#i kinda like this idea but writing this made it... not so good for me

[whiskis]

A/N: Hi there! For those who don’t know, first part is here. (If that link doesn't work, try suscribing for free to Patreon and check this one) Enjoy!

Orc professor (part 2): late for class

Orc x chubby fem!reader || power dynamics, dom/sub undertones, exhibitionism (kinda), oral sex, size kink, age gap, degradation, praise kink

“If you want to show me your pussy, my cum better be leaking out of it. Do you understand?”

His words still echoed in your brain when you were getting dressed the next morning. You were already wet, and you fingered yourself to the memory of his dick in your pussy last evening. You were a bit sore, but the fact that you could still feel him made everything more intense, hotter… sexier. And it made everything so much better.

You decided to wear your pencil skirt this time, and blame it on your bad luck, but you spilled your coffee all over it. Cursing yourself, you changed as fast as possible, but not fast enough that you could get to class early as you knew you should.

By the time you arrived, he was writing something on the board. “Good morning, sir,” you enunciated very slowly, looking at him for directions as you saw the other few students entering behind you.

He turned around and stared at you with such intensity you felt your whole body react. You were almost panting, biting your lip not to groan out loud. “Good morning. You can sit down while I go to my office for a second.”

The other two students nodded and he passed you on his way to the door. He looked at you in such a way that you knew what you had to do without him having to say anything. You let your stuff on your usual seat and smiled at the girl who sat next to you, mumbling about going to get some coffee before class. She nodded with a smile and you had to stop yourself from running to his office.

You arrived just in time for him to pull you inside by the waist, pressing you against the door and kissing you senseless just like he did yesterday, his tusks feeling incredible against your jaw. His hands were traveling up and down your body, groping your ass and your thighs as he grunted against your lips.

“Fuck,” he whispered against your lips, pulling back and passing his hand through his hair in a frustrated gesture. “You were late. And I thought you regretted what happened yesterday. I was freaking out, little human. And then you walked out like nothing happened looking hot enough to eat and smelling like me… Good goddess. Do you know what you do to me?” He pressed his hips against your middle and you moaned at the feel of his huge hard on.

“I- I can feel it,” you stuttered, your voice quivering when his hands squeezed your ass, parting your cheeks and letting one of his fingers rub over your lace covered asshole.

“You have no idea. And now I can’t even fuck you properly. I can’t ruin you the way I want because you were late.” He punctuated each word with a squeeze and a roll of his hips. You panted, so horny you were about to burst and he didn’t even touch you. “Goddess, you smell so fucking good…” He whispered, burying his face on your neck and inhaling deeply.

“I’m sorry… I- I spilled coffee on my skirt and had to change and then I forgot a book and have to open the door again and…” Your rambling was interrupted by his lip covering yours again, swallowing your explanation as he grunted, his hands massaging your ass-cheeks once again.

“What do you have after my class?” He asked, his breathing labored, almost desperate.

“A couple more classes,” you told him, mentally checking if you could skip any of them. But you knew you couldn’t. You knew you shouldn’t. You were a damn good student… Even if you were fucking your way through one of your subjects.

“Shit.” He passed his hand through his hair again, messing it up and making you want to whimper. “Okay, okay. I have classes after lunch, but I’ll be here around four-ish. Does that work for you?” You nodded fervently. “Okay, I expect you to show me how sorry you really are for being late and depriving me from what I was promised.”

“I can… I can give you my panties now,” you offered, feeling the lace sticking to your pussy lips like a second skin because you were that wet.

“I don’t want them. I want you to be feeling how wet I made you all day. I want you to be uncomfortable and thinking about my cock deep inside your pussy until you are so horny you are desperate to come. Until you know how slutty you really are…” You moaned, his words igniting a fire inside of you that made your brain short-circuit. “Now, compose yourself, we have a very interesting class ahead. I’m sure you are dying to know about the survival strategies of cacti,” he said with a laugh, making you let out a choked giggle. You weren’t expecting him to joke. Shit, why did that make him hotter?

The class was boring, but you didn’t even care about it. You didn’t care about anything but the feel of your wet panties against your pussy and his words resonating inside your brain. He made a point of looking directly at you a couple times, going as far as to ask you something about what he was saying, just to huff in annoyance when you didn’t answer correctly. But he smirked in your direction and that was enough to send you spiraling into a thousand of new horny thoughts.

You left his class as fast as you could, trying very hard to look normal when you passed him, but his knowing smile only made your clit pulsate harder, your core clenching around nothing and making you want to beg him to take pity on you and fuck you right then and there. But you were stronger than that, so you left his class on your way to the next one.

You didn’t take a single note the rest of the day, your brain filled with possibilities and images of his hard dick. The feel of his lips against yours, and the ideas of how would feel against your lower lips… Your brain was running a mile per minute, and you couldn’t focus on anything that wasn’t the rub of the lace against your clit. It was exhilarating and maddening at the same time, and by the time four rolled around, you were on the edge and you had to run to his office in need of release.

You knocked rapidly, and when you opened and saw him there, shirt rolled over his big green forearms and glasses pushed down on his nose you almost came right there. Fuck, he was so fucking sexy it wasn’t fair at all.

“Come on in,” he said as soon as you closed the door behind yourself.

You tried to lock it, but he shook his head… Oh shit, that made you even wetter. The idea that you could get caught. That somebody could just walk in and know how much of a slut you were, that you were fucking your professor for a good grade…

You moaned and he chuckled. “Come here, little human, I almost hear your brain short-circuiting.” You walked to him, your steps measured so you wouldn’t fall. Your knees feel like jelly, and your pussy is so wet you are sure he can hear it from the desk. “So… Did you think about what you are going to do to redeem yourself from not meeting your end of our deal this morning?” You nod. “Go ahead, tell me.”

You’d been thinking about it all day. Your whole brain occupied by thoughts of his cock inside of you, against you, spilling in and over you… But there was one thought that surpassed all others. “I- I want to suck you off, sir.”

He smirked, his tusks framing his plush lips in a way that made your clit tingle. “Is that so? But you have such a tiny human mouth, I don’t know if you’d be able to fit me…” He teased, making you blush. You gave him your panties everyday, and that’s what got you to blush, him teasing you… Incredible.

“I will. It will. It will fit, sir,” you stuttered. This orc made your brain so fuzzy you could barely process words correctly anymore. You could barely talk when he was close, especially now that you were moments away from sucking his dick down your throat.

“Prove it then, little slut.”

You dropped to your knees so fast you moaned when you hit the floor, the spark of pain focusing your brain for a second. But the second you touched his big-as-tree-trunks thighs, your brain disconnected again. Only heat and lust left behind. You pulled down his fly in a slow movement, staring up at him as he looked back at you with an indescribable look.

You took his dick out and gasped again. You already saw it, you had it inside of you, but it was nothing compared with the realization that you were about to fit that inside your mouth. Maybe he was right, and it wouldn’t fit.

His eyes were tender when he looked down at you. “Relax, you don’t have to take all of it, just whatever you are comfortable with. I like you submitting to me, but I don’t want to hurt you in any way. Do you understand?” You nodded, relief running down your body and making you even hornier.

“Okay,” you whispered.

And then you launched.

You pulled out your tongue and started mapping the veins of his huge shaft one after the other. His hands were gripping the arms of the chair with such force you could hear the leather breaking. You smiled against his dick and he grunted, one of his hands fisting your hair and urging you where he wanted you more. You complied, you wanted nothing more but to be a good girl for him, a good slutty human for him.

You took his head into your mouth, your lips so stretched it was almost uncomfortable, but you liked it. You loved the feel of his cock inside your mouth, it was exhilarating in a way you weren’t expecting. You weren’t one to like giving head in general, you preferred to go down on girls than guys, but definitely wasn’t your go to activity, but right there… You fucking loved it.

You rolled your tongue around the tip, teasing the underside where you knew he was especially sensitive. He moaned over you, his fist pulling at your hair and making you moan around him, which made him almost whimper and let out a series of curses that would make a pirate blush.

You kept going at it, you couldn’t get past a few centimeters, he was too wide for you to get him to the back of your throat, but by the glassy look in his eyes you understood it was enough. You were messy, your saliva getting everywhere as you bobbed your head up and down.

He was looking down at you reverently, and you couldn’t hold back a few more moans, who made him thrust up accidentally. You pulled back coughing, eyes teary and a few tears rolling down. He groaned at the sigh, and you felt your clit pulsating with your heartbeat. You were so close to coming, you wanted nothing more but to touch yourself. You threw your body to him again, but he stopped you with the hand tangled in your curls.

“I want to fuck your pretty face, would you let me, little slut? Would you let me use you like my personal fuck toy?” You whimpered, nodding against his thigh as he pulled your head back by the hair. “Such a good girl for me, already so needy and desperate. Look at you… You look so dirty like that. Remind me to take a pic so I can enjoy you later,” his words made you emit a guttural moan.

The idea of him taking pics of you like that, make up running and lips swollen… it made you feel hot. It made you feel so horny you could feel your juices dripping down to the floor under you, your panties so wet they couldn’t hold your gushing pussy anymore.

“You like that? You like me having pictures of how pretty you look all fucked up? Why do I even ask, of course you do, you are such a little slut for me. Now open up.” You obeyed and he directed his dick back against your welcoming mouth. “Tap my leg three times if it’s too much, okay?” You nodded again. “Words. How many times?”

“Three. I tap three times if it’s too much,” you repeat, breathless already.

“Good girl.”

And then he started a brutal pace. He used his hold on your hair to direct your movements, moving your head forward until you couldn’t take it further and then retreating. Repeating that process until something inside of you gave out and you felt him slip inside your throat. It was almost too much, you couldn’t breathe, but your eyes rolled back into your head at the sight of him in pleasure.

He pulled back to let you breathe, looking down at you with reverence. “You look so fucked out I want to ruin you. Would you let me ruin you, little human?” You nodded, unable to form words. “Such a good girl for me.” He pulled your head forward and started to fuck your mouth in earnest.

Your brain was fuzzy, your pussy so wet you could feel it dripping down, and your clit asking for attention. The weight of his cock against your tongue, his hand on your hair and his curses over you were driving you insane.

“Touch yourself for me, little human. Come around your tiny fingers. Show me how much you like sucking my orc cock,” his permission was enough, your hand traveling down your body and rubbing frantically against your clit, over the lace.

His pace became erratic, and your fingers rubbed so hard you were almost afraid to set your clit on fire. But it was so good, the combination of sensations so intense you were about to come.

“I’m about to come. Do you want it? Do you want to swallow my come or do you want it in your face, little slut?” You sucked harder, pushing your head further down, swallowing around him to indicate you wanted it. You wanted to swallow him whole.

That was all it took. He growled over you and pushed his dick as far as he could before you felt the first shot of his come in the back of your throat. He pulled back a little to avoid chocking you, the final spurs of his release filling your mouth to the brim, some of it dripping down your chin.

The second he opened his eyes and looked down at you, his dick still in your mouth, you were done. You flicked your clit one last time before you melted, pulling back and spilling the rest of his come over your boobs as you cried out your own release.

Your vision whited out, your ears ringing as you felt your body moving as he pulled you up onto his lap, his hands caressing your back as he whispered sweet nothings that your brain couldn’t process.

He took some tissues from the box on his desk and carefully cleaned your messy face. “You didn’t take the pic,” you told him.

“We didn’t talk about it beforehand. I wouldn’t risk stepping over your possible boundaries like that.” Your heart skipped a beat. “But don’t worry, we’ll have more opportunities if that’s something you’d enjoy…”

“We will?” You asked, a bit confused but a spark of hope blooming inside your chest.

“I’m not letting go of your sweet, sweet slutty pussy anytime soon,” he told you, kissing your forehead as his hand traveled down until it met your dripping panties. “I would like this panties now, thank you,” he whispered against your ear, you could sense his smirk on his tone, making you laugh so hard you snorted.

Reminder that you can find all my other stories over @monstersflashlight

[pupyuj]

[cw: dom ive unnie line x sub wony, like deadass in-the-depths-of-subspace wony, g!p rei bcs idgaf, rei has a BIGGG unnie kink.]

genuinely tried to not make this drag on but the ideas just kinda kept coming 😭 i thought the annyeongz fic i'm working on rn would be the first and only idol x idol thing from me but ah... wonyoung ships are just too good for me to not write anything about them 🥰💞

wonyoung is never EVER beating the unnie’s girl allegations it’s actually so bad for her 😔 she just can’t help it okay!? whenever the unnies speak, something in her brain just rewires itself into making her a perfect, obedient little doll for them and them only 🫠 and she knows the unnies in question love her undivided attention anyway! 🤭 yujin, who is the leader and does expect said attention. gaeul, who is not the leader but is the oldest so any authority that she has on someone, even if it’s small, she will devour. and rei, who is barely considered an unnie but very much wants to be bcs she wants to feel that respect yujin and gaeul feed their ego with 😵‍💫😵‍💫

wony knowing yujin the longest… meaning she would a different level of whipped for her 😍 eyes never leaving yujin while the leader talks, always nodding and agreeing to whatever she is saying, doing whatever the leader wants done from her… most specifically when yujin gets wonyoung alone in some room to talk about how the latter sometimes spaces out during performance discussions and briefings 🫣 wony having to apologize for having a wild, naughty imagination… for thinking about having her hands all over yujin’s perfect body… for wanting to be on her leader’s lap getting pampered and pleasured like the little princess she is 🥺🥺 ofc more often than not, yujinnie would entertain this and give wonyoung the sex she has probably been wanting all day… but sometimes she has to put her leader cap on and punish bad behavior! 😤

and naturally, wonyoung just so happened to love the most common way of punishing disobedient subs—spanking! 💕 being bent over a table with the side of face pressed down and her hair gripped tightly by her yujin-unnie… her skirt on the floor and her panties brought down only to her thighs bcs yujinnie was so hasty and didn’t waste any more time before she started hitting wony’s ass 😮‍💨😮‍💨 wony having to bite back her cute whines and moans bcs yujin just so happened to drag her inside a room that did not have soundproofed walls… and it gets even better when wony arches her back for more, giving yujin a view of her wet pussy… so desperate to be filled up, but yujin was not giving into her own desire this time 🤭

spanking wony until her butt was red and her legs were twitching… and believe it or not, wonyoung came from all of that alone! and ofc yujin wasn’t too mean to her poor pretty girl—she made sure to give wonyoung’s perfect ass a good eating before they both left that room happier than ever 🥰

oh gaeul… the unnie wony adores the most 🥺 follows her around like a lovesick bunny, always hugging her from behind bcs gaeul is just so snug in wonyoung’s arms 😔💕 wony doesn’t know what it is about gaeul that just made her impossible to act… normal around her 😭 maybe it’s the endearingly lazy way that gaeul talked, maybe it’s gaeul’s pretty eyes that was always on wonyoung’s body, maybe it’s the rare moments where gaeul would take charge and boss everyone around… that last one gets wonyoung squirming in her seat every time she thinks about it 🤭 she does a lot of things on purpose to poke the bear that is gaeul’s inner strictness! giving the older girl bedroom eyes from across the table during meetings and if they’re sitting right next to each other, wony would tease her by caressing gaeul’s leg with her foot under the table 🫣 also wearing risqué outfits for gaeul to be the only one to notice that it’s inappropriate, intentionally making mistakes during dance practices so gaeul would be the one to correct her… the more the eldest gets visibly upset, the more wony considers her actions a great success! 🤭

all of that makes gaeul’s nightly visits to wonyoung’s room a lot more fun! but see, gaeul makes no mention of wonyoung’s actions bcs she knew that would only make wonyoung do them more… so the older girl settles with keeping her princess up ‘till dawn using her mouth 😋 seriously, gaeul will join wonyoung in her bed dead in the night, feel her up enough to get her soaked before finally burying her head in between her thighs… and it gets even better when gaeul makes wony work for her climax! slowing down on purpose to the point it frustrates the little princess and she flips the older girl over to ride her face 🫠🫠 in direct contrast to yujin who loves punishing wonyoung on the spot and jumping at every opportunity to do so, gaeul is smart and knows that it’s just what wonyoung wants so instead of giving her that, gaeul makes her beg.

