#eventually he cracks the code:

[cursed-candlehop]

I think most of us generally assume that Emmrich can tell when he's being flirted with. Like, man's got a decent amount of social skills and a keen sense of observation, and he's definitely fucked before. He knows what flirting looks like.

The funniest way I've found so far to throw a wrench into the whole thing is to give him a Rook who can't fucking tell when they're flirting. Like, sure, Emmrich's Flirt Radar's pinging all over the goddamn place, but Rook's all sweet, doe-eyed smiles and gentle compliments with everyone and Emmrich just can't figure it out.

[fumifooms]

Kabru party analysis - Trust, and codependence vs emotional unavailability

I flip flopped on calling this a masterpost a lot, but looking back, yeah. While I do compile every fact I can about the party and its characters a significant part of this is interpretation, extrapolation and speculation enough that it's an analysis more than compilation at this point. Feel free to skim, skip around, whatever makes the experience more enjoyable and useful. I’ll also try and compile parallels they have with their Laios party counterpart, since them being foils and ‘shadow version’ of sorts to our main party is a big part of their fun fact meta, I am however most interested in analyzing them as their own characters- and as a whole together as an entity & narrative device. I did end up getting into narrative and thematic analysis for the main story... Mostly the Kabru & conclusion segments though.

But ultimately the goal of this post is mostly to analyze their relationships with each other because I think that’s the messy interesting part of their group, beyond just being a kabru party facts list.

Table of contents:

Kabru + party timeline

Rin

Holm

Daya

Mickbell

Kuro

Relationships and overall dynamic

Do they matter at all to the story?

For easy finding if anyone wants to do a focused reread, the main chapters featuring the Kabru party are 10, 15, 31 and 32, and then with chapter 45 everyone but Kabru (and Rin) stops appearing until the final battle.

Kabru of Utaya & his party

What to say about Kabru that hasn’t already been said, how to summarize him as perfectly and concisely as possible… I don’t think I can reasonably do him full justice here! This is an analysis about his party and not just him so I don’t want to spend forever here. Unlike every other character in his party Kabru is a main character of Dungeon Meshi so plenty of analyses around, meanwhile information can be hard to find and string together for the rest of them or the party as a whole. This isn’t a deep dive on Kabru but a summary, I’ll go over his timeline, goals and general attitude.

This'll be critical for later, but notice here that this means Kabru's party formed 2 years before the story happens. We get no indication of whether or not party members have changed much or little over those years, even if the party overall seems somewhat incompetent. Kabru's profile says that despite his skills, his lack of experience makes him a mediocre party leader and we do have that inexperience with monsters and dungeons, from what we see in canon. It's partly due to his foster mother training him intensively in combat against humans but seemingly not monsters or dungeon survivals, and partly from what we see with canon's framig because Kabru has no interest in monsters- You know and understand what you love better than what you hate, so Kabru is good at fighting humans and Laios is good at fighting monsters. The party does have rather good chemistry in action, with Kabru orchestrating everyone with commands, but they still end up being defeated as often as not, and despite Mickbell's warnings Kabru pushes to go to a dungeon floor lower than he thinks they can handle with their current ressources, for example. Laios' party at the start of canon were broke, but it's only because their money got lost in the dungeon and (chap 28) the bank would take too long to get their tokens back & take money out to save Falin- meanwhile Mickbell talks about being in the red just because of their current unfruitful dive, meaning they aren't as successful and have tighter finances overall. We see the party hanging out in taverns off-work (though not unlike Laios' very occasionally does as well) and things like Kabru meeting Dia's fiance and the party visiting Kabru's room, so they mayy be paralelling how it's said Laios' party hung out very little outside of work? They don't seem much closer for it, though.

One other thing to note is that Utaya is not necessarily his birthplace/hometown? The details are unclear, the adventurer's Bible does refer to it as his birthplace twice, but it's also mentioned several times that his mother was "chasen out", even in the original japanese. It sounds like leaving a town to me, but it could be that they were only driven out to their house and moved to a different part of town...? Either way, his mother was "chased out of home" after he was born beause of his blue eyes. Of course, Utaya is where the dungeon overflow tragedy happened when he was 6-7 years old, so it's the town Kabru and his mom were living in, one way or another. It's also mentioned kobolds lived near Utaya, explaining him speaking some kobold, which kobolds also implies the region had conflict beyond the dungeon overflow considering what Kabru says about kobolds in the kobold page.

Her mom having been "chased out of home" over him and then working hard as a single mother to support both him and herself is likely to have made him feel like a burden, which may have influenced his selflessness: the way he's hardworking, the way he neglects himself, the way he keeps others at arm's lenght (maybe thinking getting closer to him would do them no good)*, the way he can be very quiet and a great listener, gauging others' needs- the same way he was his mom's venting outlet when very young whenever she got drunk. *I explore this possibility more in this kabrin brainstorm post. The insecurity of being an incubus/monster, especially with how Kabru did see people transforming into monsters in Utaya- A very interesting recurring angle for him.

Let's be clear, as Kabru shows again and again his goal was 1) to pierce the mysteries of the dungeon, and 2) ensure that if anyone defeats the current dungeon lord that they won't accelerate the process of the dungeon overflowing or use the power for evil, essentially that the dungeon's power won't fall into the wrong hands, which includes him thinking the canaries shouldn't get the final say in how to handle it all. His goal/plan of becoming dungeon lord himself was to take care of both of these in one go.

He's been at this for years and he's seen a lot of things firsthand when he was 6, so already when he first confronts the canaries at the Island governor's he explains the stages of degradation of a dungeon quite well, he has his own theories that turn out accurate, but he's made them while being barred from most information on dungeons, which the elven monarchy controls access to. Goal 2 is always the main point, but goal 1 is important in order to be able to do it efficiently. Once this, goal 1, is achieved and Kabru learns about the demon through Mithrun, he becomes solely focused on goal 2 again (whereas the On Floor 1 chapters ended with him breaking alliance wth the canaries to demand answer) to ensure the demon stays under control and to stop the current (and possible next) dungeon lord. And then, well, the meeting at Thistle's house happens. Defeating the dungeon then at the beginning of canon was half-cover, a simple unsuspicious way to present his goals, half-goal 1 which would also take care of goal 2 by Kabru himself becoming the dungeon lord, as said. The canaries show up so he indulges in goal 1 while carefully teetering on being an obstacle to the canaries and helping them, and then it's right back to goal 2 with renewed determination together after he and Mithrun fall down into the dungeon and Mithrun spills everything. He doesn't trust Laios as dungeon lord, but he also doesn't trust the elves having the sole duty of managing dungeons.

It becomes this sort of tug of war of distrust, of who does he trust less to ally against, who does he trust more to ally with, which side to take once it's clear his own side isn't viable alone- he ends up somewhat playing double agent covertly through the story, but ultimately he ends up more or less trusting everyone and playing double agent openly with the final battle, quote unquote having faith in humanity & others, which he'd been cynical about for so long, finding red flags in everyone. But yes yes backing up again, he came to trust Mithrun during the six days in the dungeon together, but not the rest of the canaries and when they meet up again he's still on bad terms with them, we see it at Thistle's house where he tried obfuscating Laios' party's secret and pinned Mithrun to keep him from chasing after them, preferring for the ball to be in their court and for Mithrun not to go kamikaze mode.

His interest in Laios also extended to Falin, their party was quite capable and was more or less next in line to beat the dungeon, but since she died and Laios went into it on a shocking desperate mission, Laios becomes a focus of his as they make very quick progress. No one dungeon diving ever went beyond the big doors guarded by the gargoyles, but Laios' party passes through them just a little after Kabru and Mithrun team up.

All these deeper thoughts were largely unknown to his party members before the story.

He’s secretive and often cold with his party. Even Rin, presumably the closest friend he has, the one who’s devoting herself to specifically following and helping him (while the others also seem to admire him and partly follow him to put him on the dunlord throne, they have their own reasons too), is left in the dark with an arm of distance kept between them. Kabru first reveals he's been keeping an eye on the Touden's party during the sea serpent 2 chapter for example, and goes into it a little more during the Toshiro-Laios parties meetup chapters.

Although, it might be more appropriate to say that rather the party members aren't really listening. Kabru spoke about his goal to keep the toudens away from the dungeon lord title here, has a whole speech about influence and power falling into the wrong hands, and their reaction is "we know, only you is fit to be dungeon lord!" when that's never been the actual core of the matter, the point. It was the red herring being set up yes, that that was only what kabru wanted, but ultimately looking back he's always had that guardian type motivation more than leader, being a judge and executioner more than a king on a throne, he wants to support what's good and dismantle what's bad, so it suits him to have become a politician in the end instead of the ultimate chief. That also goes into his arc- him learning that sharing duties and goals is good, that he doesn't have to do everything alone and fully trusting others when teaming up can be beneficial, that he alone doesn't have to be the sole voice, that his shouldn't be the sole choice to be made about matters or courses of action. So going back to the topic- another instance of his explanations being dismissed is in this convo with Rin above- Again he talks about dungeons and reveals hints about his true goals, yet after all of this Rin literally only goes "hmm" and silence falls, and then she says she's hungry. Wether she was contemplative or uninterested, the change of topic is rather quick and unceremonious. And this is the person who'd know best about his motivations too, knowing his past well.

And maybe this phenomenon is also why he gets peeved at Rin here and silently chides her. In a "she should know how to think this through by now, she should've taken a second to observe and remember how we do things, she should think deeper about the true important matters" way etc etc. What are we doing this for, what do you take me for? This kind of righteousness is detrimental rather than helpful and strategic, Rin.

I place both Laios and Mithrun to be very important to Kabru's character and arc, and with Mithrun a significant part of the puzzle imo must have been that Mithrun listened, easily understood. Mithrun understood the gravity and danger of dungeons, was even similarly a victim of one. Where everyone else shallowly misunderstands or dimisses what he says about dungeons and his goals, they're very understandable and familiar to Mithrun, and such bumps don't happen with him. Mithrun isn't playing the social game the same way as others, he just dishes out whatever blunt straight to the bottom of the matter points, he skips the social dance Kabru often gets so hang up on, in a way that helps kabru communicate with him honestly rather than hinder, especially since Mithrun is still quite good at reading between lines. This could be a good part of why they take to each other rather quickly and team up, each other's rationale and plans feel intuitive to the other and they find someone else traumatized by the dungeon, someone who understands, understands not only what he's talking about but also what must be done, the ruthlessness needed. And Laios comes to ultimately balance this out, not invalidating their wants and needs but showing there are other ways to proceed, other people to trust, even when they don't intuitively understand them.

And on that note I want to talk about Kabru and laios' confrontation. I've already said that his "Laios obsession" is about his dungeon goals and that's very straightforward, and it only got to this point because Laios previously dodged his every attempt at closeup info gathering and still now he can't get a read or grip on him. BUT while some think Kabru's "I just wanted to be friends with you" is just a bullshit he made up on the spot complete lie, I don't think so. We see Kabru cycle through some explanations, angles and speeches he has like scripts, like one of them on the second page is close to this. And we know they're like scripts because that's what he said and how he spoke with his party, the backstory talk, the framing, it's all how he presented it to others as well. But he knows none will work on laios, Laios pushes him like Mithrun to go offscript, to find new approaches and communicate in ways that are more vulnerable and uncomfortable. And Kabru has trouble finding that angle that'll work with Laios, because he doesn't know Laios well enough, and that's what he wants, too, it feels so frustrating and vulnerable not understanding him. As his desperation mounts it sort of just slips out- I wanted to be friends with you. Childish, simple, inappropriate for the grave context and very embarrassing. And he immediately freezes and backpedals- BUT Laios endlessly dunks on the very idea that it could be true and that sets kabru off- after which he unloads a more personal perspective of how it was like chasing after him. And I think that's what it is, it's not a lie but it's a bit of an oversimplification- Not the full reason, but a part of it. Kabru wanted them to get to know each other better and get along, for him not to have to kill Laios, a want he still clings onto even when stakes are rising. He says it all himself here, explains his statement after Laios all but laughs in his face in disbelief. I think this scene and the slip-up shows that Kabru does have a desire for connection, that even when he's all calculating and manipulative with his business mode on, there's that desire under it all. And with Laios, well, what better excuse is there to be interested in someone that so conveniently is at the center of his plans and goals for the dungeon? Meeting practicality and genuine interest makes for this- I don't think that's unique to Laios perse, I do think Kabru is interested in people in general like he himself puts it in contrast with the touden siblings who don't, but with Laios the difference is the utter onesidedness of it, the brick wall of social cues he doesn't know how to approach but both needs and wants to. Repressing a desire for social connections, being bound by it despite wanting to not need them, is a common theme in Dungeon Meshi! And I think this fits into that. It's in the grabbing of Laios' arm too. Yes it's from despair, from the situation and from not being heard out, but that despair hides a desire, and it's a desire both to fix everything and to be seen and heard finally. And you could theorize it's his time with Mithrun that made him help realize here that yes there's some truth to wanting to be friends with Laios, and learn to seize the opportunity, to chase it not just through mind games but also try honesty, bluntness...

His arc with Laios (and with Mithrun) is a lot about teaming up imo, his party disappears and accomplished little because he never fully opened up to them, but when push came to shove and he was thrown into teaming up with someone (Mithrun) unfamiliar with no pretenses possible in an urgent situation he slowly gained trust for him, he learns that trust can be valuable even through the risk, enough that by the time he has to make his ultimate choice of going against Laios and even killing, vs helping him and letting him do his own plan, conflicted as he is Kabru still chooses to defend Laios from Lycion and have some faith- and this despite having his own opinion dismissed by Laios in the scene we just looked at. He is putting faith in Laios to have the weight of that world he was carrying alone for years put into someone else's hands, upon their choices, despite it meaning everything to him. Dungeon Meshi is a loooot about community and unity, about reaching each other halfway to have understanding and accomplish things together, better, and Kabru's arc very much is about that whole thing. Laios decides to go with his own gut instead of agreeing with Kabru's pleading, and there's much to say about that, but ultimately I see it as Kabru being forced to reckon with having to put full trust in another person's judgement yes, terrifying and risky, but sometimes it'll pay off. Seeking to understand each other earnestly IS good, and it's only after all pretenses are out the window that things start to look up, compromise shows willingness to do that.

So like. Mithrun's half of kabru's storyline is about being understood, getting some of that social connecting need he's been neglecting and showing how genuineness pays off, meanwhile Laios' half is about understanding others, seeing the flaws in how he approaches others. How do you expect people to understand you if you aren't earnest with them, Laios asks? Lycion hammers it home too, being the one to expose Kabru having been fake with Laios and trying being very blunt and direct with Laios. With Mithrun he learns to socialize without playing 4d mind chess again, it's easy with him befause he's so uninterested in respecting social conventions anymore and is so blunt and honest, and with Laios he learns to apply that. Mithrun is his parallel and Laios is his contrast.

Okay this was the story arc bit now getting back to a character analysis focus. Kabru is interested in anthropology in general, with a genuine interest in learning about people and languages & helping people at large. He's concerned with the greater good and "preventing Utaya from happening again", not because he himself doesn't feel safe but because he wants to prevent tragedies in the world, tragedies that affect others the way he's been before. Kabru is individualistic in the sense that he takes everything upon himself, doesn't readily trust others with decisions, but he's also incredibly selfless. He's dedicating his life to investigating dungeons and stopping their meltdowns, thinking someone else than the elves must get involved, he has personal reasons to be motivated to stop the demon but unlike Mithrun it's not out of revenge but out of a concern for others' wellbeing, while Mithrun's motivations are stuck in the past Kabru's are in the future's. In his determined pursuit of his goals he neglects his own needs and wellbeing- Due to his upbringing with the sheltering Milsiril, Kabru has a hard time even doing basic care tasks like cleaning and cooking, if it wasn't for his landlord doing the cleaning of his rented room for him it'd be very messy, bottles laying around because he drinks alcohol to help with insomnia regularly for one. Dungeon diving isn't all that profitable, especially being Kabru's party, and it's unsafe, and it's uncomfortable, and not exactly well seen- He's not enriching himself either in wealth or status, and yet Kabru his spending his every day and every ressource researching about dungeon diving parties on the Island to keep an eye out for possible future dungeon lords, making influential connections like the shadow governor, and of course dungeon diving itself. He even puts it himself, that he'd rather die in a dungeon in pain than stay at Milsiril's, and it's very important to remember that unlike Laios Kabru hates dungeons- He loathes monsters, is terrified of them and the threat the dungeons make, and doesn't even seem to have true curiosity or interest for dungeons' workings beyond how to stop them from causing harm- his dedication to dungeon diving is solely in relation to his mission. While I'm sure he does find some interactions fulfilling here and there, he also keeps himself from connecting with others, treating relationships either as tools (like drinking is to him) or situations to people please and focus on helping fix their issues like with Dia's fiance, sinking a lot of time into it and not opening up himself, gaining nothing from it except maybe some loyalty and reputation, a sense of satisfaction and a sense of having done a good thing.

The end very much justifies the means with him. He's one of the more politically conscious and few greater good caring people of the cast but he's not without bias, his talking about kobolds for one... more on that in the kabru & Kuro section. He's not blinded by ideas of good and evil since he has no problems with greyer areas if the ultimate result is good- but he can be blinded by laser focus somewhat. His fear over Laios- while clearly not unfounded since kui herself stated that at the beginning of serialization she really thought Laios would become a demon king as dungeon lord in the end- makes him take rash decisions, where if it wasn't for people reviving and saving his party again and again and again, Kabru would never have even met Laios. See, again the theme that he can't achieve his goals alone even if he tries. He doesn't want to share burdens and plans, refuses help sometimes, but he does rely on it like everyone else, and ultimately I think that's what his arc is about like we covered- from being so distant with his party to opening up with mithrun and ultimately, in his kill Laios vs trust Laios dilemma he picked trust.

I do think growing up with Milsiril shaped him into who he became a lot, not only because he had access to knowledge with her ressources and her teaching yes, but most importantly imo he learned to manage an emotionally needy adult. It's mentioned his dead mother would sometimes vent to him when drunk, and it's different but similar to Milsiril being a sensitive recluse hermit who jumps from tears to anger in the blink of an eye, with emotional manipulation whether intentional or not, guilt tripping for even small things like which home cuisine he picks to talk about. Kabru grew used to having to anticipate and pacify or counter Milsiril's moods, to push through the wails and downright threats to be able to make a point and be heard like when saying he wishes to go into dungeons, and she seems to overburden her kids with the task of managing her emotional stability like I implied. She doesn't have friends except literally maybe just Helki her employee, she likes dolls and interacting with her kids and that's all that we see, so she seems emotionally dependent on her kids and esp Kabru imo. So like with how he operates in the present, he learned to "manipulate for good", what words tend to set people off, what ways to phrase things make pills easier to swallow, what face is most pleasing and soothing, what gestures are too much and what gestures are too little. Daily life and ineracting at home with his foster family became a visual novel with right and wrong answers and for smooth days he needs to be a good kid. Milsiril & Kabru is a topic for another day but I do have a lot to say. I do want it to be kept in mind here that Kabru's opinion that it's impossible for elves to see eye to eye with shortlived races is explicitly linked to his experience with Milsiril, as written in his Adventurer's bible pages. This coming up is definitelyyy a headcanon though but since [Helki is the only friend adjacent relationship we know milsiril has] and their relationship is master & servant there's grounds to theorize about how much kabru interacted with him too- how much Kabru saw Milsiril and Helki interact, his only father adjacent figure you could even say... As @room-surprise puts it, growing up in that house watching Milsiril and Helki and himself he learned that life is not to eat or be eaten but instead "to use or be used". Having grown elsewhere than the rigid elven kingdom first, that place with its tons of social etiquette rules and hierarchy, helped him be more critical of that society even as he observed how it worked and how he could work it, his original home may have not been much more welcoming, but sometimes difference is all that's needed to start comparing and realizing how systems are built, and not innate or unchangeable. I think being thrown into it rather than born into it shaped how Kabru perceived it. Psychology also helped him deal with his own trauma imo- in the incubus & parasitic bee comic it seems rationalizing the people from his hometown's superstitions helps him make his peace about it, makes it feel less personal, more distant- it's not my great aunt thinking I ruined my mom's life by being born, it's the human instinct and phenomenon of people being scared of what they don't understand, like a child with pale blue eyes. People being scared by what they don't understand, hm, it really always goes back to this in Dungeon Meshi doesn't it.

I think it's needless to say at this point but it's obvious Kabru is a character very affected by trauma. Faced with monsters, which've ravaged his home in the blink of an eye, he shakes and hesitates. He gets flashbacks when thinking about eating monsters. Wild topic swing but believe it or not there's a recurring "is it ptsd or autism" debate that often happens with characters, including L from Death Note for example, and Kabru has had this phenomenon in a niche of the fandom too. As one myself I do heavily relate to Kabru in the lens of him being an overachiever masked autistic, who unconsciously was drawn to learning psychology out of a need to do so and used to approach social interactions as a more scripted and logical affair than intuitive, and that was in part due to trauma yes- but autism and social-based trauma that pushed you to overcompensate and overachieve is, well... There's a causal link there yes, and it's a tendency that does happen with autism, especially in its afab presentation. And Kabru having ptsd is pretty much undeniable, so then, both? Personally I would claim kabru suffered not only the trauma of Utaya being destroyed but also social trauma living through being feared and hated by villagers and then taken in by elves and being constantly talked over- again different but similar to Rin's own experience and trauma. Truth is Kabru not being autistic doesn't change all that much from the "Laios caught his eye because he doesn't mask well and Kabru has to teach him about it he has to tell him that's illegal and look out for him" magnetism theory because that's also what ptsd does, someone with ptsd depending on the trauma also can become very scripted and nervous about skirting from it. Autism just gives it a more personal lens, where it's not only trauma but just who you are, always feeling a bit apart from everyone else in a fundamental way. In the end what autism and ptsd share in situations like this is that they treat social situations like a survival game, no fun included. This isn't the kabru is autistic analysis that's another topic plus many exist already I bet, but yes just know that these are common and coherent readings that can give a good lens for his behavior or obsessive tendencies.

Last tangent last tangent- but words are Kabru's main weapon right, knowledge is Kabru's main warfare method. Being in a society and with a parental guardian who doesn't put weight into your opinions and wants, speaking and being listened to is hard, and Kabru learned to play the game and dance the dance until he could make connections anywhere. It's of course relevant with how he dealt with Misilril and just how he continues to approach problems and matters now too, it's a way to be, a defense mechanism too, again like Rin's. It's interesting to note that it's Milsiril who taught him a lot, which he mentions is what he's grateful for her for most, teaching him and training him- and isn't that very in line with how Milsiril also felt spoken over and rejected by elven society as well, how she despises elven society even. Almost as if knowledge is a tool when you're devalued and pushed down in a society- Something that was important for Milsiril to teavh to him, which also fits nicely in with Kabru teaching Kuro the common tongue later on too. Milsiril's approach to the game of hierarchy was to keep her head down and obey orders until she could retire living rich as a hermit and foster parent, though, and that's emblematic of where they differ too- Kabru wants to be proactive, do more prevention with dungeons to have less damage control to do, even if you have to throw yourself into danger, even if you have to seek it out, so he makes connections and builds influence and goes dungeon diving. Milsiril wants to go away from trouble, leave to be safer, avoid danger, in life like in work, so she decides to live away from wider society to deal with her trauma and social anxiety, and so she retires and doesn't understand why Kabru would ever want to go near a dungeon again. Words are Kabru's main weapon but ultimately he drops arms and shed this attitude for open communication instead... 😌

I've started doing more analyses with enneagrams, I'll link back here when I make my first enneagram character analysis feature with Laios but in the meantime, sorry if you know nothing about it... If I had to call one for Kabru right now, 5w6/6w5 and 163 for tritype? Which would somewhat complement my reading of Laios as a 4w5 478, being his contrary in the action center 1 vs 8 which is the center that dictates how you judge/approach others/interactions, and the order being that the socialization center is the facet that's most important to Kabru vs what's least important to Laios. Inversely what's most important to Laios and least important to Kabru is the heart center aka how you judge yourself, your relationship with your own self-importance, Laios is very concerned with his own identity and interests and flees oppressive places that make him need to conform too much meanwhile Kabru is to himself only a tool for his greater goal and is ready to sacrifice individuality and his own comfort for it. But hey why would Kabru be 6w5 but still have 1 has his most important type in his 163 tritype? Well 6 is the desire for stability, security, and 1 is the high strict standard & concern for what's right vs wrong. I would consider 6 as his more important type because it's that desire that shaped his 1 importance given to morality, justice, good on a wider scale, etc, especially as someone marginalized where moral policies naturally benefit more people, often especially those devalued ykwim? Bettering the country with policies is right and also benefits him, he thinks everyone should have stability and safety, that it's the most important thing for everyone, but it presents as a 1 way to deal with that issue.

I think an important recurrent theme you can notice here too is onesided and unbalanced relationships. Kabru had the role of significant emotional support to both parental figures he had in his life, when as a child you're the one supposed to emotionally unload and the parents are supposed to take on them and manage the both of you, and it's made him be stuck into that mode sort of by default, letting others open themselves to you as much as they want but not opening up in turn, being more detached and unemotional- and of course, that's what's needed when you need to fix things, when you have to make sure everything is taken care of. It's the approach he takes both for his life and for relationships, so he shuts out his own emotions and pushes himself for others and for the world. He likes knowing, but not being known, because that's not supposed to be his role or purpose. He knows how burdening that can be. It does make the reversal of Laios being interested in Laios actively and Laios being uninterested in Kabru himself interesting. I don't know Kabru knows himself all that well, it's always about others so he doesn't take nearly as much time pondering his own wants, I think that plays into the "I wanted to be friends" too. It's how he's so able to get Dia's fiance to emotionally unload on him and vent over a couple hours and so at ease with it- he's used to it. Ah and even with Rin! He was specifically asked to befriend Rin as a kid, a very heavily traumatized girl- he was asked this because he's a shortlived race kid like her and nice, was asked this by his foster mother for the canaries' sake- he was literally put into that emotional support situation there too.

I am not mentioning every parallel & contrast he has with Laios I don't wanna be here all day!! But hey where Kabru had his town ravaged by monsters as a child and has always holds importance for having community, Laios fantasized about monsters tavaged his town because he hated his community, for one. In this precise scenario, Laios saw flaws and he immediately wanted to give up on that community, meanwhile Kabru saw flaws and wanted to fix them- Well, mostly, since Kabru did give up on relations with elves for a good while, and both end up amending those beliefs and seeking to make a better society within the golden kingdom together.

Here is my very quickest Kabru analysis apparently 😭😭 I NEED to get dragged offstage this can't go on- Idk man I still haven't gotten THE ANGLE with Kabru's narrative in the story I still can't see one thread that makes everything seamlessly connect together like it usually happens with Dunmeshi for me, but there's so much going on here about typical dunmeshi themes like authenticity, balancing considering others & your own needs and connecting...... But my biggest impression after my first read that still lingers now is that Kabru was in good part there to embody that people are a tapestry and that we're like an ecosystem, you can't carry the weight of the world alone because you are not alone and humans are creatures that accomplish feats through being social, like how Kabru couldn't have defeated the monster without Laios' help, Laios couldn't have gotten this far without Kabru's interference. Again it's all comes to that final battle where everyone, different as they may be, come together to fight on the same side, to save their collective world... And the guy everyone believed in least being the one on who all hope and faith and trust is placed in the last desperate shot at winning. Idk man!!! What are we doing here go touch grass breathe in the breeze hug your loved ones what a joy it is to be alive and human!! Take example on Kabru and love yourself. Because you're human and he loves humans I mean- don't actually take notes on self-love from Kabru that would not go well I feel. But yeah like to me Kabru's party gives me a nudge of what direction I should go in to figure out what his portion of the story is getting at, the importance of Kabru's party then becomes showing the state of his relationships at the start of the story before things get shaken up, as contrast and a reference point...

Rinsha Fana

OKAYYY here we are. Not everything is about you Kabru! <- said with Rin's voice (it really truly actually is lol)

I've already done an incomplete analysis of her here, please look at it for Rin pictures & material, but basically her sour and strict attitude seems to be a defense mechanism she can't fully control, like how she tends to frown when she wants to smile. Kabru's words about it are somewhat dubious to be sure, we don't have a guidebook on "when is Rin truly angry and when is she just smiling upside down :) ", but it is notable that Kabru does have a point with that, from what we see.

Her nagging attitude is part of that defense mechanism- As explicitly stated several times, her main purpose in following Kabru is that she's worried he'd get himself into trouble without her. Not unjustified, since he has trouble even cleaning and eating well, and then he gets all wrapped up with the canaries during canon, but yes according to Rin he's too smart and reckless for his own good. This may be why he sees her as a big sister figure, she nitpicks every little thing but at the end of the day her support is unconditional and she'll stand with you whenever you need her. Sort of like a big sister, she gives tough love but ultimately just wants you to be healthy and to take your pain away.

She had a very difficult upbringing, seen as a heretic to burn at the stake in her early childhood then treated like an animal when growing up with the elves. Her parents had an unaligned religion and its practices are tied to how she learned magic, which is why her family was reported to the canaries as dark magic users, but not in time for them to arrive before the townspeople killed her parents. Where with the elves Kabru learned to people please in order to gain more agency and safety when he grew up seen as a pet, Rin learned to be irreproachable and stand her ground when she grew up treated as an animal. The townspeople in Kabru's hometown sought to break up his home and chase out his family, and they may have threatened heavily for all that we know, but Kabru was able to keep his love for humans and belief that humanity is good, the trauma he has is of monsters killing people during the dungeon overflow- Rin's trauma is townspeople burning her house down and lynching her family until she was the only survivor. She sees others as a threat, and not without reason.

Both Rin and Kabru wear masks socially. They go in opposite ways though, Rin oversells her toughness to tell people not to mess with her, she makes herself closed off and intimidating, meanwhile Kabru is more of a chameleon but mainly, he makes himself seem open and appeasing, unthreatening to be trusted and liked more.

She was sent into shock and suffered through severe trauma especially since the people who collected her amidst all this, the canaries, are very ill equipped to deal with emotionally/mentally fragile people, especially shortlived race kids. Because of this whole situation she has some contempt for those who had it "easier", like mages who went to magic school instead of having to self-teach like Rin did. And some of this is disdain that where she had to study everything on her own others have teachers to guide them through it all, a sense of superiority, but imo it's also doubtlessly a defense mechanism, an anti magic-elitism where she sneers at them before they can sneer at her. Before they can call her uncultured, she calls them talentless. Counter before they can even strike. Defense mechanism. In the main story, we hear of this tension Rin has about academy mages with how she speaks of Marcille and her spells- specifically she's rude about Marcille's protection charm/ward and says something about how the one who did it was definitely an academy mage because the spell is too by the book in chapter 32- and this is what I mean, she takes issue with how strict about rules and spells they are, how much they conform, because her own background is being severely mistreated and sotracized for being an unaligned unconventional mage, for doing magic outside of these rules and books. Interestingly, we also see in chapter 10 though that she looks down on people she sees as not successful or capable, saying that they'll definitely defeat the mad mage and "we won't be hand-to-mouth adventurers like you people", perhaps from trauma too- wishing to put a distance between the group she'd normally be categorized with and who she wants to become, or having felt mocked by the guy who talked to them before by having been related to them, because she's so on guard and bad faith always. We don't really know the details of Rin's time with the elves, escept that she was "minded like an animal". We don't even know where she stayed, even, just that Milsiril couldn't take her in because her house was already full. Where did she stay, then? Some shitty orphanage? I like to think she stayed with the canaries as "an impounded article" until she became an adult and left with Kabru, explaining even more her attitude since she'd have all the military influence, and further proving the point that any success she earns was self-made, that anything she knows she had to teach berself because her environment never gave her opportunities. But yes wherever it was, we can only assume that it was close enough to Milsiril's mansion or easily accessible, because Kabru and Rin continues seeing each other. It seems like at first, they would have made trips just in order to have Kabru befriend Rin until she could talk. They may have continued through letters eventully too if they couldn't meet. Hust a lot of uncertainty on every ground, all we know is Rin and Kabru became important to each other.

We actually know little of Rin and Kabru's pre-canon relationship, but we know that Rin was taken in by the elves some time after Kabru was, after her parents were killed by townsfolk and report them as black mages to the canaries, who arrived too late to be able to tell, so just took Rin in and...... Well we know very little of how she was treated, too, even where she was kept, just that Milsiril couldn't take her in and that they "minded her like an animal". We know that Kabru wanted and wants to "get her away from the elves somehow", something he doesn't say about the other kids living with Milsiril and explains his reason as being because Rin has bad experience with the elves, but it's unsure how Kabru left home and how Rin came to go with him. Because of that quote of his though it's likely he invited her along when he left, and she followed. But it's not confirmed, for all we know Kabru could have only invited her after 2 years after leaving when he founded his party. It's obvious Rin holds no love for living with the elves anyways, but we don't know how much freedom she had- it was hard for Kabru to be allowed to leave because he was coddled, notably only leaving 2 years after he reached in-world adulthood despite having first voiced his want to leave when he was a kid, but meanwhile I like to think Rin left very easily because no one cared, she was something that took up space and food where she wasn't wanted or needed, an obsolete "impounded article". She was catatonic when she was first taken in, but it's likely things were cleared up once she was able to talk that no, her family wasn't practicing black magic, and then the canaries just didn't know where to send her because she had no home or family anymore. But then, if she could leave whenever she wanted why wouldn't she have left earlier? Probably precisely because of Kabru too, because she didn't want to leave him. She loves him, and they're more or less the only friend each other had, so she couldn't just leave him behind and try to build a life without him, similarly to how he couldn't do that either. She stayed for Kabru and she left for Kabru.

I made another little post speculating more about her life with the elves and the possible impact of Flamela here if you're interested, as well as elaborating on her abandonment issues and the importance of Kabru to her.

Rin does seem to believe in Kabru's cause, in making him dugeon lord and that being important, but her main motivation is still pretty clearly that she's doing this for Kabru because it's Kabru. She doesn’t seem to really know why or what, just that it should be ‘someone who deserves it’ that beats the dungeon and becomes dungeon lord, and her first lines show her determined to prove everyone they can beat the dungeon. Like stated, her main motivation is she wants to make sure Kabru's safe and out of trouble, so hey why not put the "heretic" magic she learned to use and become his offense mage, why not use it to manage a feat so big and desired (defeating the dungeon) that everyone will have to admit she and her art are worthy of respect, to prove to everyone she can make it with her own skills and own unconventional knowledge. Her magic, the last remnant of her family. Her house burned down with everything she possessed, and she's said to have little attachment to her culture due to having been an immigrant on top of everything else, so the memories and knowledge they've taught her, the lessons they instilled in her and the person they tried to shape her to be, that's all that's left of them. She never speaks of them, at all, likely due to the whole heay childhood trauma thing, so we don't really know her feelings on well, everything, beyond that it was traumatic. We don't know what her relationship with her parents was like. She's a very closed off person. That's another contrast we can point out with Kabru, Rin flees her pre-canaries past and never brings up her family, has little attachment to places she's lived in or her culture, but Kabru is fixated on remembering, brings up his mother and culture whenever he can like in the halloween local sweets extra, has made the tragedy of Utaya at the center of his entire life mission. Rin and Kabru really are contrasts of each other in how they deal with trauma I think, whereas they both become very guarded in very different ways I think this highlights how simlar he may have felt with Mithrun, the both of them having become obsessed with their trauma and eradicating the cause of it which happened to be the same thing, having become workaholics and consumed over it.

She's in love with Kabru, but the way I see it it doesn't seem like she's particularly pursuing him romantically. I do think Kabru's occasional flirting with her gives her needless hope, but I don't think getting with him is either her goal in following him or her plan, I think she's content just following him to taking care of him selflessly, even when she knows he can be a womanizer and dishonest asshat, albeit she'll complain every step of the way yes. Again, unintentional big sister attitude.

Post-canon, she keeps in touch with Kabru and becomes a pharmacist, presumably living in Merini but there's no mention of the location, we just know she's kept touch because of a post-canon extra with Laios and Kabru. Her new profession supports that 1) Rin likes caring after others and 2) Rin never had an interest for anything about dungeon diving in itself. It's also ironic, since she was a offensive mage and didn't do healing.

Contrasts with Marcille, where to start... Marcille is optimist and rather open and Rin is pessimist and fully closed off, Marcille is social and smiles a lot and Rin is the reverse. Both of them have a caring mom friend attitude, but Marcille is more gentle and coddling about it whereas with Rin it's pure tough love, both of them do this to a often stifling degree (Falin, Izutsumi, Kabru). There's the contrast in their appearances too, and how Marcille dresses practically but Rin is more flashy, with an... Ambitious skirt cut? They're both elegant but in different ways, they're both very bold in fights, and stubborn and loud in their beliefs. Marcille was a more or less sheltered girl who learned magic in an academy while Rin learned on her own at the cost of blood and sweat. Both of them seem to have grown up in towns rather than cities, a more rural setting, since there were large fields and chickens roaming where Marcille lived and the little we see and know of Rin's town makes it seem closed on itself. They were presumably lonely growing up, Marcille had no peers because of her irregular aging and spent her time absorbed in novels, where Rin because of her family and culture/race was mistreated and avoided and it seems she spent a lot of her time focusing on learning things instead, perhaps paralleling novels with textbooks even in young age. Marcille lost one parent of natural causes and was traumatized by it to the point it became at the center of her life mission, and Rin lost both parents to murder and was traumatized by it to the point she avoids thinking and talking about it ever again. Both of them seek to learn, use and even create unconventional magic eyond the rules set by people. Both of them have cat energy, thank you for coming to my ted talk

Holm

Holm is actually rather mysterious. The biggest thing to notice here is that Holm has been to elven jail before, because his research was too close to dark magic. We have no idea of what his research was about at all, we have no details and little clear hints. He's a man of theorics though, it shows in how he talks about magic and spirits, and with his christmas gift exchange gift it shows how nurturing living things with magic really is something he enjoys and has interest in. It's not a lot to go off of, especially since we know canaries are trigger happy when it comes to dark magic, both arresting people who had minor brushes with it or that seem suspicious without any confirmed crime, and with elves exaggerating people's crimes so they become a canary for manpower. Who knows, maybe he is dungeon diving to try and subtly do research at the same time, but the way we get no hints of that and he just keeps working as a spirit user post-canon makes me think it's just work to him. He never mentions researching or seems to be studying something in the dungeon so it doesn’t sound like that was significant part of his reason for dungeon diving. So he had his run-in with authorities and decided to live more simply from thereon. But that could also just be because of the nature of dark/ancient magic and how it more or less poofed from the world after the demon left, too. With the truth revealed and ancient magic unavailable to channel anymore, research becomes less needed and viable. I doubt Kabru knows about his past. Again, much like Laios' party pre-canon, what got them together is work before anything else, with the added bonus of Kabru spinning an important narrative about conquering the dungeon to become dungeon lord.

His chill laidback, more passive and calm attitude makes him feel more vague and mysterious too, hard to get a good grip on, but he’s also the most mature and put together of the group. Very mellow. He's not quiet to the point of seeming asocial like Dia somewhat does, he just seems... Average, in the extra about his sister for example. And good at keeping secrets. His skeleton in the closest is the jail thing and that's that, seems like it put an end to his researching career and he’s now settled for being a spirits magic user as a job which brought him to dungeon dive. Nope sir prison isn't worth it I'm keeping myself into trouble from now on. What job can I do now though, my specialization is spirits arts... Dungeon diver, okay sure. It could be theorized that his usual attitude + his secret are a persona of sorts, where he keeps himself largely hidden and keeps people at an arm's distance. It's pointed out he freezes in the face of conflict- it shows he dislikes fighting, even being worried for the spirits he makes fight, and that makes me think even more that dungeon diving wouldn't have been his first choice. It could also be a good part of why he's so laidback and quiet then, passive. He dislikes conflict, so he avoids being in the spotlight also helpful skill to have when you've had run-ins with the law, and he has such the nice guy reputation that Mickbell doesn't think twice about crashing at his place in the middle of the night- and sure enough Holm lets him in and practically serves him. You could think him a doormat, but we see with the comic of him & his sister that he's very capable of being mad and agitated and go more on the offensive in a social situation, but yes he has that helpless -panics and wails while all his coworkers does things around him against his will- energy that's pretty sopping wet cat. He seems chill and cool but oh no he was actually the stressed overworked protagonist of a sitcom movie. My condolences for your life Holm. In general he's also a decently judgemental person, and although casually and often with a smile he has no problem "telling it like it is", calling out Mickbell's treatment of Kuro and talking about how Kabru can't clean for shit, how he'd "be willing to do anything to achieve his goals" and is too people pleasing, etc. He's confident in himself, and pretty set in his beliefs though we see him debate and compromise with Kabru.

His sister is the only personal relationship we see him have, but it's stated. She must live on the island too, considering Kabru visits her. The Island isn't exactly a place you're typically born in, so it's interesting to wonder what it means that both Holm and his sister would have moved there. Did their parents disown him after he got arrested over his research? There's nothing to say they did, but nothing that hints they didn't either, honestly, so Holm is a bit of a blank slate backstory wise as well. We know his religion's very important to him too though, and it affects his diet. His spirits are very dear to him and it's mentioned for example that he's raised his undine since basically the spirit equivalent of a baby, so it's implied he's been raising spirits for a long time. If his social life doesn't seem to be thriving, his spirits are definitely filling some of his social & connection needs as pets would. He does both healing and offense.

His contrast with the Laios party would be Falin since they're both healers lowkey doormats who notice the flaws in the people around them but don't act on them and prefer being passive and take upon themselves. They both love nature and were pushed by capitalism and rigid structures that prioritize conformity into work they aren't passionate about. The most important thing in Holm's life seems to be his spirits, and the most important thing in Falin's life are her loved ones, I'd say his enneagram is 592 while Falin's hmm, 926.

I ramble more about Holm in this kabuholm post and compile more of his moments, but it's more speculation than analysis, it's a take on him essentially. My personal verdict is- king of staying in his lane. He's here for work and he keeps his thoughts to himself to speak when it's necessary, he's not afraid of letting people have it outside of that though. The separation of professional and personal life is not going to great with his coworker occasionally imposing on his home lol. Reflecting his maturity, he lets others handle themselves and only steps in when he's needed. Hm, sounds like someone else doesn't it?

Daya

First things first: Daya or Dia? You'll probably have noticed I use Dia, and the reason is pretty simple: Daya/Dia is a nickname. Her official name is Diamond, but the shortening is always used instead- Diamond we have an official spelling for, the nickname we do not. Since it's in katakana (da-ya) and a fantasy world, translations call her Daya, but that's the same pronounciation as the "dia" in "diamond", and isn't it logical for her nickname to just be a shorter version of her actual name? We do know that Kui translates names to katakana being mindful of their pronounciation and not just spelling, like how Tims in Chilchuck tims is written as timzu. Yenpress the official english translator has messed up character names before and this even after official spellings came out, like Mikbell and Sissel, but notablyxthe anime english translation has also gone with Daya. But so, yes, I call her Dia, but of course there's no right or wrong here and by going against official translations I'm making things harder than they need to be. It's just...... Hard to unsee.......

Daya is very underrated for having such an interesting background! She was esentially raised in a cult? The "dungeon keepers". That protects dungeons, in that they keep people from going into it. She never knew why it was an important thing to do, and never questioned it, but as readers at the end of canon we now can imagine that they kept people from going into dungeons so that there would not be new dungeon lords and dungeons would not overflow. Ultimately, Dia fled her home and community because she refused the notion of marrying an older relative to have a child. There's a mistranslation from Yenpress that Namari is from the same tribe as Namari, when the original japanese sentence is just about how they're both from the same race- both dwarves.

No wonder with this background that she "has a slightly otherworldly air". She's very stonefaced and hard to read, but with the focus on duty and discipline she had growing up it's easy to see how she'd have become a somewhat emotionally constipated person in this way. She fell in love with someone of her choosing and is intent on marrying him, contrasting with the man she was ordered to marry back home. It's with a renewed interest in understanding what the life she'd spent so long upholding was about that she went back to work with dungeons as a dungeon diver, in her own words with the goal of understanding what they were protecting. In this way, it seems the marriage order was truly the thing that made everything snap and finally caused her to shake up her life, to look back and start questioning everything- and now she's free, she chooses what to do with herself and who to be with. It's said she loves her husband, and her husband seems very attached to her as well. Somewhat paralleling Chilchuck and his wife, we can imagine how nervewracking it must be to be the spouse of a dungeon diver, who faces death for a living. Dia is very independent and disaffected on top of it, so we see that her fiance feels insecure and even doubts she may cheat on him with Kabru. This insecurity is born from feeling like Dia doesn't need him- and so may leave him in the future. He feels neglected, and Dia probably doesn't show him love and how much he's valued in a way that he sees or satisfies him. That said, her fiance after a couple of cups and an hour with Kabru is shiwn to be very open and emotional, which would presumably complement her well. Dia seems unemotional but she does have her bouts of strong emoting, whether it be distrust, worry, frustration or even wonder- That said, she's not the greatest conversationalist around and I can definitely see her not really understanding how love, care affection and attention, is supposed to look like- Again, she grew up in an extreme social environment.

