#as if I could feel it if I walked where he had danced.

[i-dared-myself]

Skirt War

Requested by anonymous: Could I req a fic with the stray kids' ninth member being put in a short dress/skirt (you know those that don't look like it'll ride up if you move but it does and its annoying af??) for a performance with a dance dance - that she has to move around a lot and then she keeps trying to pull the skirt down but that piece of shit just keeps going back up. And she spends the whole performance playing tug of war with a bunch of fabric trying not to be indecent and humiliated. And backstage she feels shit bc she couldn’t dance well and looked pathetic and she's disappointed and frustrated and embarrassed and yk. Idk if this is understandable anymore

“Wow, Felix,” you say, “you look really good! The stylists worked really hard with this new set of outfits.”

Felix hums his agreement, adjusting his gloves. “Where’s yours?”

You glance down at yourself. You’re still in your normal clothes. “Ah, they haven’t called me back yet. I think they’re finishing with Seungmin now.”

Felix makes a small sound of understanding, reaching up to touch his hair. He stops himself and drags his hand back down to his side. “Should I dye my hair soon?”

You shrug. “Do you want to? Is your hair even alive at this point?”

You hear someone softly call your name, and turn before you head Felix’s response. A staff member is waving you over as Seungmin and Jisung walk by.

“Looking good,” you compliment them, smiling brightly. You’re excited for what you’ll be wearing for the performance.

So you’re handed the set of clothes that you change into. You don’t even get a chance to look at yourself in a mirror before you’re whisked away for makeup and hair.

You eventually step out, joining the others. It seems as if everyone else has finished with their own styling, and everyone looks great.

There’s one tiny little problem, though.

Your tiny little skirt.

Your shirt is amazing, and you can’t disagree with the fact that you look hot in it. But the skirt is as small as they get. You’re amazed that you’re even allowed to wear it.

You’re fairly certain it’ll stay in place during thr performance, but you really don’t want to take chances. So you do an experimental twirl, heart sinking when the skirt instantly flies up.

Hyunjin recoils when he sees you. “What the-“

“Watch it!” Chan warns, narrowing his eyes. He faces you, eyes widening. “Oh. Oh boy.”

You tug the material down, fiddling with it anxiously. “Is it that bad?”

Jeongin is averting his eyes, which does absolutely nothing to make you feel better. “Nope. It’s totally fine.”

“Did they ask you about this?” Minho frowns deeply, glancing out at the crowd between the curtains. The sound check is almost complete, so you’re running out of time to deal with this.

“No. I wasn’t aware that I’d be wearing this.” Your hands tremble. You feel sick with how short it is. You half believe you’re at risk of your most intimate areas just being on display.

Seungmin grunts a little. “Want my sweater? To tie around your waist?”

You consider it for a moment before shaking your head. “Maybe later. I don’t want it to look like I’m disrespecting the stylists.”

“But it’s fine!” Jisung assures you. “These aren’t our usual stylists, and they don’t know our boundaries.”

“But we also don’t want to start something with this event,” you point out. They stylists had come with the gig, and you didn’t want to disrespect them if you didn’t usually work with them. It might ruin any other opportunities.

“Positions, everyone,” Chan suddenly says. He gives you a pitying look as everyone files into their assigned places. “You’ve got this.”

You’re not as confident as he is, but you force a smile. You tug the skirt down one last time before bounding out onto stage.

The music starts up and you begin to dance. Every movement that involves legs (pretty much all of them) has the skirt flipping up. Felix is behind you for the beginning, and when you catch a glance of his face it’s bright red.

You miss a hand gesture because you’re adjusting the fabric again, and your stomach tumbles. The media is going to have a field day with this. Everyone is going to be talking about how unprofessional you are.

Positions are swapped, and then you’re next to Changbin. He turns his gaze away to be respectful, but it just reinforces the idea in your head that the outfit is bad. That you’re indecent.

You blink back tears as you stumble over yet another move, too busy holding the skirt down to make it to the next spot in time. You’re falling behind, mind focused on your decency and not the dance.

Then your lines come, and your voice cracks. You’re lucky enough that you don’t have to hold your microphone up, because you honestly don’t have a spare hand.

It comes to an end, and you all bow. You walk off stage, perhaps the most humiliated that you’ve ever been.

Changbin loops his arms around you, tying his sweater around your waist. You mutter your thanks and wrench your headset off. 

“Hey.” Chan gently grabs your arm and steers you back to the group. “Let’s talk about it.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” You keep your head ducked, gaze locked on the floor. Your throat burns and you’re struggling not to cry.

Jeongin comes up behind you and rests his chin on your shoulder. “I think you did great.”

You shove him away. “Well I didn’t! I sucked because of this stupid skirt! I let it get in my head, and now everyone’s going to be talking about it!”

Minho sits on the ground and takes your hands in his. He gently pulls you down to his lap and lets your cry against his chest. “Yeah, it wasn’t your greatest performance.”

“How is that supposed to help?” Jisung hisses out.

“But Stay loves you no matter what. And if they don’t, they can go suck it.” Minho strokes your hair. 

Chan clears his throat. “I might not have said it in those exact words, but he’s right. And from now on, I’ll make it clear to our managers and staff about our boundaries. Including those that we work with for the first time.”

You hiccup between tears, burying your face further against Minho. “Really?”

Chan hums. “Absolutely. And we have time to change before our next song, so why don’t you go to the stylists again?”

You sniffle and push yourself out of Minho’s grip. Seungmin gives you a reassuring smile as you wander off.

“Excuse me?” you hesitantly say as you approach one of the stylists. “Would it be okay if I got a different skirt? Or maybe some pants?”

He tilts his head, nose wrinkling. “Why? Is there a problem with it?”

“Uh, it’s just that-“ You toy with the material as you try and find the correct words. You don’t want to insult the man. “Dancing in this is very difficult. I don’t feel comfortable in this.”

He smiles mockingly. “Oh, really? Well it’s fine. It’s not even that short.”

“I just danced in it and it didn’t go that well.” You’re aware that you’re running out of time. You need to hurry up. “Can you please just direct me to-“

“Have you considered that maybe it’s just your skill?” he interrupts. He sighs and shakes his head, turning away. “But fine. I could find something else.”

You swallow thickly as you follow him.

Is it actually your own fault? Are you just not a talented enough dancer for these clothes? 

“Is this good enough for you?” The stylist holds up a new set of bottoms, and you wince. It’s even smaller than the one you’re currently wearing.

“Ready yet?” Jisung comes sliding in, eyes widening at the skirt being held up. “Wow, that’s small.”

“Uh, almost,” you weakly tell him.

Jisung’s eyes catch on your face and trembling bottom lip. His arms shoot out to wrap around you, and he pats your back. “It’s okay!”

“Are you wearing this or not?” the stylist snaps. 

“No, she’s not.” Jisung tightens Changbin’s sweater on your waist. “She’s wearing this and we have to go now, since we’re on in less than a minute. But I’ll be telling Bang Chan about you.”

The man pales. Having an idol complain about you was pretty much a death sentence, especially when that idol had as much influence as Stray Kids.

Jisung grabs your hand you the two of you dash out onto stage. You burst out and join the rest of the members, just in time for the music to begin.

This time it goes smoother. The sweater gives enough weight to keep the skirt down, and you’re able to focus on the dance. Your movements are fluid and well-executed, and you know even Hyunjin would be proud.

When you go backstage, you feel mildly more confident. You take a swig of your water bottle as Jisung tells Chan about the stylist.

Jeongin huffs, overhearing the conversation. “What an asshole.”

Seungmin hums his agreement. “A real dick.”

Chan holds up his hands. “Let’s watch the language, everyone. We’re professionals at work.”

Changbin snorts. “Right. If he’s a professional, why did he basically humiliate her?”

Felix hooks an arm over your shoulder. “It’s okay, I bet Minho will screw up soon and everyone will forget about today.”

Minho makes a sound of protest, narrowing his eyes. “Why me?”

Hyunjin wipes the sweat off his forehead. “Relax, it’s just an example.”

Chan calls the stylist over, who appears vaguely nauseated as he steps closer. He bows briefly to Chan before his eyes flick to you for a fraction of a second.

“I heard you had a bit of an issue with one of my members?” Chan blandly asks. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this angry. “Were you the one who put her in that skirt? Were you planning for her to humiliate herself and get kicked out of the industry?”

“Yeah!” Jisung cries out. He’s immediately silenced by Minho.

“S-Sorry,” the man mutters. “I just- I’m sorry.”

“No, no, continue.” Chan arches an eyebrow challengingly. “You just what?”

“Bet he just wanted to see her in it,” Seungmin drawls. “Is that it?���

A bead of sweat rolls down the stylist’s forehead. “Well- It wasn’t that short!”

“Would you feel comfortable wearing it?” Felix chimes in. “Because I thought it was pretty short.”

“Guys,” you say. “Let’s just go home. I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Poor thing.” Hyunjin pats your head. “Wanna eat a whole bunch of ice cream with me?”

“Maybe,” you slyly say, walking with him to the van. You ignore the sounds of Chan still scolding the man. 

“If you ever need my sweater again, just ask.” Changbin comes up from behind you to poke at the fabric of the borrowed clothes. 

“Are we just stealing these?” Jeongin questions once everyone is in the van. Everyone is also still in the performance clothing. 

Chan frowns. “Oops.”

Taglist:

@velvetmoonlght @jinnie-ret

[solxamber]

Hello, Sol! For the Valentine's Event, I'd like to request the following: [Lilia, romantic, "Lovesong" by The Cure]

Here's a lyric video for the song!

Thanks a lot for making this event ^^

Lovesong || Lilia Vanrouge

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Lovesong by The Cure

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 600

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Established Relationship

Lilia Vanrouge has seen the world shift and change before his very eyes. He has walked across battlefields soaked in crimson, has stood before kings and warlords with unwavering resolve.

He has fought, he has won, he has lost. He has been the shadow that haunted enemy lines, the whisper of fear on the wind. He has been a protector, a guardian, a father.

He has lived a life that should have turned his heart to stone.

And yet, with you—

With you, it softens.

When you speak his name, when you look at him like he is not just the remnants of a past era but someone worthy of love, he feels something unfamiliar stir in his chest. Something warm, something light. Something that feels like home.

When you greet him with a kiss, a soft press of lips against his cheek, he feels a kind of magic that no spell could ever replicate. He feels whole in a way he had forgotten was possible.

You do not ask him for stories of the past. You do not seek to unearth the ghosts he has long since buried. Instead, you stand beside him in the present, laughing as he tugs you into a spontaneous dance, twirling you through the air as if you weigh nothing at all.

You let him pull you into his world of whimsy, and you do not mind when he drags you into harmless trouble.

And oh, how he adores you for it.

He does not tell you this outright, of course. Where would the fun be in that?

Instead, his love spills out in other ways.

It is in the way he always finds a reason to brush his fingers against yours, fleeting and electric. It is in the way he watches you when you aren’t looking, a rare softness in his gaze, a smile just shy of wistful on his lips.

It is in the way he always comes back to you, no matter where he has wandered.

He has never been one to stay still for long. He has lived his life moving, changing, slipping through the cracks of history like a shadow. He has left behind places, faces, names—because that was simply how things were.

But you—

You make him want to linger.

You make him want to carve his name into time, to exist, to stay, to love.

And so, when he rests his forehead against yours, laughter still lingering between you both, his voice drops into something softer, something lower.

“I do hope you know,” he murmurs, “that no matter how many lifetimes I may live, no matter how many places I may see… I will always find my way back to you.”

It is as close to a confession as he will allow himself to make.

But you do not need words to understand.

You already know.

You smile, reaching up to cup his cheek, and his eyes flutter shut at your touch. There is something achingly gentle in the way you hold him, something that makes his heart clench with a feeling too vast to contain.

He has lived for centuries. He has seen war and peace, love and loss, the rise and fall of empires.

Lilia has spent a lifetime wandering, a lifetime saying goodbye.

But for you—

For you, he lingers.

He will always keep a part of you with him.

And when he whispers in your ear, voice soft with something unspoken, you do not need to hear the words to know their meaning.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[mommynott]

Locker Room Relief

Theodore Nott x Reader

Summary: Filled with anxiety before a big game, you help Theo…relax and release some tension👀 This is my hockey!theo series. If you haven’t already, check out pt.1 & pt.2!

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, MDNI, chars 18+, modern au, pro hockey au, hockey!theo, dom!theo, semi-public, oral, blowjob, throatfucking, praising, degrading, dirty talk, teasing, swallowing, dom&sub, slight slapping, Theo destroying our throat

Saturday night had arrived and you were eager to head to Theodore’s game. He invited you to come watch him play stating nothing would make him happier. Between the texts and hangouts, you were growing more and more feelings toward the Italian.

Walking into the ice arena, the crowd was roaring and the bleachers were packed. But that’s when you recognized one of his friends approaching you. Enzo or Lorenzo. Something like that.

“Hey…Nott is kinda��In his head or somethin’- you mind talking to him?” Enzo asked through a heavy breath as he approached you. Concern washed over your features. You were aware this was a pretty big fucking game. “Uh…Yeah, of course. Where is he at?”

The second you asked the question Lorenzo nodded his head toward the locker rooms. Not waiting for another second, you stormed off toward the door and entered the locker room. “Theo? Hello? Are you in here?”

Walking deeper inside the dimly lit locker room, the sounds of the massive crowd were muffled now. Then you saw him, sitting on a bench with his face slammed into his palms. His leg bounced against the concrete floor.

“Theo…Oh, sweet thing…What’s wrong?”

Whispering out your words, you approached the Italian. Kneeling between his legs you removed his hands from his face. Your eyes locked on his and that’s when you could see it. Nervousness. Anxiety. Worry.

“Fuck…I don’t know- Our opponents…They’re definitely fuckin’ good-“ Theo’s tone was shaky, and you gave him a sympathetic smile. Nodding your head as you took his strong hands within yours. “Hey- it’ll be okay. You’re a fucking great player! I know you’ll do an amazing job…”

Your smile grew a bit as a grin tugged on Theodore’s lips. He let out a low chuckle and kept his ocean gaze on yours. “Thank you, amore…I’m just so damn nervous…” His Italian accent rolled off of his tongue while he glanced away for a moment.

However, an idea struck you. Perhaps not the best but it would definitely give him some kind of encouragement. “Well…I can help…give you some luck—“ A giggle freed between your lips as you fell to your knees, your hands tracing down to his pants.

Theodore raised a brow while a sly smirk danced on his face. “Oh? Some luck you say, huh?” His voice now low and dangerous, you bit down on your lower lip as you shimmed off his pants and boxers.

His throbbing erection popped out as he leaned back on the bench and a little gasp released your lips. “See…Let’s get rid of some of this tension, baby…” A seductive whisper, you wrapped your hands around his massive cock.

Slowly stroking it as first, Theo groaned, wrapping your hair up in a ponytail as he pushed you closer to his length. “I really…really need that release, Cara Mia- Fuck—“ Giggling at his words, you didn’t make him wait much longer. Kissing his precum-stained tip, teasing Theo, his grip on your silky hair only tightened. “You and your teasing…Imma destroy that pretty throat of yours-“ Wetness pooled between your thighs while you spread your lips, slowly taking in his cock.

Gazing up at Theo with submissive doe eyes, he felt as if he could explode in your mouth right then and there. Bobbing your head faster by the second, he tilted his head back. Taking in all of the pleasure.

“Faster- open up that pretty throat of yours, amore—“

Through his more spastic moans, you obeyed, trying to relax your throat muscles. However, the moment you did, Theodore wrapped his other hand in your locks before going to town and thrusting himself in your mouth.

Tears welled up in your eyes while he mercilessly fucked your throat, feeling as if it was spreading for his length. Sure as hell wouldn’t have a voice after this. All in all, you fucking loved it. “Dick-sucking slut— Huh? My dick-sucking slut— Fuck…that throat feels too damn good-“

The degradation, the praising, you swore you could finish from that alone. Taking his entire cock down your throat, you managed to keep your gaze on his. And Theo’s view?

Mascara dripping down your face, glossed over submissive eyes. He could hardly contain it. —Slap!- With a quick flick of his palm, he swatted across your face but only slightly, his smirk growing. “Such a mess for me aren’t you, Tesoro?”

Taunting you as he drilled down your throat you managed to muffle a moan “-Mmhmmmm—“ Enjoying every second of this. Suddenly, you could feel Theo’s cock twitching between your throat.

“-Cazzo— Imma…Imma cum down that pretty throat…You better swallow every last drop, got it?”

He spoke through his intense panting while you managed to nod your head. After a few more thrusts, Theo jolted, a loud growl emitting from his chest. Feeling his warm sticky cum coat all over your throat and of course, swallowing every bit of it.

That doe-eyed gaze remained up on the player, he slowly pulled out of your mouth and took his thumb to whip some drool from your lips. “Gods— You’re fuckin’ amazing, amore…” Breathing out, he pressed his lips softly to yours and helped you up.

“Did that help?” You asked him through a soft giggle while he grabbed a clean towel and helped wipe up and clean your face. “Oh…It sure as hell did, Tesoro-“ Smirking, he chuckled lowly and gave you one last kiss.

You both walked slowly toward the door of the locker room. The crowd still going wild. Theo looked back at you once more and shot you a cheeky winky that made your heart flutter.

“You’re my good luck charm-“

Ahhhh part three!!! I hope y’all enjoyed hehehe I can’t wait for more hockey!theo🫦

Divider linked in my masterlist🌙

Love my naughty nymphs💋✨

[skzdust]

Take From Me, Leave Nothing Left

SMUT. MINORS DNI.

This fic was an anonymous request (here)! Thank you to the requester and I hope you all like it! I had so much fun writing it teehee

Title is from "Hypnosis" by Sleep Token!

Summary: You've been texting Seonghwa all day, and when he gets home, he's about to show you how mean he can be.

Pairing: Park Seonghwa x afab Reader

Includes: overstimulation, nipple play, vibrators, dildos, gagging, needy texting, creampie, pleaseeeee practice safe sex irl!

Word count: 1.7k

Taglist (Comment on a post/send an ask if you'd like to be added): @weirdowithaphone, @caught-in-the-afterglow, @palindrome969, @skzstan12345, @katsukis1wife,

@hyunjinsjeans, @somethingkindazainy, @silverstarburst, @atzlordz,

Network:@mirohs-aurora-society

Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!!!

Masterlist

-----

11:34am, Feb 02

You: Hiii Hwa Seonghwa 💕: Hello my love =) You: When are you going to be homeeeeee Seonghwa 💕: I have a full day my love Seonghwa 💕: There is much dancing to be done You: :( Seonghwa 💕: I’ll be home soon enough, I promise, darling You: You’d better Seonghwa 💕: xx

1:43pm, Feb 02

You: Can you hurry up with the dancing Seonghwa 💕: We’re dancing so fast, my love You: Please? Seonghwa 💕: Just be patient for a few more hours for me, doll You: Idk I really want your cock You: But I’ll try Seonghwa 💕: Good girl xx

3:57pm, Feb 02

You: Hwa, please, need you Seonghwa 💕: You NEED me? You: Yes, I do Seonghwa 💕: Patience is a virtue, doll You: Okay, but getting railed within an inch of my life is also a virtue Seonghwa 💕: That doesn’t make sense You: Please? Seonghwa 💕: I’ll be home soon, promise You: Okay, hurry back Seonghwa 💕: I’ll do my best, love

5:41pm, Feb 02

You: You going to be home soon? Seonghwa 💕: Wrapping things up now, shouldn’t be more than a few minutes! You: THANK GOD You: Was considering pulling out the vibrator Seonghwa 💕: Wow Seonghwa 💕: Didn’t know you were disobedient as well as needy. You: I’m not disobedient, you didn’t say anything about the vibrator :) You: What’s a girl to do when her man’s not here to fuck her? Seonghwa 💕: Just be ready for me when I’m home.

The door creaked open, and you practically jumped up from where you were sitting on the couch, scrolling through something on your phone. “Seonghwa!”

“Hi, baby.” He didn’t look at you, locking the door behind him and setting his bag down. “Someone’s been needy today, haven’t they?”

You swallowed, already hungry for whatever he had planned. “Yeah, I have.”

He still didn’t look at you, walking into the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. “Bothering me while I’m at work.”

“I’m sorry, Hwa.”

He laughed. “Don’t lie to me, you’re not sorry.”

“I just want you.” You mumbled.

“I know.” He took a sip, finally turning around to face you. “So you’re going to get me. You’re going to get a punishment.”

“A punishment?”

“Mhm.” He tilted his head a bit. “And it was a busy day for me, so I think I deserve someone— something— to take my stress out on, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, of course.” You breathed.

He smiled, that big grin like sunshine. “Perfect, then, baby.” He jerked his head towards the bedroom. “Go.”

You scrambled to stand up and get to the bedroom, getting your clothes off and thrown into a pile in the corner. You laid yourself out on the bed, your lingerie giving you the extra bit of confidence you needed to feel really sexy.

Seonghwa walked into the room like the wolf who knew he had the bunny cornered. You could feel your pulse quicken.

He smiled, all teeth. “Aw, look at you, all ready for me.”

“Yeah.” You sighed.

He leaned over you, tangling his fingers in the straps crisscrossing your chest, taking a moment to admire how they looked on your skin before he yanked towards himself, pulling you up off the bed. You struggled to get your hands under you. “Hwa!”

“Sir.” He said, looking at you darkly. “You know to address me as sir. Don’t make that mistake again.”

“Yes, sir.” You nodded quickly.

He let go, pushing you back onto the bed. “Hands and knees.”

You obeyed his command, getting yourself into position and looking over your shoulder.

“Fuck.” Seonghwa groaned. “So pretty.”

Your breath caught as he moved to the dresser, pulling out your collection of sex toys. He selected a big vibrator and walked back over. “You want this?”

“Yes, sir.”

He laughed, mumbling something to himself as he walked back over to you. He helped you take your lacy underwear off, throwing them aside with the rest of your clothes. You inhaled as you felt the vibrator touch your entrance. Seonghwa teased you with it for a little bit, then, without warning, shoved it inside.

Seonghwa was usually one for foreplay, teasing you till you were soaked, working you up slowly. Starting with just a finger before moving onto a bigger dildo, and then finally his cock. But it seemed today he was down to business as he switched the vibrator onto its highest setting and began to ruthlessly fuck you with it.

You made a sound that might’ve been a moan or a squeak or something in between, your arms shaking at the effort of keeping you up. Seonghwa kept on going, and he started talking. “You know, you talk a lot of game for someone who can barely stay in the position I’ve asked you to. You’d think that after all of your talk and neediness you’d be able to withstand a little more than one vibrator.”

“I can!” You moaned. “I can take it, sir.”

“Oh, can you?” He teased. “Can you take more?”

“Yes!”

He leaned over you and started to play with one of your nipples. “I’m gonna overstimulate you until you’re sobbing and begging me to stop, baby. And then I’m going to keep going.”

Your mouth dropped open in a long moan, and you arched back against him.

“Yeah? You like the sound of that?” His voice was almost soft.

“Yes.” You whined.

“Good girl.” He whispered, just loud enough to be heard over the buzzing of the vibrator.

His pace suddenly turned from fast to punishing, and his hand worked harder at your nipple, overwhelming you with stimulation. It wasn’t long until you were coming with a moan, your legs shaking.

He pulled the vibrator out and pushed you down onto your front before rolling you onto your back. His eyes surveyed your form. “Beautiful, but I need you looking a bit more debauched.”

You smiled, your mind in a bit of a post-orgasm haze. “How do you intend to do that?”

“I intend to fuck your face and your pussy at the same time.”

Your head tilted back with a groan. “Fuck, Seong-sir.” You caught yourself just in time.

He ignored your near slip-up but for a twitch of his lips. “Open your legs.”

You did., opening your mouth too.

“I would tell you you’re a good girl, but you’re just taking a punishment, so doing what’s expected of you doesn’t deserve all that much respect, wouldn’t you agree?”

Before you could respond, Seonghwa pushed the vibrator he’d just been fucking you with into your mouth, muffling a noise from you. The silicone had a strange, nearly bitter taste in your mouth, and you could taste yourself all over it. He repositioned himself, getting in a good place so he could start to fuck you with two fingers at the same time as he was fucking your face. Thankfully, he didn’t turn the vibrator on, but the act was dirty enough that your entire body felt like it was on fire. You shut your eyes, settling into the sensations.

He laughed, a low sound. “Fucking slut. Do you like that? Does that feel good to you?”

You nodded, moaning as he shallowly fucked your mouth.

“Of course it does.” He continued. “You would like being treated like this.”

This continued for a while, and then he went back to the drawer to retrieve more toys, this time a gag and an even bigger dildo.

He strapped the gag onto your face, pulling on it a few times to make sure it wasn’t going anywhere, and then began to fuck you with the dildo. “Look at you, taking it like a whore. That’s all you’re good for, isn’t it? My little fucktoy.”

You moaned as much as the gag would allow. You were starting to get overwhelmed, all of the sensations so potent. You could feel every nerve in your body so strongly, especially the ones between your legs.

You weren’t ready to start begging, yet. It was still on the positive side of strong, not quite edging into overstimulation just yet.

But it hit that point quickly when Seonghwa slid a couple of fingers in beside the dildo, stretching you even wider. You moaned a few times, pointing at the gag to show him you needed to tell him something. He paused for a moment to undo the straps.

“Sir, it’s— it’s so much— it’s too much.”

He studied your face for a moment before his mouth spread into a smile. “No, it’s not, not yet.”

You watched as he undid his belt and took off his pants and boxers, letting his cock free.

You let out a breath looking at it. Seonghwa still had to get off, and leave it to him to get you as sensitive as possible before doing so.

He lined himself up and smirked at you before pushing inside. “Fuck, slut, you’re so tight, you feel so good.”

He let both of you adjust for just a moment before starting to fuck you, his hips snapping back and forth into you. His mouth fell open as he fucked you, mumbling things in your ear. “You feel so good around me”, “such a good fucktoy”. You shivered and moaned with every degrading name and the sensations he gave you with them. He started playing with your nipples again, and your moans turned into whines. It was so overwhelming, you were so overstimulated, but it felt so good, he felt so good.

His thrusts became more erratic, more stuttering, and his hips pushed forward one last time as you felt an unmistakable warmth filling you. You loved it when he came inside, claimed you as his.

He fell limp, and you rolled onto your side, curling into him. His arms wrapped around you, and you thought if you didn’t have to, you’d never move.

But, of course, that wasn’t the case, and after a few moments Seonghwa gently kissed your hair. “Okay, baby, let’s get in the shower.”

“But ‘m cozy.” You grumbled.

“You’ll be even cozier once you’re clean.” He pulled out slowly, his cum spilling all over the sheets. “And we need clean sheets, too.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” You sighed.

“And then we can cuddle after.” He smiled.

“Yes please.” You smiled back. “Love you, Seonghwa.”

“Love you too, baby.”

[strang3lov3]

Boys Will Be Boys

You hit Roman where it hurts. Meaning you fuck his dad as he watches and cries.

Tags - dubcon, girthy age gap (80/???), smut, unprotected piv, fingering, creampie, masturbation, sexual harassment/assault (Roman’s punished for it, and I kept it short and sweet), unsolicited dick pics, roman roy gets cucked by his father, osteoarthritis, hypertension, logan roy dirty talk, logan roy takes viagra, coercion, tears and mucus as lube, almost?subby?romey??? lowkey...logan roy is kinda a fuckin' stud. uhhhhh…idk. kinda grotesque. you have to embrace it. crack fic adjacent, but this is serious business to me. you’ve been warned.

A/N - you know what you’re fucking here for. maybe it’s morbid curiosity. maybe you wanna see roman roy crying while masturbating. maybe…maybe you wanna fuck that old man. it’s ok if you do. i won’t tell on you, you fucking pervert. enjoy Logan Roy screwing your brains out <3 I tagged my romey readers, and while i implore you to be brave, don't feel pressured to read if it's not your thing. @beefrobeefcal thank you for the beta hot stuff! i love you so much.

It’s been happening for a while now.

It was just small things at first. A little comment here and there. He told you that you had nice legs the first time you wore a skirt, said something else about loving a long-legged woman. Then he asked if you shaved for him, too. What else do you shave, huh? Are you bare everywhere? 

The little tattoo on your wrist, usually hidden by your blouse. What’s that about, huh? Got any other tattoos? Perhaps in a more private place? If I guess where it’s at, can I see it?

