#i have a lot of signatures this time its so cool

[factual-fantasy]

26 asks! Thank you! :}}} 🪲

Oh absolutely I do. That's why I always ask before drawing anyone's OCs, or using/modifying their original meme templates, or anything of the sort. Friends and strangers alike.

And same goes for AU ideas. In the past I've seen a really cool idea for an AU and tracked down the OP and asked if I could incorporate their idea into my AU as well. I do my very best to do this for other artists because its what I wish people would do for me.👍👍

I have a master post for all my Octonauts artwork here. 👍

@ripchaos69

I'm really proud of/pleased with how this fairy piece came out! :DD

I also really like how this pixelated cat came out! :)

I was very pleased with how WALL-E cam out in this piece!

I also think this is one of the best drawings of Optimus I've ever done! :))

Even if I knew the answer, that's probably not something I should share online anyways is it?

@mothpendragon

I remember not liking him at all the first time I watched the show. But now watching it a second time years later, I think he's really not that bad. :0 In fact I don't know why I disliked him so much back then.

There are some parts about his character that annoy me. But most of that either is good character writing or isn't his fault. I don't like how immature he tends to be, but of course he's immature. He's still basically just a kid who hasn't experienced much of this war.

And when things get rough, he really straightens out and tries his best to be serious and obedient. Which is very nice to see.

Another thing that I don't like is how the phase shifter was kind'a overused. It became his signature weapon that he used to bail him out of everything. Smokescreen has demonstrated that he's actually pretty clever and slick, it would have been fun to see him trick or outsmart the cons more often instead of just using the phase shifter to save his aft every time. But again, this is not Smokescreens fault at all. Its the writers fault for making his use it so much.

And lastly, something that really made me like Smokescreen was the whole thing that happened with Optimus nearly dying. Smokescreen freaking out at the prospect of becoming a Prime felt really real. Instead of being honored and having and having an inflated ego like I thought he might for some reason- he was terrified.

And him panicking and using the forge to repair Optimus last second felt very real. I could really understand how Smokescreen must have felt, wanting to follow Optimus's orders and restore their home, but also being unable to bare the responsibility of being a Prime. Eventually dragging Optimus back to the land of the living and throwing away any hope of restoring the Omega lock.

If I was better at analyzing characters, I would have loved to draw a comic about what happens right after Optimus was repaired.

My first thought is Smokescreen feeling guilty and ashamed of having used the forge against Optimus's wishes. Would Smokescreen crumble? Fall to his knees, crying and apologizing? "I'm so sorry Optimus- I just couldn't do it-- I couldn't do it, I cant be a Prime- I couldn't-- w-we couldn't lose you.." Is that in character? Honestly I have no idea. 😔

I've thought about doing that for my lineless style, but I haven't gotten around to it.. 😓

If someone goes out of their way to comment on your post/in your ask box saying you're cringe for liking transformers, block the all the way to the sun and back.

What a jerk. I wouldn't be friends with anyone who goes around insulting/trying to upset people for no reason like that. Block them and don't accept/respond any phony apology they might throw your way. They knew they were being rude when they sent that message and deserve to be blocked.

Dude I would take that so fast. No one in my family would ever have to work or have debt ever again 😭

I figure if I ever feel like drawing/posting Octonauts art again, I would just put it behind a paywall on my Ko-fi. Which ngl I've thought about doing a lot recently with the new movie that came out.

But also- I would have no way of filtering out people for that private blog because how am I supposed to know who will and wont steal my artwork just by looking at their account? And when it did get stolen, I would have no way of knowing which follower did it-

I believe I've mentioned it before, but I didn't want to watch Rescue bots because its attached to Transformers: Prime <:/

Its supposed to be connected to Prime, but its rather baby-ified. The tone is much more light hearted, the plot of Rescue bots completely rewrites/contradicts the plot of Prime, Optimus comes back to life for no reason. Stuff like that.

Atm I'm only interested in Prime 😔

@kitkat1003

OUGUHHH SO REALLLLL 😭😭😭😭

REALLL I've only ever found ship fics😔😔😔 I'd love to see an aftermath fic with no romance involved.

@virtualworldfp5

That's a really cool idea! :D Great artwork too! :))

@badlyblurry

Man, if I had a nickel for every time Jeffery Combs played a character with some sort of scientist background and that had some form of contact with a green chemical compound that holds harmful properties to one body in a way, I'd have 3 nickels. Which isn't a lot but its weird that it happened 3 times. XD

@anonymous-red-shades

I'd definitely want to be something that can fly :00 But I don't think I'd wanna fly super fast because i wanna enjoy the scenery.. hmmm.. maybe a helicopter or a classic pontoon plane? :000

As for abilities... uhhhhhhh the only special abilities I know that transformers can have is the warping thing that Skywarp does. I don't know of any other powers <:0 Maybe an ability to change into more than one alt mode..? So I could be a submarine and go underwater? Or maybe the ability to breathe underwater or something? :00

(Referencing this post)

They're so unhinged I swear 😔

@chickenmilk120 (Referencing this post)

NOT YOU TOO-

@cherrycreamfairy

I couldn't find any websites that didn't make my anti virus tweak out <XD So the only villain I like from memory is Captain Gantu from Lilo and Stitch.

I still like it yeah :0 but I'm not really engaging in any Mandalorian media atm-

@minnesotamedic186

Okay the killing part aside a Plymouth Fury is an excellent choice of car ngl. Especially a fiery red 💅💅💅

@axolotlcookie0

The fact that it looks like Thomas's face has been bagged makes it even funnier XDDD

@wolfie-777

XD I actually think of that a lot yeah. I always tell myself "oooo I should draw that later" but I never do XD💀

@beryl-shade

Bibi would probably use it as intended. Sharpening and cleaning his claws💅💅

Meanwhile Cici would use it as a weapon to beat up Jangles and Gerald with XDD

What was his real name supposed to be in that continuity then? XD

@milk-powrit

References. Looooots and looooot of references.

Typically I use references of realistic skeletons. But if there's a part of the body that I just cant seem to draw right, then I look up drawings of skeletons to see how other artists drew that part. 👍

@beryl-shade

Oh no doubt they'll have an episode that takes place around the lake and the fair grounds(?) The theme park next to the main tent-

The fact that Caine mentioned their existence at all implies that an episode is going to take place there. At least for me-

[red-dyed-sarumane]

all the vocap loved the fan art that was such a good idea omg. i was so nervous to talk to gomeie since hes the first person i was talking to so it was. a little awkward but it went okay!! i told vuvuzela ive been a fan since 2020 & he was like oh my god thats insane. zensen said my art was cute. shu was like this is amazing the colors are so bright this might be the best thing a fans given me. & fuyuu was also like oh my god u drew me something????? & was showing it to the person next to him im like yeah i love ur rime songs. naisho no pierce isnt here but i wrote a letter & put the shikishi in with it & put it in his box

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

Every bookbinding tutorial i found online: "DO NOT TRY THE COPTIC STITCH AS A BEGINNER ITS TOO ADVANCED"

Me who has only bound one book before and used a completely different method: "ehh it can't be that hard"

2 hours later

.....I was right. Its not that hard.

[prokopetz]

I apologise if you've already answered this, but I tried searching your blog and I'm unsure if you haven't or if it's another example of Tumblr's amazing search system.

I was talking with a friend recently about how much of a culture clash the Monk Class is compared to the rest of Dungeons & Dragons and was wondering if there is a coherent reason for their original inclusion. I'm aware that they're largely influenced by Shaolin monks as depicted in Hong Kong cinema in the 70's/80's as compared to the Sword and Sorcery stuff most of the rest of D&D takes influence from.

Basically, my question ultimately boils down to, "Is the Monk Class there purely because of an original player wanting to rule of cool their way into playing something wildly out of genre, or is there a stronger link between Sword and Sorcery and Hong Kong cinema that could have organically resulted in the Monk Class joining the rest of the classes?"

A lot of the link between the two was simply a matter of time and place. The kung fu craze hit North America at just about exactly the same time as the sword and sorcery revival that gave us films like Clash of the Titans and Beastmaster and The Sword and the Sorcerer and Dragonslayer and Krull – not to mention the Arnold Schwarzenegger Conan adaptation, which revived popular interest in first-wave sword and sorcery literature – so there was a lot of it going around. Analysis of early Dungeons & Dragons as a product of its media influences often overlooks that it was largely drawing on what was trendy in American popular media in the 1960s, 1970s and 1980s. Even the tonally incongruous Lord of the Rings references weren't a deep cut; while the books were originally published in the 1950s, they'd experienced a strong resurgence in the 1970s, putting them firmly in the popular consciousness at the time that D&D was being developed. All this being the case, it's not surprising that early D&D was also substantially influenced by Hong Kong action cinema.

That said, the reason the monk character class in particular (i.e., as opposed to kung fu media influences more generally) is there is allegedly because one specific guy in one of the game's early playtest groups really, really wanted to play as Remo Williams from Warren Murphy and Richard Sapir's The Destroyer; several of the class's signature abilities are direct references to powers Williams exhibits in the course of the novels. Remarks from folks who worked at TSR at the time have pointed the finger at Brian Blume as the Remo Williams fan in question, though accounts are conflicted whether Blume was actually an uncredited contributor to Dave Arneson's Blackmoor (1975), in which the class makes its first proper appearance, or whether Blume's interest merely prompted its inclusion.

This is the case for the character archetypes in a lot tabletop RPGs of that era; instead of trying to work out what classes "ought" be be present, authors would simply start with the types of characters their playtesters actually wanted to play, often based on specific popular media characters, then work backwards to derive an IC rationale for why those were the setting's standard adventuring professions. Other examples from D&D in particular most obviously include the Ranger (based on Tolkien's Aragon, naturally), but also the Paladin (principally inspired by Holger Carlsen from Poul Anderson's 1961 isekai novel Three Hearts and Three Lions, also the source of D&D's goofy regenerating trolls), the Assassin, back when it was still a separate character class (probably mainly based on the Assassin Caste from John Norman's Gor), and even the Wizard to a large extent (less Gandalf than you'd think: a large portion of D&D's iconic wizard spell list is lifted directly from the 1963 Vincent Price film The Raven).

(I often think that modern indie RPGs could benefit from reviving this approach. Like, fuck textual consistency – just pick half a dozen of your favourite popular media characters without regard for the compatibility of the source material and work backwards to explain why these six random assholes are your game's playable archetypes!)

[randomthefox]

Let's talk about Dante and Vergil's swords, Rebellion and Yamato, and their "publication history" if you will.

In DMC1, Dante's default sword he starts with is Force Edge. It is described as being a "momento from his father."

However by the end of DMC1, Force Edge has its true power unlocked and becomes the devil sword Sparda.

It stays like that permanently afterwards, it never reverts back to being regular Force Edge. So when they were developing DMC2 they needed a new regular default sword for Dante because they couldn't just have him start out using Sparda, so they came up with Rebellion.

I doubt they put any thought into this whatsoever at the time. But when Itsuno was making DMC3, he decided to take the sword they came up with for Dante from the second game and rewrote it a little so that the Rebellion was the sword that Sparda left Dante after all!