She's bold and fierce, confident, and notably very very strong. With training from a young age not only in discipline but in fighting she's a warrior born and raised. These are considered tomboyish traits, but I do like how Kabru and the adventurer's bible calls her a lady- she shows wonder at the treasure insects too! She's not disinterested in oretty things, or anything of the sort. We just have little window into her interests, since her life centers around work so much. She also calls out Mickbell for his mistreatment of Kuro, but also does nothing about it. She's quiet and is most often seen closing up the tail end of the psrty looking around for threats while they're on the move. She's quieter than Holm and also more standoffish. The queen of staying in her lane, if you ask me. We'll be talking more about it in the relationships section but you can already see this very interesting party dynamic forming of Rin and Mickbell having their nose all up in others' business while Dia and Holm are very permissive and quiet even while kabrin and mickuro look insane from an outside perspective. Who knows what normal looks like to Dia, though. She disliked Namari because her father made things rocky for dwarves on the Island for a while, so that can show how critical she can be and how her value of not sticking her neck out and staying put & not rocking the boat manifest/the why of it. Like in her home community we can imagine, you have a role in society and being overly disruptive can ruin things for everyone including yourself- even if the one who did the mistake was your parent the fault befalls on your whole family. Very strict hierarchy based outlook on society and community I think... It's interesting that despite of having been a victim of such behaviors herself, part of those faulty lessons stuck with her and she upholds much of the same fallacies.

All of this is very interesting foundation for a character, but yes not much else is developed on Dia and that's wher her story starts and ends- I'll make a diaholm post eventually that delves into her themes of freedom and emotional wallbricking but that's about it from me. I like to think that she likes her husband, but rushed into marriage- that going from a life where everything was structured and decided for her by others to having nothing but choice, from the prospect of marrying an old relative to anyone she chooses, she sort of picked the first guy she liked and made a move on her. Pure speculation, because I like exploring the side effects her upbringing would have had and this sort of detached attitude she has, with some typa off attachment style...

Fun facts: if the modern au christmas gift exchange extra is to be believed, Dia enjoys reading and has some books of her own. In a Daydream Hour she's drawn with Holm out of their work uniforms but she still has a sword at her hip, which may mean she carries a weapon with her even just around town. She has two younger siblings that she never mentions and we presume she left behind at home.

Mickbell Tomas

Okay okay okay now the true insanity may begin! Please refer to this post to see Mickbell's profile pages. Also see the bath comic for another great show of his character! I cannot make a mickbell collage for this there is no pic page umm ummmm additional compilation here.

Despite being an adult of 22 years old, even older than Kuro both literally and developmentally, Mickbell often acts rather juvenile. He tends to be very black and white, he wanted to steal the corpse retrievers’ stuff and was mad when Kabru didn’t allow it, he thinks Kuro talking to others will make Kuro leave him. He's judgemental (exhibit A: comic about Rin smiling) and critical (esp with Kabru). All means justify the end (him having fun, becoming rich) but if others do something wrong efficiency or annoying behavior wise you better believe he'll voice it. He’s very expressive, both in body language and words, swinging his arms as he walks and jumping and stomping the ground in anger. He also has a mischievous streak. He’s casual with touch, touchy feely if you will, and clings to Kuro a lot, both for safety and because he simply likes to. Cough cough separation anxiety and abandonment issues. He knows how to be serious however, especially when it comes to money or risky situations. He does his job well and does it conscientiously. In many ways he's similar to Fleki, if Fleki was more dedicated on the job. He may be very layered, and manipulative when he wants to be, but he seems to value in others the same type of directness that he has with emoting and interacting with others, as seen with his distaste for Rin being a tsundere. He's blunt and straightforward (whenever he isn't with Kuro or scamming), and in that way it seems those are values of his, which may be why he does usually gets along best with Rin, especially on the job.

He has loose ethics and likes to goof around but is otherwise often highstrung, reflecting Kabru's "relax a little" view of him. He's serious on the job- a contrast you can especially notice in the christmas exchange special. He had to steal and do scams to survive, again the christmas special shows he's good with money and making deals- mischievous and full of himself when he has to sell stuff and quick to flee when he smells trouble, but very focused when it comes to calculating costs and revenue.

Again, despite all his troublemaker toddler behavior Mickbell is surprisingly serious! It's still undeniable that he has capital i Issues, from being very uncaring about how others may see him and developing this "it's us vs the world" mentality with Kuro, to how emotional, exaggeratingly expressive and impulsive he is- in a way that lacks emotional regulation skills I'd even say, to what he says when something displeases him like "she'd be a lot cuter if she smiled more" about Rin after she doesn't laugh at his jokes... This all seems to point towards Mickbell having pretty bad emotional intelligence. You could even easily call him stunted. He doesn't seem very self-aware, his manipulation of Kuro is not something he can do solely unconsciously but it is genuinely debatable how much he knows he cares about Kuro, how much he's aware of what he feels & why, why he says what he says and does what he does. What would he do if you told him that trying to manipulate Kuro into thinking that everyone except Mickbell wants him in shackles and in pain and wanting to have a house and a nice domestic normal life with him is sort of mutually exclusive? I don't think he thinks about the wider picture like that, I think it'd cause some dissonance a bit. He thinks ahead when it comes to finance, but socially he seems to very much live in the moment, not really trying to anticipate how much others will appreciate his input or behavior or thinking about how he'll keep up the charade 2 years down the line. He wants to hustle his way out of being homeless, but in many ways he still has the mentality he had to have for running scams and surviving on the streets at his lowest, one day at a time, succeed this step so you can then succeed the next. In his mind he's constantly making charisma rolls on Kuro and he needs to not fail them.

Don't you worry Mickbell & Kuro is getting a whole section, buuut with Mickbell and Kuro both, character analysis is inseparable from analysis of the two's relationship. The ethics and circumstances of Mickbell working Kuro for peanuts are surprisingoy complex- because that is how Mickbell sees their dynamic, but Kuro sees it completely differently and assigns himself full agency in wanting to stay. Kuro obviously wants to follow Mickbell, and that’s what Mickbell takes advantage of unknowingly, what he thinks is Kuro’s helplessness. What I find much more alarming is Mickbell’s need to control not only Kuro's economical and social life but every aspect of his life. He’s not only overcontrolling, paranoid that someone will want to steal him away from him (both for Kuro’s sake but very transparently desperate to not allow Kuro to leave him as well- will get expanded on), but he also wants to isolate him. It’s no coincidence Kuro has no friends apart from Mickbell- the closest thing would be Kabru and even with him, communication can be difficult and Mickbell does interfere. It's not Mickbell's fault there is a language barrier, but it is Mickbell's fault that Kuro has amassed so few tools in navigating the world without Mickbell, but it is his fault that Kuro feels like he can't tell him he's learning common with Kabru, and it is Mickbell's canonical intent to render Kuro just that, powerless enough to need him- again I cannot overstate how it is straight up said and confirmed in the Adventurer's Bible that Mickbell mistreats Kuro the way he does because he's scared Kuro would/will leave him. Mickbell sees their relationship as employer-employee while Kuro sees it more as guardian & guy who needs to have one, but it is also said that Mickbell sees Kuro as family, and I do think that makes sense, and I do think it can't be overstated how on a deeper level it's Mickbell who needs Kuro, and that Kuro is Mickbell's absolute most important person in the world- his only person in the world, even, in many ways.

"Until he met Kuro, Mickbell was all alone in the world, so he seems to see him as family."

Mickbell is desperate for stable relationships, both seen with his clutch on Kuro and his wanting a house to settle in. Or I suppose, relationship singular, he seems very ride or die on the idea that Mickbell and Kuro are the only thing each other needs, he never seems to particularly try or want to befriend others, is a bit clammed up on himself. Distrustful, assumes bad faith, especially as we see with the half-foot union. Perhaps because he's never felt a sense of community where helping each other out of good will was a thing, survival made everything transactional living on the streets, so he has a hard time having good faith with organizations like unions, and this notion of relationships being transactional would have also shaped why he would frame his and kuro's relationship that way, as employer-employee. Not to say he doesn’t like socializing though, we see him work a room all self-satisfied and tell jokes in an extra comic, and he gets peeved when Rin doesn’t laugh at his jokes, he does like getting general social approval. As he isolates Kuro he also willingly isolates himself, and is ready to burn bridges or opportunities for him.

He's sleazy! Debate about egg or chicken all you want, but I think Mickbell running scams definitely shows in how manipulative he is in relationships as well. With the christmas gift exchange thing we see that he can do scams the straightforward way, selling an item to be much more than it us for an inflated price, but it is specifically said that Mickbell doesn't have half-foot pride the same way Chilchuck does and has no problem using his race to "curry favor", so I would think he's done the emotional manipulation kind of scamming as well, acting like a child in need or such. "If you can use something, you should" is stated to be his motto. Because in a life like his you don't have a lot, you seize the opportunities you get because it's a matter of survival and there's no ace up your sleeve dirty enough to justify not taking advantage of it. All this to say- Mickbell's most iconic scene is arguably his short interaction with Kuro here, and it's extremely blatant manipulation. The anime even ups this with the teary eyes and voice acting- the borderline tears followed by a grin shows just how conscious and intensive his manipulating really can get. Again there's a transactional lens he sees relationships through I think- and that plays into Mickbel scamifying his relationships up... Which in the end I do think he feels scummy over. Simply because, chaining someone to you like that is not something you do if you think you're lovable- if you're all that, if you're great and likable and worthy of unconditional love. That man can't believe in that, he can't believe in his life partner of many years choosing to stay if that didn't happen to be his only viable option. Mickbell lives in fear of being abandoned and it's in good part because the world has taught him he's not valuable on his own.

I think Mickbell lives in fear!! And I think that's deeply interesting. Makes sense for someone with such an harsh extreme upbringing as him to be hypervigilant, with food like with money the way he is with the party, he keeps grudges, both in his backstory extra comic and during canon. He lives in fear and distrust and all these little ways he knows toxmake himself feel more powerful than he is. And I think it's so, so interesting how when he finally accepted Kuro following him, inventing something about him becoming his bodyguard, it was because Mickbell just witnessed Kuro kill and maim a man and he was shaking, so afraid but also accustomed enough to violence and needing to bullshit his way through situations to tell Kuro things like "I'm your master" and for Kuro to just go along with it. Mickbell's is the art of faking it till you make it. Mickbell was afraid of Kuro then, and I do think Mickbell was scared of the idea of what this kobold man stranger could do if he decided that Mickbell wasn't his master after all, until his attachment grew and keeping the charade going was less out of a need for Kuro not to hurt him and more out of a need for Kuro not to leave him. So the fear of retribution because he did not know Kuro became a fear of abandonment when he did learn to know and love him- Kuro leaving him alone, the very thing he desired the firt time they met and Kuro followed him after Mickbell freed him. And this is why I made this web weaving about them this makes me ill good god. He lives in fear of being "found out" by Kuro in a way, for this scam of a relationship to be discovered so he only gets tangled up in his manipulation more and more to keep it going as the stakes keep rising and rising because Mickbell is only more invested with time- and he fears that Kuro would realize it one day but he also fears others will expose him, a big part of why he monitors what others say to Kuro, why he wants to be there whenever Kabru talks with him, why he's so scared at the slightest conversation had out of his hearing range. But! Part of it I'd say is also genuine fear that they could take advantage of Kuro, perhaps because due to his own taking advantage of Kuro and how readily the kobold accepts it Mickbell sees Kuro as a particularly vulnerable person, that he could get tricked by anyone, and let's remember that Mickbell met Kuro in a slave trader's cage- Mickbell's fear of others "taking Kuro away from him" is a double edged sword, it's 'them turning Kuro against Mickbell' but it's also what he always says about Kabru or others trying to 'kidnap' Kuro, what he says about how the half-foot guild wouldn't like his bond with Kuro and take him away from Mickbell. He's drunk his own koolaid in many ways. Separation anxiety and abandonment issues!!!!! Distrust at the world and feeling like he can never have nice things or be safe!!! And this plays suuuuuch a role in Mickbell's dream of having a house I think. Because a house is safe- a house means routine, means a place you can stay in and be protected by, is there a more emblematic symbol of stability and safety? In a house Mickbell is shielded from others' gaze and judgement, he's sheltered from the rain and he can keep food inside, he doesn't have to sleep with one eye open to not be attacked or have his things stolen through the night anymore, no there are four walls and it's warm and he and Kuro can live a peaceful life unbothered, away from the rest of the world that seeks them harm and wants them separated. Which hey that could parallel surprisingly deeply Chilchuck's feelings about a house actually, a house and family as something he has but that can be lost and destroyed- both in people leaving and in nightmares of home invasion.

But like Mickbell telling Kuro to stop snarling and growling because it's scary is such a good and fascinating example of this. How much of it is "it scares me" and how much of it is "you're damaging your own reputation, I'm scared of how people will react if you look too beastly and dangerous and what they might do to you- to us"? And this is especially true because Mickbell knows that kobolds are discriminated and how- for these years they've known each other Mickbell has been the one being the middleman between Kuro and the whole world- he's the one securing board and room for the both of them, noticing how people treat them and what they whisper about them, he's the one who gets told "this bathhouse doesn't allow kobolds" and he's the one who decides to leave and visit every bathhouse until they find one who does allow kobolds, becayse he's not taking a bath without Kuro. Mickbell is sticking with Kuro. They are ride or die for EACH OTHER not just oneway. Mickbell washes Kuro, he did that first time after they met each other and Kuro was a ghastly sight and very stinky, and he does now too, Mickbell patiently explains to Kuro how everything works, and when Kuro messes up something like getting Mickbell wet from shaking off water Mickbell gets mad but offers no punishment except chiding. In the bath comic, we see Mickbell spend HOURS brushing Kuro after his bath. There is immense care put into Kuro from Mickbell's end, as well.

"Now you're the cleanest dog in the whole wide world. No one can look down on you."

But hey, where did Mickbell learn "people leave"? That he’s unlovable and no one would stay for him? It’s a common fear that could be from anywhere honestly, whether insecurity alone or a very specific experience- but we do have trails we can follow... Mickbell lived in the slums of Kahka Brud, which he may have been birn in or interestingly enough since Kahka Brud is seen as a city of opportunities might have moved there. First of all, we have to wonder how he got into the streets in the first place. His relatives are listed as "unknown", but well, as a rule of thumb everyone has parents. Not even Kuro has "unknown" listed in his relatives section, and he's had cut contact with them for a long time by canon. What we know about the "relatives" section of Adventurer's Bible profiles is that it only lists living relatives, for example Marcille only has her mother listed, her father isn't listed as deceased and her step-father isn't listed there, meanwhile Kabru only has Milsiril listed, not his mother or even his father (which we don't know the status of, but Kabru doesn't know him either since he left when he was born). So what does this mean for Mickbell's relatives? Either he doesn't know what family he has, or he doesn't know if they're alive. It's not unlike how Kabru's name is stated as unknown, which either means he was renamed Kabru or that Kabru doesn't know just a part of it, like his last name- perhaps forgotten due to trauma, or his mother never told him due to their disowning them.

It could mean he was abandoned on the streets before he could remember so he doesn't know of any parent or caretaker they had, or it could be a lot of things. I do want to point out that both Mickbell and Kuro have "permanently out of contact" with their siblings, but Kuro still has his siblings listed on his profile, not "unknown". Since we get this info I do think Mickbell knew his sister, and I think it all lends itself to the "he doesn't know if they're alive" theory more. I mean, so much could have happened! But I think it's pretty safe to assume that Mickbell and his sister were on the streets together, until they were separated. Due to her messy hair and dead inside look I used to like to think she fell sick and as the older brother it fell on him to take care of both their needs and he couldn't manage to heal her before she died- or they were separated or something happened and he had to assume the worst. But something like some big event making them flee on their separate ways and then fail to see each other again, some other tragedy that made him part from her without knowing of her state... Or my favorite: one day she disappeared. Maybe he told her to stay there while he went to steal some food and he came back and she wasn't there, maybe one night she didn't come back to the alley where they always slept and she never did again, just. Did something happen to her? Was there an accident and she died in some ditch somewhere? Did someone kidnap her? Did she just leave him behind? He doesn't know. He doesn't know and he never will and he can't get an answer. And not having closure is almost worse than suspecting she's dead, or even if he knew it for certain. Because there's always a doubt. There'll always be that he doesn't understand what happened. There'll always remain that knowledge that things can just suddenly disappear one day, it'll be a normal day until it isn't, that people can leave, that everyone he's ever had (and there weren't many) HAVE left they're GONE and he's ALONE, and there'll always be that knowledge that Mickbell couldn't protect his little sister, couldn't even know she was in danger that time, if she was. Again in a way there's that parallel with Chilchuck where Chilchuck is very muh someone worried about the people he cares about's safety and has a protector role the best he can, and Mickbell usually is the one getting protected but he is very possessive and overprotective of Kuro, the one person he has. And just. Waughhhh. Idk if I'll make another post about Mickbell backstory speculation or his sister now if unprompted but for the record I like to call his sister Yukibelle/bella. Yuki because it means snow like deathly pale sickly skin, and it's a 4 letter japanese name, which being 4 letters 2 syllables suits half-foot names aaand most importantly, since Kuro isn't Kuro's real name and it just means "black" in japanese I like to think esp because of the language barrier taht that's just what Mickbell named him. And having no parents imo Mickbell would have named his sister, or even renamed her if she did have a name to spite whoever abandoned them...... In big brother fashion he likes to call her Yuckbelle. Ickybell and Yuckbelle the sublings ever. I was the one who chose your name so I can't make fun of it? Haha try again!........ I need to cope somehow guys. Having lived in the streets with the highest degree of life or death survival on the daily it's also easy to speculate Mickbell had other hardships and trauma like, say, selling his body and to people who are less than ideal. Just saying!! A lot of things you can resdy into his backstory that further explain or explore aspects of his character.

Unlike Chilchuck "I will never fight" Tims, Mickbell actually never fights. Like at all. Ever. His skills are clinging, cowering and getting covered, and giving orders. Both Chilchuck and Mickbell can be both mature and immature, but Chilchuck tends to embody maturity within the narrative and Mickbell is usually much more remembered as immature. Enneagram 6w7 (wants stability and simple pleasures & freedom on the side), same as Chilchuck. 6 is the fear of being without support and that's exactly what Kuro offers..... Very 8 as well, there's a case to be made about him being 683 like Chilchuck but I could see him be more of a 2 or 4 too. God he wants to be loved so bad. He's also quite tall but never mentions a diet to not set off traps, which may be because his diet is already poor. To me he seems like he doesn't care for culture at all having lived in survival on the fringe of society, similarly to him not having much half-foot pride, but he does smile as a dwarf so dwarves being the ideal body type still seems to be something he's in line with.

Post-canon, he opens a variety store with Kuro, and it's said his relationship with Kuro stays unbalanced. We don't know where it was opened, if they stayed in Melini or went back to Kahka Brud- but since Mickbell's dream is to specifically get a house in Kahka Brud's best neighborhoods and it's where he lived before on the streets, it seems to make sense house in Kahka Brud would still be his goal and to set up shop there. Not that we get an update on the house funds, the post-canon blurb is still in the near future after canon so their futures are still very much left open.

Kuro

Please refer to this post to see Kuro's profile pages.

Mickbell is so tragedy coded but Kuro is honestly... Like he's vibing. He has normalized the abuse (emotional manipulation & isolating the target both so that they need you for stability and emotional supoort + control their life and relationships are literally abuse tactics come on guys) but so much so that it appears both to Kuro and to us like that abuse has little grip on him, we see that he has more agency than we'd assumed. Kuro allows Mickbell to lower his quality of life way too much for sure, partly because Mickbell plays the part of vulnerable lil guy well, but what's so funny is that where Mickbell thinks he's being a mastermind all "🥺I was the one to save you from the streets, without me you'd be lost!! Everyone else wants you suffering, better stick with me!!😊" Kuro literally explains their relationship with "he's so pathetic and anxious, he needs me there :(" - which lends a whole new look to how pokerfaced Kuro always is when Mickbell is giving him his manipulative drivel lol. It flips the dynamic Mickbell was presenting because where Mickbell tries so hard to force their relationship to be that Kuro needs him, Kuro correctly identifies that it's Mickbell who needs Kuro- even more than for safety and financial reasons, because of emotional ones. So where it felt like their relationship was one where Kuro was fully tricked in that Kuro can only live by Mickbell's side for his own sake, Kuro wants to stay for Mickbell's sake and is well aware of Mickbell's issues and wants to help as a therapy dog would?? He doesn't care about the money or the food, he cares about Mickbell. The irony of it all is that Kuro could have left anytime, but stayed for Mickbell all along. It's easy then to assume that Kuro has it all figured out after reading the secret study session comic but that's also oversimplifying. Kuro seems emotionally intelligent in many ways- but sort of lacks sense in how it should be applied and how things should be, I guess is how I would put it? I still call their relationship abusive because it still is, Mickbell still isolates Kuro and manipulation is still the intent of a lot of what he says and does with him, and "well I know very well they're shitty but they need me" is a common dynamic irl in abusive and toxic relationships too, but it still reframes their relationship a lot to know that Kuro is not at the stage of "Mickbell is always right about everything and I'll follow him to the ends of the world because of it" but at the "this anxious miserable boy needs me and it's my duty to protect him". Mickbell is running a manipulation onemanshow against himself and Kuro is taking another path entirely, he has an immunity called language barrier lmao. /hj Kuro is hiding things from him Mick has no clue about, that he's having nightly study sessions with Kabru, but he's not hiding this out of a sense of fear but out of care.

Their relationship is based on misunderstandings and lack of communication, and that's due to a lot of things both the language barrier thing and how they tend to run with their own interpretations of things (Mickbell thinking he knows why Kuro stays, Kuro thinking MICKBELL IS A KID WHEN MICK IS OLDER THAN HIM). Kabru himself thinks that when Kuro becomes fluent in common and the two can truly speak together is when they'll really become fruends. It's a hopeful outlook! But it makes sense, because again their relationship is based on miscommunication, Mickbell is afraid Kuro only stays because he has to because Kuro can't reassure him that he cares for Mick, and Kuro only has part of the picture because they can't talk it out, so giving them the tools to truly be able to talk and understand each other fully would completely flip the dynamic. It's truly interesting how they only have each other, but even in their relationship they're both very isolated.

"I don't want to make him anxious if I can help it. He's still a kid, but he's been through a lot of rough stuff. I'd like to be somebody he can feel relaxed around."

So yes, Kuro explicitly thinks of Mickbell as a child he must protect and watch over, care for! He has a more mentor way to talk about it, but it's easy to assume Kuro sees Mickbell as family too. Especially since he has a lot of siblings, many younger! He has a bit of a protective instinct and thinks he should be a protector, simply because Mickbell needs him, not for other more grand or personal reasons. He takes upon himself, both duties and in general for everything, he can't talk with others but that's fine, he's a dungeon diver who gets worked hard and even fights and that's fine by him, he just takes upon himself incessantly, like with Mickbell he sort of shrugs and says it is how it is.

Kuro still thinking of Mickbell as a kid has interesting implications. During the main story Mickbell is 22 and Kuro is 18- how many years could they really have spent together? He left his hometown to see more of the world and was kidnapped at a port, so we could assume he left home after coming of age at 13. He was kidnapped at a port and was part of slave market on the eastern continent, where kobolds are rarer and thus probably more profitable, so it makes sense that he'd have gotten sent to the eastern continent straight away. Just travelling the sea can take a while- the world map makes me think the sea between the western and eastern continent is of Atlantic Sea size, which irl can take a little under a week to travel through at a good pace, but with the lack of navigation technologies compared to today if you're less sure of where to go it can be more around a month. Unlikely for Kuro to have spent all that long in a cage on a boat then, but where it could get messier is once he's on the eastern continent. Mickbell freed Kuro from the guy who was holding him in a cage calling him a demihuman trader rather than an owner, so Kuro wouldn't have gotten sold yet? Or traded between different slave merchants, I wouldn't be surprised if he changed hands a couple times without having been ever sold to a customer really. It's said that the Island has a slave market for example so there seems to be large demand in many places and for it not to be done in secrecy really. But their meeting happens in Kahka Brud let's remember- which is a city with a big economical growth and market & sompopulation due to the dungeon cluster there, so it'd make sense for Kuro to have been sent there straight. Kuro was obviously mistreated, shown to stink and likely starved not unlike Izutsumi's experience caged in a freak show, but he's not bony enough for me to really be able to give a time estimation of neglect and starvation with his looks alone. This is a lot just to say "Well if we assume he left home at 13 and was enslaved soon after leaving home, and the process of getting to Kahka Brud could have taken a month at fastest, he could theoretically known Mickbell since then". During canon they're both on the Island rather than Kahka Brud, but we have nothing to be able to tell when Kuro and Mickbell came to the Island, just that they came together and that he was probably hired when Kabru formed a party 2 years before canon. We can try to compare him with Chilchuck- Canon happens in year 514, but Chilchuck came to the island five years ago, when he formed the half-foot union. Comapring them is relevant because Chilchuck comes from Kahka Brud too, again the place with a cluster of dungeons, so Chilchuck and Mickbell choosing to come to the Island for dungeon diving prospects shows the same attitude that the Kahka Brud dungeons are already all pillaged and overworked and to seek dungeons elsewhere. And who knows, maybe Mickbell didn't really choose to become an adventurer, maybe it was just about fleeing Kahka Brud since that was where he stole and did scams, but dungeon diving does seem to be a desperate man's job in many ways so it makes sense either way. The way Mickbell talks about Chilchuck, I don't get the feeling Mickbell's been on the island for longer/as long as Chilchuck and for longer than the half-foot union's existed, which makes sense if we go by the "maximum 5 years ago" theory of Mickbell and Kuro's meeting. They likely stuck around Kahka Brud for a while before deciding to go for it and move to the Island. So I guess, we can shoot to say that they knew each other for a maximum of five years but a minimum of two? I like to think Kuro spent at least a couple of months enslaved and so I'd put my own estimate at around 3-4 years, which is already a lot if you're them. A looot of time to bond with the only person in your life.

It's a bit odd, usually in a character who's been stolen away from their home a goal of theirs would be to go see their family again, but Kuro never brings up anything like that. Whether that means his homelife wasn't great, or that he feels closure enough just continuing to travel as he wanted, or even that he more or less forgot because of the trauma, who knows truly. You'll notice his stated dream is to travel with Mickbell, which ironically is directly incompatible with Mickbell's dream of settling down and getting a house with Kuro to live in. Since he was kidnapped by slave traders at a port in his original continent, we can surmise Kuro always had a taste for travel. Kuro isn't even his real name, Yodan is! His detachment from his homeland, family and cukture is very interesting. He has no problem just leaving it all behind indifinitely.

So yes Kuro isn't his actual name- so "Kuro", meaning "black" in japanese must have been a nickname given to him, and I bet it was Mickbell. Being a half-foot and a kobold who can't understand each other, the language barrier made Mickbell just start referring to him by the color of his fur. Kuro never mentions his real name so it doesn't seem he particularly cares- which is a wider point about Kuro actually, that he seems to be very laidback and laissez-faire type, unbothered and passive. Things are how they are and he goes along with it. He's not a confrontational person but he also trusts his guts when someone like Izutsumi feels off. He never questions Mickbell. When Kabru inquires about him and Mickbell, Kuro goes "oh don't worry about it it's nothing tbh". Which is also in line with how it's stated Kuro doesn't give a rat's ass about honor or wealth, he doesn't really seem to have a moral compass as much as "Mickbell is what matters to me so only what Mickbell wants and thinks matters", he follows Mickbell's orders with blind devotion when it comes to work or what they decide to do with their lives and that's just well with him. This reminds me of Falin a lot, the way I perceive them. Just utter devotion to their loved ones without really caring for what's morally right or wrong- because love is the priority and loved ones' wellbeing and happiness are all that truly matter, and sacrificing themselves and their own agency to make that happen. Kuro overlooks his own needs because he prioritizes others', Mickbell's. I think his views on relationships and what’s normal are very skewed. That said, Kabru calls Kuro overprotective too, and I think Kuro can be very stubborn as well, and as we see with the comic where Kabru and him talk about Izutsumi's smell he's perfectly able to have strong opinions, he's not only the stoic type. Kuro's very coddling with Mickbell, and while I do think he's a nice guy I definitely think Mickbell is an exception where that's pushed to the extreme for Kuro, Kuro's fixated on Mickbell just as much as Mickbell is fixated on Kuro. Codependence has never been truer a word gdbdgd. Kuro is rather polite and conscientious, in a regular conversation you'd think he very well-adjusted, he's smart and very observant, not just aided by his nose but with how aptly he notices psychological aspects of Mickbell for example, he's eager to learn and hardworking.

Kuro's biggest interest and dream is referred to be travelling, he left home to do just that before he was ever kidnapped already so it's not even an acquired taste from being encaged. And that fits well with Kuro just following the flow imo, Kuro's wants like Mickbell are small pleasures in life like that, just walking around and seeing new sights... Mickbell wants food and a roof over his head and Kuro wants food and freedom. Ironically, their wishes are directly contradictory- Mickbell wants to live in a house with Kuro and Kuro wants to travel around with Mickbell, Mickbell even has his dream of a specific neighborhood. But it is very notable that both their dreams mention the other, whatever it is they end up doing they want to do it together. Post-canon, he opens a variety store with Kuro, and it's said his relationship with Kuro stays unbalanced. We don't know where it was opened, if they stayed in Melini or went back to Kahka Brud- but since Mickbell's dream is to specifically get a house in Kahka Brud's best neighborhoods and it's where he lived before on the streets, it seems to make sense house in Kahka Brud would still be his goal and to set up shop there. Not that we get an update on the house funds, the post-canon blurb is still in the near future after canon so their futures are still very much left open. Just wait until Kuro learns common...! That'll solve everything........!

I tried to go extensively into his parallels with Toshiro and Izutsumi here. Hmm 7w6? Noo 7w8 actually god... Too real... Get me out of here the Mickbell and Kuro double whammy is making me need a smoke. Soooo many characters in Dunmeshi have this theme of learning to live for yourself be comfortable in your skin and get in touch with your needs and desires more Kuro!!

Relationships

: Overlook

Ok THIS is the fun part. So I made this chart as sort of a summary- we'll especially be looking at the personal bonds and work besties relationships through sections, but that's not to say those dynamics are the only things going on. I tried to keep only the basics and essentials, but you could also totally have added a Kuro to Kabru arrow mentioning how Kabru is teaching him common, or one from Mickbell to Holm about how Mickbell crashes at Holm's place occasioanllu. I made the purple lines based on what we see in canon, but it’s totally possible that Rin also judges Mickbell and Kuro, and that Holm and Dia judge Kabru & Rin as well, even though I don’t really think so, not particularly.

And that's what I’m getting at here: their party has a lot hanging in the air that everyone is more or less aware of but don’t truly acknowledge aloud, don't speak about or resolve. Holm and Dia needle Mickbell about his treatment of Kuro but don’t actually do anything or push, Kabru tries to help by teaching Kuro common but seems to be content "meddling" in only small subtle ways over time like that doing just what he can, concludes that the relationship mess goes bot hways and decide to just keep an eye on it quietly, meanwhile Mickbell seems tired of seeing Rin and Kabru bicker over her crush when Kabru teases and they argue, but doesn’t think to have a tal kabout whatever the fuck it is they have going on- it’s routine, it’s just how things are. It's commonplace- so their serious accusations about Mickbell are mentioned a grand total of twice and that's that, and only Mickbell out of everyone acknowledges aloud that Rin and Kabru have a weird thing going on and that Rin is weirdly deoted to Kabru/loves him implicitly. Everyone is much more ready to comment on Kuro & Mickbell than Rin & Kabru- which, absolutely deserved yes, but are what Kabru and Rin have not intensely weird behavior. Would you not get a headache trying to understand what's going on there and listening to their flirting and scolding and arguments on the regular. Do they never get "this needs to stop"? No, only Mickbell? Okay

Made this lil collage above but it's notable that the whole party throws casual jabs at Kabru all the time also, whether about how he can't take care of himself or how obsessed or weird he can be. Although everyone has respect and trust for kabru, they're also all fairly comfortable criticizing him. We see this in the shapeshifter "what if" comic too- his party members often find KAbru too extreme and overly dedicated, but ultimately trust him and follow his lead. Dia keeps her nose out of things but beyond hater duo Mickbell & Rin, even Holm comments regularly on his people pleasing and bad cleaning and organisation habits. Paralleling the Laios hater duo of Marcille and Chilchuck in the main party, Rin and Mickbell are especially critical and harsh on Kabru, here's a short and incomplete compilation to illustrate the point. Do they do fuckall about it though? No not really.

Everyone at some point or other shows concern for Kuro, it shows they don’t default to treating him as furniture or a tool after a long time of working together, they value him, but there’s always a third party barrier through which they have to interact, Mickbell- except for Kabru who can communicate with him on Kuro's own territory and have alone time with. But no one except Kabru and Mickbell even try to talk to/with Kuro, and you could also easily argue Kuro is not fully humanized, there's how no one except Mickbell worried for Kuro here for example.

I want you to imagine being Dia or Holm. I want you to imagine what it must take for there to be not one but two insane dynamics in your party amongst your coworkers, with who your job is so to camp with for weeks at a time, and not even blink at it anymore. I want you to imagine being kind and queen of staying in your lane and having these two obvious codependent situationships amongst your coworkers and just go "if I don't acknowledge this things are gonna go more smoothly". Save them get them out of there. Just the occasional long suffering sigh and "Mickbell that's not right :/" and yes, your job here is done.

You really start seeing this pattern looking closer where their party are fraught with interpersonal drama. The will-they-won't-they casanova leader & his angry tsundere childhood friend and Mickbell and his "employee" he exploits and isolates from the wider world??????? Truth of their relationship aside as we've discussed, this is how people around them perceive their dynamics and the optics are insane (/negative hello). The true doom of Kabru's party is all this interpersonal drama going on??? The very thing Chilchuck fears about parties lol, HOW has this party not imploded on itself yet. And personally I think that's a good part of what they contrast with the main party about- Where Kabru's party failed, Laios' party succeeded because they talked their differences out, they challenged each other on topics they disagree on and argued, instead of always just brushing everything under the rug. The reason canon happens at all is becase under the emergency of the situation Laios decides to be vulnerable and come clean about his interest in monster cuisine after all, and yes judgement and racism is rampant at first, but they reach an understanding through open communication. Meanwile, Kabru's party doing social 8d chess.......... Just keep on making passive aggressive comments forever see where it gets you.

This party also has a running theme with unabalanced and onesided relationships, and emotional dependence/burdening. It feels weird for it to be so weirdly intricately developed and consistent even though it does nothing in the main story- except for strengthening the whole diverse living cast thing which is important to the lesson and theme of people coming together despite differences is good, and like, "you can't judge others' relationships and sitations without knowing them" you know, but. It's here man it's here and present and too loud for me to unsee. Rin is dependent on Kabru and there's an argument to be made about the reverse being true as well even if Kabru is emotionally unavailable, and then there's the codependent Mickbell & Kuro mess, and even Dia and her fiance are faced with some unbalanced relationship and emotional unavailability. So our lineup is kabrin, mickuro, Dia & fiance and Holm who has a barely breathing social life. I suppose the latter's not uncommn though, the same can be said with most of Laios' party including Namari and Toshiro.... But good lord. This combined with how Dia & Holm get along together the best does make the party dynamic really funny though in a vacuum, everyone's going razy with intense tea meanwhile Dia and Holm the quiet judgers who glance at each other like do you see this shit. You are the only one normal here. (One has researched illegal magic and the other grew up in a cult.)

To me it's also really interesting Kabru hiring Mickbell and Kuro especially. Kabru is someone who works off reputation a lot, he has his homegrown informant web called gossip buddies and whatnot, and we know that while he's willing to go to questionable lengths for his beliefs, he has a pretty strong sense of right and wrong where stealing from people who ripped you off and repeatedly led you to death was a no-no. With all the shit Mickbell is catching even now about his slave- ehem, business partner, I doubt Mickbell would have seemed anywhere squeaky clean. Kabru hired a pretty blatant morally loose person who has stolen and scammed- and I think that's very interesting. Was Kabru desperate for party members? Maybe with Dia and Holm, believing in his cause was important-? No no, it's more likely the other way around- only desperate adventurers (or the ones who specifically want Kabru as their party member) stick to being in his party, with all the failures it experiences. Mickbell and Kuro are the only on who don't express loyalty to Kabru, so maybe Kabru's party was the only party willing to hire him- especially if he and Kuro are a package deal where they both get paid. And there's how Mickbell isn't affiliated with the half-foot guild too! Which means no work protections for him but also no salary cut? But yes yes, especially with the way he treated the corpse retrievers you'd think he wouldn't want anyone shifty on his side, but there's also the side of Kabru that loves to help others out, both on a societal and an interpersonal level- and I like to think that despite Mickbell obviously being from a rougher crowd he not only saw the two of them for the skilled people they are but also just, saw they were in a tough spot and wanted to offer a chance y'know? I had a convo about that once where I asked my Kabru expert friend what they thought about Kabru's grasp on socioeconomics and helping out people who are in tough situations for circumstances beyond their control, because you'd think Kabru would be understanding but then with the corpse retrievers, who seem Not Well Off and are comprised by many mixed races individuals like a half-dwarf and a half-gnome........ Helki and Mickbell are alike in many ways and it's interesting to think that may have played a part... Kabru seeing this disheveled obviously sketchy down on his luck Mickbell and being reminded of the only father figure he's ever had in his life, another blonde smartass with a ponytail, an ex-convict from a rough criminal background… And wanting to hire him to help him have a chance to get out of that place lowkey... I'M JUST SPITBALLING!!!!

Anyways so getting back to the crux of the matter, this is how the party naturally divides up with each other, the same kind of way Laios & Senshi and Marcille & Chilchuck did especially early on.

But the interesting thing is that Kabru keeps everyone at a distance, Rin included, so how does it divide up when Kabru and Rin aren’t interacting? She stays alone? Nope, oddly enough she seems to gravitate towards Mickbell. And the reverse is true- which makes sense since his partner isn’t a good conversationalist. Mickbell doesn’t really see Kuro as an equal, Kuro is his beloved fool he's tricking on the daily in his mind after all, so he doesn't seek out Kuro for opinions, because unlike Rin Kuro isn't a peer. In the page on the right notice the second panel, everyone gives each other a silent glance and this summarizes the dynamics here really well. Kabru is telling his plan of keeping going and this is everyone's moment to agree or disagree. Holm and Dia look to each other, more neutral. Rin and Mickbell look to each other, seeming more displeased, and Kuro looks to Mickbell. In that second of gauging each other's feelings through a glance, their resolve and opinion gets steeled and everyone tells their feelings after, Mickbell and Rin more reluctant. On the left you can see who sits next to who, who walks next to who in the party formation- Rin is always right next to KAbru but Mickbell is at her side, with Holm following without attracting much attention to himself and Daya closing the group on the lookout for threats. Mickbell & Kuro and Rin & Kabru as actual friends impotant in each other's lives tend to duo up, meanwhile Dia & Holm and Mickbell & Rin are more like "each other's favorite coworker" than actual friends, so Holm and Dia don't even necessarily stick together, at the risk of being third wheels. In fact the christmas gift exchange is a good character writing moment with everyone, if you want to look at their gifts and reactions.

So yes this explains how I divided up the chart, the duos are Rin & Kabru bond, Mickbell & Kuro bond, Mickbell & Rin coworker besties, Dia & Holm coworker besties.

Rin & Kabru

I made a rather in depth post on their relationship recently, specifically trying to nail down whether or not Kabru could have/had romantic or ambiguous feelings for her beyond/instead of "big sister":

It's a good look at it that covers most of the matter and has much, much more pictures than I could otherwise put here, so I'm allowing myself to go over this section faster here and summarize things.

Their relationship is obviously very onesided and... Needy, for a lack of a better word, because Rin is clingy and Kabru is probably her one friend in her life currently- but it's always been that way anyways hasn't it, did she have anyone else at the elves' too, did she have any in the village she grew up in that hated her family so much they killed them? She's overbearing and hovers over his shoulder for mistakes when they're together, but her reason for doing so is out of worry for Kabru, that because of his ambitious and self-neglectful tendencies he'll get himself into trouble, and she's not wrong about that! Kabru holds himself on his own currently, but it's not hard to see a future where he slowly descends into neglecting himself more and more in his focus on his work, but no currently he's still able to endear his landlord into cleaning his room for him and to put himself to sleep with alcohol. The relationship is onesided because Rin's always the one pushing and Kabru never truly opens up, but their relationship does have push and pull too- Kabru does pull sometimes. It isn't like Kuro simply passively enabling Mickbell's issues and bad behaviors, but in many ways encouraging them. Kabru flirts with her. He jokes and he teases in ways that come dangerously close to acknowledging aloud she has feelings for it, and never turning her down despite it being clear to us he has no intent on ever reciprocating them- He leads her on, whatever his intent is. And I go into possibilities of how and why in the separate post a lot, but overall I'd say that it's because he does need her back in a way too. It's that repressed desire for connection that rears its head with Laios and even Mithrun too. Maybe they're an ill-fitting match, but it's what he has, the friend he's had for the longest- Like I like to say, seeing Rin as his best friend is so sad and tragic but it’s also not wrong. From what we see she’s the closest to him, which is sad to think about. How can a guy’s social life be so thriving yet down in the dumps truly. She completely relies on him for purpose in her state in canon and dumps her emotions and issues on him, but he does play with her back and avoids his emotions and needs through her too. He has the uer hand in their dynamic, was even the one to ask Rin to come along with him when they left the elven kingdom. She's a fixture in his life, she's a safety net, she's someone who'll love him unconditionally, who even if he mistreats her a bit he knows she'll stick with him. He sees her as a big sister, after all. He knows her tough love is love. Does he give her jokes to latch onto as his way to keep her in check, or to make sure she'll want to keep following him? He can't bear to bare himself to anyone, but if it's Rin, she knows infinitely well how Kabru isn't perfect, constantly reminds him of that, and where in every other relationship he tries to be or has people believing he is perfect, with her he can be a little rotten, a little inconsiderate- and idk idk man. I don't think there's really a conclusion we can get to with them, but a lot of their dynamic feels just very. Mutually unhealthy. Like self-harm almost.

And like, look at the picture of them dancing below! Just it alone implies a dynamic already. They balance each other out somewhat, because they're severe about different things, Kabru encourages her to let loose socially but Rin keeps him from getting too full of himself in his own corner, because she always keeps calling out to him specifically, to the Kabru she knows and that he knows she knows- though maybe doubts sometimes. They both keep each other from being too caught up in themselves- but both of them are also frowning here. They also enable each other in very bad ways imo and inadvertently push each other into their bad habits, nagging Kabru makes him retreat into his shell even more and approach their relationship calculatingly or even coldly knowing of her feelings for him, and getting all the attention from Kabru in a way she doesn't want- because she can tell he still has his walls up- makes her more frustrated and it's all just a bad cycle of feeding each other to continue just as the status quo is. Rin nags him so Kabru throws her a bone so Rin nags him etc. But they're also genuinely dear to each other, maybe more iut of memories than because of the present, so they can't really let go of each other. Fucking doom tango fr

My take on Rin being particularly severe on Kabru, beyond just being worried that any mistake has a dangerous cost for people like them, is that like. She knows Kabru, from way back, and she sees his persona, how he tries to be perfect for others and caters to everyone's needs except his own, how he keeps himself hidden like that. And she doesn't wang Kabru the persona, just Kabru the person, the man she loves- and he's trying to be perfect but it's futile, and it just makes him more cardboard cutout, he's being fake and it just makes her so angry how he keeps his distance with her, so at every turn she tells him when he's not perfect, at every turn she reminds him of his flaws, as if to say, "you can't be perfect, just stop". And every flirt he sends her way during the story makes her madder because again she knows it's just empty air to toy with her, so she scolds harder. Like I don't think she's a self-aware person in general, so I think she mostly just feels this as sadness completely masked with anger that drives her foward and makes her impulsively say things, and she thinks what she says is right and she's being righteous, but also there's just this gaping void in her at the state of things, there's frustration whenever she sees Kabru smile a plastic smile at others all the time, and she doesn't know why. And the only worse thing is to have that plastic smile targeted at her- but it makes whenever he offers her more genuine unprompted attention all the more precious, like in the comic about her smiling.

