#drug companies lies

[reasoningdaily]

Science: Did a top NIH official manipulate Alzheimer's and Parkinson’s studies for decades?

In 2016, when the U.S. Congress unleashed a flood of new funding for Alzheimer’s disease research, the National Institute on Aging (NIA) tapped veteran brain researcher Eliezer Masliah as a key leader for the effort. He took the helm at the agency’s Division of Neuroscience, whose budget—$2.6 billion in the last fiscal year—dwarfs the rest of NIA combined.

As a leading federal ambassador to the research community and a chief adviser to NIA Director Richard Hodes, Masliah would gain tremendous influence over the study and treatment of neurological conditions in the United States and beyond. He saw the appointment as his career capstone. Masliah told the online discussion site Alzforum that “the golden era of Alzheimer’s research” was coming and he was eager to help NIA direct its bounty. “I am fully committed to this effort. It is a historical moment.”

Masliah appeared an ideal selection. The physician and neuropathologist conducted research at the University of California San Diego (UCSD) for decades, and his drive, curiosity, and productivity propelled him into the top ranks of scholars on Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s disease. His roughly 800 research papers, many on how those conditions damage synapses, the junctions between neurons, have made him one of the most cited scientists in his field. His work on topics including alpha-synuclein—a protein linked to both diseases—continues to influence basic and clinical science.

But over the past 2 years questions have arisen about some of Masliah’s research. A Science investigation has now found that scores of his lab studies at UCSD and NIA are riddled with apparently falsified Western blots—images used to show the presence of proteins—and micrographs of brain tissue. Numerous images seem to have been inappropriately reused within and across papers, sometimes published years apart in different journals, describing divergent experimental conditions.

After Science brought initial concerns about Masliah’s work to their attention, a neuroscientist and forensic analysts specializing in scientific work who had previously worked with Science produced a 300-page dossier revealing a steady stream of suspect images between 1997 and 2023 in 132 of his published research papers. (Science did not pay them for their work.) “In our opinion, this pattern of anomalous data raises a credible concern for research misconduct and calls into question a remarkably large body of scientific work,” they concluded.

Neither Masliah nor the various drug companies, universities, or federal ­agencies that were provided the dossier have so far rejected or challenged any of its examples of possible misconduct despite being given the material more than 2 weeks ago. And today, the National Institutes of Health (NIH) released a statement saying that following an investigation, it had “made findings of research misconduct” against Masliah for “falsification and/or fabrication involving re-use and relabel of figure panels” in two publications. According to the statement, Masliah no longer serves as NIA’s neuroscience division director, but NIH declined to further clarify his employment status.

Masliah and Hodes, via a spokesperson, declined to reply to detailed questions, provide an interview, or comment on the dossier. NIH Director Monica Bertagnolli also declined to comment. And Masliah did not reply to Science’s requests for raw images and other data related to the examples in suspect papers, or to a new request for comment on the NIH misconduct finding.

The dossier challenges far more studies than the two cited in NIH’s statement, including many that underpin the development and testing of experimental drugs (see sidebar). Masliah’s work, for example, helped win a nod from the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) for clinical trials of an antibody called prasinezumab for Parkinson’s. Made by Prothena—a company backed by big money—the drug is intended to attack alpha-synuclein, whose build up in the brain has been linked to the condition’s debilitating physical and cognitive symptoms.

But in a trial of 316 Parkinson’s patients, reported in 2022 in The New England Journal of Medicine, prasinezumab showed no benefit compared with a placebo. And volunteers given infusions of the antibody suffered from far more side effects such as nausea and headaches than those in a placebo group who received sham infusions. Prothena is now collaborating in another trial of the drug candidate involving 586 Parkinson’s patients.

The creators of the dossier, who were unaware of NIH’s probe when they spoke with Science, emphasize that they are not themselves accusing Masliah or his colleagues of fraud or misconduct. They note that some of the identified image problems might have been simple errors, and that when images are prepared for publication, some can acquire innocent visual artifacts that resemble improper changes. Distinguishing the two sometimes requires comparison to raw, high-resolution images and other data, which the dossier’s authors did not have. But they say their findings merit formal investigations.

The enormity of apparent problems described in the Masliah dossier stunned 11 neuroscientists who agreed to review it for Science. “Breathtaking,” says neuroscientist Christian Haass of the Ludwig Maximilian University of Munich. “People will, of course, be shocked, as I was. … I was falling from a chair, basically.”

He and the other researchers didn’t personally verify every example of possible misconduct, but they agreed that most of the suspect work cannot reasonably be explained as careless errors or publishing anomalies. “I’m floored,” says Samuel Gandy, a prominent neurologist at the Mount Sinai Alzheimer’s Disease Research Center who was visibly shaken during a video interview. “Hundreds of images. There had to have been ongoing manipulation for years.”

Gandy was disturbed, for example, that Masliah and colleagues seem to have used the same image of a mitochondrion, a cellular energy-producing structure, in two articles on different topics published 2 years apart in different journals. “The bus driver could see that they are identical,” Gandy says.

MASLIAH IS THE SOLE common author on every paper in the dossier, usually taking the first or last position in multiauthor articles. Those positions imply he did the majority of the publication’s work or bears primary responsibility for it, although the others contributed.

Several of the neuroscientists who reviewed the dossier say it seems implausible that Masliah was duped by a colleague. “Given the extended time frame and huge number of differing collaborators and co-authors on these papers, [possible misconduct] by a rogue postdoc or a collaborating scientist doesn’t apply here,” says Tim Greenamyre, director of the University of Pittsburgh Institute for Neurodegenerative Diseases. “I have a hard time believing that he didn’t know, whether he changed the images himself or somebody else did so on his behalf.”

I’m floored ... Hundreds of images. There had to have been ongoing manipulation for years.

Samuel Gandy

Mount Sinai Alzheimer’s Disease Research Center

At a minimum, according to neuroscientists who spoke with Science, the large volume of doubtful images erodes trust in Masliah’s overall body of work. All 11 who reviewed the dossier agree that all his problem papers should be investigated by NIH, scholarly journals, funders, and UCSD. The university declined to comment, and NIH did not say whether it planned or was conducting a broad misconduct investigation into his research. Masliah this week, days after NIH said it concluded its probe, still appeared with Hodes, the NIA director, to give introductory remarks at the start of a national Alzheimer’s summit on the NIH campus.

As a division director, Masliah would hold sway over NIA’s neuroscience funding, according to Alan Leshner, who previously led two other NIH institutes and headed AAAS (publisher of Science) until 2015. In most cases, he says, institutes select grants based on scores awarded by peer-review “study sections.” But institute and division directors can fund preferred projects, such as studies of amyloid, the brain protein linked to Alzheimer’s disease, over better scoring competitors.

“There’s no question that in most cases, a division director … is viewed as someone who has the judgment to set priorities,” Leshner says. They can also alter the direction of a field. If a division director shows interest in a particular aspect of neuro-science related to aging, he adds, “you get [many] proposals in the next round in that area.”

There’s no evidence that Masliah has been a poor steward of NIA’s neuroscience budget or directed it down blind alleys underpinned by suspect data, but NIH’s statement today still leaves many crucial questions unaddressed.

“The volume of papers and resources involved are enormous—as is Dr. Masliah’s leadership and influence on the field, including drug development pipelines,” says Vanderbilt University neuroscientist Matthew Schrag, one of those who helped assemble the dossier. “That makes it a very influential example of possible misconduct.”

MASLIAH, 65, TRAINED in medicine and neuropathology at the National Autonomous University of Mexico (UNAM), earning his medical degree in 1982 and completing a residency in pathology in 1986. He married a U.S. resident who also studied medicine at UNAM. They relocated to San Diego after Masliah’s training.

Soon after, he landed a plum research fellowship in the lab of Robert Terry, a titan in neuropathology and Alzheimer’s research who reportedly received NIH’s first grant for the neurodegenerative condition in the 1960s. “I was incredibly lucky to meet Dr. Bob Terry,” he told a UCSD interviewer in 2016. In a 1990 photo of Terry’s lab staff, a dark-bearded, youthful Masliah stands proudly, arms folded and wearing his trademark large glasses, beside his famous mentor, who died in 2017. Terry and Masliah pioneered the use of an optical imaging method known as confocal microscopy to create high-resolution 3D images of brain cells.

Masliah went on the lead UCSD’s Experimental Neuropathology Laboratory, where he contributed to early work on alpha-synuclein and novel antibody and vaccine approaches to attack Alzheimer’s and ­Parkinson’s—some of which led to experimental drugs such as prasinezumab that have reached human trials. For Parkinson’s, he also explored antidepressants, and anti-inflammatory drugs or compounds. And for Alzheimer’s, he looked into compounds to decrease the production of amyloid, which builds up in the brain and forms deposits known as plaques outside neurons.

Neurologist Douglas Galasko, who formerly directed the UCSD Alzheimer’s Disease Research Center, where Masliah worked, praises his scholarship and character, calling him “highly collegial and very hardworking.” Galasko co-authored five papers in the dossier, making modest contributions unrelated to apparently doctored images. (He opted not to view the document.)

Galasko says he never heard concerns or doubts about Masliah, whom he describes as “very serious, yet warm and thoughtful, and engaging to have a conversation with.” Those qualities earned him long-term loyalty from investigators working in his lab, Galasko adds. “He’s a very effective spokesperson, organizer, and synthesizer of ideas.” Colleagues at UCSD, he notes, felt enormous pride when Masliah took the helm at NIA’s neuroscience division.

Major impact

Eliezer Masliah’s research on Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s diseases has enjoyed global influence. His output, as well as the number of citations to his papers, place him among the world’s top 10 scientists in certain subfields (highlighted in red).

“NIA sets the agenda worldwide for age-related diseases,” says Scott Ayton, who directs a neuroscience center at the Florey research institute in Australia, echoing peers in the U.S. and Europe. He was among those who reviewed the dossier and considered the concerns highly credible.

University of Texas at San Antonio neuroscientist George Perry, chief editor of the Journal of Alzheimer’s Disease, describes Masliah’s research as influential and well-regarded, as do other experts in neurodegenerative diseases. In key topics related to Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s, Masliah frequently ranks in the global top 10 researchers—and often first—by number of papers and citations to them, according to an analysis of data from Dimensions Analytics, a scholarly research data bank from the U.K. company Digital Science (see chart, above). For example, Masliah placed first for papers that use the terms “synuclein” and “synapse.”

His most influential work includes fundamental studies of synaptic damage in mice genetically engineered to mimic various neurodegenerative conditions. “People are very dependent on all of these descriptions,” says Perry, who also reviewed the dossier on Masliah’s research for Science. Many are among the 132 questioned papers, which have racked up more than 18,000 citations, often by leading scholars. “Now I think that work was probably fabricated, in part,” Perry adds, calling the influence of the questioned papers “very problematic.”

BEGINNING IN 2023, forensic image sleuths began to flag a few papers in which Masliah played a central role, posting to PubPeer, an online forum where research publications are discussed and allegations of misconduct often raised. In a few cases, Masliah or a co-author replied or made corrections. Soon after, Science spotted the posts, and because of Masliah’s position and standing decided to take a deeper look.

Schrag, Columbia University neurobiologist Mu Yang, and independent forensic image analyst Kevin Patrick agreed to examine a wider swath of Masliah’s output. (Patrick, a nonscientist who uses the moniker “Cheshire” on social media, had pseudonymously submitted several PubPeer posts on Masliah papers.) In 2023, after a similar request from Science, the same group had assessed work by University of Southern California (USC) Alzheimer’s and stroke expert Berislav Zlokovic. Their dossier of possible misconduct and a subsequent Science report prompted university and NIH investigations, which are apparently ongoing, and led NIH to pause a late-stage clinical trial of a stroke drug based in part on apparently manipulated studies.

For the new dossier, Schrag provided examples, technical context, and expertise on how the findings might affect the promise of prasinezumab and other drugs. Yang took the lead role in identifying and examining questionable images. She used Image- twin, a software program, to assist her own personal scrutiny. (The software, for example, initially spotted the reused mitochondrion image.) Schrag and Yang worked independently of their employers.

Microbiologist and research integrity expert Elisabeth Bik, who also worked on the Zlokovic dossier, contributed other Masliah examples and reviewed and concurred with almost all of the findings. All of the dossier authors worked as volunteers, poring over papers and images in their spare time. The group says it will post many of the examples from the Masliah dossier on PubPeer for others to review; Schrag provided the dossier to NIH, as did Science in the course of producing this story. (NIH’s statement says it had initiated its own investigation much earlier, in May 2023, after receiving allegations from the HHS Office of Research Integrity [ORI].)

In Yang’s analysis of multiple Masliah-authored papers, duplicated sections in some Western blots that had been “seamlessly blended” quickly floated into view, she says. “It tells me someone put a lot of thought and effort into the image … and usually indicates something is very wrong.”

Yang began to see patterns in the apparent image doctoring, which also included images that had been duplicated or seemingly altered by “cloning” portions of them. “I started feeling like a curator or art historian—when you look at a piece of art without the label, you know the artist by the style. Like a painting from Picasso’s blue period,” she adds, “it’s a signature style that I saw in many, many papers—the way they lay out the figures, even the color contrast.”

After finding hundreds of questionable images, the group had more than enough strong signs of misconduct and stopped looking, Yang says. But she suspects similar problems would emerge from a close examination of the hundreds of other Masliah papers.

Making a drug look better?

National Institute on Aging neuroscience chief Eliezer Masliah was senior author of a 2015 study of the Alzheimer’s disease treatment Cerebrolysin in BMC Neuroscience. Brain-tissue images from normal mice and mice engineered to overexpress a mutant form of the tau protein might have been doctored to suggest the drug reduces damage from the tau.

Overlapping copies

In the paper, normal (non-tg) mice show no tau damage. The mutant mice (3RTau) show tau damage unless treated with Cerebrolysin. But a merged image of the younger, normal mouse and the older, treated mutant appear unnaturally similar. Yellow sections are identical.

A series of clones

Dissimilar (red or green) areas within the merged image seem to be caused by efforts to obscure the duplication. Small “cloned” areas within each image are indicated by same-color boxes. The journal’s publisher said it would review the concerns.

YANG AND THE OTHER authors say the ongoing human trials of prasinezumab add to the urgency of their findings. According to Prothena, the drug blocks the spread of toxic alpha-synuclein and might slow the progression of Parkinson’s movement disorders and dementia. Prasinezumab’s documented side effects have not been dangerous. But if it is based on suspect scientific foundations and, as the first clinical results suggest, ineffective, further clinical testing could raise false hopes and divert patients from trials of other experimental drugs.

The concept for prasinezumab emerged from Masliah’s ties to the late Dale Schenk, a UCSD-trained neuroscientist whose research helped pioneer the idea of treating Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s with vaccines designed to block the buildup of harmful amyloid and synuclein. Masliah, Schenk, and others proposed that immunizing people with benign parts of each protein could spur the immune system to produce antibodies that might block the full, toxic form. Infusing labmade antibodies might have the same effect. Either approach, they hypothesized, could offer a “disease modifying” attack on a condition’s root cause, rather than merely alleviating symptoms.

In a 2016 post on Alzforum, Masliah recalled an early discussion with Schenk on the idea. “Dale and I sat at a coffee shop (his favorite place) next to the Pacific Ocean and drew, on a napkin, the concept of how a potential synuclein vaccine might work,” he said. “People strongly doubted the potential use of a vaccine approach in Alzheimer’s and even more so in Parkinson’s. Dale was one of the few who listened and believed in the idea.”

To pursue that vision Schenk co-founded and served as chief executive of Prothena, spun off in 2012 from the former biopharma company Elan. Masliah worked extensively with Schenk until his death from pancreatic cancer at age 59 in 2016. Four of their joint studies, published between 2005 and 2017, proved foundational for prasinezumab, according to Prothena’s promotional material. Schenk was senior author on two of the papers, Masliah on two. All four used apparently doctored images, according to the dossier, as did other Masliah papers cited in clinical trial reports as important to prasinezumab’s development. Some of the papers suggested Parkinson’s symptoms could be generated in mice engineered to produce alpha-synuclein, and that those symptoms could be reduced by injecting antibodies akin to prasinezumab into the animals.

Greenamyre, a Parkinson’s specialist, says the papers showed an “astonishing level” of apparent image manipulation. But he notes that the image anomalies and the drug’s lack of success so far don’t necessarily mean “that synuclein is a bad target or that targeting it with antibodies is never going to work.” The clinical trial team testing the antibody reported earlier this year in Nature Medicine that a small subgroup of its patients showed hints that prasinezumab slows the worsening of movement symptoms—although the group acknowledged that the finding emerged in a “posthoc analysis,” a secondary review unrelated to the trial’s hypothesis.

Manipulations in key experiment?

Five images in a 2005 paper in Neuron from Masliah and Prothena founder Dale Schenk appear to have been doctored in ways that could influence paper's findings. It is among several papers cited as key to the experimental drug prasinezumab that show apparent falsifications.

Still, “The discovery that key papers supporting this approach contained manipulated figures certainly muddies the waters,” Greenamyre says. He’s now hoping independent studies will determine whether “the rationale for clinical development remains on firm ground—or if it is now a little shaky.”

“We do not interpret these claims as specifically relevant to the current prasinezumab clinical program,” Prothena told Science in a brief statement responding to questions about the image anomalies related to the drug.

Swiss pharma giant Hoffmann-La Roche, which partnered with Prothena to develop prasinezumab in 2013, also supplied a statement in response to Science’s questions, saying it would continue clinical development of the drug. “The evidence supporting targeting alpha-synuclein aggregates as a mechanism of action in [Parkinson’s] is based on a wide range of sources,” it stated. In the interest of scientific integrity, Roche added, “We are working to further understand the details of this matter.”

Roche has agreed to pay Prothena up to $620 million if its drug candidate passes a series of performance goals. So far, Roche has paid $135 million.

Schenk and Masliah shared inventor credit in patents in the U.S. and Europe related to synuclein, amyloids, and related science, and they and their co-inventors assigned the rights to Prothena, UCSD, or both. Numerous other Prothena patents refer to suspect work cited in the dossier. Prothena and NIH did not respond to questions about whether Masliah has received or was promised royalties.

The dossier also questions some of Masliah’s earliest work on alpha-synuclein, raising further doubts about the foundations of Prothena’s drug. A seminal 2000 Masliah article in Science, for example, suggested alpha-synuclein might kill certain brain cells and speed the development of brain deposits called Lewy bodies that are hallmarks of Parkinson’s and are often seen in Alzheimer’s patients. But the paper contains an apparently doctored image and another image the dossier authors deemed questionable.

Other researchers have yet to validate aspects of that study, according to Ayton and neurologist Michael Okun of the University of Florida.

“A single nonreplicable finding is in itself not worrisome,” Okun says. But it raises greater concern in light of “convincing evidence of spliced and cloned images which appeared frequently in the decades following.” He calls it “deeply troubling” that FDA greenlighted human trials of prasinezumab based largely on suspect papers from Masliah’s lab.

People will, of course, be shocked, as I was. ... I was falling from a chair, basically.

Christian Haass

Ludwig Maximilians University Munich

FDA declined to comment on the prasinezumab findings challenged within the dossier. Holden Thorp, editor-in-chief of the Science family of journals, says the journal will “contact the authors [of the 2000 paper] to hear their response to these concerns. If any adjustments are required, we will certainly make them.” (Science’s News department is editorially independent of the journal.)

The new phase 2 trial of prasinezumab is examining whether it might slow the progression of certain movement difficulties caused by Parkinson’s, as the posthoc analysis suggested it might. Roche and Prothena expect to announce preliminary results later this year. The companies would likely decide in 2025 or 2026 on whether to move on to phase 3 trials—larger efficacy experiments needed for possible FDA approval.

The findings in the dossier cast a shadow on the other drug development efforts that rely on Masiah’s challenged work. And they raise questions about the roles and responsibilities of the many prominent scientists as well as more junior researchers who collaborated on some of his suspect experiments.

UCSD neuroscientist Edward Rockenstein, who worked under Masliah for years, co-authored 91 papers that contain questioned images, including 11 as first author. He died in 2022 at age 57. And neuroscientist Robert Rissman worked on 16 of the papers highlighted in the dossier, seven as senior author. He managed biomarkers and brain tissue samples for UCSD’s Alzheimer’s Disease Research Center prior to moving recently to USC, where he occupies a similar role and manages programs that try to move basic research into treatments for patients. Rissman did not reply to requests for comment. USC says it will conduct a confidential review of Rissman’s involvement with Masliah’s work.  

Haass questions whether Masliah’s closest collaborators could have remained unaware of the steady stream of apparent image manipulation, even if they were not personally culpable. “I mean, come on,” he says. “They must know.”

Other neuroscientists who spoke to Science urged caution in placing blame. “We should be careful … not to rush to judgment on the generation of researchers who may have been innocent members of this laboratory over the span of 20-plus years,” Okun says. “It is entirely possible that many were unaware of improprieties.”

In its statement today, NIH provided few details about the agency’s own investigation into Masliah’s work, including whether it had examined more than two of his publications. The agency says it has notified ORI of its findings and that the NIA deputy director, Amy Kelley, is also now acting head of the neuroscience division.

Given the NIH misconduct determination and the questions raised by the dossier about more than 100 other papers, many scientists—and perhaps congressional appropriators and the public—might question NIH’s vetting process for key roles and how Masliah retained stewardship of NIA’s billions of neuroscience dollars for so long. “For so important a job, you want somebody who is beyond reproach. You want somebody to be an exemplar of what you aspire to be,” Greenamyre says.

By the time NIA hired Masliah in 2016, image manipulation in scientific papers had already become a general concern. Prominent researchers increasingly faced accusations of image manipulation, plagiarism, or other misconduct—which often proved credible. But a former NIA official who would only speak if granted anonymity says he assumes the agency did not assess Masliah’s work for possible misconduct or data doctoring before he was hired.

Indeed, NIH told Science it does not routinely conduct such reviews, because of the difficulty of the process. “There is no evidence that such proactive screening would improve, or is necessary to improve, the research integrity environment at NIH,” the agency added.

Gandy disagrees. “It has to be part of the process now,” he says.

Greenamyre notes a concern about the episode also voiced by Haass and others who viewed the dossier: “I worry about it giving science a further black eye, just as the public’s confidence in science and scientists is sinking to new depths.” But, Greenamyre says, “In the interest of transparency and scientific integrity, this sad story has to come out.”

Questionable papers underpin other drugs

By Charles Piller

The possibility that neuroscientist Eliezer Masliah doctored images in scientific writings for decades is likely to provoke anxiety among multiple drug companies. The concerns documented by whistleblowers most directly challenge an experimental Parkinson’s therapy developed by Prothena (see main story). But 238 active patents concerning neurological conditions also cite suspect work noted in the dossier, according to data from Dimensions Analytics. And the corporate holders of those patents include dozens of firms at work on treatments.

The Austria-based biopharma company Ever Pharma relied heavily on Masliah’s questioned work in developing Cerebrolysin, a mixture of peptides—short chains of amino acids—derived from pig brains. Eight studies conducted at Masliah’s former lab at the University of California San Diego, funded in part by Ever Pharma, indicated the mixture suppresses brain inflammation, promotes growth of new brain cells, and has other benefits that could help dementia patients.

Small clinical trials of Cerebrolysin have suggested modest cognitive benefits in Alzheimer’s disease and vascular dementia, and Ever Pharma now distributes the drug in dozens of nations to treat dementia and stroke. But no large trials have demonstrated it helps dementia patients, and the Food and Drug Administration has not approved Cerebrolysin for use in the United States. And the eight lab studies used suspect images, according to the dossier.

For example, an article by Masliah and colleagues, in BMC Neuroscience in 2014, described the purported benefits of Cerebrolysin for symptoms of neurodegeneration in mice, including reducing mitochondrial damage. Another, published in Neurotoxicity Research in 2016, concerned mice infected with HIV. It republished what appears to be the same image of a mitochondrion.

A spokesperson for Springer Nature, publisher of Neurotoxicity Research, says the concerns will be examined, and responded to if warranted. Stefan Winter, who heads R&D for Ever Pharma’s neurological division, said in a written statement to Science that none of the challenged work in the dossier “played a crucial role in the clinical development of Cerebrolysin.” But, he added, “We take [the allegations] seriously. We will therefore review Prof. Masliah’s work based on the information you provided and refrain from using data from the mentioned publications until this matter is clarified.”

Another company, Neuropore Therapies, cites seven other papers in the Masliah dossier—all with apparently doctored images—as important to the company’s potential drugs for Parkinson’s. Masliah co-founded Neuropore in 2008 but no longer has any apparent affiliation. The most prominent drug candidate his work helped develop, minzasolmin, is in early clinical trials and targets the protein alpha-synuclein for Parkinson’s.

Masliah also provided imaging services for a 2023 paper in NPJ Parkinson’s Disease. The images, which purportedly show enhanced benefits in mice from minzasolmin, appear to be altered, according to the dossier. The concerns will be examined and responded to if warranted, says the journal’s publisher, Springer Nature. “We stand by our data related to clinical development programs,” said Mark Yung, executive chairman of Neuropore, in a brief written reply to detailed questions.

Minzasolmin has Big Pharma backing. In 2015, Neuropore licensed rights to develop and commercialize it and other molecules to the Brussels-based pharma company UCB for $63 million, plus possible future payments. In turn, the Swiss pharma titan Novartis paid UCB $150 million of a possible $1.5 billion for codevelopment rights for minzasolmin and another experimental drug.

“UCB will investigate the preclinical publication on minzasolmin” described in the Masliah dossier and will respond should “evidence of impropriety emerge,” said company spokesperson Laurent Schots in a written statement. But UCB knows of no “facts or circumstances that raise concerns on the quality, validity, and safety of the ongoing clinical development program for minzasolmin,” which is supported by evidence beyond the suspect Masliah work, Schots added.

Preliminary results for the drug’s efficacy from a clinical trial of 496 people in the U.S., Canada, and Europe could be announced later this year.

[larnax]

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[mellowwillowy]

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝

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He swallowed the lump in his throat, "I wanted you to see how capable I am."

Something told you that nothing good would come out of your refusal. And instead, logic swarm into your brain. You had been in an arrangement with him for almost a year already and had never even once felt any hardships.

He was nice to you, downright kind and loving even. He cared for you deeply and wouldn't hurt you in any way. It was your fault that you broke free from the barrier of protection he granted you.

With great fame and luxuries, came all sorts of threats. He wasn't disloyal like those higher-ups. He didn't belittle you like others would. He loved you.

Even if you didn't love him, you knew how great it felt to be loved by him. There was not a single loss from this arrangement which was a marriage, right?

[quin-ns]

Twin Flame (Rafe Cameron x Reader)

Word count: 11.6K

Summary: you play people just for the fun of it and they’re none the wiser. the only one who knows the real you is your best friend, rafe cameron, who you have the most fun toying with—and the feeling is mutual

Tags: (18+), toxic!rafe, toxic!reader (they match each others freak heavily), manipulative and mean!reader, violence, brief jj x reader, smidge of dubcon, fingering, unprotected sex, choking, biting, all that fun stuff and messy drama

A/N: writing toxic!reader was so fun actually. had this set pre/in season 1 in my mind so rafe isn’t fullll psycho yet. this is long ik but the plot was plotting and it’s worth it i swear

OBX masterlist + main masterlist

A lot of people would say Rafe wasn’t a great guy. Probably not even a good one. Hell, not even a decent one. But you didn’t care about any of that because, for some reason, Rafe Cameron was your best friend in the world, and you were his.

You didn’t have an exact reason for it, but everyone knew it was true. Sure, you had a few guesses. It could be because you had been Sarah’s friend first but picked him over her, and he needed that sort of validation. Maybe it was because you weren’t like his other friends, most of which you could only handle in small doses. Maybe it was because the two of you saw eye to eye on a lot of things. You looked at the world the same way as him and it was something neither of you had encountered before each other.

Or maybe it was because, even though people somewhat knew the real him, he was the only one close enough to know the real you, and he liked that.

The highs were high with Rafe for sure, but the lows were low. As much fun as the two of you had together, you would fight like words could cut and you were both going for the kill. It was because you really saw each other that you could exist in such a friendship and still return to one another. You understood the worst of each other in ways no one else could.

Whatever it was that drew him to you and kept him there, you didn’t really care. You were partners in crime so long you didn’t feel the urge to ask, and you were certain he felt the same way.

The ‘crime’ thing was literal today, which was lucky, because today was a good day between the two of you.

You were just coming off of an argument that led you to ignore him for two whole days. Then he showed up at your house with a brand new dress and an invite to a party. You’d already been invited to the same party, but the dress was a cute little black piece that was perfect for you.

Rafe was the only one of your friends who regularly bought you things, and even though you could afford them for yourself, you appreciated the thought and effort. And just like that, you accepted the bribe and forgave him. You took your time to get ready and he kept you company, catching up on the last two days as if nothing had happened. You joined him in his drug dealer, Barry’s, trailer as he bought supplies for the party.

You watched Rafe as he drove away from Barry’s with his jaw clenched. He must’ve felt you watching because it didn’t take him long to clue you in on why his mood had suddenly gone sour.

“I should’ve punched him,” Rafe said pointedly, throwing you a glance.

“He sells you coke, so suck it up,” you advised, fighting off a smirk as Rafe’s hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I don’t care so I don’t see why it bothers you so much.”

Of course you got why it bothered him. Most of the time you didn’t bother to pretend around him the way you did in front of everyone else. He could easily decipher your lies and the fakeness in your tone when no one else could so why bother?

This time you were only pretending for your own amusement because Rafe was far too distracted by your interaction with Barry to really pay attention. You could see how much he regretted not forcing you to wait in the car.

It wasn’t even that bad. Barry whistled when you walked in behind Rafe, watching your hands tug down the edges of your little black dress as you entered his trailer.

“Where’d you find her and how do I get one?” Barry had said to him under his breath, although he had a hard time with volume control given that you heard clearly.

The comment set Rafe on edge. He was quick to exchange the money for drugs and hustle you out of the trailer and back into his truck, his hand on your shoulder guiding you the entire time.

“You don’t see why him saying some shit like that would bother me?” Rafe asked with a condescending tone to his voice, fully looking over at you as his truck rolled up to a red light.

Rafe wasn’t as complicated as you once thought he was. You learned his tells. The way he said it alone was enough, but the slight narrowness of his eyes told you he could go either way.

On one hand, you could push his buttons. It was easy for you to get the straight line of his mouth to turn to a frown and set him off. Sometimes it was amusing, watching him get angry. It was what you had done a couple days ago, but when he got angry he could get mean, and that led to the two day silent treatment. Tonight you were on your way to a party and that wasn’t the energy you were going for.

So there was the other hand, where you could reel him back in and get him to calm down before it was too late. Something like a sweet smile and an apology or a joke to lighten the mood would work on him.

You went with the latter given you had nothing to apologize for this time.

“Please, you’d trade me for five dollars if you really need the money,” you teased.

He hesitated for a second, like he was making up his mind. You gave him a little smile and watched Rafe’s shoulders untense. The light turned green and he faced forward again, but you could still see a similar expression appear on his face.

“Ten bucks at least, give me a little credit,” he threw back. “Twenty if I’m feeling sentimental.”

You let out a sarcastic laugh. “As if you ever feel sentimental.”

And just like that he was back to normal. You had the power to do that. It wasn’t a power just anyone had, controlling Rafe. Maybe “controlling” sounded a bit heavy-handed, but what else would you call it?

