#I like her. Am going to keep her. What to name her though...

[knightyoomyoui]

[+18] "The Melody Of Touch" (COMMISSIONED)

ft. TWICE's Minatozaki Sana (x Male Reader & other TWICE members)

TYPE: Fluff, Smut

WORD COUNT: 7286

COMMISSION REQUEST BY: @vl-45

DONATE OR REQUEST FOR COMMISSION HERE: https://ko-fi.com/knightyoomyoui DESCRIPTION: Y/N, a blind TWICE fan whose world is shaped by sound and emotion, not sight. After a heartfelt encounter at a fan sign, Y/N forms a rare and deeply personal connection with all nine members... especially Sana. As love, loyalty, and fame intertwine, both Y/N and TWICE learn that the truest way to be seen… is to be understood beyond appearances.

You have never seen the colors the world raved about, but you’ve heard them.

The world had always spoken in vibrations. The buzz of the city’s heartbeat underfoot, the hush of falling rain like a whispered secret, the softness in someone’s breath when they were about to cry. To you, who had been blind since birth, sound was sight, and feeling was everything.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, felt the way TWICE’s music did.

Each song painted landscapes in your mind.

“Feel Special” shimmered like sunlight on warm skin. Each note from Jihyo’s voice a golden beam that made you sit a little straighter, breathe a little deeper. “Cheer Up” was summer fireworks bursting behind their ribs, chaotic and wild, but joyfully alive. And then there was “One in a Million”, a lullaby dipped in longing. The kind of song that made the world go quiet inside them, reminding you what it meant to feel wanted.

Music was more than entertainment. It was identity. And TWICE, unknowingly, had been a lifeline.

When you got the rare chance to attend a TWICE fan sign, your chest felt too small to hold all the emotion. The event was loud, frantic, filled with fans holding placards and phones. But you weren't there to see. You were there to hear.

With a friend gently guiding you through the crowd and to the table, you clutched an audio recorder instead of a camera, your thumb brushing over the smooth metal like a talisman. It hummed quietly, in rhythm to the heartbeat in your palm. The closer you get to the members, the louder the world seemed to roar, but none of it mattered.

Then came the moment.

“Hello!” a bright voice chirped. “What’s your name?”

It was Dahyun. Her voice sparkled, full of energy and kindness. You introduced yourself, speaking clearly despite the nerves buzzing through you.

One by one, you met each member and they became gentler on conversing with you to sympathise on the fact that you can’t be able to see. Sana’s voice was warm and bubbly, like a fizzy drink tickling the soul. Chaeyoung spoke slowly and curiously, asking you how they found their way through music. Tzuyu was quieter, but her laughter had an elegance that lingered.

Then… Jihyo.

Her voice was different, not louder, not softer… but grounded. Like a lighthouse during a storm.

“You don’t watch our performances?” she asked gently. There wasn’t judgment in her tone, just curiosity.

You smiled slightly. “I feel them instead. The rhythm. The energy. The way your voices rise and fall. That’s how I see you all.”

The air around them seemed to pause.

Jihyo didn’t speak immediately. You could sense her leaning in, as though trying to see you not with her eyes, but with her heart.

“That’s… beautiful,” she finally said, voice thick with something unspoken. “I’ve never thought of it that way.”

You nodded. “It’s just how I live. TWICE is color to me. Even if I don’t know what red or blue is.”

A long moment passed, quiet but full. Jihyo reached for something on the table. Paper, maybe. Then a light brush of contact,  her fingers grazing yours as she placed something in your palm.

“This is… my number. I don’t usually do this, but—” Her voice lowered into a whisper. “Message me. I mean it.”

Your breath caught, unexpected that the idol herself initiated to keep in contact with a fan she just met today. “A-are you sure?”

“I am,” she said, firm but kind. “There’s so much more I want to ask you. So much I want to understand.”

The security guard gently nudged the line forward. Jihyo gave your hand one final squeeze before letting go.

Later that night, in the still of your bedroom, you ran your fingers over the paper. A small Braille sticker had been added on the back by your friend: Jihyo. You smiled, unsure whether the butterflies in your chest were from excitement or disbelief.

You messaged her.

“Hi, this is Y/N. From the fan sign. I don’t even know if this is real, but… thank you. For today.”

They expected silence.

Instead, a voice note came through.

You listened.

“It’s me,” Jihyo said softly. “I’m glad you messaged. I haven’t stopped thinking about what you said. About how you ‘see’ us. It made me wonder if I’ve ever really listened to our music the way you do.”

There was a pause. A soft breath. You can’t believe this is happening, you’re talking privately with a member of the group you stan.

“Would you mind if I… asked more sometime? Or even shared new songs with you before they release? I’d love to hear what you feel.”

You clutched the recorder again. For the first time in a long time, they felt seen.

Without needing to be looked at.

In the days that followed, voice notes became routine. Jihyo’s messages arrived in the mornings, sometimes rambling, sometimes thoughtful. She described her days in detail — not just what she did, but how it felt to do them.

“I was in the practice room today. The floor was cold under my knees. Momo made us rehearse this part like 30 times until my thighs were burning. But it felt good. Like we were sculpting something invisible.”

You replied honestly, openly. You shared how you mapped spaces through echoes, how you knew someone was smiling by the lift in their voice, how music felt different depending on where it hit their body.

“Sometimes a bass line is like thunder in my ribcage,” You explained once. “But your voice in Feel Special? That hits me behind the eyes. Like it’s rewiring something.”

Jihyo didn’t just listen, she responded with wonder.

“That’s incredible. You make it sound like music is a sixth sense.”

What you didn’t expect was for the rest of TWICE to slowly reach out.

First was Dahyun, who sent chaotic voice notes filled with laughter, silly impressions, and random rap freestyles she was practicing. Then Mina, calm and dreamy, who sent recordings of quiet piano melodies and stories she made up to help herself fall asleep. Chaeyoung asked to describe her paintings, what colors felt like emotionally. Jeongyeon sent dorm gossip, giggling through stories that painted hilarious scenes in Y/N’s head.

One by one, they came.

And yet, Jihyo remained the anchor. The quiet tether to all of them.

One night, she sent a note that you played over and over.

“You know, I’ve been doing this job for a long time. I’ve had people say they love me thousands of times. But you… you make me feel like someone is finally listening for the right reasons.”

You sat on the floor for hours after that, the recorder warm in their hand.

The world was still dark. But it was no longer lonely.

You never thought your world would expand beyond sound and touch. But it did through voices that carried warmth, through conversations that didn’t treat blindness as a limitation, but as a different kind of lens.

It began slowly, like petals unfolding.

Jihyo kept her promise. After that first week of exchanging voice notes, she invited you into her world.

“We’re working on something new,” she said one night. “Still rough, but… I want you to hear it before anyone else. Can I send it?”

She didn’t ask if you could handle it, or if they’d understand it. She just trusted.

You listened, sitting in the dark like always, letting the layers wash over you. The demo wasn’t polished as expected, raw vocals, a sparse piano track, the ghost of a beat that hadn’t been finalized. But even in its unfinished state, it moved.

The second chorus dipped unexpectedly, the melody softer than the first, like the singer was folding into herself.

You recorded their thoughts.

“That part where the chords shift and your voice trails off… it sounds like a person pulling back just before they cry. I don’t know if that’s what you meant, but that’s what I felt.”

A few hours later, Jihyo responded, voice low and a little shaken.

“That’s exactly what I meant. You caught it. I didn’t even tell the producer that’s what I was going for.”

From there, something shifted.

The voice messages became longer. More vulnerable. Jihyo began sharing things not just about work, but about herself. Her fears of disappointing fans. Her exhaustion. The loneliness of being a leader in the spotlight.

You listened. Not because you felt obligated, but because you understood. Because the absence of sight had sharpened your ability to hear emotion like a heartbeat under a floorboard.

And Jihyo… she had so much heart.

Words of you reached the rest of TWICE quickly. Not through gossip, but through affection.

“She listens like no one else,” Jihyo told them during practice one day. “She hears more than some people see.”

It was Dahyun who made the first move.

She popped into your inbox with a 40-second voice message that started mid-laugh.

“Okay, okay, I’ve been told you like sound, so I’m officially letting you in on my secret freestyle raps. Don’t judge. No beat. Just chaos.”

You grinned the entire time. Dahyun’s energy was contagious as always, bubbly and wild, like an unshaken soda can ready to burst. Every word she rapped ended with a laugh or an apology.

Then came Mina. Soft, deliberate, as if she were building a safe space with every syllable.

“I don’t sleep well unless I tell myself stories. Sometimes I imagine I’m on a boat, drifting through a foggy lake. No sounds except the water and maybe… a cello playing somewhere in the distance. Do you want me to send those sometimes?”

You did. And she did.

Momo, ever the perfectionist, reached out next. Not to talk, but to ask.

“Can I send you a clip from our rehearsal? It’s just the beat and my footwork. I want to know if it feels balanced. You might notice things I can’t.”

The audio came with the low thump of feet on a polished floor, and the sharp huff of breath in perfect intervals. You sat still, eyes closed, counting the beats. It was slightly off, the pause between the fourth and fifth beat just a hair too long.

“You’re hesitating there,” you replied. “Right before the spin. Maybe you’re second-guessing it?”

Momo sent back a gasp. “I knew something felt off!”

Even Jeongyeon, reserved and guarded, joined in. Her messages were casual, always starting with:

“You’ll never believe what happened in the dorm today.”

She told stories about Sana refusing to share snacks, Chaeyoung sleep-talking about spaghetti, Nayeon trying to get Tzuyu to wear glittery heels. Through her voice, you could feel the camaraderie, the laughter, and the tiredness beneath it. The weight of being “on” all the time.

Tzuyu’s approach was different. Quieter. Thoughtful.

“You’re blind, but you notice emotional shifts. That’s… kind of like psychology. Have you ever thought about how your perception works?”

They had deep conversations about empathy, about social cues, about the mind. You found Tzuyu’s voice steadying, the kind that asked deep questions not to test, but to learn.

And then… there was Sana.

Nayeon didn’t just send messages. She performed them.

“Right now, I’m wearing a pale yellow blouse with little pearly buttons. And my nails are this soft lavender shade. Do you like purple? I feel like it would be your color.”

She described the world like a poet. The way light hit a leaf. The exact motion of her smile. How Sana’s hair bounced when she laughed.

You felt like you were falling into a painting they couldn’t see, but could feel.

Nayeon often ended her messages with “I wish I could show you everything.” and you would respond with “You already are.”

But it was Sana who unraveled them.

Her voice notes weren’t flashy or poetic. They were intimate. Precise.

“Do you know what vocal layering is? In ‘Alcohol-Free,’ my harmony comes in under Jihyo’s in the second verse. You probably feel it more than hear it.”

She explained things like breath control, resonance, how she shaped vowels differently depending on emotion.

One night, you asked something bold.

“Can you sing just your layer from ‘Feel Special’? I want to isolate it in my head.”

A few hours later, a recording came through.

Sana’s voice. Alone. Raw. Just her line, stripped of production.

“You make me feel special…”

It cracked a little at the end. She hadn’t edited it.

You cried quietly as it played again. And again.

The next day, Sana sent a single message:

“It’s scary being heard like that. But with you, it feels safe.”

Jihyo noticed the shift before anyone said anything.

During a late call, she asked gently, “You and Sana… are you okay?”

You hesitated. “We’re… close. I don’t know what it means yet.”

Jihyo didn’t sound hurt. Only thoughtful.

“She’s hard to read sometimes. But if she’s showing you that part of herself, it’s real.”

That night, Jihyo sent a final voice note.

“We all feel safe with you, Y/N. I know it’s unusual. This bond. But I’ve never seen the girls open up like this. Especially not to someone who expects nothing from us but honesty.”

You replied with something simple.

“You’ve given me more than you know.”

And you meant it.

Because for the first time, You weren’t the person people pitied or romanticized as “inspirational.” You were simply known. Heard. Valued.

And TWICE who are idols loved by millions, had found something too:

A way to be themselves with someone who could see them, without ever looking.

