Kisses and Frosting | Jeong Yunho x reader | (f) (k)
Coffee Grounds | Jung Wooyoung x reader | (f)
Soap bubbles | Kim Hongjoong x reader | (f) (s) (c)
Gym Date | Kang Yeosang x reader | (f) (s)
Game Night | Song Mingi x reader | (f) (k)
You like me? | Song Mingi x reader | (f)
Birthday Gift | Jeong Yunho x reader | (f) (m)
Lego Flowers | Park Seonghwa x reader | (f) (c) (a)
An art gallery could never be as unique as you | Kang Yeosang x reader | (f)
Forever you are my star | Choi San x reader | (f) (c)
Then now and always | Song Mingi x reader | (f)
Sea Glass | Choi Jongho x reader | (f)
Her favourite muse | Kim Hongjoong x reader | (f)
New hair? | Jung Wooyoung x reader | (f)
Stream | Jeong Yunho x reader | (f)
We met at the library | Park Seonghwa x reader | (f)
Sorry! Oh you’re beautiful | Kang Yeosang | (f) (c)
Make a wish | Choi San x reader | (f)
I’m never drinking again | Song Mingi | (f) (c)
Castle | Choi Jongho x reader | (c)
Second Place | Kim Hongjoong x reader | (f) (a)
My Healer | Park Seonghwa x reader | (f)
Pastry | Jung Wooyoung x reader | (f)
Haircut | Jung Wooyoung x reader | (f)
Ouch? | Choi Jongho x reader | (f)
SMAUs
tba
Series
Ad Astra per Aspera | ot8!ateez x reader | (f) (a) (m) (s) (c) (k)
Scenarios
New Year’s Eve with Ateez | (f)
Ateez reacting to self harm scars | (f) (c)
Habits you pick up from Ateez | (f)
Helping ateez relax | (f) (c)
Requests
(Closed)
Aster | Choi San x reader | (f)
Hey beautiful! | Park Seonghwa x reader | (f) (c) (a)
Chocolate Sundae | Jeong Yunho x reader | (f) (c) (s)
Say you won’t let go | Park Seonghwa x reader | (f)
Headaches | Choi Jongho x reader | (f) (c)
Rewrite the Stars | Choi San x reader | (f)
Design | Jeong Yunho x reader | (m) (a) (f)
Note: I mostly write for female or gender neutral readers but if requested i can write for others too, requests can be sent through a message or an ask
Hey guys!! i’m sorry to say this but i’m going on an indefinitely long hiatus, because of college, and internships, i don’t really get time to write anymore and whenever i do have free time its mostly spent on job research and stuff, i don’t know if and when i’ll be back but till then i’ll leave this account as it is in case someone wants to revisit my writing.
Once again, i’m sorry for leaving so spontaneously, i will miss all my readers dearly 🥺🥺🥺
Hi! Just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year in advance! 😊
Hi!! A very happy new year to you and to all my other readers too, I apologise deeply for being on such a long haitus ☹️, but I’ll be back soon in the new year, hopefully even before that, with three fics two of which are already written, just have to be edited.
Thank you for being with me during this time…..the readers are the ones that make this all possible 🫶🫶
I've searched up the name of the ig acc you mentioned, but I don't think I found the right one. Could you confirm it to me? I'd love to follow you and see your artwork. 💝
Hii I’m doing ok(ish) and i’m sorry abt it but i deactivated that acc again 😭😭😭 cuz it wasn’t getting as much engagement and i didn’t really have time to upload stuff, but i will restart it soon after end sem exams and then do more networking for it
Synopsis: where jongho and you take a break from city life
Pairing: choi jongho x fem!reader
Genre: fluff
Word count: 1.8k
Warnings: none
Notes: its finally done….over a month later, is it just me or has my writing digressed somehow 😭😭
Main masterlist
The air crackled with the chill of dawn when you slowly slipped out of Jongho’s warm embrace and started to get ready for the trip. The city’s skyline faded behind a veil of mist, the sun barely peeking out from between the high rise buildings, and everything was quiet except for the bubbling of boiling water on the stove in front of you.
You looked up when you heard his footsteps, a slow smile forming on your lips. Jongho leaned against the kitchen door, his black hair sticking up in various directions and his hands tucked into the pockets of his sweats. “You’re up early,” he murmured sleepily.
“You said we’d leave before the sun came up,” you reminded him, pointing to the basket of food you had already prepared.“If we’re doing this spontaneous road trip, we need to do it right.”
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You make it sound like we’re running away from something.”
You grinned. “Maybe we are. From any possible surprise birthday parties.”
Jongho laughed quietly, his nose scrunching up cutely. “Exactly.”
…
The sun had begun to stretch out its own limbs when you climbed into the passenger seat of Jongho’s car, the worn leather creaking softly, all packed for the little trip. He followed, starting the engine, and pulling out of the driveway. The city lights began to blur past as he drove, away from the familiar streets, past the morning street markets, and into the open road.
By the time the horizon began to brighten, you were surrounded by rolling hills and fields glazed in gold. The highway stretched out endlessly ahead, the air crisp and clear.
You glanced at him — one hand on the wheel, the other drumming lightly to the rhythm of the playlist you’d queued. A low ballad filled the cabin, something slow and comforting, and Jongho sang softly along, his beautiful voice blending with the hum of the engine.
“You’re in a good mood,” you said, smiling.
He gave a small shrug. “It’s peaceful. Like this…” He smiled at you “..especially with you.”
You leaned your head against the window. “I’m glad you chose this. I was worried you’d feel guilty about skipping the others’ plans.”
“They mean well,” he said. “But this year feels different, a change of scenery would be nice.”
You understood. You had seen how busy the past months, if not years, had been for him — this was the first time in a while he got a good break. Jongho wasn’t very vocal about his discomfort, but you could always tell when the weight of it started to press on him. He just needed a healing trip, even if it was just for the weekend.
…
The road curved toward the coast by late morning. The scent of salt drifted in through the open windows, and the sound of waves began to break through the soft static of the radio.
You stopped at a small roadside café — the kind with weathered wooden benches and a hand-painted sign. The owner, an elderly woman, brought you hot meat filled buns and steaming mugs of coffee that tasted stronger than alcohol. She asked what brought you both there, and when you mentioned it was Jongho’s birthday, her face lit up.
“Ah, a birthday by the sea!” she said, patting his arm. “That’s lucky. You’ll have calm waters for another year.”
You left with full stomachs and a paper bag of free tangerines she insisted you take. The road from there wound along the shoreline — cliffs to your left, endless ocean to your right. Every so often, Jongho pulled over just to stand and look at the waves.
At one quiet beach, you both slipped off your shoes and walked barefoot on the cool sand. The wind whipped through your hair, and the sea stretched endlessly under the sun.
Jongho stood a few paces away, looking out at the water, his hands in his pockets. The wind blowing through his hair, and for a moment, it looked like he was a part of the scenery.
You walked up beside him, speaking softly. “You change when we leave the city,”
He glanced at you. “Change how?”
“Like you feel lighter, happier,” you said simply. “Like you belong here.”
He smiled faintly. “Maybe that’s why I wanted to come.”
You tilted your head. “To belong?”
“To remember how it feels,” he said quietly.
You didn’t reply — just slipped your hand into his. He squeezed it gently, the corners of his mouth turning up.
…
By evening, you reached the campground — a quiet patch of forest that overlooked the sea. The air smelled of pine and salt, and the sun was beginning to dip low behind the cliffs.
Setting up the tent turned out to be more chaotic than planned.
“Hold that corner—no, the other one,” Jongho said, waving a hand wildly in your direction, crouched on the ground with a tent pole in his hand.
“This thing looks nothing like the picture,” you complained, holding up the fabric like a confused flag.
“Because you’re holding it upside down.”
You gasped dramatically. “Excuse me?”
Jongho laughed, ducking to avoid the half-collapsed fabric. “Okay, okay, my fault. Here—let’s try again.”
After several minutes of tangled wires and lopsided poles, the tent finally stood upright, slightly crooked but still intact. Jongho wiped his hands on his jeans, satisfied.
“It’s not bad,” he said. “A little tilted, but it has character.”
“It looks like it’s seen things,” you joked. “Like it’s been through war. Our perfect castle.”
…
When night fell, the stars came out in full. Jongho had somehow managed to build a small fire, the orange light flickering across his face. You unpacked the small cake you’d hidden in the cooler, setting it on the fold-out table beside two cups and a bottle of soju.
“Happy birthday,” you said softly, lighting a single candle.
He blinked in surprise. “You actually brought one?”
“Of course. What’s a birthday without cake?”
He smiled, staring at you with the firelight dancing in his eyes.
“Make a wish,” you whispered.
He chuckled, closed his eyes and blew out the candles.
You blinked. “That was fast. What did you wish for?”
He leaned back, a small smile playing on his lips. “If I tell you, it won’t come true.”
You nudged him gently. “That’s unfair.”
He laughed, reaching for the cake knife. “You’ll figure it out.”
You shared the small cake between you, sipping soju and talking in soft voices. The worries of the world felt far away, it was just the two of you, the crackle of the fire and the buzzing of cicadas.
Later, you roasted marshmallows, watching them melt and catch tiny sparks. Jongho had borrowed a small telescope from Seonghwa, which was given begrudgingly after a promise of lego to him, and set it up carefully on the small table.
“Seonghwa told me not to drop it,” he said, adjusting the lens.
“Then I’ll stand far away,” you teased.
He smiled, motioning you over. “Come here. Look.”
You bent down, peering through the scope. The stars sharpened into focus, twinkling in the vast velvety night sky.
“It’s beautiful,” you whispered.
He nodded. “It always is. You just forget until you stop long enough to see it again.”
You turned your head slightly, catching the way his gaze lingered on the sky full of awe.
“You really needed this, didn’t you?” you said gently.
He exhaled, eyes still lifted. “Yeah. Lately everything’s been… loud. Even when it’s good, it’s still noise. I just wanted a day where I could hear myself think.”
You sat beside him. “You deserve that.”
He smiled faintly, glancing at you. “And I wanted to spend it with just you.”
You blinked at him. “Really?”
He shook his head. “Yeah. I didn’t want a party, or presents, or attention. Just time — with someone who makes it feel easy.”
He looked at you, eyes reflecting the sparkling stars. “Thank you,” he murmured. “For being here.”
You smiled, leaning gently against his shoulder. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
He didn’t answer — he just shifted slightly so your head fit comfortably against him.