Since he was also rewriting Force Edge to be the key that locked away the Underworld, and they had another non-Force Edge sword invented up, it opened things up so that they could take that sword they invented to replace Force Edge in DMC2 to have a lot more importance invoked into it!

And since they were also taking Vergil and completely changing his character for the sake of their plot for this prequel game, let's also give him a keepsake sword from Sparda! You might not realize this if you hadn't beaten DMC1 at least on hard mode, but the Yamato was NOT just some random cool samurai sword that they gave Vergil because he's so cool. You see back in DMC1 if you beat it on hard mode you unlocked the Legendary Dark Knight mode, which was a model swap for Dante where he was dressed up as Sparda. And along with Sparda's clothes and DT, you also got to use Sparda's sword the Yamato!

That's right, the Yamato as a sword actually predates Vergil the character as we know him. The detail that it has the power to DIVIDE things in two is even right there in the description from the original game as well! So Itsuno took this bonus weapon that is described as being wielded by Sparda, and decided it was the matching keepsake weapon given to Vergil in DMC3. Since Vergil is the older twin, he gets the sword Sparda actually used himself.

The way these swords of such esteem power and prominence have the origin of Itsuno taking disparate elements from the baton passing development of the first two games where the original was made by Kamiya and the second game was made under duress is really nifty to me. Playing DMC5 you'd almost think it was all planned out from the beginning, but nothing could be further from the truth. That's the mark of true creativity I think. Instead of just saying DMC2 was bad and ignoring everything about it, he took the default sword from that game and did something creative with it. Now in the majority of peoples minds, Rebellion is the signature sword for Dante. And by that same token, most fans don't have any idea that Yamato was an unlockable weapon all the way back from the first game because it's just so iconic as Vergil's signature blade.

Pretty cool, I think.

[colossrat]

keranos? like the magic card?

Batman: I ask that when leaving, anyone who agrees with the approach proposed by me and Superman signs the pamphlet next to the door.

And then the heroes come out, whoever thinks it's a good idea to be discussed again at the next meeting signs with their hero name. but Captain Marvel was the first to sign, so he didn't see how the others signed and didn't know if he should use "Captain Marvel".

He has an argument with Solomon inside his own head that lasted a little less than a second, and in the end they come to a consensus that he can sign as one of the many names of the champion of magic. but they were so… simple… billy decided to add some details, a signature worthy of an entity that's zibilions of years old and a store of immense magic.

The other day, while Billy is "saving" some kitchen leftovers in his pocket dimension, Batman arrives and approaches him while holding a paper.

Batman: Captain… What did you put in the signatures?

Marvel: oh? hmm, my name?

Batman: your name... Can you tell me how to pronounce it?

Marvel: oh. Yes? Ahm, its Keranos. sorry, its hard to read?

Batman: no, it's okay. It was what I thought it could be. It's just that I never found these types of letters before, despite the similarity with the current alphabet…

Marvel noticed that he exaggerated a little with the decoration in the signature: yeah… it's a-- rune language that died a long, long, time ago, but I tried to mix it up a little with the letters from the current world so it wouldn't look so strange. The sound of the pronunciation is "keranos", so in our alphabet it could be written with k-e-r-a-n-o-s… Next time I'm going to use the normal alphabet, sorry… I… I didn't think that much when I wrote it.

Batman: of course. Don't worry captain. I can't imagine what it must be like to live in a world where your name can no longer be written the way it should be.

Marvel: its... ok, i like Marvel a lot too.

Batman: So… would you like us to start calling you Keranos?

Marvel: well, if you want, of course, I have no problem. It's one of my oldest names. but you don't have to if it's confusing, you know, me having several names.

Batman: don't worry. It's a pleasure to meet you, Keranos.

Marvel: The pleasure is mine, mister batman sir!!

There are several league members hiding in the hallway near the kitchen, whispering.

Flash: that's so cool! Marvel is so tight with his personal information, but he's letting go, he even gave us one of his names! That means he's finally opening up, right?

Wonder Woman: Indeed. Keranos… This name is familiar to me from the stories my sisters and I told each other. a god of the wrath of storms…

Hal: Just like the magic card???

Superman: I remembered that too. It's literally the definition of the creature, isn't it?

Hal: technically it's only a creature if your devotion is less than seven, anyway. even the way it is written.

Flash: my god, you are two nerds.

If one day they ask Marvel about the magic card, he will be genuinely confused because he didn't know it. billy never had the money to buy these games.

"oh, is there a game card with my name? a god of storms? wow, I'm embarrassed, I didn't know that name had been kept alive by these stories haha"

I was playing with Billy and Marvel's signature, thinking about how they would write differently in each form, and I ended up thinking about this

I don't know if the captain's fandom took keranos from the magic card, but that's what I found when I looked up the name and I thought it was brilliant

[mscherub]

Hello! This was, and is originally posted on my Ao3, but I’m gonna bring it over here for other ppl to read, cause why not?

Courting with Floyd (Floyd Leech x Reader)

Gender neutral reader, referred to as prefect, Y/N, or shrimpy~

(Possible?) Warnings:

swearing(I have a sailors mouth and it makes its way into my writing)

Mention of a tooth

Uneducated reader on merfolk courting rituals

Probs grammatical errors and or spelling, or both, knowing me—

Word count: approximately 2.4K

How long has it been since Floyd has been acting weird? Well, I mean he always was weird to begin with, but now? Yea, totally different! He seemed more calm around you which—shockingly—is not like him. Was he ok? Where’d the sinister maniacal eel boy go? Figuring Jade would know better about his own brother, you went to him first just to ask, but, as expected, Jade was no help, simply smirking at you and basically telling you “tough luck.” I mean, Floyd, Floyd, was starting to be nice to you. Always finding a reason to be with you, always finding a reason to annoy hang out with you. Granted he did that before, but not as much. You weren’t thattt interesting. You were basic looking at best in his opinion(rude…), you caused a lot of trouble(ok, that’s fun…), and you did make everything twice as exciting when around so…ehhhh, maybe you were more interesting than he gave you credit for. But now? He’s going all out just to be closer it seems, and it’s unnerving.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Shrimpyyyyyyyyyyyyyy…ne ne, heyyyyyyy. Lookie lookie! Loooook!!! Shrimpy?” Floyd pouted and poked your cheek.

You were in the library, minding your business studying. Grim was off with Ace and Deuce so you got a moment alone, even just for a few minutes, but of course it was ruined already…

“Huh? I’m trying to study here…” you reply. Honestly why did trouble always find you? And more importantly why did the cause of it get blamed on you and—

“Booooringgg…hey hey, shrimpy~” he flashes you that signature toothy grin, pulling you out of your inner monologue. “I have something more fun in mind, yea? Come with me~” he doesn’t give you any time to even respond and yanks you up from your seat. You begrudgingly follow along behind him, trying to pull your arm away from his grip, but to no luck. The fuck did this guy eat to be so damn strong?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

After going about campus for who knows how long, precious study time replaced by scaring and robbing people on Azul’s special blacklist…Floyd drags you under a tree in the botanical gardens. He hums a tune softly as he kicks at rocks in the grass…he’s out of toys to play with now and I guess you’re the only option, right?

“Heyyyyyy, Shrimpy! Tell me a story from your world.” you’re pulled from your thoughts again and look over at him as he leans against the tree and slumps down to the ground. He looks up at you expectantly. You sigh and sit down next to him, backs against the trees.

“What do you wanna hear?” You hum as your eyes find their way to a group of butterflies fluttering around a small patch of flowers.

“Something cool. Hmmmm…oh! How ‘bout something about the oceans in your world? You have em, yea?” He sighs, gently bumping the back of his head against the tree

“Yea, my world has oceans, but I dunno. We have like maybe 5% explored? A lot of fish I guess…not much different from yours in a sense besides that merfolk don’t exist.” you murmur. What else was there really to say? You exactly weren’t a marine biologist before ending up here.

Floyd goes quiet and lets out a scoff of disbelief, his eyes widening

“Huh…your world sounds boring shrimpy…no other eel merfolk then?” He waits for your reply. Why did he care about that

“Uh…no. Not any merfolk at all…and I guess it is kinda boring. But hey, it’s home.” you retort. Floyd simply grins and moves his face closer to yours. You glare at him confused. You could be studying right now, you could be reading up on whatever topic Trein assigned, but no! You were bullshitting around with probably one of the top most deadliest students in the entire school, and that’s without the use of magic. But Floyd doesn’t do anything sinister, instead he pulls something from his blazer pocket and drops it in your lap…what the—a pearl?

“Uh—“

“Pretty, huh? Just like your eyes, or whatever. Anyways…I’m bored, and ‘Zul’s probably got some spiel for me when I get back…gotta beat him to the lounge.” Floyd hoists himself up and looks down at you, waving his hand. “Later, shrimpy-Chan~” he grins again. His eyes have a weird glint to them today.

He whistles as he walks off, leaving you alone to ponder, again…ok…what the fuck just happened?

Things didn’t exactly add up. Was he trying to trick you…did he just give you a gift, for free!? Uh, hello? Not Floyd like, not Octivanelle student like at all! Something was fishy, and no pun intended, but what the actual fuck? Ok, thinking logically, maybe you did something that benefited him and he payed you back for it? But what did you do? And also that’s not like Floyd, either? You’re completely and utterly stumped.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Floyd’s behavior only got weirder over the days, and he even uncharacteristically started to give more gifts to you…one being the tooth of who knows who’s. You’ve asked him about it and it’s the same reply each time:

“Just felt like it. Bye now!” —or something like that…gave you something pretty, which was always usually shiny, and then left, leaving you to look at the gift(if you even wanna consider a tooth that then sure) confused.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

One evening you’re sitting in Ramshackle dorm, doom scrolling on MagiCam, Grim curled up and passed out beside you on the couch…

Ding!

“The hell?”

A message from Azul pops up and you instinctively click on it.

Azul: “for the love of the seven, please say yes to Floyd already. It’s driving me and my business into turmoil…”

Huh…

Ok, what the hell did he mean by “say yes to Floyd?” What am I saying yes to?

You: “…uh…what?”

Azul: “…”

Azul: “come to the lounge.”

And that’s it. Azul ends the conversation. Weird.

You hoist yourself up and you pat grim on the head to wake him up.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When you and Grim get to the lounge, it’s empty, besides for the disaster playing out…Floyd slumped directly on the floor in the middle of the lounge in his eel form, his tail flicking angrily and smacking against the floor, a pout plastered onto his face. Apparently Azul caught him trying to sneak out again to go to the sea for “presents,” and Azul got fed up. Floyd grumbles and glares over at the door, his eyes soften just a bit when he sees it’s you, but he’s in one of his moods.

“Shrimpy…come’ere…” he mutters. “Tell ‘Zul how dickish he’s being by not letting me go get you another trinket from the sea.”

“Floyd, you’ve been skipping out on working hours—“

Jade chimes in, “To be fair, when doesn’t he?”

Floyd keeps bickering with Azul, leaving you and Grim to just witness the scene unfold before you.

“Henchhuman, we could run right about…now!” Grim murmurs.