At first, no one outside of TWICE knew about you.

You were just a voice on the other end of the line. A presence in private group chats. A pair of unseen ears that made each member feel heard fully and deeply. But you can only orbit stars for so long before someone notices the gravity.

It began with a blurry photo.

A fan had taken a picture of Sana laughing in a café, leaning toward someone who wasn’t visible. The caption simply read:

“Who is she with? Not staff. Not a member. Look how she’s smiling.”

The fandom’s corners lit up overnight. Speculation swirled: a mystery friend, a secret girlfriend, a stylist, an ex. No one could prove anything, but the whispers grew teeth.

TWICE didn’t say a word publicly.

But inside the group chat, tension rippled.

Sana: “It’s nothing. It’s just a rumor.” Sana: “But you know how fast these spread.” Jeongyeon: “Should we say something?” Jihyo: “We can’t. Not yet.”

You didn’t say anything either. You didn’t want to make it harder. But it gnawed at you, the feeling that your presence and your invisibility had made things worse.

A few days later, someone doxxed you.

An anonymous post revealed your full name, photos from old public profiles, even a rumor that you were “using your disability to get close to TWICE.”

“Blind fan manipulates idols with sympathy.”“TWICE’s soft-hearted members are being targeted.”

The comments were nothing short but cruel.

“Of course he feels safe, he can’t even see who he’s hurting.”“TWICE deserves better.”

It escalated fast. DMs flooded in. Some threatening, some mocking. A box showed up at your apartment.Your friend told you that inside of it were shredded photocopies of fan letters you’ve sent to TWICE in the past, torn and defaced with red marker.

"STAY AWAY."

You sat still for a long time.

You weren’’t scared, not exactly. You were used to being unseen. But this… this made you feel exposed.

And worse: guilty.

You didn’t reply to any of TWICE’s messages for two days.

Jihyo was the first to call.

Her voice trembled slightly as she left the voicemail.

“I know what happened. I’m so, so sorry. You didn’t deserve any of that. Please don’t disappear on us.”

Then Dahyun.

“They’re just scared of what they don’t understand. But we know you. We love you.”

Chaeyoung sent a shaky voice note.

“You matter. Not because of your story or your condition or whatever people are twisting it into, but because you see us. And we’re not letting you go.”

But it was Sana who said what no one else did.

She didn’t send a voice note.

She showed up.

You heard the knock, slow and deliberate.

When you opened the door, the air shifted. The scent of vanilla and light citrus wafted in are familiar, from one of Sana’s favorite lotions. Then came the soft click of her boots on the hardwood. Hesitant. Controlled.

“I used the address you gave Jihyo in case of emergencies,” she said quietly. “I figured… this was one.”

Your throat tightened.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“And you shouldn’t be alone.”

She crossed the room without asking, placing something into your hand. A necklace. The pendant was small, warm from her skin.

“I’ve been wearing this on stage for weeks,” she said. “I wanted you to have it now.”

Your fingers ran over the charm. A tiny, textured sun. Braille had been etched into the back.

“You’re light.”

“I don’t want to be a reason TWICE gets dragged,” You said, voice cracking. “I don’t want to hurt any of you.”

“You didn’t hurt us, YN. You healed us,” Sana whispered.

Silence stretched between them, heavy but not hollow.

Then Sana stepped closer, so close you could feel the shift in air when she spoke.

“You said my voice feels like it lands behind your eyes. So what does it feel like when I do this?”

She leaned in. Her lips pressed gently to your forehead, featherlight. A kiss without pressure but full of intent.

Your breath stilled.

“That… felt like being seen,” you whispered.

Sana exhaled shakily, forehead resting against yours

“I think I’m falling for you,” she said. “And I don’t care if the world can’t make sense of it.”

That night, Sana stayed.

They didn’t kiss again. There was no need. They simply lay together, You curled close as Sana whispered stories about her childhood, her fears, her dreams. She described the stars, not what they looked like, but what they meant to her.

“When I was little, I used to wish on the brightest one. I didn’t always know what to wish for. Now I think… it was you.”

You teared up. Not from sadness, but from the ache of being cherished.

But the peace didn’t last. A few days later, a video leaked. Footage of Sana entering your building, her face visible, her hair unmistakable. Fan forums exploded.

“So it’s true.” “They’re in love with a fan?” “What even is this? Pity? PR?” “Blind or not, this is crossing the line.”

Sasaeng fans dug deeper. Someone claimed a member of TWICE was also romantically involved with you. Rumors spiraled:  first Jeongyeon, then Sana, then Jihyo. Edited photos surfaced. Lies disguised as "concern."

And It was chaotic. You began receiving hate at an alarming rate. Threats. Stalkers. Someone threw a drink on them outside a café, yelling, “Stay away from TWICE, freak.”

You didn’t flinch. But inside, something broke. Not because you were hurt, but because the people you loved were being torn apart for simply loving back.

When JYP Entertainment released a vague, rehearsed statement about “unfounded rumors,” it only fanned the flames.

So TWICE made their own move. They went live. All nine. Jihyo sat front and center, voice steady as she spoke.

“We’ve seen the things being said about someone very close to us, someone who’s given us more comfort and understanding than many of you can imagine.”

Jeongyeon leaned in. “We’re not confirming or denying relationships. That’s not the point.”

Nayeontook Sana’s hand. “The point is: love takes many forms. And we’re allowed to find peace outside the stage.”

Sana didn’t say much. But she looked directly into the camera, voice unwavering.

“We know who’s real in our lives. And we won’t apologize for choosing them.”

The fandom split that night. Some fans left angry and betrayed, proving themselves to be not true supporters as they seem to be.

But many stayed. And even more… began to listen.

Later, Sana texted you.

“You’re not our secret anymore. Now I don’t want you to hide. Not from this. Not from me, okay?.”

You recorded a reply, voice soft but sure.

“I never needed to see you to love you, Sana. I know the world sees us now.  And I won’t hide either.” The next day, you woke up to stillness.

No barrage of notifications, no new threats or rumors. Just the hush of early morning pressing like cool cloth against fevered skin. The fallout of TWICE’s livestream had changed the conversation overnight. The nastiest voices had scurried back into shadow, and the ones who remained were- if not entirely accepting- at least quieter, tentative, curious.

It felt like stepping into fragile sunlight after weeks underground.

But bruises didn’t fade with gossip. Your jaw was still tender from the thrown drink, and your cane-sweeping arm ached from an elbow caught in a fleeing crowd. The worst hurt, though, was internal: the way you still flinched at sudden footsteps, the way voices outside your door made your pulse sprint.

So when Jihyo texted “We’re coming over. Don’t argue,” you almost did. Pride and fear jostled inside their ribs. But then came a second message, softer:

“If you don’t let us in, we’ll sit in the hallway all night and sing off-key. You really want that?”

You laughed, tension breaking like thin glass, and typed a single word: “Fine.”

They arrived in shifts to avoid paparazzi. Mina and Dahyun first, slipping inside with grocery bags that clinked: ramyeon packets, honey-citron tea, soft rolls of gauze and cooling gel pads Mina had insisted on. Chaeyoung followed, carrying a sketchbook and something that smelled of fresh paint. Jeongyeon and Tzuyu came next, shoulders squared as if daring anyone to step between them and the apartment door.

Last were Sana, Jihyo, and Sana, bundled in oversized hoodies, masks tugged down only after the lock clicked shut.

You stood still in the center of the living room, listening: nine distinct patterns of breathing, nine heartbeats shifting the air. For a moment the room felt too small to hold that much life, and then Sana’s arms were around yours, warm and trembling.

“We’re here,” she whispered, brushing fingers down your spine in slow, grounding lines.

No one rushed. They made space for silence, for shaking exhalations, for the soft thud of Dahyun setting groceries down. Only after Y/N’s shoulders loosened did conversation begin, gentle and ordinary: “Would you like tea?”, “Did you sleep?”,  “Have you eaten?”

Normalcy as first aid.

Over steaming mugs, Mina proposed an idea. “I want to record something for you,” she said, voice like still water. “A…sound journal. All of us, day to day. So when you’re anxious you can press play and remember we’re close.”

Chaeyoung flipped her sketchbook so you could feel the raised lines of freshly applied puffy paint. “And I’ll draw tactile pieces,” she added. “You can trace them. Art you don’t need sight for.”

Jeongyeon nudged Tzuyu, who cleared her throat. “We also contacted a therapist experienced with trauma and disability,” she murmured. “Online sessions at your pace.”

Your throat thickened. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You already did, Y/N.” Jihyo said. “By letting us in.”

That evening, they rearranged the apartment. Jihyo orchestrated like a gentle general: clearing clutter from walkway corners, labeling pantry shelves in Braille stickers Nayeon slapped on with proud little squeaks, installing a soft chime on the front door so Y/N always knew when it opened.

It wasn’t pity. It was partnership by matching your world instead of forcing you into another shape. Each adjustment whispered “You belong. You’re safe now.”.

Night stretched on, lids of tea tins clinking, laughter popping like sparkles, but inevitably quiet settled. One by one members drifted to the couch, the rug, against bookshelves. Some dozed. Tzuyu read in a low murmur beside a weary you, her voice a smooth river. Mina hummed chords under her breath, recording them on her phone for later layers.

Only two people remained fully awake: you and Sana, perched on the floor by the balcony door. Moonlight spilled silver across them. Through the glass, city sounds pulsed faintly: distant sirens, a scooter whine, the hush-rush of cars like tides.

You traced the ridged sun pendant now hanging at your neck. “You know… I keep thinking this is a dream. Any moment I’ll wake up and still be that lonely fan writing letters in the dark.”

Sana’s fingers curled over your. “You were never just a fan, Y/N. You changed how we hear ourselves.”

Wind rattled the railing. Their joined hands stayed still, but energy shimmered between skin, a humming wire.

“I want to kiss you,” Sana said as she faced your side-profile in a breathless honesty. “But only if you feel ready.”

Your pulse skipped. “I am. But maybe…slow?”

“Then we’re doing it slow,” she promised.

She guided your hand to her cheek first, letting you memorize the curve, the faint heat, and its plumpness. Nose, lips, a small freckle near the corner of her mouth she’d once joked about covering with glitter on stage. Only when exploration turned into certainty did she lean forward, lips brushing softly. No rush, no heat yet, just greeting.

You sighed into it, tension uncoiling. A second kiss followed, deeper, a question that you answered with parted lips. Their world filled with her taste: sweet tea, a hint of citrus balm. A quiet whimper escaped Sana, vibrating against your mouth, and need crackled like static.

But footsteps shuffled in the hallway, Jeongyeon checking windows, and they pulled apart, laughing hushed. Boundaries respected, desire banked like glowing coals.

“Soon,” Sana whispered. “When it’s just us.” And you nodded.

During the next week, routines knitted themselves.

At morning: A group chat audio round-robin where each member sent thirty seconds of “What I’m doing” so that you pay attention to a chorus of mundane intimacy. Dahyun brushing teeth while rapping, Momo counting sit-ups, Mina playing scales.

At afternoon: Physical therapy with Jeongyeon, who insisted stretching eased the cane-arm ache. She narrated each movement, praising every centimeter of progress until your cheeks burned.

At evening: Psychology talks with Tzuyu via voice call. They dismantled anxiety triggers, built coping strategies, and did breathing rhythms that matched to your favorite BPMs of TWICE songs.

Some nights someone stayed over; other nights all nine departed quietly, letting you reclaim solitary space. Boundaries became braided cords: flexible, strong.

The fandom, surprisingly, began shifting too. After the livestream, a wave of supportive hashtags trended. For every hateful comment, five gentle ones surfaced, fans sharing stories of their own disabilities, mental struggles, queer identities. You listened, amazed, as community bloomed in cracks left by cruelty.

Then another storm rolled in.

Dispatch posted alleged “exclusive photos” of Sana entering a boutique hotel with a “mystery partner.” The partner’s face was blurred, body swathed in black, and easy for headlines to claim it was you. A follow-up article insinuated a “polyamorous entanglement among members and one fan,” dripping with scandalized language.