…
Sometime after midnight, everything had gone still. Most of the other campers had retired to their tents for the night, leaving you and Jongho out alone. The stars burned faintly overhead, and the last embers glowed orange in the fire pit. Jongho’s voice stirred you awake as you got closer to falling asleep against him.
“Do you ever think about how fast things have been going by lately?” he asked. “I’m twenty five already, what’s next twenty six?!”
You opened your eyes, and chuckled, shaking your head. “That’s why you have to make every year count.”
He smiled faintly. “I think I did this time.”
You reached over, brushing your thumb over his hand. “We can pretend like time is frozen for a bit then.”
He nodded, closing his eyes. “Yeah…okay.”
You stayed like that for sometime, eventually falling asleep against each other.
…
Morning came as golden streaks lit up the sky. The air smelled of salt and pine, and the world was quiet except for splashing waves saying good morning down below. You woke to find yourself inside the tent, and Jongho already up, crouched near the fire pit out, stirring the ashes with a stick.
“Morning,” you said sleepily, walking out and settling on a chair beside him.
He turned, smiling. “Morning. Coffee?”
You blinked. “You made coffee?”
He lifted two paper cups. “Instant, but it counts.”
You laughed, taking one. “You do too much.”
He sat beside you, both of you watching the sunlight dance on the water. Occasionally looking around at the other campers packing away their things.
After packing up, you stood for a while at the cliff’s edge, the sea stretching endlessly below. Jongho’s hand brushed yours, fingers intertwining without a word.
“Same road back?” you asked.
He shook his head. “Let’s take the long way. I don’t wanna reach back too soon.”
You smiled. “Neither do I.”
He squeezed your hand gently. “Next year,” he said quietly, “we’ll do this again. Maybe somewhere new, but still far from everything.”
You looked up at him, your heart thrumming. “As long as it’s with you.”
He smiled, the sunlight catching in his hair. “That’s the plan.”
And with that, you climbed into the truck once more — this time taking a path through the forest.
You leaned back in your seat, watching the tall trees roll past. Jongho reached over, lacing his fingers through yours again as he drove, his thumb brushing softly across your skin.
Notes: gonna upload as much as possible this week cuz mid sem break (yay) 🥹🥹
Playlist : ash by ateez | dreams tonite by alvvays | passerine by the oh hellos
Series Masterlist | Episode 12 | Episode 10 | Join my taglist!! | Important update!!!
Hongjoong finally moved. He stalked toward the trembling man like a predator stalking its wounded prey. The deck creaked beneath his boots; every sound stretching louder against the silence. He stopped a few feet short, tilting his head as if appraising a curious specimen.
“Tch, tch…” The sound clicked off his tongue. “Such a bold move from such a weak man.”
His gaze raked up and down the traitor, in disappointment and disgust. You could almost see him considering which end would suit him the best. “Tell me now,” he murmured, “what exactly did you tell your master?”
No one breathed. You glanced about and realised that the others had slipped away—likely used to this routine, returned below deck in boredom. Only Seonghwa and Mingi remained, one of Seonghwa’s flickering shadows stationed silently at the helm.
The man’s words spilled out in a rush, his tongue loosening like an unfastened sail. “I—I didn’t know much. Just that a new girl was brought aboard, that she must be important. The ship’s ne’er carried a woman before—Ateez don’t deal in all ‘at business.” He licked his lips, voice cracking. “That be all I told Myung. And that we’d dock near his area soon, sent the letter out when we docked just after raidin’ the slaver. Please—please let me live.”
Hongjoong raised his hand, the man’s rambling cut off with a small flinch, eyes squeezed shut.
He tilted the blade Mingi had thrown, plucking it free from the mast with an unhurried motion and resting its tip against the man’s jugular. “Hmm…” he mused. “Do you even know why we docked?”
“You’re… you’re after the map,” the man almost sobbed. “You want more power. To defeat those who crave greater good.”
Hongjoong’s face twitched—something between contempt and fury. He despised thos who blindly followed the misguided and consumed every blatant lie they uttered as virtue. Without a word he turned away, stalking back toward where you and the others stood.
You caught the man’s shoulders sagging in relief behind him, mistaking the captain’s retreat for mercy. But the smile curling Hongjoong’s mouth was manic again, teeth flashing white in the sunlight.
“You’ve done enough,” he said, voice syrupy and sweet, “now you will climb the rail and jump.”
“What?!” the man screeched, but his own legs betrayed him. They lurched forward in jerky steps. He fought it, clawing at the wooden rail, but still stumbled to the edge, one foot swinging over to the deep end.
Then something huge and slick surged up from the black water. A massive purple tentacle snapped around his torso, hoisting him up like a rag doll. His scream rose to a pitch of pure terror as the coil tightened.
Your head whipped to the side, “where the fuck did that come from?!” you stared questioningly at Mingi, who just responded with an infuriating lazy smile.
You heard the crack of bones; the man’s face turned a mottled blue as breath fled his lungs, and the oxygen couldn’t reach what little brain he had. And then, with a final wrench, the tentacle yanked him over the side. He vanished with a splash and a strangled cry, dragged into the sea.
You had already backed away from the rail, heart hammering, but some awful curiosity drew you forward again. Peering over, you saw only a spreading bloom of dark red unfurling beneath the ship like ink in water.
You swallowed hard and turned away before your stomach could revolt.
“Now, for the rest of you.” Hongjoong clapped his hands once, the sound sharp as a pistol shot. Every head jerked toward him. “Please move to the brig in a single file. There’s no use throwing yourselves overboard or plotting some heroic escape—your fates are already sealed. Mingi, lock them up. We’ll need a little…negotiation material for the sirens later.”
He chuckled, low and amused, as if the idea itself tickled him. Then he sauntered over to Seonghwa, tossing Mingi’s blade back to him without even looking.
The remaining dozen men shuffled toward the lower decks like schoolchildren fearing a reprimand from their teacher, their eyes glazed over with terror. Mingi followed them at an easy pace, fidgeting with his blade as usual. The whole scene would’ve been comical if you weren’t acutely aware of their eventual fate.
You decided to follow him, since you had nothing better to do. Sensing your presence, Mingi slowed his steps until you fell into step with him, the thud of boots and distant creak of timbers filling the silence.
“I know you’re confused,” he said suddenly.
Your eyes widened. You looked up at him and gave a small nod.
“First off, no,” he continued, “we’re not condemning innocent lives. The crew on this ship, the living ones, that is, are all freed criminals accused of heinous crimes. We take ‘em out of military prisons, put ‘em to work, and dispose of ‘em when the job’s done. Can’t risk them blabbing our business to whoever’s payin’.”
“Oh…” Your voice came out small. “That’s uhh…wise?”
Mingi barked a laugh. “Hah, yeah. You could say that. Besides, we’re ridding the world of people who don’t deserve to breathe in it. And don’t worry—Captain always has a plan. He doesn’t act on the spontaneous.” His eyes flicked sideways at you, one brow arched. “Which reminds me, shouldn’t you be with Jongho, working out a strategy for the Land of the Dead?”
“Right. Of course.” You chuckled nervously, peeling away from him at the next stairwell.
You searched the usual places—the main study, Jongho’s cabin, even the kitchen—but no sign of him. Finally, on your way back toward the bow, you caught sight of San. He was leaning against a bulkhead, wiping his palms on a red stained rag. You noticed the same red speckles on his hands and flecks across his shirt. Blood? you wondered.
He glanced up at you as if nothing were unusual. “Looking for Jongho?”
You nodded.
“He likes to sit in the little room at the bow,” San said, jerking his chin toward the narrow passage.
You picked your way toward the bow, boots soft on the planks as the wind funnelled colder around you. A narrow door you’d never noticed before waited at the very front of the ship, half-hidden behind coils of rope and a lantern.
You paused with your hand on the latch. From within drifted music—no, not just music but a voice, sounding not quite human, a melody in an unfamiliar language. It was beautiful but aching with loss.
Something in it clawed at you. It stirred memories you usually kept buried: your grandmother’s death, the day you left your family to pursue navigation as a profession, the smell of fish and salt from your little port village, and the terrors you had faced not long ago. Each image flashed more vividly than it had any right to be, some parts more grotesque than you remembered. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to squeeze out the sudden chill, but the sensations only grew stranger. Shadows of things you hadn’t lived—death, despair, faces you didn’t know—flickered behind your eyelids. It made you want to scream.
Then, abruptly, the singing stopped. A whisper, close as breath, slid through the wood: Someone is here.
Your eyes flew open just as the door swung outward. Jongho stood framed in the dim light of the barren windowless room.
Had that been him singing?
“Why are you crying?” he asked softly. His voice—smooth, low, almost buttery—startled you; you realised you’d never actually heard him speak before.
Your hands rose to your cheeks, meeting the dampness there. “Oh. I hadn’t realised…” you murmured.
“Did you perhaps listen to my singing?” he asked, wide-eyed, his expression almost doe-like. In that moment he looked strangely enchanting, and you found yourself caught by it.
“Come inside,” he whispered, opening the door wider. “Let me explain.”
Hi guys, so i just wanted to talk abt the status of the account since there’s been people asking if I’ve discontinued or smth, well i have not i am still going to update aapa but its going to be a little slow, cuz my workload in college has increased significantly this semester (new electives yada yada) 😭😭, i am also almost done writing a mini series which i will officially announce for 500 followers milestone (i think i’m at 440 rn?) that’s pretty much it for now, as for aapa the chapters will get even shorter even tho i think that shorter chapters feel like they end too quickly and i will try to get back to more regular updates. Also i will update today too so look forward to that ;)
If you have any questions abt me or the acc pls feel free to drop an ask
Notes: we’re up to a major story point now, the interesting things start in the next chapter, we’ll also meet two new characters
Playlist : smb by odetari ft. hongjoong | enemy by imagine dragons ft.jid | selfish waltz by ateez
Series Masterlist | Episode 11 | Episode 9 | Join my taglist!!
Soon enough the nine were gathered in the captain’s study, right next to his personal cabin. You knew exactly what this was about—before dinner you had left both the fragments of the original map and the redrawn one on Hongjoong’s desk, as per his instructions.
The table was lit by an overhead lantern, its soft glow casting imposing shadows on the walls. Hongjoong stood across from you at the round centre table, body language exuding power, but you could notice weariness behind his eyes, it reminded you of the same emotion you saw in Wooyoung’s eyes.
He tapped the map with his finger. “This,” he began, his voice drawing attention, “is the piece of our journey that changes everything. Our next step depends on what’s written here.”
Everyone leaned closer. The map itself was vague, no one able to make out what landform it represented, but the inscription was where all eyes fell.
