer by your ankle, earning a squeal from you.

He stood on his knees for a moment, taking you in.

His lust-blown eyes trailed up and down your naked form, drinking in every part of you.

Then he inhaled deeply, as if struggling to process the sight in front of him.

"Christ, you're so fuckin' gorgeous," he huskily said.

You had no idea what to say to that.

All you could do was shyly smile up at him as he stared down at you, both of you enchanted with each other.

Then he was ducking back down and throwing your thighs across his shoulders with ease, wrapping your legs around his head.

This gave him better access to your pussy so he could easily tongue-fuck you.

As soon as you felt the wet muscle entering your wet folds and his nose brush against your clit you were in heaven.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head and your hands found his hair, gripping the blonde strands as your hips began to grind shamelessly into his face.

"Mmm-hmmm," he hummed approvingly, keeping up the pace.

He didn't pause or slow down.

He continued to work your pussy just how you wanted, making you see stars behind your eyelids and cry to the moon above.

It didn't take long for that feeling of release to dawn on you.

You couldn't help it.

His tongue just felt too good.

Plus, the atmosphere and the whole idea of getting caught in such a risque position turned you on more than you'd like to admit.

Zoro must've realized you were close because his jaw started to move fast, accompanying his tongue-fucking with porn-worthy grunts of his own that nearly threw you over the edge.

"Fuck, Zoro!" you whined. "M'gonna come!"

Eagerly, he hummed into your pussy, pulling his tongue out of your hole and proceeding to suck on your clit while his finger began to stroke the outside of your slit, barely touching your insides.

But it was enough to push you further and further down that road to releasing all over him.

His darkened eyes flicked up to yours, staring you down between your thighs.

"Come for me," he demanded. "Come for me, baby. Don't fuckin' hold back."

He grinned up at you, his eyes glistening in the moonlight.

He attached his mouth to your pussy again, and ran it until you couldn't help but fall over the edge.

"Come for me," he groaned into your cunt, becoming gradually louder as your moans reached higher pitches. "Come for me. Come for me. Come for me."

And you finally did.

That tight knot in your core finally snapped and a wave of euphoria washed over you as you came all over Zoro's face and eager lips with a loud moan.

You saw the entire galaxy and beyond as your pussy gushed, your body shivering and shuddering.

Your back arched and your hips widened into Zoro's face, trying to keep as much of the feeling going as possible.

When it finally faded, you were left feeling tired, spent, and oh-so good.

Zoro lazily cleaned you up, taking care to not overstimulate you as he ran his tongue over your sensitive, twitching core.

Then he lifted his head up away from your thighs, giving you a peak of his chin and mouth shining in your juices.

With the moon in his glazed eyes, he hummed to himself.

"You taste better than the rum."

[sugary-strawberry-shortcake]

Blossom Reverse (Yandere Batfam x Neglected! Poison Ivy‘s Daughter Reader!)

Chapter One

There was a moment, right after waking, when everything felt normal.

The sun crept in through gauzy curtains. Her sheets smelled like chamomile and old linen. The air carried that soft, dusty warmth of a mansion too large to ever truly feel full.

But then the moment passed.

And Y/N remembered everything.

The chains.

The underground cell.

The collar.

Her own scream as the collar crushed her throat—her vines too slow to answer.

She had died. She knew she had.

So why… was she here?

The room around her was achingly familiar—her old room. Not the larger suite she’d been moved to at sixteen. This one was smaller. Green wallpaper. A desk by the window. Her old stuffed elephant still sitting on the dresser, untouched by time.

Her chest tightened.

No.

This wasn’t right.

This was before.

A knock. Then the door creaked open.

“Miss YN,” came the voice that never stopped being gentle. “Time to wake, my dear.”

Alfred.

She turned slowly. There he stood—older, upright, the ever-reliable silhouette in his pressed suit and warm eyes. He stepped in, balancing a tray with tea, fruit, and a slice of toast—simple, perfect, the way he used to bring it when no one else remembered she was alive.

She sat up, heart thudding.

“Alfred…”

He raised a brow. “Yes, Miss?”

Her throat tightened. She wanted to cry. To throw herself at him. But she didn’t.

He didn’t know.

None of them knew.

They didn’t remember what had happened. How it ended.

Only she did.

“Never mind,” she said softly, voice smooth and polite. She smiled gently—the smile she had trained to wear like a mask.

He looked at her a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before placing the tray on the bedside table.

“You’ll be late if you linger. Master Damian is already downstairs. I imagine he won’t wait.”

She flinched inwardly at the name.

Damian Wayne.

In her first life, he was her older brother by adoption and blood—Bruce’s biological son, trained since birth, brilliant and deadly. He used to ignore her. Mock her sometimes. In school, he barely acknowledged her existence.

And yet, she had idolized him.

Tried to win his favor. Smiled at him every morning, even when he didn’t look her way. Followed after him in school and sat beside him at lunch, even when he moved two seats down. Laughed at his jokes, even when they were at her expense.

She wouldn’t do that this time.

This time, she’d keep her distance.

This time, she wouldn’t beg to belong.

She dressed herself slowly in the Gotham Academy uniform—neatly ironed, green plaid skirt, soft cream blouse, and a jacket that bore the Wayne crest. It was strange, wearing it again. Strange being fourteen when she had last worn it at eighteen.

She tied her hair back, tucked a flower behind her ear—reflexively—and then yanked it out with shaking fingers.

Not this time.

No vines. No bloom. No signs.

No one could know what she truly was.

⸻

Breakfast was quiet chaos, just like it had always been. Dick laughing too loud. Jason making jokes between bites. Tim hunched over a tablet, barely touching his food. Bruce silent at the head of the table, sipping black coffee and pretending not to brood.

They looked the same.

But YN saw it differently now. She saw the spaces where affection should have been. She sat at the far end of the table, untouched by their noise.

No one spoke to her.

No one noticed her tea going cold.

Just like before.

But now she didn’t feel sad. She felt… numb. Distant. Watching it like a memory already repeating itself.

Then Damian walked in—clean uniform, sharp eyes, katana still strapped across his back like it belonged there. (Bruce would reprimand him, because the boy knew that he could not take weapons with him to school. Still, he tries to do it regularly.)

He looked at her.

She didn’t smile.

He frowned—briefly—like something felt off, but then sat beside Bruce, ignoring her as always.

It was easier this way.

She didn’t want his approval anymore.

The ride to school was silent.

They were in the same car, just the two of them. Alfred had driven them, like he always had. Damian was on his phone, scrolling through something on his WayneTech interface. YN sat beside the window, backpack in her lap.

In the past, she used to try talking to him. Making conversation. Telling him about her school projects, or showing him her drawings.

Now, she stared at the skyline, her mind somewhere far away—four years ahead and buried beneath stone.

The car pulled up in front of Gotham Academy’s front steps. A wave of uniforms and chatter greeted them.

Damian got out first.

He didn’t wait.

She didn’t follow.

⸻

Inside the school, YN moved like a shadow. Students waved at her. A few boys smiled—too long, too interested. A girl ran up to say hi, called her “sweetheart,” asked if she was coming to lunch later.

YN nodded gently.

In this world, she was known for being kind. Polite. Shy, but graceful. Sweet as sugar, soft-spoken, the Wayne girl who always brought flowers to teachers and remembered birthdays.

And every boy with a pulse had tried to flirt with her at least once.

She remembered how they looked at her. How some of them turned cruel when she said no. How the whispers followed her through the halls.

She remembered how Damian would roll his eyes when she told him.

“You’re too sensitive,” he once told her.

“You let people get close.”

He was right.

She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

This time, she wasn’t going to be loved. She wasn’t going to be adored.

She was going to vanish—quietly, carefully—before the world could bury her again.

She would use her second chance in life.

Authors note:

Here comes the first chapter. Its still unedited and pretty short, but I wanted to try and post something. Any suggestions? Any ideas? Also, this story will contain a bit fanon stuff, but I will try to be as canon as possible.

[samaraxmorgan]

Your Roommate Sukuna

“That Time He Sabotaged My Date”

Modern no curse AU, Sukuna X Reader

Synopsis: This housing crisis sure is no joke huh? Rent is just too expensive to live alone, so you put out a listing for a roommate and ended up living with none other than the tattooed bad boy Ryomen Sukuna! This is part of a series of drabbles and oneshots showing glimpses into you and Sukuna’s living situation!!

Contains: yandere(ish)!Sukuna, fluff but he’s kinda very toxic, stalking, fem implied reader (wearing a dress and heels), brief mention of a bomb (there aren’t any bombs present), narration is from Sukuna’s POV

Word Count: 1.78k

Series Masterlist - My Full Masterlist

Whoever decided this dingy shithole is a decent place to take you on a date should be fucking shot.

Maybe it was wrong of Sukuna to eavesdrop on your private conversation this morning, but in his defense you were talking on the phone loud as hell in the middle of the living room. Should’ve been quieter when you were telling your friend about the date you had planned for tonight.

And maybe it’s weird that Sukuna secretly followed you here to keep an eye on you, but it’s not like he has nefarious intentions. He’s heard of this place and one, it’s fucking gross, and two, it’s got one hell of a reputation to say the least. Definitely the kind of place for someone to get murdered, he’s just watching out for your safety!

Oh christs sake, who is he fooling? No, he followed you here because he’ll be damned if you get a boyfriend.

He feels like a creep, sitting at the bar behind your table in a black hoodie and an old baseball cap, eyes fixed on the back of your head. The guy sitting across from you is so bland, yet for some reason you’re still giggling and twirling your hair around your finger as if you don’t know that you can do so much better.

There was no need for you to doll yourself up for this fuckin’ loser; you’ve got on a pretty red dress and stiletto heels, probably anticipating him to take you somewhere nice, decent, at least. But he brought you to some run down shithole restaurant that hasn’t been renovated since the 70’s and is definitely bearing several health code violations. It’s honestly embarrassing, Sukuna would take you somewhere so much nicer than this, he knows what you deserve.

He’s been sitting at the bar sipping on his drink for the last half hour, watching the way you prop your elbow onto the table, cross your legs in your seat, tap your heel against the leg of your chair, listening to you laugh and chat about your job. Meanwhile, mister nobody in front of you is chewing with his mouth open like some kind of ape, not realizing how much of a privilege he has by being able to treat you to dinner. Un-fucking-believable.

Finally the moment he’s been waiting for happens. Bland And Boring stands up from his seat and leaves you at the table to go use the restroom, so now it’s time for Sukuna to get this fool away from you. His eyes follow the man as he walks past the bar, not even trying to be discreet. He gives Sukuna a quick glance and nods his head politely, making his way towards the bathrooms near the front of the restaurant.

There’s no time to waste.

Sukuna stands from his seat at the bar, trailing behind your date and following him into the bathroom. As the door clicks shut behind him he realizes that it’s just the two of them. Perfect, no interruptions.

He walks up behind the man, watching him through the large mirror above the sinks. Now that he’s up close he can really see how pathetic this guy is, nervously looking up towards Sukuna as he absolutely towers above him, his stature menacing and the look in his eyes bordering on deadly.

“D-do you need some-”

“You should leave.” Your date jumps at the sound of Sukuna’s voice; dark, deep, and serious.

“Um… why?” His eyes flicker around the room, definitely praying to whatever god he believes in to come save him.

Sukuna is surprised he isn’t immediately obeying. Has he grown soft? Surely not, this guy just needs a little extra push.

So Sukuna says the first thing that comes into mind.

“I have a bomb.”

Maybe that’s a little dramatic, but god damn does it do the trick. The guy looks like he’s about to fucking piss himself, eyes widening in terror as he quickly nods his head and runs out of the restaurant.

Sukuna keeps a keen eye on him through the windows, watching him nearly leap into his car and hearing the tires screech as he speeds out of the parking lot. It seems you also had an eye on your date, your jaw nearly dropping to the floor as you assumed that he just ditched you with the bill.

Now’s his time to shine.

He stuffs his hat into the front pocket of his hoodie and strides up behind you to your table, bending down to be eye level with you in the booth and putting on his best mildly surprised and kind of amused expression, “Well look at that.”

“Ugh, god.” You bury your face into your hands, “And here I thought my day couldn’t get any worse.”

He can’t help the smirk that grows on his face. It is his fault you’re in this situation, but I mean come on, that guy was no good for you anyway. “You sample the whole fuckin’ menu or something?”

You groan and roll your eyes, perfect, you took the bait, “I just got dine and dashed, asshole.”

Sukuna lets out a laugh as he flops down into the seat across from you, god if only you knew. A man would have to be a real idiot to stand you up, but he has to try and keep his act together, “Yeah? Guys are fuckin’ assholes, surprise.”

The pout on your face is too sweet, makes it hard for him to really feel bad, “I was really liking him too.”

Oh, he definitely doesn’t feel bad now. He pulls his card out of his wallet as the waitress approaches the table, handing it off to her nonchalantly as he continues the conversation, “Don’t know why you bother going on dates with these guys.”

You try to interject the waitress but she walks away before you can stop her, a defeated frown pulling down your lips, “What are you doing here anyway?”

He plops his elbow onto the table, shrugging his shoulders casually, “What? Am I not allowed to go to my favorite shitty restaurant?”

You perk up slightly, “Right? I saw a roach on the way in, I can’t believe he recommended this place.”

The waitress comes back and hands Sukuna his card, he quickly scribbles his signature on the receipt and stands from his seat at the booth, “Let’s get you out of here before you get ringworm or some shit, nasty fuckin’ place.”

Finally a smile creeps onto your face, lighting up the dreary atmosphere. You adjust your dress as you stand up and he can’t help but smirk at how good you look all dolled up, dark red dress hugging your figure as if you wore it for him. He leads you out of the restaurant, making sure to hold the door open for you since he noticed that your loser date let it slam in your face on your way in.

Droplets of rain were starting to sprinkle down, which is pretty unlucky considering it’s a ten minute walk back to the apartment. But that’s not a problem for Sukuna, if anything it’s a perfect opportunity. He catches the frown curling down your pouty lips as you fix your fingers through your nicely styled hair, probably trying to keep it from getting messed up, and without missing a beat he pulls his hoodie off, sliding it over your head and down your arms.

“I’m sure you spent hours dolling yourself up, would hate to ruin it.” His voice is smooth as butter, leaning down to eye level with you as he adjusts the hood to make sure your hair is covered.

A blush creeps onto your face, mumbling a quiet “Thank you” as you pull your arms through the sleeves. It honestly looks like you’re drowning in his massive hoodie, the sleeves too long for your arms that your fingers can’t even peek out and the hem at the bottom falling at your upper thighs.

Sukuna thought you looked good in that red dress, but god damn you look heavenly wearing his clothes. Why didn’t he do this sooner?

You both start to walk down the sidewalk to the apartment, the evening is quiet save for the muffled sounds of music and chatter coming from the bars and restaurants that you pass by. You’re walking right up against his side, your arm occasionally brushing against his and he can’t help but wonder if you’re getting closer on purpose.

Sukuna breaks the peaceful silence, “So was the food good at least?”

You look up towards him quizzically, squinting your eyes in a way that’s too fucking cute for him to handle, “Shouldn’t you be the expert?”

“Why t’fuck would I know? Never been there.”

“I thought that was your favorite shitty restaurant?”

Oops.

He got way too distracted looking into your pretty eyes. Lucky for him, he didn’t need to come up with an excuse to cover him because a loud snap rings through the air as you stumble forward. His arm quickly wraps around your waist to steady you before you can fall, holding you flush against him.

You look down at your feet and let out a loud groan of frustration, “Fucks sake, really?” You lift your foot up to inspect your shoe, your stiletto heel barely dangling by a thread as it snapped off from the sole.

Sukuna didn’t mean to laugh, but there was no containing it. You look up at him with an adorable angry face, cheeks burning red as you curse him out and it only makes him smile more. You’re just too damn cute when you’re pissed off.

“It’s not funny! These were expensive!”

“Yeah yeah, c’mere.” His arm stays wrapped around your waist as he leans down and hooks his other arm behind your knees, lifting you off the ground with ease as you squeal in surprise and wrap your arms around his neck to cling onto him.

Now he could bet that other guy wouldn’t do this for you, not just was he scrawny as all hell but he wouldn’t be nearly enough of a gentleman. Your arms tighten around the back of Sukuna’s neck as he starts walking to the apartment again, your cheek nuzzled against his shoulder as you slowly relax into his hold. He’s actually liking this a lot, silently considering purposely taking a wrong turn on the way home so he can hold you longer.

Hopefully after this you’ll stop going on stupid dates with worthless men, you’ve already got everything you could ever want right at home after all. Soon enough you’ll realize that you don’t need anyone but him.

A/N: This was SO FUN to write!! I love him he’s such an asshole askakksksk, I rlly liked the idea of doing a light hearted yandere part (even tho NOBODY asked for this skaksksk) Dividers by @adornedwithlight

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!

[melioraskz]

Rather be your whore than a noble man’s wife.

A/N : I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately… this wasn’t based on anything in particular and is definitely not historically accurate, this is just another universe LOL!

Warning : brief mention of SA, mentions of whores, homophobia (not by any of the characters, just mentioned in a backstory!), giving head (female receiving), tiny hint of overstimulation, almost caught in the act, probably forgot something lol ! NOT PROOFREAD !!!

(Pirate) Han Jisung x (afab) Reader

Summary : After being captured by a gang of bandits you get saved by a mysterious man called Jisung, what you don’t know is that he is in fact something your parents always warned you for, a pirate.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

“Stay away from me!”

“Wow wow wow little lady, relax. I’m not going to harm you” the man in front of you said with his hands up in the air in surrender despite the small yet devilishly sharp knife still laid between his thumb and index finger.

“Do you want my help or not?” He asked, raising a brow as he looked at you up and down.

“I’ve got everything under control, thank you very much” you spat back, sighing deeply as you try to once again squirm out of the tight robe that was around your body and hands.

Everything was in fact not under control. There you were, bound to the pole, hands tied behind your back and hair stuck to your face with the sweat from your forehead, breathing heavy with your dress half cut up by the bandits who took you capture. Despite their desperate tries you had manage to keep them away from you enough for them to not take it further than some disgusting groping and touched here and there. However despite your deadly looks you shot their way it couldn’t take away the looks of desire they shot in your direction as another one tried to cut off a button of your blouse…

The aggravating man who had jumped on board of the ship all cocky started to whistle as he sat up on the edge of the boat, carelessly taking the knife and removed some dirt under his finger nails. “Just let me know when you need my help, missy” he sung, acting all nonchalantly as if he wasn’t also on a bandit ship, all alone against the 30 men that could show up any second. Not that you had any hope that he would survive one of the men for that matter. They were all buff, scary with scars everywhere, you could tell they were up to no good. This guy? He was skinny, lanky built, curly brown hair and despite his aura feeling like he would be a big man… he was quite a short guy.

“Fine, just get me out of here before they come back” you mutter, the guy looking up at you, stopping mid-through the melody he was whistling. Then he shook his head and his lips left a few of tsk tsk tsk to show his displeasure. “What sort of lady are you? Not even a simple please? I’ve met whores down at the red district with more charm and politeness than you” he stated and rose a brow. That awful awful cockiness would drive you mad but you were desperate.

“Please can you help me out of these fucking ropes? I’m not planning on becoming these bandits slave or sex toy” you state, earning a pleased smirk by the mysterious guy who by ease jumped down from the edge and walked up to you. He then easily cut off the rope using the knife before he put it back into the holder in his belt.

“There we go, now I suggest we leave before those idiots come back” he says, a smug smile on his lips. Within a second you had stepped away from the damn pole, singing deeply as you rubbed your previously tied up wrists with your hands to ease the irritation that the rope had caused. “Thanks” you sigh, walking over to the edge and looked out at the dock, multiple ships stood there and you could hear the muffled sounds of parties and people if you looked out to the town ahead of you… “where even are we?” You sigh, not sure where they had taken you, surely from the accent of the man it was far away from your home…

“Welcome to Incheon city, ma’am! The place filled with dreams, nightmares, whores, pirates and a great amount of cheap alcohol” the man burst out, now somehow standing on the edge walking around as if it wasn’t a 10 meter drop down to the ice cold water below. “Oh fuck! I’m Jisung, by the way, Han Jisung” he added. “It’s nice to meet you, what’s your name?” He asked proudly.

You were about to answer when you heard a voice behind you.

“She has escaped!” A roaring man’s voice yelled as he had climbed up the ladder on the other side. You remembered that man very well, after all he had tried to fuck you at least seven times since your capture a few days ago. Along with him came 4 others, you look back at Jisung with panicked eyes, but you were met by a pair of awfully calm ones. He let out a sigh in displeasure, almost as if he thought the whole ordeal were just bothersome.

“Alright boys, let’s say after me” Jisung started, grabbing one of the robes that the bandits used to climb up to the watch tower. “If you are despite to get a quick fuck, go to a whore house, not kidnap someone” he then continued, cutting the rope off with the knife he had previously used on the ropes that had you tied up. Then before the men could reach you he swung in the rope, using his legs and made 2 of the men fall to the ground in a loud groan. That’s when he grabbed both of the men’s revolvers, tossing one of them to you, which you catch in pure panic. Looking at the man, he easily got all men on the floor, despise them being twice his weight. “Close those pretty eyes for me, pretty lady” Jisung instructed, as if it was an instinct you did exactly like he said and as soon as your eyelids had fallen down so all you saw was darkness the ship echoed with a shot, another another, another and-

“All done, missy” a voice said, opening your eyes you saw the men’s lifeless bodies on the wooden floor, blood painting the deck that poured out of their head. It wasn’t the first time you had ever encountered a dead body before but it was certainly the first time seeing so much blood at the same time, despite being outside you swore you could smell the stench of iron in the red dark liquid ahead of you. Jisung however didn’t give you the luxury to take in the scene for more than a few second, he had other plans. He grabbed the rope he had used before and swung in it, grabbing your waist as you let out a screech, holding onto him with all dear might. You were certain you’d fall straight into the ice cold water below but before you could think twice you felt your feet hit a steady familiar sensation. You open your eyes you had no clue that you even closed in the first place and there you were, still holding onto the man with all your might but standing on the ground below…

“We should leave before more men come back and notice the tiny little mess I caused on their ship” he stated, you realise how damn close he was to your body… your heart beating fast in your chest, perhaps it was the adrenaline of being rescued or seeing the dead bodies that flooded through you, perhaps it was for the fact that this bold man had laid his hands on you and it wasn’t for the wrong intentions, at least that’s what you thought it was?

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

The music was loud, people chit chattering even louder, women with dresses that enhances the chest area was practically fucking some men in the corners. But after what you went through? The dodgy bar that Jisung took you to was a luxury hotel from what you had been dealing with capture at that ship…

You get snapped out of your thoughts with about bang, in front of you stood now a large pint of beer, fizzing and foaming up to the edges. Jisung then sat down and took a large chunk of his own pint he still held in his hand. “There we go, don’t worry, the beer is on me. I figured you’d need it after that whole experience. I doubt those shitheads knows how to feed a lady” he stated, chuckling a bit, using the other chair next to him as a stand for his feet as he let out a groan in relief. “Now, what was that name of yours? I didn’t get catch it last time”

“My name?”

“Your name”

“Oh, right. It’s Y/N, Y/L/N Y/N” you whispered. When you said your surname you saw how Jisung choked on his beer, almost spitting it out again in shock. He hit his chest repeatedly until the beer had gone down the right pipe again.

“Fucking hell? As in the Y/L/N-clan? You’re their daughter? You’re a fucking high class noble woman! How the fuck did you end up captured by them then? Isn’t that miles and miles away?” He asked. Looking at you with huge eyes, the foam of the beer had given him a light moustache. You let out a slight giggle from the look on his face, then you take a big chunk of your own beer.

“I ran away, they set you marry me away 4 days ago, that night I couldn’t take it, I hated that old man they set me up with, he was at least three times my age but the wallet weight more than my family’s love for me I suppose. What I didn’t calculate for was that I’d be captured in the middle of the night by those men who had no idea who I was, so they said they’d keep me as their whore, slave or both. I sailed stuck to that pole until this evening, so thank you for saving me, I wish I could repay you but I don’t have anything of worth on me” you whispered, feeling a flood of guilt flush over you, he had saved your life and you couldn’t even repay him?

“I’m not asking for a payment, Y/N. I saved you because I felt like it, not from the goodness of my heart, not from whatever your noble brain can come up with, I saved you because I was bored and saw you on their deck. Alright? No need to pay me” he stated. Crossing his feet over the other on the chair next to him.

“But there must be something-“

“Enough. I don’t need anything I promise, we’re alright” he said quickly. Looking directly into your eyes. You could feel your heart beat faster again… it could possibly not be adrenaline now, right? For sure he is handsome, but is he even your type? Do you even have a type?

“So what will happen with you now? I’d say get a new dress is your first option, you can’t walk around with your tits almost hung out unless you want someone to accuse you for being a whore” Jisung stated, which made your cheeks flush in embarrassment. You quickly tried to gather the material that was left from what the men had cut off, looking down at your ripped and ruined clothings...

“I have no money and nowhere to go, but do not worry about me, I’ll find a way” I say calmly, smiling in a reassuring manner, even if you were terrified. When you had ran away from home you had no plan, you just knew you had to get out of there before it was too late…

“I may have an old dress or two for you to get, neither of my mates will mind, it’s not like they walk around in a skirt ever..”

“Your mates?”

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

Your chest was beating faster than ever, you felt like you’d pass out any moment…

“You’re a pirate?”

Your entire life your parents had warned you about the pirates that hunted the seven seas. They took what they wanted, murdered, fucked the women and ran off, your father had always said if you ever had the displease of coming a cross a pirate run away and don’t look back before you call the local sheriff. Perhaps if you had heard about this before he rescued you, you’d agree to your father’s words but now? Especially after spending a couple hours with the man you had come to quite enjoy his company. A sexy man who seemed charming enough with perhaps a bit too big of an ego than you’d like, how could he be such a criminal? Being a pirate is a death sentence if you get caught, you won’t even get a trial? Why would this man choose this path of life?

“What did you expect?” Jisung asked in an amused tone as he practically carried you up the rope to his ship, placing you down on the edge of the ships railing, letting you sit there as he climbed on the other side and then carried you bridal style over to the deck where he sat you down carefully.

