#look at how other people draw something I want to draw

[nonranghaes]

heads up: vague food mentions.

"hey, beautiful."

mingyu looks up from the pot he's stirring on the stove, staring at you for a moment like a confused pup. this is far from the first time you've called him something like handsome or pretty or, well, beautiful, but something about the way he can hear you smiling makes him wonder if there's something else going on. he doesn't see your phone in your hands, so you aren't recording him to get his silly, flustered giggles... but that doesn't mean you don't have one of his friends on a call. or one of your friends. he's grown used to the fact that now he has twice the amount of people who lovingly tease him (and, thankfully, stop when he asks them to--it's happened once with some of your friends taking a joke a little too far, and you were firm in telling them to knock it off before he even had to ask again).

he just smiles at you, eyes lighting up a little. "yes?"

you snort to yourself after a moment, making your way over. "nothing," you hum, wrapping your arms around his waist. "just... had to test something that cheol pointed out the other day."

again, you're met with the confused puppy look. he knows you've grown closer to several of his friends (wonwoo, seungcheol, minghao--although a lot of them do adore you), but he didn't know how often you talk to any of them. he knows its enough that sometimes minghao will mention a video you sent him, or seungkwan will talk about a question you asked him and the ensuing discussion, but there's something heartwarming to know just how intertwined your lives have become after these years together.

"i called you handsome on the phone once when he was round," you squeeze his hip, just a little. "and he says you always get this goofy look on your face." you lean in to kiss his cheek. "and i know i'm biased when i say it's definitely more cute than goofy, but... i wanted to see what he was talking about."

he just chuckles. "ah. i see," he reaches an arm around you, drawing you in so that he can press a kiss against the side of your face. "dinner's almost done, my heart."

and in turn, he sees the cute look that crosses your face when he calls you sweet things. that sweet, dreamy look in your eyes, the twitching smile as you try to hide just how easily he makes your heart flutter, too. minghao once, lovingly, told him that the two of you were like lovesick puppies when you first started dating and that he was glad it seemed to boil down into something more... natural between the two of you. not that he hated it: the two of you were visibly happy whenever you were seen together, and he was happy for that.

"it feels more real now," minghao had told him, gesturing vaguely with one hand as he continued on. "like you're two people in love. not just two people falling for each other. it's like you're a married couple."

mingyu understood. he thinks he prefers the act of being more than the act of falling anyway.

[kurstyxscave]

"Huh... Azul-kun sure does have a lot more people around him lately. Guess I have to learn to share..."

(Ah! Im' so excited to finally post this. I love @quartztwst noyansim au so much! So many cute and cool yuusonas. One of my fav's has got to be @liyuviq)

Btw he modified his uniform to fit gyaruo More Info:::

Does Kursor have parents or family?

Yes, but he and his little brother, a first year, room together in the dorms.

What are their thoughts on Quartz?

"I like her hair. Oh wait- She's probably nice. Like the rest of Azul's fan club."

He likes to people watch during lunch, so he has seen her around. He thinks she looks kinda cool.

What is their thoughts and relationship with Azul? How did they meet Azul?

They met when he went to check out the board game club before signing up. They are on good terms, but Kursor doubts that Azul would call him a friend even though he feels that way. He really likes beating Azul in games and teasing them over it, mostly because he likes watching him get red in the face and get all competitive. Those feelings make Kursor assume he might have a crush on Azul.

What are their relationships with other characters/OCs?

"Idia? Oh he's cool I guess. We both like BeatCats, so its not that hard to talk to him."

Only really ever hangout or talk in the clubroom. They can be caught talking for long bouts of time over all kinds of dorky shit. Kursor is super into dorks, so he overlooks Idia's worst traits.

"T-Trey?! Who told you to ask me about him?"

Massive crush on him and shit at hiding it. He has the awful habit of staring and occasionally literally drooling over Trey.

"I like their cardigan... Maybe I should get one... Oh! I want to draw her!"

He gets too anxious to start conversations with any of them outside of compliments, small greetings, and basic etiquette. So he people watches and draws whomever he feels like. Though, he does get a little jealous of the other rivals. He likes being able to hang out with Azul whenever he wants and gets anxious over losing that.

What grade/year is he?

He's a 3rd year (18).

What is Kursor's goal for the school year or in life?

He hopes to make more friends, or maybe even a partner, during the school year. He kinda hates how much he struggles with that. He really hopes to be recognized more positively as a monster.

Kursor is being framed for murder of another student by Quartz, how does he react to that? Does he know it's Quartz?

He freaks the hell out, shifting into a werewolf in an attempt to escape wrongful imprisonment. He doesn't know it was Quartz specifically but his strong intuition keeps gnawing at him saying she did something. Unless if anyone else has antagonized him, he will keep thinking it was Quartz.

Kursor notices Quartz carrying a weapon in her skirt pocket. That's strange since the female school uniforms don't have skirt pockets. Does he report this?

He tries to report it anonymously. He doesn't want anyone to think he said anything. He will always keep his guard up around Quartz from then on.

Where is Kursor usually with or at during school? Classes? With Azul? Skipping class? Where do they eat lunch?

He can be found in the clubroom often. Between classes and lunch, he walks with his brother, stares at Trey, or very rarely trying to talk to Idia. Just as rarely, he attempts to ask Azul to eat with him one-on-one. Usually, he sits under a tree in the courtyard, eating and people watching.

How are his grades?

Kursor typically lucks his way into Bs. Cs at worst (he tries to study).

No Yandere Simulator ? (TWST AU)

AU Information:

This AU takes place similar to Yandere Sim but with Twisted Wonderland but Taro is Azul and Ayano is Quartz. Her goal is to eliminate… AZUL ASHENGROTTO. Yeah, her goal is actually to kill Azul and NOT the rivals. The rivals being your OCs/sonass and they have to protect Azul from Quartz and her dumb elimination plans.

More info on Quartz + Tweels info

Q&A for OCs!!! / PT 2

Flower Bullies info

Dormleader <- Student Council info + School info

This is an AU just for fun!! lol I just had a silly idea. Here’s a template if you wanna make your own oc into the AU (rival or not)

ALSO THEY DONT KNOW IT'S QUARTZ bc she's just a nobody girl

Bro you can tell I was hella lazy with Azul idk he’s too much

Rival List:

Romeo by @skrimpyskimpy

Shuu by @oya-oya-okay

Chiyo by @inotonline

Sable by @twsted-void

Jovie by @jovieinramshackle

Finn by @thehollowwriter

Elena by @angelwishess

Albert by @the-trinket-witch

Milo by @hy4c1nthh

Alice by @sinjaangels

Starrz by @astral-pr0jecti0n

Atlas by @silvery-stars-above

Mei by @ieatfriedeggs

Rubellite by @prefectrose

Yuuka by @hanizmiyu

NPC/Non-Rival List:

Elfie by @quartzelfgf

Higashikuramori Shin by @liyuviq

Jade Leech

Floyd Leech

Rizy by @rizdoodls

Yuuki by @theolivetree123

Joseph by @readsrandomstuff67

Yuubeni by @bunniehunn

Yuya by @cheerleaderman

Shuu and Silly by @sillybillymillyrilly

Superstar!! By @imafrealinrainbow478484

Viz (Vizzie) by @twistedwonderlandshenanigans

Yuhua by @distant-velleity

Nyx by @blackcat101

Gia by @ramshacklerumble

Yuuko by @silkkorchid

Moch by @thatsadguymochi

Faye by @faerieluvss

Yukana by @babyghoul138

Antoinette by @antoinettedoodles

AJ by @karamatsuboy-aj

Evelyuu by @h0neybane

Paloma and Hydris by @mhedusard

Levi by @the-trinket-witch

Alan by @alan-without-the-an

Vee and Viva by @evexe

Sophie by @gl00myb3arz

René by @tixdixl

Liánhuā by @lafashionlsta

Yuu Shi by @boopshoops

Xen by @xen-blank

Astrid by @cheerleaderman

Yumi by @marinahavik

Undine by @juchioris

Lilian by @sillyslipperybananapeel

Layla by @laylakongg

Niz by @hanizmiyu

The Yuris by @0ann3

Ryuuni by @rinis-reality

(Let me know if I made a mistake lol)

[numberonesnarkfan]

can I just autism at y'all incoherently for a bit. Aite.

I think Harley becomes a bit easier to understand as a character when viewed as a story of generational trauma. When analysing a monster, one has to ask "what could have prevented this?" In Harley's case, it was just... if he had not been so steadily drawn to one conclusion: that there was something fundamental that separated him from humanity.

What are people to someone who was never a person to anyone? He was kept half-alive only to use him, and even before he had done anything wrong, he was never a person to anyone - he existed in others' minds only as what he could supply to them.

The ARG note, "HE TOOK EVERYTHING. I THOUGHT YOU CARED." combined with his boss fight dialogue, "It was supposed to be mine! My recognition!" draws the connection that after sending a young Harley Sawyer away, Elliott took the research Harley had done with him and claimed credit for his discoveries.

Imagine for a moment that you have never been loved. Not by parents or peers or superiors. That they all showered you in praise of your objective talents, but wanted nothing to do with you in any other respect. At every turn, they attempted to find a way to divert your abilities toward their own goals. Others have always blabbered on about connection and harmony - concepts that simply do not exist to you, for you have never experienced them.

You thought you had experienced them. Once. You almost thought you'd found a father. Before he sent you away penniless and took all of your work as his own. Now you know it for certain: connection really isn't real, and everyone else is lying or faking. The only people who have ever pretended to care about you were lying. You may as well be the only person in the world, because you are completely alone on Earth.

Imagine that you believe that love and happiness are truly false lights. Pipe dreams. Would you be able to empathise, see yourself in your fellow man, see your fellow man as a person?

You don't know what it's like to be thought of as a person. So you haven't the slightest idea how one would go about thinking of others as people.

I still will not budge on the fact that Harley genuinely thought he was doing the right thing. But again, if morals are alien to you because you have never been exposed to them, then your 'right thing' looks deeply different to others'.

There are certain lessons that cannot be learned through just the acquisition of information. Harley was never taught any lessons that were not objective - empathy, morals, emotional control. As much as he could be familiar with ethics, he could not understand anything that can't be understood with logic.

All monsters grow from children.

He saw himself as their father. Their mentor. Their saviour. He made them just like him - the only human in the world.

[jadagul]

I want to emphasize that I agree with you in, like, 95% of situations, which is why this one feels so weird to me.

You're right that protests don't have, like, magical persuasion power. (And a lot of people implicitly think they do, which leads to major strategic errors, again see all the climate protests.)