You cleared your throat softly, taking over the job to explain. “It says… to find a siren who’s lost its song. That same siren will help us through a ‘passage.’” You traced the faint words on the parchment with your finger. “It’s not clear what this ‘passage’ means… or how a siren without a voice could guide us. But… that’s what it says.”
A murmur rippled through the room.
Seonghwa was the one to break it. “The last of the siren tribes were seen around Hell Volhard,” he said plainly, hands clasped behind his back. “Reaching them won’t be easy. Those waters are treacherous, and it will take weeks of travel. That means stopping at Aldol to restock supplies. And…” he paused, flicking a glance at Yunho, “…making repairs. The ship didn’t come out of the storm flashes unscathed.”
At that, Yunho practically whined in distress. “My poor baby she really went through it during the storm.”
Mingi clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder before Yunho could work himself into a frenzy. “Calm down. We can fix her up. The coast town on the Swartz Peninsula will have everything we need.”
Your heart lurched at the name. Swartz Peninsula. That was where they had taken you from the slave trader’s ship. Your hands felt clammy against the edge of the table, the air that went through your nose didn’t seem to reach your lungs. What if that vile man had survived? You never saw his body—what if he was waiting? To hunt you down?
You tried to steady yourself, but dizzying panic ignited like fire under your skin. Your eyes flicked up, just once, to Hongjoong. He was already watching you. He saw it—the shake of your pupils, the way your chest rose too quickly, almost hyperventilating.
“No,” Hongjoong said suddenly, his tone inviting no further argument.
Everyone looked at him.
He pointed to the map, though his eyes never left yours. “That area is no longer safe. We raided the trader there, and word will have spread. We won’t take that risk.”
Your head snapped up fully, wide eyes meeting his gaze. He didn’t look away. There was something softer in his expression, beneath the layers upon layers of iron. Something that almost felt like reassurance.
“Then where?” San asked, leaning forward, brow raised.
Hongjoong finally looked away from you to address the group. “We stop after the Dark Marshes. We’ll restock with the help of your sisters.” His sharp gaze moved between San and Yeosang. His words more of an instruction than a suggestion.
Yeosang gave a small nod. “They’ll help. They always do.”
San grinned faintly, mirth dancing in his eyes. “Last time we interrupted their date, wonder what we’ll be crashing this time.”
You blinked. Sisters? Your web of unanswered questions weaved itself further yet again. How little you truly knew about any of them hit you harder in that moment.
“Then it’s settled,” Hongjoong declared, pushing the rolled up map in a leather cover. “We follow through the Dark Marshes, into the waters of the Pthylinn, and onward to Sttive Lagoon. That’s where we begin the search for the sirens. Jongho stay back, we have something to discuss.”
You wondered what that was about.
“Meeting adjourned,” he said firmly. “Get some rest. Tomorrow will not be any easier than today.”
One by one they dispersed, quiet steps fading down the hallway. You followed, though slower than the others, hoping to catch wind of Hongjoong and Jongho’s conversation, but apparently the room was sound proof.
Back in your cabin, you set yourself down on the edge of the bed, staring at the cold wood planks beneath your feet. Sleep didn’t come easily. Your body ached with fatigue, but your overthinking brain refused to let you relax.
It was much later, after the lanterns had gone out one by one across the ship, that you finally drifted into restless slumber.
…
You woke up to a familiar furry weight draped across your neck. Even before opening your eyes, you knew exactly what it was. A smile tugged at your lips as you shifted, pulling Byeol closer and burying your face in her warm, soft fur. She let out a pleased mewl, tiny paws kneading against your collarbone before her rough tongue rasped gently against your forehead.
For a brief moment, everything felt simple—just you and the cat, safe and content.
But where there was Byeol, there was always her owner.
You didn’t notice San leaning in the doorway until he let out a sudden, loud sneeze. You startled, lifting your head off the pillow with a groggy squint.
“Is it time to train again?” you asked, voice still thick with sleep.
San shook his head. “No. Captain wants everyone on the main deck. Thinks there might be a rat among us.”
You stiffened at that, the words snapping against your heart like a rubber band. Your mind flicked back to the incident days ago, when your presence on the ship had been served to the Guardians on a silver platter.
“I’ll be right out,” you said quietly.
San gave you a nod, turning on his heel. Byeol trotted faithfully after him, tail flicking, leaving you wishing she’d lingered with you just a little longer.
You dragged yourself from bed, washing and dressing quickly in the small private bathroom you’d been given, and then stepped out into the morning light.
The deck was already crowded. Every crew member had been herded into unnaturally straight lines, standing stiff and alert. Clearly their Captain ran the pirate ship like the navy. Hongjoong stood facing them, eyeing each and every man with a gaze that could make even the most nefarious feel nervous.
You slipped quietly toward the far end of the gathering, finding Mingi leaning against the railing. He was idly flipping his switchblade open and shut, the gleam of the steel catching in the sunlight. His gaze flicked to you, boredom evident in his sleepy eyes, before he tipped his chin in a small nod.
“What’s going on?” you asked under your breath.
Mingi twirled the blade once before catching it neatly. “Captain wants to remind everyone what happens to traitors,” he said offhandedly, like he was commenting on the weather.
You found his words a tad bit overkill, as if this was gonna be a mass execution. Right? “Okaayy…” you muttered, eyes sliding toward Hongjoong. When he spoke, his voice carried easily over the deck.
“Has anyone seen someone leave the ship when we docked?” His eyes swept fluidly from face to face. “Or noticed someone unfamiliar aboard?”
A murmur passed through the lines, men shifting uneasily, whispering among themselves. But no clear answer rose above the noise.
Hongjoong’s mouth pressed into a thin line. He exhaled slowly, almost disappointed. “Alright,” he said at last, his tone laced with annoyance. “Since no one wants to make things easier for me.”
Hongjoong gave the smallest nod to Seonghwa at his side. Seonghwa raised one elegant hand, snapped his fingers once—and reality seemed to tear.
About two-thirds of the pirate crew began to lose definition, their skin and clothes draining of color, then of shape, until they were nothing but silhouettes of black smoke. Gasps and shouts broke from the remaining men as the lines crumbled. The smoky forms hissed like dying embers, twisting and curling before sinking into long pools of shadow that slid across the deck and gathered at Seonghwa’s boots. He stood utterly still as the darkness bled upward into him, vanishing into his frame like a living tide.
You stared, heart hammering, the hairs on your arms rising. You had known something was up with the crew, but this wasn’t that “something” you had expected.
“In your places,” Hongjoong said. His tone was almost casual, but it cracked like a whip.
His storm-grey eyes glinted, sharper than any blade. The disarray melted away; men scrambled back into neat ranks as if yanked by invisible strings. Where moments ago there had been a crowd, only a dozen solid crew remained. Some trembled visibly, knuckles white, while others stared straight ahead, their faces waxy with terror, eyes glazed over.
Hongjoong’s mouth curled in a humorless smile. “Much better,” he murmured, voice carrying easily over the deck. “Don’t you think?”
He stepped forward once. “Kneel.”
The single word boomed like a cannon shot. The men dropped to their knees as one, marionettes with cut strings.
“Now,” Hongjoong said, “which one of you informed the Guardians of Aurora’s presence on my ship?” His words rippled across the men.
For a heartbeat no one breathed. Then a man jerked upright like a puppet on a wrong string. “M–me,” he squeaked.
Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed. The man was short, with spindly limbs, a sagging belly and a hand missing two fingers—hardly imposing, hardly memorable.
Silence stretched. Then the man twitched, glancing at the open deck, and tried to bolt.
Beside you, Mingi moved in a blur. His switchblade left his hand like a flash of silver lightning, burying itself through the man’s shirt and deep into the mast behind him, pinning him by the shoulder. The traitor let out a strangled cry, body shaking violently. You caught the acrid stench a moment later—the dark patch spreading across his trousers as he lost control.
Hongjoong laughed manically. “You’re on a ship in the middle of the sea,” he said through his laughter. “What makes you think you could escape?”
His storm-grey eyes flicked to you for a split second, head tilted back, and you saw how dark they’d gone—pupils blown wide, almost black, as if toying with living men gave him satisfaction.
“Did you truly think,” he said, turning back to the pinned man, “or that you could jump into the sea and die on your own terms?” The smile stretching his face was a predator’s. “Don’t worry,” he added softly, without waiting for an answer. “You’ll get to die… but on mine.”
Notes: we’re up to a major story point now, the interesting things start in the next chapter, we’ll also meet two new characters soon
Playlist : smb by odetari ft. hongjoong | enemy by imagine dragons ft.jid | selfish waltz by ateez
Series Masterlist | Episode 11 | Episode 9 | Join my taglist!!
Soon enough the nine were gathered in the captain’s study, right next to his personal cabin. You knew exactly what this was about—before dinner you had left both the fragments of the original map and the redrawn one on Hongjoong’s desk, as per his instructions.
The table was lit by an overhead lantern, its soft glow casting imposing shadows on the walls. Hongjoong stood across from you at the round centre table, body language exuding power, but you could notice weariness behind his eyes, it reminded you of the same emotion you saw in Wooyoung’s eyes.
He tapped the map with his finger. “This,” he began, his voice drawing attention, “is the piece of our journey that changes everything. Our next step depends on what’s written here.”
Everyone leaned closer. The map itself was vague, no one able to make out what landform it represented, but the inscription was where all eyes fell.
You cleared your throat softly, taking over the job to explain. “It says… to find a siren who’s lost its song. That same siren will help us through a ‘passage.’” You traced the faint words on the parchment with your finger. “It’s not clear what this ‘passage’ means… or how a siren without a voice could guide us. But… that’s what it says.”
A murmur rippled through the room.
Seonghwa was the one to break it. “The last of the siren tribes were seen around Hell Volhard,” he said plainly, hands clasped behind his back. “Reaching them won’t be easy. Those waters are treacherous, and it will take weeks of travel. That means stopping at Aldol to restock supplies. And…” he paused, flicking a glance at Yunho, “…making repairs. The ship didn’t come out of the storm flashes unscathed.”
At that, Yunho practically whined in distress. “My poor baby she really went through it during the storm.”
Mingi clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder before Yunho could work himself into a frenzy. “Calm down. We can fix her up. The coast town on the Swartz Peninsula will have everything we need.”
Your heart lurched at the name. Swartz Peninsula. That was where they had taken you from the slave trader’s ship. Your hands felt clammy against the edge of the table, the air that went through your nose didn’t seem to reach your lungs. What if that vile man had survived? You never saw his body—what if he was waiting? To hunt you down?