They kept in touch post-canon! But it seems inevitable to me that the change in their lives made them grow a bit more distant, not working together all the time anymore. Rin figures Kabru is being taken care of by now, being a part of the royal court, and goes to pursue her own ventures, but they're still friends and that shows with Kabru inviting her to the castle. Rin can't help herself but to visit him once in a while to see if he's still breathing I bet- I do think she has a bit of a "only I don't get fooled by you (especially when you say you're fine)" way to think about him and their rekationship, a big of why she'd say the "Don't think everyone's going to fall for you". Anyways, it is fun to theorize Rin might be a pharmacist often hired by the castle hehe, but yes yes that's all we get info wise. Here's to hoping she mellows out some

Mickbell & Kuro

So, their relationship is more messed up than Kabru and Rin's, but it's less up in the air/free grounds for interpretation, much more directly explained. Their character profiles & extra pages alone give a really good look at their relationship and both their perspectives of it: Kuro's family that Mickbell has to find ways to chain to himself or he feels insecure, Mickbell to Kuro is a vulnerable kid that he chooses to look after and go the extra mile of being mindful & considerate of said insecurities. I already talked about it a lot in the Mickbell & Kuro sections, and the post I linked above has a longer but more compact analysis of them- but yes yes I'll still cover the essential and the new here. I said it earlier but Mickbell needs Kuro more than Kuro needs Mickbell- Kuro is like the entirety of Mickbell's emotional regulation 'skills' lol, where Kuro needs Mickbell in a material sense where Kuro wouldn't be able to communicate well with others or go far without money and Mickbell, Mickbell needs Kuro because otherwise he'd be shattered- not to say that Kuro isn't also very useful to have around for his muscles. Both of them are very physically and mentally vunerable both, the pyramid of maslow is not being met on any level eesh. Kuro needs a compass and Mickbell needs an anchor, both of them needed a purpose in the day to day life of survival and both chose each other for that- protect Mickbell, and buy a house with Kuro. The human mind thrives off of goals, desires. Again this thing with compass & anchor is very reminiscent of Falin with Kuro, the way she centered her life around others, so much so that when she was a mentally compromised chimera she defaulted to that way of being with Thistle. But they're in that spot very similar to them where one is especially very mentally vulnerable and easy to control whereas the other is very physically vulnerable if the other were to decide they've had enough and go murder mode on him. It's the dog loving the chain on its collar.

How long have they known each other? Who knows, but I estimated it between 2 to 5 years, between when Kuro became an adult and when Kabru formed a party- but even those are just guesses. I also think he named Kuro, since Kuro's name is actually Yodan and "kuro" simply means "black" in japanese, with the language barrier Mickbell wouldhave just started nicknaming him by the color of his fur.

It’s important to remember how they started: Mickbell saving Kuro and Kuro saving Mickbell, Mickbell freeing Kuro out of spite which made Kuro follow him and then Kuro saving Mickbell by maiming the guy who had kept him in a cage and was threatening Mickbell, prompting Mickbell to suggest hiring him (while being broke) as a bodyguard, half out of fear half out of seizing opportunities? And we'll get to that but this is a good way to understand why they're both so "It's us vs the world", they both came from a similar situation surviving in the slums together but even before that they had the same man for enemy, Mick helped Kuro out and Kuro helped Mick out in turn, and they stuck together. So that’s the origins of Kuro being "his employee" that he’s working for peanuts, it’s less disingenuous and eager than we’d expect, the attachment Mickbell formed to Kuro was over time, eventually associating Kuro with both safety and companionship. Meanwhile Kuro seemed ride or die very early, being saved helped I’m sure, but remembering that Kuro thinks of Mickbell as a child to protect also helps frame why Kuro would be so ready to devote himself to guarding him- seeing a small vulnerable "kid" in all this danger, constantly surrounded by threats and famine. So in the end, a big factor for their relationship is that they can’t communicate for shit. For several reasons including language barrier, overly controlling and dehumanizing behavior/abuse tactics backfiring- and emotional constipation. They both have preconceived notions and they both just.... Don't really know each other. I don't think Mickbell even knows his name- Kuro thinks he's a kid! They don't know each other, but they also know each other in the way of familiarity, in the form of having spent years inseparable glued to each other. Mickbell doesn't know Kuro's name and Kuro doesn't know Kuro's age, they don't know the other have siblings they have cut contact with and they don't know each other's dreams, they've never had an actual conversation especially on equal grounds, but also they know each other's mannerisms. They know each other's favorite foods. They know the sound of each other laughing and crying and the feeling of each other's warmth. They know each other but they also don't know each other at all!!!!! Crazy crazyyyy dynamic.

The "it's us vs the world" is so so strong with them especially from Mickbell's end, and can you blame him? Can you blame him when he's been kicked down like a dog all his life and he sees that in Kuro too? And perhaps no one else can ever understand Mickbell and know and stay with him like Kuro does, even when they can't even have actual conversations. This is it for Mickbell, Kuro is all he'll ever get in his mind and he's intent on never letting go, he's all he'll ever get and us all he wants and he cannot, will not, ever, let him go.

And the whole snarling-growling thing is very interesting too, especially since that's contrasted with Kabru (scroll down here for pictures). Mickbell has little experience with kobolds beside Kuro but also his first impression of Kuro was seeing him bite and maim a man to death. Kabru has experience with kobolds from his homeland where they're seen as more serious threat than cute doggy people, where there was fighting and rumors and presumably contact too since Kabru learned some of kobold language and he was only 6, AND Kabru has trauma with monsters and beasts in general. When Kuro growls, Mickbell goes "hey I told you to stop growling that's scary :/", and Kabru goes "Kuro, what's wrong?". And this is sooo so fascinating to me. Part of this already is again the language barrier, Kabru can ask Kuro to comfortably explain the issue where Mick cannot (he could still try though since Kuro can still speak some albeit broken common), so with Mickbell Kuro only has body language that doesn't come naturally to non-kobolds to communicate with- but Mickbell dismisses it as regularly as he doesn't. Part of it for Mickbell is having been on the other side of Kuro when angry, having seen how scary he can be and afraid himself- but then why? Does Mickbell still get scared of Kuro when he snarls and acts like that, the way a lot of us flinch when someone gets mad and yells? Does Kuro feel more unpredictable then, and that's scary for many reasons? Or maybe it's because he's scared of the way others see Kuro, that others will dehumanize Kuro if he emotes in ways like this. From where they come living on the streets, looking wrong at the wrong guy can cost a lot, so Mickbell may have extra developed a sense of keeping your head down at the right times and not provoking when risky- and he can't fully control Kuro so when that choice is out of his hands things feel a lot more shaky. Of course though in any case, growling or no growling Mickbell sticks with Kuro, keeps holding onto him when he snarls, it never crosses his mind to step away from Kuro or leave him behind, consequences or uncertainty be damned. Just, the justified concern mixing with the unhealthy possessiveness and controlling, the genuine fear... It represents their wider relationship pretty well in just one example.

He fucking sticks with Kuro with the baths!! Many bathhouses don't accept kobolds but Mickbell tirelessly keeps looking for one who will, Mickbell and Kuro are a PACKAGE DEAL and it stays that way even when it's inconvenient for Mickbell. Mickbell washes Kuro and spends hours brushing him afterwards with immense care and patience, there's effort there on his end too there is consideration and love!! They are sooooo ride or die!!!! "Now you're the cleanest dog in the whole wild world, no one can look down on you"!!!!!!

They have incompatible dreams of the future, Mickbell wants to settle down in a house and Kuro wants to travel, both want to do it together. My thing with Mick & Kuro post-canon is the only ways I see it develop and go down is: 1) Kuro becomes able to easily converse with him and their relationship changes with a lot of rough bumps but slowly and surely towards something better and/or 2) Kuro leaves to travel here and there while Mick manages the house, they’re still in a life partnership but they’re ok being apart for a while now. Mickbell learns that leaving doesn’t mean there’s no coming back and to live beyond each other ykyk <3 But while Kabru himself is hopeful that when Kuro becomes fluent in common Mickbell and Kuro can "really become friends", their post-canon blurbs break our hopes for a near future resolution, specifying that Mickbell "still works Kuro hard". They open a variety store together! I like to call it Mick & Kuro's knick knacks <3 Does Mickbell still keep his prices and product descriptions dangerously close to being scammy? Possible! He's earned it though he has his own store brooo his own building his own business... I know that shit got him emotional We do see that Kuro gets him to be healthier slowly but surely though- in the last chapters we see him push Mickbell implicitly towards the half-foot guild! Kuro is protective but not possessive and he encourages Mickbell to get out of his shell, reflecting how he talks about Mickbell as someone needing support and gentle care & understanding- he was being real about noticing his issues and wanting him to become happier.

Once upon a time back in my early days of shipping mickrin I entertained the thought Mickbell's attachment to Mickbell may have a romantic nature mixed in as well, whether it'd be "genuine" or maladaptive's too complex for me to say- but what was funny is that even in that case to me nothing changed. I think that in a world where Mickbell likes Kuro romantically, he would neverrr ever make a move because he'd be too terrified Kuro would dislike it and leave- so instead it just gets lashed out in different ways and he vents & seeks that out in other people kinda hoping it'd be Kuro or whatever. Kuro's too precious to risk is the thing. "It's us vs the world" and if Kuro leaves then is when he would be truly alone- like I mention in the Mickbell & Kuro I linked I think Mickbell is very afraid of change. It's why I think the possible future of Kuro learning to talk common well would be rockier than we'd assume at first- and I think in that fear of change is the fear of changing the nature of their relationship and lowkey even the fear of deepening it- What if Kuro starts actually understanding what Mickbell always says and decides Mickbell is stupid and unlikable after all? What if Kuro starts talking and Mickbell doesn't like what he says? What would Mickbell do if Kuro started being more inquisitive, asking more questions and requesting more things? Mickbell is terrified of Kuro having agency and it's for a reason!! Mickbell lowkey dehumanizes Kuro as a possession sometimes because that's less scary, because Kuro being a full person with his own wants and thoughts detached from Mickbell is scary!!

Mickbell needs to be Kuro's whole world- because if Kuro got a taste of the rest of the world, everything else there is beside him- beyond him-, then how could Mickbell possibly compete with that? How could Kuro choose Mickbell over the world? And the irony of it all the thing that gets me choked up is that along it was never a competition, the world has always been Kuro's love, travelling is his main interest, and he wants to travel it with Mickbell- The world is wonderful and Mickbell's presence doesn't take away from it but enriches it, makes the world even more valuable and treasured and life more enjoyable and full and god. God!!!!!

So yes these are insane coworkers to have and this is the dynamic that has Dia and Holm side-eye Mickbell and ask him when he's planning to free his house elf. Imagine having a group project in school and these dudes are in your group.

Rin & Mickbell

The hater duo, no 1!!!! Dia & Holm is the second one but they can't hope to match these two's intensity and hater aura. This is our moment to breathe we're getting back into Kuro & Mickbell madnedd after

I compile their most relevant interactions here, and you can also see a small compilation of them combining their hater powers on Kabru here. There'S a lot of things that make them really fun to pair up, like how they're easily the top 2 most unpleasant bitter Kabru party members and how they like each other best anyways lol, or how they're both in a codependent situationship- and they both have similar defense mechanisms of most things getting filtered through anger, but what's especially interesting is how they're different in the worst way, in Rin's codependent relationship she's the one who gives and devotes herself, the self-sacrificial one, and in Mickbell's codependent relationship he's the one who takes and takes, the self-centered one.

That's already me getting lost in the sauce though because these two are just coworkers and that ends there- in fact with the tavern comic about Rin smiling we see that they get along much more at work than outside of it. I think why they get along is exactly that blunt and critical nature of theirs- Neither hesitate or bother with politeness or little games to say what they have on their mind and when something's a bad idea- it's why with even just a "you see this shit?" glance at each other they get steeled and soothed into reluctantly agreeing with Kabru, "Well, if Mickbell/Rin is okay going along with Kabru's plan, it must be fine after all... Not that we won't shoot him with laser beams with our eyes". Like I said earlier even though Mickbell can be manipulative, but he emotes very strongly and openly and is very blunt as a rule, he seems to value in others the same type of directness that he has with emoting and interacting, as seen with his distaste for Rin being a tsundere in the same tavern comic. You could reach and theorize his distaste in Rin acting all happy because Kabru complimented her, despite her still being very sour, is also from a feeling that she's being easily manipulated, which could be interesting... But yes yes, and similarly Rin is drawn towards someone who is similarly severe with high standards and who's very cautious with plans and money, and with her distaste for Kabru's own playing around and fake politeness it's interesting to think she'd find someone who's authentic to the point of being unabashedly unpleasant refreshing. So yes yes, they're united in haterism, and they look to each other for opinions, and they sit together, and when they meet Laios' party with Toshiro's Mickbell tugs on her (the only other who took a hard stance on wanting the "thieves" to pay) dress to go "hey you see these bastards?", and when Rin casts waterwalk on the party it feels very familiar- which shows still how much familiarity the party has developed together. They don't get together to have a laugh or have fun, but they seem to be each other's favorite coworker and be often on the same wavelength, easily understand each other's thoughts from even just a glance.

You can feasibly theorize Mickbell has a crush on Rin and is jealous of Kabru for it, considering he's always hanging around Rin when it isn't Kuro, how he hangs onto her on the regular, when he sighs seeing Rin and Kabru argue because Kabru flirted, when he's always on Kabru's case, when he's the only one who brings up Rin & Kabru's relationship, when he gets frustrated she doesn't laugh at his jokes and says she woud be much cuter and more charming if she smiled more- which we see Mickbell beam at. Misogynistic energy? Yes. No one said Mickbell hasn't some incel tendencies in him lol. I don't think that's the intent though and all these things can be easily explained by other stuff, but all of these together make it a coherent angle, if you so wish for it. Mickbell lashing out at those he likes because he's insecure when he doesn't have their full attention who'd have thunk! The mickrin manifesto is coming another dayyyy though I can't get more sidetracked

Kuro & Kabru

I already went into some things a bit like Kabru's reaction to Kuro growling despite his trauma wit hbeasts and experience with kobolds' nastier side, and I have a post where I let myself ramble about the two of them here- I'm sorryyyyy I'm sorry everything is so interconnected I can't not repeat myself and link stuff!! But once again I'll cover the bases here- In a non shippy light but also the original post is 90% parallels and analysis too

So their relationship is really interesting in many many ways. Kabru is teaching Kuro to speak and write common in secret, which shows many things already. In the party he's by far the most considerate and caring of Kuro, we see him listen to Kuro's worries about Izutsumi also. We see him ask Kuro about his opinions, for Kuro that's revolutionary, we see him take Kuro's concerns seriously and extensively talk about them and he accommodates with talking kobold as well. For being the one with monster & demihuman trauma, he's the one who humanizes Kuro the most- perhaps because it forces him to take Kuro seriously and keep in mind the whole of him, not only appearances or behavior, in an hypervigilance and "I know what you are" way, if that makes sense?? We see Kabru's urge to spend time to give a voice to the voiceless, to help this one dude, his coworker living in questionable circumstances. And all of this, again, despite his trauma, despite him saying it's best to assume communication with demihumans is impossible in the kobold extra!!! Do see the irony!! And many say that Kabru only said that because it was the Touden siblings and he wanted to say anything to make them think twice about blindly approaching the "cool cute desert dog people", but even if that's fully the case I still think it's interesting that he'd be willing to throw demihumans he spent his early childhood coexisting with under the bus like that- in a way.

He's giving Kuro knowledge... Teaching him like Milsiril once did- the thing he himself most grateful to her for. From one disempowered person to the other he's teaching societal survival skills. He's tutoring Kuro on his own best weapon: words. And he does this in secret, with no laurels and no reward, at night on the regular. I think their dynamic really goes to show just how much Kabru cares about others, how even though he sees Kuro as more "photorealistic" and less cartoony than the others, both because he knows the dangers of kobols and he takes them more seriously- and inadvertently emphasing on the beastly animal side taking away the endearing exaggerated features..... Even then, he's so so very considerate, and kind, and he cares, and how much he wants the world to be better and equal and for everyone to live well. And this shows in how the nightly sessions are also a way he gets to interact with Kuro away from Mickbell's eyes- This is where Kabru inquires about their relationship and learns about Kuro's vision of things. Whenever Mickbell steps in Kabru immediately folds, makes himself as non-threatening and unimposing to Mickbell as possible and steps away without resistance to ease his worries, but when he's away Kabru and Kuro can actually talk. And Kuro does open up to him, and hearing his thoughts Kabru learns about them andconcludes that both of them are overprotective over the other- He sees that the issue and the overattachment isn't oneway, and acts in kind. Kabru keeps an eye on them, as seen also with the end of the extra about Izutsumi's scent, helping in the ways he can, subtly through acts like helping Kuro learn common so one day he and Mickbell may talk.

Kabru is likely the closest thing to a friend Kuro has currently, beyond Mickbell. Which is crazy to think about!! But also man I want you to imagine them having their late night study sessions, talking about their home the western continent together for a bit. Kabru gets to talk about the desserts he couldn't talk about in the elven kingdom and Kuro recognizes them, in just talking about the weather they find so much commonplace, in traditions and myths and habits and ways to be- And maybe from where he's from Kuro's heard of the evil eye as well, knows that tallmen with blue eyes are rare and seen as bad omens, disowned and chased out of cities, but Kuro offers no judgement and so Kabru offers none in return. Like their arrows towards each other are "kobold" from Kabru to Kuro and "he speaks my language", and that's so crazy!!!! That's so little but that's so crazy!! And I truly cannot handle typing these thoughts again so just scroll down here but my god my god!! The heartwrenching isolation of them.

Ah yes- there's also something to say about how only he and Mickbell don't follow Kabru with any solid sense of loyalty! Everyone else praises Kabru's cause and says they're there for him to achieve it, but Mickbell stays quiet on that lol and almost walks out at one point- and then Kuro very straightforwardly says that he'll follow Mickbell whatever he decides- As much as Mickbell is Kuro's "employer" Mickbell is Kuro's leader, Kabru might be the team coordinator in his eyes and he does respect him, but the only cemented in loyalty he has is to Mickbell. Ironically, he's also the one who rates him as a party leader best! At a high 95% score. Which still shows just how much Kuro likes and respects Kabru... And also might show how low his standards are, since the party keeps dying under his lead- Kuro hasn't had great impressions of bosses and workers' rights after all- like with people's behaviors and living conditions and whatnot he has bare minimums standards, a very low bar, like him thinking of Kabru as "The guy who speaks my language!" something that should be so normal, being able to communicate with someone in a language you're comfortable and fluent in, has become something exceptional and precious.

Kabru & Mickbell

Okay this one is sooo interestingly layered. So there's a lot that goes into Mickbell's onesided beef with Kabru- I can try to summarize it as that Kabru seems effortlessly charismatic.

Part of it is as Mickbell puts it here and here, that he's afraid Kabru will steal Kuro away somehow (and that's without knowing about their study sessions). Kabru is so charismatic and likable, and kind something that as we se Mickbell tends to approach with suspicion- nothing in this world's free. Believing that Kuro only stays with Mickbell because he has to and that Mickbell successfully fools him, it's not hard to see him being afraid of Kabru "telling Kuro stuff" that'll convince Kuro or turn him against Mickbell, "he's a smooth talker, don't let him kidnap you"! It's again that belief that Kuro is easily fooled mixed with Mickbell's belief that no one could choose him over others if they had option- who wouldn't go for the cool and handsome charismatic witty tallman? Even his fave coworker who's just as severe as him is all wrapped up around his finger after all. And then there might be more general jealousy at work, about Kabru being an ideal with all these qualities and how well off he seems despite being broke too, Mickbell possesses so few qualities and his party leader that he finds incompetent on top of everything else just has "every quality given to him on a silver platter" or whatever resenting drivel Mickbell would think up. And then yes there's as I put it, the incompetence- Kabru and Mickbell think & operate in very different ways, Mickbell is very direct while Kabru is very indirect, Mickbell is very practical while Kabru is very guided by ideals- they have very different conceptions of "the end justifies the means", very different goals of self-serving vs greater good. They have different morals and views on retribution with the corpse retrievers, he's the one who pushes most against Kabru's plan of keeping going into the dungeon even after things go wrong and so he's the one who gets his concerns dismissed by Mickbell most, alongside Rin. Like with Rin he seems to see Kabu as reckless and as someone who takes things too lightly, which as someone who takes his job very seriously is frustrating, and like with Holm and Dia too he seems well aware of his flaws with people and his "fakeness", which doesn't endear him lol. Also someone stubborn- which from someone stubborn to another is always a sign of a great war incoming lmao.

And I do want to reiterate the beef is onesided!! Kabru is maybe even the most charitable and patient with Mickbell. As much as Holm let him and Kuro crash for a night, Kabru was the one to give him the money to go to a bathhouse. You can see his look of concern at stinky Mickbell in the first panel lol.

Again I'll share this comp of Mickbell and Rin being on his case, to see some examples! And my personal favorite:

And notice the Dia-Holm sideglance in the next-to-last panel. Is it a "he spitting some truth rn" or a "Ahh Kabru is on his corny shit again"? Wouldn't you like to know lmfao

Daya & Holm

You looove to be unbothered and uninvolved in the love square happening. The hate triangle if you will (Kuro isn't involved in that one he dgaf). You looove to just give professional opinions on the party's plans and that's it, you love keeping things to yourself and being a quiet pillar of the party rather than anything showy or flashy. I just love their side-eyes I just love making them quietly judge everyone especially togther, "you are my partner in sanity" fr.

Even together they don't have that strong a bond, like with Rin & Mickbell it starts and ends with their work dynamic pretty much. Still, consistently over and over again when the party divides itself into subgroups naturally, these two gravitate towards each other. As above a Daydream Hour shows them hanging out (off-work considering their outfits?) and points out that they're the party members "closest in age", 58 and 76 respectively, the oldest beside them is Rin at 24. Developmentally, with just proportionally comparing their lifespan to tallman's and calculating in kind Dia would be 23 while Holm is 30, so this thing about being closest in age seem to be about them both being longlived races, thus having a more similar sense of time and outlook on the world for it. They do seem to be all around the most mature and well adjusted of the group- although those appearances can for sure hide some deep flaws we just haven't been able to truly notice.

OTHERS?

These are the ones I felt were worth commenting on but they all have litle dynamics between each other, with Mickbell & Daya the least probably, for example if you want Holm & kabru thoughts I made a ship post about them and compiled most of their interactions. Like, I do like to summarize Holm @ kabru as "i won't talk about it but damn you live like this??". Holm @ most of the party actually lol. Holm has bigger fish to fry anyways, like Mickbell, who already outranks Kabru there and then crashes at his house on top of it. Holm and Rin often team up to talk about magic, when shopping or when Kabru asks something.

Daya and Holm have less strong & deep dynamics because they have less ties, simple as, they keep themselves less entangled in what's pretty much office life- yes they're willing to risk their lives to dungeon dive with th party, but that's as with any adventurer, as with everyone desperate and unstable enough to have it as their main job. Rin is tied to Kabru so that gives her importance, but Mickbell and Kuro have each other so it gives the party dynamic around them a lot of layers already, their personal lives are more shown during canon and extra because of it, meanwhile Holm and Daya both keep to themselves much more and their personal lives are only hinted at in extras, they don't have drama on the regular in front of the rest of the party the way the others do lmao.

Conclusion

Kabru’s party is in a bit of a weird spot in the main story- I think we can agree they’re characters that feel largely forgotten by the story after a point, and don’t matter all that much. I do think they have a narrative purpose, but. It's all about Kabru and setting his character up, similarly to how Namari was to give Marcille growth and Toshiro was to give Laios growth, it offers us an early Kabru to compare middle and late Kabru with when it comes to relationships and alliances, and with how much they fail and the few scenes they have where Kabru has his mask on and even coldly rebutts Rin I think we're supposed to see the flaws in his way to lead and work in team, where Kabru changing on that end would be for the better. They're a window into Kabru's shortcomings in teamwork and social life, his status quo at the startof the story. Laios' team was as successful in the main story because they truly came together, became friends who revealed their authentic selves to be stronger even when they worked together and were all very different from one another- but what Kabru does is try to hide and compensate for flaws, especially his own, and he hides things from his party and he keeps himself at a distance from it. Laios wasn't all that different with his party pre-canon, but where in the emergency of current events Laios shed pretenses at the risk of being disliked and rejected by others, in early manga Kabru instead tightens his grip on trying to control the party- why Kabru pushes his party members into his plans with less and less care for their opinions with his rebuttal of Rin as the peak of that- until he even lowkey isn't all that motivated by his party members being hostages lol. Like- am I making sense??

Analyzing labru vs kabumisu interpretations of Kabru is honestly very interesting because the two ships' fans seem to often have a completely different take on him. Kabumisu fans tend to emphase on Kabru's need for agency and empowerment and labru fans tend to emphase on Kabru's need to learn to compromise and not taking everything upon himself only, and see like, both are true both are good, and which of the two ships you like more depends a lot on these subconscious little differences in interpretation you naturally develop I think, because while I'm a double agent I myself prefer labru a bit and I naturally lean towards the "Kabru has lessons and change to do" angle, where with kabumisu often the focus is on not Laios gaining understanding from another but Kabru gaining understanding from another. For Kabru to grow vs to be validated, for him to finally feel safe and comfortable, and that to be achieved either through growth or through comfort, though both through understanding one another. It's about trust it's about understanding others on your own terms vs theirs it's about how being willing to open up and delve in relationships makes your understanding of people better, truer!! Understanding others, debatably the biggest theme in Dunmeshi!! Anyways don't tell the fandom I said that

In the wider meta narrative- Dunmeshi has a big theme of conforming and fitting into society, all its main character have that as a big theme- Laios being a misfit, Marcille being a half-elf, Chilchuck being a half-foot in a bigoted society, Senshi being an exiled hermit, Izutsumi being a beastkin… The experiences are varied but it’s an universal theme, everyone has things they're ostracized for somewhere or other. And I think all of Kabru’s party have a facet, variance of that that’s interesting, one that’s less about social acceptance and finding your place like Laios’ party but has a bigger focus on economical struggle, Kabru and Rin are to put it very short powerless child refugees, Mickbell and Kuro are dirt poor, Daya was threatened to fit into a strict mold and Holm was put in jail for academic studies. They have codependent relationships and emotional unavailability all around in different ways, there's isolation as a theme there too. That also is largely a Dunmeshi theme. Does no one have a fucking healthy good thriving social life? A good work-personal life balance? Being in touch with yourown needs and feelings perhaps? The triforce of things you can never have all at once in dunmeshi. But all these similar yet different hardships, all these people with hard to pin down exteriors- it's all about understanding too. How can you judge without first understanding, you know?

They're doubtlessly minor characters, but they're also part of that large tapestry of diverse people that's needed for Dunmeshi to do what it does, thematically and narratively. For that final battle to have so many different people come together to fight on the side of humanity, for all its habitants for all the facets of people in it, together. "If even one thing had been missing, we wouldn't have gotten here" as Kabru puts it himself in the next-to-last chapter. This is Dungeon Meshi, everything is interwoven, it's all a web because our environment shapes us as much as we shape it.

They get sidelined by the story. much like they were by Kabru- but he does have their loyalty, like how Laios' party stuck together through it all, even Chilchuck and Izutsumi, and when it's time for the final battle they're there to help and it matters, they matter. Relationships, trust, goes both ways, it shouldn't be onesided. If someone proves genuine why not try opening up? Kabru's party always trusts him and show up when it matters- Because to put full trust in another is terrifying and risky, but sometimes it'll pay off, and still always they take that step to trust their leader. Trust and love and care isn't a transaction, earned or not, and all you can do is try to appreciate it and repay it in care. In the end Kabru's party reminds us of those things, that despite everything we all need someone.

[fingertipsmp3]

I feel like I’ve lived through at least a month just in the past 3 days. I checked the date just now and damn near had an out of body experience when I realised Monday was only two days ago

[ama3003]

You Caught Me

Character: Bucky Barnes

Requested: No

Type: Angst/ Fluff

Summary: You're Valentina's assistant, and somehow, you manage to fall in love with a certain Congressman.

A.N: DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT THUNDERBOLTS TO BE SEMI SPOILED!!!!!!!!! I have seen Thunderbolts* on Thursday (amazing btw) and have been craving Thunderbolts!Bucky. Also reader is like 25.

Again THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS ARE IN THIS FIC

3...2..1...

You worked your whole life to get here. Straight A’s, a top-tier college, a string of impressive jobs that made your parents brag to their friends.

But that wasn’t the point. You didn’t do all of that just to climb a ladder. You wanted to help people. To actually do good. To give the voiceless a voice, to step in where others wouldn’t. You wanted to make the world better, even if it was just piece by piece.

That’s what led you to OXE. And eventually, to Valentina Allegra de Fontaine.

Or, more accurately, to being her assistant. Though calling it that feels like selling it short.

You’ve been working with her for a few years now. From the very beginning, she seemed to like you. Said you reminded her of herself. You’re still not sure if that was a compliment or a warning.

Valentina can be cold. She’s sharp, calculated, sarcastic to the point of painful. Some of her decisions don’t exactly land on the moral high ground. But she took you in, brought you closer, taught you how to survive in a world most people don't even know exists. And you’ve done things others your age only dream about. You were actually making a difference.

But now everything’s falling apart.

She’s under investigation. Impeachment is on the table. And you’re left trying to put out fires.

You’d been tense the entire hearing. And not the kind of tension that goes away with a few deep breaths. This was chest-tightening, eye-twitching, every-decision-matters tension.

Your job was on the line. Everything you’d worked for — or convinced yourself was worth it — was balancing on Valentina’s ability to lie with a smile.

She was performing. You were managing the fallout.

Your eyes kept drifting — trying to find some kind of anchor. And that’s when you caught a pair of them.

Blue. Cold but curious. Watching.

Congressman Bucky Barnes.

You met his stare, held it a second longer than you should’ve, then forced yourself to look away. Whatever that was — whatever he was trying to read — you didn’t have time to entertain it.

Then Valentina dropped the line you’d been dreading: “By all means, dig as deep as you like. I promise—there’s nothing to find.”

You knew that tone. It meant you had twenty minutes to erase every breadcrumb.

By the time the hearing adjourned, you were already outside, typing fast, juggling secure files and decoy trails on your tablet. You barely noticed the footsteps until—

“Y/N?”

You looked up, and there he was. Again.

That same cool stare, now paired with a too-casual smile.

“Congressman Barnes,” you said smoothly, tucking the tablet under your arm. “Nice to officially meet you. I’ve heard...great things.”

“I doubt it. Also, please just Bucky,” he said, offering a hand. “Unless you want to start talking tax policy — then I’ll put the tie back on.”

You cracked a smile and shook his hand. Firm. Warm. Too steady.

“You okay?” he asked, glancing back toward the hearing room. “I mean, what happened in there was... honestly? Kind of worrying. Extremely worrying. Kind of concerning if you ask me...in like a worrying way.”

You tilted your head. “You mean ‘concerning,’ or ‘I’m building a case against your boss’ worrying?”

He blinked. Didn’t expect you to hit back that fast.

You smiled politely. “No need to dance around it. I’m sure you’ve got a folder somewhere with Valentina's name on it.”

His grin crooked slightly. “Maybe. It’s a very organized folder. Color-coded tabs.”

“She always did love being underestimated,” you said with a shrug. “O.X.E. has nothing to hide, of course.”

He didn’t argue, but the look he gave you said he wasn’t buying it.

There was a beat of silence, and then he glanced over your shoulder — where Valentina was watching the two of you, pretending she wasn’t.

“She always stare like that?” he asked casually.

“Only when she thinks someone’s wasting my time.”

“And am I?”

“Depends on why you’re really here.”

He smiled. “Okay, fine. I’m new to D.C. First term, still finding my way. Thought maybe... you could give me a tour. Show me the non-corrupt parts.”

You laughed softly. “That’s a short list.”

“Still. Monuments, museums, a little fresh air — maybe a conversation?”

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “Right. A conversation. Just two people talking. No ulterior motives, no recording devices, no traps.”

He held up his hands. “I left the wire at home.”

You smirked, but you didn’t let it reach your eyes. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m not lying,” he said. “Just... improvising.”

You leaned in just enough for him to know you were done playing. “You’re fishing, Congressman. I’m just not the one you’ll catch.”

He opened his mouth — maybe to protest, maybe to flirt again — but you stepped back as Valentina waved you over.

“You're a very good-looking man,” you added, softer now. “And I appreciate the effort. But whatever you’re hoping to dig up from me? You won’t get it over coffee and small talk.”

A beat passed between you.

Then you gave him one last smirk, turned, and walked back toward Valentina — leaving him standing there, watching.

And even though you didn’t look back, you knew those blue eyes hadn’t moved.

*******

You had three things on your mind.

Shut down headquarters.

Erase every trace of Project Sentry.

Clean up Valentina’s reputation before the whole thing implodes.

And somehow, you're doing all of that in a dress and heels at a fundraiser.

“Honestly, Y/N, you have such an amazing brain,” Valentina says, her smile more calculated than warm. “Putting this fundraiser together? Brilliant move. This has to sway at least some of the votes.”

“Thanks,” you reply, quickly scrolling through your tablet. “I’ve categorized the guest list: influencers, allies, and the undecideds. Left off the hard no’s. No point wasting time. I just sent the files to you.”

“Perfect. Do I need you for anything else?”

“No, you should be good. I’ll stay close though. Just in case.”

“Smart. Stay where I can see you. And hear you. Actually, just don’t go far,” she says, already turning to work the room. “Time to network.”

As soon as she walks away, you exhale, realizing you hadn’t even noticed you were holding your breath.

This job is not for the weak. Especially not under someone like her.

You glance around the room, taking in the glittering lights, expensive suits, and fake smiles. Your eyes find Valentina again, instinctively keeping track of her. Then they drift to the large Avengers logo on display at the front of the gala.

You were still a kid the first time you saw the Avengers on screen. They were larger than life. Heroes. They saved people. They made things right.

Now? You’ve seen the world fall apart more times than you can count. And more often than not, no one shows up to fix it.

That’s why you’ve stuck by Valentina. Why you’ve been willing to blur the lines. The world still needs saving. People still need heroes.

They just don’t always look the way you imagined.

“You know,” a voice says beside you, calm but unmistakably familiar, “this whole gala is impressive. The Avengers memorabilia is a nice touch.”

You turn and see him. Congressman Bucky Barnes, standing just a few feet away, his gaze locked on the towering Avengers "A" on display like it still meant something.

“Valentina thought it would help raise awareness,” you reply, keeping your tone neutral, polite. “Tie the past to the present. Nostalgia works.”

You’re careful with your words. You know why he’s here, what game he’s playing. And more importantly, you know where your loyalty lies.

He glances at you now, the full weight of those ice-blue eyes meeting yours. “Awareness for what, exactly?”

You offer a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “The mission has always been simple. Help the people. The world’s been falling apart, and heroes… they’ve disappeared. People need someone to believe in again.”

He nods slowly, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. “Again, call me Bucky. Also, that was good. Very rehearsed. Very polished. Bet Valentina was proud of that one.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m just here for the hors d'oeuvres,” he says, voice smooth, but you catch the edge underneath it.

You take a step closer. “Look, Congressman Barnes. I know your history. And we both know what happens when evil comes and no one is there to stop it. OXE is trying to prevent that. Everything we do is for the people. Valentina’s impeachment? It won’t go anywhere.”

Even as you say it, there's a flicker of doubt. Small, but there.

He studies you for a moment before pulling a card from inside his jacket and holding it out.

“What’s this?” you ask, accepting it cautiously.

“My direct line. In case you remember something useful.”

You blink at him, caught slightly off guard by how calm he is. How sure.

You move closer, slow and deliberate, then reach up and tuck the card neatly into his chest pocket. “I don’t know what you think you’re implying, but I don’t appreciate it."

The two of you lock eyes, silence stretching between you. Not hostile, exactly. But charged. Neither of you blinks.

Then your phone buzzes.

You glance at your phone. Valentina. Of course.

You slip it back into your pocket and look up at him one more time.

“I have to go,” you say, steady. “Enjoy the rest of the gala, Bucky.”

Your smile is polite, but your eyes stay sharp. You turn and walk off without waiting for a response, the sound of your heels swallowed by the noise of the event.

Behind you, he watches you disappear into the crowd, quiet and thoughtful. Then, without a word, he finds himself slipping the card into your bag later in the night. Not for pressure. Not even for leverage.

Just in case.

And whether you used the card or not—that was your choice. Bucky just hoped he’d planted the seed.

Later that night, you sat beside Valentina in the back of a sleek black car, the city lights flickering across her face as she debriefed the night with a grin.

“I think that went incredibly well,” she said, proud and pleased with herself. “Honestly, I’m so proud of us. Oh—hand me my tablet. I gave it to you earlier when Gary started sniffing around asking too many questions.”

Your fingers found something thin. Smooth edges. Not the tablet.

The card.

Bucky’s card.

Your stomach tightened, just for a second.

He’d slipped it in without you noticing. Of course he had.

You stared at it between your fingers. You should’ve tossed it the second you felt it. Should’ve never looked at it again. But something kept your hand still.

“Y/N?” Valentina’s voice cuts in, sharp and expectant. “Tablet. Me. Now.”

You snap out of it, quickly pushing the card deeper into your bag before pulling out the tablet and handing it over.

She doesn’t notice. She’s already scrolling.

You tried to focus on the night’s success, the way people clapped when Valentina spoke, the headlines you knew would be glowing by morning. But that card was still in your bag. And the worst part? You couldn’t stop thinking about it.

About the look in his eyes.

About the weight of what he said.

Maybe—just maybe—he really did get in your head. And maybe that seed he planted was already starting to grow.

*********

You’d made a mistake. A big one.

And you knew it.

Your heart raced as you paced the cramped hallway, mind spiraling. You'd believed you were making a difference—helping Valentina clean up her reputation felt like part of that. She said she needed you. That this was how things got done. So you listened.

Then she told you to burn the loose ends. Literally burn them.

Human beings.

And still, you followed orders. You rationalized. You looked the other way.

But the plan didn’t go as expected. They didn’t go quietly.

They were fighting back.

And Valentina didn’t like that.

Now a SWAT team is going to finish the job.

You couldn't let them die. You knew their names. Their stories. You didn’t believe they deserved this—not like this. Maybe it was too late to save them all, but maybe you could help save others.

Maybe there was still a chance.

So you did the only thing you could think of.

You dug into your bag, searching through the chaos until your fingers found it. That damn card.

You stared at it for a beat. Then you called.

It rang once. Then again. And then he picked up.

“This is Y/N,” you said before he could get a word in, your voice low, rushed, almost breathless. “I’ve, uh... been thinking. Remember that tour you wanted? You were right. Since you’re new to D.C., I figured—why not? Let’s hit the monuments. Maybe a museum. Or... I don’t know. Just talk. Just you and me.”

There was a beat of silence.

“A chat?” Bucky’s voice came through, teasingly. You started biting your nails, heart pounding. “Yeah. I’m down for a chat. When and where?”

Before you could answer, Valentina’s voice sliced through the hallway outside.

“I swear to god, Y/N, do I have to spell it out for you? You're coming with us. Get your ass in the car. Who else is going to make my coffee right? I swear, you Gen Zers make me want to throw myself off this damn building.”

You went silent, your jaw clenched. Bucky didn’t say anything either, but you knew he heard it.

Everything inside you was pulling in different directions. Guilt. Fear. Fury. Shame.

You swallowed hard.

“Look…” you whispered, voice shaking a little. “I’m sorry about the last few times. You were right. You were always right. I was so stupid. She doesn’t care about the world. She just wants the glory.”

You were rambling now. You always did when your anxiety started creeping up your throat.

“Whoa, hey—slow down, sweetheart,” he said gently. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just tell me what I need to know.”

But before you could speak again, Valentina shouted your name, louder this time.

You turned slightly, lowered your voice again.

“Do you have an iPhone?”

“No. Samsung.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course. “Do you know how to track a phone?”

“I mean, yeah. But I don’t really do that anymore.”

“Well... start doing it again.”

You paused, then added quietly, “I have to go. Track my location. You'll get your answer.”

Then you hung up.

You let out a long breath, pushed the card deep back into your bag, and ran toward Valentina’s voice.

Hoping Bucky understood.

**********

You were pacing again. Nerves buzzing. Mind racing. You were worried about the others. They escaped when Bob distracted them. Then they couldn't find them. But something told you Bucky had gotten to them first. You could feel it in your gut.

He pulled through. Of course he did.

But now… there was a new problem.

Bob.

The new guy. The unstable one.

He wasn’t like the others. Something about him was off from the start. Too volatile. Too quick to react. And now he had powers — real powers — thanks to Valentina.

She said he was the future. Said he was the key.

But all you saw was a ticking bomb with a name tag.

He didn’t need power or exposure. He needed help. And if no one stepped in soon, he was going to destroy everything — maybe even himself.

You ducked into a quiet hallway, slipped into an empty supply closet, and dialed Bucky’s number with shaking hands.

He picked up on the first ring.

“Y/N,” he said, breathless like he’d been mid-action. “We’re good. I got them. Everyone’s safe. I’m keeping them under wraps as witnesses, so we’re covered. You did the right thing calling me. Thank you.”

You closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the wall.

“No,” you said softly. “Bucky, there’s more. A lot more.”

There was a pause.

“Talk to me.”

“She did it,” you whispered. “She actually made one. A super soldier. His name’s Bob.”

“Bob?” he repeated, half in disbelief, half already bracing for what was coming next.

You could hear background chatter on his end — voices muttering “Yeah, Bob,”

“Yes. Bob the super soldier. He’s... not stable, Bucky. He’s got powers, strength, speed — but his head isn’t right. He’s spiraling, and Valentina’s using him like he’s a tool.

You were rambling now, the anxiety bubbling up in your chest.

“She’s restarting the entire program, and this guy — he’s the prototype. And if she gets away with this, there will be more. Stronger. You have to stop it before it turns into something we can’t come back from.”

There was silence on the line. Then you heard him moving, footsteps pacing across concrete.

“Alright,” he said. “I’m coming. I’ll handle it.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

“Hey,” his voice softened, “are you okay?”

“I... I don’t know,” you admitted, voice cracking just slightly. “Everything I worked for is going to be for nothing. I'm freaking out.”

“You don’t have to carry this alone, you know.”

“I can't tell my friends or family.” you said, quieter now. “I already feel guilty and shameful enough. They would just make me feel worse.”

Another pause. Then softer, “Y/N... I meant what I said. You did the right thing. And I’m proud of you. Really.”

You smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. “Thanks. That means more than you probably realize.”

“I realize it,” he said. And it was quiet, but it hit you harder than it should’ve.

You hesitated, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “Are they okay? The others?”

“They’re safe. A little roughed up, but they’re going to be fine.”

“Good. That’s good,” you said, exhaling. “I should go. I’ll keep feeding you updates when I can. Just… get here fast, alright?”

“Okay,” He finally whispered. “I’ll see you soon.”

You hung up and slipped the phone back into your pocket before walking out the door. You immediately froze when your boss stared at you with raised eyebrows.

“Well,” she said coolly, “out of everyone, I never thought you would be the one second-guessing your work.”

You didn’t flinch. Not this time. “Giving Bob those powers? It’s reckless. And you know it.”

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head like you were some disappointing intern instead of her right hand. “I’m not going to argue with you, kid. I like you. I really do. You’ve done exceptional work—with me. For us. That’s why I’m giving you a little time to get your head on straight.”

Your jaw clenched. You said nothing.

“But,” she added, stepping a little closer, lowering her voice, “don’t let Barnes cloud that beautiful brain of yours. He’s a distraction. A loud, inconvenient one. And he’s getting in the way.”

You met her gaze evenly, letting the silence stretch.

Then, without a word, you grabbed your purse and walked past her—heels clicking, spine straight.

You needed to find Bucky.

*********

"Ladies and gentlemen, meet the New Avengers."

After countless photos and a barrage of questions, you kept your smile steady, doing your job one last time.

“Thank you all for coming,” you said with calm finality. “Photos and questions will stop here. I’ll be in touch about the next press briefing soon. Seriously—thank you again.”

You gave a polite nod as Valentina waved beside you, her signature smirk in place.

As the crowd began to disperse, you turned your attention to the Thunderbolts. With a gentle but firm push, you guided them out of view, away from the cameras. And then—without thinking—you grabbed Bucky and pulled him into a hug.

You couldn’t stop yourself.