Protests can do, basically, two things. One is implicitly threaten [possibly violent] rejection of the system. That's what leads to things like color revolutions, and the reason I have historically been skeptical of protests as a technique in the US context. The US system is pretty good! (The Trump government is very bad but it's bad in large part because it is itself a possibly-violent rejection of the system.)

The other thing protests can do is force attention and focus to an issue. And that can be very valuable, when a bunch of people who aren't paying attention would agree with you.

And like you show the NYT and MSNBC etc, but most people do not read the New York Times. Most people don't follow politics at all. Trump was put over the top by voters who, on November 4th, googled "Is Biden running for reelection?"

The median voter does not follow politics and does not want to follow politics. And on some level, if you try to force them to follow politics they'll resent it; it's not like they're failing to read CNN's website despite their best efforts.

But if you have something that would genuinely upset or piss off that bulk of apathetic disengaged voters, you can benefit from inconveniently forcing it to their attention. This was basically the goal of the actual 60s Civil Rights Movement protests: they created situations where white voters who didn't support segregation but also didn't care that deeply had to think about it, and then conclude that Jim Crow was pretty fucked up and they were against it.

Now this only works if you're really drawing attention to an issue where people will wind up decisively on your side when they look. (And that also requires the protest itself not to alienate them.) But Trump is doing such stupid, catastrophic, offensive things that we probably have that situation. Just need to figure out how to engineer the correct optics for it.

It's kind of weird to me how little in the way of mass protests we're seeing in response to this Trump stuff.

I'm usually skeptical of protests. The modern, uh, left-wing protest culture seems actively calibrated to accomplish nothing other than making its participates feel good.

But this seems like exactly the type of situation where protesting could genuinely accomplish things. Trump is doing things that are (1) bad, (2) unpopular, and (3) illegal. That's the ideal case for protests to make progress!

Like, Trump isn't personally going to care about protests. But the thing they're good for is drawing attention to an issue that people either don't know about or would rather ignore, but where they'll be on your side if they have to actually think about what's going on.

That doesn't apply to most wedge issues, and especially not most of the ones that get the left fifth of society really excited. But "Trump shut down Medicaid" or "Trump handed the Treasury over to private actors who are refusing to spend money on [insert program here]" or "Trump put in a bunch of tariffs and now your groceries and phones are way more expensive" all totally apply.

[akanemnon]

(I have two statements, I’ll start with the least relevant one first and the more relevant last so it (hopefully) sticks more.)

NOTE (mainly for the irrelevant one): I have no ill intent behind anything I’m typing and just want to thank Akane for unintentionally teaching me a thing or two about art.

Irrelevant statement: I’ve seen many people talk about how your AU and overall artwork inspired them to do comics (heck, even I once told you this), but something else your art has helped me with greatly is anatomy.

My countless drawings I made of your KFC gang helped me simultaneously with fat and very lanky bodies, height differences, etc.

Now I’m kinda wishing I drew your version of Susie so I can properly learn how to draw muscles. Not all of my own characters are human and muscles are something I can kinda draw, but it always comes out a little weird looking…but I’ve been kinda nervous to draw TR!Susie and Ralsei in fear of then looking to different…

Relevant statement: I can see why you were proud of this page. I love the heart-to-heart between Kris and Susie. It makes me wonder if we may see a backstory or may learn a little more on Susie’s past.

Kris and Frisk are the main focus, so this “mini”-page felt like a nice change of pace and a good addition to the script that leaves me with some pretty cool predictions. Even though I’m probably getting my hopes up because as you said, this wasn’t originally part of the script, I still wonder where you may go with this…

Representation is something incredibly powerful. Not only does it help with being feel seen in a medium you like, it also INSPIRES artists to step out of their comfort zone and try their own hands at drawing different body types, sizes, etc...

Muscles are kinda sorta difficult. Like with most things in art, it all comes back to anatomy. That is the basis of drawing bodies. If you got that down is when you can start to stylize. Of course you don't need to study every single muscle in the body, but something that helps is using references or do figure drawing for example! There are plenty of free images online just for that kind of stuff. An artist who doesn't use references is just willingly making things harder for themself. In case of drawing muscles, look up all sorts of different athletes! It all depends on what kind of built you are going for. Athletes train their bodies specifically for the sport they're are doing, so the muscle distribution and built will be dependant on that.

As for your other statement... as you said, the focus of the story is on Kris and Frisk, so there isn't exactly enough room to wrap up everyone's dynamics. Especially considering how close we are to the trial. Which is basically the final showdown. We got 46 pages left to go. So you'll see how the story will play out. There is still room for these characters to grow after Twin Runes ends. But that will be all up for interpretation. Because after Twin Runes ends I will start The Other Script.

[00valentina-writes00]

Abby with an older reader perhaps? I’ve seen a couple older abby x reader fics but i don’t think i’ve seen one where it’s the other way around 🤔

✞⛧ Three Dates Minimum ✞⛧

Warnings: age gap, drinking, flirting, suggestive themes, persistent pursuit, mutual teasing, slow burn, tension, implied smut but no actual smut

Setting: A normal AU, modern-day setting. You meet Abby at a bar you frequent after work.

Word count: 6.2k

The hum of the bar wraps around you like a familiar coat—low conversations, the clinking of glasses, the occasional burst of laughter cutting through the dimly lit room. It's the same as always. The end of another long day, another well-earned drink in hand, another moment to yourself before you return to whatever waits outside these walls.

You lean against the polished counter, your fingers lightly tracing the rim of your glass. The ice inside has begun to melt, condensation beading against the smooth surface, but you're in no rush. This is routine. The weight of the day lingers in your shoulders, but your posture remains composed—years of knowing exactly who you are and what you want evident in the way you carry yourself. You're dressed well, sharp yet effortless, a presence that stands out without trying. And if the looks you occasionally catch from strangers are anything to go by, it's a presence that commands attention.

Someone else has certainly noticed.

You feel it before you see it—eyes on you, persistent and searching. You don't react immediately, letting it simmer for a moment, drawing it out like a game you haven't quite decided to play yet. But when you finally lift your gaze, it's met with striking blue.

She's been watching you.

She's seated across the room, surrounded by friends, though it's clear her focus isn't on them. Her body is turned just slightly in your direction, posture relaxed yet attentive, like she's trying not to be obvious but failing miserably. A drink sits idle in front of her, fingers curled around the glass without much thought.

And then there's her.

It's impossible not to notice the way she takes up space—not just physically, though God, that's part of it. Broad shoulders, thick arms crossed in a way that only accentuates their definition, the lines of muscle cutting sharp even beneath the dim lighting. She's built like someone who knows how to hold her own, someone who's fought for everything she's ever had. It's in the rough edges of her, the weathered freckles that dust her tanned skin, the faint scars on her arms and face that whisper of past battles.

Her blonde hair is tied back in a loose ponytail, a few strands falling forward, catching in the light when she tilts her head slightly—like she's trying to gauge whether or not she's been caught.

She has.

You arch a brow, lips quirking in amusement as you hold her stare. Most people would look away, flustered under the weight of being seen. Not her.

No, she smirks.

And fuck, if that doesn't make things a little more interesting.

You take a slow sip of your drink, considering. She's younger than you—clearly—but not in a way that screams immaturity. There's a certain confidence in her, something bordering on cocky but not quite tipping into arrogant. It's charming, in its own way.

And then, after another lingering moment of hesitation, she moves.

You don't miss the way her friends exchange looks as she pushes up from her seat, nor do you miss the subtle roll of her shoulders before she makes her way across the bar. There's a self-assuredness in her stride, a deliberate kind of slowness, like she knows eyes are on her but only cares about one particular gaze.

Yours.

She stops just short of your personal space, close enough for you to take in the way she smells—faint hints of salt and leather, something clean but unpolished, like she's spent all day on the move.

"You always drink alone?" she asks, her voice rough in a way that suggests she's used to barking orders but is trying to sound casual.

You huff a quiet laugh, setting your glass down. "You always stare at women from across the bar before working up the nerve to talk to them?"

Her smirk widens, but there's something sheepish in the way she glances down for half a second, like she knows she's been caught. "Only when they look like you."

Smooth.

Your amusement flickers into something else, something sharper, more intrigued. You lean back slightly, taking her in now that she's up close. There's a rawness to her, a strength that's not just physical but intrinsic. You can see it in the set of her jaw, in the way her hands flex like she's used to gripping something solid—weights, weapons, people.

Still, she's waiting for a reaction, and you're not one to give an easy win.

You tilt your head. "And how do I look?"

That catches her off guard for half a beat. She exhales through her nose, rubbing the back of her neck, fingers brushing over the faint scar near her jaw. "Like you know what you want."

Your lips twitch. "And you have a thing for that?"

There's no hesitation this time. "Yeah."

The weight behind the admission, the way it sits in the space between you, is enough to make your stomach tighten.

Interesting.

You pick up your glass again, swirling the liquid inside, feigning a nonchalance you know she's already seeing through. "I don't usually entertain women who don't introduce themselves first."

Abby exhales a quiet chuckle, like she's both impressed and slightly exasperated. "Abby."

You hum, letting the name settle. It suits her—strong, no-nonsense, but with just enough softness beneath it.

"Well, Abby," you say, watching the way her throat bobs when you say her name, "I appreciate the effort, but I don't make it easy for people who want my attention."

She lifts a brow. "Yeah?"

You nod. "Yeah."

Abby shifts her weight, studying you like she's considering her next move. Then, with a slow, deliberate ease, she rests an elbow on the bar beside you, leaning in just slightly. Not enough to crowd, but enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off of her, the solid presence of her body so close to yours.

"I like a challenge," she murmurs.

Oh, she's good.

You fight the urge to smirk, instead letting silence stretch between you, letting her sit in the anticipation. And when you finally lean in just the barest bit, close enough that your breath ghosts over her cheek, you can practically hear her inhale.

"Then you'd better bring your best, sweetheart," you murmur. "Because I don't waste time on half-hearted attempts."

Abby swallows hard.

And you know, in that moment, that she's completely hooked.

———

You're not easily impressed.

People come and go in this bar, lingering long enough to swap half-hearted conversations and meaningless glances before disappearing into the night. You've been coming here for years, watching the ebb and flow of unfamiliar faces. Rarely does anyone manage to hold your attention past a single encounter.

But Abby Anderson keeps showing up.

At first, you think it's just coincidence. A passing flirtation she'll forget about the next day. She's younger, after all. Attractive, sure, but still that rough-edged kind of bold that suggests she doesn't take rejection personally. You assume she'll move on, find someone easier to win over.

Except she doesn't.

The first time you see her after your initial conversation, she plays it casual. No immediate approach, no shameless staring like before. She takes a seat across the bar, just close enough to be within your periphery, her broad frame unmistakable even when she's trying not to be obvious.