You tried to steady yourself, but dizzying panic ignited like fire under your skin. Your eyes flicked up, just once, to Hongjoong. He was already watching you. He saw it—the shake of your pupils, the way your chest rose too quickly, almost hyperventilating.
“No,” Hongjoong said suddenly, his tone inviting no further argument.
Everyone looked at him.
He pointed to the map, though his eyes never left yours. “That area is no longer safe. We raided the trader there, and word will have spread. We won’t take that risk.”
Your head snapped up fully, wide eyes meeting his gaze. He didn’t look away. There was something softer in his expression, beneath the layers upon layers of iron. Something that almost felt like reassurance.
“Then where?” San asked, leaning forward, brow raised.
Hongjoong finally looked away from you to address the group. “We stop after the Dark Marshes. We’ll restock with the help of your sisters.” His sharp gaze moved between San and Yeosang. His words more of an instruction than a suggestion.
Yeosang gave a small nod. “They’ll help. They always do.”
San grinned faintly, mirth dancing in his eyes. “Last time we interrupted their date, wonder what we’ll be crashing this time.”
You blinked. Sisters? Your web of unanswered questions weaved itself further yet again. How little you truly knew about any of them hit you harder in that moment.
“Then it’s settled,” Hongjoong declared, pushing the rolled up map in a leather cover. “We follow through the Dark Marshes, into the waters of the Pthylinn, and onward to Sttive Lagoon. That’s where we begin the search for the sirens. Jongho stay back, we have something to discuss.”
You wondered what that was about.
“Meeting adjourned,” he said firmly. “Get some rest. Tomorrow will not be any easier than today.”
One by one they dispersed, quiet steps fading down the hallway. You followed, though slower than the others, hoping to catch wind of Hongjoong and Jongho’s conversation, but apparently the room was sound proof.
Back in your cabin, you set yourself down on the edge of the bed, staring at the cold wood planks beneath your feet. Sleep didn’t come easily. Your body ached with fatigue, but your overthinking brain refused to let you relax.
It was much later, after the lanterns had gone out one by one across the ship, that you finally drifted into restless slumber.
…
You woke up to a familiar furry weight draped across your neck. Even before opening your eyes, you knew exactly what it was. A smile tugged at your lips as you shifted, pulling Byeol closer and burying your face in her warm, soft fur. She let out a pleased mewl, tiny paws kneading against your collarbone before her rough tongue rasped gently against your forehead.
For a brief moment, everything felt simple—just you and the cat, safe and content.
But where there was Byeol, there was always her owner.
You didn’t notice San leaning in the doorway until he let out a sudden, loud sneeze. You startled, lifting your head off the pillow with a groggy squint.
“Is it time to train again?” you asked, voice still thick with sleep.
San shook his head. “No. Captain wants everyone on the main deck. Thinks there might be a rat among us.”
You stiffened at that, the words snapping against your heart like a rubber band. Your mind flicked back to the incident days ago, when your presence on the ship had been served to the Guardians on a silver platter.
“I’ll be right out,” you said quietly.
San gave you a nod, turning on his heel. Byeol trotted faithfully after him, tail flicking, leaving you wishing she’d lingered with you just a little longer.
You dragged yourself from bed, washing and dressing quickly in the small private bathroom you’d been given, and then stepped out into the morning light.
The deck was already crowded. Every crew member had been herded into unnaturally straight lines, standing stiff and alert. Clearly their Captain ran the pirate ship like the navy. Hongjoong stood facing them, eyeing each and every man with a gaze that could make even the most nefarious feel nervous.
You slipped quietly toward the far end of the gathering, finding Mingi leaning against the railing. He was idly flipping his switchblade open and shut, the gleam of the steel catching in the sunlight. His gaze flicked to you, boredom evident in his sleepy eyes, before he tipped his chin in a small nod.
“What’s going on?” you asked under your breath.
Mingi twirled the blade once before catching it neatly. “Captain wants to remind everyone what happens to traitors,” he said offhandedly, like he was commenting on the weather.
You found his words a tad bit overkill, as if this was gonna be a mass execution. Right? “Okaayy…” you muttered, eyes sliding toward Hongjoong. When he spoke, his voice carried easily over the deck.
“Has anyone seen someone leave the ship when we docked?” His eyes swept fluidly from face to face. “Or noticed someone unfamiliar aboard?”
A murmur passed through the lines, men shifting uneasily, whispering among themselves. But no clear answer rose above the noise.
Hongjoong’s mouth pressed into a thin line. He exhaled slowly, almost disappointed. “Alright,” he said at last, his tone laced with annoyance. “Since no one wants to make things easier for me.”
Hongjoong gave the smallest nod to Seonghwa at his side. Seonghwa raised one elegant hand, snapped his fingers once—and reality seemed to tear.
About two-thirds of the pirate crew began to lose definition, their skin and clothes draining of color, then of shape, until they were nothing but silhouettes of black smoke. Gasps and shouts broke from the remaining men as the lines crumbled. The smoky forms hissed like dying embers, twisting and curling before sinking into long pools of shadow that slid across the deck and gathered at Seonghwa’s boots. He stood utterly still as the darkness bled upward into him, vanishing into his frame like a living tide.
You stared, heart hammering, the hairs on your arms rising. You had known something was up with the crew, but this wasn’t that “something” you had expected.
“In your places,” Hongjoong said. His tone was almost casual, but it cracked like a whip.
His storm-grey eyes glinted, sharper than any blade. The disarray melted away; men scrambled back into neat ranks as if yanked by invisible strings. Where moments ago there had been a crowd, only a dozen solid crew remained. Some trembled visibly, knuckles white, while others stared straight ahead, their faces waxy with terror, eyes glazed over.
Hongjoong’s mouth curled in a humorless smile. “Much better,” he murmured, voice carrying easily over the deck. “Don’t you think?”
He stepped forward once. “Kneel.”
The single word boomed like a cannon shot. The men dropped to their knees as one, marionettes with cut strings.
“Now,” Hongjoong said, “which one of you informed the Guardians of Aurora’s presence on my ship?” His words rippled across the men.
For a heartbeat no one breathed. Then a man jerked upright like a puppet on a wrong string. “M–me,” he squeaked.
Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed. The man was short, with spindly limbs, a sagging belly and a hand missing two fingers—hardly imposing, hardly memorable.
Silence stretched. Then the man twitched, glancing at the open deck, and tried to bolt.
Beside you, Mingi moved in a blur. His switchblade left his hand like a flash of silver lightning, burying itself through the man’s shirt and deep into the mast behind him, pinning him by the shoulder. The traitor let out a strangled cry, body shaking violently. You caught the acrid stench a moment later—the dark patch spreading across his trousers as he lost control.
Hongjoong laughed manically. “You’re on a ship in the middle of the sea,” he said through his laughter. “What makes you think you could escape?”
His storm-grey eyes flicked to you for a split second, head tilted back, and you saw how dark they’d gone—pupils blown wide, almost black, as if toying with living men gave him satisfaction.
“Did you truly think,” he said, turning back to the pinned man, “or that you could jump into the sea and die on your own terms?” The smile stretching his face was a predator’s. “Don’t worry,” he added softly, without waiting for an answer. “You’ll get to die… but on mine.”
Synopsis: where mingi carries a drunk you back to your dorm
Pairing: song mingi x fem!reader
Genre: fluff
Word count: 2k
Warnings: drinking?
Notes: Mingi day late fic yey :) (look ik the ending is the same as yunho’s bday fic, and quite rushed, don’t come at me my brain is ded)
Main masterlist
The party was on with full force, Mingi realised that as soon as he got off the elevator. The door to his dorm was wide open—bass pumped through his expensive Bluetooth speakers, someone yelled about making soju bombs, and the smell of takeout pizza and too many colognes and perfumes clashed in the cramped dorm.
Mingi had barely walked in, arms still weighed down with a small tower of reference books he’d picked up from the library, when Wooyoung slapped a party hat on his head, the string snapping against his chin and shouted, “THE BIRTHDAY BOY HAS ARRIVED!”
Laughter, cheers, and a chaotic round of “Happy Birthday” erupted. Mingi didn’t have to force a grin despite the nearing date of his exams hanging in front of him like impending doom, he was grateful and slightly overwhelmed, but then Wooyoung leaned in and whispered, a teasing lilt to his voice, “Oh, and guess who dropped in?”
That caught Mingi off guard. “Who?”
But Wooyoung just wiggled his brows and walked away. Mingi frowned. The room was packed—some friends from the dance team, a few classmates, apart from the usual crowd he hung out with. But then… he saw you. Standing by the kitchen island, talking to a random girl he didn’t know. His stomach dropped.
He wasn’t sure if that was the best birthday gift or a complete emotional ambush.
…
Two months ago
Mingi had wandered into the art building half out of boredom and half because he knew Hongjoong had studio hours there. It wasn’t even his department— sound engineering and fine arts rarely crossed paths unless someone got lost or was looking for a cool elective. But Hongjoong was suffering through a class he regretted signing up for, and Mingi had a two-hour gap between lectures.
It was supposed to be just a quick visit. Tease Hongjoong a little. Steal some snacks. Watch him flail artistically.
What he didn’t expect was you.
Mingi had stepped inside the studio, eyes scanning for his friend, and found Hongjoong hunched over a clay monstrosity. The thing looked like a cross between a zombie and a mythological creature, maybe a minotaur after a bad night of drinking. Mingi had snorted, loud enough that a few students looked up.
He stood back by the door, arms crossed, enjoying the sight. But then…
You were there.
You sat a little ahead of Hongjoong, clay-streaked apron tied snugly around your waist, short hair held back in a ponytail. Your glasses were crooked, like you’d forgotten they were there. And you weren’t sculpting—you were commanding the clay. Your hands moved like you knew the story you were trying to tell. The muscles of your arms flexed as you pressed down, and he watched how you leaned in close to shape delicate swirls of hair on your sculpture.
He didn’t realize he was staring.
Didn’t realize he was smiling.
Didn’t realize he had let out a soft, charmed chuckle when a piece of hair fell from its place and dangled near your face. You pushed it back with a clay-covered hand, accidentally smudging your cheek. You didn’t even notice or perhaps didn’t care. Just kept working.
“Are you seriously staring right now?” Hongjoong’s voice came from behind him, low and unimpressed.
Mingi blinked and flinched. “What?”
“You’re drooling, man.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.” Hongjoong shoved him lightly with a shoulder. “I’ve seen you look at grilled pork belly with less love.”