Oh, the way you got flustered. Your eyes went wide, mouth dropped open a little. Too easy. Roman took that as a challenge - an invitation, rather, to take it up a notch. 

He turned up the heat in his office to a balmy 75℉ the week after that. After each time you’d turn the thermostat down a few notches, Roman would use a little remote he’d point at it to turn it right back up. Must be busted, Roman told you. How about you call maintenance, huh, assistant? Maybe do your fucking job for once?

Roman watched with a crooked smirk on his lips as you slipped off your cardigan, exposing your body to him. That pretty nude camisole. Roman sidled up behind you, fingers skating over your shoulders until he reached the strap of your bra. Your blood went cold as he wriggled his fingers beneath them, then pulled up, up, and snickered as he let them snap your skin harshly. Nobody else had done that to you since junior high.

In the elevator, he stands too close. While riding up the many floors of the tall building, Roman fucking breathes on you, and follows you when you inch away from him. Your skin prickles when he touches your lower back, fingers drumming against you, walking down your waist. He’d first started by testing you with a little pinch on your ass cheek, just to watch you jump and hear that startled little squeak you’d make. He gropes your ass now, squeezing a handful of it, kneading his fingers. He loves the visible discomfort on your face, and knowing you can’t do a goddamn thing about it. Harrassing you is the best part of Roman’s job. It’s why he wakes up in the morning, getting to exert that power over you. It fills him with a sick sense of satisfaction, of delight. 

Your phone is full of photos of his cock. Lawsuit material, if you were brave enough to go up against Roman and Waystar and all of its bells and whistles. Roman tells you his lawyers would eat you alive before you even step foot into a courtroom. 

It was late last Saturday night when Roman texted you a picture of his crotch, cock visibly hard under his slacks, outlined in sharp detail.

10:07 - Got a job for you. Wanna help out the boss?  

Every notification on your phone with Roman’s name attached makes you want to puke. You wish you could ignore him. Block him.

10:07 - No, Roman. 

You waited with bated breath for Roman’s response, the little dancing ellipsis on the screen mocking you as he formulated a text back. How’s he gonna make your day worse this time?

10:08 - Funny how quickly a job can disappear.

Fuck it. Whatever. You sent him as modest of a nude photo as you could muster - panties and bra on, face cropped out. 

10:12 - Cute. Smile this time. Lose the underwear. 

10:32 - Leaving me on read wont work. Nice try tho

10:33 - Five minutes. Don’t make me wait

You sighed in frustration as you stripped, then snapped a photo from above. Legs crossed to hide your pussy, your forearm covering your chest.

10:35 - *fire emoji*

10:35 - *As in I’ll fire you. 

10:35 - Bare tits. Bare ass. Bare pussy. Do it now

With no choice but to comply, and with an awful feeling in your gut, you took more photos. First of your tits, then your ass. Sent and sent. 

10:38 - Forgetting something?

It made you feel even more sick, but you needed him off your back. You spread your legs, pointed the front-facing camera at your cunt, and took the photo, then sent it to Roman. 

10:45 - I bet you’re so tight. Are you wet right now? 

10:45 - Yeah

Playing along. 

10:47 - I wanna be inside you

10:47 - Gonna cover you in my cum

Roman went quiet for a while then, probably ten minutes before texting you back. 

10:58 - I wanna watch you cum for me. 

10:59 - I’ll know if you fake it

He made you send him videos of you masturbating, all different camera angles, different positions. He kept you up until almost three, making yourself come over and over for him. Until he could hear you crying in the videos, your thighs trembling. It was horrible - humiliating, exhausting, so fucking dehumanizing. He sent you pictures of an old cardigan of yours covered in his come at the end of the whole thing. You thought you lost it.

It’s Monday afternoon now. You have a bad feeling when you walk to Roman’s office, seeing that the blinds are drawn over the large glass panes of his windows. You let yourself into the room at his request, and Roman’s sitting on his little gray couch, legs spread wide. He’s palming his bulge, eyes following you as you close the door. You avoid making eye contact with him, something that only serves to challenge him. He straightens, then wordlessly pats the seat next to him. 

“I have those files you asked for, Roman.” 

“Oh, that’s great. That’s really, yeah - awesome. Set ‘em down.” 

You set them on the coffee table, then anxiously drum your fingers on your lap. You steal the littlest glance at Roman sitting next to you; his thumb mindlessly stroking where the hard head of his cock presses against his slacks. 

A heavy silence falls as you process what’s inevitably coming next. Roman unbuckles his belt, unbuttons his pants, then unzips them. He rests his head against the couch as he pulls out his cock, then looks right at you. A lazy smirk pulls at the corner of his lips and his eyes are lidded, darkened with lust in a way that makes him look like an animal. 

Roman lets out a little giggle at the nervous way you fidget your hands. He takes one in his own, holding tightly onto your wrist when you try and pull it back. “Hang on - wait. I like your nails. Pretty, very pretty, sweetheart. I think they’d look nice wrapped around my cock, don’t you?”

You bunch your fingers in a fist, attempting to pull your wrist out of his grip. “N-no, I don’t, Rom–”

“Oh, come on. That’s why you got ‘em fuckin’ done, right?” Roman uses his other hand to pry your fingers open. “Hey, open your fucking - there we go.” He lowers your hand, pressing your palm against his warm package, and his cock looks smaller in person. Just as upsetting, though. 

Roman lets out a quiet, soft groan of pleasure, then turns frustrated when you pull away again. He snaps his fingers at you, “Hey - assistant girl. Isn’t this your job, right? To assist?”

A knock at Roman’s office door has him jumping, and you take the opportunity to get away from him entirely. You leave Roman on that couch, and he’s cursing you under his breath while quickly tucking his cock back into his trousers, watching you do your quick little half-jog out of his office. Fine, be that way. You’ll fucking get it later. 

You don’t have a plan in mind when you begin walking, you just leave. Looking over your shoulder to see if Roman’s following behind you, if he’ll grab you by the forearm and drag you into a supply closet. Do god only knows what to you. Probably fuck you with the end of some maintenance man’s mop.  

You find yourself knocking at Logan’s door, then exhale a shaky breath. You’re not…you’re not sure what you’re doing here. What you’re gonna tell him, if you’re gonna tell him anything. It’s not like he’d do anything about it, right? Logan eyes you through the window, then calls you inside with just a simple wag of his fingers. He looks annoyed, fuck. But when does he not?

Logan’s room is large, and you’re not entirely sure how to navigate, which feels silly. Sounds even sillier to say. You’re not often alone with Logan, and the proximity makes you unsure of yourself. If you’re being honest with yourself, you’ve always felt…something for him. He’s a brute, yes, and you’ve seen the ugliest sides of him. Something about it makes his softer moments that much more profound, though. The tenderness is there, and it shows in quieter times. He winks at you now and then, offers you a smile with no malice or contempt or derision behind it. 

Logan’s got a soft spot for you, too. You’re a sweet girl. He’s always thought so, really. You do what you’re told, and you don’t ask for much. You’re not a bumbling idiot or a nagging fly buzzing in his ear. Easy on the eyes, too. Never hurts.

Logan gestures to a seat in front of his desk and hums a little. “Need a minute,” he mutters as he reads something on the screen. You look at all of his belongings on his desk - papers, folders, a mug. A framed photo of him somewhere warm and beachy, showing off his pale legs and his swollen ankles. 

Finally, he closes the window and smiles at you. His piercing, steel blue eyes pin you in place, but they’re warm too, almost. Warmer than Roman’s. When Roman makes eye contact with you, it makes you feel like prey. Like he’ll hunt you for sport. Not Logan, though. His gaze is heavy, but not hungry. 

Logan claps his fingers together over his thick belly. “What can I do for you, dear?”

“Uhhh…” You cross and uncross your legs as you shift in your seat, then fidget with your manicure, nervously chipping the paint off. You hate this color now. When you look up, Logan’s got his eyebrows raised at you, waiting for you to continue. You don’t want to wear his patience thin. 

“It - I was gonna talk about Roman, but it’s nothing. It’s nothing. I’m not - I don’t need to tattle.” 

“Fuck that. What’s he doing?” Logan demands flatly, immediately, furrowing his brow. 

“No, I shouldn’t have said any–”

Logan interrupts, speaking your name softly. “Tell me.”

You tell him everything about the harassment. How long it’s been going on for, how it started small and just kept escalating and escalating. How fucking relentless Roman is. You show him the texts, the photos, becoming flustered when Logan stumbles across the photos of yourself Roman made you send to him last weekend. Logan quietly hums in approval. 

You tell him about Roman in his office, the stunt he pulled just before now. It feels good to get it off your chest, at least momentarily. The way Logan simply nods, rubbing a hand on his chin makes you feel uneasy, though. A silence hangs heavily as he takes it all in, thinking. 

“What?” The anxiety makes your question slip out rather impatiently. “Sorry, I just - what are you thinking, Mr. Roy?”

Logan scoffs, smiling just a little. “...Didn’t think the kid had it in him.” 

“O-oh. Okay.” 

That’s…that’s it? You wonder if he’s gonna tell you that you were asking for it. Or to buck up. Maybe the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and Logan will be just as cruel to you as his son is. Fuck, you already regret this.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice softer than you expected it’d be. “Truly. I’m sorry my son put you through this. I promise I raised him better, darling. I did my best.”

“No, it’s–” You interrupt yourself to exhale steadily, breathing out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” 

“You know,” Logan begins, absentmindedly wiggling his fingers, “You know what it is. Boys’ll fuckin’ be boys.” 

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, you know. Men don’t grow out of boyhood so quickly, anymore, s’all. World’s turnin’ to fuckin’ shit. Unacceptable behavior, the fuckin’ kid’s pushing forty,” he spits, rolling his eyes. “Roman - he’s…well, you know what this is, don’t you? You see through his act, yes?”

You shake your head. “No,” you reply.

“Boys like him, they’ll pick on ya when they’re sweet on you,” Logan explains. “That’s all it is. Usually harmless. Usually,” he adds.

“But, Mr. Roy, I don’t–”

“I know, dear. He’s not your type, is he?”

“No,” you answer quickly, garnering a hearty chuckle from Logan. You laugh too.

“The boy always was an odd duck,” Logan adds, then pauses, thinking. “What is your type, darling, if you’ll forgive my asking?”

“Oh, gosh,” you giggle, feeling Logan’s heavy gaze on your body, your warm face. He knows. He absolutely knows. 

“Older, for one,” you admit. 

Logan smirks, and you share a smile with him. He seems to pick up on everything, knows exactly what the words left unspoken spell out. It’s always girls like you, vibrating with desire for him. No matter how white his hair becomes, nor how much rounder his belly gets, nor every new wrinkle that graces his face as the years stack up - doesn’t change the fact that Logan Roy’s still fucking got it. He reaches for one of his desk drawers, then pulls it open and reaches inside. Logan grabs an orange bottle and rattles out a tiny, blue, diamond shaped pill. His blue eyes twinkle at you as he swallows the pill, then points to the bar cart by the window. “Be a lamb, darling. Some water.”  

Quickly, you grab Logan a glass of water, watching him wash down the pill as you clench your thighs. 

“I need to hit him where it hurts,” Logan says in between sips. “Make it fuckin’ stick this time.” 

Logan shoots Roman a quick text, and you wait anxiously for his arrival. When he finally enters the office, his face falls upon seeing you at his father’s desk, looking…happier than he’d like to see you. You’re sitting up straight, chin held high, shoulders back. Logan’s scowl darkens as he gestures for Roman to sit down, right in the seat next to you. Roman’s hands shake a little as he pulls the seat back and lowers himself into it. 

“What’re we gonna do about you, son?”

“What?” Roman’s brows furrow, and his bottom lip wobbles ever so slightly. “I don’t kn–”

“You a sicko?”

Roman shifts uncomfortably in his seat, realizing this conversation is absolutely not going to go his way. “No, I–”

Logan cuts Roman off, his tone sharp. “She tells me you’ve been harassing her, Roman. Is this true?”

“What? Dad, no. She’s f-fucking lying,” Roman stammers. Roman looks at you then, and you can see how he tries to glare, to scare you, to regain control. He’s powerless here, with you protected by his father. 

Logan reaches for your phone, which is sitting face down on his desk. He turns it on, “Gimme a hand here, darling. Pull it up again.” 

You have to bite down on your smile as you put in your passcode, feeling so empowered at the moment. It’s the moment you’ve been waiting for. Roman’s humiliated you so many times and finally, he’s gonna take what he dishes. And then some.

Logan shakes his head a little, grumbling as he prods the screen with his fat fingers. “Fuckin’ bastard…here. Here it is. S’that your fuckin’ dick?” he sneers, spit flying from his lips. He turns the phone around, showing Roman one of the many, many photos of his own dick on your phone.

Roman freezes, his face turning pale enough to make his freckles vanish. “N–”

“Certainly small enough to be yours. Look–” Logan scrolls through more texts, “This one too, huh?”

“No,” Roman seethes, and it almost makes you giggle, the way he scrambles to lie. So fucking…pathetic. He’s everything Logan’s not. 

“Oh, see? Look at him, darling. He’s squirming.”

Logan reaches for his eyeglasses sitting on his chest, held by a cord that wraps around his neck. He squints a little as he scrolls through your phone, then clears his throat before reading aloud. “‘I bet you’re so tight’,” he reads loudly, droning in a monotone voice. “‘I need to be inside you. You’d look pretty covered in my cum.’ You think this is a fucking compliment?” Logan asks, looking at Roman through his eyebrows.

Roman’s face twists, and he scratches the back of his neck in discomfort. “Dad–”

Logan turns the phone around again, and this time a picture of Roman’s hand is on the screen. Fingers spread, covered in his own come. He scrolls again and the next photo is a picture of Roman himself, licking those fingers. 

“You are a fuckin’ sicko,” he growls.

You and Logan watch Roman shrink into his seat, how he looks like he’d willingly crawl out of his own skin and die, if he could. Logan lets him stew in his discomfort and his shame for a beat, then pats his lap, petting his bulge a little.

Roman watches you round the desk at the same time Logan rolls his chair back, making enough space for the both of you. You sit on Logan’s meaty thighs, watching the color drain from Roman’s lips. “Ope - up a second, dear. C’mon, up, up.” Logan swats your hip gently. You stand up then, and feel Logan’s large, paddle shaped hands slide up your thighs, under your skirt. He reaches for the waistband of your panties before tugging them down, letting them pool at your feet. You step out of them, then sit back down, leaning against Logan’s thick, pillowy belly. 

“Spread your legs,” Logan whispers, helping you part your thighs. Your skirt rides up your body, putting your throbbing cunt on display for Roman. Roman swallows thickly, watching as his father reaches for your center, grunting a little as he stretches. You moan when you feel him touch you, sliding just one, thick digit through your slippery folds. “Oh,” he gasps mockingly, holding out his hand for Roman to see. “See how wet she is, Romulus? Tell him, darling, who are you this fuckin’ wet for?”

“You,” you whimper, turning to speak to Logan. Logan groans, and you feel his thick cock twitch against your backside. “I need you, Mr. Roy.”

“Oh, my dear. Be patient. We’ll get there.”

Logan glares at Roman as he pushes a single finger inside of you, and even that’s a stretch that has you whining. Logan coos in your ear, quieting you as he uses his other hand to unbutton your blouse. He wriggles his fat hand underneath your bra, palming and groping your tits, teasing your nipples with his thumb. “Fuckin’ kid wouldn’t know what to do with a pair of tits like these, now would he, sweetheart?”

“N-no,” you agree, looking right at Roman. Your eyes scan down his body, noticing that - oh, god. He’s fucking hard. He’s trying to hide it, hands covering his crotch. But you see it. You see the way he’s rocking his hips, pressing down on himself to alleviate that pressure a little. 

Logan pumps his finger inside you once, then twice, then adds another. He curls the two rhythmically, noting how it makes Roman squirm. Roman’s making desperate, stifled little noises as he watches his father fingerfuck you, so shamefully, disgustingly turned on by the sight. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, resting your head against Logan’s shoulder. Your eyes flutter shut as you bask in the pleasure, bucking your hips into his palm a little. 

“Ah-ah. Eyes open, darling, and look at Roman. Look, he’s fuckin’ hard for ya. See?” You lift your head a little, looking at Roman through half-lidded eyes. His face is so fucking red, eyes still wild but a little broken, too. All wet and sad. He’s sweating, you can see it glittering at his hairline, the protruding veins in his forehead twitching to match. “He’s making a mess of himself,” Logan adds, pointing to the the wet spot bleeding through Roman’s pants. “Fuckin’ disgusting, isn’t he?”

“Dad,” Roman whispers, voice breaking. “Please, d–”

“Shut the fuck up, Roman,” you snap. You’re melting as Logan now rubs your clit in practiced circles. He’s got decades of experience under his belt. Guided some hundreds of women to orgasm. You’re no different, just as easy as the rest of them.

You whine as Logan pulls his hand away, pushing you forward so he can free his cock from his slacks. He sucks in his belly as he unbuttons his pants, then exhales deeply, thick belly bulging against his thin shirt. Even at the ripe age of eighty, Logan’s cock is long and thick, and everything Roman’s simply is not. You don’t get much of a look at the thick, unruly patch of white pubic hair surrounding the base of his shaft before Logan’s pulling you against him, tapping his dress shoe between your ankles to make you spread your legs. “Show Roman how you take care of his old man, huh? See how he likes that.” He fits the blunt head of his cock against your entrance, then slowly pushes you down with a firm push on your hips. “Ohhh, that’s it, darling. You take it so well.”

The stretch of his cock entering you has you sucking in a sharp breath, then exhaling through that delicious pain. Your cunt pulses around Logan’s cock as you watch Roman free his own dick, desperately pawing at his own length as tears fall from his eyes. He wipes them quickly, then uses the same hand to stroke himself.

“Help a man out, sweetheart. The osteoarthritis…my knees, I–”

“Of course, Mr. Roy,” you coo sweetly, lifting yourself up and down on his turgid, wrinkled member. Logan steadies you with his hands on your waist, guiding you along. Roman lets a little sob escape as he watches his father fuck his massive cock into you, squeezing his own cock so desperately. You giggle at that. 

“Quit - don’t fucking laugh–”

“Hey,” Logan barks, pointing a finger at Roman. “You don’t call the shots here, Roman, I do. I fucking run game,” he growls. Logan squeezes your breasts in both hands as he draws in and out of you, letting out wheezy exhales as his heart rate increases, but he won’t let his hypertension stop him from pleasing you. “Yeah, that’s it, honey. Look at him, fucking his hand. Tell me darling, what do you think of that?” 

“I think - I think he’s fucking pathetic,” you answer, looking right at Roman as you say it. Roman’s face breaks even further, more tears falling from his big, wet eyes. He wipes his eyes and his dripping nose, using the mess on his hand as lubricant as he fucks his fist with a depressing sort of fervor.

“Hear that, son? She thinks you’re fucking pathetic,” Logan taunts. 

“I fuck- oh, fuck,” Roman whimpers, throwing his head back as he desperately works himself. 

“Oh, you’re fuckin’ adopted,” Logan grumbles under his breath. He lifts you up then, and spins you around, then lays you across his desk so you’re looking at Roman upside-down. Logan enters you again in one swift motion, then begins fuckings you with an energy you wouldn’t expect, but that pleasantly surprises you. He’s so spry for an eighty year old. 

“You do so good for me,” Logan praises you. “My idiot son could get fucked like this too, if he weren’t such a fucking screwup. Isn’t that right, Romulus?”

“Y-yeah,” Roman whines. 

“Speak up, Roman. Let her hear you. Actually–” Logan grunts, punctuating the sentence with a brutal snap of his hips “I want you to apologize to her.”

“What?”

“He’s that fuckin’ stupid, huh?” Logan pants, the comment directed at you. “Fucking. Apologize,” he tells Roman. “Do it now.”

“I’m fuckin’ sorry. Okay?”

“Again, Romulus,” Logan demands, annoyed. “Louder.”

Roman tells you he’s sorry again, and it makes you smile. His voice all high-pitched and broken. Good, it’s about fucking time he’s taken down a peg.

“Tell her again,” Logan says. “Like ya fuckin’ mean it, Roman. And you don’t stop apologizing until she comes. Are we fucking clear?”

Roman nods frantically, pumping his cock as he whines, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

His words go right to your core. Logan fucks you harder, and licks his thumb before bringing it to your clit. He uses those same practiced circles from before to coax along your release, and it’s not long before you’re pulsing around his cock, moaning Roman’s father’s name as you come hard, all that pleasure washing over you as Roman whispers how fucking sorry he is. 

With a few harsh thrusts, Logan’s spilling into you next, coming with a deep, guttural grunt and wheezing breaths, a sharp pain in his chest. It’s all fucking worth it. He reaches into his pocket and tosses you his handkerchief, then excuses himself, mumbling something about needing his supplemental oxygen. 

You sit on Logan’s desk as Roman strokes himself to completion, sobbing as he gets off to the sight of your puffy, swollen cunt, ruined by his own father, and dripping with his spend. He makes a mess of himself as he comes, “Here, Rome–” you offer, tossing your used cumrag at him. 

“Get that - fuck,” Roman cries, swatting it away. He sobs as he comes down from his orgasm, unable to even look at you as you put yourself back together. 

“It’s smaller in person,” you murmur, touching Roman on the shoulder before leaving. He flinches at that, then breaks down in tears again as he shoves his softening cock back into his pants. “See ya tomorrow, boss.”

if you enjoyed, please shout at me 🩷💕 comments, rb, or go to my inbox. I turned anons back on because I know a handful of freaks will need to scream about their horniness but would prefer to do so anonymously.

romey tags

@goldenispunk @littlevenicebitch69 @gaeela-6 @bean-is-reading @slutsoutgutsout

@galarian-weezing-on-prep @cum-a-calla @pastelpinkflowerlife @kolsmikaelson @moth-maam56

@kothku @cult-of-escapism @swiftiegirliepop @bluecookies-and-ink @romanarose

@kappasbbgirl @magpiepills @highinmiamiii @verstappensrealwife @thesummerpetrichor

@lilipads @luiscarrutherss @baronessvonglitter @myromeow

@ovaryacted @doll-0f-flesh @always-andromeda @causesimmer @pedropascalbabygirl

@baloobalee @slimybeth69 @pearlstiare @romanisbrat @callsignwidow @ziggymars

@perpetuallymanic @111melo @veryverycoolgirl @marisemonteiroo

@prettybpdgirl @butuhaventseenmyman @drunkdriverkillerwhale @fawnjaw

[r4fe-cam3ron]

𓍯 ִֶָ FEBRUARY SECOND; side b — it’s been awhile - staind | rockstar!e. munson x r

w; insinuation of cheating & choosing career over relationship, drunk eddie, i say ‘rockstar!eddie’ but pls take that loosely, nooo happy ending, angst only! an; i hope yall enjoy this angsty piece :ppp

mixtape here!

There’s an unhealthy amount of cigarettes that had been dropped into the ashtray — some overflowing and dropping onto the table. There’s some ends that have a red lipstick print around it. 

Those were barely smoked and wasted, yet Eddie didn’t feel like asking her to finish the cigarette, even if she was wasting a dozen of them — not that he was counting. 

His fingers are sore, almost bleeding, from how many times he goes over the same verse of the song. He’s lost count of how many times he’s had to start over from the beginning, and when he does it again, he feels his face flushing in anger. 

He curses under his breath and reaches for the pack on the table. His eyes peek in, his teeth clenching together as he tosses the empty carton back into the table. His fingers press into his eyes and he rubs — hard. So hard he can see spots dance around in his vision. 

He flinches when he feels arms wrap around his neck, lips pressing to his shoulder blade before her chin hooks over the same shoulder. His hands drop and he keeps his eyes locked on the television that shows the two of them in the reflection. 

“You okay, baby?” His jaw clenches once more from just her voice alone, yet he nods and stands from the couch. She leans back, throwing her legs over the couch. “Where are you goin’?” Her hair flows over her shoulder when she moves it towards the edge of the couch. 

Eddie glances over at her, before looking away as he picks a shirt up from a chair. He slips it over his head before pulling his hair from the collar. “Just out to the store. Gotta get a pack of smokes.” 

She hums. “Can you get me a pack?” 

“Gladly.” He grabs his jacket and wallet before heading towards the door. 

“Hey!” He stops when he’s halfway out the door, rolling his eyes to himself before turning and watching as she sits up and hangs over the back of the couch. “Hurry back, please. I wanna hear your new song.” 

“Yeah.” He nods, slamming the door behind himself. He’s quick to jog down the steps, finally feeling as if he could breathe, a small bit of air circles around as he exhales. 

He’s quick to get into his van and start it up, driving out of the trailer park as quick as he could. He didn’t lie — he’s going to the gas station to get a pack of cigarettes, but not right now. 

He needed to get out of that small box and take a break from suffocating in the life that chokes him until he can’t breathe. 

He thinks the worst part is, he can’t blame anyone besides himself for digging himself into that hole. He doesn’t want it to be his fault, yet, he only digs deeper. 

He thinks the hole is now closing up with the dirt. 

It’s lightly sprinkling now and the red lights, that flicker every so often, distort in the droplets on his window. His fingers tap against the wheel when he realizes where he is once again. 

Man, he wishes he had a cigarette. 

Reaching over to his glove box, he hits it and watches as it drops open. He reaches in and grabs a pack of gum. Quickly putting a piece into his mouth, he slips out of his van and walks towards the bar. 

It’s the same — obviously — not much has changed. He makes his way slowly towards the bar, sitting down on stool and waits. 

“Hi! What can I—” He knows that voice from anywhere. 

He glances at you, looking slightly ashamed. Your jaw clenches and you wish it wasn’t only you tonight working, or you would’ve gotten someone else to serve him. 

“What can I get you?” Your voice runs flat, no more fake, customer service voice. 

He smirks a bit. “What, you aren’t playing nice now?” He tilts his head. 

“Not with you — no way,” You scoff. “Either you order or leave. I have a right to refuse to give you anything.” 

“A beer.” 

Giving him one last stare, you turn away and grab a bottle, popping it open before walking back. You place it in front of him without another word, turning away and speaking to some other men who sit at a table on the other side of the room. 

He listens closely and he can hear your laugh again, his own lips pulling into a smile as his eyes remain on the bar. There’s a song playing on the old jukebox in the back at a low volume.

He doesn’t realize how fast he had actually finished off his beer, asking for another, then another plus a little something extra. You’re getting irritated with him but he can’t find it in himself to care. 

“Do you need us to help you out with that one?” You glance up, pausing the wipe down you were doing on the counter. It’s almost closing time, Randy and Joe leaving after finishing off the last bit of beer. 

Your eyes drift towards Eddie who’s curls are spread out on the counter you have yet to clean, his forehead resting on his arm as he sways a bit in his seat. 

Shaking your head, you look at them. “No. It’s okay,” You give the two men a smile. “He doesn’t live far from here. I can take care of him.” 

They’re hesitant, sharing a quick glance with one another. “If you’re sure—”

“I’m positive,” You nod. “He’s harmless.” Harmless in the physical way anyway. Joe nods once, sighing a bit as he slides over two twenties, Randy doing the same after slipping on his coat. 

“Alright. We’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks!” Their boots scrape across the wooden floor, eyes fixed on Eddie as they pass. 

“Alright! See ya, thank you!” You call out. They finally disappear and your smile finally drops as well as your eyes, staring at Eddie. “What are you even doing here? Isn’t Angel waiting for you?” 

He mumbles something in response and it takes everything in you to not scream at him to just leave. Yet, no matter what he’s put you through and how much you want him to hurt just as bad as you did, you would not allow him to drive in the state he’s in. 

“I can’t understand you. Get up,” You snap your fingers impatiently, making your way over. His head lifts and you start to clean down the counter of where he had his head. You glance up slightly before looking down once again. 

Wait. 

Your arm stops and your eyes lift to look at him once again. He’d been crying — you don’t know when he had even started. 

“Why are you crying?” Your brows furrow together. 

His breathing shudders and you can’t help but frown. Even under all the anger you have for him, you love Eddie. Truly, deeply, and always. Your hand pulls away from the cloth and you make your way around the counter slowly. 

Your ears pick up on the small, broken sob that leaves his mouth. His head drops and his curls curtain his face. You stop next to him, watching as his fingers dig into his face, leaving imprints. 