The internet howled again.

Sana was shattered. She called you, voice thin as rice paper. “It wasn’t you,” she kept repeating. “It was my cousin from Osaka, she missed her flight home and I booked a room. I swear…”

You soothed her, though anger simmered in your gut. After the call, they hit record and spoke. A message for TWICE, but also themselves:

“I refuse to be apologetic for loving and being loved. Let’s answer lies with truth, not secrecy.”

They suggested a controlled interview: honest, protective, boundary-setting. Jihyo took the idea to management; surprisingly, JYP agreed, desperate to steer narrative back to music before comeback promotions.

A week later, you sat beside Jihyo and Sana in a small studio, lights dimmed. The journalist, a respected woman known for sensitivity, asked frank questions.

“Did any member of TWICE enter a romantic relationship with Y/N?”

Sana’s fingers slid into yours. Microphones captured the faint hitch of breath.

“Yes,” Sana said. You looked at her “I did.” She paused, voice firm. “And anything beyond that is private and consensual.”

“Are other members involved romantically as well?”

Jihyo shook her head slightly. “We all love him deeply. Each bond is unique. Some friendship, some family, one romance. But we stand together.”

The journalist turned to you. “How do you navigate public scrutiny?”

You inhaled. “I do it by remembering that blindness doesn’t make me fragile, and their fame doesn’t make them untouchable. We meet in the middle, where human hearts beat.”

When the segment aired, there was backlash of course, but also overwhelming admiration. The calm transparency disarmed many skeptics. Sales spiked for TWICE’s upcoming album preview. Hashtags trended again, this time mostly celebratory.

A month from the first fan sign, TWICE planned a quiet anniversary dinner at the dorm, but Mina secretly booked a small studio instead: empty, acoustically rich, floor lined with plush mats and scattered pillows.

When you arrived, guided by Momo’s hand, you heard it first: the heartbeats of anticipation and the hush of bodies waiting. Then music: the demo Jihyo had once shared, now fully produced. It swelled through speakers, but the girls didn’t sing along. Instead they moved around you, brushing fingertips over arms, shoulders, hair as they mapping gratitude in touch.

Mina knelt, pressing a wireless headphone set into your  palms. “Isolate the layers,” she murmured. “See what you feel.”

You slipped them on. Vocals peeled apart: Dahyun’s airy ad-libs glittering like distant bells; Chaeyoung’s low harmony hugging the root note; Sana’s ribbon-bright refrain; Jihyo’s steady mezzo holding everything upright.

Tears gathered in your eyes. “It feels like…home.”

Nayeon slipped behind, wrapping arms gently around your waist. Her lips near your ear: “And you are our home too, Y/N.

Later, when laughter faded and others drifted off to clean up, Sana stayed. She rested her head on your lap, humming fragments of old ballads. Fingertips danced idly along your thigh. Innocent, yet promise-laden.

“Come back with me tonight?” she asked.

Heat coiled low in your belly. Images flickered with silk sheets, whispered names, skin against skin. Still, you spoke steady: “Yes. But we set our pace together.”

Sana smiled against their jeans. “Our pace. Our rules.”

Their palms met, heartbeat to heartbeat, the night vibrating with anticipation. Smolder, not yet blaze. But the spark had been struck, bright enough to light every shadow.

Before leaving the studio, Jihyo pressed a small recorder into your han. Its edges cushioned in velvet so they’d know by touch it was special.

“Record your voice sometimes,” she urged. “Tell us how you feel. We want to listen, too.”

You clutched it, moved beyond measure. “Deal.”

Outside, Seoul’s night wind carried muffled city noise with mix of car horns, distant chatter, neon buzzing. But beneath it, you heard something else: nine distinct heartbeats woven with their own, a living chord neither fame nor rumor could unmake.

You smiled into the dark, ready for whatever came next. When the night had fully wrapped the city by the time you followed Sana into her apartment that is quiet, warm, scented faintly with vanilla and citrus. No cameras, no noise, no shadows trailing them. Just two people and the echo of something long building between them.

Sana didn’t flick the lights on. She didn’t need to.

“Do you want anything?” she asked softly. “Water? Food?”

You shook their head. “Just you.”

It was the most honest thing you have ever said.

She took your hand- slow and intentional - and led you into her bedroom. Fabric rustled. The bed creaked gently. Sana closed the door behind them, sealing the moment.

You didn’t know what to expect. You only knew what you felt.

A heartbeat. A breath. A presence coming closer.

Then lips, feather-light at first, were brushing over yours  like a whispered yes.

Sana didn’t rush. She let her fingers speak before anything else. Tracing your  jawline, she murmured, “Tell me what feels good. What you want.”

You swallowed hard. “Let me… touch you first. Learn you.”

Sana guided your hands gently over her collarbone, down her sides, along her ribcage. Her skin was soft and fleshy, warmed by anticipation. Every breath she took told you something new: when she leaned into a palm, when she shivered slightly at the graze of fingertips over her stomach.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered.

She chuckled, low and flushed. “You haven’t even seen me.”

“I don’t have to.”

Their hands found the hem of her shirt. Sana helped them lift it over her head, then pressed her forehead to theirs.

“You make me feel seen,” she breathed. “More than any stage ever has.”

She kissed you again, deeper now, hunger threaded through it. Her lips were plush, movements fluid, but there was nothing careless. Every shift was a question, every sigh an answer.

You leaned back on the mattress, pulling her gently with them.

The air grew heavier, thick with need but still lined with reverence. Sana straddled you, guiding your hands to her hips, her thighs, then up again as she let you explore slowly, mapping her with care.

“Is this okay?” she asked when fingers brushed the underside of her bra.

You nodded. “Yes. You?”

“More than okay.”

She unclasped it herself, guiding it away, then pressed your palms to her bare handful pair of breasts. You memorized the softness, the heat, the stillness of her nipples. The way she trembled just slightly beneath their touch made something inside them ache with tenderness.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” Sana whispered.

“Warm,” you said honestly as you squeezed their softness, feeling her skin sink through the gaps on your fingers.  “Like your heartbeat’s under my hands. Like I could stay here forever.” “Then stay, and never let go. You can have me whenever you want, baby.” Sana tugged your head deeper into her chest, your face pressed on her cleavage. “Would you like to give them a taste? I want to feel your mouth on them too, baby.” You nodded in response before ducking in and capturing her nipple into your mouth, sucking it gently. Sana gasped and bit her lips as she whimpered at the gentle pulling of her skin through your moist lips. You coated them with your spit before proceeding to another, in which Sana making sure to guide you around her tits while brushing your hair slowly. It’s like she’s nursing a baby in her arms for a breastfeed.

“You’ve done a good job, my Y/N, but now I want more of you.” She lifted you away from her delicious mounds and kissed the corner of your mouth, then began tugging at your clothes in return. Bit by bit, you allowed it from your shirt to your pants as your skin revealed in increments, matched by kisses and murmured reassurances.

When you lay fully exposed beneath her, you felt held, not vulnerable.

Sana ran her mouth down to your chest, kissing the sensitive space over your sternum, dragging her tongue lightly to test your reactions. You gasped when she grazed a nipple with her teeth, nothing harsh, just enough to ignite.

“You’re so responsive,” she said softly. “I love that.”

You arched slightly beneath her, fingers sinking into her hair. “I love you.”

She paused.

The words hovered in the air, weighty, tender, and full of permission.

“I love you too,” she whispered. “And I’m yours. All of me.”

Then her mouth was back on yours, lips and tongue mapping a new geography. She took her time, sliding lower, her breath hot along your stomach, her fingers never far from theirs.

When she reached the center of their desire, she hesitated just long enough to ask, “Do you want me to?”

You whispered, “Please.”

She removed your underwear, releasing your erect cock into the air for the first time to her full sight. Sana hummed seductively as she smelled its fragrant smell, hovering it all over her face and peppered your length with smooches. If only you can see how dangerously sexy Sana has been staring at you with your throbbing cock in her hand, slowly pumping it with all ease while wobbling your balls using the other. Sana moved with practiced grace, but her intention wasn’t to perform, it was to connect. Her mouth pressed open-mouthed kisses and licks between your thighs, then deeper until she reaches your balls and underside of your shaft, tasting you slowly as you responded with every twitch and moan.

Your world narrowed to pure sensation: her tongue were now swirling at the tip then goes for a push to take you more in her mouth, the pressure of her fingers circling gently as she bobs her head to your cock, the hum of her approval when you gasped and bucked beneath her.

She didn’t stop until your climax crested and crashed like a wave, you cried out, fingers clenching in the sheets and onto her hair, body arching as you release lots of cum on her warm mouth.

When it passed, Sana emptied every drop and swallowed them obediently before returning to you, kissing you and cleaned the residue in your tip through the aftershocks. She then went curling beside you and stroked your hair.

“You taste incredible,” she murmured.

You, still catching your breath, turned to press a kiss to her cheek. “Your turn.”

She laughed. “Only if you’re ready.”

“I want to learn you,” you said. “Show me how.”

With gentle instruction, Sana guided you, from what pressure to use, what pace she liked, where her moans deepened into whimpers. You paid attention to everything: how her thighs trembled, how she gasped when your mouth found the right spot, how her fingers tangled in the sheets and grip your head when she was close.

When she came, she cried out your name, voice cracking with pleasure and surrender as she squirted her love juices onto your mouth, with some staining your face wet.

You and her together lay tangled afterward, bare skin pressed to bare skin, sweat cooling in the quiet room.

No one spoke for a long time until both decided to go for some few rounds. As per Sana’s request, she wanted you to sent her into various positions she wanted to try: whether in missionary, on fours, cowgirl, and straddling you in sitting position around the bed, in which you did your best to give her the best experience possible with you. Your intimate session ended with Sana having the biggest smile of satisfaction in her face, laid beside you who is covered with sweat as well from the alternating changes of pace you both had went to on the rhythm of your bodies joint together. She shifted her leg below your abdomen, and slowly succumb together on exhaustion.

The morning after, you woke to Sana tracing letters on your back.

“Guess what I’m writing.”

You smiled, groggy. “No idea.”

“L-O-V-E,” she said, giving it also a slight tone like how it was sang in Talk That Talk. “It’s cheesy but I don’t care.”

You turned, pulling her closer. “Neither do I.”

She pressed a kiss to your temple, lips lingering. “You still feel safe with me?”

“Always.”

You stayed wrapped in each other a little longer. Before breakfast, Sana has given you a quick blowjob as she saw your morninghood in full effect, triggering her hormones to help it relax. After you filled her mouth with the protein of your warm cum, both of you are now downstairs as you watch Sana hum while making eggs. You leaned against the counter, smiling at her off-key tune.

It wasn’t a performance. It was real life. Messy, quiet, and beautiful.

TWICE’s next public event was a fan showcase for their new album before they kickoff their world tour. They low-key, invited you who is sitting in the front row, guided by Jeongyeon and Dahyun, a quiet badge pinned to your shirt: “Guest of Honor.”

No scandal. No whispers. Just love.

When Sana performed her solo stage, her final note lingered longer than written, and she looked directly at you as she sang it. The crowd noticed. There were soft sighs, a few happy cheers, but no outrage.

Thankfully, the fandom had grown in acceptance for you.

Backstage, later, Sana tucked herself into your side. “They see us now.”, she whispered.

You held her hand. “Thank you for that, Sana. But what’s more special about you is that, like the girls, you’ve always seen me… only is it that yours had you charmed by the nature of me.”

And in the quiet that followed, it was true. Sight didn’t matter. Sound did. Touch did. So did the heartbeat. It was simply a melody combined that all followed to this moment. 

And the love that is messy, blazing, and soft…  was always something you will always feel. - EPILOGUE -

The room was quiet, heavy with anticipation and something unspoken. All nine members of TWICE stood in a loose semicircle in front of you. Sana stood closest, her hand entwined with yours, squeezing gently, grounding, and steady. On the table in front of them sat a sleek, black case.

You tilted their head. “What’s going on?”

Jihyo cleared her throat, voice warm. “This was Sana’s idea… but it became something all of us wanted to do.”