Mingi flushed, eyes flicking back to you. “She’s… good. Like, really good.”
“You’ve seen her for the first time today?!” Hongjoong said incredulously “but yeah, she is, the best in this class actually, although she can’t pass me in the fashion design studio,” he pointed out, wiping his hands and wrapping his tragic sculpture in wet cloth and cling wrap.
“Why is she in your class?” Mingi asked, still watching you.
“I don’t know, extra credits or something. Someone even spotted her in one of the advanced math classes. You’re probably in that one with her and don’t even know it.”
Mingi tore his eyes away. “No way. I’d have noticed.”
“Would you?” Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, grabbing his backpack. “Come on, lover boy. I’m not letting you stand there like a creep any longer.”
But Mingi didn’t move. His eyes wandered back to you, sculpting quietly, still lost in your world.
Hongjoong sighed dramatically, walked over, and physically grabbed Mingi by the hoodie, dragging him out of the room.
“I swear to god, if you fall for her and bother me—”
“I’m not falling.” Mingi protested weakly.
“Right. You’re already on the ground.”
…
Back in the present, Mingi was staring again. Same helpless feeling, except this time, you weren’t covered in clay—you were in an oversized denim jacket, black tank top, silver rings glinting on your fingers as you held a cup of soda and laughed at something the other girl said.
It was… worse.
Because now, you looked even more unreachable.
“Why are you just standing there?” San appeared behind him. “She’s here, man. Go say something.”
“I didn’t even know she knew anyone here.”
“Hongjoong invited her, she helping him with a sculpture apparently,”
Mingi groaned, “How could he betray me like that?! I’m gonna die. I’m dying. Happy birthday to me, I guess.”
“You’re not dying,” San rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna talk to her. Or I will. And I’ll say you’ve been stalking her across campus.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
Mingi grumbled something unintelligible and turned to look at you again.
Then you looked up.
Eyes met.
Your gaze flicked to the birthday hat, then back to his eyes, and you smiled.
He forgot how to breathe, fireworks exploding in his chest.
You gave him a little wave.
Mingi, the honourable birthday boy, panicked. He raised a hand like a malfunctioning robot and waved back.
San facepalmed behind him.
“Real smooth man, real smooth.”
…
The party continued well into the early hours of the morning. Thankfully, it was Saturday the next day, so Mingi wasn’t too worried. People had started to filter out after midnight, the alcohol finally dragging them toward their beds. Soon, the dorm was quieter—only a few close friends lingering in the living room with soft music playing in the background.
And then there was you.
Mingi spotted you curled up on a clean bed—his bed, to be exact—close to being passed out drunk. His heartbeat immediately picked up at the sight. He stepped closer, hesitating, then crouched and gave you a gentle shake.
Your head snapped up, a lazy, lopsided smile spreading across your face before your eyes closed again.
“Mingiiiii, happy birthdayyy,” you sang, your voice a pitch higher than usual.
Mingi froze, his face flushing scarlet at the realization—you knew his name. Not only that, but you were actually talking to him.
“You should take her back to her dorm,” Yunho murmured suddenly, leaning in with his chin propped on Mingi’s shoulder.
Mingi startled, turning just in time to catch Yunho’s cheeky wink before he strolled back toward the others.
With a deep sigh, Mingi glanced around, hoping to spot one of your friends, but there were none in sight, probably having left in their own drunken stupor. Another sigh left him as he carefully helped you to your feet. Somehow, with great effort, he managed to guide you outside, down the elevator, and out into the cool night.
He wasn’t lost—he knew which dorm was yours. Not in a ‘he’d followed you home’ , but in a ‘a friend of a friend had mentioned it once‘ way. Still, he kept his gaze down as he walked, your hand resting loosely in his.
That was until you stumbled.
“My feet hurt,” you whined, pouting as you tugged on his arm. “Pick me up.”
Mingi’s face heated again. You’d be mortified to know how you’d acted in this state, but right now, you looked impossibly cut…..and your heavy boots did look a bit uncomfortable. Biting his lip, he crouched carefully and let you climb onto his back.
His pulse hammered as you wrapped your bare arms around his neck. The warmth of your body pressed close, your cheek brushing his shoulder. He wondered if you could hear the thundering in his chest.
You weren’t heavy—it was easy for him to carry you—but the weight of your closeness left him dizzy.
They were nearly at your dorm when your head suddenly lifted.
“Ice cream!” you yelled in his ear, squirming to get down.
“Wait—hey!” Mingi stumbled as you scrambled free, bolting toward the glow of the little 24/7 campus mart. You pointed at the store with both hands, bouncing on your feet with childlike excitement.
Mingi’s lips parted in disbelief before he shook his head, smiling despite himself. “Unbelievable…” he muttered, following you inside.
Minutes later, the two of you sat on a bench a little ways from the store, ice cream in hand. You had crossed your legs, leaning against him, still feeling a little woozy from the one too many drinks you had, as you devoured your favorite flavor. Mingi sat stiffly, deep in thought, trying not to focus on the warmth of your shoulder against his.
Then you spoke, completely offhanded.
“You know,” you murmured, licking the sticky remains of the ice cream from your fingers, “I think you’re really handsome. You should be my boyfriend.”
The words hit him like a freight train.
Mingi blinked. Once. Twice. His brain glitched as realization dawned on him.
Before he could respond—before he could even breathe—you slumped into him sideways, small snores slipping out. Fast asleep.
“…what?” Mingi whispered, staring at your peaceful face.
Shaking his head, he carefully shifted you onto his lap, rolling up the jacket he’d taken off and tucking it under your head as a pillow. He sat there, watching you sleep, your words consuming his every thought, surely you hadn’t actually meant anything and he was just reading into things. Without meaning to, he drifted for a while, too.
But as much as he wanted to stay like that, he knew he couldn’t. With a reluctant sigh, he shook your shoulder gently.
You groaned, massaging your temples. “I’m never drinking again,” you muttered, voice hoarse, the glucose from the ice cream and the tiny nap seemed to have jump started your system, the effects of alcohol fading away. Slowly, your eyes fluttered open—making direct contact with Mingi’s.
Your whole body stiffened, cheeks flaming as you scrambled upright. “I—I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”
Mingi cut in with a shy laugh, his own face just as red. “It’s okay. Really. I, uh… carried you here after the party, your friends had left, you kinda made me buy ice cream for yourself. And then…” He hesitated, cringing internally. “You said something. Before you fell asleep.”
Your eyes widened in horror. “…What did I say?”
Mingi cleared his throat, nerves jangling. “That I should be your boyfriend.”
You froze, face burning hotter than before. “Oh my god.” You hid your face in your hands. “That’s… actually why I came to the party. I—I wanted to ask you out…but not like this?!”
You pulled at your hair, trying to hide in the strands around your face, “I’ve seen you around campus and I thought… you were cute.”
Mingi stared at you for a long moment, then broke into a grin that crinkled his eyes. A warm laugh slipped out. “So you were here for me, huh?”
You peeked at him through your fingers, embarrassed. “Well it was technically your birthday so…Yeah.”
“Well then,” Mingi said, scratching the back of his neck, “how about I take you to the campus café tomorrow? For, you know… an actual date.”
Your heart thudded as you nodded quickly. “I’d like that.”
With a small, nervous smile, he walked you the rest of the way to your dorm building. The night air was cool, quiet, filled only with the sound of your footsteps.
At the entrance, you turned to him, cheeks warm. “Goodnight, Mingi. And… happy birthday again.”
Before he could respond, you leaned up on your toes and pressed a shy kiss to his cheek.
Mingi froze, dazed, as you disappeared inside with a small wave.
His hand rose slowly, touching the spot where you’d kissed him. And just like in the studio weeks ago, he realized—he was completely, helplessly gone for you.
Notes: i have taken pieces from various sources but my favouritism towards one piece has started to show TT TT
Series Masterlist | Episode 1
In the beginning, there was only one land—the land of Zaitsev. It stretched across a vast expanse, bordered by mountains that kissed the sky, and oceans that cradled the edges of the world. Zaitsev was a land of abundance, where forests teemed with life, rivers flowed with crystal-clear water, and the soil was fertile enough to sustain the most exotic of crops. Under the rule of the Great King, the people of Zaitsev flourished, living in harmony despite their differences.
The people of Zaitsev were a diverse mosaic. Their faces bore the marks of countless ancestries, their features varied like the colors in a painter’s palette. Some had skin the color of deep earth, others the shade of frosty snow in the sunlight. Hair ranged from the darkest midnight to the brightest dawn, and eyes gleamed like precious stones—emerald, sapphire, amber, and onyx. Their languages were many, their traditions rich and varied, yet they were united under one purpose, one ruler, one land. This unity made the ropes that bound together the land of Zaitsev.
The Great King was a man of wisdom, wisdom that came with age and etched itself into his skin. Under his reign, Zaitsev knew peace and prosperity. Disputes were settled through verse, and the scales of justice held complete balance.
But even in the most peaceful of lands, there are forces that seek to disrupt the balance. That’s when came The Sever
The Sever was not an immediate rupture, but rather very gradual, almost unperceivable unravelling. It began as whispers—rumours of discontent among the people, murmurs of disillusionment with the monarchy. Some said that the Great King had become too old, too distant, that he no longer could give what the country demanded. Others claimed that certain regions were being neglected, their resources diverted to the capital while they suffered in silence. These whispers grew louder over time, but they were dismissed as mere gossip by most. After all, Zaitsev had always been one, always been strong. How could it ever fall apart?
But the seeds of division had been sown, and they began to take root in the hearts of the people. Regional identities, that once held together the nation’s fabric like vibrant threads, began to take on a new significance. People started to think of themselves not as citizens of Zaitsev, but as members of their own regions. The differences that had once been a source of pride now became points of contention. The land of Zaitsev had begun to fracture. Figuratively and literally. Natural disasters were quick to hit. Lakes and rivers became seas and oceans. Mountains grew higher and trenches became deeper.
The Great King, sensing the growing unrest, tried to quell the divisions by bringing the leaders of each region together. He sought to remind them of their shared history, their common bonds, and the strength that came from concord. But his efforts were in vain. The divisions had grown too deep, the grievances too bitter. The Sever was inevitable.
It began in the farthest reaches of the kingdom, in the regions now known as the Northern and Southern Aurora Archipelagos. The people there had long felt isolated, sitting on the very borders, almost ignored by the others. They were the first to break off, as pieces of land that slowly drifted away and formed a cluster, proclaiming that they would no longer be ruled by a distant king who did not understand their needs.