“No…” you sigh as you grab his tail before he books it. You could totally take advantage of this, maybe get Azul to make a fair deal with you if you solve whatever is wrong with Floyd…

Jade walks up next to you silently and smiles as he watches.

“You know…my brother has taken quite a liking to you I fear…he would be fairly upset if you were to keep ignoring his advances.” He hums. “Though it is enjoyable to watch him try so hard.”

“What? Jade, no offense but what the hell do you mean?” You side eye him, but Azul calls Jade over to drag Floyd to the pool until he can get him a potion to change him back…Azul is stressed and it’s evident as he takes off his glasses to rub his face. But soon his exasperated expression is replaced by a glare as he makes eye contact with you.

“Prefect, I truly thought you were smart, but in this type of situation, you’re so dense!” Azul huffs.

“Ok, ok, before accusing me of anything else, you mind telling me what’s going on?” You say as you cross your arms.

“You know exactly what’s going on…right?” He mutters.

Azul looks at you, his glare never changing until you can see something click for him. His eyes go a little wide and he looks at you surprised.

Shit…you didn’t know the courting rituals of merfolk, did you? I mean it would only make sense, you were a human, and you weren’t exactly from this world…

“Ah…Prefect. How to explain this— “

“How to explain what?” You sigh.

Azul takes a breath in and puts his glasses back on before continuing.

“I suppose there’s differences in each culture varying from land to sea, and in truth that is what makes them all unique in their own ways…uh—“ he pauses again, rubbing his temples.

“in merfolk culture, those who may be interested in another tend to give gifts as a means of courting. Do you understand that? Need I say more?”

You stare at him blankly, blink a few times, then take a breath in.

“Courting?”

“Courting.” Azul confirms.

“By that you mean Floyd is trying to…trying to get with me? Date me?” You murmur, your eyes widening.

“Precisely.” Azul sighs. “And while I have no problem with that in a sense, you ignoring his advances have caused him to be more—more in a sour mood, lately, more than he usually is, anyways. It’s truly putting a stunt into the business of the lounge due to him working less…it’s cumbersome.” Azul sighs again, longer this time.

You look at Azul, then to Grim who seems even more surprised than you. He looks over at you and looks about ready to cry.

“NOOOOO. HENCHHUMAN NO! NO, NO! YOU WILL NOT NOOOOOOO!” Grim whines, grabbing your arm and shaking you.

“Tell Floyd off, Azul! Ain’t no way my Henchhuman is gonna fall in the grips of that slimy eel!” Grim complains

Azul puts up his hand, shushing Grim.

“That’s not my decision, and you both practically know Floyd as well as I do…and to be fair I don’t exactly know why he’s courting since neither him nor Jade have ever tried in their life, not even back in the coral sea…but, Perfect,” Azul narrows his eyes at you, “don’t make a decision that will ruin my business…” and with that, he leaves you and Grim, slamming the door to the VIP lounge.

“Henchhuman you can’t be considerin’ this! There’s a lot of better guys out there…like Kalim, rich too!”

“Floyd and Jade are pretty rich, too, Grim—“

“And he lives above land, and he has Jamil who makes great food! I think if you’re going for someone go for him.” He interrupts.

“Grimmy, it ain’t just about the money for one…” you sigh.

“YOU’RE CONSIDERING THIS?!” He yells, he looks ready to faint.

Truth was, that as much as you acted like you didn’t like Floyd, you honestly kind of did. For what, though? Hard to tell. Maybe it was his laid back attitude, or maybe it was his looks, though he kinda looked like a gremlin, or maybe you just liked him for, well, him…

Grim is already walking(floating) away, but you let him this time…you’ll find him later, guarantee, probably caught up with some mess he always manages to make. Instead, you take a breath in and walk to where the pools are located.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You push through the double doors to the pool room and you find Floyd swimming in circles, bored mumbling obscenities to himself. You get closer, your footsteps echoing on the tiled floor.

“If it’s you ‘zul, I don’t wanna hear what you have ta say, ain’t gonna change anything, and—“ he looks up and sees you. He stops talking then stops swimming. Slowly, his pout forms into a smirk and he swims over to the edge of the pool.

“Shrimpy~ I knew you’d come…” he gives you a closed eye grin. He hoists himself up out of the pool and sits on the edge, the rest of his tail in the water.

You walk over to him and sit next to him, keeping at least a few feet between you in hopes you don’t get wet.

“Sorry I didn’t notice earlier…I guess?” you murmur. You look at him. His smile doesn’t fade, he moves his face closer to yours. “About the courting or whatever, I mean. Actually, it’s more your fault cause how were you gonna do that to me when I didn’t even know what it meant? Ah, whatever. Guess it’s just good I know now, right?” you tease. Floyd giggles and boops your nose.

“Thought you knew. You seemed smart, but maybe I gave ya too much credit for that, huh?” He teases back.

You nudge him gently with your shoulder, your uniform blazer sticking slightly to his viscous skin…

He smiles and holds out a closed fist to you. You look up at him and furrow your brows, looking at his gesture confused.

He turns his fist and opens it, revealing a pearl necklaces with shiny scales that obviously didn’t belong to him. Now that you understood the implications somewhat of the gifts, you hesitate to take it, but he plops it into the palm or your hand. You clip it around your neck and let out a soft hum as the light glints of the scales.

“It’s pretty,..uh, I guess just like you, thank you?” You murmur. Floyd grins even more and practically pounces on you.

“You’re too cute shrimpy…” he hums, rubbing his cheek against yours. “You get it now, yea? Good…now you gotta do it back…I only like expensive things so—“

“Floyd, let’s just skip that, ok?” You chuckle. “I like you, too…without the gifts you’ve given me, though, they are nice…”

“Hmmm…guess I can see past it just this once…” he sighs. He pulls back a little and grins at you. You look back at him and can’t help but smile.

“Do you know how we seal a courtship?” His smiling never faltering.

“Let me guess, a ki—“

Floyd crashes his lips against yours and shuts you up. A small sound of surprise leaves you. He pulls away and giggles, watching as your face turns bright red.

“Hmmm…now I’m bored, Shrimpy…oh, I know let’s go for swim!”

Oh no.

That’s it for now my lovelies! Also this was my first work on Ao3 and ofc transferring it over here may have messed it up a lot more, so if it’s bad that’s why 💀 (I also can write rlly well some days and others I can’t, weird thing…)

Master list

Please don’t steal or copy any of my work! You may, however, reblog if you’d want to!

Pictures belong to Disney Twisted Wonderland but are edited by me :)

[saintfelina]

alright alright you want something sweet i get it! what better way to usher in the new year than with something uplifting and delectable? it could be a sign of good things to come, it could be something comforting. but what exactly is a gourmand?

simply put, gourmands are scents reminiscent of food. normally based on desserts they'll have notes of sugar, vanilla, whipped cream, caramel, praline, cake, cotton candy, cookie, milk etc. they're normally based around desserts, it's like wearing a bakery. i get the urge! it brings back warm and fuzzy memories, or maybe you just want to smell good enough to eat.

nevertheless, if you absolutely have to smell tooth rottingly sweet in 2025, this is the way to go.

the gourmand to end all gourmands. this is like a hydrogen bomb of sugar and the foremother of all the other scents mentioned (except maybe fantasy). it's ultra potent rich caramel burnt sugar cotton candy. you'll love it or you'll hate it.

fantasy is often a girls first gourmand. and it's a staple in my own collection. it's a bright, almost zingy kiwi cupcake. super potent and i'll be honest one of my only compliment getters. it smells like girlishness in a bottle

petite gateau was inspired by parisian cafes and it fits that to a tea. a warm, buttery gourmand that's a smooth "lived in" kind of sweet reminescent of buttercream. it's like the sweetness of vanilla mixing in with the warmth of the oven radiating throughout your home.

viva la juicy sucre was once discontinued but due to fan response was brought back and it's surged to the top of many a "best gourmands" list. its a peachy, creamy gourmand that's very potent. signature scent worthy and it has that signature viva la juicy drydrown so if you're not a fan of that you won't like this.

sabrina carpenter has been taking the world by storm. but before her hit espresso, those tapped into the perfume game knew sweet tooth was where it's at. super affordable, its a fluffy, marshmallowy scent. perfectly straddling the line between girlish and sensual with its cashmere drydown.

kayali has recently hit the streets with boujee marshmallow and this (along with pistachio gelato) are master gourmands. this one is denser, sweeter and a lot more ultra feminine. it's almost a strawberry marshmallow milkshake. but because of how heavy it is, i recommend going very light with this one.

i know i said i'm not a fan od dupe house but lattafa is a rare case in that they both dupe and create original scents--often times in the same bottle. and this is one of them. said to be a dupe for the infamous bianco latte, this is truly a very beautiful scent on it's own right. rich, sweet and sensual it's almost like an expensive dessert in a bottle.

one of my top fragrances of 2024, pear gelato smells like a cool refreshing treat. the pear adds a lot of freshness, almost like the "ice" in ice cream. it lasts all day and actually gets me compliments. it's an almost photorealistic smell, reminding me of when your ice cream melts and seeps into the sticky waffle cone. perfect for spring/summer.

annabel's birthday cake is unique in that it smells like every aspect of a birthday party. the latex note smells like party balloons littering the floor of a party soaked in the scent of the freshly baked, just brought out cake lit up with candles.

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

✮  tags ; top + gn!reader (no desc of parts but reader is fucking him), unabashed daddy kink, implied verse, small age gap, bottom megumi, petnames (boy, baby) thorough discussion of megumis daddy issues in exactly the direction you think, 18+

✮ wc ; 1.3k

✮  a/n ; i haven't slept . im not responsible for anything. will not be taking questions at this time. 🫡

He's the prettiest thing you've ever seen in your life.

You tell him as much. He pretends to hate hearing it. Soft features bend at hard angles to convincingly drive in the fact that he detests it. Megumi is always like that. For the years you've known him - anything he's at risk of playing his hand too quickly, he retracts. You think that's why you're so addicted to getting him to let go.

He scowls, has the signature Zenin mean mug that almost makes the whole schtick convincing. You know better though. Maybe because you've known him since highschool, or maybe because you simply find him easy to read.

You've never met someone so touchstarved or so delicate all while being so, so mean. There's a lot Megumi can do but he's shit at hiding when something bothers him. When he's irritated, he's petulant and when he's pleased - you'd almost describe him as docile. In his own way. In the way a dog who used to cage fight could be.

You have an interesting relationship to Megumi. You're a stray just like him - with your family being a Zenin lapdog and you being their black sheep. You have a lot to relate on, but Megumi finds your attitude grating. Finds the harshness of your personality difficult, and finds the finesse you have for slaughter and violence to be nauseating.

It's probably why he makes wide, wet eyes at you whenever you're alone. Closest thing he has to someone he can depend on with more experience. You're quick to appraise his work when you go on trips together. Despite your acting smug and Megumis frustration about your attitude, he soaks up the praise like a pretty little sponge. He's only a few years younger than you though, despite how he acts.