but that’s okay, wony would do anything her gaeul-unnie wants! 🥺 ride her face until dawn? beg and beg for release? scream her name so loud that wonyoung would have to bite on a pillow? everything would be done, and done well.

and rei, the wannabe unnie of 04z 🤭💕 it’s cute when the members tease her about wanting to take care of the girls of the same age as her but it’s a very real desire, okay!? 😤 she wants to be seen as this mature and responsible member who can be just as reliable as gaeul and yujin… especially by wonyoung, who is a few years her senior when it comes to being an idol and being the picture of elegance and class 🤭 it’s so obvious rei wants to be fawned over as an unnie and wonyoung has a hell of a time entertaining her! 😋 during practices, when rei does something as simple as handing wonyoung a bottle of water during a break or being the one to wipe her sweat away with a towel, wonyoung always makes sure to say “thank you, unnie” very, very quietly before scurrying away with a smirk knowing she has just flipped a switch inside rei’s brain 😵‍💫

but oh, rei knows wonyoung can be a big tease sometimes... and once the princess is having fun, it's quite difficult to put her down so, rei likes to get a jump on things! 😋 forcing wonyoung down on her knees in the dirty bathroom floors, even binding her hands behind her back with a silk necktie rei just so happened to be bringing around during dance practice days, and making the pretty princess suck her cock with great difficulty bcs wonyoung always needed to take it slow or else she doesn't do well :( but she always wants to please her unnies... so she forces herself to do her best bcs if rei isn't feeling good then that would just hurt her pride! looking up at rei with tears of pleasure, taking up all of her length down her throat even though she was gagging... all of that just to hear rei's sweet voice call her a very good girl and tell her how much she was making her feel so good 🤭

rei having to cum all over wony's face bcs she looks the prettiest that way :(( and wony hates it when her makeup gets ruined but if letting rei do that means getting filled up her cock immediately after... well then, whatever 'unnie' wants, 'unnie' gets! 💓💓

[wolfsclothing6]

Hey, love your stories! Could you write one about a guy who hates his body and buys a skin suit to become bigger and hairier? Maybe he doesn’t read the fine print, takes a hot bath, and gets stuck like that forever?

(Oh I like that idea and thank you for taking part of MorphoSkin Industries deluxe service)

Tobias Model #3224.

Package Arrived!

Okay, so I finally did it. After weeks of obsessing over the MorphoSkin Industries site, I pulled the trigger. My Deluxe Identity Series body suit arrived this morning, and let me tell you, the box was way heavier than I expected. They ship it in this sleek, all-black container with "MorphoSkin—A New You Awaits" printed in silver. Fancy.

Ripped it open, and there he was: Tobias Model #3224.

6'3", built like a truck, covered in thick body hair, and rocking a solid dad bod. Exactly what I wanted. Something bigger. Something different. My real self? 5'9", kinda scrawny, patchy facial hair that never grows in right. But Tobias? He’s got that rugged, burly look—hairy chest, thick forearms, the kind of guy who owns a flannel and actually looks good in it.

I found the instruction booklet (didn't read it, let’s be real) and just went straight for the good stuff

The inside of the suit was... weird. Cool to the touch, kind of like putting on damp silk, but it moved when I stretched it. I pulled it over my legs first, feeling them thicken as I stepped in. My thighs ballooned, my calves stretched, and when I flexed my toes, I felt calluses that weren’t mine.

I tugged it up over my stomach, and whoa. Instant gut. It even jiggled when I moved. I gave it a little slap—solid, thick. Damn.

Pulling the arms in was surreal. My fingers got beefier, veins popping under the skin, knuckles bigger, hair covering my forearms. The weight of it felt right, like I’d been in the wrong body my whole life.

And the face?

Lining it up took a second, but once it was on, I felt a sharp tingle from my scalp down my spine. My vision blurred, ears popped, and suddenly… I was Tobias. Deep brown eyes stared back at me in the mirror. A strong, squared-off jaw covered in thick stubble. My neck even felt thicker. I ran my hands through my now wild, unkempt hair and let out a deep, rumbling laugh that wasn’t mine.

"Holy shit."

After pacing around, flexing my new muscles, admiring the way my hairy stomach peeked out under my stretched-out shirt, I decided to celebrate the best way possible:

A long, hot bath.

I turned the water on full blast, watching steam fill the bathroom as I stripped off the last of my clothes. God, everything felt so heavy in the best way. My arms rested on my belly, fingers idly scratching at the coarse hair now covering my chest. This body was made for lounging.

Sinking into the water was heaven. The heat wrapped around me, seeping into my new muscles, making them ache in the most satisfying way. I stretched out, letting my thick fingers drag lazily over the surface of the water, feeling completely at peace.

I lost track of time. The steam, the warmth, the weight of this body settling in—it was perfect.

Eventually, I forced myself to stand, water sloshing off my broad frame. I grabbed a towel, rubbing it over my arms, my chest—except something felt… different.

The suit usually had a slight give to it, almost like a second layer of skin. But now? It wasn’t moving.

I frowned, pressing a hand against my stomach. No shift. No subtle detachment. Just me.

I moved to the mirror, wiping away the condensation. Tobias’ face stared back at me, as expected—but there was no seam, no subtle ridge where my real face should be beneath. I reached up, pressing at my jaw, my cheekbones, even behind my ears.

Nothing.

I tried pinching at my wrist, where I knew the access point was supposed to be. The skin didn’t budge. I dug my nails in harder, trying to find an edge, a weak spot—anything.

My breathing picked up.

"No. No, no, no—this was temporary. Just a temporary malfunction. I just needed to let it cool down, right?"

I paced the bathroom, my heavy footsteps thudding against the tile. My arms swung at my sides, the thick forearms, the hairy knuckles—it all felt too real now.

I snatched up the instruction booklet, my hands trembling slightly as I flipped through the pages. Then, I saw it:

"DO NOT EXPOSE SUIT TO EXTREME HEAT FOR EXTENDED PERIODS. High temperatures may cause permanent fusion with the host."

The booklet slipped from my fingers.

Permanent...

I looked back at the mirror, at the deep brown eyes that were no longer borrowed but mine. My broad shoulders, my thick-fingered hands. Tobias's body.

This was me.

I took a deep breath, watching my massive chest rise and fall. I ran a hand through my thick, unruly hair, scratching at the beard I hadn’t earned but now owned. My voice rumbled out in a nervous chuckle—except it wasn’t nervous.

It was satisfied.

I swallowed hard. Maybe this wasn’t the worst thing. I wanted to be Tobias, didn’t I?

[curly-fry-3]

i have a request. I don't know if they are still open but here we go. Dean x reader, where reader is possessed and tries to kill the brothers, but they exorcise her. She has weak health so when the demon is out, she gets ill. Fluff after that. Love your writing!

𖦹Possessed𖦹

summary𖦹 You get possessed and Dean takes care of you

pairing𖦹 Dean Winchester x Reader

word count𖦹 1,190

notes𖦹 I hope you like this. this is my first time writing a fight scene so it might not be spectacular. also just fyi, learned this the hard way, writing someone who's possessed it HARD

also I didn't fully proofread it, I kinda skimmed it (sorry its like midnight and I have school tomorrow lol)

Holy shit. This is probably the worst you've ever felt. Being trapped in your mind with no control over your actions, demons suck. Of course you would be targeted, being close with the Winchesters always got you in trouble–damn Dean and his charming smile that lured you in. You and Dean had been together for almost a year, you two had met through Bobby when he needed help translating some ancient spell. Of course Dean hit on you like there was no tomorrow and of course you fell for him and you've been going strong ever since. You help Dean and Sam with researching and questioning people for information. Dean would die before he let you actually fight, especially because you already got sick so easily, he didn't want more strain on your body. That's how the demon had found you.

You were walking back to the motel after questioning the victim's husband. It was dark out and you had this creepy feeling, like someone was watching you. You had quicked your steps, hoping to get back to the motel–and Dean–before something could jump out at you. Unluckily for you, you were being watched by a demon, and you would never be able to outrun it. When the black smoke entered you and you were no longer in control, your body continued to head to the motel–to Dean and Sam. You tried to take control of your body, you have no idea what you would do to them but you know it wouldn't be good, but you weren't strong enough.

Soon you made it to the motel and walked through the door, strolling in like nothing was wrong. Sam was sitting at the small table near the door on his laptop and dean was laying in your shared bed reading up on some lore. When you enter Dean looks up and smiles at you in greeting “hey babe, any leads”

“Oh no nothing” the demon said, taking of your suit jacket and shoes and sitting on the bed next to dean

Dean looks at you confused “sweetheart, is something wrong”

“What, no, why” the demon responds, pretending to be just as confused

His face hardens as he gets up from the bed and stands against the nightstand, reaching for the demon blade in the top drawer behind his back. “You're not her”

Sam is listening in on the conversation and immediately goes into battle mode when he hears Dean's tone. He stands up as well and reaches for his gun on the table next to him, silently sizing you up.

When the demon realizes it's been found it drops the innocent act and you stand up facing the boys, getting ready to fight them. “Oh you're very observant, Dean, you know I thought I had about an hour till you figured me out…guess I'm not that great of an actress.” The demon says, with a sinister smile on your face. “Oh well, i'll still get to kill you two” You look over to sam. “Don't try and pull a fast one, I know you don't wanna hurt this little meatsuit.” You turn back to dean “especially you ... .you know, her first thought when I took over for her was that she didn't wanna hurt you…so sweet it makes me sick. You two are just gross.”

Dean look at you with a warning gaze “don't you dare hurt her, you son of a bitch”

The demon chuckles “oh, baby, you're gonna be the one doing all the damage” 

A look of realization flashes over Dean's face and he drops the demon blade in his hand–he would never hurt you. You pull out the knife from your belt and lunge at him. He dodges your attack, tripping you, and you end up on the floor, Your knife across the room, with him standing over you, Sam in his duffle bag getting holy water. From your position on the motel carpet you quickly kick upwards, hitting Dean in the balls. While you're getting up, Sam comes over and you punch the back of his knee, making him bend forward–losing his balance. Before you can get far, Dean has recovered from his hit and grabs you and pins you down. “Sam now!”

Sam splashes you with holy water and begins exorcizing you. If you thought being possessed sucked, being exorcized was ten times worse. By the time it was done you were so weak you couldn't home yourself up. Thankfully Dean was holding you. “Shit, baby I got you”

You look up at him weakly with tears in your eyes “I'm so sorry. I tried to take control, I really tried.”

Dean gently lays you down on the bed, giving Sam a look saying that he needs some alone time with you. He brings his attention back to you as Sam heads outside and you continue to apologize. “Sweetheart, it's not your fault” he starts taking care of you, changing you out of your FBI uniform and into your pajamas. “Don't, even for a second, think that it's your fault” He pauses after you're dressed and wipes the tears from your eyes as you're propped up on the pillows. “Are you comfortable baby? I know that was a lot for you.”

“I'm so tired, my body aches” You complain looking up at him with red rimmed eyes “I didn't wanna hurt you”

He looks at you with a reassuring smile “trust me, you didn't”

“But i kicked you in the balls” you say concerned

He grimaces at the memory,“And I handled it” Dean sits on the bd next to you and rubs your calf comfortingly, “do you need anything”

“I just want you to hold me” you answer, pulling him down into your embrace

He immediately reciprocates your hug, wrapping you in his warm comforting arms, You let out a deep breath of air in relief, your achy muscles already feeling better. When Dean gets situated next to you melt into his arms and rest your head on his chest. “Better?” He asks

“Way better” you confirm. “You always make everything better”

He softly smiles at your statement and kisses the top of your head. He rubs your back in soothing, comforting motions. “I try”

You look up at him guiltily, “I should be the one comforting you, I tried to kill you”

He shakes his head in disagreement, “that wasn't you. And besides, you're way too weak to do any comforting. That demon did more damage to you than me.”

“I still feel bad” you look away, sheepishly

Dean playfully rolls his eyes and his hand stops its movement on your back. “Dont…I love you ok…I just wanna make sure your ok”

You look back to him “I love you too”

Not needing to say anything else, you curl back up into him and his hand resumes it's comforting pattern. Sure, being close with the Winchesters made you a target to monsters across America, but Dean was always there to protect and comfort you.

You kiss Dean's chest then mutter into his shirt, “I really need to get that anti possession tattoo.”

sorry if there are any typos

love y'all

[justbelievinginmagic]

omg literally was kicking my feet reading your comments!!! i sincerely appreciate and enjoyed it!!!!

i'll place my response under a read more bc i got so much to say hehe

im so flattered you fell asleep while reading!!! its mean you really wanted to read it!! ive fallen asleep to my fave fics so it really made me smile!!

and yes!!! i've been waiting to see if someone noticed hehe. I was so happy you did! the pineapple scent fits him too i feel! ive actually looked into their real perfumes/colognes (from what google says is their perfumes/scents) and referenced what they actually wear! apparently hongjoong does have a pineapple undertone perfume o_o <3 i love him. hes the sweet tangy boy lol. im happy you like their scents!!

SAN IS SO SOFT. i love big strong men who are soft sweethearts. he isssss so soft for all his loves. youll see how the others want to wrap him up in pillows and blankies soon! ateez loves him.

and omg everytime i write san drinking im just like hes a lightweight. hes giggling. hes blushing. hes just keeping it under control. hes gotta be Cool.

Alleyway Scene!! Mingi is right!! but if its hwa or joong.... that'll have to be seen.

i do have to say i thought about yn remembering their voices. For both jongho and the alley scene men. but i eventually was like ehhhh lets have drama lol.

JONGHO IS BABY. he deserves a meetcute. and im happy that the maknae whisper was a good leeway!! I didnt want him to give away his name for a while but eventually thought JH would introduce himself.

I wanted her to freak out - i think she was kinda in her head so she was more ready to get out of there. but i wanted her to notice that he knew her name before she gave it!! spooooky.

woo is just so downbad in love. hes like ill do anything swanette. i really liked that angel between two demons line too!! i also think its fun bc hongjoong's lil nickname for her will be angel (like we saw in the chpt 3 flash to the future bit)

aw im happy you like her fidgeting! i try to make them feel as real as possible. people fidget and self soothe and have tells for when they lie. body language is hard to get across in writing imo but i hope these help to show how she is feeling to the people around her too.

san icing her legs will be pEAK. it was a spur of a moment idea and i was liek i gotta write this or else ill go insane!

thats an interesting point!! do they want her to need them - want them?? i feel like its definitely good and toxic. bc they are totally pushing limits to see what she is comfy with.

i read yandere fics and im like this is fine, knowing like no its not lol. right now there are totally red flags from all of the boys but woosan feels sweet rn still. so much is still blurred i feel that i dont blame yn for being swoonful.

wooyo is a softie jokester. he wants to live life comfy, casual, worryfree.

tall and taller, my boysssss!! its totally yungi! theyre planning something that definitely is setting butterfly effects off.

wooyoung being just a tease is my fave thing. he wants attention from everyone lol.

ooo s rings for seonghwa is a fun idea but i will reveal the story behind this one lol. this was to allude to it being mingi. i took inspo from the S/$ necklace he wears in the MV and the line that says "Draw a line on the name and take the won and dollars" for his name sake S/$ and M/₩. i thought an $ necklace would be a bit tacky lolol so i made it a ring instead to imply Song Mingi.... though there is more to this story i'll keep quiet for now haha.