“I thought you-“

“Were a man of honour and prosperity? Ma’am you’ve come to the wrong place if you’re looking for a hero or a good man” he stated as he fumbled up a key that was hooked on a piece of string around his neck underneath his shirt. He then unlocked the giant trap door leading to the inside of the ship. You both climb down there, you were met by the stench of rum and seawater which made you make a slight grimace.

“We should have some women’s clothing down here from when we raided this noble family all the way in Busan. Like fuck you should have seen those dumb posh faces when-“ he stopped himself, realising that you may take offence by his harsh words about the upper class since he now knew you were upper class as well. “Sorry..”

“No offence taken. To be quite frank, there is a reason I left that place, no money in the world could make me feel happy in that hell. I may have lived in a mansion but that mansion was a jail impossible to break out of in my eyes” you say, sighing deeply as you start to look around through bits and bobs that was scattered around the room. “To be honest I’m envying you. You’re free, away from responsibilities, marriage, birthing children, preferably sons and don’t even get me started on the dreadful gatherings, all the noble ladies wanted to speak about was money of men. I’m tired of it..” you say, slowly turning to a desk with a bunch of documents and paper on it, on the top of a shelf that stood right above the desk was a picture in a frame of 8 young men next to the very ship they were in right now, you could easily pick out where Jisung were despite the low resolution of the picture, with his arm around one of the other guys with a huge smile on his mouth.

“That’s my crew, you see the one with the hat is our leader, or captain, Chan is his name. It started when him and I met all the way in Australia where we stole this glory out of some poor bastard who used it for the queens guards, we decorated it and then before we could leave Australia we met this poor bloke called Felix who joined us” Jisung explained, then pointing at a guy with long bright hair who was winking with one eye. “He already had a huge penny on his head at home after his father found out he was a homosexual, we took him in, we don’t give a fuck who he sticks his dick inside, he is our brother nonetheless” he stated.

“That’s very beautiful if you ask me. You claim to be a bad person but a bad person wouldn’t do that” you explained slowly, looking at him, realising he stood right behind you, with his head almost hanging over your shoulder so that he also could view the old frame, you slowly chew on the inside of your cheek… he really was handsome for a pirate… Han clear his throat before he continues, slowly feeling a bit unease by her words, why would a lady like her truly find him, a criminal, that good?

“Well we figured as we were going to be pirates we already would have a straight way to the gallons if caught, adding hiding a gay man on the list didn’t seem too bad” Jisung stated, looking at you for a few seconds before his eyes quickly turn to the picture again.

“And that’s Seungmin and Jeongin, we met them finally enough at that raid in Busan, they joined us quickly, they’re young but extremely fun and always tells the best stories when we are up late at night around a campfire” he explains with a slight smile. “Oh and that’s Changbin, Hyunjin and Minho. Minho is second captain after Chan, he is also the head cook, probably the only one of us that can actually cook well. Changbin is also the fastest at climbing ropes you’ll ever see! I swear we have accused him of being a witch at least fourteen times!” He explained, smiling at himself as he thought of his dear friends. “And a little secret, we are fairly sure that Felix has had sex with Hyunjin before, we don’t know when but there is something with the way they act…However, whenever we try to get some information out of them they bulge, what a dumb bunch for thinking we’d judge them” he explained and laughed. “They’re all dumb but… they’re the only family I have left”

“Where are they now then?” You ask, realising you hadn’t even seen a trace of any of the said men since you entered the ship.

“Oh they’re in town, probably getting fucked up with all the alcohol, that was my plan too until… yeah” Jisung admitted. “I’m sorry for ruining your plans, Jisung” you sigh as you quickly turn around, face as close as it could be without touching from each other, his eyes looking almost black in front of you due to the lack of light in there… your heart racing faster and faster, he was dangerously close to you, with one hand resting on the shelf behind you, trapping you between the desk and his body…

“Trust me… I’m glad I had my plans changed, otherwise I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of meeting you” Jisung whisper, you can feel his breath against your skin, keeping you eyes at him you slowly placed one hand on his chest that was slightly exposed due to the buttons he had unbuttoned. You swore you could see a slight smirk on his lips perk up. You could feel his hand that wasn’t against the shelf behind you travel to your lower back in a firm get gentle grip.

Before you could even think of what you were doing, you kissed him. You didn’t know what went through your head fuck you liked it. You could taste the beer you had previously had in your mouth as the kiss progressed, deepening and becoming more rough as you became familiar with each other. He hadn’t even questioned it as he had kissed you back the moment your lips met his.

The kiss was hot, breathy, yet you felt more relaxed with this man than you had ever done with a man at home. You felt how his hand that was on the shelf met your hip on the opposite side as the other before he easily lift up up and placed your ass on the table behind you. Then for a moment he broke the kiss before his mouth traveled along your mouth down to your neck and collarbone. You let a moan slip through your lips, the only sound echoing through the walls was the sounds of your heavy breaths along with whatever sound the sea could make from the shore.

His mouth leads its way back to yours, unable to stay away from it for too long. You let your tongue run over his bottom lip and he opens his mouth for you. When you feel his tongue meet yours, blistering electricity shocks down your spine in pure lust. You kiss him harder, his tongue mapping out every inch of yours as if he is in search of the lost treasure in there. He pulls your legs apart so he can stand right between them, feeling his body pressed against yours. You let his hands roam your body, then as he grabs some of the poor material that still held your chest in decent coverage and you hear a loud skrratch. That fucker tore it! As if it was barely anything to tore anyways… his hands cupped your breasts, breathing heavy into your mouth. His hands was fucking cold, but oh it felt so good. He then stop kissing you for a moment, looking into your eyes as both tried to desperately catch your breaths. The tension was electrifying.

“Can I fuck you?” He ask out of the blue after a few seconds of being silence.

As the words left his mouth it took you by a surprise, asking that question when your tits was already free for him when you had willingly had him like this. Almost a comedic moment and a rather funny timing on his part. Instead of answering you grabbed his shirt, giving him a wet kiss on the mouth. He took that sentence as a yes.

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

You had never met a pirate before, let alone fucked one. But there you were. He had somehow managed to move you from the desk to the floor. His shirt tossed somewhere along the way along with his trousers. Your upper part of the dress torn a long time ago but your long skirt still intact, him? He was under your skirt between your legs, licking long stripes on your pussy, holding his strong hands around your thighs, partly for keeping you from closing them around him, partly because himself needed something to hold on to.

Your moans echoed through the room, your legs trembling as you covered your upper part of the face with your hand, moaning louder. His mouth doing wonders down there as you were slowly feeling like you’ll reach your peak any moment now.

“I’m gonna cum, Jisung” you breathe out, heavy breaths making it almost impossible for you to say a full sentence.

“Then cum for me, darling” he growled from under your skirt, a loud slap echoed as you felt his hand slap ass. That slap was almost like the last thing you needed, you felt the knotting feeling in your lower stomach build up to the point where it overflow. You let out a breath of pleasure as you came, breathing heavy as you tried to catch your breath. You felt how Jisung kept licking up every single drop of you, feeling your legs turn into jelly as you tried to catch your high along with handling the overstimulation happening.

That’s when you heard it…

“Why is it unlocked?”

“I don’t know”

Then you heard a click, they’re loading their revolver…

Jisung knew that voice extremely well, so the panic arose even faster. He quickly got out of your skirt, his lips glossy from your fluids. “Fuck fuck fuck” he whispered, trying to gather his clothes.

“Guys it’s just me” he yelled, hoping if they were faster than him it would lead to at least them not being shot. That’s when he also tossed one of the dresses he promised you your way, quickly trying to put on his trousers. You act fast as well, doing everything in your power to get the damn dress on and you threw the old dress into a pile of hay in the corner. If you had more time to think perhaps it would be more melodramatic, throwing away the last piece of your old life as if it was nothing. But now? You had no time to think.

You signalled to the halfway dressed man to help you with the zipper in the back. Jisung went right into action, rushing over to you, managing with a trembling hand to get the zipper up right in time for…

“Who’s that?” A voice Said, you remembered him from the picture, that’s Chan, the captain.

“Oh!” Jisung said, clearing his throat, quickly wiping his mouth from whatever excess that was left from you. “This is Miss Y/N. I.. I- uh-“ Jisung said in panic, not sure how to explain to his captain what the fuck he had been doing down here. “I-I was lending her one of our dresses, it’s not like we use them right? I accidentally ruined hers by dropping beer on it” he lies, giving the captain a half sided smile. “But now as you can see she is in the dress so I’ll just go ahead and help her off the ship, thanks” he said and practically pushed you up the ladder to the deck of the ship, leaving the confused captain to wonder what the hell he just witnessed.

“D-Do I really have to go?” You ask slowly, looking at him under the moonlight, a light breeze making his hair blow in the wind… you felt a lump in your stomach again, not like last time, this time you knew… you didn’t wanna leave him.

“W-Well we sail at dawn and perhaps you should find a new place to stay and-“

“Can’t I stay with you?”

“Y/N… I can’t ask that of you? You’ll become a criminal, a whore in the eye of law?” He say, his eyes giving such soft look yet so much pain behind them at the idea of you perhaps leaving for good… you slowly walk up to him, placing one hand on his cheek, making him look at you… he had shown you more humanity, more freedom and lust within these few hours you’d known him than anyone else… you knew you had to stay here…

“I rather be your whore than a noble man’s wife” you whisper, looking into his eyes, seeing how the pain in his eyes flood away and replace with happiness as he grabs your waist, lifts you up and spin you two around, letting out a loud laugh of happiness. You let out a screech and held onto his shoulders tightly as he spun you in case he would drop you, not that he ever would… As he sit you down again he remove his hands form your waits and cups your cheeks like you cupped his a moment ago, placing a couple chaste kisses on your mouth.

“Oh this is” kiss “going to be” kiss kiss “fucking great!” Kiss kiss kiss “I’ll show you the world, I’ll show you what real freedom is”

You couldn’t answer before you heard a voice. You look over at the trapdoor where Chans head stuck out, he held up the dress from the haystack between two fingers.

“Uh, guys? I thought you said it had beer on it, not that you ripped it apart..”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

[gtgbabie0]

Hello! I enjoyed the Cregan fanfic. May i ask if it's okay with you if i have another request?😅 (if it's not too much to ask huhu) I kept thinking how Cregan would be like if he had a daughter

I hope this is okay, its a super small blurb. Thank you for the request!! Enjoy my lovelies💕

If anyone dared to ask if Lord Stark had a favourite amongst his four children he would tell them “No.” in a firm, cold manner. A look so deadly it would send a violent shiver down any man’s spine.

However, between his four children- three boys and one girl- it was his daughter who would get away with anything and everything.

They say that it was little Mariah who melted away all of Cregan’s ice walls after he arrived back in the North. Holding her in his arms when she was just a babe brought back his humanity, which he thought was long gone since the war, warming his heart back to life with love.

The same little girl, now of age four, who is adamant about sitting with Cregan as he attends meetings with other Northern Lords, making her voice loudly known. She was headstrong and Cregan had no one to blame but himself.

He had not long returned from one of these meetings, bidding goodbyes to the Lords who looked less than pleased about the comments his daughter was making. But they did well to hide their displeased expression behind polite smiles, everyone knew how to stay out of the Stark family business.

“How did it go?” You wonder, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips as he walks through the shared bedchambers with Mariah perched on his hip.

You could tell from the tired looks in both of their dark eyes that the meeting was long… perhaps even boring.

“I got to sit on the big chair.” Mariah giggles, giving you a toothy smile as Cregan places her on your lap before taking off his furs.

You hum in surprise at her words as she rambles on about how she is now “Lady Stark” and how her father could ‘rest’ instead of going to such meetings. Although you could tell- as she spoke through a yawn- that perhaps it was her that should rest.

The notion of such an idea makes Cregan chuckle, his eyes creasing with amusement. “I’ve got plenty of time yet, Lady Stark.” He says, looking between the pair of you with a gentle smile. One full of adoration.

Your daughter continues to defend her case, insisting that she is ‘smart’ and that it would be 'practice for the future'. She would certainly be trouble in the future, you thought to yourself, looking down at her with a soft smile.

"I can go alone, Father," she murmurs sleepily, making the pair of you laugh. There is no doubt in your mind that she would boss all those Lords around, after all, she has practically grown up in those meetings with her father.

“She’s trying to send you into early retirement my dear.” You smile, looking up at your husband who busies himself with taking off his worn leathers, leaving him in a loose-fitted tunic.

He bends down slightly, his big hand rubbing your shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss against your temple. “She’s succeeding.” He whispers in response before walking over to the window, closing the thick tapestry to keep the warmth in and the cold out.

Mariah rests against you, letting out another yawn as your fingers brush through her hair, she was getting sleepy. However, as soon as Cregan sits down beside you she’s immediately sitting up, holding her arms out for her father expectantly.

“Come here flower.” He whispers, sitting her down on his lap as his fingers begin to braid her hair gently, getting the loose curls out of her eyes.

Your heart swells with love at the sight, the way she desperately tries to keep awake whilst blabbering on about her day to you, her words mushing together as the exhaustion begins to take over.

“Lord Ryswell wasn’t happy about her input on the docks.” Cregan smirks, the fireplace bathes him in a supple light making him glow in contentment that makes you feel a giddiness in your chest.

“I can imagine, he’s always been far too proud.” You whisper, not wanting to wake her up.

He looks down at Mariah, fast asleep curled against his chest, her cheek squashed against the fabric of his tunic. “He’ll just have to deal with it.” He smirks, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to bring you close to him, his lips pressing against your hairline as he enjoys the peace while he can.

[edenesth]

01. The Captain — By Order of the Black Pirates

An 'Ice On My Teeth' Comeback Special Series

Pairing: gang leader!Hongjoong x fem!reader

AU: gang au

Word Count: 18.1k

Summary: The Captain of the Black Pirates—respected, feared, and unmatched in strategy—lives by his sharp mind and unshakable resolve. But his carefully constructed world begins to crumble when a grave mistake leads him to torture an innocent suspect nearly to death. Haunted by guilt, his quest for redemption takes an unexpected turn, awakening a part of him he never thought existed: a desire to protect and care for someone.

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Trigger Warnings: violence, torture, abuse, blood, scars, mentions of murder and SA, language, contains dark themes in general

SERIES MASTERLIST | ATEEZ MASTERLIST

The dim glow of lantern light flickered across the room as the gang leader held the letter between his fingers, turning it over with a scrutinising gaze. His brow arched slightly, the ivory wax seal bearing the unmistakable insignia of the White Serpents—a gang notorious for their cunning and deception, their pristine image masking venomous intent. Silent but deadly, serpents poised to strike. And Hongjoong knew them well.

"Well?" His voice was calm, almost amused, as he studied the coded message in his hand.

Yunho exhaled sharply with a shake of his head, frustration etched across his face. "She's stubborn. Won't admit to a thing. Twenty-four hours, and still nothing."

The Captain's smirk widened, dark amusement playing in his eyes. "Really? Even with this treacherous letter in her possession?" He tapped the envelope lightly. "Twenty-four hours… that's impressive. No dog has ever lasted that long." His tone was laced with mock intrigue. "Perhaps she's an especially loyal one. How interesting."

He leaned back, nodding toward the heavy iron doors leading to the basement, his voice low and confident. "A tough one to crack, no doubt. But they all crack… eventually." The distant echo of chains rattling and the creak of the doors opening sent a chill through the air. The game had only just begun.

Let's see just how long you can last.

The room was dim, suffocating in its silence, the air thick with tension and the metallic scent of damp stone. Your breath hitched as consciousness clawed its way back, and the cold, unforgiving chill bit at your drenched skin. You blinked through the sting of icy water clinging to your lashes, your trembling gaze rising to meet the source of the voice that shattered the oppressive stillness.

"Congratulations, miss!" The sudden, mocking boom made you flinch, fear coiling tighter around your chest. "You're the first to last a full day in these chambers. How very impressive!"

The man before you was smaller than the one who had been 'questioning' you earlier—a tall, lanky figure whose blows you could still feel—but this one's presence was far more terrifying. Cold authority radiated from him, his smile a twisted mockery of warmth. He stepped closer, his sharp eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "I trust my boys have treated you well."

A shiver tore through you, body wracked with uncontrollable tremors—whether from the bitter cold or the malice in his voice, you couldn't tell. His grin widened, and the false politeness only made it worse. "Fear not, my lady," he purred, his tone soft and deadly. "I'll treat you even better… until you decide to be honest, of course."

Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach, despair crashing over you. You tried to shake your head, but your body was too weak and cold to offer feeble resistance. And yet, you knew—this was only the beginning.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you wished for the thousandth—no, the millionth—time that this was all a nightmare. The cold seeped into your bones, but it wasn't just the chill that made you tremble. It was the gnawing fear, the hopelessness that clung to you like a second skin.

How did it come to this?

You replayed the events over and over in your mind, searching for an answer, but all you found was confusion. Just a day or two ago, you had been weaving through the bustling port, arms laden with imported goods for your employer. The crowded streets were alive with noise—merchants shouting, sailors hauling cargo, smugglers slipping through the shadows. You had only wanted to return to work, unaware that fate had already marked you.

Then it happened. A sharp turn into an alley. The sudden grip of rough hands. Black-clothed men cornering you like wolves circling their prey, eyes sharp and merciless. Their accusations—espionage, treachery—made no sense. You tried to explain, voice trembling, but they didn't listen. Not until they tore through your belongings and fished out a letter—one you had never seen before.

The blow came swiftly, a fist to your face, and the world went dark.

Now, here you were. Broken. Bleeding. Trapped in a nightmare you couldn't escape.

"P-please… I d-don't know who the Wh-white Serpents are," you stammered, forcing your swollen eye open to meet the man who seemed to command the room, his presence suffocating. "I s-swear…"

Hongjoong's tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, his irritation barely concealed behind a mask of feigned calm. "You know," he said, his voice laced with a dangerous softness, "I was really hoping you wouldn't say that again." He exhaled in a mock sigh, his patience wearing thin. "Now you've left me no choice."

With deliberate steps, he moved toward the glowing embers at the far side of the room. The fire crackled, and your breath hitched when he wrapped his hand around a hot branding iron, its tip glowing ominously.

No, please...

Panic surged through you, and tears spilt uncontrollably down your cheeks. You didn't even have the strength to sob anymore. You could only watch in frozen terror as he turned back, the iron in his grasp radiating heat and menace.

"Come on," he cooed, voice deceptively gentle. "I'd really hate to ruin such pretty skin. All you have to do is be a good girl—tell me what this blasted letter says. Tell me the name of your boss." His grin was sharp, dangerous, but beneath it, you sensed his patience was threadbare.

The White Serpents. The name alone ignited his fury. Their faces were always hidden, their identities a mystery. Even their leader remained a ghost, a phantom in white. And that infuriated him more than anything—an enemy he couldn't see, couldn't predict.

And now, you were his only lead.

The room seemed to shrink under the weight of his frustration. The dim light flickered over the cold stone walls, shadows dancing like spectres of every soul that had suffered here before you. His grip on the branding iron tightened, the metal searing hot in his hand, glowing with menace. He didn't want to take this step—truly, he didn't. But the memory of how they found you replayed in his mind, solidifying his certainty.

You were guilty. You had to be.

He clenched his jaw, recalling the chaos at the port. The Black Pirates were in the midst of a crucial covert operation, tensions strung taut like a wire. They had been waiting for the White Serpents to make a move, for the elusive spy to slip through their defences. The streets were crowded, the perfect cover for deception.

Then there was you.

A simple girl, or so it seemed, navigating the busy market with unsuspecting ease. Unbeknownst to you, the real spy—the one they had been hunting—moved silently through the crowd. In a calculated move, the informant slipped the coded letter into your bag and vanished into the sea of bodies before anyone could catch him.

Hongjoong's men, sharp-eyed and vigilant, saw the handoff. They reacted swiftly, believing they had caught the elusive spy. You were cornered in the alley, fear etched across your face as you begged for understanding, your confusion only cementing their suspicions. The letter was damning enough. Evidence was evidence, and the Captain trusted his crew's intelligence.

But now, staring at you—broken, trembling, tears staining your bruised cheeks—he felt the edges of his certainty fraying. You persisted in your pleas, clinging to innocence with a desperation that should have crumbled by now. And yet… you hadn't.

"Last chance, woman," he said coldly, his voice like a blade drawn slowly from its sheath. The heat from the iron radiated, the threat palpable. "There will be no going back from here. I'm sure you know that."

He meant the words as a warning for you, a final offer before he left mercy behind. But deep down, perhaps they were a warning for himself, too—a foreshadowing he didn't yet grasp.

You shook your head weakly, trembling from exhaustion and terror. Still no confession. Still the same maddening persistence.

Hongjoong raised the branding iron, holding it close to your battered face. His eyes burned with something dangerous, something teetering between anger and frustration.

"Well then," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, the finality in his tone sealing your fate—or so he thought.

ـــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

The air in the torture chamber hung heavy with the acrid stench of scorched flesh, mingling with the damp chill of the stone walls. His cold, calculating gaze never wavered as he watched you, unconscious and crumpled on the floor, your body trembling even in unconsciousness. The mark of the Black Pirates seared into your back, raw and angry, a testament to the brutality you'd endured.

"That'll scar for life," one of his men muttered, a mix of awe and amusement in his voice.

Hongjoong let out a low, humourless chuckle, his eyes dark with unrelenting resolve. "For life?" he echoed, tilting his head slightly. "How optimistic. I doubt she'll live long enough to see the next sunrise if she continues to be this stubborn."

His voice was void of emotion, laced with a chilling indifference that sent a shiver through even the most hardened of his men. He didn't enjoy this—not exactly—but he had no patience for weakness. If you wouldn't talk, you were nothing but a liability, and liabilities were dealt with swiftly.

He turned away for a moment, tossing the branding iron back into the fire with a careless flick of his wrist. Embers exploded in every direction, but he paid them no mind. "We've wasted enough time on her," he said, voice cold and final. "If she doesn't confess after this, end it. Finish her."

The room fell silent, save for the crackling of the fire, the finality of his words hanging in the air like a death sentence. One of the guards nodded, his expression stoic. "Of course, boss."

Hongjoong motioned toward the bucket of dirty water beside you, its murky surface rippling with the slightest movement. "Wake her," he commanded, his voice devoid of mercy, anticipating the agony that would soon follow.

The guard lifted the bucket with ease, the liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim as he approached. Without hesitation, he tilted it, the filthy water cascading over your battered body. The moment the contaminated water hit your wounds, especially the fresh burn, your body convulsed violently.

A scream ripped from your throat, raw and guttural, piercing through the oppressive stillness. It wasn't the kind of scream that came from fear—it was the sound of pure, unfiltered agony.

The Captain didn't flinch. He stood tall, arms crossed, watching with a detached curiosity as you writhed on the floor. "That's better," he muttered, almost to himself. "Now, let's see if you're ready to talk."

He crouched down beside you, his face an unreadable mask. "Final chance," he said softly, almost tenderly, as if mocking your suffering. "Who sent you?" His voice dipped lower, dangerously calm. "Or would you prefer to die in this filth, unloved and forgotten?"

The only response was the ragged sound of your breath, broken sobs wracking your body. His patience was wearing thin, and though he was a man known for his control, he was ready to end this.

A shuddering breath escaped your lips, each gasp searing through your lungs like fire. The icy water clung to your battered body, every drop seeping into your open wounds, amplifying the unbearable pain. Your vision blurred, the dim room spinning into shadows and smoke, but you clung to the fragments of your thoughts, the last remnants of who you were.

This is it, you thought, the realisation settling over you with a strange, hollow calm. This is how it ends.

You didn't know why these monsters had dragged you into their nightmare, why they believed you were a spy. You didn't understand the cruel fate that had brought you here, only that it had. And now, there was no escape. The man before you, with his cold eyes and cruel smirk, had made that clear.

Your body trembled violently, not from the cold but from the acceptance creeping into your heart. Death will be a mercy, you thought. Better this than more agony.

Closing your eyes, you let the numbness wash over you, a strange kind of peace taking root beneath the layers of fear. You thought of your friends—the laughter shared over simple joys. You thought of your family, their faces blurred by memory but still holding warmth. And you thought of your employer, the one person who had seen worth in you when the world turned away. You prayed they would not grieve too long. You prayed they would find solace.

I'll watch over them, you promised silently. From wherever I'm going.

The wet, acrid air filled your lungs, heavy and suffocating. Every second stretched into eternity, and you waited for the final blow, the one that would release you. Your heartbeat slowed, the frantic rhythm giving way to a dull, distant echo.

And then, the room grew deathly quiet.

Hongjoong remained crouched, studying you, his iron grip on control unwavering. He didn't speak immediately, and that was almost worse. The silence pressed down, a suffocating weight, as if the world was holding its breath.

"Still nothing?" His voice was soft now, eerily gentle, like a predator savouring the last moments before the kill.

You didn't respond. Couldn't. There was nothing left to say. You were ready for the end.

And then, with a slow exhale, you heard him murmur almost to himself, "What a shame."

The gang leader let out a long, slow breath, his head shaking slightly, a humourless smile curving his lips. His eyes lingered on your broken form, slumped over, trembling and soaked, but utterly still, as if you had already crossed into death's grasp. Your eyes fluttered shut, the last spark of defiance extinguished. With a heavy sigh, he rose to his feet, dusting off his coat with deliberate care, and with a curt nod, gestured toward his men.

"Finish it."

The words were cold and final, slicing through the room like a blade. One of the guards stepped forward, the metallic click of his gun cocking echoing in the dim space, followed by the low scrape of his boot on the wet floor. Hongjoong turned his back on you, jaw tight, waiting for the shot to ring out, waiting for the moment to pass so he could move on from this wasted effort.

But then— footsteps. Quick and urgent, echoing down the stone stairway.

"Wait."

The voice was calm but firm, cutting through the tension like a sudden gust of wind. The room froze, the guard's finger hovering over the trigger as all eyes turned toward the stairs. Yeosang emerged from the shadows, his usual cool composure replaced by something unsettled. His sharp gaze darted toward your barely conscious form before locking onto his captain, his face unreadable, but his unease unmistakable.

Hongjoong's brow lifted in mild curiosity, though his patience was wearing thin. "What is it, Yeo?" he asked, voice clipped as the Phantom strode forward, his expression grave.