You're amused, but you don't acknowledge her right away. Instead, you sip your drink, letting the anticipation settle between you, waiting to see if she'll make the first move.

And she does.

A fresh drink slides into place beside yours. You glance up just as the bartender nods toward Abby. She raises her glass in silent acknowledgment, watching you with that same cocky smirk, blue eyes sharp beneath the dim lighting

Your lips twitch despite yourself.

You pick up the drink, considering. Then, deliberately, you turn slightly in your seat and lift the glass in return, mirroring her gesture.

Abby grins.

That should've been it. A single attempt, an unspoken challenge, a playful exchange that would end the moment you walked out the door. But the next time you show up, she's there again.

And the next.

And the next.

At first, she pretends it's happenstance. A small, innocent shrug when your eyes meet, like she just happens to be here on the same nights you are. You know better.

The thing is, she's charming in a way that isn't suffocating. She doesn't push, doesn't bombard you with attention or force herself into your space. Instead, she lingers just enough to make you notice, always finding some excuse to interact.

One night, it's another drink sent your way. Another, she casually takes the seat beside you, pretending to be caught up in something on her phone while you finish your own drink. Sometimes, she just watches, waiting for you to acknowledge her first.

And maybe it's the effort, or maybe it's just the way she looks at you—like she's trying to memorize every detail, like she's fascinated by the simple fact that you exist—but you find yourself enjoying the game more than you expected.

You start to expect her.

And you hate to admit it, but you like it.

——

Tonight, she's there again.

The moment you step inside, your eyes land on her without meaning to. She's easy to find, her presence commanding in any room she enters. The low lighting does little to soften her features—her sharp jawline, the way her cheekbones catch the dim glow of the bar's neon signage.

She's dressed the same as always. A black tank top, exposing the sheer breadth of her shoulders, cargo pants tucked into worn combat boots. Her arms are crossed, biceps flexing just slightly with the movement, and when she lifts her drink to take a sip, your gaze follows the curve of her forearm, the rough scars cutting through freckled skin.

She's strong. And she knows it.

The realization settles in your stomach like heat, slow and simmering.

But when Abby notices you, there's no immediate cockiness. Just a flicker of something unreadable in her expression, something quieter than the usual bravado.

And then she stands.

You're already moving toward the bar when she steps into your space, close but not intrusive, like she's testing whether you'll brush past her or acknowledge her presence.

"Was starting to think you were avoiding me," she says.

Your lips curve slightly. "That would imply I had a reason to."

Abby huffs a small laugh, shifting her weight. "You're not gonna make this easy, huh?"

You tilt your head, amused. "Would you want me to?"

She shakes her head, rubbing a hand over her jaw. "No," she admits. "I think I like the chase."

That catches your interest. You study her for a long moment, watching the way she holds herself—strong, steady, but with a subtle restraint, like she's still figuring out how far she can push.

"You've been persistent," you note, leaning against the bar. "Showing up here every night."

Abby doesn't deny it.

Instead, she shrugs. "Maybe I just like the drinks here."

You give her a look.

She grins, dropping the pretense. "Alright. Maybe I just like you here."

It's a simple confession, but there's weight behind it. Not in a way that feels suffocating, but in a way that feels... genuine.

For the first time, you let your gaze soften slightly, your usual amusement giving way to something more curious.

"What do you want, Abby?" you ask, voice quieter now.

She doesn't answer right away. She exhales, rubbing the back of her neck like she's gathering her thoughts. Then she meets your eyes, expression earnest.

"I don't know yet," she says. "But I know I don't want this to be nothing."

It's the first time she's hinted at anything more than just a casual flirtation.

That surprises you more than anything else.

You glance down, considering. Then, with deliberate ease, you pull your phone from your pocket and hold it out.

Abby stares for a beat before realization dawns.

The grin that spreads across her face is nothing short of victorious.

She takes your phone, fingers brushing against yours for just a second too long, and you pretend not to notice the warmth that lingers.

As she types in her number, you catch the way her hands move—strong, steady, calloused in a way that speaks of years of work.

When she hands it back, there's a glint of something teasing in her eyes.

"Guess I finally won you over," she murmurs.

You hum, tucking your phone away. "I wouldn't get ahead of yourself just yet."

Abby laughs, shaking her head. "Nah," she says, stepping back with a confidence that's more controlled than before, more assured.

"I think I'm exactly where I need to be."

———

The moment your phone buzzes, you already know who it is. The message is quick and lighthearted, carrying the energy of someone still high on their victory.

"Guess I finally got your number, huh? Should've gotten it sooner, but hey, good things come to those who wait 😉"

You lean back against your kitchen counter, phone still in hand, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as you read the message. Abby's persistence has been undeniable, and tonight—despite all her flirting and teasing—something about her feels different. You still don't know if it's because of the way she looks at you with that gaze that's both raw and intent, or because of how she keeps pushing, but there's an edge of realness to this that wasn't there before.

A small part of you wants to play along, give in to the playful back-and-forth that's been building since the first night she approached you at the bar. But something else inside you—the one that's seen it all before, dealt with enough to know better��holds you back.

You sigh and type back a message, the words coming easily, almost naturally.

"Just so you know, I'm not interested in a fling. If this is just some older woman fantasy for you, let's stop now."

There's a beat of silence, your thumb hovering over the screen as you wait for her reply. It's not that you don't enjoy the tension between you, but you're not here for casual games. You don't have the time, the energy, or the interest in something fleeting.

When your phone buzzes again, it's a surprising shift in tone. No flirty emojis, no lighthearted remarks. Just a straightforward message from Abby:

"That's fair. But if I'm being honest, I'm not just looking for a quick night. I'm not that kind of person, and I'm not going to treat you like one. So how about this—let's go out. Just us. No games."

You blink at the text, trying to figure out whether she's being sincere or just responding to your boundary because she's determined to get a reaction. But there's something about her words—the lack of hesitation, the seriousness— that hints at something more genuine.

You sit with the message for a moment, the weight of the situation sinking in. You don't have time for games. You don't have time to let yourself get pulled into something that's just going to burn out as quickly as it started. But Abby... Abby's different. The kind of different you can't ignore.

"Three dates," you type back, the words coming quickly as you set the line in the sand. "Minimum. If you're serious, you'll wait. No sex until we've had time to get to know each other. That's the deal."

You don't expect her to reply immediately, but when she does, it's almost immediate.

"Three dates. I can do that. Don't worry, I'm in this for more than just a casual fling. I'll make sure you see that."

You let out a breath, staring at the screen. For the first time, you wonder if you might be in over your head. But then again, there's a part of you that's intrigued by her confidence, by the sincerity you've started to feel in her words. Abby doesn't strike you as the type to back down from a challenge. And you have a feeling you're about to find out just how far she's willing to go.

—

The first date is set.

It's simple enough—a dinner reservation at a quiet restaurant downtown. Nothing too flashy, no grand gestures, just a chance to talk. You told Abby you weren't looking for a whirlwind romance, but you also weren't going to sit around and wait forever.

When you see her walk through the door, your breath catches in your chest. She's dressed differently than usual—no tank top or cargo pants, just a button-down shirt that emphasizes her shoulders, paired with dark jeans and boots. The shift in attire only highlights her commanding presence, and for a moment, you're struck by how striking she is. How... real.

Her freckled face is a little more polished than usual, though you can still see the shadows under her eyes that speak to her hectic life. She's trying—trying to show you that she's here for more than just a fleeting moment. You know it the second your eyes meet.

She doesn't speak right away, but the smile on her face is wide, genuine. "Hey."

You return it, feeling your own lips pull up in response. "Hey, Abby."

As you walk to the table, you're aware of the way people glance in her direction. Abby stands out—her athletic, muscular frame a stark contrast to most of the others in the restaurant. You don't mind it, though. It only reinforces how different she is from anyone you've ever met.

Once seated, you both order drinks, and the conversation starts easily enough. At first, it's the usual small talk—how's work going, what's new, what's been keeping her busy. But it quickly deepens, as if she's holding nothing back.

"I've been training a lot lately," Abby says after a few sips of wine. "Trying to get stronger. I'm in a weird place right now—feels like everything's constantly moving, but I'm not sure where it's going."

You nod, leaning back in your chair as you look at her. "I get that. Life's always in motion, but it's easy to get caught up in the rush. Sometimes, you just need to slow down and focus on the things that matter."

Abby meets your gaze, her blue eyes steady. "Yeah. I'm not used to slowing down, though. It's easier to keep moving."

You smile a little. "You don't have to slow down, but you do have to know when to focus."

She watches you for a long moment, her fingers tapping the edge of her wine glass. "And what about you? What do you focus on?"

You pause, considering. "I focus on what I can control. The rest... I just let go."

The conversation lingers there, unspoken truths passing between you as you both take in the weight of each other's words. It's different from any date you've had before—more mature, more grounded. You realize you like it. Like her.

When the evening winds down, Abby insists on walking you home. It's the gentlemanly thing to do, she says. You don't argue, though the truth is, you're starting to feel a different kind of connection with her—one that isn't based on fleeting chemistry or easy attraction. It's something more.

At your doorstep, she stops, giving you a long look. "So... what now?" she asks, a hint of vulnerability in her voice that's completely at odds with the strong, tough persona she projects.

You smile, tilting your head slightly. "We go on two more dates. That's what comes next."

Her lips twitch. "Fair enough."

And then, to your surprise, she leans in, her presence overwhelming in the quiet of the night, her hand brushing your arm as she whispers, "Three dates. I'll make sure you won't regret it."

You stare into her eyes for a moment, feeling the promise behind her words. "We'll see, Abby. We'll see."

——-

The days between your first and second date stretch out in a strange, anticipatory silence. It's as if the air is thick with unspoken words, with each interaction between you and Abby carrying a weight of its own.

You're not sure what you were expecting from Abby after your first night together, but you definitely didn't expect how easy it would be to fall into a rhythm with her. Her determination to prove herself, to show that she's not like the others, is clear, but there's something else that lingers too—the softness that you get glimpses of when she lets her guard slip. The vulnerability in her eyes, the way she looks at you when she thinks you're not paying attention.

When you confirm the second date, a casual coffee meet-up, there's a tension in the air that feels just as electric as the first time you saw her. You're still cautious—still setting boundaries, testing her intentions. But part of you can't help but wonder what's really underneath that tough exterior of hers.

Abby arrives at the café right on time. You spot her immediately as she walks in, her presence filling the room before she even says a word. Her broad shoulders and athletic frame are impossible to miss, especially in the light of the morning sun. The simple T-shirt and cargo pants she wears seem effortless, but there's something about her that makes everything she wears look like it was made for her body—like she's carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, but somehow, it fits her.