BUT CLAIMING THINGS FROM SEONGHWA IS A BIG EYES IDEA.

Jongho loves the arts! he wanted to see what was up!! hes just a bit more suave - he knows she'd be checking out the box if he sat there.

Julia is definitely showing the more give and take of the boudoir. she wants to be more than the system she is locked into but was mean about it for sure to yn. its good advice but said badly i think. and for sure yn thinks woosan and her are different!

aaa i like that you noticed that about introvert/extrovert/outings/privacy! and also wy loves yn he loves that shes clever and caring and listening!! hes really whipped.

jooongie will make it known for sure one day! and its an interesting idea! hes been very private so far in the story - canonically he hasnt even been to the show yet (if im remembering my own writing correctly lol). why would he give her a coat? is it just a coat or is it more? why is he letting all of the boys be so captivated by her?

the necklace being tugged was a comment reply!! someone said it made them think of a collar which was not the initial implication - but then ...

i was hooked on the idea and had to add it!

I really love reading the comments you are sharing!! im literally giggling and clapping my hands!! it made my night!! i appreciate it so much!!

«hes mine just as wooyoung and you are mine» that is the dream. oh to be sans and be wrapped up in his big ol chest.

yeosang is going to be featured more heavily next chapter and im like metaphorically glaring at him likes hes a bad cat rn haha. hes unhinged but also same. i need a soft hug from good cat yeosang.

and gosh this is so sweet im so happy you are enjoying!!!!!!!!!!

san is Gentleman. He likes the glitz and glamour and pretty things on his arms.

YN just wants to be star

i love love love strong yeosang, doberman yeosang. hes got an aura around him even if he is soft boy

like hes got an intensity even if hes gentle/cutesy/demur

yeahhhhhhh san wishes it was an easier answer than prima.

she is very innocent. i try to balance it so people arent annoyed or think of her as a mary sue. BUT i dont think she'd assume mafia first and foremost. there isnt really that in this town. small town gangs, rich conglomerates, ateez is a new force.

lolol about the newspaper guy!

ys just wants to spend time with heeeeeerrrrrrrrr and it got all messed up later. he will spend more time with her for sure!! like i said hes wild in the next chapter imo.

mingi my shaylllaaaaaaa. hes soooo alrfafgvafnvlnaflv i want to squeeze him. i LOVE cute mingi. i love bashful kind silly smile mingi beneath his sexy aura!!!

matz my loves. i wanted to include them in little ways this chapter. next chapter might not feature them yet depending on pacing but i love and miss them. im a matz girlie through and through.

aaaa oh my gawddddd thats all im saying about the tooth gems hehe!!!

everything reminds me of him. i love mv san.

i loved throwing in the kitty hehe. its just a strange thing in the mv to have this kitty prowling about imo. shes jongho!!

oooo im excited for an ask if you are still curious!!!

Yeosangs flower outfit!!! hes so cuteee and soft boy. i wanted him super soft before we see him ever in his sharp pinstriped suit.

i take a lot of things from the mv lol or the behind the scenes or the teasers!! they give me so much inspo!! im happy you are spotting them!!

wy and mg's scene in front of the desk is totally derived from mingi's moment at the desk in the mv!! a lot of people got confused thinking mingi was yunho/seonghwa since they've been delegated as higher in power buttttt mingi is at a desk in the mv... mingi has his ring kissed in the mv.....

hongjoong in iomt was first goofy looking and then I LOCKED THE FUCK IN. hes so fine. i love the hair. i love his cocky vibe. i love him FLOATING LIKE AN ANGEL. i just have to try to include those vibes from him and i thought a portrait painted in a Renaissance style would fit that!

im glad!! that gives me the ick too!! another ick that i get is when wooyo blows smoke in the butlers' faces as theyre walking in the foyer. i wanted to show that they really dgaf with other ppl.

he did say that >:((( he keeps calling her a doll and nows he like liking her. wooyo and san will tease yu haha. though i will note 1910s/20s doll was common for a girl as a nickname. i think he did mean it like "this doll, this broad *raised eyebrows*" though so the growls are warranted still.

yunho is the guard dog totally. hes here to sniff out trouble and set records straight! we can trust him...right?

i love yeowoosani! i love them theyre babies!!!!!!!

mingis just a boy, surrounded by boys. hes like "shit a lady is here and now i said shit oh shit i said it again D:<"

kitty z is precious and has done no wrong yn is just going through it.

im hoping to get another chapter out faster (even if my brain is like sludge with writing rn). these comments really inspire to me keep writing and get it out faster so thank you so much!! it really brightened my day!!!

like a waltz⎯ part 4: piqué.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Click. Clack.

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

Click, clank.

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

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

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

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

“B-B-Boss.”

“Where is it?”

“Oh, about that –“ the other chuckled. 

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

Her heart rate jumped.

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

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

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

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

Click, clack.

Click, clack.

Click, clack, BANG.

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

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

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

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

His teeth gleamed and glinted with his snarl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maknae?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It sent chills up her spine.

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

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

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

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

The man hummed low in his throat, melodically.

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

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

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

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

Her nod was preoccupied.

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

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

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

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

“I’ll be okay. Good night…”

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

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

He nodded, bowing at the waist.

“Good night, YN.”

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

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

And yet he had said it.

-

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

“Are you alright, honey?” San asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm, swanette?” he encouraged again.

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

“How so?” San asked inquiringly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Someone helped me,” she admitted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She laughed at that.

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

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

“I’m sure.”

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

 -

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

‘Don’t do this please.’

She could read the pretty dancer’s lips.

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The young man knew the answer like a bitter liquor.

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

“Had a nice stroll?”

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“YN.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What does that mean?”

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

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

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

Semantics. It made her roll her eyes.

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

Julia finally sighed out.

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

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

-

The game. Julia had called it a game.

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

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

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

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

“Hello you two,” YN greeted.

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

“It was good.” she said.

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

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

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

She shook her head distractedly.

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

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

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

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

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

She smiled as she shed out of her feathers.

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

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

“Will you be there?”

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

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

-

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

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

Did she know her patrons?

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

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

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

“I have a question.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There’s a lot of you there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She already knew where this was going.

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

And her stalker, of course.

-

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

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

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

Sweet, that’s what San was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s this?”

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

“For you.”

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

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

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

His fingers brushed over the jewels before he spoke again.

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

San’s fingers stroked over her hip.

“You’re staring, honey,” he teased.

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

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

Was he teasing her? Was he genuine?

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

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

Her cheeks flushed at that and she looked away.

“San!” she exclaimed.

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

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

-

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

“Hello, sweetheart,” he beamed.

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

“Hello Yeosang. Congratulations,” she returned.

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

“San,” he greeted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not sure,” she said softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” he teased.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He puffed out smoke.

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

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

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

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

Imara never had this.

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

-

“Do you want diamonds?” San asked.

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

“No,” she let out a chuckle.

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

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

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

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

“I’m okay,” she said. 

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

“What do you truly want, honey?”

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

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

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

-

“Extra edition!” a newsboy cried out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

“What’s wrong?” Wooyoung added.

They hadnt looked at the paper yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

San and Wooyoung’s eyes met once more.

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

-

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

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

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

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

Miss YN.

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

Yours,

Kim Yeosang

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” the other giggled.

“Will you be there?” she asked tentatively.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, darling.”

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

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

Mingi cleared his throat. “Welcome to Ateez House, YN.”

Her eyes were locked on his home; winding over the overlapping rooftops, grazing the glowing windows to see if anyone was looking out at them. Two figures, dark silhouettes at most, stood on the upper floor, one short and the other tall.

Her head tilted in curiosity before they walked off.

“Thank you,” she smiled at him before going to open her door. “And thank you for the drive.”

There was a squeak of leather as he shifted closer suddenly. His arm outstretched over her, bracing over her chest. Her gasp was all the sound that filled the air between them. Her head turned and they were nearly nose-to-nose.

He was so close. The blood-orange of his cologne licked at her senses, mingling with the polished leather so refreshingly. He smelled intoxicating and sharp. His face was only inches away; the fabric of his long-coat brushed against her. His hand closed around the metal handle of the car door, gently nudging hers aside. He laughed out nervously. His eyes were wide and gentle. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he flashed the sweetest grin she had ever seen, all toothy and bright. It sparkled… wait, he had diamonds on his teeth. His canines were adorned with gems that gleamed in the setting sun.

“Let me,” he bumbled out. He opened the door from within, before pulling his arm back. His cheeks were painted a rosy color that only made his flustered appearance look more sweet.

“Thank you,” she said, offering him a grin of her own.

She hoped he wasn’t too surprised by her own initial surprise. He was just trying to be a gentleman she realized. Bowing her head, she quickly ducked out of the car, closing the door behind her with care.

The only thought that filled his brain – besides the intoxicating smell of YN – was ‘damn you for winning, Yunho.’ After a long moment of breathing the remains of her deep into his lungs and watching her form walk towards his house, Mingi restarted the automobile with a rumble to guide it back to their private car garage. 

-

Everything reeked of extravagance. Tall walls with recess ceilings and wainscotting details. Gilded gold and glowing gas-lamps. Italian-Renaissance inspired tiles of saints, angels, and the Heavens were inlayed in the ceiling. The floor was patterned, a rich expensive textile making up the carpet.

There were butlers lining the walls of the foyer; all in matching midnight pin-striped suits. It was almost eerie. They were like statues, repeating over and over and over. Expressionless. Each face was stoney, eyes ahead. It reminded her of when the ballet troupe lined up in their matching leotards and were separated by height; row after row. Slicked back hair, delicate body lines, starving ribs. Identical and indistinguishable until they reached prima title.

None of them acknowledged her except for one, a rogue, that walked up and nodded at her politely.

“Welcome to the mansion, Miss YN. Please, come.” He outstretched his hand to encourage her further into the lavish space.

She curtsied, uncertainly. One of the many ghostly butlers took her coat as she walked down the foyer’s hall. Her kitten heels were soft against the carpet flooring until they rounded a corner. They click-clacked across marble flooring, polished ‘til she could see her reflection.

“Mr. Yeosang has requested a meal to be prepared at the West Wing. Please follow me.” The same butler spoke once more before he turned to lead the way.

Following after him, she was awed by the space. The very place that had been teased and taunted and ghost storied about was a gleaming jewel. As they walked, she realized how each hallway, each living space was opulent. The current path had walls that were painted an ice-cold baby-blue. Yet there were touches of warmth everywhere. Fine art in gold-leafed frames, elaborate trims around columns and the floor were the same shining gold. The art was all heavenly. Literally. Gods, angels, and disciples portrayed in blurred brush strokes, painted with colors that ached of softness. Everything was all gold, fluff, and magnificence.

The ceiling had multiple heavy hanging chandeliers of pure jewels. Diamonds dripped from its wire frame and sparkled in the gas-light. Everywhere was gaslit; she was surprised. No one had notice workers here and yet it was modern. Not a speck of dust or age present anywhere – besides the ancient art she supposed.

She slowed as she passed a large Renaissance-esque painting full of cherubs with feathered wings and glowing haloes. Squinting, she saw one figure wearing a ski mask. Huh? A cat meowed nearby. Her attention was caught, her head turning to the sound.  She stilled as she glanced down a nearby hall, one that seemed darker than the others. Doors lined each wall; all shut except for one at the end of that hall. It was opened just a crack, the siren call of a piano trickled out, and a little cat peered around its corner. The sweet cat was a midnight-black, almost blue-ish in tone; her tail twisted behind her as she meowed out again.

YN’s eyes lit up at the sight; the cat meowed again as it wiggled itself out of the doorway. Its paws and claws clinked against the tile, almost in rhythm with the piano music playing. Large green eyes peered up at her curiously as the cat approached; the collar around its throat was expensive – a leather thing with jewels, pearls, and a large silver bell that jingled out the closer it got.

She meowed at her again.

The piano stopped; the reverb humming out discordantly.

“Z?” a voice called out before a gentle melodic whistle chimed out.

The kitty’s attention was caught again, its ears perking up and meowing as if answering the call of its owner. It began to stroll back where it came from.

“Miss YN,” the butler’s monotonic called out.

Her head snapped towards him, answering his call immediately. She stood from the slight crouch she had taken for the kitten’s approach. Her butler stood some feet away, arms behind his back. She expected a disapproving look, but he provided none.

“Please follow me, Miss. We wouldn’t want you disappearing.”

That was almost worse! It sounded so ominous coming from his stone-faced mouth. She swallowed.

“Sorry,” she apologized before she quickened her pace to catch up to him.

“We wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

They continued to walk down this hallway and that hallway. Someone could easily get lost here. It was like a grand castle. Finally, after crossing some carpeted stairs, they were in front of a grand hallway of windows. As they passed, she could see a dreary exterior. Rain had begun to pour, fogging the outside in grey. But she could distantly see a maze of hedges, rose bushes, apple trees, and all sorts of gardens awaiting. She awed at the sight as they continued down the carpeted hall to come to a set of dark oak doors.

“One moment, Miss,” the butler warned as he entered the room quickly.

“Boss, er, sir – “

The doors shut behind him before she could hear any more. She was left alone. YN glanced aside at the wall opposite of the windows. There were inlayed gas lamps, glowing a soft yellow. A portrait hung nearby, painted in a similar style as the painting she saw before.

It was of a young man, a handsome one at that. His inky-black hair was slicked back in shiny waves, a singular strand curled over his forehead daintily. He was in all white, soft silken tunic and oversized bowtie of virginal white. Despite the softness of his attire and of the atmosphere surrounding him (he was almost painted with his own divine halo as if he was an apostle), there was sharpness to his midnight-black eyes and the smirk of his mischievous smile. His ears were pierced up and down, pearls and fine metals looping them in sparkles. A twinkle was shining at the corner of his grin as if his teeth gleamed in the heavenly light around him. He was beautiful, but she couldn’t help but feel like his dark eyes were staring her down.

The tall doors opened behind her suddenly. YN turned to see the reveal of a dining hall as luxurious as the rest of the mansion. But the aroma that wafted from its interior was far more intoxicating.

“Enter, Miss YN.” The butler encouraged, beside the door.

He held them open for her as she took a stride inside. Her lips widening into a smile as she prepared to greet Yeosang at the head of the table. But this was no Yeosang she realized as she gazed down the long, lavish table to meet the dark gaze of a stranger.

With a calculated look, he stared at her from the head of a ten-chaired, decadent table of hot food. It was more than she had eaten in months even with San and Wooyoung: sizzling side dishes, steaks covered in thick luscious sauces, cracked fruits that had a sweet nectar gleaming on them, chocolate-oozing pastries. An open bottle of red wine rested in a frosted chest of ice; eight crystal glasses sat upside down. One glass of red wine sat in front of her spot; the other in the grasp of the man’s hand. The ruby liquid gleamed like blood. A sea of lit-candles decorated the spare space of the table; the chandelier above keeping the candles instead of trading them for their gas-lit counterpart. The orange glow illuminated the intimate room in a hazy feel. Smoke trailed out of his mouth in a long plume, perfuming the delicious air with the heady scent of tobacco.

“Hello.”