You’d been searching for him. Panicking. Lost. The last image you had was of him stepping into the Void. The moment his silhouette became just that—a shadow—you screamed his name. And then… nothing.

You thought you’d lost him.

But now, here he was. Alive. Solid. Real. And all the emotions you’d buried came rushing back.

You knew there was something between you—something electric, something raw and waiting. It had barely started, but it already meant something. And for a bit, you'd been mourning the future that never got a chance to begin.

Now, you didn’t have to mourn anymore.

The moment stretched. Everyone around you went quiet. You barely registered your boss muttering an uneasy, “Oh dear.”

Bucky froze, stiff in your arms. He glanced around, uncertain. John gave him a look before mimicking hugging someone. Alexei flashed a thumbs-up. The girls? They just smirked.

“I saw you,” you whispered, pulling back just slightly. “I saw you walk into the Void. You became a shadow. I—I was trying to find you, and then you pulled that crap. What the hell, Barnes?”

He opened his mouth, but you beat him to it—stepping back before he could even return the embrace.

“I’m okay,” he said gently. “I swear, I’m fine.” He just wanted you back into his arms.

“You still scared the hell out of me,” you said, your voice breaking just a little. “I thought you were gone for good.”

Bucky's expression softened. “I’m not going anywhere. You still owe me that tour, remember?”

You laughed—half out of relief, half because it suddenly felt so easy to breathe again. You stepped closer, pulled him into a kiss, and he kissed you back without hesitation. Sparks. Heat. Home.

When you finally pulled away, smiling, you whispered, “Looks like you caught me.”

He grinned. “Looks like I have.”

Then you kissed again.

A loud groan broke the moment. “I feel like I’m gonna barf,” Val muttered.

“Shut up, Val,” the entire team replied in unison.

[pomegranatelifethis]

Why doesn't anyone see me?

Warnings before you start There are disturbing elements, self-harm, eating disorders, and implicit mentions of harassment.

The grand hallways of Wayne Manor looked magnificent from the outside, but to you, they were nothing more than cold stone. You were sixteen, and in this house, in this family, you had always been just a shadow. The man you called your father — Bruce Wayne — had left you to drown in his darkness. The marks on your body, on your arms, back, legs... each was a silent scream. Each one reminded you how a world you once trusted had torn you apart. And the worst part? The one who did this wasn’t a stranger. It was someone who had existed in the background of your life, like a ghost.

You tried to speak up once. That night, you opened the door to his study. Bruce sat at his desk, surrounded by files and glowing monitors. His Batman suit hung in the corner — as if that costume was his real face.

“Dad,” you said, your voice trembling. “I need to talk.”

He looked up, his blue eyes tired, distant. “What is it?” he asked, but there was no real curiosity in his tone.

You took a deep breath, trying to ease the tightness in your chest. “I... Something happened. A while ago. And it still…” The words got stuck in your throat. You didn’t want to show him the scars — but maybe, just maybe, he would understand. Maybe he’d see you.

But Bruce lowered his head back to his files. “Now’s not the time,” he said, voice flat. “A lot’s going on in the city. We’ll talk later.”

Later. Always later.

You closed the door behind you, and tears began to slide down your cheeks. Batman could save Gotham — but he didn’t even try to save you.

The next day, you turned to Jason. The rebel of the family, a soul forged in his own pain. Maybe he’d understand.

You found him in the garage, working on his motorcycle.

“Jason,” you said, stepping closer. “I need to ask you something.”

He looked at you, wiping his hands with a grease-stained rag. “What do you want, princess?” he said with a mocking lilt.

You swallowed hard, gathering your courage. “Something happened to me. Something bad. And no one’s listening. I have scars—here,” you said, pulling up your sleeve slightly to show a faded mark.

Jason fell silent for a moment — then laughed.

“Everyone’s got issues, little lady. Go outside, see what I’ve seen. Then come back and cry.”

His words hit like a blade.

“But this is serious!” you cried, your voice cracking.

“Serious?” he snapped, standing and getting close. “You mean your little princess trauma? Grow up.”

Under his sneer, you felt yourself shrink. He didn’t see you either. He left you, too.

You decided to try Damian. Despite his young age, he had a sharp mind. Maybe he had noticed something.

You found him in the training room, practicing with a sword.

“Damian,” you said from the doorway. “Do you have a minute?”

He turned to you, green eyes cold and calculating.

“What do you want?” he asked, stabbing the blade into the floor.

“I… Something happened to me. And it’s hard to carry,” you said, choosing your words carefully.

He frowned, then smirked. “You’re weak,” he said, flatly.

“What?” was all you could manage.

“If you can’t carry it, then you don’t belong in this family. I know pain — but all you do is complain.”

His words were poison. His scorn felt worse than Jason’s mockery. Because Damian saw you as a burden. And in that moment, you felt the final thread tying you to this family snap.

You found Tim in the library, headphones in, eyes on his laptop.

“Tim,” you said, sitting beside him.

He pulled out one earbud. “Yeah?” he replied, eyes still on the screen.

“I need to ask you something. It’s important.”

“One sec, let me finish this line of code,” he mumbled.

Minutes passed. You sat there, waiting.

Eventually, he said, “Just tell me later,” and put his headphones back in.

He hadn’t even heard you.

Dick seemed different — or so you thought.

You found him in the lounge, laughing, mid-conversation.

“Dick, can we talk?” you asked, voice faint.

He turned to you with his bright smile. “Of course, little one! What’s up?”

But before you could say more than “I…” his phone rang.

“Hold that thought — I gotta take this,” he said, walking away.

He never came back.

That night, in your room, you stood before the mirror. You looked at the scars — each one a story no one wanted to hear. Tears wouldn’t stop. This house, this family, was a prison. Bruce didn’t see you. Jason mocked you. Damian belittled you. Tim and Dick didn’t even notice you were there. You might have been Batman’s daughter, but in this place, you were nothing.

You walked to the window and looked out at the lights of Gotham. Maybe it was time to leave. Maybe you couldn’t escape your family, but you could escape this silence. You packed a small bag — a hoodie, some money, a long-sleeve shirt to cover the marks. At the door, you paused. Maybe someone would notice. Maybe someone would stop you.

But the hallway was quiet. No one came.

As you stepped into the street, the cold air slapped your face. Were you free? Or just stepping into a different kind of shadow? You didn’t know. But at least now… now, you were trying to find your own voice.

Gotham’s streets swallowed you whole. You had escaped Wayne Manor, but the darkness inside you came along for the ride. What you thought was freedom was just another kind of prison — this time, one built within your own mind. With your bag slung over your shoulder, you walked under the flickering streetlights. The cold concrete beneath your feet was a warning: No one here is coming to save you. But you weren’t expecting to be saved anyway. Your family had never seen you; maybe you really were invisible.

Days passed. You holed up in a cheap motel, using the credit card your father once gave you. You knew the money would run out — but you didn’t care. Under the dim lights of the room, you stared into the mirror. The scars were still there — on your arms, your back, your legs. Each one whispered that you were something filthy, something ruined. You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms.

“Why me?” you murmured.

No answer.

The reflection staring back filled you with disgust. This body, these scars… it was all your fault, wasn’t it? If you had been stronger, if you had spoken louder, maybe your family would have heard you. But you hadn’t. You were weak. Damian was right.

---________________________________________---

Days blurred into weeks. Gotham’s gray sky felt like a mirror to your soul. In the motel’s small bathroom, you sat with a cheap razor in your hand. You stared at your scars… and added new ones. Thin lines of blood appeared — but they didn’t bring relief. Pain couldn’t fill the emptiness. Every cut echoed the rejection you’d endured. Bruce’s cold “Not now.” Jason’s mocking laugh. Damian’s “You’re weak.” Tim and Dick’s silence. It all etched itself into your skin.

Every time you looked in the mirror, the hate grew.

“This is my fault,” you whispered.

Your eyes were swollen. Hair tangled. You’d stopped eating — your stomach turned at the thought of food. Sleep brought nightmares. Again and again, you relived the trauma — shadows, hands, the silence of your unheard screams.

When you woke, clutching your pillow, all you felt was emptiness.

Your family hadn’t called. Maybe they didn’t notice. Maybe they didn’t care.

Batman saved Gotham.

But not his own daughter.

Depression wrapped itself around you like a blanket — cold and heavy. Hurting yourself became a routine. Your arms were covered in cuts, but even that wasn’t enough.

“I’m worthless,” you said one night, your voice breaking.

“No one wants me. Not even me.”

You punched the mirror. Glass cracked. Your knuckles bled.

Still, you felt nothing.

Then, one day, everything stopped.

You lay on the stained motel bed, razor in hand again. Sirens wailed outside, but your world was quiet. You looked at your scars one last time.

“It’s over,” you said.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Tears slid down your cheeks as you thought of your family — Bruce buried in files, Jason fixing his bike, Damian swinging a sword, Tim staring into his screen, Dick laughing…

None of them had seen you.

None of them had heard you.

This time, you used the blade one last time.

There would be no coming back.

The blood soaked the sheets — slow and silent.

You stared at the ceiling. Through the window, Gotham’s gray sky watched over you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure to whom.

Your breathing slowed.

Darkness closed in.

The sirens faded.

Bruce Wayne’s daughter vanished into the shadows.

---________________________________________---

The next day, the motel worker knocked, but there was no answer.

They opened the door — and found you.

The police report was brief:

“Female, aged …, suicide.”

When the call reached Wayne Manor, Bruce finally put his files down.

Jason went quiet.

Damian dropped his sword.

Tim turned off his screen.

Dick’s smile faded.

But it was too late.

They hadn’t seen you.

They hadn’t heard you.

And now… they never would.

---________________________________________---

[hyuckiefluff]

The Wicked Game of Love| Lee Haechan

pairing: slytherin! haechan x ravenclaw! fem.reader genre: rivals to lovers, smut, angst wc: 21k+ (full fic) content warning: explicit content, unprotected sex, public sex, oral (fem. receiving), rough sex (hair-pulling, light spanking), marking (hickeys, bruises), forced proximity, toxic family dynamics, blood status discrimination, mean haechan, usage of wizard ver. of a slur, canon divergence (post-hogwarts /ministry setting), their relationship gives whiplash i apologize in advance, emotional hurt/comfort. summary: Lee Haechan was a pure-blood heir raised to hate everything you are. You, a half-blood girl who knew better than to let your guard down around someone like him. You were never supposed to want each other—until one disastrous kiss shatters everything you’ve worked to protect. a/n: AT LAST it is here!! my blood, sweat, and tears went into this u guys. i hope it was worth the wait. also i somehow ended up with a very dramione-coded fic (yes, this is me coming out as a dramione enjoyer). it’s so long i had to split it into two parts because apparently i don’t know when to stop. part two should be up right after this one (unless i passed out from exhaustion). pls enjoy and scream at me about it in the comments <3 ps: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BABYGIRL HAECHAN!!! ILYSM!!!

READ PART 2 HERE

“I hate and I love. Perhaps you ask why I do so? I do not know, but I feel it, and I am tormented.” — Catullus, poem 85

What you and Lee Haechan had could only be described as pure, unadulterated rivalry. Or it started that way, at least.

Your mother and his father had been political opponents for as long as you could remember—two towering figures in the wizarding world, constantly at odds in public and behind closed doors. While your mother built her career on progressive reform and transparency, his father operated in shadows, pulling strings and building alliances that made him one of the most quietly feared men in wizard politics. When your mother was named Minister of Magic, it was only by a thin margin, one that turned their rivalry into something closer to open war.

Because of your parents’ standing, and their closely intertwined conflict, you were often forced to share space. Too much of it. Not just at Hogwarts, but everywhere. Ministry galas, private events, summer functions.

Haechan was like a buzzing fly in your ear, a little gremlin who made it his life’s mission to drive you up the wall. You didn’t like him. You didn’t like his voice, or his slouchy posture, or the way he looked at you with those half-lidded eyes. You didn’t like the stupid pattern of moles on his face or the way he always knew exactly which button to press. 

Everyone who knew you, knew you couldn’t stand him. If anything, the daily verbal sparring made it pretty damn clear. But what no one could’ve ever predicted was how quickly this would change.

A change that started when your mother was officially sworn in as Minister.

The announcement made headlines across every wizarding publication, and for a brief moment, your name was something people said with admiration. Students congratulated you in the corridors, professors gave you subtle nods of approval, and even the portraits seemed more polite than usual.

Your mother had been a respected Ministry official long before taking office, a well-known pureblood figure who shocked everyone by marrying a Muggle-born wizard, a choice that set tongues wagging long before you were born. Eventually, your father cracked under the pressure of a world he never fully belonged in, leaving your mother in favor of a simpler life with a Muggle woman.

Because your mother was so busy with her political career, you grew up with your father in the Muggle world, isolated from magic entirely until the age of ten, when strange incidents like your hair changing colors overnight, glass shattering during arguments started happening and forced your mother to intervene.

She brought you into a world you didn’t know then. Hogwarts became your fresh start, your chance to prove you belonged in the magical world despite whispers about your blood status, your father’s scandalous departure, and your upbringing.

Which was exactly why, when you walked into the Great Hall a few days after your mother was sworn in and saw the headline The Daily Prophet had run, it hit so viciously.

“Merlin’s beard, Y/N. Have you seen this?”

Hannah Parkinson’s voice stopped you on your way to the Ravenclaw table. She unfolded her copy with a dramatic flair and shoved it into your face. Your stomach dropped as you read the words.

“THE MINISTER’S HALF-BLOOD HEIRESS: RAISED BY MUGGLES, GROOMED FOR POWER?”

Under the headline was a moving photo of you walking through a Muggle market wearing jeans, scuffed trainers, and a second-hand T-shirt. You hadn’t even noticed the photographer.

Rita Skeeter’s quill did its best to flay you alive.

“Young Miss Y/L/N may carry a famous surname, but does she carry the polish befitting the office? Sources say the new heiress spent most of her childhood in a Muggle household, blissfully ignorant of wizarding custom until age ten—hardly the upbringing our world expects from a Minister’s child.

Classmates describe her as ‘aggressive on a broom, and foul-mouthed in the hallways’.  One wonders whether this half-blood Seeker has the temperament to represent us on the international stage.”

And it continued into the next page, because Skeeter never knew when to stop.

“Her fashion sense appears equally questionable as she’s seen in the picture wearing Muggle denim and a shirt bearing a ‘Misfits’ logo (whatever that means). One hopes Madam Malkin can work miracles.”

The tears welled in your eyes before you could blink them back. Skeeter had somehow managed to hit all of your insecurities with one article—your parents separation, the years spent as the weird kid, the endless fight to prove you belonged in the wizarding world—and splashed them across the breakfast tables of the entire wizarding world.

“Aww, is the Minister’s little charity case going to cry?” Hannah cooed mockingly.

Before you could even find the words or grab your wand to shut her up, there was a loud crack behind you. The paper in her hands tore clean in half, as if slashed by an invisible blade. Hannah stumbled back in shock.

Next thing you knew, Lee Haechan was walking past you, his wand still glowing faintly. Dark hair fell in soft waves over his eyes, his uniform tie was crooked as always, his expression flat with boredom.

“Parkinson,” he drawls “I’d ask if the Prophet’s paying you for distribution, but just like your father you clearly enjoy handing out trash for free.”

A collective ooh rippled across the Hall. Hannah’s face turned an impressively blotchy shade of red before she turned around and stalked off, tripping over the hem of her robes.

Haechan turned then, catching your eye before his gaze dipped to your jeans and the battered trainers peeking out beneath your open robes.

“And you.” His mouth curved into a half-snarl. “If you insist on dressing like a stray Muggle, don’t act shocked when the rats sniff you out.”

You flinched at his words, feeling even more self-conscious than when Hannah was insulting you.

He nudged the ruined paper with his shoe, his voice low so only you’d hear it. “Never bleed where they can smell it.” Then, louder in a mocking tone “Try to keep up, you’re the Minister’s pet now.”

He turned on his heels and strolled back to the Slytherin table, his friends thumping him in the back in glee.

You stood frozen, not knowing how to react. He humiliated you, which wasn’t a new thing in your relationship. But this time, it felt as if he’d thrown the punch so no one else could.

After that day, Haechan was still a nuisance to you. Still the boy whose father would do anything to see your mother fail. But now his teasing felt different. It wasn’t sharp the way it used to be. His taunts started landing just shy of cruelty, aimed to sting you into strength instead of out of it. No one noticed the difference except you.

Bit by bit, you found yourself almost looking forward to it. Not that you’d ever admit that out loud.

In the days following the article, you did your best to become invisible—but Hogwarts was not a place that allowed anonymity when your name was constantly on the front page of newspapers. Rita Skeeter’s words spread fast, and soon every corridor was filled with whispers about your family. The attention made you retreat into solitude, often spending your free periods hiding among the furthest library stacks.

One afternoon, as you sat hunched over your Charms textbook, the chair across from you scraped loudly against the stone floor. You looked up, startled and already annoyed.

"Did you lose your way?" you asked coldly, glaring at Haechan as he settled carelessly into the chair opposite.

"Unfortunately not.” He replied with a yawn, dropping his textbooks onto the table with a thud that made you flinch. 

"What do you want, Haechan?”

He raised a brow. “Wow, no ‘hello’? No ‘thank you for publicly humiliating a pureblood princess on my behalf’?”

​​"Right, I almost forgot chivalry’s alive and well in Slytherin.” you said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

"Only when it comes with entertainment value." He leaned back, arms behind his head. "And you're a surprisingly decent show these days."

"Glad I could provide," you muttered. “Did you come here just to annoy me?”

"Nah, I just figured you were desperate enough to tolerate my presence," he retorted, flashing a shit eating grin. "Since your fellow Ravenclaws aren't exactly lining up to spend time with you these days."

You narrowed your eyes. "If you're looking to have a laugh, go bother someone else."

"Believe me, watching you sulk around like a kicked puppy isn’t that fun anymore."

"Then leave," you hissed.

“Can't. I need your notes."

You scoffed loudly. "You're delusional if you think I'd help you."

"Am I?" he tilted his head thoughtfully. “Cause you still haven’t hexed me, which means you're at least considering it."

Your wand hand twitched under the table, and he noticed immediately, mouth quirking upward in amusement. The two of you were used to swapping harmless hexes for years. Silly stuff like changing each other’s hair color, gluing quills to fingers, turning the other’s pumpkin juice to green sludge during breakfast. Nothing scarring, but enough for you to flinch when the other’s temper flared. Haechan’s smirk said he remembered every jinx.

The nature of your relationship is exactly why you weren’t used to having him on your side all of a sudden, and you couldn’t be judged for holding him at a safe distance when you had no idea what his intentions were. 

Especially now that his father was capable of doing anything to ruin you and your mother’s reputation with the purpose of hindering her future reelection. Not to mention, you hated feeling like you owed him anything.

"You didn't have to interfere the other day," you muttered bitterly, unable to meet his gaze. "I could’ve handled Hannah myself."

He didn't respond at first. The quiet stretched long enough that you glanced up just in time to catch a strange expression crossing his features. He masked it quickly with indifference.

"Parkinson annoys me," he shrugged.

"Since when?" you raised a skeptical eyebrow. 

He leaned forward, voice dropping into a velvety murmur. "Since she started messing with what's mine."

"Excuse me?" you stammered. 

"Mine to torment, I mean," he corrected, rolling his eyes. "Merlin, don't get ahead of yourself."

"I wasn't," you snapped, embarrassment twisting sharply in your stomach.

"I know." His smirk returned. "Your pride wouldn't allow it."

You huffed, returning your gaze to your textbook, pretending to read despite the words blurring uselessly in front of you.

He flipped open his own book, pretending to skim through pages in bored silence. After about twenty minutes of silent “studying”, he stood up without looking at you.

"I’ll come back tomorrow for those notes.

You hesitated, feeling the inexplicable urge to humor him, despite every reason not to. "Fine. Whatever."

"And stop hiding in the library every day. It's depressing."

"Fuck off," you shot back sharply.

His answering laugh echoed as he walked away and you sat there for the next few minutes trying to summon any sense of concentration to no avail.

A week later you were back in the library, this time sequestered at a corner table piled with parchment and potion vials. Professor Slughorn had paired the two of you for an extra-credit antidote project—“my favorite students working together!” he’d said with a wink—and neither of you had managed to wriggle out of it.

Haechan wasn’t really doing any work, he just kept  twirling his quill and splattering ink blots across your carefully labeled ingredient chart.

“Could you not?” you snapped, blotting at the stains.

“Relax,” he said, slouching until his knees bumped yours under the table. “Don’t you know that chaos is the mother of invention?”

“That mentality is how you melted the cauldron earlier in class”

He grinned. “That was funny, though.”

You rolled your eyes and bent back over your parchment, quill scratching furiously across the page. You could feel him watching you, but you refused to look up.

The quiet of the library was broken by a burst of loud whispers from a nearby table.

“…I bet he only keeps the half-blood around because he feels bad for her—”

“—heard they sneak off after curfew. Wonder what she’s giving him in return…”

You didn’t even need to guess who they were talking about. It was obvious what people thought when they saw you with the Slytherin golden boy, the heir of one of the most ancient pureblood families. They probably thought you were his charity case as well. That you were stupid enough to want him around after all he said to you.  

Your pulse pounded too hard in your ears to hear Haechan’s chair scraping back. A second later, the gossipers’ table went silent, punctuated only by the unmistakable snap of someone’s quill being broken in half.

He walked back to your table and dropped into his seat, jaw tight. “Idiots.”

You shoved your notes into a messy stack. “I’m done for tonight.”

“Y/N—” he reached across the table, but you were already on your feet.

You didn’t stop until you reached an unused classroom three corridors away. It was cold and dusty, with cobwebs in the corners and desks scattered around.

The ghost of a bride hovered near the corner, sobbing quietly into her translucent veil. You ignored her as you braced both hands on the windowsill, trying to steady your breathing, willing the sting behind your eyes to fade. 

After a few minutes, the ghost floated silently through the wall, giving you a mournful look—as if accepting that you had more reason to cry tonight.

The door clicked open after a few seconds.

“Thought I told you I was done,” you said without turning.

“And since when do I listen?” Haechan closed the door behind him.

You didn’t reply, only sound that could be heard was your quiet sniffles and his slow steps getting near.

“They’re not worth it.” His voice was careful. “A new article will come out tomorrow and everyone will move on. You know people need a new chew toy every week.”

You huffed a shaky laugh. “Easy for you to say. Your family’s never been headline fodder.”

“Sure we have. Just with less sensational adjectives.” He stepped closer until your shoulders brushed lightly. “Besides, if they’re going to talk, we might as well give them something good to gossip about.”

You glanced up at him, puzzled. “Like what?”

Haechan hesitated for a quick second, before his mouth quirked into that half-smile you recognized as the one he gave before saying something ridiculous. “We could pretend to date.”

A surprised laugh burst out of you, louder than you’d intended. “Fake dating? Seriously?”

“Why not?” His expression was deceptively casual, but his eyes stayed serious on yours. “It’s the quickest way to control the narrative. People eat that shit up.”

You shook your head, smiling, expecting him to crack up and admit he was joking any second now. But his expression didn't waver, and you faltered slightly.

“You’re not serious.”

His gaze didn’t shift. “What if I am?”

You stared at him, waiting for the joke, the laughter—but it didn’t come. Still, the idea was too absurd. Fake dating Lee Haechan? Impossible.

You shook your head again, forcing another laugh as you quickly dismissed the notion. “Nice try, Lee. But I think I’ll stick to something easier to manage like maybe getting top marks in our Potions assignment?”

He chuckled, finally relenting. “Suit yourself.”

Another tear escaped as you laughed softly, embarrassed. You swiped at your cheek. “God, I hate crying.”

“Yeah, you’re an ugly crier.” He nudged your shoulder gently

You rolled your eyes, shoving his arm, but he caught your hand mid-motion. His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, making your breath catch. For a moment you both stood there quietly, until finally, you let out a slow exhale and allowed your head to rest carefully against his shoulder.

He stiffened for barely a second, then relaxed, leaning gently into your weight.

Neither of you spoke again until the clock tower chimed curfew. Reluctantly, you straightened, feeling calmer but oddly reluctant to move away from him.

“We should finish that antidote tomorrow,” you murmured.

He nodded, eyes searching your face as if confirming you really were okay. “All right.”

When he left, his suggestion lingered in your thoughts, stuck there like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

Fake dating Lee Haechan. You snorted softly to yourself, shaking your head as you walked back to the common room. The idea was not only ridiculousbut completely impossible.

Yet your brain, traitorous as always, circled back stubbornly to it. The thought of Haechan holding your hand in the corridors, leaning closer at dinner, brushing a casual kiss to your forehead in front of everyone...

Heat rose sharply in your cheeks.

Ridiculous, yes… but not completely unappealing, if you were honest. He was handsome and smart, plus he wasn’t as irritating as you originally thought.

You shook your head again firmly, as if to physically dislodge the thought. No. You couldn’t afford to indulge this. It was crazy. Dangerous, even.

But as you walked up to the Gold Eagle Knocker at the entrance of the Ravenclaw common room and answered the riddle, you couldn’t deny the way your heart sped up at the thought of everyone believing you belonged to each other.

You spent more and more days studying with Haechan after that. Or rather, you studying while he studied you. It was a comfortable escape from judgmental whispers and the scrutiny of everyone else’s eyes. Somehow, he’d become your calm in the midst of chaos.

To your surprise, Haechan was actually a good listener, offering better advice than anyone else you'd ever met. It was unexpected for someone who seemed born to antagonize, but behind his cutting remarks was someone who noticed more than he let on.

He was even helping you improve your flying form, despite technically being your biggest rival since both of you played Seeker. But he’d started noticing small flaws in your technique, quietly pointing them out during your private drills. You only learned to fly at eleven, which made you less experienced compared to Haechan who’d practically grown up on a broom.

“You’re still dropping your shoulder every time you dive for the Snitch,” he called over one afternoon, a playful grin on his face as you landed and sat on the grass.

“I do not,” you shot back, brushing hair from your sweaty forehead.

“Yes, you do.” He snorted lightly, tossing himself onto the grass beside you. “It’s why I keep beating you in dives.”

“Whatever.” You sighed, picking at blades of grass. Admitting your weakness felt uncomfortable, but the words slipped out anyway. “It’s just...dives still freak me out a bit.”

His teasing expression softened immediately. Quietly, he stood and held out a hand. “Come on, I’ll show you how to fix it.”

You hesitated only a second before taking his hand. The warmth of his fingers sent a small flutter through your chest.

“Mount your broom,” he instructed gently, letting go once you were steady. “But don’t kick off yet.”

You did as told, gripping the handle tight enough to hide the slight tremble in your fingers. He moved behind you, his presence too close. You felt your breath catch sharply when one of his hands gently settled on your lower back, steadying you. His palm felt impossibly warm through your Quidditch robes.

“You’re way too tense,” he murmured, amused. You jumped slightly when his other hand rested firmly on your shoulder. “Relax a bit, yeah?”

“How am I supposed to relax when you’re—”

“Just trust me.”

You tried to turn your head but he gently redirected your chin with his fingertips, guiding your gaze straight ahead. 

“Eyes forward. If you were flying, you'd have crashed already.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, not from embarrassment, but from the soft rasp of his voice near your ear and the firm grip of his hands. You swallowed thickly. “It’s hard to concentrate with you right there.”

“I’m just correcting your form,” his fingers moved softly along your spine, and every nerve in your body seemed to spark under his touch.

His grip tightened slightly on your shoulder, pressing it into a more relaxed position. “Keep it down like this. Shift your weight forward without leaning into your broom too hard.” His breath was warm in your ear. “Trust your broom, and trust yourself. And stop tensing every muscle just because you’re afraid you’ll fall.”

“Easy for you to say,” you mumbled, frowning. “You were born with a broom attached to your hand.”

“Just try the dive.”  he chuckled.

You hovered mid-air and bent forward, shoulders steady this time as the broom descended. The dive went smoother and your stomach didn’t feel like a bottomless pit. 

“That…felt better.”

He grinned. “Told you.”

You dismounted, heart still thumping. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” he said, grabbing his own broom. Then, with a teasing smile, “Just remember who helped you when you finally beat me to the Snitch.”

The following week The Great Hall hummed with the usual breakfast chatter. It had been an awkward morning, people seemed more on edge than usual and you didn’t even know why until commotion started by the Slytherin table.

Haechan’s voice rose sharply with anger, breaking through the murmurs. “Mind your own business, will you?”

Glancing over your shoulder, you saw him glaring down a small cluster of Hufflepuffs who immediately ducked their heads, faces flushed and eyes darting nervously. He snatched a crumpled copy of the Daily Prophet from one boy’s trembling fingers. He looked up and his eyes locked onto yours.

“Enjoying this?” he stalked toward you, paper clenched in one fist.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, defensive under the weight of everyone’s stares.

He threw the Prophet down onto the Ravenclaw table. The headline screamed out in black lettering “MINISTRY SCANDAL—LEE FAMILY FACING INQUIRY OVER ILLEGAL DARK ARTEFACTS”

“You happy now?” Haechan hissed. “Your mother’s finally getting rid of the bad press. Congratulations, Minister’s pet.”

“What… I—We had nothing to do with this!”

“Oh, really?” he sneered bitterly, leaning in closer. “Funny how these stories started coming out right after the articles about you. Maybe Skeeter wasn’t so wrong… hanging around Muggles didn’t teach your family much about fair play.”

A few gasps echoed softly around you. You wanted to scream, to hex him right then and there, but your hands shook too badly under the table to even grip your wand.

You lifted your chin, staring back. “What are you really so upset about? That your father’s finally being exposed, or that people might think you’re just like him?”

His expression faltered enough to let you know your barb had landed. Of anything you could’ve said that was probably the worst for him.

Haechan didn’t just resent his father. He was terrified of becoming him. Every cruel instinct he buried, every smirk that masked something darker, every time he played the game too well—he wondered if he was already halfway there. So hearing it from your mouth, that disgust, that echo of everything he feared he might become? It was too much and it shook something in him loose. 

“You’re right,” he said with a cruel laugh. “My father’s not a good man. But at least he never pretended to be. Your mother clawed her way to the top on the back of others and you’re just her dirty little project. Filthy blood dressed in silk. And no matter how high you climb, you’ll always reek of where you came from.”

The air drained from your lungs. It wasn’t just the insult — it was how easy it came to him. As if it had always been there, lurking under his tongue. You stared numbly at the crumpled headline on the table. 

He was clearly deflecting. Protecting himself and his family’s name. But you never expected him to use words you’d only ever heard whispered by the worst kind of witches and wizards.

Haechan stormed out of the Great Hall, past the whispers and stares, past the first-years who scrambled aside in fear, past the professors who pretended they didn’t see anything. He didn’t slow down until he reached the abandoned courtyard behind the greenhouses, his breaths coming short and shallow.

He braced a hand against the cold stone wall, his pulse pounding sickeningly in his ears.

“Filthy blood dressed in silk”

The echo of his own voice made bile rise in his throat. He’d said it so easily, so effortlessly cruel, exactly like his father would have.

He could still see the way your expression had shattered. Not in anger—that would have been easier to stomach—but stunned disbelief, pain etched deep into your features, your chin held high even as your eyes welled with tears. He’d torn you open, hit you exactly where he knew it would cut deepest, and he’d done it because he couldn’t face feeling vulnerable himself.

“Fuck,” he whispered harshly, sliding down onto the nearest bench and burying his face in his hands. He felt like a coward. No, he felt worse.  He felt exactly like the kind of person he’d sworn he would never become.

He’d watched you go through this already, helped you pick up the pieces, telling you people would forget, that it wouldn’t matter in the end. But he’d never imagined his family would become the next target. He’d never expected the anger, the embarrassment, to burn so personally.

He swallowed thickly, head tilting back against the wall, gaze fixed unseeingly on the darkening sky. He needed to fix this. Needed you to understand that he’d meant none of it, that he wasn’t like his father, even if today he’d failed spectacularly at proving it.

But how could you possibly forgive him after what he'd said?

He wasn’t even sure if he could forgive himself.

The courtyard incident never reached the Headmaster, but the castle carried gossip faster than owls. By the next morning everyone knew Lee Haechan had called the Minister’s daughter “filthy blood” to her face. Ravenclaws pitched him glares sharp enough to cut skin. Half the Slytherins avoided eye contact, the rest wore smirks that said at least one of us finally said it out loud.

You refused to be in the same corridor with him, let alone speak. At meals you sat with your team while he took the far end of the Slytherin table and toyed with food he never finished. Whenever you entered the library, he left. Wordlessly. Every time.

The distance should have made things easier, instead it thrummed like a headache behind your eyes.

Thing’s should’ve calmed down after that, but the Prophet ran a follow-up column on the Lee investigation, calling Haechan directly a liability to the family reputation. Skeeter framed his words against you in the Great Hall as proof of the “volatile Lee temper,” the perfect angle to question whether the family’s dark artefact inquiry hinted at deeper corruption. 

She quoted unnamed “allies” of the Lee family who feared the heir’s public outbursts were undermining decades of carefully polished prestige. In Skeeter’s telling, Haechan wasn’t just an embarrassed teenager but a wobbling pillar threatening to topple the entire Lee dynasty.

You closed the paper before anyone could see your hands shaking. Whatever anger you still felt, seeing him reduced to a scandalous article—no less than you had been—left a sour taste in your mouth that lasted throughout breakfast.

By the time you slid into Charms class, your stomach was in knots. Professor Flitwick’s flickering quill skated across the blackboard, dividing your Charms class into pairs for the upcoming Presentation on Non-Verbal Counter Charms.

The moment your name appeared next to Lee, H., the knots pulled so tight you thought you might throw up.

Across the room, Haechan twirled his wand between two fingers, deliberately avoiding your gaze. You’d managed to avoid him so well you were half-convinced the castle had sprouted secret passages just to keep you apart, so being forced into proximity again felt deeply unpleasant. 

“Partners will demonstrate in two weeks,” Flitwick announced, clapping his tiny hands. “Research and practice outside class is essential!”

Reluctantly, you gathered your things and walked stiffly to the empty seat next to Haechan. He didn’t bother moving his books to make room for you.

“I wrote down a few options,” you said, dropping your notes onto the corner of the desk. “I’ll handle wand movement notation, you can do the theory.”

Haechan barely cracked one eye open. “Pass. Last time I trusted your wand work, I nearly lost my eyebrows.”

“That was in Defense class, and you deserved it,” you snap, voice sharp enough that two Gryffindors glancd over. “Just do the theory, Haechan. It’s not that hard.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—did I miss the part where we decided you’re in charge?” He straightened slowly, finally meeting your glare. “If Flitwick’s grading us on performance, I’m not gonna let you take all the spotlight.”

You exhaled sharply. “Then what’s your brilliant idea?”

“We can meet in the library tonight,” he said evenly. “Let’s practice first, figure out who does what later.”

“Fine,” you snapped.

“Fine.” He leaned back again. “And let’s do something advanced. Your choice, if that makes you feel better.”

You rolled your eyes, muttering a resigned “Whatever”

When you arrived at the library a few hours later, it was mostly empty aside from a Ravenclaw girl who was crying into her Potion notes and Madam Pince who was judging from her desk at the front. Haechan was sitting at a back table, posture so straight it seemed unnatural for him. His eyes flicked up only when you dropped your bag across from him.

“Non-verbal Disillusionment,” you said by way of greeting. “It’s a simple figure eight motion. If you botch it, I’m not explaining to Flitwick why you’re half-invisible in class.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Nice to see you, too.”

“Let’s try partial disillusionment first, just my hand."

He raised his wand, eyes narrowing in concentration. "Stay still," he murmured. His wand flicked in a tight spiral. At first nothing happened, then slowly your fingertips began to shimmer into the tabletop, camouflaging perfectly with the wood.

“Not bad,” you admitted, slightly impressed.

He lowered his wand, the illusion fading quickly. "Your turn."

You focused carefully, tracing a precise spiral in the air. His hand flickered briefly before returning fully visible.

He gave you a faint smirk. "Looks like you need some pointers."

“Just be quiet for two seconds, will you?"

"Maybe try easing up on the wrist movement," he suggested anyway. "Less stiff."

You tried again and his fingertips vanished almost completely. He flexed them experimentally.

"Better," he said quietly.

Halfway through the wand practice he paused. "About the other day, in the Great Hall—"

You tensed immediately, eyes snapping up to meet his. “I’m not really here for an encore performance,” you muttered. 

Your counterspell fizzled again, causing reddish brown to bleed through the fading illusion on his arm. He didn’t mock you this time. Instead, he silently recast the charm, patiently waiting for you to try again

“I was a dick,” he said quietly. “And not in my usual charming way. I mean… a proper, full-scale dick.”

“I’m aware.” You said, though you wanted to laugh at the way he described that.

“I crossed a line," he finished, holding your gaze steadily. "I shouldn't have lashed out like that or called you a—”

“A filthy half-blood?” you finished, swallowing around the tightness in your throat.

His jaw tightened. “Yeah. My father always taught me the fastest way to look strong was to punch down. It’s taken me this long to realize how pathetic that is.”

"You didn't have to throw me to the wolves to save yourself."

He exhaled slowly, looking tired and ashamed. “I know. And I’m sorry.”

His sincerity softened some of the tension that had lodged itself inside your chest. After a pause, you gave him a small nod. “Apology acknowledged.”

He tilted his head cautiously. “But not accepted?”

"Still pending," you offered quietly. "But no more low blows and no more humiliating me publicly."

He almost smiled, relaxing slightly. "Fair, truce?"

You hesitated, then held out your hand. "Truce."

He took it firmly, and you felt warmth linger briefly even after he let go. You hesitated, fingers tracing the edge of your wand. 

“How are you doing, by the way? With... everything. The Prophet. The investigation on your father.”

Haechan looked down at the table, then exhaled a laugh that had no humor in it. “It’s weird. Part of me’s pissed they’re dragging his name through the dirt. The other part…” He trailed off, swallowing hard. “The other part thinks maybe it’s what he deserves.”

You stayed quiet, but your hand crept across the table, resting just near his.

“I keep thinking,” he said softly, “if they tear him down, does that mean they’re tearing down part of me, too?”

You bit your lip. “No. You’re not him.”

“Don’t sound so sure.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I sounded exactly like him that day in the Great Hall.

“But that’s not who you are.” You reassured him softly.

His hand moved then, his pinky brushing yours.

“Thanks,” he said, voice barely above a breath.

“Ready to try the full-body charm?”

He leaned back with a teasing smirk. "Try not to make me disappear permanently. I know you'd miss me."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't entirely suppress your smile. "Don't tempt me."

For the next hour you traded spells and counter-spells. He still rolled his eyes and mocked your notes, but the comments landed softer every time, the edge dulled by something like mutual respect or at least mutual exhaustion. When Madam Pince finally shooed you out of the library, you’re silently looking forward to the next practice.

After that truce in the library, nothing between you and Haechan got any easier.

In private, he still showed up to practice and study. In public, he kept his distance, afraid that more articles would come out. The more time you spent around him, the riskier everything felt.

If anyone had asked, you would have denied thinking about Lee Haechan at all—denied the way your pulse lurched when his broom skimmed too close during matches, denied how your gaze drifted to his mouth when he argued with you in class, denied the fierce stab of protectiveness that flared whenever someone else insulted him.

But your parents were still political adversaries, and it was the middle of the elections which meant everything was so much more fragile. You were starting to think that The Prophet had spies in Hogwarts. The rumor that Rita Skeeter could transform into a fly and that’s how she heard so many private conversations was starting to seem more believable every day. 

Because of the complexity of all these things, you hand no choice but to roll your eyes at Haechan in the corridors, call him insufferable beside your friends, and let the castle believe you hated him without exception.

Mostly you stuck with your own Quidditch team since it was easier to pretend around them. Venting about the Slytherin Seeker was practically a bonding ritual.

“He’s such an asshole!” Mika spat after a Saturday match, pushing her dark hair off her forehead.

“I can’t believe Madam Hooch let that shoulder check slide,” Renjun grumbled, ripping off his gloves. “He nearly sent you into the stands.”

“Typical Slytherin, they only know how to play dirty,” you agreed breathlessly, bruised, and secretly exhilarated.

But you weren’t totally innocent either.

That morning at breakfast, right before the match, you’d gotten into one of your usual arguments with him over something silly like who’d scored more points this season or who had better broom control.

“Keep dreaming, Lee,” you said, smirking across the table. “You’ll fumble the second the Snitch shows up.”

He scoffed, chin propped on his hand. “If I win today, I want a reward.”

“A reward?”

“Yeah. Something worthy of beating you.”

You pretended to think, tapping your fork to your lip. “Fine. If you catch the Snitch, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

The words left your mouth with a casual shrug, but the second you said them, his expression darkened with interest.

“Anything?” He asked, lowering his voice enough so only you could hear. “You might not like what I want though.”

You blinked, suddenly very aware of how close his knee was to yours under the table.

His gaze flicked briefly down to your mouth, then back up. “See you on the pitch, then.”  he said softly, pulling away with a smirk that left your cheeks burning.

You’d said it as a joke. Obviously. But now, after the match, with bruises blooming on your ribs and your teammates fuming about missed fouls, you couldn’t stop replaying that look on his face. And to top it all off…

He’d caught the damn Snitch.

You waited until your teammates were gone and the Slytherin tent was empty to walk in. Haechan was sitting on a bench there, shirt half-off and hair damp with sweat. 

“Took you long enough,” he sighed, leaning back in his arms.

“You’re lucky the wind was on your side today.” 

“Aht! Aht! Don’t come at me with that now, you were still confident enough to bet.’

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever, you’re not even going to cash that in.”

“Oh, but I am.” He pushed off the bench slowly, stepping closer. “You can’t offer something like that and expect me to just forget.” 

You crossed your arms. “What do you want, then? A box of Fizzing Whizbees? A foot massage?”

“Tempting. But no.” His fingers reached out, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear before letting his hand drop. 

“I want you to admit I’m the better Seeker.” 

“Come off it.” you laughed.

He leaned in a fraction, his voice lower now. “Alright then. I want you to ask nicely.”

“What?”

“Please, Haechan, what do you want from me?” he said, mocking your voice. “Say it.”

He was getting too close. Your eyes flicked to his mouth for half a second, and you knew he caught it.

“Is this the part where you make me kiss your boots or something?” you scoffed, looking at a point behind him instead of his eyes.

“I have a better idea of what you can kiss.”

An annoying flush crept up your neck, lips parting in disbelief at the implication.

“Excuse me?” you asked, with a laugh that came out shakier than intended.

“You heard me.” He didn’t look away, didn’t even blink. 

This wasn’t your usual banter anymore. The kind you could dismiss with a scoff and a snide remark. This felt infinitely more charged.

“Oh, you’re disgusting.”  You muttered.

“We made a deal,” he said, stepping even more into your space. “And I won.”

You backed up slightly, only to hit the wooden lockers behind you.

“What exactly do you want from me, Haechan?”

“That,” he started, his voice lower and raspier now “is a great question.”

He moved slowly as if he was offering a chance to run but you didn’t. Maybe you should have.

His hand came up, knuckles brushing your jaw. “You want to know what I want?”

You swallowed hard and nodded.

“I want to know what happens when you stop pretending you hate me.”

“I don't pr—”

“Don’t lie. I've seen the way you look at me when you think no one’s watching, you’re so obvious.”

You tilted your head, defiant even now. “Fine, let’s say you're right. What then?”

He gasped so slightly you barely caught it before his smirk came back in full force.

“Then we need to do something about it.”

You stared up at him, close enough to count every damn mole on his stupid, perfect face.

He leaned in until his  lips brushed your ear. “Unless,” he whispered, “you’re scared you’ll like it.”

Your hands twitched at your sides.

“As if.”

You kissed him so hard you knew it would bruise later. And for a second it wasn’t about politics or Quidditch or the Prophet or who hated who first. It was just his mouth on yours, insistent and warm, and the way his hands gripped your waist possessively.

The kiss only lasted a few seconds before he pulled back, breathless. 

“That was definitely better than a foot massage.”

He barely finished the words before your mouth crashed onto his again, hungrier this time, any shred of dignity gone. Your fingers slid up his neck, tugging him down by the collar of his robes.

Haechan chuckled into your mouth, and you felt him press you harder into the wood, his body trapping you there.

“So much for hating me,” he murmured, breaking just far enough away to speak, his breath hot against your lips.

“Shut up,” you hissed, fingers tightening in his hair as you pulled him back down to you, kissing him roughly to silence that stupid mouth. 

He groaned against your lips, slightly annoyed at how good you were at this. Your hands caressed his jaw where stubble was growing. His hands found your hips and squeezed firmly.