A few different people had told you that Rafe only seemed truly happy around you, and you figured that was true. Not many people could make him smile just because.

Conversation picked back up again, the two of you going back and forth until you were laughing like crazy. No one else had the privilege to see either of you like this, both you and Rafe grinning and rambling on.

You knew Rafe was in a better mood than before because he was speeding. He usually drove pretty fast, but it was always at a different level whenever he was really happy, or really pissed.

The hit of coke you each did at the next red light didn’t slow him down at all.

He had great speakers in his truck so blasting music was an elevated experience, and rolling the window down to let the wind whip through your hair only made it better.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Rafe said in rapid succession, swatting at your thigh. You sat up with a start, not realizing you closed your eyes or that you had sunken into your seat. He pointed out the windshield at something up ahead, off to the side of the road. You doubted he’d noticed your brief zone-out. “You see that?”

You leaned forward and peered out the window, squinting to try and make out the figure clearly in the dark. “I think it’s a person,” you said. The closer you got, the more his headlights lit up the scene. “On a motorbike.”

“I think it’s JJ,” Rafe guessed. “He drives one of those, doesn’t he?”

You shrugged. You knew JJ—and his friends—but it wasn’t like you were friends. You only knew him because everyone in Kildare knew everyone. You didn’t concern yourself with Pogues the way Rafe did. While he would seek certain ones out to harass, you didn’t bother with anything to do with the Cut unless it directly affected you, which it hardly ever did.

That being said, when the person on the bike looked over his shoulder, it was clearly JJ. He wasn’t even wearing a helmet.

Your body was thrown as Rafe sharply jerked the wheel. Tires screeched against the pavement as the truck swerved up behind JJ as if Rafe were about to totally take him out. His truck was huge, it would be easy. Your gasp turned to a cackle as he yanked the wheel back the other way. You lunged across the truck and slammed your hand down on the horn, blaring it as Rafe let the truck swerve again.

Rafe let out a vicious laugh when JJ twisted the bike too fast in an attempt to avoid the truck and wiped out. In the side mirrors you saw he had veered into the grass. You guessed he’d skidded on the road first. You didn’t look back to see if he stood up, you were too busy watching Rafe with glee, a wicked smile plastered on your own face as he floored it down the street.

You’d been to Topper’s house on more than one occasion, and it was a party, so it wasn’t as if you were going to knock. You tugged at the skirt of your dress then barged inside, Rafe right at your back. Loud music, overlapping voices, and the smell of beer and weed filled your senses. Already energized, you moved through the crowded space with ease. You were in your element. People even parted to make way for you, but that could’ve been a perk of having Rafe looking like your bodyguard.

Rafe was here on business, not to get drunk and dance—your two favorite things about a party—but you didn’t mind sitting by his side on Topper’s couch as he offered a bump for free to draw people in and then negotiated a price for a line. The two of you usually snorted a quarter (sometimes half) of however much coke he bought, but the rest he used to try and make his money back.

Most people were uninteresting to you, but you liked to talk to them anyways. It reminded you how unimpressive everyone else your age was, which was an ego boost for sure—although, ego certainly wasn’t something you lacked to begin with.

Curiosity led you to get distracted sometimes. When you left Rafe’s side to get a drink from the kitchen you didn’t mean to be gone for long, but some guy with black hair in a crew cut and beer breath started challenging you to go against him in cup pong. You guessed he was someone’s relative or new in town because you didn’t recognize him. He boasted how he was the best—the current champion of the kitchen—and no one wanted to play against him anymore. He gave you this stupid cocky smile—not the kind of hot-but-aggravating cocky smile Rafe got when he was right about something—but the kind that made you want to ruin his life.

That would take too long, and it was energy you didn’t want to waste on him, so you played instead. You knew kicking his ass would be satisfying before you even took your first turn, and after, you got to confirm that it was. Ruining his winning streak would be enough.

Rafe taught you to play a few years ago and you only got better, but you weren’t going to thank him or anything. At this point you could probably beat him.

You left Crew Cut in the kitchen, defeated, and stumbled back to the living room. He got a few shots in so you had had a bit to drink, but you were still fully capable. Rafe would probably be annoyed at you for being gone so long, but you figured you could bat your lashes and apologize and he’d forgive you. And if not you’d blame it on Crew Cut for keeping you hostage playing cup pong and Rafe would get his knuckles bloody. Either way, you were sitting pretty.

Except, when you spotted him on the couch, you immediately saw that no, you weren’t. Spite flared in your gut at the sight of Rafe talking to some girl. She had stubby legs sticking out of a short white dress and brown hair that might’ve been pretty if it suited her. And if she brushed it properly. You wracked your memory to put a name to the face, and by the time you had stomped your way over to them, you remembered.

You forced a grin. “Hey, Bella.”

She looked up at you and gave you a smile that felt a little too sweet. “It’s Bethany,” she corrected. Eh, you were close enough. “And hey, Y/N. I didn’t know you were here.”

You wanted to glare at her, to figure out if that was some kind of insult, but you weren’t going to let her get to you that easy.

“Well, I am, and I was sitting there, so.” You shrugged, making the message so get up clear.

“Relax,” Rafe chimed in. Your eyes found him and you knew he could see past your mask. “You did get up.”

You tilted your head. There was a sourness to his voice that only you seemed to pick up on. You flicked your eyes to Bethany, who had this newly satisfied expression on her average face, then back to Rafe.

“Yeah, and it’s not like you own the couch, so,” Bethany commented, emboldened by what she assumed was Rafe backing her up. But no, it wasn’t that. He was upset, you could tell, and he was using her to bother you.

“I just went to the kitchen to get a drink,” you explained carefully.

“You were gone for a while.” Rafe's voice was too even, too controlled.

For someone who was just your best friend, Rafe was more possessive over you than any boyfriend you’d ever had. It went both ways. He was yours just as much as you were his, and apparently Bethany hadn’t gotten the memo.

“You move your feet, you lose your seat,” Bethany piped up with this obnoxious sing-song tone. “Sorry.”

You cringed at the phrase and this time let your disgust show. “What are you, four? Grow up.”

She scoffed and looked at Rafe, seeking some kind of defense, but when he finally took his eyes off you it wasn’t to look at her. His focus fell to something past you. His jaw clenched.

“Rafe,” Bethany barked at him, demanding attention. “Are you gonna let her talk to me like that?”

You almost laughed. Who did she think she was? Rafe’s priority list was short, but it was clear who was at the top and who wasn’t even on it.

“If you went to the kitchen for a drink then where is it?”

“I drank it,” you snarked.

Rafe made a noise that said he didn���t believe you. Warmth seeped into the skin on the back of your thigh just above your knee as Rafe’s hand made contact. His thumb rubbed back and forth, but neither of you acknowledged it. You got an inkling, though, and looked over your shoulder. Sure enough, you spotted Crew Cut. He was right in Rafe’s eyeline and yep, he smiled at you. What a moron.

Rafe must’ve seen the two of you playing cup pong. You were surprised by that. Not that he’d seen, but that he had gone back to sit down instead of making his presence known sooner. You looked back at Bethany, smirking with the knowledge that you’d been right all along. He thought he could make you jealous.

Bethany noticed his hand placement, but it wasn’t like Rafe was trying to hide it. She scoffed and stood, finally understanding her place.

“You’re a jerk, you know that?” Upright she wasn’t as short as you thought, but still shorter than you, even in her heels. “So are you,” she spat at you, squaring her shoulders as if she was making some grand stand against you. “You deserve each other.”

This time you did laugh. Right in her face. How could you not?

“Calm down, you Shih Tzu.” Bethany made a sound of offense. “Go whine at someone else’s feet,” you dismissed with a wave of your hand.

The suddenness of the impact almost knocked you back. She was tiny so it wasn’t like your head was spinning from the punch. It more so caught you off guard than anything else. You did have to give her a bit of credit for that. Your nose throbbed as you brought your head back forward.

Bethany’s face was scrunched up and tomato red. The sight amused you, even as blood began to trickle from your nostrils.

“I don’t know why anyone ever said you were nice,” she sneered. If she wasn’t such an annoying little bitch you might’ve been impressed. “You wanna say anything else?

That was true, you were the nice one. That’s what made you and Rafe such a fascinating duo to the people who either knew or knew of you.

Of course, their assumptions weren’t true, but they didn’t need to know that. You didn’t have a real reason to pretend, you just did. But sometimes you didn’t bother—certain people on special occasions got the chance to meet the real Y/N.

A million lines crossed your mind from snarky remarks to scathing insults. Oh yeah, you had plenty to say.

Instead you inhaled deeply, sucking the blood back through your nose. It trickled back down your throat and once it mixed with enough saliva you spat it right in Bethany’s face. Gross, yes, but effective.

Bethany screamed. That garnered an audience. The spitty, bloody mess dripped from her face down the front of her dress. Her white dress. You smiled, not caring that blood caked your teeth. You could taste it. Who wore a white dress to a party, anyway?

Out of the corner of your eye you looked at Rafe. He’d already let his hand fall from your body. The expression on his face was a mix between annoyance from before and current amusement.

Bethany lunged at you, hands out like she was going to try and scratch you or something. She didn’t get a chance because some other girl, who you assumed must’ve been a friend, came up behind her and pulled her back. Bethany made a noise of frustration as her friend dragged her away, but she let the other girl do it anyway.

“Hey! Are you okay?” A hand landed on your shoulder and you turned. Crew Cut had wide eyes, likely having witnessed the scene.

You became aware of all the people staring at you in that moment and internally sighed.

You sniffled and wiped your nose with the back of your hand, then flinched on purpose.

“Ow,” you whined. His hands rested on both of your arms as he encouraged you to look at him. “I think it’s broken,” you whimpered loud enough for surrounding people to hear. Sounds of pity filled in around you and people started to approach. Clearly they’d all only witnessed the second half of your interaction with Bethany, which really worked in your favor.

“That girl is crazy,” some girl nearby said. “You didn’t even do anything.”

“Do you need a doctor?” someone else asked.

Tears filled your eyes. “I think so,” you croaked out to no one in particular.

A hand latched onto your bicep and pulled you away from Crew Cut and the small crowd you’d acquired.

“I’ve got her,” Rafe said firmly as he held you at his side. People started to mutter. “Come on, you’ll be okay.”

The way he said it told you he knew exactly what you were doing. Rafe knew how much you liked being the center of attention.

It didn’t stop you from milking it while you could.

“It’s not okay,” you complained. “She hit me! You saw her, Rafe!”

He leaned down to your ear, his pace quickening. “I’m not gonna fall for your shit so drop it,” he hissed.

“I don’t know if I need to go to the hospital,” you said loudly, covering for him. You put an extra touch of gratefulness to your voice. “But if you think I need to then we’ll go.”

You sniffled again, gingerly touching your nose as you walked alongside him, absorbing all the worried and supportive comments you got on your way.

They were all so busy staring at you that you doubted they could see how pissed Rafe was. Mission accomplished. He had a hard time controlling his face. They probably didn’t notice the other injury you were sustaining, either, as Rafe dug his fingers into the flesh of your arm, gripping tight as he dragged you out the door.

Rafe slowed down once you were out of the house, but still held your arm. All the action was inside so he spoke freely.

“Is your nose actually broken?”

You shook your head confidently, dropping the act from inside. “Hurts a little but it’s fine. She didn’t hit that hard, weak arms I’m guessing. Plus I always got nose bleeds easily as a kid so it looks worse than it is.”

The ease in which you explained made Rafe shake his head. You wiped your teary eyes with the back of your hand to clear up your vision as Rafe led the both of you to his truck.

“Are those even real?” he questioned, but the snark in his voice said he already knew the answer.

“No.”

If he was in a good mood, Rafe would’ve been impressed. But, he was in a bad mood, so you were faced with annoyance and anger instead.

“You’re so screwed up.”

You scoffed. “Takes one to know one,” you muttered loud enough for him to hear. “Ow!” you shrieked as Rafe applied pressure, squeezing down on your arm. “Why are you so mad at me?”

“Why do you think you can lie to me?” he snapped back.

You yanked yourself free from his hold. You’d arrived at the truck without realizing. Likely the reason he let you separate yourself—you’d end up going with him anyway.

“I told you the truth, my nose is fine. Yeah, I was faking for attention, who the fuck cares?” You crossed your arms over your chest. “That bitch still hit me. I should get a restraining order.” Rafe rolled his eyes at the dramatic yet empty threat.

Okay, so you weren’t actually going to do that, but he could show a little sympathy, couldn’t he?

“Thanks for standing back and doing nothing, by the way,” you added when he didn’t reply right away.

That provoked a reaction you wanted. Rafe took a step forward. “I’m talking about you disappearing.” Oh, yeah. “You say you’re going to get a drink, then you’re gone forever and so like a good friend I go to find you. To make sure you're okay. And then what do I see?” Rafe’s voice continued to rise with each word. “You, hanging out with some asshole!”

“What about you?” you shot back. “I go back to you and some random girl is sitting in my spot, and then you act like you can’t be bothered to back me up when she goes psycho!”

“Are you pissed because she was in your spot or jealous because she was next to me?”

“Jealous? Me?” A scoff escaped you at the accusation. Was he insane? “You have a mental breakdown because I play one dumb drinking game with a guy I don’t even care enough to learn the name of but sure, Rafe, I’m the jealous one.”

“I’m not the one who was picking fights,” he reminded, stepping closer.

“Yeah, well, she was a bitch.”

Rafe was so close he could probably hear your heart skip a beat. “So are you.”

The slap of your hand against his cheek echoed through the night air.

Your mouth fell open a little, anger melting into shock. You’d never hit Rafe before, but he was getting in your face and being a dick and you just really had to urge to. It felt long overdue, honestly. Sure, you could argue just as ruthlessly as he could, but he’d only ever gotten physical with you, not the other way around. It was never hitting, never, ever hitting, but this wouldn’t be the first time he left bruises on your arm.

The second you met him on his level, he took it further.

The air was knocked from your lungs when your chest hit the passenger door of his truck. Rafe pressed himself against your back, keeping you trapped as he heaved into your ear, “Now what made you think that would be smart?”

“Only one of us is smart and it’s definitely not you.” The retort was instinctual. Your quick replies amused Rafe most of the time, but that wasn’t the case at the moment.

“You’re so mean tonight,” he said, voice like a warning. “First you abandon me, then you make a scene, and now you’re causing problems again. I sold the rest of the coke but I might have a bump left.” God, he could be so patronizing. It was even more irritating, which was exactly what he was going for when he added, “I think you need to lighten up.”

“Fuck you,” you growled out, squirming against his hold. This was unknown territory. “Stop being a dick and let me go. This isn’t funny.”

He kept you pinned with his body, it didn’t matter that you tried to push yourself back with your palms against the car, he was solid. When his hands rose to pin each of your wrists to the window you were left completely at his mercy.

Rafe leaned down a little, his lips by your ear. Your whole body shuddered at the tickle of his breath as he whispered, “I’m not trying to be funny.” Your teeth clenched. “Are you going to behave yourself so we can go or do I need to wait? I’ve got all night.”

There was a shakiness that tangled itself into his last few words. You opened your mouth to speak but hesitated when Rafe adjusted his stance.

You didn’t let him see the smirk that crossed your face. He was aroused, you could feel him pressing against you. You wanted to say something so bad because it was obvious it was for you. Something witty, something mean, something flirty—just something. But instead you closed your mouth and let your body do the talking.

You rocked your hips back slightly. Enough to let him know you felt it, but not enough to create friction. Rafe reacted how you thought he might. His hands around your wrists tightened as he nudged himself closer to you. He let out a grunt as his cock pressed more against your ass.

Your entire demeanor shifted the second you understood you had the upper hand.

“Rafe,” you said, making your voice sound all breathless. You paired the gasp of his name with rolling your hips back shamelessly.

Rafe grunted in your ear. His hips shoved forward, almost out of his control. Heat flooded your body at the feel of him. The only barrier was your clothes and those could be easily removed.

You rolled your hips again with a giggle.

“You think you’re funny?” he growled into your ear.

You nearly choked on your own tongue. You’d always found Rafe attractive but this whole scenario just put it on another level. You pressed your thighs together to control yourself, but a shaky breath managed to escape. You were having a hard time deciphering what was authentic and what was just for fun.

One of his hands released your wrist in favor of resting around your neck. Not quite squeezing, just holding. The pressure was just enough to let you know it was there and now you were really losing your grip on this whole thing. You shivered against him, your body going rogue. So much for being in control.

Rafe leaned in even closer, his lips pressed right next to your ear as he warned, “if you don’t stop that I’m gonna have to fuck you right here.”

You swallowed hard. No words came to mind.

You and Rafe had never crossed the line in all your years of friendship, which surprised a lot of people. Sometimes you wondered about it, like now. How could you not? He was hot and so were you, and you spent nearly all your time together. Rafe understood you even when it came back to bite you. There was something about him not just toeing the line but stepping fully over it with those words that thrilled you.

You could give in. You wanted to give in because honestly the fact that you never even kissed him, let alone fucked him, was confusing to you now. It would only add another layer to the messy thing you called your friendship, but it didn’t seem like a bad idea. Not with his hand on your neck and his lips at your ear and his cock throbbing against you.

A wicked idea appeared in your head. One fueled by pettiness and your desire for control that you’d forgotten for a moment, but not forever.

Rafe had you caged but not fully trapped. You’d stopped fighting against him, so it wasn’t as hard as it should’ve been to twist your way free from his hold.

“Then let’s go,” you said, not facing him because you’d definitely break if you did.

You yanked open the passenger door and climbed into the truck. Once it shut you looked out the window and found him staring back. Confused, frustrated, and stunned. You smirked to yourself.

Rafe got it together and crossed to the driver's side. He got in without a word. His jaw was clenched too tight. His hand fell to his lap, not even hiding the fact that he was adjusting himself before starting up the truck.

The drive was so quiet it made you want to laugh. Rafe kept looking at you out of the corner of his eye, like he wasn’t sure whether to keep ignoring you or pounce on you. That was just the way you wanted it for now. Now that you knew you were something he wanted, you couldn��t make things easy for him.

You were pretty proud of yourself, honestly. Knowing you’d worked him up like this. It was his turn to suffer a little. Serves him right for earlier. You did get punched after all and he didn’t defend you the way he should’ve.

When he stopped in front of your house all you got was a sharp, “Goodnight.”

“Dream about me,” you said before you slid out and shut the truck door.

Even though you had to ice your nose, you went to bed with a smile on your face that night. Rafe probably went home and took matters into his own hands, pun intended, and you’d bet anything you were on his mind while he did.

You saw him the very next day at the country club. You caught a ride with Topper for the simple reason you knew it would get under Rafe’s skin that you didn’t ask him by default like usual.

Of course you were right. He had a certain intensity to him when he arrived at your usual table and found you and Topper too wrapped up in conversation to notice him. You did notice him, though. You just didn’t show it.

“Hey, man,” Topper greeted him finally, still chuckling from something you had said. You turned your head to acknowledge Rafe but didn’t say a word.

Usually, Rafe would sit across from you. It just made the most sense since the two of you would often get caught up in your own conversations. Topper had even opted for a seat next to the one right across from you because of this.

Instead of taking his usual spot, Rafe dragged out the chair right beside you and sat down. He didn’t acknowledge you either. Topper’s eyes flicked between the two of you, sensing something but not willing to comment on it aloud.

So, he was still pissed about yesterday. Not that it surprised you or anything. Just a very obvious observation.

Soon enough Kelce showed and it made it easier to not comment on what was going on between you and Rafe.

“How’s your nose?” Kelce asked. He ended up across from you since Rafe left that seat open.

You pressed your fingers gingerly to the bridge. “It’s a little sore but I’m okay.”

“Why’d she even hit you?” Kelce wondered.

“Y/N didn’t do anything,” Topper jumped in to defend you. Kelce didn’t necessarily have an accusing tone to his voice, but the question was enough to garner backup. “That chick was crazy.”

You fought to keep the smugness out of your smile. Most boys were easy—like Topper. When he picked you up and asked how you were feeling, you sniffled and told him you didn’t understand what happened. He told you it wasn’t your fault. Even though he’d been nowhere nearby when it happened, he sure sounded confident.

Kelce chuckled a bit. “I heard you spit blood in her face. That’s pretty wicked, Y/N. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

These two were more Rafe’s friends than your own, but you still saw them a decent amount. Enough that you had infiltrated their little trio—but you weren’t ’one of the guys’. You found girls who went out of their way to act like that annoying. You got along fine with each of them, but they weren’t the type of friends you’d hang out with without Rafe around.

Speaking of Rafe, he’d been pretty quiet since he arrived. It was the kind of quiet he got when he was agitated, but hadn’t quite reached that tipping point for today.

Just when you thought he’d be some kind of mute the rest of lunch, he made a sort of scoffing noise after Kelce’s comment.

“Well, then you don’t know her,” Rafe replied over the brim of his glass before taking a drink.

You shot him a glare. God, he was petty.

You looked at Topper and Kelce and forced a giggle. A really girly one for extra measure.

“Someone’s grumpy today,” you said in a loud whisper. The two guys smirked to themselves when you dramatically turned to Rafe. “What’s wrong? Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?” You faked a pout when you really wanted to grin. “Any weird dreams?”

Rafe faced you. He remembered your comment. One of your favorite pastimes was screwing with him just because you could.

“I slept just fine,” Rafe answered smoothly. He tilted his head a little. You narrowed your eyes. There was a look of mischief in his. “What about you?”

You nearly jumped when his hand landed on your bare thigh. The seats at the table were close enough he didn’t have to noticeably shift to make contact. Rafe raised his brows, letting his fingers kneed into your supple skin. Maybe you should’ve worn pants.

You bit your lip before turning it to a smile. “Same here.”

“Nothing keeping you up at night?” Rafe wondered less than innocently.

You shook your head. “Nope.”

He hummed. His hand slid further up your leg. “Nothing worth thinking about?”

So badly you wanted to say something snarky like, “just because you went home and got off to the thought of me doesn’t mean I returned the favor,” but that seemed like a bit much with Topper and Kelce right across the table. They didn’t get to know how clever you could be.

Speaking of the other boys, you had almost forgotten about them during your stare-down with Rafe.

“Are you guys going to the kegger at the Boneyard tonight?” Topper wondered, breaking the tension you and Rafe had created.

Rafe looked away first. “It’s gonna be overrun with Pogues,” he dismissed.

Just because of that you said, “I’m going.” Rafe threw you a glance. “What? The Boneyard is like… middle ground. There’s peace and there’s free alcohol.”

The second part was true, but the first? It depended on the night and what drama was currently going on. Some nights everyone just hung out and got drunk and had fun, and other nights there were fights that broke out. It was really just a toss of the coin.

“If you don’t go I won’t have a ride,” you told Rafe, but before he could open his mouth, you cheerfully turned to Topper. “If you’re going do you think you could give me a ride? This morning was fun, we could keep the karoke going.”

Topper blushed a little while you beamed at him. You’d gotten him to sing along to some pop songs that played on the radio—not exactly ‘karaoke’ but it had the intended effect.

No sooner than you asked was Rafe saying, “I’m going.” There was a bite to his tone that had Topper looking a little lost. Rafe’s fingertips pressed into your skin. “I didn’t say I wasn’t. I’ll give you a ride, it’s no problem.”

It was a problem, that was the point.

“Hello, gentlemen!” A waitress appeared with a big smile and too much pep in her step. You gave her a look that had her swallowing. “And lady. What can I get for you all?”

Rafe flashed her that stupid charming smile of his. The one he gave when he wanted something.

You wanted to gag when he started flirting with her, but you kept it in. It was embarrassing, honestly, for him. You wanted to smack him and tell him to stop making a fool of himself, and then you wanted to do the same to the waitress when she let out a snorty little laugh. Whatever he said wasn’t that funny, and laughing wasn’t going to get her a bigger tip.

While he was flirting and you were seething, Rafe’s hand stayed on your thigh. He rubbed little circles with his thumb and it told you where his mind really was.

When the waitress disappeared, you unclenched your jaw, which you hadn’t realized you’d done, but you didn’t speak right away. Rafe started a conversation with the guys and all you did for now was listen.

Rafe slid his hand further up, talking to them as if his fingers weren’t creeping towards your center. A thrill shot through you at the idea because all this with Rafe was new territory. The warmth in your face and your core told you to let him continue just to see what would happen—then your ego, your desire to win, took over.

You crossed your legs, trapping his hand. Sure, he couldn’t pull it away, but he also couldn’t move it closer. You chewed the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing when Rafe’s voice faltered while talking.

“You good?” you asked casually, as if you’d been up to nothing but listening.

Rafe recovered quickly. He flexed his hand a little and you squeezed it between your thighs. If he really wanted to he could probably yank himself free, but he didn’t try. He also couldn’t get any closer towards his goal. He let you have your minor win, which in all honesty it wasn’t that much of a loss to him so he could live with it, but at least you had some bit of control again.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked. You shrugged, and then he went on talking again.

When the waitress returned he hardly acknowledged her, which she looked a little miffed by, but he couldn't be bothered to care about her.

This was more of a draw when it came down to it, but you could live with that—for now.

You wore your lucky pink bikini with a pair of jeans shorts over it for the kegger.

True to his word Rafe picked you up and the two of you rode together to the Boneyard. Conversation was light, both of you playing defense, not wanting to show your hand. For as much as he was eyeing you he didn’t make a move. The topics were unimportant, so much so you had already forgotten what you’d said by the time you got to the beach.

As you walked towards the shore with Rafe at your side, you admitted to yourself you didn’t exactly have a game plan. You were determined to win this little feud, but how to do that? You didn’t have that worked out. You were still bitter about the fact he hadn’t defended you, and now the whole thing with the waitress was sitting on top of that. You had to get him back and get him good—something that would make him never forget who had the power between the two of you.

And if it scared him enough to make him never flirt with another girl again? Well, you wouldn’t be opposed to hearing him out if he had any ideas for alternatives.

You could see yourself being with Rafe. You really could. Not the way that most girls could, not just because he was handsome, and rich, and charming if he put in the effort. All those things were definitely a plus, but they didn’t understand him the way you did, and he’d never bother to understand them the way he understood you.

Even if your whole night was dedicated to winning against him, when it came down to it, you were equals. That’s what made him such a challenge, and the challenge is what made him so exciting. It was why you could drive each other to the brink of insanity one night and then hang out and laugh together the next.

The thought of a truce entered your mind. Rafe’s arm kept brushing against yours as the two of you joined the party. He looked good in the shirt he’d picked out, and you noticed he was wearing the cologne you liked. He’d been at your house right on time and had gotten out to open the passenger side door for you.

“Rafe?” you said, but evidently not loud enough.

Before you could continue he said, “I’ll be back,” and disappeared off towards the keg without a further word. Not even a glance back.

You shut your mouth and frowned. Would he even be back? You let out a huff.

It didn’t matter, you weren’t going to stand around waiting for him. You couldn’t let him think that was something he could just do. Make you wait around for him. What a dick. You felt like an idiot for even letting the word ‘truce’ enter your mind.

You looked around a little aimlessly. You weren’t about to go join Rafe and your other friends—you weren’t some follower. Your eyes wandered the scattered crowds until they landed on someone that brought a grin to your face.

Go big or go home.

He was standing practically by himself at the least populated keg. You smiled to yourself as you watched the blond fill his red solo cup with beer, chug it, then immediately refill it without so much as setting down the hose.

“Hey,” you said once you’d reached speaking distance. “Don’t you usually have a group of friends you hang with? They didn’t abandon you, did they?”

JJ looked a little surprised at your presence, but when your words registered he chuckled.

“If you wanna get technical then I abandoned them,” he replied coolly.

He nodded his head towards the water and sure enough, John B and Pope were standing in a group talking. No sign of your sort of ex friend, Kiara. You weren’t besties with her the way she and Sarah had been, but you also didn’t turn around and hate on her the way Sarah had. Things had always been a little off with you and the oldest Cameron girl ever since you and Rafe became the duo that you were, so her opinion wasn’t all that defining to you the way it was to others, so Kie wasn’t so bad in your books, but you weren’t still hanging with her either. You hardly thought of her at all to tell the truth.

“What about you?” JJ raised a brow.

“All alone tonight I guess.” You sighed. JJ didn’t say anything for a moment, regarding you. You cast your eyes down to his leg and gasped. “That looks awful! Are you okay?”

There was a huge scrape on his knee with some bruising around it. You knew exactly what, well who had caused it.

JJ didn’t need to know you were in the passenger seat, or that you hadn’t given him a second thought until now.

You looked at his right arm. Gently you reached out to grab it, avoiding the freshly damaged skin. He looked taken aback, likely not expecting the softness or concern from you.

“JJ…” you continued sympathetically, tenderly brushing over the area next to the injury. “What happened?”

His cup crinkled in his fist as his body tensed. He pulled his arm from your grasp and you frowned at him. He took a sip from his drink, watching you over the rim of his cup.

He lowered it after a long drink. “Got ran off the road by that asshole you hang out with,” he finally replied, casting his eyes away.

You shook your head shamefully. “Rafe is an asshole,” you said. There was nothing disingenuous about those words at least.

JJ wasn’t sure whether to frown or laugh.

“Have you and I ever had a full conversation before?”

You smiled at the way he vocalized the first thought that came to his brain. You shook your head.

“Not a full one I don’t think. Definitely not one on one.” You paused. “We could change that, though.”

JJ’s demeanor shifted, relaxing a bit. As if it were some kind of test, he refilled his solo cup to the brim, then extended it out to you.

You weren’t one to fail a test. You accepted it with a smile and took a gulp. JJ was grinning by the time you finished with a noise of satisfaction.

“Alright, maybe I didn’t have you figured out after all,” JJ decided, raising his hands in a little surrender like you’d caught him.

“Guess not,” you agreed.

You found yourself sitting across from him right in the sand. It hadn’t bothered him so you didn’t let it seem like it bothered you. It was easier said than done with the little grains digging in and you knew they’d be stuck to you all night, but you weren’t going to start seeming like the kind of girl who complained.

JJ was fun and carefree, so you were fun and carefree. You tapped into that side of yourself and amplified it. You tried to keep some reality in whatever performance you were putting on.

“You shouldn’t itch that,” you warned. JJ had scratched at the scab on his forearm yet again. “It’ll scar worse if you irritate it.”

“I know how scars work, thanks, doc.” It was sarcastic but it wasn’t mean, which threw you off. “It’s just annoying.” He extended his leg and looked down at it. “And definitely fucked for a few weeks. Looks worse than it is, though.”

“It’s not so bad,” you offered. “And if you don’t scratch I’m sure it’ll heal just fine.” A playful smirk wandered onto your lips. “But I think it makes you look kinda tough, y’know?”

“Tough, huh?”

“I mean, not that you need it or anything.” The shy laugh that left you sounded so natural. God, you were good. “Sorry, that was weird. I just—it’ll heal, but until it does, don't worry about how it looks, is what I’m trying to say.”

“I wasn’t, but thanks.” JJ was smiling, clearly relishing in his perceived victory of managing to fluster you in so few words. “I don’t get how a sweet girl like you can hang out with a guy like Rafe.”

If only he knew.

You swallowed and shrugged. You turned your eyes down. “I don’t know either, sometimes.”

“Hey, I’m sorry,” JJ said. He moved then. You heard him. By the time you looked up, the blond was sitting by your side. He gave you a lopsided smile. “That’s nothing against you, it’s just…”

“Rafe’s an asshole?” you supplied. “We already established that, remember?” You let your voice waver just enough that JJ felt a little guilty, but also have enough humor that he knew he could fix it.