His voice was a soft drawl. His close-lip smile was the same. Soft, slow, and confident. His eyes were illuminated by the flickering candles, making the darkness there look like a night sky spattered with stars rather than with blood. He tapped his cigarette into a crystal ash tray with his long fingers. Rings after rings curled over his knuckles; some sharp and some with the emblem ‘A’ just like San and Wooyoung shared. He raised the cigarette back to his lips to take another drag into his lungs.

“YN.” The smoke billowed from his lips as he spoke her name tenderly.

She should’ve left then, knowing it was different from what she had agreed to. She should’ve asked him where Yeosang was immediately – and who was he? But she already knew, didn’t she? She had worried about this man since she read the newsprint that bore his name.

She shifted, fingers tugging at her skirt as she heard the heavy wood doors shut behind her. The butler that led her here disappearing, leaving her with him. Her fingers pressed into the door behind her, tentatively. It didn’t budge beneath her. In the shadows of the room, she saw there were men lining the wall. Like ghosts, they didn’t speak or move – they simply stood like gargoyles surrounding a castle. One broke the line to pull out her chair opposite of her dining companion. Her eyes flickered back to the man at the head of the table.

“Hello,” she said instead. “Yunho.”

It wasn’t a stutter, but there was a pause in her words. Yunho’s laughter was almost fond as he chuckled out a plume of smoke before she was urged forward with a flick of his hand. Ashes splattered across the white dining cloth, sizzling burns into the fabric. She sat down in the chair pulled out for her; the servant pushed her in towards the table with a screech of the wooden legs against the wood.

The silverware in front of her was polished, gleaming in the candle-light. A perfectly folded napkin rested on the center of her gold-lined plate. The initial ‘A’ in a circle was embroidered fancifully in shiny black thread on the pristine white fabric.

Her fingers flexed against the wood arm rests of her chair as she looked down the table, over candles, meats, cheese, and vegetables at the intimidating man. He was far away, but perhaps that was the safest option for her.

“I like you already,” he proclaimed, his words solid and confident. His smile simmered.

“Please,” Yunho gestured to the piles of food in front of them with a hand, swinging the cigarette and a trailing path of smoke about. “I’m sure you’re hungry.”

Her stomach felt tight with nerves, but even so it grumbled at the sight before her. Everything smelt so nice and rich and oily. Decadent. She licked her rosy lips, dragging her eyes up to look at him once more.

“Where’s Yeosang?” she asked finally.

He smiled, a peak of glimmering teeth shining in the candlelight. No, it wasn’t his teeth that shined – it was the inlayed diamonds on his canines that twinkled. Just like the driver. Just like the painting.

“He’ll join us,” Yunho reassured. “He’s running late from a previous engagement. I promise.”

Her gaze was doubtful. Why didn’t he just tell the driver to alert her? She could wait. She was used to waiting upon rich men.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“I was curious of you.” He stated as he raised his cigarette to his mouth once more. As he breathed out, he gestured again at the food. “Please help yourself. Wooyoung told me some of your favorites.”

There were her favorites; steaming and hot. Some tartlets from their recent date sat on a pearlescent serving tray. Tempting. Her stomach grumbled. Watching him carefully, she reached out a fork to stab into a piece of meat and plating it.

“I’m just a ballerina,” she claimed, eyes flashing to look at him as she picked up her utensils to cut at the singular item on her plate.

Yunho’s lips quirked up on one side before he glanced aside at a man. He nodded towards her and she couldn’t help but jump as a suited butler approached. Yunho’s gaze took in the small tension that rippled through her.

The butler began to pile up her plate with this and that. Steaming vegetables, savory pastries, fluffy mashed potatoes scented with garlic, sticky soy-sauce braised meats, pasta with a rich cream sauce, seafood with clarified butter. It was more food than she could finish. The amount of food laid out was enough to feed eight men.

“You’ve entranced my brothers for being more than just a dancer,” Yunho commented. “I wanted to see what was so special about their swanette.”

She swallowed, her throat dry. She felt like a trapped bird in a zoo being observed. She tried to imagine the boudoir around her rather than the intimacy of a dining table.

“I’m a good dancer,” she told him boldly. They like bold, an older ballerina’s voice was in her ear once more.

Yunho smiled. “I heard. I apologize for never attending a performance.” He said.

“You’ve been… busy,” she said. But not too bold. Another ballerina warned.

It was a dig, and Yunho knew it. She knew it too with how wide her eyes became. And still, his lips curled into a smile, his eyes simmered.

“Its no wonder Wooyoung took to you,” he breathed.

He raised his glass of wine to his lips and took a long sip. At the mention of Wooyoung, he saw the way the muscles in her face flickered. Lightening. Interesting. Placing the glass down, he leaned forwards, hand resting under his chin as he stared at her, intrigued.

She was intriguing. She had four members of the family wrapped around her little finger and here she was in his sticky webs. Yunho ached to figure her out, dive deeper. The vein in his forehead bulged a bit with his intensity.

His eyes felt magnetic. She had cut up her slice of steak into tiny bites at this point, but all he had done was stare at her. He had not a lick of food on his own plate. It felt more like an interrogation than a meal at this point.

So, she stared back. Her eyes met his, swallowing down her fear. The twisted mangled amalgamation of fear, intrigue, and something else. She was safe, she chanted internally. Wooyoung promised. San promised. He hadn’t done anything to her…yet.

She took in his appearance. While his eyes were a hypnotizing thing, his entire face was like one of a siren’s. Handsome with chiseled features. Sharp cupid’s bowed lips, sharp brows, sharp clean lines of his suit. A pair of glasses were tucked into his pocket… he needed glasses just like her Sannie. Her eyes darted up the line of his throat. His hand rose to bring his cigarette back to his lips. He tilted his head, the midnight-black hair swaying over one eyebrow smartly.

How were all these men so handsome? The driver, her patrons, Yeosang, Yunho. All breathtaking compared to the oil-grubby handed rich men of Cromer. It made her soften just a smidge, guard walls lowering as he breathed out smoke once more. Lips pursing delicately. Cheeks soft, she noticed. It was quiet. The clinking of her utensils against her meal was the only sound in the hall.

“Do you like dancing?” she asked. Dancing was safe. Dancing was all she knew.

“Enough,” he said. “My brothers like it more than myself.”

Brothers he said again. It was strange. Wooyoung spoke of the others as friends, dear ones – explained that the shared last name was something pushed upon them. Yunho embraced it.

“Then, sports?” she countered. “Tennis perhaps?”

Yunho chuckled lowly, and it felt like a tiger’s rumble. “No,” he laughed. “Not particularly – though, I have good hand-eye coordination.”

Her mind flashed to the shooting the newspaper relayed – a fictionalized imagining in her head bloomed. Him and his gun aiming and firing with ease, just like that man in the alley way.

“Oh,” she breathed.

He wondered if she knew how blatant her face revealed things. Her fear, her thoughts, her soul. It was strange though. Yunho didn’t want her frightened.

“I play against Yeosang often,” he clarified.

“Oh,” she repeated, a different tone trickling into her exclamation. Her knife scraped against the plate’s china, screeching out suddenly like a soprano at an opera house. Her gaze turned to it, surprised.

Her meat was completely shredded now. Almost inedible with how much she had sawed into it over and over.

Yunho laughed again, the sound warm and full. “Darling,” he cooed out, soft. “Please relax and eat. I insist. Yeosang won’t mind.”

Yeosang. Of course, that’s why she was prolonging it. Her smile was bashful and Yunho’s eyes swallowed it up just like she bit into a piece of her meal finally.

“Will you not eat?” she asked.

Innocent, sweet. Yunho’s eyes simmered as he reached out to grasp a fruit from an intricately weaved wired basket. He bit into a red apple, sharp and vicious. Juice dripped over his fingers, down his chin. He raised a black napkin to the corner of his lips wiping it away. His eye contact never ceased. Did he just wink?

“How long have you lived in Cromer?” he asked.

“My entire life,” she admitted.

He hummed out. “And the ballet almost as long I suppose?”

“Ballerinas are taught young,” she said.

“The best way to shape someone.” He snubbed his cigarette out in his ash tray.

“I suppose,” she admitted. “But I love dancing. Truly.”

It was spoken sincerely, passionately. He nodded. “It’s been mentioned. They say one can tell by just the way you breath. You are full of it.”

“D-dancing?” she queried.

“Love.” he countered. “Passion.”

Her eyes blinked owlishly. “Oh.”

“Do you love them?” he asked directly. His head tilted curiously.

The topic had shifted in tone dramatically suddenly. Her heart raced to its hummingbird speed once more. Her face blushed. Yunho drank it all in like the wine in his glass.

There was a clambering down the hall way, muffled by the oak doors. Her gaze broken from his, and she looked over her shoulder at the doorway.

“Here he comes now,” Yunho whispered.

As predicted, Yeosang came busting through the doors. His hair askew, his eyes burning with the cruel fury she had only seen on the court. His elegant clothes looked rumpled; the softness of his sweater that cut into a deep v revealed more skin that she had seen of the sportsman yet. A rose was pinned on his chest, gentlemanly, and yet somehow tempting her to stare at his chiseled chest more. A decorative scarf wrapped around his throat, disheveled.

He glared at Yunho with such contempt before it was washed away at the sight of her. He glanced her up and down, quickly as if his lingering gaze would be scolded. Appropriately for such an inappropriate action. His lips parted gently; his rounded face soft with a gentle blush.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he immediately apologized, head bowing.

The long strands of russet-brown hair that framed his face swooped over his cheeks. His hand rose to tuck one strand back. “I was caught up with something unexpectedly.”

With little show, she stood, discarding her utensils to greet him. Her smile was soft, reassuring, genuine. She ducked her own head to catch his gaze – he was still glaring through his lashes at the man at the head of the table she noticed. But when he saw her own face come into view he straightened sweetly, awkwardly. But in such a charming way somehow. Yeosang was so charming even in his anger and discomfort. She didn’t want him to be in discomfort.

“Its alright,” she reassured him.

“We’ve just been chatting,” Yunho chimed from the end of the table. Unhelpfully.

Yeosang adjusted his leather gloves nervously, tugging them off finger by finger.

“I see that.” Yeosang rumbled.

His eyes settled back on her like she was his seas’ moon.

“You look lovely, YN,” he complimented. Her smile lit up the room, he swore.

He licked his lips, deep voice humming out as he looked over the table.

“I-I,” he gestured to the table, the meal he had ordered the chef to prepare, “I have those tarts you liked at the café on Riverfield Street.”

She smiled at him; he was so cute.

“Thank you,” she grinned. “And I saw. They look perfect.”

He breathed out a little, fixing his clothes once he tucked his gloves into his back pocket.

“It’s been perfect,” she tried to reassure him, sensing his anxieties. His blooming nerves. Her hand reached out to squeeze his.

He jolted at her touch, just enough for her to catch it. His ears were red. Yunho’s grin was wide, sparkling.

“Thank you for the invite.”

“Of course, I wanted –” he glanced at Yunho’s leering gaze. “I wanted to get to know you better, sweetheart.”

“And we shall,” Yunho agreed. “Sit, Sangie. Let’s eat.”

A butler appeared to pull out a seat for him. It wasn’t near either of them, in fact. It was the third seat to the left side of the table. Yeosang glanced at the butler silently before pulling out the chair directly beside YN and seating himself.

He was served a selection of the meal, silently. She went to break the silence.

“How are you?” The headline still brandished itself in her mind. His words about paparazzi left a lasting impact.

Yeosang huffed out. “Well,” he replied. “News articles come and go. I’ll remain on top of my game regardless.”

Yunho nodded steadfastly from across the table. “It’ll be nothing by the next game.”

Yeosang offered her a smile. “Thank you for worrying about me. I’ve survived worse.”

She nodded solemnly. “I don’t like it still.” Yunho watched the interaction carefully. His brow quirked.

“How are you liking Cromer?” she asked. She was used to asking men how they enjoyed the show… but that wasn’t an option here when the room lulled into silence.

“It’s different. But I’ve seen places as beautiful as Aurora, as desolate as the Strictlands, and as rural as Paradise. Cromer reminds me of Aurora in a different way.” Yeosang explained. “It feels homely.”

She smiled. “Ateez House is yours, correct?”

“Its in the family,” Yeosang replied.

“What do you think of it?” Yunho queried.

“Its very nice,” she politely said.

Yeosang tilted his head fondly at her. “Meaning?”

Her brows crinkled in surprise. “Its—nice?” she repeated.

“Shall I remind you what San encourages you to do, sweetheart?”

To be honest. How did he know about that? Her neck and ears became a soft pink in the candlelight. Swallowing, she glanced to the side.

“It is genuinely nice – its just… this house has been called haunted my whole life,” she told them. “There are ghost stories linked to this mansion. It’s strange being here and seeing that it is, in fact, not rotting or some supernatural force of nature.”

Yeosang chuckled out, smiling sweet.

“There are stories?” he leaned in. “Do tell!”

“I love a good gruesome story,” Yunho commented.

But for some reason, the way the words lilted in his tone didn’t make her flinch like before… in fact, was he teasing her? Her eyes flickered from Yeosang’s open form to Yunho. His cheek rested on his hand; elbow pressed into the table as he eyed her with Yeosang.

He smirked at her as they met one another’s eyes. He nodded, urging her. And so, YN went into the ghost story she had been told as a little girl, sitting among the tutu’ed training ballerinas while her mother did alterations on the prima’s show-stopping costume.

“The story goes that this house was home to a Captain,” she started, twirling pasta about her fork as she spoke.

Yunho and Yeosang’s eyes locked.

“The Captain was no ordinary captain; he was the fiercest pirate king of all. With his crew, the Black Pirates, they terrorized the seas and reaped countless treasures. When he grew old and hoarding like a dragon, he docked at Cromer under a false name. Ateez House was built upon blood-soaked jewels and coins; they say the pirate captain passed in his vault, hidden deep in the mansion’s basements. His bones are still there, unrested. His ghost terrorizes the house and refuses to let any soul except his pirates’ prowl.” She dramatically told.

Her fingers wiggled sensationally. “Or that the treasure was haunted by those they robbed and killed mercilessly. Their ghosts remain and haunt these halls.” She shrugged her hands landing back in her lap. “The story changes every so often.”

“What a story,” Yunho breathed. “Do you believe it?”

“It’s just a story. Maybe there are some real parts but… ghosts aren’t real. I’m not that silly of a girl.”

“You aren’t,” Yeosang commented immediately.

“But everyone in town knows it, so it sticks,” she told them, reaching out for the glass of wine in front of her and taking a sip.

“Cromer loves its gossip.” Yeosang commented.

“They’re stuck in their ways,” Yunho added.

“What do you think of Cromer?” she redirected to Yunho.

He took a small breath in. His previous grimace faded and his brow crinkled as he looked at her thoughtfully. His lips pressed together before replying.

“At first,” Yunho said, tilting his chin. “I did not like it… but now…”

His gaze felt hot, ever present. There wasn’t a barrier of modesty she often felt with other men. Yeosang’s was intense. San’s was careful, observant. Wooyoung’s eager and challenging. Yunho’s was steadfast. Confident. Even the men in the boudoir knew there were limits. They had their wives. They had their image with the other men within the boudoir itself. Here she felt both hunted and examined. Admired but equal. He was looking at her soul.

“Now, I like it.” Yunho purred. “Very much, darling.”

He placed his silverware down with a clink. He leaned forwards, hands pressing into the table.

“There’s more to you that meets the eye,” Yunho commented. “I see that, so now I will let you speak your mind, truthfully.”

Her heart nearly stopped. Was he going to ask her about her love again? In front of Yeosang?! Her eyes remained on him steadily. Her ears burned.

“You’re frightened of me, yes?” he said.