(Sometimes you think he wants the gap to be a little wider. )

A cute kid, only two years younger than you. Soft, striking green eyes. Soft lips. A mean little glare and spiky mop of black hair to compliment pale, cream colored skin. Megumi blushes easy, bruises even easier. His knees and elbows are a pretty cherry-blossom pink like something out of a movie scene.

The first time you fuck Megumi, its mostly because you're drunk and interested. It'd be stupid to not be interested in a face so pretty and desperate for approval.

All times after that are false happenstance. You make a routine of it - a silent game that makes it look like you're coercing him so he doesn't have to accept his own wants with any seriousness. You're cool with the ambiguity cause you're a little sick in the head. It's enough to fuck him, and sometimes when you're generous - to have him fuck you.

Megumi is pretty when he's being fucked. He changes his tune fast when his dick is a little hard and his guard is down - never thought that bratty little fucker could whine like he's in heat until you pulled the sounds out of his mouth yourself.

You always reaffirm how much he loves attention and praise and pampering when you fuck Megumi. He likes when you appraise him like that too. Soft compliments about his pretty little hole and the tightness of his waist. You manage it with relative ease. Makes your whole core throb just to see how much he twitches over something so slight and so easy. Such a mean fucking kid - such a brat, all welled up anger and abandonment issue.

Sometimes you wanna make him cry from him pain.

But most times, like now - you offer Megumi sweet pleasure. Give him that gentle, doting authority that he seems to fiend for. Desperate for reprieve in a way that stains his face, despite his attempts to brush it off.

Megumi takes dick like he was born for it. Slender fingers grip at your waist and claw at your back like he wants to rip you in half - tear you limb from limb but his legs wrap around your waist like he'd die if you left him for one fucking second. Megumi likes being full, you think. And he likes more when you praise him for taking your cock with such ease.

It's not rocket science to figure out he has some issues with authority. That distant relationship with his sensei and absent father make it obvious that he never wants to let anyone get too close. He could never really entertain certain relationships, he could never actually ask for approval. It's too little, too late.

Still, it surprises you a little when you first hear him say daddy. Not a lot, but enough that you pause in mid-thrust to stare at him a bit. He's mortified at the realization.

But you're not much less of a scumbag you figure, than all the figures in his life. You nod instead, feel arousal spark up in your stomach and claw it's way into your throat as you fuck him even harder.

("Daddy, huh?" You laugh because it's funny and you think the feeling of being so turned on you pass out is inappropriate. "Sure, baby. I'll be your daddy if you want." )

He doesn't say shit to you about it afterwards. Can barely look you in the during your post-sex aftercare and chat - though that conversation is never particularly romantic. You think the whole thing makes him want to die, so you don't really bring it up outside of a knowing look.

But it happens more often than that. Like a dam breaking, something slips and now Megumi can't close it despite how desperately he seems to want too. It's not even that you're particularly into it at the start.

But well, he's pretty. Prettiest little thing you've ever seen in your life, even though he's tall and strong. He's got this grace that overwhelms you into fucking him dumb whenever you can. Try as you might, you will is not strong enough to not lust over someone like him calling you daddy. That level of unprecedented whining, the affection, the need in such an embarrassing word makes your feel so horny you can barely think.

So, it doesn't particularly surprise you when Megumi calls you daddy. Not anymore.

He's weepy in the face, somewhere in the distance - and he's still wearing his pajamas when you come see him. The scene is uncomfortably domestic between two people who aren't dating, but you don't really care either way. Megumi is pretty everywhere, but he's especially needy getting fucked on his kitchen counter sitting up to cling to you.

His arms around your shoulders, face drawn together with shameless embrassed. His cock is twitchy, leaking against the flat plane of his stomach with unbridled enthusiasm. He says it in a whisper today which you can't help but find cute.

It's raw in the back of his throat, mildly gravelly as his nails dig into your shoulders with an enthusiastic whine. "Daddy. Fuck, please, can't."

"What's daddy's boy want huh?" You say, obviously mocking - a hand wrapped around shaft with a thumb over his slit. Megumi shivers. Lets out a shameful moan at the word boy that makes you laugh hard, makes your head spin dizzy with lust.

"Wanna cum," He says, but doesn't beg. Doesn't know how and couldn't figure it out if you paid him. You've spoiled him rotten after all. Filthy, really but he's prettier when he's acting precious. At least to you. "Make me cum, daddy please."

"Really milking it today, huh boy?" You chuckle and all he does is whimper. "Okay, okay. So fucking needy. Go on and cum, baby. Cum for daddy."

Megumi lets out a whine. A sound you barely knew he had in him as you say it that time and you laugh again and again as you bottom out. You watch him squirm as he finally finishes, back arching off the counter as the pleasure runs through him.

His face is still hazy when he comes down. Still beautiful in that way that makes you want to fuck him stupid and indulge for the rest of your life.

"Feel good, baby?"

He blushes faint and doesn't bother pushing you away. "Mm."

[okaerina]

𓍢 (bnd ver!) like its 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒏𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄 .ᐟ ໒ 𓂅 ໋⋅

SIMP! bnd x CRUSH! reader GENRE ! pining, fluff, angst if u squint TW ! none (lmk if there is any) NOW PLAYING ! . . . . magnetic by ill-it WC ! 7O2

𖠗 𝐣aehyun — shy cute flirt !

insert butter-myung. once he lays eyes on you he's a goner like he's so dramatic about it, panting and clutching his chest hard "guys i think im going to die if i don't wife her up". is pretty delusional too yk. will outwardly flirt with and then get so shy smh. very cheesy pick-up lines that most of the time fail to flutter your heart but does give you a good laugh tho lol (his biggest accomplishment). expect lots of attention and acts of service ^^

𖠗 𝐫iwoo — calm (going insane inside) sweet guy !

tries to be very calm with you, his hand will always be balled in a tight fist and tries to hide the teeth gritting with a nonchalant smile (but the red ear says all lmao). very rational yet funny, constantly pulling jokes that actually make you laugh yet still being respectful. shares his food with you specially donuts!! takes you to caffé dates "hey, there's this new pretzel shop wanna check it out together??" if you say something about dieting he would immediately encourage and lecture you about how important it is eat alot. will try to feed you too >_< !

𖠗 𝐬ungho — nervous yet reliable big guy !

the first time he saw you he was literally going through a massive panic attack, he literally thought he saw an angel lord! tries hard not to stutter or get nervous around you cue the clammy heads lol. but he still tries to collect his composure together and tries to be more reliable. will tie your undone shoelaces, make sure you ate or drank, always making sure you’re not upset. bro will take you’re side and clap back on behalf of you (sass king). will let you rest your head on his broad shoulder if you fell asleep and he so happens to be sitting beside you chill.

𖠗 𝐭aesan — shy introverted observer !

he's very introverted and often struggles to express his feelings. so he will always just admire you from afar, eyes never leaving you. you're his only muse. he notices all the little details about you and your reaction and expressions to certain things. like the way your hair sways, looking soft, they way you get excited with your friends or the way his heart literally explodes when you laugh or smile. if you end up catching him looking at you he would become shy mess, hiding his face and all. you’ll have to strike the convo first tho cuz he's too shy. loves making playlists dedicated to you oh! he has 100+ songs written for you on his soundcloud (shh).

𖠗 𝐥eehan — confident and shameless flirt !

you thought he was a quite and introverted pretty boy but boy were you so wrong. he's way more extreme in cases of flirting than jaehyun. the fact that he knows that he's drop dead gorgeous makes it even more intense. he will say the most cringiest, cheesiest pick up lines with the signature poker face and an eventual smirk (cue the girls screaming) and expect you to swoon (but you don't) and bro's downbad. veryyy delusional like he will announce to the entire school you two are married (you’re not??). you become the only one he yaps about his fishes and weird obsessions too. will hysterically start crying if you tell him to eat more "OMG YOU CARE SO MUCH ABOUT ME LET'S GET MARRIED!!!" "leehan js eat!"

𖠗 𝐰oonhak — cool guy to loser lover !

he would try to put on a cool guy frat boy image infront of you but it was a big silly FAIL! that one time when you smiled back at his corny "hey, beautiful" he passed away infront of the whole class BYE. he thought he had no game but when you aided for him he realised maybe being a loser for you wouldn’t be so bad actually! "hey cuties this one's for you" and then completely misses the ball smh. takes you out to arcade dates and parks to play (you win most of the time). but nevertheless he's a fun guy to be with (pls let him win time to time :D)

[ 🦢] : last post before semi hiatus (again exams sigh)

[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 read on ao3!

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.”

[leah-lover]

Crossover. Leah Williamson x reader.

Based off this request. Thank you.

Exiting, that's how you would describe your life as a model. Yes there were the occasional hiccups but you mostly got to do very cool stuff and hang out with cool people. Your work took you everywhere but your home base was London. You started your career there and a large number of your followers come from there too.

The thing you loved the most about your job was the parties. They allow you to meet very interesting people, pick their brain and develop interesting g friendships.

Today was no different. Nike had a pretty high budget launch party for their new show line and you were invited. These parties were a little less formal than what you were used to going to, so you decided against a suit or a dress and settled for a black strapless and backless jumpsuit, a pair of black heels and some gold accessories. Your make up was elegant and your signature red lip was at its center.

Nike as always sent you a car to your house and you headed to the location of the event on time.

Upon arriving there you said hi to some people, talked to others, took some pictures at the event with some guests and drank champagne. The night was as regular as most of most launch parties were. Suddenly you were approached by one of the managers of the event.

“ Hey, so I wanted to introduce you to one of the faces of this launch. Miss Leah Williamson.” he says.

“ hi, nice to meet you, Miss williamson.” you say offering her your hand.

“ Hey, just Leah please.” she answers, shaking your hand

.” a fellow Brit I see. I haven't seen many of those tonight.”

“ glad i was among the few.” she answers. You two talked for a little while over a small table, each one of you nursing a drink. You both were making jokes trying to get one another to laugh or at least smile. There was definitely tension in the air and you both were flirtatious with one another.

“So Leah this has been one of the best nights I have had for a while. Thank you “ you say, squeezing her hand gently.

“Yeah it was fun for me too.” she responds with a disappointed tone. “Let me walk you to your car.”

While leaving the venue you hear a photographer say “ Miss Williamson would you like a picture?”. She looks over to you and you get into your usual pose instantly. While getting ready her hand slips perfectly on the small of your back applying the right amount of pressure.

While the photographer's flash was blinding you, you looked over to Leah and she did the same to you. You stood there getting your picture taken with a hot blonde after flirting with her all night. She made you feel safe with her hand on your back which you appreciated.She then walls you too you car.

“Tonight was fun.” You say leaning on the door.

“We should do this again sometime soon.” She replies with a small smile on her face.

“House about you come to one of our games. We will play in the Emirates soon. I think it would be a good experience.” She added.

“ Maybe.” You respond before getting in your car.

This night was gonna be unforgettable.

—----------------

Fact forward a few weeks you were back in England after being in Milan, Paris, and Japan for work. Well there first two were work , the last one was for fun since the F1 Japan grand prix was one of your favorites on the race calendar. You could say that that weekend was well spent. You hung out on the Ferrari paddock and did a lot of social media work. This work backfired on you because all people were talking about the whole weekend we're done moment that happened between you and a driver. Romers never bothered you, now it was different. Leah had followed you on Instagram after the event and you worried that she would believe them. As a result you decided to go to the arsenal game she talked about. Getting tickets was a Hassle because they were all sold out. But you managed to find a seat right next to the bench, very close to the field.