“You’re a great girl, and I’m guessing you know how I feel about Kooks. So I’m I’m not saying that lightly, alright?” JJ began playfully. You met his eyes and smiled softly. “Why do you put up with him?”

He wanted to save you. How funny.

“I… I don’t want to talk about Rafe. I wanna keep talking about you. What have you been up to this summer?”

That got him talking again. It was easier that way. You could just react; smile, nod along, make little noises or mutter a few words.

He was in the middle of yet another surfing story from the other week when you put your head on his shoulder. JJ didn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around you.

If Rafe could see you now.

It’s not that you cared where he was, or what he was doing, or who he was doing it with, but you knew he’d care what you were up to. He’d care when he found out only after the fact where you were directing your night with JJ, one of the good for nothing Pogues that he loathed.

What would he say when he found out you invited JJ Maybank into your bed when all he got was a hand on your thigh for a few minutes under a table? That would show him.

Actually, more than that, it would drive him crazy. Letting you know he wanted you, and then continuing to play games was probably the stupidest thing Rafe Cameron could’ve ever done. If it was a game you were going to win.

Who cared if it sent him over the edge? You sure didn’t.

A gust of ocean air came at the right time. You shivered dramatically and JJ frowned at you, pausing mid sentence to ask if you had a jacket. He didn’t have one to offer. That worked out just fine for you because you had an offer of your own. One you were certain he wasn’t going to turn down.

“Actually, would you mind giving me a ride back to my place? My friend kind of ditched me,” you asked politely. JJ, ever the gentleman, masked his disappointment and agreed. He got to his feet and offered a hand. “And if you want, you could stay and, I don’t know, hang out…”

JJ brows rose. “Hang out?” he parroted back to you.

You bit your lip and nodded. “Yeah. Hang out.” You brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. A grin spread across his face. “That cool with you?”

“Lead the way,” he encouraged, energy quickly returning.

You reached for his hand and he let you take it.

“You’re driving, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. I’ll lead the way.”

You laughed with him, giving his hand a little squeeze.

To be fair, JJ was very attractive. And he was not so bad to talk to. He didn’t even give you shit for being a Kook, which you had expected he would. He’d only commented on your friendship with Rafe but you’d played into that well. You’d enjoyed yourself with him. On another occasion if he had approached you, you’d probably indulge him at least for a while. Maybe even sleep with him like you were planning to now. You’d heard the rumors about him and so you were pretty confident you’d have fun.

Although, the real fun would start after, when you got to throw it in Rafe’s face and watch him lose it.

There was only one problem with your plan. Rafe spotted you before you could leave.

“Y/N!” Rafe called. You turned and so did JJ. JJ clutched your hand tighter as Rafe approached. If looks could kill, you and JJ would both be dead. You smirked to yourself. You couldn’t help it. “Where the fuck are you going?”

“Back off, Rafe.” JJ was surprised but he still managed to sound threatening. He probably didn’t think Rafe was even here since you’d failed to mention it. “You don’t own her.”

Poor, sweet, dumb, JJ.

Any other disagreement, any other issue, Rafe might’ve gone along with the back and forth for a minute. Not when it came to you.

JJ had no time to dodge before Rafe was slamming his fist into his face. You grit your teeth. Your nose twitched. Now that was a real punch. Rafe quickly followed up with another right to JJ’s stomach.

JJ fell to the ground with a grunt. You managed to drop his hand just in time. Rafe was on top of JJ in an instant, pummeling him. It was dark, but you could smell blood mixing with the scent of the sea. The sound of Rafe’s fists cracked against JJ’s face told you there’d be bruises.

JJ managed to get out from beneath him, but Rafe wasn’t about to back off. It became an all out brawl. Over you, of all things. Wasn’t that romantic? You giggled to yourself when you had to step back because JJ threw Rafe off of him. You watched with shallow, excited breaths when Rafe got back to his feet and charged.

“Hey!” someone screamed from a distance. You didn’t recognize the voice, but when you turned your head, you saw a group of partygoers approaching. “Knock it off!”

You rolled your eyes. You cleared your throat. The group was getting closer so you let loose.

“Guys! Stop it, please!” you shrieked, as if you had been begging this entire time. “Stop!”

A hand landed on your shoulder.

“Stand back, Y/N,” Topper said, blocking you with his body.

“They won’t stop,” you cried pathetically. “Someone is going to get seriously hurt!”

Topper registered your concern and then took it upon himself to intervene. John B joined him. He’d come out of nowhere. The group that had gathered around the fight had grown within seconds. Some were yelling at them to quit while others clapped and shouted encouragement.

John B pried JJ away and Topper got ahold of Rafe. JJ tried to run back at Rafe but then Pope got in front of him. You didn’t hear what he said to the blond but JJ backed down. He looked at you, still restrained by his friends after fighting for your honor. You spotted a black eye forming and a busted lip. It was pretty hot.

“Rafe, man—“

“Get your hands off me,” Rafe snapped at Topper like something feral. He got your attention without even asking. You met his gaze and he looked… well, crazy. You don’t think that would come until later. “Y/N,” he muttered your name as he approached you. “We’re leaving.”

Rafe didn’t wait for you to respond. His hand snapped out, gripping your bicep and dragging you along behind him.

You nearly stumbled over your feet from the force. Behind you there were protests, and Topper even began to follow, so you had no choice.

“It’s fine,” you called back to him. “I’m going with him.” You were sure JJ heard and for the first time in a long, long while you felt a small twinge of guilt.

It didn’t last long when Rafe shoved you against the side of his truck. He ripped open the passenger side door. The wild look in his eyes almost scared you. Almost.

“Get in.”

You obeyed. He hardly left you time to scramble in before he was slamming the door shut behind you. You watched Rafe as if he were some kind of predator, analyzing his movements as he stalked to the driver’s side and climbed in next to you.

You weren’t going to be the first one to speak. Rafe was speeding like there was no such thing as a limit. The only move you made was to buckle your seatbelt. It took a long few minutes before Rafe finally spoke.

“I told you I’d be back,” he finally grit out.

“You didn’t notice I was gone until I was leaving,” you shot back.

Rafe’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.

“I was looking for you.”

“Bullshit,” you snapped. “You didn’t give a damn where I was until I was leaving with JJ—“

Rafe slammed on the break. Your whole body jolted. The seat belt tightened against you and your head hit the head rest. Before you could scream at him your vision cleared and you realized you were in front of your house.

“Don’t say his name.” The way Rafe said it made him seem dangerous.

You looked at him, eyes wide, gauging what to do next. This was the most terrified you had ever been of him, and yet…

“Your cheek is cut,” you pointed out, voice as steady as you could make it. JJ wore rings. You bet it hurt. “Come in and let me clean it.”

You didn’t leave room for debate. You and Rafe watched one another with caution, regarding the other as a threat.

In a way you were both right.

You got out of the truck first. You made it to your door, knowing Rafe was right behind you.

You went through the motions almost robotically as you took him into the bathroom. You turned on the light and made him sit on the edge of the tub. The first aid kit was in the cabinet and you found everything you needed right inside.

For knowing you had caused all of this, you weren’t exactly sure what to do now. Which was odd, because you always seemed to figure out the next step one way or another, but right now, cleaning Rafe’s cheek with an alcohol wipe, watching his jaw tense with the stinging pain, you were unsure how to proceed.

What do you do when you get your way, or at least you think you got your way, but not in the way you had planned?

Rafe swatted your hand away when you tried to open a bandaid.

“Don’t put that thing on me, it’s fine,” Rafe protested. He placed his hands on your hips. You thought he was going to push you back, but he just sort of held you in place.

“Don’t be a baby.”

Rafe ignored you. He dropped his forehead to your stomach. It was almost as if you were an altar for him to worship at. You ran a hand through his hair, finding the sight to be nothing short of beautiful. You couldn’t help yourself.

He muttered something that sounded like, “Why do you do this to me?” You didn’t answer. He took a breath. “Were you gonna fuck him?” Rafe asked. You were sure of his words this time.

You could lie, you thought, but then decided against it. There was no point now.

Rafe tilted his head up, blue eyes searching yours. There was a sense of longing in them that you noticed every once in a while. That sad little need for approval that he couldn’t get rid of.

“Yeah, probably,” you admitted.

Fire ignited in his eyes.

Just as quickly as he became weak to you, Rafe snapped out of it. He was on his feet in seconds. He towered over you, backing you up with each step until you hit the edge of your counter.

Rafe looked down his nose at you. “Were you gonna fuck him?” he asked again, as if intimidation would change your answer.

You stared up at him, defiant. “Yeah,” you repeated, hopping up to sit on the counter. “Probably.”

Rafe’s bruised hand reached up to cup your face. He watched his thumb as it ran over your lips. When it rested on your bottom lip you opened your mouth. Rafe was transfixed as he slid the digit in. Your mouth enveloped him, swirling your tongue around his thumb. You swore you could taste a little blood.

Rafe made a noise of satisfaction and quickly removed it, covering your lips with his own, filling your mouth with his tongue instead. You moaned into the kiss. It was harsh and hungry. Everything that had been building up over the past day, hell, past years, was finally spilling out. The dam had finally broken. There was no turning back.

“You make me crazy,” he grunted against your lips when he came up for air. You panted, words failing to form as his hand slid between your bodies. “And I know I make you crazy.” His fingers slipped into your shorts and bikini bottom, which you hadn’t even gotten to show off. You hadn’t needed to. You gasped as he pressed a finger into your core. He grinned at the wetness that had already formed. “I know it ‘cause I know you.”

Rafe pressed a kiss to your lips, then your cheek, then your ear.

“Rafe,” you whispered his name, bucking against his hand. He rewarded you with pushing another finger in and thrusting them both with precision.

“I’m the only one that knows you,” he hissed. You shivered as his breath hit your ear, noting the anger. But there was something else to it. “I’m the only one who gets to have you.”

Desperation.

Rafe was desperate for you. For you to understand, for you to agree, for you to feel the same. Desperate for you to want him the way he wanted you.

“Tell me you weren’t,” he pleaded, voice shaking with the rage he was trying to contain.

He wanted you to lie.

“I wasn’t.” Rafe hummed and pressed an approving kiss to your neck. He twisted his fingers inside you, forcing a moan past your lips. His teeth sank into the skin of your neck, sucking and biting as you managed to gasp out, “I wasn’t, I swear.”

Rafe pulled his fingers from you and you whined at the loss. He made up for it by kissing his way back to your lips, swallowing your sounds. He popped the button off your shorts and tucked his hands into the waistband. You lifted yourself long enough for him to yank down your shorts, leaving you bare.

You wrapped your arms over his shoulders and kissed him harder when his hands gripped your waist and pulled you to the edge of the counter. Your teeth sank into his bottom lip, drawing an animalistic sound from him.

“Tell me you want me,” Rafe managed.

You pulled back, eyes flicking from his swollen lips to his hungry eyes. The corner of your lip quirked up a little.

“I thought it was obvious,” you mused, reaching between your bodies.

“I’m gonna fuck you either way, so you might as well just tell me.” There was a devious glint in Rafe’s eyes that sent a jolt of excitement through you.

You pulled your lip between your teeth and you undid his belt. You reached into his pants and found his cock hard and waiting for your touch. Rafe’s hands tightened on your thighs. “I want you, Rafe,” you said exactly what he wanted to hear, voice heavy with lust, every word the truth.

Rafe surged forward, capturing your lips. He shoved his pants down as you stroked him, but he had plans of his own. Rafe pushed himself closer to you, spreading your legs apart with his hips, and gripped his cock. The head pressed at your entrance and you nearly choked when he thrust in with no further warning.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you cursed. Your hands found his back, holding on as he invaded your body.

Thick and long, his cock split you open. Rafe grunted, mouth moving over you in a frenzy, kissing wherever he could reach in that second. Your top came off somewhere in the haze and you moaned as his mouth latched onto your breast. Your legs wrapped around his waist as your cunt squeezed him. Rafe’s hands found your waist again, holding you in place as he began to move.

He gave you little time to adjust but you would’ve gone crazy if he waited any longer. Rafe pulled back, letting you feel the thick drag of his cock leaving you, before he thrust in again. And again. And again. All you could do was hold on as he slammed into you, letting everything that had built up go. You welcomed it. All his anger and lust and frustration and love and just everything. Everything said and unsaid between the two of you was finally getting a resolution.

Rafe’s mouth found its way back to your neck, licking and sucking and biting your flesh. He was marking it, marking you, for the world to see. So when they saw the purple marks decorating your neck, everyone would know you belonged to him. But didn’t they know already? To some degree?

It didn’t matter to Rafe. He was making it clear. There was no room for doubt now.

Rafe fucked you like it was the last thing he’d ever do, like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do. Your moans filled the room, your curses and his grunts of your name, the sound of skin against skin, the smell of sex—all of it flooded your senses in the most thrilling way. You wanted nothing more than Rafe and nothing less than everything he was giving you.

The pleasure he inflicted was like nothing you had ever experienced and you knew in that moment nothing and no one would ever compare to the high you felt with him.

He pounded into you hard, sending jolts of electricity through your entire body. Your thighs clenched around his waist, your legs holding him against you. Rafe filled you entirely, drawing out every animalistic need you had.

“Fuck,” he cursed, lifting his head. You moaned at just the sound of his voice. “You’re so tight. Like you’re made for me.”

Your cunt clenched around him, eyes fluttering shut as your slick walls squeezed him. Your body tensed and your breaths grew even more ragged as he pushed you closer and closer towards your edge.

“Rafe, don’t stop,” you gasped out.

His hand found your throat. Your eyes snapped open as he gave it a squeeze. He forced you to meet his gaze. You nearly fell apart just from that.

“It’s always been me, hasn’t it?” he asked, wanting an answer. You nodded because yes, yes it has. “It’s always going to be only you and only me. Only me.” You nodded again, lips only parting to let out a moan when he gave a sharp thrust. “Tell me.”

“You, Rafe,” you fumbled out. “It’s always been you—it's only you,” you said in almost a plea. “I want us.”

That was exactly what he wanted to hear. Rafe gave a sound of approval and a light squeeze of your neck. His thrusts stayed sharp and precise and soon enough you were falling apart in his hold.

His cock shoving into you, his hand on your neck, the look on his face—you were consumed by Rafe and you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

You let out a cry of his name when your orgasm hit. It crashed over you in a wave, rocking your entire body. Your legs and cunt both tightened, holding him impossibly close inside you. Rafe’s lips devoured yours, smothering your moans and whimpers as you shook against him.

Rafe gave a few more rough, constricted thrusts before a deep groan escaped his lips. His hips stilled and warmth flooded your insides. He shivered against you when you slid your hands beneath his shirt and dragged your nails along his back.

His hand finally left the front of your neck, but it didn’t go far as he slid his palm to cup the back of it. Rafe pressed his forehead to yours, both of you catching your breath.

You took one hand and reached for him, running your fingers over the cut on his cheek.

“I still think you should put a bandaid on it,” you managed, voice weak.

Rafe chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled away. And just like that you two were all good again.

“I think I’ll pass.”

You smiled and rolled your eyes. “You’re so stubborn.”

“Takes one to know one. Took you this long to admit you wanted me.”

You gawked at that. “I admitted I wanted you? Seems like it was the other way around. In fact—“

But before you could finish, Rafe silenced you with a deep kiss. His cock twitched inside of you and you couldn’t help but giggle against his lips.

Rafe was only kissing you to shut you up because you were right, and he knew it too. You were always right and Rafe was going to have to learn to accept that one way or another.

[bangtanshelves]

JJK Fanfic Recos

Hi. These are some of the fanfics I've read.

I've read A LOT but I'll only be including the ones I really enjoyed reading.

I'm in the process of recollecting them, please bare with me.

I'm also updating this post often, so whenever I end finishing a fic I like I just post it here. hehe

💓 - Fluff ❤‍🩹 - angst 🥵 - smut 🚨 - violence/drugs 🤪 - crack ⭐ - fav 🎣 - latest addition to the list

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚. SERIES ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

My Love is Here - @/solemnreads

Completed ✅ ⭐

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹 (so much angst, I love it), 🥵 summary: "You didn’t mean for it to happen. It’s not like you purposely woke up one day and thought “Hey I’m going to fall in love with my best friend!” No, that is not at all what happened."

Knife's Edge - @/readyplayerhobi

Completed ✅

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵, 🚨 The Jeon Clan is Family, built on blood and loyalty. It’s been an unspoken fact that one day you will marry the heir to the Clan, Jeon Jungkook. You would be a fool to deny that you love him, but what happens when you meet a blue haired man who offers you a chance at normality?

Four Seven Eight - @/jiminrings

Completed ✅ ⭐

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹 (fic made me cry) ,🥵 you’re secure when it comes to loving jungkook, knowing that your husband loves you beyond words. what you aren’t so secure about is his first love — someone who isn’t you.alternatively, jungkook’s married to you, but he still celebrates his anniversary with his ex out of sentimentality.

Close to you - @/muniimyg

Completed ✅ ⭐

genre: 💓, 🤪 It should've been easier than this, right?In which oc and Jungkook sleep together and he can't get over it.

Falling Skies - @/fortunexkookie

Completed ✅ ⭐

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 Jeon Jiyeon was your childhood best friend; her brother, Jungkook, was something else entirely. Once upon a time, she had called you her sun and him her moon; it was fitting, given the constant push-and-pull between you two. You used to consider him a friend, but then he had gone from endearingly frustrating dumb boy to card-carrying fuckboy so fast it had given you whiplash.

Please Love Me - @/ahunderedtimesover

Completed ✅ ⭐

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 As the only unmarried Jeon and Kim children, your families propose a union to symbolize your unbreakable bond that spans generations. But despite developing an affection for Jungkook growing up, he never returned it; he never seemed to like you, actually. You’re okay with the proposal, but surprise surprise, he isn’t.

Lowkey - @/xpeachesncream

Completed ✅ ⭐

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹, 🥵 In order to pass organic chemistry and pay off your car damages from an accident, all you have to do is help the nerd, Jeon Jungkook, with a few things: pretend to be his girlfriend and teach him the way of dating.

Hotter Than Hell - @/chateautae

Completed ✅ ⭐

Genre: ❤‍🩹, 🥵 Jungkook, Lucifer and king of hell, has been cast out of the crimson underworld for a reason he's unsure of. Embarking on his journey for the answers should've been easy, if it weren't for you, the human that nurses his wounded body in her home, and accidentally witnesses the truth of his identity. Kickstarting a hellish adventure with the devil himself, you discover Lucifer is the most infuriating company ever; and Jungkook finds out that maybe his answer to returning home lies within his annoying human confidant.

An Ode to a Broken Heart - @/smoochkooks

Ongoing... ✍

Genre: ❤‍🩹 (bro I've been crying over this fic for days), 🥵 (future smut)  you’ve watched jeon jungkook slip out of your reach your entire life. now it’s time for you to finally move on, bury the past and open a new chapter. however, you’re doing it in your own, unconventional way - by publishing anonymously a novel about your miserable relationship.

Mutual Help - @/personasintro

Ongoing... ✍ (this is also posted on AO3)

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 (damn... that's all i can say)  in order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps you with your sexual desires ⏤ he calls it mutual help

Way Back Home - @/solemnreads

Ongoing... ✍

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹 (please i really love angsty fics, fite me), 🥵

"Please tell me this isn't what I think it is" he asks you with tears in his eyes. You look down at the sight of your son with an oxygen mask on his face while your daughter is sleeping on the couch near the wall. You look into his eyes, broken, and sad. You've dreamt of this day for years, wondering how he would react. But here you are, hoping he could've meet the twins under different circumstances. "Yes... they're your children."

Strawberry Kisses - @/pixieknj

Ongoing... ✍

Genre: ❤‍🩹, 🥵 (Chapter 1 has been posted, but its something else) Jungkook is notoriously known as a f^ckboy who doesn’t eat p^ssy, until he finally gets alone with you…

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚. ONE-SHOTS or TWO-SHOTS ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

The Right Choice - @/honeytae

Genre: 💓 for as long as you've known Jungkook, you would think that you're witnessed all sides of him. But when you notice the way he's looking at you right now, you think you may be wrong about that.

Rainy Days - @/rklve

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 Your life choices left not only yours, but Jungkook's hear broken in pieces. Now you're back in town, and just like Pluto, even if its cold and dark he tends to orbit around his sun forever.

High Demand - @/bunnyhugs77

Genre: 💓, 🥵, 🚨 A modern day Romeo and Juliet

SOJU - @/hoseoksluna

Genre: ❤‍🩹,🥵 Jungkook gives you all that he has—his feelings, his dominance and his cum.

Lost & Found - @/kooktrash

Genre: ❤‍🩹 (if you squint), 🥵 your college years have never been something you dwelled on for too long. you didn’t want to think of all the chances you lost and that’s why when the guy you had a crush on moves back to town, you try not to let it affect you again. but then he brings up old memories that didn’t go the way you thought they had and you’re thrown for a loop. you’re stuck between finding something new with him and falling back into old habits of never standing up for yourself. it probably doesn’t help that he dated your best friend, where everything seemed to go wrong.

Bottle Up Old Love - @/wintaerbaer

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 Jungkook may have broken up with you a year ago, but that's not going to stop him from coming to your rescue when he sees you being cornered by a creep.

Pink Sapphire - @/jiminrings ⭐

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹(please I'm a sucker for this) ,🥵 Having Jungkook as a husband is great as far as arranged marriages could go; he's easy to love. Your relationship's perhaps become so easy that Jungkook doesn't think sometimes— and that's what makes it the easiest for you to hate him.

Will it fit? - @/jeonsweetpea

Genre: 💓, 🥵, 🤪, ❤‍🩹 (just a little bit) So what if your roommate caught you masturbating? At least he forgot about it the next day. But he can't exactly forget the big dildo you left in your shared bathroom...

Break up with your Boyfriend - @/spideyjimin

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 Jungkook, the campus fuckboy, has decided to make you his next victim, but you're far from being like any of his previous hookups. You're not single. You're actually in a very long-term relationship with Baekhyun, the man you consider the love of you life, but it's for sure something that won't stop Jungkook. He wants you, and he's going to do absolutely everything to have you, even falling in love.

Paint me naked - @/gimmethatagustd

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 After the mysteriously hot guy in your university class starts taking an interest in you, should you really trust that he's not like all the other college fuckboys? Especially when his best friend is the guy who broke your heart?

I hate you, I love you - @j/ungblue 🎣

Genre: ❤‍🩹,🥵 You hated him at seven, warmed up to him at twelve, and liked him at fifteen. Now the two of you are twenty years old and inseparable best friends... and you're absolutely in love with him; he's in love too—just not with you.

How to Get a Guy - @/taeshobipop 🎣

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹, 🥵 Star basketball player Jeon Jungkook has a reputation as the ultimate fuckboi. He's loved by everyone. Everyone. And you would have followed suit if he had not broken all your strict Roommate Rules™ within the first week of his stay. Jungkook, on the other hand, thinks you're absolutely bizarre. But there's a silver lining— Mr. Fuckboi here knows basketball captain Min Yoongi, your dreadfully clueless crush. He strikes up a deal with you: he'll teach you the ways of flirting if you lessen your load of rules (so Jungook can continue persuing his way through the ladies on campus). Yet the longer Jungkook spends with you, the more he realizes that maybe he doesn't want to tbe the campus fuckboi anymore. The problem is, how does he prove that to you?

[lilacxquartz]

RIVALS;

satoru gojo x f!reader

summary: you always thought that satoru gojo hated having you as a rival, but after getting to know him, it turned out to be something so much worse.

tags/warnings: abduction/kidnapping, betrayal, rough sex, non-con, yandere, one shot, drugging, kissing — w.c: 1.6k

ao3 • masterlist

In some ways, it was exhilarating.

Being the second best to the strongest, that was.

From the very first day that you enrolled in Jujutsu High, you weren’t quite sure where life would lead you exactly but it certainly wasn’t to where you were now.

Everyday, after all, was an endless pursuit of an achieving both academic and combative excellence. Everyday, you pushed your body and mind above and beyond, seeking out the strength you didn’t know you had. You always assumed that by the end of it all, you would end up as maybe a grade two or even one with your efforts, but to your surprise, you got the recommendation to graduate as a special grade at just eighteen.

Just like him.

However, with every step forward, a creeping exhaustion settled in, dragging you down a path you couldn’t quite handle the journey of. Through the endless training that forced you to keep up with your prestige and the missions that the higher ups threw at you—it didn’t take too long to wear you out—leaving you weary, tired and almost even jaded as a result. Your mental state was one slight push away from the verge of a total collapse.

It was infuriating in some ways because you couldn’t help but compare. You were only human, after all. Sorcerer or not. Being a step below Satoru Gojo soon felt insulting and even though you didn’t consider him to be a rival, it still felt like… a drag, almost. His power was ingrained within him, whereas for you, it was a never ending grind.

It wasn’t quite envy, but you wished it could be easier. If even for a single day.

However, when your graduated classmate seemed to acknowledge your efforts, it technically felt like he appreciated you after all. A validation beyond anything you could dream of; his attention feeling almost intoxicating as he delivered what felt like genuine praise upon your believing ears.

But then it all started to go wrong and you weren’t sure why.

How were you supposed to know however that beneath his easy smile and casually friendly demeanour laid something else beyond what he presented you with? That through your rise to the top, the expectations that followed, he saw you as nothing more than a threat? Another cog to add to the failing machine, a system that he wanted to take down as his own. True, he played the part of a supportive friend, feeding you words to help you feel secure in your success, but there was something darker that lurked beneath his cheery surface.

How were you supposed to know that after he invited you over for coffee, that you’d soon fall asleep from the spiked liquid, only later to wake up with your hands and wrists completely bound?

It was a sickening realisation as you soon understood that behind those friendly words that you thought were spoken in confidence to you as his friend were nothing more than fleeting sweet nothings that he lied into your ears, leading you believe in a version of him that didn’t exist. He had everyone fooled, but especially you, into thinking that he could coexist with his rival.

Tucking you away into a small closet, at least for now, the room felt awfully confining as it housed you. You knew you were in deep trouble, especially as his words now came out cold, unforgiving and almost mocking.

“Don’t cry,” he spoke, “I’ll keep you company. I’ll make you feel like the spotlight always stays on you, but unfortunately, nobody else will ever see or hear from you again.”

Quickly stifling your protesting lip that quivered in response, pausing your voice that urged to fight past the horrific situation you had found yourself within, he didn’t let you. Instead, he spoke on your behalf.

“Don’t cry,” he repeated with more emphasis this time, “I’m saving you. Being the strongest shouldn’t be your responsibility to bear alone, that’s why I’m lifting the burden for you.”

And with that he closed the door, watching your trust fade away as the world around you darkened.

But it was for a good cause.

To keep you safe.

Satoru however grew needier and needier the more often he visited you, keeping you all locked up in his room, somehow perfectly bound and unable to leave. It was only a matter of time before he grew curious about you in that sort of way, seeing you as both something to protect as well as demanding stress release from you.

It was so exhausting keeping you as his big secret, after all. You had no idea what he had to go through to keep this all under wraps.

So when he sprawled you out over the bed, it wasn’t as though you didn’t anticipate it after all that he had otherwise done to you, but it still hurt all the same.

You grunted as it happened, taking a hit face down into the mattress; your whole body sinking over the soon crumpled bedding. You tried to fight him off—yet even as strong as you were—it wasn’t enough, even for you.

He pulled you up, raising your hips to meet with his own building excitement before peeling your jeans down and sliding your underwear away too. All he had to was shuffle out of his own clothes, dropping the fabric down to his knees. You couldn’t see a thing as he forced you to face away, but you could feel as his cock pressed against your sex and forcefully slid inside.

It didn’t matter how much you writhed around and begged him to stop, nor how much your legs thrashed or how your hands tried to pull themselves away from his pursuit; he wouldn’t pull away—instead however—he would push forward, again and again and again.

He grabbed at your hips and dug crescents into your skin with his fingernails for stability, wrapping his palms around you as he slammed himself back and forth your soon bruised ass. It felt insulting as he shushed you through your involuntarily whimpers, because what else were you supposed to do… especially in a situation like this?

“Please,” you gasped out.

Yet he never kept giving you the response you wanted, his voice deceptively warm as he spoke behind you, “You have no idea how good you feel.”

He would continue to cut you off with every protest with a praise, yet nothing about how he complimented you felt good at all.

“Such a good girl, taking me so well.”

“You’re so incredible, I knew it was a good thing I kept you around.”

“So good, so good—“

All it would do was make you feel sicker and sicker, somewhat nauseating you as he continued to pound inside your abused cunt. You couldn’t help but feel nauseated, maybe even dizzied from what was happening because you simply couldn’t understand why. If this was the consequence from your academic effort, then you would have never tried to reach for the stars, if it was as bleak as this.

Satoru continued to spear his length into you; his size hurting you as it stretched against your resisting walls. His cock filled you out completely, feeling almost torturous with how he would relieve you from the pressure as he pulled out, only to impale you again, forcing tears to spill out of your eyes when you felt it all happen again.

Each and every single thrust felt rougher than the last, as if he was beginning to lose himself in the sensation. He would bury his hips as far as he could into the cushioning of your ass, chasing the addiction of the release he wanted so goddamn much.

Soon enough however, he flipped you around to your back, taking in the sight of your dishevelled appearance; your messy hair, your tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes and both the best and the worst of all, the overall look or hurt and betrayal.

Satoru didn’t give you a warning as he started it all up again, positioning himself in between your legs while maintaining eye contact with you. Those chilling blue eyes were no longer serene, but painful as they bored into yours and yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

He moved into you again, wrapping your now tired legs around his shoulders, enjoying the sensation of your surrendered weak state. He lifted you ever so slightly yet again, pushing his cock into your core and melting into you once again.

Satoru was relentless as he pounded into you, bucking his hips feverishly as he chased his almost strained release. The entire time, he wouldn’t break eye contact with you, forcing you to watch as he mercilessly took you again and again. Your insides clenched around him, longing for him to stop but he wasn’t quite ready just yet.

He picked up the pace regardless, shuddering out shaky breaths as he pushed himself to his limit; slowing down with each remaining thrust, yet rutting at a more impactful rhythm. He was close too, he was so fucking close. It was an addictive sight to him after all, to see your body convulse and quiver from him overwhelming you, to watch as you longed for his release too (even if it was for a completely different reason).

Leaning down for both comfort and the rising sensation, he pumped his length forward one last time before going limp. His hips grinded themselves a little more however, attempting to milk himself as much as possible into your shuddering body.

Yet, it didn’t seem to be entirely over as he pulled away from you ever so slightly.

Perhaps you were naive for thinking that this would be the end after he got what he wanted.

As his lips brushed against your ear, you couldn’t help but feel almost frozen from the delusions he whispered forth.

“I’ll promise that I’ll never leave you now,” he assured you, meaning every last word, because after all, there was no greater love than something so sickeningly obsessive as something unrequited.

At least to him.

[kurishiri]

Mystery Bag 2025 ┊ Team 2: The trash bastards and the troubled fox

Harrison, Alfons, Jude, Nica

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to narrative flow and characterization purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but please don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— the mystery bag 2025 sale is a story set sale where the guys are put into teams and participate in a relay event thing. this is one of three teams (i love al too much to pass this by aa orz)! you can read the prologue, translated by @.judesmoonbeauty, here.

— cw: mentions of drugging or spiking drinks, bribing, and groping.