It was strange to feel relief at the confirmation of something so horrible. Because she was still nervous around him, for his boldness frightened her just as much as his previous actions. Yeosang’s eyes shifted to her, widening as he watched her nod.

“Sweetheart,” he reached out for her hand, petting her phalanges but not grabbing it. He simply wished to reassure her. Just as she had done for him earlier.

“San and Wooyoung said I didn’t have to be,” she replied. She licked her lips.

“Ask me what you want to know.” He stretched back into his chair, neck flexing as he met her gaze.

“Is it true? Should I be frightened?”

“That’s not it,” he laughed a bit, lip curling almost scornfully, scoldingly. He raised a brow, head tilting as if weighing his options. “But no, you don’t need to be frightened. Ask another.”

“I don’t have another question.” She countered, only to state simply and firmly. “You shot a man.”

And he smiled. “I did.” Yunho confirmed.

“On purpose?” she asked.

“Yes, darling.”

Her blood felt cold. She hadn’t met someone like him and it sent her stomach into a cramping mess. Yeosang did take her hand now. Interlacing his fingers softly. He glanced over at his elder as he rose from his chair. Oh, Yunho was tall. Very tall, in fact. With them sitting, he looked giant. His heels thudded against the floor.

“Why?” she asked. Yeosang felt her hand tighten in his grasp.

“He tried to fool me, steal from me,” Yunho stated, walking towards them. “Lied to me. I don’t like being played.”

There wasn’t a moment for the words to sink in for YN. Instead, like a game of tennis, she shot back.

“So, you shot him? Just like that?”

“For your information, yes.”  

“That’s frightening.”

“Yes.” Yunho was beside Yeosang now.

“But!” Yeosang was the next to interrupt. “If you must know… Yunho isn’t some cruel man, sweetheart. It was done in self-defense.”

“Self-defense?” she asked doubtfully. Wooyoung and San said so themselves as well.

The air that Yunho carried seemed to be more than that. He wasn’t exactly proud, but he was at peace with what he did. Yunho’s face pulled into a tight thing as he rested a hand on Yeosang’s shoulder. They both looked at her inquiringly.

“He pulled a blade on Yunho,” Yeosang interjected. His gaze flashed to her. “He has the scars to prove it.”

They had an answer to everything. It was self-defense. Not a thing of violence. Of necessity.

She stared at them

“It wasn’t… he struck first?” she repeated slowly.

They glanced at one another before smiling at her with dual grins. Yunho tapped his fingers on Yeosang’s shoulder before he pulled back. A hand went to his chest, gentlemanly and earnest in nature.

“Yes.” He ensured.

Her eyes flickered to Yeosang. He had been a sensible figure – likeable, nothing formidable. If he trusted him, if her Wooyoung and San did. Yunho spoke with such authority. He valued truth just like San did.

Her defensiveness, something she didn’t even see in her body language, softened. Yunho’s sigh was one of understanding as he walked back to his seat, stealing a glance at her. He smiled again, his teeth gleaming in the cande light.

“YN.” He spoke her name luxuriously. “If there is one thing you should know about me. I don’t do mess.”

He plucked a dessert from his plate, biting into the chocolate with slowness. Calculated. He kept her gaze. It sent a thrill through her; he sent a thrill through her. Swallowing together, the corner of his lip curled. He raised a napkin to his lips, gentlemanly.

He was a gentleman, straightforward and powerful. He had to be telling the truth.

“I’m not a messy man, darling-doll.”

The dinner didn’t last much longer. Yeosang encouraged conversation; Yunho threw in some topics, mostly of things she had mentioned to San and Wooyoung. It struck her then that they shared many stories about her. They must’ve talked about her a lot. It made her cheeks flush as red as the chocolate strawberries Yunho ate.

Their eyes were hot on her; it felt like they were captivated and it made her heart race. Like she was on the stage.

She liked it.

Surprisingly, her two patrons made an appearance at the end of the meal. Wooyoung, of course, was the one to pop his head into the grand dining room.

“Swanette!” he beamed at the sight of her.

Yunho took in how her shoulders softened and her chest heaved at the sight of Wooyoung, at his voice. He smiled, softer and truer than any other smile he shared tonight so far.

Wooyoung was dressed the most casual she had ever seen him. A fashionable patterned white-and-black button-up shirt was barely buttoned, revealing a black ribbed tank-top beneath it. His hair was pushed back casually and messy; a rolled cigarette was behind his ear. His slacks were a deep black, loose and flowy rather than a structured fabric.

“Woo,” she barely got out, her mouth dropping at the sight of him.

He smirked, arms slinking over the chair and over her shoulders.

“Hello hyungs,” he greeted the others, barely glancing at them before ducking his head and pressing a less-than-decent kiss to her mouth. Smothering and all consuming. She squeaked into it. A ringed hand rose to cup her guide her head in the kiss, icy cold against her flushed red cheek.

Yeosang and Yunho chuckled out. The sound was a mixture of fondness and annoyance. Yunho’s brow twitched. Yeosang’s hand held hers tighter… he hadn’t let go, of course. But YN hadn’t noticed the entire dinner and dessert. ‘Til now. Her fingers flexed in his as Wooyoung swiped his tongue across the seam of her lips.

“Alright,” San scolded Wooyoung, his hand going to the back of the shorter’s neck. He nearly pried him off her. “Wooyoung!”

“I missed her,” Wooyoung said simply, flushed face and breathless.

His hot breath fanned over her rosy face; his lips were spicy and left hers burning. Mischief twinkled in his eyes as he stole another kiss from her lips. San pulled him back again with a harsher hand.

It was then she got a glance of her other patron. San had freshly washed hair, the locks combed out and dripping over his forehead. He wore a similar tank top to Wooyoung, but in a white shade. Shockingly, he had a pair of workman’s light-washed blue jeans hugging his thighs. Thick thighs, muscular shoulders, tawny honey skin. It was tantalizing, tempting. But when she looked over his face, her mouth dropped in surprise. A bruise kissed at the corner of his lips; his sweet smile tarnished with a purple-red watercolor splotch.   

She couldn’t help stand immediately, half in the clutches of Wooyoung. Her hand rose to cup San’s cheek.

“Honey!” he exclaimed out in surprise.

He didn’t shift away, actually bending at the knee for her height, but San was certainly surprised. He had taken the lead between them often. YN rarely made the first move with either of her patrons. But what he had mistaken for sexual tension only led to pain. He was shocked when her thumb’s brush against his lips made pain radiate up his face.

“Ow,” he whimpered, frowning. His brow furrowed.

Yeosang laughed nearby. “He forgot he’s hurt,” the athlete commented.

“It’s been a while,” Yunho added, finishing his drink as he watched the interaction play out.

San’s lips pressed together, blinking rapidly before taking in the concern look on her face.

“Oh, honey, I’m okay,” San tried to reassure. His hand rose to cup her hand that was pressed to his jaw, thumb brushing over it soothingly. “It doesn’t even hurt.”

“You just said ow, you liar,” she scolded him, brows furrowing. “What the hell happened?”

“I’m fine,” he swore, tilting his head to press a kiss that stung his mouth to her palm. “Promise.”

“This town is getting more and more dangerous,” she breathed out.

Her thumb brushed over his cheek softly. His pretty face marred. Without his glasses on, she could see how his eyes sparkled in the chandelier’s candlelight. Soft and starry, as if she hung the world.

“You are an angel,” he murmured. “I’m okay. I’ll live.”

“Wooyoung, will you tell me what happened?” she prompted, not moving. Wooyoung pressed to her side made a humming sound.

“The streets are rough around here,” he said. “Someone really ought to fix that.”

Yunho huffed from across the long table.

San smiled at her again, eyes falling into half-moons. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. His lips stung to do so, but she was worth it. “Thank you for worrying.” He told her. His stomach did somersaults at the thought of her jumping to his aid.

“Shall we walk you out, swanette?” Wooyoung directed instead, head tucking over her shoulder to look at the table. “Yunho has a meeting to attend unfortunately.”

Yunho hissed in through his sparkling diamond-inlayed teeth. “Does the—”

San nodded.

He breathed in through his nose before offering YN a simmering smile. Full of warmth. “It was lovely meeting you, Miss YN. I hope to see you very soon.” He bowed politely before with long-legged strides left the room. Wooyoung winked at him as he passed.

“I’ll join you,” Yeosang offered YN. “You must come visit again soon – in the spring, the gardens are beautiful. We could have tea or -”

“Yeosang likes to take long strolls through the gardens – even if it’s raining,” Wooyoung revealed, finally peeling himself off her back to look at the selection of food laid out. He plucked a grape from a platter.

“You gossip like the upper-class now,” Yeosang commented, raising a brow.

Wooyoung laughed brightly at his friend before popping the fruit into his mouth. “Eh, they rub off on you – I had to keep up with you, Sangie.”

Hmm, it was an interesting interaction. Playful but also… strange. She knew their pasts implied they hadn’t always been wealthy… Yeosang had been a protégé tennis player at a young age but how did he meet Wooyoung? Was it all because of Hongjoong?

San’s hands squeezed her waist. When had both of his hands shifted there? “You sleepy, honey?” he asked.

“Too filling of a meal,” Yeosang complained as he rose to his feet.

As if the food was her reason to getting lost in her head.

“It was perfect,” she countered, taking a step back. “Thank you again for the invitation.”

“Thank you for gracing us,” Yeosang replied, offering her his hand. She took it, and he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. A picture of a gentleman. But he was quick to wrap her arm up into his, pulling her into his side now. Surprisingly daring for the Yeosang she knew.

“Shall we?”

Their exit seemed to take forever just as before. Yeosang lead her down hallway after hallway after hallway. It almost felt like they were navigating a maze. San and Wooyoung framed the two in; Wooyoung on her side and San on Yeosang’s.

“How was Yunho?” San prompted, tentatively. “He didn’t scare you?”

“Did he frighten you – when you were alone with him?” Yeosang repeated, arm tightening around her.

“No, no, he wasn’t frightening,” she reassured them. “He was a surprise certainly.”

“Ah, Yunho was sneaky. He doesn’t like the opera, so he found his own way to meet you,” Yeosang sighed. “I feel like he caused the trouble for me on purpose, so I’d run late. You’re popular around here, sweetheart.” He squeezed her arm teasingly.

“Who else here?” she chuckled. Seonghwa? Hongjoong? She hadnt yet to see either of them – like they were ghosts.

“You’d be surprised,” Yeosang commented before leaning in and admitting. “I quite like you, too.”

He made her cheeks burn red, and Wooyoung giggled.

“She likes you too, Sangie,” he crowed out, fingers reaching to tickle her waist. “I’ve seen her blush over San, over you… Do you like Yunho as well?” Wooyoung queried, his words becoming less and less playful. They were almost inquisitive, as if testing the waters instead.

There was a crack as he lit a match across a gold-leafed frame. He placed the cigarette that was behind his ear to his lips and lit it.

“I did,” YN told him, honestly, as they continued through the foyer. Wooyoung chuckled out, smoke puffing out in front of his face in surprise. He wasn’t expecting her to admit it so fast.

“Not like that,” she interrupt his giggles, face burning. “I just—”

Looking down another hall they, she made out Yunho’s form, tall and slim walking down the hall with purpose. His back to her as they turned into the foyer finally.

“He was kind. Even if he was a bit intimidating… he wasn’t cruel or harsh. Just… confident.”

Yeosang smiled close-lipped. Wooyoung blew out his smoke to the side, the plume passing over the butlers’ faces. Not one flinched or coughed.

The smell of expensive tabacoo wafted over her face warmly as Wooyoung walked in front of them to push open the large heavy doors of the mansion.

“So he wasn’t so scary after all?” he teased. “Wait ‘til you meet Hongjoong and Hwa-hyung. They’re properly-”

“Wooyoung, don’t tease her,” Yeosang defended.

The younger raised one of his hands in defense as he held open the door for them. “I’m just saying – she got pass the guard dog.”

“She hasn’t met Jongho yet,” Yeosang giggled lightly. “He’s truly got a bad case of looking gruffer than he is. He’s our baby.”

Jongho. She had only heard that name once, and it was that night. Her ears rang.

“Jongho?” she queried softly.  

He had been at the opera! He was one of their ‘brothers’.

“Or Mingi--Ah, here he is now,” San commented, smiling over at the man standing in front of the green-painted car.

“Hello,” the driver greeted, voice as deep as earlier. His eyes flickered to her arm in Yeosang’s.

Wooyoung smirked at him. “Mingi, I didn’t know you were driving today,” he said.

“I thought you and San were doing business today.”

“It was a fast deal.”

Mingi looked unamused, his siren-eyes looking him and San up and down. “Uh huh.

“You know a Jongho?” she turned to Yeosang as they spoke.

“Jongho is the youngest of us. You’ll meet him soon, sweetheart,” he reassured, squeezing her arm. “He’s busy too often. I think they overwork him; he’s just a boy.”

“He’s only a year younger than us,” Wooyoung commented with a pout.

“He’s a baby,” San agreed offhandedly.

“I think I—"

“Is she going the hell home or not?” Mingi bit out. Before looking bashfully at her. “Sorry, doll,” he apologized for his gruffness. “I’m not used to a dame being around.”

“Its okay,” she mumbled out. Her mind was preoccupied with trying to figure out why Jongho was at the opera… without his supposed family knowing.

Mingi pouted at that. “No, its not.” He admitted. “Don’t take disrespect.”

Her distracted gaze rose and nodded softly, not really processing his words.

Wooyoung tsked out. “Here he goes about respect,” he sighed out. “Hurry up, swanette, or else we will be here for hours.”

There was a rumble of chuckles in the group. Yeosang squeezed her arm once more before pressing close to her ear, cheek to cheek. A whispered “next time it’ll be just you and I, hm?” was hushed into her ear before he unwound himself from her and allowed the others to hover about. “I’ll see you next time, Miss YN.”

San pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he promised. “And again, I promise you, I’m fine.” He pressed another kiss to her hairline before guiding her into Wooyoung’s arms.

He was warm and smelt of smoke. His grin was playful, wolfish as he leaned down and stole her lips into a kiss. He was getting bolder and bolder. His kiss was hot, a lick of his tongue into her mouth this time. She squeaked and he chuckled deeply.

“Mmm,” he moaned as he pulled away just a fraction. Wooyoung smiled as if he was innocent but his teases were devilishly. “Perhaps I should call you little mouse instead of swanette.”

She pushed at his chest, playfully. Wooyoung tugged her closer, grinning. Her face was akin to a rose.

“Let her go, Wooyoung,” Mingi said from the side. His face was sharp as he glared at the other. He didn’t appreciate the teasing. “She must be tired.”

Wooyoung heaved a sigh as if this was the hardest thing to do. He pouted at her before stealing a kiss, pressing a peck to her nose. “Fine,” he relented, unwinding her from his spider web embrace.

“See you soon, pretty. Mingi will make sure you get home safely.”

Mingi nodded steadfast before he offered her his hand.

“Shall we, baby-doll?”

-

Next time, when she woke, it was to a cat’s sandpaper-esque tongue licking her cheek. Little tiny licks with the familiar nuzzle of her wet nose, Z investigated her like any other day. The little more-blue-grey-than-black cat sniffed at her, the talkative pet meowing loudly. Her green eyes blinked slowly at her before she nudged her cheek with her forehead once more.

Her body didn’t burn. It didn’t ache. It didn’t feel like anything. Whatever drugs she was on, they were good. She blinked at the kitten, slow to do anything once more.

She was still in Yeosang’s room. The smell of him was all around her, Jongho’s familiar gardenia aroma mingling in the sheets. YN tried to move. Pushing herself upwards was easier than before but the slightest shift in her legs reminded her of the heavy casts that wrapped her ankles. The pain nothing like before but there was still the zing up her knees that made her pause. Her breath caught as she stared at her limbs before her.