“You gave us a different kind of strength,” Dahyun said. “You reminded us our voices mean more than stage lights.”

“You heard us,” said Jeongyeon softly, “even when we weren’t singing.”

“And you never needed eyes to truly see us,” Chaeyoung added, her voice trembling.

Sana guided your hand to the case. “We thought… maybe now, we could help you see the world that made everybody saw us because of you. It’s a signature of gratitude for having you entering our lives, Y/N.

“It’s called a sensory-vision assist device,” Mina said. “It uses audio feedback and environmental mapping to simulate sight.”

“It’s not perfect vision,” Tzuyu added gently, “but it’s a step.”

With shaking fingers, you opened the case. Sleek glasses rested inside. “Try them,” Nayeon whispered. “We’re right here.”

You slid them on.

The world flickered, there were blurred shapes became outlines, motion gained light. And then, Sana’s face: soft, glowing, shimmering… now all in bright colors.

“Oh my God, I can… I can see you,” Y/N breathed. You then turned to the rest, they were just simply breathtaking as well indeed. “I can see all of you.”

Sana touched your cheek, eyes shining both in joy and emotions that is rising. 

“Now you see us, like we’ve always seen you.”

You reached up to touch her cheek, and let out a soft laugh full of tears. “Wow. Y-you’re even more beautiful to look at, more than I could ever imagine.” “I know.” Sana smirked. The girls didn’t acted like they’re disgusted. For once, they let their friend run her joke which is undeniably true anyway, as well as to preserve the wholesome view in front of them. The room burst into applause and gentle laughter. “Now you can get to have this visual of mine anytime you like, it’s also to make sure you’ll never found anybody better than me.” She boastfully pointed herself. “You don’t know how much I just became even more loyal to you, Sana.” You pinched her cheeks and kissed her forehead before she giggled as she invited you to hug which was joined afterwards with the other members as well.

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #19 死

† infiltration †

"When you ask about Sylvia, you are poking at wounds that run deeper than any knife Jeon's ever taken to the chest."

next | index

— chapter details

word count: 8.2k

content: the infiltration mission begins with motorcycle rides and pine-scented tension, jeon's impromptu marriage lie creates dangerous dynamics, seduction division training put to deadly use against fervio and kaleido, comm line conversations revealing painful histories, successful bug planting while y/n plays the most dangerous game of flirtation, and one name that changes everything

☠ author's note ☠

THE INFILTRATION MISSION IS FINALLY HERE!!! Can I just say how absolutely FERAL I am about this chapter?? Because holy SHIT did this turn out more intense than I planned. Originally this was going to be a straightforward "get in, plant bug, get out" situation but then my brain said "hey what if we make this psychologically devastating instead?" and here we are!

First off, let's talk about Jeon on that motorcycle because DEAR GOD. Writing him all leather-clad and dangerous while being simultaneously protective and calculating? *chef's kiss* The man really said "let me create the perfect storm of sexual tension and strategic brilliance" and then had the AUDACITY to pull that husband stunt. Like sir, who gave you permission to be that smooth under pressure? The way he reads Kaleido's predatory nature and immediately adapts the cover story? That's not just tactical genius, that's emotional intelligence wrapped in a bulletproof vest and it's SO fucking attractive.

But can we also discuss the absolute NIGHTMARE that is Fervio? Writing that character genuinely made my skin crawl. I spent SO much time researching the psychology of sadistic personalities to make him authentically terrifying without glorifying anything. The yellow contacts, the theatrical cruelty, the way he gets off on psychological manipulation—every detail was chosen to make readers feel the same visceral discomfort that Y/N experiences. And Y/N having to flirt with that monster while maintaining her cover? That girl deserves a medal for not throwing up or committing murder on the spot.

The comm line dynamics absolutely DESTROYED me to write. Having AD and Jeon's fractured relationship play out in real-time while Jeon's navigating enemy territory? The guilt, the anger, the way old wounds keep reopening? And then that slip about Sylvia—OOPS. Y/N hearing that name and filing it away for later? The way Jeon's walls SLAM back up the second she asks about it? I'm obsessed with how trauma shapes every interaction between these characters, how the past keeps bleeding into the present no matter how hard they try to compartmentalize.

Speaking of compartmentalizing—Y/N's performance in this chapter showcases exactly why she belongs in Seduction Division. The way she reads the room, adapts to Jeon's improvisation, keeps both psychopaths distracted while processing the horror of their situation? That's not just survival, that's mastery. She's not some damsel being protected; she's a professional doing her job under the worst possible circumstances. The balance between vulnerability and competence, between genuine fear and trained composure—that's what makes her such a compelling character.

The ending though? Jeon retreating back into his shell the moment Y/N shows curiosity about his past? PAIN. Pure, unadulterated emotional pain. He's so desperate to maintain distance, to keep his trauma locked away, but Y/N's already under his skin. She's asking the right questions and it terrifies him. Because letting someone see your wounds means risking them poking at them, and Jeon's been hurt enough for several lifetimes.

Next chapter is going to be... *evil laughter* ...let's just say the aftermath of this mission is going to hit DIFFERENT. Hope you're ready for some serious emotional excavation because these two aren't done processing what just happened. Not by a long shot.

Edit: Also, yeah. The coins was a post-editing addition because I’ve been watching the John Wick movies and I loved the coin system so I adapted it heheheheh. 🤭

— read on

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

Pine is all you can smell right now.

It's annoying, really, how the air outside the night air hits different outside the castle. It's crisp—almost sharp against your skin.

And of course, because the universe loves to fuck with you, it's saturated with that distinct scent of pine and wood that follows Jeon everywhere.

You check your phone. 22:00. Perfect timing.

The moon's doing that thing where it makes everything look like a noir film, all dramatic shadows and silver light washing over the castle grounds. It's actually kind of pretty, in a moody sort of way.

Jeon's walking ahead of you, and god—even his walk is intimidating.

The air around him swirls slightly, tinged with static. Like a thunderstorm incoming.

You're starting to think his whole 'I must look badass 24/7' thing is just his default setting.

The gravel crunches under his boots as he approaches his bike. It's this sleek, black monster of a machine that somehow manages to look both elegant and menacing.

Just like its owner, you think, watching him move with that fluid grace that comes from years of... well, probably things you'd rather not think about.

He opens a compartment on the bike, pulling out leather gloves with an ease that makes it look like he's done this a thousand times before. Which, knowing him, he probably has. The way he slides them on is almost hypnotic—not that you're staring or anything.

(d̶e̶f̶i̶n̶i̶t̶e̶l̶y̶ maybe staring.)

Then he's got two helmets in his hands, checking them over like he's inspecting weapons.

Everything's a tactical operation with this man, isn't it?

He puts his on first, and suddenly Chief Jeon of Tactical Assassinations is fully activated. The transformation would be impressive if it wasn't so intense.

The second helmet comes flying at you without warning.

Your hands scramble to catch it—which you do, thankfully, because dropping it would be mortifying. But then comes the real challenge: actually putting the damn thing on.

The straps are being particularly bitchy tonight. They keep slipping through your fingers like they're coated in butter or something. You're probably making this look way harder than it needs to be, but whatever.

You catch Jeon watching you, and there's this tiny smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. It's barely there, but you've learned to spot these micro-expressions of his. The fact that you can read him at all is probably something you should worry about later.

"You always manage to make the simplest tasks look like a battle," he says, voice slightly muffled by his helmet.

The words should sting, but there's this undercurrent of... something else. Something almost playful, if you didn't know better.

He steps closer, and fuck—the wind hits you full force.

It's like being caught in the eye of a storm, where everything's calm but you know there's chaos just inches away.

His gloved hands reach for the straps, and despite the leather barrier, his touch is weirdly gentle.

Clinical, sure, but gentle.

"There," he says, and it's just one word but it feels loaded.

You make the mistake of looking up at his eyes—those dark, intense eyes that make you feel like you're being dissected and devoured all at once.

"Thanks," you manage to say, keeping your voice steady because you refuse to let him see how much he affects you. "I guess I'm still not used to all this."

He takes a step back, and you can breathe again. His expression is back to that unreadable mask he wears so well.

"You're still fairly new, you've got time to learn. Everyone does, eventually."

Silence. Words hovering between you, carried by the night breeze.

If you were s̶t̶u̶p̶i̶d̶ optimistic enough, you might think his voice had softened just a bit. But you know better.

You've learned better.

"We should get going," he says, breaking whatever moment was building. "We have a long night ahead of us."

Yeah, you think. A long night of pretending this tension doesn't exist.

Jeon swings his leg over the bike with this fluid grace that's honestly unfair, engine purring beneath him like some mechanical beast waiting to be unleashed.

You climb on after him, trying (and probably failing) to look half as graceful. The leather seat is cool against your thighs, and you're suddenly very aware of how close you need to be.

Fuck it.

You wrap your arms around his torso, hands splaying across his abdomen. Even through his jacket, you can feel how solid he is—all muscle, all heat, like a human furnace.

The proximity makes your skin tingle where you're pressed against him.

He goes completely still for a moment. You feel his breath catch, just slightly. Then he relaxes, and you could swear the air shifts, becoming less stormy, more like a breeze.

The engine growls louder as he revs it.

"Hold on tight," he says, and you know that tone. That's his 'I'm-about-to-be-a-little-shit' voice. "Don't let go."

You barely have time to process the warning before he twists the throttle.

The bike lurches forward and—holy shit—you slam back against him, the sudden acceleration catching you completely off guard. A very u̶n̶d̶i̶g̶n̶i̶f̶i̶e̶d̶ surprised yelp escapes you as he immediately cuts the speed, leaving you pressed firmly against his back.

The bastard chuckles. You can feel it rumble through his chest where you're plastered against him.

"Gotta hold on tighter than that, sunshine," he taunts, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. "Don't want you flying off the back now."

You smack his shoulder, hard enough to mean business but not enough to actually hurt.

Not that you could probably hurt him anyway. He's like a fucking brick wall.

"You're such a dick," you mutter, but you're fighting back a smile he can't see.

You can practically feel his shit-eating grin and you're starting to think this whole helmet struggle earlier was just an excuse to mess with you.

"Maybe I should drive," you say, matching his teasing tone. "Since you clearly can't be trusted to act like a proper adult."

"In your dreams, sunshine." The pet name rolls off his tongue like honey-coated poison. "Now hold on properly, unless you want another demonstration."

You tighten your grip around him—maybe a bit more forcefully than necessary. Your chest presses flush against his back, and you swear you feel his breath hitch again.

"Just drive the damn bike, Jeon," you say, trying to sound annoyed but probably failing miserably.

"Yes ma'am," he drawls, and this time when he revs the engine, the acceleration is smooth as silk as you both glide into the darkness.

The bike thunders beneath you, eating up the empty backroads leading away from the castle.

You catch glimpses of city lights in the distance, little pinpricks of civilization breaking through the darkness.

Jeon handles the bike like it's an extension of himself, without exaggeration.

His back is solid against your chest, and you're definitely n̶o̶t̶ totally noticing how the leather jacket stretches across his shoulders with each turn. One gloved hand stays steady on the throttle while the other grips the handlebar confidently.

The road then straightens out, and Jeon takes full advantage.

The engine roars as he opens up the throttle, and you instinctively press closer. Your thighs tighten around the bike, and you swear you feel him tense for a split second before relaxing again.

After that, your world becomes a blur of shadows and occasional bursts of neon. Each mile brings you closer to the city, that concrete jungle where your target is hiding.

The buildings start growing taller, streets getting busier, and Jeon weaves through traffic with this contained impatience that you feel in your bones. Every block brings you deeper into enemy territory, and you can't help but think about what's waiting at the end of this ride.

God, you think, this is actually happening.

The bike slows as Jeon turns down an alley, the engine's growl echoing off brick walls before he kills it.

You've stopped beside this completely unremarkable door that somehow manages to look threatening anyway.

Because you know what's behind it.

Who's behind it.

Jeon pulls off his helmet, and those dark eyes find yours.

They're intense, focused—the kind of look that makes your stomach do this weird flip thing you're choosing to ignore.