——Group 2 for the preliminary contest: Harrison, Alfons, Jude, Nica.

—— Blue sky ——

Steering committee: Then, we will begin the round for group 2.

Steering committee: Who will reach the goal first and emerge the happy boy for 2025?!

Steering committee: Let us go all out! Take your places, and…start!

—— Park (day) ——

Harrison: Oh, jeez, that was fast. So, why are you guys all standing there?

Alfons: Since the spectators are no longer in sight, so I figured if it was around now or so,

A: it would be a good time to drop this act of competing to the hardest and fullest.

Harrison: What? (O_O)

H: Or wait a minute, I’m pretty sure Al’s no exception; you guys are scheming something weird, aren’t you.

Jude: Who are ya gonna blame when ya don’t have a drop o’ evidence on ya? Way to make others out as the villain.

Nica: Agreed. I wouldn’t dream of scheming anything so bad in broad daylight, you know.

Harrison: Your lies are so damn obvious. I don’t even need to use my ability to figure that out.

H: If you all get caught, would you be alright getting disqualified?

Alfons: Oh, goodness, shiver me timbers. I’ll be honest, so hold your silence, alright?

A: I’m sure you’re aware there is a spot you can take a quick water break a bit up ahead, no?

A: I maaay or may not have pulled an ever so slight trick on the drinks.

A: Said trick being a sleeping drug that can knock one out immediately.

Harrison: You’re the worst.

Jude: Well, seems like somethin’ that walkin’ offense to public morals would pull outta his arse.

Alfons: And what of you?

Jude: Jus’ gave some money on a stick to the committee and told ‘em to tamper with the info and give us the win.

J: There’s been a wave o’ people, so it wouldn’t get outed.

Harrison: You’re no better.

Nica: I’d expect nothing less from the company president, dirtying your hands. Someone as well-bred as me could never.

Harrison: And? What’s up your sleeve?

Nica: Now don’t go lumping me together with that mirror man and president.

N: All I did was use my superior intellect and surveying skills. …Say, did you know?

N: This time, beneath the course there’s a sewer. One that’ll lead you right next to the goal.

N: So I was thinking of slipping underground, bide my time… and take first place.

Jude & Alfons: What a piece o’ trash. / Very much a lowlife.

Nica: You guys are the last ones I want to be called ‘trash bastards’ from.

Harrison: Damn, it’s trash bastards left and right.

H: So? What did you hope to gain from all this?

Alfons: Why of course, it’s to use Her Majesty’s authority to do this and that and aaall things in between.

Harrison: I was a fool for ever asking.

H: What about you, Jude?

Jude: Anythin’ goes. There’s a whole load o’ things I wanna do with the Queenie’s authority.

J: Well, I’d bet that bad guy over there would ask for somethin’ ridiculous.

Nica: As if. I’m just trying to earn what I very much love — money.

N: There’s never enough money to go around.

Harrison: If that’s what you really think, then I’ll leave it at that.

Nica: …Being able to pick up on lies, huh. You’ve got a troublesome ability on you, don’t you, Harrison Gray.

Harrison: They said abilities were forbidden. I’m just reading what you’re feeling.

Nica: You’re the only one who’ll ever know if you’re using your ability or not. I’d expect nothing less of the one Cursed by the Lying Fox.

Harrison: Thanks, I guess.

Nica: ——Anyway, what are we going to do from now on?

Alfons: Whatever could you mean?

Nica: I mean, seeing as we all revealed our hands, I can’t imagine this will end nice and smooth.

N: For the record, I’m fine with taking each other down. Since I don’t hold back against bastards and all.

Jude: Ha, I like the sound o’ that. The last one standin’ wins. Simple, clear-cut, n’ easy to understand.

Alfons: Though I can’t say I enjoy such brutish things, I suppose sacrifices may be inevitable.

Harrison: Hey you guys——

Woman’s cry: Ahh!

Harrison: That voice…

Woman’s cry: Someone! There’s a groper— he groped me!

Nica: A groper, huh.

N: Yeah, I figured. There’s bound to be some stupid humans who can’t hold themselves back and take advantage of the festival.

N: I just don’t get it. Well, I’m sure with this crowd, he’ll get caught in no time.

Alfons: I’m sure a man foolish enough to grope others will be caught soon——

A: But as I recall, the direction that man is running happens to be toward the place Kate has come to cheer for us, isn’t it?

Harrison: …I’ll go. I’m worried about her.

H: You guys can do whatever.

Jude: Tch, can’t stand the thought o’ leaving ‘er alone and gettin’ yelled at.

Alfons: Ahha! Are the men who haven’t run that much before going full speed ahead now?

A: What are you going to do, Nica?

Nica: Guess I’ll go too? Standing idle around won’t do much anyway.

—— Alleyway ——

Groper: Dammit… why are you guys chasing after me! Ah——

Harrison: Okay, caught you.

Jude: Keep that trash bastard o’ a pervert restrained.

Harrison: That was my intention.

H: Ahh, you guys came too?

Nica: Ohh, so this is the groper, huh. Haha, now that’s a face that’ll probably stir up trouble with women.

Alfons: Judging by one’s outward appearance is nonsense. That said, though, he does sport a rather unfulfilled expression.

Groper: I didn’t do it! My hand just happened to touch her butt.

Groper: And besides! Aren’t you guys the one who’s got some unfulfilled desires, stirring up all this fuss all over this?

Alfons: Oh, you happened to, didn’t you.

A: On the way here, I caught onto something, you see.

A: As far as I heard, six women were bringing up how they were getting touched by you.

A: Why that is one hefty coincidence indeed, dare I say.

A: Or could it be your hands were implanted with a magnet that drew you to women’s rears?

Nica: And besides, we’ve got a handy lie detector right here.

N: So? Which is it?

Harrison: Everything you’re saying is a lie. There’s no doubt about that.

H: Well, that’s my intuition, at least.

Groper: …gh.

Groper: D-damn it all! Yeah, okay, I did it!

Nica: Okay, okay, I’ve heard just about enough of that bastard’s dirty voice.

Alfons: Now then, having confessed so honestly, what punishment shall we do?

A: Ahh, come to think of it, our abilities are off the table, aren’t they. Well then, Jude.

Jude: Show that nasty arse o’ yours. The one ya fondled with.

Groper: Guah!

Nica: Wow, that sounded brutal. His bones are probably broken.

Alfons: My heartfelt condolences. Well, what should we do with this knocked out man?

Harrison: Hand him over to the police.

H: Today we’re not Crown and Vogel, but rather just participants.

Jude: Whatever floats your boat. I couldn’t care less.

An unclear cry: Ahh!

Harrison: Another one…? (O_O)

Alfons: What is it this time?

—— Bridge ——

Kate: Ah— guys!

K: There’s a big problem, all the participants who had the drinks from the break spot ended up falling fast asleep!

Alfons: Is that so?

Kate: And then a committee member started to reveal that they’d been threatened and bribed and——

Jude: Hmm.

Kate: And on top of that, it was discovered that someone was going to use the sewer as an unjust move!

Nica: Well, I’ll be.

Kate: Just who could be behind these? It’s too much like what a trash bastard would do, and I can’t look past that!

Harrison: Go on, Kate, keep it going.

Kate: Wha——?

Fin.

team 1 team 2 team 3

ko-fi ☕️ ┊ comms 🤍

[gothamite-rambler]

"Are you dealing drugs?"

Bruce Wayne: You're not a drug dealer, are you?

Jason Todd spits his drink dramatically.

Jason: Whaaaaat... Noooooo. Oh my God—how could you even... Why would you accuse me of something so awful?!

Jason proceeds to fake cry, covering his eyes.

Jason: This hurts me so much... that you would accuse me of that.

Jason continued fake crying as Dick, Tim, and Damian looked on. Bruce's eyes widened in shock.

Bruce (panicked): Oh dear, I take it back!

Jason: You take it back? How can I go on after this betrayal?

Jason rested his head on Dick's shoulder continuing the facade. Dick could only shake his head with a smile.

Bruce: Oh God, um, I can send you an extra thousand. Stay there!

Bruce ran out of the room. Jason looked up to see if he's gone, then resumed drinking from his soda bottle.

Damian clapped, impressed.

Dick (sighing): You know that was wrong... But I can't blame you.

Tim (angry): He lied though!

Jason: I'm not a drug lord anymore.

Jason looked behind him.

Jason: I'm was one of the lower CEOs; I stepped down due to too much drama.

Damian (sincerely): Smart move.

Jason: Thank you.

Tim (chuckling angrily): He gave you an extra thousand... I'm actually pissed off, fucking bullshit!

Tim stormed off.

Tim (O.S.): I can't believe that didn't fucking work!

Dick: Bruce said he wouldn't give him an allowance because of the whole embezzling thing.

Damian: He has a trust fund and he gets paid by working at father's company yet he complains.

Jason: He was the one who told Bruce?

Damian (nodding): Yep.

Jason: All right, there's only one way to handle this and get two thousand.

Damian (earnestly): Make sure to sell it. Don't make the crying look forced.

Jason: Good advice.

Jason walked out of the living room.

Jason (fake sadness): Bruce, why would Tim lie like that?!

Damian: Grayson, that's why I favor him at times.

Dick (smiling): Fair enough.

[writeyouin]

Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Fem-Reader - Sinless Sinners - Chapter 5

Chapter 5 - Stories and Dolls

A/N – Okay, so I just quit my job and I’m freefalling right now. Time to channel my anxiety into fanfiction. Also, this chapter is darker so I’m raising the rating to M.

Warnings – MENTIONS OF RAPE, S/A, ABUSE, KIDNAPPING, AND TORTURE.

Rating – M

TAG-LIST: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @sseleniaa @randomgurl2326 @22carolina08 @astrxwitch @yu-87 @clover-1767 @lil-bexie @thesimpybitch @reverse-soe @koirb @usernameunavailable2 @lavenderkita @kannakanan @mcueveryday @amarokofficial @mbruben-stein @tyrythewolf @lasagna-501 @bizzardvark @firefirefeline @kaylanotkk @missme-07 @memontica @angelsdemonsmonsters @tj4shy

MALE VERSION HERE

GN VERSION HERE

Lucifer had to admit, he was getting used to you. He enjoyed making breakfast a show in the morning, entertaining you with his parlour tricks and general showmanship. You were like a child, easily amused by flashing lights or some sleight of hand.

And of a night, he also found your company less than objectionable, whether you were reading a book in the library with Spick and Span curled up at your feet, in front of a roaring fire (you had conjured them medallions with their names on them, so as to tell them apart), or those nights when you came back from visiting the hotel and regaled him with the tales of its inhabitants. Lucifer was starting to like Angel Dust, even if he didn’t believe the porn star actually had a chance at redemption. Nifty also seemed entertaining, Husk could be a source of wisdom and comfort in equal measure, and Alastair… Well, he was there too, taking up too much of your attention.

Yet, despite his newfound almost-friendship with you, he couldn’t help thinking about what you had said on your first night in the manor.

‘You don’t even know why I’m down here, and you don’t want to know, right? ‘Cos all of us filthy Sinners must be the same.’

You were right. He didn’t know why you were there, and that was driving him crazy. He wanted to like you. Truly, he did. But how could he like you when he didn’t know your sin? People got sent to Hell for a reason! They wasted their free will. They sold drugs to kids, murdered people, trafficked victims, tricked and swindled others. For all Lucifer knew, you were there for drowning puppies.

The thought made him deeply uncomfortable.

Okay. He would ask you about it. No big deal. People probably talked about why they went to Hell a lot right? That was a normal conversation for Sinners, probably…

Lucifer wasn’t entirely wrong in thinking that. However, nearly all Sinners lied about what they went to Hell for, making it even more brutal or horrifying to try and earn some extra credit among their fellow Demons. Someone who had killed one person would claim to have been a serial killer. A low-life drug dealer would paint themselves as a mafioso with a drug empire, and arsonists… They didn’t have to lie much, as fires tended to spread quickly and they generally were as psychotic as they claimed to be.

It was all basic self-preservation in Hell. Be the toughest person there, so nobody could find new ways to hurt you. Kill or be killed (figuratively, since Demons couldn’t technically kill other Demons), sink or swim, do unto others before they did unto you.

Right. When Lucifer next saw you, he would ask.

“Hey Lucifer,” You said upon returning to the manor from the Hotel, “You doing okay?”

Lucifer froze. He hadn’t expected to see you so soon. Fuck.

“Hey bitch,” Lucifer greeted, feeling entirely awkward, yet trying to feign confidence.

“Uh… Back at ya,” You reciprocated confusedly.

“Sooooo,” Lucifer started, steepling his fingers together, and holding them to his mouth, his brow knitting together worriedly, “I have a question for you.”

“Oh.” You were surprised by Lucifer’s admission. While the two of you generally made conversation, he didn’t tend to ask too much. Besides, in the preface of announcing his question, it seemed that he was likely to ask you something personal.

You waved your hand casually, indicating that he was free to ask away.

“How- Uh how was everything at the Hotel? Is my little girl doing okay?”

As you smiled and fell into a description of how Charlie was doing and her general excitement about her meeting with Heaven, Lucifer cursed himself. He knew that what he wanted to ask was important, but it was just so personal. Well, at least he was happy to hear about his daughter. There were also some other colourful stories included in your conversation.

Finally, you wrapped up the conversation, effectively ending it when you casually said, “Anyway, I’m going to get ready for bed. I’m real tired, you know?”

Lucifer didn’t say much as you left, he was still pondering whether you might be a puppy killer or relative and accomplice to that Jeffrey Dahmer fellow, or something equally disturbing. If not… Why were you there?

Having gotten ready for bed, you sighed, letting the day’s events wash over you, lifting a weight off your shoulders. You were tired, but the day had been a good productive one. Moreover, it was nice to end the day by standing out on the balcony, overlooking the rest of Hell.

There was a time when you had died, during which you stood atop a building in the main streets watching all the fights, looting, and maiming, and you were horrified. Then, you met Charlie, and she had been so wonderfully pure, good, and non-judgemental that you had to agree with her. Hell could be a home to you, and all the other Sinners who lived there, and Sinners could always change for the better.

While you held onto the balcony railing, leaning over it, and staring at the red horizon, Lucifer approached your open door at the entrance of your room, knocking despite the open invitation to come in.

You turned and smiled at him, your smile putting him at ease.

“Come in,” You offered.

He did so, crossing the large room and taking quick mental notes of the changes you had made. They were minor, but they spoke of your personality. You had lit scented candles, brightening the room – the official scent name was Tapioca Tit-play.

Subconsciously, Lucifer worked his magic to remove the off-smell that he had placed there; it was redundant when your candles covered it, and he didn’t mind your company so much anymore.

He also observed several other items. There was a photograph of everyone at the Hotel, though you had drawn Alastor on the end in crayon since he didn’t love to be captured in photographs (he could bear it unlike being filmed, but he didn’t care much for it.)

Wrapped around your bedposts were nightlights to keep out the dark. On your bed, you had a teddy of one of Sir Pentious’ egg-bois, a gift from him. Husk had gifted you with a bottle of his best Whiskey, though it remained unopened on the nightstand. There was a cockroach/daisy hybrid necklace wrapped around a book. The candles were from Angel Dust. Beneath your pillow was a dagger, gifted by Vaggie, for your protection. Alastor had given you a collection of books from the store in Cannibal Town, including several that were rumoured to have been stolen from Heaven’s library, though nobody was certain where that rumour started or if it was even true, though there were no copies of the books anywhere else in Hell.

Although Lucifer had no way of knowing these items were all presents from your friends at the Hazbin Hotel, he could tell that you cared deeply for the odd assortment by their placement on the two bedside tables; they had been positioned with care, and were well looked after.

Then, his eye caught the rubber duck, slightly hidden behind the picture frame. He remembered making that one. As a hellhound imitation, it was meant to teleport to whoever needed it most inside the Manor, offering protection should they come under attack. Naturally, he and his family didn’t need such protection, but he had been experimenting with what powers he might imbue unto yet another duck.

He decided not to mention it as he joined you on the balcony, looking you over in your pyjamas.

You also spared him a glance, noting that he seemed more relaxed. Although he was still in his usual attire, he had removed his top-hat-crown and his overcoat, revealing the waistcoat and shirt beneath; the sleeves were rolled up, giving him a more casual appearance.

“Hell’s skies are beautiful, aren’t they,” You stated, returning your gaze to the horizon.

Lucifer looked up, but all he saw was Heaven, the home that didn’t want him.

“(Y/N),” He started, forcing himself to look down, so he wouldn’t have to stare at the painfully beautiful golden glow above.

“Hm?”

“How did you end up here?”

Your grip tightened on the railing drawing Lucifer’s gaze to the whites of your knuckles.

Your whole body became tense and you answered with a ragged breath, “I died.”

“Yes but-” Lucifer was about to lead into the question of your sins, but you spoke up again, seemingly misunderstanding the question as you continued, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

“I was- I was murdered.”

Lucifer could have explained that the cause of your death wasn’t what he had been driving at, but now he was darkly fascinated. If you were the same kind-hearted, warm person in life, why would anyone wish to bring about your death?

He remained silent as you began recounting the manner in which you had been killed.

“I had a friend,” You started slowly, taking steady breaths between each part of the story that followed as if it would make it any easier. “I mean- I- I thought he was my friend. I loved him. He knew that. He counted on it.”

“I thought that he travelled for work. That’s what he told me. It’s why he was always coming and going. But no… He was just looking for more people like me. He found people. Made us fall for him. Then he- he took me out on a date. Blindfolded me. Said it was a surprise. I- I trusted him, but the blindfold just made it easier for him to- He knocked me out.”

You subconsciously touched the back of your head, remembering the blow that had come with no warning.

Lucifer turned to you, one hand holding onto the railing, the other planted firmly at his side.

“Did he-” He started to ask.

You shook your head. “It wasn’t rape. It was worse.”

You shivered, waiting until you were certain you weren’t going to vomit. Then you continued, your skin ashy.

“I woke up in a- It was like a cinderblock cell, but it had been sort of decorated to look like a fancy suite?”

You recalled the room. It was damp, and the floor was cheaply produced concrete, given away by the amount of air bubbles which had never been levelled and now pocked the surface, like a teenager with bad acne. The cinderblock walls were easy to see, though some talented artist had been paid to paint it with the likeness of the Ritz hotel or somewhere equally fancy. While that had made it look better, it was still clearly a cinderblock wall; then again, you can’t polish a turd, but you can roll it in glitter.

You had been handcuffed to a chair in the centre of the room. Your clothes had been taken, and you had been dressed in a skimpy shortened tuxedo, with a fitted vest instead of a jacket. You remembered screaming till your voice was raw. You screamed so much that you ended up spitting flecks of blood, but nobody came to save you.

“I- I was tied up,” You said simply, downplaying the memory to Lucifer, more for your own sake than his, though he could see the pain behind your eyes.  

Lucifer didn’t interrupt your story, but his anger was growing. Behind him his tail lashed furiously, his eyes became flaming red, and his fangs became sharper. You hadn’t noticed, you were lost in memory, and you had yet to look his way since beginning your story.

You sighed, thinking of the torture, humiliation, and suffering which followed, all at the hands of one man. It wasn’t your captor. It was who he had sold you to.

“It- I was- They were making snuff films. I don’t know how many people died there before or after me but- I was sold to an American. He- He liked to cut things. It was a while before- I don’t know if I bled out, or if my heart stopped, maybe both?”

For the first time, your skin changed colour, turning from your regular human shade to a pale seaweed-green. Against the colourful backdrop, Lucifer could see your now blinding white glowing scars. Upon your death they remained hidden, completely invisible, but now you were distressed… You seemingly did have something of a Demonic appearance after all.

You were a ragdoll.

There wasn’t a part of your body that hadn’t been cut, or originally sliced off, only to be repaired in death. In all likelihood, your real body was probably burned, buried, or dissolved in acid. In Hell, your scars were the stitches that held your body together. Lucifer now understood your human appearance since like a real ragdoll, you were good at playing dress-up. He bet that if you explored your abilities, you would have been able to look like anyone, a skin-changer, but you had adopted your appearance in life; it was likely an accident caused by the trauma of your memories.

“(Y/N),” Lucifer said through gritted teeth. He wanted to be comforting, but he was already thinking of all the ways he would punish your killer and any accomplice he may have had. There were worse things than Death in hell; he would torture those bastards for eternity, and then when he finally grew bored, he would end them with angelic weaponry, wiping their souls from existence, leaving no trace of such monsters.

You didn’t turn to face your King, who was now in his full Demonic form, his rage at its peak.

“Just go,” You murmured despondently, staring over the balcony, and down to the ground. A long drop and a short stop… It was a shame it wouldn’t kill you; at least the pain would end if you died.

“But-” Lucifer reached you to put a hand on your shoulder, his wings almost curling around you as if to envelop you.

“I- I would like to be alone. Please.”

Lucifer hesitantly withdrew his hand, “I’m sorry.”

That was all he said before walking away, leaving you alone.

You wished that you could have been left to wallow, but your phone soon buzzed and you opted to check it in case it was an emergency.

Retrieving it from the bed, you found a message from Charlie.

“EMERGENCY. ANGEL DUST. RELAPSE. GET OVER HERE. PLEASE!”

Damn it! If Charlie was texting you for this, it meant that Husk was either the cause or he wasn’t around to be the solution. Moreover, while Charlie would want to assist her friend, she was likely the last person Angel Dust wanted to see; sometimes, though she was well-intentioned, she just didn’t understand such issues or she could be a bit much.

Still stuck in your ragdoll body, you ran back to the balcony and vaulted over the edge. It wasn’t a smooth landing, and it hurt a lot. Anyone else would have broken their bones, but when you were like this, there wasn’t anything else that could be broken. Everything had already been torn off you. Ignoring the pain, you ran until you found a taxi. You took it to the Hotel.

[apollohears]

DEMO. ( TBD ) ✸ ROMANCES. ✸ PLAYLISTS.

last updated: coming soon !

Step into the shadows of Day of Dusk, a mesmerizing blend of dark fantasy, horror, and romance. Drawing inspiration from the chilling folklore of the Brothers Grimm and the adrenaline-fueled film "Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters," this interactive novel beckons you into a world where mysteries lurk in every corner and romance dances with danger.

In Day of Dusk, the line between magic and malevolence blurs, and you, the main protagonist, hold the key to unraveling its secrets. Will you dare to navigate the twisted paths where witches, witch hunters, and supernatural entities collide?

The choice is yours, but be warned: in the shadows of dusk, nothing is as it seems.

In the heart of a medieval fantasy realm lies "Day of Dusk," a tale woven with threads of mystery and the macabre. Journey alongside a band of young mercenaries, masters of the dark art of witch hunting, as they navigate a world teeming with secrets and shadows.

Their journey begins in the tainted township of Ruel-Mizu, where whispers of many vanished children echo through the fog-choked streets. Tasked with unraveling this enigma, your group treads a path fraught with peril and the weight of history's darkest deeds.

As you delve deeper into the town's grim past, you'll confront not only witches of formidable power but also otherworldly entities lurking in the shadows. Along the way, unexpected allies may emerge, and the bonds of friendship may blossom into something more.

Yet every choice carries weight in this twisted tale of power and love. Betrayal lurks around every corner, and the line between ally and enemy blurs in the gloom. Will you sacrifice everything for the truth, side with who you least expect it, save the town for good or succumb to the allure of forbidden romance?

In "Day of Dusk," the fate of worlds hangs in the balance, and only you hold the key to unlocking its secrets.

How far will you go to uncover the truth?

This game is a work of fiction; content warnings include, but are not limited to, graphic death, depictions of blood and gore, medieval violence, body horror, explicit language, depression, suicide, references to assault, grooming, mental and physical abuse, sexually suggestive themes, and drug and alcohol use. This story is intended for mature +17 audiences; reader discretion is advised.

STORY FEATURES :

Step into the shoes of a diverse protagonist, embracing your identity as male, female, non-binary, or anywhere along the gender spectrum. Explore the rich tapestry of human sexuality, navigating relationships and attractions as a gay, straight, bisexual, asexual, or aromantic individual. Your journey is uniquely yours, shaped by your experiences and choices as you carve out your place in the world.

Embark on a journey of discovery and connection as you navigate the complex web of relationships in a world filled with intrigue and danger. In the end, it is through these connections—friendships forged in fire, love born from adversity—that you might find the true meaning of your existence and the strength to face whatever challenges lie ahead.

Have your name written in history tales to come, become a hero beacon of hope, or become a feared figure among the community.

Confide in the unrevealed troubles that settle the mysterious past of your royal company's path to break tradition—or steal the heir's power to the throne for your own.

Learn the dark truth about the horrors that lie concealing just how far some would go to great lengths in order to create life.

Forge the future of a community and companions lives with the supporting changes and challenges schemed upon you and all of those who you know or love.

THE RO CHARACTERS :

Each love interest will have their own route which you will get to choose from at the end of the common route. The four romance options in this game depend purely on the readers preference which include: a man, a woman, one you can choose between their presenting gender and a ç̸̤̞̟̏̀̄̔̚r̷̛̟͕͙̼͚̼̓̒̑͝͠ͅy̷̛͉̭͙̿̒̆̈́́͊͗̅̈̀p̶̟͎̩̩͕̭̀̍̅́͛̚ţ̵̺̬̭̪͂̊̑̋̽̚͝͝ì̴̠̪͊͐̿͊̽̍͘͜͝͠c̴̗͉̭̖͕͕̐̔̾̂͘͝ͅ ̴͓͉͚͔̬͓̩̜͒̂͋́b̶̘̽̔̃̀͂̒̕͝e̷̡̡̫̮̹̻̰̺̖͋̿͂̀͑̈́̌̕̚͝ì̵͚̤͗ͅn̸̫̎̋́ǧ̶̡̳̥̾̚ͅ.̵̧̛̩̯̹̦̊̎̈́̕͝

Silas/Sophia Amon — the needling best friend and a member of your witch hunting team. Forge a deeper friendship and uncover the true meaning of loyalty with your brash yet devoted childhood best friend, whose charming demeanor hides on top of another layer of emotion.

"I'll be the bad guy if it means keeping us alive. Someone has to make the tough calls around here."

Pavlos Norlenbourne  — the neglected forsaken naive royal with a roaring secret. Draw close to a haunted prince, haunted by the shadows of his tragic upbringing, and unravel the mysteries that surround him as you delve into the depths of his troubled soul. 

"In a world where power is everything, I'm just a pretty pawn in their game. But I'll make my own moves, carve my own path."

Annette Meadowcroft — the obsessive poet with a firing spirit who refuses to be tamed. Uncover the hidden depths of a secret poet, whose words hold the key to unlocking the secrets of the heart. Join her on a journey of self-discovery as she seeks to break free from the constraints of society and embrace the beauty of the world around her.

"The ink flows from my pen like a river of defiance, writing my own narrative in a world that seeks to silence women like me."

Rune — the callow knight who isn't very fond of small talk with a foreboding origin. Dare to tread the path of a cryptic made being, grappling with questions of identity and purpose as they navigate a world that sees them as little more than a weapon. 

"If you have the audacity to think that I am some sorrowful god, then the pain of my fraud in human appearance will be all the more agonizing."

Depending on your play style, you have the ability to create, shape and destroy numerous familial, romantic, platonic, professional and community relationships with a full cast of characters whose genders and personalities vary. 

✸ Dedicated to all the hopeless romance and fantasy fans who are too engrossed in their books to talk and too shy to write, to my momanager Kass, who always likes to keep things real.

[milswrites]

Cupid’s Sword

~Azriel X Fem!Reader~

Summary: Azriel has a crush but finds himself unable to approach them. Unable to just stand by and watch their friend’s desperate pining, Nesta and Cassian take it upon themselves to play Cupid and try and set them up. Will their efforts lead to success or is Azriel destined to remain single forever?

Warnings: Mentions of drinking. Stabbing but the good kind?

Azriel was staring again. Staring at her. His golden eyes hadn’t moved from her soft form all night, locked in place as if he were stuck in a trance. Which he may has well have been, her hypnotising features melted their way into his mind and invaded his senses, clearing them all of anything but her.

He found himself drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Her sweet voice carried from the bar where she was sat drinking with Nesta, causing his shadows to stir and attempt to crawl their way towards her in desperation for her presence. Her honeyed voice which delivered words like poetry, had always affected Azriel in ways he couldn’t explain. The velvet laugh that left her mouth as she spoke animatedly with her friend was as smooth as the whiskey Azriel was nursing.

He was hooked. Her presence a drug that Azriel hasn’t been able to get enough of since he had first laid eyes on her. Azriel hadn’t even been invited to Rita’s tonight. But when his shadows had reported to him that you had agreed to go tonight with Nesta, he knew there was no other place he wanted to be. Nesta’s permission be damned.

And so here he was, hiding in the shadows of a booth with Cassian, who was fearful of being caught by his mate on the one night where she was free of his company. Cassian had been unable to say no to his friend who had claimed he needed a drink or two after a hard days work, but now they were here Azriel could tell his brother was catching on to the real reason why he had wanted to come.

“Something caught your eye brother?” Cassian teased, bored of sitting and drinking in silence as Azriel’s attention was elsewhere, “or should I say someone?”

Azriel cursed under his breath. He would have been better off coming alone. If Cassian caught wind of his admiration for Nesta’s new friend he would never let Azriel live it down. Azriel could already imagine the relentless mocking that would ensue.

With great effort, he tore his eyes away from Y/N at the bar and settled them onto the overjoyed face of his brother manically grinning before him. “I don’t know what you mean” Azriel muttered, gaze moving to his half-empty drink to avoid his brother being able to read his lies. But of course once Cassian had started something he just couldn’t leave it alone.

“No?” Cassian mused, “the hole you’ve burned into Y/N’s head says differently. Unless of course it was my mate you’ve been staring at, in which case you’re more than welcome to come warm our bed tonight.”

The latter part of Cassian’s remark didn’t phase Azriel, he was used to the crude comments that spew from his friend’s mouth. He even sometimes heard them from Nesta. The first few words however caused Azriel’s heart to start beating faster and his palms grew clammy, skin clinging uncomfortably to the glass he was gripping for support. Defensively he said, “I wasn’t staring at Y/N.”

“Hm sure Az and I’m not the sexiest man - oh hey Y/N!”

Azriel’s head snapped to where Cassian had directed his voice, scared the woman had witnessed the conversation. She wasn’t stood there. Y/N was still happily sat at the bar with Nesta gossiping away with matching smiles on their faces. At his frantic reaction Cassian had broken out into a hearty laugh, his hand flying to his chest to brace himself as he did so. His booming chortle was enough to start drawing attention from the other customers who had found their way into Rita’s tonight.

“You’re whipped brother!” Cassian ginned merrily at Azriel who began to desperately shush his brother as his worried eyes briefly jumped to the bar, afraid the woman in question would be listening in.

“Yes! Ok! I like her!” Azriel hissed quietly between his teeth, hoping his admission would stop Cassian from teasing him for the whole club to hear.

“I knew it…I knew it” Cassian beamed in satisfaction as if he had just solved Azriel’s deepest secret. As if it wasn’t obvious enough from the way Azriel had been pining after Y/N from the shadows of their booth for the majority of the evening.

“Go over to her! I’m sure she’d say yes if you ask her in a date!” He urged Azriel, gesturing excitedly towards the bar as if playing wingman was his lifelong dream profession.