“Eddie,” Your hand reaches out to grasp his wrist. You startle slightly when he lets out another sob, this time louder. “Eds, what’s going—” 

Your words are effectively cut short when his arms wrap around you. Your hands lift quickly as you blink, feeling his curls tickle against your collarbone and the grip he has on both of your sides. 

Your heart skips a beat as you hesitantly look down at him as your arms remain held out to the side, careful not to touch him anymore than what you were already allowing. 

“I’m sorry,” His warm breath brushes over your skin as he speaks, his warm tears rolling down and dropping into your skin as well. Your eyes close and you let out a small exhale as you shake your head. “I’m so sorry. Please…” He whimpers as he shakes his head, readjusting his grip. 

“Eddie, please, let go—” 

“I’m so sorry,” He repeats. “Please forgive me. I didn’t…I can’t let you go. I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t breathe. It hurts,” His voice cracks and you feel your own tears prick at your eyes and suddenly, your heart picks up. 

“Hey. Eddie, let go of me. I can’t…” You shake your head when you feel as his hands grip at your back now, only this time, with his fingernails. “Eddie, you’re suffocating me, let go!” 

Your hands meet his shoulders, pushing his grip away as you quickly pull back from him. He blinks owlishly as he stared at you with parted lips and soaked cheeks. He notices the tears that had finally fell free. 

“Oh, God,” He stands quickly, shaking his head as he quickly reaches out to wipe away the tears. You pull away from him, your eyes squinted at him. “I just…I’m trying to—”

“Trying to what? Wipe my tears away like you always did, then turn away from me again like you always do,” You let out a scoff as you shake your head. “No. I’m not letting you touch me. You have no right,” You point at him. 

“You lost those privileges when you decided to keep messing around after I had given you so many chances, and you broke my heart over and over again. You only care about yourself,” You poke at his chest and watch as his chin quivers. “You never once cared about me because if you did, you’d let me heal from what pain you caused me. Not increase it by tenfold,” 

“I love you, Eddie, I really do. But, you make me so angry at you,” You stare at him. “You decided what life you wanted when you left after I asked you not to. And now look at you,” 

You motion towards him. You don’t mean to word vomit, but again, you’re angry that he doesn’t seem to take your feelings into consideration. Only his. 

“You come in here and drink whatever you can and get drunk. And don’t think I don’t know you’re doing it during the day as well,” You walk around the counter to grab your purse. “I’m taking you home. Let’s go.” 

Eddie wordlessly follows behind you, glancing over at his van as you lock up the doors. “What about my van?” 

“You’re just gonna come back tomorrow, aren’t you?” You snap, looking over at him. “You can get it then.” 

You pass by him and make your way towards your car, getting in and starting it up. Eddie sighs and follows after you, getting in and buckling up. 

It’s silent now, all besides the bit of rain that hits the top of your car and the low volume of the radio playing Staind. Your nose flares as your fingers grip the steering wheel tightly as you finally turn into the rocky path. 

You stop in front of his trailer, putting the car in park but making no move to get out. Your eyes glance over, noticing the sheer black curtains move slightly before the door opens. 

You clench your jaw and feel the inevitable tears begin once again. “Get out,” Eddie tries reaching for you, but you yank your arm away once again, shaking your head. “Get out of my car, Eddie. If you love me just….” Your voice breaks and you look out your window and place your hand over your mouth as you try to blink the tears away. 

Eddie stares at the back of  your head for a moment, before nodding to himself and opening the car door. “I…I do still love you,” He says. “I hope you can…I hope we can fix things one day but I also understand if you never want to.” 

He waits for you to say something, anything, yet you stay silent. He sniffs and gets out, shutting the door. He watches as you drive away, not wasting a second. 

𓍯 ִֶָ tags; @ali-r3n — @marchsfreakshow — @sstar-ggirl — @love-quinn

𓍯 ִֶָ thank you for reading! comments, reblogs, & feedback are welcome & greatly appreciated!

[pankekvenom]

This is just a little drabble, some little headcanons how they would try to make you spend time with them

I don't know if I'm capable of elaborating on something bigger, sorry for the misspellings english is not my first language. I got some information about the characters based on what Google told me and some fandom Headcanons.

Platonic! Yandere! Batfam x Neglected! Reader

Characters: Damian Wayne, Dick Greyson and Jason Todd

(This drabble takes place after the kidnapping thing)

You would be doing your own thing in your New Room, of course, and you would hear a soft knock on the door. Without waiting for an answer, one of your siblings would enter, planning to do some activity with you.

Damian Wayne

-Damian would probably take you to do some activity where he can show you that he is more talented than your other siblings, something like sword art or painting, probably, I believe he is very good at painting as much as he is good at sword art, something about practicing concentration and patience, things you need to be good at both.

-The problem with spending time with Demian is that the activities he wants to do consist of you sitting and looking pretty. Of course, if you show that you're bored or losing interest, he'll suggest that you do the activity with him, he won't force you to do it, but he also won't let you just walk back to your room (in fear one of your other siblings would snatch you away, possessiveness what can I say).

-He would have you sit on a bench while he demonstrated how sword art works, and would try to do very exaggerated movements to try to impress you.

-did you see that? This takes years of experience to perfect.

He looked at you after doing some very difficult moves with his sword, Waiting for some sign of approval, you gave him a weak smile and nodded to show you were listening.

-He will also have you sit on a couch to be his model for a painting, in a position that is comfortable for you but looks good for the painting, and would keep asking if you are comfortable every 10 minutes, sometimes you would notice that he would stop painting and just watch you, looking like he is memorizing every curve of your face, he would snap out of it when you ask if everything is okay.

-Yeah, it's...I'm ok; I just need to get the details for the painting, you know.

He would give that same answer every time, with his ears a little red, for someone who needs to concentrate, with you around, Damian certainly couldn't.

Dick Greyson

- Dick would take you to see him doing some acrobatics and backflips (obviously), or to practice some kind of dance with you, a dance that could make you more comfortable with all the touching you are getting from your family in general, hugs, cuddles and even holding hands is still difficult for you so he wants to practice that more.

-To show you the acrobatics he would do smooth movements that seem to be done without the least bit of effort, but you would still notice that he would be trying to concentrate as much as possible so he doesn't miss any step.

-if you show that you are bored or not paying attention anymore he would pout and come to you and try to make you feel guilty for not paying attention while he tries so hard to put on a good show, and that you are not even giving him a chance to change (emotional manipulation would be strong with this one).

-Am I not good enough, baby bird? I know you'd rather spend your time with someone else, but you don't even want to give me a chance to prove that our time together can be fun.

he can very much be a hypocrite, but he would rather die than admit that.

- then he would take you to the dance hall to practice (the dance hall appeared after you returned to the mansion; you had never seen this room before, but you are sure that the room was used for something else).

-He would try to teach you some kind of slow dance at first, a dance that wouldn't make you lose your breath because you already seemed nervous from being so close to him, holding your hand gently but firmly so you wouldn't try to pull away (he would be beaming with happiness for such a small improvement).

-come on, baby bird, take a deep breath and let it out. Don't look at your feet. Try to look at me and concentrate on my movements, it's okay if you don't get it right on the first try.

he would say with a gentle voice, redirecting your face with his index finger, raising your chin so you were looking directly at his face.

-You were angry because his soft voice would make you feel a little bit at ease, but it would still be difficult to maintain eye contact with his dark blue ones that looked at you with such love.

-He would 100% take advantage of the situation, just being this close to you without you fussing or making a disgusted face is something to be celebrated, but he would try his best to control his facial expressions so he wouldn't scare you off.

Jason Todd

-Jason has a very normal choice of activity with you, he likes books, motorcycles, and weapons, which are totally different things from each other, so he sticks with the easiest one, books.

-he would love to show you his new bike modifications, but he knows you are not that into this kinda thing (well he thinks you don't like it, but how could he know what you like, right?).

-And weapons are not an option, never. (He doesn't like the idea, and he tells Damian to try not to scare you with his swords, Damian completely ignores him).

-He likes to read books to you in your room with your head resting on your pillow while he sits beside you, he reads each book differently, with more emotion or a firmer voice, trying not to make you bored.

-if he sees that you are losing interest or are starting to fall asleep, he would be the best one to deal with it, but in his own way; he wouldn't force you to stay awake, but he would take advantage of the situation to cuddle with you.

-closing the book and putting it on the bedside table, he would lay down with you pulling the covers up you both, trying to cuddle with you without disturbing your little nap.

-He would brag about it for the rest of the family, how he got to cuddle with you and you didn't even kick him out of the room. (You were sleeping, how could you kick him out?).

-You guys are never making it as far as me.

Your other siblings would just roll their eyes at him, but he couldn't care less. It's his victory today, and he is very proud, did he kinda take advantage of your tiredness? Maybe, but you didn't complain tho, neither did him.

That's It for today folks, good night.

Should I post other characters?

[oo-li]

help. i would reach 30+ tags if i tried typing it all into the tags so. prepare for the yappa yappa outside the tags …. ( 𖦹‸𖦹)..

anyway memes for how this chapter had me feeling

ajsgsjgshdgbd hi i fell asleep yesterday reading this chapter (best way to sleep icl. if only i dreamed)

(i couldve dreamed of this au </3)

long tags. be warned.

to start: WDYM I WAS THE FIRST TO KNOW HOBGJOONG MADE THE COAT (kicks feet blushing)

the pineapple scent. idk why but it fits him. i enjoy it and each scent u assign to each member :3

next order of business: thinkibg about the end of last chapter and showing off softy san !!!!!! i wanna smother him in blankets and tell him its okay

also. giggling over how he drinks in this au knowing irl hes as much of a lightweight as me :3

ALSO ALSO. THE ALLEYWAY SCENE ??? im trying to like figure out who was there. like its gotta be mingi bc of the voice but who came out of the car ? hwa or joong ??

question is if swanette will remember the voice of who exited the car....

AND JONGHO MY BELOVED OUGH !!!!! i wanna bump into him on the streets meet cute style (delulu)

the maknae whisper !!!! such a good setup for us to know its him before he gives his name to swanette

AND I WAS WAITINF FOR HER TO FREAK BC JONGHO KNEW HER NAME BEFORE SHE EVER TOLD HIM !!!! safe in bed line !! so good !

wooyo offering to lace her up. melting. swanette is stronger than me lol (AND THE UNLACE LINE 🫠😵‍💫😵‍💫)

angel between two demons. the foreshadowing to the fucking first part of first chapter i fear.

side note but swanette fidgeting often is very relatable and me core so i really enjoy reading lines where she does repeated actions to soothe

as someone who stims with their necklace and clothes often. its just a very nice thing for me haha

speaking of reader being unhurt. remined me of the san icing her legs moment. blushes like a slut. ㅠㅇㅠ

WAIT I ALSO REALISED THEY MIGHT HAVE WAITED UNTIL SHE FELT NEEDED TO BE WALKED HOME BEFORE THEY STARTED TO DO IT REGULARLY ???

like yeah they dont feel the need to walk her home every night bc jongho n mingi watch over her and could protect her if needed

but idk. maybe its both good and a bit toxic of them ? toxic in the way of waiting for her moment of weakness ?

icl i wanna read this ignoring all potential toxicness in their bond with her but i fear that would ruin many beats of this story. sigh.

then again this isnt a sunshine and rainbows story. sorry maybe this tag wasnt nedded in my rambling ^^;

ANYWAY WOOYO JOKING TO COMFORT HER !!!! giggling and wiggling like a schoolgirl !!!

wtf was the restaurant scene. what was that. i know it means smth bigger but what !!!!!

tall and taller ??? our twin towers ??? WHAT DID THEY DO. DID SWANETTES HATE FOR CHEATERS BRING THIS TO IMARA AS A BUTTERFLY EFFECT TYPE SITUATION ?????

oh my god brat wooyoung teasing the fuck outta mingi. screaming over his touches longer longing. OH HOW I ADORE HIMMMMM

the S ring ? huh ??? do they have rings from seonghwa too ? couple items with seonghwa ? (delulu)

EVEN JONGHO HAD SEEN SWANETTE PERFORM IM SCREAMING OVER THIS SOBBING !!!!! i love baby bear soooo much ugh

oughhhh Julia. i do NOT like her. also im grateful the fellow members in the dance company dont realise san and wooyo love her bc i just know how much drama thatd bring

the foil of woosan. exploding. extrovert liking quieter cosy dates while the introvert likes outings. explodes pt2

i also love how wooyoung visibly lights up when swanette shows she listens and remembers what he tells her :((((

«San's gift of the coat» oh swanette. may u soon learn Joongie made it for u

ALSO ???? does the coat mean more than just joong quote unquote claiming her ? does her love her like woosan ?

has he been to a performance and no ond has known ????? i have many questions...

SCREAMING OVER THE NECKLACE BEING TUGGED !!! GOOD LORD SAN YOU WANT ME DEAD 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

side note i realised i feel like im annotating a physical book with this /pos enjoy the yapa yapa rii ramblings

«hes mine just as wooyoung and you are mine» SOBBING THATS A DREAMMMMMM

one hug from yeosang would literally fix me. im not joking.

side note the way you write is so delicious i love how it perfectly blends in her thoughts and actions into the narration... its delightful truly

GENTLEMAN SAN SWOONING

:( swanette wanting to be a star like yeosang :(((((

«there was an element of strength in him deeper than attitude» YOU TELL EM !!!!

ouch ouch ouch !!! i dont like the foreshadowing of san's discontent with the prima ballerina answer !!! :(((

not much to add to yunho in the headlines other than swanette being so innocent... ough it works so well for the story and it isnt annoying or nothing !!! adore it

rip newspaper ceo bozo u wont be missed /j

shaking the bars of my cage !!!! yeosang wanting to eat dinner with her !!!!!!! im in love. yeosang i love u

SCREAMING OVER MINGIIIIII OH MY GOD MY SHAYLAAAAAAA MY BABY

the figures in the upper window !!!! our matz !!!!

oh the tooth gems... i wonder if it holds a special meaning within ateez's hierarchy in this au

the diamond chandelier. melting thinking about mv san. sorry

KITTY :D

wait sorry i was rewatching the mv bc of the piano mention and im gonna explode. im gonna send an ask dw dw

the mv okay. FUCKIN YEOSANGS FLOWR OUTFIT GRAHHH (pulls at my hair) jongho with the cat and the piano !!!! you nailed the car too w mingi omg ?

MINGI IN FRONT OF THE DESK ??? IS THAT WHERE YUNHO AND HIS SCENE AT THE TABLE COMES FROM ???

gotta lock back into the story. sorry. (i didnt lie with my yapa yapa)

barking over iomt hongjoong mention. sorry. daddy? sorry (death by pans and pots)

ngl yunho scattering ashes on the table cloth gave me a bit of an ick 😭

he was curious about her. growls. didnt he think she was some doll >:(((((

okay. the whole dinner. (wipes sweat off brow and sighs in relief) yunho intimidating. hes the guard doggggg

oh my god but yeosangieeeee and mingiiiii my princesses. my babiesssss

god i love my yeowoosan. i do. i wont lie any longerrrr

mingi cursing had me giggling

ALSO JONGHO MY BABYYYYYY BABY BOY BABY !!!!! :D

the time jump.... kitty z we love u dont take it personally pls :(

oughhhhhh its gonna be hard waiting for the next chapter this is so good !!! ill make sure to rb again when i reread the chapters hehe

till the next update or when i reread them !!! pls take care haley !

yappa yappa over o7

like a waltz⎯ part 4: piqué.

pairing(s): ateez ot8 x fem!reader; this chapter focuses on all the boys & reader except my beloved matz :(( (their time is coming.) series summary: when 8 mysterious bachelors arrive to town and fall for your charms, will you be able to reach your goal to be prima ballerina or be dragged into a selfish waltz between love and obsession? glimpse: As trouble arises and your patrons spend more time with you, more attention gets locked on you. Their interest is thoroughly piqued by you. warnings/tags: inspired by Ateez’s Ice on my Teeth MV & Teasers, Mafia AU, Ballet AU, early 1900’s AU with some divergences in tech advancements (i.e rule of cool), 3rd person POV, use of YN, mxm, polyteez, MATURE topics, canon typical violence (choking, fighting, punching, etc), canon typical gore, blood, death, guns, explicit language, stalking, alcohol, smoking, bribery, lack of privacy, allusions to exploitation in ballet, implied sexual themes, suggestive themes, kissing, intimacy, angst, fluff, voyeurism sort of, obsession, infatuation, sugar daddy themes, unequal power dynamics, food descriptions, missing people, polyamory, pain, medical drug usage, traumatic injury, injuries, reader discretion advised & 18+ readers only! Let me know if I should tag anything else! word count: 20.4k previous chapter <- -> next chapter series masterlist

piqué ; french pronunciation: [piːk], ‘pricked’… or to stimulate interest or curiosity.

Creeping out of the stage-door hours after a performance was a normal thing for ballerinas. The alley way was something all the girls were familiar with just as they were with the foyer de la danse. Its damp cobblestone, nearby rotting trashcans, and the barely lit path was their red-carpet entrance. They were not allowed the luxury of entering through the grand doors of the opera house with its tall columns, brightly lit lamps, and the many steps towards its shiny, gold-painted extravagance The only days they were allowed to enter through the front doors were when the opera house was closed and they were rehearsing. The petit rats were only welcomed with glamour when the rich weren’t nearby. They had the back-entrance. This was the ugly underbelly of the pretty façade.

Dressed in her pretty coat and her warmest layers, she had said goodbye to San and Wooyoung ages ago. But then, the Madame had spoken to her and a few ballerinas in her office, relaying some notes, insisting on the girls performing the rectifications immediately. So, there they stood in the rehearsal room, satin-ribboned shoes laced up over thick winter stockings and their day-dresses on. The ballerinas repeated their motions: turning in pirouettes, performing jetes, and piquing across the hall. It was only after the city’s clock tolled twelve times that the Madame allowed them to stop with a slam of her cane into the wooden floorboards. Then, after confirming each dancer had paid their weekly bill (YN smiled, wiping sweat from her brow as she was told her patrons paid once more), they were allowed to leave. The other ballerinas had all scurried home by the time she had gathered her bag and coat once more.

It was late into the early hours, past midnight and not yet morning when she finally left the opera house and crept out into the alley.

Pushing the heavy door open with her shoulder, the chill of night soaked into her bones with a whoosh. Shivering a bit, she adjusted her pretty coat closer to her body and prepared herself for the walk home. Her boots click clacked on the icy pavement as she exited the mouth of the alley. Looking this way and that, the streets were abandoned. Seemingly abandoned. Some of the candle-lit lamps even had fizzled out in the evening with no leeries about to relight them. She continued to walk along, humming softly until she heard the noise. Loud panicked whispers. A crackling fire. The crinkling of a tin-barrel. The smell of smoke. Ahead of her, dark smoke was tumbling out of a nearby alleyway, firelight lighting the brick-walls. She paused, her foot-steps slowed.

Click. Clack.

“You fucked up the deal?” It was frightened.

Click, clank.

“I didn’t mean to; I didn’t mean to. Johnny stole some cash from them, and then-“

“I don’t care! We needed this deal – the money, before he arrives – before we all lose –“

There was the squealing of car wheels and the smell of hot gasoline in the air. YN froze, her footsteps stopping. A car door slammed open, and there was a new click-clank of boots. A startled yell, a shuffle of footsteps, voices overlapping; there was a thud of a body hitting the icy ground with a yell. YN held her breath.

“Gentlemen,” the newcomer’s voice was gravely. There were heavy footfalls and a scrambling sound of someone walking backwards. Something hit a tin-can.

“B-B-Boss.”

“Where is it?”

“Oh, about that –“ the other chuckled. 

“My money isn’t no laughing matter.” There was a thud like someone being shoved into a wall violently. The man groaned in pain. “You think I’m someone to be crossed? Where. Is. It?” the intimidating deep voice asked, lowly.

YN swallowed, frozen at the alley way’s entrance just out of view. When would she be able to pass? She needed to get out of here quiet and without being noticed. Or else… she was scared what would happen. This wasn’t the usual gang-dealings. Gangs would fight back, fist with fist. These men were scared.

“We can get it to you- We can- just give me some time, boss!”

“This is the second time,” the graveled voice grumbled; there was a low whistle, sharp and piercing.

And then it was quiet. There wasn’t even pleading, no whimpering.

Silence.

YN’s breath was held as she tentatively peered out from her spot. A sliver of her face was visible against the brickwork wall of the alley way. Smoke hazed the figures, but she could just make out the broad shoulders of the deep-voiced man, cornering another man to the brick wall. The man’s hand scratched at the many-ringed fingers that grasped his throat mercilessly. A gagging sound was heard. Not one of the gang-member’s allies moved to help them. Instead, they were all staring at the automobile.

A truck was reversed into the alley way. Black and large, it shined and flickered in the firelight. Its back-doors pushed open with a click, and men in dark masks tumbled out. Large, intimidating suited figures held bulky guns she had never seen before. YN had seen muskets, shotguns, and even a revolver once. These weren’t that. These were heavy, mechanical, and dangerous-looking. They piled into the alley, the metal of their weapons glinting in the firelight of the makeshift-barrel fire. The frightened figures strewn about the alley way were frozen-still; a few on the ground pleaded, praying. The masked men pointed their weapons at them warningly.

Her heart rate jumped.

This was more than just a gang fight – this seemed methodical. Frightened, her eyes darted to the other side of the alley, her path home just a few steps away. But she’d have to reveal herself… While they were distracted, she’d run. She would. She needed to get out of here quick. Like a mouse, she’d escape when the cats played with their prey.

There was the clink of a car door opening and a metallic thunk of it shutting firmly. A sigh echoed out into the air, disappointed.  

“Please, boss.” The figure held to the wall managed to splutter out.

His captor pushed him up the wall with a violent thud before finally letting go. The man gasped and gaped like a fish as the dark figure took a step backwards to look towards his accomplice. The figure exiting the car didn’t have the dark masks like the others. In this light and smoke, she could only make out the shape of him. Clean cut short hair, the trail of cigarette smoke, the gleam of his teeth. He tossed the cigarette to the icy floor.

Click, clack.

Click, clack.

Click, clack, BANG.

A gunshot went off. His hand was outstretched in a flash; the pistol in his grasp smoking. A man on the ground let out a yelp of pain; his blood splattered against ice and stone. His hand grasped at his leg helplessly in agony.

“Shall we send a message to your pals?” the new man insisted, cocking his red-hot gun again and aiming it at the man his companion had just released from a chokehold.

There was pleading; names babbled over one another until they were unrecognizable. “Sir! Mercy please!”

“I think we should,” the deep-voiced man commented, nearly growling out his words. “We knew you scum thought this was some game. And here you made it all messy.”

His teeth gleamed and glinted with his snarl.

“Let’s make it messy in return.” He finished, nodding at the other.

There was a signal, and the men fired at the others at the two tall figures’ command. Gunfire, loud, fast, and hot, blazed out across the alley way. Her voice escaped her, screaming out. Hiding quickly out of danger, YN jumped back.

“What’s that?” a voice bit out. “You got some dame in this? Find her. Get her!”

They had heard her. Ice flooded her veins. She turned to run, only to run face first into a broad chest. She screeched out again, her hand raising to muffle it. By the looks of his attire, he wasn’t one of the gang members from the alley way. No, this gentleman was dressed nicely in a midnight-black tuxedo with a black cummerbund sash around his waist like he had been at the opera house. His face was firm, almost furrow browed as he righted her with a careful hand on her shoulder. He couldn’t be in this mess; he looked so polished and unaware.

“Mis—” He didn’t get to finish his statement as she interrupted him. Her hands shoved unlady-like against his sturdy chest, wrinkling what had been previously a fine-pressed white button-up.

“We’ve got to get out of here.” She hushed. “Now!”

Her eyes dripped of innocence, of protectiveness. Her fear was palpable. His intense brown orbs met hers and, without hesitation, he nodded. Surprisingly, despite his height and stature, he let her push and pull him away from the alley way and back towards the front of the now-abandoned opera house. She tugged him by the hand up the stairs, so they could stand hidden by the columns. 

Her boots click clacked with each step of the stairs. More gunshots rang out; footsteps followed after them. She stumbled a bit, yelping; the mystery man’s free hand reached out to support her waist before he pulled her into the cover of the tall columns.

She could hear gunfire echo through the street, and she jumped with each bang, bang, bang. The stranger’s hand rose to duck her closer to the column rather than hide against it himself. Curling into herself, into the man’s side, the column, her eyes shut tight. This was a nightmare. The masked figures would surely come after them. They’d pull him away and then her, and what would happen next? She was shaking. There was yelling, shouting. She flinched. A loud whisper.

“Maknae?”

No reply. There was a crunching of snow, the moaning of men in pain. There was a long pause; she didn’t dare open her eyes. And then, there was the sound of footsteps walking away, heaving and thuds of something, and finally the squeal of car wheels going far away from the scene. The smell of gun-smoke and burnt rubber and gardenias (her rescuer’s cologne she realized) was all that was left.

A silence tumbled over the square like the cold water of an ocean’s tide, overwhelming and discombobulating. She stayed frozen for a long until a single finger poked at her shoulder.

“Miss?” he prompted softly; he shook her shoulder firmly then.

His tone sounded nervous, almost afraid. Of course he would be; she was afraid! It was frightening to almost be caught up in trouble. They had been so very close to being looped into a gang fight. She swore she’d never go down that alley or any alley again - ever. Shortcuts home be damned.

“It’s okay. You can open your eyes.” His voice was melodic, soft. Warm in this icy cold.

Her eyes opened tentatively, and she took in the sight of the gentleman in front of her.

He looked down at her with those intense deep-brown eyes, his dark hair mussed over his forehead. She could see his brows furrow at her in concern; his tongue peeked out to swipe over his top lip. His clothes, presumably for the ballet, were wrinkled by her man-handling.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, glancing her over with a quick look.

He didn’t let his gaze linger, but he hadn’t let his hand up from her shoulder either. She swallowed and shook her head as she shifted her shoulders, physically gathering herself as she replied.

“I’m okay, sir. Are you?” she asked politely. Her voice trembled still.

His face smoothed into something she’d almost call relief before he nodded. “I am.” He glanced out at the road. “They’re gone.”

He spoke to reassure her, the tone firm and resolute.

“Do you want to go to the police?” he asked slowly.

He seemed not too disheveled as he took a few steps away from her. His eyes remained on the nearby street, monitoring it. There was no sounds of moaning or pain. What had happened to the gang members? The gun fire was horrible; she hadn’t seen much. Except for red, red, red. No. No! She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want any reason for those men to come find her! They heard her. They had. Her hands rubbed over face; hours old makeup and sweat was sticky against her palms. It felt like blood for a moment.

It sent chills up her spine.

“Miss YN?” her rescuer prompted again, dragging her attention to him.

“No, sorry,” she babbled out. “No.” she confirmed firmly. Her arms wrapped around herself, tugging her coat closer.

“Are you sure?” the man’s brow raised.

“It’s easier to ignore these things,” she muttered out. “Safer. To not get involved.”

The man hummed low in his throat, melodically.

“Thank you,” she said after a moment, trying to shake off her fear. “For shielding me up here. And running away.”

“You warned me. You saved me I guess,” he chuckled. “Thank you.”

She smiled shakily before glancing back at the now-quiet streets. Her hands clutched her coat closer.

“Will you be alright, Miss YN?” he asked.

Her nod was preoccupied.

“I will be,” she told him, glancing up at him. He fit right in with the glamour of the opera house. She wondered why she had never seen him before. He was memorable. His face was handsome; his form strong in a different way to San’s but still imposing.

“I’ll be on my way. It’s late and I don’t want trouble. I’m glad that we are both aliv-okay.” she corrected.

“I understand,” he said. “You don’t want a chaperone?”

She didn’t even know him. She wished Wooyoung or San was here. She shook her head, and she took a step away, fiddling with her coat.

“I’ll be okay. Good night…”

“Jongho,” he answered, even if she wasn’t asking. “My name is Jongho.”

“Jongho,” she repeated. “Thank you again.”

He nodded, bowing at the waist.

“Good night, YN.”

He’d whisper, “stay safe,” but he knew he’d be following after her in just a little while. After all, her designated shadow was busy tonight, too busy taking care of business to watch over her. So, the once-street-mutt Jongho had been sent in his stead to watch over his lady. And Jongho couldn’t help but be curious about her. Even more now that he had held her in his arms and seen the sweetness of her soul in her eyes.