One by one, the other regions followed suit. Hell Volhard, with its rugged mountains and frozen lakes, was next, followed by the fertile plains of Rosenmund. Etard, with its lush forests, and Wolff, with its rolling hills, soon joined. Kischner, Hinsberg, and Levaer, all declared their independence. Aldol, the region closest to the capital, was the last to secede, but it did so with a heavy heart. It was the end of an era.
The land of Zaitsev was no more. What had once been one was now divided into ten—ten regions, each with its own ruler, its own government, its own people. The integration that had been the foundation of Zaitsev was shattered, replaced by a peace that held the fragility of glass.
The Great King, heartbroken by the dissolution of his kingdom, fell into a deep despair. He withdrew from public life, retreating to his palace where he spent his final days in solitude. When he died, there was no grand funeral, no mourning across the land. The regions were too divided, too consumed by their own struggles to care. The king’s death went almost unnoticed, a quiet end to a once-great ruler.
The throne passed to the king’s son, a young man untested and unprepared for the challenges he would face. Unlike his father, the new king lacked the wisdom and patience to navigate the complexities of a fractured kingdom. He was brash, impulsive, and driven by a desire for power. But his actions only served to deepen the furrows that already existed. His attempts to assert his authority were met with resistance from the other regions, who saw him as nothing more than a pretender to a throne that no longer existed.
Chaos reigned. The people looked instead to their regional leaders, the elders who had guided them through the turbulent times of The Sever. These elders, each respected in their own right, became the de facto rulers of their regions. They spoke of the old ways, of the time before The Sever, and sought to preserve what they could of Zaitsev’s legacy. But their visions for the future were as varied as the regions they represented, and there was little consensus on how to move forward.
Of the ten regions, only Aldol remained with a ruler who commanded true authority. The new king, desperate to regain control, focused his efforts on Aldol, using its military strength to assert his dominance. He knew that if he could control Aldol, he could control the rest of the regions. And so, he began to draw the smaller groups into his orbit, offering them protection in exchange for their loyalty. Treaties were signed, alliances were formed, and slowly, the new king began to rebuild his power base.
It was during this time that the Premier Aldolar Council was formed. Composed of the king, the elders from each region, and other influential leaders, the council was established to maintain a semblance of order in a world that seemed to be falling apart. It was a front, a show of negotiation and security. But beneath the surface, tensions simmered, and it was clear that the peace would not last forever.
As life resumed its new course, the people of Zaitsev tried to adapt to their changed circumstances. The memories of the old world refusing to fade entirely. But everything had changed, and there was no going back. The people did what they could to survive, clinging to the hope of a better future.
It was in this climate of uncertainty that a group of dissidents emerged. They called themselves the Guardians, and they were determined to restore the world to its former glory. The Guardians believed that the divisions between the regions were superficial, a product of human foibles.
The Guardians were not content to simply dream of a better world—they sought to create it. They believed that the key to advancement lay in the perfection of humanity itself. If they could eliminate the flaws that led to division—the human emotion. And so, they set out to develop a formula, one that would make humans flawless, unyielding to influence, and capable of creating an infallible society.
The formula was the culmination of years of research and experimentation. It was designed with the purpose of eliminating the weaknesses. Those who consumed the formula would be immune to all emotions that made a human weak. They would be the foundation of a new society, a utopia where Zaitsev was whole once more.
But the Guardians’ vision of utopia did not sit well with the Premier Aldolar Council. The council, already wary of any group that threatened the broken peace, saw the Guardians as a danger to the new order. The idea of creating “flawless” humans was too radical, too unpredictable. The council feared that the Guardians’ plan would lead to even greater conflict, and so they moved quickly to abolish the group. The Guardians were outlawed, their members hunted down, and their research seized by the king’s forces.
The formula, its creation, and its components were taken away from the Guardians. The council feared that the Guardians might resurface, but they kept this concern hidden from the public. To the outside world, the Guardians were a failed experiment, merely a comment in the story. But what the public did not know, and what the media could only wonder about, was that ten people had already consumed the formula.
Among them were the king himself, who had secretly taken the formula in a bid to gain the power he believed was his birthright, and the chief Guardian, who had taken the formula to ensure that the vision of the old world would live on. The remaining eight were subjects from each of the ten sectors—carefully selected individuals who had been chosen to test the formula. They were ordinary people by most accounts: farmers, artisans, scholars, and warriors. Yet each had shown potential, something that set them apart from the rest. After consuming the formula, these eight were set free, their identities kept secret, but not from each other, despite the distance and differences they kept contact in secret.
The decision to keep the formula's success buried was not made lightly. The king and the chief Guardian both understood the implications of revealing the existence of these enhanced individuals to the world. If the truth were known, it could ignite a firestorm of fear and ambition that would plunge the fractured land into further chaos. So, the truth was buried, and the ten who had taken the formula became shadows, their identities known only to a select few.
Despite their enhanced abilities, these individuals did not become the flawless beings the Guardians had envisioned. The formula had indeed bestowed upon them certain extraordinary traits, but it had not eradicated the human flaws.
Among the ten, the king began to notice changes within himself. He became more paranoid, selfish and often lost all reason. He had visions. It was as if his heart harboured all of the worst. He began to see enemies everywhere, even among his closest advisors. The power granted by the formula had come at a cost, and the king was slowly losing his grip on reality. He was forced into solitary, his kingdom depended on the council and the rare moments when he experienced clarity in his thoughts
The chief Guardian wasn’t affected. He didn’t achieve the raw power he had asked for, he wanted more of the formula for himself. He gathered the remaining Guardians who had survived the purge and went underground, forming a resistance against the new king. His mission was one, to get the formula back.
But there was one more who had taken the formula—the scientist who had created it. She was the first to test the formula on herself, driven not by the desire for perfection, but by her unrelenting thirst for knowledge and raw curiosity. She had been a member of the Guardians, though she never fully agreed with their vision. For her, the formula was a scientific marvel, a puzzle to be solved, and she pursued its creation with the same dedication she gave to all her work.
The scientist had not anticipated the impact the formula would have on her. Like the others, she gained extraordinary abilities, but hers were of a different nature. She found that she could perceive the world in ways that others could not, understanding complex systems and seeing connections that were invisible to everyone else. The world became a map only she could read. It was as if her mind had expanded, unlocking new dimensions of the unknown world. She realised that in the wrong hands, it could be catastrophic.
Recognizing the threat, the scientist chose to disappear, taking the original formula and all her research with her. She knew that as long as the formula existed, it would be sought after by those who would use it for their own gain. So, she went into hiding, leaving no trace of her whereabouts. The king, desperate to regain control and fully realising the potential of the formula, ordered an exhaustive search for her, but she was always one step ahead. To this day, she remains the only person who can recreate the formula, and the only one who truly understands its full potential.
With the scientist gone, both the king and the remnants of the Guardians have attempted to replicate the formula, but all have met with failure. Without the original formula and the scientist's expertise, they were working in the dark. The copies they produced were flawed, often with disastrous results. Some led to death or madness, others to physical mutations. The promise of perfection proved elusive, and the failures only fueled the desperation of those seeking the formula’s power.
Meanwhile, the ten who had taken the original formula began to drift apart, each following their own path. Some used their abilities to further their ambitions, becoming powerful leaders or influential figures within their sectors. Others chose a quieter life, hiding their abilities and trying to live as normally as possible. But the formula had changed them, and their lives could never be truly ordinary again. They were marked by their powers, and by the knowledge that they were different.
The king, ever more paranoid, began to suspect that the ten were plotting against him. He saw betrayal in every corner and began to turn on those who had once been his allies. His obsession with finding the scientist and reclaiming the original formula consumed him, leading him to neglect his duties as a ruler. Aldol, the one region still loyal to him, began to falter under the weight of his erratic leadership. The other sectors watched closely, waiting for the moment when they could strike.
As the king’s power waned, the Guardians grew stronger. They had learned from their mistakes, and under the chief Guardian’s leadership, they became a formidable force once more. Their goal remained the same: to reunite Zaitsev and create a flawless society. But their methods had changed. They no longer sought to create perfect humans through the formula; instead, they focused on winning the hearts and minds of the people. The Guardians became symbols of resistance, heroes to those who still believed in the old world. That was until their chief disappeared off the face of the earth.
In the midst of this growing tension, the scientist continued her solitary journey, watching from the shadows as the world she had inadvertently helped shape spiralled into chaos. She knew that eventually, she would be found—either by the king or the Guardians. But she was not ready to reveal herself, not until she was certain that her knowledge would not be misused. She had seen what the formula could do, and she knew that its power was too great to be wielded lightly.
The search for the scientist became a race against time. The king, driven by his fear of losing control, intensified his efforts, sending spies and soldiers across the land. The Guardians, ever resourceful, used their underground networks to track any leads on her whereabouts.
As the tensions between the sectors reached a boiling point, whispers of the formula’s true power began to spread among the people. The story of the ten who had taken it became the stuff of legend, fueling both hope and fear. Some saw the formula as the key to restoring Zaitsev, while others feared that it would bring about the end of the world as they knew it. The media, kept on a tight leash by the king’s regime, could only speculate, but the truth had a way of slipping through the cracks.
In this fractured world, the paths of the eight special beings, the king, the Guardians, and the scientist were destined to cross again. The formula, once thought to be the key to a better world, had instead become fuel for a growing fire. Its promise of perfection was a farce, a false shield, and its true potential was yet to be fully understood. As more people, thieves, high ranking nobles and military officers became aware of its existence the rat race for it became evident.
As the world skittered around the edge of another great upheaval, the paths of all those who had been touched by the formula were bound to converge.
Over a century has passed since the King, plagued with nightmares, ruled Aldol, the crown now sits on the head of his grand nephew, a man of an analytical mind but lacking compassion and sympathy. Guilds of the Guardians remain scattered throughout the continents but since the chief vanished, they have remained largely stagnant. The whereabouts of the scientist and her descendants still remain obscure, but since then have been mostly forgotten about.
The eight subjects have lived their lives and left behind traces of their abilities, passing them down genetically to one of their children and then their grandchildren. The ones that have now grown up and found each other through a chance of fate, and formed an odd band of pirates, each wielding a unique power. They feel an unrest in their bones and pain the earth has felt. They scour the seas, in search of the formula and answers, and to find a cure for their abilities that seem to be cursed by something deep beyond their current understanding.