“And leave Nesta to discover we’re here ruining her girls night? She’s killed people for less” Azriel retorted in hopes that his brother wouldn’t make him go over to the bar and no doubt embarrass himself by being rejected in front of the mass of people in Rita’s tonight.

“Ah” Cassian dismissively waved his hand, “what Nesta doesn’t know won’t hurt her, I’ll hide in the toilet and you-”

Cassian was interrupted by the cold snap of his mates voice, “Nesta doesn’t know what dear?”

The two males gulped at Nesta’s sudden appearance, both having no intention of saying anything lest they anger Nesta even further. There was no doubt the terrifying woman would easily give them both a piece of her mind without them even needing to speak.

“Do you want to tell me, darling mate, why you’ve come to stalk me on my girls night?” She continued, her presence enough to leave both males breathless in fear.

“I wasn’t stalking you! I was watching Y/N!” Cassian blurted before he realised how his words had sounded and continued rambling before his mate could smite him, “not me! Him! Azriel made me come, he’s in love with her so I told him to go ask her out!”

“Cassian!” Azriel gasped with wide eyes, disbelief crossed his features as his brother betrayed his secret crush. Anxiously Azriel leant over to look past Nesta, trying to find the object of his affection and make sure she didn’t hear what Cassian had said.

Nesta’s face flashed with surprise at the information before her expression morphed into something more mischievously sinister as her eyes landed on the sputtering Azriel. “Don’t worry she didn’t hear. She’s gone home” Nesta reassured him.

But Azriel was feeling anything but reassured. The spark that had ignited in Nesta’s eyes caused him to feel unsettled and shrink back into his seat, wanting to escape the woman’s scheming gaze. Even Cassian seemed uneasy, shuffling where he was sat as he observed Nesta’s silent plotting, unsure of where this was going to go.

“It’s ok Azriel” she finally said in a sickly sweet voice as she placed a hand onto his shoulder, gripping it tight enough that Azriel knew he should definitely be scared, “we’ll get you that date.”

~~~~~

If Nesta could be described in a single word Azriel would say she was relentless. Ever since she had found out about Azriel’s not so little crush on Y/N at Rita’s over a week ago, she had been a force of nature.

He knew Nesta loved her friend dearly. Having nothing but good things to say about her since she had been introduced to Y/N by Madja. The elder woman had hired Y/N as an apprentice with the hope that she would be able to take over her healing duties when the time came for her retirement. Azriel had been curious about this woman that the usually reserved Nesta spoke so fondly of and so the next time Madja had brought her along after receiving the call that Cassian needed to be healed, Azriel had made sure he was there.

He was not disappointed. Y/N had been blessed by the cauldron in both looks and heart. Her presence on the day they had met being enough to stun him into a paralytic awe as he found himself unable to string even a few words together to speak to her.

Azriel was content to watch on in silent appreciation. Spending the days whenever she was at the House of Wind hovering close by, longing to hear a trace of her soft voice. If he was particularly lucky, he would on occasion receive an earth-shattering smile as she acknowledged him from a distance. But that was all it ever was, a distance.

Until Nesta had gotten involved and suddenly Y/N was everywhere. There was no room Azriel could enter that Y/N wasn’t in alongside a beaming Nesta. His inability to speak around her growing more and more frustrating as he had to grumble a shy hello before excusing himself, nerves too overwhelming for him to say anymore and his embarrassment at this stupor being too much for Azriel to want to stay in silence.

His reaction to her new overwhelming presence caused Nesta to grow frustrated. She had obviously been thinking that this would be an easy match and ignored Cassian’s warnings about how debilitating Azriel’s crush actually was. Nesta would have to try harder than just making sure Azriel could never escape Y/N’s presence. It’s a good thing she had a mate who was more than willing to help out his struggling friend.

Cassian was not a subtle man, he definitely wasn’t the type of person who did things in small measures. If Cassian was going to set his brother up he would do it his way, and hopefully not destroy any buildings in the process.

~~~~~

Azriel had grown used to Y/N being here. Which meant he had become very good at avoiding her whilst she was, his shadows reluctantly reporting to him not to leave his room whenever she was around.

Instead Azriel’s new favourite past time was wallowing in his own self pity as he laid face down on his bed in frustration at his situation. Which is where he was when Cassian had entered, neglecting to knock and alert him of his presence.

“Hey buddy,” his words interrupting Azriel’s sulking, “Can I have your help with something?” Azriel emitted a grunt of acknowledgment, not deigning to lift his head to look at his brother. “Great…cool” Cassian continued, “so I am superrr busy with work right now but I had promised Rhys I’d get some paperwork over to Madja. Think you can help me out?”

Deciding that doing Cassian’s chores would be a suitable distraction from his thoughts, Azriel raised his head slightly and grunted once more.

“Brilliant thanks Az!” He grinned, rubbing his hands together before turning to leave the room. Azriel sat up fully now in confusion, facing his retreating brother, “Cassian?”

The male jumped as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t and slowly turned back towards Azriel waiting to hear what his friend had to say. “The paperwork?” Azriel asked.

“Huh” sounded Cassian.

“The paperwork for Madja? Where is it?” Azriel watched as realisation crossed the generals features, mouth dropping open in a small o.

“Right… the paperwork. I’ll go get it!” Cassian said before running off, his footsteps pounding down the corridor as he ran to his room and back. Once he had returned, panting slightly at his hurried movement, he handed Azriel a sealed envelope, “here you go! And uh… don’t open that it’s highly confidential.”

Azriel enjoyed the flight over to Madja’s estate, the opportunity to spread his wings and allow the cool air to clear his head was refreshing. He landed smoothly and opened the door, ready to greet the elder woman he and the rest of the Inner Circle were so fond of. Yet Madja wasn’t there. Instead, Y/N was sat at Madja’s desk scribbling away at the papers laid before her.

At the sound of the door creaking open, her head raised, a bright smile adorning her face at the sight of the shadowsinger. “Azriel! Hi, what can I do for you?” Her honeyed voice made Azriel’s spine tingle and he found himself wishing for her to say his name again. Liking the way it sounded coming from her lips.

“Uh…where’s Madja?” He didn’t mean to sound as rude as he did when asking that question. However, the irregular pounding of his heart made his senses slip and his anxiety spike.

Y/N didn’t seem to mind, smile still on her face as she answered, “I’ve started taking over for her. When there’s not any serious injuries of course,” her smile then faltered a little, “but I thought you knew? You sent the flowers?”

A matching frown crossed Azriel’s features, “flowers? What flowers?” He asked as she directed his attention to the ridiculously large bouquet of flowers placed lovingly into a vase on the chest of drawers behind Azriel. He squinted his eyes, enabling him to read the note sticking out of them. The note which was written in Cassian’s untidy scrawl.

To Y/N

Congratulations on the promotion

With love, Azriel

He blanched, “Yes! The flowers of course. I ordered them so long ago that I forgot I’m sorry”

Y/N’s frown grew deeper at his excuse, “I only got the news yesterday?”

“Madja told me a week or two ago” he lied, desperate for the topic of this conversation to change before he dug himself a deeper hole. The lie seemed to do the job though as Y/N was obviously pleased with the thought of the older healer telling Azriel about it, telling him about her.

“Oh well, thank you! I love them” her blissful smile returned causing the butterflies already present in Azriel’s stomach to go wild. He wanted to tell her no problem, to ask her how her days going, to potentially ask her out on that date he was so badly craving. But Azriel’s tongue had grown heavy, glued to the roof of his mouth rendering him speechless.

Like a fool he stood there before her just staring. Admiring the way the golden glow of the sunlight shining through the window danced on her rosy cheeks. Taking note of the way her eyebrow slightly twitched as it did whenever she was confused. It was only when his shadows began to shift around him that Azriel allowed himself to return to the present only to realise just how long he had been in that trance and how uncomfortable he must have made Y/N.

Wanting to escape his anxiety, he began to sputter out a pitiful goodbye as he stumbled his way to the door. “Wait Azriel!” Y/N called out after him, “why is the letter empty?”

This was the second mistake Cassian had made. The first was not warning Azriel about the flowers. The second was handing him an empty envelope to give to Y/N with no explanation. What must she think of him? Turning up to her office with an empty letter and no idea about the flowers which appeared as though they were sent from him.

Neglecting to provide her with an answer, Azriel rushed from the building, wanting to avoid any accusations from her about him being a creep. He took off as fast as he could, leaving a confused Y/N behind in the empty office.

~~~~~

Azriel stormed through the house, wings flared and siphons glowing dangerously. He didn’t stop until he came face to face with a smirking Cassian who was loitering in the kitchen having waited for him brother’s return.

“Am I genius or what?” He chortled, arms outstretched as he waited for a hug he would never receive, “we better get you ready for that date!”

“There is no date” Azriel growled through gritted teeth, batting down Cassian’s arms as he watched the grin drop from his friends face at the statement.

“What? But I set everything up perfectly?” Cassian said in confusion, as if there was no possible way his perfect plan could have fallen through.

“Perfectly?” Azriel laughter bitterly, anger growing fiercely inside of him, “you made a fool out of me! She thanked me for the flowers to which I told her I didn’t know what she was talking about and then she opened the letter and found out it was empty! I looked like an idiot!”

Cassian sucked in air between his teeth awkwardly, “I guess I didn’t think that through…”

“No Cassian,” seethed Azriel, “you never think. And now you’ve ruined any chance I ever had of… you know what just forget it.” With that Azriel stalked off, needing to clear his head and mourn over the relationship he was never even able to start.

~~~~~

Cassian had begged his brother for forgiveness, unable to last another minute with Azriel’s sullen form sulking about the house ignoring him. Of course Azriel wasn’t actually mad at his brother, most of his bitterness was reserved for himself. He should have understood Cassian’s hints and help and followed along with it, then maybe things would have gone differently and maybe he would have gotten the girl.

Not wanting to admit his true feelings about it to his brother, Azriel said he’d forgive him but that Cassian should expect hell at during their next training session. Azriel had lots of frustration to expel.

Which is what led them to where they were now. Azriel beating down on his brother with all his might, the two locked in a deadly combat together. Cassian having to block powerful blow after powerful blow that his brother was delivering.

It wasn’t until Azriel struck hard enough to disarm him did Cassian then suggest the two took a break before he ended up being skewered. Nesta released a low whistle from where she had been watching as she moved towards the men in the ring, Azriel’s frustration at the pair of them was almost tangible.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side” she joked, slightly worried eyes absorbing the frazzled state Azriel had left her mate in.

“Yeah well whatever stops you two trying to play Cupid” he defended, reminding Cassian why he had fought so hard.

Nesta snorted, “Cupid? Have you seen Cas try to use a bow? I’d be better poking you to your senses with Ataraxia.” Nesta’s eyes lit up at her own joke. That same unstettling feeling that Azriel had fallen victim to in Rita’s had returned.

Nesta unsheathed her dagger, stalking towards Azriel who was backing off with his hands raised. “What’s going on Nesta?” Azriel anxiously said as his back met the edge of the ring, halting his retreat.