Yeosang leaned in close, his voice low but firm as he murmured something into the gang leader's ear, too quiet for the others to hear. Whatever he said, it landed like a blow. Hongjoong's entire posture shifted. His jaw clenched, his fists curling and uncurling at his sides as he processed the whispered words.

The room held its collective breath.

After what felt like an eternity, the Captain straightened, his eyes dark with a new kind of frustration, though there was no mistaking the glimmer of something else—regret? Anger? It was impossible to tell.

His voice, when it came, was sharp and decisive. "Release her."

The room erupted in a flurry of confusion, but no one dared question him. The guard with the gun hesitated for only a second before lowering it, stepping back. Another moved to untie the chains binding your wrists, the cold iron clattering to the floor as your limp body crumpled forward.

Hongjoong's gaze never wavered, his face carved from stone as he watched you collapse. His men obeyed without question, though their confusion was palpable, the tension still thick in the air.

As you slumped to the ground, barely conscious, he let out another breath, slow and controlled, his eyes narrowing in thought.

"Take her to the infirmary," he commanded, voice icy but steady. "And keep her alive."

His men exchanged uncertain glances but quickly moved to obey, lifting your frail body with care as they carried you out. He remained rooted, his eyes lingering on the bloodstained floor, his fists clenched once more as Yeosang watched him silently.

"I hope for your sake," Hongjoong muttered under his breath, "this wasn't a mistake."

ـــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

The heavy oak door to his office slammed shut behind him, the echo reverberating through the grand but cold space. Hongjoong paced across the dimly lit room, the fire in the hearth casting flickering shadows on the walls, but offering no warmth. His hand shook slightly as he poured another shot of whiskey, the amber liquid splashing over the rim. He didn't care. He downed it in one swift motion, the burn doing little to drown the bile rising in his throat.

Wrong person.

His brother's words replayed in his mind like a curse, each syllable a dagger to his pride.

"Hyung, we got the wrong person. She's not the spy—the real one escaped. This woman was just... there. A scapegoat."

He squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. The whiskey glass slammed down on the desk, the sharp crack of glass against wood making his men just outside the door flinch. But none dared to enter. They knew better.

His fists balled at his sides, trembling with suppressed rage—at Yeosang, at his crew, at himself. The sight of your bloodied form flashed in his mind, the raw agony in your voice as he pressed the searing iron into your skin. He could still hear the echoes of your pleas, the desperate, broken words you had whispered over and over: I'm not who you think I am... please...

He should have known.

How could he have missed it? The way you had looked at him, not with defiance or guilt but with pure, unfiltered fear and confusion. He was Kim Hongjoong, the Captain of the Black fuckin' Pirates—his instincts had never failed him before. Yet this time, he had been blinded by rage, by the need for control, and it had led him to commit an unforgivable mistake.

His knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the desk, the polished surface groaning under the strain. No amount of wealth or power in this city could erase the image of your battered, broken body lying on the cold floor. The branded mark he had burned into your back would scar, not just on your skin but in his mind, forever.

The Black Pirates were ruthless, yes, but not reckless. Innocents were not meant to be collateral unless there was no other choice. This... this was different. It was unacceptable.

He let out a low, bitter laugh, hollow and laced with self-loathing. "How could this happen?" he muttered to no one, his voice cracking. "I'm the one who doesn't make mistakes."

But this was a mistake. A fatal one, if Yeosang hadn't intervened.

The storm inside him raged on, unrelenting. No amount of whiskey could drown it, no fire could warm the cold knot in his chest. For the first time in years, Kim Hongjoong felt something foreign and unwelcome searing through him.

Regret.

He sank into the leather chair behind his desk, elbows on his knees, head bowed. His hands covered his face, shaking as if he could scrub away the guilt, the shame. But it was branded on him now, just as deeply as the mark he had scorched into your skin.

After what felt like hours, he remained in his office, standing by the window, the golden light of the waning sun casting a sharp contrast against the deep shadows in the room. His gaze pierced through the glass, locking onto the tall, black gates of their mansion—gates that symbolised power, control, and security. Yet today, they felt like bars of a prison. He imagined how those gates must have looked to you, cold and foreboding, as you were dragged inside, far from the life you knew, thrust into a nightmare you hadn't earned.

He clenched his jaw, fists curling at his sides as the weight of his guilt continued to press down on him. One mistake. One mistake. That's all it had taken to bring you here. A mistake from his men, from him, and it had led to your torture. His throat tightened as those cruel memories clawed at him: your ragged pleas, your broken body, and worst of all, his voice—cold, detached, ruthless—demanding answers you didn't have.

Remorse surged through him, an agonising tide that refused to ebb. His own words echoed in his mind, venomous and unforgiving: "Be a good girl and tell us what this blasted letter says." His stomach twisted, the taste of bile bitter on his tongue.

He turned away from the window, squeezing his eyes shut as he clutched his head, fingers digging into his scalp as if the pain could drown out the memories. But it only intensified the haunting vision that consumed him: his mother's lifeless eyes, staring into nothingness, wide with fear and betrayal. She had died for nothing—used, discarded, and left to rot by men who saw her as collateral damage. All for debts that weren't hers to pay.

He had been just a boy—useless and powerless—as he watched her lifeblood seep into the dirt, all because of his degenerate father, who had left them behind with nothing but mountains of debt. The loan sharks had spared him, a mistake they didn't live to regret. Hongjoong had spent years rising from the ashes of that helpless child, becoming the monster who hunted monsters, the leader who swore to tear down anyone who preyed on the innocent.

Yet now, here he was, no different from the men who had taken his mother from him.

He slammed a fist onto the desk, the sharp crack splitting the heavy silence. His breathing was ragged, uneven, as his mind spiralled into the past. He had sworn not to harm the innocent.

But he had failed. He had repeated the very sin that had shaped him.

They weren't heroes. The Black Pirates were thieves, smugglers, outlaws. But they lived by one code: never harm those who didn't deserve it. They stole from the corrupt, the greedy, those who exploited the powerless. They were not saviours, but they were not supposed to be butchers either.

And now, because of his blindness, you lay broken and scarred—an innocent woman caught in the crossfire of his rage.

His hands trembled as he dragged them through his hair, staring blankly at the dark wood beneath him. His reflection in the glass across the room looked unfamiliar—haunted, lost, and consumed by a regret that would never fade.

How can I ever make this right?

The oppressive silence in the room was broken by a familiar deep voice, one he always sought when the weight of leadership became too much. "She's stable," Seonghwa said, his tone calm yet sombre.

Hongjoong exhaled a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, relief flooding through him like a tide that couldn't quite wash away the guilt. "Stable," he echoed, the word offering little solace.

His brother stepped closer, the soft creak of the floorboards the only sound between them. "They've patched her up... but I don't think some of the scars will ever go away." His voice dipped into something quieter, almost apologetic. "Especially not that mark."

The gang leader winced, his fingers tightening into trembling fists. The brand—his brand—seared into her back, a permanent testament to his cruelty. "The mark," he muttered, voice hoarse with regret. "She'll carry it because of me."

Seonghwa leaned against the edge of the desk, folding his arms, watching him with a measured gaze. "Because of us," he corrected, though the words offered no comfort. "But this isn't like you. You don't make mistakes like this."

Hongjoong let out a hollow, bitter laugh. "And yet, I did. I fucked up. She begged, Hwa." His voice cracked, raw and ragged. "She begged, and I didn't listen."

The eldest's face softened, but he didn't look away. "Regret is pointless if it doesn't drive change," he said quietly. "We can't undo what's been done. But maybe... maybe we can still make it right."

Hongjoong looked up, his eyes hollow but desperate. "How?"

Seonghwa met his gaze, steady and unwavering. "By giving her a choice. Her freedom. Protection if she wants it. You can't erase the scars, but you can make sure she's never harmed again."

The Captain's jaw clenched. "And if she wants nothing from us? If she wants nothing to do with the Black Pirates?"

"Then you let her go," Seonghwa replied simply, his voice steady. "With the assurance that she'll never have to fear us again."

Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, tension coiling in his shoulders. "I don't deserve forgiveness."

"No," the Gentleman agreed softly, his voice firm but kind. "But it's not about what you deserve. It's about what she does."

The words hung in the air, heavier than any weapon, cutting deeper than any blade.

Hongjoong dragged his hands through his hair, the tremor in them betraying the turmoil within. "Tell them to keep her comfortable," he whispered, voice barely audible. "And... let me know when she wakes up."

Seonghwa inclined his head, moving toward the door but paused before stepping out. "You may never forgive yourself, Joong," he said, his voice softer now, "but that doesn't mean you can't try to do better."

As the door clicked shut behind him, the leader was left alone with the echoes of his guilt—and the faintest, most fragile glimmer of hope.

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The quiet hum of the infirmary filled the air, broken only by the soft rustle of sheets and the faint crackle of the oil lamp on the bedside table. Hongjoong stood frozen in the doorway, his eyes locked on your still form lying on the cot. The sight twisted something deep inside him, the sharp pang of guilt slicing through him once again.

"Hyung?" Jongho's voice pulled him from his reverie, soft but laced with surprise. "Why are you here?" His brows knitted together in confusion as he stepped closer. "Seonghwa hyung said to only inform you when she's awake. She's not—"

The gang leader cut him off with a subtle shake of his head. "I had to see if she's okay... for myself." His voice was low, almost a whisper. "You're dismissed. I'll take over."

Jongho hesitated, his eyes searching his leader's face, filled with concern and something unspoken. "Hyung..."

"I won't..." Hongjoong's voice faltered, his throat tightening. "I won't hurt her any further, Jongho."

The youngest sighed softly, the tension in the room heavy between them. "That's not what I—"

"I know," Hongjoong interrupted, closing his eyes and swallowing hard. "It's fine. Just... go thank the doctor for me."

Jongho lingered for a moment, his gaze lingering on the Captain's worn expression. Finally, he gave a respectful bow of his head. "I'll be nearby if you need me."

With that, the Anchor left, the door clicking softly shut behind him, leaving Hongjoong alone with the stillness once more.

He stepped forward, the floor creaking beneath his boots, and sank into the chair beside the bed. His hands trembled as he clasped them together, resting them on his knees. He could barely bring himself to look at you, the bandages wrapped around your body stark against your pale skin, the ghost of the agony he had inflicted still lingering in the air.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, the words breaking like fragile glass. "Fuck, I'm so sorry."

The apology felt hollow, inadequate, but it was all he had. He sat there, staring at you, hoping that somehow, even in sleep, you might hear him. But the only response was the steady rise and fall of your chest, the rhythmic proof that you were alive.

Alive, but not whole.

He leaned back, his head tipping against the wall, the weight of everything crushing down on him. For the first time in years, Kim Hongjoong—the feared Captain of the Black Pirates—felt utterly powerless.

His eyes, unwilling to linger any longer on the bandages covering your wounded body, drifted downward. There, beneath the cot, something caught his attention. A crumpled, dirt-streaked tote bag sat neglected, its once vibrant fabric marred by careless fingerprints—his men's fingerprints.

He furrowed his brows and leaned forward, retrieving the bag with careful hands as if it might break apart at any moment. The stitching was amateur but charming, the drawings simple yet endearing. Scrawled in bright, cheerful lettering at the centre were the words Marigold Gift Shop.

It looked so out of place here in the dim and sterile infirmary, like a splash of sunlight drowning in shadow.

He set the bag on his lap and gently pried it open. The contents were jumbled, chaotic, but it was clear that everything inside once held meaning. Trinkets, small souvenirs from the port—a handful of seashells, a hand-painted keychain, and a delicate glass charm in the shape of a flower. These were not the belongings of a spy.

He reached deeper and pulled out a tiny notebook, its edges worn from use. His fingers brushed over the cover before flipping it open. The pages were filled with neat, dainty handwriting—simple lists:

Small wooden carvings

Candles (lavender & sea breeze)

Handmade bookmarks

Seashell jewellery

It wasn't just a list of purchases—it was a routine, mundane, innocent.

Hongjoong's throat constricted, and his hands trembled as the realisation struck him anew: you had been working. You had been on an errand for your job at the Marigold Gift Shop when they dragged you into their nightmare.

His vision blurred, his breath catching in his chest.

You had no idea who they were. No idea what danger you had stumbled into. You were just there, in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it cost you everything.

Hongjoong squeezed the notebook shut, resting it against his forehead as though it could somehow absolve him of the crushing guilt. People must be looking for you—your friends, your family, your employer. The ones who had sent you on this errand, trusting you would return safely.

And now, what could he give them? A broken, scarred version of the vibrant soul they had lost. How could he face them? How could he return you to them like this?

He sat in silence, the only sound in the room the steady rhythm of your breathing and the occasional drip of water from the infirmary's ceiling. His gaze lingered on the crumpled tote bag resting on his lap, its cheerful colours muted beneath the grime. His fingers traced the fabric absentmindedly before he noticed the bucket of clean water and a spare rag near your cot.

For reasons he didn't fully understand, he stood and reached for the rag, dipping it into the water. The cloth came away damp and cool, and he squeezed out the excess with slow, deliberate movements. It was a strange sight—Kim Hongjoong, feared leader of the Black Pirates, bent over a bag, carefully wiping away the dirt and grime.

He worked in silence, the world narrowing to this singular task. Each stroke of the rag against the fabric felt like an apology he couldn't utter aloud. Slowly, painstakingly, he cleaned the tote, rubbing away the stains until the bright colours began to peek through again. The cheerful drawings and stitched patterns reemerged, fragile yet resilient beneath the care of his steady hands.

Piece by piece, he began to arrange your belongings. The trinkets were cleaned and carefully set back in place—each seashell, the delicate glass flower charm, the hand-painted keychain. He smoothed out the tiny notebook, the pages no longer crumpled but straightened with the same precision he reserved for the most critical of plans.

As he worked, he felt a strange lightness settle over him. He hadn't noticed the small smile tugging at the corners of his lips until it faded, replaced by the weight of reality as his gaze shifted back to you.

The bag, now pristine, sat neatly on the table beside you, a quiet testament to his care—a care no one, not even his brothers, had seen in years.

He stood there for a long moment, staring at you, at the bandages wrapped around your broken body, and the regret clawed at his chest again. His smile had vanished entirely, replaced by the grim determination that only guilt could bring.

How could he make this right? How could he even begin? Would you ever be able to forgive him, or himself, for what he had done?

The questions lingered unanswered in the stillness as he sat back down, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly together.

He didn't know the answers. All he knew was that he had to try.

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The world swirled in an agonising haze as your consciousness began to claw its way back. Every inch of your body screamed in pain, each bruise, cut, and wound making itself known like fire crawling beneath your skin. It was almost impossible to grasp the full weight of the agony—how could anyone describe the sensation of pain this overwhelming? It was a deep, suffocating thing that made every breath feel like a battle.

You tried to open your eyes, but even that small movement was an assault on your senses. The brightness behind your eyelids was too much, the pressure of it sending a wave of dizziness crashing over you. When you managed to blink, your eyes watered uncontrollably, the effort alone nearly too much to bear. The burn on your back, the curse of that mark—his mark—lingered like a red-hot brand, the pain compounded by the memory of it being tainted with filthy, contaminated water. You couldn't even tell if the pain had dulled or if it was just the agony of everything else making it seem like the worst of it. Even if you didn't die from your injuries, you were certain that infection would claim you before long.

Slowly, with a whimper that barely escaped your cracked lips, you arched your back, instinctively trying to relieve the burning pain from the mark. The movement was weak, your body screaming in protest, but the sensation was a small reprieve. As you forced your eyes open again, blinking over and over to get your bearings, your vision began to sharpen, and the haze of confusion began to recede, bit by bit.

The white ceiling above you was a sharp contrast to the hellish basement you had been trapped in. A sterile smell filled the air, the kind that only came from a medical facility. You were no longer in that filthy, oppressive place. Were you safe now? Had someone rescued you? Was it the authorities? Or perhaps your friends, your family, or your employer had noticed you were missing and raised the alarm? Had they found you in time?

You desperately hoped for any answer that could bring you some sense of peace, but the sight before you shattered that hope in an instant.

Turning your head slightly, you froze. The tears that had started to retreat at the thought of safety now rushed back with full force. There, sitting in a chair beside your bed, was the man who had nearly ended your life.

His face was shadowed in exhaustion, his posture slumped slightly as if he'd nodded off in his seat. His presence hit you like a blow to the chest, a knot of raw fear twisting in your gut. The man who had tortured you, who had burned you, who had broken you was right there. The man who was responsible for every inch of pain you'd endured.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and despite your body's desperate need to remain still, the fear surged within you. You couldn't help but tremble, a silent cry of terror rising in your chest.

But even in your panic, something else stirred—a strange, foreign confusion. He was here. In this room. But he wasn't hurting you. Was he... watching over you? Was this some new kind of torment? A psychological game? The thought made your head spin.

Tears fell down your cheeks as you tried to shift, but your body refused to obey. You were broken in every sense of the word, and now, trapped by your own fear and pain, you couldn't make sense of anything. All you knew was that the man who had caused all of this—the man who had dragged you into this nightmare—was right there, inches away from you.

And you had no idea what it meant.

Your attempts to keep your sobs quiet failed, the soft, broken sounds escaping against your will. Each tremor in your chest seemed to echo in the sterile room, and despite the pain, your body recoiled in fear as you saw him stir. His brow furrowed, eyes fluttering open slowly, the grogginess of sleep fading as he registered the sound—and then, his gaze locked with yours.

Panic surged through you, your breath hitching violently as his dark eyes met your own, wide and trembling, your irises blown out with terror. You wanted to scream, to run, but your body betrayed you, too weak and broken to do anything but sink further into the thin blanket covering you. All you could do was shrink back, the ache in your body drowned out by the overwhelming fear coursing through your veins.

Hongjoong froze, his expression unreadable for a heartbeat. Then, he sat up straighter, slowly, deliberately, as if trying not to startle you further. His jaw clenched, and for a second, the silence stretched unbearably between you. He raised his hands carefully, palms facing you in a universal gesture of peace, his movements measured and cautious, like one might approach a wounded animal.

"Hey," he began softly, his voice low and careful, as though it might shatter you further. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

You didn't believe him. How could you? The fear in your eyes deepened, your body curling instinctively beneath the covers, though every movement brought fresh waves of agony. Your eyes darted around the room, seeking escape, seeking anyone else—but it was only him.

He sighed, a heavy sound filled with something that almost resembled regret. He stayed seated, keeping his hands up, as if showing he was unarmed would make any difference to the scars he had already left on you. "Nobody will hurt you again," he said, and his voice trembled, just barely. "That... that includes me."

You watched him, breath ragged, your body trembling with the effort to stay still. He swallowed hard, the guilt written in every line of his face as he continued, his tone thick with something you couldn't name—shame? Guilt? Desperation? "I know this is all very confusing, and you have no reason to trust me, but we made a mistake. I made a mistake."

He paused, his throat bobbing as he swallowed again, struggling with the weight of the words. "You're not who we thought you were. And for that—for everything we... I put you through—I'm sorry."

His apology hung in the air, but it did nothing to ease the terror in your heart. It sounded sincere, but sincerity didn't erase the pain, the scars, the nightmare that still lingered in your mind. It didn't change the fact that this man, who now sat before you looking so remorseful, had been the one to destroy you.

Tears continued to stream down your face, and all you could do was stare at him, disbelieving and broken, the word sorry echoing hollowly in your mind. He had taken everything from you, and now he expected that word to make it right?

The silence stretched between you, fragile and suffocating, as you lay there—shattered, terrified, and unsure of what came next.

As if your body had decided to break the unbearable silence itself, your stomach let out a loud, insistent growl. The sound was jarring in the stillness, so absurdly out of place that it caught both of you off guard. You gasped, clutching the thin blanket tighter to your face, cheeks burning despite the pain radiating through your body. Humiliation and fear clashed within you. Would he be disgusted? Would he regret sparing you? Was this the moment he'd change his mind?

You couldn't help but brace yourself.

But instead of anger or disdain, he simply blinked in surprise before his lips parted, and he mumbled softly, "Oh, right. Stupid me. You must be starving." His voice carried a gentleness that was almost foreign, as if the words were meant more for himself than you.

The wooden chair scraped lightly against the floor as he pushed it back, the sound startling in the quiet room. He stood slowly, the motion casual, almost hesitant. "I'll bring you something to eat," he said, the words so ordinary, so kind, that they felt unreal.

And then, just like that, he walked out of the room, the door closing quietly behind him.

You lay frozen, staring at the spot where he'd been moments ago, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Your mind spun in confusion, trying to reconcile the man who had tortured you with the one who now spoke softly and promised food. Was this some twisted game? Was he really going to bring you food—or was it laced with poison, a final, cruel trick?

But if he wanted you dead, why not just finish it when he had the chance? Why tend to your wounds, only to kill you later? The questions swirled relentlessly.

You bit your trembling lip, tears pricking the corners of your eyes again. He could have killed you. You had seen it in his eyes that day—the moment he gave the final order. You had accepted it then, surrendering to fate, your body succumbing to the darkness.

Yet here you were. Alive.

Still shaking, you turned your head to the door, trying to comprehend the reality before you. Was this real? Was he truly changing—or was this a prelude to something worse?

The confusion and fear gnawed at you, but beneath it, a glimmer of something unfamiliar lingered.

Hope.

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"Here," he said softly, holding out a spoonful of chicken soup to your lips. The aroma was heavenly—rich and savoury, exactly what your starved body craved after days without food. Your stomach clenched painfully in response, desperate for sustenance. Yet, despite the temptation, you frowned and turned your face away.

He sighed, his hand lowering slightly but not withdrawing entirely. The bowl in his other hand trembled ever so slightly as if he wasn't sure what to do next. Finally, he set it gently on the table beside you, the warm liquid inside rippling quietly.

Eyes trailing after his movements, you caught sight of your bag resting there. It wasn't in the state you remembered—no longer a crumpled, filthy mess. It had been cleaned meticulously, every stitch visible and tidy, the fabric now free from dirt and grime.

His voice interrupted your thoughts, soft and almost hesitant. "Oh yeah, your bag. I... got busy while you were sleeping and cleaned it up."

You clutched the blanket tighter, sceptical. Him? Cleaning your bag? It was absurd.

"Everything inside too," he added, a small smile pulling at his lips. "You have some pretty cool stuff."

Your eyes widened, heart racing. He touched your things? Against your better judgement, you reached out, wanting to verify the state of your belongings, only to let out a sharp cry as pain flared through your body with the movement.

He was beside you instantly, his hands hovering, unsure whether to touch or retreat. His face twisted in something that looked suspiciously like hurt when you recoiled, sinking back into the bed to avoid him.

Clearing his throat, he asked, voice soft, "You want your bag?"

You nodded timidly, watching him closely. His small smile returned, gentle and relieved. "Let me help you," he murmured, pulling his chair closer. He placed the bag on the bed between you both, unzipping it carefully for you to see inside.

For the first time since waking up, your eyes softened. Everything was as he said—clean, neatly arranged. Trembling fingers reached out for the glass flower charm nestled inside, your favourite trinket. But before you could touch it, your stomach betrayed you again with a loud, desperate growl.

Humiliated, you drew your hand back, shrinking into yourself.

He chuckled softly, reaching for the bowl again. "I know you don't trust me, and you shouldn't," he admitted, his tone gentle and sincere, "but I can assure you, this is safe to consume." To prove it, he scooped a generous spoonful and took a bite himself, letting out an exaggerated hum of satisfaction.

You swallowed hard, the sight and smell tormenting you. Still, you hesitated when he held out another spoonful.

"If you won't eat it," he said with a sigh, "then I'll finish the rest." He raised the spoon toward his own mouth as if to follow through.

Before he could, you opened your mouth quickly, and his grin softened. Gently, he fed you, the warm broth sliding down your throat like liquid gold, soothing and comforting. The flavours were simple, yet after days of deprivation, it felt like the most luxurious meal you'd ever had.

He remained calm, every action slow and deliberate, offering care despite your fear and mistrust. His patience was unsettling, yet... somehow, in that moment, the terrifying man you had known felt like a distant memory.

But the pain in your body lingered. And so did the scars.

Hongjoong felt a warmth he couldn't explain swelling in his chest as you finished the final spoonful, the empty bowl resting between you both like a fragile truce. His eyes softened as he watched you, vulnerable yet still defiant, the faintest remnants of tears glistening on your lashes. He reached forward, hand poised to wipe the corner of your lips, but before he could, a sharp knock on the door shattered the moment.

He blinked, and it was as if a mask fell into place. The softness in his gaze vanished, replaced by the cold, commanding demeanour you knew too well. He set the bowl on the table, the clink of ceramic against wood too loud in the heavy silence. Straightening in his seat, shoulders squared, he uttered a firm, "Come in."

You shrank back into the bed instinctively, your body curling as far from him as your injuries would allow. The door creaked open, and another man stepped inside—his brow raising slightly when he noticed you were awake.

"Hyung," he said, his tone both respectful and urgent, "you're needed at the meeting. To discuss our next steps, now that the..." He hesitated, casting a brief glance your way, as if unsure how much to say in your presence. "The actual spy remains at large."

Hongjoong nodded, the authority in his posture unwavering. "I'll be there. Thank you, Jongho." His voice was clipped, businesslike, a stark contrast to the gentle tone he'd used with you only moments before. "Summon the doctor. Have her checked thoroughly and ensure she's comfortable."

The man named Jongho gave a short nod and left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him.

For a moment, the Captain remained seated, his back straight, tension radiating from him. Then, as if reminded of your presence, he turned to you once more. His expression softened, just for a second, as he offered the faintest smile—fleeting but genuine. "It's okay," he murmured, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. "No one will hurt you again. I won't let them."

Before you could react, the smile vanished, his face hardening once more as he rose to his feet. Without another glance, he strode to the door and exited, the soft thud of his boots fading into the distance.

You lay there, staring at the closed door, heart racing, mind spinning. The man who had nearly destroyed you had just promised your protection. And despite everything, a single, terrifying thought whispered through your mind:

I believe you.

The room felt unnervingly quiet after his departure, the air still heavy with the remnants of his presence. You stayed frozen for a moment, listening to the silence, your pulse still thundering in your ears. Slowly, cautiously, you shifted beneath the blanket, every movement sending fresh waves of pain rippling through your battered body.