Her reality. Bedbound, grounded. It was a depressing thought. Even more depressing when she realized she wasn’t sure what day it was nor what hour. How many shows had she missed? Did her mother know she wasn’t well? Was she just the same as those folk written about in the papers? Missing and forgotten.

She let out a shuddering breath as she laid back into the fluffy luxurious pillows, contemplating what to do. Should she cry out for them? Hongjoong was the last face she remembered but she didn’t want to see him. Or Seonghwa. Or any of them. Really. Anger burned her throat like the nearby fire place. Z’s whiskers dusted over her arm, nudging at her for attention as she let out another inquisitive meow.

“Leave me alone, Z,” she mumbled into her pillow. The little tongue peaked out to lick her again. “Stop, Z; go away.”

Her tone was raising with her rising grief. That was the only way to describe what she was feeling grief – a mixture of hoping, pleading, that everything had been a dream only to be reawaken to reality. Anger and sorrow clashed like cymbals in her head.

The cat nuzzled her again, and she snapped this time.

“Z, go!” Her hands shifted the quilts aside in a huff, making the little cat hop away, back arched.

“Z, come here,” a voice, melodic as it was masculine, called. The doorway creaked open, the gaslight in the hallway illuminated his figure, bulky in the best way. “Love isn’t in the mood to play.”

She frowned over at him, even if Z hopped off the bed and went towards Jongho eagerly. Her little body pressed against his leg as she passed him, purring softly. He smiled after his kitten before his gaze settled back on his love bed ridden.

“Hi love,” he greeted. “How are you feeling?”

“Angry,” she told him.

“But not in pain,” he smiled.

The youngest crawled up onto the bed, sheets rustling and ruffling as he settled beside her. Jongho wasn’t one to be silenced by a glare or dirty look. He was made for this world – his hyungs’ beloved aegi was used to getting what he wanted. And she was his baby. His love. He wanted her.

She turned her rageful eyes his way. He simply smiled just like the others. “I know,” he hummed. “I tried to warn you.”

He had. He cried to her last night… or a few nights ago? Her anger was quenched by those tears now. Her eyes softened just a smidge, and Jongho took a mile. He pressed his lips to her forehead in a soft kiss. His arms wrapped around her ‘til she was caught in his embrace, warm and coddled.

He indulged in the way she didn’t pull away or yell. He had heard her shouts at Yeosang’s attempts at affection.

“What happened? I remember waking up in pain – why?” she murmured into his chest. Trying to gather information from when she was asleep.

Even now, she felt safe in his embrace. It caused a horrible sinking feeling in her stomach.

He heaved out, her head rising and falling with his chest. “You had an infection – the doctor said it was possible dirt from that alley way. It entered your injury for too long. He fixed it.”

“Is he alive?” she mumbled.

“By Yunho’s grace.”

She felt the ebbing and flowing rage, the despair rush over her again. Almost as if sensing it, Jongho shifted, his chin tilting into his chest to look down at her. He moved to tilt her own chin to meet his gaze. Fiery passion burned there. He liked it better when her passion burned for her dancing… but he supposed it had to go somewhere while she was incapable.

“It’s the way things are,” he told her. “Stop fighting it.”

Stop fighting and give in. Look what fighting did. Just let them control her…

YN scoffed. “I’m not some doll,” she bit back. “Or some—"She wriggled like a worm on a hook. Jongho’s eyes ached, and he reached for her hands. He cupped them in his. His bloodstained ones. How many time had he scrubbed away ichor? Dug it from under his nails? Her hands were dainty.

“It’ll never touch your hands,” he interrupted earnestly. “You’ll never bear it. Our work. Our lifestyles. If that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“I’m bearing it now,” she whispered to him, voice breaking. “I’m afraid of you.”

He frowned, his face firm and thoughtful. He was always thinking her Jongho. He never stopped. His thumbs brushed over her palms, his forehead pressing to hers intimately.

“You tried to leave,” he said. “I didn’t want this. None of us did. If you hadn’t, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“You understand what that means – I’m just something you control like your butlers and your members and your-.”

“No.” Jongho interrupted soft and earnestly.

“You are no pawn, my love. You are our priority… our treasure. Always.”

[gaylordscooter]

Moving in

“lemme get this straight, you already know what we’ve done, haven't you? i read your little journal.”

Blue shifted on his bed, trying to keep eye contact with Sans. “Well, yeah, but I wasn't writing about you three specifically.”

Sans looked disgusted but it wasn't at Blue. “there were others before us.”

Blue couldn't hide the guilt on his face.

“and you don't know where they are anymore. you wanted to help them too, huh?”

He really did. He was just too weak and scared back then, but now he's gotten used to talking to murderers. After all, one of his best friends is one.

It's important not to narrow them down to just that. Of course the idea initially sounds weird. Why would you ever want to show compassion to these guys? Blue formed an answer for that a long time ago.

When their story is scripted, was it really their fault?

He supposed offering a question as an answer wasn't the best thing, but his personal answer to that was “no”. At least, depending on how they act once they're out of their universe. As far as he's concerned, these three haven't caused any significant trouble after they’ve left their universes.

He didn't need all these justifications anyway. Personally, he didn't really care what they’ve done. He's here to help, that's what he does.

“i’m gonna pass on your offer,” he said. “besides, if you plan on helping dusk ‘n killer, you're gonna need your full attention on ‘em. i got papyrus, they got…each other, i guess, but that's doing more harm than good at the moment.” He grimaced.

“Right, okay,” Blue nodded. Sans’s reasoning was sound. He did have a support system opposed to the other two, and monitoring all three of them would probably be too much.

“y’know you might die trying to help them, right?” His tone sounded neutral, as if he was just stating a fact rather than trying to deter him.

“Well, yeah.” Everything he did came with a chance of death. It's a part of having only one HP.

But given everything he has survived, which included his universe literally shattering, he's stopped caring about those chances long ago.

“that's not gonna stop you at all?”

“I wouldn't be here right now if it would—OH SHIT!”

Sans flinched at the sudden increase in volume. “what?!”

Blue’s eyelights shrunk and he stood up from the bed. “Your eye!” he yelled as if that explained anything.

“what about my eye?”

“The other one. Your magic eye, doesn't that keep you alive?” Blue asked.

Sans was taken aback. He hasn't thought about that in a long while. For this guy to know about it…Just how much did this guy know?

And how did he get that information?

Sans decided to look at him like he was crazy rather than responding, which immediately made Blue look nervous.

“...is that not right?”

He sounded like a kid who got a question wrong on a test. As innocent as that sounded on paper, he didn't appreciate that the question in this instance was regarding a personal fact about himself. A personal fact not even Papyrus knew.

“alright,” he adjusted his posture on the stool to lean closer to him, “how do you know all this stuff about us?”

Just like he wanted, the gesture seemed to intimidate him. He sat up straight on his bed, but he didn't lean back as if showing weakness would make him lunge at the other.

Blue tugged on his scarf. “Okay, I know it sounds suspicious, but a friend of mine told me all about you guys.”

He narrowed his sockets, “a friend?”

“Oof, okay, you want the full explanation?”

The look on Sans’s face was enough to usher him to continue.

Blue sighed. “So the friend I’m talking about is Ink, you've seen him a few times.” He lowered his voice as he continued. “he kinda doesn't like me talking about him to other people, but you are entitled to a proper explanation. he kinda knows everything about the multiverse and sometimes he tells me about it.”

The whole thing sounded like complete bullshit, but with how Blue’s been acting this entire time he felt inclined to believe it. How else would he know? Stalking them? He isn't even from the same universe as them.

With that being said.

“and how the hell does ink get all this information?”

Blue cleared his throat, “uhhh. i’m not actually sure. he just kinda. Knows. Automatically. i can point at someone and he’ll be able to identify their universe and backstory immediately.”

It felt like there was something Blue wasn't telling him with how vague he was being. Internally he took note of how he used the word “backstory” to describe one's past. As if he were talking about people like they were characters.

Sans didn't think anyone should have as much knowledge as Ink. Bad things can come out of someone knowing all of the answers.

They might start digging for more mysteries, consequences be damned, just to satiate their curiosity.

But Blue’s concerns right now were elsewhere.

“So anyway, about your eye. An entity called Error destroyed your universe and displaced everyone to The Hub. So everything left, including your eye, is probably in his labyrinth right now.”

He proceeded to ramble on about “Error” and the labyrinth that resided in a place called the antivoid.

What Sans understood was that his eye was in a near-inaccessible place and could be destroyed the longer it stayed there. So really it isn't any different from it being in the queen’s possession.

Despite Blue’s long explanation that hardly anyone has been able to get something out of the labyrinth unscathed, he insisted he was going to get his eye out from that place. By himself.

Sans was not gonna let this guy just recklessly risk his life like that just to save his own.

“It's fine! I've been there before. I’m sure I can get it back safely with the right planning,” he insisted.

“because your plan to rescue that skeleton from that freak went so smoothly,” he retorted.

“sending you three wasn't my plan.”

“sending that army of whatever those things were was your plan, though.”

“They're called Blueberries and that wasn't my initial plan either!” Blue crossed his arms, “besides, it did get everyone out relatively safely even though I hardly had time to think of it.”

Those “blueberries” were a good distraction, he’ll give him that, but he still wasn't sure this guy would be able to pull off retrieving his eye from what was essentially described as a multiversal garbage dump—plan or not.

“hang on, why doesn't ink just get it instead? isn't he a lot more capable?”

Blue looked at him like he told him pigs could fly. “No,” he answered succinctly. “Anyway, I’ll probably get it back in a week. It shouldn't be destroyed by then.”

The “probably” and “shouldn't” was real comforting.

He went on to change the subject as if the topic at hand was casual small talk.

“So you wanted to move into a house with just you and your brother, right?”

After they had that talk he sent Dusk over to Blue. He was curious how his conversation would go with him, considering Dusk hardly talked. The only person he consistently spoke to at this point was Killer.

To be fair the only other people he could talk to was him and Nightmare. Of course he wasn't going to talk to Nightmare and he could just sign whenever he was with Sans. Maybe things will be different with more people around.

Yeah right.

Speaking of Killer, he was out like a light at the moment. Even after he ate and was healed by Dusk, he still felt sleepy enough to take a nap. He didn't know how exactly those flowers from Fresh worked, but he assumed they could leech off of a monster’s magic, which is why it would knock out a monster like Killer—he was used to having a lot of magic in his system. Suddenly losing a lot wasn't exactly fatal for him but it confuses the body.

Or something like that, he wasn't a biologist.

Dusk was pretty loopy too after their first encounter with Fresh, but he was loopy all the time so it was hard to tell there was a difference.

Those two…he wouldn't have guessed they'd end up the way they were now. From day one those two seemed to loathe each other. Every day he wondered if one of them would finally kill the other. The fights they had would tear up parts of the forest. He watched them, at first out of some sick curiosity, but later on it was to call an end to the fight whenever they got too carried away.

But then there was that night where Nightmare gave them a blunt, probably curious to see how it would go down.

Well, he sure hoped sparking a relationship between those two was what he wanted.

Even without the weed affecting him, that night was a trip. Two murderous self-loathing alternate versions of himself clinking teeth couldn't be topped by any hallucination.

Killer stirred, finally waking up. He was still incredibly groggy. He explained to him that they were talking to Blue to sort out their living situations.

Dusk came in through the hallway shortly after, acting fairly cold towards Killer as if he wasn't watching over him and waiting for him to wake up moments ago.

Sans had a hunch he talked about Killer with Blue.

The hunch turned out to be right as he had a little chat with Dusk. They were going to live apart. That was good. Spending some time apart could make them less clingy to each other.

But the conversation between the two proved that being apart was gonna be harder than Dusk thought it would be. He retreated to the hallway where Blue apparently was standing too.

He was either eavesdropping or was on his way to the living room before he heard the arguing start.

He was generous enough to think it was the latter.

Blue looked back to his room, probably debating whether or not to go back. 

And then they heard Dusk shout that he loves Killer. The two winced. Sans even heard Blue shout-whisper a “WHY would he say that now?”

Too stunned to even move, the conversation was over before they knew it.

The silence was incredibly loud.

Blue gave Sans an uncertain look, straightened himself out, and finally walked down the hall.

Despite the silent tension between Killer and Dusk, Blue managed to act like everything was normal.

Even though he was the only one that was talking at this point.

Moments later, Ink dropped by to take them to the Hub. Sans spared a glare at him, which he did not miss. He said nothing, but childishly stuck his tongue out at him. Which was a thing some skeletons apparently had.

They dropped off Killer first. Sans grabbed him by his sleeve to lead him over to his room. He looked completely empty as he clung onto Dusk in a last-ditch effort to keep him here.

It was weird seeing the normally chatty skeleton look so dead.

Was this really the same monster that called his relationship with Dusk an “inside joke”?

He couldn't help but feel a little worried about him being alone.

Next, Blue took him and Dusk to their new homes. He had no idea how they were built so quickly—at least it seemed like it was newly built, he swore those houses weren't standing there before.

Their houses were right next to each other and were only about a block away from the hotel Killer was staying at. It was convenient, if those two wanted to keep in touch.

“cya around,” he told Dusk.

Dusk gave him a thumbs up in response as they parted ways.

When he entered his new home, he was surprised to see that Papyrus had already started settling in.

There were many open boxes on the carpet of the entry room, all but one empty.

“sup, bro.”

Papyrus looked so giddy with joy, it was nice to see him like this again. He paused his unpacking to waltz over to Sans. “SANS, ISN’T IT AMAZING? OUR VERY OWN HOUSE WITH POWER! THIS ISN’T HOW I EXPECTED OUR LIVES TO GO, BUT, I’M GLAD EVERYTHING TURNED OUT FINE.”

“yeah.” It was intimidating, how “normal” their life has suddenly become.

All the unspoken words and secrets clung to his back. He never planned on telling Papyrus, or anyone, about what he's done. There wasn't any reason to, not when they were just trying to survive.

But now, now he felt the sense that he was obligated to.

Even though the blood stains were washed off his bones and teeth, they were still crooked, and his eye sockets had sunken in ways only Sans’s should.

Granted, people wouldn't know that was because he ate human meat, but they'd still know he'd gone through a rough time.

He was so happy right now. There was no need to tell him right now. There's no rush.

He thought back to that encounter with a different Papyrus back at Nightmare's place.

“You hid what happened from your brother didn't you?”

He read him like a book, and it wasn't even his Papyrus. Would that mean Papyrus knew he was hiding something?

Back then he was too distracted by the fact he told everyone to start eating humans to even question anything about his injury.

He thought about how his eye was currently at even more risk than it initially was. He didn't really feel scared or worried about dying. A part of him might even accept it.

But if that's the case, why did he fight so hard to survive?

Why didn't he just give up back then? His life wasn't worth all the shit he's put everyone through.

Of course back then, all he thought about was the betrayal. He was blinded by his anger.

“ARE YOU ALRIGHT, SANS?” Papyrus asked.

Sans didn't realize he was just standing there and glaring at nothing for a little while. He relaxed his face. “yeah, it's just, surreal that we're here right now.”

“HONESTLY I DIDN’T EXPECT TO BE IN A BRAND NEW AREA WITH A BRAND NEW HOUSE EITHER. IT’S PRETTY WEIRD!”

Something about the cadence of Papyrus’s voice was off when he said that. He looked happy, sure, but something about the sound of his voice felt forced. 

“what about you?”