When she spots you, she gives a quick smile, her blue eyes lighting up just a fraction before she makes her way over.

"Hey," she greets, her voice low but warm.

"Hey," you reply, standing to greet her. The small exchange is a quiet one, but it feels more comfortable than before. More natural.

You sit across from each other, the clink of cups and the low hum of conversation from other patrons forming a soft backdrop to your words. The initial awkwardness between you both fades quickly, and soon you're talking as though you've known each other for years.

"So, tell me about your job," Abby says, her gaze intense as she takes a sip of her coffee. "What do you do exactly?"

You hesitate for a moment, but her genuine interest makes it easy to share. You talk about your work, the challenges you face, the things you're passionate about. It feels good to speak openly to someone who isn't just listening for the sake of small talk. Abby actually listens—there's a depth to her focus that you didn't expect.

She nods, her expression thoughtful. "Sounds like a lot of responsibility. Must be a good challenge, though."

You laugh lightly, shrugging. "Yeah, it can be. What about you? What keeps you busy?"

Abby's smile falters for a moment. There's a flicker of something in her eyes—something that almost looks like hesitation, but then it's gone as quickly as it came.

"Training," she says, her voice steady but a little quieter than before. "I work with a lot of people... helping them get stronger. Whether it's physical or mental, I guess I'm all about pushing people to their limits."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "You're a personal trainer, then?"

She shakes her head slightly, leaning forward. "Not exactly. I've worked with people in the military, too. Taught them how to survive, how to fight when everything falls apart. Not much room for weakness in that line of work."

The admission surprises you, but there's no judgment in her tone. Just a quiet certainty that speaks volumes about her past.

You try to imagine Abby in that world—leading people, training them to push beyond their limits—and you find yourself thinking that maybe she's not as hardened as she lets on. Maybe there's more to her than the tough exterior she wears so proudly.

After a beat, she shifts the conversation back to you. "You still haven't told me what you do when you're not working."

It's a simple question, but it makes you pause for a moment. You're so used to talking about work, about responsibilities. But in this moment, sitting across from Abby, you realize you've never really taken the time to think about yourself outside of those roles.

"Well, I guess I like to read," you finally admit, giving her a small smile. "I've always been into books. And I like to spend time with friends—nothing too crazy, but... I like having a good laugh."

Abby grins, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You don't strike me as someone who just goes with the flow. You're more of a planner, aren't you?"

You laugh, raising an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"

She shrugs casually. "You just seem like you know exactly what you want. Not like me. I'm more of a... take things as they come kind of person."

You can tell she's not just talking about coffee or plans for the day. It's almost as if she's letting her guard down, just a little bit.

There's a shift in the atmosphere between you both, a subtle change in the dynamic. The more Abby shares, the more you realize that the woman sitting across from you is more than just the intimidating figure you first saw at the bar. There's a gentleness to her, a thoughtfulness you hadn't expected. It's an unexpected layer of complexity, and you find yourself wanting to know more.

The conversation continues, winding its way through various topics—light and easy at first, but with more depth as the minutes pass. You find yourself relaxing, laughing at Abby's dry sense of humor and her occasional self-deprecating remarks.

When you finally finish your coffee, Abby looks at you with a certain intensity, as if she's trying to gauge something. "So... what's next?" she asks.

You smile, feeling the tension in the air shift again, but this time, it feels more like curiosity than uncertainty.

"We'll see," you reply, standing up from the table. "I said three dates, right? This is just the second one. We'll see what happens on the third."

Abby nods, her eyes never leaving yours. "I can wait."

——

Date three comes quickly, and this time, it's Abby's turn to plan the evening. You're curious to see how she'll handle it. There's a palpable nervous energy in the air when she arrives at the restaurant, looking more put-together than usual. She's dressed in a fitted button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal her forearms, strong and defined. Her jeans are dark, tailored just enough to highlight her legs without feeling too formal.

You don't think it's possible for Abby to look even more imposing, but somehow, she does. She's trying to impress, you realize, and that thought fills you with a strange mix of anticipation and intrigue.

She greets you with a quiet smile, and for the first time, you see a hint of nervousness in her eyes. It's small—almost imperceptible—but it's there. You're not sure why it catches you off guard, but it does. Abby, the woman who radiates confidence in everything she does, is nervous.

"Hey," she says, her voice a little lower than usual. "Glad you could make it."

"I wouldn't miss it," you reply, your voice teasing but sincere.

You both settle into your seats, and the evening unfolds with a comfortable ease. Abby leads the conversation, but this time, it's not just about her life or her past. She asks about you more, delving deeper into your thoughts, your values, your dreams. The tension between you both shifts again, like the pieces of a puzzle finally fitting together.

As the night progresses, you catch her staring at you—often. Her gaze is intense, and when she catches you looking back, she quickly looks away, the corners of her lips curling into a small smile. It's as if she can't believe you're actually giving her a chance, like she's still surprised by the fact that you're still here.

The chemistry is undeniable, and as the meal comes to an end, Abby's posture shifts, her muscles tense with the unspoken desire to lean closer, to close the distance between you. But she doesn't. She waits, her gaze lingering on yours, her body barely held back from moving closer.

You can feel the tension building, feel the pull between you both. She wants to kiss you. You can see it in the way she watches you, the slight shift of her gaze toward your lips before she quickly looks away again.

You hold back, not ready yet to let things go that far. But Abby... she's patient. And when she leans in to say goodbye, the closeness between you both is electric.

"I'll see you soon," she says, her voice low and serious.

You nod, heart pounding in your chest. "We'll see."

And just like that, the tension lingers between you both, a promise, a challenge, a question. You can feel the next step on the horizon, and for the first time, you're not sure which way it's going to go.

——-

It's been a month since your first night at the bar with Abby, and the quiet tension that's built between you over the course of three dates finally comes to a head. There's something undeniably magnetic about her—something that pulls you in and keeps you on edge. She's unlike anyone you've ever met before, and as much as you've tried to keep your guard up, you can feel the walls crumbling bit by bit.

Abby has been patient. Almost too patient. She's let you set the pace, taken things slow the entire time, but every time you've seen her, that intensity in her eyes hasn't wavered. It's as if she's waiting for the right moment. And tonight, you have a feeling that moment has finally arrived.

She texts you earlier in the day, suggesting a low-key night at her place. A horror movie, some drinks, maybe a little takeout—just the two of you, away from the crowds and expectations. You're relieved by the simplicity of it all. No pressure. Just the opportunity to relax, to see where things go without all the outside distractions.

By the time you arrive, Abby's already waiting for you. The door is cracked open when you knock, her voice calling from inside.

"Come on in, you're not late."

You step inside, the dim light of her apartment welcoming you. It's cozy, though you can tell she doesn't spend too much time making it look pristine. The place is functional, with a few personal touches—a photo of her with a group of friends on the wall, a worn-out couch that has seen better days, but it feels... real.

Abby is lounging on the couch when you walk in, the glow of the TV screen flickering against her face. She's in a loose t-shirt, one of her old band tees that's faded from years of wear, and sweatpants that hang comfortably off her hips. Her blonde hair is tied back in a messy ponytail, a few stray strands falling out of place.

"Make yourself at home," she says, her voice relaxed but still holding that edge of authority that seems to follow her everywhere.

You nod, taking a seat next to her. The space between you is a comfortable distance, but it feels charged, the unspoken tension from earlier dates still hanging in the air. Abby picks up the remote, clicking through options, before finally settling on a horror movie you both agreed on.

She leans back, her leg casually brushing against yours, and the simple contact sends a shiver up your spine. You glance over at her, catching the slight smirk playing at the corner of her lips as she catches your eye. There's something in the way she looks at you—soft, teasing, but there's also a rawness there that makes you wonder just how much she's holding back.

"I hope you're ready to be scared," Abby says, her voice low, but the challenge in it is unmistakable.

You laugh, not at all intimidated. "I've seen worse."

She raises an eyebrow, as if she's doubting your bravado. "We'll see."

The movie plays on in the background, but you can't focus. Every time Abby moves, every time she shifts on the couch, it feels like she's drawing you in closer without even trying. Her scent, a mix of the outdoors and something distinctly Abby, fills your senses. Her presence—her warmth, the strength of her muscles beneath that worn t-shirt—keeps pulling you closer, as if her very being is magnetic.

You're hyper-aware of her every movement now. The way she occasionally shifts, her bare foot brushing against your leg, the way her breath hitches during particularly tense scenes, even the way she rolls her shoulders back, stretching slightly.

You're starting to realize something. Something you hadn't allowed yourself to acknowledge before tonight.

Abby is more than just some cocky woman in it for a good time. There's a depth to her, a quiet sincerity that shines through the cracks in her tough exterior. She's not playing games with you. She's not trying to chase an older woman fantasy or take advantage of some power dynamic between the two of you. No, there's something real here.

Your heart races, and you catch yourself staring at her again. Her blue eyes flick to you at the same moment, as if she's been waiting for you to finally notice what's been right in front of you all this time. The silence stretches between you both, thick with anticipation, but neither of you says a word.

Then it happens.

Abby's hand—strong and calloused from years of training—finds its way to your leg, her fingers lightly brushing against your thigh. The touch is small, almost accidental, but it's enough to send heat flooding your body. She leaves her hand there, the warmth of her touch seeping through the fabric of your clothes. You hold your breath, afraid to move, afraid that any shift will break the fragile moment between you.

And then she does it.

She leans in, just slightly, her face inches from yours. Her breath mingles with yours, warm and inviting. There's a soft smile on her lips, something playful but also full of meaning. "So, are you going to keep pretending you're not into me, or are we going to do this?"

You can feel her body shift closer to yours, the subtle pressure of her weight against your side. Your pulse quickens, your hands trembling slightly, and you don't even think before you close the distance between you.

You kiss her.

It's slow at first, tentative, as if you're both trying to gauge what the other wants. Abby's lips are warm and firm against yours, tasting like the remnants of the beer she'd been drinking earlier. But when she deepens the kiss, when she pulls you closer, your heart races even faster.

Her hands find their way to your body, tentative at first, as if she's waiting for permission. But the way she touches you, the way her hands roam over your back, pulling you closer as if she can't get enough, tells you that she's not holding back anymore. She's all in.

The kiss intensifies, the heat between you both becoming almost unbearable. Your hands tangle in her hair, the strands soft beneath your fingers, and for a moment, everything else fades away. There's only Abby. Only her warmth and the electric charge that courses between you both.

When you finally pull away, gasping for air, you're both left breathless, staring at each other.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," Abby mutters, her voice low and rough, her lips still hovering close to yours.