YN was safe in her bed that night when she realized she had never told him her name.

And yet he had said it.

-

Her motions were sloppy. Her pointe was weak. And her mind lost. She plied.

“Are you alright, honey?” San asked.

It was the next night - before showtime. San and Wooyoung somehow weaseled themselves into the boudoir before any other patrons could. Sometimes she wondered how much coin that costed them. The Madame had been strict with no patrons before shows – allowing the fragile privacy to warm up and prepare for the shows. It was so easily broken by the two men, but their eyes were only locked on her. And when she turned away to shimmy into a costume or fix a corset or a loose ribbon, they’d respect her. Glancing aside no matter how much temptation itched at their hands.

Wooyoung had offered once to lace her up, and he was met with a look of sharp disbelief – even if it was shadowed by a sweet blush. He hadn’t asked again, but he looked forward to the day he would be able to lace her up… and unlace her.

Tonight, they stood leaning against the barre as she continued to warm up. But, of course, San had caught her shakiness, her focus weaning.

His hand slide across her waist slowly, thumb caressing up and down.

“I’m okay,” she said honestly, leaning into his support as she lowered her leg off the barre. She flexed her feet and rose up on to a pointe for a moment before sighing out and turning to face the two men.

San’s hand ghosted after her waist, guiding her close as she came to settle between her patrons. She rested her bum on the barre between San and Wooyoung. Her pristine white costume made her look like an angel between two black-suited demons. Wooyoung flicked his cigarette bud into an ash tray he’d stolen taken from the front lobby of the opera house.

“I’m sensing a but,” Wooyoung teased. His fingers trailed lower that they had before, grazing over her the small of her back closer and closer ‘til… San slapped his hand, albeit lightly. She didn’t chuckle at his joke. In fact, it was almost like he didn’t joke at all. He frowned.

“Hm, swanette?” he encouraged again.

“It’s—things have been different around town recently. I just got scared last night,” she admitted, fingers trailing back and forth over the barre pole supporting them. Restlessly. “I think its just shaking me up today.”

“How so?” San asked inquiringly.

“I don’t know. I’ve seen two gun fights in the past month while walking home. That’s not normal. There’s all sorts of kidnappings or disappearances. It’s just,” she shivered, thinking of the fear that had clung to her bones since last night. “Scary.” Her arms wrapped around herself.

Wooyoung frowned, his thumb going to rub at her arm soothingly. He didn’t like her fear. He liked her smiling far more.

“You didn’t go to the police, honey?” San asked, brow pursing. Wooyoung glanced over at San.

“No,” she admitted. “It’s—not my business.” She shook her head a bit, not agreeing completely with her phrasing. “I mean, that’s how it’s always been. Ignore, walk faster, try to get away before being seen. If you mind your business, they’ll mind yours… unless you’re involved. I’m not. Never have been. But… there have never been gun fights. I’ve seen fist fights, even switchblades being pulled.” She shook her head again. “I sound silly. But I know there were gangs around town – I know the familiar faces of troublemakers, their tells – and they’re afraid. And if the monsters are afraid--”

She trailed uncertain. She sighed out again before her hands went to squeeze both of their hands that rested on the barre.

“Sorry, I’m just shaken up, that’s all. I’m spiraling a bit,” she reconciled. “Sorry.”

Wooyoung was first to cut her off. “No, no, pretty girl. Don’t apologize.” He soothed. “We don’t want you scared.”  

“You weren’t hurt,” San clarified. It didn’t even sound like a question but still he said it.

She nodded in agreement. “Nope,” she showed her bare arms and twisted this way and that. As if it’d prove she was unharmed.

“Someone helped me,” she admitted.

San raised his brow at Wooyoung before the shorter began to fuss over her.

“My scared swanette,” Wooyoung pouted, huddling close. He pressed a kiss to her cheek as he wrapped her in his arms. “Shall we walk you home from now?” he murmured. “San and I will be your personal bodyguards.”

“Uh, huh,” she teased lightly. “I’m sure you will.”

They’ve only walked her home on occasion. She knew it was in the opposite direction of the Ateez House. She didn’t expect them to walk her home. She wanted them to.

“Trust me, you’ll never get hurt around me if I walked by your side,” San promised, pressing a kiss to her cheek as well.

“I’ll make the ground you walk and dance sacred.” Wooyoung whispered. “Drench it in holy water for you.”

She laughed at that.

“Stop teasing me,” she giggled. “You’re being mean.”

“We’re not teasing, honey.” San pressed another kiss to her cheek.

“I’m sure.”

“Shall I carry you home instead? Like a damsel.” Wooyoung teased, arms sweeping underneath her legs.

Wooyoung was growing bolder by the day, and it made her cheeks flush. She let out a shriek of laughter, dragging the eyes of the other ballerinas their way. San raised his brow at them. Unbeknownst to YN, San seemed to harden when looking at anyone other than Wooyoung or her. He spun her playfully. Her mind rightfully distracted from her fear finally.

“You’ll never step foot on ground again while I’m around, Miss Swanette.”

-

It was dark in the restaurant’s backroom. Smokey and lowlight with flickering candlelight. The servers, the cooks, everyone had been pushed out, locked out. The long table was bare of any meal. Water in crystal glasses sat in front of each man. At the head of the table, there was a decanter of amber liquid with two empty pristine glasses. It was quiet, so quiet that the squeaking of rats could be heard in the floor board. Nervous eyes looked this way and that; bodies shifted and fidgeted. The door opened, and all eyes were sucked to into their orbit.

Two figures stood side by side. Matching Rolexes glimmered on their wrists as they both adjust their suits. One shoved their gold-lined, midnight-black suit’s sleeves up with little finesse while the other took his time, slowly peeling off his suit jacket before rolling his white button-up sleeves up. Slinging his discarded jacket across one of his broad shoulders, he then adjusted his black tie, a long silver ring encompassed his pointer finger of his dominant hand. It almost looked like a claw. The other rolled his neck, the glimmer of multiple gold and pearl necklaces matching his sneer. 

Tall and taller glanced down the long table. Young and old sat there; most didn’t look like they had much. Fake luxurious hats with feathers, rings that didn’t sparkle quite right, and sweat-stained pinstriped suits. Some did have money. Their fat fingers rubbing their gold necklaces nervously. All of them shifted in their seats as the duo approached. One on each side of the table, they prowled.

“Gentlemen,” the one who spoke out first nearly growled his words in a snarl.

Rather than walk with his chin high like his companion, he tilted his chin to glare down the table. Dark eyes made darker still by anger. There was a laziness in his swagger as he walked behind one row of chairs; a hand trailed over each leathered chair.

“We have some… requests,” the taller one stated, a smile coming to his glimmering mouth.

 -

YN watched as Imara grab Dohyun’s hand. Her words were hushed in the loud boudoir, unreadable. But she could see the panic, the tears twinkling on her lash line.

‘Don’t do this please.’

She could read the pretty dancer’s lips.

The bank owner yanked his arm away, harshly. As if they hadn’t touched Imara’s body up and down like it was his for over a year. He glanced about as he spoke, mouth moving too quick for her to catch any words.

He shook his head again as he turned and left the boudoir.

Imara had to pay for her dues the next day for the first time in over a year.

-

Wooyoung stood by his promise. Each night since, he or San walked YN home, winding through the streets with their fingers interlaced. Most nights it was him. He liked the shared time for just them he said. Sometimes, he grew daring and would wrap his arms around her waist, chin on her shoulder. Like two lovers taking a stroll.

The following nights had been relatively calm; there were no gun fights, no gangsters. In fact, the streets seemed boring. Not a soul was seen around them except for, of course, her loyal following shadow. Not that she’d know. He was like a ghost, sneaking around the corners and alleys to keep them in his sight.

From the darkened corners of the streets, the figure followed after them night after night. His annoyance only growing as Wooyoung’s touches grew bolder in the solitude of night. With no one there, the idea of public decency was lost to the second-youngest. It wasn’t anything explicit. He just was touchy. Touchier than if it were daylight. Holding her closer, his touches longer, longing.

Longingly, he wanted to hold her; he wanted her to curl into his arms. Her shadow-man scowled deeply. Wooyoung truly was a brat he decided. Still, he continued to trail them from far away. But every now and then, Wooyoung would turn and give him a wink over his Swanette’s head. His hand sliding up her back, slow and teasing; his fingers tickled and trailed lower and lower on her waist. He whispered something in her ear, and she giggled.

Wooyoung’s smirk was triumphant as his eyes flickered over to the shadow in the alleyway. Wooyoung was teasing. Teasing both of them.

She’d huddle closer after, and the stalking figure would whisper out a curse. Jealousy itched at his stomach, and he was sure to return home with a scowl. He wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted, and, while he was a gentleman, his thoughts felt not-so gentle. He wanted to hold her. Kiss her. Have her love him. He’d give her anything she wanted. He was already so weak for her, and they hadn’t even met.

He buried himself in the work that was piled on his desk, thanks to Hongjoong. Still, he’d get distracted, imagining fantasies of him and her. He spun a ring on the desk, the ‘S’ emblem on it taunting him.

Would he be able to see her perform soon? Seonghwa and Yeosang had visited. Even Jongho had. Maybe he’d convince Hongjoong to let him go to the foyer de la danse like Wooyoung and San were able to. Why couldn’t he?

The young man knew the answer like a bitter liquor.

Later that evening, Wooyoung and him would meet face-to-face. A smirk on his kiss-swollen lips as he popped his head into the higher-rank’s office.

“Had a nice stroll?”

-

It was a Friday, and Julia with the red hair had been given a private dressing room. That was all anyone could whisper and gossip about.

It wasn’t large. It didn’t even have a mirror or dressing table yet. It was a small closet of a space. But it was hers - exclusively. Her name on a golden plaque had been placed on the door with the title ‘Featured Ballerina’ etched below it. There was space for more.  

The entire ballet troupe knew it had been paid for by her patron and wasn’t a result of any promotion amongst the troupe. She wasn’t prima; there was no way for her to achieve higher with no new show to audition for. It was all an act. It wasn’t talent. It was money and favoritism.

Meanwhile, Imara was despondent, cold as ice to anyone that gave her a pitying look.

Patrons came and went like the seasons – even if one thought they’d last forever, winter always came.

It made talking to either woman difficult. Julia was high on her excitement. The way she walked was like she owned the world. She would run off to her closet the moment she came off stage, even if there was hardly room for two people in the space, let alone warming up or staying warm. But, as YN exited stage left, she and the red head stumbled into one another with a clank.

They both yelped, flinching at the pain that radiated up their shoulders.

“Sorry,” YN apologized before her gaze rose and realized who it was.

“Hey Julia.” Her tone was sharper, less friendly than. Almost icy.

The red-head rubbed her shoulder scowling at the other before her own face dropped into an attitude of sorts.

“YN.”

It wasn’t said fond or with blooming respect like it had been before. Where was the respect that had been trickling down with San and Wooyoung’s support? Was it because Julia was still ever-higher than her? Was it because she had a dressing room now?

Maybe it was because they spotted one another outside of the ballet with their patrons by their side.

“Why did you lie to me?” YN spouted out, brows furrowing.

The other ballerina laughed out, too loud. She was almost heard over the orchestra playing a lofty tune as the White Swan jete’ed about on stage nearby.

“What are you talking about?” the other replied, dramatically hushing her tone.

“You said your patron never invited you out of the ballet.” YN stated. “But I saw you at the tennis match.”

There was a condescending tut that escaped the other, and it made YN’s eyes fall into slits.

“Oh, honey,” it was said cruelly. “You need to catch up. If you want to be like them, not be theirs, you must play like them.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ve gone on plenty of outings with my patron.” She stated, fixing her hair.

“So, you lied,” YN clarified again, simply. What wasn’t clicking? She lied to her.

“I’m not invited; I’m expected,” she said. “I go where I want.”  

Semantics. It made her roll her eyes.

“He pays for you just as mine pay for me,” YN commented. “Why didn’t you just tell me it was normal? I was worried.”

Julia finally sighed out.

“Listen, YN. Liars are the only thing that fill those rich homes. Even your boys.” She bit out. “You better learn the game, how to play it, and how to tell if someone is lying to you if you want to be upper-class so badly, YN. Otherwise, you’ll just keep playing pretend, and nobody wants a pretender.”

Then, without another word, the red head pushed past her with a huff.

-

The game. Julia had called it a game.

YN had always looked at the boudoir as a show. A performance between patron and protégé. Usually explicit. But Julia saw it as a game. What type of game YN wondered?

Was it chess? A game of wits? A game of checkers? A game of hopping to the next best thing?

Wooyoung and San didn’t see her as a game. This she knew in her bones. Their sweet words were too sweet. Their genuine excitement and care were a balm to her. But then, she glanced aside at Imara who was like a lost sock without her patron, use ambiguous and left lonely in the corner of the busied boudoir. She had thought the same thing about her patron.  

Doubt crawled in. Trickled in her veins. Even as the pair of men strode into the boudoir after the show per usual. San fixed his vest, the white button up loosened and less appropriate, but pleasing to the eye. Wooyoung finished his drink, handed to him by the bulkier man obediently as they walked.

“Hello you two,” YN greeted.

“Hi, pretty lady,” Wooyoung replied. “How was your evening? You were lovely as always.”

“It was good.” she said.

Wooyoung presented his cheek to her, expectedly. With their increase in dates and walks home, he’d become openly affectionate now. Not that she fought against it. If she didn’t press a kiss, he’d pout but when she did a pleased hum would reverberate through his chest like a cat’s purr. It made her beam; his happiness became her pleasure.

She pecked his cheek, quick. He grinned and quickly engulfed her in an embrace. His lips danced over her face. Tiny millions of butterfly kisses were pressed over her cheeks, her nose, her forehead. Giggles consumed her; his quirking lips hummed as he worked his way down to her jaw, underneath it, her neck, to her collarbone, before he was pressing fond kisses over her pearl necklace and up the column of her throat. Each one sent a tingle running through her.

“No pain?” San questioned, aware of how easily she bruised and ached.

She shook her head distractedly.

“Only a few more shows left anyways if so.” She commented. He gave her a scolding look. “Training will be less strenuous than performing. Surprisingly.” She chuckled, gasping out as Wooyoung pressed a deep kiss to the spot beneath her jaw. Not quite a hickey but close.

“Good,” the man replied. She needed a break San thought. He saw how her toes were a bright red through her tights.

“It’ll be nice to dance something new soon – but it’s bittersweet.” She just managed to get out.

San hummed out in agreement, pressing his own kiss to her forehead as he wriggled Wooyoung away from his honey to let her begin to dress into every-day clothing once more. She gave him a thankful look as she quickly went to change nearby. Her face was flushed, and her heart raced. How was her hair even more mussed from her bun? He hadn’t even touched it.

“I know,” San replied. “You must be excited?”

She smiled as she shed out of her feathers.

“Closing night is always such an experience,” she taunted.

It was. Full of celebrations, champagne, and influx of patrons spending their last pennies of the season.

“Will you be there?”

“Of course, baby,” Wooyoung cooed from San’s arms. She saw him ghost a kiss across his neck.

“We’ll be there for every closing and opening from now on.”

-

Wooyoung sat by her side, her hand in his as he gestured to the menu about this tea and that americano and this croissant. Their spread was already far more than either of them could finish. Large oozy cookies, steaming croissants with chocolate fillings, savory bite-sized tarts, and a large sandwich Wooyoung had already cut in half. One for him and one for her.

They had begun to have more dates like this; Wooyoung favored more intimate places such as cafes where they could cozy up close and share treats and talk while San liked to show her off at tennis matches and outings of public attention. She had liked it – but she couldn’t help but hear Julia’s voice in the back of her head.

Did she know her patrons?

Wooyoung smiled brightly and talked easily with her now; an air of comfortability was palpable as his fingers played with hers.

“Wooyo,” she prompted tentatively, interrupting his yapping.

“Hm?” he looked up from the menu, his face inquiring. Brows raised, and mouth squeezed shut.

“I have a question.”

“Ask away, swanette.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly before letting go and flexing his arms to resettle his sitting form to look at her more attentively.

“Why is it you introduced yourself as a Jung? And not a Kim?” she asked.

“Force of habit, really,” he admitted. “Hongjoong insists on us sharing his name.” He raised his coffee to his lips, taking a sip.

“Because he helped you when you needed him?” she recalled.

His grin grew wide, amused. “Yeah.” He paused, biting his lip for a moment before he scooted closer. “He took me in basically. Which is why I consider him family, close as thieves just like Yeosangie and Sannie.”

“He’s at Ateez House?” she queried, fingering a cookie. Tearing it up but not really eating as she thought.

How many were at that mansion? Yeosang, San, Wooyoung… Hongjoong and Seonghwa as well?

“There’s a lot of you there.”

He nodded as he picked up one of the crumbs she was making and pressed it to her lips. His fingertips were warm from the hot ceramic of his coffee cup. He smiled fondly as she nibbled at it. Before raising the rest of the crumb to his mouth, licking at the chocolate melting on his fingertips.

She licked her lips as she watched, chocolate fragrant on her tongue.

“There are eight of us,” he told her. “Eight men in one house, you can imagine the chaos.”

He spoke as if they shared an apartment and not a grand ‘haunted’ mansion.

“What does he do?” she mumbled, half focusing on her attempt to solve the mysteries that had plagued Ateez House’s occupants.

“Eh, a lot of things,” he sucked at the crumbs on his thumb before reaching out a wiping a smudge at the corner of her lips. “This and that. Loves art and shows and spectacle. Is a bit of a collector, more than Sannie is – you know, San loves pretty things.”

She already knew where this was going.

“Like me, Wooyoung?” she teased, beating him to his flirt.

“Just like you, Swanette.” He nudged her tea her way, urging her to drink before it went cold. “C’mon, try this too.”

And like that, her mind was sucked into his fancies as he fed her a warm tartlet that tasted richer than any food she had ever had.

-

It was the first night Wooyoung and San would be unable to walk her home. Wooyoung was good at keeping his promise; he walked her home for many many nights. His babbling softened with his sleepiness which was cute. It was worth it to press a kiss to her lips before she went inside, and even more worth it when he caught the shadow of a figure watching them. He’d blow him a kiss – behind her back that is.

She was anxious to walk alone. Her stomach churned at the though. Wooyoung had apologized as they rushed off to something that needed their attention – him and San. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, promising she’d be okay. He’d see her tomorrow. Walk in the light and you’ll be fine, little bird. As if she walked anywhere else anymore – all her shortcuts scared her now.

It was too late to call for a carriage or a buggy to take her home, so it was the only way. Unless she wanted to sleep on the uncomfortable settee in the boudoir (and most likely be kicked out by the janitor early in the morning. She could hear the Madame already. “This isn’t an orphanage, Miss YN.” Despite the selection of orphans that made up their ranks.)

So, YN hugged her jacket around herself and began her trek home.

And it was so peaceful. Not a whisper, not a fight, nothing. The streets were abandoned – even the men who were stumbling home drunk were absent. It was absolutely empty. Except for her.

And her stalker, of course.

-

San was early at the opera house the next day– so early the doors to the boudoir weren’t unlocked yet. Instead, he lingered out front, pacing this way and that.

“Sannie,” she exclaimed at the sight of him.

How did he know she was going to practice early today? The question was quickly forgotten as she hugged him. His arms wrapped around her in a warm bear hug before he pulled back to press a kiss to her nose.

Sweet, that’s what San was.

“What’re you doing here?” she asked, smiling affectionately up at him.

They hadn’t shifted in their embrace; San kept her close to him as he looked down at her. There was clear fondness there. His fingers rubbed up and down her back, over her warm winter coat.

“I wanted to see you,” he admitted. “You look so cute in your coat.”

His words brought a flush to her cheeks. This was what she imagined when she thought of Julia’s words. No way could this be false. He was cooing over her, his touch reverent. It was different.

“I love it,” she replied. “It keeps me warm. Just like you.”

He laughed, warmly. He brought her close to his chest again, hugging her. It was funny. For as much as he claimed Wooyoung was touchy, San loved skinship. He liked to keep her close.

“I got you something,” he whispered after a moment, shifting one arm to reach into his pocket.

“What’s this?”

In his small hand (well, small compared to his broad form) sat a beautiful bracelet, teardrop-cut diamonds were linked together into a delicate yet unbelievably expensive gift.

“For you.”

San smiled like a content cat as he watched her fiddle with the pretty diamond bracelet. His dimples were deep in his cheeks. Her fingers brushed over the jewels admiringly. He loved pretty things and seeing her openly awe made him buzz with excitement. Carefully, he linked the clasp over her wrist and turned her hand over in his, watching the gems glimmer and shimmer in the gas light. He grinned.

“What’s this for?” she asked, brows crinkling curiously.

It wasn’t like Wooyoung’s gift – a month anniversary gift – or even San’s gift of the coat, something she had needed in all honesty. This was sudden. Strange.

His fingers brushed over the jewels before he spoke again.

“I was jealous that Wooyo had this pretty necklace around your throat.”

He leaned forward, fingering the pearls around her throat before tugging experimentally at them like it was a leash. They tightened with the pressure, choking her lightly and forcing her to lean closer to her patron. YN’s breath stolen, not in pain but in a flicker of excitement, surprise, pleasure. Her head tilted back to smile up at him. His fingers tightened around the pearls ever so.

“Oh, honey,” San cooed soft and sweet as he continued to tug her up by the collar of her necklace to capture her lips in a kiss. One kiss that devolved into many as he pushed her up against the door to the boudoir, lifting her lightly into his arms. Pressed against the door, her bejeweled hand tangled in his hair, tugging him ever closer.

They were lucky no one passed by as they devoured one another.

San may have been a gentleman, but his greed and power revealed itself slowly but surely.

-

Another man was missing. He had been a regular in the boudoir. A young man who spent his spare pennies to leer at them. He wasn’t missed by any of the ballerinas, but it was frightening. Too many people were disappearing or getting into trouble.

Her mother and the other ladies at the factory walked together now. To and from work, in case trouble arose. She had even pushed for YN to walk with someone to the Opera House for once.

“Your boy is a good one,” she appraised. “That Wooyoung walks you here every night now. Like a gentleman. Stick around him.”

-

San had invited her out to another tennis match. Wooyoung had been caught up in business (business she still didn’t know of, she lamented as they walked along the cobblestone streets. San had whispered in her ear that it was boring. Wooyoung was unlucky to not be here with her. And he, in turn, was ever lucky.)

She wore his pretty diamond bracelet on her wrist, and, every time he stole a glance, his face curled up into a pleasant happy grin. He looked sweet like a kitten.

His arm wrapped around her waist as they sat and watch Yeosang’s match. Drinking champagne, he’d offer her his flute every so often, and she’d sip away. It was an expensive brand, far more easy to drink than the piss-poor alcohol the ballerinas could afford for their own celebrations away from the leering men of the opera. Drinking the expensive liquor the men offered was never a good idea – it led to worser things.

Yeosang looked as pretty as ever. He reminded her of a ballerino the way he danced about the court.  Somehow both pretty and masculine as his form bent and stretched. Muscles rippled, leaner than San’s but not any less bulging. His arms flexed and she held onto the shared flue of champagne tighter.

San’s fingers stroked over her hip.

“You’re staring, honey,” he teased.

It wasn’t the tone of a jealous lover or a scolding of a respectable man. It was lilting, gentle. Her eyes looked away from Yeosang and rested on her date. He sipped his champagne, lips pursing and brows dancing. San’s lids were heavy as he grinned. Just as cat-like as earlier but more cheshire. Like he knew a secret.

He glanced away from her and looked over the athlete. His gaze mirrored hers, she realized. A fondness… no, an attracted air radiated in his deep brown orbs.

Was he teasing her? Was he genuine?

“Now, you’re staring,” she teased in return.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” he replied coyly. He glanced back at her as he leaned in. “He’s handsome, hm?”

Her cheeks flushed at that and she looked away.

“San!” she exclaimed.

His laughter rumbled in his chest as he held her closer. His lips pressed to her ear intimately. 

“It’s alright, honey. He’s mine. Just as Wooyoung’s mine.” He replied easily. “Just as you are mine.” His lips kissed her skin before he pulled away. Her hand shifted to grasp his in hers. His thumb grazed over her bracelet lovingly.

-

Yeosang greeted them after his victory; the zing of celebratory champagne on his breath stinging her nose as he leaned forward to wrap her into an eager hug. Daring for a second-meeting. It made her worry she had been too obvious with her friendliness, her intrigue… her interest in the athlete. She did like him after all.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he beamed.

The smell of his cologne mingled with his sweat. Masculinity mixed with the soft thyme and tea of his perfume. It made her want to hug him closer. He pulled back, his eyes burning with the same intensity beforehand. A straightforwardness. He wasn’t afraid to meet her gaze. His honeyed eyes were sweet and inquiring. Taking in every feature of her – the dark coat, the pearls, the diamonds. He smiled.

“Hello Yeosang. Congratulations,” she returned.

The man nodded respectfully before he glanced over her shoulder at the tall muscled man, eyeing Yeosang with clear adoration.

“San,” he greeted.

“Yeosangie,” San replied with a fond grin. His cheeks were blushed, maybe from the champagne they shared?

The athlete rolled his eyes lightly, playfully, before he settled his gaze on the lady.

“Did you make any bets?” he asked curiously, leaning into her with intrigue.

Her eyes widened. “Oh, no,” she exclaimed. She hadnt even thought of that; she was a guest after all.

“You know what? Yeosang’s right,” San retorted. His hand squeezed her waist. “Next time, you should bet some coin. We do all the time.”

Her brows crinkled, doubtfully. Not because she doubted Yeosang’s abilities. He was a powerful athlete. But betting… she swallowed a bit. She didn’t have much money to risk in general. She had just gotten used to having extra coins in her coinpurse. Her embarrassment burned at her ears.

“I’m not sure,” she said softly.

Yeosang eyed her before he hummed lightly. His gaze settled back on San, firmly.

“I’ll do it for you,” San said instead, downing the rest of his drink. His eyes reopened from the gulp and he shrugged. “I’ll buy you anything, honey. Everything.”

Yeosang laughed, lips curling. Pleased. He leaned in to whisper close. 

“You’ve got our San, sweetheart. Wrapped around your pretty finger.”

The athlete’s fingers were close by still, and they tickled her fingertips playfully. If he was any bolder, he’d be holding her hand. But instead, like a tease, he pulled back. Licking his lower lip and flashing a charming smile that only a socialite had. Easy and well-practiced.

“I’ll buy you anything, too, baby,” San purred towards Yeosang. He looked at the buff man with a raised brow. He always looked so sharp, in a delicate way despite his rippling muscles.

“I know,” he teased.

Yeosang raised a hand to squeeze the younger’s cheeks fondly. San smiled, pleased, a mirror of the grin he gave her earlier. His cheeks looked plump in the other’s lean long fingers. Yeosang chuckled, squeezing them again before his hand dropped and he turned.

“Come with me,” he nodded over his shoulder. “We can talk in the shade – the weather is horrid.”

He was right; the clouds were whirling and swirling into what was sure to be a downpour soon. They walked further into the tennis court’s shaded areas – the betting shop in the corner with a long line. People, mostly men, were cashing in their rewards. San’s hands went to rest on the small of her back; if she had glanced aside, she’d see he did the same to Yeosang, guiding the pair of them this way and that.

A rush of reporters, dressed for the weather with raincoats and large brimmed hats, flooded towards the winner. Yeosang slung his black tennis racket over his shoulder, smiling and waving at the flashing paparazzi’s cameras. Her eyes shut at the bright lights. San’s hand squeezed her waist and tugged her closer.

“Sir, congratulations!” There were cries of celebration and excitement. “Good show! Good show!”

YN wasn’t used to such fanfare, and it made her fantasize of the flashing lights she was hopeful for. One day… she glanced over at Yeosang. She’d be like him. Successful. In his own right. He grinned politely at a reporter, waving with a tight structured wave.

“Mr. Kim! Is it true you know Kim Yunho?” she heard over the chatter.

Yunho… she had heard that name before. But where? She didn’t have time to think as San guided them throughout the crowd, his hand curling over her hip to keep her closer with the writhing crowd jostling them this way and that.