Papyrus closed his mouth and looked at him as if he didn't hear. While his hearing was pretty bad at this point, which is part of the reason he learned sign language, in a silent room like this he knew he definitely heard his question.

Still, he repeated his question, “how are you doing?”

Papyrus's happy demeanor cracked as he lowered his smile. “I’M NOT QUITE SURE…WHAT YOU MEAN BY THAT QUESTION. OF COURSE I’M DOING GREAT!” His smile returned but it felt fake.

“uh—”

“WE HAVE POWER, A COMFORTABLE HOME, WE’RE TOGETHER AGAIN AFTER YOU MYSTERIOUSLY WENT MISSING FOR A WHOLE YEAR. WHAT’S NOT TO BE HAPPY ABOUT?”

There was something in the tone of his voice that Sans had a hard time pinning down at first and then Papyrus continued.

“EVERYONE WHO SURVIVED IS SAFE NOW. WE HAVE FOOD THAT ISN’T HUMAN MEAT. AND THERE’S NEW FACES TO MEET!”

Papyrus leveled with Sans, kneeling down and grabbing his shoulders.

Sans swore his tired eye sockets looked at him with desperation. Desperation to just, go back to normal. To go back to being The Great Papyrus.

The Great Papyrus that didn't hunt any humans for food, that didn't get unnerved by his brother, that didn't get scared of Undyne.

The Great Papyrus that had hope for the future.

No, he still had hope. It was just. Hard. To hold onto it.

Especially when it felt more like denial at this point.

“Are you sure you're alright, Sans?” Papyrus asked, quieter this time.

He looked closer at Papyrus’s face. No, he imagined all that desperation. That smile wasn't plastic, it was real. Papyrus was doing fine—maybe not “great” like he said but that desperation to go back to normal wasn't Papyrus’s.

Sans sighed, “i’m getting there.”

Papyrus frowned. “Why do you do that?”

He blinked, “do what?”

“Ever since you've gotten back you act WEIRD when someone says your name.”

He does? “huh?”

“YEAH, AT FIRST YOU DIDN’T REALLY RESPOND AT ALL TO IT, BUT NOW YOU FLINCH.”

He knew he was pretty unresponsive at first whenever someone called his name. For a whole year he was referred to as “Horror”. He had to get used to being called Sans again, but he didn't realize he flinched now. Does he do that when Killer calls him Sans too? Does he notice?

The thought made him sick. Was he really so used to that demeaning name Nightmare gave him that he reacted weirdly to his real name?

His name is not Horror.

get that through your skull. that should be easy considering the hole in it.

He hasn't told Papyrus or the others much about where he's been for the past year. He didn't feel ready to. Then again, he never felt ready to explain anything.

Some things don't change.

Papyrus sighed, taking his silence as reluctance to answer. “WELL I’M GOING TO SET UP YOUR ROOM NOW. SOME OF YOUR STUFF IS STILL AT THE OTHER HOUSE. GO TALK TO TORIEL SHE HAS YOUR STUFF PACKED.”

“oh, uh. alright.” He said a quick bye as Papyrus turned around, picked up a box and went over to where his room apparently was. Only one floor in this house, that's gonna be weird to get used to.

Nightmare's castle was also weird to get used to, but like hell would he call that place a home.

Welp, he should go get his things now.

He left the house. He spared a glance at Dusk’s new house. It looked smaller than his. Maybe there were fewer rooms since only he lived there.

He could see that the lights were off through the windows. Maybe he was sleeping, or out.

He made his way over to the house Toriel was staying at.

When he first arrived there, it felt like everything went back to normal immediately. It was almost like he didn't leave at all, but that was a temporary front. They can't just ignore his disappearance and everything that happened in between.

Even though Sans wanted to.

As he walked over to the house, he noticed two monsters standing on the doorstep from a distance. As he got closer, he recognized the two as alternate versions of him and Papyrus.

They were holding baskets of vegetables. That, along with their clothing and hats, gave off the impression they were farmers.

He felt awkward as he walked up behind them and interrupted whatever this was.

Thankfully it was Toriel they were talking to and she noticed him immediately. “Greetings, Sans! You are here to pick up the rest of your things, I presume?”

“yup,” he said. He couldn't help but eye the two skeletons here.

They turned around to look at him the moment Toriel acknowledged him. He wasn't wearing a hat right now so his head injury was on clear display for them to gawk at. To their credit, they managed to keep their expressions the same, but he knew they were probably wincing internally.

“Oh, you have not met these two yet! They are the local farmers, they hand out baskets of their produce every week.”

Right after she said that, the shorter skeleton handed her the basket he was holding. “yup, and they're cultivated by yours truly,” he said.

The taller skeleton scoffed, “HARDLY! ALL YOU DO IS SIT OR STAND BY THE CROPS AND JUST WATCH THEM GROW.”

“i scare the crows away.”

“THERE AREN’T EVEN ANY CROWS THAT LIVE THERE!” he countered.

The shorter skeleton’s sockets curled up in amusement. “i’m doing a really good job then.”

His brother shouted a protest that he shrugged off, and then his eyelights were back on Sans. “anyway, the name’s sans, but you can just call me ‘suman’ to avoid confusion. and you can call the tall one ‘pompano’.”

“STOP TELLING PEOPLE TO CALL ME A TYPE OF FISH!”

“but it's your favorite fish.”

“Pompano” frowned and rolled his eye sockets. “THAT ISN’T EVEN TRUE. YOU JUST CHOSE THAT WORD BECAUSE IT STARTS WITH A ‘P’ AND HAS THE SAME AMOUNT OF SYLLABLES AS ‘PAPYRUS’.”

“oh yeah.” Suman paused for a moment. “so, you’ll probably be seeing us around from time to time today. we got a lotta deliveries to make.”

“OF COURSE, YOUR HOUSE IS INCLUDED TOO!” Pompano piped. He gave him a smile before he turned to his brother. “THAT’S ENOUGH DAWDLING FOR NOW. I WOULD LIKE TO BE HOME BEFORE THE SUN SETS BACK AT OUR PLACE. THE CHICKENS NEED THEIR BEDTIME STORY!” 

“right, the chickens.”

“YES!”

“what about the cows, sheep, ducks—”

“OH THEY’LL BE FINE!”

“i’m just sensing some favoritism here.”

“PREPOSTEROUS.” Pompano already started walking away from the house.

Suman gave a quick wave to Toriel and Sans before following after him.

Toriel giggled as the two skeletons continued their banter in the distance. Then she looked back at Sans. “I apologize for the delay. I shall get the rest of your things now.” She turned around and walked back into her house.

Sans couldn't help but feel affected by seeing those two skeletons. He thought he was used to seeing alternate versions of himself and others by now but those two…they reminded him of how he used to be. How he and Papyrus used to be.

The teasing remarks. The light banter. The happiness they brought each other.

Of course Papyrus still brought him happiness, that was a given, but.

He doubted he made Papyrus happy.

Toriel returned a moment later, box in hand. She handed it over to him. “Your brother has already moved most of your stuff in, this should be the rest of it.”

The box was pretty small and light. What it held, he had no idea. Honestly, he was surprised he even had enough stuff for there to be box-fulls of it, and all of it was stuff Papyrus brought.

And they moved before Papyrus knew he was alive.

At this point he wouldn't be surprised if guilt killed him before his eye was destroyed.

He bid Toriel farewell and went back home. Again, he spared a glance to Dusk’s place before going to his house. The lights were still off but a basket of vegetables was left by the front door.

He sighed and entered his new house.

He saw Papyrus in the kitchen, stocking the fridge with vegetables. Those farmer brothers were fast, he didn't even see them walking away from the house.

“hey bro. got my stuff.”

He moved his head out of the fridge to look at him with a smile. “WONDERFUL! YOU CAN FINISH UP UNPACKING AND WE’LL FINALLY BE SETTLED IN.”

“sure thing.” He walked over to the living room where the doors to their rooms were located. Thankfully, Papyrus already had his “PAPYRUS ALLOWED” sign hung on his door so it was easy to figure out which room was his.

He entered his room. It was weird to think of it as his room when it looked so different from his old one (and the one at Nightmare's castle). The walls, like the rest of the house, were a light yellow, while the ground was composed of wooden floorboards.

There was a bed situated in one of the corners of the room. A proper bed for once, not just some mattress on the ground. The sheets and pillow case were a light green. Honestly, he wouldn't have minded if the room was just a plain white or beige. Maybe he’d prefer it, even, because it felt like the room itself was a “be happy” sign.

Or maybe he just wasn't used to a room looking so…homey.

He set the box down on a chair and opened it. He didn't know what would be in here, but he didn't expect it to be stuff from his lab. Immediately he reached out to the first thing he saw, his photo album.

Geez, he hasn't seen this in a long time. He lost the key to the lab awhile ago—he lost the key. How did they get this?!

Waving away the nostalgia the album gave him, he set it down and rushed out of his room.

The second he spotted Papyrus he spat out his question.

“papyrus, how did you get the stuff from the lab? we lost the key ages ago.”

Papyrus closed the fridge and turned around. “YOU DIDN’T LOSE THE KEY, YOU GAVE IT TO THE HUMAN.”

“human? which—why would i give it to a human?”

He scoffed, “WHEN YOU PRANKED THEM, REMEMBER? YOU HAD SECRET CODEWORDS AND EVERYTHING.”

Sans’s mind was drawing a blank. It took a few to realize which human he was even talking about. The one that killed Asgore and a lot of other monsters. The anomaly. That human.

The only reason he remembered them now was because Dusk mentioned them from time to time. It was funny. They used to be a huge problem in his life but now he could hardly remember what they looked like.

“how’d you get it back, then? they never came back.”

“WELL, INTERESTING STORY, ACTUALLY—”

“no way.” He was already narrowing his sockets.

“DO NOT MAKE PREMATURE ASSUMPTIONS!” He paused, waiting for him to respond.

He rolled his eye. “okay. i won’t.”

“THE HUMAN SHOWED BACK UP.”

He stared at Papyrus in stunned silence. That didn't make any sense. Why would they come back after that long?

“BUT NOW THAT I THINK ABOUT IT, THEY LOOKED THE EXACT SAME?? THEY SHOULD’VE LOOKED DIFFERENT. HUMANS GROW OLDER, RIGHT? AND THEY DIDN’T EVEN STICK AROUND. THEY JUST HANDED ME THE KEY TO THE LAB AND TOOK YOUR PHONE BEFORE DISAPPEARING.”

“took my phone?” Sans’s sockets widened. “....”

Oh god no.

“that asshole can shapeshift?” he muttered under his breath.

He could impersonate people. He could be anyone at any time. How can he be sure he's not someone here?

Is this part of his torment too? Of course they weren't free from him; of course there was a catch. He should've known.

He's not safe here.

“SANS? WHAT’S WRONG?”

Papyrus’s hands were on his shoulders.

“i—” Sans pushed down his instinct to deflect. He sighed, “i need to tell you about where i’ve been this past year.”

[littlelamy]

Request idea, I don’t know if you write for Zach Maclaren (but otherwise I guess….a slight non canon Soft!Rafe, no way canon Rafe would be like this, anyways: I got this thought watching the very beginning of the horror movie (but make it romantic ey) Reader is about to check into her airbnb but discovers there is already a guy there  who has also booked the Airbnb, it’s been double booked by the host. He feels bad that she can’t find anywhere else to stay since it’s so late at night, so he offers her to stay over the night. The start of a sweet, gentle unexpected romance where he keeps doing cute awkward things to gain her trust and show he is not some psycho/weirdo, kinda like the movie (the male character waited to open a wine bottle so she could see him do it so she feels safe to drink it, he suggested making her tea again and for him to watch him since she did not drink the tea he made)

the neon glow of the porch light buzzed weakly, flickering against the creeping dark of the countryside. the night air was thick with the scent of damp wood and distant pine, the kind of quiet that made the world feel abandoned. you pulled your coat tighter around yourself, your overnight bag digging into your shoulder as you stepped onto the front porch of the isolated airbnb.

except—

the door was already open.

your fingers tightened around your phone as you hesitated at the threshold. the host had sent you the check-in instructions just an hour ago, a breezy message about how the key would be under the potted plant by the door. but now the entrance yawned open, warm light spilling from inside, and a figure stood in the center of the rustic living room. a tall, slightly disheveled man with a duffel bag at his feet, blinking at you in surprise.

his eyebrows lifted, then furrowed. “uh. hi?”

you sucked in a breath, heart hammering. “hi.”

a beat of silence stretched between you both, thick and awkward. then his lips quirked at the edges, amusement flashing in his eyes.

“did—” you started, gripping your phone tighter. “are you the owner?”

he huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. “no. i booked this place for the night.”

your stomach dropped. “that’s not possible. i also booked this place for the night.”

his blue eyes widened, something like understanding clicking into place. he dragged a hand through his hair, messy strands shifting under his fingers. “oh, man. you’re kidding.”

“nope.”

another pause. then, a sheepish smile tugged at his lips, dimples showing. “that’s… definitely a problem.”

you exhaled, shuffling your weight from foot to foot. your day had already been long, and the thought of hunting down another vacancy in this middle-of-nowhere town this late at night made exhaustion sink into your bones. “yeah. big problem.”

he seemed to pick up on your hesitation, rubbing the back of his neck. “look, uh, if you’re not comfortable staying here with a total stranger, i get it. i can sleep in my car.”

you glanced out into the night, at the vast emptiness of the countryside. your conscience twinged. “that doesn’t seem fair.”

he hesitated. then, with a slow, teasing grin, “we could… both stay? i promise i don’t bite. unless you want me to.”

you narrowed your eyes, but your lips threatened to curl into a smile. “smooth. real smooth.”

he laughed, rubbing at the back of his neck again. “worth a shot.”

crossing your arms, you took a step forward, your body brushing just slightly against his as you entered. he smelled good—clean, warm, something a little woodsy. you told yourself not to notice.

“and how do i know you’re not a serial killer?” you asked, tilting your head.

he let out a soft chuckle, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “fair point. i, uh, could give you my id? let you take a picture of it. i’ll even let you watch me make my tea so you know i’m not drugging anything.”

“tempting,” you mused, biting the inside of your cheek. “but i think i’ll keep an eye on you just in case.”

you studied him. he seemed harmless, all boyish uncertainty and awkward sincerity, but there was a flicker of charm beneath it, something playful lingering in his expression. slowly, you stepped over the threshold, shutting the door behind you.

his lips quirked in relief. “cool. so… i’m zach.”

“nice to meet you, zach. i’m y/n. and just so you know, i get the bedroom.”

his laughter was warm, something easy settling in the space between you both. he held a hand to his chest, mock-offended. “damn. you’re ruthless.”

“you have no idea,” you teased, dropping your bag onto the couch.

he grinned, eyes twinkling. “guess i’ll just have to win you over then.”

and just like that, the night stretched ahead, uncertain yet oddly promising.

lamy's notes: i hope you liked it!

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesbabygirlx

[kaibutsushidousha]

Ranking last year silhouette servants?

BB Dubai: Kinda wonky to rank because Dubai, Cosmos, and Golden are all separate characters, with one being completely new, one being old, and one being both. I can't honestly say all three versions deserve to be above the second place, but perhaps the full package does. BB Dubai is the one that theoretically doesn't rely on the emotional buildup of BB's past appearances, so the goal with her writing is proving her as a BB. Work a new character story from scratch and make her appeal to BB fans. And I think she was really successful there. Nice still gets what made the original BB so beloved.

Vincent van Gogh (Miner): I really didn't want to have the top two spots being alts of older characters but unfortunately Amphibian is my goat and Goghie's relationship with Theo is incredibly powerful stuff. 2024 as a whole was extremely good year for events despite having 2/3 of the usual quantity.