“It’s alright, relax Az! Things will work out ” Nesta smirked. And the next thing he knew, her dagger had been plunged into his upper arm as he screamed out in pain and gripped onto the handle of the blade which was sticking out of his bicep. Blood slowly trickling down his arm.

~~~~~

“Y/N thank the cauldron you’re here!” Nesta gasped in mock relief at the appearance of her friend.

The woman ran towards Azriel from where Cassian had landed with her in his arms, worry plastered on her face as it had been from the moment Cassian had frantically shown up at her door and said that Azriel been stabbed.

“Oh mother! What happened?” She cried, pulling out a towel before pressing it tightly to Azriel’s bleeding arm, knife still lodged in his muscle. Azriel opened his mouth to give her the honest answer but Nesta beat him to it, “Freak accident! Happened out of nowhere. Super unfortunate. We’ll leave you to it, come on Cas!” She dragged her mate away, the two whispering aggressively together as they left. Cassian had obviously not been privy to Nesta’s plan.

“Freak accident?” She said in disbelief, pulling the knife out before beginning to use her healing magic to stitch the wound together. “Cupids sword apparently” Azriel hummed quietly, the majority of his focus being on how attractive he found Y/N’s concentrated face as she worked. Her presence alone numbing the pain he was feeling.

“I thought Cupid used a bow and arrow?” She laughed in confusion, attention not straying from the intricate magic she was performing on Azriel.

“I don’t think Nesta has ever used a bow and arrow in her life” he huffed, face twitching in pain as Y/N’s healing powers created a small burning sensation on his arm.

“So Nesta’s Cupid?” She mused, small smile on her face as Azriel froze at the realisation of what he had said, likely due to the blood loss, “or is it Cassian? He did send the flowers instead of you right?”

Azriel’s eyes widened in Suprise, “you…you knew?”

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. He’s not exactly subtle. And neither is Nesta apparently” she said gesturing to the thin red line of raised skin that now marked his arm where the knife had been.

“Yeah” Azriel shyly laughed in anticipation of what was transpiring between them, a soft blush dusting over his cheeks, “guess they just really want me to be happy… in their own weirdly demented way.”

“I can’t think of anyone who deserves to be happier more than you do” Y/N stated, her finger absentmindedly brushing over his new scar sending shivers dancing down his spine again.

“Yeah” Azriel manages to squeeze out of his anxiously closing throat, her close proximity reawakening the butterflies that seemed to have permanently made their home in his stomach.

“So?” It was Y/N’s turn to urge Azriel to ask her the question, “are you going to let Nesta go through all the trouble of stabbing you just so you can let me walk away? I’ve been waiting a while you know”

This time Azriel was able to find his courage, “I really like you.” He finally confessed, wanting to get the truth out before his inability to speak around Y/N returned, “I find myself unable to keep control around you, I can’t pull myself together and I always end up acting like an idiot. Because I am crazy about you Y/N.”

“You’re a very cute idiot” she teased, finger now travelling from where it was brushing his arm to trail down his chest. Her words made Azriel flush, he attempted to answer but all that came out were small broken sounds of disbelief.

“Come on Azriel” she continued to tease. Y/N had complete control over this situation, over Azriel. His spirit drawn to hers as her lips moved closer to his, “use your words. Ask me.”

“Will you go on a date with me?” He managed to squeak out. Transfixed by the hold she had over him. Y/N breathed out an airy laugh before gripping onto his shirt and dragging Azriel into her before their lips collided.

Whilst Azriel may have had problems speaking with her, he definitely didn’t have any issues when it came to kissing her. Making sure to pour every ounce of longing and pining that he had been feeling since he first laid eyes on her into the kiss. Their lips moulded together as if they were made for each other. A perfect match.

“Yes” she confirmed pulling back from the kiss to catch her breath. Azriel shifted his eyes to the movement occurring from behind her shoulder, gaze finding its home on Cassian and Nesta who were excitedly jumping, holding their thumbs up to the male.

Azriel wrapped his unbloody arm around Y/N’s shoulders, a grin of appreciation on his face as he looked to his friends thankfully.

There were worse friends to have.

[zablife]

A Nice Dinner with Tommy

Tommy Shelby x gf reader

A/N: Date night at a fancy restaurant, requested by @mayfieldss. Part of my Corrupt a Wish challenge. This is being reposted bc it went under heavy revision. Apologies to those who couldn't read or reblog when it was set to private.

Divider credit: @saradika-graphics

Warnings: drinking, mention of infidelity, drugging Corrupt a wish reminder: If you think this story has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention. Proceed with caution!

It had only been two days since leaving Tommy's side, but he was insistent he wanted to see you again. "Choose the time and place, darling. I want tonight to be special," he promised in a dulcet tone.

Your heart skipped a beat at the warmth emanating from his voice. He had never been so willing to indulge you before. Normally Tommy dictated everything in your relationship. It was the primary reason you'd grown disenchanted with him and accepted the advances of another, an Italian far more interested in pleasing you than Tommy ever was.

However, you couldn't deny the danger to both of you the longer the affair continued. Unable to bear the thought of bloodshed, you knew it was best to settle back into your life with Tommy, even if your feelings for him had changed over time. And lovely, kind Angel had accepted your lies about moving away to care for your ailing mother, ignorant to the tears shed for him after your goodbyes.

It had been a convincing performance and one you never wanted to repeat. The mendacity ate away at your very core, hollowing you out until you felt like a shell. It made you anxious and paranoid as you attempted a casual demeanor this evening, wondering if Tommy had seen the telltale look of deception in your eye when you last met.

The thought still haunted you as you entered the ornate dining room of your favorite restaurant, Tommy waiting at a beautifully set table in front of the large windows, arguably the finest table available in the entire establishment.

"Good evening, darling," he welcomed you cordially, holding out the chair like the gentleman he'd always been in your company.

"Hello, Tom," you managed with a slight lump in your throat. Reaching for the cocktail glass waiting before you, you took a generous swig before looking up at him.

"Something wrong?" he asked, returning to his seat and placing his napkin on his lap with a flourish.

"No," you shook your head, managing a tight smile in return. "I'm so pleased you liked my suggestion."

"Whiskey sours, a beautiful woman sat at my table...what more could a man ask for, eh?" he hummed good naturedly.

You nodded in silent agreement, fingers brushing over the calligraphy on the menu before Tommy reached for your hand suddenly. You glanced about the room to see if anyone had noticed his display of affection, turning back to find his brow knit with concern at your obvious unease.

"Tonight is about us," he assured you with a light squeeze. "Just you and me."

You relaxed into his touch, mesmerized by the look of adoration in his eye. Allowing yourself to sit back and enjoy, you listened as Tommy ordered the most expensive items for both of you.

After the waiter left, you leaned forward to Tommy. "So extravagant, what's the occasion?" you asked innocently.

"I wanted this evening to be memorable," he smirked, eyes darting to a far corner.

Your gaze naturally followed, scanning the room for the person he sought. "Are you looking for someone?" you asked, aware of the rising quiver in your voice.

Ignoring your query, Tommy looked you over slowly. Cocking his eyebrow at you suspiciously, he observed, "I couldn't help but notice you chose your favorite restaurant at their busiest hour."

"What do you mean?" you muttered, feeling his thumb rub forcefully over the back of your hand.

Tommy offered a mirthless chuckle as he replied, "Were you afraid something might happen to you, my love?"

"I-I..." you stammered, attempting to pull your fingers from his punishing grasp.

He nodded to himself with conviction, eyes closing momentarily as though he relished the certainty. His opposite hand moved slowly and deliberately toward the silver teaspoon, taking it up with a flourish before tapping it sharply against his crystal water glass three times.

At that precise moment everyone in the room stopped talking, eating or otherwise making noise. A short, but eery silence passed before they rose in unison and filed toward the exit, faces expressionless as though they were in a trance.

As the last woman passed your table you attempted to grasp at her skirts, pleading, "Where are you going?"

Tommy's sapphire eyes sparkled in the candlelight as he observed the look of horror on your face. "Not what you were expecting?" he ventured. "Perhaps Angel Changretta does things differently, but I prefer privacy when dealing with delicate matters," he informed you cooly.

Eyes brimming with tears you willed yourself to remain calm despite your hammering heart. "Tommy, I can explain..."

He raised a hand to stop you from speaking, shaking his head lightly as a look of disappointment washed over him. "It's alright, darling. I want you to know I don't blame you," he uttered softly.

"It was a mistake, a moment of bad judgement," you rushed out in one great breath, hoping if you confessed now he would forgive your indiscretions. "There's only you, Tommy," you added, but the sentiment fell flat even to your own ears.

"I blame myself," he continued as though he hadn't heard a word you said. "It was my fondness for you that blinded me to your betrayal and what kept me from doing what needed to be done," he mused, ice blue eyes locking you into a cold stare.

You gulped as you watched every ounce of affection drain from his face, understanding now that tonight was not about love or forgiveness, but revenge.

Taking both your hands in his, he searched your face for the answer to an impossible question. "I can't let you go back to him and you can't remain here. So what am I to do with you?" he pondered.

You fought the urge to struggle beneath his vice like grip, tears streaming down your face as you appealed for mercy.

"Let me go," you pleaded. "Please, Tommy, if you ever loved me, you'll let me go." You felt your entire body begin to shake with involuntary tremors as you awaited his reply.

Miraculously, Tommy released your hands allowing you to flee. You stifled a sob as you wrenched your dress from under the table, lurching forward with a cloudy feeling consuming your mind.

It was then you realized your limbs were heavy as stones, legs uncooperative as you tried to run. The attempt left you doubled over in a choking fit, unable to draw even the slightest breath. Clutching at a nearby tablecloth when the dizziness worsened, you only succeeded in pulling the linen and tableware along with you. Falling to the floor in a heap, you watched helplessly as china and glass shattered in a million jagged shards all around you.

The crash was followed by an even more menacing sound, the methodical thump of Tommy's approaching footsteps. The glint from his shoes cruelly mocked you, a surge of sickness overtaking your form as he loomed above.

With unexpected tenderness, he leaned down to brush the hair from your ashen face. Thumb and forefinger stroking your jaw, he sighed heavily as he witnessed your agony. You swore you saw a hint of remorse flash in his eyes before he turned stone faced once again, but you could no longer trust your fading vision.

"No one touches my property," Tommy whispered harshly, fingers digging into your flesh for emphasis.

His breath felt hot against your face, but you were unable to turn away from him. However, it would have been useless to deny his claim. The despair of that thought consumed your mind just as your body went limp at his feet.

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[fullofwoe5321]

It's impressive how people continue insisting in label Tyler as a cold manipulative guy who never cared for Wednesday.

You guys really have to force this narrative! But with me, this is not gonna happen!

We have SCENES where he genuinely smiles alone after talking to her or something like that.

Oh but he said he liked killing... Have you ever watched the show? Have you ever realized he was possessed by the Hyde when he said that? Have you ever realized he was on the verge of crying after the revelation? We don't know the dimension of his corruption or his Hyde, but on the show it's said that the Hyde  becomes the willing instrument of whatever nefarious agenda this new master might propose.

OH let me save you some time, Wednesday was not furious because he killed some people (AND PLEASE, he didn't kill Eugene on purpose because he was Wednesday's friend) or he was the monster. She was furious because she was outsmarted and betrayed by Tyler. The only person she opened her black little heart and he was the one who stomped it. He was the monster under her nose and she underestimated him. That's why he humiliated her with that monologue in the police station. He knew she was very competitive and the only way to hurt her was bringing that fact in to her face. By the way, ABSOLUTE CINEMA! Praises to Hunter.

At the end, Wednesday understood very well what happened during the monologue about how Laurel manipulated and enslaved Tyler. And then we found out he was tortured, drugged, abused, groomed and corrupted in order to unlock the Hyde. So I fail to see him as the real villain.

Oh but he hated Wednesday and wanted to kill her! Excuse-me but Wednesday is not an angel: she almost killed 2 normies tossing piranhas in the pool, she said she would go further in the pranking against Xavier LOL she was about to hammer Tyler's knee if his father didn't interrupt her! And he possibly was ordered to kill any outcast before see her in the woods after Goody healed her.

Did Tyler hate her? You guys make me laugh! He hated her so much he wanted to kiss his nemesis! He hated so much he learned how to prepare that happy birthday coffee in one week! He hated her really bad that he prepared a date he knew she would like. What kind of hate is this? He saved at least 2 times as the monster and the first time was his free decision. He didn't know about her being an important key (!) to laurel´s plan.

I'm not saying here that he didn't manipulate her or lied to her. I know what he did. But he was forced to do those things! Do you really want to believe he wanted to lie for her? They really liked each other's company. It's not difficult to find the hints about how they are comfortable with each other. He loves her personality and she loves he likes her despite her personality! Isn't that obvious? They are not toxic as people keeping saying, but they were envolved in a toxic situation.

I'm really tired of people wishing Tyler's death on Twitter because they believe he is threat for Enid and the Wenclair ship. But let me save you more time because I'm genererous today: it's not gonna happen! Tyler is a main character. He is not gonna die. Wednesday has some sort of connection with him and we will find out what it is on S2. Besides that, the Hydes lore begins now. We have so much to learn and see! Let's wait.

That's it. Regards.

P.S.: I'm thinking about translating this text and transform into a thread on Twitter to bring more hate to my life from anti Tylers.

[justbelievinginmagic]

like a waltz⎯ part 3: emboîté.

pairing(s): ateez ot8 x fem!reader; this chapter is heavily woosan x reader with some reader x yeosang & reader x hongjoonnngggg. 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: Having a patron for the first time in your ballet career, you knew things would change but certainly not so fast. With your dues paid, extra change in your pocket, you are slowly pulled into Wooyoung and San's orbit - outside of the ballet opera house! 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 if i think itd be cool to include, this world has it earlier than irl), 3rd person POV, use of YN, mxm, polyteez, MATURE topics, allusions to sex work in ballet, allusions to exploitation in ballet, implied sexual themes, stalking, voyeurism kinda, guns, strong language, angst, fluff, flirting, suggestive topics, lies, manipulation, medical drugs, traumatic foot injury, unequal power dynamics, injuries, alcohol, smoking, lots of smooches, threatening situations, pain, reader discretion advised, +18 readers only. let me know if there are any more tags i should add. a/n: hi! another chapter im posting and running away from lol. it took so long to edit this chapter and i am so sleepy. this chapter had developed far from its timeline. im happy with the beats butttttt i had wanted to add in more yunho and jongho by this point but it was feeling a smidge rushed. next chapter will have some yunho for sure!! let me know what you thought!! word count: 15.9k previous chapter <- -> next chapter series masterlist

emboîté ; french pronunciation: [em·​boî·​té]; ‘fit together’

Things had changed after that night.

Not only were her ballet company fees paid each week with a check bearing the prettiest signature from San’s hand, but, soon after, Wooyoung had invited her out on an outing. As in, outside.

Outside of the ballet. Outside of work. Outside of being the role of patron and protégé.

“He asked you to go out of the ballet house?  Julia with the red hair queried with a cocked brow, uncertainty in her tone.

It made a flicker of worry cross over the YN’s face as she stretched, preparing for the triple show they had that day. But, that was short lived as one of the loudest gossipers known to man chimed in with a screech.

“You’re going on a date?!” Tiny exclaimed, sliding into the conversation in a dramatic splits.

Her eyes were lit up like spotlights, loving the new development for her favorite ballerina to bug. The young girl kicked her feet in excitement, the noise drawing the attention of the other ballerinas warming up – if they hadn’t already been drawn in by her screeching.

A date she had said.

No, no, no. Dates were for romance and this wasn’t … Was he seeking romance? He was her patron… or well, he and San were. In itself, that was odd according to the other proteges. Sharing a protégé… never ended well. Typically, it failed within a few days. Jealousy, envy, annoyance, lack of money. Usually, they have all of that as they leave the budding ballerina in the dust, without a penny.

But Wooyoung did flirt with her. Wooyoung hadn’t suggested being her patron, not really, even if he had visited for nearly a month and a half religiously. San had. Wooyoung did press the occasional kiss to her cheek. He did… like her, he had said so. But didn’t all patrons say that. Was it more? Could it even be more if she wanted it to be? Why did the idea of a date with him send butterflies fluttering in her stomach, icy hot excitement coursing through her veins. Giddy.

But, she’s seen each ballerina with a patron fall into this. The idea it was something more. Julia, Mina, Imara, Lali, even the current belladonna of the ballet – the prima ballerina – had once thought her patron was her love. And it had always been proven wrong.

“It’s an outing,” she insisted to the others. For her own heart.

“It’s a date!” the younger screeched again. “What are you wearing?” her hands slapped to the wood floor.

She hadn’t even thought of that! Oh gosh. What did she have that could even impress? She’d wear her pearls, of course. But what of her dress? What was the newest thing nowadays? Was it rouging your knees? Or the Gibson Girl hairdo? Was that out of style? Was she out of style once she was out of her scandalous costumes and caked on make-up? Most things YN had were upcycled from scraps, occasionally the old costume the costumier discarded, or her mother’s old dresses revitalized by embroidery. It wasn’t anything like the ladies of the upper class with their haute couture from far beyond here. She could doll a dress up with some flowers she supposed. 

“Don’t wear anything red!” another girl exclaimed, revealing herself to be listening in. “Red is bad luck.”

“No, its good luck,” one ballerina said aside.

“Wearing black will look like you’re mourning,” said another older girl while applying her rouge.

“But he always sees you in white, so don’t wear that,” chimed in another.

So, the entire ballet knew apparently about her date now and all of them were listening in and giving advice. Theirs words overlapped one another in conflicting, contrasting advice.

“Wear what you like,” Imara insisted from nearby. The long-featured ballerina offered a reassuring nod.

“Is this normal?” YN queried quietly towards her, although, it wasn’t for an attempt of privacy. Every girl was listening and watching her now with keen eyes.

The few girls with patrons glanced at one another, brows raised.

“I’ve never been invited out of the boudoir,” Julie said firmly, glancing aside as she leaned into a stretch. “And its not wise to be out and about with them.”

“Nor I,” Mina agreed.

“So, it’s…” YN trailed off with a furrowed brow. “Strange?”

“Kid,” Julie sighed out; her tone making YN feel like a child, begrudgingly and uncomfortably so. She hated not being trusted to make choices. Belittled. Underestimated.

“Everything about you and your new patrons is strange. Their appearance in town, them both sharing you… you.”

It felt backhanded; like she wasn’t anything special. It reminded her about how so many thought she wasn’t worthy simply because she was the eldest of the ensemble, simply because she hadn’t risen to starlet yet.

Yet now she had two patrons. No one had that. For once, she nipped that feeling of oddness, of nervousness, of embarrassed scrutiny about her relationship with Wooyoung and, now, San in the bud, and refused to let it bother her. She’d embrace it she said. She was special. She was special. This was special. Even if it wasn’t a date… It was just an outing. He hadn’t said date. It was an outing, she proclaimed. Not a date… an outing. Or was it a date? It drove her mad, her thoughts going in circles just like her own pirouettes on stage. Just like her stomach when he touched her oh so sweetly.

He wanted to see her more though… that’s all that matter, right?

-

San and Wooyoung were attached at the hip when they were in the boudoir. They walked through the Opera House like they owned the place. And while their movements weren’t in sync, they flowed into one another easily like they could read one another’s minds. Wooyoung would flitter this way and that around San, talking about anything, but San would redirect him, hands on his shoulders or lithe waist, and smile in agreement.

As they approached her in the boudoir, she heard the very-end of their conversation.

“I swear, if it were you, it’d be done like that,” Wooyoung encouraged as he snapped his fingers in emphasis.

“Wooyo,” he hummed low, smiling at him fondly. Dimples pierced his cheeks. His arm swept over the other’s shoulders, squeezing him close. “I’m done with all that. Captain’s orders.” It was a firm reminder. Steady.

“Captain’s orders,” Wooyoung mimicked back, sneering a bit. “Captain is keeping his best fighter ou-“ his words trailed off as his sights were set on his ballerina. No longer in her tutu but in her ordinary clothes. “Swanette! You’re already in your dresses.”

“Disappointed?” she teased and flirted.

She had hurried tonight – hoping to finish wiggling out of her costume before their arrival. San swinging by the bar to grab his customary drink had given her a smidge more time. Her body ached more than ever. Her legs felt crackly and pained. Her head pounded with worry. It’d been a long day and, with the ever-present chill in the boudoir, she worried she was getting sick. And she couldn’t get sick… ever.

Wooyoung insisted on her to spin, gesturing in reverence, as if she was still dressed up in dripping fake jewels. Her day-dress was a simple frock – a dark black drop skirt with embroidered berries at the hem. Her hair was still in it’s too tight bun, but she had grown used to it now after two shows. It didn’t help her headache she was sure but, alas, she did what she could in the time she had.

She spun in a gentle circle, only to easily get swept into Wooyoung’s arms.

“Gorgeous as always,” Wooyoung whispered, his cheek pressed against hers almost like a cat nuzzling their owner to claim possession of them. His warmed cheek squished and nuzzled, hot minty breath wafting over her.

“And disappointed? Never, because we can steal you away for the rest of the night now,” he hummed into her ear before pressing a quick peck to her temple, nearly catching the corner of her eye. She shivered in surprise. Kisses were still new and sent her heart racing and body trembling.

He pulled back, hands rubbing up and down her goosefleshed arms. “Chilly, baby?”

Baby! Her eyes widened in surprise. If only he knew! San laughed nearby, drawing her eyes.

“Hel-Hello, San,” she greeted, flushed and smiling.

San nodded, smiling so sweet that his dimples remained on display. They looked like cat whiskers in the golden gas-light of the boudoir.

“Hello, honey. Beautiful performance… You tired?” he drawled out.

San always asked these questions since his arrival in the boudoir. He was utterly observant. He was caring and kind and all things sweet despite his looming almost dangerous aura. It made her feel safe as Wooyoung shifted her this way and that, half dragging her along to a nearby settee. San followed along, hands reaching into his pockets to pull out and light a cigarette. The flame of his custom lighter illuminated his face for a brief moment before he pulled the cigarette away, eyes shut as he inhaled deeply.

His brows furrowed; his face statuesque. Beautiful. He was so beautiful. Her heart thrummed as she felt Wooyoung’s chin rest on her shoulder, bringing her back to her body.

“I’m okay,” she replied, voice forcibly light. She was tired; he had hit it on the nail. But, the other ballerinas warned against telling their patron that. Any truth about exhaustion, sickness, health. Tired ballerinas get hurt. Hurt ballerinas are a waste of money.

Blowing smoke out aside, he watched her carefully as Wooyoung plopped down, dragging her down to sit beside him. He took another puff of his cigarette.

“Honest?” he pressed once more, smoke billowing from his mouth.

She didn’t answer him, but instead pressed hand to the spot next to her.

“Join me?” she asked as he stood hovering above them, almost protectively shielding them from view.

Wooyoung watched their interaction with intrigue. He knew his San. He knew how strategic he was – in different ways from the rest of his ‘brothers.’ San’s gaze was a force of nature, his form accompanying it as he leaned over them ‘til he and she were eye and eye. Slow and steady. He did not sit yet. He pulled the cigarette from his lips. YN flinched gently, preparing for him to blow his smoke in her face. Some boys got a laugh out of that, rude and crass. But the smoke seeped from his nose like a dragon, slow and controlled, as he kept eye contact with her sincerely, if not a bit intense.

“YN. Honesty, please.” San encouraged. “If I’m asking, I am interested.”

Wooyoung squeezed her waist. “Sannie doesn’t pull punches; he likes no nonsense. He’s…soft like that.”

It was a tease.

“I’m not soft,” he retorted to Wooyoung, smile returning, before his gaze settled back on YN. “I care.” He emphasized.

Her lips pressed together, glancing about the boudoir. The other girls had warned her not to. Everything – even in the boudoir – was a show, just as much as the ballet was a show. But here he stood, staring with soft brown eyes. Gentle yet burning brown eyes.

He says he cares.

When had she and her patrons followed the unspoken rules anyways.

“I’m a bit tired; my--,” she admitted, quietly before glancing aside. “The cold doesn’t help the joints.”

His eyes warmed, pleased, as he ground out his cigarette into the polished wood floors without a care in the world before he sat, sandwiching her in-between him and Wooyoung. Closer than he had ever been. He was so warm like a furnace.

“Our girl is so cold,” San frowned. “We can’t have that.”

Her cool skin worried him, and he joined Wooyoung in warming her up with soft touches and a close embrace. Her cheeks were a rubied red at their shared attention. Wooyoung and San’s eyes locked above her head. Wooyoung had a flare of surprise in them before he smirked.

“I don’t know,” Wooyoung jested, glancing at her rosy cheek. His finger rose to stroke it delicately. “She looks warm to me.”

Her cheeks warmed ever more and she hid into the one she was more comfortable with after weeks of meetings. Her face pressed into Wooyoung’s expensive suit that smelt of a tangy-woodsy mix of Wooyoung and San’s colognes intertwined. San grinned at her actions. He liked her blush. Like how she let them make her blush so helplessly.  

“We’ll just have to warm you up, honey.”

While the rest of the night was full of fleeting touches, they maintained one truth: respect. San was careful with her, always meeting her gaze before touching over her arms, her waist. Wooyoung was more lax, pressing kisses to her cheek every so often; each one sent her stomach into a whirl, and heat burned at her face.

They certainly warmed her up.

-

Walking home was always a cautious event. Performances took hours and, after entertaining San and Wooyoung in the boudoir, it was late into the evening. Even if they encouraged her to leave earlier than usual, it was deep into nightfall.

In the chill of winter, the walk felt longer. Previously, on some nights, Wooyoung would insist on taking her home, but, once San joined him in attending the shows, it seemed they left together most times. She wondered if they had an automobile… or did they take a carriage? She imagined a car. Something sleek and metallic. Leather interiors with that new polished smell.

And warm.

Her body trembled as she continued her path, hugging her old coat closer to her body. She was hyperaware, glancing this way and that as she exited the prettied town-center with their big banks, busied offices, shiny nickelodeons, and grand opera house. Her side of town was less glamourous with its stacked upon stacked apartment buildings, looming factories suffocating the last remaining cozy homesteads, and broken cobblestone streets. The scent of smoke and smog and gasoline overpowered the light aroma of winter breaking through the city of Cromer.

While the town center quieted in the evening, the streets around home never did. There were folks walking to and from work; some went to the mines or docks for early shifts; others were crawling out of darkening bars with the reek of alcohol on their mouths. Alley-ways shifted with figures and shadows. It wasn’t unusual.

So, she had to be aware as she wandered between flame-lit lamp lights and crossed busied streets. When there was a commotion that sounded frightening, she’d jump and quicken her steps. But, even she eventually grew lazy, grew comfortable, as she saw her apartment front. Quaint despite its chipping paint and old bricks.

A wrought-iron fence kept the small shared garden of the multistoried complex private; the dirt was barren with the chill of winter inching in and less time from the occupants of the apartment to spare with their new jobs in factories. Not many were able to work from home, like her mother had once done with her mending business. Still, it was weeded and prepped from spring when it did come.

The newest edition was the mismatched, criss-crossing collection of wires and cords that decorated the exterior of the building. Trailing in and out of each apartment’s windows and down its façade in a haphazard mess. With those ugly wires came electricity. Electricity, that admittedly was a new cost that was difficult to find the coin for and was often unusable from blown fuses across the crowded streets. But, seeing her bedroom window lit with an electric lamp, warm and waiting, made her sigh out in relief. Home. Comfort. Warmth.

Distracted, she never noticed the tall figure trailing her. Not close, no, he was far from her, but he was watching her. A sparkle in his grin grew as he saw her own smile light up at the sight of her house.

Cute.

Finding a home with the shadows, he tucked his hands into his pockets, hiding his expensive rings and Rolex watch from view as he leaned against the brickwork and kept his dark gaze on her. Watching her closely. He watched as she unlocked her front door and shut it tight behind her. He watched as the movements of her cast shadows of her feminine form against the curtained windows of what was her living room, her kitchen. Lights one by one flickered off as she climbed the interior of the flat to her room. He waited. Watching.

He stayed until he saw her dark silhouette, one that matched his in the shadows, reach her bedroom, taking off her coat, her dress. He watched her undo her hair, one pin at a time. Eyes looking up and down her illuminated skin whenever she got too close to the window. Drinking her in like a fine whiskey. Until the curtains were drawn tight, and her electric light extinguished.

She was safe at home, only then, he proclaimed as he crept towards the docks of Cromer.

-

Wooyoung hadn’t come to the ballet that night, the day before their ‘outing’, their ‘date’, their whatever you’d call it. And at first, it sent a zing of fear. It reminded her of the weeks without contact. But, when she entered the boudoir, she saw the little letter resting on the vanity. Waiting for her patiently.

Wooyoung’s handwriting wasn’t as neat or as pretty as San’s. It was clunky, a mixture of uppercase and lowercase. Nothing like a typical upper-class man’s hand. But it was his. In his way, he reassured her that he’d be there on her doorstep, tomorrow afternoon at golden hour, 5:30 pm sharp, to pick her up for their adventure. Wait in anticipation to see him once more, he had written. She swore there was even a spritz of his cologne; the paper seemed to ache of him.

Cocky. Ever so Wooyoung.

San had come to watch her regardless, watching attentively from Box Number 8. She liked sneaking peeks at him during the performance. Like Wooyoung, his gaze rarely left her form, but his eyes were different. It was an admirable look. Wooyoung was entertained by her she knew that. But San… she wasn’t sure what was different, but it was.

That night after the show, he came to the boudoir and, rather than approach her with boldness in his step, he sat upon a settee – a pristine gift box sat beside him. And waited. It was a startling difference to Wooyoung’s eagerness. And at first, YN’d scurry to him, but he simply smiled up at her, almost cat-like with his eyes shutting in content.

“Take your time, honey.” He encouraged. “I’m not going anywhere.”

A small yet somehow powerful hand encouraged her to turn on herself, almost doing a small pirouette with him pulling her strings, and was urged to go back to the vanity across the boudoir with a gentle pat on her lower back. Uncertain eyes jittered towards him; pouty lips licked in confusion. A ‘but’ was about to tumble out of her lips when he let out a soft rumble. His hands urged her again like a mama bird nudging a birdling out of its nest.

“Go; it’s late and chilly,” he cooed out, soft and slow. “Get dressed into your skirts, get comfortable – then we can talk, honey.”

Honey. That was what he was like. Slow, tantalizing, sweet. Comforting like a drizzle of honey in your tea. There was a patience in him that Wooyoung didn’t have. He was okay with waiting.

YN was still unfamiliar with his behavior, so used to Wooyoung’s familiarity to balance her and guide her with San. Back at the shared vanity, the other ballerinas looked between her and her patron. A touch judging, a lot confused. Still, she obeyed him. Her dress was shrugged off to reveal her bared shoulders and cinched corseted waist for only a moment as she tugged on her dark skirts and matching blouse. Her makeup was thick and cakey from sweat and reapplication but, with no running water in the boudoir unlike the private dressing rooms, she was forced to keep it on or risk smearing it about unattractively. If she was alone, she’d attempt it, but her eyes flashed to see San once more through the mirrors. Waiting. Her head ached with the pricks of a million-and-one hair pins. Her fingers prodded at them, scratching satisfyingly, but she didn’t let her hair down. It’d take too long. He was waiting.

Waiting.

That wasn’t normal.

Her eyes kept glancing into the looking glass, in any of the mirrors that framed the entire boudoir in. Everywhere she looked he was there. Tapping his glass with his finger, licking his delicious looking lips. At every turn, as she returned her costume and as she slipped her pointe shoes off and replaced them with sensible heels, she was always looking to see if San was still there. And he was.

Lounging back, broad-shoulder and broad-chest, making the settee look smaller with his large muscular form. His eyes shut as he swirled his drink in a crystalline tumbler. He hadn’t left. Was he bored? Was he going to leave if she wasn’t quick enough? Why was he so odd compared to the other patrons who were all up on their protégés as soon as the performance was done?

In the mirror, she could see Julia in the arms of her Lord, still dressed in her costume. Mina’s was buried in the side of her neck, leaving whispers and hickeys, as she tried to wriggle out of her outfit. Some new patrons, young men with some money to burn, were talking to the youngers. All the men were occupied. Except for hers.

But San still sat, waiting patiently.

He was going to leave, he had to, he had to. The men would get frustrated. Why wasn’t San? She sped up, buttoning her blouse up and tying the ribbon in a bow on her front as she walked his way. A smile painted on her face.

“Two minutes, and 8 seconds,” San recounted, his head tilted back unmoving, as she came to stand in front of him once more.

Her chin shifted a mimicry of defiance as she swallowed. San sighed out through his nose as he shifted up. Feline eyes opened to meet hers with their burning warm. Like embers in a fireplace. Was he angry? Should she had stayed? Been faster?

“Honey.” He cooed the sweet nickname for her once more with warm affection. His hand reached out for hers, pausing until she shifted her hand to rest into his gloved one. A thumb rushed over the back of her hand soothingly. “When I say take your time, I mean it.” He raised her hand up and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“Did you enjoy the show?” she said in divergence. He steadied her with a gentle gaze. He squeezed her hand again.

“I mean it, YN,” he insisted seriously. “And yes, I did. You did beautifully.”

She nodded softly. His hand tugged her closer with a questioning brow, his other hand shifting to make sure her skirts didn’t tangle as she sat beside him.

“I’ll take it slower next time.” She promised as she crossed her legs.

“Good girl.” He praised.

His words sent a zing through her.

“How was your day?” she asked.

“Better now that I’m with you.” He flirted.

“You and Woo have the same flirts,” she teased.

His eyes crinkled. “Well, we both flirt with one another often.” He admitted.

Her cheeks flushed at his comment – did it mean what she thought? They were awfully close for best friends. “Where is Woo?” she asked.

“Sad to see just me?” he prompted.

She shook her head quickly. “I’m happy to see you. Just wondering where or what he could be off doing.”

He smirked, adjusting how he sat to wrap an arm around her waist. “You looking forward to your date?” he teased.

Date. He said date. It was a date! When was the last time she went on a date? Her stomach danced with butterflies. San’s smile grew, cat-like, as if he could feel the excitement bounce around in her bones.

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Good. He’s excited, too.” San reassured, thumb going up and down her waist. “Would you like to go on a date with me too, honey?”

Her ears burned at the thought of two men sharing her, but she nodded softly. Because she did want. She wanted San and Wooyoung. San was intriguing and kind and attractive. Different to Wooyoung but not better or worser. Her shame burned her ears just as red as her blushing bashfulness.

He grinned wider.

“What would we do?” It was strange to be asked these things as if her time wasn’t one he paid for, as if she wasn’t going on a date with his best friend tomorrow.

Still, she replied.

“I’d want to get to know you more,” she said truthfully.

He was interesting but she knew so little of him. He leaned forward, a different sort of magnetic energy pulled her closer.

“Ask me, honey.” He urged. His dark eyes met hers. He pulled her a smidge closer. “I’ll answer most anything.”

So, she did. 

She asked about his favorites, things that she had learned at first about Wooyoung. Safe things, easy things. He liked purple. He liked cats. He favored sweets over savory things. He liked the seaside. He said he’d take her to a pier when it warmed up. He favored dancing over singing. Eventually, she asked:

“What’s in the gift box?” She eyed the box beside his feet.

San grinned. “It’s from our Wooyo – and me.”

Our. Our. Our. He liked saying that, she noticed. His hands left her form to hoist it up, onto her lap. It was heavy.

“Is it for tomorrow?” she asked tentatively. One of the ballerinas said their patron liked getting things for them to wear.

“Open it and see,” he encouraged instead of answering.

So, she did. And inside was the most soft, warmest dark jacket she had ever seen. It was fluffy and furry on the inside. It looked like it was made of the darkest midnight black fabric she had ever seen, a soft metallic shine to it. There was no tag or name brand. Was this custom made to her?

It was large, but not oversized. It smelled of warm pineapple, something sweet like jasmine flowers, a musky woodsy oak, and a hint of sea-salt.

“Oh, San, it’s beautiful,” she cooed.

“And warm,” he said with a chuckle. “Let me help you.”

He stood, offering his hand like a gentleman to her, before sliding the dark coat over her shoulders. He fixed her hair delicately.

“Beautiful; fits you like a glove.” He hummed appreciatively, fixing the top button so it was snug. “Perfect for cold nights walking home.”

That night she walked home warmer than ever with a tropical scent engulfing her. But it was also the first night she had felt frightened in a long time.

There was fighting in the streets. Figures punching and spitting and yelling. No, the city had never been perfect. There were rougher parts and her side of town was certainly not protected from turf wars between adolescents and old families claiming land.

She was used to walking fast and not looking down alleys in case there were things she shouldn’t be seeing. But it felt different today. She was used to punks fighting between themselves. That was normal, but today they were all frightened it sounded. The group all cowering and whispering and biting out words, scared.

“Please, please, I promise – I’ll--!”  

YN was in the wrong place, wrong time, she knew it deep in her stomach as she peered around a corner only to see a tall figure pressing a gun against another’s jaw. Shadows cast over him, hiding their face from view, but when she heard the shadowed figure asking ‘where the fuck his money was’, she quickly looked away and scurried away. Unknowing, that there was a shadow figure of her own trailing after her, glancing down the alley way at the scene for a moment too long.

The equally tall figures’ gazes rose and locked for a moment. One with his ringed fingers holding a lit cigarette, the other with his ringed fingers gripping the gang member’s hair harshly. The man on his knees whimpered, pleading for help as the barrel of the gun pressed deeper into his temple. Her shadow man glanced nonchalantly at the crying man before looking back at his captor. A glitter of a smirk shined as the man with the cigarette raised his fingers to his head in a casual lazy salute. The captor snorted out a low rumble of a laugh before her shadow-figure left the alley.

“No, no, please help, please!” He didn’t listen; his sights were back on his doll. His long legs allowed him to catch up easily, always keeping her in his sights once more. He abandoned his cigarette once he came to a stop in his familiar alley-way. A polished boot crushed down on the cigarette butt as he fixed his rings casually, tracing over one in particular.