You showed up to the Stadium early. You hair was down, your makeup was simple, you wore jeans, a black button down and a Jersey over it, one that says Leah Williamson on the back, and you added a few gold accessories again.

Like Leah said the atmosphere was electric. You went to the VIP section first, got some food and a drink then you headed down to your seat. Leah didn't know you were coming; you wanted it to stay a surprise.

As soon as the players appeared on the pitch the whole strain erupted into cheers and chants. Those cheers only got louder when Arsenal scored 3 goals in 20 minutes which you were told was impressive.

After the half time break some players were running up and down the field. That's when she saw you. She held eye contact with you for a long time, a wide smile planted across her face. She had a look of pride, joy, and reassurance. You smiled back at her, clapped as she came on and sang and chanted loudly.

After the game was done the players were doing a lap around the pitch and when she saw you again. Another wide smile was painted on her face. She looked happy to be there and happy that you were there too.

She was then signing autographs, taking pictures and genuinely talking to people. She grew immensely in your eyes because of her thankful and humble demeanor. She then asked for you to follow her inside the stadium which you did.

“You clean up nice. I like your shirt “ she said with a cocky expression on her face.

“Well I saw a charming young lady at an event a few weeks ago and she hadn't left my mind ever since. I missed her and I thought I would come and see her. Turns out she is the best person in the world.” You respond.

“ Well I hope this girl gets to go have dinner with you because you two sound formidable.” She added

“ Maybe.” You respond

You wait for her to get ready and get out of the locker room. When she gets out, a few girls follow her and appear to be teasing her.

“ I swear if I hear from anyone you shit heads you won't like practice anymore.” She said to them. You simply wave to them as you two walk by then to Leah's car too which she opens the door.

“ Such a gentleman.” You exclaim.

“Well I have competition. That girl you were talking about is a catch.” She joked.

Leah was fun. She made you feel at ease and safe.

This was going to be a fun adventure.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Veronica Lake (I Married a Witch, Sullivan's Travels)—her look is so iconic they used her as a visual model for jessica rabbit in who framed roger rabbit and a bunch of other femme fatale types in cartoons and live action alike. i didnt think i liked women and then i saw her in sullivans travels and said gee i hope this doesnt awaken anything in me! every role ive seen her in she absolutely oozes an aura of "i know people would ask me to step on them" and her EYES bro every photo ive looked at for this submission its like shes piercing thru time and space to judge me <3

Eartha Kitt (Anna Lucasta, St. Louis Blues)—My friend and I have a saying: NOBODY is Eartha Kitt. A thousand have tried, and they've all come up empty and will continue to do so. Everyone knows her for something: from "Santa Baby" to Yzma in Emperor's New Groove to Catwoman to making Lady Bird Johnson cry for the Vietnam War. She was a master of comedy and sex, an extremely vocal activist, and she aged like fine wine... I honestly don't know what I can say about her that hasn't already been said, so I'll stick to linking all my propaganda. Like what else do you want from me. She was iconic at everything she ever did. Literally name another. How can anyone even think of her and not want to absolutely drown?

This is round 5 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Veronica Lake:

Her HAIR, her FIGURE, her VOICE, the way she wore LEATHER AND SANG SONGS FOR NO REASON.

I don't believe there's a person on earth who can watch Veronica Lake in I Married A Witch and not be struck by how gorgeous she is. She had that youthful wonder about her that almost every Hollywood starlet was trying to achieve. Her hairstyle (peekaboo bangs) became an iconic Hollywood style after she popularized it, and made her signature look all the more suggestive. Also, witches are tumblrs favorite!

ICONIC hair sweep

The US government literally begged her to change her hairstyle because it was TOO HOT to handle and women who copied it were getting their hair caught in machinery

Her hairstyle was so iconic and popular that the war department had to come out with a PSA instructing lady ironworkers with ways they could pin their hair up to avoid it getting bound in machinery. [https://veteranlife.com/military-history/veronica-lake/]

She played a lot of femme fatale roles but my favorite is Sullivan’s Travels opposite Joel McRea, which is a comedy. She became famous for her hair style at the time—she wore it long and parted on one side so it would fall over half her face in a very sexy way. They called it a peek-a-boo I think. You’ve definitely seen Bugs Bunny dressed up like her, so I think if she’s being honored in such a way she’s very cool.

look at her

she's GORGEOUS in her little witch outfits that she wore for promos and also in the oversized coats and pajamas she wore throughout the movie...she's got RANGE

My Grandpa supposedly dated her in high school, he drove her to school in his car every day. This is legend in the family.

She has gorgeous hair, has got the smouldering look over the shoulder down PAT, and is just drop-dead gorgeous too!

Schizophrenic icon, popularized the peekaboo hairdo long before Jessica Rabbit

She’s just so prettyyyyy

So much hot in such a tiny package. She was no more than 5 feet tall, and some reports claim as small as 4'9"

If you picture a femme fatale in your head, almost certainly Veronica Lake had a hand in shaping the image you think of. She came to embody the look of the noir leading lady as well as the sound and the performance. Certified Noir Baddie.

Eartha Kitt:

"A hot vintage woman who was not just known for her voice, beauty, poise, and presence, but also her unapologetic ways of speaking about how she was mistreated in the show business as a girl who grew up on cotton fields in South Carolina in the 1930s through the 1940s coming to Broadway first and then Hollywood."

"Have you watched her sing?? Have you seen her face?? Have you heard her talk?? How could you not fall instantly in love. She makes me incoherent with how hot she is."

"She can ACT she can SING she can speak FOUR LANGUAGES she is a GODDESS!!! Although she is (rightfully) remembered for her singing, TV appearances (Catwoman my beloved), and later film roles, her early appearances in film are no less impressive or noteworthy!! She’s an amazing actress with so much charisma in every role. She was also blacklisted from Hollywood for 10 years for criticizing the Johnson administration/Vietnam War, so. Iconic. Also Orson Welles apparently called her “the most exciting woman in the world.”

"She had such a stunning, remarkable appearance, like she could tear you to shreds with just a glance- but the most undeniable part of her hotness was her voice, and it makes sense that it's what most people nowadays know her for. Nothing encapsulates the sheer magnetism of her singing better than this clip of her and Nat King Cole in St. Louis Blues, she pops in at 2:49. Also I know it's post-1970 but her song that was cut from Emperor's New Groove is likely to make you feel Feelings."

Even with as racist as Hollywood was in the 1950s and 60s, Eartha Kitt STILL managed to have a thriving career. She also once had a threesome with Paul Newman and James Dean, and called out LBJ over the Vietnam War so hard that it made First Lady Johnson cry. Eartha Kitt was talented, sexy, and a total badass activist.

[notiddygothgf]

i.

★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader

★ ❝Baby, you're a star. Fuck me all night. Show me who you are, Pornstar.❞

★ c.w.: me rushing through plotbuilding to get to the good stuff, aki being an asshole, tension.

★ a/n: hiiiii! im so excited for this lil short story. its just something i was inspired to write while finishing up shameless. i thought... wow i love writing simp aki. now what if he was mean.... hrnngfhghj.... anyway so this is the fruit of that! i hope you enjoy, i should have the next chapter up soon if my studies permit!!!!! enjoy and leave lots of comments (ill update quicker if u do tee hee)

★ w.c: .5.2k

pornstar ; chapter index

AKI HAYAKAWA WAS infuriating. As a Captain, he was capable. As a man? He was, single-handedly, without a doubt, the most insufferable individual you had ever had the displeasure of working with. He had this "I'm-better-than-everyone" sort of approach to life, was impossible to conversate with, and had no regard for leniency or any other sort of thing that required him to have basic human decency. He was a machine – all he cared about was work, work, devils, Miss Makima's orders, and work. You knew that any human who had gone through what he had gone through would be a little rough around the edges, but "rough" was an understatement. He was an asshole.

Still, he was undeniably attractive. Considerably handsome. He had the most striking blue eyes – an almost elvish face partially hidden behind his midnight black hair. You had never seen it out of its signature ponytail, but his bangs were fluffy enough for you to know that it was soft. Rosy pink lips that seemed to permanently rest in a scowl and a jawline that could cut steel topped it all off.

Additionally, he was a horror to work with. 

Exhibit A:

One day, after a mission, you were trying (unceremoniously) to use your sword the way you had seen Captain Hayakawa do once before. It was something you hadn't seen before, a flick of the wrist, a movement of the arm, you weren't quite sure. Regardless, it had been smooth, and you needed to have something that looked cool in your itinerary.

So you spun the sword around the way he had. And, of course, the sword promptly flew out of your hand and landed on the floor five feet away with a resounding clatter – one that attracted the gazes of the rest of your team (including him).

"What the hell are you trying to do? Kill us?" He had asked.

Embarrassed, you tried to cover up for yourself, "I was trying to recreate this one move I saw you do earlier, but I think I need to work on my form."

He scowled then, perfect eyebrows drawn together, and grumbled, "You want my advice? Give up."

Exhibit B: 

Your team was investigating an abandoned building on the outskirts of Tokyo. Captain Hayakawa was, as per usual, leading the pack. Following close behind him (because, admittedly, you were a little scared of the dark and he was holding the flashlight), you were at eye-level with his back, and he had... quite an intimidating physique, but that was a story for another time. 

(Still, for the reference, the hard, muscled planes of his back practically obstructed your entire field of vision).

"We've been searching for hours now, Aki," Himeno sighed, crossing her arms after reaching into her pocket and fishing out a cigarette. Somewhere in the back of your head, you remembered your Public Safety trainer telling you that it was bad practice to introduce fire to uncertain situations. "Might be time to give it a break."

"Maybe we can split off into groups?" You suggested, "We might be able to cover more ground that way."

He paused, then, glancing over his shoulder – cobalt eyes partially hidden by the dim light, "Butt out."

Alright then.

Exhibit C:

Denji burst out laughing, nearly choking on his food. "Nah, nah—hold up, say that again! That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard." 

You smirked, swirling your drink. "I'm just saying, Denji. If you actually tried using your brain once in a while, it might not be so bad for you." 

Denji scoffed. "Like you're one to talk!" 

Aki exhaled sharply through his nose, setting his chopsticks down with a quiet clack. His patience, already thin, finally snapped. He glanced between the two of you, his expression flat, voice edged with irritation. 

"It's funny how you morons flock together, isn't it?" 

Denji's grin faltered. You shifted in your seat, the weight of Aki's words settling over the table like a heavy fog. 

No one said anything after that. The conversation was over.

So, yes, in short, he was impossible. His attitude and yours made for a deadly combo – namely, that the two of you were constantly butting heads. You weren't quite sure why everyone but you seemed to get along with him just fine – was he different towards you? Were you imagining it? Were you the problem?

Even Himeno was starstruck by the guy. Now, admittedly, he was handsome. Still, that wasn't an excuse to be an asshole.