Andromeda: Charming design and personality, and a well-executed event. I can't understate how much Andromeda's efforts to be a hero are a great idea to use on the most archetypical damsel-in-distress of mythology.

Louhi: Repeat Andromeda's first sentence here. She could stand to look more Louhi-like and be less of a jumble of stereotypes that kinda signal she'll be the only Finnish Servant we'll get, but this is really minor compared to how enjoyable she generally is. The handling of her vs Sitonai's Louhi is a brilliant idea.

Ushi Gozen: Already has her own post, iirc. Still can't ever be as good as she was in her debut, but her My Room Lines are so much better than anything she gets in Samurai Remnant and its collab.

Le Comte de Monte Cristo: She did it. After 8 years trying, Sakurai finally made Dantès good. Some elements of his participation in FGO could be less convoluted, we certainly didn't need 4 Edmonds running around, but the meat of his story is intense, nuanced, and satisfying. Id is Sakurai's masterpiece and his handling is most of the reason why.

Alessandro di Cagliostro: The diet coke version of Douman. Has backstory connections with Sakurai's entire Victorian era cast and refuses to elaborate about it. Complete opinion coming after the inevitable drama CD.

Yui Shousetsu: The same Shousetsu we already knew and were unimpressed about. We get to learn some really crazy things about Souiken, but that doesn't really change Shousetsu herself as a character. She did have the funniest Valentines scene, at least.

HibiChika: OKSG's flop mascots continue to flop. Now they have a new friend who is about as meh as the two of them. Chikagi is at least better in FGO than in her home series.

Hassan of the Flaring Star: Spends all of Id just observing Fujimaru and saying he'll form an opinion about them later. I hope I also get to form an opinion about him later, but so far he's given me no material to work with.

[souenkun]

Maybe manifesting for your favorite character to appear in the gacha game you've been addicted by writing them in a fanfic actually works! 🤯

Excerpt taken from "the home that awaits us".

[lemonlimestar]

:/

[stellamancer]

niku i don’t thiiiiink we’ve ever talked about this before (<- goldfish brain)……. but . that drabble made me wonder. how would bten!reader react if gojo found out abt their bday and did something sweet for them….? since their relationship with time is all fucked up i’m assuming they maybe wouldn’t remember it themselves 😭 or care? question mark? anyway this is just me begging for more crumbs im sorry …. scurries away . into the night (i love u)

omg ari so i intended to write this a a drabble when I was very sleepy, but as I got into attempting to it got so depressing LMAO.

so I'm going to. not. FORGIVE MEEEEEEE. but uh, I will answer this in reverse order.

first, I'm assuming when you say that they wouldn't remember it in the sense of they wouldn't think about it coming up, which is... pretty accurate. honestly if it weren't for their own phone they would not be able to keep track of like what day it is. I mean, I guess saying it like that it doesn't seem like anything too special but like... the days kind of blur together for them (especially since their sleeping habits are abyssmal). So like, if their birthday is coming up they just know it's 'soon' and not like 'it's in three days.'

As for caring, as I told you LMAO, prior to the events of bten, bten!reader wasn't the type to make a big fuss about their birthday. I think their personal form of celebrating may be like a splurge purchase. However, their besties would DEFINITELY make a big deal of it, and drag them out to celebrate it together (going out to dinner together, going for karaoke, there's one year Mio demands bten!reader takes the day off from work and they go to Tokyo Disney Sea). And while bten!reader would always tell them that they don't have to do anything, they still do and deep down it makes them happy. I think the only reason bten!reader cared about their birthday in the past was because it was a reason for their friends to get together and, since they're adults with jobs and such, they have less opportunities to do so.

So, the first birthday after the events of bten.... Would be hard. Very hard. I think that bten!reader would actually actively try to not even think about it if they can avoid it. But I think Mio still reaches out and they do end up spending bten!reader's birthday together but like... visiting shinn and kei's graves and it's probably pretty depressing LMAO........

as for how they would react if gojo did something sweet for them...

Just inside the barrier leading to Jujutsu High you find none other than Satoru Gojo waiting, leaning casually against the pillar of the torii gate that leads onto the campus grounds. He grins widely when you catch sight of him making it clear that he was waiting for you. The realization makes your stomach twist. What could he possibly want?

"Not like you to go anywhere when you don't have a mission," he remarks. "Where'd you wander off to?"

"...went to visit my friends' graves."

"Pretty morbid way to spend your birthday, if you ask me."

You frown slightly, not even bothering to wonder how he knew. "I didn't ask."

Gojo merely shrugs, annoyingly nonchalant. You stare at him, wondering if he's going to tell you why he's been waiting for you on his own or if he's going to make you ask.

Knowing him, it's the latter.

"...what is it?" you finally ask with a sigh. You feel oddly tired and the sooner you can settle whatever it is Gojo wants, the sooner you can lay down and rest. Though, whether or not you sleep is another matter entirely.

"Nothing much," he answers casually. "Just wanted to give you this."

Out of seemingly nowhere he pulls out a large rectangular package and bops you lightly on the head with it. Slowly, you reach up and take it from him. Upon further inspection, you find it's some item wrapped in decorative paper. You stare at it for a good, long second, then up at Gojo.

He chuckles. "It's a present. You know, a birthday present."

"...you didn't have to," you say almost automatically, hand running over the paper. It's a shimmery sort of light blue that's reminiscent of Gojo's eyes. You're surprised, not only did he take the time to find out your birthday, he got you a present— even had it wrapped

"And?"

"...thank you," you say quietly. "...is it okay to open it?"

"Go ahead."

You carefully pull at the folds in the paper, careful to not rip the paper as you unwrap the present. Beneath the paper is a book of sorts, with a soft leathery cover. You blink. "A journal?"

"Thought it might be useful," he explains. "You're having trouble keeping track of the days, right?"

You are, and you think you remember reading somewhere that keeping something like a daily journal might help but... "Isn't it more common to use a blog or app for this kind of thing."

Gojo shrugs. "Probably, but I thought you might like something more ... tangible."

You're not so sure. The last time you wrote in a notebook was in high school. It's easier to use a phone or a computer, but there's something about the physical journal that's...

"Take a look inside," Gojo urges, barely managing to contain a grin.

Your eyes narrow and you flip the pages of the notebook. Sure enough in the corners and the top parts of a few of the pages you spot little doodles and drawings; all cartoon renditions of the man before you.

"...most people wouldn't appreciate someone defiling their journal like this," you deadpan.

Gojo waves his hand dismissively. "It gives it character! Are you telling me you don't like my drawings?"

"I didn't say that."

"So then you do like them!"

"I didn't say that either."

Gojo pouts, ignoring you. "Well, then, which is it?"

"....they look kind of dumb."

"They do not!" Gojo exclaims, scandalized. "You take that back!"

"No," you respond flatly. The pout returns to his face and you sigh. "But I will admit you are right, that it does give the journal character."

The pout is instantly gone, replaced with the proud puff of his chest. How ridiculous. Sometimes you have a hard time believing this ridiculous man brutally exorcised hundred of curses right before your eyes. "...will you use it?"

"...yes." After all, it's not like you to waste a thoughtful present like this.

"Promise?"

"Yes, Gojo."

"Will you let me read it?"

"...... maybe." If it's just recording your daily life you can't imagine there being any reason to keep the contents a secret. But at the same time...

Gojo grins, and you can tell he's taken your "maybe" as a "yes."

You could correct him, but you decide not to.

[moth-spiderling]

Things do get better.

Life can be cruel and unforgiving, like a writer killing off the most beloved characters and making everyone suffer through a lot. Yet every bad moment eventually shall pass.

We don't stop reading a book, just because the writer made things seem grim for a bit. We shouldn't stop living just because we're afraid it'll get worse.

Things can go badly, sure, but they can also turn out for the better. You can also survive.

Even giving up for a day, a month, a year, does not mean your life is not worth living.

It doesn't mean you're gonna be stuck here forever. It just means that for now, maybe for a long time now, things have been rough.

And you need a break, and a hug.

And someone to tell you, that you are very much loved, even if Life (as the most bitter and inspired writer) has decided to take it out on you.

You are loved, you're not weird, and you deserve good, beautiful, lovely things.

[alagaesia-headcanons]

*rubs my grubby little hands together* alright here we go~ stick with me for a minute, this Does come around to murtagh and eragon's relationship i promise

-

I find it ironic that the circumstances of Murtagh’s life that went so awry- his capture by the Empire, his and Thorn’s enslavement using their true names, and them being forced to fight against the Varden- can paint him in a particularly selfish light. Eragon’s perspective reveals some of this, like the way he calls Murtagh’s oaths to Galbatorix a betrayal, one that favors his own wellbeing over Eragon and the Varden, or how he feels like Murtagh takes satisfaction in his new power and in lashing out at the world. And the fact that these things can be seen as self-serving specifically is ironic because it directly contradicts the actual quality of his character. Every time we see Murtagh acting of his own volition, over and over it proves that, more than anything, he is deeply devoted to the people he cares about- to a self sacrificing extent- and that he has an innate desire to help others.

Repeatedly, Murtagh puts protecting his loved ones above his own safety, and that’s true even in the act Eragon calls a betrayal. When they talk in Uru’baen, Murtagh admits to Nasuada that he willingly chose to swear loyalty to Galbatorix, but also reveals that he only did so after Thorn hatched. Murtagh himself had already suffered savage torture without relenting, yet solely for the sake of Thorn, to keep his hatchling partner from suffering as well, only then does Murtagh swear loyalty. And this is a self sacrifice. This undermines what he tried to make of his life before being recaptured- striking back against the Empire, aiding Eragon and Saphira, and proving his good will to the Varden. He had to give up all these things about himself and submit to slavery under a man he loathes, but Murtagh was willing to do that to protect Thorn.

And yet, while still trapped so hopelessly under Galbatorix’s thumb, Murtagh also goes out of his way to help Nasuada too. He convinces the king to capture her in the first place, instead of simply killing her, and whether or not this was his place, it demonstrates how he genuinely doesn’t want her to be harmed. He goes out of his way to help Nasuada by healing her pain, warning her about illusions, and promising to help her escape. And he makes good on that. From what he tells Eragon in their last duel, he had a plan to free her the next day. Murtagh goes to great lengths that put him at great risk. Galbatorix could have just as well discovered his interference and then nothing would have saved him from violent punishment. Freeing her would have guaranteed that. There’s nothing for him to gain, yet he still does these things for Nasuada time and time again.

The care Murtagh gives to Thorn and Nasuada proves that his selfless protectiveness toward his loved ones is a persistent part of his nature, but it’s never more clear than it is in his relationship with Eragon in the first book.

In Inheritance, Murtagh tells Nasuada that his initial motivation for going out to track the Ra’zac was to hurt the Empire and to prove himself as more than his father’s son. Nevertheless, from the time that he saved Eragon from the Ra’zac onwards, he demonstrates a desire to help that goes beyond a personal gain. On the contrary, I feel like his constant willingness to help while he personally strives to be recognized as his own person indicates that his helpfulness is a genuine part of his nature that shapes his desires and actions. And that nature shows itself repeatedly. Murtagh rescues Eragon a second time when he’s captured in Gil’ead, planning with Saphira and sneaking his way in to free him. When Eragon later thanks him for it, his response is, “‘I’m just glad I could help. It...’ Murtagh faltered and rubbed his face.”

After going to great lengths and knowingly risking his life to free Eragon from Gil’ead, Murtagh's instinctual response to his gratitude is that he simply wanted to help his friend. And this comes up again. When they fight in the Hadarac Desert, Eragon tells Murtagh he never had to travel with him or rescue him. “‘I haven’t forced you to do anything.’” Murtagh’s response is always funny to me because he’s irritable, afraid, and angry and so he’s deliberately trying to be mean and act like he doesn’t care about Eragon, and yet his reply is, “‘Oh, not openly, no. What else could I do but help you with the Ra’zac? And then later, at Gil’ead, how could I have left with a clear conscience? The problem with you...is that you’re so totally helpless that you force everyone to take care of you!’”

It does nothing except prove how much he cares about Eragon and wants to help him! “‘What else could I do but help you with the Ra’zac?’” is especially funny because the glaringly obvious answer is to just. not help. But then that makes it clear that Murtagh so genuinely and inherently believes he should help that he doesn’t see not helping as a real option. And even though he phrases it insultingly in his frustration, what he ultimately says about Gil’ead is that he couldn’t have made himself abandon Eragon when he couldn’t defend himself. He would have felt too guilty because he considers saving him the right thing to do.

I feel like a large part of this springs from Murtagh’s core morality and desire to do good, but there is also an element rooted in his relationship with Eragon specifically. They get along; Murtagh likes him and he trusts him and that matters when the help he gives him puts him at such risk. Murtagh is self sacrificing in the way he protects and looks after Eragon. Sneaking in to Gil’ead to rescue him could have cost him his life- Eragon himself acknowledges that when he thanks him for it.  And the risks he takes for him aren’t just overblown or inconsequential. When Murtagh enters Gil’ead beforehand, in Eragon’s stead, to find out the Varden’s location, he’s recognized and has to flee. When he stays with Eragon as they run from the Urgal army, it forces him to the Varden where he’s imprisoned.

And yet those repercussions don’t undermine Murtagh’s devotion to Eragon. Even when they reach the Varden, the one place Murtagh did not want to go and will rob him of his freedom, his heartfelt care for Eragon doesn’t falter. After Eragon’s mind is searched by one of the Twins who then tries to do the same to Murtagh, they have this exchange:

“‘Eragon has been declared trustworthy, so you cannot threaten to kill him to influence me. Since you can’t do that, nothing you say or do will convince me to open my mind.’ Sneering, the bald man cocked what would have been an eyebrow, if he had any. ‘What of your own life? I can still threaten that.’ ‘It won’t do any good,’ said Murtagh stonily and with such conviction that it was impossible to doubt his word.”

Murtagh’s statement is striking to me because the blatant, undeniable meaning behind it is that, if they’d tried to test Murtagh first and threatened to kill Eragon if he didn’t comply, he would have done it. Murtagh would have let the Twin examine his mind to save Eragon’s life. And the privacy and sanctity of his mind is of paramount importance to him. He says as much to Ajihad when he also tries to convince him to be examined. He declares as much right here! Murtagh explicitly states that protecting Eragon’s life is the singular thing that could make him yield. He would give up his own life before exposing his mind. This has even more gravity for Murtagh specifically. He’s self sacrificing, but not reckless in the same way several of the other main characters are. He’s not one to toss his life aside; he fights hard to survive. So his willingness to die to guard his mind hammers home how important that is to him.

Because of that, even though such a situation never came to pass, Murtagh’s admission that he would give that up to protect Eragon’s life is the most salient proof of his devotion to me. And that’s considering he also fights the Ra’zac and infiltrates Gil’ead for him! I honestly don’t have another word for it- Murtagh holds a truly profound devotion to Eragon that is built upon his desire to help others and to fervently protect the people he cares for. These aspects are so integral to him that they determine his most significant choices.

[skitskatdacat63]

Boy King Seb :D

[melverie]

Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh today I've been constantly experiencing the urge to un-private today-in-the-devildom & start writing for it again

[gardensnakie]

How’s life? No pressure question ofc, but if you want to share please feel free to do so with this ask :3

Eh, it doesn't feel all that great right now. I'm tired and hungry a lot, but I just have to get a routine together. My sleep has been wonky, I've been waking up too early, but I feel fine then but it also feels like I can't rest completely- I have dreamless nights mostly. And I also just get annoyed a lot, but it feels better being around people I like.