But you endured it, your gaze locked on the bag resting beside you. Trembling fingers reached out, brushing against its fabric, now pristine compared to how you last remembered it—torn, dirtied, ruined. Carefully, you pulled it closer, clutching it to your chest like a lifeline, tears welling up as you stroked the surface. Your fingers traced over the familiar stitches and doodles, remnants of happier times, of days spent working, laughing, living.

Were your loved ones searching for you? How frantic must they be, wondering if you were still alive, hoping, praying for your return? The thought broke something inside you, and you wept silently, the tears streaming down your face as you reached inside the bag.

Piece by piece, your belongings greeted you, neatly arranged—your keychain, your tiny souvenirs, even the little trinkets you'd collected on that ill-fated day. None of them bore the grime and cruelty you had last seen, each one painstakingly cleaned, cared for. Despite yourself, a hollow sob escaped your lips, and you hated how much it affected you.

At the very bottom of the bag, your trembling hand closed around the familiar worn edges of your notebook. You pulled it out, your tears falling freely as you held it close, opening the cover with a sniffle. Flipping through the pages, you found the list you had written, the innocent to-do list that had led you into this nightmare. Your thumb traced the ink of your handwriting—dotted with tiny stars and hearts—and you almost smiled through the pain.

But it wasn't your handwriting on the newest page. You froze, blinking through your tears as you stared at the words, scrawled in a neat, unfamiliar script:

I'm sorry. I will make it right again, I promise.

Your breath caught in your throat, a sob escaping that you couldn't suppress. He had written it. The very man who had branded you, broken you. And yet here, in this quiet, fragile moment, his apology was inked into your most personal possession.

It wasn't enough. It could never be enough.

But it was something.

The notebook fell from your hands, landing on your lap as you curled around it, weeping not just from pain, but from the deep, agonising confusion that tangled with it. You didn't know what to feel anymore. Hatred? Grief? Or some terrible, unbidden hope that his words weren't just lies?

As the tears blurred your vision, you whispered brokenly to no one, "Why does it hurt more now?"

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The days stretched into a haze of silence and uncertainty. You hadn't seen him since that moment when he fed you soup and scribbled his apology into your notebook. In his absence, Jongho became a constant presence—a quiet sentinel, always bringing what you needed but never lingering too long. Aside from him, the kind doctor, with her gentle hands and soothing voice, tended to your wounds, her care meticulous and soft. But it was always just Jongho and her. Never the Captain.

At first, you felt like a prisoner, wondering what the end of this strange hospitality would bring. Would they let you go? Was this kindness a façade before some darker fate awaited? But as the days went on, your thoughts turned inward, your hands finding comfort in writing. You filled parchment after parchment with letters—letters to your parents, your best friend, your employer. They were full of reassurances you weren't even sure you believed. I'm alive. I'm safe. I will come back. But the ink soothed you, even if you knew they might never be sent.

Today was no different, except for the soft murmurs between you and the doctor as she changed your dressings. Her hands worked deftly, the cool air brushing against your skin as she peeled away the layers of gauze and replaced them with fresh, clean bandages. You let your mind drift, thinking of the promise he had scrawled in your notebook. He said he'd make it right. But how? Will I get to leave? Will I ever see my old life again? And if I do… will I ever be the same?

The faint creak of the door interrupted your thoughts, and you looked up instinctively, expecting Jongho's usual unhurried entrance. But it wasn't the Anchor.

It was him.

Your breath caught, and you froze, eyes wide as you met the gaze of Kim Hongjoong. He, too, stilled in the doorway, his expression unreadable, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of something—guilt, perhaps? Regret? His gaze fell to your back, to the horrid brand etched into your skin, and you saw the way he flinched.

He wasn't the only one.

Your body trembled involuntarily, an instinctive recoil from the man who had caused you so much pain. The doctor, blissfully unaware of the tension thickening the air, glanced up with a warm smile. "Oh, you're here! I'm almost done, just give me a minute."

The gang leader nodded stiffly, but he didn't speak. He quickly averted his gaze, turning away as if the sight of you was unbearable. Perhaps it was. Perhaps it should be.

But not for the same reasons as before.

You watched him from the corner of your eye, clutching the edge of the blanket as the doctor finished her work, her hands light on your skin. She hummed softly, her presence a soothing balm to your raw nerves. But your focus remained on him—on the way his shoulders tensed, on the way he refused to meet your eyes again. When he did chance a glance, he caught your gaze, and you saw it clearly: shame.

His lips parted, but no words came. You wanted to demand answers. Why are you here? What do you want from me? But your voice remained trapped in your throat.

The doctor stood, packing up her supplies with a satisfied smile. "There we are," she said brightly, glancing between the two of you. "I'll leave you to rest now." She nodded respectfully to Hongjoong before quietly excusing herself, leaving you alone with him.

The door clicked shut, and the silence between you thickened. You stared at him, your heart pounding, as he stood there, still and unsure. He finally spoke, his voice low and rough, as if it hurt to say the words.

"I didn't mean to... interrupt." He looked down, hands clenched at his sides. "I only came to see how you were."

You didn't know what to say. Under normal circumstances, perhaps a thank you would have been appropriate—but this wasn't normal, and he didn't deserve that. So you kept quiet, your lips pressed into a thin line, your hands fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.

He sighed softly, the sound barely audible, before clearing his throat and moving to sit beside you, just as he had that day with the soup. He settled into the chair with a quiet grace, attempting a small, hesitant smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. His gaze flickered to the books, papers, and pens scattered across the nursing table beside your bed.

"I hope Jongho managed to get you everything you asked for," he said gently, his voice low and careful, as if afraid to startle you. You nodded, but kept your eyes downcast, focused on your wringing hands.

His gaze followed yours, landing on the letters you had written—the stack of parchment covered in your careful handwriting. For a moment, you tensed, waiting for the inevitable backlash. Would he order his men to burn them? Would he scold you for daring to think of leaving, for daring to hope?

But instead, his voice was soft. "Would you like me to deliver them?"

You froze, lifting your head slowly, your wide, disbelieving eyes meeting his earnest gaze. He gestured toward the letters with a slight movement of his hand. "The letters," he clarified. "I could send them for you."

Your disbelief must have shown on your face, the way your brow furrowed and your lips parted slightly in shock. He saw it. He felt it. And it cut deeper than he expected. Of course, you still saw him as a monster. Why wouldn't you? He had given you every reason to believe that. If he wanted to change that, he would need to do more—much more.

He closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself, before looking at you again with an expression that was raw and unguarded. "Look," he began, voice heavy with something that felt dangerously close to regret. "You're not trapped here, in case you're wondering. You're free to leave whenever you want."

You blinked, your heart racing at the words. Could you believe him? Could you trust that freedom was within your reach?

"It's just that…" He trailed off, searching for the right words. "After everything we—I've done to you, the least I can do is help you heal. To nurse you back to health, to give you what you need. I need to make it right. That's all I want. For you to get better, to return to yourself. And if there's anything you need to make that happen… just say the word."

His voice dropped to an almost pleading tone. "So tell me—do you want those letters delivered? Is that it?"

You stared at him, searching his face for any trace of deception, any hint of insincerity. But all you saw was honesty. Whether or not it was real, you didn't know. But the sincerity in his tone, the earnestness in his eyes—it was undeniable.

And you couldn't lie to yourself. The letters were what you wanted. To set your mind and heart at ease. To reassure your loved ones that you were still alive, still here, even if only barely.

So you nodded.

He exhaled slowly, as if relieved, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw a glimmer of something softer in his expression. "Okay," he said simply. "I'll make sure they're delivered."

You struggled, the words stuck in your throat like stubborn stones, not fear this time—but something else. Something unfamiliar and unsettling. You nodded again, the gesture small and hesitant, and to your surprise, he seemed to find it… endearing. His smile softened further, and though you wanted to resent him for it, there was something disarming about the warmth in his expression.

Noticing the way you hesitated, as if wanting to speak but unsure how, he shifted in his chair, intertwining his fingers and leaning forward, careful in his every movement. He stopped just short of your space, close enough to offer comfort but far enough to avoid overwhelming you. His eyes, soft and patient, held yours, and the corners of his lips tugged upward in that same gentle smile—a silent reassurance: I won't hurt you. It's okay.

He seemed aware of how much he was smiling, almost as if surprised by it himself. His eyes glimmered with something that felt out of place in a man like him—genuine kindness. It struck you then, how foreign that smile must have been on his face, as if it had gone unused for too long. You wondered who he had once been, before this life of cruelty hardened him. And you hated that part of you, the part desperate for softness, wanted to know.

"It's alright," he said softly, his voice gentle and warm. "You don't have to be afraid. Just tell me—what do you want?"

The tenderness in his tone felt unreal. This was the same man who had once stood over you, cold and unyielding, ready to snuff out your life. And yet here he was now, speaking to you as if you were fragile, precious even. It was maddening. Confusing. And yet, damn you for being nothing more than a frail human aching for kindness, your guard cracked, just a little.

You didn't know why you asked it, why this question had been sitting in the back of your mind, waiting for its chance to escape. But when you finally spoke, your voice was soft, barely above a whisper, trembling with vulnerability. "Your name."

He blinked, caught off guard. For a moment, silence stretched between you, his expression shifting from surprise to something softer, almost regretful. And then, in that quiet space, he realised the truth: from the very beginning, through everything he had put you through, he had never once told you his name.

He sat back slightly, exhaling a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. "Hongjoong," he said, his voice steady but tender, as if offering you something sacred. "My name is Hongjoong."

Your lips parted, and though you had imagined feeling hatred for this name, it didn't come. Instead, all you felt was the raw ache of everything left unsaid.

"Hongjoong," you repeated, tasting the name on your tongue like a fragile thing, and the way you said it felt like the start of something neither of you could yet name.

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Hongjoong had made it a point to visit you every evening, just before the world outside your room fell silent for the night. At first, you dreaded those moments, unsure of his intentions or what he might say. But as the days turned into weeks, those visits became routine. He would sit beside your bed or across from you at the small table, his demeanour always calm, his tone soft and steady, and slowly, piece by piece, he unravelled the mystery of who he was, what this place meant, and how you had been drawn into their world.

His name, you learned, was more than just a name. He was the leader of this place, a sprawling mansion that served as the heart of a powerful syndicate—a gang, as you quickly realised. The people here, the ones who moved with deadly precision and cold efficiency, were his crew. Not just criminals, but men who had pledged their loyalty to him and each other in the face of a world that sought to destroy them.

You had been caught in the crossfire of a feud between two factions, mistaken for an enemy spy in a moment of chaos. It explained the brutality with which you had been treated, the mistrust that lingered until the truth emerged too late. "You weren't supposed to be hurt," he told you one night, voice thick with regret. "I didn't know who you were. If I had known..." He never finished those sentences, leaving the unsaid to hang in the air like a bitter aftertaste.

And now, the pieces fit. The puzzle you had struggled to solve finally made sense, but with that clarity came an unsettling reality: you were surrounded by criminals. Even if Hongjoong had promised safety, you were in a den of people capable of murder, of violence, of unspeakable acts committed in the name of survival and loyalty. It went against everything you believed in—your sense of morality, the honest life you had led until now.

Yet, despite your fear and discomfort, you knew you had no choice. What had happened could not be undone. The only hope you clung to was for a swift recovery, a chance to leave this world behind and return to the life you had once known.

As your injuries healed, you grew stronger. The sharp, constant pain dulled to a distant ache, and with the doctor's meticulous care, you were soon able to move around. Hongjoong had a proper room prepared for you—one more fitting, spacious, with large windows that let in the light. It was more comfortable than you dared to expect, but you knew better than to interpret it as anything more than a gesture of atonement.

Still, you couldn't deny the strange, unspoken connection that had formed between you and him. You wouldn't call it friendship—you couldn't. He was still the man who had brought you to the brink of death. But there was something. Something fragile, a bond woven through shared guilt and reluctant trust. You found yourself relying on him in ways that shamed you. You hated it, hated how you felt a strange sense of calm when he was near, as if the very person responsible for your suffering was now the anchor keeping you steady.

It was complicated. Confusing. And worst of all, it made you question whether the lines you thought were so clear—between captor and captive, between right and wrong—had begun to blur.

Unbeknownst to you, Hongjoong wrestled with the same confusion—especially about the emotions that had begun to surface lately. He couldn't shake the persistent need to be near you. It gnawed at him like an unrelenting tide, wearing away the walls he had built over the years. He told himself it was duty, responsibility. After all, he was the reason you had nearly lost your life. If he hadn't acted so quickly on false information, none of this would have happened. He reasoned that it was only right to take full responsibility, to ensure your recovery—physically and otherwise.

That logic gave him something to hold on to, but it didn't explain everything. It didn't explain why his eyes instinctively sought you out whenever he walked the halls or the strange calm that washed over him when he saw you safe. It didn't explain the warmth that bloomed in his chest when he heard your voice or glimpsed your rare, hesitant smiles. No, it wasn't just responsibility anymore. It was something deeper, something he wasn't ready to name.

After another gruelling meeting filled with discussions of crisis management and strategies to track down the elusive spy, the Captain's head buzzed with tension. His face remained a mask of cold authority, his steps measured, his shoulders squared. He passed his men without sparing a glance, his thoughts elsewhere. Always on you. The dining hall was empty, your room vacant, and the painting room—where you often sat doodling, lost in thought—was deserted. A strange, unwelcome worry tightened in his chest.

Relief only came when he pushed open the heavy library doors and saw you standing there. You stood in a sunlit aisle, the golden light streaming through the tall windows, bathing you in a soft glow. The light illuminated your features—now mostly healed, the bruises reduced to faint shadows, the cuts mere whispers of what they had been. You were beautiful, he realised, and the realisation ached in a way he hadn't anticipated. He closed the door quietly behind him, the sound muted, careful not to startle you. His steps were slow and deliberate as he approached, his heart inexplicably racing.

You were focused on a pressed flower bookmark tucked between the pages of a book, your head tilted slightly as you admired it, your fingers gently brushing the fragile petals. The scene was simple, ordinary. Yet it stirred something in him, an unspoken truth he wasn't ready to confront.

"Marigold," he said softly, his voice low to not disturb the tranquillity. "That's my favourite flower."

You looked up, startled at first, but your expression softened when you saw him. "Really? It's mine too," you replied, your voice steady, though a hint of curiosity lingered in your tone.

A small smile tugged at his lips, softer than usual, though it carried the weight of everything left unsaid. "It is? Then you should keep it," he said, nodding toward the bookmark, surprising even himself with the offer.

"But—" you began, gesturing toward the marked page.

He chuckled quietly, shaking his head. "I never had time to finish the book anyway. Can't even remember what it's about. Just take it. It's yours now."

Anything you want, it's yours.

For a moment, the silence between you stretched, fragile yet profound, like a delicate thread holding more than either of you dared admit. Hongjoong didn't know what this feeling was, only that it was growing. And being near you eased a part of him he hadn't realised was broken.

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The evening air was still, and the faint glow of the lamp in your room cast a soft halo beneath the door, a beacon that drew him to check on you one last time before retiring. He knocked gently, expecting the usual soft response or even a brief acknowledgement, but there was only silence. His brows knitted in concern, and he knocked again, the sound a little firmer this time. Still, no answer.

Then he heard it—a muffled yelp.

Panic surged through him. He couldn't wait. "I'm coming in," he called, his voice urgent but not harsh, and without hesitation, he pushed open the door.

The sight that met him stopped him in his tracks. You were sitting on the edge of your bed, your shirt halfway unbuttoned, exposing your shoulder and part of your back. The fresh bandage you had been attempting to wrap around yourself lay unravelled on the floor, a tangle of gauze mocking your efforts. Your face was flushed with embarrassment, and the moment you realised he was there, you scrambled to pull your shirt back up, your movements frantic and clumsy.

He didn't look away, not out of disrespect, but because he couldn't ignore the mark on your back. That cursed brand. Every time he saw it, it felt like a punch to the gut, a cruel reminder of his failure. If he could change one thing in his life, it would be that—undoing the moment that left such a permanent scar on you. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, before finally speaking, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it.

"Do you need help?"

Your immediate response was a firm shake of your head. "I'm fine," you insisted, though the tremble in your voice betrayed you. He could see it all: the mess of your hair, the exhaustion etched into your face, the slight tremor in your hands. You had been at this for a while, stubbornly trying to do it alone, and it was clear that you were anything but fine.

Hongjoong sighed quietly, stepping closer, each movement deliberate and gentle, as if afraid he might scare you away. "You're not," he said softly, without accusation, without pity, only quiet understanding. He knelt in front of you, eyes level with yours, and held out his hand, palm up, an unspoken offer. "Let me help."

You hesitated, biting your lip, your pride warring with the exhaustion. But eventually, you let out a shaky breath and nodded, your eyes downcast. He reached for the discarded bandage on the floor, his movements slow, deliberate, as if trying not to disturb the fragile air between you.

Carefully, he unbuttoned your shirt just enough to reveal your shoulder, his fingers never straying more than necessary. The moment felt intimate but not in the way that made you feel vulnerable. It was gentle. Respectful. As he wrapped the bandage around you with practised precision, his hands were steady, careful not to brush against your skin more than needed.

"You don't have to do everything alone," he murmured as he fastened the bandage, his voice like a balm. "I know you're strong, but you can let someone help you."

You didn't respond immediately, the warmth of his words sinking in as you sat in silence. Finally, you whispered, "Thank you."

He gave a faint smile, one you didn't see but could hear in the softness of his voice. "Anytime."

You finally turned to face him, your breath catching when you realised just how close he was. His face, so much softer now than the man who had once been your captor, was mere inches away. As if more modest than you, he quickly moved to help button your shirt, his fingers deft but gentle, avoiding your gaze as if giving you privacy in a moment that was anything but private. Your eyes, however, couldn't stop following the sincerity etched into his expression, hating the way it made your heart race. How could your body betray you like this, reacting to someone who had once been so cruel?

You swallowed hard, trying to banish those thoughts, and lowered your gaze. That's when you noticed his wrist peeking from the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. It was the first time you saw them, the scars that twisted from his elbows to his wrists like angry, jagged reminders. Your brows furrowed, curiosity—and something deeper—propelling you forward. Without thinking, your hand reached out and grasped his as he pulled away, holding it gently.

"H-how'd you get these?" your voice trembled, more from the vulnerability in the air than any fear.

Hongjoong stilled. The small smile on his face faded, replaced by a haunting stillness. He pulled his hands back gently, as if realising for the first time he had no right to be near you, no right to touch you. He placed your hands carefully back in your lap, almost reverently, and turned toward the window, the fading sunlight casting shadows across his face.

A humourless chuckle escaped him, low and bitter, as he glanced at the scars on his arms before shifting his gaze to the darkened horizon. "Let me tell you the story of a boy," he began, his voice void of emotion but heavy with pain, "who had everything taken from him. Not that he had much to begin with—only a mother who loved him more than anything." His voice cracked, almost imperceptibly, but you caught it. "Even that wasn't enough for fate."

He didn't look at you, eyes fixed on the darkening sky, as if it held all the answers. "My father was a worthless drunk with a gambling problem. He left us with nothing but debts, and my mother… she worked herself to the bone, trying to keep us afloat. But it was never enough. The loan sharks came one night." His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I was too young to understand what they wanted, why they were shouting at her. But I remember… I remember watching them beat her to the ground."

His voice dropped to a whisper, but it cut like a blade. "I watched them strip her, violate her, and when they were done, they slit her throat as if she were nothing." He exhaled shakily, his jaw tightening. "They left me there with her body. Taunted me. If they had known what they created that night… maybe they wouldn't have left me alive."

You sat motionless, your heart aching at the raw truth of his confession. Suddenly, everything made sense—how he had become this way, hardened and cold. You could understand now, even though it hurt to. Perhaps you would have become the same if you had endured such horrors. No one is born evil. We are all blank canvases, shaped by what we experience, by the pain life forces us to endure.

His eyes fell to the scars on his arms, and a bitter smile tugged at his lips. "These," he murmured, flexing his fingers as if feeling the memory burn anew, "are souvenirs from that night." His voice grew colder, distant, as if reliving the moment. "I remember their nails clawing at my arms, desperate to cling to life. But it didn't matter. Those bastards were never going to escape."

Despite the chilling edge in his words, you felt no fear. Instead, you saw the boy hidden beneath the armour, a boy the world had broken too soon. He turned back to you, his eyes no longer cold but filled with a deep, aching regret. "And that's why," he said, voice trembling with emotion, "I wish I could undo what I did to you. I swore I'd never harm the innocent, never become what they were. But I failed." His voice cracked. "I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry. Nothing I do will ever make this right."

To his surprise, you reached out, your hand resting gently on his shoulder, offering comfort where he expected none. He turned to you, his eyes glistening with tears he refused to let fall.

"It's okay, Hongjoong," you said softly, your voice unwavering yet gentle. "Everyone makes mistakes."

And then you smiled—a small, genuine smile, brimming with forgiveness. It shattered something within him, but it also healed something far deeper, a part of him he thought was long dead.

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Things had shifted significantly between you since that fateful night when he first bared his soul, revealing the shadows of his dark past. Your understanding unlocked something in him, and in turn, you also began to open up. Little by little, you spoke more, smiled more freely, and allowed yourself to be vulnerable in his presence. Hongjoong, too, had changed. What once were brief visits to check on you became shared meals, quiet conversations, and the gentle ritual of him changing your wound dressings daily. It had become a routine—a comforting rhythm filled with tender moments, lingering touches, deep gazes, and countless almosts.

Almost kisses. Almost confessions. Almost something more.

Just a little longer, he told himself, fighting the constant urge to feel your lips against his. He needed to earn your trust fully before daring to take that step. He knew he didn't deserve you—but the heart wants what it wants.

But of course, just as he allowed himself to believe things were finally settling, reality reminded him otherwise. He should have known better than to think peace could last in his world. You and he had grown closer, but the life he led was never one to offer tranquillity for long. Conflict loomed on the horizon. An important meeting was fast approaching—a meeting arranged long before you had entered his life.

The Black Pirates, an organisation that had always operated with an exclusively male force, had struck a delicate negotiation with the Red Room, a renowned spy training facility specialised in producing elite female operatives. Though both syndicates had thrived independently, they saw mutual benefit in an alliance, especially as the shadowy threat of the White Serpents continued to grow. A treaty was in the works and was supposed to be one of Hongjoong's top priorities.

Yet, things had changed. You were here now, and part of him refused to leave you. The thought of being away, of leaving you vulnerable even for a moment, gnawed at him. So he made a decision: Seonghwa would attend the meeting in his place. The eldest, the Gentleman, was their best negotiator, and if anyone could secure a favourable outcome, it was him.

"It's set then," he said, his tone final. "Seonghwa will represent me for this." He leaned back slightly, eager to conclude the meeting and return to you.

But he should have known better than to expect it would be accepted without protest.

The moment the words left his mouth, Mingi's hand slammed onto the table, the force reverberating through the room. "Really, hyung?" he spat, his voice heavy with frustration. "You're going to send someone else on your behalf for something this important? I was already fed up with this nonsense, but enough is enough!"

The screech of the temperamental member's chair echoed as he shoved it back, rising to his feet, the fire in his eyes blazing. Yunho reached out, gripping his arm in warning, but Mingi shook him off, his glare fixed on their leader.

"No!" he growled, his voice rising. "When will this madness stop?! I'm sick and tired of you being distracted by her. At first, I understood—you felt guilty, like you owed her something. But now? You're letting it go too far! You've been wasting precious time hovering around her, growing soft! And now you're putting our work at risk. When does it end, huh?"

The room fell into a tense silence, the air thick with the weight of Mingi's accusation. Hongjoong remained seated, his fingers interlocked on the table. He met the taller man's gaze with a cold, unwavering stare.

"Sit down, Mingi," he said quietly, his voice calm, but the authority in it was unmistakable.

Mingi didn't move, his jaw tight, defiance radiating from him. "Answer me," he demanded. "When does it end?"

The room seemed to hold its breath.

"You think I'm neglecting my responsibility," Hongjoong said, his voice low, even, and far colder than before. He rose slowly, pushing his chair back with a deliberate grace. "You think I'm growing soft. Maybe you're right." His eyes, sharp and cutting, bore into Mingi's. "But everything I do is for this gang's survival. Including ensuring her safety."

Mingi scoffed, disbelief written across his face. "Her? She's not one of us. She's a—"

"Enough," Hongjoong snapped, the steel in his voice cutting through the room like a blade. He stepped closer, towering over Mingi now. "You question my judgement again, and it won't be this quiet." His voice softened, but the danger in it was palpable. "I trust Seonghwa to handle this. And I trust you to remember your place."

For a moment, it seemed as if Mingi might push further, but his best friend, the Enforcer's hand tightened on his arm, a silent plea. He growled in frustration and, after a tense beat, finally sat down, seething but silent.

Seonghwa's calm voice broke the heavy quiet. "I'll handle it, Cap. You've made the right call." He shot a glance at Mingi. "We all want the same thing: to be stronger, united. Let's not lose sight of that."

Hongjoong's shoulders relaxed slightly, though his eyes never left Mingi. "Good," he said, his tone final. "Then it's settled."

As the others filed out, Mingi lingered near the door, shooting one last glare at his leader before leaving without another word. The Captain remained behind, letting out a long breath, the weight of the confrontation pressing on him.

He should have known peace wouldn't last. But as his thoughts turned to you, one question echoed in his mind.

How much more would he have to sacrifice to protect you before it all fell apart?

Fortunately—and unfortunately—you had already found the answer to his unspoken question.

"Hongjoong," you whispered, your voice trembling as it cut through the stillness of the dimly lit library.

The soft glow of the lamps cast gentle shadows over the shelves, wrapping the room in an intimate quiet. Across from you, he sat, his eyes warm and attentive, watching you with that familiar, close-lipped smile—the one that always made your heart stutter. His expression was gentle, full of a quiet tenderness that you both craved and feared.

But tonight, that smile felt like a dagger. It broke something inside you, making what you were about to say hurt even more.

"Yes?" he responded just as softly, his voice a soothing balm you didn't deserve. He leaned forward slightly, the care in his gaze evident, as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

You swallowed hard, your fingers trembling as they clutched the delicate bookmark he had given you, your lifeline in this moment of unbearable heaviness. "I'm… I'm all better now," you began, the words sticking in your throat. "I wish to leave. I want to go home."