Presently, you were on a mission, standing around in some damp, dimly lit alley with Himeno, Aki, Denji, and Power. The target—a devil you were supposed to be tracking—had yet to show itself, and the whole thing had devolved into a waiting game. A miserable, frustrating waiting game. 

At least Himeno was good company. You leaned against the wall beside her, arms crossed, your breath fogging slightly in the cold night air. 

"I swear, if we wait any longer, I'm gonna fuse with the concrete," you muttered. 

Himeno laughed, nudging your shoulder with hers. "That'd make things interesting. Maybe we'd finally get some action." 

Aki, stationed a few feet away, turned his head slightly at the sound of your conversation. "Shut up," he said, voice low and firm. "We're working." 

You sighed, long and theatrical. "Bruh. We've been here for three hours, waiting for something to happen. If it hasn't by now, it's not gonna." 

Denji, crouched a little ways off, perked up at that. "For real, man. I say we just bust in somewhere and start smashing shit until something shows up." 

Power grinned, baring her teeth. "Yes! At last, a plan worth considering! Denji, you are a true genius." 

Aki exhaled sharply, the kind of exhale that carried the weight of profound disappointment. "If the two of you move from that spot, I swear to god—" 

"Relax," you interrupted, smirking. "No one's actually gonna do anything. We're just talking." 

Aki's gaze snapped to you. "That's the problem. Talking gets in the way of listening." 

You raised an eyebrow. "Listening to what? The sound of absolutely nothing happening?" 

For a second, his jaw twitched—just a little, just enough for you to catch it—but he said nothing, just turned his attention back to the alley. 

Himeno shot you a knowing look, grinning. You had a feeling she found the whole thing amusing. Maybe because she knew Aki well enough to see what you couldn't. 

Denji stretched his arms above his head with a groan. "Man, I hope this devil shows up soon. I'm starving." 

"You're always starving," Power said. "'Tis because you are a weak and pathetic man." 

"At least I ain't lying about it," Denji shot back. 

Himeno shook her head, laughing under her breath. You smiled too, despite yourself. Because honestly? As much as you hated standing around doing nothing, there were worse people to be stuck with.

After the investigation scene was cleared – a gruesome hour later – you and Himeno sat on a rock outside the building. A cigarette burned between her fingertips. You didn't smoke, but the smell didn't bother you – not nearly as much as it used to. So, instead of complaining, the two of you sat in companionable silence. She smoked and you... well, you told yourself you were relaxing, but that was a lie.

No, deep down, you knew you were staring right at the illustrious lieutenant captain Hayakawa, watching him take his smoke break a pointed ten yards away from the two of you – smoke practically pouring out of your ears.

Way to make it clear that you're not interested in conversing, you thought.

God, he's such a stuck-up prick.

You had a mission report to give him, a summary of damages and whatnot, something stupid like that, but you were dreading giving it. If Himeno wasn't taking her much deserved smoke break, you would have asked her to do it. 

You supposed it was unavoidable.

"I gotta give the mission brief to stick-in-the-ass," You sighed, turning your head to the side to size her up.

She winced, then chuckled. "He's not so bad."

"Yeah, to you," You whined. "I swear, he has it out for me."

"I think you're right, actually," She hummed, tapping the end of her cigarette and spreading the ash on the ground. "I wonder what you did."

Exasperatedly, you threw your hands out, whisper-shouting, "Nothing!"

"Wanna ask him?" She teased, kicking you in the shin with her boot. 

"Not a chance," You answered. Still, standing up and dusting off your knees, you added, "I'm gonna get it over with."

Himeno waved you off with a lazy flick of her wrist, taking another slow drag from her cigarette. "Good luck," she said, exhaling smoke through her nose. "Try not to pick a fight."

You scoffed. "I don't pick fights."

Himeno gave you a pointed look.

"...Not on purpose."

She laughed as you turned away, rubbing at the spot where she'd kicked your shin. With each step toward Aki, your reluctance grew heavier, settling in your stomach like a stone. He hadn't looked at you once—not even when you'd gotten up, not when your boots scraped against the pavement, not when you stopped just a few feet away.

You cleared your throat. "Mission report."

That finally got his attention. He flicked ash from his cigarette, eyes shifting toward you, dark and unreadable in the dim alley light. "Go ahead."

Right. Because heaven forbid he make things easy.

You inhaled sharply through your nose, forcing yourself to keep your tone professional. "Minimal collateral damage. No casualties. Devil confirmed dead." You paused, watching for some kind of reaction. When none came, you added, "Oh, and Power punched a hole through the third-floor wall. Don't ask me why."

Aki's brow twitched—just a little, just enough for you to catch it. "I see."

Silence.

That was it? Not even a sigh, a comment, an ounce of acknowledgment? You gritted your teeth.

"That's it? You see?"

Aki took another slow drag, exhaling through his nose like he was already tired of this conversation. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know, maybe 'Thanks for telling me, oh esteemed and respected colleague,'" you deadpanned, shifting your weight onto one leg.

Aki exhaled sharply—right in your face. A deliberate stream of smoke curled into your eyes, stinging, making you cough.

You recoiled, waving a hand in front of your face. "Oh, screw you," you muttered, blinking against the burn.

Aki didn't react. Not a smirk, not a flicker of amusement—just that same blank stare as he took one last drag, then flicked the cigarette to the ground. The quiet scrape of his Converse sneaker grinding it into the pavement felt just as dismissive as the way he looked through you.

"Go get some rest," he said, tone clipped, final. Then he turned and walked off, leaving you standing there, fists clenched, scowling after him.

God, he was impossible.

You spun on your heel and stormed back toward Himeno, already composing the exact rant you were about to unload on her.

The aftermath of one particular mission had been messy. The kind of messy that left the street littered with rubble, the air thick with dust, and your muscles aching from overuse. The scent of blood and burning filled your lungs. Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm was blaring, and you could hear Power cackling about something—probably the chaos she had personally contributed to—but your attention was locked onto the man standing in front of you. 

Aki was rigid, shoulders squared, his coat hanging loose where the fabric had been torn. His hair was a little mussed—annoyingly attractive, even now—but it was his expression that held you in place. 

Cold. Impassive. But beneath that, a restrained, simmering anger, the kind that barely clung to the edges of control. 

And then, suddenly, he moved. 

The way he turned toward you wasn't abrupt—it was slow, deliberate, every step measured. His presence alone was enough to make you tense, though you refused to show it. When he spoke, his voice was low and steady, but every syllable was razor-sharp. 

"What the hell were you thinking?" 

The words struck harder than you expected, sinking under your skin before you could throw up any defenses. You were still catching your breath, sweat cooling against your skin, adrenaline still singing in your veins, but you forced yourself to straighten, shaking off the weight of his scrutiny. 

You lifted a hand, swiping away some of the blood smeared across your cheek— not yours, thankfully—and shrugged, keeping your voice as casual as possible. 

"I was thinking that I got the job done." 

Aki's expression didn't change, but something in his jaw ticked. He ran a hand through his midnight colored bangs, exhaling sharply through his nose. You could see the way his patience frayed, hanging by a thread, stretched taut and ready to snap. 

"The job," he echoed flatly, like the word itself irritated him. "Right. And what about the building you nearly leveled?" 

You scoffed, crossing your arms. "It wasn't that bad." 

Aki's eyes darkened, his expression shifting into something heavier. "Three floors caved in," he said, tone low and measured, but beneath the restraint, you could hear the crack of irritation bleeding through. 

He stepped closer, not enough to be aggressive, but enough that you felt it—the weight of his anger pressing into you, the sheer force of his presence making it harder to breathe. 

"Do you even understand how reckless that was?" 

Your fingers curled into fists. Of course, you understood. You understood that things had gotten messy, that your plan hadn't been the safest, but what pissed you off the most wasn't that he was right—it was that he always acted like he was the only one who was right. Like you were some reckless idiot who didn't think things through. 

Your jaw tightened. "It wasn't like I had a choice," you shot back. "I did what I had to do." 

It was different, this time. Aki took another step forward, and this time, you felt the air shift between you, thick with something you didn't want to name. His movements were precise, controlled, but his eyes—his eyes—were burning with something deeper. 

"You don't get to decide that," he said, voice quieter now, but no less cutting. "You follow orders. You don't play hero." 

You swallowed hard. 

The way he was looking at you made heat crawl up your spine, frustration twisting into something else—something that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with how unfairly attractive he was when he was pissed off. 

Your fingers twitched at your sides. "If I hadn't done what I did, people could've died." 

Aki's jaw tightened. "If you keep pulling reckless shit like that, you're going to die." 

His words hit harder than they should have, but you refused to let them sink in. Instead, you glared, chin tilting up defiantly even as your breath hitched. 

"And I'm not cleaning up your mess when it happens," he muttered. 

There was something in his tone—something unreadable, something you almost wanted to reach for, like he was trying to cover up the fact that he might have cared about you a little bit—but before you could, before you could shove back with another retort or demand what the hell he actually meant by that, he turned. 

Without another word, he walked off, leaving you standing there, heart racing, thoughts in complete disarray. 

You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down your face. 

God, you really needed therapy. 

Or maybe I just need to get laid? You thought. Perhaps it was the involuntary celibacy getting to you.

You decided that you needed both.

Mission get laid was a lot easier said than done. In your line of work, people often didn't last long enough to fuck around. If they did, they were assholes (not pointing fingers at anyone in particular). A few weeks later, and you were aching for some action. Everything seemed to piss you off a little more than usual. In fact, someone seemed to piss you off more than usual.

Hayakawa the cockblock.

You didn't know when you started thinking of him like that, but the title fit. It wasn't just that Aki was always there—it was that he seemed to have a personal vendetta against anyone who so much as looked at you the wrong way. If a guy even considered flirting with you, Aki had something to say about it. If a conversation lasted longer than a few words, Aki was there, lurking like a shadow, arms crossed, expression unreadable but just judgmental enough to kill the mood.

It was frustrating. More than frustrating. You were an adult. You could make your own decisions. You could handle yourself.

Which made this all the more annoying.

You had been talking to one of the newer guys, a hunter from another division, who, for once, wasn't a total weirdo or an asshole. He was tall, dark-haired, had one of those easy grins that made it clear he knew exactly how attractive he was—but not in an annoying way.

And he was into you. That much was obvious.

He had slid up beside you while you were taking a break, an easy smirk on his lips as he leaned against the railing beside you.

"You always look this intense?" he asked, tilting his head toward you.

You quirked a brow, unimpressed. "You always this nosy?"

He laughed, and okay—maybe it was kind of a nice laugh. He held his hands up in mock surrender. "Can't blame me for trying to get to know the prettiest hunter in the division."

You snorted, rolling your eyes, but the corner of your lips twitched upward. "Is that what you tell all the girls?"

"Only the ones who might actually kill me," he shot back, grinning.

Alright. Maybe this wasn't the worst conversation you'd had in weeks. He was easy to talk to, and more importantly, he wasn't running for the hills after five minutes of conversation.

"So, drinks after work?" he asked, cutting straight to the point. "I know a place."

And you were considering it. Actually considering it. What was the harm? A drink, some harmless flirting—

But before you could so much as open your mouth—

"Get back to work."