You gasped, lips parting to give him an opening, and he took it immediately, deepening the kiss with the kind of reckless arrogance that made your knees tremble. One of his hands slid lower, slipping under your Quidditch shirt to brush bare skin.

“Fuck—” you breathed, eyes fluttering shut when his mouth pulled away to trail along your jaw. “Haechan.”

He hummed, pleased at the way his name sounded from your lips. “Say that again.”

You shook your head stubbornly, pulling his mouth back to yours, swallowing the cocky smirk you could feel forming. You needed him silent, you needed to stop thinking, stop remembering that this was Lee Fucking Haechan.

His thigh pressed between your legs, and suddenly it was harder to pretend you didn’t want this with every fiber of your being. Especially when you were arching against him, hips chasing the friction shamefully. He noticed and pressed harder, savoring the breathless sound you made.

“Not so mouthy now, are you?” he teased, nipping your lower lip.

“Just—god—stop talking,” you breathed, dragging your nails down the back of his neck, earning a rough groan that vibrated through you. 

Your head spun from how quickly this was happening, how eagerly your body surrendered to him.

He smirked against your lips. “But I like watching you argue.”

You grabbed his jaw firmly, forcing his gaze down to yours, reveling in the way his breath stuttered at your sudden boldness. “Haechan, I swear—”

“What?” His voice was challenging, eyes glittering with excitement. “What are you gonna do?”

The answer came in the form of your hand sliding down to palm him through the fabric of his quidditch trousers, smiling sharply when his confident expression fell, eyes squeezing shut as he bit out a moan.

“That.” You murmured, stroking him again, slowly.

He recovered quickly and was kissing you again with a hand tangling in your hair, tugging firmly enough to make you gasp.

“Two can play dirty, princess.”  He growled softly, hips pressing forward into your hand.

“Then fucking play,” you challenged, breathless.

His fingers swiftly undid the buttons of your trousers. Nothing but heat flushed your skin as he slipped his hand lower and under your panties, fingers finding exactly where you needed him.

You cried out sharply, hips bucking into his touch.

“So sensitive,” he teased, voice shaking just slightly as his fingers circled your clit gently, then pressed inside you. “I wonder if your team knows their perfect little seeker gets this wet for a Slytherin.”

“Shut—ah—” your retort melted into a moan, hips grinding shamelessly against his hand.

Your head fell back against the locker, lips parted in a silent gasp as Haechan’s fingers worked you over. Your legs were already trembling, breath hitching in time with every curl of his fingers.

The need to to wipe off the fucking look on his face of pure cocky satisfaction was overcoming. He was watching you unravel like this was the victory he really wanted—not the snitch, not the match, this is what he’d been craving the most.

“Who knew,” he murmured. “That you’d look this pretty falling apart all over my fingers.” 

You couldn’t even glare at him, all your strength focused on moving your hips against his hand, chasing that high, chasing him. Until the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching froze you both on the spot.

His hand stilled immediately, and you slapped it away in a a panic. Your pants were unbuttoned, his shirt was still half-off, your lips were swollen, and you could feel your pulse between your thighs, desperate and unfinished. This was not exactly how you wanted to be caught dead.

“Shit,” you hissed, shoving him back as quickly as your wobbly knees allowed.

Haechan grabbed his wand and muttered a cleaning charm under his breath, wiping any visible evidence from his hands and your legs. Then, he schooled his expression into that bored and slightly annoyed mask he wore in class.

You barely had time to fix your clothes before a voice rang out from outside.

“Haechan? You in here?”

The Slytherin beater, Na Jaemin.

Haechan stepped out of the tent as if he hadn’t just been knuckle-deep inside you. “Just grabbing my wand,” he lied smoothly. “I didn't know I needed a hall pass to change.”

Jaemin laughed. “Hey, was someone else in there?”

You forced yourself to step out, tucking your shirt in with trembling fingers and praying to every god in the castle that your face didn’t look as wrecked as it felt..

Jaemin blinked at you, confused. “Oh.”

Then he looked between the two, and you could see the pieces falling in place.

“Right…” he said, drawing out the word. “Well, don’t let me interrupt. Just  figured you’d want to see the scoreboard. They’ve posted top players.”

Haechan raised a brow. “Top players?”

Jaemin gave a pointed look. “i think you’ll be surprised.”

Then he turned and walked out, leaving behind a thick silence in his wake. You let out a breath, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“That was a close call.” He said, still looking way too proud for someone who’d just been caught mid-debauchery.

You glared. “I'm going to kill you.”

He smirked. “Only if you say please.”

The Ministry’s Galas always felt like a battlefield in ball gowns, but this year it was worse. Your mother moved through the ballroom with effortless grace, every nod and handshake a subtle show of dominance. You followed half a step behind, champagne flute untouched in your hand.

“Y/N, darling, try to look engaged,” she murmured, looping her arm through yours as she guided you toward yet another tedious cluster of political allies. “This is the perfect opportunity to make connections before graduation.”

“Can I at least enjoy dessert before I get offered a job I don’t want?” you said under your breath.

She laughed lightly as if you’d said something charming. “You have options, dear. The International Magical Cooperation office is always interested in young minds, and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has already reached out. You could even apprentice under Councilwoman Fairbairn, she’s been watching you.”

You blinked, trying to summon enthusiasm. “That sounds... overwhelming.”

“It sounds like a future,” she corrected, smiling at a passing Wizengamot elder. “We can’t all be Quidditch captains forever.”

You clenched your teeth behind a tight smile. This entire night was curated around your mother’s standards. From your dress, your hairstyle, to your perfectly timed laugh. And you were so bored you could scream.

So when she paused to speak to a pair of visiting diplomats, you used the opportunity to escape toward the dessert table. You stuffed a sugared pumpkin tart into your mouth just to have an excuse not to answer questions about your “career trajectory.” If anyone asked again about your post-Hogwarts plans, you were going to throw yourself into the enchanted punch fountain.

The peace lasted until you felt that familiar prickle between your shoulder blades. You turned just as Haechan bowed to a council witch, and walked straight toward you.

“Enjoying the pastries, princess?” he asked, stopping close enough that the chandelier lights caught a storm of gold in his eyes.

“You should focus on your father’s damage control, not my dessert plate,” you replied, forcing a smile that hurt your cheeks.

“Trust me, he’s better at politics without me. Besides, I’m here to make sure you don’t die of boredom.” he said with a crooked grin. 

Then as if it was the most common thing, he wiped a bit of powdered sugar from the corner of your lip. The action shocked the reply out of your mind, and you had to look around to make sure nobody saw that. A passing journalist drifted too near so you stepped back on instinct and lifted your chin to reply.

“I would rather be bored than babysat by you.” The reporter’s quill twitched happily and moved on.

Haechan’s eyes cooled, but a corner of his mouth lifted. “If you keep insulting me that sweetly, people might think you mean the opposite.”

“Are you ever serious about anything?” you rolled your eyes, yet your pulse thudded hard enough to blur the string quartet.

He offered his hand. “One dance. You can call me names the whole time.”

“Not a chance,” you hissed but a council member brushed past and mistook your glare for a smile. “Oh, Miss Y/N, would you lead the next waltz?”

Before you could refuse, Haechan’s hand slid to your back. “She’d be delighted,” he said smoothly, steering you onto the glassy floor.

You settled your palm against his shoulder, felt muscle tense under velvet, and tried to count the steps. But his thumb brushed the inside of your wrist and the numbers scattered.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered.

“It’s the tempo,” you lied.

The waltz spun you through three agonizing minutes of perfect posture and silent arguments fought with eyes alone. When the final note faded, applause burst around you, and you let go as if burned.

You escaped to a side corridor lined with stained-glass portraits. Halfway down, you heard his footsteps. You spun, skirt whipping.

“You had no right—”

“No right to what? Save you from making a scene?” He stopped an arm’s length away, breathing hard. “I’m pretty sure we’re here to keep appearances.” 

“Oh, thank you,” you snapped. “But I can fight my own battles.”

“I’m aware.”

A flickering wall sconce threw silver across his cheekbone, your eyes followed the droplets of melted snow that still clung to his hair from the ride here. He looked beautiful, and you hated it.

“Why do you always do this,” you said, softer now, “You always make everything harder than it needs to—”

He stepped closer. “Do you really not know why?”

Your breath caught, his gaze dipped to your lips.

“Haechan… this isn’t right,” you whispered.

“I know,” he answered, not moving back. “But tell me you don’t want it too.”

A voice rounded the corridor corner—two aides chatting about the banquet. Without thinking, you grabbed Haechan’s collar and dragged him into a narrow alcove behind a velvet drape. The aides passed but you still held onto him.

“You’re truly such a pain,” you breathed.

“You’re one to talk.” He said and kissed you before you could come up with another retort.

His hands framed your face, thumbs stroking away shock. Yours fisted in the silk of his robe as you kissed him back, matching every demand. The gala’s distant music thumped through the walls, but inside the alcove everything narrowed to the press of mouth on mouth, the soft catch of your breath, the relief of finally, finally shutting each other up.

When you broke apart, you were both trembling. He rested his forehead against yours.

“This is so dumb,” you breathed.

“I have to disagree.” 

Another set of footsteps came from outside and you pulled away smoothing your hair. He straightened his lapels with a tiny smirk on his lips.

“Lose the grin, Lee.” you said, slipping out first into the hall, masking swollen lips behind a polite smile. He followed a minute later, expression schooled into neutrality again.

Across the hall, your mother caught your gaze. You forced yourself to move toward her, while behind you his fingers brushed across the back of your hand before letting go

A week went by without much thought. The bruises from the gala’s waltz, the little half-moon marks his fingers left on your wrist, had faded. But the memory of that alcove kiss refused to. Unfortunately, life went on, and in your household that meant tea with the Minister at precisely eight in the morning.

Your mother was already seated in the glass-roofed conservatory, steam curling from a delicate china pot. She greeted you with the smile she reserved for diplomats.

“Sit, darling.”

You obeyed quietly but anxiety bubbled in your chest.  She only used this much ceremony when she was about to drop a bomb.

“I’ve been thinking about your future,” she began, pouring. “You’ve always excelled in Defense, but I know how fond you are of languages as well. So I called in a favor.”

Your stomach dipped. “Mom…”

She set a parchment envelope on the table. “A summer internship in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, right after NEWTs. You’ll shadow the Trade Accords division, they might even pay if you impress them.”

“I didn’t apply for this,” you said tightly.

“I applied on your behalf. They accepted instantly, obviously. One look at your marks, your pedigree—”

“Exactly,” you cut in. “My pedigree. When do I get to make a choice that isn’t pre-selected for political optics?”

Her expression cooled by a few hard degrees. “Opportunities like this don’t wait. You’d be foolish to refuse.”

The conversation spiraled quickly with her measured reasoning, your rising temper, and the clink of china as you set your cup down too sharply. In the end she dismissed you with a gentle but immovable, “We’ll speak once you’ve calmed down.”

You left the conservatory shaking, the parchment still unopened in your fist.

You considered skipping but pride shoved you into the Ministry lift at 8:59am. You wore sensible robes you hated, hair pulled back into a ponytail that was giving you a headache, and your heart was still hammering with resentment. But if you had to do this, you would do it well… and spitefully prove you didn’t need your mother to pull strings.

The lift grill rattled open onto a marble corridor lined with signage that said Level Five, International Cooperation. You approached the reception desk, rehearsing a polite introduction. Then you heard a laugh that froze you on the spot.

Haechan was leaning against the counter, chatting easily with the receptionist. He was wearing dark robes, and his hair was slicked back. The receptionist pointed toward a stack of orientation folders, he thanked her with a wink, and turned towards you.

His eyebrows shot up in shock when he saw you, then his mouth curved into a slow smile.

“Well, well. Fancy seeing you here on a Monday morning.”

You gave him a flat look. “What are you doing here?”

“Same thing as you, I’m guessing. Interning because my father thinks letting me rot on a beach all summer would reflect poorly on the family name.”

You raised a brow. “Was this the only department desperate enough to take you?”

“Actually,” he drawled, stepping closer, “Magical Law Enforcement was my father’s first pick but it was too much work so I requested this department specifically.” He tilted his head. “Imagine my surprise when I saw your name on the roster last night. Made this whole endeavor infinitely more entertaining.”

Heat crept up your neck, equal parts anger and something far less convenient. “I’m not here for your entertainment, Lee. Stay out of my way.”

“That might be difficult,” he said, tapping the crest on his folder. “Trade Accords division, same as you.”

Of course. Your mother couldn’t have orchestrated a more ironic punishment if she’d tried. But grateful relief pooled in your stomach anyways. At least you wouldn’t be alone in a sea of strangers, at least the one person who could keep up with you (and rile you up) would be right there. But you couldn’t show that. The whole structure of whatever twisted thing existed between the two of you depended on pretending you’d rather kiss a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

The program coordinator, Ms. Thatch approached you, beaming at you both. “Wonderful! Our Hogwarts pair. Minister Y/L/N spoke highly of you, and Mr. Lee comes with stellar references. You’ll be working together on our project about Portkey Tariff revisions.”

You swallowed a groan, Haechan’s grin only widened.

“Looking forward to our collaboration,” he said sweetly, extending his hand. Ms. Thatch watched, expectant.

You shook it, pretending your pulse didn’t spike when his thumb brushed the inside of your wrist in a silent echo of the waltz from the gala. His eyes flickered with the same memory.

“I hope you can keep up,” you murmured under your breath.

“When have I ever disappointed you?” he answered, squeezing slightly before releasing your hand.

The morning of your first official group session, you found Haechan sitting on the arm of a leather sofa in the Ministry atrium, twirling his wand mindlessly and balancing a croissant on his knee. You approached slowly, arms full of color-coded folders of all the research you’d done already. He looked up, eyes dragging over your thoroughly professional appearance before raising a brow.

“Someone’s ready to storm the Wizengamot.”

“I can’t say the same about you.”

He popped the last bit of croissant into his mouth and spoke through the crumbs. “Relax, this thing’s just a formality. They don’t expect us to have actual solutions yet.”

“I’m not here to coast,” you huffed. “I’m not going to let anyone say I got this internship because of my mother.”

“Of course not. You’ve got enough pressure breathing down your neck without adding my laziness to it.” he replied with a dramatic sigh.

 “So you admit you’re lazy.”

“Ah, I'd call it strategic,” he corrected with a grin. “Why waste effort on a rigged game?”

You stared at him, genuinely annoyed now. “Why even be here if you’re not going to try?”

“Because I was told to be,” he said, still smiling but something behind his eyes hardened.

You opened your mouth to press, but Ms. Thatch appeared, waving the two of you over to the briefing room where interns settled around the long mahogany table. Ms. Thatch stood at the front, adjusting her elegant tortoiseshell glasses.

“Welcome back, everyone. Today we’ll outline initial proposals for the Portkey Tariff Revision project,” she said briskly. “I trust you all reviewed the necessary documents in preparation for this.”

You glanced quickly at Haechan, who was leaning back  and looking bored in the chair opposite you.

When Ms. Thatch’s gaze landed on you, she smiled encouragingly. “Miss Y/L/N, let’s hear your proposal first.”

You straightened, ignoring the faint twitch at Haechan’s lips, and began clearly, “The current tariffs favor Western European trade. I think we should revise the rates using updated data from underrepresented regions, especially in Eastern Europe and Asia. It would make things fairer across the board.”

Ms. Thatch nodded appreciatively. “Very good, any thoughts?”

Haechan leaned forward, eyes glinting as they locked onto yours. “That sounds good on paper but it ignores our current diplomatic priorities. Adjusting tariffs too quickly risks alienating our key European allies. I’d suggest a phased approach, start with targeted reductions for certain regions while giving our main trade partners time to adjust.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly, feeling irritation rise at the implication that your idea was naïve. “So we just let the imbalance drag on for years while everyone tiptoes around it?”

He tilted his head, annoyingly calm. “No, we just need to be smart about timing. If we push too hard and too fast, we could lose cooperation completely. It’s not just about fairness, it’s about what’s actually doable.”

“Diplomacy requires action,” you shot back, voice sharpening despite your efforts to remain composed.

“When has rushing things ever gotten us anywhere?” he asked with a raised brow.

The other interns glanced between you two with barely hidden fascination. Ms. Thatch cleared her throat delicately. “Passionate debate, but perhaps we can find a middle ground?”

You flushed slightly, biting your lip. Beside you, another intern whispered something like awkward, but you ignored it.

“Well,” Haechan started, “we could try a hybrid approach. Immediate adjustments where the gaps are the worst, but phase in the rest over time. We could also offer incentives like better magical goods regulations for countries willing to work with the new model early on.”

You blinked. It wasn’t a terrible suggestion. It was annoyingly logical. Worse, you’d briefly considered something similar before dismissing it because it felt too cautious. You glanced at Ms. Thatch, whose expression was encouraging.

“…That could work,” you said reluctantly. “As long as we set clear timelines for change and don’t let it get buried in process.”

Haechan gave you a satisfied smile. “Look at that teamwork.”

Ms. Thatch clapped once, pleased. “Wonderful! A joint proposal from Mr. Lee and Miss Y/L/N. Excellent demonstration of cooperation.”

Your face warmed up at her compliments, but you were still annoyed because you'd unintentionally made Haechan look good too. He reclined in his chair again, twirling his quill lazily, with a little smirk on his face.

When the meeting ended, you gathered your parchments quickly, eager to escape the lingering awkwardness. But as you stood, Haechan slipped smoothly into step beside you.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured, leaning slightly toward you.

“For what? Pointing out flaws in my idea?”

“For saving your impulsive approach from alienating half of Europe,” he corrected.

“Why do you act like you care about the outcome now?” you snapped softly.

“You’d be surprised.”

The lift chimed before you could answer. You stepped in first, forcing a slow breath. Haechan followed, positioning himself at a polite distance but still close enough that his body heat seeped through your robes.

The enchanted car lurched upward, then swerved left, then right in its usual nauseating zig-zag. Your boots slid and you lost your balance. Haechan’s hand shot out, pulling you against the solid plane of his chest.

“Careful…” he murmured.

“Thanks,” you managed, the word thin and embarrassingly high.

He released you the moment you steadied, but the imprint of his fingers stayed on your skin. When the doors finally opened on the Atrium, your pulse was thudding so hard you could hear it.

“See you tomorrow, partner,” he murmured, throwing a knowing glance over his shoulder as he exited.

You watched him disappear through the bustling floor realizing it was going to be a very long internship.

The next few days consisted of nothing but research. Haechan seemed more interested in the project after your argument. He claimed he was committed to helping but you suspected he just enjoyed contradicting your findings.

“Page six,” he announced, flipping your draft around. “Your import tariff curve is off by half a point.”

“It is not.” You muttered without looking up.

He leaned forward. “Wanna bet?”

You rubbed your temples, eyes throbbing from going through three decades worth of parchments. “Fine. Show me.”

Haechan stood and bent over your chair, his cologne wrapping around you. He pointed to a neat column of figures, far closer to your face than necessary.

“See?” he murmured. “You adjusted by seven percent, but the 1903 clause moved the baseline to eight.”

“Good catch,” you conceded through gritted teeth.

He straightened, grinning. “Say it louder, the ghosts in the basement might’ve missed it.”

You rolled your eyes, then pressed two fingers to the side of your neck and winced. All those hours of hunching had finally caught up with you.

Haechan’s smirk faded. “You okay?”

“Just sore,” you muttered, rotating your shoulder. “Thanks to someone who insisted we cross-reference three languages and thirty years of footnotes.”

“That same someone happens to give excellent massages,” he said, sliding behind your chair before you could protest. “Turn.”

You opened your mouth to refuse but then another sharp twinge shot down your spine. So with a reluctant sigh, you let his hands settle lightly on your shoulders.

“Don’t break me,” you mumbled, cheeks heating.

He chuckled, low. “You’ve survived Bludgers to the ribs. I think you’ll live.”

His thumbs worked slow circles into the knotted muscles at the base of your neck. Heat unfurled under your skin; the room seemed to narrow to the quiet rasp of parchment and the steady press of his hands.

“Better?” he asked, voice a breath from your ear.

“A little,” you managed, pulse thudding far too fast for mere relief.

He kneaded deeper, tracing careful circles. Your breath caught as his thumbs slid higher toward your neck. He paused, and you didn’t realize he was leaning in until you felt the faintest ghost of a kiss graze your bare shoulder where your robes had slipped. Your entire body stiffened in surprise.

“Haechan—” The name broke on a gasp as he kissed you again.

“I’ll stop if you want,” he murmured but his lips only drifted higher. Another kiss landed below your ear, teeth grazing a spot that made your breath hitch. He nudged your hair aside, mapping the exposed skin with his mouth.

“What are you doing…” you breathed.

“Just helping you relax,” he whispered, mouth warm on your neck.

You turned without thinking, and his mouth met yours, stealing the rest of your question. Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging him closer. 

He stood from his chair and eased you back until you bumped the table. His tongue brushed yours; a low sound caught in his throat when you arched into him. Your hands found the loosened knot of his tie and pulled. He broke the kiss just long enough to trace your bottom lip with his thumb.

“Feeling better?”

You swallowed thickly. “I don’t know.”

“Hmm, we gotta keep going then.” He kissed you again, deeper this time, hands sliding down to your waist and gripping tightly. His hips pressed forward, drawing a sharp gasp from you as you felt the heated line of his body. Your fingers tightened in his shirt, clinging as he kissed along your jaw, teeth gently scraping your skin.

“We shouldn’t—” you breathed, though you tilted your head to grant him better access.

“I know,” he said hoarsely. But neither of you stopped.

His hands slid down to explore the curves of your body through your robes. You felt dizzy, entirely consumed by him. He lifted you slightly onto the table, knocking scrolls and parchment to the floor, but you hardly cared. There was no one around in the Archives at this hour and all you could focus on was him—the fierce heat of his mouth, the soft catch of his breath when you bit his lip.

Your robes shifted upward, exposing bare thighs. His palms skimmed your skin, rough fingertips igniting sparks along your nerves. He kissed you deeply, tongue sliding against yours as you parted your knees instinctively, drawing him in closer.

“Lie back.” He murmured.

Your heart kicked up as you leaned onto your elbows, breath already shallow. His eyes didn’t leave yours, not even as he dropped to his knees, hands sliding up your thighs and pushing them apart with slow pressure. With his other hand he bunched your robes higher, the cool air hitting your skin in sharp contrast to the heat rolling off him.

“Haechan—” you gasped, tensing when his mouth brushed the inside of your thigh. 

You hadn’t expected how soft he’d be. How careful. He kissed higher, lips dragging up inch by inch until his breath was warming your core. You squirmed closer, needing him closer, needing somethinv to relieve the pressure building low in your stomach. His eyes flicked up to yours with a silent question in them. You nodded without hesitation.

His mouth was on you in a second. A sharp main escaped before you could stop it, echoing off the dusty shelves. His tongue moved slowly at first, learning you, and then with more purpose. Your hands fumbled for the edge of the table, gripping tight as your breath caught again and again. The sensations were overwhelming, so much better than anything you’d let yourself imagine.

“Fuck,” you breathed. “Haechan—”

“You’re so fucking sweet,” he said between strokes. “Tastes better than I thought.”

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, voice cracking. “Please—”

“Not planning to.” His fingers dug into your thighs as he dragged his tongue in tight circles. “Gonna make you fall apart on my mouth.”

He groaned low against you, and the vibration nearly sent you over. Your hand flew to his hair, tugging, desperate, but he didn’t slow. His tongue worked you relentlessly, fingers digging into your thighs as you twitched.

“Haechan—fuck—” you choked, voice high and strangled as you came hard. Your thighs clenched around him but he still didn’t stop until you started to shudder.

You slumped back, breathing fast. Haechan rose slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

You reached for him without thinking, pulling him into a kiss. You tasted yourself on his lips, but you didn’t care. You just needed to feel him.

“Less tense now?” he murmured, his smirk returning, but softer this time.

You exhaled, dazed. “Yeah. But—”

“I know,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours. His eyes slipped closed. “This doesn’t leave the room.”

You nodded, even though everything in you hated the idea. He pulled back just a little, smoothing your robes down, then reached for his fallen notes without meeting your eyes. You fixed your hair with trembling hands, still trying to get your breathing and your thoughts under control.

But you knew the truth, even if you weren’t ready to admit it. This wasn’t just something that happened and pretending otherwise wasn’t going to make it go away.

[ducksido]

I need more sebek longing. Out resident Yuu human crush denier, realizing he’s headlong into a crush and needs to court/ snatch her up ASAP before any other upstarts get to her or god forbid the RSA

(YEAHHHHHHH SEBEK!!!)

Sebek Zigvolt did not have a crush on the human.

No, that flutter in his chest every time Yuu laughed? That was indigestion. Or rage. Yes—rage. Because how dare a mere human have such a sunny smile? How dare they make his duties more difficult by existing so carelessly kind and so infuriatingly resilient?

And the fact that they’d managed to best every housewarden in a crisis? Trickery. Fluke. Luck.

But then there was that day—

The day a pigeon from Royal Sword Academy showed up on campus with a letter. A letter addressed to Yuu.

Sebek had been walking by when he overheard it. Saw it. The blushing on Yuu’s face as they read it. The way they giggled—giggle—and muttered, “That’s kind of sweet.”

Sweet. Sweet?!

“Human,” he barked, storming over without thinking. “Who dares court you with such cowardly methods as letter writing? Face your suitor with dignity, not this—this avian nonsense!”

Yuu blinked. “Huh? It’s just a thank-you letter from an RSA student I helped at the interschool symposium. They’re just being polite.”

Sebek scowled. “Politeness is a gateway to romantic corruption!”

“…what?”

“Nothing! Forget I said anything!”

He stomped away, fists clenched, brain on fire.

This wouldn’t do.

If Royal Sword Academy—those peacocking, pretentious, princely pipsqueaks—were going to start sniffing around his human (NOT his human), he would have to act. Swiftly. Strategically.

He spent the next few nights writing out a “Yuu Containment & Courtship Plan” in his diary.

Step 1: Increase proximity. Become her guard. For safety. Obviously. Humans are fragile and need protection.

Step 2: Intimidate rivals. Use volume and intensity. Works on Grim. Should work on RSA pretty boys.

Step 3: Gift giving. Non-romantic. Functional gifts. Armor polish. Anti-poison herbs. Possibly a sword.

Step 4: Praise them (in code). “You’re adequate” → “You are the least incompetent student I’ve met” → “You’d make a strong foot soldier under Lord Malleus.”

Step 5: Confess feelings before anyone else does. Maybe. Eventually. If necessary. (He underlined this part five times.)

Meanwhile, Yuu had simply assumed Sebek was going through… something. He started showing up wherever they went—“by coincidence.” He handed them strange, rare monster-repellent herbs in a sack labeled “FOR YOU. NOT THAT I CARE.” and glared daggers at any boy who stood within ten feet of them.

The final straw came when Yuu caught him shouting romantic poetry (he claimed it was a “verbal training exercise”) in the woods behind Ramshackle.

“Sebek… are you okay?”

He looked at them, face redder than a Heartslabyul rose.

“I HAVE DETERMINED,” he said, voice cracking only slightly, “THAT YOU ARE WORTHY. AS A HUMAN. FOR COURTSHIP. I SHALL DEFEND YOUR HONOR UNTIL YOU DECIDE ON A SUITOR. WHICH SHOULD BE ME. EVENTUALLY. PREFERABLY NOW.”

Yuu blinked. “So… you like me?”

Sebek sputtered. “I—LIKE—I—THAT IS TO SAY—MAYBE?!”

Yuu laughed, and suddenly it wasn’t so scary. “Okay. You can court me.”

He stood still for a full minute before falling to one knee like he was being knighted.

“I ACCEPT THIS MISSION.”

BONUS: Lilia’s reaction: “Oh ho~ My little Sebek is growing up~ Planning campaigns of love now, are we?”

Silver: (Asleep in the background) “He’s been reciting love poems in his sleep. I think it’s serious.”

[sixeyesonathiel]

very niche drabble from my drafts but honestly i would die without posting anything new in a day so i hope y'all will like this and see the vision LMAO, will have different parts <3 since lyra have pointed it out, just saying now that the reader is the cashier :D

isekai'd as game protag nerdjo x isekai'd as saintess npc reader, fluff.

the sunlight catches in your hair again.

satoru doesn’t mean to look. really. he doesn’t. but it’s kind of impossible not to when it glows like that—when every strand shimmers gold in the light of the descending sun like threads spun from divinity itself. it’s almost offensive, honestly. like the devs knew exactly what they were doing when they coded your idle animation to lean forward with a hum and tuck a loose wisp behind your ear just so.

he shifts his weight from one boot to the other, arms crossed, mouth tight, trying to look casual and not like he’s completely entranced by the way the snow melts before it even touches you.

he shouldn't be staring. he shouldn't want to.

because he already has a crush.

back home—real home—there’s a girl who works at the little corner store where he always buys his merch and energy drinks and plastic gacha keychains. she wears cute earrings. remembers his name. slips extra digimon stickers into his bag when she thinks he’s not looking.

he can’t seem to recall what she looked like, probably because of this whole isekai thing but he was sure about one thing. he was going to ask for her number, eventually. probably. maybe. someday.

but still he could not peel his gaze away.

you’re kneeling by a bed of bluebells—early bloom, thanks to your passive skill, blessing of spring. soft petals brush against your fingertips as you gently trace the outline of each flower, humming a song he’s pretty sure isn’t in the game’s ost. a small smile plays on your lips. the world around you feels alive in a way it never did when he played this on his old console—birds chirp too realistically, snowflakes glint too sharply, the wind carries your voice just enough to tease at the edge of his hearing.

and he’s just standing there. holy sword at his side. cape slightly crooked. heart lodged firmly in his throat.

“you’re staring again,” their rogue probably says behind him. maybe it’s their archer this time. he doesn’t hear. or rather—he refuses to.

because how the hell is he supposed to focus on defeating the demon king when you smile like that?

he’s the hero now. the chosen one. satoru gojo, level 99 celestial knight. maxed-out stats in everything that mattered: strength, speed, light magic resistance, charisma so broken it’s been nerfed twice since launch. and yet here he is—still taking psychic damage from the way your lashes flutter when you blink at him.

he’s been here for weeks ever since dozing off in a middle of some cutscene. isekai’d straight into his favorite game—celestial hearts: divine war of fate—which was absolutely not supposed to be a dating sim. it was about strategy and honor and battle mechanics. not about feelings or pretty saintess girls in glowing white cloaks and soothing voices who keep patting his head when he looks tired.

“sir gojo?” you say gently, glancing over your shoulder at him, smile soft and patient.

your eyes catch the light and sparkle—sparkle, literally sparkle. like someone turned the shader settings all the way up just for you. “you look flushed. are you feeling alright?”

“y–yeah,” he says, cracking audibly. god. why did his voice do that. he clears his throat. straightens up. resets his face to what he thinks is a neutral, knightly expression. “must be the sun. y’know. too hot.”

you blink. your lips part in polite confusion, and you glance up at the sky.

“but it’s snowing.”

“…right.”

his hands twitch at his sides, fingers flexing restlessly in his gloves. damn this game. damn the developers. damn their incredible, stupid attention to detail. your hands—bare, of course—hover over the flowers again, cupping one like a tiny offering. your sleeves fall past your wrists, white and gold embroidery catching the breeze. he knows your bio by heart: “saintess of the divine spring, miracle maiden of light,” the usual npc flavor text. maxed healing. high affinity scores. probably a tragic backstory somewhere in your questline.

but none of that mentioned how your laugh sounds like windchimes strung across heaven’s gate.

“sir gojo,” you say again, standing now, brushing imaginary dust and flower petals from your skirts. your movements are dainty, practiced, but your brows draw slightly inward with genuine concern. “you’ve been standing still for a while. are you sure you’re not overheating?”

his cape flutters awkwardly in the wind. his fingers go rigid. he can’t even blink.

girl. please.

he opens his mouth. closes it. opens it again, as if maybe this time something normal will come out.

“maybe i’m…” his voice trails off as he wills his brain to function. “overheating from your… divine radiance?”

the words leave him like a spell miscast.

a pregnant pause.

then—your eyes go wide. your lips twitch. and you laugh.

not a dainty giggle this time, but a laugh. soft and delighted and surprised all at once, curling from your throat like a melody no bard could replicate. you lift your sleeve to hide your smile, cheeks faintly pink—not blushing, no, the game probably just coded you to respond to compliments with a heat shader—

he’s going to die.

he’s actually going to drop dead right here in the middle of a flower field over a non-playable character.

somewhere deep in the forest, a bowstring snaps with unnecessary violence. someone—probably the mage—lets out a strangled, exhausted noise of pure despair.

satoru barely notices. he’s busy fighting for his life.

you’re still smiling at him. the wind rustles the bluebells. your hair glows like god’s personal sunbeam. the scene is perfect. it looks like a damn cg cut-in. he expects text to pop up any second with your name and some sappy line like “i’m glad you’re here, brave knight.”

but instead you just say, softly, with an amused little tilt of your head, “you’re strange, sir gojo.”

“i get that a lot,” he mumbles.

and somehow, impossibly, you smile brighter.

he has to beat the demon king. return to his world. back to traffic, vending machines, anime reruns, and microwaved curry. back to a life without hand-drawn skies and snow that melts against your skin and the way you say his name like it’s a blessing.

but you’re looking at him now like he’s the one glowing.

and satoru thinks—maybe. maybe just a little longer.

a few more days of fumbling compliments, of you laughing at his dumb jokes, of trying not to combust every time your hands brush his.

a few more days of your soft voice calling him “sir gojo” like you don’t even realize you’ve already enchanted him more deeply than any demon ever could.

[fwtcanimelover]

Star Wars Order 66 au

Where the Kaminioans find out early that Palpatine is planning to eventually betray them. Before order 66 they secretly swap the codes for order 66 and order 65 around without Palpatine or anyone else knowing. So basically now order 66 demands the removal/execution of the Chancellor aka Palpatine, and order 65 is the execution of the Jedi.

So when Palpatine calls every single clone commander, commandos, bad batch, and the entire clone army to execute order 66. He is cracking up thinking that the clones are going to kill the jedi. Only to have an uno reverse card, and have the entire Republic army come after him instead.

[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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, the room grew deathly quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

"Finish it."

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

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

"Wait."

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

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

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

The room held its collective breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wrong person.

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

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

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

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

He should have known.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Regret.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How can I ever make this right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As the door clicked shut behind him, the leader was left alone with the echoes of his guilt—and the faintest, most fragile glimmer of hope.

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The quiet hum of the infirmary filled the air, broken only by the soft rustle of sheets and the faint crackle of the oil lamp on the bedside table. Hongjoong stood frozen in the doorway, his eyes locked on your still form lying on the cot. The sight twisted something deep inside him, the sharp pang of guilt slicing through him once again.

"Hyung?" Jongho's voice pulled him from his reverie, soft but laced with surprise. "Why are you here?" His brows knitted together in confusion as he stepped closer. "Seonghwa hyung said to only inform you when she's awake. She's not—"

The gang leader cut him off with a subtle shake of his head. "I had to see if she's okay... for myself." His voice was low, almost a whisper. "You're dismissed. I'll take over."

Jongho hesitated, his eyes searching his leader's face, filled with concern and something unspoken. "Hyung..."

"I won't..." Hongjoong's voice faltered, his throat tightening. "I won't hurt her any further, Jongho."

The youngest sighed softly, the tension in the room heavy between them. "That's not what I—"

"I know," Hongjoong interrupted, closing his eyes and swallowing hard. "It's fine. Just... go thank the doctor for me."

Jongho lingered for a moment, his gaze lingering on the Captain's worn expression. Finally, he gave a respectful bow of his head. "I'll be nearby if you need me."

With that, the Anchor left, the door clicking softly shut behind him, leaving Hongjoong alone with the stillness once more.

He stepped forward, the floor creaking beneath his boots, and sank into the chair beside the bed. His hands trembled as he clasped them together, resting them on his knees. He could barely bring himself to look at you, the bandages wrapped around your body stark against your pale skin, the ghost of the agony he had inflicted still lingering in the air.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, the words breaking like fragile glass. "Fuck, I'm so sorry."

The apology felt hollow, inadequate, but it was all he had. He sat there, staring at you, hoping that somehow, even in sleep, you might hear him. But the only response was the steady rise and fall of your chest, the rhythmic proof that you were alive.

Alive, but not whole.

He leaned back, his head tipping against the wall, the weight of everything crushing down on him. For the first time in years, Kim Hongjoong—the feared Captain of the Black Pirates—felt utterly powerless.

His eyes, unwilling to linger any longer on the bandages covering your wounded body, drifted downward. There, beneath the cot, something caught his attention. A crumpled, dirt-streaked tote bag sat neglected, its once vibrant fabric marred by careless fingerprints—his men's fingerprints.

He furrowed his brows and leaned forward, retrieving the bag with careful hands as if it might break apart at any moment. The stitching was amateur but charming, the drawings simple yet endearing. Scrawled in bright, cheerful lettering at the centre were the words Marigold Gift Shop.

It looked so out of place here in the dim and sterile infirmary, like a splash of sunlight drowning in shadow.

He set the bag on his lap and gently pried it open. The contents were jumbled, chaotic, but it was clear that everything inside once held meaning. Trinkets, small souvenirs from the port—a handful of seashells, a hand-painted keychain, and a delicate glass charm in the shape of a flower. These were not the belongings of a spy.

He reached deeper and pulled out a tiny notebook, its edges worn from use. His fingers brushed over the cover before flipping it open. The pages were filled with neat, dainty handwriting—simple lists:

Small wooden carvings

Candles (lavender & sea breeze)

Handmade bookmarks

Seashell jewellery

It wasn't just a list of purchases—it was a routine, mundane, innocent.

Hongjoong's throat constricted, and his hands trembled as the realisation struck him anew: you had been working. You had been on an errand for your job at the Marigold Gift Shop when they dragged you into their nightmare.

His vision blurred, his breath catching in his chest.

You had no idea who they were. No idea what danger you had stumbled into. You were just there, in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it cost you everything.

Hongjoong squeezed the notebook shut, resting it against his forehead as though it could somehow absolve him of the crushing guilt. People must be looking for you—your friends, your family, your employer. The ones who had sent you on this errand, trusting you would return safely.

And now, what could he give them? A broken, scarred version of the vibrant soul they had lost. How could he face them? How could he return you to them like this?

He sat in silence, the only sound in the room the steady rhythm of your breathing and the occasional drip of water from the infirmary's ceiling. His gaze lingered on the crumpled tote bag resting on his lap, its cheerful colours muted beneath the grime. His fingers traced the fabric absentmindedly before he noticed the bucket of clean water and a spare rag near your cot.

For reasons he didn't fully understand, he stood and reached for the rag, dipping it into the water. The cloth came away damp and cool, and he squeezed out the excess with slow, deliberate movements. It was a strange sight—Kim Hongjoong, feared leader of the Black Pirates, bent over a bag, carefully wiping away the dirt and grime.

He worked in silence, the world narrowing to this singular task. Each stroke of the rag against the fabric felt like an apology he couldn't utter aloud. Slowly, painstakingly, he cleaned the tote, rubbing away the stains until the bright colours began to peek through again. The cheerful drawings and stitched patterns reemerged, fragile yet resilient beneath the care of his steady hands.

Piece by piece, he began to arrange your belongings. The trinkets were cleaned and carefully set back in place—each seashell, the delicate glass flower charm, the hand-painted keychain. He smoothed out the tiny notebook, the pages no longer crumpled but straightened with the same precision he reserved for the most critical of plans.

As he worked, he felt a strange lightness settle over him. He hadn't noticed the small smile tugging at the corners of his lips until it faded, replaced by the weight of reality as his gaze shifted back to you.

The bag, now pristine, sat neatly on the table beside you, a quiet testament to his care—a care no one, not even his brothers, had seen in years.

He stood there for a long moment, staring at you, at the bandages wrapped around your broken body, and the regret clawed at his chest again. His smile had vanished entirely, replaced by the grim determination that only guilt could bring.

How could he make this right? How could he even begin? Would you ever be able to forgive him, or himself, for what he had done?

The questions lingered unanswered in the stillness as he sat back down, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly together.

He didn't know the answers. All he knew was that he had to try.

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The world swirled in an agonising haze as your consciousness began to claw its way back. Every inch of your body screamed in pain, each bruise, cut, and wound making itself known like fire crawling beneath your skin. It was almost impossible to grasp the full weight of the agony—how could anyone describe the sensation of pain this overwhelming? It was a deep, suffocating thing that made every breath feel like a battle.

You tried to open your eyes, but even that small movement was an assault on your senses. The brightness behind your eyelids was too much, the pressure of it sending a wave of dizziness crashing over you. When you managed to blink, your eyes watered uncontrollably, the effort alone nearly too much to bear. The burn on your back, the curse of that mark—his mark—lingered like a red-hot brand, the pain compounded by the memory of it being tainted with filthy, contaminated water. You couldn't even tell if the pain had dulled or if it was just the agony of everything else making it seem like the worst of it. Even if you didn't die from your injuries, you were certain that infection would claim you before long.

Slowly, with a whimper that barely escaped your cracked lips, you arched your back, instinctively trying to relieve the burning pain from the mark. The movement was weak, your body screaming in protest, but the sensation was a small reprieve. As you forced your eyes open again, blinking over and over to get your bearings, your vision began to sharpen, and the haze of confusion began to recede, bit by bit.

The white ceiling above you was a sharp contrast to the hellish basement you had been trapped in. A sterile smell filled the air, the kind that only came from a medical facility. You were no longer in that filthy, oppressive place. Were you safe now? Had someone rescued you? Was it the authorities? Or perhaps your friends, your family, or your employer had noticed you were missing and raised the alarm? Had they found you in time?

You desperately hoped for any answer that could bring you some sense of peace, but the sight before you shattered that hope in an instant.

Turning your head slightly, you froze. The tears that had started to retreat at the thought of safety now rushed back with full force. There, sitting in a chair beside your bed, was the man who had nearly ended your life.

His face was shadowed in exhaustion, his posture slumped slightly as if he'd nodded off in his seat. His presence hit you like a blow to the chest, a knot of raw fear twisting in your gut. The man who had tortured you, who had burned you, who had broken you was right there. The man who was responsible for every inch of pain you'd endured.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and despite your body's desperate need to remain still, the fear surged within you. You couldn't help but tremble, a silent cry of terror rising in your chest.

But even in your panic, something else stirred—a strange, foreign confusion. He was here. In this room. But he wasn't hurting you. Was he... watching over you? Was this some new kind of torment? A psychological game? The thought made your head spin.

Tears fell down your cheeks as you tried to shift, but your body refused to obey. You were broken in every sense of the word, and now, trapped by your own fear and pain, you couldn't make sense of anything. All you knew was that the man who had caused all of this—the man who had dragged you into this nightmare—was right there, inches away from you.

And you had no idea what it meant.

Your attempts to keep your sobs quiet failed, the soft, broken sounds escaping against your will. Each tremor in your chest seemed to echo in the sterile room, and despite the pain, your body recoiled in fear as you saw him stir. His brow furrowed, eyes fluttering open slowly, the grogginess of sleep fading as he registered the sound—and then, his gaze locked with yours.

Panic surged through you, your breath hitching violently as his dark eyes met your own, wide and trembling, your irises blown out with terror. You wanted to scream, to run, but your body betrayed you, too weak and broken to do anything but sink further into the thin blanket covering you. All you could do was shrink back, the ache in your body drowned out by the overwhelming fear coursing through your veins.

Hongjoong froze, his expression unreadable for a heartbeat. Then, he sat up straighter, slowly, deliberately, as if trying not to startle you further. His jaw clenched, and for a second, the silence stretched unbearably between you. He raised his hands carefully, palms facing you in a universal gesture of peace, his movements measured and cautious, like one might approach a wounded animal.

"Hey," he began softly, his voice low and careful, as though it might shatter you further. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

You didn't believe him. How could you? The fear in your eyes deepened, your body curling instinctively beneath the covers, though every movement brought fresh waves of agony. Your eyes darted around the room, seeking escape, seeking anyone else—but it was only him.

He sighed, a heavy sound filled with something that almost resembled regret. He stayed seated, keeping his hands up, as if showing he was unarmed would make any difference to the scars he had already left on you. "Nobody will hurt you again," he said, and his voice trembled, just barely. "That... that includes me."

You watched him, breath ragged, your body trembling with the effort to stay still. He swallowed hard, the guilt written in every line of his face as he continued, his tone thick with something you couldn't name—shame? Guilt? Desperation? "I know this is all very confusing, and you have no reason to trust me, but we made a mistake. I made a mistake."

He paused, his throat bobbing as he swallowed again, struggling with the weight of the words. "You're not who we thought you were. And for that—for everything we... I put you through—I'm sorry."