Notes: end of year exams kicked my ass (hopefully i passed :’)) i’m gonna attempt frequent updates again
Playlist : binary sea by death can for cutie | can’t you see me by tomorrow x together | politik by coldplay
Series Masterlist | Episode 10 | Episode 8 | Join my taglist!!
Seonghwa and Hongjoong soon joined you in the study. The temperature in the room seemed to drop, as they stood behind you while you carefully spread out the freshly drawn map across the worn wooden table. Every line, every tiny annotation, and the strange notes scribbled along the edges in an unfamiliar script were copied down with painstaking accuracy.
Hongjoong’s fingers traced the delicate letters, his brow furrowing. “I don’t understand this language. Do you?” he asked quietly, glancing sideways at Seonghwa.
Seonghwa shook his head slowly. “Maybe we’ll have to hire a translator as well,” he said, his voice low and thoughtful.
Hongjoong grunted in agreement, narrowing his eyes at the text trying to locate familiar words.
Just then, your voice broke through their murmurs hesitantly. “Um, actually…” you began.
They both turned to look at you
“I can read it,” you said with a shrug, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. “My grandmother taught me the ancient language when I was a child, along with a few others. So reading and translating this—“ you gestured to the map, “—comes easy to me.”
Hongjoong stared at you in genuine surprise, blinking blankly at your sudden skill reveal. You might as well have asked for his firstborn.
“Alright then,” Hongjoong said, crossing his arms. “What does it say?”
You stepped around the table and stood opposite him, your finger poised over the first line. “This part here,” you said, tracing the ink with a steady hand, “talks about a siren having lost its song. It’s described as the first test.”
You paused for a moment, “I don’t think any still exist though…”
Seonghwa leaned in, “Yes, they do,” he interrupted you sharply.
You blinked, disbelief clear on your face. “What?” you asked, incredulous.
Seonghwa nodded gravely. “The last few siren tribes have survived, just a handful. They live off the coast of Hell Volhard.”
You swallowed hard, voice quivering. “You mean the Land of the Dead? Going there… finding a siren without a voice… that would be the last thing we do.”
Hongjoong cut in harshly. “Look, unless you have another theory on what the riddle means, what Seonghwa says is our only option. There’s probably another part of the map hidden somewhere in Hell Volhard.”
You sighed, knowing he was right. “Aurora,” Hongjoong said, addressing you directly, “why do you think they call it the Land of the Dead? Ships vanish without a trace. The only explanation—besides the brutal fjord storms—is the siren’s song.”
You nodded, you didn’t like what that implied but unfortunately it made sense.
“Besides,” Hongjoong continued, his tone softer now, “you need not worry. I know who this test is meant for.”
He glanced between you and Seonghwa. “We can’t waste time. We’ll talk more aboard the ship. The others need to be prepared as well.”
You met their eyes and nodded solemnly.
With that, the two left you to pack up the supplies. The journey ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear: your part in this was only just beginning. You still had eight pieces of the map to be found.
…
It took nearly an hour for everyone to finish packing and reassemble in the common room.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting long golden streaks across the farmhouse floor, but there was still enough daylight left to make good progress before nightfall. You would have preferred to wait till midnight to leave, since it would attract the least attention but Captain insisted on returning early, why? You didn’t know.
Bumjoong leaned against the entryway, arms crossed, smiling slightly as he watched how their dynamic had changed since you became a part of the group. The usual tension that lingered around them, seemed to have faded away. Both of Wooyoung's brothers were there too– Kyungmin bouncing on his heels, waving enthusiastically at anyone who glanced his way, and Dongyoung making his way around to help others with their bags.
…
Compared to when you first arrived, there was noticeably more cargo–since the trip had stretched out, thanks to the unexpected chaos Myung had thrown into the mix, not that anyone was complaining now that he'd met his well-earned fate.
This time, you'd been given your own horse. A sleek, dark brown mare with a white stripe down her nose, who had quickly warmed up to you after you bribed her relentlessly with apples and occasionally sugar cubes.
Jihye had told you, laughing, "The way to a horse's heart is through its stomach. Just like men."
You'd taken that lesson seriously. Now, your horse nickered softly whenever you approached, nudging your shoulder, waiting for you to magically conjure up apples.
The only problem now was figuring out how to get on the horse. The extra side bags made it trickier than it looked. You stood beside your horse, staring at the saddle with mild horror. The usual methods seemed... impossible, considering you have never tried them. You tried to lift your foot, awkwardly hopping once, twice, then lowering it back to the ground with a defeated sigh.
Wooyoung, already nearby and chatting with Yeosang about his own horse, caught sight of your struggle. With an exaggerated groan, he excused himself mid-sentence and walked over.
"Need help, princess?" he teased, flashing you a bright grin.
You pouted at him half-heartedly. "Not all of us grew up leaping onto horses like circus performers."
"Lucky for you, you've got me," he said, giving you a dramatic bow.
"Alright, lesson time. See this?" He tapped the stirrup. "Left foot in here first. Hands— here and here." He guided your hands to the saddle horn and the back of the seat. "Then push up, swing your other leg over."
You nodded, following his instructions with your hands as he continued, "And don't worry about the bags. They're balanced to sit lower so they won't knock your knees."
While you checked the straps one last time, Wooyoung continued his conversation with Yeosang, still lingering by your side, casually holding out his hand to help give you a boost when needed.
You reached out automatically, but instead of the solid grip you expected-your hand passed straight through his.
A distorted ripple of shadow flickered where his hand should have been, for barely a second. Like a glitch in reality. Your eyes widened, heart skipping a beat. His hand reappeared mid-air, but now angled differently, as if it had shifted location in the blink of an eye.
"What the..." You instinctively pulled your hand back to your chest, clutching it as your brain scrambled to make sense of what just happened.
Wooyoung's gaze dropped to your now clenched fist, then back to your face. His smile faltered just for a beat. One eyebrow raised in silent question, but he didn't say anything.
You stared at his hand, then up at him. "I... thought….." you began softly, but the words caught in your throat.
"Something wrong?" he asked lightly, giving you a half-smirk like usual, but there was a flicker of worry behind his eyes.
"N-no, nothing. Just... tired, I guess," you murmured, forcing yourself to look away.
Determined not to make it more awkward, you sucked in a breath, reached for his hand again—this time, it was solid, warm… more humane. He clasped yours firmly, bracing you as you stepped into the stirrup and swung yourself onto the saddle.
"See? Easy," he said, releasing your hand once you were balanced. "You'll be a pro in no time."
You forced a smile, but your mind was still stuck on the strange occurrence. That wasn't the light... or was it.
For now, you shoved the thought to the back of your mind-alongside all the other strange things you didn't yet have answers for.
…
Reaching the boats sent out by the ship was surprisingly easy. Your horse, thankfully far more competent than you, seemed to understand the terrain instinctively. It navigated the rocky trail down to the cove with practiced ease, leaving you with only one task—holding on and not falling off.
The sun was dipping below the horizon by the time your party emerged through the trees. The light scattered across the water like molten gold, casting the boats waiting below in a dramatic silhouette.
Two longboats bobbed gently in the shallows, unmanned.
“Where’s the crew?” you asked softly, narrowing your eyes at the empty vessels.
“Not required,” Hongjoong replied offhandedly, already moving toward the shoreline.
You nodded slowly, deciding to not question his actions. You were beginning to wonder if the list of strange things happening around these pirates would ever end. Still, you wanted at least one question answered before the day ended.
Boarding the longboats was done quickly and with minimal fuss. You were grateful for the help loading the additional gear—Seonghwa had brought more supplies than seemed necessary, and Yunho had insisted on buying new blankets for “comfort purposes.”
By the time the boats reached the ship, darkness had settled in completely. The Treasure loomed above you like a floating fortress, its black sails folded neatly and its deck glowing with dozens of small lanterns that lined the railings, giving it an ethereal glow. It looked beautiful from a distance, but you couldn’t help but wonder if the lights might attract the wrong kind of attention.
As your boots touched the wood of the main deck once again, you couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at your lips. You’d hated this ship the first time you were here, wanted nothing but to escape it, even—but something about being back felt oddly… right.
Yunho, however, was having a full-blown emotional reunion. “I missed you,” he whispered dramatically, arms outstretched as he pressed his cheek to the main mast. “Did you miss me? I know you did.”
San snorted. “Should we give you two a minute?”
Yunho shushed him with a wave of his hand and hugged the mast harder. “Don’t interrupt us. This is a sacred moment.”
You rolled your eyes fondly and turned to follow the others below deck.
Apparently, while you were away, your cabin had been moved—no longer a damp, prison-like cell in the belly of the ship, it was now nestled beneath the forecastle. Seonghwa explained on the way that it had been part of the crew’s long-overdue upgrades.
When you finally opened the door, your breath caught.
It was still compact, but it felt more like a real room now. A sturdy desk and chair stood near a much wider porthole window that let in the sea breeze. A proper closet lined one wall, and a small bookshelf—already stocked with a few battered novels and navigation texts—rested beneath it. A heavy trunk sat near the foot of your bed with a real lock and key.
You let out a small, dumbfounded laugh. “This is… actually really nice.”
It took no time for you to begin unpacking your things—placing the compass carefully in the drawer, arranging your new weapons neatly in the trunk, and sliding your few new personal items into their places. For the first time since this adventure began, the room felt like yours.
A bell rang above deck, signaling dinner. The smell of roasted meat and fresh bread drifted down through the corridors. Your stomach growled in response.
In the mess hall, Wooyoung and a few other crewmates had somehow managed to whip together a feast in no time. Even though it was just fresh warm bread so soft it practically melted, and a steaming pot of thick vegetable stew—all of it tasted like something out of a dream. You didn’t bother with small talk. No one did. Everyone was too focused on stuffing their faces like they hadn’t eaten in days.
Between mouthfuls, you noticed a few unfamiliar faces among the crew—some younger, others older. They moved easily through the space, carrying trays, adjusting sails outside, or quietly observing.
You added it to your long list of questions.
…
After dinner, the warmth of the food settled in your belly, but your thoughts remained in disarray. You wandered out onto the main deck, hoping the open air and endless stretch of the ocean would help clear your head. A soft breeze tugged at your sleeves, and the rhythmic sound of the waves against the hull grounded you somewhat. Constellations danced in the sky as the ship moved slowly, replaying their eternal stories.
You found that you weren’t the only one seeking solitude.
Ahead, you caught sight of Wooyoung effortlessly scaling the ropes to the crow’s nest, his figure vanishing into the shadows. On impulse, you decided to follow him.