The change in him was immediate. His smile vanished, and his hand shot across the table, grasping yours before you could pull away. His touch was warm but trembling, desperate. "Wha—where is this coming from?" His voice cracked, panic threading through every word. He hadn't known how long he'd have you by his side, but he never imagined losing you this soon. He wasn't ready. "Was it Mingi? Did he say something to you? I swear to god, if he—"

"No," you interrupted, shaking your head firmly, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. "He didn't do anything." You squeezed his hand, trying to draw strength from the contact. "I just… I think it's time. Time for both of us to return to our own lives."

His grip tightened, his eyes wide with disbelief. "No," he whispered, shaking his head as if refusing to believe your words could make them untrue. "You don't have to do this. You don't need to leave yet. The doctor—I'm having her work on something for the mark. You're not healed, not really."

You bit your lip, his raw emotion tearing through your resolve. You wanted to stay—God, how you wanted to stay—but the memory of that argument was too fresh. You had stood outside the meeting room earlier, waiting for him to finish, only to hear Mingi's voice raised in anger, accusing him of neglect, of weakness. And you had heard Hongjoong's silence—heavy, burdened. You couldn't be the reason for his pain. You couldn't be the weakness he couldn't afford.

"I heard it all," you confessed, voice trembling. "The argument. I know how much I'm complicating things for you." Tears blurred your vision, but you blinked them away. "It's not fair—to you, to them. We're from different worlds, Hongjoong. You and I… we were never going to work." Your voice softened as you finally named what had been unspoken: the feelings between you both.

His face crumpled, the pain etched into every line devastating to witness. "Don't do this," he begged, his voice breaking. "Please… don't."

You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. "This is how we make things right," you whispered. "You wanted to fix what you did, to give me a chance at freedom. This is it."

Silence engulfed the room, thick and suffocating. Slowly, he let go of your hand, as if releasing it would break him entirely. His head bowed, shoulders slumping under the weight of your decision.

"Oh…" It was all he could manage, and the raw pain in that single word nearly undid you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The quiet of the library, once a sanctuary, now felt suffocating. You had made your choice, and you believed it was the right one.

So why did it hurt so much?

"I'm sorry," you whispered, standing from your chair. You hesitated, wanting to offer some kind of solace, but knowing it would only prolong the pain. "Goodnight, Hongjoong."

With every step you took toward the door, it felt as though pieces of your heart were left behind. And when you reached the threshold, you heard it—his broken, whispered plea.

"Don't go."

But you didn't stop. You couldn't. Because sometimes, love wasn't enough.

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As if running from you could change the inevitable, Hongjoong buried himself in work, pouring over plans and strategies like a man determined to forget. Meetings stretched longer, tasks multiplied, and he worked late into the night, ignoring the hollow ache growing in his chest. But no amount of work could silence the truth—or erase the memory of your soft, breaking voice.

He could only run for so long.

One day, the quiet was broken by Jongho's hesitant knock on his office door. The youngest cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably under the Captain's tired gaze. "What is it?" he sighed, leaning back in his chair, trying to mask the weariness in his voice.

Jongho straightened, his eyes darting to the barely open door behind him. Hongjoong followed his gaze and froze. There, framed by the narrow gap, was the unmistakable outline of your back.

"It's her, hyung," Jongho said softly, his tone more hesitant than usual. "She... she asked the doctor to give her one final check. To make sure she's fully healed." He paused, as if reluctant to continue. "She expressed her desire to leave."

The words struck like a blade, sharp and final. For a long moment, Hongjoong said nothing, his eyes locked on the empty doorway as if he could will you to return. But deep down, he knew there was nowhere left to run.

He had been a fool to believe that anything could make you stay. He put himself in your shoes for a fleeting moment, imagining what it must be like. You had a life beyond these walls—a life waiting for you to return. And even if you chose to stay, how long could he truly keep you safe in his dangerous world? How long before the life he led consumed you, too?

And even if, by some miracle, you stayed—would your loved ones ever accept him? A gang leader with blood on his hands and sins too deep to cleanse?

No. The answer was clear.

As much as it tore him apart, he knew this was the mercy you deserved. He couldn't chain you to his darkness, couldn't selfishly hold on when letting go was the only way to truly love you.

"You're right," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "You have a life of your own. I can't ask you to stay."

The Anchor remained silent, watching his leader with a rare softness in his eyes.

Men like him were never meant to love. Not after all the sins he had committed, all the lives he had taken, all the wrongs he could never make right. He didn't deserve you—not your kindness, your laughter, or the warmth you so effortlessly gave.

No matter how much he wished otherwise.

With a heavy sigh, he turned away from the door, his voice steady but hollow. "Thank you, Jongho. I trust you to make the proper arrangements for her departure."

The youngest hesitated for a moment, but when he met the finality in Hongjoong's eyes, he nodded and left quietly, the door clicking shut behind him. Silence settled over the room again, heavy and oppressive—until the door creaked open once more. The gang leader's head snapped up, irritation flashing in his eyes, but it melted away the instant he saw who it was.

You stood hesitantly in the doorway, peeking in like you weren't sure you belonged there anymore.

He shot up from his seat, his movements hurried. "O-oh, it's you. Come in..." His voice softened, and you offered a small, tentative smile as you stepped inside. He gestured toward the worn leather couch. "Please, have a seat."

But you shook your head. "No, I shouldn't stay long. I just… came to thank you for respecting my decision."

He exhaled, a bitter sound escaping his lips. "Don't thank me for that." His voice was low, laced with frustration, though not at you. "It shouldn't have taken me this long to agree. You were right." His lips curved into a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. The pain there was unmistakable, and it clenched your heart painfully. "This… it has to end eventually. After all, I'm the one who did this to you. I can't possibly expect you to return my feelings—"

"Stop," you whispered, closing your eyes, shaking your head as if to ward off the self-loathing in his voice. Too late. You already had returned those feelings, and hearing him like this shattered you. "No, Hongjoong, don't say that. I just..."

He stilled, his gaze searching yours as you opened your eyes and met him, resisting the desperate urge to reach out and cup his face, to pull him into the comfort you knew he craved. But you couldn't. So instead, you smiled, soft but trembling, and extended a hand toward him.

"I'm feeling a little hungry," you said gently, your voice trembling just enough to betray your emotions. "Want to have dinner together?"

For a moment, he simply stared at you, as if unsure if he had heard correctly. But how could he possibly say no? Besides, this could very well be your last meal together. Everything else could wait—damn it all.

Until the moment you were safely returned home, you were all that mattered to him.

Just until tomorrow.

Jongho had arranged your ride back tomorrow.

Hongjoong couldn't pretend anymore. He knew this would likely be the last time he'd have you like this, in this fragile peace. So, tonight, he let the walls fall. He no longer resisted the urges that had haunted him for weeks. When he reached out to feed you, gently wiping a stray bit of food from the corner of your lips, you didn't flinch. When he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips brushing your skin with a tenderness that made his chest ache, you didn't pull away.

And you didn't say a word. You just let him.

By the end of the meal, when he saw the glimmer of hesitation in your eyes—knowing you were preparing to retreat to your room—he acted quickly, grasping your hand before you could leave. His touch was firm but not forceful, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, almost pleading.

"Would you like to… walk with me?"

You looked at him for a moment, your eyes searching his as if trying to memorise everything about this moment. Then, wordlessly, you nodded. He led you through the grand halls of the mansion, out to the sprawling, maze-like garden, where the soft glow of lanterns illuminated the paths.

Your hands remained entwined the entire time.

The garden was silent except for the rustle of leaves in the breeze. He guided you to the centre, where a marble fountain stood, the gentle sound of water trickling into the basin adding to the quiet serenity. Clearing a spot on the cold concrete, he shrugged off his blazer, laying it down carefully before gesturing for you to sit. You did, settling beside him as the horizon stretched before you, bathed in soft, silver moonlight.

"This is nice," you murmured, breaking the silence, your voice almost lost in the cool night air.

He smiled, his gaze softening. "It is, isn't it?"

For a while, neither of you spoke. The dim lanterns cast a golden glow, wrapping you both in a warmth that felt almost unreal. Slowly, as if afraid you might slip away, he placed his hand over yours once again. This time, your fingers intertwined naturally, effortlessly, as though they had always belonged that way.

No words were necessary. Every touch, every glance, spoke of everything you felt but couldn't say.

Your heart raced as you turned toward him, only to find he was already watching you. His eyes were dark, filled with emotions you didn't dare name. He leaned in, bit by bit, closing the space between you. Your breath hitched, trembling, but you didn't move away.

"Just for tonight," he whispered, his voice rough and raw. "Can we be together? Just for tonight."

Your eyes burned with unshed tears, your heart aching with the weight of the unspoken goodbye. You nodded, your voice barely above a breath.

"Please."

And then, there was no more distance between you.

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The morning light streamed softly through the curtains, painting the room in golden hues. Hongjoong stirred awake, the weight of sleep heavier than usual, but a comforting warmth grounded him. Instinctively, he snuggled closer, burying his face into the inviting scent that had become his solace.

It took only a moment for the realisation to hit him. The feminine scent, delicate and intoxicating, filled his senses. His heart skipped a beat as he opened his eyes to find you still in his arms, your back pressed against his chest, your breathing soft and even.

For a long moment, he stayed still, simply taking you in—the way your hair spilt over the pillow, the peaceful rise and fall of your shoulders, the warmth that radiated from you. Leaning closer, he pressed a tender kiss to your bare shoulder, the memory of last night rushing back like a tidal wave.

Kisses. Endless, intoxicating kisses, your lips against his as if you were trying to fill every unspoken word between you. His fingers tangled in your hair, your hands gripping his shirt, neither of you willing to let go. The clumsy, desperate stumbling through those kisses until you landed on the expanse of his king-sized bed—so often feeling too big, too empty for just one.

Articles of clothing had been shed piece by piece, carelessly scattered across the floor. And then… pure, unrestrained bliss. The feel of your skin against his, the soft sighs and whispered names, the way your bodies moved together like they were meant to fit. It was a night he would never forget, and one he knew he could never have again.

He swallowed hard as reality settled in. It was bittersweet, finally knowing what it was like to have you this close, only to face the cruel truth that he would have to let it all go soon. His gaze fell on the mark on your soft skin, the one that started it all, and he sighed deeply.

It was the right thing to do.

He repeated the mantra in his head, clinging to it like a lifeline. You deserved more—someone who could give you the kind of life you were meant to have, one without fear, without shadows. Someone who wasn't him.

But for now, just for this fleeting moment, he allowed himself to be selfish. He tightened his hold on you, his arm curling around your waist as if he could stop time by keeping you close. He etched every detail into his mind: the way your warmth seeped into him, the way your presence calmed his restless heart, the way this morning felt like a fragile dream he never wanted to wake from.

Because soon, it would all be over.

And he would have nothing left but these memories.

His temporary haven shattered with a jarring intrusion. The door to his bedroom flew open, and Jongho rushed in, his expression a mix of concern and urgency. "Hyung, she's not in her room—"

The Anchor's voice faltered mid-sentence as his eyes landed on you, curled up in his leader's embrace. The man sat up quickly, pulling the blanket to cover you to your neck, his glare sharp enough to cut steel. Jongho froze like a deer caught in headlights, his usual composure obliterated by the scene before him.

You stirred at the commotion, blinking yourself awake. It didn't take long to realise what had happened. Your cheeks flushed a deep red as you scrambled to free yourself from the blanket and darted off to the attached bathroom. "Excuse me," you mumbled hastily, your voice barely above a whisper, before closing the door behind you.

Jongho stood awkwardly, visibly cringing under Hongjoong's icy glare. "I didn't mean to—"

"Out," the Captain growled, his voice low and dangerous.

The youngest didn't need to be told twice. With a quick bow, he fled the room, muttering apologies under his breath.

Hongjoong exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples as the weight of the morning settled on his shoulders. Deciding to give you the privacy you needed, he rose from the bed, grabbed his robe, and slipped it on before leaving the room.

As he stepped into the hall, he was greeted by none other than the Firestarter, leaning casually against the wall with a smirk plastered across his face.

"Had fun, Cap?" Mingi drawled, his voice laced with mockery. "Hope that pussy was worth everything."

Hongjoong's expression darkened instantly, his eyes narrowing into a glare that could rival a storm. "Speak for yourself, Song," he shot back, his voice steady but laced with venom. "Come mock me when you don't need an exiled noblewoman to save your ass time and time again."

Mingi's smirk faltered as Hongjoong took a step closer, his words cutting like daggers. "Don't think I haven't heard about your multiple near-failures. At least I haven't fucked up anything critical. Also," he added, his tone dropping into something bitter and final, "she's leaving today. I hope you're happy."

The weight of Hongjoong's words left Mingi speechless, his cool façade crumbling. His jaw tightened as he struggled to muster a response, but nothing coherent came to mind.

Clearing his throat, he straightened and forced a shrug, attempting to reclaim his composure. "About damn time. Good riddance," he muttered, though his voice lacked its usual edge. Without another word, he turned and stalked off, leaving the gang leader standing there, his chest tight and his mind racing.

As much as he loathed the confrontation, he couldn't help but feel a bitter sense of satisfaction. At least now, Mingi might think twice before throwing careless words around. But the victory was hollow, his thoughts quickly returning to you.

With a deep sigh, he leaned against the wall, his fingers tracing the edge of his robe. The hours ahead loomed like a storm on the horizon, and he knew they would be some of the hardest he'd ever faced.

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The air was thick with the weight of unspoken emotions as the black car idled behind you, its engine a soft hum against the gloomy backdrop. The overcast sky seemed to mirror the heaviness in both your hearts, the grey clouds threatening rain at any moment. You stood before Hongjoong, your trusty tote bag slung over your shoulder, dressed simply but beautifully, your hair pulled into a messy yet endearing style. You tried to smile, but it trembled at the edges, betraying the storm within.

Neither of you spoke right away, the silence filled with everything you wanted to say but couldn't. Instead, you reached into your bag, pulling out the glass flower charm—the delicate token you had cherished for so long.

"Give me your hand," you murmured softly.

He stepped closer without hesitation, his hand extended between you. The roughness of his palm contrasted sharply with the fragility of the charm as you placed it gently into his hand. His fingers curled around it instinctively, the same hand that once had only known destruction now cradling something so delicate with utmost care.

"For you," you said, your voice steady but laden with emotion. "It's no marigold, but—"

He cut you off with a bittersweet smile, the pain in his eyes unmistakable. "I'll cherish it," he promised, his voice quiet but resolute, as though the words themselves were a vow.

He didn't let go of your hand, his grip warm and steady. You nodded, returning his smile. "Good. Treat it with care," you said, stepping closer, your proximity making his breath hitch.

The scent of his familiar cologne wrapped around you as you leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek. Your lips brushed against his skin as you whispered, "You did it, Joong. You made it all right."

His eyes fluttered closed, savouring the moment, the warmth of your presence etching itself into his memory. But then, as much as he wanted to keep you there, you pulled away gently, slipping out of his grasp.

Your backward steps toward the waiting car felt like a slow unravelling, each step tugging at the threads of his heart. He fought every instinct to run to you, to pull you back into his arms and beg you to stay, but he knew he couldn't.

As you slid into the car and shut the door, he stood rooted to the spot, his chest tight, his fists clenched at his sides. He watched helplessly as the car began to roll forward, taking you further and further from him until you were nothing but a distant blur.

"It's for the best," he whispered to himself, though the words felt hollow. "You did the right thing."

The sound of approaching footsteps broke through his haze of sorrow. Turning, he found one of his men standing hesitantly nearby. "Boss," the man said carefully, "we received an update from Seonghwa. His visit to the Red Room is going to be extended due to... undisclosed circumstances."

And just like that, Hongjoong was thrust back into the chaos of his world. He nodded, his voice cold and detached. "Got it. I'll speak with the others."

He turned and strode back toward the mansion, his steps purposeful despite the turmoil inside him. His men watched him carefully, unsure if the heartbreak would erupt into anger, but he remained composed, his demeanour unreadable.

Once inside, he glanced down at the delicate charm still resting in his palm. It caught the dim light of the hall, glinting faintly like the remnants of a dream. His grip tightened around it, not enough to damage it, but enough to ground himself.

It hurt—god, it hurt—but he found solace in the fact that he had been able to love again, even if only briefly. He didn't know how long it would take for the ache to fade, perhaps it never would, but one thing was certain: he would never forget you.

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The dim light of the room cast long shadows across the walls, the flickering of a single desk lamp providing the only illumination. The figure leaned back in his chair, his gloved fingers tapping rhythmically against the polished wood of the table. Before him lay a folder, its contents an intricate web of intel painstakingly gathered. At the very top, clipped securely, was a photograph of the Black Pirates.

The leader's face was circled in white ink—a mark of vulnerability disguised as power.

"Seems we've secured the Captain's weakness right from the start," the figure murmured, a sinister grin spreading across his face. His tone carried a disturbing mixture of amusement and certainty as he flipped the folder shut, the sound of paper against paper breaking the tense silence.

A subordinate stood nearby, his posture stiff, his eyes darting to the file with barely concealed curiosity. "Should we proceed then, sir?" he asked, his voice low but eager.

The figure chuckled, a sound devoid of warmth, and shook his head. "There's no hurry," he replied, his gloved hand resting atop the closed file like a predator savouring its next move. "Time is what we've got. Let them believe they've found their footing. Let them think they're safe."

He pushed the file to the side, leaning forward, his grin widening as his eyes gleamed with cruel intent. "We'll gather them all, one by one. No need to rush—it's always better when the prey doesn't see the trap until it's too late."

The subordinate nodded, though a hint of unease flickered across his features. "Understood, sir."

The figure reached for a glass of whiskey sitting untouched on the desk, swirling the amber liquid as if it contained the answers to every question. "Patience," he said, almost to himself, his voice low and reverent. "Patience wins wars. Let's see how far the mighty gang can go when their carefully constructed world begins to crumble."

He raised the glass in a mock toast, the light catching the golden liquid. "To the Black Pirates. And to the beginning of their end."

The room fell silent again, the only sound the faint creak of the leather chair as the figure leaned back, eyes fixed on the file. Somewhere, far from the machinations of this dark plot, Hongjoong might have felt a shiver down his spine. But for now, he was blissfully unaware, the weight of his loss still fresh, the memory of your departure his only torment.

And so, the game began.

Would you believe it? About 90% of this was drafted in a sleep-deprived state HAHA the first thing I do as soon as I get home from work is write this, so I genuinely hope this met expectations!

Are you or are you not surprised by the lack of a happy ending? If you know me well (especially readers who have been here since TWTHH), you probably saw this coming🤠

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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[cece693]

Not Going to Change, Honey

pairing: carlisle cullen x male reader tags: evil reader, he doesn't really have morals tbh, Carlisle is your mate, rocky relationship, unresolved conflict, part 2 if people want it

For all the centuries Carlisle Cullen had roamed the earth, he had never encountered anyone quite like you. He had seen grandeur in architecture, brilliance in art, and compassion in the tender eyes of mortals. But when he first laid eyes on you—one of the Volturi’s most lethal guards—he was utterly unprepared for the impact you would have on him.

Carlisle’s initial impression was one of quiet awe. You stood poised in the grand reception hall of the Volturi fortress, clad in the distinctive blood-red cloak that symbolized your allegiance to Aro. Long, elegant lines formed your silhouette—every inch of you exuded a kind of potent, dangerous allure that was hard to ignore. Perhaps it was the severe cut of your jaw or the dark gleam in your eyes that made Carlisle’s breath catch. But despite the warning prickle of tension in the air, there was something undeniably captivating in your presence.

“I presume you are the esteemed Dr. Cullen,” you said smoothly, voice as cold and refined as the marble walls around you.

Carlisle inclined his head, forcing himself to maintain calm even though his chest felt inexplicably tight. “Yes. Carlisle Cullen,” he replied politely. “I recently arrived at Aro’s invitation.”

You surveyed him with an intensity that made him feel as though every thought he had was laid bare. Carlisle found his gaze lingering on the sharp contour of your cheeks and the elegant line of your mouth. There was a deadly grace about you, but more than that, a magnetic pull he couldn’t explain.

“Word of your…unique lifestyle precedes you,” you remarked, a slight edge of amusement curling your lips. “I suppose you’ll find Volterra quite different from your usual endeavors.”

Carlisle almost smiled in return. “I suspect I will,” he said quietly. Then he glanced around, torn between fascination and a subtle dread of the Volturi’s rigorous methods. “Though I’m eager to see what the Volturi’s world is truly like.”

You nodded curtly, turning on your heel to guide him deeper into the fortress. The moment you moved, Carlisle found himself transfixed by the fluidity of your steps, by the swish of your cloak. He wondered if you realized how captivating you were, or if cruelty and power were all you cared to claim as your own.

As time slipped by in Volterra, Carlisle discovered the Volturi’s customs and tactics were indeed difficult to reconcile with his beliefs. Yet, even amid that discord, he found himself drawn to you. You were everything Carlisle was not: ruthless, unwavering in your loyalty to Aro, and wholly accepting of a vampire’s predator nature. And yet, it was your contradictions that made you all the more alluring.

Carlisle had never believed in the concept of “opposites attract” until he crossed paths with you in the fortress library. He had been reading an antique medical text by the pale light of an ornate lamp, trying to distract himself from the day’s unsettling events, when he heard the soft echo of footsteps.

“Does Cullen also dabble in the history of human medicine?” you teased as you approached, a crimson sash draped diagonally across your chest. Your posture was perfect, your head held high.

Carlisle looked up, the faintest warmth creeping into his golden eyes. “I’ve devoted my life to saving humans. It’s…a passion.” He paused, watching as you took a seat across from him, uninvited and unbothered. “I’m surprised to see you here. I didn’t realize you had an interest in medicine.”

Your lips curved into a small, wry smile. “I don’t. But I was curious to see what keeps you tucked away in this dusty library night after night.”

Something about your directness made Carlisle’s throat tighten. He shut the old tome carefully, inhaling the scent of aged paper. “And now that you’ve seen me, what do you think?”

Leaning forward, you regarded him thoughtfully, your crimson eyes lingering on the gentle lines of his face. Your gaze was unsettling, piercing, but Carlisle found it shockingly intimate. “I think you’re a man out of place—yet you keep striving to adapt. There’s something admirable about that.” Then your smile vanished. “But I also think you’re naive to believe you can find any goodness here.”

Carlisle’s lips parted slightly. “There must be some measure of order, of morality, if the Volturi have kept the vampire world hidden so efficiently for so long. It can’t be all cruelty.”

“Morality?” You laughed under your breath, a low and dangerous sound. “Is that what you think you’ll find among us?” You shook your head, your eyes glinting. “Aro is cunning; Caius is cruel. Marcus is…numb. Morality is a tool, wielded only when convenient.”

And yet, as you spoke, Carlisle couldn’t help but notice how the lamplight highlighted the sculpted angle of your cheekbone, the richness of your voice, the slender cords of muscle in your neck as you half-turned away. He felt drawn to you, as though in another life, you might have fit in the place he dreamed of—somewhere far gentler.

As the weeks passed, Carlisle had more and more reason to question the Volturi’s practices. He witnessed the methodical punishments, the harsh interrogations, and the unwavering loyalty demanded of each guard. And yet, in quiet moments, he also witnessed small kindnesses from you—fleeting but unmistakably real.

Once, in a secluded corridor, he caught you covertly offering a sympathetic word to a newly turned vampire, shaken and afraid. You hid it behind a stern command, but Carlisle recognized the concern flickering in your eyes. Another time, you saved a mortal servant from the wrath of another guard who had lost control. Though you claimed it was only for efficiency’s sake, Carlisle saw the truth. You possessed a depth of compassion you refused to acknowledge.

You confronted Carlisle one evening by the window of the fortress’s grand hall, where silvery moonlight reflected on the polished floor. He was staring out into the silent streets of Volterra, hands clasped behind his back.

“What are you really looking for, Carlisle?” you asked, voice hushed yet insistent.

“I’m not sure,” He answered honestly. “Perhaps reassurance that I made the right choice coming here—or proof that I should leave.”

You lifted your chin, a scoff escaping your lips. “If you despise our methods so much, why stay?”

Carlisle’s gaze drifted to your face, gentling as he took in the faint lines of tension on your brow. “Because I’d hoped to find something good here—someone I could help redeem. And I…” He swallowed, voice trembling with emotion. “I’d hoped you might join me in that.”

You stared at him for a moment, your expression unreadable. Then, to his surprise, you raised a pale hand to brush an errant lock of hair back from his temple. The touch was achingly gentle, contradictory to your reputation for merciless skill in battle.

“Why waste your compassion on me?” you whispered, red eyes flickering.

Carlisle felt his throat tighten at the quiet vulnerability in your question. “It isn’t a waste,” he murmured, turning his head just enough to press into your hand. “I see your strength, your elegance, and beneath it all, a heart that still cares.”

Your lips parted slightly in a faint expression of surprise, but you hardened your gaze, retracting your hand as though burned. “Don’t romanticize me, Carlisle. You’ll only be disappointed.”

Yet, despite your dismissive words, Carlisle could see the faint quiver of your jaw—proof that not everything in you was made of stone.

Carlisle wanted to stay with you—see the connection between you blossom into that of mates—but as time went on, his resolve to leave the Volturi grew stronger. He couldn’t reconcile his moral code with the violence he saw. The tipping point came when he witnessed an unjust execution—one Aro insisted was necessary to maintain secrecy. Carlisle found himself unable to stand by as a life, no matter how tainted, was extinguished without mercy.

He sought you out in the ancient corridor lit by flickering torches. Stone arches framed you like an immortal sculpture, and for a moment, Carlisle’s heart clenched at how beautiful you appeared—like a painting come to life.

“I’m leaving,” he said softly but firmly, stepping closer than he ever had before. “I can’t stay here and watch this cruelty. It goes against everything I believe.”

Your expression hardened, but your eyes betrayed a flash of pain. “So, that’s it?” you asked, voice low. “You leave because reality offends your delicate conscience?”

Carlisle exhaled shakily. “It’s not about being offended. It’s about upholding the sanctity of life. You know that’s my creed.”

You swallowed, the torchlight catching in your hair, illuminating your features in deep shadow and warm highlights. Carlisle’s gaze flickered over your face, taking in every detail—every elegant line, every subtle contour he had come to find so enthralling.