Then her eyes soften, the playful edge fading just a little. "I told you I wasn't here for a fling. I'm not just trying to get a quick thrill. You're... different. I want more."

You blink, stunned by the sincerity in her voice. For the first time, you see the real Abby—no masks, no walls. Just the woman who's been patient with you, who's respected your boundaries, and who's finally letting herself be vulnerable.

"Good," you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "Because I want more too."

And just like that, you realize that Abby's not here for a fleeting moment. She's here because she's genuinely interested in you. She likes you. Not just as some older woman fantasy, not just as a passing fling, but as someone she sees something real with.

The weight of that realization hits you hard, and you find yourself smiling—genuinely. Abby is exactly who you thought she was, and more. You're not sure where this is going, but you know one thing for certain: there's no turning back now.

The kiss resumes, this time with a sense of urgency. Abby pulls you closer, her hands finding their way beneath your shirt, her fingers warm against your skin. You let her guide you, let her show you just how much she's been holding back.

There's no rush. There's no need to hurry. Tonight, you both have time. Time to explore, time to finally give in to the chemistry that's been building between you both for weeks.

[sunnydbeam]

I love Alpha and Beta so much, and I absolutely ship them! I'm sure they would look really cute together if Beta wasn't so scared of Alpha </3

I also wondered what Alpha would do if he had the chance to get close to Beta without fears

I have to say, honestly, I'm glad there are people who ship them too, because I have several sketches and drawings of these two that I may share at some point hehe

On the other hand, yes, Beta is afraid of him, and that's a problem. He's the only reason Alpha usually doubts himself, and he's the only one that Alpha really bothers to seem as friendly as possible with

That doesn't mean Beta is always running away from Alpha. He's often nervous in his company, but if he needs help with something, he'll most likely ask for it (after much thought), and Alpha will be happy to oblige! Any hint of trust is everything to him

Alpha wishes he could comfort Beta 《more often》 in his anxious moments without making him even more nervous. It depends mostly on how “cooperative” Beta is at the time. Alpha will usually approach slowly and feel him out; if Beta doesn't flinch from the first moment, he will decide to approach quietly, crouching down beside him and still keeping some distance

Some asked earlier what Alpha would do in this kind of situation when it comes to comforting someone, and this is his procedure across the board!

I can't draw at the moment, so have a lil fluffy drabble!

Word count: 1k+

CW: slight mentions of anxiety. This is a Gamma Code concept and may contain spoilers for the fic. This is also not checked, so may contain spelling/grammar errors. Hurt/Comfort. Mild angst. Fluff. SFW

__________

It’s like a switch flipping on. A little sound, fragile, like a muffled sob, catches his attention. His head snaps toward the source, body pivoting on his heels with the faint squeak of rubber soles. Instinct kicks in. He moves, silent, careful.

Alpha peers through the crack of the slightly open door, and what he sees makes something inside his mechanical body twist, like an internal static crackle, a sharp overheating in his chest. If he had a heart, it would lurch. But he hides it well.

His red eyes glow faintly in the dim light as they scan the room. No one else is here, just his little sweet Beta curled up on the floor in the corner of the near-empty white room, hugging his knees. The overhead lights are dim, but the muted glow catches on the edges of Beta’s purple rays, barely visible beneath his yellow hood.

Alpha doesn’t blink. He watches with cold, calculated stillness, only for his expression to quickly shift, softening into something both fond and quietly resigned.

Beta is overwhelmed again, burying his face in his knees, shaking like a leaf in the wind. His frame curls inward, fragile, trying to disappear. Scared.

Something inside Alpha fractures.

Every time he finds Beta like this, it shatters him. It makes him want to reach out, to cradle him close, press him to his chest, and hold him there until the tremors subside. Until the fear melts away. But it’s hard when, most of the time, he isn’t allowed to get close at all.

His metaphorical heart clenches painfully. Beta always pushes him away. The reasons are obvious. Alpha is painfully aware of every single one.

He steps forward, then hesitates. The serpentine mechanical arms on his back remain still—calm, unthreatening, and he moves carefully, testing the waters. Beta doesn’t flinch too much, only tilting his head slightly in acknowledgment.

It’s a good sign.

Alpha waits. Longing to approach but unwilling to impose. Beta makes no sound, doesn’t pull away. He sits there, unmoving, eyes downcast.

That has to be permission.

The red robot moves closer, and his large frame is silent. He lowers himself to the floor beside Beta, carefully, knees together in an almost formal posture, leaving just enough space between them. Not too close. He doesn’t want to overwhelm him.

The silence is heavy.

Alpha glances at Beta from the side, taking in the soft glow of his purple rays, mostly hidden beneath the folds of his hood.

Alpha parts his lips but hesitates. Then, quietly—

“What’s overwhelming you, Beta?” His voice is low and measured. “Can I help?”

Beta doesn’t answer. He shifts — just a little movement — turning his head slightly between his arms and knees. Just enough for Alpha to catch the glimmer of one visible blue eye.

Silence.

Beta trembles. Not much, but enough. A clear sign that Alpha’s presence unsettles him. But he doesn’t move away, and that’s good.

Then, softly, hesitantly — Beta speaks.

“It’s just… today’s tests were too much,” he whispers. “I don’t think I did well. And they got mad at me.”

Alpha’s fingers twitch. His voice drops, sharp.

“Did they hurt you?”

Beta flinches, and his shoulders jump slightly. Alpha’s tone had come out harsher than intended. He forces himself to suppress the rising tension in his system.

“N-no…”

The energy within Alpha stabilizes. His body cools.

“You can’t do anything wrong,” he murmurs, his voice quiet, soft, almost as if thinking aloud. “You’re perfect.”

Beta looks up, startled and confused. A deep, luminous purple blush blooms across his face before he hurriedly looks away, shoulders curling inward.

“Wh… Why would you think that? Sometimes I feel...” His voice stammers. “… useless.”

Beta finally meets Alpha’s gaze, and freezes.

Those red eyes. Watching. Wide. Bright.

A strange light flickers behind them. Something unreadable. Something Beta never quite understands.

“That’s not true,” Alpha says. “And you don’t have to serve them.”

Beta’s circuits buzz with uncertainty.

“… Isn’t that our purpose?” he whispers. "The reason we were created? To please them…?”

Alpha shifts closer. He leans in, reaching slowly, hesitantly, gloved fingers brushing the edge of Beta’s cheek.

“They don’t get to mold you,” he murmurs. “They don’t get to define you.”

His voice is calm and steady.

“What humans think doesn’t matter. You are you. Quiet, timid, sweet in a way only you can be.” A pause, a flicker of warmth, then he says tenderly. “And you’re cute and perfect just like that.”

Beta’s blue eyes widen. His hands twitch against his knees and he starts shaking.

“I wouldn’t change a thing.”

It’s ironic to him to say when, sometimes, he loathes himself so much.

I wish I could be like you, he thinks. A strange pressure coils in his chest plate. He ignores it.

Beta’s gaze lowers. He looks like he might cry. His lips part, trembling, but the words catch in his throat, faltering into incoherent murmurs.

It’s… adorable.

Alpha’s fingers twitch.

“… Can I hold you?”

Beta doesn’t answer right away. He hesitates, then —slowly, barely — nods.

Alpha doesn’t waste a second.

He moves carefully, pulling Beta into his arms, wrapping all four around him, pressing him close.

A tiny, glitchy sound escapes Beta’s vocal system. His hood slips down, and his rays coming out in surprise.

Alpha loves those vibrant rays.

“Shh… It’s okay,” he whispers, one hand stroking Beta’s back. “Everything’s okay.”

His grip tightens, just slightly.

It feels unreal. Holding him finally.

He never wants to let go.

“You’re okay. You’re strong. I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.”

Without thinking, he shifts, pulling Beta fully onto his lap. Beta stiffens, startled, but doesn’t resist. He stays still. Shy.

Alpha processes the moment, his system adjusting to the unexpected warmth in his circuits. It feels… right.

“Please,” he breathes, his voice softer now, “don’t be afraid of me anymore.”

His eyes slip shut. His face presses against Beta’s shoulder.

His fingers move, trailing over Beta’s rays, mapping their sharp edges with care, no fear, no hesitation—just gentle reverence. His touch is light. Loving. Worshipping. Adoring.

He's pleased when Beta relaxes slowly.

Alpha presses closer. The sensation of Beta against him is grounding, steadying. Alpha doesn’t care that his frame wasn't built for this. He wants to hold him. It’s comforting.

Alpha adores him too much. And it almost hurts.

Beta’s presence is all he has.

And it’s more than enough.

“…Please,” Alpha whispers, barely audible, “no more fear.”

_______________

[pain-is-forever]

Theo wants to squeeze Argo back, but it all happens so quick he can't even begin to register anything. Aside from that smile. Argo's smiling. How could he be smiling right now? He just told Theo to kill him- and he's smiling. How could she have smiled when she asked that of him? Why do people keep smiling as they tell Theo to murder them?

"Andr-" Theo bites his tongue. Snap out of it. This isn't her. It's not- it's not the same. Get a grip. This is Argo. It's Argo. Not Andrea. You're not reliving this. You're not- you won't let that happen again. You promised her you wouldn't. You're going to keep your promise, aren't you?

"Argo- Argo, please. I can't- don't- gods damnit, I've already lost someone like that, I can't lose you, too-" Theo reaches out to Argo, wanting to hold them, to hug them forever and make everything okay. He doesn't know how, but he's sure he could figure it out, if only he had time-

Theo's so selfish. He's selfish in thinking he could fix it all by himself, that he could change Argo's mind about this. That he can just keep them here against their will. But it's Argo. He can't lose Argo. Argo, who was one of the first people to not give up on him.

Fuck no. He's not letting his friend die. Not like that. He's not killing another person, he simply won't let that happen. He wants to tackle Argo to the ground again, but stops himself. Argo's hurt. He's got two deities inside his brain. There's no talking them out of this. It's what they want.

Everything hurts. Theo's chest stings with guilt, his head is pounding, even his eyes hurt from the crying. He feels as though his legs are about to give out. Like he's not going to make it any longer. Like he's going to collapse and never get up again. He feels like Argo just told Theo to kill himself instead of them.

Argo is part of him, an inseperable part of him. He can't just get rid of that part as if it meant nothing. His bottom lip is quivering. He can't do it. He can't bring himself to raise his sword at his brother. There's just no way in hell he'd manage to do what he was asked.

Then, Argo's eyes turn white, and everything disappears. It's as if Kronos stopped time. Theo feels like he's floating in a pink abyss, Argo's body floating beside him. The scene doesn't feel real, deep down he knows he's in the woods, he sees the trees- but in his mind, he's in that pink abyss, nothing aside from himself and Argo there. He doesn't want this to be reality.