He watched as she entered her home and locked the door with a click. He watched until he saw her in her window once more, like he had most nights now. But there was one difference. She, in her sweet little nightdress with her hair pooling around her so temptingly, came into view of her window. He pushed back into the shadows, dark eyes drinking in her figure. How did San and Wooyoung control themselves around her? He wasn’t sure.

Looking out onto the dark, foggy streets of Cromer, she swallowed nervously. YN hoped she hadn’t been spotted as she entered her home. She closed the curtains with a swish as if they’d protect her. Stretching her limbs this way and that in nervousness, she tried to push those images of violence from her mind and keep her mind focused on something better.

Tomorrow. Her date.

-

It was Friday, a rare day off for the opera house. And the day of her and Wooyoung’s date. Date, date, date! It was all she could think of since her eyes flickered open. Last night’s fearful encounter nothing but a nightmare compared to the excitement buzzing through her.

“Do you think he’ll bring flowers?” she asked her mother as she dusted herself with powder.

“He should,” her curt-mouthed mother chimed. “It’s only proper.”

“Oh, I hope so!”

She had been dolling up for most of the day (after aiding her mother in some sewing assignments for the factory; they gave her way too much to handle YN thought…). First, she had a scalding hot bath where she splurged and used a long-saved gifted bottle of floral body oil. Her hair was washed and dried by the fireplace. Her closet was a proper mess as she chose between this dress and that. She debated going to get fresh flowers from market to help spruce up her old linens, but, after counting her coins, she realized she didn’t have enough to spare. Her pearls would have to make due.

Her new jacket from WooSan rested on the sofa beside her.  It still smelt of that strange cologne, not San’s nor Wooyoung’s. She wouldn’t need it today. Luckily, there was no snow outside. She’d know after all. She kept peering out her windows, waiting, waiting, waiting. When sunset began to peak over the buildings, she held her breath. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

She was oddly excited. She hadn’t expected the genuine excitement. Would he be romantic and bring a bushel of flowers? Or would he see this as nothing? Where would he take her? The park-side, a restaurant… what if he was joking, what if he didn’t show?

No, no. San knew she was excited. Wooyoung was excited, too.

When she heard the knock at the door, she jumped from her spot on the sofa, abandoning the book she was barely reading.

“Coming,” she called as she crossed the small living room to open the door, the locks clinking and clattering as she did so.

Wooyoung’s outfit was more casual than she had seen at the opera house, but he still reeked of expensive fabric and his heavenly cologne. Dark linens and his hair slicked back attractively; he smiled at her with a boyish expression. The same one she remembered him flashing the day they met. Somehow it did more to her heart now than then. Perhaps, because this one felt genuine. This one felt like a boy she had met and was trying to win her heart, jittering with nerves. His hand went to fix his perfect hair and she smiled a megawatt smile.

And while this wasn’t the first time he’d seen her bare-faced, hair-down, in her drop-waisted day-dress, he stared at her like it was. The pale sky-blue dress complimented her faintly rouged knees and white silk stockings. Her hair rested in carefully done wave-curls – her mother had sat with a red-hot curling iron helping form the curls one by one into pretty sections.

“Hi,” she greeted.

“Hello, my beautiful swanette,” he breathed, enamored. He reached for her hand to press a gentle kiss to her gloved knuckles. Gentlemanly. Her heart swirled like it was a record in a player, swooning for him ever more. It felt like a romance novel; it felt like a dream.

“Hi,” she said again, sweetly.

He smiled against her knuckles, eyes flashing to meet hers with a Wooyoung-coyness.

“This is him?” she heard her mother crow from behind her.

YN’s shoulders jumped a bit. She hadn’t thought her mother would want to meet him. Despite her help with preparing, her mother was oddish. A mixed case of approving and disapproving. She liked that her daughter danced but didn’t like that she didn’t work. She liked that she was going on a date but didn’t like it was with a man from the boudoir. She didn’t quite approve of the boudoir’s politics, but she knew he was paying for her fees now. It made her worry.

Wooyoung’s grin only grew as he peered over YN’s shoulder.

“Hello ma’am,” he greeted politely, bowing his head. He kept a hold of YN’s hand, guiding her a step hi way to face her mother with him.

Her mother, firm-faced, glared at him before diverting her eyes to the bashful looking YN.

“You take care of my YN?” she queried, crossing her arms.

“I do,” he said easily. “I think she’s wonderful. Talented, too.”

She made a hmph noise in the back of her throat, glancing between the pair again.

“Be safe,” she pressed with a hand pushing YN forward. “Be smart.”

“I’ll take good care of her,” Wooyoung promised as he squeezed YN’s hand in his and pulled her towards him fully. His hand swept her arm into his properly as he offered a smile to her mother once more as the door closed.

There were no flowers she noted, not even a single rose, and she couldn’t help the buzz of disappointment from fizzing over her. Still, the smell of him and the excitement she had brewing with her kept her optimistic.

“Let’s go, my swanette,” he beamed, patting her arm linked with his as he led the way.

“What are we doing, Woo?” she asked, and her excitement made him beam.

 “It’s a surprise,” he teased before stealing a kiss on her cheek.

He took her to a cinema, a nickelodeon where they looked at the moving pictures from viewing boxes. It was mostly excuses to huddle close together and giggle at the provocative films. One even featured a couple kissing on a train scandalously – he quickly tried to mimic it, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Scandalous for the public eye but sweet for her heart. He loved to hear her giggles ring out. 

As they sat in the darkened theatre of the cinema, the black-and-white film jittering as the projector rattled along. A live band played a lively tune, a made-up soundtrack to the film. Still, he held her hand and kept whispering in her ear. Sweet things, compliments, comments about the film. He was talkative even in the fairly-full theatre. He didn’t mind the curious glances or the whispers. In fact, it was like YN was the only thing in the world for Wooyoung. Everything else was secondary. The film barely held his attention; only she did.

“Woo, are you even watching?” she whispered to him, giggling undertoning her words.

He grinned at her, leering down at her as he fussed with her pretty hair. “I’m watching you.”

She smiled glancing aside, her gaze leaving the film about a train. So many things in film were about trains apparently.

“Pretty,” he chimed, tucking a curl around her ear.  His hand cupped her jaw and redirected her gaze. “Thank you for coming with me.”

Wooyoung was intense in everything he did. But it was a pleasant intensity. Like gravity. The magnetic pull between him and her felt natural. Like she was his Earth and he was her moon.

He leaned close til their noses brushed, til they shared the same hot breath.

“It’s fun,” she whispered to him. “Being with you.”

He smiled and leaned ever closer. 

“I like being with you. I like you, YN.”

Their mouths locked for the first time beneath the loud clink-clanking of a projector of the cinema, highlighted by its glow.

It wasn’t anything hot and heavy, but she could taste him on her mouth for the first time, breathe him in so close. His hand cupped her cheek, pulling her ever close like he could devour her. He wished he could. He wished he could lick into her mouth, pull her over his lap, muss her hair and make her lips flush as red as the lipstick she wore at the ballet.

But Wooyoung knew it wasn’t the time yet.

Still, each press of his lips to hers felt addicting to her and made her body hotter than the projector’s lamplight.

-

“Extra, extra!” A newsie cried as she passed him on the streets; his voice piercing her ear with its loudness. “Man shot dead after sports match – conflict uncertain! Suspect jailed.”

“Who’s the suspect?” a woman with a much too large hat babbled at the boy.

“Buy one and see, Miss!” he encouraged.

Such a good salesman, YN snickered as she passed by. She wondered if maybe one of the girls at the ballet would buy an edition. A man killed at a sports match… must’ve been a rich man if it was being reported about. She wondered what happened. A bet gone wrong perhaps?

A breeze made her shiver and pick up her pace towards the opera house.

-

There was a large bushel of flowers on her vanity the next performance. Wooyoung’s handwriting graced the letter.

‘Thanks for the date, beautiful swanette. See you later.’

She nearly melted. How did he know she had wanted flowers? It was fate, romance, everything. He was such a gentleman.

He and her were different. San, her, and him.

Yes, she felt it.

-

Wooyoung and San were interesting when they were in the boudoir together. They had their own magnetic energy that couldn’t be denied. They were close. Closer than normal men. But when it came to her, it felt like their interest on her was equal. A shared obsession – their eyes would lock onto her and never falter once in the boudoir (unless it was to give one another knowing looks.)

She was looking forward to their visits. Some of the girls asked if the date led to more, but it hadn’t. Wooyoung was the perfect gentleman. San was the perfect patron, paying her fees for the pair of them. For the first time, she had money to spare in her pockets. More days trickled by and each visit brought her closer and closer to them. Nights of whispers about the city, the gossip Wooyoung loved to hear about, about her, and shared embraces that left her buzzing.

She’d dreamt about them a few times. San’s touches became more teasing, daring as he kept his bespectacled gaze locked on her as his hand grazed over her waist. Right after Wooyoung pressed a kiss to her. Burning eyes, burning hands. Her dreams were wild that night.

-

Box #8 was full once more. It had Wooyoung and San in clear view, but it was harder to spot the others. When she could, it was only blurred visage. A strong nose peaking from beneath opera glasses. Sparkling rings on someone’s hands. A gleam of a smile.

At intermission, it was just Wooyoung and San; walking side-by-side as San whispered something, a grin forming on Wooyoung’s face. Wooyoung was mid-reply when he approached her.

“I said it should be something less known, so it’d be—” 

“Hello, you two,” she greeted, her skirt a full thing of feathers for the next act.

“Swanette,” Wooyoung lit up, easily swooping her into an embrace per usual. Except now, he pressed a kiss to her lips, sweetly.

“Wooyoung!” Her surprised cry of his name came out muffled against his lips.

He giggled before turning so they faced San. “Sannie, I think we should go out all together.” He argued.

“Soon,” he agreed before he greeted her. “Hello, honey.”

“Who’s with you tonight?” she couldn’t help but ask.

Wooyoung chuckled lowly, swaying her this way and that.

“I told you she’d ask,” he hummed. “She’s a jealous vixen.”

He buried himself in her neck and she let out a giggle knowing he was simply teasing her. Teeth grazed over her neck, and she jolted in his arms, shrieking quietly. Her hands raised to her mouth.

“She’s not; she’s inquisitive.” San corrected, watching the display with a pleased expression.

“Curious about a lot of things,” Wooyoung whispered tauntingly. As if he knew her brain. Her cheeks flushed red.

A low rumble of twin laughter mingled in the air as San stepped towards the pair in embrace.

“They’re our friends,” San countered. “Yeosangie wanted to visit you, but he has a match tomorrow. He insists on practicing the night before. He could only stay so long for the performance.”

“And the others?” she asked, curiosity lingering on her face.

San’s gaze flickered to Wooyoung’s for a long moment. Wooyoung nodded. “Seonghwa is in attendance. He won’t be able to visit. He sends his warmest regards.”

“Which one was he?” she queried, brow pursing.

“On my left,” Wooyoung commented. “Yeosang and San are like two peas in a pod around one another. Can’t unglue them from each other”

He hushed Wooyoung’s comment by coming close and squeezing his best friend’s neck and crowding her in pleasantly. There was a faint smell of coffee and vanilla… and popped champagne.

“He’s jealous,” San teased. “He likes attention almost as much as you do, hm?”

Her cheeks flushed and San smirked. Sighing out, he wrapped a hand tentatively around her waist, squeezing reassuringly.

 “They’ll visit soon, I’m sure. They’re busy is all.”

Wooyoung pressed a kiss to her temple and she swore she saw San inch forward to do the same before he stopped himself.

-

“Imara?” she asked during practice between plie-ing on the barre and stretching their legs.

“Yes?” the other girl replied, offering a smile.

Ever since she’d gained patrons, she had noticed a change. A nicer tone towards her. Not quite respect but something more. It was strange. Still, YN smiled and continued her question.

“Do you know of a Seonghwa in society?” she asked.

Despite all their shared experience with the upper-class, some were more aware than others. Most ballerinas acted on the edge of the rich, floating like asteroids in their orbit. Some were comets, pretty to watch for a moment but a fleeting fancy. The only ones with more insight, a more hands-on experience with the rich were those with a patron. Proteges particularly were informed about high-society, usually due to the drunken rambles of their patrons.

Imara paused, leaning further into her stretch. “Last name?” she prompted.

“Kim? Or-or Jung?”

YN had yet to find out why Wooyoung had given her a false name… or how the newspaper had a false name.There was a low hum as the woman shifted this way and that.

“No to both… but-“, she clicked her tongue. “I’ve heard of a Park Seonghwa from Dohyunnie—I mean Mr. Kim.”

“Oh, what have you heard?” YN queried; intrigue piqued.

“Nothing that amazing,” Imara snorted. “Just that he was doing business with him. Dohyun sounded frustrated though. But he’s frustrated most days now.” Her face fell into something of concern, of care. One might even say love.

Park Seonghwa? Hm…

-

“Hey, honey.”

San was waiting for her outside of the Opera House back against the wrought-iron street lamp. Snow dotted his perfectly coifed locks like it was salt-and-pepper hair - a sneak peek of what was to come down the line for him. It made her think of things too domestic and too fantastical for a dancer. Waking up to him, children running between their legs. Home. Love. Family. Things that were too taboo to think about considering their relationship.

Her dancer friends were always quick to remind her that he was paying for her.

But now, on a non-show day, she was surprised to see him waiting outside for her. Rehearsals weren’t too long or intensive, especially once they were performing a show for as long as they had been, but still YN wondered how long he had been waiting.

“San!” she exclaimed, padding up to him with a grin. “How long have you been out here?”

Her hand went to wipe at the accumulation of snow on his coat. He smiled at her fondly.

“Not long,” he reassured.

“You’re covered in snow,” her voice relented, pouting at him. “If I’m to be honest, shouldn’t you be?”

She teased him easily and he grinned, almost a side-smirk as he fixed her, their, coat to make sure it was buttoned up all the way.

“I guess so. That’s how these things work, hm?” he teased back.

“What things?” YN couldn’t help but clarify.

“Relationships.” He replied back. “Right?”

It made her heart flutter like a hummingbird’s wings. Relationship. That meant… not just a business relationship, right? But what of Wooyoung? Did he know? Was this alright? Her stomach bubbled with nervousness, worries but also a wave of excitement.

San had always been straightforward, so the fact he danced around the topic made her nerves only grow. But… she wanted it. She wanted him. Guilt and intrigue and want clashed in a whirl. Like snow tumbling in the air.

“Right,” she replied, her voice soft. There was a gentle tremor of excitement, nervousness, anticipation.

His fingers that had just made up her coat’s buttons shifted to tuck hair behind her ear. She didn’t flinch at his icy touch. “And in relationships, they can… kiss,” he stated, warm fingers trailing up her neck to cup her jaw.

It was then she realized his face was blushed not from the cold, but bashfulness. Shyness. Him – shy! It baffled her, but the more she was around him, the more she learned how soft he was. Like Wooyoung had warned. He was soft and caring and gentle. Loving.

San leaned in closer, head ducking and shadowing her from the flame-lit lamp light. His breath was visible in the chill, fanning over her face in a whirl of warm mint and medicinal rosemary.

“They do,” she replied equally gentle at his touch.

He cupped her cheeks, his hand surprisingly small and yet she felt so sturdily safe in them.

“May I?” he asked, eyes meeting hers.

She nodded, a quiet noise of agreement breathed out as he got closer and closer.

Their kiss was something slow, not like Wooyoung’s and hers. Hot and eager beneath the equally warm projector a cinema. San’s kiss was slow like he had all the time in the world. It was cold out in the snow, but the icy chill felt nice mixed with his hot breath fanning over their locked lips.

They kissed for far too long beneath that lamplight, a figure across the streets watching on as he always did.

-

She barely slept a wink that night. Her worries about her and Wooyoung and her and San… and honestly San and Wooyoung! Was she wrong for kissing San? He had seen Wooyoung press kisses to her cheeks. They both had manhandled her and stroked her and tickled her. They had been closer in some ways than a simple kiss already. Her body was comfortable with them; she liked their attention, their warmth, their presences.

Oh gosh, what if this ruined everything?

But, they – San and Wooyoung - had to talk? San didn’t seem like someone who would go behind his best friend’s back. And Wooyoung had never objected to San’s careful gaze and wandering hands. Wooyoung could never keep his mouth shut either! She tossed and turned in her bed, obsessing and worrying, until she simply stood and switched on her lamp.

Her shadow, watching from the alley way with a lit cigarette in between his teeth, twitched. What was she doing awake? She’d be exhausted. He frowned. The shadow of her form paced this way and that in the dark of night. Worrisome.

And he worried for her. He worried for his doll, biting at his plump lips, chewing on them before bringing his cigar back to his lips.

-

In front of the grand Cromer Opera House, a newsie cried out. “Disappearance by the docks! Four workers never check out of their shift! Details are shocking!”

“How shocking, kid?” one of the ballerinas countered as they approached the building, arms crossed.

“Extremely so, Miss.” He exclaimed.

“You said that last time and there was barely anything added to the story!” cried out the ballerina beside YN, her arm interlaced with hers. “Just a stupid name that we didn’t even know – some Yunho fellow!”

“I don’t make the stories; I just sell them,” he argued, hands raising.

“Sell them that’s for sure,” she huffed. “Not today, Jack. You aren’t getting any of my coins.”

It almost made YN laugh if only the content the boy had cried out about wasn’t so alarming. Disappearances? There had just been a man shot a few weeks ago and now disappearances. Mother had mentioned disgruntled workers at the factory as of late too. With pay being as it is, some of the younger girls got into worser things, her mother said.  And the gangs had been acting up. Memories of the man’s deep voice in the alley way threatening the young boy made her shiver.

Even if her mom didn’t quite support her as a ballerina, always saying it was an easy way up to fame despite the many nights of pain and many, many years of empty pockets, she had to admit now that she was relieved YN wasn’t working beside her in the textile factory. It seemed like things were up to no good in this town.

YN sighed out tiredly as she walked up the steps of the opera house only to blink in surprise. On the framed poster outside the opera house, there was a new notice. Swan Lake’s performances were coming to a close – so the ballet could prepare a new show for its patrons of the arts. What could it be? No one, not even the girls knew yet.

-

The show had been canceled for the day and for tomorrow! A shock for the ballerinas already prepared for the early afternoon matinee performance. It was then they were dismissed, claiming there was a gas leak.  Some said they were being kicked out for a new owner to tour. Other girls said it was for deciding the leads for the next show.

Nonetheless, YN felt herself sag in relief. Maybe she’d get some shut eye.

-

A surprise day off was rare. In fact, she couldn’t remember an unplanned day off since she was 10. But it didn’t mean lazing around all day. No, she was prepared to help her mother with extra orders.

Bright and early, she was awake, more rested but certainly still worrying about her patrons. Her lips had been bitten raw in anxiety, but her mind was set to try to not think of them today. Not getting to talk to them yesterday felt strange and it didn’t help her worries still ate at her like a leech.

Her hair was tied back in a pretty braid, her outfit simple, as she exited the front door with a large basket of orders from her mother, ready for delivery.

“I’ll be back, ‘ma!” she called. “I’ll try to be back before you leave for your shift.”

There was a call back in agreement, hard to hear over her mother’s sewing machine whirling with her steady foot-pedaling. Turning, she was met with a surprise.

“Swanette,” Wooyoung crowed out from the nearby sidewalk, his hands wrapped around the gate as he grinned up at her.

“Woo!”

“Are you free today?”

It was still strange to see Wooyoung outside the ballet. Her bare face burned and felt sticky, wrong. She was used to the stage-makeup hiding her flush of nerves. Her hands fiddled with her outing gloves, half shifting her basket to her arm. “Today, I was supposed to-“

“She is, Mr. Wooyoung,” her Mother crowed out from the window – pushing it open.

“Mother,” YN insisted, looking her way.

“I can handle the orders for today; go – before you’re old and grey,” the woman tutted.

Wooyoung laughed out, hyena-like, as his hands banged against the gate in excitement. “Mother’s orders, sweet swanette.” He added.

Her sharp look only made his bright grin grow.

“Go,” her mother pushed once more. “Leave the delivery by the door.”

Huffing, YN hopped up the steps of the apartment. She placed her orders down and grabbed her hand bag. She slid her nicer heels beside the door on, leaving her old shoes there in its wake, and tip-tapped down the apartment’s steps.

“Thank you, Miss,” Wooyoung chimed out to her mother. “I’ll take good care of her.”

“You better,” her mother replied before snapping the window shut.

“She’s lovely,” Wooyoung said to YN with a grin that she could only describe as a cat who got the cream.

“You like her, because she played into your plot,” she teased.

“And she raised a gem like you,” he flirted back.

A gem… was she? She felt her multiple days of anxiety cling to her back like a sleep-demon on someone’s chest. Heavy and painful.

With grandiose, he offered his arm her way. She took it with ease. It surprised her how even in her worrisome she felt comfortable so close to him. A part of her wondered if the neighbors were watching as she walked along their rickety pathways with a man who could buy their land twice over.

“What are we doing today?” she asked quietly.

A date was something she could predict. A visit to the cinema, or a diner, or even the sea-side pier amusement park. But a day outing…

“I must attend something dreadful,” Wooyoung sighed out dramatically, his arm squeezing tighter around hers. In this open public, he was the picture-perfect man, no wandering hands up and down her waist. No cuddling embraces. No kisses that left her breathless. It was strange that she missed them.

“What?” she feared.

“A tennis match featuring my dear Yeosang.” He sighed out. “Tennis is so boring, you know?”

She did not know, unfortunately.

Glancing over his dresswear, she noted his fine linens; was she not dressed enough for this? Her outfit was a sensible attire, not at all as seductive as her costumes at the ballet and not a smidge high-end. It wasn’t even like her day-dress she wore the last date with the ultramodern drop-waist and frills. She was in a simple deep purple skirt, down to her ankles, sensible heels, and her dark blouse was high necked with his pearls looped around it as an accent. The only whisper of wealth. Would they think she was some whore? Wasn’t she? She was jumping between patrons, jumping between San and him.

“Little swan,” he nudged her with his hip. He had been yapping along and she hadn’t caught a word.

“Sorry,” she apologized quickly, shaking her head as she tried to push down the feeling of being used. Wooyoung didn’t think that. Didn’t look at her like that.

“Sannie will be there, too. But he may be preoccupied.” he continued. “Tennis just doesn’t have the thrill of other sports - don’t tell Yeosang that.”

That made her chuckle.

“What sports do you like, Woo?” she asked, trying not to think of San and his warmth and his medicinal cologne mixed with cigarette smoke and his slow kisses.

“Boxing.” It was an immediate answer. “And horse-racing. I’m starting to like baseball, too. Aurora had no stadiums, but Cromer’s is nice.”

All brutal in her mind. She knew of a few girls who dated boxers; their lovers’ faces were bruised and beaten most days. At least with tennis, there was no gore.

“I’ve never been to a tennis match,” she admitted. “Or many sports games.”

He wouldn’t judge her; he hadn’t yet. Instead, his eyes lit up.

“Lucky girl,” he hummed. “You’ve got me as a perfect guide then.”

“What should I expect?” she asked.

“Long boring minutes,” he lamented. “But it’s less sports-focused for us. Think of it like a show.”

“In what way?” she retorted.

“The audience, us, are all there for different reasons, right? Some are there to watch the performance; some are there to watch the audience, hm.” He added.

“Do rich people do anything except people watch?” she mumbled.

Wooyoung crowed out a laugh. Her face burned. She shouldn’t have said that in front of him. “Some,” he countered. “But we are here to people watch today. That’s the fun of sports like this.”

-

She was sandwiched between Wooyoung and San – who had met them at the gates of the tennis court. One of Wooyoung’s hands pressed on her knee as he turned in to face her, occasionally whispering things in her ear. San’s arm was warm around her shoulders.

What she couldn’t ignore were the looks. On stage, she yearned for the attention, the limelight. But now with the elite’s gazes all zoomed in on her and her patrons… her face felt hot. A hand fiddled with her pearls. She looked away from their repeating blank stares.

“Shh,” San cooed after a few moments.

Her eyes flashed to him. He looked cool and casual in his dark fitted vest and pinstriped pants. A white silk shirt was open beneath it and rolled up to his elbows, showing off his tan skin. San’s glasses were absent from his nose for the first time. It made his attitude seemed stronger; the flat planes of his face sharp. But his eyes were still a soft brown, soothing her as his hand rose to rub at her shoulder blade.

“You’re okay.”

Her stomach whirled. Was she so transparent? Her tongue peeked out to lick her lips.

“I’m okay,” she tried to reassure him.

Her fingers played with a pearl, tip tap tapping it. San smiled at her, encouragingly patient. His other hand placed his drink down; the crystalline glass clanking onto the table as he did so. He reached for her hand, fingers caressing down her phalanges and stopping her fussing.

“Honey,” he hummed. “Don’t lie to me.”

Her face felt warm.

“I’m not,” she whispered, eyes flickering to watch as he stroked up and down her fingers soothingly.

She could feel Wooyoung’s gaze on them; he lifted his drink to his curled mouth. His fingers tightened on her knee, almost warningly.

“I’m not,” she repeated looking over at Wooyoung.

He cocked a brow as he swallowed down his liquor; his gaze directed her back to San silently. San’s gaze had hardened enough that she pouted. His grasp was still ever gentle as he tugged her hand away from her necklace and interlaced their fingers with a questioning tickle of his fingers against hers. She let him.

“I can read you like the back of my hand,” he told her, squeezing their entwined hands. “Ignore them. They don’t matter.”

She glanced up at him, questioningly. How easy they could say something like that? Approval meant everything.

He sighed out a bit, leaning closer. “They don’t. I promise.”

All that matters is them; a subtle reminder. She nodded mutely; his eyes crinkled at her before he raised the back of her hand up to press a fond kiss to it. Her eyes flashed to Wooyoung to see his expression but he barely blinked at the action, his thumb going over and over her knee.

San had begun to ask a question: “What’s wrong—”

Thwack! The sound of a black-leathered tennis ball hitting the clay-court’s floor dragged her eyes away from her patrons and back to the action for a split second.

Yeosang swung and made another point with ease. Wooyoung cheered from her side, excitement lighting up his face as the Chair Umpire announced Yeosang’s point. Her gaze was drawn back to his visible excitement. Despite Wooyoung’s dramatics, he seemed eager when there was winning on the line.

Her gaze shifted from her patron back to Kim Yeosang. The athlete was lean; his muscles only showing when he made a swing. Bulging from his white tee, his triceps and biceps were built. His hair was long, half tied up in a small ponytail. Even so, there were strands of dark-brown hair that flickered in front of his face. Every now and then, he’d blow the tresses away with a huff.

“The other opponent hasn’t even made a point,” YN commented. 

“Yeosangie hasn’t lost a match in a long time,” Wooyoung revealed. “He’s the Champion of Ateez.”

San snorted out as if Wooyoung had said something funny. His hand adjusted hers in his as he took another long sip of his drink.

Yeosang had turned to grab a cup of water presented to him; theyd reach a pause in the game apparently. He took a deep sip of the drink. His biceps flexed, drawing her eyes over the muscle down to his elbow up his forearm to his pretty mouth. His Adam’s apple jumped every so often beneath his damp tawny skin as he swallowed over and over. Stray droplets dripped from his pouty lips, carving rivulets down his chin, down his neck, over his chest. She had to stop herself from looking him up and down even more.

YN wondered if this was how San and Wooyoung felt at the ballet. Watching another so intently, she took in everything of Yeosang. The tousled look of his sweeping hair, sweat that dripped down the side of his face, the way the sun glinted off his bared collarbones, the way his eyes looked as he opened them from drinking.

His eyes weren’t like San or Wooyoung’s – even from this distance, she knew that. He had a strange forcefulness in them, an intensity she usually only saw when someone furrowed their brow at you. A darkness, a cruelty, a seriousness. He glanced back at his opponent. His face was unsmiling. Cold, cruel, calculated.

“How long has he played?” she asked her duo. Her eyes hadn’t left him as he returned to his spot on the court.

“A while,” San answered. “He had been training since childhood and quickly rose in competitions.”

She hummed. There was a trickle of envy in her veins; she wanted that. She bet he hadn’t had to play up to men and women; he didn’t have to feel like an object. Even if the men with her insisted she wasn’t.

“Go Yeosangie!” Wooyoung cheered, almost disruptively. All eyes flashed to them. Yeosang included. But instead of annoyance like YN had expected, he smiled.

Wow, his smile. Her breath was stolen at the sunshine bright grin that he offered. He looked sweet then and there before turning to face his opponent once more. The grin fell and he was once more a cold calculating persona. A star turned icy.

The game began again with the opponent whacking the tennis ball towards Yeosang’s side. Yeosang was quick, agile, as he slid to hit the ball back.

Back and forth, back and forth.

After some time, she realized how Wooyoung could find this boring. He had grown antsy, already. He’d shifted in his seat, glancing around the stadium with intrigue. His mouth began to chatter once more, especially when all that was left in his glass was ice.

“Do you know anyone about, swanette?” he asked.

His hand had shifted from her knee to rest around her waist, casually. Occasionally, he fiddled with her skirt’s belt loop teasingly, but was mostly stagnant. He tapped her waist at his query; his many rings clinked delicately against one another with the motion.

Licking her lips, she felt San squeeze her fingers softly, almost reassuringly she realized. Gazing across the tournament’s audience, she recognized some familiar faces.

Henry Young, the police chief of Cromer, sat across the court in the shade, discussing something with a tall suited man. The bespectacled man looked red-faced, puffy cheeked as he argued with the other.

Her gaze shifted from him over the sea of folk. Her eyes widened at the sight of Julia, red hair piled upon her head and dressed in some gaudy purple dress. Lord Frederickson was returning to her side with a sly smirk. What the fuck? She said she never went out with her patron. Her brows crinkled, her lips frowning as she glanced away.

Why did she lie?

There was Kim Dohyun who often was all over Imara at the boudoir. He now stood beside his wife, a bedazzled silken lady with two small children tugging on her arm as she drank her champagne.

“Yes,” YN admitted. Her chin gave a soft nod towards the bank conglomerate of Cromer. The man had smiled brightly at a friend before leaning in to whisper something to his wife. Who smiled at him with glee and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

Did she know that he was pressing kisses to Imara’s cheeks just a few nights ago? Did she know that he spent nearly a fortune for Imara’s dues? That she almost had enough to have her own dressing room? Her own solo?

“He’s cheating on his wife,” she said coldly under her breath. “Yet she doesn’t even know.”

Dohyun chuckled at something another one of his cohorts said as he adjusted his wife’s hand on his arm. YN glared.

“They all do it,” she muttered, glancing aside. For once, she wished she had taken up Wooyoung’s offer for alcohol.

San sighed out lowly. “I don’t understand men who do such things,” he admitted, taking a sip of his drink. His thumb rubbed soothing circles. “Unless she is aware.”

“I doubt it.” she admitted. “Imara would be in on it; she knows everything about high society.”

“I’d never do that to the ones I love,” Wooyoung said solemnly. Seriously.

His grasp tightened on her waist as he shifted to sit closer. San hummed in agreement. They watched as the man captured his wife’s mouth in a kiss, curt and aggressive. They’d seen him do the same thing to the pretty featured dancer at the boudoir.

There was a flicker of a question in the back of her head. How were they okay with sharing her then? Was it not the same thing? When Wooyoung kisses her under the glow of a cinema’s projector, was it not cheating when San pressed a warm smooch to her lips beneath the lamp post outside the opera house?

She licked her lip and tentatively tried to phrase her dangerous query. “San kisses my hand,” she stated. A simply edge into her question – a question that held more gravity than a simple kiss to her hand.

There’s a pause.

Wooyoung laughed out, his eyes crinkling as his attention shifted from the crowd to her. His affection burned in his chest. He wished he could press kisses over her cheeks. He was tempted to do so despite being in the public. San hummed in his chest, almost purr-like as he shifted his position to sandwich her tighter between them.

“I know that,” Wooyoung laughed. His eyes flickered to San and back to her. “I know everything, pretty girl. I thought we made it obvious. We know and share everything.”

Her cheeks burned a bit at the thought of them talking of her but San simply grinned.

“You are so sweet, honey.” He cooed close to her ear. “Wooyoung knows of our shared kisses. I know of your little rendez-vous at the cinema as well. Everything is alright.“

Her burning cheeks were only tripled as they both chuckled and daringly pressed twin kisses to her natural-rouged cheeks.

“Cute.” Wooyoung fussed.

She giggled out as they continued to tease and flirt under their breaths; half paying attention to the match and half paying attention to the folk watching their fancies. Soon, there was a chiming bell, ringing out to signify the end of the match. Their attention was stolen once more, letting YN breath out a shaky breath. San chuckled mischievously. The Umpire rose from his seat, declaring Kim Yeosang the winner.

“Finally,” Wooyoung sighed out, his arm leaving her waist for a moment as he stretched in his seat before rising to his feet.

“Let’s go visit our beloved Yeosang,” San encouraged, patting her hip before rising as well.

The two men walked ahead of her, pushing between the crowds easily. In fact, she realized that the crowds practically parted for them and half-swallowed her. It isn’t until her fingers slip from Wooyoung’s that they paused.

“Baby!” Woo chimed out, looking her way to catch her getting squished between men and women who wouldn’t even glance her way. Rough jabs and pushes made her huff out.

Wooyoung pushed back at a figure who had just shoved past her, losing the edge of respectability and gentleman flair. When the fine-suited man turned in outrage, his face paled at the sight of Wooyoung’s furrowed brow – the picture of an angered god in a Renaissance painting but the man who was shoved looked at him with wide eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sorry,” he pleaded, bowing his head.

“You better be,” Wooyoung’s voice was unlike anything she had hear. Scolding, firm, and unwavering. Gone was his boyish charm and instead was a soft of cruelty she saw Yeosang carry on the court. But when he shimmied over to her, an arm went to her bicep ever so gently. Wooyoung’s dark eyes grazed her up and down with care. He couldn’t care less about the groveling man except to send him another dirty look. His darkness faded as he looked back at her each time.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“Just lost you,” she said simply, a smidge shell shocked.

“Never,” he whispered back soft as cotton candy, taking her hand in his again. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she reassured with a furrow of her brow.

He smiled at her, warmly, squeezing her hand. “I’m your guide, aren’t I?” he teased. “I’ll keep you closer this time.”

He tugged her close to him, almost inappropriately so for high society, but he only let out a crow of a laugh at her surprised face. Just as suddenly, he had her arm in his, polite and proper as always.

“C’mon, let’s catch up to Sannie,” he encouraged, squeezing her arm.

Now, he kept her by his side, close and tight. The ocean of people parted for both of them to reveal Yeosang, patting his forehead dry with a pristine white rag and San smiling and cooing over the athlete.

“You did a good job today!” San beamed, cheering the other on.

Yeosang nodded, almost timidly, but offered the larger man a close-lipped smile.

“It was a good day.” Yeosang agreed. “You win anything?” he asked, offhandedly.

Yeosang’s voice matched his face; not dainty but tender. It held a deep tone that seemed warm and pleasant despite its quietness. He spoke not with a booming haughtiness but a humble hum. His very voice encouraged people to shut up and pay attention – just in a different way.

San rubbed his neck, adjusting his suit a bit. “I wasn’t in charge of betting today,” he admitted.

Yeosang’s eyes widened, his brows jumping with the motion. “Oh. Who else is here?”

He leaned in close to whisper something that she couldn’t catch as they approached the duo. Wooyoung’s arm was strong around her.

“Congratulations,” Wooyoung praised.

“I lost you both,” San crowed out as he pulled away from Yeosang – the athlete flinching at the noise. At that sight, San cooed out an apology, a thumb pinching the other’s ear affectionately.

Yeosang tried to dodge away from the other but couldn’t and he succumbed to his babying. She hadn’t seen San baby someone so much – even with Wooyoung, it was a different sort of coddling. Like a firm hand keeping him on track.

“How dare you leave us?” Wooyoung dramatically whined.

San played into his dramatics, apologizing for abandoning them. It made her giggle a bit at their shenanigans, their comfortability. It made her nerves lighten at meeting a new person. Yeosang’s gaze had laid solidly on her the entire time, calculated, and intrigued.

“Yeosangie,” San started, his hand going to pat the other’s back. The well-awarded athlete’s brows raised as if at attention, flickering his gaze between him and her. “This is Miss YN LN.”

“Hello,” he greeted, properly. His hand outstretched and she shook it politely. His hands felt rough against hers but not unpleasant as he squeezed her hand as he pulled away. Yeosang smiled.

Yeosang looked at her like he did his opponent – despite his smile shining brighter than any paparazzi’s camera flash. He looked at her like she was a challenge. Butterfly wings fluttered against her rib cage and she wasn’t sure if it was excitement or red flags warning her to stay away. With her rose-tinted glasses, she ignored it and continued talking to him. Wooyoung’s comforting form was still with her even if San had disappeared at the beckoning of a bulky gentleman she had never seen before in a pin-striped suit bearing a firm facial expression.

Their discussion was led by Wooyoung; babbling on about the game, about the winnings that had been announced via the loudspeakers, about how Yeosang deserved much more. He went on bragging about the athlete, much to his blushed cheeks. His cheeks so red made her only find him more charming. The sun shifted in the sky as they all talked.

“I’ll be right back, Swanette,” Wooyoung promised, arm vacating her waist and leaving her feel exposed. “Yeosang here will keep you company while I try to find our Sannie. He’s been gone for far too long.”

Both Yeosang and YN had little to no time to say anything before Wooyoung had disappeared into the throngs of the upper-class.

YN chuckled faintly, her hand raising to tuck hair aside. “He did this during San and I’s first meeting, too. Left us alone.” she admitted bashfully, a sense of déjà vu crashing over her at the thought.

Yeosang’s laugh felt false, a distict “het-he” of a giggle. “He’s like that. But he’s right,” the tennis star reassured. “You are safe with me, YN.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you,” she praised. Licking her lips, she tried to push down the anxiety of talking to someone new. Despite the boudoir teaching one to say ‘yes and-‘ to any requests, she wasn’t quite sure what was appropriate outside in upper society.

“You were the first tennis match I’ve seen,” she admitted, searching for something to discuss.

“Oh?” his eyes lit up. “And what did you think?”

“You are very good,” she chuckled. “The other man had no chances of winning.”

Her praise seemed to make him stand taller, proud of his accomplishments. “Thank you.” He waited a beat. “I feel like we are similar that way. Skilled, dedicated, caring. I’ve never seen someone perform like you do. Forgive me for never greeting you before or after a show; things have… been untimely.”

“You mean your games,” she added nodding. “Wooyoung told me you’ve had to leave in order to prepare – I understand. Especially after today’s performance --- match… game?” she corrected herself from using ‘show’ terminology.

Gosh, she felt like a fish out of water. Especially without her Wooyoung and San. Hers… she had never thought of them like that… but it felt like second nature.

Her Wooyoung and San.