The athlete didn’t reply, and he let his friend guide him through the swarm until they entered a tented area. Once the tent’s curtains were tied together, Yeosang huffed.

“I despise paparazzi,” he admitted, scuffing his feet against the concrete as he walked.

The space wasn’t special, but it was private. Scattered about were a few folding chairs, a wrought-wire bench, and a grey-green locker. Yeosang went to it, and opened it with ease. Within it wasn’t much. A folded assortment of clothes, a letter plastered to the locker’s interior, an extra racket, and a water jug. He placed his dark racket within and picked up the water jug. Raising the glass jug to his mouth, he took a big gulp. San patted her hip encouragingly as he moved away going to sit on the nearby bench. YN tentatively took a seat in a folding chair.

“Your performances of Swan Lake are coming to an end, are they not?” Yeosang queried.

“Oh, yes. They are; will you be able to attend closing night… or any show anytime soon? I’d love to see you there.” she admitted.

Yeosang’s lips quirked against the water jug’s rim before he pulled it away. Swallowing, he nodded. “I would love to see you once more, Miss YN. In your element.”

“You must encourage him to come backstage,” she turned to San. Less asking and more pressing.

He nodded in agreement. Easily swayed by his lovers, he leaned back in his seat casually.

“Is it like this?” Yeosang asked; a hand went to push back his locks, sweatied and damp.

The sight of his sharp brows quirking in curiosity sent a flare of excitement through her. He was so handsome; she couldn’t help but awe. San chuckled at her ogling.

“It isn’t, Yeo.” San admitted. “The backstage is grand and too open with too many girls running about half-dressed and men staring at them.”

Yeosang’s eyes flickered to him. “Even our girl?”

San glanced at her, head tilting. “Not as of late.”

He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and placed it in between his lips. The look he gave Yeosang confused her – sharp, dark, and biting as he bit down on the cigarette before fiddling with a silver lighter. Yeosang hummed lowly.

“San and Wooyoung are polite,” she said, as if that would help the conversation. As if that was the topic at hand. “They’re the best gentleman in the boudoir. Honest.”

San grinned around his cigarette as he finally lit it. He knew she spoke the truth. She always did around him now. It made him happy to know she was so comfortable around them that she didn’t even notice the glares he sent the way of any man that dared eye her as she switched costumes.

Little did she know what would happen to one if they did. 

He puffed out smoke.

“I’d rather see you outside this boudoir then,” Yeosang commented, closing the locker’s door. “I don’t wish to see you improperly, sweetheart. I wouldn’t put you in that situation.”

“We don’t mean to either,” San coughed out, the smoke scattering about bashfully. He turned to look at her with the gentlest of eyes. “You’re painting me to be a villain, Yeo.”

“No, I know,” she interrupted. “I know San and Woo mean well.”

They had said so since the beginning. Wooyoung claimed he didn’t even know he was playing as potential patron until San said so. And now, well, she felt safe around them. When she was with them, when she was introduced to Yeosang, it made her feel permanent. Not a doll on a music box to show off around the right clientele.

Imara never had this.

“Still,” Yeosang tutted. “I’d hate that. If I had those reporters watching every little move I made back here.” He bared his teeth. “I’m sorry you have to suffer that, sweetheart.”

-

“Do you want diamonds?” San asked.

This was the fifth time he had asked if she wanted some grand gift as they walked home. The umbrella San had kept them mostly dry in the drizzle. YN knew he felt bad about the boudoir. Especially at Yeosang’s commentary.

“No,” she let out a chuckle.

“More pearls?” Not his favorite thing, but they looked pretty around her neck and they were useful.

“No,” she giggled, swinging their conjoined hands.

“Then what, honey?” he whined a bit, sounding childlike as he squeezed onto her hand.

She was surprised this bulky beefy man was acting so openly whiney in public. He didn’t need the illusion of masculinity to cling to; there was an element of strength in him deeper than attitude. Even if he was acting like a child.

“I’m okay,” she said. 

He licked the back of his lips. Doubtful. He frowned before stopping in the streets. The lamplighters were out and about, lighting the last remaining candle lights amongst the new gas-line lamps. He didn’t falter. He didn’t care if they were intimately close. His hand around her wrist as he pulled her close in the wet setting sun.

“What do you truly want, honey?”

What did she truly want? She smiled up at him. All her life she had only wanted and yearned for one thing – til Wooyoung and him and Yeosang all tumbled into her life that is.

“I want to be a ballerina. The ballerina prima,” she told him sincerely. Her hand rose to pat his cheek softly. “You are helping me get it.”

His lips pouted as he looked down at her. He didn’t like that answer. That was a harder request. But he wouldn’t tell her that. Instead, he leaned forward to press a sweet kiss to her lips, so quick one would’ve missed it if it hadn’t tasted of champagne and cigarette smoke. His sweetened coffee cologne wafted over her soothingly like a chaser.

-

“Extra edition!” a newsboy cried out.

YN had been walking towards the newest restaurant that San and Wooyoung insisted on trying. It was expensive. Far too expensive for her, but San insisted per usual and Wooyoung pouted that without her he’d be bored. So, here she was walking the streets towards the richer side of town. The richer side of town where all the newsies made their routes; the rich had money to spare.

“Star tennis player Kim Yeosang associated with Kim Yunho, the man released on 1 million coin for murder in broad-daylight! Shocking details revealed.”

Now, that caught her attention. Her feet slowed until she came to a stop. For once, it felt like the newsies had given just enough information to lure her in. Her coin purse pressed against her thigh was heavy. Heavy enough to spare a few coins to buy the paper.

“I’ll take one, Jack,” she told him, digging into her pocket to hand him the necessary amount.

The younger grinned up at her. “Thank you, Miss YN.” He shuffled the heavy stack around, untying the twine to present the fresh-printed and warm newspaper her way.

She nodded in thanks as she unraveled it and began to read.

-

San and Wooyoung sat in the corner of a restaurant, talking lowly in the shadows as they waited. Only to be interrupted by a newspaper being plopped down on the table. Their eyes shifted from one another to the newspaper. Doubtful, almost darkened looks were engrained in their faces before they glanced upward to see their swanette. Haloed by the light pouring into the café, her arms were crossed; brow raised. Their expressions softened immediately like butter.

“Hello, honey,” San rumbled. He tugged the chair out for her.

“What’s wrong?” Wooyoung added.

They hadnt looked at the paper yet.

“What the fuck is this?” she murmured, taking the seat easily as she shoved the headline their way.

Wooyoung licked his lips at her expletive. She didn’t curse much in the boudoir. Hearing it made his cell burn, biting at his lower lip after a moment. He glanced down at the paper; that hot feeling fizzled at the headline. He sighed, head rolling back, before he glanced San’s way. San’s expression hadn’t shifted; not even a twitch of his brow as he looked over his glasses at his partner.

“It’s a long story,” Wooyoung replied.

“I’ve got time,” she retorted, crossing her arms. “Start with the part where Kim Yunho is living in your mansion. Kim Yunho, the man who shot a near-billionaire, dead, in broad-daylight after a supposed bet gone wrong.”

Her voice raised as she retold what the inky print said. She didn’t look intimidating in their eyes. Especially with her pout. San wanted to kiss it off her. Instead, he offered, “Yunho’s got a complicated past, but he only acted in self-defense.”

“He shot a man in broad daylight. Is Yeosang safe? Are you?” she worried. “Hongjoong?”

Wooyoung scooted close at that, hating the way her voice accelerated. San chuckled lowly, shaking his head.

“Oh, little bird,” Wooyoung hummed, taking her hand. “We are safe. We are safe. You don’t need to worry – is that why you are so upset?”

She frowned at them, her furrowed brow deepening. Wooyoung cooed.

“You are, oh, baby,” he hugged her, nearly joining her on her chair. “You are sweet, YN.”

“I’m worried; you are with a criminal,” she mumbled out, making sure her words were too loud. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Wooyoung stole a kiss. “You really are a doll, an angel. We are okay I promise.”

“You can’t just kiss me and tell me it’s okay. How? How is it okay?”

“Yunho is a free-man,” San reminded. “He didn’t break out of jail; he served his time; he paid his fees; he was let go. But apparently caught the attention of the press while doing so.”

“Poor Yeosang,” YN lamented suddenly. “He hated the paparazzi and now-“ she buried her head into Wooyoung’s shoulder.

The younger cooed. His hand going to pet at her back as he glanced over at San while her back was turned. There was a rustling of the newspaper, the crinkling paper being folded over.

“Yeosang will live. He’s been reported on his entire life. Yunho will not hurt us, promise, honey.” San replied. “You’re working yourself up. I’ll get you tea.”

There was a snapping sound of his fingers. A waiter obediently came. The man whispered his order as Wooyoung murmured to YN.

“It’s alright. It really is. You’ll see.”

San and Wooyoung’s eyes met once more.

They should’ve let Yunho meet her before this all happened; their shared grimaces said so.

-

Not even a day later, there were rumors about town. That night whispers about her patrons were all about the boudoir. The Ateez House truly was haunted some said. It had a killer living there. It made her scoff. There were seven others in that house – how could you build a house to be broken and haunted by one person?

The next day, a man from the newspaper company, the Cromer Chronicle, was missing. He had disappeared in the night without a trace. Or well, there was a trace. A letter saying he was going on vacation for a while. But few believed it.

Gossip roared. What was even more interesting, was that the newspaper headlines the next day were completely free of any mentions of Kim Yeosang or Kim Yunho.

But on her vanity, a letter rested with her name in an elaborate script signed by a certain man. The seal was the same ‘A’ emblem that both San and Wooyoung wore on a gold ring.

Miss YN.

You are cordially invited to join Kim Yeosang at the Ateez House estate for a night of fine dining. Casual attire permitted. I am so excited to see you again – if you will join me!  

Yours,

Kim Yeosang

“Did you place this on the vanity?” she asked the two men who sat side by side on a sofa. Sometimes they looked too close for comfort; tonight was one of those nights. Wooyoung was nearly draped across San’s chest, his head cradled on his muscular shoulder as he stared up at her.

“No, swanette,” Wooyoung claimed. “Our hands are clean in this.”

He raised his hands in surrender, wiggling his fingers playfully at her.

“Yeosangie must’ve liked you,” San added with a smirk.

“You’d know,” Wooyoung muttered; San grasped the other’s hip warningly.

Wooyoung giggled out almost like a hyena, head tilting back in mischief.

“You should’ve seen how he looked at her, Wooyo,” San continued, his gaze flickering towards YN from over his spectacles.

“I know,” the other giggled.

“Will you be there?” she asked tentatively.

Her fingers fiddled with the corner of the thick cardstock Yeosang’s handwriting graced. She was used to their presence. They felt safe to her. They glanced at one another. San’s fingers trailed up and down Wooyoung’s waist. Wooyoung went to interlace their fingers smoothly. Squeezing it once and then twice.

“I’m not sure, honey,” San said. “We have business to attend to this weekend.”

“Sorry, pretty,” Wooyoung pouted at her. “We may see you in passing? If you miss us so much, we can meet you here early the next day. I want to hear all about you and Yeosangie.”

She smiled sweetly at them, flushing at the idea that the pair of them encouraged her to dine and possible flirt with another. It was strange but not… unfavorable. Yeosang was handsome. He was delicate but strong. Eloquent and interesting. Understanding. She liked his company. Despite the company he kept… her mind flickered back to the elephant in the room… or yesterday’s newspaper in the nearby waste basket.

“Is… Yunho –“ she asked, shifting this way and that. San couldn’t help but think she looked so sweet, so innocent, so naïve in her little feather tutu, all virginal white. “Is it safe for me - with Yunho there?”

They didn’t even need to look at one another. Wooyoung’s hand held San’s tighter as he shifted his gaze to simmer on her.

“Yunho would never hurt a lady, honey,” San replied, sincerely and instantaneously.

His hand outstretched for her to take. Which she did. It was San after all. Secure, sweet, strong San. He’s been so straightforward. She trusted him. His fingers caressed over her knuckles, “Especially you.”

“Okay,” she breathed. “I believe you.”

“Yeosang will be excited.” San promised, raising her hand for him to press a kiss to her knuckles. “We can deliver the news to him when we get home.”

He pressed a peck to each knuckle before continuing up her hand to press kisses over his bracelet. He placed a final sweet kiss to her pulse before pulling away, and pulling her towards their embrace. San could hold both of them in his lap after all. Wooyoung slid further down on the settee until his head rested on one of San’s thighs. His lips curled.

“I will send a car for you, swanette. You won’t have to lift a foot,” Wooyoung promised, reaching a hand up to tuck hair aside as she sat on San’s rippling thigh. “Easy-peasy.”

-

It was her first time in an automobile. She had traveled in carriages and open buggies but never something so expensive as a brand-new automobile. Something so polished and metallic and rich. Her excitement was almost like a child’s; her smile was bright at the sight of the car sitting curbside. Its lacquer was a deep-olive color, gleaming in the golden sunlight peeking out of the rain-heavy clouds. The chill that nipped at her heels and the rain that itched at the sky made her thankful that Wooyoung had sent a car for her – even if every single one of her neighbors were being nosey. She could see their faces pressed to their windows with curtains shoved aside haphazardly. No cars came here. And certainly, no car like this.

The driver was tall and handsome, his dark brown hair styled sharply across his forehead. A multi-layered suit with shimmering gold detailing looked expensive on his form, a long-coat making his appearance look clean cut and sleek. Just like the car.

His entrancing eyes were dark, siren-like as they locked onto her form as she hopped gracefully down the icy steps. He felt his breath catch. A mix of excitement and fear tumbled through his stomach. She looked so pretty. Her hair was done nicely and modern. Her day-dress was a pretty (if a bit washed out) green color, complimenting the car’s hue perfectly. The sparkle of her pearls around her throat and her diamond bracelet peeking from beneath the sleeve of the dark fur coat made him smile. His full lips quirked into a smirk of a close-lipped smile.

His eyes haven’t left her form yet. Not even when her mother stepped out to awe at the car and the man waiting for her on the curb.

“Hello, doll.” He greeted her, polite with a deep-voice.

His hand, covered in multiple rings, opened the passenger door for her.

“Hi,” she smiled at him, and he wanted to swoon then and there. But he stayed firm, icy, tall. It wasn’t his turn. He wasn’t even supposed to be here. But he knew the way to her house; he had a car. And he was higher than Wooyoung or San in the hierarchy. He’d do what he wanted to do… as long as the Captain allowed that is.

His eyes didn’t leave her as she entered the automobile, tucking her dresses beneath her lady-like. He closed the door behind her and circled around the car to enter the driver’s seat. He took a shaky breath before entering; he felt like a school boy. When was that a feeling he’s felt recently? (The Ateez House would say every time he whined and pouted at them like a princess.)

The interior of the car smelt expensive, too. The well-taken care of leather, the wiped down metal accessories, everything reeked of rich maintenance. Her eyes ate up the new machine, looking at the gearshift, the polished controls. There was even a record player in the dash.

She never realized how rich they were. It surprised her. He ate up how her eyes widened, and she sat so delicate, hands in her lap as if touching something would bite her. She was so cute. His lips curled into a smirk as he turned the key in the ignition. The car rumbled to life, and she let out a little sound of surprise.

He chuckled low, the sound reverberating around her. She glanced over at her driver. He looked casual in the driver’s seat. One hand was on the wheel; the gleam of an expensive watch shone at her. He was leaning back, his hand cupping the back of her car seat carefully as he began to pull the car away into the street.

He didn’t want to intimidate her. Wooyoung had said she was already so nervous about Yunho. So, he didn’t speak, didn’t tease, didn’t do much except drive. He enjoyed her gaze on him though. He watched her so many times that it made the back of his neck and the tips of his ears burn pleasantly. He tongued at his canines, hiding his smirk. His plush lips pursed instead.

Her awe shifted as he sped up, her eyes flickering to the streets that passed by, faster, faster, faster. Faster than any carriage or bike or trolley. It sent a whirl of excitement in her stomach.

“This is my first time in an automobile,” she admitted into the silence.

“It is?” his voice was deep as honey, and it made her spine tingle.

He glanced over at her. He wanted to show her so many new things. He was glad to have one of her firsts. Wooyoung had stolen so many. Her first date, her first kiss, her first embrace. He’d at least be her first car ride – one of many. He’d take her in any of his cars – if they were in the countryside rather than the city, he’d show her how fast these automobiles can go. He’d impress her. They’d go one day, he imagined. They’d go all sorts of places together. He’d show her the world if she wished it.

She hummed out in agreement, pulling him from his daydream.

“It’s nice,” she complimented, shifting her seat.

A flood of rose-petal aroma consumed him. Her perfumed skin. She put so much care into this; into them. It was intoxicating. His eyes locked on the road, his fingers trembling lightly. He flexed his hand and gripped the leather of the wheel tighter.

“Thank you, darling.”

The car ride was a quick one. Ateez House was on the outskirts of the city but not too far away to be a long journey. Just far enough to be private amongst the trees and rolling hills. It looked more alive than it had ever been in all the years she lived in Cromer. While the estate was sprawling and the mansion itself large and imposing with a complicated layout, it always looked abandoned. But now, there were crystal windows gleaming with light, gardeners trimming bushes, and luxury cars pulling into a nearby car garage. People tended to the large fountain in the center of the roundabout driveway, despite the threatening rain that rumbled in the sky. The mansion’s greyness seemed to fade with the orange-light the windows poured into the evening.

It was a phantom resurrected; the flame of life was burning within the house once more.

Mingi cleared his throat. “Welcome to Ateez House, YN.”

Her eyes were locked on his home; winding over the overlapping rooftops, grazing the glowing windows to see if anyone was looking out at them. Two figures, dark silhouettes at most, stood on the upper floor, one short and the other tall.

Her head tilted in curiosity before they walked off.

“Thank you,” she smiled at him before going to open her door. “And thank you for the drive.”

There was a squeak of leather as he shifted closer suddenly. His arm outstretched over her, bracing over her chest. Her gasp was all the sound that filled the air between them. Her head turned and they were nearly nose-to-nose.

He was so close. The blood-orange of his cologne licked at her senses, mingling with the polished leather so refreshingly. He smelled intoxicating and sharp. His face was only inches away; the fabric of his long-coat brushed against her. His hand closed around the metal handle of the car door, gently nudging hers aside. He laughed out nervously. His eyes were wide and gentle. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he flashed the sweetest grin she had ever seen, all toothy and bright. It sparkled… wait, he had diamonds on his teeth. His canines were adorned with gems that gleamed in the setting sun.

“Let me,” he bumbled out. He opened the door from within, before pulling his arm back. His cheeks were painted a rosy color that only made his flustered appearance look more sweet.

“Thank you,” she said, offering him a grin of her own.

She hoped he wasn’t too surprised by her own initial surprise. He was just trying to be a gentleman she realized. Bowing her head, she quickly ducked out of the car, closing the door behind her with care.

The only thought that filled his brain – besides the intoxicating smell of YN – was ‘damn you for winning, Yunho.’ After a long moment of breathing the remains of her deep into his lungs and watching her form walk towards his house, Mingi restarted the automobile with a rumble to guide it back to their private car garage. 

-

Everything reeked of extravagance. Tall walls with recess ceilings and wainscotting details. Gilded gold and glowing gas-lamps. Italian-Renaissance inspired tiles of saints, angels, and the Heavens were inlayed in the ceiling. The floor was patterned, a rich expensive textile making up the carpet.

There were butlers lining the walls of the foyer; all in matching midnight pin-striped suits. It was almost eerie. They were like statues, repeating over and over and over. Expressionless. Each face was stoney, eyes ahead. It reminded her of when the ballet troupe lined up in their matching leotards and were separated by height; row after row. Slicked back hair, delicate body lines, starving ribs. Identical and indistinguishable until they reached prima title.

None of them acknowledged her except for one, a rogue, that walked up and nodded at her politely.

“Welcome to the mansion, Miss YN. Please, come.” He outstretched his hand to encourage her further into the lavish space.

She curtsied, uncertainly. One of the many ghostly butlers took her coat as she walked down the foyer’s hall. Her kitten heels were soft against the carpet flooring until they rounded a corner. They click-clacked across marble flooring, polished ‘til she could see her reflection.

“Mr. Yeosang has requested a meal to be prepared at the West Wing. Please follow me.” The same butler spoke once more before he turned to lead the way.

Following after him, she was awed by the space. The very place that had been teased and taunted and ghost storied about was a gleaming jewel. As they walked, she realized how each hallway, each living space was opulent. The current path had walls that were painted an ice-cold baby-blue. Yet there were touches of warmth everywhere. Fine art in gold-leafed frames, elaborate trims around columns and the floor were the same shining gold. The art was all heavenly. Literally. Gods, angels, and disciples portrayed in blurred brush strokes, painted with colors that ached of softness. Everything was all gold, fluff, and magnificence.

The ceiling had multiple heavy hanging chandeliers of pure jewels. Diamonds dripped from its wire frame and sparkled in the gas-light. Everywhere was gaslit; she was surprised. No one had notice workers here and yet it was modern. Not a speck of dust or age present anywhere – besides the ancient art she supposed.

She slowed as she passed a large Renaissance-esque painting full of cherubs with feathered wings and glowing haloes. Squinting, she saw one figure wearing a ski mask. Huh? A cat meowed nearby. Her attention was caught, her head turning to the sound.  She stilled as she glanced down a nearby hall, one that seemed darker than the others. Doors lined each wall; all shut except for one at the end of that hall. It was opened just a crack, the siren call of a piano trickled out, and a little cat peered around its corner. The sweet cat was a midnight-black, almost blue-ish in tone; her tail twisted behind her as she meowed out again.

YN’s eyes lit up at the sight; the cat meowed again as it wiggled itself out of the doorway. Its paws and claws clinked against the tile, almost in rhythm with the piano music playing. Large green eyes peered up at her curiously as the cat approached; the collar around its throat was expensive – a leather thing with jewels, pearls, and a large silver bell that jingled out the closer it got.

She meowed at her again.

The piano stopped; the reverb humming out discordantly.

“Z?” a voice called out before a gentle melodic whistle chimed out.

The kitty’s attention was caught again, its ears perking up and meowing as if answering the call of its owner. It began to stroll back where it came from.

“Miss YN,” the butler’s monotonic called out.

Her head snapped towards him, answering his call immediately. She stood from the slight crouch she had taken for the kitten’s approach. Her butler stood some feet away, arms behind his back. She expected a disapproving look, but he provided none.

“Please follow me, Miss. We wouldn’t want you disappearing.”

That was almost worse! It sounded so ominous coming from his stone-faced mouth. She swallowed.

“Sorry,” she apologized before she quickened her pace to catch up to him.

“We wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

They continued to walk down this hallway and that hallway. Someone could easily get lost here. It was like a grand castle. Finally, after crossing some carpeted stairs, they were in front of a grand hallway of windows. As they passed, she could see a dreary exterior. Rain had begun to pour, fogging the outside in grey. But she could distantly see a maze of hedges, rose bushes, apple trees, and all sorts of gardens awaiting. She awed at the sight as they continued down the carpeted hall to come to a set of dark oak doors.

“One moment, Miss,” the butler warned as he entered the room quickly.

“Boss, er, sir – “

The doors shut behind him before she could hear any more. She was left alone. YN glanced aside at the wall opposite of the windows. There were inlayed gas lamps, glowing a soft yellow. A portrait hung nearby, painted in a similar style as the painting she saw before.

It was of a young man, a handsome one at that. His inky-black hair was slicked back in shiny waves, a singular strand curled over his forehead daintily. He was in all white, soft silken tunic and oversized bowtie of virginal white. Despite the softness of his attire and of the atmosphere surrounding him (he was almost painted with his own divine halo as if he was an apostle), there was sharpness to his midnight-black eyes and the smirk of his mischievous smile. His ears were pierced up and down, pearls and fine metals looping them in sparkles. A twinkle was shining at the corner of his grin as if his teeth gleamed in the heavenly light around him. He was beautiful, but she couldn’t help but feel like his dark eyes were staring her down.

The tall doors opened behind her suddenly. YN turned to see the reveal of a dining hall as luxurious as the rest of the mansion. But the aroma that wafted from its interior was far more intoxicating.

“Enter, Miss YN.” The butler encouraged, beside the door.

He held them open for her as she took a stride inside. Her lips widening into a smile as she prepared to greet Yeosang at the head of the table. But this was no Yeosang she realized as she gazed down the long, lavish table to meet the dark gaze of a stranger.

With a calculated look, he stared at her from the head of a ten-chaired, decadent table of hot food. It was more than she had eaten in months even with San and Wooyoung: sizzling side dishes, steaks covered in thick luscious sauces, cracked fruits that had a sweet nectar gleaming on them, chocolate-oozing pastries. An open bottle of red wine rested in a frosted chest of ice; eight crystal glasses sat upside down. One glass of red wine sat in front of her spot; the other in the grasp of the man’s hand. The ruby liquid gleamed like blood. A sea of lit-candles decorated the spare space of the table; the chandelier above keeping the candles instead of trading them for their gas-lit counterpart. The orange glow illuminated the intimate room in a hazy feel. Smoke trailed out of his mouth in a long plume, perfuming the delicious air with the heady scent of tobacco.

“Hello.”

His voice was a soft drawl. His close-lip smile was the same. Soft, slow, and confident. His eyes were illuminated by the flickering candles, making the darkness there look like a night sky spattered with stars rather than with blood. He tapped his cigarette into a crystal ash tray with his long fingers. Rings after rings curled over his knuckles; some sharp and some with the emblem ‘A’ just like San and Wooyoung shared. He raised the cigarette back to his lips to take another drag into his lungs.

“YN.” The smoke billowed from his lips as he spoke her name tenderly.

She should’ve left then, knowing it was different from what she had agreed to. She should’ve asked him where Yeosang was immediately – and who was he? But she already knew, didn’t she? She had worried about this man since she read the newsprint that bore his name.

She shifted, fingers tugging at her skirt as she heard the heavy wood doors shut behind her. The butler that led her here disappearing, leaving her with him. Her fingers pressed into the door behind her, tentatively. It didn’t budge beneath her. In the shadows of the room, she saw there were men lining the wall. Like ghosts, they didn’t speak or move – they simply stood like gargoyles surrounding a castle. One broke the line to pull out her chair opposite of her dining companion. Her eyes flickered back to the man at the head of the table.

“Hello,” she said instead. “Yunho.”

It wasn’t a stutter, but there was a pause in her words. Yunho’s laughter was almost fond as he chuckled out a plume of smoke before she was urged forward with a flick of his hand. Ashes splattered across the white dining cloth, sizzling burns into the fabric. She sat down in the chair pulled out for her; the servant pushed her in towards the table with a screech of the wooden legs against the wood.

The silverware in front of her was polished, gleaming in the candle-light. A perfectly folded napkin rested on the center of her gold-lined plate. The initial ‘A’ in a circle was embroidered fancifully in shiny black thread on the pristine white fabric.

Her fingers flexed against the wood arm rests of her chair as she looked down the table, over candles, meats, cheese, and vegetables at the intimidating man. He was far away, but perhaps that was the safest option for her.

“I like you already,” he proclaimed, his words solid and confident. His smile simmered.

“Please,” Yunho gestured to the piles of food in front of them with a hand, swinging the cigarette and a trailing path of smoke about. “I’m sure you’re hungry.”

Her stomach felt tight with nerves, but even so it grumbled at the sight before her. Everything smelt so nice and rich and oily. Decadent. She licked her rosy lips, dragging her eyes up to look at him once more.

“Where’s Yeosang?” she asked finally.

He smiled, a peak of glimmering teeth shining in the candlelight. No, it wasn’t his teeth that shined – it was the inlayed diamonds on his canines that twinkled. Just like the driver. Just like the painting.

“He’ll join us,” Yunho reassured. “He’s running late from a previous engagement. I promise.”

Her gaze was doubtful. Why didn’t he just tell the driver to alert her? She could wait. She was used to waiting upon rich men.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“I was curious of you.” He stated as he raised his cigarette to his mouth once more. As he breathed out, he gestured again at the food. “Please help yourself. Wooyoung told me some of your favorites.”

There were her favorites; steaming and hot. Some tartlets from their recent date sat on a pearlescent serving tray. Tempting. Her stomach grumbled. Watching him carefully, she reached out a fork to stab into a piece of meat and plating it.

“I’m just a ballerina,” she claimed, eyes flashing to look at him as she picked up her utensils to cut at the singular item on her plate.