Climbing, however, proved to be much less graceful on your part. Your arms strained, boots slipped, and your breath hitched more than once as you awkwardly hauled yourself up. When you finally clambered into the circular platform, you all but flopped beside him, earning a small lazy smile but no comment.
Wooyoung nodded in acknowledgment, still looking out toward the horizon. “I suppose you have questions for me?” he asked without turning his head.
You nodded, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “I saw what your brothers can do. It seemed… pretty straightforward. But what about you? What’s the nature of your powers?”
He glanced at you then, something in his gaze unusually grave, and took a deep breath. “Well…” he began, tone softer than you were used to, “to put it simply, I’m a light manipulator.”
You raised your brows in interest, silently prompting him to go on.
“I attract light,” he explained, “as well as shadow—and I can bend both to my will. Like this.” He flicked his fingers, and with a shimmer, his hand vanished before reappearing a second later. “Light can be powerful—sometimes even more than fire if wielded correctly.”
You watched closely as he spoke, the playful edge usually present in his voice now dulled to something more earnest.
“If light is concentrated into one place, it's dangerous. It can blind someone. Or…” he hesitated slightly, his jaw tightening, “It can make them burn.”
The final word landed heavy in the silence between you. He exhaled and shook his head, as if trying to physically shed the weight of his own explanation.
“But the other side of my power,” he continued, “lets me blend into shadows or bend light around me, making me disappear—good for sleuthing, sneaking around… spying.”
“Interesting,” you murmured, the science behind holding such a power inside, fascinated you. “Do you think there’s more? Things you haven’t discovered yet?”
Wooyoung smiled faintly, eyes unfocused. “Of course. But I think—no, I know—the greater the power, the greater the curse it brings. A balance of sorts.”
You tilted your head. “A curse?”
He nodded. “My dad used to say nothing in nature exists without balance. When you’re given something powerful, there’s always something else to stop you from abusing it. A limit, written into your very being. I don’t think many people understand that.”
You thought about that for a moment before asking quietly, “And for you? What’s your limit?”
His gaze finally shifted to meet yours, and the smile that followed was laced with quiet tragedy. “The possibility of disappearing forever.”
You blinked. “What?”
“When I use my power, I absorb pure energy—the kind that makes up light itself. Every time I do, my physical form weakens. I… waver,” he said, flexing his fingers as if trying to grasp at his own human shell. “Sometimes, I don’t fully return to my original form. You saw it earlier. My hand… glitched. Became shadow, then light. Not fully there.”
Your eyes widened. So you had seen it. You’d thought it was just a trick of exhaustion.
“Sometimes,” he added, staring up at the stars, “I feel like I’m just an illusion—a trick of light and shadow. Something that used to be human but is slipping into something else entirely. One day… I may just dissolve. Fade out. Like the light I command.”
The wind stirred between you. You stared at him, realizing—perhaps for the first time—how deeply intelligent and layered he truly was. Beneath all the flirty remarks and smug grins lived a man who carried fear, knowledge, and burdens of his own.
“I’ve accepted it…we all have” he said after a moment, voice low. “Unless there’s a way to stop it, it’s just… part of my path.”
You opened your mouth, unsure of what you were going to say—comfort him? Thank him for sharing?—but you didn’t get the chance.
“Hey lovebirds!” San’s voice rang out from the deck below. “Get down, the captain’s calling a meeting!”
Your face flushed instantly. “We’re not—!” you called back, but your voice faded into the wind.
Wooyoung turned to you with that familiar, mischievous grin, as if the past ten minutes hadn’t happened at all. “Well, you heard him.” He held out his hand. “Let’s go, princess. Duty calls.”
You grasped it, vowing to know more, to find an end, a cure, to the despair behind the light.
Notes: Happy (late) San day!! There will be a day when i post on time :’) the writing seems a little off i know :(
Main masterlist
You stared out the airplane window as the lights of Atlanta sparkled beneath the clouds. Your heart pounded in sync with the soft hum of the engine, nerves and excitement dancing through your veins.
It had been too long.
Despite living in the same city, you and San had barely seen each other the past few months—his comeback preparations, tour rehearsals, and your absurd work schedule had pulled you apart. Texts and late-night calls weren’t enough anymore. You missed his warmth, his laughter, the way his eyes lit up when he talked to you about anything and everything.
So when you saw that his birthday coincided with Ateez’s tour stop in Atlanta, you did what anyone in love and desperation would do.
You flew across the world.
You’d coordinated everything in secret with Ateez’s manager and the KQ staff weeks in advance. VIP concert tickets, a backstage pass, a small but beautiful cake from a local bakery—they’d help you along the way, knowing how much San had missed you. You had one week off from work. You were going to spend it with him, starting today.
And he had no idea.
…
The venue was buzzing with excitement. The bass shook the floor as thousands of fans jumped and screamed, lightsticks flickering like stars. You stood in the VIP pit, masked and hooded, careful not to draw attention. Even with half your face covered, San kept glancing your way during certain songs.
His brows furrowed slightly. A flash of confusion. A half-smile. You ducked your head and laughed under your breath.
“He totally suspects something,” one of the staff near you whispered.
“Only if he connects the dots,” you murmured. “Let’s hope he’s too distracted.”
You watched him pour himself into every movement, melting easily from intense performances to singing softly during the more lighthearted moments. Your chest swelled with pride. This was your San—magnetic, powerful, alive on stage.
But you also saw the fatigue behind his eyes.
The ache to hold him close grew.
…
After the final ment, as the crowd erupted in applause and confetti rained from above, you slipped out quietly with the help of staff. While the boys bowed one last time, you made your way backstage, heart pounding as you held the small birthday cake in your hands.
You stood just outside the dressing room area, hiding in the shadows with a few stylists and managers who were in on the surprise. The other guys came down first, sweaty and exhausted but still on the post-concert high. Hongjoong spotted you immediately.
He grinned and raised a brow. “You sure you don’t want to call him over now?”
You held up a finger. “Let him come to me.”
Seonghwa chuckled softly beside him. “He might actually miss you entirely, you know.”
“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Wooyoung muttered, watching the entrance.
Right on cue, San walked in—head down, towel over his neck, dabbing his face with tissues. He looked utterly drained.
“Can I have some water?” he asked no one in particular, still patting his forehead.
You had to press your palm to your mouth to keep from laughing.
He walked right past you.
Wooyoung stared at him, incredulous. “No way.”
Yunho didn’t hesitate. With a shake of his head, he stepped forward and grabbed San by the shoulders, spinning him around gently.
“What—” San began, confused. And then he saw you.
Your mask was off. Your smile was crooked like always. And your eyes twinkled the way they always had—for him.
He froze.
“Happy birthday,” you said softly.
San’s breath caught. The towel dropped from his hands. “No way. No—”
You barely had time to hand off the cake before he lunged at you.
He crushed you in his arms, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around, burying his face in your neck. His body shook slightly, and you felt his lips pressing frantically to your skin—your cheek, your jaw, your temple, everywhere he could reach.
“I missed you. I missed you so much,” he whispered between kisses.
You laughed, your arms wrapping tightly around his back. “Happy birthday, San.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his face flushed, eyes damp but glowing. “You’re really here?”
You gave him a dazzling grin, “Surprise.”
He kissed you again—slower this time, deeper—and then leaned his forehead against yours, breathing hard.
“This may be the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten.”
“I’ll have to up my game next year then.”
He laughed at this, his chest vibrating against yours.
“Oh the cake!” You turned and took it back, now with a few candles on it, holding it up carefully as the team and staff started singing.
San’s smile stretched across his face. He looked at you like you hung the stars just for him.
He blew out the candles, and you whispered, “Make a wish.”
His gaze didn’t move from yours.
“It already came true.”
…
The little celebration that followed was chaotic in the best possible way. The boys tore into the cake, staff handed out food, and someone had even brought balloons, one of which had somehow been tied to the back of San’s clothes. You all sat on the dressing room sofa, eating and laughing, limbs tangled and bodies leaning against each other.
San never let you go too far.
You caught him staring at you multiple times.
“What?” you finally asked, smiling mid-bite.
“I thought I forgot what your face looked like,” he whispered, “but I didn’t. I could draw it with my eyes closed.”
You reached out and squeezed his hand. “I missed you too.”
…
Later, after the partying mood had dwindled and the boys had filed out one by one—Hongjoong mumbling about editing something even tonight, Wooyoung begging for late-night fried chicken, Jongho dragging him away—you and San returned to the hotel together.
You sat beside each other in the van, his warm hand wrapped around yours, your head on his shoulder. He didn’t say much. He didn’t need to.
In the room, once he’d showered and changed into soft pajamas, he crawled into bed beside you and pulled you into his chest like he was afraid you’d disappear.
“I keep thinking I’m dreaming,” he murmured, his lips brushing your hairline. “Like I’ll blink and you’ll be back in Seoul again.”
“I’m here for the week,” you whispered. “I needed this too, you know. Being apart… it sucked.”
He nodded, rubbing your back gently. “I hated it. Every night I’d come back to the dorm or the hotel and look at my phone, hoping you’d be free to call. I missed everything—your voice, your laugh, your rants about your weird coworkers.”
You snorted. “They’re not just weird, they’re also dumb. One of them microwaved foil last week.”
San chuckled, his voice sleepy and low. “God, I missed this.”
You shifted closer until your legs tangled together under the covers. “I’ll be here every day this week. You can rant about the tour to me. I’ll even take notes.”
“Deal. And then when you go back, I’ll fly to Seoul for the weekend, no matter where we are.”
You looked up at him. “Promise?”
He leaned down and kissed your lips, soft and lingering.
“Promise.”
You lay like that for a while, limbs entwined, breathing slow and in sync. The room was quiet except for your occasional laughter and his random, sleepy murmurs.
“I still can’t believe you flew all the way here.”
“You think I was gonna let your birthday pass without seeing that ridiculous cute face of yours?”
He grinned. “You really are the best.”
You shrugged playfully. “Well, I do aim to please.”
He buried his face into your neck again. “I love you.”
You smiled, eyes fluttering shut.
“I love you more.”
…
The last thing you remembered before sleep took you was the rhythm of his heartbeat next to your ear and the warmth of his arms around you—like you got everything you’d been missing back finally.
thank you for signing up and reading the rules carefully, please reblog this post and tag the network at the end of your works so we can view it and reblog the post! congratulations to the first set of members, we will still accept any new applications until july 10th !
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after, use the tag “🔍 ─── 𝐂𝖱𝖮𝖬𝐄𝖱 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐒’” in your works or simply tag the network at the end of it. the second keyword is “treasure”.