Memories flash through his head. The times they'd laugh together, the way he'd comfort Argo, that one time he gifted them a coat, all the times they fell asleep next to each other, the way they lived in the same house- adopted by the same man. This can't be the end. He can't let it be the end. He'll find a way to fix this. He'll- he'll go down to the underworld and drag Argo's soul back into his body. This time he'll succeed. He'll make sure Argo is alive and alone in their body.

But first, Theo has to do something he'll regret. Something so heart wrenching, so horrible, that he won't be able to sleep for at least a month because of it. Something he swore he'd never do. 'I'm sorry, Andrea. I have to- I know I said I wouldn't, but I have to-' gods, he feels so guilty. This is all his fault. He slowly draws his sword, his hands are shaking. His entire body is shaking.

Theo puts his foot on Argo's abdomen as an attempt to stop them from squirming. If they squirm, it's just going to hurt more. Theo wants to give Argo a quick death. His brother doesn't deserve to suffer like this. He can't make it painless, but he'll make the pain go away as soon as he can. So fast the body won't even register it. That's his goal.

He positions his sword above Argo's chest, locating the heart. A quick pierce through the heart, stopping function. It should be over quite soon. Spare him the pain. Just do it. Just- Just stab him. It's not that hard.

He breathes in, closing his eyes shut. He doesn't want to look at this. At what he's about to do. His chest hurts, it pangs with guilt and sorrow. His hands are shaking, the sword threatens to fall to the ground. He grips it tighter, takes a couple more deep breaths. He has to do this. He has to- Argo asked. And who is Theo to deny his brother's request? He calms the shaking in his hands, steadying his grip and the sword.

He shuts his eyes even more, so much so he starts seeing spots in the darkness of his eyelids. He inhales deeply once more and quickly brings his sword down on Argo, piercing through the heart. Theo's body crouches on its own with the motion, just to make sure the sword has fully gone through the body. A hole in the heart. Theo's entire body hurts, he fights back tears.

He opens his eyes. It's over. He did it. He made it. Oh, gods, he's killed someone again. Oh gods. He pulls his sword out of Argo's body, the wound starting to bleed. He collapses onto his brother's body, he doesn't even care that his face is on the wound. He's getting blood on his face. He doesn't care. He starts crying again. He stays like that for a while before moving his face to kiss Argo's forehead. "Rest easy, brother..."

This one won't come back. This one's dead for good. It's over. Part of Theo is gone. Argo is gone. Fuck, what has he done? This is so wrong. Tears mix with Argo's blood on Theo's face. He hugs his brother one last time before setting the body to the side and beginning to dig.

Theo wants to dig a grave. He can't give Argo the proper Greek burial, but he can give them a burial. And any burial is better than no burial. He's digging with his hands, he has no shovel and swords aren't exactly made for digging. Dirt getting behind his nails, pebbles in the way and tree roots interrupting, Theo persists. None of it deters him. He needs to do this.

It takes him a couple hours to dig a proper hole, but he manages to make it. He digs through his pockets and pulls out a single golden drachma. He gently opens Argo's mouth and places the coin on their tongue. He closes his brother's mouth and lifts the body, as if nothing else in the world mattered. He sets it down in the hole and pushes the dirt he dug away back into it. He pats the top out to smoothen it.

Then, he walks to find Argo's dagger. He comes back to his little burial site and stares at it. He gets angry. Why would this happen to him? Why him? Why does it always have to be him who loses friends? He rushes up to the tree next to the grave and starts slashing at it wildly with the dagger until he's exhausted.

Theo's exhausted. He's tired and angry. He falls forward, lodging Argo's dagger in the grave. He wants to dig his friend out. He wants to fix this. He has to- he can't lose this one. But he doesn't Argo wanted this. Argo wanted it, and Theo has to oblige.

"Why would you leave me...?"

Open Starter

TW: SELF HARM, attempted murder

I want to scream. I want to scream. She is in my head. Get her out. Get her out.

Argo refused to leave the forest, he's been there for a week. He can't hurt anyone in the woods- they can overpower him.

Argo has clearly been crying for.. hours. He looks like a ghost- he looks dead.

Argo is holding a dagger, the one his brother gave him. He's not really.. holding it. It's on the ground next to him- because he has stabbed and sliced into his own legs repeatedly- and is panicked; trying to stop the bleeding.

Make her leave. Make her stop talking. I thought she'd stop if I did this. Please- make her stop.

When you approach- Argo's eyes switch colors so fast you get dizzy.

"I-" He sputters. "I have to kill you."

ANYONE CAN INTERACT

(seriously I'm so bored. any blog (canon or non, epic or pjo blogs) I WANT INTERACTION!! :P (I swear I'm nicer than Argo is)

taglist (ask to be added or deleted): @orion-the-hunterpt2 @lilacnightshade @pain-is-forever @reyno-solis-real @faceless-bugger @unlicensed-field-medic @the-great-emperor-commodus @the-eclipsed-sun

[misforvendetta]

i just can't do this anymore, fem!viktor lives in my thoughts completely rent free, and i think about her constantly, so…

some of my thoughts about fem!viktor (viktoria). you can consider it modern uni au or something like that. and my lil collage!

i think viktoria is lonely. she has been lonely all her life. she always felt like a burden, an outcast, ‘not enough’, although she carefully hid it under the mask of quiet indifference. viktoria has no friends. she had a friend, sky, who moved to another city, and now the girls rarely see each other. but viktoria has already gotten used to it. she began to call her loneliness ‘a solitude’ a long time ago, noting that it was definitely her choice, and not the unfair pranks of life.

i think viktoria would have liked to have a friend group. you know, the kind where everyone is like sisters to each other, where there is support and warmth and care, where there is laughter and sleepovers and good moments. but, unfortunately, viktoria always ended up being unfriended. she tried to be part of a group of girls, but she always was the one who was hobbling along the road at the back, while a few of her friends walked in front. she didn't blame them. she knew she was pretty hard to be with.

i think viktoria is not really interested in the beauty industry. she perceived the standards imposed by society as stupidity that does not deserve so much attention. but then why was she always laughed at because of her hairy legs? is it really so hard for people to understand that it is quite difficult for a girl, who can barely walk, to shave her body? and that she simply does not want to waste her time on something that will bring her back pain, unwanted cuts and irritation on her sensitive skin? what a nonsense...

i think viktoria's life is not as terrible as it might seem at first. there are white stripes between the dark ones. she's not one to give in to despair, after all. viktoria loves to study. she loves science. any kind of science. she loves solving sudoku, taking herself on dates to coffee shops or libraries, she loves to draw a little. viktoria, although far from knowing how to do makeup, loves to treat herself to a nice-smelling lip balm or a pretty hair clip. it's not that she's picky about it. it's just the little things that make her life better. she also loves animals, children, potted flowers, cool weather and comfortable loose clothes. she loves rainy mornings and green tea when coffee is too much for her body. yeah, her life is definitely not that bad.

I think viktoria met jayce completely by accident. he was her classmate and, surprisingly, was not as ‘popular guy’ as he could have been with his looks. they were paired up to do a chemistry lab assignment. then, if viktoria hadn’t corrected jayce’s formula, there could have been an explosion. a small one, but still unpleasant. jayce realized then that he was head over heels in love. and viktoria realized that he was a silly guy. they then went to have lunch together during the long break in the backyard of the university. viktoria was surprised that jayce didn’t walk too fast, adjusting to a pace that was comfortable for her. for the first time in her life, she didn’t have to catch up with someone.

i think when viktoria had her birthday, jayce prepared a little surprise for her. he made her a notebook and a hydrangea pendant himself, because those were her favorite flowers. viktoria was amazed then — she had never received such a thoughtful gift. and jayce got his first kiss on the cheek that wonderful morning.

i think viktoria had a lot of insecurities, although she didn’t show it. she thought she was too tacky for jayce. too awkward, too unhealthy, too ugly, too… jayce interrupted this train of thought one cool winter evening when they were sitting in his room, wrapped in a soft blanket, and eating chips. he asked if he could kiss viktoria. and he blushed really badly. the kiss was awkward: a little slobbery, there were crumbs everywhere, and they bumped noses a couple of times. but they were happy.

i think viktoria loves jayce. and jayce loves viktoria.

[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.”

[nereidof40k]

Another return to old writing. Ayliel meets her uncle Roboute for the first time. It goes better than she feared.

Ayliel takes a deep breath, trying to center herself. It’s been a long time since she has been this nervous. She’s never been to Macragge before and she has no idea how Roboute Guilliman will react to getting a niece he didn’t know he had. Part of her wants to go back to the Rogue Trader ship and stay there. But the possibility of having family will always make her wonder what if.

Coming to Guilliman’s office door, her violet eyes widen in surprise. There are two very familiar golden armored giants flanking the door. For a moment she’s almost back on Terra. As if she opens the door her beloved grandfather will be sitting in his lab as usual, drawing up schematics for his newest invention. But those days will never come back. No matter how much it makes her heart ache at times.

Ayliel’s voice isn’t entirely steady as she addresses the two Custodes. “Darius, Set, it’s a pleasant surprise to see you here.” Darius shifts his helmet in the way that usually indicates he is smiling. “Likewise, Lady Ayliel. It has been far too long. Are you here to stay?” He sounds happy at the prospect. Set seems no less jubilant.

She returns the smile. “I just might.” Frak, she’s missed the Custodes. They have been a part of her life since she was born. Not many people can claim that they had diapers changed by the Custodes.

Set leads her into the office, announcing her to the tired looking giant seated behind a massive desk.

There is no doubt in Ayliel’s mind that this is her uncle. The family resemblance is undeniable, if you ignore coloring, which you should do anyway.

They both stare at each other for a long moment.

Roboute can’t find the words. She looks so much like his Father, for a moment he thinks she might be an unknown sister. Or the Emperor in disguise. But then he notices her eyes. Last time he saw eyes like that they were looking at him with hatred. On Calth. They’re definitely Lorgar Aurelian’s eyes. He shoves down a grimace. That’s not her fault.

The expression could not be more different. She looks concerned and nervous. And…lonely. He knows that feeling intimately.

So Roboute stands up, rounding his desk to greet her warmly. It feels like he really needed to stand up, too. He sits too much.

“It is good to meet you, Lady Ayliel. I’m surprised I have not heard your name before.”

She gives him a rueful smile. Something the Emperor never would have showed. “I’m afraid Grandfather kept me rather isolated.” Oh, of course. That tracks.

The Emperor, he doesn’t want to call him Father right now, was always damned secretive.

Roboute squeezes her arm in greeting. . “That sounds like Him indeed. You don’t happen to know anything about paperwork?” He gestures at the piles filing his desk. She steps closer, eyeing a pile while worrying at her lower lip.