Your entire body tensed. That voice. Of course.

You turned your head just enough to see him. Aki stood a few feet away, arms crossed, expression blank but so obviously irritated that you had to bite back a groan.

The guy beside you straightened a little, caught off guard by the interruption. "I was just—"

"You were slacking off," Aki cut in, voice sharp, authoritative. "We're not done here."

You huffed, shoulders dropping. "Oh, come on," you said, turning to him fully now. "Are you serious?"

Aki didn't even look at you. His gaze stayed fixed on the other hunter, cool and dismissive. "You have a job to do," he said simply. "So do we."

The guy beside you hesitated, glancing between you and Aki, clearly weighing whether this was a fight worth picking. After a beat, he let out a breath and muttered a quick, "See you around," before walking off, scratching the back of his neck.

You watched him go, feeling the frustration coil tight in your stomach before you rounded on Aki.

"What the hell was that?"

"Flirting on the job is unprofessional," he said flatly.

You scowled. "I wasn't. He was asking me out for drinks."

Aki didn't react, just stared at you, unblinking, unimpressed. "Don't get drinks with him."

You narrowed your eyes. "Oh? Why's that?"

"He's not trustworthy."

"Oh, please." You scoffed. "You don't even know him."

Aki's jaw tightened. "Doesn't matter."

You crossed your arms, staring at him hard. "Why?"

He didn't answer right away. He just looked at you. That cold, assessing look, the kind that made your skin prickle, like he was peeling back your layers, picking apart your intentions before you even had the chance to understand them yourself.

And then, finally—

"Just don't."

Something inside you twisted, irritation spiking high, sharp. You tilted your head, expression turning coy, teasing, because if he was going to be insufferable, you might as well make him suffer for it.

"What, you worried about me?"

Aki's expression didn't change. But his eyes darkened, just a fraction, and for a split second, you thought—maybe—that you saw something else flicker behind them.

But whatever it was, it was gone before you could name it.

"Get your head out of your ass," he muttered, and before you could fire back, he turned and walked off, leaving you standing there, fists clenched, frustration bubbling over into something you weren't quite ready to deal with.

You let out a slow breath, forcing your shoulders to relax.

The silence felt heavier now. The absence of the guy who had been flirting with you only made it worse—like the moment had been stolen right out from under you. You turned your head slightly, watching Aki's retreating figure, and something about the way he walked—stiff, tense—made you wonder.

Was it really about professionalism? Or was it something else entirely?

You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down your face.

Hayakawa the cockblock strikes again.

You swore to God—one of these days, you were going to figure him out.

And when you did?

You weren't sure who would come out of it in one piece.

Late one evening, heart racing in your chest, you raised a hand to knock at Captain Hayakawa's door. You hadn't been sure whether or not he would have even been in so late, but you saw the telltale light shining through from beneath his door, and you knew he was working later than usual. So, gathering your wits and your courage (and smoothing your hands over your clothes to correct your appearance), you finally knocked.

It was answered with a faint, "Come in." Something only he could make sound scary, truly.

Be brave. Be brave, you told yourself. You had spent the entire way over here deliberating what you would say to him once you had him face-to-face – a lie you had rehearsed to explain your absence from work in a few days, something about your grandmother being sick, typical par for the course. You couldn't back down. Not now. Instead of running away like you really wanted to (because you knew that once you were inside, it would be just you and him, and you weren't entirely sure you were ready for that), you entered.

You poked your head in first. Swallowing the thickness that had settled in the depths of your throat, you called out to him, "Sorry to bother you so late, Captain."

He was sitting all alone inside, hair neatly done back – and, for a moment, you couldn't help the fleeting thought that he might have straightened out his appearance in the few seconds it had took him to respond to your knock. Papers were sprawled out over the length of his desk in neat stacks. The room was dimly lit, save for a lamp at his desk. He had a pen pinched between his index finger and his thumb, tip tapping mindlessly against the wooden surface. 

Beneath the dim light, he looked a little older than you knew him to be. He was either 20 or 21, you couldn't quite remember. Either way, he was only a year or two older than yourself, but the experience gap was noticeable. You knew that could easily be attributed to the psychological horrors he had witnessed at a young and impressionable age, but that was a type of business you tried not to mind. The bags under his eyes were a little more pronounced than usual, blue eyes half-lidded and droopy, like he was trying not to pass out.

His eyes dropped to your shoes, then raked themselves up your tense form. You writhed beneath the heat of his gaze.

God, I can never tell what he's thinking.

"Is something the matter?" He asked, something so remarkably normal and not angry that you had to actually do a double-take. When you said nothing, he curled a brow at you, waiting for your response. 

Now that you were actually standing there in his office, you were getting cold feet. No longer were you confident in the lie you had carefully conceived on the ride over. Truthfully, you had a date, but you knew you couldn't tell him that.

Was it that you knew or that you were ashamed?

Frighteningly enough, you weren't entirely sure. Either way, it felt like you were walking up to your father, about to tell him you had been hiding a boyfriend from him for the past year. 

So, switching your weight from foot to foot, you answered shakily, "I have... uh..." You swallowed, "I wanted to tell you that I won't be coming into work on Thursday."

That got his attention. He set the pen down, leaning back in his work chair and giving you the kind of look that could wither a fucking plant. "It's your responsibility to tell me a week in advance. That's when I make the schedules."

You hesitated, the weight of his gaze almost suffocating. The silence in the room stretched longer than it should have, thick and heavy with the unspoken words hanging in the air. You had to say something—anything—to break it.

"I'm... I'm visiting my sick grandmother," you said, the words feeling foreign as they left your lips. It was a story you had fabricated on the way here, an easy excuse that anyone could buy. But even as you said it, you felt a pang of guilt, like you were betraying something, someone.

Aki's eyes flickered over you, narrowing slightly, as though evaluating the sincerity of your statement. You couldn't read him—he was too good at keeping his thoughts hidden. For a brief moment, you wondered if he knew you were lying. His expression didn't change, but the air in the room seemed to grow colder, more tense.

"Alright," he said with a sigh, the words laced with resignation, though you couldn't quite tell whether it was disappointment or just weariness. "I'll make an exception. But don't make a habit of this."

His voice was the same as always—calm, almost too calm—but the underlying exhaustion was palpable, like he was just tired of dealing with people's excuses. You couldn't blame him for that. You knew he had been through more than his fair share of hardships, and the last thing he probably wanted was to deal with your little white lie.

You stood there for a moment, not sure what to do next, before Aki leaned back in his chair, picking up his pen again, signaling the end of the conversation. His focus returned to the papers on his desk, his posture relaxed, but something about the way he avoided your gaze made your stomach twist.

Before you could make a quick exit, something unplanned slipped from your mouth, almost without your permission.

"Hey, um... Himeno and I are going out for drinks tomorrow with some of the others from different divisions. You should come with us," you blurted out, the words catching in your throat as you said them. "It'd be nice if you joined us. We could all hang out for once. You know... get out of the office for a bit."

The request came out of nowhere, and you couldn't quite understand why you had said it. You had never once thought to invite Aki to something like this before. It felt... strange. You knew he wasn't exactly the social type, and you weren't even sure why you wanted him there in the first place. Maybe it was the loneliness that crept up on you during the long, sleepless nights. Maybe it was the faint hope that his presence would fill the empty spaces that seemed to grow wider between you and the people you worked with.

His gaze shot up to meet yours, and for a moment, you almost regretted speaking. He looked at you like you had just said something completely absurd, like it didn't even make sense.

"You want me to come out with you?" Aki asked, his tone a mix of incredulity and something else—maybe amusement, maybe suspicion. It was hard to tell with him.

"And Himeno. Yeah," You answered back, rather stupidly.

Your heart raced, and you shifted awkwardly on your feet, the uncertainty gnawing at you. Why had you invited him? You didn't even know why you wanted him there, why you felt this strange, impulsive need to extend an invitation. The thought of spending time with him outside of work—outside of the walls where everything was so professional and detached—seemed impossible. But here you were, offering him an out-of-place invitation to something that was supposed to be casual, easy, and fun.

Everything he was not.

"I mean, it's not like a big deal or anything," you continued, your voice faltering slightly. "It's just drinks with everyone... Himeno and some of the other teams. You could join us. It'll be a good way to unwind. We don't do this often, but..." You trailed off, suddenly unsure of yourself. "I don't know. You don't have to if you don't want to."

What the hell am I doing?

For a moment, Aki didn't say anything. He just stared at you, his expression unreadable, as if he were processing your words in his mind. He was quiet for too long, and you felt yourself growing more self-conscious by the second, like you had made a huge mistake.

But then, just as you were about to apologize for being so forward, he let out a soft sigh, one that barely registered as a sound.

"Alright," he said, his voice as flat as ever. "I'll think about it."

And just like that, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate. The cold, businesslike atmosphere returned, and you realized he wasn't going to press you further on it. But you still didn't understand why you had invited him. Why him? Of all the people, why did you want Aki to be there?

"Alright, goodnight then," you said, your voice sounding louder in your own ears than you intended. You started to turn toward the door, almost relieved that the conversation was over.

"Goodnight," he replied, already turning his attention back to his papers, not sparing you another glance.

You left his office, the door clicking shut behind you, but the weight of the interaction lingered in your chest. The invitation you had made—so impulsive, so sudden—felt strange. You didn't understand why you had said it, or why it felt like there was something more to it, something you couldn't quite place.

Why is my heart racing a mile a minute?

As you walked down the dimly lit hallway, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the night than you were letting on. A part of you wanted to retreat, to pretend it hadn't happened, but another part of you couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he said yes. 

Would it change things? Would it make you feel differently?

You didn't know the answers, but one thing was certain: something was different. Something you couldn't quite put your finger on.

No, you weren't going crazy. Something had shifted between the two of you.

a/n: okay so this is gonna be a lil short sum summm just to tide me over during these trying academic times. lmk what you thought! lmk if you enjoyed!!!!!!!! x

credits: einruji__ on twitter . I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

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wanna join the taglist? | pornstar ; chapter index

[soapylvrs]

how soon is now?

natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

act I. chapter [002]

warnings: none i don’t think?

APRIL 1995,

Heavy pants left your lips as you jogged off the pitch, mind set on having some water and nothing else. A soccer match against St John's Highschool was quickly approaching, and Jackie Taylor was ensuring the Yellowjackets would be ready to 'kick ass'.

Basically, the next few training sessions would be absolute hell.

Grabbing your water bottle, you relished in the feeling of the cool liquid flooding your dry mouth with relief. Jackie had permitted the team from water breaks this session, aiming to train the girls to build up their strength to be able to play a match without stopping. She called it 'endurance training' or some shit. You thought it was absolute bull. You turned your head to see Lottie panting just as hard, scowling at the back of Jackie's head. Apparently Lottie thought it was absolute bull too. You laughed, nudging who you considered to be your closest friend, "come on, it wasn't that bad," you grinned, running a hand through your sweaty hair as the two of you began your walk to the changing room. "It was worse! That girl is pure evil, I need my water breaks," Lottie huffed, cheeks flushed and dark hair plastered against her glistening forehead.