"We're here," he says, voice low and serious.

You resist the urge to say 'no shit.'

Barely.

Jeon slides off the bike and you follow, yanking off the helmet and running fingers through your hair to fix whatever mess the wind made of it.

The alley you're in is sketchy as fuck—all grimy walls and creepy shadows.

And to add onto that—a siren wails somewhere in the distance before dying out, and you can't help but think how perfectly ominous that is.

You take a deep breath, trying to get your shit together.

The mission brief keeps playing in your head like some twisted PowerPoint presentation: get in, play nice with the bad guys, wait for the lights to go out.

Easy peasy.

Right.

No pressure or anything—just the tiny matter of infiltrating a rival gang's hideout.

Then, Jeon is moving—towards the grimy door.

Wind cuts through the clothing that shields you from the force of nature he is.

You follow close behind, channeling every ounce of that Seduction Division training into looking like you absolutely belong here. Time to put on the mask, become whoever these assholes need you to be.

Jeon knocks on the door—two quick taps, one long, two quick. The sound bounces off the alley walls before getting swallowed by the night.

For a moment, there's nothing but silence and your heartbeat doing this annoying thing where it won't slow the fuck down.

Then comes the click of locks, and the door swings open to reveal this absolute unit of a guy. His face is mostly shadow, but his suspicion? That's crystal clear.

He gives you both this once-over that practically screams 'I don't trust you,' but steps aside anyway.

Jeon walks in first, and you follow his lead, channeling your inner bad bitch because that's what's gonna keep you alive tonight.

The inside is like every seedy underground bar in every crime movie ever, except the smell is worse. It's this nasty cocktail of booze and something sickeningly sweet that makes your nose want to revolt. You force yourself not to react, keeping your face neutral even though your lungs are screaming.

You weave through the crowd behind Jeon, feeling eyes tracking your movement. Some look curious, others suspicious, but most are too wasted or high to give a shit. You keep your head high, shoulders back, playing the role of someone who's seen it all and isn't impressed.

Jeon posts up at the bar like he's been coming here his whole life. When the bartender comes over, Jeon pulls this smile that's all teeth and zero warmth. It's kind of terrifying how good he is at this.

"We're here to see Kaleido," he says, smooth as silk. "Tell him the traders he's been expecting have arrived."

The bartender's got a sour face on. "I don't know any Kaleido," he says, flat and cold.

But Jeon? He doesn't even blink. Just does this thing where he bites the inside of his cheek—which is not distracting at all—and pulls out two golden coins, sliding them across the counter like he's dealing cards.

"We're the new faces in town," he says, casual as fuck. "Kaleido is expecting us."

You resist the urge to smirk. Because damn, he's good at this.

The bartender snatches up the coins like they personally offended him. His eyes flick between the metal and your faces, doing that thing where he's trying real hard to catch you in a lie. You keep your face neutral even though your stomach's doing gymnastics.

After what feels like fucking forever, he gives this tiny nod that probably killed him inside and slides the coins in his pocket.

"Wait here," he grunts, disappearing through a door that's seen better days.

You fight the urge to bounce your leg or fidget with your clothes or do any of the thousand nervous tells that would blow your cover right now.

The wait is excruciating. You're about to lose your mind when the bartender finally emerges with this dude looks like he bench presses cars for fun, with a face that's all hard angles and zero emotion. He doesn't say a word, just jerks his head toward the back like you're supposed to know what that means.

Jeon pushes off the bar, and the way he straightens up is somehow both lazy and intimidating. He tilts his head slightly—your cue to follow. Your heart's going absolutely feral in your chest, but you've got your game face locked down tight.

No backing out now.

You follow Jeon and Mr. Mountain through the crowd.

The place is exactly what you'd expect from a seedy underground bar—sketchy people having sketchy conversations over even sketchier drinks.

The hallway they lead you down is grimy as fuck, and you can hear music thumping through the walls from somewhere nearby.

Muscles McGee opens a door to what has to be the most depressing room you've ever seen—dim, small, and probably hasn't seen a cleaning crew since the 90s.

"Kaleido will be with you shortly," he rumbles, and his voice matches his appearance perfectly—like gravel in a blender.

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving you alone with Jeon.

His eyes find yours in the low light, and there's this whole conversation happening without words.

You both know what's at stake here.

One wrong move and you're both d̶e̶a̶d̶ screwed.

The door swings open again, and in walks this guy who looks like he raided a rapper's closet. His suit probably costs more than your yearly salary, and he's wearing enough gold to fund a small country.

He gives you this dismissive once-over that makes your blood boil before turning to Jeon with barely concealed suspicion.

"Was told to expect the woman," he drawls, sounding bored out of his mind. "Didn't mention anything about a man crashing our little party."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Men.

Jeon's eyes narrow just a fraction, but you jump in before he can say something that'll probably piss everyone off.

"I'm the one you're here to meet," you say, keeping your voice smooth and professional. "My associate is—"

"Her husband," Jeon cuts in, voice like silk over steel.

The word rolls off his tongue like he's been saying it his whole life instead of pulling it out of his ass two seconds ago.

You shoot him a look that could curdle milk.

Husband? Really?

But Jeon's locked onto Kaleido like a sniper on his target, completely ignoring your death glare. His jaw is set in that way that means he's about to be a stubborn ass about something.

Kaleido's laugh is sharp and mocking, the kind that makes you want to punch teeth.

"Her husband?" He looks between you both like this is the funniest shit he's seen all week. "What, she needs a big scary guard dog to hold her hand during business deals?"

You watch Jeon's jaw clench, the muscle jumping under his skin. But his voice stays steady, dangerous in its calmness.

"More like insurance."

You clear your throat, loud enough to make a point.

"As I was saying"—and you put just enough emphasis on that word to let Jeon know you'll be having words about this later—"my associate and I have some opportunities that might interest you. The kind that makes serious money."

Kaleido finally tears his eyes away from Jeon to look at you, and something in his gaze makes your skin recoil.

"Well then," he drawls, dropping into his chair like a king on his throne, "let's talk business."

His eyes rake over you both, lingering a bit too long for comfort.

"Impress me."

You meet his stare head-on because fuck that—you're not some rookie who's gonna get intimidated by his wannabe mob boss act.

Time to put all that Seduction Division training to work.

You've got a whole script of lies ready to roll off your tongue, each one crafted to hook this smug bastard right where you want him.

Game fucking on.

You start laying out the deal, watching Kaleido's face shift from bored rich boy to actually interested businessman. But part of your brain is still stuck on Jeon's little improvisation. Because Jeon doesn't do random—every move is calculated, every word chosen for maximum effect.

He saw something in Kaleido that made him change the plan.

And whatever it was, it was bad enough to make him go full protective mode.

"So these new routes we've set up?" You tap the documents as you slide them across the table, keeping your voice casual but confident. "They'll keep the good shit flowing steady. Premium grade only—none of that watered-down crap."

Kaleido snatches up the papers like they're made of gold, those calculating eyes scanning every detail. His perfectly manicured finger stops at something, and his face does this thing where he's trying to look unimpressed but you can tell he's interested.

"End of next week? With customs breathing down everyone's neck lately?" He clicks his tongue. "That's a bold claim."

His eyes lock onto yours, and it feels like being dissected. You can feel the cold breeze intensify beside you, ready to strike at the slightest provocation.

But you've got this. This is what you were trained for.

"Yeah, customs is a bitch lately," you say with a knowing smirk, leaning forward slightly. "Good thing we've got someone on the inside who's very invested in looking the other way."

You tap the timeline sheet with one perfectly manicured nail.

"See this? Already factored in their... cooperation. We might work outside the law, but we're not stupid about it."

Kaleido stares at the paper for what feels like forever, then his eyes snap back to you. His eyebrows climb up his forehead, and suddenly he's grinning like you just told him his favorite candy is back in store. He claps once, the sound sharp and jarring in the small room.

"Well, fuck me," he says, sounding genuinely impressed. "You actually know what you're talking about."

He stands up, straightening his ridiculous designer suit.

"There's someone else who needs to hear this. Come on."

He gestures toward a door at the back of the room like some fancy maître d' inviting you to the VIP section.

You catch Jeon's eye for a split second—just long enough to see the tension in his jaw.

Something's off about this whole thing, but you're in too deep to back out now.

You follow Kaleido down this sketchy-ass hallway.

The subvocal mic hidden in your collar is tiny but feels like it weighs a ton as you activate it.

"What the fuck was that husband shit about?" you whisper, making sure your lips barely move. "Because I know you didn't just pull that out of your ass for fun."

Jeon's voice comes through your earpiece, quiet but crystal clear.

"Guys like him?" There's a edge to his voice that makes your skin prickle. "They see single women as prey. Trust me on this one."

Oh. Well, shit.

You throw a glance over your shoulder, brows furrowed because what the actual fuck is going on in that tactical brain of his. But Jeon's already explaining through the subvocals, his voice low and steady in your ear.

"These types get off on finding weak spots they can dig their fingers into," he murmurs, and something in his tone makes your skin prickle. "A couple? That's like serving them weakness on a silver fucking platter."

You have to fight to keep your voice down. "So you just painted a giant fucking target on our backs for fun?"

"Think of it as controlled bait," he says, and you can practically hear that annoying smirk in his voice. "They see what looks like an obvious pressure point, but they also see two people who won't let the other out of their sight. Can't divide what won't separate."

Kaleido throws this look over his shoulder that's trying way too hard to be casual. You flash him your best trophy-wife smile before turning back to your hushed conversation.

"I don't like playing from behind," you breathe into the mic. "If this blows up in our faces—"

"It won't." The certainty in his voice would be irritating if you didn't know how that big brain of his works. "Guys like Kaleido? They're like snakes. They won't strike without knowing exactly where to sink their fangs. Marriage looks like an easy weak spot to exploit, but it also means they have to be real careful about how they play it. Nobody wants to poke a bear and its mate."

You chew on your bottom lip as you follow Kaleido through another door into what looks like some bougie conference room from hell.

"So what you're saying is," you whisper, working it out, "we look like an easy mark, but we're actually too much of a pain in the ass to fuck with directly?"

The tiny nod he gives is barely perceptible. "Bingo. It's all about the balance—make him think he's got leverage, but make him second-guess using it."

You take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. The pieces are starting to click into place.

"Okay, yeah. I get what you're doing here."

It's actually kind of brilliant, in a fucked-up way. Present a tempting target that's also too risky to take a shot at.

Classic Jeon strategy—making someone think they've got the upper hand while he's actually ten steps ahead.

You just hope his read on Kaleido is as accurate as he thinks it is.

The new room is bigger, fancier, trying way too hard to look impressive.

But what catches your attention isn't the tacky decor—it's the guy sprawled in this throne-like chair (what's with these people and thrones?). His hair's this violent shade of red, styled up in a mohawk that screams 'look at me, I'm dangerous.'

But it's his eyes that make your stomach drop.

Yellow contacts that make him look like some kind of Boomslang sizing up its next meal.

You feel Jeon go completely still beside you, every muscle in his body coiled tight. The air around him sharpens into something deadly, and you just know this situation just went from bad to absolutely fucked.

"Where the fuck are you going?" AD's voice cuts through your earpiece, sharp and irritated.

You tilt your head slightly, keeping your voice barely above a whisper. "Kaleido brought us to meet someone else. Apparently, they're very interested in our deal."

"Who?" The way AD snaps the word makes your skin prickle.

"Red mohawk. Yellow contacts. Looks like he raided some goth's closet," you murmur, trying to keep the tension out of your voice.

There's this pause that feels heavy enough to crush your lungs.

Then AD's voice comes back, cold as ice: "That's Fervio."

"Motherfucker," Jeon mutters under his breath, and the fact that he's breaking radio silence to curse tells you everything you need to know about how deeply shit you are.

You glance between Mohawk Guy—Fervio—and Jeon, trying to piece together why everyone's suddenly acting like you're standing in front of Death himself.

Your confusion must show somehow through the comms because AD starts talking again, his voice tight with barely contained urgency.