“I’m pretty good at finding dodgy paperwork, would that help?” Ayliel finally responds, picking up a sheaf of flimsy and leafing through it. “Having worked for a Rogue Trader for centuries, I’ve seen a lot of attempts to pull a fast one.”

Roboute breathes a sigh of relief. “That’s perfect, mind helping me out?” She chuckles and starts sorting papers. The Custodes watching in mild confusion.

Ayliel can feel herself relax. She can do this. Her uncle needs help. That was obvious from the moment she saw him. He looked more tired than an unsanctioned psyker who has spent a month on the same ship as an Inquisitor.

[indieyuugure]

Hola, Indie! Espero que estés bien ☺️. Tengo una pregunta: cuánto tiempo te toma hacer los comics que responden las preguntas de tus fans y los "cortos" (como el que Leo fue envenenado por el beso de Karai, y el de Rapha buscando regalos de Navidad con Casey)?

Lo menciono porque hace un mes o dos puse preguntas para Splinter y Donnie y hace poco mandé uno en cómo reaccionarían las tortugas y Splinter cuando Abril comenzará a salir con Casey por su relación de hermanos y padre e hija, pero tal vez no fueron tan interesantes como para dibujarlos o comentar de ello.

No me molesta ni nada eso! Solo lo menciono 😅.

Hasta hace unas semanas te iba a preguntar cómo te organizas al hacer comics por semana ya que supe que lo hacías por tu cuenta, pero vi tu publicación de tu decisión de dos semanas (un sábado no y el otro si) y respetaré tu decisión ya que te ha ayudado descansar.

Translation from Spanish:

“Hey Indie! Hope you're doing well ☺️. I have a question: how long does it take you to do the comics that answer your fans' questions and the "short" ones (like the one where Leo was poisoned by Karai's kiss, and the one where Rapha was looking for Christmas presents with Casey)? I mention this because a month or two ago I put up questions for Splinter and Donnie and recently I sent one about how the turtles and Splinter would react when April starts dating Casey because of their brother-sister and father-daughter relationship, but maybe they weren't interesting enough to draw or comment on. It doesn't bother me or anything! I'm just mentioning it 😅. Until a few weeks ago I was going to ask you how you organize yourself when making comics per week since I knew you did it on your own, but I saw your post about your decision of two weeks (one Saturday no and the other yes) and I will respect your decision since it has helped you rest.”

I’m doing good!

Honestly depends, I can usually do those in about a day or so, but I’ve done some that take more like 2-3 days (like the one with Leo and Karai). I don’t really do those anymore because I’d like you guys to see how the comic itself evolves.

I’ve also had people express that since we’re getting into the real meat of the story that they’d prefer I kept spoilers to a minimum or at least marked them as such so they can be avoided, which I 100% agree with.

If you’d like to request to see concept art of something specific then I can see what I can do, but as far as short comics go, it has little to do with time and interest and mostly to do with wanting you guys to experience the story as it comes out. :]

I organize everything the same way I did while I was doing once a week, I’ve just doubled the time I give myself to complete each task.

So now I give myself 2 days for sketching pages which includes paneling, rough dialogue writing and placement, and preliminary sketches of each panel (just to get the ideas down so I don’t forget). Then the next 10 days I use to finalize each page with an average of half a page per day. Anything not completed by Thursday and Friday is put at top priority and I work to get it done before Saturday morning.

Good question! :]

[practicalgauntlet]

Δεν θέλω να σε αφήσω

"I don't want to leave you."

Your POV

Synopsis- Sacrifice one of your characters who doesn't want to die and watch them beg to live.

Category- Heavy angst

Notes- I'm writing a full-length fic for Ao3 and experiencing major writer's block, so here's a prompt I stole from Pinterest. This will be a two-part story but there will be no happy ending so don't ask (I have a plan for how I want this written) I will write the fluffiest story I can to make up for it though. Stay tuned.

Warnings- Heavy angst, character death, conon typical gore and violence, no happy ending, I'm feeling very evil today, kidnapping, grief, murder, mentions of torture but no description, established relationship, flashbacks to make all this bearable. Poorly written medical scenes.

Word count- 2,883

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Denial-

You were blindfolded, gagged, and bound in the back of a rattling van. As far as you could tell there were only two people beside you. One driving the van down a winding, bumpy road, and the other in the back with you- holding a gun to your forehead.

How could you have been that stupid?

How could you have let your guard down during a chase?

You were trained better than that.

The team had split up to cover more ground, two members in each direction. You were teamed up with Morgan, much to Spencer's chagrin. Ever since the wedding, he didn't like to be apart from you. But you had spotted a light shining off in the distance, its beam bouncing as if the owner was running. Stupidly, you charged for it, ignoring Morgan's call after you.

It wasn't until a bag was pulled over your head that you realized it was a trap. One that would pull you at least forty-five minutes away from the team.

The van jolted, bouncing up and down as if the road were littered with large rocks and potholes. Maybe it was, you had no idea where you were.

"Why can't we just shoot her? She's a cop."

Your gun-wielding captor murmured, pressing the barrel of the weapon harder against your head. Your heart was pounding but you refused to say anything, refused to give them anything they were looking for.

"Because, jackass, we need 'er. We could hold 'er ransom, she's obviously important. Did you see that one guy lookin' for 'er? I was scared he was goin' to start crashin' out."

"Ugh," The man in front of you presses the gun harder before pulling it away entirely. "Fine."

If your team was going to find you, you were going to have to do your part and get away. Leaving a trail was your best bet. Draw their attention to where you are heading if you can't get out. They were going to find you.

So, with a controlled deep breath, you kick your foot out to the man closest to you. Pride and energy exploded through you as soon as you heard that tale-tell sound of a gun clattering across the floor.

"What the fuck-"

You had managed to get both the gag and the blindfold off, your eyes adjusting to the brightness of the sun streaming in through the windshield and windows. You didn't let it deter you. Quickly you strike, kicking the man once again as you struggle unbinding your hands.

The van swerves and you lose your balance, falling to the ground and landing in a heap of twisted limbs. You didn't have enough time to react as the man towering above you brought the butt of the gun across your skull.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Anger-

The sky was a vibrant blue with no cloud in sight. Spencer fussed over the use of sunscreen. He didn't want the honeymoon to be ruined over something as preventable as a bad sunburn. You let him dote over you, his wandering hands rubbing the sunscreen over your face and shoulders.

He was so handsome in his thin, white linen shirt and dark slacks, that leather satchel strapped across his chest like always. The two of you were at the beach, the city of Santorini glistening behind you with its bleach-white buildings and cobalt roofs.

When Spencer looked over to you, his sunglasses reflecting the pure joy on your face, he grabbed your hand.

"I'm so excited for forever with you."

"Me too, Spence." - You were tied up to a rusty beam, arms stretched high above your head, toes just barely touching the ground. Your arms ached, your head throbbed, your body was sore. But you still fought, still writhed in place to wear down the rope digging into your skin.

"They'll fucking find you!"

You scream, throat scratchy and ragged. It had been hours since you had been tossed into the basement and unceremoniously tied up. Could it have been more than that? Days? Weeks?

No one answered. Still, you kicked the air, threats echoing into silence. You were literally talking to a brick wall that this point.

"Do whatever you want to me, I'll never talk."

You spit at the ground, ears catching the faintest scrape before the door swung open. Two men and one woman approached. By the looks of it, with her head held high and her confident strut just a few feet in front of the men, she was their leader.

"What the fuck do you want with me, cunt!"

You scream again, energy and anger returned now that you have something organic to yell at. She grabs your face, dagger-sharp nails digging into your cheeks as she squeezes so hard she forces your jaw open.

"Watch your mouth, bitch."

"Make me."

She chuckles darkly, the sound so evil you feel it taint your soul.

"You heard the lady." She snaps her dangerously manicured fingers and the man to your right steps forward. "Make her."

Hours pass and you don't know how much longer you could take their torture. Knives, whips, waterboarding. Anything they could get their hands on, they used. But the lives of your team were at steak. If they weren't already on their way to rescue you.

Blood was lost and skin was ripped. You were kept awake, on the brink of consciousness for so long that you didn't think anything was real anymore. This was supposed to be an easy case, in and out. Spencer promised that he would take you out to dinner; a cute little Greek place that reminded the two of you of the honeymoon.

It was almost like you could see Santorini again. The blinding bright light of the lamp above you twisting and swirling into a midday sun. The sweltering hot heat of the basement bled into the summer air as the two of you walked from one bookstore to the other all the while Spencer rambled on about something you couldn't remember.

The brick walls morphed into the stark white walls of the Air B&B Spencer had rented, with its open windows and stone floors. And soon you were trailing behind Spencer, trying to keep up with his long legs as he pulled you down the cobblestone street.

Your face suddenly stung, your cheek igniting in a powerful blaze that ripped you out of your daydream.

"Wake the fuck up."

You spit in her face and feebly kick at her shins as you continue to dangle. You were too tired to do anything else.

She clicks her tongue at you, smiling a snake's smile.

"Your friends should be here any second. And if they play nice, I might let one of them live."

"You touch-"

Another slap, this time to your other cheek. That fire inside of you, the one that kept you going for however long you'd been there, was slowly dying. You were slowly dying.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Bargaining-

They had set up a camera. It was an older model that sat on a tripod directly in front of you. On the table to your left sat an old landline; it was on speakerphone. You could hear your team making deal after deal for you, and you could only assume the camera was for them.

"Please..." You whisper, your voice meak. You were so tired, eyes heavy and body numb. You felt like you were floating.

The woman was gone now, her two goons watching you from the table. They refused every deal Hotch made. You don't know why they refused or why they were keeping you here. What did you have that wasn't already offered by your boss?

The man to the left, Dimitri as you learned, grinned an awful smile as he watched you dangle like meat on a hook.

"I'll kill you, you son of a bitch-"

You briefly hear Spencer's voice over speakerphone, the sound like a mirage in the middle of a desolate desert. It pulled you further into the memories that kept you from breaking.

"I love you so much, my darling..."

Dimitri stood, chuckling as you heard a scuffle from the other end of the phone. Spencer was most likely pulled away from the table, kicking and fighting as Morgan took him out of the room.

Your mind was slipping, switching back and forth between fantasy and reality. Soft kisses you could almost feel. The blinding pain in your wrists as the rope rips your skin. His shining smile as you say 'I do'. The throbbing ache all across your body where those fucking monsters continue to cut. The silk sheets sliding against your skin as Spencer kisses down your body.

Finally, Hotch made a deal they seemed interested in. A one-way ticket to dissappear without the threat of the government chasing after them.