“I already asked you before,” Carlisle continued, breath trembling. “but please come with me. Whatever bond is between us—whatever this is—I can’t bear the thought of leaving it behind.”

He reached out, gently brushing his fingertips along your jaw. The featherlight contact sent a tremor through both of you. For a moment, you closed your eyes as if steeling yourself against an onslaught of emotion.

“Carlisle,” you murmured, the single syllable loaded with longing and heartbreak. Then your eyes opened, scarlet irises locking onto his golden ones. “I cannot follow you. Aro trusts me. I have earned my place here through centuries of service.”

Carlisle’s lips parted, and his chest constricted painfully. “But what about your happiness? Don’t you see there’s more to life than this endless cycle of violence?”

Your jaw tightened. “This is my world. My choice. I’m not like you. I can’t pretend that moral codes and hopeful ideals will keep me safe.” You lowered your gaze. “You have to go. If you stay, you’ll be broken—one way or another.”

Something inside Carlisle cracked, the pain resonating through every fiber of his immortal body. “So that’s it?” he asked, voice faltering. “You choose them over—”

“I’m sorry,” you interrupted, your voice trembling at the edges. “But you have to leave. Now.”

In a final desperate moment, Carlisle pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, lingering just long enough to feel the slight chill of your skin. You stood perfectly still, your eyes sliding shut in silent torment. Then he stepped back, letting the cold air slip between you as though forming an invisible wall.

You remained where he left you, the slow hush of your unneeded breath the only movement. It took several minutes before you opened your eyes, composure already brittle. You touched the spot on your forehead where his lips had lingered, an ache you couldn’t name thudding in your chest. You had chosen your duty over love—and it stung in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

Carlisle eventually found a new life far from Volterra, building a family and fostering the ideals he cherished. Yet in the quiet hours of predawn, when his coven was at rest and the world was still, he thought of you. He recalled the elegantly carved lines of your face, your unwavering stare, and the fleeting softness you revealed only to him.

No matter the distance, no matter how many centuries stretched between him and that fortress of stone, you lingered in Carlisle’s thoughts—an unhealed wound and a cherished secret. He imagined a time you might leave the Volturi’s shadows behind, stepping into the light he so desperately wanted to share with you. Until that day, he carried the memory of your touch and the haunting depth of your eyes. For in the darkest corners of his heart, he still believed you were worthy of love—and that one day, you might finally believe it too.

[4k-starbound-k4]

Yandere Headcannons

Ft: Childe, Cyno, Kinich, Sethos, Wriothesley

Trigger warnings: Fem!reader, Stalking, Noncon, Breeding, Blood, Somnophilia, Abuse of power, Bondage, Corruption, Degradation, Male Manipulation, Slave kink, Oral fixation (m!receiving), Prey kink

Childe

FREAK! FREAK FREAK!

He stalks you for hours on end, days even.

Leaving the store in your cute adventurers’ outfit it drives him crazy. Those ribbons around her thighs make his mind spin.

When a sneznayian merchant comes to make a trade deal he’s pissed when the man calls you beautiful and implying you’d make a good wife! He knows you will but you’ll be HIS WIFE!

He thinks of how clueless you are when people start going missing and how members of the fatui don’t bother you anymore.

He especially thinks when you leave your bedroom window open. Far too many nights has he climbed inside and curled up to you.

You only bury your face in your pillow when he buries himself deep inside of you. He’s careful to go slow and stretch you just enough for him to do this every night. His fingers abusing your clit as you writhe in a deep sleep.

Tsarita forbid you moan another man’s name while he takes you. He’d have to spend the next night getting rid of them — and that pissed him off.

So when you have an eventful meeting with the head of Northland Bank, and you're forced to walk home with damp panties from the man’s constant teasing...

He’s quite quick to follow you home after expelling anger on an innocent mililithe guard. He didn’t care that blood stained his clothes or his hands. He wasn’t going to let that bitch banker take you from him. You’re his prize, and he had spent to many nights cumming in his hand to spare you from getting pregnant.

Not tonight.

He knocked. How polite. So, when you open the door to a deranged Childe covered in blood, your first thought is: he must be hurt!

“Childe? A-are you okay? Do you need me to help you?”

His eyes train on yours before walking in, forcing you back into the apartment before he wrapped a hand around your neck with a voice almost deadly, “You stupid slut, I’ve been so good not cumming in you! I haven’t hurt you either. Yet you let that bastard touch you!”

“Huh— I—ack I don’t—“

He walks you to your bedroom before shoving you against the wall, pushing up your night gown, “You’re mine, I’m going to make sure of that. I’ll make sure my sweet girl doesn’t get used by bad men.” He purrs in your ear before biting your shoulder.

Cyno

As the General Mahamatra you’d expect him to never do anything so terrible, especially not to the woman he loves.

Well, um, fuck the police!!

You were simply a student at the Akademyia, working hard on your studies. You never did anything wrong. So when The General enters your house one night, under the pretense of hearing you were studying forbidden knowledge, he took count of how you only slept in a tiny pair shorts and a sheer baby doll dress.

Your teary eyes and breasts made his head fog. He knew you were innocent the minute you threw yourself at his feet, begging for him to realize it was a misunderstanding.

“Please sir, you have to understand! I’m just studying King Destraht and the disappearance of dreams. I promise I didn’t do anything wrong! Please believe me.”

“If that’s the case you should become a dream keeper and stop wasting our time with nonsense.” He gripped your hair, making you look in his eyes as he shamelessly soaked up the sight of your breasts and tears. A sick smirk on his face as he lets you go roughly.

That’s when he started watching you. How you ran around Sumeru city, books to your chest. He wondered how much he could get away with.

It started simple. Like how you would you help him with task. Then he started questioning: would you follow him? Would you change your outfit if he said it wasn’t his standard? He found your innocence a major turn on.

He often called you naive and sweet, always ending it with, “If somebody hurts you tell me and I’ll handle it.”

So you’re walking back to the desert late at night. He stalked you into the ruins of the temple.

He quickly blows out the torch leaving you in the dark, and he takes no time before pinning you to the ground. Your eyes can’t see anything, especially not as well as his.

He pushes up your skirt and pulls off your panties as he kisses your neck. You crying and trying to fight was so cute, before he started to finger you slowly. Your first time being taken in a dirty temple by a man you couldn’t see! Oh, it stung his heart to see you so scared.

But he didn’t stop, making sure to take his time with you. He wanted you so confused as to why your pussy was craving this. He was suddenly training you for his size as he gets rougher. He feels you cum several times before his stamina depletes. He himself cumming inside you three times, pumping it in and out, until your pussy was dripping, a frothy mess from his cum and yours.

He left you there, but waited from afar as you went home crying, cum dripping down your leg as he had stolen your panties.

He waited for you to tell him, and his prayer came a month later when you came to him crying on a rainy night.

“Can I- can I stay with you please? Someone — a month ago — someone they- they forced themselves on me. I was so scared.” You cry.

“Sure thing, come tell me what happened. In detail so I can help you.” He picks you up and makes you straddle him on his couch.

As you tell him the story, he begins getting hard. Grinding you suddenly on his cock, burying his nose in your neck.

“C-Cyno? What are you doing?” You whimper as he kisses your neck.

“Shhh let me make it better.”

“Wait, Cyno.” You shake your head as he pins you to the couch.

It isn’t until he’s inside, and you're crying, does it click that it was him. You sob, but the way your cunt squeezes him, he knows you're bound to forgive him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

You'll forgive him because you're just so nice.

Kinich

Kinich is such a good boyfriend.

There’s truly nothing to complain about. He kisses you as much as he can and he loves you unconditionally. His family was terrible and he swore to never be like his father. So, each night he cradles you and tells you how much he loves you.

It was a normal day as you help around the Scions of the Canopy. Before heading home to make sure Kinich has something nice for dinner after the night's war.

When the door opens, his arms quickly find your waist. He reaches under your shirt and grips your breast as he kisses your neck leaving harsh bruises trailing down your throat.

“K-Kinich… are you okay?” Your voice shakes and shivers at his rough touch.

“Hehehe, You’re such a slut. Look at you shivering just from my touch.” A familiar voice made you glance back.

It’s Kinich's body however his hair was yellow and green; his eyes were more like emeralds than topaz. He has horns and a tail.

Ajaw

“I’m so tired of him fucking you like a princess. You’re nothing but a fatui slut. So you’ll be my pretty slave. Right? Wouldn’t want to lose Kinich’s soul forever, would we?” He taunts pushing your legs apart.

“Wait-I.” you whimper as he grinds on your ass.

“Are you denying me?! The great K'uhul Ajaw,” He pulls you away from the table, and throws you to the floor, before pulling you up to your knees pulling out his cock, pushing the sweaty member to your face.

“Go on suck, slut. If you do well at pleasing me, I won’t hurt you.” He laughs pushing his tip past your lips and forcing you to deep throat him.

Deep, spastic thrusts, nothing like your loving boyfriend who let you go at your own pace and was ever so kind. He fucked your throat like it was the last high he’d ever achieve.

When he cums he’s thoughtful enough to force you to swallow half. Pulling out and jerking the last few ribbons all over your face and tongue.

He drops down and kisses you, claws shredding your clothes from your skin as he forces you on your back. Threatening to make you fall in love with his cock so that you’ll beg for his cock instead of Kinich.

He puts your legs over his arms and fucks into you, immediately bottoming out, coaxing embarrassing squishing sounds, making you tear up as he laughs.

“Fatui slut, look at you so wet for the great Ajaw! Stop pretending you’re a good girl, you like being pinned down and fucked like my prey.” He laughs and mocks.

“No-no I’m a good girl. Please, I’m a good girl, Kinich please.” You moan, fucked a little too stupid.

“Stupid slut! My stupid human slut. I’m going to breed you stupid, we have all night til the resurrection, I’m going to break you.” He growls.

Sethos

Lucky girl. That’s what you are a lucky girl.

He watches as you walk around Sumeru. His eyes trained on you like a moth to a flame. He’s so quick to get in your way and help you.

“Hi! I was wondering do you need help?" he asks.

You appear to be from the city a bit turned around in the desert.

“I’m sorry, I’m trying to get to the jungle. I’ve been traveling from Natlan and I can’t seem to find the best way to the city?” You sigh.

“Well let me be your guide.” He offers his hand and starts the walk to the City.

He didn’t leave your side. Not when you had to find your mother. Not even when you were heartbroken to find out your mother was no longer in Sumeru. He even started leading you back to Natlan all for no charge.

He sat beside you on the cool morning in the desert sand. The both of you staring at Natlan in the distance.

“Hey? I mean I know you didn’t find your family but if you want you can um… stay with me?” He offers.

“Haha, don’t worry I have people waiting for me back in Natlan.” You smile sweetly at him.

“Oh yeah? Friends?” He scoots closer to you.

“Yeah, and a boyfriend. He was supposed to come with me, but he was busy with work.” You explain as his smile falls.

Cut to an hour later, him pushing your face into the wall of some ruins as he snapps his hips, making you cum and shiver. Your pretty eyes filling with tears as he grits his teeth, pulling out only to pick you up.

His hand firm on your throat as he pulls you back down on his fat cock, “You’re so lucky I saved you. Mmm baby don’t cry, you’re. So. Fucking. Uh-Lucky! I’m going to fucking keep you. Don’t worry I’ll give you a nice big family.”

Wriothesley

OH THE DUKE

When he caught you walking around with the hearth children, his heart almost exploded, gazing attentively as he watched you care for the kids.

He figured he could handle seeing you occasionally, but when he learned from Lyney that you left for Sneznaya often, it pissed him off.

He thought of ways to keep you but each time, he missed mark. He tried talking but it was taking long. He was an awkward guy after all, what would girl like youvwant with him?

Thats when there was an opening. Unwanted Fatui actives opened way to a court case. And you were brought to the fortress for questioning. The sight of you in hand cuffs makes his stomach sink and flip.

He can't help but watch you squirm and glare at him. He kows you would hate him if he tried anything, but you keep making it so hard.

“I’ll let you out, but only if you agree to my terms.” He orders, narrowing his eyes at you.

“What do you want! I told you I haven’t seen anything.”

“Due to your individual crimes, as well as your part in Fatui matters, you’ll stay here under my watch. When you prove to be a model citizen, I’ll let you free.”

“You want to monitor me?!”

He nodds and watches as you shake your head in a silent agreement, expecting to be out in days.

-

Now, almost a year later he's splitting you on his cock for the 4th time today. His cute little office slut, forced to drip his cum whenever he decides.

He revels in your muffled moans from the muzzle he keeps you confined to. Your hands bound in hand cuffs whilst fucks into you sporadically.

When he’s done he pulls out and takes off the muzzle, “Do you want to go back on the surface?”

You merely shake your head, leading him to bury himself within your cunt again. He allows you to sit on his lap as he does paperwork.

[miniimight]

ur dad!sukuna has me on a chokehold and i don't even like that man

lol same, it really came outta nowhere. woke up one day and decided to make him a soft girl dad :(

loosely inspired by this

sukuna had never understood the need to celebrate holidays with family, much less getting together for no reason. and yet, here he was at your grandparents' house in the middle of the school year.

there were a bunch of kids, from toddlers like your daughter to the teenagers of family friends. sukuna made sure you handled all the pleasantries, save the occasional polite nod. he was convinced the only kid worth entertaining was his baby girl, who clung to him as she tried to adjust to the new environment.

she was quieter than usual, and he observed her as she pulled at her lip, turning her head into his neck when unknown relatives crowded you to congratulate you on your little family.

you and sukuna found a corner to hole up in, talking to each other while you sampled all the drinks and food at the party. soon, your daughter grew restless, wanting to go play with other kids.

sukuna watched her with deadly precision as she and the other kids brought out toy cars and dolls, driving them around on the city rug below their feet.

he had crossed his arms, only for you to wiggle your hand into the crease of his elbow seconds later. eyes still on his daughter, he leaned his head down a bit to show he was listening.

"i thought you'd enjoy the free drinks." you said.

he snorted. "i'd enjoy my bed right about now."

you swat his bicep with your free hand before hugging into his side. "at least baby's having fun."

he just hummed in response. "she's gonna want one of those stupid rugs."

you roll your eyes. "you know she'll forget about it by tomorrow morning."

his lips pulled up. she would. and he'd still get it for her.

soon, gifts for the kids were being exchanged. why? just for existing, apparently. you left sukuna's side to capture your daughter's reaction on camera.

your baby glanced at you as she was presented with the gift bag.

"go 'head, baby." you nod, and she ripped the tissue paper to shreds before reaching her whole arm into the bag. she pulled out a tiara, studded with gems and painted gold, along with a fluffy dress.

an immediate chorus of awwws echoed around the room as she held up her loot. she raised the tiara over her head, but didn't manage to get it to sit right.

"help." she chirped, waddling over and holding the tiara to you in her outstretched hand. "mama."

sukuna's heart squeezed at the sight, gaze following you as you retreated to the bathroom to help her change into her costume.

a few minutes later, you emerged, setting her next to your grandparents.

another wave of awws made sukuna's head lift from his phone. always watching, he noticed how his kid's wide eyes darted from unknown face to unfamiliar face. her chin tucked down, her chubby neck doubling up as her bottom lip pushed out into a pout.

he'd know that look from a mile away. he stood a little straighter, frowning.

at that point, your mommy senses tingled, pulling yourself from the conversation you were wrapped up in. "aw, honey, no..." you cooed, stooping to her level and trying to catch her eye.

she whined, pushing off the couch and shrinking under the crowd of people, wringing the hem of her dress as she walked through the crowd.

her eyes were scanning the room, looking up at every adult and getting closer to tears when she saw they weren't the one she was looking for.

eventually she broke into the kitchen area, locking eyes with her father and barreling towards him. sukuna crouched down, his arms spread to catch her.

as soon as she gripped him, he lifted off. "hey, kid. rough night, huh?"

she tucked her head into the crook of his neck, her arms hugging the expanse of his shoulders. he nodded and rubbed her back. "me too."

she raised her head abruptly and touched her tiara. her eyes so serious, as if she'd base her own feelings about her new stuff on how much her father liked it.

"yes, i see it. very pretty." he placed her onto the kitchen counter, smoothing the crinkled mess of her dress. his tone could be perceived as dry or near-monotonous, but his intention was the complete opposite. "my, my, were you ever going to tell us we were living with a princess?"

a toothy grin spread on her face, and sukuna was blown away yet again by the way he was able to make someone so genuinely happy.

"look." she started twirling around.

sukuna shook his head with a low chuckle. her spin was anything but graceful. he applauded her showcase, his back shielding them both from the noise surrounding them. a little bubble just for them <3

your hand rested on his back, signaling your approach. sukuna lifted his arm, resting it on your waist when you stood at his side.

you frowned as you studied your little girl. "you feeling okay, baby?"

she poked her tongue out.

"i'll take that as a yes." you kissed her cheek. "wanna get outta here?" you ask your husband.

"fuck yes." he grumbled, immediately slinging the baby bag over his shoulder and grabbing your daughter. you three were out the door in the next minute.

your toddler started screaming at the burger king y'all were passing on the way home. you gave sukuna a look, silently warning him not to do anything illegal in order to appease her request. as usual, he soothed you with a squeeze of the hand, pulling a jerky, very illegal u-turn across oncoming traffic into the burger king lot.

you sighed, your daughter giggling happily as the car came to a stop.

after you got your food, she placed the crown she got on her father's head. "princess." she said.

"oh?" you side glanced your husband, his glare unsuccessful in deterring you from snickering. you encourage your daughter, "yes, baby, isn't he the prettiest?"

"no." she looked at her father in disgust. "me."

"oh, my apologies. you are so right."

sukuna scoffed. "where'd you think you got your looks from, silly girl?" he crossed his arms, leaning back in the booth. he made no move to take off the cardboard crown, though.

you gave him a look. "i helped too??"

he grinned deviously and pulled you into his side, squeezing your hips. "don't kid yourself, doll. you didn't even try."

© miniimight ! thanks for reading <3

[solxamber]

Of Seashells and Sweet Nothings - Vil Schoenheit x reader

You're cursed to love everyone except Vil, and he's cursed to love only you. And yet somewhere along the way, it seems the curse has skipped you.

aka Merman! Vil x Reader

The wedding was simple, almost understated, despite the weight of its significance. You stood beside Vil Schoenheit, hand in his, as the officiant spoke words you barely registered. The setting sun bathed everything in a warm glow, but your mind was elsewhere—far away from the ceremony itself.

Vil looked impeccable, as always. His eyes were on you, piercing and focused, but you couldn’t quite make out what he was thinking. It didn’t matter. This wasn’t about feelings; it was about fulfilling a duty, one you had known was coming for a long time.

The vows were exchanged, and that was that. You turned, now bound together, walking side by side down the aisle, your thoughts already moving on to what came next. The ceremony was done. A formality.

And yet, as you glanced at Vil, something about it didn’t feel as hollow as you’d expected.

In this world, balance is everything. The fae of the forests, the beastmen of the land, the merpeople of the water, and the Valkyra—yes, birdpeople—of the wind, each control their own domain. They’re the most powerful clans, each lording over their respective elements like some kind of cosmic HOA. And, of course, they all have peace treaties in place to keep everyone from accidentally (or intentionally) obliterating each other.

But no treaty is quite as peculiar as the one between the merpeople and the Valkyra.

See, hundreds of years ago, some genius thought it would be a grand idea to curse the heads of these two clans with the most impractical love curse in existence. The curse works like this: the head of the merpeople is doomed to love only the head of the Valkyra, while the head of the Valkyra is cursed to love literally everyone else except the head of the merpeople. It’s like a bad romcom plot, but with deadly consequences.

Here’s where things get complicated: the merpeople’s head, their heir, only appears once every 30 years. If they’re not with their “one true love” (a.k.a. the head of the Valkyra) at least once during every full moon, they’ll keel over and die before the next heir can pop up. No heir, no merpeople, and—boom—extinction.

This is where the "deal" comes into play. To avoid this catastrophe, the Valkyra agreed to this bizarre matchmaking curse, which now means every new head of the Valkyra has to marry the head of the merpeople. No exceptions, no complaints. The two of them must meet monthly, like clockwork, for a kind of celestial forced date night.

And just to make things even worse, if the Valkyra head doesn’t marry the merpeople’s head, they lose their ability to fly. Wings, grounded—forever. Imagine that: a birdperson without the ability to fly, as if the universe needed to throw in an extra slap to the face.

Over the generations, this has become less of a romantic arrangement and more of a job requirement, with each Valkyra head treating it like an odd but unavoidable business deal. They don’t have to like it; they just have to show up, check the box, keep the merpeople from turning into tragic folklore, and—of course—keep their own wings in working order.

That’s the way it’s always been: cursed, inconvenient, and awkward.

It was supposed to be like every other betrothal ceremony between the Valkyra and the merpeople. The air was thick with the usual tension—two clans bound by duty, not desire, meeting at the ceremonial altar like this was some awkward, forced blind date.

You, newly anointed head of the Valkyra, stood there, your wings giving an occasional twitch behind you like they’d rather be anywhere but here. You had been briefed on the whole ordeal—“meet the heir, exchange some greetings, throw the ring at them, and fly off.” Simple. This wasn’t about love. It was a political arrangement to keep the merpeople alive and the peace treaty intact.

Across from you stood Vil Schoenheit, heir to the merpeople. His golden hair shimmered like the sun reflecting off the ocean, and his face? It was disgustingly perfect, like he had been carved out of marble by some lovesick artist. In theory, the curse would make him fall for you the moment he saw you. After all, that was how it worked—he was bound to love only the Valkyra head.

But what no one expected—least of all you—was that you would be the one caught off guard.

Vil was striking, yes, but it wasn’t just his looks. It was the way he carried himself, like he was fully aware of how radiant he was but still carried an air of unapproachable elegance. Most Valkyra heads would have felt the usual disgust at their cursed partner, barely making eye contact before tossing the ring and flying off. That’s how these things went. They were practically trained to do it with their eyes shut.

But you?

You found yourself staring, actually intrigued. Instead of the wave of revulsion that was expected, something odd stirred in your chest. It wasn’t love, not by a long shot. It was…fascination. A curious pull that made you hesitate, which was enough to stun the entire audience. This had never happened before.

Vil, on the other hand, looked as if he had just seen the personification of his deepest dreams. He was besotted, as was expected by the curse, but there was something different about the way he gazed at you. Normally, the merpeople heir would fall head over heels, but Vil was genuinely taken by the way you moved, the way you stood. It wasn’t just the curse making him like you; it seemed like you intrigued him beyond the curse's binding.

And then you did something no Valkyra head had ever done before.

Instead of throwing the ring and bolting out of there like your predecessors, you knelt down in front of him, offering the ring with all the grace and seriousness of a real proposal. The crowd gasped. This wasn’t in the script. You were supposed to go through the motions, not act like this was some kind of grand romance!

Vil’s eyes widened, and for the first time in this ridiculous tradition’s history, the merpeople heir didn’t just fall in love out of obligation—he fell head over heels, utterly smitten, entirely because of you.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery glow across the beach where you waited, wings fluttering with nerves you tried to ignore. This was it—the first official "date" since your marriage to Vil Schoenheit, the current head of the merpeople. A union bound by centuries-old curses, it was normally a formality, something both clans did with begrudging acceptance.

Merpeople were only allowed on land during the full moon, and this was the first of many such meetings.

But tonight, you felt something different, something almost... hopeful. Maybe it was the fact that you had brought a gift, a small but meaningful token. A delicate brooch shaped like a seashell, with silver feathers—merging your worlds into one. No one had told you to do this; in fact, most Valkyra heads would never bother. But something about Vil made you want to try.

You spotted movement as Vil emerged from the water, his sleek, golden hair gleaming in the moonlight, not a strand out of place. He looked, as always, impossibly perfect, like he had stepped straight out of a painting. His eyes—a sharp, intelligent violet—landed on you, though they didn’t hold the frantic eagerness you’d seen in other cursed merpeople heads before. No desperation to win you over with excessive gifts or grand gestures. Instead, Vil’s gaze was steady, though undeniably smitten, a subtle warmth in his expression.

“Good evening,” Vil said smoothly, gliding toward you with an elegance that felt effortless.

“Evening,” you replied, your voice casual but steady. You extended your hand, offering the small box with the brooch inside. “I, uh, brought you something.”

Vil’s brow raised slightly, but he took the box from you with practiced grace. “A gift?” he asked, his tone curious as he opened it. The faintest smile touched his lips when he saw the brooch, a rare expression on someone usually so composed. “This is... unexpected.”

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “Thought it’d be nice to bring something for a change. You know, switch things up.”

Vil inspected the brooch with an appreciative eye, his fingers brushing lightly over the delicate silver feathers. “It’s beautiful,” he said, pinning it to his chest with his usual attention to detail. “And thoughtful. Not many would bother with such an effort.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Yeah, well... I’m not like the others.”

Vil’s smile widened ever so slightly, the amusement in his eyes growing. “No, I suppose you’re not. And for that, I’m grateful.”

The two of you walked along the shoreline, side by side, the conversation surprisingly light. Normally, these meetings were stilted affairs, with the merpeople head desperate to please and the Valkyra head barely tolerating their presence. But this? This felt... different. There wasn’t the usual tension, the frantic attempts to impress, or the thinly veiled disgust. Instead, there was something approaching ease.

“You’re not what I expected,” Vil said after a few moments of comfortable silence.

“Oh?” you asked, glancing over at him.

“In the past, the Valkyra heads were always... distant. Formal. Like they couldn’t wait to leave,” Vil explained, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “You seem... different.”

You shrugged, a smile tugging at your lips. “Figured I’d try to make this less painful for both of us. I mean, we’re stuck together, right? Might as well try to get along.”

Vil laughed, a soft sound that seemed to surprise even him. “A practical approach. I like that.” His violet eyes twinkled with amusement. “And I must admit, it’s a refreshing change not to feel like I’m constantly chasing after someone.”

You smirked, crossing your arms. “What, the other merpeple heads weren’t exactly thrilled about this whole curse thing?”

Vil gave you a knowing look. “Imagine being hopelessly in love with someone who can’t stand the sight of you, every single time. That’s usually how these meetings go.”

You nodded, understanding the frustration in his words. “Yeah, well, I’m not about to make this harder than it needs to be. Besides, you’re not that bad,” you added, giving him a playful nudge.