Yunho’s lips quirked up on one side before he glanced aside at a man. He nodded towards her and she couldn’t help but jump as a suited butler approached. Yunho’s gaze took in the small tension that rippled through her.

The butler began to pile up her plate with this and that. Steaming vegetables, savory pastries, fluffy mashed potatoes scented with garlic, sticky soy-sauce braised meats, pasta with a rich cream sauce, seafood with clarified butter. It was more food than she could finish. The amount of food laid out was enough to feed eight men.

“You’ve entranced my brothers for being more than just a dancer,” Yunho commented. “I wanted to see what was so special about their swanette.”

She swallowed, her throat dry. She felt like a trapped bird in a zoo being observed. She tried to imagine the boudoir around her rather than the intimacy of a dining table.

“I’m a good dancer,” she told him boldly. They like bold, an older ballerina’s voice was in her ear once more.

Yunho smiled. “I heard. I apologize for never attending a performance.” He said.

“You’ve been… busy,” she said. But not too bold. Another ballerina warned.

It was a dig, and Yunho knew it. She knew it too with how wide her eyes became. And still, his lips curled into a smile, his eyes simmered.

“Its no wonder Wooyoung took to you,” he breathed.

He raised his glass of wine to his lips and took a long sip. At the mention of Wooyoung, he saw the way the muscles in her face flickered. Lightening. Interesting. Placing the glass down, he leaned forwards, hand resting under his chin as he stared at her, intrigued.

She was intriguing. She had four members of the family wrapped around her little finger and here she was in his sticky webs. Yunho ached to figure her out, dive deeper. The vein in his forehead bulged a bit with his intensity.

His eyes felt magnetic. She had cut up her slice of steak into tiny bites at this point, but all he had done was stare at her. He had not a lick of food on his own plate. It felt more like an interrogation than a meal at this point.

So, she stared back. Her eyes met his, swallowing down her fear. The twisted mangled amalgamation of fear, intrigue, and something else. She was safe, she chanted internally. Wooyoung promised. San promised. He hadn’t done anything to her…yet.

She took in his appearance. While his eyes were a hypnotizing thing, his entire face was like one of a siren’s. Handsome with chiseled features. Sharp cupid’s bowed lips, sharp brows, sharp clean lines of his suit. A pair of glasses were tucked into his pocket… he needed glasses just like her Sannie. Her eyes darted up the line of his throat. His hand rose to bring his cigarette back to his lips. He tilted his head, the midnight-black hair swaying over one eyebrow smartly.

How were all these men so handsome? The driver, her patrons, Yeosang, Yunho. All breathtaking compared to the oil-grubby handed rich men of Cromer. It made her soften just a smidge, guard walls lowering as he breathed out smoke once more. Lips pursing delicately. Cheeks soft, she noticed. It was quiet. The clinking of her utensils against her meal was the only sound in the hall.

“Do you like dancing?” she asked. Dancing was safe. Dancing was all she knew.

“Enough,” he said. “My brothers like it more than myself.”

Brothers he said again. It was strange. Wooyoung spoke of the others as friends, dear ones – explained that the shared last name was something pushed upon them. Yunho embraced it.

“Then, sports?” she countered. “Tennis perhaps?”

Yunho chuckled lowly, and it felt like a tiger’s rumble. “No,” he laughed. “Not particularly – though, I have good hand-eye coordination.”

Her mind flashed to the shooting the newspaper relayed – a fictionalized imagining in her head bloomed. Him and his gun aiming and firing with ease, just like that man in the alley way.

“Oh,” she breathed.

He wondered if she knew how blatant her face revealed things. Her fear, her thoughts, her soul. It was strange though. Yunho didn’t want her frightened.

“I play against Yeosang often,” he clarified.

“Oh,” she repeated, a different tone trickling into her exclamation. Her knife scraped against the plate’s china, screeching out suddenly like a soprano at an opera house. Her gaze turned to it, surprised.

Her meat was completely shredded now. Almost inedible with how much she had sawed into it over and over.

Yunho laughed again, the sound warm and full. “Darling,” he cooed out, soft. “Please relax and eat. I insist. Yeosang won’t mind.”

Yeosang. Of course, that’s why she was prolonging it. Her smile was bashful and Yunho’s eyes swallowed it up just like she bit into a piece of her meal finally.

“Will you not eat?” she asked.

Innocent, sweet. Yunho’s eyes simmered as he reached out to grasp a fruit from an intricately weaved wired basket. He bit into a red apple, sharp and vicious. Juice dripped over his fingers, down his chin. He raised a black napkin to the corner of his lips wiping it away. His eye contact never ceased. Did he just wink?

“How long have you lived in Cromer?” he asked.

“My entire life,” she admitted.

He hummed out. “And the ballet almost as long I suppose?”

“Ballerinas are taught young,” she said.

“The best way to shape someone.” He snubbed his cigarette out in his ash tray.

“I suppose,” she admitted. “But I love dancing. Truly.”

It was spoken sincerely, passionately. He nodded. “It’s been mentioned. They say one can tell by just the way you breath. You are full of it.”

“D-dancing?” she queried.

“Love.” he countered. “Passion.”

Her eyes blinked owlishly. “Oh.”

“Do you love them?” he asked directly. His head tilted curiously.

The topic had shifted in tone dramatically suddenly. Her heart raced to its hummingbird speed once more. Her face blushed. Yunho drank it all in like the wine in his glass.

There was a clambering down the hall way, muffled by the oak doors. Her gaze broken from his, and she looked over her shoulder at the doorway.

“Here he comes now,” Yunho whispered.

As predicted, Yeosang came busting through the doors. His hair askew, his eyes burning with the cruel fury she had only seen on the court. His elegant clothes looked rumpled; the softness of his sweater that cut into a deep v revealed more skin that she had seen of the sportsman yet. A rose was pinned on his chest, gentlemanly, and yet somehow tempting her to stare at his chiseled chest more. A decorative scarf wrapped around his throat, disheveled.

He glared at Yunho with such contempt before it was washed away at the sight of her. He glanced her up and down, quickly as if his lingering gaze would be scolded. Appropriately for such an inappropriate action. His lips parted gently; his rounded face soft with a gentle blush.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he immediately apologized, head bowing.

The long strands of russet-brown hair that framed his face swooped over his cheeks. His hand rose to tuck one strand back. “I was caught up with something unexpectedly.”

With little show, she stood, discarding her utensils to greet him. Her smile was soft, reassuring, genuine. She ducked her own head to catch his gaze – he was still glaring through his lashes at the man at the head of the table she noticed. But when he saw her own face come into view he straightened sweetly, awkwardly. But in such a charming way somehow. Yeosang was so charming even in his anger and discomfort. She didn’t want him to be in discomfort.

“Its alright,” she reassured him.

“We’ve just been chatting,” Yunho chimed from the end of the table. Unhelpfully.

Yeosang adjusted his leather gloves nervously, tugging them off finger by finger.

“I see that.” Yeosang rumbled.

His eyes settled back on her like she was his seas’ moon.

“You look lovely, YN,” he complimented. Her smile lit up the room, he swore.

He licked his lips, deep voice humming out as he looked over the table.

“I-I,” he gestured to the table, the meal he had ordered the chef to prepare, “I have those tarts you liked at the café on Riverfield Street.”

She smiled at him; he was so cute.

“Thank you,” she grinned. “And I saw. They look perfect.”

He breathed out a little, fixing his clothes once he tucked his gloves into his back pocket.

“It’s been perfect,” she tried to reassure him, sensing his anxieties. His blooming nerves. Her hand reached out to squeeze his.

He jolted at her touch, just enough for her to catch it. His ears were red. Yunho’s grin was wide, sparkling.

“Thank you for the invite.”

“Of course, I wanted –” he glanced at Yunho’s leering gaze. “I wanted to get to know you better, sweetheart.”

“And we shall,” Yunho agreed. “Sit, Sangie. Let’s eat.”

A butler appeared to pull out a seat for him. It wasn’t near either of them, in fact. It was the third seat to the left side of the table. Yeosang glanced at the butler silently before pulling out the chair directly beside YN and seating himself.

He was served a selection of the meal, silently. She went to break the silence.

“How are you?” The headline still brandished itself in her mind. His words about paparazzi left a lasting impact.

Yeosang huffed out. “Well,” he replied. “News articles come and go. I’ll remain on top of my game regardless.”

Yunho nodded steadfastly from across the table. “It’ll be nothing by the next game.”

Yeosang offered her a smile. “Thank you for worrying about me. I’ve survived worse.”

She nodded solemnly. “I don’t like it still.” Yunho watched the interaction carefully. His brow quirked.

“How are you liking Cromer?” she asked. She was used to asking men how they enjoyed the show… but that wasn’t an option here when the room lulled into silence.

“It’s different. But I’ve seen places as beautiful as Aurora, as desolate as the Strictlands, and as rural as Paradise. Cromer reminds me of Aurora in a different way.” Yeosang explained. “It feels homely.”

She smiled. “Ateez House is yours, correct?”

“Its in the family,” Yeosang replied.

“What do you think of it?” Yunho queried.

“Its very nice,” she politely said.

Yeosang tilted his head fondly at her. “Meaning?”

Her brows crinkled in surprise. “Its—nice?” she repeated.

“Shall I remind you what San encourages you to do, sweetheart?”

To be honest. How did he know about that? Her neck and ears became a soft pink in the candlelight. Swallowing, she glanced to the side.

“It is genuinely nice – its just… this house has been called haunted my whole life,” she told them. “There are ghost stories linked to this mansion. It’s strange being here and seeing that it is, in fact, not rotting or some supernatural force of nature.”

Yeosang chuckled out, smiling sweet.

“There are stories?” he leaned in. “Do tell!”

“I love a good gruesome story,” Yunho commented.

But for some reason, the way the words lilted in his tone didn’t make her flinch like before… in fact, was he teasing her? Her eyes flickered from Yeosang’s open form to Yunho. His cheek rested on his hand; elbow pressed into the table as he eyed her with Yeosang.

He smirked at her as they met one another’s eyes. He nodded, urging her. And so, YN went into the ghost story she had been told as a little girl, sitting among the tutu’ed training ballerinas while her mother did alterations on the prima’s show-stopping costume.

“The story goes that this house was home to a Captain,” she started, twirling pasta about her fork as she spoke.

Yunho and Yeosang’s eyes locked.

“The Captain was no ordinary captain; he was the fiercest pirate king of all. With his crew, the Black Pirates, they terrorized the seas and reaped countless treasures. When he grew old and hoarding like a dragon, he docked at Cromer under a false name. Ateez House was built upon blood-soaked jewels and coins; they say the pirate captain passed in his vault, hidden deep in the mansion’s basements. His bones are still there, unrested. His ghost terrorizes the house and refuses to let any soul except his pirates’ prowl.” She dramatically told.

Her fingers wiggled sensationally. “Or that the treasure was haunted by those they robbed and killed mercilessly. Their ghosts remain and haunt these halls.” She shrugged her hands landing back in her lap. “The story changes every so often.”

“What a story,” Yunho breathed. “Do you believe it?”

“It’s just a story. Maybe there are some real parts but… ghosts aren’t real. I’m not that silly of a girl.”

“You aren’t,” Yeosang commented immediately.

“But everyone in town knows it, so it sticks,” she told them, reaching out for the glass of wine in front of her and taking a sip.

“Cromer loves its gossip.” Yeosang commented.

“They’re stuck in their ways,” Yunho added.

“What do you think of Cromer?” she redirected to Yunho.

He took a small breath in. His previous grimace faded and his brow crinkled as he looked at her thoughtfully. His lips pressed together before replying.

“At first,” Yunho said, tilting his chin. “I did not like it… but now…”

His gaze felt hot, ever present. There wasn’t a barrier of modesty she often felt with other men. Yeosang’s was intense. San’s was careful, observant. Wooyoung’s eager and challenging. Yunho’s was steadfast. Confident. Even the men in the boudoir knew there were limits. They had their wives. They had their image with the other men within the boudoir itself. Here she felt both hunted and examined. Admired but equal. He was looking at her soul.

“Now, I like it.” Yunho purred. “Very much, darling.”

He placed his silverware down with a clink. He leaned forwards, hands pressing into the table.

“There’s more to you that meets the eye,” Yunho commented. “I see that, so now I will let you speak your mind, truthfully.”

Her heart nearly stopped. Was he going to ask her about her love again? In front of Yeosang?! Her eyes remained on him steadily. Her ears burned.

“You’re frightened of me, yes?” he said.

It was strange to feel relief at the confirmation of something so horrible. Because she was still nervous around him, for his boldness frightened her just as much as his previous actions. Yeosang’s eyes shifted to her, widening as he watched her nod.

“Sweetheart,” he reached out for her hand, petting her phalanges but not grabbing it. He simply wished to reassure her. Just as she had done for him earlier.

“San and Wooyoung said I didn’t have to be,” she replied. She licked her lips.

“Ask me what you want to know.” He stretched back into his chair, neck flexing as he met her gaze.

“Is it true? Should I be frightened?”

“That’s not it,” he laughed a bit, lip curling almost scornfully, scoldingly. He raised a brow, head tilting as if weighing his options. “But no, you don’t need to be frightened. Ask another.”

“I don’t have another question.” She countered, only to state simply and firmly. “You shot a man.”

And he smiled. “I did.” Yunho confirmed.

“On purpose?” she asked.

“Yes, darling.”

Her blood felt cold. She hadn’t met someone like him and it sent her stomach into a cramping mess. Yeosang did take her hand now. Interlacing his fingers softly. He glanced over at his elder as he rose from his chair. Oh, Yunho was tall. Very tall, in fact. With them sitting, he looked giant. His heels thudded against the floor.

“Why?” she asked. Yeosang felt her hand tighten in his grasp.

“He tried to fool me, steal from me,” Yunho stated, walking towards them. “Lied to me. I don’t like being played.”

There wasn’t a moment for the words to sink in for YN. Instead, like a game of tennis, she shot back.

“So, you shot him? Just like that?”

“For your information, yes.”  

“That’s frightening.”

“Yes.” Yunho was beside Yeosang now.

“But!” Yeosang was the next to interrupt. “If you must know… Yunho isn’t some cruel man, sweetheart. It was done in self-defense.”

“Self-defense?” she asked doubtfully. Wooyoung and San said so themselves as well.

The air that Yunho carried seemed to be more than that. He wasn’t exactly proud, but he was at peace with what he did. Yunho’s face pulled into a tight thing as he rested a hand on Yeosang’s shoulder. They both looked at her inquiringly.

“He pulled a blade on Yunho,” Yeosang interjected. His gaze flashed to her. “He has the scars to prove it.”

They had an answer to everything. It was self-defense. Not a thing of violence. Of necessity.

She stared at them

“It wasn’t… he struck first?” she repeated slowly.

They glanced at one another before smiling at her with dual grins. Yunho tapped his fingers on Yeosang’s shoulder before he pulled back. A hand went to his chest, gentlemanly and earnest in nature.

“Yes.” He ensured.

Her eyes flickered to Yeosang. He had been a sensible figure – likeable, nothing formidable. If he trusted him, if her Wooyoung and San did. Yunho spoke with such authority. He valued truth just like San did.

Her defensiveness, something she didn’t even see in her body language, softened. Yunho’s sigh was one of understanding as he walked back to his seat, stealing a glance at her. He smiled again, his teeth gleaming in the cande light.

“YN.” He spoke her name luxuriously. “If there is one thing you should know about me. I don’t do mess.”

He plucked a dessert from his plate, biting into the chocolate with slowness. Calculated. He kept her gaze. It sent a thrill through her; he sent a thrill through her. Swallowing together, the corner of his lip curled. He raised a napkin to his lips, gentlemanly.

He was a gentleman, straightforward and powerful. He had to be telling the truth.

“I’m not a messy man, darling-doll.”

The dinner didn’t last much longer. Yeosang encouraged conversation; Yunho threw in some topics, mostly of things she had mentioned to San and Wooyoung. It struck her then that they shared many stories about her. They must’ve talked about her a lot. It made her cheeks flush as red as the chocolate strawberries Yunho ate.

Their eyes were hot on her; it felt like they were captivated and it made her heart race. Like she was on the stage.

She liked it.

Surprisingly, her two patrons made an appearance at the end of the meal. Wooyoung, of course, was the one to pop his head into the grand dining room.

“Swanette!” he beamed at the sight of her.

Yunho took in how her shoulders softened and her chest heaved at the sight of Wooyoung, at his voice. He smiled, softer and truer than any other smile he shared tonight so far.

Wooyoung was dressed the most casual she had ever seen him. A fashionable patterned white-and-black button-up shirt was barely buttoned, revealing a black ribbed tank-top beneath it. His hair was pushed back casually and messy; a rolled cigarette was behind his ear. His slacks were a deep black, loose and flowy rather than a structured fabric.

“Woo,” she barely got out, her mouth dropping at the sight of him.

He smirked, arms slinking over the chair and over her shoulders.

“Hello hyungs,” he greeted the others, barely glancing at them before ducking his head and pressing a less-than-decent kiss to her mouth. Smothering and all consuming. She squeaked into it. A ringed hand rose to cup her guide her head in the kiss, icy cold against her flushed red cheek.

Yeosang and Yunho chuckled out. The sound was a mixture of fondness and annoyance. Yunho’s brow twitched. Yeosang’s hand held hers tighter… he hadn’t let go, of course. But YN hadn’t noticed the entire dinner and dessert. ‘Til now. Her fingers flexed in his as Wooyoung swiped his tongue across the seam of her lips.

“Alright,” San scolded Wooyoung, his hand going to the back of the shorter’s neck. He nearly pried him off her. “Wooyoung!”

“I missed her,” Wooyoung said simply, flushed face and breathless.

His hot breath fanned over her rosy face; his lips were spicy and left hers burning. Mischief twinkled in his eyes as he stole another kiss from her lips. San pulled him back again with a harsher hand.

It was then she got a glance of her other patron. San had freshly washed hair, the locks combed out and dripping over his forehead. He wore a similar tank top to Wooyoung, but in a white shade. Shockingly, he had a pair of workman’s light-washed blue jeans hugging his thighs. Thick thighs, muscular shoulders, tawny honey skin. It was tantalizing, tempting. But when she looked over his face, her mouth dropped in surprise. A bruise kissed at the corner of his lips; his sweet smile tarnished with a purple-red watercolor splotch.   

She couldn’t help stand immediately, half in the clutches of Wooyoung. Her hand rose to cup San’s cheek.

“Honey!” he exclaimed out in surprise.

He didn’t shift away, actually bending at the knee for her height, but San was certainly surprised. He had taken the lead between them often. YN rarely made the first move with either of her patrons. But what he had mistaken for sexual tension only led to pain. He was shocked when her thumb’s brush against his lips made pain radiate up his face.

“Ow,” he whimpered, frowning. His brow furrowed.

Yeosang laughed nearby. “He forgot he’s hurt,” the athlete commented.

“It’s been a while,” Yunho added, finishing his drink as he watched the interaction play out.

San’s lips pressed together, blinking rapidly before taking in the concern look on her face.

“Oh, honey, I’m okay,” San tried to reassure. His hand rose to cup her hand that was pressed to his jaw, thumb brushing over it soothingly. “It doesn’t even hurt.”

“You just said ow, you liar,” she scolded him, brows furrowing. “What the hell happened?”

“I’m fine,” he swore, tilting his head to press a kiss that stung his mouth to her palm. “Promise.”

“This town is getting more and more dangerous,” she breathed out.

Her thumb brushed over his cheek softly. His pretty face marred. Without his glasses on, she could see how his eyes sparkled in the chandelier’s candlelight. Soft and starry, as if she hung the world.

“You are an angel,” he murmured. “I’m okay. I’ll live.”

“Wooyoung, will you tell me what happened?” she prompted, not moving. Wooyoung pressed to her side made a humming sound.

“The streets are rough around here,” he said. “Someone really ought to fix that.”

Yunho huffed from across the long table.

San smiled at her again, eyes falling into half-moons. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. His lips stung to do so, but she was worth it. “Thank you for worrying.” He told her. His stomach did somersaults at the thought of her jumping to his aid.

“Shall we walk you out, swanette?” Wooyoung directed instead, head tucking over her shoulder to look at the table. “Yunho has a meeting to attend unfortunately.”

Yunho hissed in through his sparkling diamond-inlayed teeth. “Does the—”

San nodded.

He breathed in through his nose before offering YN a simmering smile. Full of warmth. “It was lovely meeting you, Miss YN. I hope to see you very soon.” He bowed politely before with long-legged strides left the room. Wooyoung winked at him as he passed.

“I’ll join you,” Yeosang offered YN. “You must come visit again soon – in the spring, the gardens are beautiful. We could have tea or -”

“Yeosang likes to take long strolls through the gardens – even if it’s raining,” Wooyoung revealed, finally peeling himself off her back to look at the selection of food laid out. He plucked a grape from a platter.

“You gossip like the upper-class now,” Yeosang commented, raising a brow.

Wooyoung laughed brightly at his friend before popping the fruit into his mouth. “Eh, they rub off on you – I had to keep up with you, Sangie.”

Hmm, it was an interesting interaction. Playful but also… strange. She knew their pasts implied they hadn’t always been wealthy… Yeosang had been a protégé tennis player at a young age but how did he meet Wooyoung? Was it all because of Hongjoong?

San’s hands squeezed her waist. When had both of his hands shifted there? “You sleepy, honey?” he asked.

“Too filling of a meal,” Yeosang complained as he rose to his feet.

As if the food was her reason to getting lost in her head.

“It was perfect,” she countered, taking a step back. “Thank you again for the invitation.”

“Thank you for gracing us,” Yeosang replied, offering her his hand. She took it, and he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. A picture of a gentleman. But he was quick to wrap her arm up into his, pulling her into his side now. Surprisingly daring for the Yeosang she knew.

“Shall we?”

Their exit seemed to take forever just as before. Yeosang lead her down hallway after hallway after hallway. It almost felt like they were navigating a maze. San and Wooyoung framed the two in; Wooyoung on her side and San on Yeosang’s.

“How was Yunho?” San prompted, tentatively. “He didn’t scare you?”

“Did he frighten you – when you were alone with him?” Yeosang repeated, arm tightening around her.

“No, no, he wasn’t frightening,” she reassured them. “He was a surprise certainly.”

“Ah, Yunho was sneaky. He doesn’t like the opera, so he found his own way to meet you,” Yeosang sighed. “I feel like he caused the trouble for me on purpose, so I’d run late. You’re popular around here, sweetheart.” He squeezed her arm teasingly.

“Who else here?” she chuckled. Seonghwa? Hongjoong? She hadnt yet to see either of them – like they were ghosts.

“You’d be surprised,” Yeosang commented before leaning in and admitting. “I quite like you, too.”

He made her cheeks burn red, and Wooyoung giggled.

“She likes you too, Sangie,” he crowed out, fingers reaching to tickle her waist. “I’ve seen her blush over San, over you… Do you like Yunho as well?” Wooyoung queried, his words becoming less and less playful. They were almost inquisitive, as if testing the waters instead.

There was a crack as he lit a match across a gold-leafed frame. He placed the cigarette that was behind his ear to his lips and lit it.

“I did,” YN told him, honestly, as they continued through the foyer. Wooyoung chuckled out, smoke puffing out in front of his face in surprise. He wasn’t expecting her to admit it so fast.

“Not like that,” she interrupt his giggles, face burning. “I just—”

Looking down another hall they, she made out Yunho’s form, tall and slim walking down the hall with purpose. His back to her as they turned into the foyer finally.

“He was kind. Even if he was a bit intimidating… he wasn’t cruel or harsh. Just… confident.”

Yeosang smiled close-lipped. Wooyoung blew out his smoke to the side, the plume passing over the butlers’ faces. Not one flinched or coughed.

The smell of expensive tabacoo wafted over her face warmly as Wooyoung walked in front of them to push open the large heavy doors of the mansion.

“So he wasn’t so scary after all?” he teased. “Wait ‘til you meet Hongjoong and Hwa-hyung. They’re properly-”

“Wooyoung, don’t tease her,” Yeosang defended.

The younger raised one of his hands in defense as he held open the door for them. “I’m just saying – she got pass the guard dog.”

“She hasn’t met Jongho yet,” Yeosang giggled lightly. “He’s truly got a bad case of looking gruffer than he is. He’s our baby.”

Jongho. She had only heard that name once, and it was that night. Her ears rang.

“Jongho?” she queried softly.  

He had been at the opera! He was one of their ‘brothers’.

“Or Mingi--Ah, here he is now,” San commented, smiling over at the man standing in front of the green-painted car.

“Hello,” the driver greeted, voice as deep as earlier. His eyes flickered to her arm in Yeosang’s.

Wooyoung smirked at him. “Mingi, I didn’t know you were driving today,” he said.

“I thought you and San were doing business today.”

“It was a fast deal.”

Mingi looked unamused, his siren-eyes looking him and San up and down. “Uh huh.

“You know a Jongho?” she turned to Yeosang as they spoke.

“Jongho is the youngest of us. You’ll meet him soon, sweetheart,” he reassured, squeezing her arm. “He’s busy too often. I think they overwork him; he’s just a boy.”

“He’s only a year younger than us,” Wooyoung commented with a pout.

“He’s a baby,” San agreed offhandedly.

“I think I—"

“Is she going the hell home or not?” Mingi bit out. Before looking bashfully at her. “Sorry, doll,” he apologized for his gruffness. “I’m not used to a dame being around.”

“Its okay,” she mumbled out. Her mind was preoccupied with trying to figure out why Jongho was at the opera… without his supposed family knowing.

Mingi pouted at that. “No, its not.” He admitted. “Don’t take disrespect.”

Her distracted gaze rose and nodded softly, not really processing his words.

Wooyoung tsked out. “Here he goes about respect,” he sighed out. “Hurry up, swanette, or else we will be here for hours.”

There was a rumble of chuckles in the group. Yeosang squeezed her arm once more before pressing close to her ear, cheek to cheek. A whispered “next time it’ll be just you and I, hm?” was hushed into her ear before he unwound himself from her and allowed the others to hover about. “I’ll see you next time, Miss YN.”

San pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he promised. “And again, I promise you, I’m fine.” He pressed another kiss to her hairline before guiding her into Wooyoung’s arms.

He was warm and smelt of smoke. His grin was playful, wolfish as he leaned down and stole her lips into a kiss. He was getting bolder and bolder. His kiss was hot, a lick of his tongue into her mouth this time. She squeaked and he chuckled deeply.

“Mmm,” he moaned as he pulled away just a fraction. Wooyoung smiled as if he was innocent but his teases were devilishly. “Perhaps I should call you little mouse instead of swanette.”

She pushed at his chest, playfully. Wooyoung tugged her closer, grinning. Her face was akin to a rose.

“Let her go, Wooyoung,” Mingi said from the side. His face was sharp as he glared at the other. He didn’t appreciate the teasing. “She must be tired.”

Wooyoung heaved a sigh as if this was the hardest thing to do. He pouted at her before stealing a kiss, pressing a peck to her nose. “Fine,” he relented, unwinding her from his spider web embrace.

“See you soon, pretty. Mingi will make sure you get home safely.”

Mingi nodded steadfast before he offered her his hand.

“Shall we, baby-doll?”

-

Next time, when she woke, it was to a cat’s sandpaper-esque tongue licking her cheek. Little tiny licks with the familiar nuzzle of her wet nose, Z investigated her like any other day. The little more-blue-grey-than-black cat sniffed at her, the talkative pet meowing loudly. Her green eyes blinked slowly at her before she nudged her cheek with her forehead once more.

Her body didn’t burn. It didn’t ache. It didn’t feel like anything. Whatever drugs she was on, they were good. She blinked at the kitten, slow to do anything once more.

She was still in Yeosang’s room. The smell of him was all around her, Jongho’s familiar gardenia aroma mingling in the sheets. YN tried to move. Pushing herself upwards was easier than before but the slightest shift in her legs reminded her of the heavy casts that wrapped her ankles. The pain nothing like before but there was still the zing up her knees that made her pause. Her breath caught as she stared at her limbs before her.

Her reality. Bedbound, grounded. It was a depressing thought. Even more depressing when she realized she wasn’t sure what day it was nor what hour. How many shows had she missed? Did her mother know she wasn’t well? Was she just the same as those folk written about in the papers? Missing and forgotten.