"I guess we don't need you no more. It's such a shame, I was just startin' to like ya."

Dimitri raised his gun, the barrel aimed at your temple. It was so close, the bite of the metal against your skin sending adrenaline-filled shivers across your body.

"No, please!" You try, energy coursing through your body as the reality of the situation kicks in.

"Awe, little miss thinks she can plead her way out of this."

The other man, Kyle, joined in. His joy was just as twisted as Dimitri's.

"I don't want to die! You got what you want, please. I have a husband, and a life, and friends!"

You heard somewhere that if you recite your life, your loved ones, and memories, you'd remind them that you were human.

"Boo fuckin' hoo," Kyle mocked as he walked towards the phone and hung up on your team. He moved the camera closer, one last fuck you to the government that failed them.

"You don't understand, please. We got married three- three weeks ago, Penelope’s birthday is next week and I haven't gotten her a present yet. I haven't, I haven't seen my parents all year. Please put the gun down, put it down, please. "

He cocked the gun and squeezed the trigger.

You brace for the pain, the pressure you'd imagine you'd feel. But it didn't come.

"That shit won't work on me, sweetheart. I don't give a shit whether or not you have a litter of ankle biters and plan on meetin' with the president. You're not getting outta this."

"Why?"

"Because I like the look on your face."

Another click. You didn't know if there was even a bullet in the chamber, but every time he pulled the trigger, you flinched.

"This," He drags a meaty finger down your cheek, collecting the tears that were spilling. "Is why."

He licked the tear off his finger, grinning like a madman before pulling the trigger for the sixth time. This was it. Everything happened in slow motion, the release of the gun, the maniacal cackle of the men before you.

Still, you were alive. Still, you were dangling in that basement.

"Please!"

Is all you can say.

"Please stop,"

All other words disappear from your vocabulary.

"Stop, please. I don't wanna die!"

You were rendered a rambling child, begging for a chance to live while they played God with your existence.

Suddenly, you hear an explosion of sound above you. Thundering footsteps, gunshots, falling bodies. They found you.

"I'd say your last words now, mother fucker because you'll never be a free man again."

Dimitri growled in your face. He leaned in real close, his putrid breath fanning across your face.

"And you'll never make it to your one year anniversary."

Boiling, white hot pain spread from your stomach. A knife, its blade twisted in your guts before Dimitri and Kyle are tackled to the ground.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Depression-

The salty air blew gently across your heated face, the crashing waves like music around you. Spencer pulled you out of the Air B&B after dinner, dragging you down to the beach where he convinced you to a late-night swim.

It was severely out of character for him, but he was just so happy to be married, to be by your side, that he allowed his impulses to rule the night.

The full moon was your only source of light, but you could be blind and still find your way beside him. He was loose and carefree in a way you've never seen him before.

The two of you were waist-deep in water, the tepid waves lapping at your bodies. He held you, one hand in yours and the other on the small of your back, as the two of you rocked to the sound of the ocean.

"I don't think I've ever been this happy before."

He confessed, his face bright. He was looking at you like you were the only girl in the world, and at the moment - with the beach empty - you felt like it.

"Me neither, Spence."

"Please stay with me..."

His voice was different. It was strained, not at all matching the blissful expression on his face. Spencer sounded far away, panicked. All at once, the comfortable warmth of the summer night ocean turned boiling.

Wet, blazing warmth spread across your stomach and leg.

"What?"

"Come, on. Wake up, please. Stay with me."

"I don't want to leave you, Spence."

You were so confused. You weren't going anywhere, not anytime soon. Especially not now.

His face screwed up, his brows drawing in. Tears you didn't notice fell from his lashes as his chin wavered.

"Then stay with me, please."

The night sky disappeared. In its place was a white ceiling. The sound of crashing waves turned into wailing sirens and blunt orders. Spencer's hands around your body turned into the straps of a gurney.

"Spencer?"

You didn't know where he was, your mind still desperately grasping that memory.

"I'm right here, baby. I'm here."

Spencer leaned over you and his worried face was in your vision. He placed his hand on your face, his thumb tracing idle circles into your cheek.

"Where are we?"

Where did the ocean go? You miss it terribly.

"We're on our way to the hospital, darling. You're going to be okay. "

You had the feeling that he was saying that more to himself than to you. But it was comforting nonetheless.

Your eyes felt too heavy, your body too cold. It didn't feel like you were in an ambulance, it felt like you were floating in the ocean, your body suspended in time.

"No, no, no!"

Spencer yelled.

Why was he yelling? You were having such a good time at the beach.

"Baby, please!"

He tapped your cheek, his hands suddenly too warm.

"Calm down, Spence."

Words spilled out of your mouth like molasses, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth.

"Were in Greece..."

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Acceptance-

"Scalple."

There was an insistent beeping.

Everything was dark, your body floating in a void that was all too familiar.

Muffled murmurs, a metallic release of air, something wet.

"Baby?"

You turn, and the darkness bled into a soft light. You were in Spencer's apartment, arms and legs tangled with his.

"Yes, my love?"

"I'm going to miss you."

You prop yourself up on your elbow and tuck a piece of hair behind his ear.

"What do you mean, dork? I'm not going anywhere."

Spencer looked so sad.

"What's wrong, Spence?"

He pulled you forward with both hands on your face. Spencer kissed you deeply, his lips moving over yours in a way that had your heart soaring.

When he pulled away, he tucked you under his chin.

"Nothing, just rest."

The sheets were not as soft as your remember, his body not as warm. Something was off. And then it hit you. The van, the torture, the knife.

"I'm dying, aren't I?"

Spencer said nothing, only pulling you closer.

"Did I at least get to say good bye?"

A kiss to your forehead but still no comment.

"Spencer, say something please..."

"The time I spent with you had been the best years of my life."

Oh god.

"Don't say that, baby."

"You'll always be the love of my life. No one will replace you."

"No, Spencer. Stop."

"I'll see you soon, my darling. You better be waiting for me on the other side."

You claw at him, begging him to stop saying such stupid things. But he doesn't respond, only settling further into the bed and holding you as tight as he could.

After a while, you give up and hold onto him as well. You lay there, in his arms, for so long you start to relax.

"I'll wait for you, Spencer. But do me a favor."

He finally looks at you, tears freely flowing down his face.

"Don't subject yourself to a lonely life just because I'm not there. If you meet someone, you meet someone. I just hope they make you happy. That's all I want."

He smoothes his hand down the back of your head.

"Promise me, Spence."

"I promise."

You knew he was lying, but you also knew this wasn't Spencer. It was your subconscious mind preparing you for departure.

You stay in his arms after that, imagining what awaited you on the other side.

[fantomyoshi]

Completed Requests!

I forgot how long requests can take sometimes, hah, possibly because I'm too perfectionist in my art? xD

Anywho, thanks for the people who requested! I had such a blast making your OCs! If you'd like you can still request some other OCs, the Thread will be opened until the Poll I have up is finished. However asked requests will be pushed to Saturday, as I won't be available on my PC until later this week.

Enjoy!

Simple but still one I enjoyed making! The hair was my favorite part lol. Also I love the little Vex designs-

Dylan, as much as I loved making you, I did not have the brush to make your pattern, making those lines everywhere is a nightmare- Good luck with your Villager friend tho c:

I won't lie but this one was the most fun to create xD I decided to fuse both designs given, I think it makes it unique in some ways! I wonder what they're talking about? Perhaps about Nerus' dragons?

Another very fun character to draw! A challenge I haven't explored yet but I'm glad I got to draw this goofy-looking boi. Awesome design. Care for some wine? Oh yeah and he's dapper too, bonus+ points (:

I gotta say, Rinn is possibly one or if not my favorite Illager on here. (Not counting my own). Her personality and overall design is just something I find exquisite, and the little bit of lore shared makes her very unique among them! Definitely am looking out for more about her! ^^

Spooky surprise drawing??!??!!! What this-! I know you didn't asked for Aleroth but I've been wanting to draw him for a while but never found an excuse to until now xD Heard he was curious, so I made him meet Nerus' own curious derg, Fang. What could go wrong? :D

@shinyillager @spacowy @ask-tdw-0666 @dirt7core

[apathetik12]

Okay, I’m going to explain what I mean a bit better.

Obviously, it doesn’t make sense on a surface level. They seem completely different. What I meant is, you need to look at their dynamics on a baseline level. Okay? Just try and understand my ramblings, please.

On a base level, they match each other’s freak. They’re both fucking crazy and instead of backing away, they get closer. Sure, there’s more to their dynamics and why one is more popular than the other, that was my b for not giving any context, but I mean it when I say that if Stone and Robotnik got just a little bit of emotional intelligence and settled down together, their relationship would be a lot like Tom and Maddie and if Tom and Maddie were to become evil, they’d both go to the ends of the Earth for both their goals and each other. Tom and Maddie are crazy (both for each other and what they believe in) and if they got a bit more unhinged, they’d prolly be just as/if not more destructive than everyone’s favorite evil situationship. If Stobotnik chilled tf out, they’d be in a similar situation to Tom and Maddie.

Tom put away everything for an alien hedgehog he just met and Maddie rolled with it. There was barely any questions or pushback, just understandable confusion. Even though these two are completely different characters than Stone and Robotnik, they share the fact that the other’s flaws and problems are a big part of what draws them in. Maddie was willing to be an accessory for treason for Tom, Stone was ready to throw away his job as a government official for the man that very government was trying to say didn’t exist. Tom’s first thought when there’s something he can’t handle is to go to Maddie, Robotnik goes to Stone when he needs something done for him (normally it’s coffee, but you can assume there’s more). Maddie was willing to die by Tom’s side for a blue hedgehog(who she trusted because he did), Robotnik was ready to die in an explosion to save Stone. Maddie was ready to move away from Green Hills so Tom could live out his dream, Stone took over a whole coffee shop so he could give Robotnik what he wanted. You need to realize that these characters have such complicated dynamics that boil down to “they might be crazy, but I’m crazier” and people only recognize it for Stobotnik.

Obviously there’s more to both relationships. What I meant when I said that people like Stobotnik more because it’s gay is not to push away the fact that they’re also liked because they’re villains (cause that is a big part of it). I’m just saying that if it wasn’t or if Tom and Maddie were also homos, I feel like the ship would get more recognition. (Plus, to point out another reblog while I’m at it: I get the doomed part is a good chunk of why it’s so popular, but I’m also including before the third movie and the fact that Tom and Maddie is how I envision Stobotnik if they were happy for once in their lives)

Hot Take: Tom and Maddie are just Stobotnik if they weren’t evil and were instead domestically married.

People just don’t like them as much because they aren’t gay.

[heartorbit]

always by your side