Vil chuckled, shaking his head. “Not that bad? I’ll take it.” He paused, then added more softly, “You’re not like the others either. You’re... different.”

His words hung in the air, and for the first time, you saw something more in Vil’s eyes than just the effects of the curse. There was genuine admiration there, something deeper than mere obligation. It wasn’t just the curse binding him to you—he liked you, plain and simple.

The moonlight reflected off the water, casting long shadows as the two of you continued to walk, talking about everything from your respective clans to the pressures of leadership. It was the first time in centuries that a merpeople-Valkyra meeting wasn’t a disaster. There were no awkward silences, no rushed goodbyes, just... peace.

And maybe, just maybe, something more.

As the night wore on, you both found yourselves sitting on a rock near the shore, watching the gentle waves lap at the sand. The air was calm, filled only with the quiet hum of the ocean and the soft rustle of your wings.

“I wasn’t expecting this,” Vil said after a long pause, his voice softer than before. “Not the curse, not the marriage, and certainly not... this.” He gestured between the two of you.

“Yeah, me neither,” you admitted, your eyes focused on the horizon. “But hey, it could be worse, right? At least we don’t hate each other.”

Vil smiled at that, a real, genuine smile. “No, we don’t.”

For the first time, you realized that this might actually work. You weren’t just honoring the tradition anymore. You were connecting—really connecting—and it felt... right.

And as Vil glanced at you, a soft, unreadable expression on his face, you wondered if maybe, just maybe, this cursed love story wasn’t as doomed as everyone thought.

Vil looked away, his hand brushing against yours ever so slightly. “Until next month then?”

You grinned, your heart lighter than you expected. “Yeah. Until next month.”

The sun had barely risen when you made your way to the beach, the gift cradled carefully in your hands. You had spent days crafting it—a pendant of polished obsidian shaped like a feather, inlaid with shimmering sea glass that caught the light like scattered stars. You knew merpeople loved shiny things, and you figured this would catch Vil’s eye. The excuse to see him outside of your usual monthly meetings? Well, that was something you were still sorting out in your head.

By the time you reached the shore, the waves were calm, the water a deep blue-green that mirrored the sky. Vil had mentioned that he sometimes liked to swim during the day, despite the fact that the full moon was required for him to walk on land. It wasn’t a guarantee that you’d see him, but... you hoped.

And then, as if on cue, he appeared. Vil surfaced from the water with the same ethereal grace as always, his hair glistening under the sunlight, the sleek scales on his tail catching the light like gemstones. He spotted you instantly, his violet eyes locking onto yours. A small, amused smile tugged at his lips as he swam closer to the shore.

“Well, this is a surprise,” Vil said, his voice smooth as the sea itself. “It’s not our usual meeting time. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You shifted awkwardly, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I, uh, just thought I’d drop by. You know, casually. No big deal.”

Vil raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying your nonchalance. “Casually, hm?” He leaned slightly against the rocks at the edge of the shore, his eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. “You didn’t come all this way without a reason, did you?”

Your face heated up immediately. Great. This was going well.

“I, uh, made you something.” You fumbled with the box before finally thrusting it toward him, trying to avoid his amused gaze. “Here.”

Vil’s eyes lit up with interest as he took the box from your hands, opening it with the same precision and care he gave to everything. His smile widened when he saw the pendant, the sea glass glittering against the dark stone.

“A gift? For me?” His tone was teasing, but you could tell by the way his fingers brushed lightly over the pendant that he was genuinely pleased. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, trying not to be overwhelmed by the way he was looking at you. “I just thought you’d like something shiny. You know, since you—um—merpeople and all…”

“Shiny things?” Vil’s smile grew, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Yes, we do have a weakness for them. But this... this is exquisite. I can see you put a lot of effort into it.”

He clasped the pendant around his neck, adjusting it until it sat perfectly against his chest. He was absolutely preening, and you could feel your face heating up even more under his gaze.

“You’re... welcome,” you mumbled, desperately trying to keep your composure.

Vil chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming as he watched you fidget under his scrutiny. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you quite this flustered. It’s endearing, you know.”

“Flustered? Who, me?” You tried to brush it off, crossing your arms and turning your head away, but your cheeks were burning, and you knew you weren’t fooling anyone. “I’m just—uh—being polite. That’s all.”

“Polite, of course,” Vil replied, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “Well, I’m very grateful for your... politeness today.” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make your heart skip a beat. “And for the gift. Truly.”

You weren’t sure if it was the warm sunlight, the proximity to Vil, or just the fact that he looked so pleased, but you felt your heart flutter in a way you hadn’t expected. It was odd—normally, the Valkyra head’s instinct to despise the merpeople head would have kicked in by now. That strange hatred that had been passed down through the generations? It just wasn’t there. You liked him. Really liked him. And from the way his violet eyes held yours, you couldn’t help but think that maybe he felt the same way, curse or no curse.

Before you could say anything else that might make you look even more ridiculous, you quickly cleared your throat and took a step back. “Well! I should probably get going. Don’t want to, uh, overstay my welcome or anything.”

Vil tilted his head slightly, a knowing smile still playing on his lips. “Leaving so soon? Pity. I was rather enjoying your company.”

You tried not to trip over your own feet as you backed away, your wings fluttering nervously behind you. “Yeah, well, next time. I’m sure we’ll... have more time to talk.”

Vil chuckled softly as he watched you take off, his gaze following you until you disappeared into the sky. “I’ll be waiting,” he called after you, his voice filled with unmistakable warmth.

Later that evening, as Vil returned to his quarters beneath the sea, Epel leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, grinning like a mischievous cat. “Ya know, Vil, you can pretend all you want, but I’ve never seen you so smitten.”

Vil shot him a withering glare, though there was no real malice behind it. “Smitten? Hardly. I am simply... appreciative of their efforts.”

Epel snickered, clearly not buying it. “Yeah, sure. ‘Appreciative.’ That’s why you’ve been wearing that pendant all day like it’s some royal heirloom.”

Vil’s eyes narrowed, though a slight blush crept up his neck. “It’s a thoughtful gift, and it suits me. That’s all.”

Rook, who had been listening from nearby, chimed in with a delighted grin. “Oh, Vil, mon ami! It’s wonderful to see you so moved by affection. But do be careful. The merpeople’s curse has brought heartache to many before you.”

Vil glanced at the pendant around his neck, his expression softening just a little. “I know the risks, Rook. But this time... it feels different.”

Rook smiled, though there was a hint of concern in his eyes. “I hope you’re right, Vil. For your sake, I truly do.”

Vil didn’t respond, his fingers absently tracing the edge of the pendant. Deep down, he knew that Rook’s concerns weren’t without merit. But for the first time in centuries, a merpeople-Valkyra union felt like more than just a curse or a duty. And maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

It was your usual monthly meeting, but this time, you had something special planned. The night was calm, the sea glimmering under the moonlight as Vil stood waiting on the shore. His presence was as striking as always—elegant, regal, with an air of serene confidence. And yet, tonight, there was something different about the way you looked at him.

You smiled as you approached, feeling your heart beat a little faster. "I’ve been thinking... since you bring so many treasures from the sea, it’s only fair I give you something from the skies in return."

Vil’s eyebrow arched in curiosity. “Oh? And what exactly do you have in mind?”

Without a word, you stepped closer, your wings unfurling behind you, casting long shadows across the beach. Before Vil could question you further, you gently scooped him up in your arms. He stiffened for a moment, his usual composure slipping just slightly.

“You’re trusting me to carry you, aren’t you?” you teased, your grin widening.

“Of course,” he replied, though there was a flicker of surprise in his voice. “I simply wasn’t expecting... this.”

With a strong beat of your wings, you soared into the sky, Vil held securely against your chest. The world below began to shrink, the crashing of the waves fading into a distant hum. Vil’s gaze widened as the mountains and clouds stretched out before him, closer than they’d ever been. For someone used to the ocean’s depths, this must’ve been an entirely new perspective—one where the world opened up endlessly.

You flew higher, taking him to the peak of the mountain your clan called home. The horizon stretched out in every direction, the first light of dawn beginning to paint the sky in hues of pink and gold. You landed softly, still holding Vil, and set him down gently on a smooth rock overlooking the expanse below.

Vil stood there in awe, his usually sharp eyes softening as he took in the sight. “It’s... beautiful,” he murmured, his voice almost a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would disturb the tranquility of the moment.

You, however, were no longer looking at the sunrise. “It is,” you replied, but your eyes were on him, drinking in the way the first rays of light illuminated his features—the golden strands of his hair catching the morning glow, his sharp profile outlined against the sky, his violet eyes reflecting the dawn. “It really is.”

He turned his head to you, catching the way you were staring, and for once, Vil seemed... uncertain. Perhaps it was the rare vulnerability of the moment, or maybe the fact that you were seeing him in a way no one had before. Either way, you didn’t look away.

“I meant the sunrise,” Vil said, his lips curving into a small smile, though the warmth in his gaze betrayed him.

“So did I,” you lied, the faintest blush creeping up your neck.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, Vil leaning against you as the first light of the sun bathed the mountain in gold. The silence between you wasn’t awkward—it was peaceful, almost as if the curse that tied your clans together had, for once, allowed something genuine to grow between you.

But as the sun climbed higher in the sky, you knew it was time to return. With a heavy heart, you carried Vil back down, feeling the weight of the impending separation settle in your chest. For the first time, parting felt harder than it should’ve been.

When you finally set him back down on the beach, Vil’s feet touched the sand, but he lingered close to you for a moment longer. “I’ll admit, that was... something I never expected.”

“I like surprising you,” you said, your voice softer now, unwilling to let this moment go just yet.

Vil smiled, his usual sharpness returning to his features, but there was an undeniable warmth beneath it. “You’ve become quite adept at it.”

As you prepared to leave, you couldn’t shake the sadness that gnawed at you. The monthly meetings were all you had, but each one felt shorter than the last. It seemed like the instinct your ancestors had—the hate, the disdain for the merpeople—had completely skipped you.

“You know...” you started, your voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t think I ever hated you. Not even when we first met.”

Vil tilted his head, curious. “And why do you think that is?”

You looked at him, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe the valkyra hate genes just skipped me. Or maybe... I’m just lucky.”

Vil didn’t respond immediately, but there was something unspoken in the way he looked at you. Something that told you he felt it too—that strange, undeniable pull between you both. Not just the curse, but something deeper.

With a final, reluctant glance, you spread your wings and took to the skies, leaving him on the shore once again. But this time, the separation felt heavier, like leaving behind a part of yourself.

And though you couldn’t see it, Vil stayed there for a long while after you left, his gaze fixed on the horizon, already counting down the days until he’d see you again.

The moon wasn't full, and yet here you were, standing by the shore once again. It had been weeks since you and Vil started meeting outside of the required "monthly date nights." You told yourself that each visit had a purpose—bringing him a new gift, asking about the state of the seas, or simply “checking in.” But after each visit, it became harder to deny the real reason you kept showing up.

Today, you'd brought a set of polished gems woven into a necklace, knowing how much Vil appreciated delicate craftsmanship and, of course, shiny things. You were proud of it, but there was an undeniable anticipation building inside you—not just to give him the gift, but to see him again.

As you neared the shore, Vil was already waiting for you, his figure poised like something out of a painting. His golden hair glimmered even in the fading light of dusk, and his violet eyes caught yours with a familiar, almost teasing look.

"You do realize it’s not the full moon," Vil remarked as you approached, though there was a clear warmth in his voice. "What brings you here this time, again?"

You smirked, holding out the necklace. “Just thought I’d drop by... with this.”

Vil’s eyes lit up at the sight of it, and he accepted the necklace with his usual grace, though his smirk was just as playful as yours. "You’ve been quite generous lately. I’m starting to think you're looking for excuses to see me.”

“Excuses? Never.” You chuckled, though the heat rising to your face betrayed you. "I'm just keeping the tradition alive—maybe putting in a little extra effort."

Vil raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “A little extra? Darling, this is bordering on obsession.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no denying it—especially when you saw the way Vil’s fingers traced the necklace, his appreciation clear in the way his lips curved into a satisfied smile.

“Well, you’re one to talk,” you shot back. “I seem to recall a certain someone gifting me a chest of pearls the last time I dropped by. You could decorate a palace with the amount of sea treasures you’ve been giving me.”

Vil laughed softly, his voice like velvet. “I wouldn’t want to be accused of neglecting my duties as your devoted spouse, now would I?”

The teasing back and forth had become your favorite part of these meetings—there was something light, effortless, in the way the two of you communicated. And the more time you spent with Vil, the more that odd sense of duty morphed into something genuine.

Suddenly, Vil’s attention shifted to the cliffs behind you, and when you turned, you saw two figures approaching—both of them unmistakable.

Rook and Epel.

“Oh,” you muttered under your breath, feeling a bit exposed. You hadn't expected company.

Rook, ever the observant one, smiled widely when he caught sight of you. “Ah, the elusive Valkyra head themselves! A rare sighting, but of course, you must have been drawn here by our beautiful Vil, oui?”

Epel, on the other hand, snorted as he sized you up. "Yeah, no kidding. You look like you’ve been hit with the ‘love curse’ pretty hard. I bet if we got closer, we’d see little hearts in your eyes.”

Your face flushed immediately. “W-what? No way! That’s ridiculous. I’m just—uh—here to visit. That’s all.”

Rook’s eyes gleamed, and he exchanged a knowing glance with Vil. “Oh, but I think there’s more than just a simple visit in play here! Non, non, non—you have the air of someone who has fallen hook, line, and sinker as they say.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the blush on your face wasn’t helping your case. Epel grinned mischievously, crossing his arms. “You should just admit it. You’re so head-over-heels, you don’t even see it.”

Vil, standing beside you with a graceful smirk, finally spoke. “They do have a point, you know. It’s becoming rather obvious.”

You glared at him, feeling both flustered and betrayed. “Whose side are you on?”

Vil’s lips curved into a teasing smile. “I’m always on my side, dear. But if it helps, I do appreciate the attention.”

Epel snickered again. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so whipped.”

“Oh, merci, Epel,” Rook chimed in, his gaze turning fond as he looked at Vil. “Though it seems our beloved Vil is no different. A love so mutual—ah, it’s truly a sight to behold!”

Vil shot Rook a warning glance, but it didn’t diminish the contented gleam in his eyes. “I wouldn’t go that far,” he muttered, though the slight blush on his cheeks said otherwise.

You, meanwhile, were desperately trying to hold onto the remnants of your dignity. “Alright, alright, enough of this. I’ll be going now.”

But before you could make your grand escape, you acted on impulse—a bold, unexpected impulse. Leaning in, you quickly pressed a kiss to Vil’s cheek, your face practically burning with embarrassment the second your lips made contact. You barely had a second to register the shock in his eyes before you turned on your heel and shot into the sky, your wings carrying you away at lightning speed.

Behind you, you could just barely hear Rook and Epel erupt into laughter.

After you left, Epel turned to Vil with a wide grin, clearly trying to contain himself. “Well, that was somethin’. I ain’t ever seen you look so...”

“So elated?” Rook finished for him, smiling like the cat that caught the canary. “Oh, Vil, you are besotted, aren’t you? Don’t try to deny it!”

Vil’s hand slowly rose to touch the spot where you had kissed his cheek, his expression softened, his eyes glittering with a rare mix of surprise and delight. Despite himself, a small, pleased smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Vil replied, his voice carefully measured but the satisfaction in his tone impossible to miss. “But they certainly know how to make an exit, don’t they?”

Epel raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, keep tellin’ yourself that. But don’t think we didn’t notice the way you lit up the second they kissed ya.”

Vil glanced at Epel, one elegant eyebrow raised, but he couldn’t entirely suppress the smirk that followed. “Maybe I’m more appreciative of affection than you give me credit for.”

Rook clapped his hands together, looking utterly delighted. “Oh, Vil, this is magnifique! But remember—while this love may shine brighter than the stars, the curse has not yet been broken. Tread carefully, my friend.”

Vil’s gaze flickered, but the smile didn’t leave his face. “Yes, well... I’m willing to take that risk.”

And for the first time in centuries, a merpeople head wasn’t just a smitten puppet of a curse—he was utterly and entirely in love.

The vow renewal was supposed to be a dignified affair, steeped in tradition and whatever formalities came with being the head of the Valkyra clan. But dignified was hard to maintain when your heart was doing somersaults every time you so much as glanced at Vil Schoenheit. It didn’t help that he was ridiculously perfect in that “effortlessly ethereal sea deity” way, while you were standing there, sweating like you’d just run from a sea witch. Not that you had, yet.

This year was different. After a full year of avoiding your feelings like the plague, of meeting Vil whenever you could justify it (and even when you couldn’t), you were done. If there was one thing you were more tired of than being cursed, it was this weird romantic limbo where you both pretended you didn’t want to rip each other’s clothes off every time you were alone together.

And so, you stood at the sanctum, between the mountains and the sea, surrounded by both your clans—Rook’s over-the-top grin already making you nervous as he clearly prepared to be... well, Rook. Epel was next to him, arms crossed, his face a mix of intrigue and really?

But you had your ace: the magnum opus of gifts. The first gem ever given by a merperson to the first head of the Valkyra clan. A symbol of true love that—if things went sideways—could also be the final nail in the coffin for your cursed family line. Yay for high stakes!

The vow renewal started, and there was Vil, looking so majestic that you kinda wanted to scream. Why did he have to be so damn perfect? Couldn’t he just look a little tired, or maybe slightly disheveled? Nope. Not Vil.

Your vows were an absolute blur. You muttered something that vaguely sounded right while trying not to pass out from the sheer intensity of his gaze. When it was finally over, you had the spotlight, and there was no backing out now.

“I have something,” you said, your voice wavering but determined. “Something to prove that I’m done letting fear rule over us.”

You pulled out the gem, and suddenly, it felt like every pair of eyes in the sanctum was laser-focused on you. Especially Vil’s. His violet eyes widened slightly, and you almost dropped the damn thing right there. But no. Not today, curse! You were going to face this head-on, and probably make a fool of yourself in the process, but hey, at least you were trying.

The second Vil’s fingers touched the gem—it shattered.

For a brief, terrifying moment, you stared at the fragments in your hands, heart pounding as your mind raced to some truly unhinged conclusions. Oh my god, I just cursed us even more, didn’t I? Have I doomed the entire Valkyra clan to eternal hatred of the ocean? Will we be landlocked forever? No more beach vacations, no more seashell necklaces—

Before you could spiral any further, a soft light emerged from the shards, and two shimmering figures appeared. A merperson and a valkyra, their voices carrying through the sanctum like a breeze. They told the real story, about how a jealous witch had cursed them, making sure they could never be together. The cure? True love despite the curse. And, as fate would have it, you and Vil had just broken it.

“Well, that’s one way to kick things off,” you muttered under your breath, still half-expecting someone to start panicking about the broken clan treasure. But instead, Vil—bless his elegant, perfect self—took your face in his hands and kissed you.

In front of both your clans, in front of everyone who mattered, Vil kissed you like the world had finally aligned in your favor. The kiss wasn’t just tender—it was a promise, a declaration that the curse had no power over what you two had built.

Then, predictably, Rook gasped. “Ah, l'amour! A love that shatters curses and binds souls together for eternity! The stars themselves tremble at the magnitude of your passion!”

You could hear Epel snickering next to him, probably waiting for a punchline. “Well, hell, guess we should’ve seen this comin’. That’s the most dramatic vow renewal I’ve ever been to.”

Rook, undeterred, continued his monologue as if he were on a stage. “True love! It breaks all chains, transcends all curses! You have done what many could only dream of!”

Meanwhile, you were trying to stay upright after that kiss. “Did... did we just fix everything? Is that it? Can I stop worrying about accidentally damning the clan now?”

Vil smirked at you, his hands still lingering on your face, his thumbs brushing gently across your cheekbones. “If you’re asking whether the curse is gone—yes, we’re free.”

You blinked at him. “No strings attached? No hidden fine print? The curse isn’t gonna boomerang back on us in a few years, right?”

Vil’s eyes glittered with amusement. “No fine print. You and I are no longer bound by fear.”

The next morning, you woke up beside him, which, honestly, was a surreal experience. Vil, looking all peaceful and not like the intimidating figure he usually presented to the world, was kind of adorable. Of course, you couldn’t resist leaning over and planting a soft kiss on his forehead.

He stirred slightly, eyes fluttering open as he murmured, “If you keep doing that, I might get used to it.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you teased, sliding out of bed to make breakfast, because if you were going to start your curse-free life with Vil, you might as well impress him with your domestic skills.

You didn’t get very far before you felt arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back against a warm chest. “Leaving so soon?” Vil whispered against your ear, his voice low and just a little bit too seductive for this early in the morning.

“I was gonna make breakfast, but I can see how I might’ve gotten distracted,” you shot back, trying (and failing) not to grin like an idiot.

Vil chuckled softly, his lips brushing your neck. “Well, since we have all the time in the world now, maybe breakfast can wait.”

You turned in his arms, raising an eyebrow. “Are you proposing we spend the entire day in bed?”

His smirk was enough of an answer.

But you had plans. “Okay, okay. How about this: breakfast first, then we can lounge around and plan our next big adventure.”

Vil leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours. “Deal. But I’m holding you to that promise.”

And so, you started your first day of freedom together, planning all the adventures the world had to offer. Because now, there was nothing stopping you—no curse, no fear, just the two of you, ready to face whatever came next.

there's a lot of lore dump but I hope yall enjoyed it!!

also this was supposed to be star crossed lovers but I absolutely cannot do angst no comfort because I'm a baby.

Masterlist

[starcurtain]

"The Lion Has Its Own Historian:" Parallels Between Gorgo and Aglaea

While re-reading Mydei's "As I've Written" stories recently, I was intrigued again by the (seemingly impossible) section in which Aglaea unknowingly echoed Gorgo's words to Mydei, and this led me down a rabbit hole of thought: The roles of Aglaea and Gorgo--not only in Mydei's life but also in the story overall--form some interesting parallels that are worth looking at in closer detail.

Seize the Means of Control

Gorgo's ascension to a position of authority was predicated on power--not only on her martial prowess, which was expected in her culture (i.e. slaying a lion with her bare hands), but through her courage to meet the existing symbol of authority, Eurypon, in single combat and not concede. In Kremnos, status is conferred and maintained through violence. Though on the surface Gorgo defies this belief, she ultimately remains an active participant in Kremnos's tradition of "might makes right" through the Kremnos Festival, reinforcing rather than rejecting her culture's military-centric social structure.

Although Gorgo originally took part in the Kremnos Festival with the intention of beating Eurypon and seizing the throne of Kremnos for herself (presumably because she thought she could rule better), she ultimately chooses to accept his continued leadership and become queen instead, even granting him an heir to cement his legacy. In this way, despite presumably wishing for a less wasteful (of life) philosophy for the Kremnoans, Gorgo becomes one of the foremost beneficiaries of the very mindset she opposes. She clearly wants to reduce the meaningless bloodshed in Kremnos--she strongly rejects the notion of patricide, for example--but she doesn't (at this point) reject the overall structures of the Kremnoan culture, including the belief that combat ability should determine who leads.

In short, her position of authority was achieved strictly through her ability to oppose her foes.

Despite coming from a wholly different culture, one which (ostensibly) values debate, diplomacy, and the rule of law as the primary tools for establishing status, Aglaea's rise to power was remarkably similar to Gorgo's. The game confirms that the prominence and influence of the Chrysos Heirs in Okhema is no lucky accident--instead, Aglaea has clawed her way to the top, fighting tooth and nail to establish herself as a figure of authority in the Holy City.

We're told she exerts her pressure both through economic means, amassing wealth via monopoly on resources such as Amphoreus's internet, and through literal bloodshed.

The story dances around it, but Star Rail's marketing embraces it: Aglaea represents not just the joy of love but also the "deadliness" of romance, the figure of power in Okhema "pulling the strings" and making others dance to the tune of her vision for the future. She basically rules the roost in the Holy City in large part because of her capacity for violence, because of the literal physical and political power she wields as a demigoddess and the leader of the strongest group of fighters on their entire planet.

This "silk concealing steel" behavior reflects not just how she approaches any who oppose her--the Trailblazer and Krateros, for example--but also how even the NPCs throughout Amphoreus view her:

It's particularly Krateros's view of Aglaea which intrigues me, because the very same things he accuses her of are the things Castrum Kremnos is famous for (being warmongers, usurpers of power, etc.). By all rights, he should admire a "queen" such as Aglaea who rules by force and who is leading her people into the greatest war Amphoreus as ever known. And yet he and the rest of the Kremnoans seem to revile Aglaea for the very same things they saw as virtues in Gorgo.

The context is the key: Gorgo seizing power for herself is viewed as honorable and good because it happened in the context of Kremnos, while Aglaea's power struggle and military dominance occur within the so-claimed peaceful structure of Okhema's democratic society, casting her in the role of a "power-hungry tyrant" for the people living in Okhema, even those who should most appreciate her mindset.

Comparing Gorgo and Aglaea in this way highlights a key double standard in the way the Amphoreans react to women who rise to power, and makes it clear how thin the veneer of Okhema's "peace" really is. Stepping to the top rung of the social ladder through the threat of martial retaliation, Aglaea's battle against the Council and the Flame Chase's foes is no different from Gorgo tearing a lion apart with her bare hands, challenging a king, and taking her place at the top of Kremnos's hierarchy by seizing her weapon and making her stand. All that differs is how violence is received in their contrasting cultures, resulting in two diametrically opposed reactions from the "mere mortals" around them.

With Violence as Your Tool

I think it's important to emphasize that Aglaea and Gorgo also parallel each other not just in their rise to authority through physical power itself, but also in their stances on the necessity of that power: Both Aglaea and Gorgo (at least at first) view bloodshed as a necessary evil, an unpleasant facet of life that one must accept in order to achieve a goal. Violence, for both Gorgo and Aglaea, is a tool.

We see this clearly with Gorgo throughout her flashbacks, both in her initial fight with Eurypon (where she claims she would embrace the notion of death only so long as it is not "unnecessary") and in her other confrontations with Eurypon: Gorgo insists that the tradition of regicide must be broken and makes Eurypon promise not to lead Mydei to that path--yet later, she goes so far as to scold Eurypon when he shies away from his fate, essentially calling him a coward for fearing the prophecy that Mydei would one day kill him. "What prince of Kremnos hasn't killed his father?" she taunts, implying that, even as Gorgo fought to change the violent history of Kremnos, she still believed--at least at that moment--that refusing to face violence when it was foreordained made Eurypon a weak and unfit ruler.