She let out a shuddering breath as she laid back into the fluffy luxurious pillows, contemplating what to do. Should she cry out for them? Hongjoong was the last face she remembered but she didn’t want to see him. Or Seonghwa. Or any of them. Really. Anger burned her throat like the nearby fire place. Z’s whiskers dusted over her arm, nudging at her for attention as she let out another inquisitive meow.

“Leave me alone, Z,” she mumbled into her pillow. The little tongue peaked out to lick her again. “Stop, Z; go away.”

Her tone was raising with her rising grief. That was the only way to describe what she was feeling grief – a mixture of hoping, pleading, that everything had been a dream only to be reawaken to reality. Anger and sorrow clashed like cymbals in her head.

The cat nuzzled her again, and she snapped this time.

“Z, go!” Her hands shifted the quilts aside in a huff, making the little cat hop away, back arched.

“Z, come here,” a voice, melodic as it was masculine, called. The doorway creaked open, the gaslight in the hallway illuminated his figure, bulky in the best way. “Love isn’t in the mood to play.”

She frowned over at him, even if Z hopped off the bed and went towards Jongho eagerly. Her little body pressed against his leg as she passed him, purring softly. He smiled after his kitten before his gaze settled back on his love bed ridden.

“Hi love,” he greeted. “How are you feeling?”

“Angry,” she told him.

“But not in pain,” he smiled.

The youngest crawled up onto the bed, sheets rustling and ruffling as he settled beside her. Jongho wasn’t one to be silenced by a glare or dirty look. He was made for this world – his hyungs’ beloved aegi was used to getting what he wanted. And she was his baby. His love. He wanted her.

She turned her rageful eyes his way. He simply smiled just like the others. “I know,” he hummed. “I tried to warn you.”

He had. He cried to her last night… or a few nights ago? Her anger was quenched by those tears now. Her eyes softened just a smidge, and Jongho took a mile. He pressed his lips to her forehead in a soft kiss. His arms wrapped around her ‘til she was caught in his embrace, warm and coddled.

He indulged in the way she didn’t pull away or yell. He had heard her shouts at Yeosang’s attempts at affection.

“What happened? I remember waking up in pain – why?” she murmured into his chest. Trying to gather information from when she was asleep.

Even now, she felt safe in his embrace. It caused a horrible sinking feeling in her stomach.

He heaved out, her head rising and falling with his chest. “You had an infection – the doctor said it was possible dirt from that alley way. It entered your injury for too long. He fixed it.”

“Is he alive?” she mumbled.

“By Yunho’s grace.”

She felt the ebbing and flowing rage, the despair rush over her again. Almost as if sensing it, Jongho shifted, his chin tilting into his chest to look down at her. He moved to tilt her own chin to meet his gaze. Fiery passion burned there. He liked it better when her passion burned for her dancing… but he supposed it had to go somewhere while she was incapable.

“It’s the way things are,” he told her. “Stop fighting it.”

Stop fighting and give in. Look what fighting did. Just let them control her…

YN scoffed. “I’m not some doll,” she bit back. “Or some—"She wriggled like a worm on a hook. Jongho’s eyes ached, and he reached for her hands. He cupped them in his. His bloodstained ones. How many time had he scrubbed away ichor? Dug it from under his nails? Her hands were dainty.

“It’ll never touch your hands,” he interrupted earnestly. “You’ll never bear it. Our work. Our lifestyles. If that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“I’m bearing it now,” she whispered to him, voice breaking. “I’m afraid of you.”

He frowned, his face firm and thoughtful. He was always thinking her Jongho. He never stopped. His thumbs brushed over her palms, his forehead pressing to hers intimately.

“You tried to leave,” he said. “I didn’t want this. None of us did. If you hadn’t, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“You understand what that means – I’m just something you control like your butlers and your members and your-.”

“No.” Jongho interrupted soft and earnestly.

“You are no pawn, my love. You are our priority… our treasure. Always.”

[moosesarecute]

Chapter 10: The Shadow to my Flame

Series masterlist

Masterlist

“So my mother asked to curl your hair?” Eris asked Ashe. He looked confused and also worried in a way. She couldn’t detect all the emotions in his look.

“Yes,” she answered him. “I was curtain I was getting fired and that she was only nice to me because of it.”

Eris let out a small laugh. He seemed tense, but Ashe knew he wouldn’t tell her why if she asked.

“I think she misses Lucian,” Ashe continued. “Have you heard anything from or about him?”

Eris shook his head.

“I only know he’s in spring. He never answers my letters. I’m not sure he gets them.”

Ashe was the only one that knew how much his youngest brother meant to Eris. Their family dynamic was hard, and all the brothers had been set up against each other from the start. However, Eris loved being an older brother. He loved seeing his brothers grow and learn. He just didn’t have any way to show it without being weak.

Eris looked very thoughtful, and Ashe realized it was time for a subject change.

“How was the ball?” she asked him instead.

Ashe hadn’t gotten the chance to speak with Eris since ball on Saturday. It was now Tuesday evening. So much had happened in the last week. Ashe felt like she had lived a new life. She had so much she wanted to tell him, but she knew she couldn’t.

She would wait until Sunday and then she could talk to Samli about everything. Especially the kiss. 

“Boring as usual. Only politics and dancing.”

“But dancing seems so nice,” Ashe told him with a small pout.

Eris was a very good dancer, but he never liked it. He didn’t like dance as a way of communicating. Ashe, however, would spent every ball she worked at as a way to look at all the different dances. It felt magical.

“How’s your back?”

“It’s fine. Almost doesn’t hurt anymore.”

With that, Eris pulled her up by her arms and laid one of them on his shoulder and held the other in his hand. His last hand laid at her waist.

“Do, ti, ti,” he sang the rhythm in the lightest voice he could, and then he started the dance.

Ashe couldn’t help but laugh. Both at the dance and at his ridiculous voice.

“You’re stepping on my toes!” Eris said. “I taught you better.”

That only made Ashe laugh even more, but she tried her best to not step on him again.

Eris had taught her to dance many years ago. He usually would dance with her before or after a big ball. And they always laughed their way through it.

Ashe didn’t mind being a servant. She of course wished they would get treated better, but she absolutely didn’t mind the work. But one ball. That was her wish. She just wanted to go to one ball. She had told Eris that, and her friend had since danced with her. He always said it was to prepare her for the day when her dream would come true.

They laughed and spoke for many hours. Even though Ashe’s live had taken a big turn the last week, at least the nights with her friend stayed the same. Or so she thought.

Azriel had read through the documents and the book three times. The book was rules for servants that he stole from Ashe.

Ashe.

Even thinking her name made him weak in the knees. Her soft eyes, calming voice and pretty smile.

“Mate,” his shadows sung.

“Shut up.”

Azriel was pacing back and forth in his office. He felt so stupid. And at the same time confused. And at the same time like he had the biggest crush in existence.

He couldn’t be right. He refused to be right. He felt everything at once.

Had she lied to him? Had he been blinded by the mating bond? Did Ashe at all know about the mating bond?

Please, be wrong.

He usually would just press down his feelings and pretend to forget them, but this. This was too much. He packed down the book, the hair colour, the small piece of hair and the two documents he stole from Autumn.

He felt almost his entire body shake as he made his way to the townhouse, where his brothers would be.

He walked silently into the living room and spotted Cass, Rhys, Mor and Amren. Seeing Mor made him even more nauseous. What had he done?

He looked quickly between Rhys and Cass.

“I need to speak to you two,” he said. He hated how shaky his voice was. And he saw how his brothers were going to make fun of him. They were smirking, however, they made their way to Rhys’ office in silence.

“Okay, brother. What’s going on.”

Azriel felt like he was going to throw up. He was crazy. He must have become insane. It was an insane theory, but at the same time, he found so many things that backend it.

“You okay, Az?”

He looked over and saw how both his brothers looked rather worried. He would just have to jump in and do it.

“You know Ashe?”

His brothers nodded.

“The servant you couldn’t stop daydreaming about in Autumn,” Cass said with an even bigger smirk. “You were basically drooling at her.”

“Shut it,” Azriel told him, even though he spoke the truth.

“What about her?” Rhys asked.

Azriel regretted that he didn’t write down what he needed to say. All the words got mixed up in his head. He should have found a better way to pack in the information. But he hadn’t planned this, so he just spoke.

“She’s a spy for us.”

Rhys and Cass shared a worried glance.

“We already know that.”

Right. Of course they did. He had told them before. This is so stupid, he just needs them to know.

“I think we should get her out of Autumn,” he said.

“Okay,” Rhys answered. “Why?”

“I’m not sure we can trust her any longer.”

Azriel felt like he was going to explode. Why couldn’t they just know what he wanted to tell them?

“What happene-”

“She’s my mate.”

Azriel froze when he realized what he had just said. He didn’t dare to look at his brothers. He had always planned to keep her a secret until they accepted the bond, but after what he had just learned, he needed them to know.

Ashe was his mate. He had known since the first letter. Or, his shadows had known. They would tell him all about her and tell him exactly what she was going through. They called her his mate, and Azriel didn’t know her by any other name until she introduced herself as Flame.

So yes, he had spied on his mate. But it was only to make sure she was safe.

And then when he first saw her in the dungeon, he knew for sure what she was.

He wanted to hold her then. To kiss her and touch her hair. Her beautiful…brown…hair. But he refused to do so. He was going to be strong.

That lasted about three hours, before he snuck into her cabin. He tried to figure out more about her. That’s how he found the brown hair colour and red hairs. His mate had red hair. Mother, he wished to see her with her natural hair colour. Even the thought of it made his heart dance. She would look so cute and sexy. Definitely sexy.

That’s also where he found the book for servants that told him that Ashe was forced to colour her hair.

He hadn’t meant for her to find him there, so he pretended it was a part of being one of his spies. He couldn’t stay away. He needed to know more.

That’s when he learned about all the abuse his mate had gone through. He learned about the pain she was dealing with as they spoke. Azriel wanted to do anything for her. He wanted to make the pain go away. If she had asked him for something, anything at all, he would to it.

Most of the harm had come from the High Lord himself. Why would he hurt her if she was…

After the conversation, he found it even harder to stay away. He needed to protect her. To make sure no one would ever hurt her again. He needed to see her eyes light up in a smile. He needed to feel her warmth and touch her. He didn’t necessarily mean touching sexually, even though he wanted that too. He just felt the need to hold her. Play with her hair. Hold her hand. Kiss her. He wanted to look deep into her amber eyes.

But now, he wasn’t sure he could look into her eyes without seeing…

When he saw her curled hair in the dining room, he lost all self-control. He almost drooled. His mate was so pretty.

He needed help to sneak into the office, but most of all he just needed to see her again. He hadn’t planned on kissing her. But she looked so terrified and when her hand gripped his tighter than usual, he couldn’t help himself.

Ashe had the softest lips he had ever kissed. He had to force himself to stop kissing her, before he went too far to hold back all he wanted to do to her. Her flushed face made him struggle to stand.

He let himself have one last kiss, and then he left.

But know, after he had learned what he had, he felt so stupid. How could he have trusted her so easily? But at the same time, what if he was wrong? Or what if he was right, but Ashe didn’t know? He just wanted her to be the kind, soft and wonderful female he thought she was!

After what she had told him and what his shadows had told him, Ashe had no clue.

However, if Ashe did know…then he had almost doomed the entire Night Court.

“That’s great Az! But why does that mean we can’t trust her?” Rhys’ voice pulled him out of his daydreaming.

Azriel looked at his brothers shocked faces. He saw that they were happy, but at the same time, neither one of them knew how to react. They soon begun to smile instead.

He took a deep breath and hid partially in his shadows before he spoke next.

“I have reasons to believe she is Beron’s daughter.”

Ashe was getting ready for bed. Eris had left a little of an hour ago, but Ashe had been too busy daydreaming over a certain winged male to do go to bed.

However, she was exhausted.

So, when a knock was heard from her door, she didn’t think twice. It was probably Eris coming back to say something or getting something he forgot.

If she had been a little less tired, she would know that Eris never came back to her room in so close intervals. Their friendship was a big secret.

Ashe walked over to the door and opened it. Fully expecting to see her friend or maybe Maria.

However, looking at her from the other side of the door was no other than the High Lord of the Autumn Court.

And he did not look happy.

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[trashcakery]

This was after the hug, Fadel’s tears, the slow dance, the I have fallen for you, the kiss. Fadel had made up his mind. He would take what he could get—Style’s smell, the shape of his mouth, the taste of his skin—one last time. He knew it was over, could feel it seething between his lungs, the anger a quiet whir in the back of his head. He looked into Style’s eyes for a moment after they broke apart, and he thought of collapsing the facade, of grabbing his shoulders and shaking a confession out of those beautiful, lying lips. But Style simply looked back, smiling, unwavering, clueless. Did you really think I would not find out?

They were to spend the night in Fadel’s room. Style was tired. He went quiet at times in the night—a part of him Fadel was sure no one else knew. It was as if he gave out his spark in constant bouts, leaving little to himself in the final hours of the day. The loudest people can be the loneliest, Fadel thought, fleetingly.

“Fadel,” Style whispered. He was sitting on the foot of Fadel’s bed, the smile, though tired, reaching his eyes. His hair was wet. He had just showered, and was in grey sweats and a black band tshirt that Fadel swore wasn’t cropped a few weeks back. Style raised both arms up, asking for a hug, asking Fadel to kill the space between them. “Why are you so far?”

Fadel didn’t say anything. He watched Style; the droplets lining his neck, one by one, pooling in the milky collarbones; those wild pretty brows that were surprisingly relaxed, not challenging him like they always did. He looked so good, so harmless. Fadel wanted to jump out of his own fucking skin. He walked, measured, towards him. Style’s shoulders perked up, a light in his face. He wrapped his arms around Fadel’s neck when Fadel bowed to let him, and they held each other’s eyes. Fadel stayed there. Say it. Say something. His mind was a jumble. Why won’t you say anything? But Style sat there, expectant. Fadel tightened his brows and quickly, like reflex, grabbed Style’s jaw. Maybe he’d scare a confession out of him, he thought. Maybe that’ll get him to explain himself, to swear to Fadel that Bison was wrong and that he didn’t betray him, that he wasn’t lying when he said he loved and wanted him. Fadel’s fingers left white prints where they pushed the skin. But Style stayed as he was, trusting. Fadel searched his face, searched for a silver of a clue, but found none. It pissed him off. Why was Style’s guard down? Why was he so fucking calm? Why wasn’t he afraid, still smiling, still ready to give his body, down to the bone, to Fadel? Fadel dug his nails into the skin, knuckles white, and Style titled his head ever so slightly to kiss the part of Fadel’s hand he could reach. “I miss you,” he said. “I was so worried that your shop was closed. I thought I was going insane.”

Fadel didn’t understand this. He didn’t know how to react. He was angry. He wanted him. He wanted him so much. He wanted to say goodbye. He didn’t want to kill him. He didn’t want to let go. He didn’t want this to end.

“Why?” He said, a choked breath.

It was Style’s turn to frown. He looked confused. “What?”

Fadel snapped out of it. Immediately. His fingers relaxed around Style’s jaw. He took a breath, grounded himself. “Nothing.” An exhale. “Come here.”

The kiss was slow, deep. Fadel couldn’t close his eyes. He kissed him, watched when he could. It felt wrong, but he needed to do this, one final time.

Style slipped out of his own shirt. It came off beautifully, his hair crowned with a shimmer. He looked up in quiet excitement at Fadel, who was standing now, taking his own shirt and pants off.

Style pushed himself to lie on the bed then wrapped his arms around Fadel’s back as Fadel climbed over him. They looked at each other. It was never like this between them. Fadel was suddenly aware of it all. Of the sounds their bodies were making against his sheets. Of the difference between them, in size and mannerism, the pace of their breaths, how Style’s gentle thrill was getting the better of him, how Fadel’s limbs were stiffening up in response, his trust in Style completely shattered.

Style raised his head up and kissed him again. Fadel tasted peppermint, fruit candy and sweetness. He wanted this. He wanted lifetimes of this.

“Fadel,” Style whispered against his mouth and stroked the back of his neck. “Did you think about me while you were gone—“

Fadel slipped his tongue in to shut him up. He didn’t want to admit the answer. I did. Every night.

They kissed, again, and again, shed off the rest of their clothes. It was different this time, the silence a creature in its own right. Fadel kissed Style’s body carefully. He left no part untouched. Style’s breaths came in quiet moans as he held onto Fadel tightly, always following his gaze, always trying to show him it felt good. And it did. It felt so fucking good, like fire, like martyrdom. But Fadel avoided Style’s eyes when he was inside, his face turned as he moved, slowly, carefully, awkwardly. His heart hurt. It shouldn’t be like this. It was never like this. He kissed Style’s neck when it became unbearable. And Style kissed him back, wherever he could, his jaw, his chin, his cheek, holding on tighter with each motion. Why? Fadel’s tears burned.

“Fadel,” Style closed his eyes and whispered as his head fell back. He bit hard onto his lips. Fadel went deeper, and watched, detached. “Fadel.”

[sensitivepluto]

The First Time

Touya Todoroki x Gn!Reader

[TW]: suggestive content (not quite nsfw but still), alcohol/drunk behavior, use of pet names

A/N: This is just a drabble, I got a taste of writing for Touya and now I can't stop ahahaaaaaaa - but idk if I wanna write smut yet sooooo it's cut short a bit abruptly.

The first time you met up with him, it was a mistake. A drunken, halfhearted mistake. A few too many drinks had your vision skewed, and before you know it you were locking eyes with the stranger across the room.

If it were any other day you would've been scared of this man. Piercing blue eyes, a lazy scowl plastered on his face, and scars littering his entire body. No...his entire body was made of scars.

But a little bit of tequila had your judgement thrown completely out the window, and your confidence at an all time high. You don't completely remember getting out of your seat, or walking over to the scarred man. Vaguely you remember being a little thrown off at how tall this man was compared to you. And you remember the amused smirk on his lips when you approached.

"Hey there." You hummed seductively. "What's got you here tonight?" He chuckled at you lowly.

"The alcohol mostly," he drawled, holding his glass in the air and inspecting the dark contents before locking his eyes back to yours. "What about you, sweetheart?"

"My (partner) cheated on me." You scoffed out. A little to much information to be giving to a complete stranger, but you were too drunk to care. "So I'm drowning the feelings out here."

"What a shame for him then." The man hummed disapprovingly, eyeing your body down from head to toe. A halfhearted giggle left your lips, and you swayed a bit uneasily.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because he's losing out on quite the person as it seems..." He complimented lazily. "What's your name, doll?"

"What's yours?" You asked back defiantly. A smirk danced on his lips.

"I asked you first." You could cut the tension between the two of you with a knife. What started as drunken banter now had the two of you close enough to see the details of his dangerous blue eyes.

"(Y/N)." You answered, earning you a smile from his scarred lips. He leaned in to your ear and spoke only loud enough for you to here, his name causing shivers to crawl up your spine.

His hand grazed your hip lightly, and your breath hitched. He had you where he wanted you, both you and him knew that. Before you knew it he was leading you outside and into the alleyway behind the. His form pressed against yours and his lips leaving marks on your tender neck.

"Didn't your mother teach you to stay away from dangerous men?" He teased, peppering kisses along your jaw. You panted and tangled your fingers in his inky black hair.

"My mother doesn't control me anymore." You gasped when his sunk his teeth into your neck once more, eliciting a chuckle from the man. It was clear he found you amusing - just plaything for the night. You didn't care. Not when your mind was so out of place.

None of it mattered to you. It was a one night thing...just for one night...right?

[tinydefector]

Behind the Scenes 5- DC

Tim Drake x Male reader

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: classic Tim being obsessed over unknowns.

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The Wayne Manor was unusually quiet for a Saturday morning, save for the occasional sound of footsteps and the faint clinking of dishes from the kitchen. Tim sat in the library, his laptop open on the table in front of him, several tabs pulled up as he combed through every scrap of information he could find on Sarah, the nursery, and, most frustratingly, Y/N.  

He was so engrossed in his search that he didn’t notice the faint creak of the door opening behind him.  “You’re doing that thing again,” came Duke’s voice, breaking the silence making Tim jolt slightly, looking up from his screen. As Duke leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed and a curious grin on his face.  

“What thing?”  a frown slowly creased its way onto his lips as he stared Duke down. “You know,” Duke snickers, walking into the room and dropping into a chair across from him. “The thing where you get all hyper-fixated on something and start acting like a conspiracy theorist. You’re, like, two coffee cups away from turning this into a full-on crime board with red string.”  

Tim rolled his eyes. “It’s not a conspiracy. I’m just... looking into something.”  

“Uh-huh,” Duke said, leaning forward to peer at the laptop screen. “So what’s got you all worked up this time? Serial killer? Corporate espionage? Secret society trying to take over Gotham again?” Tim hesitated for a moment, weighing whether or not to bring Duke into this. But before he could respond, another voice chimed in.  

“Tim’s got a new obsession?” Dick sauntered into the room, his usual grin plastered across his face. He flopped onto the couch, resting his feet on the coffee table despite Tim’s glare and groaning over not wanting to have everyone snooping in his business and his mini case.  

“I don’t have an obsession,” Tim said flatly.“You totally do,” Duke said, smirking. “He’s been glued to that laptop since breakfast. And judging by the way he muttered, ‘Why would she bury that recording?’ earlier, I’m guessing it’s something juicy.”  

Dick perked up at that, his grin widening,  eagerly trying to look over Tims shoulder to see what sort of case he had been working on or piecing together “Ooh, now I’m interested. Spill, Sherlock.”  

“It’s nothing,” Tim said quickly, closing one of his tabs. “Just... something weird I noticed at the nursery Alfred and I went to yesterday.” Dick raised an eyebrow, before shooting Duke a look. “a nursery? the one Alfred dragged you to?”  

“Yeah,” Tim muttered, clearly reluctant to elaborate. Duke and Dick exchanged a look before and then Duke is leaning forward with a smile as his eyes dance across the screen trying to catch snippets of what he can read. “Okay, now you have to tell us. What’s so weird about a nursery?”  

Tim knew he wasn't getting out of this, he wasn't the only detective in the family and knowing his luck one of them would figure something out if they didn't just blatantly ask Barbara to hack his computer. He lets out a reluctant sigh, realizing he wasn’t going to get out of this. “Fine. There’s this guy who works there—Y/N. He’s... not normal.”  

“Not normal how?” Dick asked, his curiosity clearly piqued.  

Tim hesitated again, trying to figure out how to explain without sounding insane. “meta, has a way animals and plants react to him like nature takes to him. It normally wouldn't be a problem except this is me, I get a weird feeling while there, he's what’s making my detective instincts go off so i dig a bit And then there’s this video of him and Ivy...”  

That got their attention. “Wait, Poison Ivy?” Duke asked, sitting up straighter. “What kind of video?” Tim opened his saved files scrolling through until he found it, pulling up the grainy footage he’d found the night before. He hit play, and the three of them watched as Y/N and Ivy stared each other down, the crow perched on Y/N’s shoulder shifting uneasily while the plants around Ivy swayed in her presence.  

No one said a word as the clip played out, showing Ivy turning and leaving without so much as a word, while Y/N remained frozen in place. When the video ended, Dick let out a low whistle. “Okay, that is weird. Like not as weird as I was expecting but more so the fact that Ivy just straight up turned around and walked off ”  

“Exactly,” Tim said, gesturing at the screen. “Ivy doesn’t just back down like that. Not unless there’s a good reason. And then she never went back to the nursery again. Ever.” Duke frowned, leaning closer to the screen. “What’s the deal with the crow? It’s just... sitting there, like it’s his pet or something.”  

“That’s the thing,” Tim said, pulling up another clip from the security footage. This one showed Y/N walking through the nursery, with the same crow trailing after him. “Animals act weird around him. They follow him around, leave him little trinkets... it’s like they’re drawn to him.” Dick leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched the second clip. “So he's a nature based Meta?, i mean it's not the first time we have had run in’s with them, but he doesn't seem hostile. So why is he on your radar?”  

“I don’t know,” Tim admitted. “He's just… his file seems to be clean, No criminal record, no connection to Ivy or anyone else in Gotham’s rogue gallery. He’s just a guy who works at a nursery.” Tim really doesn't know why he was so fixated, but after the rumours of Ivy having an apprentice and then Y/n, it couldn't be a coincidence. 

“And yet,” Duke said, pointing at the screen, “Ivy looked at him like she’d seen a ghost. That’s not nothing.” “Exactly,” Tim said, running a hand through his hair. “There’s something going on with him. I just don’t know what it is yet, i'm trying to find information, whether he's involved with Ivy somehow, and well i've heard she has an apprentice, and him showing up”  

Dick leaned back, his expression thoughtful. “You think he's involved?”  

“like 73%, there is a probability that he isn't but with everything so far, i just need to see if there is anything else with him and Ivy, because it may, may have been a fluke of two people with nature based abilities having a stare down, but even that probability is extremely low” Tim said. “Interesting,” Dick said, tapping his chin. “So what’s your next move, Detective Drake?”  

Tim rolled his eyes in annoyance. “I don’t have a ‘next move.’ I’m just... keeping an eye on things for now. He hasn't caused any chaos that im aware of, so i'm just observing ”  

Duke snorted, trying to cover up a cackle. “Yeah, right. You’re already planning to go back there, aren’t you?”  

“I—” Tim paused, realizing they weren’t wrong. “Classic Tim. You get a mystery in your head, and you can’t let it go. You’re gonna end up camped out in the nursery parking lot with binoculars, aren’t you?, mightstart calling you Inspector gadget again”  

Tim huffed, closing his laptop. “Whatever. You guys don’t get it. There’s something weird going on with Ivy, and I’m going to figure out what it is. And so far everything is pointing towards Y/n”  

“Sure, sure,” Duke said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “But hey, let us know when you crack the case. This is way more interesting than patrol. I happen to enjoy when you get yourself wrapped in an obsessive state over a case”  Tim glared at him and if a look could freeze Duke it would have, but Dick just laughed, clapping him on the shoulder as he stood up. “Don’t work yourself into a frenzy, Tim. You’ll figure it out. You always do.”  

“You’re not taking this seriously.”  “Oh, we are,” Duke said, holding up a hand. “It’s just more fun to watch you spiral.”  

“I’m not spiraling!”  Tim hissed out in defence. “You are definitely spiraling,” Dick said with a chuckle. “But hey, I get it. Weird guy, weird vibes, weird encounter with Ivy—it’s a classic Gotham mystery. I’d be curious too.” Tim groaned, slumping back in his seat. 

Before anyone could say more, the subtle sound of footsteps caught their attention.  Cass walked into the room, her dark eyes scanning the scene in front of her. She tilted her head, clearly intrigued by the animated discussion.

What are you talking about?

she signs, it takes her a moment to make sure she had signed it right. And took Duke and Dick a bit longer to translate it than it did Tim. 

 

The three boys exchanged a look, and then Duke grinned. “Oh, Cass, you’re gonna love this. Tim’s got a new mystery guy.” Cass blinked, her gaze shifting to Tim. “Not like that!,” Tim said quickly, his face flustering pink as he elbows Duke. “It’s not a thing. It’s just... There's this guy at the nursery Alfred took me to. He’s… a meta who has similar abilities to Ivy.”  

Cass raised an eyebrow and sat down on the armrest of the couch near Tim, silently encouraging him to continue. “Okay, so there’s this guy, Y/N, who works at the nursery. Animals and plants act weird around him, like they’re drawn to him. And the footage I found shows him having some kind of... standoff with Poison Ivy. She didn’t attack him. She didn’t even say anything. She just... left.”  

Cass frowned slightly, her expression thoughtful.

Not normal?

she signs simply. “Exactly!” Tim said, gesturing at her like she’d just proved his point. “Show her the video,” Duke said, nodding toward the laptop.  

Tim hesitated for a moment, then pulled up the footage again and turned the screen to face her. Cass leaned in, watching closely as the grainy video played out. Her sharp eyes followed every detail. Y/N standing frozen, the crow on his shoulder shifting restlessly, Ivy’s calm but deliberate retreat. When the clip ended, Cass sat back, her brow furrowed. Her finger moves to point towards his neck and cheek.

Leaves?   

Cass pointed at the screen. “Y/N. He’s nervous, but... not afraid. Not of her.” Her voice is rather quiet and slightly raspy as she talks, making an uncomfortable face as she analyses the young man. “Calm. Like... he belongs.” she continues. “Belongs?” Tim repeated, his frown deepening. “What do you mean by that?”  