"Listen carefully. Fervio's not just another MDF thug. He's their fucking torture specialist." There's a rustling sound, like AD's leaning closer to his mic. "We're talking serious psychological damage. The kind of shit that keeps other psychopaths up at night. Makes V look like a boy scout."

"Hey!" V's voice cuts in, sounding actually offended. "I have standards, okay? And do you know how hard it is to get blood out of designer suits?"

"Both of you, shut up," RM's voice slices through the chatter, cold and commanding. "Get out. Now. Before he decides you look interesting."

You watch Fervio rise from his chair with this fluid grace that makes your skin crawl, yellow eyes locking onto you both like a snake spotting mice.

"We can't," you breathe into the comm, keeping your face neutral even though your heart's trying to punch through your ribs. "Backing out now would be suspicious as fuck."

Great, you think. Just great.

Of all the psychos in MDF, you had to run into their resident Hannibal Lecter.

Before AD can continue with his rant, J-Hope's voice cuts in, sharp and deadly serious.

"Listen here, you little shit," he hisses, and you've never heard him sound this intense before. "That psycho in front of you? I've had to put his victims back together. Multiple fucking times. And let me tell you something—there usually isn't enough left to work with. The things he does to people? That's not normal torture. That's not even human. He's a fucking monster wearing people skin for fun."

Your stomach does this violent flip thing, but you keep your face perfectly blank. Years of Flower's training kicking in as Fervio stalks toward you.

Those yellow contacts make him look like something that crawled out of a horror movie, and that smile—fuck, that smile is all kinds of wrong.

Next to you, Jeon's whole soul has turned deadly, like the kind of storm that levels entire cities. His body is coiled so tight you can practically hear his muscles screaming, ready to launch at Fervio's throat at the smallest wrong move.

"We need to find another way," you breathe into the comm, barely moving your lips. "But if we bolt now, this place turns into a fucking slaughterhouse. We stick to the plan."

AD starts cursing in your ear, and J-Hope's protests get even more colorful, but you tune them out.

Time to put on the performance of your life.

You stretch your lips into what you hope is a convincing smile and extend your hand to Fervio.

"Pleasure to meet you," you say, voice steady despite your heart trying to punch through your ribcage. "Kaleido mentioned you might be interested in what we're offering."

Your skin crawls when Fervio takes your hand. His grip is too tight, too deliberate, and he holds on way longer than necessary as he brings your knuckles to his lips in this theatrical gesture that makes you want to g̶a̶g̶ grimace. Those yellow eyes never leave yours, gleaming with something that looks too much like hunger.

"A pleasure indeed," he practically purrs, and the way he says it makes you feel like you need a shower.

You force yourself to stay still, channeling every ounce of Seduction Division training into keeping your expression pleasant and engaged.

"The pleasure's mine. Your reputation precedes you."

Please, you think, let us get through this without anyone getting skinned alive.

Those creepy yellow contacts slide over to Jeon, and you watch Fervio size him up. "And who's the strong, silent type?"

"Her husband," Kaleido cuts in before either of you can speak, his smirk dripping with smug satisfaction. "Though he doesn't seem too keen on... friendly conversation."

Fervio's laugh is sharp and ugly, like broken glass scraping metal. "Oh, I get it. The big scary guard dog act, right? All growl, no real bite. What, they keep you on a leash, make sure no one gets too handsy with the missus?"

You feel Jeon's hurricane darken dangerously, but his voice stays deadly calm.

"Trust me, she doesn't need protection. She's perfectly capable of handling herself."

Your hand shoots out to grip his bicep—partly to stop him from doing something stupid, partly to ground yourself. When he glances at you, his tongue flicks out to play with his lip ring.

"I'm sure my husband"—and god, that word feels weird in your mouth—"would appreciate it if we skipped the implications and got down to business."

You can feel Jeon practically vibrating with tension under your grip, so you squeeze his arm just a bit harder.

Don't, you try to telegraph through the touch. He's testing us. Don't give him what he wants.

Fervio's eyes dart between you and Jeon, calculating and hungry, before settling back on you.

"Of course, my sincerest apologies," he says, in a tone that suggests he's about as sorry as a cat in a canary shop. "Let's discuss this fascinating deal of yours."

He sinks back into his chair with a loud thud, and you take the seat across from him whilst Jeon drops into the chair beside you. His presence is both comforting and terrifying—like having a loaded gun pressed against your back. Protection and danger all wrapped up in one p̶r̶e̶t̶t̶y̶ lethal package.

Fervio leans back, threading his fingers together like some b̶u̶l̶l̶s̶h̶i̶t̶ wannabe movie villain. The smile playing around his lips makes your skin crawl. It's the kind of smile that says he knows exactly how much power he holds in this room, and he can't wait to use it.

"So," Fervio drawls, and his voice makes your skin want to crawl right off your body. "Partnership's a delicate thing, isn't it? All about that... give and take."

You nod, studying his face like you're trying to read a book written in blood.

"That's right. We're always looking for deals that work out for everyone involved."

He leans forward, elbows on the table. "Everyone involved? Now that's interesting. I've always enjoyed... expanding my circle. Trying new things. Meeting new friends."

You force yourself to stay still. "Well, they do say variety keeps life interesting."

Jeon clears his throat, this tiny sound that somehow manages to carry a death threat.

Fervio's attention snaps to him like a rubber band, and fuck—those yellow eyes are practically glowing now.

"What about you, tough guy?" Fervio's words drip with mock sweetness. "You like getting your hands dirty, or do you just stand there looking pretty while the missus handles business?"

You feel Jeon's muscles coil under your touch. His jaw clenches so hard you can practically hear his teeth grinding.

"I do whatever needs doing," he says, voice cold enough to freeze hell. "And I never just stand there."

"Ooh, feisty," Fervio actually fucking giggles, and it's the most unsettling sound you've ever heard. "I like that in a man."

Your brain is going a mile a minute, mapping every possible way this could go sideways.

The clock on the wall reads 22:45.

Fifteen minutes.

Just fifteen fucking minutes until the power goes out and you can stop playing nice with this psycho.

You lean in, like you're actually interested in whatever sick shit he's suggesting.

"So what exactly did you have in mind for this partnership?"

Fervio's mouth opens, probably to say something horrifying, but you cut him off with a perfectly timed cough.

"Of course," you add quickly, matching his suggestive tone, "we'd need to explore all the possibilities first. Make sure everyone's needs are met."

"Oh, I like you," he purrs, and his smile is all teeth and zero warmth. "I have so many... creative ideas we could try. I've gotten quite good at finding that sweet spot between pleasure and screaming."

You feel Jeon tense beside you, practically vibrating with the need to put a bullet between Fervio's eyes. Your fingers dig into his arm, silently begging him to keep it together.

"We're always eager to learn new methods," you say, keeping your voice light. "As long as they get results."

His laugh sounds like gravel in a blender. "Trust me, sweetheart. My methods always get results. I've turned it into an art form."

22:50.

You maintain your flirty smile even though you want nothing more than to dump bleach on your brain to wash away this entire conversation.

Ten more minutes, you think. Just ten more minutes of not punching this creep in his stupid face.

You force yourself to lean forward, all casual interest like you're not sitting across from a literal psychopath.

"Maybe we should talk specifics first. You know—terms, guarantees, all that boring but necessary shit."

"Of course, of course." Fervio's smile promises pain. "Always good to handle business before... other matters."

He starts laying out some proposal, but you're only half listening. Your eyes keep darting to the clock while trying to look like they're not. Jeon's still beside you, watching Fervio like he's mentally cataloging all the ways he could end him.

22:55. Five more minutes of this psychological torture session.

You can practically feel AD's planned blackout humming in the air—or maybe that's just your nerves making shit up.

You keep nodding, throwing out questions designed to keep Fervio talking. The more he talks, the more he reveals just how fucked in the head he is. But you're careful—dancing on the edge of interest without actually promising anything.

"That's an... interesting approach," you say, watching his yellow eyes light up at your apparent engagement. "Very creative."

Kaleido shifts in his seat, and you catch this tiny frown crossing his face. Someone's starting to smell something fishy.

But then it happens.

23:00 hits, and everything goes black.

The darkness feels like a goddamn blessing after staring at those creepy yellow contacts.

You let out this little laugh, playing it cool. "Well, this is getting atmospheric."

"Indeed it is," Fervio practically purrs, and fuck—his voice has dropped into something that makes your skin want to crawl right off your body. "The darkness has a way of... bringing out our true natures."

You can feel Kaleido's tension from here. He's not buying this convenient timing, but Fervio's too caught up in his own twisted fantasy to notice.

"They do say the best deals happen in the dark," you drawl, channeling every ounce of Seduction Division training into your voice. "When you can't see the fine print."

Come on, you think. Just keep them distracted for a few more minutes.

The darkness is so thick you could probably drown in it, and somewhere in it, Fervio is getting way too excited about this whole situation. But you've got bigger problems than his murder boner—like making sure Kaleido doesn't put two and two together before you can complete the mission.

You feel Jeon slip away like a ghost, silent and deadly in the darkness.

Kaleido's head snaps toward the movement—fuck, he's sharp.

Time to do what you do best: be really fucking distracting.

Your hand finds Kaleido's arm, touch light enough to seem inviting rather than desperate.

"Hey now," you purr. "Don't get distracted. We were just getting to the fun part, weren't we? There's enough entertainment to keep everyone happy."

You hear Kaleido's breath hitch—gotcha. "Is that right?" His voice has that edge of interest that tells you he's taking the bait.

Hook, line, and s̶u̶c̶k̶e̶r̶ sinker.

But then Fervio's voice cuts through, a bit irritated. "Fun is an art form. It's not about how many players are in the game. It's about how thoroughly you can explore each possibility."

Something touches your hand—Fervio's fingers, cold and invasive. Every instinct screams at you to pull away, but you hold steady. Years of training kick in, and you force yourself to lean into the touch instead of breaking his fucking fingers.

"Couldn't agree more," you say, making your voice all honey and smoke. "Quality over quantity, right? Though sometimes..." You let the words hang there, suggestive. "A little variety can make things interesting."

Fervio's laugh makes your skin want to crawl right off your body and run for the hills.

"Let's keep our friend out of this particular equation," he says, and there's steel under that fake playfulness. "I prefer my entertainment more concentrated. Just us three."

You paint on a smile he can't see in the dark, grateful for small mercies.

"Whatever you say," you reply, like you're actually disappointed. "Your house, your rules."

The minutes drag by like years. Your heart's going so hard you're amazed they can't hear it, but you keep talking, keep flirting, keep Kaleido's suspicions buried under layers of innuendo and suggestion.

Every time Fervio opens his mouth, something more twisted comes out, but you dance around his sick fantasies like you're actually interested.

Come on, Jeon, you think. Hurry the fuck up.

You remind yourself that every creepy comment, every time Fervio's hand 'accidentally' brushes yours, every moment you have to pretend his psycho ass is fascinating—it's all getting you closer to bringing these bastards down.

This is what you trained for. This is what you're good at.

And when those lights come back on, you'll walk out of here without a scratch, leaving these fuckers none the wiser.

Because that's what you do. That's who you are.

You're not just some pretty distraction.

You're a goddamn professional.

This fucking hideout is a maze—that's all Jungkook can think as he tries to move through silently.

The mission weighs on his shoulders, made heavier by AD's voice crackling through his earpiece—sharp, cold, and deliberately sparse with information.

"Left. Next intersection."

His eyes scan the dim corridor, searching for any sign of the server room. Or worse—company.

The lack of proper directions makes his jaw clench. AD's being difficult on purpose, and they both know it.

A soft shuffle of footsteps echoes from around the corner. His body moves on instinct, melting into a shadowed alcove. The wall is cold against his back as some MDF grunt walks past, completely oblivious to the death that could have been waiting for them.

"Almost got made," he mutters into the comm, keeping his voice low. "Your directions are fucking useless."

The silence that follows is loaded.

"Oh no, what a tragedy that would be. What would we do without our perfect Captain America?"

The words hit exactly where AD means them to—right in that raw spot that never quite heals.