His apology hung in the air, but it did nothing to ease the terror in your heart. It sounded sincere, but sincerity didn't erase the pain, the scars, the nightmare that still lingered in your mind. It didn't change the fact that this man, who now sat before you looking so remorseful, had been the one to destroy you.

Tears continued to stream down your face, and all you could do was stare at him, disbelieving and broken, the word sorry echoing hollowly in your mind. He had taken everything from you, and now he expected that word to make it right?

The silence stretched between you, fragile and suffocating, as you lay there—shattered, terrified, and unsure of what came next.

As if your body had decided to break the unbearable silence itself, your stomach let out a loud, insistent growl. The sound was jarring in the stillness, so absurdly out of place that it caught both of you off guard. You gasped, clutching the thin blanket tighter to your face, cheeks burning despite the pain radiating through your body. Humiliation and fear clashed within you. Would he be disgusted? Would he regret sparing you? Was this the moment he'd change his mind?

You couldn't help but brace yourself.

But instead of anger or disdain, he simply blinked in surprise before his lips parted, and he mumbled softly, "Oh, right. Stupid me. You must be starving." His voice carried a gentleness that was almost foreign, as if the words were meant more for himself than you.

The wooden chair scraped lightly against the floor as he pushed it back, the sound startling in the quiet room. He stood slowly, the motion casual, almost hesitant. "I'll bring you something to eat," he said, the words so ordinary, so kind, that they felt unreal.

And then, just like that, he walked out of the room, the door closing quietly behind him.

You lay frozen, staring at the spot where he'd been moments ago, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Your mind spun in confusion, trying to reconcile the man who had tortured you with the one who now spoke softly and promised food. Was this some twisted game? Was he really going to bring you food—or was it laced with poison, a final, cruel trick?

But if he wanted you dead, why not just finish it when he had the chance? Why tend to your wounds, only to kill you later? The questions swirled relentlessly.

You bit your trembling lip, tears pricking the corners of your eyes again. He could have killed you. You had seen it in his eyes that day—the moment he gave the final order. You had accepted it then, surrendering to fate, your body succumbing to the darkness.

Yet here you were. Alive.

Still shaking, you turned your head to the door, trying to comprehend the reality before you. Was this real? Was he truly changing—or was this a prelude to something worse?

The confusion and fear gnawed at you, but beneath it, a glimmer of something unfamiliar lingered.

Hope.

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"Here," he said softly, holding out a spoonful of chicken soup to your lips. The aroma was heavenly—rich and savoury, exactly what your starved body craved after days without food. Your stomach clenched painfully in response, desperate for sustenance. Yet, despite the temptation, you frowned and turned your face away.

He sighed, his hand lowering slightly but not withdrawing entirely. The bowl in his other hand trembled ever so slightly as if he wasn't sure what to do next. Finally, he set it gently on the table beside you, the warm liquid inside rippling quietly.

Eyes trailing after his movements, you caught sight of your bag resting there. It wasn't in the state you remembered—no longer a crumpled, filthy mess. It had been cleaned meticulously, every stitch visible and tidy, the fabric now free from dirt and grime.

His voice interrupted your thoughts, soft and almost hesitant. "Oh yeah, your bag. I... got busy while you were sleeping and cleaned it up."

You clutched the blanket tighter, sceptical. Him? Cleaning your bag? It was absurd.

"Everything inside too," he added, a small smile pulling at his lips. "You have some pretty cool stuff."

Your eyes widened, heart racing. He touched your things? Against your better judgement, you reached out, wanting to verify the state of your belongings, only to let out a sharp cry as pain flared through your body with the movement.

He was beside you instantly, his hands hovering, unsure whether to touch or retreat. His face twisted in something that looked suspiciously like hurt when you recoiled, sinking back into the bed to avoid him.

Clearing his throat, he asked, voice soft, "You want your bag?"

You nodded timidly, watching him closely. His small smile returned, gentle and relieved. "Let me help you," he murmured, pulling his chair closer. He placed the bag on the bed between you both, unzipping it carefully for you to see inside.

For the first time since waking up, your eyes softened. Everything was as he said—clean, neatly arranged. Trembling fingers reached out for the glass flower charm nestled inside, your favourite trinket. But before you could touch it, your stomach betrayed you again with a loud, desperate growl.

Humiliated, you drew your hand back, shrinking into yourself.

He chuckled softly, reaching for the bowl again. "I know you don't trust me, and you shouldn't," he admitted, his tone gentle and sincere, "but I can assure you, this is safe to consume." To prove it, he scooped a generous spoonful and took a bite himself, letting out an exaggerated hum of satisfaction.

You swallowed hard, the sight and smell tormenting you. Still, you hesitated when he held out another spoonful.

"If you won't eat it," he said with a sigh, "then I'll finish the rest." He raised the spoon toward his own mouth as if to follow through.

Before he could, you opened your mouth quickly, and his grin softened. Gently, he fed you, the warm broth sliding down your throat like liquid gold, soothing and comforting. The flavours were simple, yet after days of deprivation, it felt like the most luxurious meal you'd ever had.

He remained calm, every action slow and deliberate, offering care despite your fear and mistrust. His patience was unsettling, yet... somehow, in that moment, the terrifying man you had known felt like a distant memory.

But the pain in your body lingered. And so did the scars.

Hongjoong felt a warmth he couldn't explain swelling in his chest as you finished the final spoonful, the empty bowl resting between you both like a fragile truce. His eyes softened as he watched you, vulnerable yet still defiant, the faintest remnants of tears glistening on your lashes. He reached forward, hand poised to wipe the corner of your lips, but before he could, a sharp knock on the door shattered the moment.

He blinked, and it was as if a mask fell into place. The softness in his gaze vanished, replaced by the cold, commanding demeanour you knew too well. He set the bowl on the table, the clink of ceramic against wood too loud in the heavy silence. Straightening in his seat, shoulders squared, he uttered a firm, "Come in."

You shrank back into the bed instinctively, your body curling as far from him as your injuries would allow. The door creaked open, and another man stepped inside—his brow raising slightly when he noticed you were awake.

"Hyung," he said, his tone both respectful and urgent, "you're needed at the meeting. To discuss our next steps, now that the..." He hesitated, casting a brief glance your way, as if unsure how much to say in your presence. "The actual spy remains at large."

Hongjoong nodded, the authority in his posture unwavering. "I'll be there. Thank you, Jongho." His voice was clipped, businesslike, a stark contrast to the gentle tone he'd used with you only moments before. "Summon the doctor. Have her checked thoroughly and ensure she's comfortable."

The man named Jongho gave a short nod and left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him.

For a moment, the Captain remained seated, his back straight, tension radiating from him. Then, as if reminded of your presence, he turned to you once more. His expression softened, just for a second, as he offered the faintest smile—fleeting but genuine. "It's okay," he murmured, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. "No one will hurt you again. I won't let them."

Before you could react, the smile vanished, his face hardening once more as he rose to his feet. Without another glance, he strode to the door and exited, the soft thud of his boots fading into the distance.

You lay there, staring at the closed door, heart racing, mind spinning. The man who had nearly destroyed you had just promised your protection. And despite everything, a single, terrifying thought whispered through your mind:

I believe you.

The room felt unnervingly quiet after his departure, the air still heavy with the remnants of his presence. You stayed frozen for a moment, listening to the silence, your pulse still thundering in your ears. Slowly, cautiously, you shifted beneath the blanket, every movement sending fresh waves of pain rippling through your battered body.

But you endured it, your gaze locked on the bag resting beside you. Trembling fingers reached out, brushing against its fabric, now pristine compared to how you last remembered it—torn, dirtied, ruined. Carefully, you pulled it closer, clutching it to your chest like a lifeline, tears welling up as you stroked the surface. Your fingers traced over the familiar stitches and doodles, remnants of happier times, of days spent working, laughing, living.

Were your loved ones searching for you? How frantic must they be, wondering if you were still alive, hoping, praying for your return? The thought broke something inside you, and you wept silently, the tears streaming down your face as you reached inside the bag.

Piece by piece, your belongings greeted you, neatly arranged—your keychain, your tiny souvenirs, even the little trinkets you'd collected on that ill-fated day. None of them bore the grime and cruelty you had last seen, each one painstakingly cleaned, cared for. Despite yourself, a hollow sob escaped your lips, and you hated how much it affected you.

At the very bottom of the bag, your trembling hand closed around the familiar worn edges of your notebook. You pulled it out, your tears falling freely as you held it close, opening the cover with a sniffle. Flipping through the pages, you found the list you had written, the innocent to-do list that had led you into this nightmare. Your thumb traced the ink of your handwriting—dotted with tiny stars and hearts—and you almost smiled through the pain.

But it wasn't your handwriting on the newest page. You froze, blinking through your tears as you stared at the words, scrawled in a neat, unfamiliar script:

I'm sorry. I will make it right again, I promise.

Your breath caught in your throat, a sob escaping that you couldn't suppress. He had written it. The very man who had branded you, broken you. And yet here, in this quiet, fragile moment, his apology was inked into your most personal possession.

It wasn't enough. It could never be enough.

But it was something.

The notebook fell from your hands, landing on your lap as you curled around it, weeping not just from pain, but from the deep, agonising confusion that tangled with it. You didn't know what to feel anymore. Hatred? Grief? Or some terrible, unbidden hope that his words weren't just lies?

As the tears blurred your vision, you whispered brokenly to no one, "Why does it hurt more now?"

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The days stretched into a haze of silence and uncertainty. You hadn't seen him since that moment when he fed you soup and scribbled his apology into your notebook. In his absence, Jongho became a constant presence—a quiet sentinel, always bringing what you needed but never lingering too long. Aside from him, the kind doctor, with her gentle hands and soothing voice, tended to your wounds, her care meticulous and soft. But it was always just Jongho and her. Never the Captain.

At first, you felt like a prisoner, wondering what the end of this strange hospitality would bring. Would they let you go? Was this kindness a façade before some darker fate awaited? But as the days went on, your thoughts turned inward, your hands finding comfort in writing. You filled parchment after parchment with letters—letters to your parents, your best friend, your employer. They were full of reassurances you weren't even sure you believed. I'm alive. I'm safe. I will come back. But the ink soothed you, even if you knew they might never be sent.

Today was no different, except for the soft murmurs between you and the doctor as she changed your dressings. Her hands worked deftly, the cool air brushing against your skin as she peeled away the layers of gauze and replaced them with fresh, clean bandages. You let your mind drift, thinking of the promise he had scrawled in your notebook. He said he'd make it right. But how? Will I get to leave? Will I ever see my old life again? And if I do… will I ever be the same?

The faint creak of the door interrupted your thoughts, and you looked up instinctively, expecting Jongho's usual unhurried entrance. But it wasn't the Anchor.

It was him.

Your breath caught, and you froze, eyes wide as you met the gaze of Kim Hongjoong. He, too, stilled in the doorway, his expression unreadable, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of something—guilt, perhaps? Regret? His gaze fell to your back, to the horrid brand etched into your skin, and you saw the way he flinched.

He wasn't the only one.

Your body trembled involuntarily, an instinctive recoil from the man who had caused you so much pain. The doctor, blissfully unaware of the tension thickening the air, glanced up with a warm smile. "Oh, you're here! I'm almost done, just give me a minute."

The gang leader nodded stiffly, but he didn't speak. He quickly averted his gaze, turning away as if the sight of you was unbearable. Perhaps it was. Perhaps it should be.

But not for the same reasons as before.

You watched him from the corner of your eye, clutching the edge of the blanket as the doctor finished her work, her hands light on your skin. She hummed softly, her presence a soothing balm to your raw nerves. But your focus remained on him—on the way his shoulders tensed, on the way he refused to meet your eyes again. When he did chance a glance, he caught your gaze, and you saw it clearly: shame.

His lips parted, but no words came. You wanted to demand answers. Why are you here? What do you want from me? But your voice remained trapped in your throat.

The doctor stood, packing up her supplies with a satisfied smile. "There we are," she said brightly, glancing between the two of you. "I'll leave you to rest now." She nodded respectfully to Hongjoong before quietly excusing herself, leaving you alone with him.

The door clicked shut, and the silence between you thickened. You stared at him, your heart pounding, as he stood there, still and unsure. He finally spoke, his voice low and rough, as if it hurt to say the words.

"I didn't mean to... interrupt." He looked down, hands clenched at his sides. "I only came to see how you were."

You didn't know what to say. Under normal circumstances, perhaps a thank you would have been appropriate—but this wasn't normal, and he didn't deserve that. So you kept quiet, your lips pressed into a thin line, your hands fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.

He sighed softly, the sound barely audible, before clearing his throat and moving to sit beside you, just as he had that day with the soup. He settled into the chair with a quiet grace, attempting a small, hesitant smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. His gaze flickered to the books, papers, and pens scattered across the nursing table beside your bed.

"I hope Jongho managed to get you everything you asked for," he said gently, his voice low and careful, as if afraid to startle you. You nodded, but kept your eyes downcast, focused on your wringing hands.

His gaze followed yours, landing on the letters you had written—the stack of parchment covered in your careful handwriting. For a moment, you tensed, waiting for the inevitable backlash. Would he order his men to burn them? Would he scold you for daring to think of leaving, for daring to hope?

But instead, his voice was soft. "Would you like me to deliver them?"

You froze, lifting your head slowly, your wide, disbelieving eyes meeting his earnest gaze. He gestured toward the letters with a slight movement of his hand. "The letters," he clarified. "I could send them for you."

Your disbelief must have shown on your face, the way your brow furrowed and your lips parted slightly in shock. He saw it. He felt it. And it cut deeper than he expected. Of course, you still saw him as a monster. Why wouldn't you? He had given you every reason to believe that. If he wanted to change that, he would need to do more—much more.

He closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself, before looking at you again with an expression that was raw and unguarded. "Look," he began, voice heavy with something that felt dangerously close to regret. "You're not trapped here, in case you're wondering. You're free to leave whenever you want."

You blinked, your heart racing at the words. Could you believe him? Could you trust that freedom was within your reach?

"It's just that…" He trailed off, searching for the right words. "After everything we—I've done to you, the least I can do is help you heal. To nurse you back to health, to give you what you need. I need to make it right. That's all I want. For you to get better, to return to yourself. And if there's anything you need to make that happen… just say the word."

His voice dropped to an almost pleading tone. "So tell me—do you want those letters delivered? Is that it?"

You stared at him, searching his face for any trace of deception, any hint of insincerity. But all you saw was honesty. Whether or not it was real, you didn't know. But the sincerity in his tone, the earnestness in his eyes—it was undeniable.

And you couldn't lie to yourself. The letters were what you wanted. To set your mind and heart at ease. To reassure your loved ones that you were still alive, still here, even if only barely.

So you nodded.

He exhaled slowly, as if relieved, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw a glimmer of something softer in his expression. "Okay," he said simply. "I'll make sure they're delivered."

You struggled, the words stuck in your throat like stubborn stones, not fear this time—but something else. Something unfamiliar and unsettling. You nodded again, the gesture small and hesitant, and to your surprise, he seemed to find it… endearing. His smile softened further, and though you wanted to resent him for it, there was something disarming about the warmth in his expression.

Noticing the way you hesitated, as if wanting to speak but unsure how, he shifted in his chair, intertwining his fingers and leaning forward, careful in his every movement. He stopped just short of your space, close enough to offer comfort but far enough to avoid overwhelming you. His eyes, soft and patient, held yours, and the corners of his lips tugged upward in that same gentle smile—a silent reassurance: I won't hurt you. It's okay.

He seemed aware of how much he was smiling, almost as if surprised by it himself. His eyes glimmered with something that felt out of place in a man like him—genuine kindness. It struck you then, how foreign that smile must have been on his face, as if it had gone unused for too long. You wondered who he had once been, before this life of cruelty hardened him. And you hated that part of you, the part desperate for softness, wanted to know.

"It's alright," he said softly, his voice gentle and warm. "You don't have to be afraid. Just tell me—what do you want?"

The tenderness in his tone felt unreal. This was the same man who had once stood over you, cold and unyielding, ready to snuff out your life. And yet here he was now, speaking to you as if you were fragile, precious even. It was maddening. Confusing. And yet, damn you for being nothing more than a frail human aching for kindness, your guard cracked, just a little.

You didn't know why you asked it, why this question had been sitting in the back of your mind, waiting for its chance to escape. But when you finally spoke, your voice was soft, barely above a whisper, trembling with vulnerability. "Your name."

He blinked, caught off guard. For a moment, silence stretched between you, his expression shifting from surprise to something softer, almost regretful. And then, in that quiet space, he realised the truth: from the very beginning, through everything he had put you through, he had never once told you his name.

He sat back slightly, exhaling a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. "Hongjoong," he said, his voice steady but tender, as if offering you something sacred. "My name is Hongjoong."

Your lips parted, and though you had imagined feeling hatred for this name, it didn't come. Instead, all you felt was the raw ache of everything left unsaid.

"Hongjoong," you repeated, tasting the name on your tongue like a fragile thing, and the way you said it felt like the start of something neither of you could yet name.

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Hongjoong had made it a point to visit you every evening, just before the world outside your room fell silent for the night. At first, you dreaded those moments, unsure of his intentions or what he might say. But as the days turned into weeks, those visits became routine. He would sit beside your bed or across from you at the small table, his demeanour always calm, his tone soft and steady, and slowly, piece by piece, he unravelled the mystery of who he was, what this place meant, and how you had been drawn into their world.

His name, you learned, was more than just a name. He was the leader of this place, a sprawling mansion that served as the heart of a powerful syndicate—a gang, as you quickly realised. The people here, the ones who moved with deadly precision and cold efficiency, were his crew. Not just criminals, but men who had pledged their loyalty to him and each other in the face of a world that sought to destroy them.

You had been caught in the crossfire of a feud between two factions, mistaken for an enemy spy in a moment of chaos. It explained the brutality with which you had been treated, the mistrust that lingered until the truth emerged too late. "You weren't supposed to be hurt," he told you one night, voice thick with regret. "I didn't know who you were. If I had known..." He never finished those sentences, leaving the unsaid to hang in the air like a bitter aftertaste.

And now, the pieces fit. The puzzle you had struggled to solve finally made sense, but with that clarity came an unsettling reality: you were surrounded by criminals. Even if Hongjoong had promised safety, you were in a den of people capable of murder, of violence, of unspeakable acts committed in the name of survival and loyalty. It went against everything you believed in—your sense of morality, the honest life you had led until now.

Yet, despite your fear and discomfort, you knew you had no choice. What had happened could not be undone. The only hope you clung to was for a swift recovery, a chance to leave this world behind and return to the life you had once known.

As your injuries healed, you grew stronger. The sharp, constant pain dulled to a distant ache, and with the doctor's meticulous care, you were soon able to move around. Hongjoong had a proper room prepared for you—one more fitting, spacious, with large windows that let in the light. It was more comfortable than you dared to expect, but you knew better than to interpret it as anything more than a gesture of atonement.

Still, you couldn't deny the strange, unspoken connection that had formed between you and him. You wouldn't call it friendship—you couldn't. He was still the man who had brought you to the brink of death. But there was something. Something fragile, a bond woven through shared guilt and reluctant trust. You found yourself relying on him in ways that shamed you. You hated it, hated how you felt a strange sense of calm when he was near, as if the very person responsible for your suffering was now the anchor keeping you steady.

It was complicated. Confusing. And worst of all, it made you question whether the lines you thought were so clear—between captor and captive, between right and wrong—had begun to blur.

Unbeknownst to you, Hongjoong wrestled with the same confusion—especially about the emotions that had begun to surface lately. He couldn't shake the persistent need to be near you. It gnawed at him like an unrelenting tide, wearing away the walls he had built over the years. He told himself it was duty, responsibility. After all, he was the reason you had nearly lost your life. If he hadn't acted so quickly on false information, none of this would have happened. He reasoned that it was only right to take full responsibility, to ensure your recovery—physically and otherwise.

That logic gave him something to hold on to, but it didn't explain everything. It didn't explain why his eyes instinctively sought you out whenever he walked the halls or the strange calm that washed over him when he saw you safe. It didn't explain the warmth that bloomed in his chest when he heard your voice or glimpsed your rare, hesitant smiles. No, it wasn't just responsibility anymore. It was something deeper, something he wasn't ready to name.

After another gruelling meeting filled with discussions of crisis management and strategies to track down the elusive spy, the Captain's head buzzed with tension. His face remained a mask of cold authority, his steps measured, his shoulders squared. He passed his men without sparing a glance, his thoughts elsewhere. Always on you. The dining hall was empty, your room vacant, and the painting room—where you often sat doodling, lost in thought—was deserted. A strange, unwelcome worry tightened in his chest.

Relief only came when he pushed open the heavy library doors and saw you standing there. You stood in a sunlit aisle, the golden light streaming through the tall windows, bathing you in a soft glow. The light illuminated your features—now mostly healed, the bruises reduced to faint shadows, the cuts mere whispers of what they had been. You were beautiful, he realised, and the realisation ached in a way he hadn't anticipated. He closed the door quietly behind him, the sound muted, careful not to startle you. His steps were slow and deliberate as he approached, his heart inexplicably racing.

You were focused on a pressed flower bookmark tucked between the pages of a book, your head tilted slightly as you admired it, your fingers gently brushing the fragile petals. The scene was simple, ordinary. Yet it stirred something in him, an unspoken truth he wasn't ready to confront.

"Marigold," he said softly, his voice low to not disturb the tranquillity. "That's my favourite flower."

You looked up, startled at first, but your expression softened when you saw him. "Really? It's mine too," you replied, your voice steady, though a hint of curiosity lingered in your tone.

A small smile tugged at his lips, softer than usual, though it carried the weight of everything left unsaid. "It is? Then you should keep it," he said, nodding toward the bookmark, surprising even himself with the offer.

"But—" you began, gesturing toward the marked page.

He chuckled quietly, shaking his head. "I never had time to finish the book anyway. Can't even remember what it's about. Just take it. It's yours now."

Anything you want, it's yours.

For a moment, the silence between you stretched, fragile yet profound, like a delicate thread holding more than either of you dared admit. Hongjoong didn't know what this feeling was, only that it was growing. And being near you eased a part of him he hadn't realised was broken.

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The evening air was still, and the faint glow of the lamp in your room cast a soft halo beneath the door, a beacon that drew him to check on you one last time before retiring. He knocked gently, expecting the usual soft response or even a brief acknowledgement, but there was only silence. His brows knitted in concern, and he knocked again, the sound a little firmer this time. Still, no answer.

Then he heard it—a muffled yelp.

Panic surged through him. He couldn't wait. "I'm coming in," he called, his voice urgent but not harsh, and without hesitation, he pushed open the door.

The sight that met him stopped him in his tracks. You were sitting on the edge of your bed, your shirt halfway unbuttoned, exposing your shoulder and part of your back. The fresh bandage you had been attempting to wrap around yourself lay unravelled on the floor, a tangle of gauze mocking your efforts. Your face was flushed with embarrassment, and the moment you realised he was there, you scrambled to pull your shirt back up, your movements frantic and clumsy.

He didn't look away, not out of disrespect, but because he couldn't ignore the mark on your back. That cursed brand. Every time he saw it, it felt like a punch to the gut, a cruel reminder of his failure. If he could change one thing in his life, it would be that—undoing the moment that left such a permanent scar on you. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, before finally speaking, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it.

"Do you need help?"

Your immediate response was a firm shake of your head. "I'm fine," you insisted, though the tremble in your voice betrayed you. He could see it all: the mess of your hair, the exhaustion etched into your face, the slight tremor in your hands. You had been at this for a while, stubbornly trying to do it alone, and it was clear that you were anything but fine.

Hongjoong sighed quietly, stepping closer, each movement deliberate and gentle, as if afraid he might scare you away. "You're not," he said softly, without accusation, without pity, only quiet understanding. He knelt in front of you, eyes level with yours, and held out his hand, palm up, an unspoken offer. "Let me help."

You hesitated, biting your lip, your pride warring with the exhaustion. But eventually, you let out a shaky breath and nodded, your eyes downcast. He reached for the discarded bandage on the floor, his movements slow, deliberate, as if trying not to disturb the fragile air between you.

Carefully, he unbuttoned your shirt just enough to reveal your shoulder, his fingers never straying more than necessary. The moment felt intimate but not in the way that made you feel vulnerable. It was gentle. Respectful. As he wrapped the bandage around you with practised precision, his hands were steady, careful not to brush against your skin more than needed.

"You don't have to do everything alone," he murmured as he fastened the bandage, his voice like a balm. "I know you're strong, but you can let someone help you."

You didn't respond immediately, the warmth of his words sinking in as you sat in silence. Finally, you whispered, "Thank you."

He gave a faint smile, one you didn't see but could hear in the softness of his voice. "Anytime."

You finally turned to face him, your breath catching when you realised just how close he was. His face, so much softer now than the man who had once been your captor, was mere inches away. As if more modest than you, he quickly moved to help button your shirt, his fingers deft but gentle, avoiding your gaze as if giving you privacy in a moment that was anything but private. Your eyes, however, couldn't stop following the sincerity etched into his expression, hating the way it made your heart race. How could your body betray you like this, reacting to someone who had once been so cruel?

You swallowed hard, trying to banish those thoughts, and lowered your gaze. That's when you noticed his wrist peeking from the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. It was the first time you saw them, the scars that twisted from his elbows to his wrists like angry, jagged reminders. Your brows furrowed, curiosity—and something deeper—propelling you forward. Without thinking, your hand reached out and grasped his as he pulled away, holding it gently.

"H-how'd you get these?" your voice trembled, more from the vulnerability in the air than any fear.

Hongjoong stilled. The small smile on his face faded, replaced by a haunting stillness. He pulled his hands back gently, as if realising for the first time he had no right to be near you, no right to touch you. He placed your hands carefully back in your lap, almost reverently, and turned toward the window, the fading sunlight casting shadows across his face.

A humourless chuckle escaped him, low and bitter, as he glanced at the scars on his arms before shifting his gaze to the darkened horizon. "Let me tell you the story of a boy," he began, his voice void of emotion but heavy with pain, "who had everything taken from him. Not that he had much to begin with—only a mother who loved him more than anything." His voice cracked, almost imperceptibly, but you caught it. "Even that wasn't enough for fate."

He didn't look at you, eyes fixed on the darkening sky, as if it held all the answers. "My father was a worthless drunk with a gambling problem. He left us with nothing but debts, and my mother… she worked herself to the bone, trying to keep us afloat. But it was never enough. The loan sharks came one night." His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I was too young to understand what they wanted, why they were shouting at her. But I remember… I remember watching them beat her to the ground."

His voice dropped to a whisper, but it cut like a blade. "I watched them strip her, violate her, and when they were done, they slit her throat as if she were nothing." He exhaled shakily, his jaw tightening. "They left me there with her body. Taunted me. If they had known what they created that night… maybe they wouldn't have left me alive."

You sat motionless, your heart aching at the raw truth of his confession. Suddenly, everything made sense—how he had become this way, hardened and cold. You could understand now, even though it hurt to. Perhaps you would have become the same if you had endured such horrors. No one is born evil. We are all blank canvases, shaped by what we experience, by the pain life forces us to endure.

His eyes fell to the scars on his arms, and a bitter smile tugged at his lips. "These," he murmured, flexing his fingers as if feeling the memory burn anew, "are souvenirs from that night." His voice grew colder, distant, as if reliving the moment. "I remember their nails clawing at my arms, desperate to cling to life. But it didn't matter. Those bastards were never going to escape."

Despite the chilling edge in his words, you felt no fear. Instead, you saw the boy hidden beneath the armour, a boy the world had broken too soon. He turned back to you, his eyes no longer cold but filled with a deep, aching regret. "And that's why," he said, voice trembling with emotion, "I wish I could undo what I did to you. I swore I'd never harm the innocent, never become what they were. But I failed." His voice cracked. "I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry. Nothing I do will ever make this right."

To his surprise, you reached out, your hand resting gently on his shoulder, offering comfort where he expected none. He turned to you, his eyes glistening with tears he refused to let fall.

"It's okay, Hongjoong," you said softly, your voice unwavering yet gentle. "Everyone makes mistakes."

And then you smiled—a small, genuine smile, brimming with forgiveness. It shattered something within him, but it also healed something far deeper, a part of him he thought was long dead.

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Things had shifted significantly between you since that fateful night when he first bared his soul, revealing the shadows of his dark past. Your understanding unlocked something in him, and in turn, you also began to open up. Little by little, you spoke more, smiled more freely, and allowed yourself to be vulnerable in his presence. Hongjoong, too, had changed. What once were brief visits to check on you became shared meals, quiet conversations, and the gentle ritual of him changing your wound dressings daily. It had become a routine—a comforting rhythm filled with tender moments, lingering touches, deep gazes, and countless almosts.

Almost kisses. Almost confessions. Almost something more.

Just a little longer, he told himself, fighting the constant urge to feel your lips against his. He needed to earn your trust fully before daring to take that step. He knew he didn't deserve you—but the heart wants what it wants.

But of course, just as he allowed himself to believe things were finally settling, reality reminded him otherwise. He should have known better than to think peace could last in his world. You and he had grown closer, but the life he led was never one to offer tranquillity for long. Conflict loomed on the horizon. An important meeting was fast approaching—a meeting arranged long before you had entered his life.

The Black Pirates, an organisation that had always operated with an exclusively male force, had struck a delicate negotiation with the Red Room, a renowned spy training facility specialised in producing elite female operatives. Though both syndicates had thrived independently, they saw mutual benefit in an alliance, especially as the shadowy threat of the White Serpents continued to grow. A treaty was in the works and was supposed to be one of Hongjoong's top priorities.

Yet, things had changed. You were here now, and part of him refused to leave you. The thought of being away, of leaving you vulnerable even for a moment, gnawed at him. So he made a decision: Seonghwa would attend the meeting in his place. The eldest, the Gentleman, was their best negotiator, and if anyone could secure a favourable outcome, it was him.

"It's set then," he said, his tone final. "Seonghwa will represent me for this." He leaned back slightly, eager to conclude the meeting and return to you.

But he should have known better than to expect it would be accepted without protest.

The moment the words left his mouth, Mingi's hand slammed onto the table, the force reverberating through the room. "Really, hyung?" he spat, his voice heavy with frustration. "You're going to send someone else on your behalf for something this important? I was already fed up with this nonsense, but enough is enough!"

The screech of the temperamental member's chair echoed as he shoved it back, rising to his feet, the fire in his eyes blazing. Yunho reached out, gripping his arm in warning, but Mingi shook him off, his glare fixed on their leader.

"No!" he growled, his voice rising. "When will this madness stop?! I'm sick and tired of you being distracted by her. At first, I understood—you felt guilty, like you owed her something. But now? You're letting it go too far! You've been wasting precious time hovering around her, growing soft! And now you're putting our work at risk. When does it end, huh?"

The room fell into a tense silence, the air thick with the weight of Mingi's accusation. Hongjoong remained seated, his fingers interlocked on the table. He met the taller man's gaze with a cold, unwavering stare.

"Sit down, Mingi," he said quietly, his voice calm, but the authority in it was unmistakable.

Mingi didn't move, his jaw tight, defiance radiating from him. "Answer me," he demanded. "When does it end?"

The room seemed to hold its breath.

"You think I'm neglecting my responsibility," Hongjoong said, his voice low, even, and far colder than before. He rose slowly, pushing his chair back with a deliberate grace. "You think I'm growing soft. Maybe you're right." His eyes, sharp and cutting, bore into Mingi's. "But everything I do is for this gang's survival. Including ensuring her safety."

Mingi scoffed, disbelief written across his face. "Her? She's not one of us. She's a—"

"Enough," Hongjoong snapped, the steel in his voice cutting through the room like a blade. He stepped closer, towering over Mingi now. "You question my judgement again, and it won't be this quiet." His voice softened, but the danger in it was palpable. "I trust Seonghwa to handle this. And I trust you to remember your place."

For a moment, it seemed as if Mingi might push further, but his best friend, the Enforcer's hand tightened on his arm, a silent plea. He growled in frustration and, after a tense beat, finally sat down, seething but silent.

Seonghwa's calm voice broke the heavy quiet. "I'll handle it, Cap. You've made the right call." He shot a glance at Mingi. "We all want the same thing: to be stronger, united. Let's not lose sight of that."

Hongjoong's shoulders relaxed slightly, though his eyes never left Mingi. "Good," he said, his tone final. "Then it's settled."

As the others filed out, Mingi lingered near the door, shooting one last glare at his leader before leaving without another word. The Captain remained behind, letting out a long breath, the weight of the confrontation pressing on him.

He should have known peace wouldn't last. But as his thoughts turned to you, one question echoed in his mind.

How much more would he have to sacrifice to protect you before it all fell apart?

Fortunately—and unfortunately—you had already found the answer to his unspoken question.

"Hongjoong," you whispered, your voice trembling as it cut through the stillness of the dimly lit library.

The soft glow of the lamps cast gentle shadows over the shelves, wrapping the room in an intimate quiet. Across from you, he sat, his eyes warm and attentive, watching you with that familiar, close-lipped smile—the one that always made your heart stutter. His expression was gentle, full of a quiet tenderness that you both craved and feared.

But tonight, that smile felt like a dagger. It broke something inside you, making what you were about to say hurt even more.

"Yes?" he responded just as softly, his voice a soothing balm you didn't deserve. He leaned forward slightly, the care in his gaze evident, as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

You swallowed hard, your fingers trembling as they clutched the delicate bookmark he had given you, your lifeline in this moment of unbearable heaviness. "I'm… I'm all better now," you began, the words sticking in your throat. "I wish to leave. I want to go home."

The change in him was immediate. His smile vanished, and his hand shot across the table, grasping yours before you could pull away. His touch was warm but trembling, desperate. "Wha—where is this coming from?" His voice cracked, panic threading through every word. He hadn't known how long he'd have you by his side, but he never imagined losing you this soon. He wasn't ready. "Was it Mingi? Did he say something to you? I swear to god, if he—"

"No," you interrupted, shaking your head firmly, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. "He didn't do anything." You squeezed his hand, trying to draw strength from the contact. "I just… I think it's time. Time for both of us to return to our own lives."

His grip tightened, his eyes wide with disbelief. "No," he whispered, shaking his head as if refusing to believe your words could make them untrue. "You don't have to do this. You don't need to leave yet. The doctor—I'm having her work on something for the mark. You're not healed, not really."

You bit your lip, his raw emotion tearing through your resolve. You wanted to stay—God, how you wanted to stay—but the memory of that argument was too fresh. You had stood outside the meeting room earlier, waiting for him to finish, only to hear Mingi's voice raised in anger, accusing him of neglect, of weakness. And you had heard Hongjoong's silence—heavy, burdened. You couldn't be the reason for his pain. You couldn't be the weakness he couldn't afford.

"I heard it all," you confessed, voice trembling. "The argument. I know how much I'm complicating things for you." Tears blurred your vision, but you blinked them away. "It's not fair—to you, to them. We're from different worlds, Hongjoong. You and I… we were never going to work." Your voice softened as you finally named what had been unspoken: the feelings between you both.

His face crumpled, the pain etched into every line devastating to witness. "Don't do this," he begged, his voice breaking. "Please… don't."

You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. "This is how we make things right," you whispered. "You wanted to fix what you did, to give me a chance at freedom. This is it."

Silence engulfed the room, thick and suffocating. Slowly, he let go of your hand, as if releasing it would break him entirely. His head bowed, shoulders slumping under the weight of your decision.

"Oh…" It was all he could manage, and the raw pain in that single word nearly undid you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The quiet of the library, once a sanctuary, now felt suffocating. You had made your choice, and you believed it was the right one.

So why did it hurt so much?

"I'm sorry," you whispered, standing from your chair. You hesitated, wanting to offer some kind of solace, but knowing it would only prolong the pain. "Goodnight, Hongjoong."

With every step you took toward the door, it felt as though pieces of your heart were left behind. And when you reached the threshold, you heard it—his broken, whispered plea.

"Don't go."

But you didn't stop. You couldn't. Because sometimes, love wasn't enough.

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As if running from you could change the inevitable, Hongjoong buried himself in work, pouring over plans and strategies like a man determined to forget. Meetings stretched longer, tasks multiplied, and he worked late into the night, ignoring the hollow ache growing in his chest. But no amount of work could silence the truth—or erase the memory of your soft, breaking voice.

He could only run for so long.

One day, the quiet was broken by Jongho's hesitant knock on his office door. The youngest cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably under the Captain's tired gaze. "What is it?" he sighed, leaning back in his chair, trying to mask the weariness in his voice.

Jongho straightened, his eyes darting to the barely open door behind him. Hongjoong followed his gaze and froze. There, framed by the narrow gap, was the unmistakable outline of your back.

"It's her, hyung," Jongho said softly, his tone more hesitant than usual. "She... she asked the doctor to give her one final check. To make sure she's fully healed." He paused, as if reluctant to continue. "She expressed her desire to leave."

The words struck like a blade, sharp and final. For a long moment, Hongjoong said nothing, his eyes locked on the empty doorway as if he could will you to return. But deep down, he knew there was nowhere left to run.

He had been a fool to believe that anything could make you stay. He put himself in your shoes for a fleeting moment, imagining what it must be like. You had a life beyond these walls—a life waiting for you to return. And even if you chose to stay, how long could he truly keep you safe in his dangerous world? How long before the life he led consumed you, too?

And even if, by some miracle, you stayed—would your loved ones ever accept him? A gang leader with blood on his hands and sins too deep to cleanse?

No. The answer was clear.

As much as it tore him apart, he knew this was the mercy you deserved. He couldn't chain you to his darkness, couldn't selfishly hold on when letting go was the only way to truly love you.

"You're right," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "You have a life of your own. I can't ask you to stay."

The Anchor remained silent, watching his leader with a rare softness in his eyes.

Men like him were never meant to love. Not after all the sins he had committed, all the lives he had taken, all the wrongs he could never make right. He didn't deserve you—not your kindness, your laughter, or the warmth you so effortlessly gave.

No matter how much he wished otherwise.

With a heavy sigh, he turned away from the door, his voice steady but hollow. "Thank you, Jongho. I trust you to make the proper arrangements for her departure."

The youngest hesitated for a moment, but when he met the finality in Hongjoong's eyes, he nodded and left quietly, the door clicking shut behind him. Silence settled over the room again, heavy and oppressive—until the door creaked open once more. The gang leader's head snapped up, irritation flashing in his eyes, but it melted away the instant he saw who it was.

You stood hesitantly in the doorway, peeking in like you weren't sure you belonged there anymore.

He shot up from his seat, his movements hurried. "O-oh, it's you. Come in..." His voice softened, and you offered a small, tentative smile as you stepped inside. He gestured toward the worn leather couch. "Please, have a seat."

But you shook your head. "No, I shouldn't stay long. I just… came to thank you for respecting my decision."

He exhaled, a bitter sound escaping his lips. "Don't thank me for that." His voice was low, laced with frustration, though not at you. "It shouldn't have taken me this long to agree. You were right." His lips curved into a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. The pain there was unmistakable, and it clenched your heart painfully. "This… it has to end eventually. After all, I'm the one who did this to you. I can't possibly expect you to return my feelings—"

"Stop," you whispered, closing your eyes, shaking your head as if to ward off the self-loathing in his voice. Too late. You already had returned those feelings, and hearing him like this shattered you. "No, Hongjoong, don't say that. I just..."

He stilled, his gaze searching yours as you opened your eyes and met him, resisting the desperate urge to reach out and cup his face, to pull him into the comfort you knew he craved. But you couldn't. So instead, you smiled, soft but trembling, and extended a hand toward him.

"I'm feeling a little hungry," you said gently, your voice trembling just enough to betray your emotions. "Want to have dinner together?"

For a moment, he simply stared at you, as if unsure if he had heard correctly. But how could he possibly say no? Besides, this could very well be your last meal together. Everything else could wait—damn it all.

Until the moment you were safely returned home, you were all that mattered to him.

Just until tomorrow.

Jongho had arranged your ride back tomorrow.

Hongjoong couldn't pretend anymore. He knew this would likely be the last time he'd have you like this, in this fragile peace. So, tonight, he let the walls fall. He no longer resisted the urges that had haunted him for weeks. When he reached out to feed you, gently wiping a stray bit of food from the corner of your lips, you didn't flinch. When he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips brushing your skin with a tenderness that made his chest ache, you didn't pull away.

And you didn't say a word. You just let him.

By the end of the meal, when he saw the glimmer of hesitation in your eyes—knowing you were preparing to retreat to your room—he acted quickly, grasping your hand before you could leave. His touch was firm but not forceful, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, almost pleading.

"Would you like to… walk with me?"

You looked at him for a moment, your eyes searching his as if trying to memorise everything about this moment. Then, wordlessly, you nodded. He led you through the grand halls of the mansion, out to the sprawling, maze-like garden, where the soft glow of lanterns illuminated the paths.

Your hands remained entwined the entire time.

The garden was silent except for the rustle of leaves in the breeze. He guided you to the centre, where a marble fountain stood, the gentle sound of water trickling into the basin adding to the quiet serenity. Clearing a spot on the cold concrete, he shrugged off his blazer, laying it down carefully before gesturing for you to sit. You did, settling beside him as the horizon stretched before you, bathed in soft, silver moonlight.

"This is nice," you murmured, breaking the silence, your voice almost lost in the cool night air.

He smiled, his gaze softening. "It is, isn't it?"

For a while, neither of you spoke. The dim lanterns cast a golden glow, wrapping you both in a warmth that felt almost unreal. Slowly, as if afraid you might slip away, he placed his hand over yours once again. This time, your fingers intertwined naturally, effortlessly, as though they had always belonged that way.

No words were necessary. Every touch, every glance, spoke of everything you felt but couldn't say.

Your heart raced as you turned toward him, only to find he was already watching you. His eyes were dark, filled with emotions you didn't dare name. He leaned in, bit by bit, closing the space between you. Your breath hitched, trembling, but you didn't move away.

"Just for tonight," he whispered, his voice rough and raw. "Can we be together? Just for tonight."

Your eyes burned with unshed tears, your heart aching with the weight of the unspoken goodbye. You nodded, your voice barely above a breath.

"Please."

And then, there was no more distance between you.

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The morning light streamed softly through the curtains, painting the room in golden hues. Hongjoong stirred awake, the weight of sleep heavier than usual, but a comforting warmth grounded him. Instinctively, he snuggled closer, burying his face into the inviting scent that had become his solace.

It took only a moment for the realisation to hit him. The feminine scent, delicate and intoxicating, filled his senses. His heart skipped a beat as he opened his eyes to find you still in his arms, your back pressed against his chest, your breathing soft and even.

For a long moment, he stayed still, simply taking you in—the way your hair spilt over the pillow, the peaceful rise and fall of your shoulders, the warmth that radiated from you. Leaning closer, he pressed a tender kiss to your bare shoulder, the memory of last night rushing back like a tidal wave.

Kisses. Endless, intoxicating kisses, your lips against his as if you were trying to fill every unspoken word between you. His fingers tangled in your hair, your hands gripping his shirt, neither of you willing to let go. The clumsy, desperate stumbling through those kisses until you landed on the expanse of his king-sized bed—so often feeling too big, too empty for just one.

Articles of clothing had been shed piece by piece, carelessly scattered across the floor. And then… pure, unrestrained bliss. The feel of your skin against his, the soft sighs and whispered names, the way your bodies moved together like they were meant to fit. It was a night he would never forget, and one he knew he could never have again.

He swallowed hard as reality settled in. It was bittersweet, finally knowing what it was like to have you this close, only to face the cruel truth that he would have to let it all go soon. His gaze fell on the mark on your soft skin, the one that started it all, and he sighed deeply.

It was the right thing to do.

He repeated the mantra in his head, clinging to it like a lifeline. You deserved more—someone who could give you the kind of life you were meant to have, one without fear, without shadows. Someone who wasn't him.

But for now, just for this fleeting moment, he allowed himself to be selfish. He tightened his hold on you, his arm curling around your waist as if he could stop time by keeping you close. He etched every detail into his mind: the way your warmth seeped into him, the way your presence calmed his restless heart, the way this morning felt like a fragile dream he never wanted to wake from.

Because soon, it would all be over.

And he would have nothing left but these memories.

His temporary haven shattered with a jarring intrusion. The door to his bedroom flew open, and Jongho rushed in, his expression a mix of concern and urgency. "Hyung, she's not in her room—"

The Anchor's voice faltered mid-sentence as his eyes landed on you, curled up in his leader's embrace. The man sat up quickly, pulling the blanket to cover you to your neck, his glare sharp enough to cut steel. Jongho froze like a deer caught in headlights, his usual composure obliterated by the scene before him.