Cass gestured vaguely toward the screen. “Plants. Animals. They like him. Trust him. He doesn’t force it. It’s... natural. like..”  She's trying to find the right word but can't. “zїna biando ” Dick mutters his accent coming out for a moment. Making everyone look at him. “You said there were little leaves and vine patterns On his skin, can you zoom in enough on them?” he asked rather fascinated, he hadn't heard stories of the Fae born since he was a child. 

The room fell silent for a moment as everyone processed what Dick had said. The image is blurry but they can all make out the very fine line little leaves that seem to pulse under Y/n's skin, they look like little fine leaf ferns or something akin to them. 

“ he’s not controlling them,” Dick said slowly. “It’s more like... they’re drawn to him because of what he is. My Daj used to tell me stories about the fairies when I was little, about how they used to steal babies away when they were small and replace them. Used to scare me shitless as a kid”  

Duke let out a low whistle. “Okay, that’s... kind of cool. Still weird, but cool.” Tim, however, wasn’t satisfied. “That still doesn’t explain why Ivy backed off,” he said, staring at the screen. “She doesn’t care about people who are meta She only cares about plants. If she left him alone, it’s because she saw something in him. Something that made her think he wasn’t a threat—or maybe she was afraid of him.”  

“Maybe he isn't a meta, Dick did just say he reminded him of fairies, and I know for a fact they aren't cute little winged creatures that fly around granting wishes. Ever think he might be something outside of the normal ” Duke said, while shooting Dick a look of ‘you said it not me’  

“Or,” Dick said with a grin, “maybe he’s secretly her long-lost nephew.”  and that just makes Tim groan. “You’re not helping. One moment you're saying he's an ancient being and the next that he's her nephew you're impossible you know that.”  

Cass nodded. “But don’t push too hard,” she added, her expression softening. “If he’s hiding, there’s a reason.” Tim considered her words, then nodded slowly, he trusted Cass’ advice more than a lot of other people's. She was good at reading people and understanding them from just a glimpse. “Alright. I’ll keep digging, but... carefully.”  “Good,” Cass said, a small smile tugging at her lips.  

Duke grinned. “Man, this is shaping up to be way better than I thought. Let me know if you find anything juicy, Tim.” Dick chuckled, standing up and stretching. “Yeah, keep us updated on your new favorite mystery guy. But i'm probably going to head, i want to try and make it back to Blüdhaven before the midday rush, I'll catch you all next week, oh Jason's also organising for an arcade night next Saturday”  

Tim turned back to his laptop, her words echoing in his mind. Whatever Y/N was hiding, Tim was more determined than ever to find out. But now, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Cass might be right whatever the truth was, it wasn’t going to be simple.

—----

The quiet hum of Y/N’s voice filled the small apartment as he moved from plant to plant, watering can in hand. The soft golden light of the morning poured in through the window, illuminating the small jungle he’d created on his windowsill. Each plant looked healthier than it had any right to leaves vibrant, stems strong, buds ready to bloom.  

Out on the balcony railing, the crow that frequently visited him sat fluffed up, the soft clicks and occasional caws breaking the otherwise peaceful silence as it fiddled with the toys and treats stuck in them. 

“You guys are looking better,” Y/N murmured, brushing his fingers lightly over the leaves of a small, struggling fern. His touch was gentle, as if he were afraid of hurting the delicate greenery. “Knew you just needed a little love. Glad I brought you home, hopefully this fertilizer will be more gentle on you than the stuff at work.”  

The fern seemed to perk up under his touch, its leaves ever so slightly unfurling. Y/N smiled softly at the sight, a quiet sense of pride blooming in his chest. He moved on to the next plant, a wilting orchid he’d taken from the nursery just a week ago. It had been deemed unsellable, the kind of plant most people would have thrown away without a second thought, after all orchids were known for being a hard plant to keep alive. But Y/N had seen potential in it, like he always did. Changed the substrate it was in for rock moss in hope it would help keep it from getting root rot.  

“Don’t worry, you’re going to be beautiful again soon,” he said softly. He added a small pinch of his homemade fertilizer mix and gave the orchid an encouraging tap on the side of its pot. The crow clicked again, drawing Y/N’s attention. He glanced toward the balcony, a small smile tugging at his lips. “What? You want some attention too?I just gave you blueberries and peanuts trying to swindle more treats out of me?”  

The bird fluffed itself up further in response, letting out a soft caw. “Alright, alright,” Y/N said with a chuckle, setting the watering can aside. He stepped out onto the balcony, resting his forearms on the railing as he looked out at the city. The crow hopped closer, its beady eyes locking onto him. “You’re so spoiled, you know that?” Y/N said, reaching out to scratch the bird's head. The crow tilted its head, leaning into the touch.  

Y/N let out a contented sigh, his gaze drifting back to the plants inside. The apartment was small, but it felt alive, every corner brimming with greenery, from the hanging pots in the kitchen. It was a little sanctuary in the middle of Gotham.   

As he finished tending to the last plant, stepping back and surveyed his little indoor garden. A satisfied smile spread across his face. “There we go. You guys are all set.”  

Y/N settled into his couch, the crow flying in to perch on the backrest beside him. He grabbed the remote, flipping on the TV, the soft hum of the news anchor’s voice filling the room.  

The familiar Gotham News Network “ temperature. Highs today will reach the mid-50s, but by tomorrow morning, we’re looking at lows in the upper 30s. So, make sure to bundle up and keep an umbrella handy, expect ice on the roads and perhaps even some snow!”  Y/N ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the plants by the window. If it did snow he'd have to bring all the plants from the balcony inside, he didn't want them to get frost burn. “You guys are lucky you don’t have to deal with the cold,” he muttered with a small smile.   

“In other news, a multi-car pileup on the Gotham Expressway has left three people injured and caused significant delays for morning commuters. Authorities say the accident was caused by a trailer losing control on a slick patch of road. Emergency services are working to clear the road.” Footage of flashing lights, emergency vehicles, and crumpled cars filled the screen, followed by a statement from a spokesperson for the Gotham City Police Department.  

“Thankfully, no fatalities have been reported, but we urge drivers to exercise caution, particularly with rain expected later today. And positive snow and ice in the coming days”  

Y/N sighed, shaking his head. “Gotham traffic is bad enough without stuff like that, guess ill be leaving extra earlier for my shift on monday so i dont get caught” he murmured.  

The anchor’s shifted again this time to a woman at a desk, this time to the lighter, polished tone reserved for celebrity gossip.  

“And here in Gotham, headlines as Bruce Wayne announced a new charitable initiative at yesterday’s gala. The initiative, focused on improving inner-city schools, will launch with a $10 million donation from Wayne Enterprises. Mr. Wayne, known for his philanthropic efforts, spoke briefly to reporters about the project.”  

The screen cut to footage of Bruce Wayne, dressed in a sharp suit, smiling politely as he addressed a crowd of reporters outside the venue. “This city’s children deserve every opportunity to succeed and have a chance for a better future, ” Bruce said, his tone calm and confident. “Education is the foundation of a brighter future, and it’s our responsibility to provide the resources and support they need to thrive.”  

The clip ended, cutting back to the anchor.  

“Wayne Enterprises CEO Tim Drake-Wayne also announced plans to partner with several local nonprofits to ensure the funds are distributed effectively. This comes on the heels of a recent spike in Wayne Enterprises’ stock prices following the successful launch of their clean energy program.” Y/N let out a low whistle, leaning back into the couch. “Man they are always busy, that lot” he said, shaking his head.  

Y/N lounged back against the couch, one leg draped over the armrest as he lazily flicked through the channels. The familiar static hum of old TV shows filled the room, and he settled on an episode of mind-numbing drama that he didn’t care enough to name. It wasn’t for the story; it was just background noise to accompany the quiet peace of his apartment.  

Reaching to the side table, Y/N grabbed a small stack of books he’d been working through. The worn covers and dog-eared pages spoke of his frequent use, each book filled with handwritten notes, underlined passages, and little scraps of paper sticking out as bookmarks.  

His fingers trailed over the spine of one before he opened it, flipping to a section he’d been revisiting lately: remedies for colds and flu. The weather report replayed itself in his mind—a sudden cold front, rain, and dropping temperatures. He already knew what that meant.  

Mrs. Callahan from down a floor would be knocking soon, asking for something to help with her sinuses, which he'd then remind her she needed to see a doctor over it. And Mr. Moran would probably stop by later in the week, claiming he wasn’t sick while sniffling through every word. Y/N smirked as he flipped through the pages, his fingers tapping softly against the book’s edge.  

He didn’t mind. His neighbors weren’t bad people, and they were always grateful for the little tinctures and herbal teas he whipped up for them. Better than the over-the-counter stuff, they always said. “Alright,” he murmured to himself, scanning a recipe for elderberry syrup. “Elderberries, ginger, honey, cinnamon... got plenty of that. Should probably make a bigger batch this time.”  

His eyes shifted to another section, one detailing a simple herbal vapor rub. He scratched at the faint stubble on his jawline, making a mental note to check his stash of eucalyptus oil. After jotting down a few quick notes in the margins of the book, Y/N stood, stretching his arms above his head. The soft rustling of the nearby plants caught his attention as he moved. Their leaves seemed to shift slightly toward him, as though drawn by some invisible force. He paused, smiling faintly.  

“You guys are so needy,” he teased lightly, brushing his fingers over the nearest set of leaves.  Y/N wandered into the kitchen, grabbing a large mixing bowl and a few jars from the cabinet. He worked methodically, humming softly as he pulled ingredients from various cupboards. His crow companion let out a soft caw from its perch on the back of a chair, watching him with the same curious intensity it always seemed to have.  

Y/N said, tossing the bird a small piece of dried fruit he’d left out on the counter. The crow caught it mid-air, clicking in approval as it settled down to eat. The herbs and jars are spread out across the counter as Y/N begin to measure and mix. The faint scent of cinnamon and honey filled the air as he started on the elderberry syrup, carefully boiling the berries with spices before straining the mixture into a pot.  

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Translation: 

zїna biando - fairy born

Daj - mother

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homemade cough and cold syrup 

Elderberry syrup 

1 cup dried Elderberries 

4 cups water 

½ cup honey or sweetener of choice 

A piece of ginger 

4 cloves 

2 cinnamon sticks 

(Optional add ins) 

2 sprigs of rosemary 

3 star anise 

1 tbsp of Yarrow 

Garlic and Honey 

Add garlic and honey into a jar of choice and let ferment for 4 weeks. Make sure to tip and burp your jar at least once every two days. 

Fire cider 1L worth 

1 red onion 

2-3 jalapeno's or chilli's 

1 large orange 

1 lemon 

1 head of garlic smashed 

1 bunch of thyme 

1 bunch of rosemary

Small handful of peppercorns 

5 cloves 

A cinnamon stick 

Dried cayenne pepper 

Ginger (measure with your heart) 

Turmeric (half of your ginger) 

Fill jars with raw apple cider vinegar once everything is in the jar

(Honey is Optional) 

___________________

Also, for everyone, this here was the rescue Crow I had for a while who still visits my grandmother, his name is Kohl. He's the base of the crow in the story, so I hope you enjoy it.

Let me know if you would like to be added to a tag list for this fic.

[jamieroyjamieroy]

Bucktommyfluffebruary Day 3 - Spider-Man Kiss

@bucktommyfluffebruary

Buck loves spending time with Tommy even when he has to share that attention with others. It gives him time to sit back and admire his boyfriend and how animated and passionate he can get about his interests. Even if Buck doesn’t necessarily share those interests. The way he is debating movies with Chimney is fascinating to him. He has no idea what they are talking about, having tuned out the moment superheroes were mentioned. Buck chuckles at them both defending their choices in who would win in a fight. He can’t take sides he has no clue who they are talking about or their powers. Buck is just happy to be sitting beside his love, hand on his thigh and watching the laugh lines on his face. The gasp Tommy lets out has him tuning back into the conversation.

“How can you skip the original trilogy Howie? So many pivotal moments happen that are alluded to in all future Spider-Man movies, not to mention TV and movies since!” Tommy exclaims, incredulous about Chimney’s confession.

“Yeah, yeah but the cringe factor. Especially the third one. I’ve seen the dancing clip I don’t need to watch the whole movie, or any of them. Like you said it’s throughout pop culture now, why waste my time?” Chim fires back.

“Ok that’s fair. The third one is definitely not the best but you miss out on so many good scenes from the other movies. Catching the tray in the cafeteria, not getting beat up by a young Joe Manganiello.” Tommy starts to list the moments he loves from the movie.

“Is that the werewolf guy you showed me in that vampire show? With the blond sexy vampire?” Buck cuts in the name seeming familiar to him. He has been shown a lot of movies and shows since being with Tommy.

“Trust you to remember that show Buck.” Chim snickers at the blush on Buck’s face.

“What can I say, I appreciate the classics” Buck replies wiggling his eyebrows at his brother-in-law.

“You appreciate the nudity.” Chim declares knowingly.

“Yeah that too” Buck can’t keep the smile from his face.  

“What about the iconic Spider-Man kiss. How could you not have seen that?” Tommy asks disbelievingly.

“I have, in so many things. I’ve even seen stills of it. Just not the movie it’s from.” Chim shrugs.

“What’s that again? What kiss?” Buck asks trying to remember any that stood out from the copious number of movies he has watched of late.

“You deal with that, I’m making more popcorn.” Chim says gesturing at Buck and walking into the kitchen.

“Come on Evan we watched all the Spiderman movies. Every iteration. Not to mention all the Marvel movies. It was in the first Tobey Maguire one.” Tommy replies deflating at his inability to share his love of movies with Buck.

“Is that the guy in those hobbit movies?” Buck asks thinking back to what he had been shown.

“Different actor. That’s Elijah Wood. And he was in The Lord of the Rings. The Hobbit is a different movie.” Tommy says rubbing a hand over his face.

“Are you sure?” Buck asks he could have sworn that it was the same actor.

“Very sure.” Tommy looks at him with a fond but sceptical look.

“Is the Lord of the Rings the one where Sherlock and Watson are doing dragon role play?” Buck asks digging deep into his memory and unconsciously stroking his hand along Tommy’s thigh. He feels Tommy shift under his hand.

“What? Dragon? NO! I mean, that movie is part of the universe but not the movie Elijah Wood is in. Who is not Tobey Maguire.” Tommy rubs at the bridge of his nose, opening his legs a little more as the hand moves higher.

“Ok so is the Spiderman you are talking about the one where Bucky is flirting hardcore with the dude with metal wings?” Buck asks a grin on his face, surely he has it right this time. Even if he doesn’t he is enjoying watching the emotions play out across Tommy’s face. The blush creep across his cheeks as his hand moves higher again.

“They weren’t flirting! Ok maybe they were but why do you remember Bucky?” Tommy tries to maintain his normal tone as strong fingers kneed into his thigh. Casting glances to his kitchen, hoping Chim won’t be walking back in anytime soon.

“Well you are obsessed with him and you know the whole Buck/Bucky thing. I pay attention to what you like. When Bucky flipped that motorcycle around, I understood the appeal. And when he has Black Widow sitting on his chest, wow! Not sure who I wanted to be more in that scene!” Buck continues to move his hand over Tommy’s leg.

“Ok that is part of the Marvel universe which Spider-Man is in but the one I’m talking about is in a completely separate trilogy of movies. Different actor.” Tommy says

“I’m confused.” Buck replies removing his hand from Tommy’s leg as Chim walks back in with more popcorn.  

“Me too!” Tommy groans out throwing his head back.

“Did you decide which movie we are going to watch?” Chim asks sitting on the other side of Buck and pushing him closer to Tommy. Tommy wraps his arms around Buck and pulls him in close, kissing the side of his neck. Savouring the closeness Buck melts into the hold.

“Nope.” Buck replies stealing the bowl of popcorn.

“You pick Howie.” Tommy sighs with resignation a squeeze on his leg promising better things to come when they are alone.

“Iron Man it is!” Chim cheers grinning over at Buck who can’t contain his grin.

“Did you orchestrate all that so Chim would get his way?” Tommy whispers into Buck’s ear sending vibrations throughout Buck’s body.

“I may have.” Buck shivers “Besides if you aren’t as interested in what movie is playing you might kiss me more.”

“You are an evil genius.” Tommy mutters kissing Buck’s birthmark “Too bad for you I wanted to watch Iron Man.” Tommy settles back with a chuckle as Buck sputters and gapes at his grinning boyfriend. Damn it, he will just have to make Tommy pay for that. He considers doing it now but decides spending some time just being held by the big strong arms around him is worth the price of watching a movie he doesn’t care about. Maybe he will get his own Spider-Man kiss as a reward.

Read on Ao3

[rebelliousstories]

Puppy Love

ValenFics

Relationship: James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes x Reader

Fandom: Marvel

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 861

Main Masterlist: Here

Marvel Masterlist: Here

Summary: Bucky was a skirt chaser in the 40’s; this is just a fact. Bet you never heard about this tale from the era though.

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1942

You would think that someone as smooth and cool as Bucky would have trouble getting a date. He had been with plenty of dames, charmed dozens of ladies. So why was he having such a hard time with this one girl?

This one girl in question; Rebecca’s totally swinging friend. There was a major problem with it too. Rebecca refused to help him land a date with her because she was her friend. Any time she would come by their apartment, he tried to be there to welcome her in.

Sometimes he thought that she was interested in him. If Bucky let her into the apartment to hang out with Rebecca, she would brush her hand across his chest as she passed. When he would walk her and Rebecca to the door after they were done, she would press a kiss to his cheek.

James would offer to walk her home, talking the entire four blocks back. If he saw her in town, he would offer to hold her shopping, or walk her around. Bucky would just so happen to find out her shift at the diner that she worked at and would bring her flowers on her birthday.

And each time, he thought that this might be his chance. This might be the time where he could ask her out. But then, the other instances happen. She would ignore him when she came in, going straight to Rebecca’s room and promptly shutting the door. Other times, if he offered to walk with her and hold her shopping, she told him that she was just about to head home anyways, or that she really did not have much to carry.

It was these times Bucky questioned whether or not she was as into him as he was into her. Because each time that he thought she was, and was about to ask her on a date, something would happen to disparage that. He just could not take it much more. Which is why he was currently on his way to her apartment that he had walked her home to a hundred times before with flowers in his hands, and an open heart.

Knocking on the door, Barnes waited patiently for it to open. Instead of her, it was her dad. A big military man that stood eye to eye with the boy. As steady as he could, Bucky started. “Hello, sir. My name is James “Bucky” Barnes. Is your daughter home?”

“What if she is? What do you want?” The squinting of the father’s eyes, Bucky had come to know with his experience, was rarely a good sign.

“Well, um… I want to take her out on a date, sir.” He stated, subconsciously straightening his back, and pushing his shoulder behind him.

“You’re the Rebeccas’s older brother, right?” He said it like he was interrogating him.

“Yes sir.” Bucky stated, feeling the heat a bit.

“Daddy, what’s going on?” Her sweet voice drifted into the room. Coming out from her bedroom, she wore a red button down top with cap sleeves, and a matching red skirt. Her cardigan on top was black, but covered in red and pink hearts knitted throughout. Safe to say, Bucky was glad her father spoke first because he was speechless.

“This young man has come to ask you on a date.”

“Bucky?” She asked, finally noticing who was standing there.

Shaking his head, James cleared his thoughts. “I was hoping that I might be able to take you for a walk through the park, maybe some ice cream. I’m aware it’s too short of notice for the dance hall tonight but I figured, this would be the next best thing.”

As she walked closer, he could smell her perfume more clearly. It was such a beautifully clean scent, with just the barest hint of vanilla. Bucky struggled to keep his wits about him as he watched her.

“You brought those for me?” She pointed at the small bouquet in his hands. It was not much, but at least something.

“Of course. Pretty flowers for a pretty lady.” Bucky smirked, passing them over. Meanwhile, her dad stood there with a sour look on his face. Noticing this, he retreated just a bit after passing the flowers, while she put her hand on his shoulder gently.

“Daddy, don’t scare him. Bucky is a gentleman. He’s Becca’s big brother. If you should trust anyone with my safety for an evening, it’s Bucky.” The way she advocated for him nearly made the man blush. “Let me go put these in water and then we can go.”

After she left, her father leveled the younger man with a look, and held out his hand. Once Barnes had slipped his into the shake, her father gripped tight, and shook hard. “Treat her right, or I make sure that you have to move out of town.”

Feeling thoroughly terrified, but trying not to show it, Bucky nodded. “Yes, sir. Understood.”

“Ready to go, Bucky?” Coming back in, she had also grabbed her purse on the way. Released from the handshake with her father, James held out his arm towards her.

“After you.”

[strawberry-raikkonen]

heer lace pt. 2: toto wolff

the series where the reader takes the romantic interest(s) lingerie shopping

series masterlist

“Can I interest you in-” he looked up to read the name of the store, “Agent Provocateur?” Toto managed to play his surprise off cool but you caught the subtle shift in his tone. He wanted to shower you with anything you could have without you asking for it, offering to lead you into any store the two of you walked by. He wanted to take care of you whenever he could afford the time to. You’d often rejected his advances, for he gifted you anything you needed anyways, but this time, you raised your eyebrow and smiled coyly, “sounds good.” His possessive arm snaked around your side from its place in the small of your back and you were led into the store, Ttoto holding the door open for you. Quite the collection had accumulated on Toto’s arm as the two of browsed what was on display. “Don’t be shy schatz, pick more,” he whispered into your ear lowly, you sighed at the warm feeling that spread around your lower stomach, “I’m going to tear them off of you anyway.” “Believe me,” you turned to him and pressed the front your body against his and leaned into his ear, standing on your tippy toes, or tried to, in your heels, “I’m looking forward to it.” “Why don’t we get going and then you can be a good girl show me now, hmm?” You could see past the suggestion to know that it was an order, but were you ever a good girl? “Maybe I’ll choose some more, huh? Because you keep tearing them and all,” you replied, almost purring. Two could play at this game. Toto plucked the garment you had in your hand, slinging onto the collection on his arm, “Don’t be shy darling, take your time.” You did, and you tried on everything in the fitting room, twirling, playing with your hair, batting your lashes, even a mini lap dance and striptease, the whole nine yards. Toto, as composed as ever, remained stoic, concealing any crack. Toto handed his card to the cashier, American express black, of course, and swept up your bags. He walked you to his car with no offer to enter any other store on the walk there. You didn’t offer either. The teasing and the anticipation had made you very desperate, you had to pretend to not rub your thighs together in the store. Toto noticed, of course. He noticed everything about you. You just wanted to get home for your punishment to come. “In the car, now.” Toto opened the passenger door for you and wrestled the assorted shopping bags into the trunk then drove the two of you home, his hand disappeared up your skirt, dangerously close to where you needed him the most, but gripped your thigh so hard you were sure it was going to bruise. The only noise in the car was the slight rumble of the engine and the traffic around it. Nothing had to be said, both passengers knew what was coming ahead. The bags fell on the marble floor of the entryway in your shared home, you stood in your place, buzzing with excitement as you looked up at Toto as he tossed the keys into the dish littered with mail and coins and removed his coat. You both knew what you were doing: awaiting order. “On our bed, all fours, now. And keep the lace.” He ordered. “Make me.” Oh, he did, by pulling you over his very toned shoulder. You came 7 times that night, one for every set you bought. “Told you I’d rip it off of you.” “Looks like we’ll have to go back to buy more.”

[biblical-chronicles]

Perfect

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where an interesting comparison you used in an interview intrigues Noel.

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Being part of the High Flying Birds had been a dream in itself, but working this closely with Noel? That was something else entirely. It hadn’t started that way, not exactly. At first, you were just another musician in the mix—lucky enough to be in the room, lucky enough to play on the tracks.

But somewhere along the way, things shifted.

Noel started asking for your input. First, little things—a chord change here, a harmony there. Then, bigger things. Whole sections of songs. Lyrics. Sometimes, he’d play you a demo before anyone else had even heard it, watching your reaction like it actually meant something. Like he trusted you with it.

And that was the thing about Noel—he wasn’t the type to let just anyone in. Everyone knew that. He was set in his ways, fiercely protective over his music, his process. If he let you close, it meant something.

But whatever it meant, neither of you ever said.

It was something that made you feel a little bit stupid, because there was no way in hell Noel thought about you like that.

On the other hand, you weren’t blind. You knew something was there, unspoken, just beneath the surface. The way he looked at you when you weren’t paying attention. The way he always found his way next to you in a crowded room. The way his fingers lingered just a second too long when he passed you a guitar.

It was almost laughable, the way you danced around it. Like two people standing at the edge of something, both too stubborn to be the first to jump.

And maybe that was why, when the interviewer asked you about him, the answer came out before you even had time to think.

“So, how’s it been then?” The journalist leaned forward, resting his dictaphone between you. “Writing with Noel, I mean. He’s not exactly known for sharing the load when it comes to songwriting. That must be… exhausting?”

You blinked, caught off guard for half a second before the words tumbled out, natural as anything. “No, no, it’s amazing actually,” you said, shaking your head. “Like, I know he’s got this whole thing of being dead stubborn, and yeah, sure, sometimes he’ll just look at you like you’ve said the stupidest thing in the world, but honestly? I’ve never been more excited to walk into a studio. He teaches me so much without even meaning to. Every time we work on something, I feel like I come out of it a better musician.”

You hesitated for a moment, then smirked. “He’s like if the G-string on your guitar didn’t go out of tune after a session, but as a person. Just consistently brilliant.”

The interviewer chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “So, he’s perfect then?”

You let out a huff of laughter, feeling your face heat slightly. “Yeah… something like that.”

And that was how you found yourself suddenly feeling very exposed. Because even though the words had left your mouth so easily, so casually, you knew anyone listening closely enough could hear what you weren’t saying.

The interview wrapped up soon after, the journalist thanking you as he gathered his things. You plastered on a polite smile, exchanged pleasantries, then made your way back to your usual spot in the studio, still feeling a little warm from your own words.

A day or two passed without much thought about it, it wasn’t until you were sat alone in the studio, half-focused on tuning your guitar, that you were reminded of your little performance. You barely had time to glance up before Noel strolled in.

“Your perfect G-string has arrived.” he announced nonchalantly.

You frowned for a second, thrown off. “My what?”

Then it clicked. Your interview.

“Oh, fuck off,” you groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “You watched that?”

“Hard not to, innit?” He shrugged, stepping closer. “It’s everywhere. And I’ve gotta say, of all the things you could’ve compared me to, a G-string was a choice.”

You smirked, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “Oh, you don’t like it? I can always release a follow-up clarifying that I compared you to a G-string ‘cause you’re always up me arse.”

He let out a proper laugh at that, shaking his head. “You’re a cheeky little shit, you know that?”

“Takes one to know one.” you shot back, but there was an edge to his look now.

Noel tilted his head, analysing you. “Do you actually mean that love?”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling a bit too warm. “What is this police interrogation?”

“Stop deflecting.” He pulled up a chair beside you, sitting way too close, his knee knocking against yours. “Come on, tell me. You actually mean all that stuff you said?”

You could’ve played it off, could’ve laughed it away, but there was no point. Not when he was looking at you like that. Not when it had been obvious for months.

“Yeah,” you admitted softly, not quite meeting his eyes. “Thought it was quite obvious by now.”

There was a beat of silence, just long enough to make you second-guess yourself. But then, he reached out, fingers brushing your chin, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to look at him.

“Good.” he murmured, before kissing you.

It wasn’t rushed, just firm and sure, like he’d been waiting for this as long as you had. His hand slid to the back of your neck, keeping you close, as you melted into him.

When you finally pulled away, you were a bit breathless, heart pounding as you searched his face for any sign that this was some kind of joke. But he was grinning, eyes warm, thumb still tracing absentminded circles against your skin.

“So, does this mean we’re official now?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but the slight tremble in your voice betrayed you.

“Oh yeah,” he smirked. “I’d love to officially be your G-string.”

You groaned, pushing him away as he laughed. “God, you won’t let that go, will ya?”

“Not a chance.”

“I meant the guitar string, you absolute muppet.”

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story aside, this is a serious concern of mine, why the fuck is the g-string always magically untuning itself? any science behind that?

anyway, hope you lot liked it and thanks for the request xx

love ya !!