But Jungkook swallows it down, like he always does. Like he deserves to.

"Just focus on the fucking mission."

"Whatever you say." AD's voice drips acid. "Next right, straight down. Try not to die—the paperwork's a bitch, and I'd hate to waste my time processing your replacement."

His teeth grind together so hard his jaw aches. The guilt sits heavy in his chest, a constant companion these days. AD never lets him forget what happened with Sylvia, never misses a chance to twist the knife.

But that's fine. He deserves that too.

The mission is what matters. Everything else—the guilt, AD's hatred, the constant reminder of his failures—that's just background noise. He's gotten good at drowning it out.

Focus on the objective, he thinks. Nothing else matters.

(But god, some days the weight of it all feels like it might finally break him.)

"Thanks for the fucking concern," Jungkook mutters, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.

Not that he expects anything else from AD these days.

"Don't flatter yourself." AD's voice crackles with venom through the comm. "I'm here for the mission. You're just the unfortunate means to an end."

Each step feels heavier than the last, weighted down by years of AD's cultivated hatred.

But the mission is what matters.

That's what he keeps telling himself, anyway.

Has to keep telling himself.

The LED lights overhead cast these long, twisted shadows that remind him too much of things he'd rather forget.

Of Sylvia. Of choices he can't take back. Of the way everything went so spectacularly wrong.

"Left door," AD says, clipped and cold. "Try not to fuck this up too."

Jungkook's hand pauses over the doorknob, metal cool against his palm. He presses his ear to the door, listening for movement, for breath, for anything that might mean trouble. Nothing but silence answers back.

"You know," he breathes, slipping into the room like a ghost, "with how much you hate me, you'd think I killed her myself."

The laugh that comes through his earpiece is ugly. "Didn't you? Might as well have handed her the gun yourself."

He's right, of course. Jungkook deserves every bit of venom AD spits at him.

He simply exhales. Ignores the guilt that threatens to choke him.

"Moving on," he says quietly, both an update and a desperate attempt to change the subject.

"Yeah, better hurry," AD sneers. "Clock's ticking, and we both know how good you are at getting people killed when you're running out of time."

"Crystal fucking clear," Jungkook grits out, his jaw clenched so tight it hurts.

But pain is familiar territory these days. Almost comforting, in a twisted way.

"Door on your left, five meters." AD's voice is clinical now, professional.

Sometimes that's worse than the open hostility.

At least hatred is honest.

"Could you at least pretend not to want me dead?" Jungkook mutters.

"Maybe if you hadn't gotten Sylvia killed, I would."

It hits him like a bullet between the ribs, the name.

Sylvia.

It always comes back to her, doesn't it?

That night haunts every interaction with AD, turning what used to be friendship into this twisted thing full of barbs and old wounds.

"I know."

It's all he can say. All he's allowed to say, really. Some apologies are just fucking pointless.

The server room is exactly what he expected—all blinking lights and humming machines. Perfect place to hide a bug.

His hands move on autopilot while his mind keeps circling back to AD's words like picking at a scab.

"Focus, Jeon." AD's voice cuts through his thoughts. "Get the job done and get out."

Jungkook crouches down, finding a spot that'll give them good coverage. The familiar motions of planting surveillance gear almost feel like penance. Almost. His fingers work quickly, efficiently, working with the kind of precision his father drilled into him.

The comm line goes quiet. AD's probably stewing in his anger, replaying old memories like a fucked-up highlight reel.

Jungkook knows because he does the same thing.

"Bug's planted," he whispers, straightening up. "Moving out."

There's this pause—longer than usual. Like AD's wrestling with something.

When he finally speaks, his voice has lost some of its edge. "Watch your back."

It's not forgiveness. Not even close. But it's... something.

A tiny crack in the wall of hatred AD's built between them.

Maybe it's just muscle memory from their old friendship, or maybe AD's just too tired to maintain the rage.

Either way, it doesn't change anything.

Some mistakes can't be undone, some bridges stay burned.

And dead people always stay dead.

Jungkook heads back the way he came, knowing he needs to hurry. He can't afford any mistakes, not now—not ever again, really. Time's running out, and he can't afford to fuck this up too.

"Move your ass, Jeon. You got less than a minute."

AD's voice has faded to white noise in his ear, like a storm that's finally burned itself out.

But the urgency remains, thrumming under his skin like a fucking hornets' nest.

And his mind isn't helpful—keeps circling back to everything riding on this—the mission, the intel, the fact that you're still in that room with those psychos.

A drop of sweat slides down his temple, and he forces himself to focus.

No room for distractions. Not now.

He's almost at the final corner, freedom just fucking there, when he catches the low rumble of voices. His body reacts before his brain, pressing flat against the wall in a shadowed spot. His breath comes shallow and quiet as footsteps approach.

The seconds crawl by like years. Each heartbeat feels too loud, each breath a risk. The guards' voices drift closer, then past, then fade into nothing.

The moment the footsteps disappear, Jungkook moves.

Those last few meters might as well be a mile, but he covers them in seconds. The lights could come back any moment, and if he's not in that room when they do—

He slides into his seat beside you, forcing his breathing to stay steady even though his heart's trying to punch through his ribs.

The power surges back on immediately. The sudden brightness makes his eyes burn, but there's no time to adjust.

You turn toward him, probably to ask if he got it done, but the room's already buzzing with conversation again like nothing happened. Like he didn't just plant a bug that could bring this whole operation crashing down. Like there aren't two psychopaths sitting across from you both, one of them already suspicious.

His eyes meet yours for a split second. There's relief there, yeah, but also the weight of knowing this is just the beginning.

"Looking forward to our... partnership," Fervio then purrs, those creepy yellow contacts flicking between you and Jeon. "I'm veryinterested to see what you bring to the table."

You catch Jeon giving you this look from the corner of your eye—all confusion and barely concealed questions.

Of course he's lost, poor bastard missed the whole song and dance while he was playing spy. His dark eyes are practically screaming for some kind of explanation, any hint about what kind of mess he just walked back into.

You meet his gaze for a split second, trying to pack a whole conversation into one look.

Later, you try to telegraph. When we're not surrounded by psychos who want to wear our skin as party hats.

After a few more minutes, everyone starts getting up, chairs scraping against the floor.

Kaleido's already at the door, and you and Jeon fall in line behind him like good little lambs to the s̶l̶a̶u̶g̶h̶t̶e̶r̶ meeting.

The hallway feels weirdly normal after that pressure cooker of a room. Just the click of shoes on fancy floors and the distant mumble of voices that could almost make you forget you're in the heart of enemy territory.

Jeon slides into step beside you, and it's kind of impressive how he manages to look completely chill while also being wound tight enough to snap. His shoulders are relaxed but his eyes keep scanning everything, cataloging exits and threats like the walking weapon he is.

Your brain's working overtime, trying to figure out how to explain everything that went down while he was gone. How do you even begin to summarize that clusterfuck of a conversation?

'Hey, so while you were planting bugs, I had to flirt with two different flavors of psychopath to keep us alive. Fun times!'

He's counting on you to be his eyes and ears in there, to help him navigate whatever landmines you just agreed to. And fuck if you're going to let him down now.

God; you are in so far over your heads. But hey, at least you're drowning together.

The walk back through MDF's territory feels like it takes forever.

Kaleido leads you through this maze of hallways that all look the same—probably designed that way on purpose, the paranoid bastards.

You've got questions burning holes in your tongue, and you can tell from the way Jeon keeps glancing at you that he's got plenty of his own.

Finally, finally, you push through the exit doors and the night air hits your face like freedom.

Jeon practically deflates next to you, all that coiled tension leaving his body in one long exhale.

You get it. Being in there felt like having a knife pressed against your throat for hours.

It's weird how normal everything looks when you just spent the evening playing nice with actual monsters.

You reach up and pull out your earpiece, watching Jeon do the same.

No more voices in your head—just the ambient noise of Seoul at night and about a million questions that need answers.

The bike's waiting right where you left it, looking like the most beautiful thing you've ever seen because it means you can get the fuck out of here.

Jeon moves toward it, probably ready to bolt, but something's been nagging at you since those comms went live.

"Who's Sylvia?"

The words slip out before you can stop them.

It's probably not the best timing, but if Seduction has taught you anything is that information is power.

And right now you feel pretty fucking powerless.

You watch Jeon's shoulders lock up again, his whole body going still like you just pulled a gun on him instead of asking a simple question.

Fuck. He forgot about the comms.

In the rush to get back before the lights came on, Jungkook completely forgot the line was still open.

That you heard everything—including that name.

Sylvia.

The word sits like poison in his mind, dragging up memories he's spent years trying to bury.

His heart slams against his ribs, and it has nothing to do with almost getting caught back there.

Your question hangs in the air between you, and suddenly he can't breathe right. Can't think straight.

Because you weren't supposed to know about this. About her.

He turns to look at you, trying to read your expression in the dim light. Trying to figure out how much you heard, how much you understood.

But your face gives nothing away—you've gotten too good at that. The Seduction Division taught you well.

His features lock down on instinct, years of practice kicking in like muscle memory.

It's easier this way. Safer. Put up the walls, shut everything down, become the cold, untouchable Chief everyone expects him to be.

"Nobody you should be concerned about." His voice comes out flat, empty. The kind of tone that usually makes people back off real quick.

He watches something flicker across your face—curiosity maybe, or concern. But you don't push. Don't demand answers.

You just say "Alright" in this careful, neutral way that somehow makes everything worse.

Because you're giving him space he doesn't deserve.

Understanding he hasn't earned.

Jungkook turns back to the bike, jamming the key in with more force than necessary.

The engine roars to life, and he focuses on that sound instead of the chaos in his head. Instead of the weight of all these secrets pressing down on his chest.

You climb on behind him, and the warmth of your body against his back feels wrong.

Too close. Too real.

Too much like something he can't afford to want.

"Let's get out of here," he says, keeping his voice empty.

The city starts to blur as he accelerates, but his mind stays stuck on that name. On memories he can't outrun.

Distance, he reminds himself. Distance is survival.

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[abbysreal-wife]

In my feelings pt 2

Abby x Stripper!Reader

In my feelings

Sobbin’ in my cup of coffee cause I fell for another loser

Get that cigarette smoke out of my face

You been wasting my time while you taking what’s mine with the things that you’re doing

Cause you got me in my feelings

————————————————————————

Summary:: Well-known CEO, Abby Anderson is in your club. You would’ve never thought she would be talking to you.

Tags:: Grinding, drinking, mentions of weed

A/N:: Trust me smut will be in part 3 no more edging😭🙏🏾 even thought part 3 isn’t even written yet.😇

The random underlined words are song links.

————————————————————————

“Excuse me, pretty lady, could we talk for a bit?” A tall woman appeared behind you.

You didn’t find it strange that she was talking to you, cause everyone always talks to you after performing, you were surprised at the fact that SHE was talking to you.

She was rich, like well-known rich. You were surprised even at the fact that she was in a place like this. “What’s up?” you anxiously asked her.

You guys chat went on for a little while before she sparked up more questions “What’s your name?” The blonde girl took a sip from her cup looking at you carefully. “Stage name or real name?” You joked your stilettos starting to feel uncomfortable and tight. She laughed “your real name, everybody already knows your stage name, baby girl. You made it known”  you giggled annoyingly loud “[౨ৎ], what about you?”

The blonde woman put her cup down on the bar counter. “Abigail, just call me Abby though” she announced over the music.

Then the lights dimmed down to pink, you knew that meant Cupid (Dina) was coming out to dance.

The intro music of streets Started to play.

You looked back grinning at the dark haired girl who was waving and winking at Abby’s friend “what’s your friend’s name?” You looked back at Abby whose head turned before her eyes “Ellie. She dragged me in here” you grinned at her words “but you’re glad, aren’t you?” Abby chuckled fingernails picking at the bar counter “sure am”

“I’m gonna go get my regular clothes on” you stated to her almost walking away before she grabbed your wrist with her free hand “Do you have a ride home?..” Abby nervously asked. “Why? You wanna kidnap me?” She laughed her blond hair falling gracefully down her shoulders.