You laughed again, the sound loud and happy, you really did love your soccer team. Especially Lottie. Lottie who just managed to understand you. Lottie who never asked any questions, just made sure her comforting presence was always known, and a spare bedroom in her house was always welcome.

You liked the rest of your team too. Shauna was probably another favourite. She was sarcastic and intelligent, and the two of you had fun together. Whenever you slept over at Shauna's house you would both spent hours prank calling people, your favourite victim being Randy Walsh. However, your sleepovers were not very regular, as the majority of the time Shauna was busy with Jackie, answering her every beck and call- in particular, every time Jackie and her annoying boyfriend Jeff broke up (however it 'never lasted long enough to count')

Not long later, you exited the girls' changing room alone in a pair of old joggers and your Yellowjackets hoodie. You had stayed a little later than most of the other girls so that you could hit the shower. And to prolong your time before having to go home, of course. Lottie had offered to take you to her house to stay the night, but you, not wanting to interfere with a night she knew Lottie's father would be celebrating his birthday, did not want to overstep; piloting decline your best friends invitation and ensuring her you’d be okay.

The sky was beginning to fade from blue to a dark grey, the sun retiring its post and making way for the pearly skin of the white moon that illuminated the school parking lot. You had taken your mum’s car to school today, downright refusing to walk home after what you knew would be a hardcore soccer practice with no water breaks. Your mum Edith, too drunk to truly comprehend what her child was saying, had given up the car without too much of a fight, muttering under her breath something about you being a "lazy little shit" as she flopped down on the couch with a beer at seven in the morning.

Locating your beat up and rusted truck in the parking lot, you climbed in and shut the door, throwing your gym back onto the passenger's seat with an elongated huff. You were exhausted. All you wanted to do was climb into bed and never wake up. Taking a moment to yourself, you rested your elbows on the steering wheel, chin finding respite in your palms as you took in a breath and simply existed for a few minutes. No expectations. No complicated high school crap. No Edith. Just as you were about to start up the truck and face your mother, you noticed her walking across the carpark with her signature swagger.

Natalie.

The two of you hadn't spoken since your incident the other night—not that you ever really spoke anyway. You weren't friends. Just teammates. And yet, as you watched Natalie search for someone in the parking lot (likely her friend Kevin, who picked her up most nights) and end up unsuccessful, you felt a pang of something in your chest.

It wouldn't be right to just leave her there, would it? It's was only getting darker, and colder. You wasn't too keen on Natalie, but your empathy would always get the best of you. Besides, Natalie wasn't that bad. The rumours that flowed through the school hallways did little to warp your opinion of the bleach blonde. Natalie was just...very intimidating. But she wasn't a bad person, somehow a part of you knew that.

Swallowing your nerves of being shut down by Natalie again, you beeped your horn, winding down the windows of your truck.

Natalie turned on her heel, searching for the source of the sound with a slight scowl, eyebrows raising slightly when she saw you.

"Um—do you...want a ride home? It's getting kinda dark," you called out, voice soft and inviting if not a little awkward as you nervously gripped the steering wheel too tight. Natalie hesitated, clearly shocked by the invitation, her face unreadable for a second as she considered the offer. After a few agonising seconds she replied, "Yeah, okay," in that raspy voice of hers, approaching your truck. You, slightly caught off guard by her acceptance, especially due to your last interaction, fumbled to throw your gym bag off the passenger seat and onto the backseat, just in time for Natalie who pulled open the door and slid in casually; closing the door behind her with a slam. Instantly, the scent of cigarettes, cheap perfume and something else so completely Natalie filled the truck.

The two of you sat in silence for a for a few moments, before Natalie spoke. "Fucking Kevin forgot to pick me up, again." Her voice seeped with subtle annoyance as she glanced out the window. You huffed out a quiet laugh as you started up the truck, wincing at the groaning noises it made- it was a very old piece of metal, though you doubted Natalie gave a shit. "That's okay," you said, voice soft, "just tell me where to drop you off."

As you pulled out the lot, you hesitated, "Um—I've got some tapes, in the glove compartment. Pick whatever you want," you said. Natalie raised her brow in interest, reaching her hand into the compartment and pulling out a handful of your cassette tapes. She flicked through them silently, picking one out and putting the rest back where she found them. She put the tape in and the two of you sat waiting, you being curious to see what the casually cool, famous Natalie Scatorccio's music taste was.

Fiona Apple's album Tidal began to play softly through the speakers. You smiled, glancing at Natalie as you continued to drive, "You're a Fiona fan, then?" you asked lightly. Natalie looked at you, nodding after a beat, "Yeah. She's good." she eventually said, voice steady. You nodded in agreement. "I'd kill to see her in concert," you sighed wistfully, hands gripping the wheel as you continued to drive, "okay, so—which way?" you asked as you pulled up to a junction. Natalie was quiet for a moment, as if debating something internally. "Left," she muttered, eyes on your face, gauging her reaction. "Then left again."

You nodded, face remaining neutral. Of course you knew where left, then left again was. The trailer park. If Natalie thought that you were going to judge her for that, she clearly didn't know you at all. You couldn't give a shit if Natalie was from the trailer park.

The rest of the drive was completed in silence, not awkward, but not completely comfortable. A slight tension had settled between the two teens, something neither girl could properly identify as you sat there, side by side. Natalie's gaze remained towards the car window, watching the world go by as she fiddled with the rings on her fingers, which had been painted black a few days prior and were now chipped and peeling. A couple minutes later as the trailer park came into view, you pulled the truck up at the sidewalk, cutting the engine.

It was silent for a few more seconds, before anyone spoke. "Thanks," Natalie muttered, voice slightly tentative, "you didn't have to."

You offered her a friendly smile, "Don't worry about it, Natalie. Any time." you said. Natalie let out a huff of amusement. "You don't need to call me Natalie." she murmured, eyes flickering with someone you couldn't understand, "Nat is fine," she finished, her lips pulling into not quite a smile but definitely not a grimace either. You nodded, "Right, Nat. If you ever need a lift just...let me know."

With a nod and another mumble of thanks, Nat got out the truck. She didn't look back, gym bag slung over her shoulder and that same signature swagger, you watched the blonde pull a cigarette from out of her pocket, just as she round the corner into the trailer park. Then, she was gone.

You blew out a breath you didn't know you were holding. That went surprisingly...well? Considering the last time the two interacted, Nat had practically yelled in your face, you would take this interaction as a definite win. Nat had accepted your offer and you both had actually managed a decent conversation. Plus, she had good music taste—as to be expected. The scent of her lingered, and you found yourself strangely enamoured by it. Then, as if realising where your thoughts were going, you shook your head as if to rid yourself of any thoughts besides getting into bed.

Why did you care so much?

...That isn't something you’re willing to address right now.

Sighing, you pulled away from the sidewalk to begin your journey home. With any luck, Edith would already be passed out on the couch.

Ten minutes later and you were walking into her house. Within five seconds, you heard obnoxiously loud snores coming from the living room. As expected, your mother was out cold. Good. Too tired to bother cooking something (and risking Edith waking up) you quietly trekked to the sanctuary of your bedroom. You just wanted to sleep. You let out a sigh as you kicked off your trainers and changed from your joggers and hoodie into an oversized t-shirt with a picture of The Smiths on it. Then, you collapsed onto your bed, finding comfort in your soft duvet and obnoxiously plump pillows.

You lay there, thinking about the day. About Jackie and her 'endurance training'. About Lottie and how appreciative you were to have a friend like her. About Nat...someone that you struggled to stop thinking about for no apparent reason. You thought about her raspy voice, her pretty bleached hair and the scent of cigarettes that always clung to her. Where the hell was all this coming from? Why was it happening? You groaned out loud, burying your head into your pillow and screwing your eyes shut. No more thinking about her. No more.

As you settled off to sleep, you knew one thing; you definitely wouldn't be able to stop thinking about her. The only question was why?

taglist: @priyajoy @deimaisgail

[sixosix]

hii, been a while since I've been on tumblr now and i came just in time for ur event 😭 also i realised thawed has gotten a lot of updates and im SOO happy because now i can binge ‼️ can i request lyney and 'eyeliner' for the event :33

also congrats on hitting 5k, and a happy bday in advance to the lyney writer EVER i came back and reread sleight of hand immediately sorry that is exactly the kind of person i am (sixosix writing consumer and injector (what is that)) 💗💗

you are so SWEET thank you so much!!! im sorry i took so long to get to ur req but i hope u see this and like it!! <3

warning ?? wc 500, this is so stupid but a little bit of possessiveness(?) and its very intimate looool

5K EVENT SPECIAL | EVENT MASTERLIST

You cradled Lyney’s chin gently, tilting his head upward. His breath hitched, but he didn’t move as you instructed. The ink for this eyeliner was the type that was really hard to rub off, and he had a show in about ten minutes.

It was a little distracting—Lyney’s eyelids fluttered, restless, as if his pupils were still tracing your every move even with them closed. You cursed, willing your hands to stop trembling.

“You okay?” Lyney murmured, his breath hot on your face.

“Mm. Hold on,” you whispered, flicking your fingers and crafting a precise line. As the ink glistened freshly, you gently blew on his eyes, cooling the area with a light breeze. His lips curved into a smile as he held onto your waist. “Open.”

His eyes looked sharper with eyeliner, but you’d shudder under his gaze even without them. Up close, however, it was easy to get distracted by how the purple of his eyes sparkled, looking at you as if you were all he could see. Well, with you all but straddling his lap, maybe that really was the case.

You wriggled off, but Lyney’s hand never left your waist, even as you reached for a hand mirror. Lyney only glanced before grinning up at you.

“Perfect as always,” Lyney praised, pulling you down to press a kiss on your chin. 

You laughed and halfheartedly pushed him off. “Don’t mess up my hard work.”

“I’m also putting makeup on you,” Lyney argued, pushing on your neck until your noses are touching. “Don’t move.”

He reached for the eyeliner in your hand, examined it curiously, and then looked at your face. How was it fair that he looked so good under the harsh spotlight and in the dim lighting backstage?

“Do you know how?” you asked.

“I don’t need to,” he said, yet pointed the tip on your neck.

Confused, you bared your skin to avoid getting the ink on your clothes. The waterproof, smudge-proof formula was no joke. Lyney had this dangerous glint in his eyes as the brush made contact with your neck—it was cold on your skin, in contrast to Lyney’s warm hand holding your face, but you held in a shiver to not disrupt him.

He seemed to be drawing shapes and long lines. It was hard to see even with the mirror behind Lyney, with his head blocking the view, but seeing how close you two were felt so intimate. You squirmed, darting your gaze to anywhere but how Lyney’s eyes were zeroed in on your neck.

“There,” Lyney whispered.

He slid out of the way for you to check his masterpiece, your neck bared to the mirror and having a perfect view of Lyney’s signature inked on your skin. You found yourself laughing at Lyney’s proud smile. 

“Idiot,” you reprimanded, but was feeling so flustered. “Don’t look so proud.”

Lyney whistled lowly, and his grin spread over his face. “Well, look at the time. We can’t do anything about that right now—I’ll see you after the show?”