He laughed again and this time she realized his giggle was not forced but natural. A little het-he escaped him and his hand rose to cover his mouth, muffling his giggle. It was cute. She let out a giggle of her own, laughing at her own mistake.

The initial awkwardness faded away as they both laughed and sighed out their nerves.

-

Far into the crowd, Wooyoung felt a form press against his back, firm and hot. If it wasn’t for the wave of medicinal herbs burning at his nose, he would’ve elbowed them in the gut.

“Sannie,” he cooed out, wriggling a bit. “I was looking for you.”

“Yunho had a lot more to talk about than business,” he sighed, his nose buried into Wooyoung’s shoulder.

Wooyoung gave the other man’s hands a squeeze, reassuringly. Silently giving him support.

“About YN?” he guessed. 

“Yunho wants to meet her,” San said into Wooyoung’s ear. “Alone.”

“Why?” Wooyoung countered with a frown.

Shifting in his lover’s embrace, he glanced over San’s shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of Yunho walking away from the tournament. Jealousy clung to his bones like a disease. He already was getting used to sharing his swan with San – and while it wasn’t unfavorable or irregular for the men to share things, he liked having his dates and time with YN.

“Not that he’ll take away the coins we use; Captain would never let him, but -” San reassured, massaging the back of Wooyoung’s neck reassuringly. He leaned forward, whispering into his ear.

“But he is curious why we are spending money on some doll.” His lips pressed to the shell of Wooyoung’s ear.  

Wooyoung didn’t like that, teeth baring and eyes hot. “She’s not some doll.”

“I told him that,” San retorted quick. “She ain’t.”

Wooyoung settled at that and shut his eyes, head twitching as San’s fingers dug into a tight muscle deliciously painful.

“Not Mingi?” Wooyoung tried to pitch. Mingi, despite his cold demeanor, was the softer of the duo.

“Captain’s orders,” San stated, resolute.

He sighed out at that, growing limp in his San’s embrace reluctantly. San continued to massage the fine knots at the back of his neck. 

“How?” Wooyoung followed up after a few moments.

San glanced over at the sight of their dancer, talking to Yeosang easily as the man covered his mouth in a giggle. He had an idea.

-

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Wooyoung asked as they strolled along.

She smiled over at him, bright, as she hugged his arm. “I did. You made it seem like it’d be like pulling teeth. Yeosang was nice!”

More than nice, he was charming. After WooSan left them alone, they had kicked it off, falling into conversations about their childhood devotion to their individual crafts. She learned how he began playing tennis at age five and was shipped from Aurora to Hala to Paradise growing up to compete and train. He was in the limelight alone for so long and while he was good at conversing and playing his part he was dreadfully shy. He admitted it bashfully to her and she felt a wave of comradery.

She liked him. Almost immediately.   

Wooyoung huffed dramatically, liking how close she was as she teased him.

“It is when you aren’t there,” he lamented. “I swear, it’s a boring affair once you do it a couple million times. And Yeosang isn’t always trying to impress us, pretty girl.”

She laughed and he smiled. There was a comfortable lull in the air as they continued their walk. The sun was beginning to set and, while the sky was a frosty shade of grey, there was no snow on the ground or in the air. Few folks were out braving the chill but, with Wooyoung closer to her and San’s oversized coat over her shoulders, she was warm.  

(San had chastised her about forgetting the gifted jacket, but she saw as he preened as he took off his over-coat with much dramatics. Flexing and shifting his tie around his neck to tempt her, she swore. His jacket swallowed her up pleasantly and she saw his ears burn red. He liked her in his things. He imagined her in a fur coat; he fixed his tie again, swallowing hard.)

“Thank you for inviting me.” She breathed after a moment. Her chest felt lighter after everything. “It was better than sewing and delivering things all day.”

“I’m glad I did,” he replied gently. Even if his mind was circling over how he was going to have her meet Yunho, he decided to do what he did best: live in the moment. He’d figure it out how to handle his lovers’ piqued interest. “You seem happier. I can always get you out of trouble, or into trouble.” He jested his arm tugging from hers to wrap around her waist, inappropriately for the public eye (But, there was no one about, Wooyoung decided. Besides he wasn’t for rules anyways.) His fingers tickled over her ribs making her laugh out and cry out his nickname in giggles.

A picture-perfect snapshot of young love, so the figure from the alleyway thought. Ducking his head, he crept out of his spot after the couple passed by. His dark coat blended in with the brick walls and the steam that pillowed out of the nearby apartments’ heating unit hazed him. The dark silhouette of a man watched as they continued along for a moment before turning on his heel and walking the opposite direction. The only evidence of him ever being there were his footprints in the snow with the impression of the name brand emblemed into the snow.

Faith.

-

San looked like some statue from the Renaissance. Carved in ivory. Laid back on a gold-gilded sofa, he was draped in an all-white attire, long pants with an open-vested shirt that revealed more golden skin than it hid. Ever since their kiss, she swore he wore more tantalizing outfits – was this his way of flirting?

He grinned at the attention of the other ballerinas; each one eyed him up, but were unable to approach. If they did, they learned he would openly ignore them. The only one he had an eye for was her. Only YN could approach him. And that’s what he wanted in the end.

Unlike Wooyoung who would wait at her vanity, San wanted YN to search him out in the boudoir. Willingly. And when she did, he had a flare of butterflies dancing in his chest. He took a deep swig of his drink, eyes half-lidded as he watched her in her little feathered tutu.

“Hello honey,” he smiled, resting the drink on his outstretched knee as she approached. “Looking gorgeous as always.”

“Thank you,” she said. With a gentle hand outstretched, he encouraged her to join him on the velveteen sofa. He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, sweet and warm.

“How much time do you have to spare?” he asked, feline-like eyes not even glancing at the nearby grandfather clock in the corner of the foyer de la danse.

“As much as you’d like,” YN said. The words were what the other girls insisted their patrons adored. Attention and control.

San’s lips twitched.

“Do you have other things to attend to before Act 2?” San queried.

“I’ve changed already – with Wooyoung, it takes twice the time,” she admitted.

Wooyoung, while he kept his hands to himself and his eyes averted when she changed, loved attention. He loved to talk talk talk about nothing and when he caught her attention shifting to things such as her makeup or her hair, he’d insist to doing it. While applying her lipstick, he’d steal a kiss, staining his mouth red more often than not. While charming and kind, it slowed her process down. With San, she had been prepped for Act 2 in a matter of minutes and now well had all the time in the world (approximately twenty minutes.)

San chuckled lowly, his thumb brushing over her waist gently almost questioningly. Behind his spectacles, a brow raised. Tap, tap, tap. May I? She’s learned his silent questions; his gentle ways to check with her what she was thinking before initiating anything. She scooted a bit closer. His smile was genuine, soft, and warm as his arm wrapped around her waist more. He pulled her half onto his lap; the smell of his cologne encompassing her. He smelt warm, like a forest on fire, with a hint of something medicinal biting at the back of her nose. Familiar yet dangerous.

If there was one major difference between her two patrons, it was this; San always asked of her rather than did for her. His touches were always slow and deliberate and never pressing. Not that Wooyoung was overtly so, but he was less careful. He’d leap before asking, taking her rouge pot into his hand to dab it on her cheeks softly. San would ask, would lean close, and would smile his sweet smile. “May I?” San’s voice rumbled and she couldn’t help but feel her heart tremble in her chest. He’d pull his leathered gloves off with his teeth before warm fingers would smear the red over already-blushed cheeks. He’d always take pride in her flush.

As they sat, he liked to listen to her. He’d take sips of his drinks, occasionally offering her a sip. Sometimes she’d take a gentle taste, her lipstick leaving a red halo on the rim. His lips would cover that ring with a smirk as he took his next gulp.

“Wooyoung distracts,” he admitted. “He used to distract me a lot when we worked together.”

“How did you two meet?” YN asked, legs slung over one of San’s legs.

San’s hand stroked over her waist. “We met as kids. Got into trouble together, but we ended up alright.” He hummed. “Yeosang was there, too. We weren’t as talented as him… skilled.”

YN still smiled, trying to imagine a tiny Wooyoung, Yeosang, and San running through the streets… would Aurora have the layered upon layered apartments like Cromer or was it open sands? Their skin was a tawny gold in the gas-light of the boudoir, but were they even warmer in the golden sun of Aurora’s beaches?

“How did you get into all of this, honey? Woo said your mother is a factory worker?” He didn’t mention her father. “How did a pretty girl get looped into the ballet system?”

It was a shame it was seen so negatively in his eyes but, after their discussion the night they met, she assumed San saw all of this as false glitz and glamour for the obscene. Even if he did compliment her talent and strength often.

“I started at the age of three. My mother was a seamstress for the Opera occasionally. I’d cause havoc… bug the performers. It was then I started to practice with the others. I thought it’d be easy to become like the Prima Ballerina. She seemed so beautiful and happy and strong.” YN commented. She wondered if the childhood hero ever suffered under her Madame or a patron. She tried not to imagine so. Her childhood dream could remain spotless for now.

Flexing her toes in her pointe shoes and lifting her leg from his lap into an arabesque, she giggled temptingly. “It’s much harder.” Her leg was at eye-level with his gaze. She was sure the others were glaring daggers at her back. She was acting scandalous, but with him there was nothing to scandal. He’d look at her with reverence, regardless.

If he looked close at her leg, he’d see bruising from practices or whacks from the Madame’s cane. Like always, he proved himself to be observant, more observant than Wooyoung she thought. Giving her a single glance, his fingers wrapped around her ankle, encompassing it. She didn’t jolt or yelp or shift. Her eyes stayed locked on his as he placed his glass down to press a supportive hand over her back now. His fingers danced over her leg; his hand glided up her calf, over her knee, and barely grazed her thigh. Just a faint tip, tap, before his gaze settled back onto her. It sent gooseflesh over her in a whirl. Intimacy. He was stroking her skin with such teasing lightness as if it was any more respectable.

His eyes were intense. Intriguing and magnetic and kind. Despite his bulky form, despite the hint faint scarring she could see over his masculine face, he didn’t frighten her. 

“Your pretty skin bruised is the last thing I want to see,” he commented lowly, thumb brushing over a particularly large splotchy patch of green-purple skin on her knee. Guiding her leg higher and higher, his gaze watching hers as he pressed a soft kiss to the skin, as if his lips could heal her. It made gooseflesh burst forth on her legs obviously now. He took in the sight with silent approval.

“Do you ice your legs?” he asked as he lowered her leg to his lap.

“I try,” she admitted, voice trembling from her wooing. “We all do, but when practice or a performance goes over, I can’t ice them until late at night or in the morning.”

He frowned at that. His thumb brushed over her knee again before lifting his hand to grab his icy drink once more. “If you need to ice while we talk, you will,” he insisted. “All I want you is healthy and happy, honey.”

He tutted, eyes glancing aside as if remembering things he didn’t share.

“You need to ice it as soon as the injury happens.” He added. “From now on.”

He raised his glass, finishing his drink. The ice clinked against the crystal as he lowered it to the sofa before he reached inside to grab the ice cube with his bare fingers. Picking up the large ice cube, he pressed it against her bruised skin suddenly. YN jumped against the cold, against the sudden chill that made more goosebumps rise to her skin. Her arms and legs were covered, on alert. Yet he didn’t even flinch as the frost bit at his fingertips.

He hummed, watching as her eyes squinted shut in shock from the cold. As she shivered… maybe in pain. San had smiled, shifting the now-melting ice cube over her large bruise in a slow circling motion.

“It’ll feel better soon,” San reassured.

-

Pain crashed up her legs in an icy cold torment. Stabbing, hot yet chilling pain. Both ankles were in casts, elevated by firmly place pillows, but, in her agony, she shifted this way and that. She couldn’t help the whimpers that overtook her. Like an ocean, she was swallowed up by the pain as she was thrusted awake.

“Oh, angel,” there was a soft, almost sing-song of a voice.

A cool hand brushed over her hot forehead soothingly. In her delirium, she could barely make out his face. Just a blur of familiar slicked hair and familiar eyes. Sweat tumbled down her face; baby hairs sticking to her skin. Tears poured of her flushed cheeks, over-heated and sticky. Everything was blurry. She was all sweaty. He swept them away with deft hands.

Somehow in her whirlwind of pain and tears, she could still smell him despite congestion in her nose.  That tropical aroma that followed him around like Aurora was chasing after him. Hot pineapple sweet and pungent, thick jasmine blossom rotting in the summer sun, the stink of sea salt tangled around her throat. She let out a cry as a particular sharp pain shot up her left leg; she curled inward, moving her legs. It only forced out a wail as they stung with agony. Any movement hurt. How could the pain be that bad? Something had to be wrong. It hadn’t been like this before.

“Yunho.” His name was spoken firmly, almost a bark.

“He’s on this way, Captain,” Yunho’s voice reassured. A hand pushed aside the covers over her feet. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Someone rearranged her legs, whispering apologies as they did so. Her cries made their chest ache.

“She’s on medicine,” San’s voice was a sob. “I gave her it myself.”

“I don’t doubt it,” the soft voice of their Captain cooed to the distressed muscle of the gang. There was a sniffle.

“San, Mingi.” his tone was one of a leader; solid and firm and focused. “Go to Seonghwa; he’ll need you. Keep Wooyoung away.”

He hadn’t stopped caressing her forehead. Her eyes blinked blearily up at him. Full of tears, full of pain, his face remained cool and collected. Almost clinical in the way he looked over her. Pain was no stranger to him.

Yet in her eyes, he looked angelic, she swore. Like something from a Renaissance painting, haloed by the light of the roaring fire. Her delirium painted him in a cherubic way. An angel coming to save her. Protect her as he tugged her into his arms, cradling her broken burning limbs. Soft round cheeks she had loved to press kisses to. She couldn’t process his furrowed brow, his dark eyes. Just her Hongjoong.

“Joong,” she murmured, her voice cracking.

Even now, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’m here,” he reassured, voice loving.

She felt aflame, a woman on fire. A fever crashed through her.

“Hurts.” She whined out.

“I know, I know,” his gentleness felt foreign. He was always gentle with her; why did it feel like a farce? How did she end up here? Her mind was a blur. She heard him bark out another order, another command. “Bring me that damn doctor now! Jongho, do you have it?”

Her throat closed up in a gasp as she trembled in his arms; a sharp stab to her waist was barely felt compared to the pain radiating up her legs. Blink, blink, her eyes could barely make out Hongjoong staring down at her. A look of disappointment, fear, and anger hazed any love for a moment even as she tried to find his name in her mouth. Lips moving in the shapes of his vowels and consonants failingly until exhaustion washed over her once more.

“Joo—n—ng” His nickname faded from her consciousness as she felt her entire body, sluggishly slow, fall into a honeyed rest.

“I’ve got you, angel. It’ll feel better soon. I promise.”

[azuramarigold]

Underground Dealings

You were a typical office worker that one day gets fired at your job at a smaller office ran by Naoya Zen'in, but your friend, Yuji Itadori, who works at a small coffee shop that you discovered a year ago on your way to work, suggests that you apply to his uncle's company. What you didn't realize was that your assets were going to be important to the company in every department, and that every head, from the CEO to legal has their own underground dealings on what keeps the company afloat.

Characters: officeworker!reader x CEO!Sukuna, officeworker!reader x businessassociate!Gojo, officeworker!reader x salaryman!Nanami; other pairings to be added

Other characters: Yuji Itadori, Megumi Fushiguro, Nobara Kugisaki, Naoya Zen'in, Maki Zen'in, Mai Zen'in, Uraume; other characters to be added.

Genre: modern au, eventual smut, 18+, angst, violence, gore

WARNINGS: (eventual) smut, blood, violence, gore, using weapons, death, drug use, smoking, alcohol use, cussing.

Divider/Navigation made by: saradika

Ko-Fi Commissions AO3 Profile

Prev.

Ch. 1 - Word Count: ~3.8k

Chapter 1: The Interview

The next day it was raining, and there was no point in getting up when your alarm indicated as now you didn’t have a job anymore.

            There was also no point in going to the coffee shop either as it was on your way to the office. Again, you no longer worked over there. Lying in bed, wrapped in dark cotton sheets as rain spattered against your windows was almost relaxing, but at the same time a sense of dread enveloped you.

            If you didn’t find a job soon, you’d get behind on rent. How will groceries get paid? Not to mention that student loans were still there and knocking at the door of your checking account every month. The reality was starting to set in, and your hands gripped the sheets tightly.

            Your phone began to ring, causing you to sit upright in a panic, your heart racing. Frantically, you look for your phone that you forgot was somewhere in your bed. You managed to find it just before it went to voicemail.

            “H-Hello…!?” you answered the phone breathlessly, not even bothering to see who it was.

            “Is this Y/N L/N?” It was the same gravelly voice from the night before.

            You cleared your throat. “Um, yes, this is she…” you replied, trying to sound professional.

            “Is this a cellphone that you’re calling from?” the man inquired.

            “Yes.”

            “I’m going to text you the address of Ryōmen Enterprises so that you can come for a face-to-face interview today at four.”

            You blinked in surprise.

            “Is that going to be a problem, sweetheart…?” a teasing tone pressed on the other line. “The brat made it seem like you really needed-”

            “Yes! I’ll be there!” you nearly shouted into the phone. “Please text me the address!”

            A rumble of a chuckle. “Alright. Please dress professionally and bring a copy of your resume then. It’ll be a pleasure to meet you.”

            Click.

            You threw your phone back onto your bed and made your way to the bathroom, a need to get ready for this interview. Turning on the water and showerhead and preparing one of your nicer shampoos and soaps that you’d normally use on a date, but this was important!

            Throughout the night Yuji had texted you a bit about his uncle, which was odd to you as he never talked about his family except for his late grandfather. Yuji had mentioned that his uncle for years was striking deals left and right, making extra money wherever he could until in the last two years he founded his company. He even mentioned that his uncle had paid for his private high school education after his grandfather had passed and is paying for his college, but only if he did some intern work once in awhile at the office and earned some of his own way with the coffee shop.

            You tried to ask for a picture of his uncle, just to see what he looked like. All Yuji replied with was, “You’ll know it’s him when you see him… trust me.”

            In the shower you scrubbed yourself clean, making sure there was nothing out of place. Scrubbing your hair and putting in the right amount of the conditioning mask you enjoy so much. Exfoliating your skin was necessary and shaving was part of your routine as the mask deeply conditioned your hair.

            Once you were all set and rinsed, you wrapped a towel around your hair and body and made your way back to your room. The closet was organized a certain way, the left half being your business attire while the right half was your casual wear. You decided on a nice black pencil skirt and dark pastel purple blouse, you have heard comments that the blouse brought out the color of your eyes very well and the skirt curved against your hips nicely.

            Getting ready was almost nerve-wracking. What if you didn’t land this job…? Where else could you go…? Maybe the coffee shop was a good option after all…

            The final outfit was a wonderful touch of professionalism. The pencil skirt was slightly above your knees, but you were wearing sheer tights, so you didn’t show much skin. Around your neck to accent your blouse was a dandelion-colored scarf, tied into the furoshiki style. A pair of black pumps would look excellent you decided as you looked over yourself in the mirror.

            Makeup has always been simple for you, light foundation with a hint of blush. Eyeshadow to match the blouse, the wonderful pastel purple, and the black eyeliner and mascara really made your eyes pop. Pink lipstick is what you went with, subtle and innocent, as you can’t be too bold like with red.

            You put your hair up in a nice, tight bun, letting the loose hairs frame your face in subtle curls. A touch of perfume on the nape of your neck, very light as it was Eau Fraiche to not trigger a migraine, with the subtle jasmine and cedar fragrance.

            By the time it was two, you were all ready to go. You decided to make your way out the door as you did rely on public transportation to get to where you needed to go for the most part. Taking the train to the business district of Tokyo was easy this time of day as many people were starting to get off work and be on their way home, so it was no issue finding a train and seat.

            As you looked at the address, you realized that the office was actually down the street from the coffee shop that Yuji and the others worked at. Which meant if you got the job, you could still visit them. It warmed your heart that you could still see them.

            As the train stopped at the station and you got onto the platform, you realized it was barely three, so you decided that with the extra time you had you would visit the shop. They did close at four as you knew that Megumi and Nobara had to get home, Yuji never specified where he went, but now you assumed it was to work a couple of hours as an intern at his uncle’s company.

            The bell chimed as you entered the coffee shop, Megumi wiping down tables as Nobara manned the counter. Both looked up and saw you and gave smiles.

            “OH MY GOSH!” Nobara squealed as she vaulted over the counter. “YOU LOOK AMAZING! YOU ARE GOING TO GET THE JOB ON THIS ALONE!”

            Megumi grimaced at the loudness of Nobara’s voice. “Hey, she still needs to do a proper interview… it’s not about looks…” he reminded her.

            You gave a sigh, “Yeah, and I’m totally nervous… I think I only got the job with your cousin because he kept staring at my chest for too long and forgot what it was even about…”

            Megumi gave a frown. “That asshole…” he grumbled.

            You looked around, noticing that you did not hear or see Yuji. “Hey, where’s Yuji at?” you asked.

            “At his uncle’s office building, it’s just down the street from here,” Nobara replied, crossing her arms. “He leaves around 2:30pm to go intern there for a few hours.”

            Your guess was correct. “What is his major in college anyways…?” you then asked. During the year you visited the coffee shop you had never asked, which made you feel a tad bit guilty. Yuji always asked you so many questions, as did Nobara, and even Megumi asked a question here and there, but you never asked them any.

            “Business,” both Megumi and Nobara replied in unison.

            “He’s got a scholarship at a decent university for athletics,” Megumi then added. “But he’s majoring in business to properly take over the coffee shop here and possibly franchise it.”

            “Oh, that’s nice,” you hummed. You had no idea about that with Yuji. The young man had such a bubbly personality that you never thought he’d be a business major in college. You then gave a smile. “Well, if I get this job, I can still come for my coffee…! Speaking of…”

            “GOT IT!” Nobara shouted as she vaulted over the counter once again.

            Megumi frowned. “You and Yuji need to stop doing that… you two are going to end up crashing into something one day…” he groaned in annoyance.

            “You’re just jealous that you don’t look cool doing it!” Nobara bragged, sticking her tongue out at him. Withing minutes she got your usual coffee order ready. “And it’s done, Y/N! Feel free to tip me for my awesome service!”

            You gave a laugh as you paid for the coffee and once again gave a decent tip. “Of course, Nobara, I wouldn’t dream of not giving you a tip,” you assured her.

            “My tip would be to stop vaulting over the damn counter…!” Megumi told you both.

            You checked your watch, realizing it was half an hour before your interview. You gave the two your goodbyes and made your way out of the shop. Sipping on your coffee as you walked down the street, already seeing a tall, glass building that was beginning to loom before you. The sign outside the building indicated that it was “Ryōmen Enterprises”, so you knew it was the right place.

            You took a deep breath, calming your nerves, and made your way inside, your pumps clicking against the polished floors. Inside there was a nice, muted gray, chairs and couches around the main floor for people to relax in before meetings or to meet with someone. The reception desk was directly ahead of the entrance, and you made your way there quickly.

            The person behind the desk was clicking on her keyboard, her hair long and dark brown. She wore a simple dark green turtleneck blouse with a white long sleeve sweater, her nails a nice teal in color. Her eyes, a nice brown oak, darted to you as she finished what she was doing.

            “Hello, how can I help you?” she then asked. You noted that there were bags under her eyes, and she had a small beauty mark on her right eye.

            “Hello, my name is Y/N L/N, I have an interview at-” you began but she interrupted you by picking up her phone.

            “Hey, Uraume?” the woman spoke. “Yeah, this is Shoko… that interview you mentioned is here.” A pause. “Yeah, I know she’s early…” Another pause and Shoko winced at a sudden bark on the other side of the line. “Yeah, I’ll send her up.” She hung up the phone.

            “Uh…” you tentatively murmured. “Is it bad that I’m early…?” you asked softly.

            “Not at all, hun,” Shoko replied as she prepared a guest badge. “Take this to the elevator and scan it to access the top floor.”

            You took the guest badge. “Thank you…” You walked to the elevator and pressed the button and waited for it to arrive.

            While waiting, someone stepped up beside you and you glanced over to see the most gorgeous blue eyes you have ever seen behind black sunglasses perched at the end of his nose. He was tall, clearly over six feet, with tousled snow-white hair. His tailored suit fitted him well, a black with light gray stripes and black dress shirt, a white tie to match his hair.

            “Would you like a picture?” the man asked teasingly with a grin. “They do last longer.” He then adjusted his glasses to cover his eyes, although he did peer over them to give you a glance over.

            “GAH!” you nearly yelped, nearly death gripping your coffee cup.

            “Although, if you get a picture of me, I would love one of you too,” he then added with a smirk.

            The elevator dinged and you entered, quickly scanning your badge, your heart sinking as you realized that the white-haired man entered with you. Now you two were stuck in an enclosed space together after that exchange.

            “Are you here for an internship…? Interview…?” the man then pressed. He scanned his own badge as well, but you couldn’t see what his name was on it.

            “I-Interview…” you stammered in reply.

            The man beamed. “Oh…? Nice! For what department?” he then inquired, clearly interested.

            Your eyes widened. “Um… I don’t know…?”

            “Huh…? What do you mean you don’t know?”

            “All I know is that I’m meeting Mr. Ryōmen for the interview.”

            The white-haired man sucked in air through his teeth. “WOW! The big boss huh? Damn!” he laughed.

            That certainly wasn’t helping your nerves.

            “What’s your name, sweets?” he then asked. “I’m Satoru Gojo, I’m the head of marketing here.”

            “I’m Y/N L/N,” you then introduced.

            “Hey, don’t be nervous, the man is all bark and no bite!” Gojo assured. “Well… at least to the employees here. He does bite I hear.” He then gave a teasing chuckle.

            “Eh…!?” you nearly shrieked.

            The elevator dinged on a floor and the doors opened, signaling for Gojo to exit. “See ya around, sweets, hopefully you get the job!” he shouted over his shoulder to you with a wave. “I’d love to give you a tour of the building!”

            You couldn’t reply as the doors closed and continued to ascend. With each second, you became much more nervous. The elevator dinged at the final floor, and you exited it, only to be greeted by a familiar pink-haired boy.

            “Hey! You made it, Y/N!” Yuji’s voice excitedly said. He was no longer in his coffee shop uniform but in his own tailored suit, a dark gray with a dark gray waistcoat, white dress shirt, and wearing an orange tie neatly tied around his neck. His pink hair was still messy and spikey as ever, although it did look like he tried to comb it through once or twice.

            “Yuji!” you beamed. “Why didn’t you ever mention you interned here?”

            Yuji nervously chuckled. “Eh, my personal life isn’t very exciting…” he joked. “Here, let me get you to Uraume so you can check in.” He grabbed your hand and dragged you away from the elevator.

            It seemed the entire floor was a penthouse office space, where there were a few desks, one that Yuji sat at for his intern work, and the other sat someone with a white bob haircut and wore a nice navy-blue pantsuit. In the back was a main inner office, the placard reading “S. Ryōmen”.

As you and Yuji approached the secretary’s desk, they were just hanging up the phone. Their plum-colored eyes saw you coming and they stood up from their desk to walk around.

            “Hello, Miss Y/N,” they greeted, their voice sounding monotone. “I’m Uraume, Mr. Ryomen’s secretary. I’ll let him know that you’re here.”

            You gave a look of confusion. This person was not who you talked to yesterday or today.

            Yuji noticed your face. “You okay?” he asked gently.

            “Uh… yeah,” you lied. “Just nervous.”

            Yuji gave a smile. “You’ll do great! I already hyped you up and everything!” he informed.

            “You… what!?” you nearly shrieked at him. “Hype me up!? What does that even mean!?” You began to shake his shoulders frantically, trying to shake the answers from him.

            Yuji’s eyes were practically rolling, but he still tried to speak. “A-All I did was t-tell him you were fired b-by Naoya Zen’in and that you were a g-good worker…!”

            Uraume returned, a white brow raised. “Mr. Itadori, what did you do to anger the young lady…?” they asked him.

            “I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING BAD!” Yuji shouted once you let him go.

            Uraume only sighed in irritation. “Anyways, he is ready to meet you now,” they informed you. They then glared at Yuji. “And Mr. Itadori, may I remind you that you’re supposed to be entering data…?”

            “I got bored…” he then whined.

            “Do it brat, if you know what’s good for ya!” a voice barked from the inner main office. Even with the door closed, you could hear how powerful it was.

            What you now also realized was that it was the same voice you spoke with the night before and earlier that day. Your face immediately went red.

            You must’ve sounded like an idiot on the phone.

            “Yeah, fine, fine…!” Yuji shouted back. “My friend is here, so you be nice to her!” He patted your shoulder. “Good luck, Y/N. He’s not always that loud… He just likes to yell at me. Or Gojo.”

            Uraume led you to the door and knocked on it, a low “enter” rumbled in reply. The secretary opened the door and gave a small bow in greeting.

            “Mr. Ryōmen, here is Miss L/N for the interview,” Uraume informed. “Please let me know if you need anything else.” They promptly shoved you in and shut the door behind you.

            When Yuji said that you’d know his uncle when you saw him, he wasn’t kidding. The man had the same pink hair, sharp jawline and nose shape. The main difference was that the man before you had intricate face tattoos decorating his face and his eyes were sharp and fierce; instead of a warm honey-brown in color, they looked like they were brown mixed with red, an odd dark dried blood color with more on the red side. He was also larger in stature, much broader shouldered and muscular, his body filling every part of his expensive black suit perfectly.

            “You may have a seat,” Mr. Ryōmen instructed, gesturing to the seat in front of his desk.

            You obey instinctively, like a small animal in front of a hunter. You set your resume on the desk in front of you for him to look through and you politely put your hands in your lap.

            “You’re friends with the brat, eh?” the man grumbled as he adjusted his blood red tie he was wearing. “I don’t think I recognize you from when he went to high school… Or are you a friend from one of his college classes from last semester?”

            “Oh, I met him through the coffee shop,” you replied honestly. “I just happened to stumble across it when walking to my old job.”

            “Hmm,” he hummed in response. “The Zen’in’s small office, right? Ran by Naoya Zen’in?” Mr. Ryōmen then grabbed your resume and began to flip through it.

            “Yes sir, I was Mr. Zen’in’s personal assistant,” you informed.

            “And may I ask why you were fired?”

            “Um… well…” You began to nervously wring your hands together. “I’m going to say this… Mr. Zen’in was not very professional. He constantly tries to get with every female worker he has, and on more than one occasion he has tried to make a pass at me.”

            Mr. Ryōmen raised a brow. “So, he fired you because you wouldn’t fuck him?” he guessed quite crudely. “Wow, that’s petty… Then again that’s the only way he could get women to sleep with him. Money and intimidation.”

            “And I threw my coffee in his face…” you then admitted shyly.

            A ghost of a smirk flashed on his lips. “Wow, no wonder why a weird blacklist email came in my inbox last night,” he said. “I honestly would’ve done worse.” He tossed your resume on the desk. “Alright, you’re hired.”

            “Huh…?” you dumbly said.

            “Do I need to repeat myself?” the man sternly asked. “I said, ‘you’re hired’. You want it in morse code too?” He began to tap his desk in an odd sequence. “Honestly I have no idea what code that could be, for all I know that could be me saying I stole your penguin or something…”

            You tilted your head in confusion. “But… you didn’t ask me typical interview questions…?” you prompted. “Like about my work ethic, or why I would want to work here…?”

            “I don’t do interviews,” he admitted with a shrug. “Usually Nanami in finance does it, but I wanted to do this one myself since the brat was eager.”

            You still looked at him in confusion.

            “And I’m not gonna lie,” Mr. Ryōmen said with a sigh as he straightened in his chair, placing his hands in front of him on his desk; you noticed he had tattoos on them as well. “I just want you in my company to rub it in that asshole’s face. I ended up not doing that deal with them as well after what the brat said.”

            You knew that it was going to cost Zen’in big. Ryōmen Enterprises was sweeping the market in businesses and restaurants alike. You heard that the CEO was a smooth talker and could strike deals like it was talking about what color to paint walls over a Sunday brunch.

            “So, what department would I be in?” you then inquired.

            “I’ll have you as my personal assistant,” he then said. “Uraume takes care of certain paperwork as my secretary and arranges business meetings within the company, but I would need someone to help with outside the company, and you seem to be good at it.” He picked up your resume. “From what I glanced over, you were actually the contact with Zen’in for the deal.”

            “Yes, I was.”

            “So, you have a knack for arranging things and eye on good partnerships.”

            “I’m flattered you think so.”

            “You can also help me with running around between the departments, making sure things are running smoothly,” Mr. Ryōmen added. “I usually have the brat check up on things, but since he has the coffee shop and will be going back to school soon, his time will be limited.”

            You nodded in understanding. “Okay, I can do that,” you assured him. It didn’t sound too different to what Naoya had you do.

            A smirk crossed the man’s face. “Alright, you can start tomorrow, I’ll have the company attorney draft a contract with everything and in the morning, you can go over it and make sure it’s to your liking. We can add or remove things as well,” he then said.

            You blinked. “Oh, okay…” you replied in surprise.

            “And about your salary, don’t worry about it,” Mr. Ryōmen assured as he leaned back in his chair. “It’ll be on par if not more than what you did at Zen’in’s.” He then leaned back forward and scribbled a number on a sticky note and passed it to you.

            Your eyes practically bugged out of your head. “I-I’m sorry… is this a monthly salary…?” you asked him.

            Mr. Ryomen looked at you in confusion. “Um… no, sweetheart, that would be your biweekly salary…”

            “Oh…” you squeaked. It was nearly double your monthly what you were making when you were working for Naoya.

            “Is that a problem…?” he asked seriously. “Too little to what you’re used to…?”

            “No!” you blurted out loudly. “This is more than generous! I accept the position!”            

A wolf-like smile appeared on your new boss’s lips. “Well, welcome aboard to Ryōmen Enterprises, Y/N, I’m sure you’ll make a lovely addition.”

Special thanks to my Ko-fi supporters!

Basic Tier

Aostrele

Draconic Hermit

JadEDU

Jaune Arc

Zippy

Middle Tier

@genderfluidsgetguns AKA IdoInFactLikeDogs

[valenteal]

I think Dazai’s relationship with Atsushi is the only truly healthy one he’s ever had…

As much as Atsushi looks up to and feels like he owes Dazai, he doesn’t really put up with his shit. He doesn’t ignore or dismiss Dazai’s self destructive behavior but he also doesn’t judge or coddle him for it. He isn’t afraid to call Dazai out or acknowledge his flaws and he doesn’t listen and obey him blindly, unless he is in an immediately dangerous situation where hesitation could mean death. He doesn’t really let Dazai push him away either, he remains a stable source of comfort, someone Dazai can always rely on to help him.

All of Dazai’s other relationships, even Oda, had toxic aspects, some more than others certainly but still. Dazai can never trust Kunikida to accept him, Dazai’s entire being goes against his ideals no matter how much they may care about each other. Oda was always accepting and he was reliably there when Dazai needed him, but he’d also given up on Dazai to an extent, he didn’t actively try to help him at all until he was dying, he was kind of a passive person in general and even admitted that he wished he’d done more for Dazai. These relationships are not incredibly harmful, only damaging in subtle psychological ways that likely impacted Dazai’s self worth and his ability to feel comfortable or known. But still. Not healthy.

With Chuuya and Mori it’s quite a bit more obvious but I’ll explain how I see it anyway.

Dazai’s relationship with Chuuya, as much as it’s defined by mutual trust and respect, is poisoned by Dazai’s controlling behavior toward Chuuya. There are not one but TWO canonical instances where Dazai orchestrated the loss of Chuuya’s entire support network, during the 15 arc and in Storm Bringer. Neither instance was solely because he wanted Chuuya to himself but it was a motivating factor and the result was the same. Except of course Chuuya didn’t really blame him either time because he was able to deflect the blame onto Mori and Verlaine. But Chuuya isn’t unaware of Dazai’s role in either case, and he doesn’t forget. And Dazai doesn’t want to be so close to Chuuya. He doesn’t want someone to know him so well or to grow an attachment that he thinks will only end in pain, and he pushes Chuuya away violently when he remembers that. The thing that makes it toxic is that he forgets when he spends time with Chuuya because he just genuinely really likes him and enjoys his company. They are both each other’s only peers, in both rank and intellect. As much as they fights it, that means something to them both and it tied them together when Dazai was still in the mafia. And that’s not even touching on the rivalry between them, which isn’t inherently toxic but certainly has the potential to be, especially when paired with everything else.

And now we get to Mori. Dazai’s guardian, doctor, boss, and partner in crime. The man who saved his life more times than they can count. The man who gave him purpose and meaning in his life. Who brought him and Chuuya together. Who was responsible for Oda’s death. Who lied to him, used him, planned to kill him. Who trusted him, confided in him, shared his secrets with him. Their relationship is so complex, and in different circumstances it could have been very healthy. Mori truly cares about Dazai, and I think Dazai cared for Mori in return. It’s impossible to spend so much time with someone, share so much, without growing to care for them at all. And Mori and Dazai are so similar, they naturally understood each other and agreed with one another for a long time. One incident soured their relationship. But it still wasn’t healthy before that. Mori was using Dazai, putting him in a position no child or teenager should be in with little regard for his mental health. He still presumably gave Dazai drugs, though we don’t know what kind I think it safe to assume they weren’t regular antidepressants or anxiety prescriptions. Might have just been weed, but I doubt it. Anyway. Point is, Mori treated Dazai like an adult who was allowed to make their own terrible decisions, but took it a step further and pushed him towards those decisions for his own gain. Yes he cared about Dazai, and no he didn’t force him into anything, but he was irresponsible and manipulative all the same.

Anyway, I am once again writing an analysis on Dazai’s relationships in the middle of the night when I am supposed to be asleep. I have a Problem. Hope my sleep deprivation didn’t affect the quality lol