However, we ultimately see this stance change. In Mydei's dream of training with his mother, Gorgo reveals that nearly losing Mydei completely changed her perspective on Kremnos's beliefs, finally killing any faith she had in their system of rule and their constant pursuit of Strife for strife's sake. She rejects the notion of combat being the ultimate test of a person's worth, explicitly casts aside her title and role as queen of Kremnos, and embraces a kinder identity as strictly "Mydei's mother." This is a crisis of faith brought on by experiencing the impacts of Kremnos's faith firsthand--by being forced to experience grievous loss, Gorgo is implied to have grown as a person, from one who is willing to accept violence as a tool to get ahead, into one who solely values peace.

These views, too, mirror Aglaea's pursuit of the Flame Chase Journey and her "hidden" feelings toward its necessary loss. We know already that Aglaea views the threat of violence as her go-to "means to an end" when it comes to achieving the Chrysos Heirs' goals.

She is not at all above putting people into harm's way to pursue the prophecy, such as letting Phainon take the Strife trial even knowing that he would fail, and she tells us players over and over again that her own humanity has nearly vanished, claiming that she now no longer has sufficient empathy for humankind to be swayed away from the path of Era Nova.

This is clearly not true (given how deeply she cares for Tribbie, how kind she is to Castorice, and how unwilling she is to actually bring any harm to Anaxa), but Aglaea insists on this emotionless illusion likely because it makes it easier to tolerate the cruelty required to continue pursuing her goal--she needs it to be true that the last of her humanity has already waned, because this is what makes it easier to accept that the Flame Chase Journey is a journey of "loss," one that is fueled by bloodshed.

It is an unfortunate truth of the prophecy that people will die in pursuit of the dream, that capturing all the coreflames and pushing the world forcibly into its next cycle will cost lives and require cold, rational decisions that will crush people's happiness and freedom. Aglaea cannot hesitate, cannot waver, cannot choose kindness over action.

But, like Gorgo, we know that accepting violence as a tool does not mean that the person wielding the tool is always happy to do so. As Gorgo loses her genuine faith in Kremnos's beliefs and begins to view training Mydei for war as nothing more than a rote requirement, devoid of meaning, Aglaea too struggles to uphold her emotionless facade, a protective cocoon whose cracks reveal the enormous weight she is bearing and how deeply the inhumanity of her own decisions wounds her.

We see this clearly in her character stories, where the actions and then later loss of her maid completely reshape her definition of "beauty":

And we also see it very clearly in her behavior toward Anaxa, where she hesitates at the crucial moment, unable to commit to the course of action that she herself set in motion:

Like Gorgo who longs for a softer world where she can simply be Mydei's mother, Aglaea too (no matter how much she claims) has not lost the part of herself that cares not only for the people closest to her but even for the innocents of the world, the boy who wants to bring his sister something beautiful, the girl who shares her bracelet...

Her nature, no matter how much of it has worn away, is at its core humble and kind--reviling the pain of others.

It's this fundamental conflict between love and what must be done that lends both Gorgo and Aglaea their depth as characters, that grants them both an air of nobility, in the way that everyone good who suffers is noble. Being forced to cause harm without a desire to do so creates quintessentially contradictory characters, making the audience privy to both their external mettle and their internal hesitation, easily humanizing both of them. Aglaea and Gorgo are virtuous women whose cruelty is justified for the greater good. Yet in watching both of them struggle under the immense pressure of that cruelty, we recognize the inherent evil of a world that forces kind-hearted people into positions where bloodshed is their only path forward.

Both Aglaea and Gorgo are not women who normally hesitate to seize the tools available to them, or the kind of women who will shy away from wielding their strongest weapon--the threat of death--with impunity. The reaction to female characters who are willing to exert this kind of power over others (including over the men in their lives) both in-game and in the fandom (where Aglaea in particular is treated poorly for her "coldness") demonstrates how unique this particular type of female character still is, and suggests interesting overall power dynamics in Amphoreus that privilege women willing to utilize violence even above men who choose the same route, despite the strong patriarchal bent one might expect of a story with ancient Greece as its primary influence.

Mydei is not the son of Eurypon, but explicitly and always "the son of Gorgo" even in flashbacks where Eurypon is still alive; in Okhema, both the Chrysos Heirs and the Council appear to be primarily directed by women (Caenis occupies the more visible role of Aglaea's opponent than Lygus does), with all of Okhema's demigods (including Cipher) being female. Gorgo's violence is regarded as honorable; Aglaea is met with disapproval from her peace-loving society but no one ever actually dares to stop her. Perhaps Krateros comes closest, by defying Aglaea's will and entering the Strife trial without her permission, but even he ultimately has to be rescued from Aglaea's clutches by Mydei, who explicitly invokes his mother's name to ensure Krateros's safety. Say it with me: The male character with the highest social status in all of Amphoreus has to rely on the power and reputation of his mother to rescue another man from a powerful woman. Amphoreus really said "Ladies first." 💯

Anaxa's reactions to Aglaea are humorous but are also a perfect example of this overall social structure in Amphoreus which assumes strong women in power have an automatic degree of legitimacy because they are willing to seize violence as their means, despite violence being, in real-world cultures at least, stereotypically the domain of men. In 3.1, Anaxa simply accepts it as a given that he will become Aglaea's prisoner and that she will be able to do whatever she wants to him, because nothing in Okhema's social, political, or military structures would enable him to genuinely oppose her (if he even wanted to).

Even in his (sort of) fake-out "siding with the Council" phase, all Anaxa does is move himself from the grasp of one powerful woman to the next, shifting from being Aglaea's prisoner to Caenis's ace. Cerces even has an entire voiceline where she points out word-for-word that Anaxa is functionally just moving from one woman's cage to the next. Caenis in particular seems to view Anaxa as an object, a biting dog she can keep on a leash until she sics him on her enemy. Anaxa obviously is not so easily manipulated, but Caenis's threat about karma eventually comes true, and he nevertheless suffers the final wrath of the Holy City's society, being judged more harshly than anyone else for his seeming unwillingness to submit to the power of either woman in control of Okhema.

Both literally and thematically, the game tells us players that Aglaea and Gorgo are courageous and effective leaders because they live by the blade, because they are willing to harden their hearts and do whatever it takes, whether that means taking another's life--or their own.

To Usher in a New Era

Of course what really distinguishes both Gorgo and Aglaea's willingness to cause harm from malevolent forces in Amphoreus is their ultimate intent. Although both women are willing to do whatever it takes, they do so only in service to a greater purpose, one that they believe will better their world. In this way, Amphoreus's writers reinforce the underlying impression in Amphoreus's plot that women are more trustworthy and reliable leaders than their corresponding male counterparts. Slight side note on this, but it's kind of funny just how consistent this is--even "outside" of Amphoreus, Welt and Sunday had to turn to Herta to save the day, while inside Amphoreus, Trailblazer is still relying on Acheron's advice to get them through. (When you cater to the incels so hard you somehow loop back around into writing staunchly feminist plotlines...)

The message, repeated and unsubtle, is that there is a link between women's leadership and righteousness, with both Gorgo and Aglaea representing an idealistic desire for a better future for Kremnos and Amphoreus as a whole--one by opposing fate and the other by enforcing it.

Both Gorgo and Aglaea face prophecies that promise to reshape the world as they know it, prophecies which require them to make decisions that will ultimately cost them their lives in a desperate bid to influence history toward the best path. Gorgo rejects the prophecy she is given, determined to protect Mydei despite the destruction the omens claim he will bring to Castrum Kremnos.

Because of the players' predilections for Mydei, this choice to reject fate paints Gorgo as a heroine, an unselfish and moral person who will choose the life of an innocent child over she own safety. Her willingness to fight to the death to prevent Eurypon's atrocity against their son flies in the face of fate itself, attempting to stop an inevitable, self-fulfilling prophecy.

And, in fact, the game even teases us with the idea: What would Kremnos have been like if Gorgo succeeded? When Mydei returns to Kremnos, he either "envisions" or actually experiences (via timelines bleeding into each other), a seemingly parallel universe where Gorgo succeeded in saving him from the Sea of Souls, and where she clearly rallied the people of Kremnos to her cause. The Kremnos we see in that vision is entirely different from Eurypon's:

The people are happy, rejoicing and at ease, talking about pomegranates and writing and playing games with kids, while the sun paints the whole city in a soft and gleaming gold.

Contrast that with the Kremnos that Trailblazer and Castorice find when they travel back into the past where Eurypon betrayed his wife and left Mydei in the sea:

In the seemingly alternate timeline where Gorgo lives long enough to raise Mydei, the Kremnos we're presented with... looks a lot like Okhema. Looks a lot like the peaceful, idyllic Holy City where children frolic in the streets and the people are still full of light and life. By defying fate, we are shown (at least in some fragment of Amphoreus's timeline) that Gorgo achieves what she had longed for in Kremnos from the start, creating a better, gentler future for the people, prosperous and free of the cycle of Strife and meaningless violence that had plagued their kingdom for thousands of years. In this way, we can say that, for that lost timeline at least, Gorgo essentially achieved the Era Nova for Kremnos, ushering in a time of peace for her people. What Aglaea seeks, the game shows us that Gorgo was capable of achieving.

Conversely, Aglaea's path forward involves taking the complete opposite road: Rather than rejecting fate to create a better future, Aglaea seeks to embrace it. She has fully invested herself and her resources in the prophecy of the Flame Chase. She has to, because if there's no Era Nova to look forward to, then there's no hope at all for Amphoreus, and how can it be that something so beautiful is doomed to total destruction? If the Flame Chase Journey will end in a new start, if someone--anyone--will get to live to see the world born anew, then every sacrifice, every burden, every agony will have been worth it.

By embracing her prophesied fate instead of rejecting it, Aglaea is taking the same decisive stand as Gorgo, seizing the future of her world in her own hands and forcing Amphoreus along the path toward what she believes will definitely be a brighter future.

Not only does the description of Era Nova match the idyllic Castrum Kremnos we see under Gorgo's likely rule, but even the moments where both women truly make their stand and reckon with fate reflect each other as well: Gorgo demands her fellow Kremnoans stand with her, hoping they will see the wickedness of Eurypon's decision and reject blind faith in the prophecy they've been given. With her own strength, if even just Krateros alone had stood with her, she easily would have been able to push back against Eurypon's scheme. She lays out her vision for a different future, rejects the notions of the past, and is met with silence.

Meanwhile, Aglaea faces the Council of Elders in Okhema, where the decision about the Flame Chase Journey hangs in the balance, waiting on the final vote of a single person to join up with her cause. Just like Gorgo, the alignment of even one person to Aglaea's cause will make proof of her righteousness, prove the she's right. Aglaea lays down the gauntlet, demands the loyalty of her allies--and her leadership and vision are rewarded when Anaxa joins up with the cause, tipping the literal balance of the scales towards the new era Aglaea believes her efforts will bring to fruition.

(In essence, at the end of 3.2, we get to watch Anaxa do exactly what Krateros failed to--stand on the side of the woman who wields justice.)

Ultimately, through they do it through diametrically opposite paths--rejecting and embracing prophecy, respectively--both women are characterized by their drive to create change, their refusal to accept a quiet descent into cruelty and darkness. Both take a stand, outlining their vision for the right way to go on, for a better, softer, brighter world, seeking the loyalty of comrades to legitimize their causes, and--failing that--willing to make the ultimate sacrifice of themselves to further their truly noble causes.

The strength of both women lies not just in their martial prowess, but in their unwavering dedication to a just cause, no matter the cost to themselves.

Generational Influence

What actually started me off on this whole look at Gorgo and Aglaea as thematic parallels was Mydei's scenes with Aglaea, particularly how he clearly considers her a role model for ideal leadership. While I won't go so far as to say Aglaea perceives herself filling any sort of maternal role for Mydei, I think the connection is obvious on Mydei's end: Having never gotten the chance to truly meet his mother, Mydei is almost certainly projecting "the leader my mother would have been" onto Aglaea. (Or perhaps we should say the opposite: The empty spaces in Mydei's mind when he thinks of "Gorgo" are sutured closed with Aglaea's golden filigree.)

Does this sort of praise sound a bit familiar? It ought to, because this is how Krateros describes Gorgo:

Both women are characterized by their ability to move people's hearts, to inspire hope, and to model ideal strategy for others.

So how could Mydei do anything but link Aglaea's leadership with the life he imagines his mother would have led if she had had the chance to rule Kremnos?

Consider the entire situation from Mydei's perspective: His people have just been (forcibly) rescued from an insane king whose true downfall began with his betrayal of wife, their nation's one genuinely noble leader. If Gorgo had been their ruler, none of this suffering would ever have happened. Fleeing the madness and death Nikador is bringing to Kremnos, the entire surviving host of his people migrate to the "Holy City," the (supposed) last bastion of light and peace and happiness in Amphoreus--which is effectively ruled by a woman so powerful that she knows and sees all.

Seemingly effortlessly, she commands respect and fealty, marshaling her forces to do battle with the might of her own sword, while fighting to maintain the very same values Mydei's mother wanted to bring to her own nation. While being unafraid of bloodshed, she treasures life more than anything else. She's honest, direct, and unflinching, but still, despite everything, kind and dedicated to protecting the world she loves.

Mydei doesn't know his mother but there she is. There's the "queen" that his mother should have had the chance to be. There is the leader that Kremnos needed. There is the powerful woman whose dream for the future could have single-handedly changed the course of fate.

Clearly, for lack of personal experience, the Gorgo in Mydei's mind is less a real person and much more an idealized figure. His only direct knowledge of her comes from one "dream," where she tells him that he's more important than the world to her (undoubtedly leaving Mydei to grapple with the question of whether that is something she truly felt or something he just wishes to be true, by the way). Mydei's only other frame of reference for his mother is Krateros's blind veneration, with Krateros constantly holding Gorgo up as the standard Mydei should meet.

Gorgo is clearly on an achingly high pedestal for Mydei. He shaped his entire youth around the need to avenge her, and then he shaped his entire adult ideology around her vision for Kremnos. In "our" timeline, Gorgo may not have lived to create the change she hoped for, but her goal was ultimately achieved nonetheless, through the inter-generational influence her memory had over Mydei. It was Gorgo's hatred of wasteful bloodshed that helped Mydei to hate it too. It was Gorgo's desire to change Kremnos's traditions that led Mydei to consider tearing down its dynasty. It's his mother's gentle love for her people that echoes in Mydei's same affection.

And through Aglaea, all those views and lessons were enforced. Before joining up with the Flame Chase Journey, the game tells us that Mydei's life was effectively still a hellscape even when he had his friends: They wandered the land with nowhere to call home and were attacked by (or themselves attacked) everyone they met, engaging in endless violence just to keep existing, while he watched his companions be brutally murdered one by one. At the risk of extreme understatement: Mydei was not living the life his mother wanted for him.

After joining the Flame Chase Journey, Mydei becomes one of the "heroes" who dedicates himself to protecting innocents and serving as a guardian; he finds a cause, does his best to create a new home for his people, and works to reshape their views towards the beliefs his mother espoused. Like Gorgo putting down her weapon and taking up the role of "just your mother," Mydei gets to (temporarily, briefly) let down his guard and live as just a person, cooking sweets, roleplaying with kids, and cuddling with chimeras.

He inches closer to the dream of finding meaning in finding peace.

And if it was Gorgo who inspired those choices, then it was Aglaea who made them possible--Aglaea who accepted the Kremnoan Detachment into Okhema, Aglaea who literally put aside her fear of Mydei to accept him as a fellow Chrysos Heir, Aglaea who guided him, Aglaea who modeled transformational leadership for him, Aglaea who gave him the final (if forceful) push he needed to commit to changing his people's future, destroying the bloodstained Kremnos of the past. In all his struggles to move forward, the threads of Aglaea and Gorgo's mirrored ideology lead Mydei through the labyrinth of uncertainty.

All things considered, Gorgo might actually be the character with the single most significant impact on Amphoreus's current plot other than the Trailblazer, because the guidance and beliefs she instilled in Mydei will live much longer than Gorgo and even Aglaea herself--may even live on through the end of the world and the rebirth of all of Amphoreus, because it is her exact ideology that becomes the backbone of Mydei's life advice to Castorice. When Castorice reveals their future, telling him the demigods of today's Amphoreus will become the titans of the new cycle, Mydei looks her in the eye and tells her the exact thing he learned from his mother and Aglaea:

Don't accept defeat--defy despair with everything you have and weave the future with your own two hands.

Perhaps nowhere do we see the parallels between Gorgo and Aglaea more clearly than in the "As I've Written" chapter, where we are told that what ultimately swayed Mydei's decision to join the Flame Chase Journey was when, completely without knowing it, Aglaea spoke the exact same words as his mother.

Though the organization of "As I've Written" is often unclear, making it difficult to determine which passages are actually linked to each other and which are entirely separate, I'm going to personally interpret the quote included in Mydei's third chapter as that special sentence once spoken by both Gorgo and Aglaea:

"The lion has its own historian, and the history of the hunt should not be held by the hunter alone."

Putting aside that all of this is completely impossible in the timeline as we know it (Mydei has no way of remembering the sentences his mother might have spoken to him, and none of the sentences in any flashbacks or her letter to him have anything to do with lions or historians), if this is the line echoed by both women, it is an obviously poignant phrase that would immediately signify to Mydei that Aglaea's ideology matches his mother's.

Although the English translation of "As I've Written" leaves A LOT to be desired (sometimes to the point of being entirely incomprehensible; I legitimately have no idea who okayed those translations, rife as they are with just straight up grammar errors lol), the origin of this phrase is unmistakable. It comes from the African proverb that is normally translated as:

"Until the lion has its own historian, the history of the hunt will always glorify the hunter."

Essentially, "History is written by the victors."

If we take the English translation seriously, what Aglaea and Gorgo would have been saying is that "the defeated" (which, by the way, is symbolized by the lion repeatedly in Kremnos's history) should have their own historian, and that no one should get to speak for them. That is, of course, that no one should get to speak for Mydei except himself--that he should take charge of his own destiny and write his own history into the books.

Krateros repeatedly insists that Mydei is the hunter, the one who should be controlling the whole hunting ground:

But Aglaea sees through Mydei in the first moment of meeting him--sees that he's not the victor but the victim, not the Kremnoan king-to-be but the "wandering lion" who is at risk of being slaughtered on the altar of Kremnos's glory. Kremnos's history is not the "hunting lion"--it's the lion hunt. Gorgo the founder killed the lion, Gorgo the mother killed the lion... So where does that leave Mydei, the symbolic lion?

This line is saying, Aglaea and Gorgo would both have been saying: I see you. I see that there's an entire unspoken legacy weighing on your shoulders, a horror you're fleeing from like wounded prey, a fierce desire in you to refuse the tale this world is writing for you. And in supposedly echoing Gorgo's words, Aglaea would also have echoed the very core of Gorgo's faith:

Those who have lost everything still deserve the chance to shape their own futures.

Those who have faced impossible odds, those who Fate itself has marked for death, those who would martyr themselves to secure the futures of others can and should still rage against the dying of the light, still fight with every tooth and nail to bring about a different ending.

When no one but (apparently) the ghost of Gorgo in his head had ever said it to him, Aglaea told Mydei:

If you want a different history, you can write it.

Of course he joined the Flame Chase Journey after seeing that its leader carries the very same deep-rooted goodness as his mother.

And while we're here talking about the mirrored ideologies and guidance both women have offered to Mydei, I also want to add a tiny aside about Aglaea's symbolic leadership of the other Kremnoans as well.

Although of course Mydei remains their de facto leader even in Okhema, Mydei himself makes a big deal out of the Kremnoans having submitted to Aglaea's authority, repeating in several places that the Kremnoans have a duty to follow her commands.

This isn't an off-hand statement; for someone who should have already been crowned king to state in his own words that his people should submit to someone else's authority is effectively tantamount to ceding his throne specifically to her--Mydei has essentially handed over the reins of Kremnoan leadership to Aglaea. He's the crown prince, but she's effectively the queen (that his mother never got to be). The promotional materials even label Aglaea and Mydei as occupying the same role ("King"). This is especially clear in how the Kremnoans refer to her. In multiple places, Aglaea is referred to as "the golden-haired usurper."

You don't get called a "usurper" unless people believe you're attempting to undermine their current ruler. In all but flat out saying it, the other Kremnoans perceive Aglaea as usurping Mydei's authority, despite Mydei himself willingly giving that power to her. Mydei isn't careless with the Kremnoans' futures, he doesn't shirk his duties as their crown prince, and he certainly would never surrender his power to a weak, unfit ruler. Undoubtedly, Mydei is comfortable with the idea of ceding authority to Aglaea in part because he recognizes his mother in her, sees the qualities that elevated Gorgo to royalty in Kremnos alive and well in Aglaea's Okhema. In this way, perhaps we could say that another factor contributing to Mydei's hesitance to take up Kremnos's throne might be a subconscious sense that the Kremnoans are already in the right hands, that Aglaea--embodying the ideal leadership Mydei projects onto the memory of his mother--is a better fit than he could ever be to lead them anyway?

Heck, while we're at it, I think it's even interesting that the cities of Okhema and Kremnos mirror each other so much, down to things that honestly don't make sense: We're told the legend explaining the lion heads on the walls in Kremnos, but... why are there are also talking lion heads all over Okhema's walls? Gorgo who tore the head off the Tretos lion is echoed in Aglaea, who rules a kinder, softer city still symbolized by the lion, where the talking lion heads get to be gossips and riddle masters instead of war strategists.

Okay, and the last silly thing I want to say: Aglaea would definitely not call herself a mother figure for Mydei, but after 3.2 reveals Gorgo's tough love methods, Aglaea's attempts at scolding him start to look pretty familiar, from her exasperated chiding to her genuine criticism:

Mydei has it tough, having to meet the expectations of women like these lol.

To Fade from the World

Sorry, that was a bit too light-hearted for me, so time to end this post with some more pain:

A final point I think worth comparing between Gorgo and Aglaea is the ultimate fate that both of them face in the story: Gorgo is already gone, but Aglaea is not far behind.

Gorgo's death in particular is treated as abominable. Kremnoans may be warmongers and Strife worshipers, but they're supposed to be honorable about it. Key to their obsession with combat is the idea of noble combat, between contestants who are each given a fair chance. Despite being Gorgo's greatest ally, Krateros does not stand up and join her in her revolt against Eurypon, likely because of that same "might makes right" mindset that shaped so much of Kremnos's decision-making: If Gorgo's cause was truly righteous, then she should have been able to stand up for it herself and win a duel against Eurypon. If it had been a fair contest as expected by Kremnoan cultural standards, then whoever won would have been considered the "correct" person, and no one could have contested the fair results.

But Eurypon's cowardice drove him completely from the path of Kremnos's sacred virtues, causing him to betray their values by betraying his wife, using poison to deny her her fair chance in the duel. This action--forsaking the core tenets of Nikador's divinity--marks the truest extent of Eurypon's downfall, and cements that he is utterly unfit to rule, lacking both the courage to confront his wife in fair combat and the honor to reject under-handed schemes to ensure victory.

Gorgo's death is treated as a tragedy, an act that entirely shapes the course of the story through Mydei's loss to the sea and his subsequent quest for vengeance. It was cowardly betrayal that took away Kremnos's path to a brighter future, locking the self-fulfilling prophecy of Kremnos's downfall into place.

And this, of course, is a perfect mirror to the prophesied end Aglaea is going to face, possibly sooner rather than later. Upon their ascension as demigods, each Chrysos Heir is told how their life will end. Aglaea's prophecy states: "You shall have your final bath in warm and radiant gold."

As Aglaea is most often seen there, the assumption is that she will literally die in the baths--Mydei states this in-game, saying "If a normal person heard that prophecy, they'd probably just stop coming to the baths." Aglaea effectively dismisses this threat (in a very Kremnoan fashion even, lol) by simply saying "Well, who cares? I like baths!" Whatever will be, will be; if her assassin has the strength to end a demigoddess, then truly, it doesn't matter where she goes in Okhema or across the world--fate will find her.

Of course, there's also the possible interpretation that "final bath in gold" refers simply to bathing in her own golden Chrysos Heir blood...

But in either case, the prophecy, Mydei's comments, and some plot leaks I've seen all point towards a violent and unexpected end--likely at the hands of a betrayal.

Like Gorgo, Aglaea will not live to see the world she wished to create, the softer, golden future she wanted to bring to her people. At the hands of her enemies, either facing it with honor or in an unexpected moment of vulnerability, Aglaea will be eliminated before the final hour, fading from Amphoreus's memory as the survivors succeed--or fail--to usher in the new era she sacrificed everything to create.

Although both unique characters on their own, entirely separate from each other, examining Aglaea and Gorgo's parallel plot points, core character traits, and their roles and influences on others throughout the course of the story reveals yet another incredible "echo effect" in Amphoreus's writing, aligning opposites--Okhema and Kremnos, Beauty and Strife--through eerily similar patterns and revealing the enduring thematic threads that bind together the separate portions of Amphoreus's tale.

More than anything, Amphoreus feels to me like a very Hamilton-esque "Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?" plot, one that hinges on the question of who has the power to shape and reshape the future of their world, who has the power to break through a pre-ordained structure and bring about a better end--who has the courage to sacrifice it all to seize the reins of fate itself.

Through Aglaea and Gorgo, the story reinforces a message about women in power, women who perfectly balance violence (the traditional domain of male figures) with love, with beauty, and with righteousness to shake the foundations of their world. In what they value and how they lead, the story mirrors and mirrors again, mise en abyme, the message that those who are willing to give it all for the greater good are the true crafters of our story.

(Perhaps all this is preparing for the presence of another woman, one just as willing or more to do all that must be done to usher in a brighter future for her world?)

The history of the hunt should not be held by the hunter alone.

The lion has its own historian--and so too does the lioness.

Although Gorgo and Aglaea will both fall before that golden Era Nova can be achieved, the marks they have left on Amphoreus's plot, through their legacies of defiance and grace picked up and carried, torch-like, by other characters, demonstrate just how central both women were to all that happened in the world's past and all that will happen in its future.