You stirred at the commotion, blinking yourself awake. It didn't take long to realise what had happened. Your cheeks flushed a deep red as you scrambled to free yourself from the blanket and darted off to the attached bathroom. "Excuse me," you mumbled hastily, your voice barely above a whisper, before closing the door behind you.

Jongho stood awkwardly, visibly cringing under Hongjoong's icy glare. "I didn't mean to—"

"Out," the Captain growled, his voice low and dangerous.

The youngest didn't need to be told twice. With a quick bow, he fled the room, muttering apologies under his breath.

Hongjoong exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples as the weight of the morning settled on his shoulders. Deciding to give you the privacy you needed, he rose from the bed, grabbed his robe, and slipped it on before leaving the room.

As he stepped into the hall, he was greeted by none other than the Firestarter, leaning casually against the wall with a smirk plastered across his face.

"Had fun, Cap?" Mingi drawled, his voice laced with mockery. "Hope that pussy was worth everything."

Hongjoong's expression darkened instantly, his eyes narrowing into a glare that could rival a storm. "Speak for yourself, Song," he shot back, his voice steady but laced with venom. "Come mock me when you don't need an exiled noblewoman to save your ass time and time again."

Mingi's smirk faltered as Hongjoong took a step closer, his words cutting like daggers. "Don't think I haven't heard about your multiple near-failures. At least I haven't fucked up anything critical. Also," he added, his tone dropping into something bitter and final, "she's leaving today. I hope you're happy."

The weight of Hongjoong's words left Mingi speechless, his cool façade crumbling. His jaw tightened as he struggled to muster a response, but nothing coherent came to mind.

Clearing his throat, he straightened and forced a shrug, attempting to reclaim his composure. "About damn time. Good riddance," he muttered, though his voice lacked its usual edge. Without another word, he turned and stalked off, leaving the gang leader standing there, his chest tight and his mind racing.

As much as he loathed the confrontation, he couldn't help but feel a bitter sense of satisfaction. At least now, Mingi might think twice before throwing careless words around. But the victory was hollow, his thoughts quickly returning to you.

With a deep sigh, he leaned against the wall, his fingers tracing the edge of his robe. The hours ahead loomed like a storm on the horizon, and he knew they would be some of the hardest he'd ever faced.

ـــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

The air was thick with the weight of unspoken emotions as the black car idled behind you, its engine a soft hum against the gloomy backdrop. The overcast sky seemed to mirror the heaviness in both your hearts, the grey clouds threatening rain at any moment. You stood before Hongjoong, your trusty tote bag slung over your shoulder, dressed simply but beautifully, your hair pulled into a messy yet endearing style. You tried to smile, but it trembled at the edges, betraying the storm within.

Neither of you spoke right away, the silence filled with everything you wanted to say but couldn't. Instead, you reached into your bag, pulling out the glass flower charm—the delicate token you had cherished for so long.

"Give me your hand," you murmured softly.

He stepped closer without hesitation, his hand extended between you. The roughness of his palm contrasted sharply with the fragility of the charm as you placed it gently into his hand. His fingers curled around it instinctively, the same hand that once had only known destruction now cradling something so delicate with utmost care.

"For you," you said, your voice steady but laden with emotion. "It's no marigold, but—"

He cut you off with a bittersweet smile, the pain in his eyes unmistakable. "I'll cherish it," he promised, his voice quiet but resolute, as though the words themselves were a vow.

He didn't let go of your hand, his grip warm and steady. You nodded, returning his smile. "Good. Treat it with care," you said, stepping closer, your proximity making his breath hitch.

The scent of his familiar cologne wrapped around you as you leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek. Your lips brushed against his skin as you whispered, "You did it, Joong. You made it all right."

His eyes fluttered closed, savouring the moment, the warmth of your presence etching itself into his memory. But then, as much as he wanted to keep you there, you pulled away gently, slipping out of his grasp.

Your backward steps toward the waiting car felt like a slow unravelling, each step tugging at the threads of his heart. He fought every instinct to run to you, to pull you back into his arms and beg you to stay, but he knew he couldn't.

As you slid into the car and shut the door, he stood rooted to the spot, his chest tight, his fists clenched at his sides. He watched helplessly as the car began to roll forward, taking you further and further from him until you were nothing but a distant blur.

"It's for the best," he whispered to himself, though the words felt hollow. "You did the right thing."

The sound of approaching footsteps broke through his haze of sorrow. Turning, he found one of his men standing hesitantly nearby. "Boss," the man said carefully, "we received an update from Seonghwa. His visit to the Red Room is going to be extended due to... undisclosed circumstances."

And just like that, Hongjoong was thrust back into the chaos of his world. He nodded, his voice cold and detached. "Got it. I'll speak with the others."

He turned and strode back toward the mansion, his steps purposeful despite the turmoil inside him. His men watched him carefully, unsure if the heartbreak would erupt into anger, but he remained composed, his demeanour unreadable.

Once inside, he glanced down at the delicate charm still resting in his palm. It caught the dim light of the hall, glinting faintly like the remnants of a dream. His grip tightened around it, not enough to damage it, but enough to ground himself.

It hurt—god, it hurt—but he found solace in the fact that he had been able to love again, even if only briefly. He didn't know how long it would take for the ache to fade, perhaps it never would, but one thing was certain: he would never forget you.

ـــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

The dim light of the room cast long shadows across the walls, the flickering of a single desk lamp providing the only illumination. The figure leaned back in his chair, his gloved fingers tapping rhythmically against the polished wood of the table. Before him lay a folder, its contents an intricate web of intel painstakingly gathered. At the very top, clipped securely, was a photograph of the Black Pirates.

The leader's face was circled in white ink—a mark of vulnerability disguised as power.

"Seems we've secured the Captain's weakness right from the start," the figure murmured, a sinister grin spreading across his face. His tone carried a disturbing mixture of amusement and certainty as he flipped the folder shut, the sound of paper against paper breaking the tense silence.

A subordinate stood nearby, his posture stiff, his eyes darting to the file with barely concealed curiosity. "Should we proceed then, sir?" he asked, his voice low but eager.

The figure chuckled, a sound devoid of warmth, and shook his head. "There's no hurry," he replied, his gloved hand resting atop the closed file like a predator savouring its next move. "Time is what we've got. Let them believe they've found their footing. Let them think they're safe."

He pushed the file to the side, leaning forward, his grin widening as his eyes gleamed with cruel intent. "We'll gather them all, one by one. No need to rush—it's always better when the prey doesn't see the trap until it's too late."

The subordinate nodded, though a hint of unease flickered across his features. "Understood, sir."

The figure reached for a glass of whiskey sitting untouched on the desk, swirling the amber liquid as if it contained the answers to every question. "Patience," he said, almost to himself, his voice low and reverent. "Patience wins wars. Let's see how far the mighty gang can go when their carefully constructed world begins to crumble."

He raised the glass in a mock toast, the light catching the golden liquid. "To the Black Pirates. And to the beginning of their end."

The room fell silent again, the only sound the faint creak of the leather chair as the figure leaned back, eyes fixed on the file. Somewhere, far from the machinations of this dark plot, Hongjoong might have felt a shiver down his spine. But for now, he was blissfully unaware, the weight of his loss still fresh, the memory of your departure his only torment.

And so, the game began.

Would you believe it? About 90% of this was drafted in a sleep-deprived state HAHA the first thing I do as soon as I get home from work is write this, so I genuinely hope this met expectations!

Are you or are you not surprised by the lack of a happy ending? If you know me well (especially readers who have been here since TWTHH), you probably saw this coming🤠

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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[yourtypicalhuman09]

Beyond The Bat

(Neglected reader x Yandere batfam)

Chapter 1: In The Shadows

TW!!! Cursing !!Dark AU!!

Living in the Wayne manor isn't the sweet luxurious dream you'd think it'd be, reality is in fact much crueler. For as long as I could remember I had lived in this dreary mansion, but lived isn't the word I'd use. I was more trapped here if anything. My "family", if I could even call them that, are well respected people. They're highly skilled and talented people, someone like me could only dream to be like them. I tried so hard to get close to them, I really did try, but no matter what I did nothing worked. I did everything, gymnastics, martial arts, theater, art, music, coding, dance, volleyball, cheerleading, heck I was even in the honors society. Despite being an A+ student and a role model in high society they never once went to any of my recitals, games, or showcases. I went to galas all alone, I had to deal with the sneering faces and snide remarks of high class men and woman alone since I was 8. Not very safe for a child huh? I didn't think so either but my "father" doesn't seem to care.

Nevertheless, I have no choice in this matter and it's not like life here is unbearable. Sure I get beatings and tongue lashings every now and then, but for the most part everyone in the manor tends to forget me eventually and leave me alone. It's pretty isolating but I got used to it, after all I have duties to perform. I have my job as Student council president and I don't intend to slack off. I got that job with my own blood sweat and tears and I will not let all those sleepless nights go to waste. I don't have time to wallow in self pity I have countless of students looking up to me and counting on me to do my job.

"Young master, are you okay? You seem to be staring off into space."

I looked up to our old butler, his face jaded and littered with wrinkles that seemed to contort pathetically in worry. I knew better than to accept his pity. He seems to be a wise gentle man on the outside with his elegant wardrobe, worn old body, and soft spoken demeanor, but do not be fooled. In truth, Alfred Pennyworth was a foolish coward. This was the same man who abandoned his own daughter just like my idiot of a father. I gave him a chance, but nothing's been the same since the day he accidentally called me Julia. I was nothing but a stand in for him, someone to relieve his guilt with.

"I'm fine. Don't you have something better to do? I'm sure Bruce has some kind of task for you, no need to bother yourself with my problems"

"...Very well then...Take care of yourself young master."

He clearly had something more to say but he decided to do nothing and walk away. Like I said he's a coward. Still I'm not new to disappointment, whether it's the disappointment of missed birthdays or the way they all see me as the disappointment, it's nothing I haven't experienced before. I quickly packed up my things and headed to school. Sure riding to school on an old worn out bike isn't exactly ideal, but I have to deal with what I have. Although, I do have to take some back alleys to school since I don't want anyone seeing and starting a scandal. I can already see the blaring headlines, "Daughter of Gotham's richest man caught riding to school on a beat up bicycle!". What a bunch of nosy bastards.

"Good mornin' (Y/N)!"

I turned to face the sunny senior calling my name, his unadulterated joy making him stand out in the crowd of groggy gothamites.

"Good morning Cyrus."

My crisp responses never seems to deter the boy as he continues to walk beside me chattering endlessly.

"(Y/N) I got things you asked! It's super cool what you're doing for the school, I'm so happy I get to be apart of it! If you ever need help with anything please do ask me!"

I sighed, his joyful energy was contagious. I couldn't help but crack a smile. Though it quickly disappeared as I regained my composure, but obviously not fast enough since Cyrus' joy seems to only be growing.

"Ahhhhh (Y/N) just smiled! I made the student president smile! I'm so sigma"

Here he goes again with those weird words and that cocky grin. I sighed once again, I'm too tired for this.

"Yes thank you Cyrus get to class now, I'll pick up the things I asked for after school."

"Yes ma'am!"

I watched as he playfully saluted and ran to class almost bumping into several people along the way. I facepalmed, he was such a handful but strangely I don't really mind. It's probably the lack of sleep I'll make sure to go to bed early today, for now I have to get to class myself.

Author's note: Omg chapter one is finally out! This took me a lot longer than expected but I hope it's good I went through a tiny writer's block😅. I hope you guys like Cyrus I tried to make him a silly and sunny character but trust me he'll have lore and be a much deeper character. I also tried making (Y/N)'s backstory pretty vague since they're the narrator and I figured they wouldn't like talking about it, but their lore will be revealed more throughout future chapters. Anyways as always thank you all for reading and have a good day/night!

Credits to khaer for the dividers

@simpingpandas @rosalietodd013 @sirenetheblogger @cim0nnin @00hellohello00 @crazycaoticsimp @lovebug-apple @youdontknowshtaboutfk

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Hii, I was wondering if you could do poly141! with a crush on administrator!reader? Like how they would all be having a crush on her and eventually bringing her into the relationship? No worries if not, I love your work and you’re one of my fave accounts. Have a good day💗

At Their Mercy

Pairing: Poly!141 x Reader

Warnings: Tension, suggestive flirting, possessiveness, military setting, mutual pining, rumor mill drama, reader described as professional/feminine-coded, slow burn with romantic payoff

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy! I absolutely love this idea!! This is a fantastic idea and I hope I captured what you imagined! I’m so glad you love my writing as well!

Summary: You run the tightest operation Task Force 141 has ever seen. But even the sharpest minds can be unraveled when four elite soldiers set their sights on you.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

You ran a tight ship.

The kind of ship that never hit rocks, never leaked, and never allowed room for error. As the lead administrative liaison for Task Force 141, you were the bridge between elite chaos and tight military structure. Every mission roster, clearance request, requisition form, and post-op report came through you first. You were the force behind the front lines—silent, efficient, untouchable.

You dealt with mission logistics, debriefs, diplomatic correspondence, and more red tape than any human being should have to suffer. Every supply chain was calculated to the second. Every form filed precisely. Even if it meant chasing men with blood on their boots down the hall to get them to sign a single line.

It was a high-stress job.

But you thrived on control. On being the one fixed point in a volatile world.

Until they came along.

Captain John Price. Simon “Ghost” Riley. Johnny “Soap” MacTavish. Kyle “Gaz” Garrick.

The 141.

They were a storm wrapped in Kevlar—brilliant, lethal, insubordinate, and damn near impossible to manage. They were the embodiment of beautiful chaos. The opposite of everything you stood for.

And your undoing.

John was the first to notice you—not just for your mind or precision, but for your calm. You were a lighthouse in the combat fog. You never flinched when brass raised their voice. You never cracked under pressure. He respected it. Then he admired it. And before long, that admiration curled into something deeper. Something more.

Simon came next. You didn’t shrink away from him like others did. You handed him mission packets without hesitation. Spoke to him like he was just another man, not the reaper in a skull mask. That grounded him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

Johnny flirted from the start. Relentlessly. At first, it was just to get a rise out of you. But when all he got was sarcasm and the occasional unimpressed glance? That made it personal. A challenge. And Johnny loved a challenge. Especially when the prize was someone like you.

And Kyle… Kyle never pushed. He observed. He noticed how you rubbed your temples when no one was looking. How you tucked your mug into the same corner of your desk every morning. How you softened—just a touch—when it was only them in the room. He didn’t flirt. He *saw* you. And that made it worse. Because it made it real.

You tried not to encourage them.

You dressed sharp. Stayed professional. Avoided lingering. You didn’t meet their eyes when they looked too long.

But they knew.

They noticed when your shoulders relaxed in the privacy of your office. When you started teasing Johnny back under your breath. When you called Simon “brooding” and made him *smirk*. When you caught Kyle watching you and actually *smiled*. When you told John to stop looming like a disappointed father, and he laughed.

They saw the cracks forming.

And then the rumors started.

You heard them in the mess hall, murmured by soldiers with too much time and too little respect. That you were sleeping with the 141. That Kyle got special treatment. That Johnny kissed you behind the armory. One lunatic even swore he saw you sneaking out of Simon’s quarters—which was laughable, considering no one knew where Simon actually slept.

None of it was true.

Yet.

It got back to you fast. You called a meeting with HR. Filed two formal complaints. Nearly took a corporal’s head off when he winked at you in the hallway.

You thought maybe the 141 hadn’t heard.

But one day, you stepped into your office to find John seated at your desk.

“Close the door,” he said quietly.

You did.

“We heard the rumors.”

You crossed your arms, jaw tight. “They’re lies.”

“Don’t doubt that,” he said. “But they’re still hurting you.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to us.”

You looked at him, and something shifted in the air between you. “Why?”

Simon stepped in from the side room. “Because we care.”

Kyle leaned in the doorway. “Because we’re tired of pretending.”

Johnny entered last, his face softer than you’d ever seen it. “Because it’s true. Maybe not yet—but we want it to be.”

Your heart hammered in your chest.

John stood and came closer. “We’re not asking you to throw away your job. We’re not going to parade anything. But the four of us… we’ve talked. We want you. All of us.”

Simon added, “You make us better. Tighter. Calmer.”

Johnny smirked, just a little. “You even make Ghost smile. That’s a miracle, love.”

Kyle’s voice was gentle. “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

You looked at all of them—John’s fierce steadiness, Simon’s burning silence, Johnny’s relentless affection, Kyle’s quiet care—and something in you broke open.

You didn’t speak. Just moved.

You stepped forward and curled your hand into John’s shirt, tugging him down. You kissed him. Soft. Certain.

Then turned and kissed Kyle—slow and sweet. Simon stepped closer and pressed a palm to your waist like he was anchoring you, and you turned and kissed him, too, his mask barely lifted, lips warm and wanting.

Johnny grinned when you reached for him. “Knew you liked me,” he whispered against your mouth.

“I like all of you, but you’re all still insufferable.” you whispered back.

Their touches were careful after that. Reverent. John cupped the back of your head. Kyle rubbed slow circles into your back. Simon rested his hand at your hip, solid. Johnny leaned his forehead against yours like he never wanted to leave.

It wasn’t perfect. It wouldn’t be easy.

But it was yours.

And for once, you let yourself fall.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[tomahachi12]

What's the story behind your drone-sona? Since she has the Cabin Fever tag, I was curious what's the story behind her.

BUCKLE UP, IT'S A LONG ONE (some of this is headcanon crap, so not all info would be show accurate)

Toma (012) was a just regular worker drone working within the offices of the JCJenson Mining Facility.

The area of the offices she worked in had drones split into small groups to complete larger projects. She was part of the group which included Nori (002), Yeva (048) and Alice (017) (I LOVE THEM LEAVE ME ALONE).

She was usually tasked with taking paperwork back and forth between her group to turn in or for them to work on, something she was.. pretty bad at.

Because of Nori's shenanigans, their group often got in trouble with the humans.

At some point, Drones began to be selected from a lottery pool to be transferred to the lower levels of the facility. At first, the Humans would play this off as a "promotion" of sorts in order to keep the drones from becoming suspicious of their intentions and keep their minds at ease.

As time went on, the humans dropped the façade and the drones began to fear these selections, given that the chosen drones were never seen or heard from again after being selected.

Eventually, Toma's ID was drawn as the next to go. (she was chosen first out of their group, next was Alice, then Yeva and Nori was the last)

Toma was taken down the Cabin Fever Labs to be used in the "Solver" experiments.

When she was infected with the Solver Program, it took her over instantly. She was quickly given an early version of the patch (1.5.8) before causing too much damage.

The effect of the Solver's code on her body left her lethargic and forgetful. Since she was patched early, she cannot use the solver, but still suffers from it's effects; occasional possession, the need to consume oil, ect..

Not being able to provide much information for their research, the humans mostly kept her bound in her locker. Sometimes they even forgot she was in there.

Before the core collapse, she was able to escape her chains and wondered around the mines for a minute before the eventual implosion.

She was blown out the facility and somehow managed to survive, not only the blast, but even the crash back down to the planet. Though it knocked her offline for a time, causing anyone that found her to think she was dead.

RIP Toma lol

After she eventually woke up, she stayed put for a few months, hiding out in the outer buildings of the facility until she was found by another worker drone.

This drone invited Toma to join his colony, Outpost 9. She agreed and followed him to the base (wow Toma, ever heard of stranger danger gdamn..)

Toma was welcomed in this colony and she lived there for several years, learning how to live a life free from human-control. She was even able to pick up an old hobby she was never allowed to do back at the offices, drawing.

The nightmares gave her plenty to draw anyway.

Eventually, it all went to shit when the Murder Drones showed up, popped that base open like a soda can, and killed everyone inside.

Toma's solver kept her hidden long enough her to escape unnoticed. She needed somewhere to go and began to make her way toward the city she saw in the distance.

( oh hi, Y )

It took a while but she made it to the City only to find, you guessed it, more Murder Drones. She somehow managed to dodge them as well and found her way to some very large doors that resembled the ones back at her old colony. She frantically banged on the doors, shouting for help as she Murder Drones closed in on her.

The doors suddenly cracked open and a hand reached out, grabbing hold of Toma's coat and pulled her inside before slamming shut again.

She was met by a group of drones all sitting around a table, seemingly playing cards. The drone that pulled her in helped her up to her feet. After checking if she was alright, he introduced himself as "Khan" the apparent leader of this colony. Outpost 3.

She was welcomed in` just as warmly as she was in her last colony, and settled in easily, but soon found this colony was quite.. different from her old one. There were.. "kids" running around, and "babies" and... "teenagers".. Some drones were even married.

She also found out that every adult drones had to contribute to their society as well, unless they were raising children. Everyone had a job, and Toma was expected to have one as well.

She decided to join the Worker Defense Force, mostly as "watchman". She was tasked with doing patrols around the colony, looking out for any potential problems or weak points that could cause a breach.

She was pretty bad at it since she kept falling asleep while on patrol or forgetting where she was suppose to be.

The others were very forgiving toward her, though, but they figured she needed a different job.

After taking note of her interest in art, she was given the job as the new Art Teacher for the school.

Now if only she could stop falling asleep in class..

TL;DR/I only looked at the pretty pictures:

Toma was part of the Solver Experiments and now lives at Outpost 3 as the resident dumbass Art Teacher.

[jedi-starbird]

APLAP (Assigned Pathetic Lifeform at Padawanship)

New padawan Obi-Wan trying to figure out how the FUCK to make his master listen and not abandon him to go running off following "the will of the force" when it hits him. Qui-Gon is perfectly happy stopping and taking care of pathetic life forms, but not Obi-Wan. That's it. He's always been prepared, always been dutiful, strong, self-sufficient.

He's cracked the code. He needs to be more pathetic.

The next time he senses Qui-Gon's about to run off he coordinates a scene of utmost pathetic-ness, that is, he throws himself into the nearest fountain. He trudges up to his master sopping wet, water-logged robes swallowing him, with hair sticking to his face and containing bits of algae from the fountain. He mumbles out an apology for being clumsy before looking up at Qui-Gon with the biggest, most woeful eyes possible to ask if he happened to bring any spare robes (he didn't, Obi-Wan knows this because he is usually the one to pack spare robes for them both). His wet hair is dripping water into his eyes that's beginning to turn them an irritated red, and there's algae sliding down the side of his face, it really is masterful work.

"Oh...I'm sure I'll be able to find something by myself, it's okay Master, I know you had important work to do."

Qui-Gon visibly hesitates. Obi-Wan starts shivering. He turns to walk away. He's stopped by his Master's hand on his shoulder. His Master, who walks back with him, who gets clean clothes from their hosts, who has folded like wet flimsi and even explains his stupid, stupid plan before choosing to hotwire a hoverbike with a passenger seat! Oh, Obi-Wan really has cracked the code!

Afterwards, Obi-Wan stages an increasingly pitiful accident for himself every time his patented 'Qui-Gon Jinn Bullshit' detector goes off. Eventually, his Master stops leaving him behind at all, even giving him funny looks when he turns around and Obi-Wan isn’t next to him. It never fails to make Obi-Wan grin and run to catch up. Sure, his reputation as a perfect padawan is in tatters, alongside his dignity, but it’s a small price to pay for a place at his Master’s side, for him to remember there’s a place for Obi-Wan there.

When the ray shields come up on Naboo, Qui-Gon doesn't charge ahead and leave his padawan behind, he hasn't for years. He waits for Obi-Wan because it feels wrong to do otherwise, his padawan belongs at his side.

Much, much later, when Obi-Wan is drinking to the end of the war with friends, Commander Cress will ask him how he kept General Jinn from running off for entire decade. Obi-Wan laughs, informs him, and resolutely ignores the scene Quinlan is making as the man cackles and pulls up a book to shove at them both, titled Classical Conditioning 101: A guide to subtle psychological manipulation.

[01zfan]

in chair

anton x reader | 8.5k words

rewatched juno recently (the best movie of all time by the way) and i thought of anton. he is so paulie bleaker coded. this is mainlyyyy inspired by the beginning scene of the movie but the dynamic i tried to write here is supposed to be like them heh

also in my head the album pinkerton by weezer plays in the background during all of this. 

contains: loss of virginity, sneaking around

There was some sort of binding vow that kept the recliner safe.

Even if it made no sense, to Anton and to you it felt like doing it on the recliner was better than doing it anywhere else. As though Anton’s dad was all the way in South Korea unknowingly keeping his irresponsible son honest. The terrible conversation they had about safe sex in his home studio lingered in the air and seeped into the recliner through the cracks in the vinyl covering.

Neither of you had a condom but that was okay because the recliner itself was one big condom, keeping you both safe from whatever absolutely couldn’t happen.

No matter how Anton felt about you, he was convinced that nothing would ever come of it. Not only was he a responsible and dutiful son, he promised his dad he wouldn’t do reckless things to save his mom the trouble. He would also never do anything because the mere thought of holding hands made his palms sweaty. He didn’t even really know how to have sex, much less with someone he’s friends with and has been dating-but-not-really-dating for the last year. You once described the relationship as something that had to do with close proximity and your shared taste in nerd-rock bands everyone else thought were shitty. Even if he did share that kiss with you in Park Wonbin's sweaty basement for no reason and you two did hold hands, you weren't together. You two were open and honest but you got defensive once when Anton brought up anything regarding your relationship. So because of that, the thought of having to speak or touch you even if he wanted to, and you never had any complaints when he did, made Anton’s mind overflow with all that could go wrong.

But he was in the chair. This was better than laying missionary on the bed, or being on the floor. This was different than whatever you were going to do when you finally got the courage to take off your underwear and close the difference between you and him. 

You stood in front of Anton, watching him in just his boxers and a white shirt. His hoodie was taken off and thrown onto his small bed, his sweats were bunched at his feet. This scene had to be degrading, him with his pants down and staring at you waiting for what you were going to do next. You were wearing more clothes than him. You told yourself you couldn’t take off your layered shirts for his sake, not because the thought of being completely naked felt embarrassing. Anton was with you through your terrible nu-metal phase and even humored you and listened to the mixtape you burned for him. There was nothing worse than that but still, you stayed in your bra with your undershirt, the long sleeve, and the short sleeve band tee on top. Anton was still your bestfriend, and he could take back that he wanted to do this at any moment. 

There was also the fear that his mother and brother could come back. You two had lost track of time because you started awkwardly kissing immediately once you heard the front door close. Anton eventually found the strength to pull you onto his lap after sitting criss cross to accommodate you. Once you were there and your hands were on his shoulders bringing him closer, the seconds started turning into minutes, minutes turned into hours, so forth. You forgot when you even started and looking at the time was useless. 

All of this was ironic, because Anton’s mom had recently become wary of leaving you two alone. She had developed the habit of trying to snoop on your conversations while talking to his dad over the phone. She would stand in the kitchen, holding the phone close to her face while standing on her tiptoes to see over the upstairs banister into Anton’s room.

“Is he taking a liking to it?” Anton’s dad asked it over the phone when she described the scene to him. He was elated with the idea of the recliner going in his sons room. He saw it as some sort of compensation for missing more formative years in his life. He was happy imagining his son sitting in his old recliner, rocking back and forth on the creaky springs maybe even thinking about him. “He always favored that chair.” 

“It’s hideous,” Anton’s mom whispered it into the receiver, recalling the sight of it in Anton’s room. “Even in Anton’s mess of a room.”

The brown fraying recliner did not match Anton’s shining gold trophies and medals that hung on his wall. It didn’t match his old race car bed frame he couldn’t bring himself to replace. The way the recliner sat made Anton’s cluttered room an even tighter fit, and the growth spurt he had last summer made it so he had to bend his legs if he wanted to sit on the floor.

The reclining chair from his father’s studio was replaced with leather imported from overseas. The shipment came from Italy and stood on sturdy wooden rings with a detached ottoman. The new recliner was minimalist and smelled like a new car. The old one was clunky, the lever was sentient, and the vinyl started peeling off years ago. Anton’s brother said it was disgusting and his father said himself that he was due for an upgrade. 

Anton tried to remain indifferent to the old chair but when his mother asked for help to put it on the curb he found himself suddenly advocating for it to stay in the house. There was no reason for it to be downstairs in the studio where the new sofa was, and his mother would be damned putting it in the living room where anyone could see it. By the end of the day Anton was clearing out a place for the recliner in his room. Junyoung made that face of disgust and their mother tilted her head to the side. 

He already had a beanbag he rarely used and a million other things that cluttered his room. Anton’s mother told her son this gently, but he had already set his mind to it. He “cleared” a space—pushed a pile of unfolded laundry and stuffed animals from one side of his room to the other—just to make a brand new home for the disgusting sofa. Junyoung and him carried the heavy recliner up the stairs, bumping into the banister as his mom watched and told them to be careful. 

“He has a better use for it than I do.” Anton’s father said over the phone. Anton’s mom shook her head remembering her son’s promise of cleaning up his room. She also remembers that it felt like the entire family was in the room if she counted the chair. “Does he like it?”

“He likes sitting in it to do homework.” Anton’s mom from the kitchen peered up the stairs. From where she was she should be able to see directly into Anton’s room. She readjusted herself on her tiptoes, becoming more and more distracted as she tried to see what was going on. “But the one who’s really taken a liking to it is his friend.” 

Before her husband could say your name back to her in a titled voice Anton’s mom put her hand over the receiver of the phone and projected her voice.

“Kids.” She spoke sweetly, including an endearing term for everyone to seem inconspicuous. She pretended like she was talking to Junyoung through his closed door. She waited for a moment, until she could hear the sound of Anton calling back to her. “Are you guys hungry?” She asked.

“No. You just made us lunch.” Anton spoke barely above a normal talking volume back. 

Sound unfortunately carried easily even through half-shut doors. Anton’s mom had no reason to tell him to open the door all the way so she could snoop to her hearts content. Still though, she tried standing on her tiptoes again, desperately trying to see what was going on upstairs in her son’s room without prying.

“Lunch was really good by the way.” You said, even gentler than Anton’s.

“I can bring you guys up some snacks if you’d like?” She said back.

“Mom, we’re okay, really.” Anton’s voice told her that he knew what she was trying to do. She went back to the balls of her feet, trying to remember who was on the other side of the line. 

“You don’t have to bring us anything, you already made us lunch.” Your sweet voice followed afterwards, a cute pitch that neither of her sons had.

“Okay.” She let go of the receiver, trying to get one last look into Anton’s room. When she only saw the tip of his head she finally gave up, letting go of the receiver and bringing the phone back to her face. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you Mom.” 

“You bother them too much.” Her husband was amused on the other end of the line, even if his voice came out tired through the speaker. About seven thousand miles and fourteen hours separated them. “But do you think he’ll finally get furniture that matches?” He added.

His mother wasn’t completely against the idea of the recliner in Anton’s room. When her son looked back and for approval she nodded, and her approval made Junyoung follow suit. She liked the recliner because she hoped it would make Anton realize how juvenile the rest of his room was. The ill-fitted race car bed was from when he was a preteen and he’s amassed a collection of stuffed animals since he was a baby. The accolades from swimming was the most mature thing in her son’s room, even if there was a trophy from his little league days. Maybe the aged recliner would make Anton get things that accommodated his age. He could keep the gundam figurines because robots and guns are normal for kids his age, but not the colorful squishmallows. 

When his mother followed up the steps she had to breathe in before telling Anton that he needed to declutter his space. She said it to the stuffed animals spilling out from the hammock fastened to the wall and the barely closed doors of his closet she didn’t dare to open. She looked at the gundam figurines lining what was supposed to be his school desk and unfolded laundry resting at the foot of his bed.

The recliner could also be a stand-in for his father. She figured that in some weird way the recliner filled the void while he made music overseas. Next time she’d reprimand her son she already envisioned casting a glance towards the chair, like her husband was there backing her up. 

“Your mom definitely thinks we’re doing something we’re not supposed to.” You spoke while looking at your homework, settling deeper into the bean bag. Anton looked up from his notebook settled in between his bent legs. “She wants to come up here so bad.”

“What do you think she thinks we’re doing?” 

Anton asked the question just to pull you from your assignment. He knew the answer already, he picked up the desperation in his mother’s voice and the way she gently reminded Anton to keep the door open before you came over. He liked acting clueless because you always shot him the look that asked if he was stupid and deadpanned the answer. 

“She thinks we’re like,” Before the words could roll off your tongue you pause. It’s covered by the quiet mix coming through Anton’s CD player, but the way you avert your eyes and start picking at the corner of your paper makes it obvious. Anton looks back to his assignment too, trying to help you cover up the pause in your words. “kissing or something.” You finish.

Truthfully, what his parents think you two do when you’re left unsupervised is much worse than kissing. So much worse that Anton was sat down by his parents to have a terribly awkward safe sex talk. He didn’t know what he was doing in his dad’s home office or why they started the conversation with how you two met. 

Anton already knew that you became friends when you were freshmen, pushed to the outskirts of your grade’s caste. Your shared niche taste in media brought you two close together at the cost of any chance at being popular. He already knew that his only other opportunity to make friends was through forced proximity of his teammates on the swim team, and you still had your friend from childhood. She was the complete opposite of you—and she made fun of Anton any chance she got—but she was nice. She was the only popular kid that actually seemed to engage with people from other cliques.

But Anton already knew that it was you and him against the world. He didn’t know why his mother implemented a rule that the door had to be open when you two are in his room. Anton was confused by all this because one day his parents viewed you as his one and only friend and the next day you were viewed as a girl that he could possibly be romantically involved with. 

The way his parents acted around you made Anton look at you differently. He came to the conclusion that you were still the same, you still wore your baggy clothes and cursed almost every sentence and listened to the same music you always have. Anton had to tell his parents that you were still the same girl—and you were still only friends—even if you were seemingly getting prettier by the day. He had the moment of clarity when you two were in this exact position, where you were looking up at him asking what the answer was to a question on science homework. He came to the conclusion that him seeing you in a different light was based on technicality. Even if there was that girl on his swim team that asked him to the formal it made sense that you would be the subject of Anton’s dreams because you were always together. 

But maybe it was the chair. Both of you assumed that Anton’s mom realized how ridiculous she was being, and that there was nothing her responsible son and his unassuming friend would do. She was also trying really hard to get you both to come with her to the store, but once you both lamented how responsible you were trying to be studying for an exam she left you be. She wrangled Junyoung instead to be her companion on the trip grocery store run, said a prayer, and then left. 

With just you, Anton, and the CD playing in his room it was quiet. You mentioned the kissing or something to hide the fact it was all you ever thought about. Being left alone with him was harder these days. After your garage band was dissolved because Eunseok was visiting his grandparents for the rest of the month there was an extremely different air surrounding you two. Being partners for class projects was one thing, being alone in his room in an empty house was another.

There was no segue into you two kissing. One moment you were asking about that girl on Anton’s swim team and he was asking you about the boy from your English class. You told him that he was just a boy and Anton said she was just a girl. There was a stare that lasted too long and you holding your pencil so hard in your hand you thought it would break. When the silence became too much you reached forward, planting a kiss on the corner of Anton’s mouth. He hesitated, then he reciprocated, trig homework still bunched in his lap. 

The kisses started off slow and awkward, neither of you knowing exactly what to do with all of eachother.  The very act of crawling into Anton’s lap was humiliating for some reason, the sound of the notebooks and assignments being pushed to the side was embarrassing. Anton’s perpetually dry lips pressing to yours was slow, the overwhelming anticipation made first contact just feel like a regular touch. Anton was too nervous to ask you if you wanted to stop, and that was good because you were too embarrassed to tell him to do it again. Anton just silently stretched his legs fully until they pressed into the beanbag and he pulled you fully onto him, basically cradling you. 

Lack of communication made you two just slip through the motions. You both just continued pressing your lips against eachothers while your faces heated up from embarrassment until contact started feeling like something more. You think it changed when Anton tilted his head slightly to one side and wet his lips. When he went back in after that it made you tilt your head to the other side, and then it felt like something was actually happening. Anton’s hand that kept you still on his lap went to your head when it was obvious you weren’t going anywhere. You felt his hands grip the back of your neck. 

The hesitation from Anton to go into your hair made you gain your bearings long enough to finally create some distance. Anton’s hands left your body completely the second you moved, and you stood up immediately. You were dizzy from moving too quick and the view of Anton from above. His lips already looked different, plump from constant contact and wet from your shared spit. His tongue was peaking out before he let it go back into his mouth. His hands were pressed into the ground on either side of his body, and he looked so cramped in the small space between his bed and the wall. You looked from him to the recliner, trying to calm your racing heart. Each time you looked back to Anton he was already looking up at you, eyes wide and not moving an inch.  

You two should’ve definitely talk about whatever was happening. Silence has served the both of you well up to this point. Anton started moving slowly backwards until he could sit in the recliner. It rocked back from his weight when he reached for his sweater, and Anton kept his fingers there. He didn’t move fully until he saw you kick off your slippers and reach for the button on your cargo pants.

Anton’s mom was currently shopping, Junyoung went with her because you and Anton needed to focus on studying for the Trigonometry exam in two days. Instead you two were engaged in a silent standoff, one staring at the other while you tried to figure out what to do next.

Anton moved first. When his room got too dark from the evening he reached to his bedside table quickly, pulling the string on his Yoshitomo Nara table lamp to light the area. Your bare thighs were suddenly illuminated, your body casting a shadow on the wall behind you. Your cargo pants were bunched behind you, leaving you in your stripped crew socks and your baggy shirts that left too much to the imagination. When Anton turned on the light he realized he could be seen clearly too. He hoped he looked good sitting on the recliner in front of you. Like a boyish Adam Yauch or another rockstar you were always talking to him about.

You moved second. You don’t count the tremor that wracked through your body but you counted your hands finally leaving your sides to reach for your waist instead. You looked from Anton’s face to his hands, you watched them clench as you tried willing yourself to loosen up. You were supposed to be calmer than Anton was. You were supposed to be breaking through the tension with a joke at Anton’s expense and he was supposed to laugh to lighten the mood. But both of you were silent, trying to suppress the clues that you simultaneously panicking. 

You let out a deep breath, and another shake that was hidden underneath your layers of shirts. Your hands went to the waistband of your underwear, fingers going underneath the wrap around the elastic waistband. You’ve done this a million times, the setting and the audience were different but the motions were the same. You repeated that to herself over and over as you pulled your panties down, until you had to bend over to get them the rest of the way. 

When you came back up Anton’s hands were no longer balled up on top of his thighs. They were gripping the armrest now, and he was getting that leg bounce you always teased him for. You didn’t say anything this time because you watched him try to stop it. He wiped his hands on his legs until he reached his knee. He grasped around the joint and held tight until his knuckles became white. 

You had a handful of your underwear with cherries on it, still not taking a step towards him. That table lamp was expensive but it was never very bright. You thought about what Anton could see, if his eyes kept on darting down to her your because he didn’t like what he was seeing or because he couldn’t see it at all. 

You stepped forward and Anton leaned back into his seat. You took another step and he leaned forward. The third step left him awkwardly between the two positions, and his leg started bouncing again. You did feel bad, like you were playing with him without meaning to. You and Anton had built up a rapport centered around you lightly bullying him and him taking it. You couldn’t remember the last time you two were in complete silence like this, or when you two were so sincere and so lost. But this was cruel for you too, because up until twenty minutes ago you thought that Anton wasn’t interested in you at all. Now you’re walking towards him thinking about how this could ruin your friendship forever, or if he became your friend solely at the prospect of getting in your pants. You knew the situation was unlikely because Anton was your friend when you didn’t want to be kind to yourself, but the more you think about it the more it makes sense why there’s so much hesitation.

You’re in front of the recliner now. Anton pulled his legs together until his knees touched, making his large body small so you could have the most space possible. It was a kind gesture, but you were too busy being completely silent to acknowledge it. Anton looked between your legs up to your face, leaning back so much the chair tilted back with him. You casted a shadow on his face, but you could still make up the way he was looking at you through it. He offered his hands on the armrest of the recliner, giving you a place of stability if you wanted to take it further. Anton only looked at your chest in passing, not pressing further even if all you focused on was the center of his white shirt. He leaned forward to take the shirt off too, tossing it in the same place his sweatshirt was. 

Anton let out the smallest tremor. You looked at his silver necklace first, too afraid to look at his toned stomach. You could only get the courage to look at his broad chest, the way he looked against the back of the recliner. You had your hands on his shoulders when he pulled you onto his lap but looking at them now doesn’t make sense. You had seen the pictures of him with his shirt off, you’ve been to his swim meets before. Seeing him like this with no one else there was different. You couldn’t believe that this was the same guy who was lanky and bumping into everything the first time you met. This was a social outcast like you, someone who stayed in swim and orchestra because he wouldn’t have friends any other way. The same one who burned CD’s of nerd rock bands and idolized his father too much. 

When Anton’s hand that was on the armrest went palms up you quickly put your underwear there. He was surprised, taking his attention away from your face to his hand. His hand went rigid underneath the fabric and Anton was still staring at it, he didn’t move until your hands went to his shoulders for leverage. Like he couldn’t touch you with the hand holding your panties his other went to you, stabilizing you as you straddled his lap on the creaky recliner. 

For a moment it’s just you and Anton like that. Chest to chest, you hovering above his lap. Your eye level with him for what feels like the first time in your life, and the least amount of clothes separates the two of you. Even if you have on an undershirt, a long sleeve, and a band tee on it feels like your bare against Anton’s chest. Your hands stay on his shoulder and his arm stays on the lowest part of your waist that’s covered by clothes. His other hand closes around your underwear.

“I like that band.” 

Anton said it still looking into your eyes. You looked down like you didn’t know what shirt you were wearing. You and Anton actually went to the show together, you both forgot earplugs so you spent a portion of the opening act stuffing toilet paper into eachothers ears. 

You should've reminded him of that moment like he would've forgotten what you looked like looking up at him with worrying vocalizing concerns about toilet paper becoming permanently stuck in your ear. But instead you played with the chipping leather on the seat and nodded your head.

“I like them too.” You respond.

Another chance to talk about what’s happening dissolves in the air as you two settle into another bout of silence. Anton brings your underwear into your line of sight, a silent offering that for a split second you think is rejection. When you take it back you try to get off of him, but instantly both of his hands are on your waist keeping you in place. 

He experiments, letting his hands slide further and further down until his hands are on your bare skin underneath all your shirts. Your skin is flaming and his hands feel like ice, you stiffen and Anton gets a better grip on you. You’re in the palm of his hands and your underwear is wedged between his shoulder blade and your hand. He keeps eye contact with you and applies the lightest force downwards. You give in immediately, and you feel the area you couldn’t bring yourself to look at before. Anton’s bulge is hard against your bare cunt, your combined heat overwhelms you. Already you can feel sweat lining your body underneath your shirts, and you can feel embarrassing wetness seep from you onto his boxers. 

There’s barely anything separating the two of you. All Anton would have to do is pull down his waistband or reach into the fly of his boxers and pull himself out. Maybe he shouldn’t. You always imagined you’d lose your virginity in college when you'd miraculously become hot enough to bang, or when you got married and someone was contractually obligated to find you sexy. Everyone else in your grade seemed to be doing this but you and Anton prided yourselves on being different. You didn’t not imagine losing it to him, he was the first real boy that you ever thought about kissing when he got really handsome over the summer two years ago. But this seemed wrong, like you were doing this wrong. Even if it felt so good that your combined slick and his precum made the thin layer of his boxers wet, this felt wrong. Feeling the ridge of Anton’s dick shouldn’t feel so nice, and you shouldn’t want more. The anticipation shouldn’t feel so nice that nothing feels like it will be enough.

Even if you’ve convinced yourself that this is all wrong, you still drag your hips forward in the smallest motion. Suddenly the creaking from the recliner while you two were trying to find a comfortable position stops. The silence is so loud, it somehow overpowers the music playing in Anton’s room. His hands freeze on your waist, your blunt nails dig into his shoulder. You look down at where you two almost are so close to meeting. You can see the discoloration on his boxers, and if you really focus you can see yourself glistening. When you glance up quickly Anton is looking down too, even if his hands on your hip are still unmoving. He doesn’t look up from your hips, and then you grind against him again.

The third time you drag your hips on his is when the first sound leaves his lips. A quiet moan, a quick sound that’s almost muffled by his closed lips. You focus on Anton’s neck, watching his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. His hands dig a little more into your waist, and you drag your hips again. Without looking at Anton you move forward slowly, until your chin is resting in the crook of his neck. You have enough leverage now to apply more pressure, dragging your bare cunt on his clothed dick.

His hand left your hip when you let your first sound slip out. He went to pressing his hand to your lower back, then as though he was waiting for you first more sounds of his own started slipping out. You stayed focused on his Adam’s apple, the way it moves in his throat with each sound. You’re driven by watching it move, you purposefully drag your hips rougher against his, just to see the movement.

“Oh my God.” Anton’s hand creeps up under your shirt until you can feel his large hand pressed between your shoulder. “That feels so good.” 

Anton’s voice is barely above a whisper. He does better than you, because you’re still completely silent, only nodding as you drag your hips on his again. 

Beyond Anton’s comment that floated around in his cluttered room, you two went back to being silent. Just pitiful noises swapped between the two of you, trying to be silent while also seeing what the other liked. Anton gripped you a little tighter when you whimpered and your lips would press against his neck, and you liked feeling his moans ring through his chest. 

“Should I—“ Anton moved, trying to offer something that got stuck in his throat “Do you want me to—”

The gesture towards your exposed bottom half made you shake your head on instinct. When you tried to pause his hand over your shirt kept you moving, tiny swivels against him. You were making a mess on his boxers, grinding on him like a dog in heat. You never heard about this being so embarrassing. You know it’s painfully obvious you’ve never been touched this way before. 

“I hear it helps.” Anton’s fingers dig into your shirt when you pause again. “And I’ll try to make it feel good for you.”

Anton’s hand is already drifting down when you nod your head. He leaves your waist and settles between your legs, cramming his long fingers through the space where your hips meet. Both of you let out a sigh at the same time, even when it’s just his inexperienced hand bumping into your clit. You still coat his fingers and he repeats the same awkward motion.

“You’re so wet.” Anton whispers. 

You say sorry even though you've never apologized for anything in your life. You sound so sincere it makes Anton shake his head.

"Don't apologize." He says quickly, repeating the motion.

He lifts his head from the recliner to look down, watching his fingers disappear as you continue your tiny grinds. He experiments with you. He scissors his fingers against your folds, he pushes a finger between them and glides down. He is operating off terrible guesswork and the sounds you make, when you try to stifle something by biting your lip or shaking your head slightly. 

You know Anton wants you to tell him what to do. At some point his gaze moved to the side of your face, intense and burning while he continued doing something with his fingers. You were figuring it out too, what you liked. Bossing Anton around was easier in different circumstances, but now he was beginning to pout when nothing he was doing was working. When you hear a whimper bubbling in his throat you take a chance, leaving your crumpled panties draped over his shoulder to drop your hand down.

You press two fingers to your clit and look at Anton’s chest, trying to find that place in your room on top of your bed where you did this the most. 

“Like this.” 

You say it quietly, soft motions that make you bump and grind on his hand. He keeps his hand still for you, and you continue grinding on the side of his hand. The slick sound replaces the silence in the room, only interrupted by the sound of your bodies moving on top of the fraying cushion.

Anton watches you for a moment, nodding like he’s the one touching your clit. You have to give him some credit, because he’s takes the leap to reach his hand from your waist to replace your fingers with his. 

You don’t know how to deal with the fact that Anton is bringing you pleasure like this. There’s something that creeps on you, burning on your cheeks as you start huffing into Anton’s neck. He tries his best to make it feel good for you, and he does it well. He’s attentive, learns too fast and continues to go when your hands would’ve started cramping. 

“Ton.” You whimper.

“Am I doing it right?” He asks. 

You grind on Anton’s hand and the other works your clit. You’ve never felt the extent of stimulation like this, grinding on something desperately while having another thing on your clit. There’s also never been someone but yourself doing this for you. 

The more you pathetically grind on Anton’s hand the hotter your cheeks feel, and then you feel sweat lining your body underneath your shirts.

You know something else is going to happen when Anton gets quiet again. He’s too nervous to ask what to do next and you’re too busy chasing after something to tell him. But you feel his hand go to your ass to lift you, and his hand that was on your clit goes further and further down until he presses into your entrance. 

Your fingers take him in too fast. You sigh into his neck, and your hands move to press into Anton’s chest. Your underwear is caught between your hand and his body, the wrinkled fabric against him.

You start grinding against his fingers inside of you. With your chest heaving you pull away from Anton’s neck, trying your best to hide how scared you are to look up at him. You find comfort in the fact that his cheeks are flushed and tinted red too, and that sweat is making hair stick to his forehead. You find enough courage to look at Anton directly, and you chase after that feeling you were trying to suppress. 

Anton is pressed into the recliner watching you bounce on his fingers. He keeps his fingers the same for you, not daring to move an inch while he watches you. His chest is heaving watching you. How far gone Anton is could be bizarre, but you’ve been in similarly gone thinking about him in this situation. His fingers feel just as good as you thought they would, and he’s so insistent on getting you somewhere he’s silent, not saying a word so he can focus completely on you.

“I can handle it.” You say it quickly. The first time you feel Anton’s fingers move inside of you is when your words register. Now it’s you reaching for Anton’s dick, an unsteady hand sticking right through the fly in his boxers. When you feel him heavy and sticky in your hands you pulse around his fingers “Let’s do it.” 

“Are you sure?” Anton asks the question purely on technicality. Both of you have already made it this far, not thinking about the consequences. You don’t even know what you’re sure of, besides the fact that Anton is twitching in your hand and a sigh racks through his entire body when you pull him out through his boxers.

There’s only hesitation when you felt Antons’ tip prod your entrance. You held onto his shoulders tight, keeping yourself suspended above him. The music stopped at some point, leaving you two with the creaky wood and springs in the recliner and your tense breathing.

“I’m really glad you’re here.” Anton says it like you haven’t spent almost everyday after school at his house for the past three years. His hand is still holding the base of his dick, his bicep flexing with each moment. You sink just a little deeper. His fingers couldn’t compare to this, because you’ve already felt yourself seize up again and Anton is letting out a tense breath at how tight you already feel. “But if you want me to stop, just say so.” 

“I want to keep going.” You say it, but you still are in the same place above his dick. Feeling his tip makes you lightheaded, and having him wait for you to move makes you want to crumble into him again. You can feel Anton let out a choked gasp when you sink a little further. You’ve made it past his tip, swollen and twitching inside of you when you retreat back to his neck. “Help me the rest of the way.”

You feel his head nod against yours, and then you feel his hand leave between your two bodies to wrap around your waist instead. He readjusts his grip on you, and you can feel your soft skin peaking through the space in his fingers. Anton has felt your frame underneath your layers of clothes, you feel tiny compared to him. You feel weak too, because Anton starts pulling you down slowly on top of him.

“Try to relax.” Anton croaks into your ear when you seize around him. “You’re too tight.”

Selfishly, you start making loud noises in Anton’s ear to try and relieve some of the pressure. He lets out a strained sound back to you, slowly working you down the rest of the way. He’s too big, the stretching from his large fingers did nothing to stretch you out. He’s a tight fit, and you’re getting tighter the more you think about how there’s somehow more of him to go.

Just before you curse into his ear, you feel yourself sitting on his lap. Anton is fully inside of you. Your hands are pressed to his chest and you feel like your body is melding into the recliner. Anton’s hands on your waist twitch and grasp at you. When you seize around him Anton pitches forward head hung low. You can see him scrunch his face, his eyebrows knitting together in concentration. You get used to him fast. From the very beginning you wanted more, and when your nails dig into his shoulder you finally get enough leverage to lift yourself on his lap.

Anton pulls in a deep breath fast and holds it. You do all the work, going up as high and you can before you can drop again. You repeat the motion, waiting for Anton to bring up his hanging head or to make a sound. He seems so helpless, almost shaking his head as his hands on your hips gets more desperate. You want to pull his head up manually so he has to look at you, but you can’t bring yourself to say a word. You grind on him when you sink fully down, feeling him writhe in your gut. You start hanging your head too, unable to find the strength to lift yourself up again.

Despite begging inwardly for Anton to lift your head, when he finally finds the strength to do it, you press your cheek to his. Physically touching is the contact you need, and not being able to see his face keeps you from burning up. The contact was what Anton needed to, because when your flushed cheeks smushed together he let moans slip from his parted lips louder. You were whimpering against his cheek, looking out the window behind the recliner to his yard. 

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Anton whispered it directly in your ear, fanning the side of your face with his quick breath. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling your clothed body against his bare chest. Your hands move to the back to the recliner and it tips backwards from the added weight. “I’ve—I’ve thought about this for so long.” He adds.

Over the top of the recliner you could see the backyard. During that summer before Anton’s dad cleared out the garage your band used to play there. You never would’ve thought that being in the backyard would lead you hear. The recliner creaks when Anton’s hand move underneath your ass, lifting you up slightly to bring you down. 

“I’ve thought about this too.” You say it even quieter than Anton did, nodding your head against his. His skin is so soft against yours, you keep moving your head just to feel his skin catch on yours. You start working with his strength to lift yourself on your knees.

The rhythm you and Anton build up is messy. The inclination of knowing music is out the window, the two of you lack pattern chasing after something. Anton can’t figure out if he wants to hold you tight by your waist or keep a tight grip on your ass. You can’t will away the burn working in your thighs, and you can’t work with the small space you have on the recliner. The chair tilts back and forth, screaming from the extra weight. 

The louder you and Anton get the louder the recliner gets too. When you curse and say tell Anton that you’re close the chair is almost louder than you.

“I think I’m close too.” Anton’s hand works up your back, ending with his large hand over the back of your neck. He squeezes and your body reacts by squeezing him tight. You make Anton’s next moan come out strained, his sentence is cut off when he experimentally squeezes the back of your neck again. “Does that feel good?”

You know his question comes from a genuine place of worry. He’s had a reputation of being so gentle with you it was unbearable at times. You wore baggy clothes and hung out with the boys in an effort of becoming one of them. Everyone seemed to know that except for Anton, always treating you like you were liable to break. Even when you know he wants to continue chasing after that feeling and bring you down on his dick faster he’s gentle, letting you set the pace and just helping you when your legs fail. He clenches the back of your neck a third time, and it feels like his concerns become dirty talk. You want him to ask you if he’s too big for you in that same worried tone, or too ask you if you’re sure you’re close. 

“Feels good Anton.” The chair continues to creak underneath you too. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on one thing. He’s unknowingly overstimulating, despite the fact that he’s quiet and gentle with you. You’re filling in the gaps, letting your imagination run beyond you two and this recliner. You think about your shared time together as friends, like the moment at the rock show when Anton’s hand gripped you the same way they do now. Like he doesn’t want to let go of you, like you’re his and he’s yours. “I’m really close.”

“Can I look at you?” 

Anton asks the question in between the recliner creaking and him bringing you back down on his twitching dick. He offers you the chance to ignore him, but you’re slowly nodding your head against his again.

With the gentle grip on the back of your neck Anton brings your face away from his. The split second you summon your remaining courage, following his gentle pull. You’re face to face with Anton. The recliner seems to get a little quieter, both of your hips falter when you make eye contact. Anton’s pupils are blown wide, his lips are parted and swollen. You see his tongue peak out, running over that place he always touches with his fingers. His hair falls in front of his face, bangs almost covering his eyes completely. You push his bangs out of the way quickly, both of your hands still cradling his face. You run your thumb over his cheek for a moment and Anton’s hand kneads your skin.

The second time you go in to kiss Anton is different from the first. Instead of closing your eyes and lurching forward it’s deliberate. You keep your eyes open until Anton closes his, squeezing his cheeks a little harder when you finally feel his lips press to yours.

Anton’s hand on the back of your neck moves to your face. You’re tilting your head and then he’s tilting it for you. You can hear your lips moving against eachother, then the feeling of his tongue poking your bottom lip. You open your mouth slow, and then it’s Anton’s tongue pressing flat against yours. You curve your tongue and mix spit, overextending the gap in your mouth to get a better taste. 

The action is messy, Your spit is smeared along the perimeter of Anton’s mouth when you start riding him again. It’s a simple motion, that’s closer to grinding than actually fucking yourself. But it’s enough to get Anton to hold your face still and separate your lips from his. Anton brings your head together until your foreheads touch. He’s breathing heavily as you continue grinding against his lap, just repeating the small motion. You can feel Anton’s body bumping into your clit, and you hear his breathing turn into his chest heaving. 

You don’t stop grinding, you open your eyes and see Anton looking through half-lidded eyes right back at you. You whimper and continue grinding, and one of his hand’s leaves your face to hold your ass. He speeds up your hips, and you hear the terrible creak in the recliner. You’re sure something will give out any minute, and right before the chair can rock all the way back Anton freezes underneath you. His words are caught in his throat, you think you hear him curse for the first time in your life before he leans his entire body against the back of the recliner. You continue riding him, and both of you become louder than the recliner. You’re cursing back at Anton, digging your nails into his skin and balling up your underwear in the palm of your hand. 

“Baby.” Anton moans, pathetic and loud. He projects towards the ceiling, eyes squeezed shut. His grip on your waist is bruising, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. Your moans turn into loud grunts, and your grinds turn into flicks against his skin. “Too much. Too much.” He whines.

You nod your head quickly, flicking your hips three times before you finally feel relief. You let out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding, and your whole body starts to collapse. You heave out each breath, your chest shaking. You have to breathe in deep to center yourself, and you seize around him each time you try to ground yourself. Anton is shaking his head against the back of the recliner. With each breath you get closer and closer to Anton, until your chest is pressing against his and his arms wrap around you to pull you in for a hug. 

When you move again Anton hisses right in your ear. You playfully grind against him again, and Anton weakly lifts you up until his dick slides out of you. He’s still half hard, landing against his stomach with a wet slap. He lets you lay back down on him, and you shiver when your bare cunt rests on his dick.

You’re laying against Anton’s chest for awhile. You can hear his heart rate finally start to slow down. His hand creeps underneath your layer of shirts, rubbing his hand on your bare back. Like it’s the most intimate thing you’ve done in the past hour he’s awkward, only continuing the massaging motion when you sigh contently against him.

Your shared sweat starts mixing with Anton’s welding you both to the peeling vinyl. You already feel disgusting against underneath your shirts, and the cold sweat from Anton that seeps through to you.

“Your mom will be back soon.” You murmur. 

You feel warmth seep out of you and you shiver again. You hum against his chest, feeling your eyelids get heavy.

Anton’s mom came through the door with Junyoung behind her. He had a handful of grocery bags, walking past her to go to the kitchen. She was busy standing on her tiptoes, and the moment she saw the closed door to Anton’s room her heart dropped. Junyoung was already going back outside to get the groceries when she said out loud she was going to get Anton.

Up the stairs she was contemplating on what to do Should she stomp up the stairs a little louder to give you two fair warning? Should she sneak up and try to catch you two in the act? Junyoung came back inside with more bags in his hands. He complained about wanting help before going back out, whispering under his breath that he was leaving the heavy stuff for Anton. 

His mom cleared the stairs and walked across the landing to her sons door. She held her head to the door first, trying to pick up on anything. At the sound of the recliner creaking loudly she knocked and opened the door in one go, preparing for the worst.

When she opened the door she found Anton in the recliner, in his white shirt and sweatpants. He was alone in the room, looking up from his assignment to his mother standing in the doorframe. Anton stopped rocking in the chair, the loud creaking coming to an end. She scanned the room quickly, trying to remember the reason why she came up here.

“She had to go home before it got to dark.” Anton said, answering her question.

“I’m making dinner, I would’ve given her a ride home.” 

Anton shrugs, clutching something in his hand. She sees that his pencil is on his bedside table. She really shouldn’t press the issue any further. She already stormed into her son’s room expecting to catch him in the act. She’s guilty, she lets go of the doorknob and almost turns around without saying another word. She sees Junyoung come inside again, more bags of food clutched in his hand. 

“Can you help your brother with the groceries?” She trades the order for a suggestion, trying to compensate for the intrusion in her room. Anton nods and shifts in the recliner, causing it to creak. He looks back down to his paper. “Whenever you finish what you’re working on.” She adds quickly.

“No it’s okay, I was done anyways. I’ll be down in a little bit.” Anton says and gets up from his chair. She leaves the room completely, her husband saying she needs to leave her son alone playing in her mind again and again. 

When his mom leaves the room he turns around to face towards the chair. He looks out the chair behind the window, looking at his backyard to where you climbed your bike to pedal back home. He insisted that you stay, but you seemed really adamant on leaving saying you had to be home at a certain time. When Anton hears his mom make her way down the stairs he looks down to his clenched fist. He really wanted you to stay, and the only thing that convinced him he didn’t do something wrong was your parting gif. Anton opens up his hand to see your crumpled pair of underwear expand in his palm. He sighs and clutches it again before opening the top drawer of his bedside table and putting it inside. He closes the drawer and sighs again, turning off his lamp to help with the groceries. 

[multifandomficsx]

Blame it on the Rain

Summary: Your dad is away on a week-long business trip leaving the house all to yourself. Only one problem, he’s asked his best friend to keep an eye on the house, which practically means having a babysitter at the ripe age of 21. This particular best friend has been one that you’ve harbored an attraction to for years, and now you’re finally old enough and alone enough to act on it. 

W.C: 6.2k

Content Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT (porn without much plot okay maybe a little plot), possessive!hotch if you squint, strong language, p in v sex (use a condom please for the love of god), thigh riding, bratty vibes from you also if you squint, no use of Y/N

MINORS DNI!!!!

You couldn’t understand for the life of you why your father had you under the careful surveillance of his best friend. You were grown, you could handle yourself, so why was Aaron here? Your father said something along the lines of, “He’s just here to check up on the house and make sure nothing burns down.”, which you know is code for, he doesn’t trust you. 

Whatever, it’s not like you were about to throw a major rager at your cozy suburban home. It was summer vacation from college, all of your friends lived in different states. But there you sat in the living room, cozied up on the couch watching some random rom-com that was on tv, a hot chocolate and popcorn bucket on the coffee table in front of you. 

The weather outside was horrendous. It had been storming all day with no signs of letting up. In fact, it appeared to only be getting worse. The sound of rain pelted the windows and the house creaked from the wind. Lightning cracked and streams of water flowed down the windows, blurring the world outside, so you didn’t notice the headlights pulling into your driveway.

And then you hear the lock on the front door jiggle, and in walks the man of your late night fantasies. You’ve had your eyes on Aaron since the day he walked into your home. You remember the day so clearly. 

It was a hot summer day in August, you had just turned 18 and your dad decided to throw a backyard barbecue, you know, typical dad behavior. The sun was relentless, the kind of summer day that sticks to your skin, wishing for the slightest breeze. But nothing - nothing is more distracting than the man that just walked through the gate to your backyard. The first thing you noticed was how tight his button up was. The way it hugged his broad chest and shoulders, his biceps seemed to want to bust out of the rolled up sleeves. The top two buttons undone so his chest hair peeked out over the sharp line of his collarbone. A stark contrast to how you would eventually see him, stuffy suit and tie over for a late night drink with your dad. 

The heat had started to get to everyone outside, Aaron was no exception, though he would never show any signs he was uncomfortable. Remembering the way you, him and your dad stood at the grill watching the food sizzle on the hot iron. The way a bead of sweat traveled down the side of Aaron’s face. The way he lifted his arm to wipe away the sweat. The way his shirt traveled up so slowly and you couldn’t help but peek at the exposed, minorly tanned skin on his hip and the lines that disappeared into the dark wash jeans he happened to be wearing. 

Ever since that day you couldn’t get enough of seeing him, you lit up everytime dad mentioned that he would be coming over and made an effort to make sure you were hanging around the house that night. 

You had thought it was a one sided schoolgirl crush you would eventually get over but you couldn’t miss the quick stolen glances and his efforts to hide them. The tight jaw and clench of his fingers on his drink when you would “accidentally” touch his arm and laugh at something that definitely wasn’t as funny as you made it out to be. 

So when he walked in this night it was a problem. It didn’t help that he was soaked from the rain, water dripping from his dark hair, his shirt clinging to every inch of his sculpted chest and shoulders. 

You freeze, your breath hitched as he walks inside, the storm still raging behind him as he turns to close the door and lock it. His shoulders rise and fall in sharp, measured breaths, clearly he jogged in here from the car. The sharp cut of his cheekbones even more defined in the only light emitted from the tv. Strands of wet hair clung to his forehead, beads of rainwater trailing down his face, catching in the hollow of his throat before disappearing under the button down.

And god  that shirt, completely useless, his body barely concealed under the now transparent white cotton. You watch, transfixed, as he runs a hand through his hand, scattering droplets across the floor, down his forearm, over the veins that standout from the skin. 

He exhales sharply, shaking off the cold and finally makes eye contact with you. You feel it everywhere, the dark, smoldering heat, the long unspoken tension that simmers between you waiting to ignite.

 His gaze lingers for a moment, seeing the way you were dressed. A tight cami, no bra and little shorts that barely covered anything. Your legs tucked to the side of you. You do nothing but sit still as his eyes flicker over you before returning to your own. 

“It’s really coming down out there.” He mutters, voice low.

You swallow dryly, averting your eyes back to the tv, forcing yourself to look anywhere but at Aaron. You couldn’t give yourself away fully, even though you were well aware of the fact that you were practically eye fucking him in your doorway. 

“ I’ll be right back.” He said before disappearing down the hallway, no doubt to the bathroom. 

This was not good. He shouldn’t be here, not like this, not when the barrier normally between the two of you was away for work. You knew he would show up eventually, but you were hoping for a day with decent weather so you could escape the house if need be. Your mind flooded with scenarios to get him to leave, but none of them seemed feasible. Before you could actually think something up, he walks around the corner in a new pair of clothes, hair towel dried and messy. 

“You know, you don’t need to be here. I can take care of the house.” You say turning your body around to face Aaron, forearms up on the back of the couch. You lay your cheek on your right arm and watched as he made his way into the kitchen.

“Your dad asked me for a favor. Plus it’s nasty outside.” He paused, thinking for a moment, “ Let’s cut a deal.” 

This made your stomach flip, the possibility of the offer he’s about to make got you excited. He shuffled through the wine cabinet and picked out a red. The way his biceps tensed as he screwed the cork out of the narrow bottle top made your lips part ever so slightly. 

As he spoke he grabbed two glasses, “I stay for the night. Just tonight, I let your dad know everything is fine, and you won’t see me again after that.” 

You studied the way his fingers gripped the dark green bottle as he poured what is obviously a drink for the both of you. While this seemed like a good deal, a part of you was upset that you wouldn’t be getting to see Aaron throughout the week. You pretended to think about it, putting on a show of tapping your finger on your cheek and scrunching up your face. 

“Sounds like a good deal to me.” You smirked and shifted so you were sitting on your knees to face him. 

The living room is dimly lit, the soft glow of the kitchen light that was left on by Aaron casting shadows across the walls. The storm outside has settled into a steady rhythm, raindrops tapping against the windows like a quiet metronome. 

You stretch lazily on the couch, legs outstretched, a pout on your lips as he hands you your glass of wine. Aaron settled into the far end of the couch, sleeves rolled up, the top button of his shirt undone, looking far too serious for someone who’s supposed to be relaxing.

"You know," you begin, tilting your head with a playful smirk, "I really don’t need a babysitter."  

Aaron exhales, something between a sigh and the hint of a chuckle. God his laugh was music to your ears. And you wanted to do anything to draw out more. Before taking a sip of his own drink. "I’m not babysitting."  

"You are," you tease, drawing out the words as you lean forward slightly. "My dad asked you to stay, just to keep an eye on me. That’s textbook babysitting, Aaron."  

His gaze flicks to you, dark and unreadable, but there’s a trace of amusement there. "You’re twenty-one," he points out, as if that makes a difference. In his eyes it does.

"Exactly." You raise your glass in mock celebration. "Perfectly capable of being home alone without adult supervision."  

He hums in response, setting his glass down on the table beside him. "Then I suppose I’m just here for the company."  

You grin, leaning back against the cushions. "That I don’t mind."  

His lips twitch, just slightly, but he doesn’t respond right away. Instead, his gaze lingers, something unutterable flickering beneath his carefully composed expression.  

The air shifts, the playful energy between you suddenly carrying something else beneath it. Something neither of you are willing to name just yet.  

You take another sip of your wine, holding his gaze. "If you’re staying, at least make yourself comfortable. I won’t report you to my dad for unprofessionalism if you actually relax for once."  

Hotch exhales, shaking his head, but this time, there’s definitely a smirk. "I’ll take that under advisement."

“Good.” You decide to start pushing boundaries, if he’s going to stay, you might as well have fun. "I bet you hate this, don’t you? Being stuck here instead of doing… whatever it is you do for fun."  

Hotch raises a brow, and something about the slow, deliberate way he regards you sends a flicker of heat down your spine. "And what exactly do you think I do for fun?"  

You hum, tapping a finger against your glass. "Let’s see… paperwork? Running background checks? Oh! I bet you go home and unwind with a nice, thick case file."  

This time, he actually huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. " Incredibly inaccurate."  

"Oh?" You lean forward slightly, your grin teasing. "So what do you do to unwind, Agent Hotchner?"  

His gaze turns to your legs for only a moment before moving to your eyes, like he caught himself slipping. He takes another sip of his drink before answering.  

"Wouldn’t you like to know?"  

Your stomach flips at the quiet rasp of his voice, the weight of his words hanging between you, heavier than before. Your teasing falters for just a second—long enough for something else to settle in the space between you. Something warmer, something charged.  

The air shifts, a current running beneath the conversation, unspoken but felt.  

You bite your lip, watching him over the rim of your glass. "Maybe I would"  

His jaw tics, his fingers flexing against his knee, but he doesn’t look away.  

And just like that, the game changes.

The air is thick with something neither of you are willing to name, but it’s there. It hums between you, sparking in the space where teasing had once been, shifting into something slower, heavier.  

Aaron doesn’t move, doesn’t break eye contact, but you see the way his fingers tighten just slightly around the glass in his hand, the way his lips tighten into a thin line as if he’s considering what to say next.  

You take another sip of wine, keeping your gaze steady, your lips curving into something just shy of a smirk. "Cat got your tongue, Aaron?"  

His exhale is slow, measured and his gaze sharpens. "You’re playing a dangerous game."  

Your stomach twists, heat curling low in your spine at the way his voice dips, quiet but firm. A warning. An invitation. Both.

"Am I?" you muse, tilting your head, studying him the way he’s been studying you.  

His eyes shift to your mouth for half a second—so fast you might’ve missed it if you weren’t watching him so closely.  

You set your glass on the coffee table, your movements slow, deliberate. "You don’t have to stay, you know," you say lightly, watching for his reaction. "I’ll be fine on my own. You can go back to whatever it is you’d rather be doing."  

For a moment, he just looks at you. Then, without breaking eye contact, he leans forward, placing his own glass beside yours.  

His voice is lower when he speaks. Steady. Certain. 

"I don’t think I will."  

Your breath catches.  

You hadn’t expected that.  

You had expected him to deflect, to brush off your teasing with another exasperated sigh, to remind you—yet again—that he was only here because of your father.  

But instead, he stays. Instead, he watches you with a gaze that lingers, that burns, that tells you he’s thought about crossing this line just as much as you have.  

Your heart pounds against your ribs, but you don’t back down.

Neither does he.  

You’re both still playing.

I don’t think I will.  

Your pulse thrums, Aaron’s unwavering gaze hot on your skin, but before you can say anything, before you can test the boundaries of whatever is crackling between you—  

The lights falter.  

For half a second, everything wavers. The lamp beside you dims, then flares, then—  

Darkness.

The storm outside howls against the house, rain hammering against the windows, wind rattling through the trees. The sudden loss of power leaves the room bathed in shadows, nothing but the faint glow of the storm outside casting fractured light into the space.  

Your breath stutters in the unexpected silence, the hum of electricity gone, the air around you somehow even heavier than before.  

You feel, more than see, the shift of his presence as he stands, his body a shadowed silhouette against the storm-lit windows. There’s no hesitation in his movements, just quiet, controlled awareness as he checks the space around you, listening to the world outside.  

It’s instinctual, the way he moves. The way he protects and instantly hovers over you. 

You pull in a slow breath, trying to steady your heart as you push up from the couch. "Well," you say lightly, but your voice comes out softer than you intend. "That’s one way to kill the mood."  

You can’t quite see his expression, but you feel the way his attention shifts back to you, the weight of it lingering even in the darkness. "Are you all right?" He places his hands on your shoulders. It’s not lost on you the way his hands blanket your shoulders, imposing in a way.

Your lips curve, even as a shiver runs down your spine. "Are you?"  

He exhales softly, and you think—just maybe—that it’s a quiet huff of amusement.  

But the energy between you hasn’t faded. Not entirely. If anything, the darkness amplifies it, makes you hyper-aware of the way your bodies are so close, the way his presence fills the space, steady and unwavering.  The way you can feel his body heat and the clean woodsy cologne flooding your senses makes you dizzy. 

“I’m not the one who’s house just lost power. Should have expected that.” He says, his hands slowly making their way down your arms. 

A shiver rolls down your spine, must be the wine. “Just wasn’t expecting to be stuck in the dark with you, Mr. Hotchner.” The last part of that sentence came out more breathlessly than you anticipated. 

There’s a shift in him, you couldn’t see it, eyes still adjusting to the dark, but you could feel it. His voice, lower this time, as if he was going to get caught, “You’re a big girl, you think you can handle it?”

You shouldn’t be reacting to him like this. He’s older, way older. He’s just here to make you feel safe. And yet- 

“Guess I’ll find out.” You say softly, placing your hands on his chest, lifting your chin up to look at him.

Lightning flashes, illuminating the man in front of you. The quick second of light reveals everything. The need written on both of your faces, but still a hesitation.

And in the dark, you wait. You both wait. He doesn’t move, not at first, like he’s giving you a choice. An out to back away and realize this is a bad idea. 

When you stand your ground, he finally moves, his hand leaving your arm, up to your chin, stretching over your cheek, resting on your jaw. You lean into the warmth of his palm on your face and he exhales like he’s losing a battle with himself. You pull him closer, balling your fists into his shirt, no doubt wrinkling it. 

Your breaths mingle in the darkness and your noses graze each other. His tone was rough, barely above a murmur, “We shouldn’t.”

Your heart is still racing. “I know.” Your voice, soft and begging.

“You don’t know what you’re doing.” His voice isn’t a warning anymore, it's a promise.

“Yes I do” 

And then, Aaron breaks. 

He moves fast, his hand going from resting on your face to gripping your jaw. And his mouth is on yours. Hot. Desperate. Starved in a way that makes your knees falter. 

He kisses you like he’s been holding back for far too long. Like you’re something he shouldn’t want but cant help himself from taking. 

His hand slips from your arm to your hip, pulling you flush against his body. The firm press of his chest against you makes your head spin. 

He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, his hand tightening on the flesh of your hip like he wanted to memorize every feeling of you. 

Just as quickly as it started, he pulled away, his forehead resting on yours. 

“This is a bad idea,” he rasps, with no intention of following through with trying to convince you to stop.

A breathless laugh escapes you, “Terrible idea.” 

You don’t let the moment apart linger. 

You grab the front of his shirt, yanking him back toward you, crashing your lips against his in a kiss that’s all heat, all hunger, all the tension that’s been simmering between you finally snapping like a live wire.  

He groans into your mouth, and it’s the only warning you get before his hand moves from your hip to your ass, strong and commanding, somehow pulling you closer. There’s no hesitation this time, no restraint—just raw, unfiltered need.  

You barely register moving before the back of your calves hits the couch. In a practiced motion, he flips the two of you and sits on the couch, bringing you down with him, onto his lap. His hands slide beneath your shirt, palms rough, warm, everywhere, mapping out every inch of you.

"Tell me to stop," he rasps against your lips, but you can feel the way his body reacts to you, the way he’s barely holding himself together.  

You arch into him, rolling your hips, pressing against the heat of him, and he curses, his grip tightening on your hips as he grinds back up against you. The sensation sends a full-body shiver through you, your head tilting back as a breathless moan escapes before you can stop it.  

"Don’t stop," you whimper  

That’s all it takes for whatever last shred of restraint he had to fully disappear. 

His mouth is on your neck, your collarbone, your jaw, kissing, nipping, devouring as his hips roll into yours, slow and calculating, making you feel everything. The pressure, the friction—it’s overwhelming, making your fingers claw at his back, desperate for more.  

"Fuck," he grits out, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he ruts against you, the muscles in his back flexing beneath your hands. He’s unraveling just as much as you are, lost in the feeling.  

You tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan, his teeth grazing your skin in retaliation. His breath is ragged, his movements bordering on desperate now, like he’s been deprived of this for centuries.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown, lips kiss-swollen. "You have no idea what you do to me," he murmurs, his voice wrecked.  

You smirk, tilting your hips up to meet his. "I think I do."  

He growls low in his throat, crushing his mouth back to yours, his hands gripping you like he never wants to let go. 

Aaron grabs your shirt, fingers curling around the fabric before he tugs it upward. You lift your arms without hesitation, letting him lift it off and toss it somewhere on the floor, his eyes hungry as they rake over your newly exposed skin. 

"You’re so pretty baby" he mutters under his breath, his hands immediately returning to you—hot, rough palms skimming up your sides, over your ribs, his thumbs brushing the curve of your exposed breasts.  

Your breath stutters, your nails digging into his back, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you. His mouth finds your neck again, lips hot and open-mouthed, sucking, biting, marking you as his hands slide lower—down your stomach, over your hips, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts.  

A soft sigh escapes your lips, the deliberate way his fingertips tease the skin beneath them, but before he can go any further, you grab the hem of his shirt, tugging at it impatiently. "Off," you demand breathlessly.  

He obeys without question, making quick work of the buttons and tossing it aside before pressing his body back against yours. The heat of his skin, the solid weight of him against you—it sends a fresh wave of arousal pooling in your stomach.  

Your hands roam over the broad planes of his back, the sharp lines of his shoulders, down to his soft yet still firm abdomen, where he flexes beneath your touch.  

He growls low in his throat, pressing his hips harder against yours, and you gasp at the feeling of him — hard, thick, needing — through the fabric of his pants.  “Fuck, Aaron.” His name falling sweetly from your lips.

"Jesus Christ," he grits out, rolling his hips against you again, slow and deliberate, making you feel everything. His hands hold tightly to the flesh of your ass as he guides your heat against his own desire. 

He groans, his hands moving fast—pushing your shorts down, until there’s nothing left but your heat and skin and desperation against his slacks. 

“ I want you to ride my thigh.” 

Your mouth hangs open and a blush spreads across your cheeks, embarrassed at the request. Unsure of how to proceed, your hips slowed to a stop. The feeling of your clit against the fabric of his pants was undeniably good. You begin to stutter, unable to form an intelligent sentence. 

“Shh. It’s okay, pretty girl. I’ll help you.” His hands which haven’t left your body begin to rock you back and forth on his thigh. 

The first roll of your hips, you dropped your head to the crook for his shoulder with a whimper. His head leaned into yours, getting an eyeful of the wet patch you had started to leave on his slacks.

“That feels good right? You’re doing so good for me.” He whispers in your ear and slowly eases up on guiding you physically, letting you find your own pace.

He was letting you take what you needed, but you knew in an instant he could take over if he wanted to. As you grinded into him, his hands slid up your sides to your waist. Another whimper, louder this time, left your lips before you could stop it. You swear you could feel him smirk against your ear.

“Keep going,” he said, a quiet command, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “Use me.” 

Your movements quicken, chasing the friction, your dripping core over the thick muscle of his thigh and the sharp press of your clit at just the right spot makes your body jolt back. Pleasure you’ve never known sends a flood of arousal to every zone of your body. Your head rolls back and eyes flutter shut.

One of Aaron's hands came up to where your throat meets your collarbone, gently resting there, a silent reminder of who is in control.

“Eyes on me, pretty girl.” You barely muster a look at him before losing your composure. He shifts his thigh just right, the friction making your breath stutter and your eyes squeeze shut again. 

“Look. At. Me.” The hand that's on your neck travels to your jaw to force you to face him. Your eyes open, jaw tight, keeping your sounds to yourself. “That’s better. Show me how much you’ve wanted this.”

“Aaron… please,” You moan out, picking up your pace, body shaking. You’re close and both of you know it. His hand leaves your jaw and tangles in your hair. 

“You wanna cum, sweetheart?” He asks, his grip on your hip slowing you to a stop, making you whine in frustration. “Beg for it.” 

Your breath comes out in ragged gasps, hands clutching at his shoulders as he holds you still, just when you were about to tip over the edge.  

"Aaron," you whisper, but he just tilts his head, watching you squirm in his grip.  

"That's not begging," he murmurs, his thumb brushing dangerously slow over your thigh, trailing just close enough to make you ache for more. “You had so much to say earlier. Cat got your tongue?" He teased, repeating what you had said less than 30 minutes ago. 

You shift in his lap, trying to move, but his hands are unyielding. The hand in your hair moves quickly back to your hip, both hands gripping tight enough to bruise.

"Aaron, please," you try, swallowing thickly, unable to get your words out. 

"You're going to have to do better than that," he whispers, his thigh flexing just enough to make you moan. "Or maybe I’ll just keep you like this — needy, wet, and begging for me. Maybe you don’t deserve to come yet."  

Your eyes flash to his, wide and desperate, and his smirk softens for a brief second — but there's still that dangerous glint in his gaze.  

"Say it," he commands, lips brushing yours but refusing to close the distance. "Tell me how much you want to come for me. How much you need me to let you fall apart."  

You suck in a breath, cheeks flushed, as your hands slide down to his chest. "Please, Aaron… I need it. Need you to let me come. I want to fall apart for you. Please."  

That’s when his smirk shifts into something darker, more possessive — and without another word, he guides your hips down hard against his thigh, rolling it up into you.  

"That's my girl," he growls, watching you unravel under his hands. "Come for me. Now."  

You break with a moan, body trembling as he holds you through it, his hands steady, possessive, controlling every second of your release.  

When you collapse against him, spent and breathless, he finally lets you rest, his fingers stroking your spine in slow, calming circles.  

Your body is still trembling when his hand slides up your back, steady and warm — grounding you after everything he just pulled from you.  

"Shh," he soothes, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, "You did so well for me."  

His hands never stop touching you — stroking, gripping, like he needs the contact as much as you do. But when you shift to climb off his thigh, thinking maybe he’ll let you rest, his fingers tighten just enough to keep you right where you are.  

"Did I say we were finished?" he murmurs, voice low and sharp like a blade wrapped in silk.  

Your breath hitches as he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.  

"No," you whisper, cheeks flushed, heart racing.  

Without breaking eye contact, he shifts beneath you, his hand undoing the latches on his belt, like he isn't already wrecking you with just his presence.  

"I've let you have your fun," he says, voice calm but filled with heat, "but now it's my turn."  

Before you can react, he lifts you off his thigh, standing in one fluid motion and carrying you easily to the nearest surface — the kitchen counter. He sets you down, stepping between your legs, hands running up your thighs as he leans in.  You gasp from the sudden cold surface beneath you.

His mouth finally crashes into yours, rough and hungry, tongue sweeping in to take what he’s been holding back.

"You’re mine tonight," he growls against your mouth. "And you’re going to get everything you’ve asked for."  

As he kisses down your jaw, his fingers slip between your legs again, teasing you — already knowing you're still sensitive from what just happened. You gasp, hips bucking.  

"Sensitive already?" he teases, nipping at your neck. " Good. I want you shaking for me by the time I’m done."  

His hand tightens in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat. A loud moan rips from your throat and you jolt as his thumb finds your clit. Rubbing slow deliberate circles, his other fingers run through your slick folds. 

“I need you.” You whisper, leaning forward grasping on to him for dear life, “I need you inside.”  

And that’s all he needed to plunge both fingers inside of you. You suck in a breath getting settled into the sudden intrusion. Pumping slow, his eyes watched as his fingers disappeared inside of you and reappearing covered in your cream. Aaron emits a low moan at the sight, “ You’re so wet for me. Is this what you wanted? Wanted daddy’s best friend to ruin you?” 

You nod, breathless, “Yes, god yes.” 

Without another word, he makes quick work of the slacks he’s managed to keep on, the sound of them hitting the floor loud in the quiet room. The briefs follow and he pulls himself free, thick and hard. He lets go of your hair and his free hand strokes at his cock, his thumb smearing precum over the head.  

Your pussy clenches around nothing at the sight, you wanted nothing more than to wrap your lips around his cock, have him make you cry as he fucks your mouth. But it seems that would have to wait. 

Aaron lines himself up with your folds, rubbing the tip in between them, teasing your entrance as his hands grip your thighs, holding you open for him. 

“Tell me what you want.” Eyes on you, waiting for permission. 

“ Fuck me. Please fuck me, Aaron.” 

With a low growl, he thrusts into you in one deep, hard motion, burying himself to the hilt. The stretch burns in the best way, stealing the air from your lungs as you cry out, your hands scrambling for purchase on his shoulders.  

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, hips already snapping forward, pounding into you like a man starved. “You feel even better than I dreamed about.”  

His fingers dig into your hips, holding you still as he fucks you hard and deep, but you don’t care — you want it to hurt, want to feel him for days.  

“Aaron—” you whimper, nails raking down his back, “harder, please—”  

He grits his teeth, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back so you’re forced to meet his eyes.  Lightning strikes outside and for a moment you can see everything, the sweat beading on his forehead, his bicep flexed to hold you in place, and the deep possession buried deep behind his eyes.

“You want it harder, baby? You want me to fuck you so good you’ll be dripping down your thighs whenever I come over?”  

“Yes—”  

That’s all he needs.  

He slams into you harder, each thrust hitting deep, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer. His muscles tense, pulling you back in with each thrust, leaving no room for hesitation, setting an almost punishing rhythm if it didn’t feel so goddamn good. 

“You’re mine now,” he growls, voice thick and possessive, his mouth finding yours in a bruising kiss. “You understand me? Mine. No one else will ever touch you like this.”  

You moan into his mouth, clinging to him, lost in the overwhelming pleasure, knowing there’s no going back now.  

“Say it,” he demands, thrusting deeper. “Tell me who you belong to.”  

“You,” you gasp, head falling back, eyes glazed with lust. “I’m yours, Aaron—only yours.”  

His mouth crashes onto yours again, swallowing your moans as he fucks you right there on the kitchen counter, like he’s claiming every inch of you, like he wants to make sure you’ll never forget the way he feels inside you.  

“Fuck, baby,” Hotch groans against your neck, thrusts growing rougher, deeper, more desperate. His fingers dig into your hips like he’s trying to own you, like if he holds tight enough, you’ll never leave.  

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the kitchen, filthy and loud, mixing with your whimpers and gasps as he drives into you over and over.  

“You feel so good,” he pants, voice raw and low in your ear. “So fucking tight—been dreaming about this. About ruining you.”  

His hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and circling it fast and rough, determined to drag you over the edge before he loses it.  

“Come on, sweetheart,” he growls, thrusting harder, deeper. “Want you to come all over my cock. Want to feel you when I fill you up.”  

The filthy promise, that possessive growl, him—it’s all too much.  

You cry out, breaking apart around him, body clenching tight as you come hard, shaking and breathless. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, watching your body unravel for him, and then he’s slamming into you a few more brutal, deep thrusts before he buries himself to the hilt and lets go.  

His head drops to your shoulder, panting harshly as he fills you, hot and deep, holding you tight like he never wants to let go.  

For a long moment, neither of you moves. His chest heaves against yours, heart pounding. Your fingers tangle weakly in his hair as you catch your breath, still trembling from how hard he made you come.  

But then reality starts to creep back in.  

Hotch’s hands soften on your thighs, but he doesn’t pull away. Just stays there, still buried inside you, like if he doesn’t move, the rest of the world won’t catch up.  

“Shit,” he mutters after a moment, lifting his head to look at you, eyes searching your face, something softer now under the intensity. “We shouldn’t have—”  

You flinch, and his jaw tenses immediately when he sees it, cupping your cheek gently.  

“Hey,” he says quietly, fingers brushing your skin, “I didn’t mean it like that.”  

You swallow, still breathless. “Then how did you mean it?”  

He lets out a shaky breath, leaning his forehead against yours. “I meant… I don’t regret this. I regret that I’m gonna have to look your dad in the eye knowing I just fucked his daughter on his kitchen counter.”  

Your lips twitch in a small smirk. “You didn’t just fuck me.”  

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “ You’re right,” His thumb brushes over your lip, eyes serious now.  “ I don’t think I can give this up.”  

The weight of his words makes your stomach twist, but in the best way.  

“Then don’t,” you whisper.   

“Yeah?” he murmurs. “You want that?”  

You nod, breath catching as you whisper, “I’ve always wanted this.”  

Hotch groans softly, kissing you slower this time, like he’s savoring it. Like it’s more than just lust, even though you know it’s not

When he finally pulls back, he presses one last kiss to your forehead before glancing down at the absolute mess between your thighs, still inside you.  

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” He says, finally pulling out of you. You whine at the feeling of being empty. 

He laughs at the neediness of your vocalization. “ Round two is always on the table. We have all week.”

“What happened to the deal?” You asked slyly, back to teasing even though, the man of your midnight dreams just fucked you senseless.

“I never intended on keeping it.”