“No, so I can take you home. The buses are pretty dangerous to ride at this time of hour.”

Your shift ended in one hour. You always usually left during that hour cause no one comes in at 1am. “My shift doesn’t end until 2am” you told her. “We can stay until then though” Abby’s face kinda lit up. Though she tried to not show it. “That’s fine with me” Abby exclaimed. 

˖ ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

Hot, sweaty body’s grinding against each other was the only thing keeping you up right now.

Well, you two definitely didn’t stay till 2am cause it was actually 3am and everybody in this club was wasted.

Ellie and Dina were in a corner high off weed while making out. And you and Abby were grinding against each other.

Your vision was blurred from the amount of shots you took. And Abby grabbing your waist from behind while you backed your ass up into her wasn’t making it a whole lot better.

You spun around to meet Abby face to face. “I’m gonna go get something to drink” you slurred over the music. Abby laughed at the way you were struggling to even walk straight. “Two vodka shots please?” You held up the number two with your fingers in the bartender’s face.  

The bartender shook her head “mm, doll, you’ve had one too many drinks tonight” you didn’t even know who she was, so you looked at her name tag. It read “Violet” or maybe it said “Violent” doesn’t matter, “Violet please — you made sure to drag the ‘e’ in please extra long.

“I’ve only had 4 drinks, one more won’t hurt” your incoherent babbling somehow convinced violet to pour you one more. You scooted the two shots closer to you, biting your lip as you turned around to go and find Abby.

Luckily, she was right behind you.

Actually, she was towering over you.

Handing one crystal shot glass over she smiled at you “you can’t even think straight can you?” You laughed at her words knowing how true she was. “I’m very sober right now.” After an attempt of trying to say that you tilted your head back as the cold alcohol ran down your throat. Abby soon followed after.

“Let’s go dance some more” you shouted over the speakers. Once on the dance floor, haunted started to play, the crowd suddenly began to move slower, and slower.

You and abby were still standing on the floor, well, barely, you avoided tumbling over into a couple people as your ass grinding against Abby’s crouch, something firm was rubbing against you, and you knew exactly what it was too, knowing that she had that under her pants  made the sensation between your legs grow farther down, and all the way through your legs, your knees buckled under the touch of her hands roaming your body.

Leaning back into her you yelled in she ear “Do you wanna go now it’s getting kinda late” Abby chuckled at your comment, her lips curled up into a cocky smirk, as if she knew this was gonna happen, now you guys lips would occasionally brush against each other from how close you two were, perfect chance to kiss her.

“You wanna go now? Or—“ she couldn’t finish her sentence cause her words were caught in your mouth.

She ate your top and bottom lips desperately, like, if she didn’t kiss you enough you would disappear.

Little moans could be heard from your mouth as you grabbed the sides of her head locking her in place with yourself. You were practically looking up at her while kissing.

“Let’s get out of here” 

˖ ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

A/N:: again, pt 3 isn’t written yet so yall better wait. (If you want it to get written faster you have to beg) (jk) (unless?..) (just kidding)

@graciedollie @korn-dawg @look-me @lluxentzz @kissedbykhloe @gay-jedis @liliofabby @ellies-moth-to-a-flame @ellieswife4ever @cloudyorgy @yokedtablet

if you wanna be added to the tag list tell me

[bibistic]

Yandere Mortician (Sebastian Claude) x reader

syp. Sebastián wants to shoot his shot with you.

warn. Yandere themes, light stalking (?), uneducated Sebastian, uh he’s pretty weird, a little bit of Spanish

a/n: two done! might right some reactions and introduce another oc, who knows!

“Morning, Neighbor!” Your usual voice chirps as you wave to your neighbor that lives in the apartment right next to your own. It’s too early for this… The man thinks. His eye bags are noticeable even from a distance, though that doesn’t stray you from giving him your daily greeting. 

“…Morning.” Sebastian—who only woke up 30 minutes ago—gives you a half-assed greeting as he turns his back to you and heads to the elevator. It’s obvious to you that your neighbor isn’t a morning person. But your neighbor, you’re still unsure of what his name is after living here for a year, always leaves his room looking like he wants to set the entire complex ablaze.

He hears your pumps clack against the tiled hallway as you keep your pace behind him. Clicking the button to signal the elevator, his shoe taps against the floor impatiently. Like he does every morning. You give a smile as you pass by him before making your way down the stairs that sat next to the elevator. "Good exercise," you say when he gave you a look the first time you decided to use the stairs instead of the elevator. Humming a tune on your way down, Sebastian hears the melody. It’s the same song as usual. It’s the song you always hum every morning when you head to work.

Sebastián’s eyes scan over the numbers that appear above the metal doors of the elevator, going from 3 to 4, slowly making its way up to the floor he was on. He wonders, like most mornings, if your order at the cafe you frequent before heading to work is still the same. Did you try something new? What other things do you like?

The elevator dings, and the metal doors open. There were other people in the small, cramped space that he tried to fit into himself. Sebastian’s annoyed look and darkened eye bags are enough to keep the elevator quiet, and so is the fact that the other residents here know of his occupation and already consider him ominous and creepy because of it.

His mind wanders to the smell of your perfume, the way you looked in your uniform, and just you in general. Tomorrow, tomorrow I’ll talk to her.

Over his black button-down he wears a white lab coat that ends just above his knees and blue latex gloves that reach close to the watch on his left wrist. A mask covers his mouth and nose to prevent him from inhaling any chemicals. With a practically graceful maneuver, Sebastian cuts through a corpse's body with a scalpel to remove the internal organs.

His mind is focused on his work, creating clean cuts to move the layers of skin out of the way, but it’s like something comes over him in that very moment. His foot taps rhythmically against the monochrome tiled floors, and he mindlessly hums the exact tune you were humming this morning. It takes him a few minutes before he even realizes what he’s doing, and when he does, he drops his scalpel on the metallic tray with wheels, eyes shut as he steps away from the body in front of him. One of his hands reaches up to his ivory hair, and he grumbles under his breath, though there’s no one around to hear anyways.

“What the hell am I doing?” This isn’t the first time his mind was plagued by you, no, but this is the first time his mind drifted to you while he was working. It’s getting too far; something has to be done. If he doesn’t have you soon, he’ll go crazy. It’s been an entire year of brushing you off, and now it’s time he advances. Ask her out to dinner or coffee before work?

He takes a seat at his desk in the room and grumbles, “How the hell am I going to do this?” Being socially deprived since a young age, Sebastian has never made romantic advances to anyone in his 25 years of living. He pulls down his facial mask and takes off his latex gloves and tosses them into a small trash bin on the side of his desk.

Logging into his computer, he pulls up the search bar and begins typing. How to ask someone out? His eyes look over the generated response.

1. Be suave and nonchalant, and build conversation.

2. Subtly ask if they’re busy.

3. Ask them out during their free time!

Easy enough, they made it seem so simple. He opens up another browser and types another question. How do you kiss someone?

Is it normal to be searching this, or is it all common knowledge? He curses his idiocy in these things.

1. Make eye contact with them.

2. Slowly lean in.

3. Make contact with their lips and sensually move your lips against their own.

… Simple enough.

His eyes dart back to the corpse lying back on the metal table, remembering that he actually has a job to do. He gets up and puts his mask back on and slips on a new pair of gloves. Tomorrow, he repeats to himself, I’ll make my move tomorrow.

The workday is finally over, and you finally arrive home from work. Unlocking your door and entering your small apartment, you slip off your pumps and hang up your sweater before locking the door behind you and slumping on your sofa. A loud groan escapes your lips from exhaustion. I work too much for what I’m being paid…

In your seat, you stretched your arms till they reached your head and exhaled loudly. You smacked your lips together, a newfound hunger taking over now that you were home and didn’t really eat anything because of your job.

You spend the next hour whipping yourself something to eat; you set a folded mini table in front of you and place your food on top. Grabbing the control and setting it to continue watching your show. Your apartment greatly embodied your personality. Despite it being tiny, you managed to make the space feel like home; it’s a makeshift until you actually manage to buy a home.

There are photos hung up on the walls of you, your friends, your family, and pets, and unbeknownst to you, half covered by a picture frame, is a tiny hole in the wall, one that Sebastian, your grumpy neighbor, can see you through.

…

It’s creepy, downright disgusting of him to be doing this, but he can’t stop. Sebastian’s body is pressed against the wall where the hole is, a painting he had covering it on his end long discarded on the ground. He puts it there so that if you do happen to notice the hole, it’ll be covered on his end, so you won’t get any suspicions that he was watching you.

It goes unnoticed by him, but his breathing is irregular, his eye that is looking through to your end is shot, mind not wanting to miss a single detail. He can feel himself going weak in the knees just from watching you eat. Everything you do is just ethereal…

Ring!

Shit! He curses as his phone rings loudly in his pocket. He can see that you heard the noise too and turned around to see what it was. He silenced his phone before looking back. You haven’t noticed the hole. Thank God.

The ring knocks him out of his trance, and he decides to cover up the peeking hole with a painting. He checks his phone, scanning over the missed call, and sees that it was his mom. Walking to his room, he shuts the door behind him and answers the call. “… Hola, mamá…”

Morning again, a repeat of the day before, and the day before that…

Like usual, with pep in your step from getting some well-needed sleep, you exit your apartment at the same time as Sebastian. Your head turns to face him as you lock your door. “Morning!”

And to your surprise, he responds with more than just his normal grumble. “Good morning. Uh, nice day today?” You let out a dry laugh. It’s a cloudy day.

“Yeah, I suppose it is.”

You’re about to turn to leave, thinking that all he was going to say to you, but his voice calls out.

“Wait,” his hand reached out to you, but he has yet to touch you. “I’ve been wondering. We’ve been neighbors for a while now, and I wanted to ask if maybe you’d want to get to know each other more? Over dinner?”

Your eyes widen in shock, astounded even. “Really? Sure! I’d love to! How about today at seven?” “Great, I’ll see you then.” Angels must be singing.

You wave to him walking down the hallway and round the corner in front of the elevator. Sebastian follows close behind you. Making it down one set of stairs, you realize Sebastian is standing at the top. “Do you mind if I walk with you today?”

You give him another smile, the same one he’s grown to yearn for every minute. “Not at all!”

He should’ve done this sooner.

[lifeafter101]

Always on My Mind Chapter 2

WC: 1.7k

Warnings: Homophobia family issues

As the sun rose Rowan already dreaded the day ahead. Wednesdays are the worst. She had Bio first. BIOLOGY at 8am. That's a crime. But there was no changing it so she just went on her way getting ready. 

“Isabella! I'm leaving with or without you in 5 minutes, hurry up!” Sarah yelled from the living room. 

I hate that name 

Later at school Nika and Rowan met up before class and following Nika was a now familiar face. Paige. 

“Hey Ro! How are you?” Nika said, bringing in Rowan for a hug. “I've been better. My mom wont stop with the ISABELLA HURRY every morning like you stay at home all day why are you in a rush?” It took a second to realize that Paige was listening to the conversation and would have heard the fact that she just called herself isabella. So she attempted to ignore it and hope Paige didnt bring it up again in the future. Who knows maybe she could fake a sister? It's not like Paige would be coming over.

Biology class started as usual. Handing back homework, checking homework, and Rowan realizing that if she wants to pass this class she needs an A ASAP. 

“Alright I need you all to partner up. We have a project coming up with 30%.” Mrs. Smith said. Paige quickly eyes Rowan and Rowan nods yes to the clear question. They would be partners. “This project will be worth a lot and due in 2 weeks. So partner up and get to work!” The chaos began. 

“So partner, what should we work on first?” Rowan said, scooting her desk closer to Paige. “I think we need to plan out what we are going to do. Like when we can meet up. I can't do mine really ever because my brother literally can't shut up even though I love him and it's also so busy there can we work at your place? ” Rowan's smile dropped. “Um… so… my place…” She didn't know why but tears started to form. “Um.. I don't know Paige, I have to go.” She picked up her bags and walked out. 

It's not that she didn't want Paige to come to her house, it's that Paige was gay. And Rowan clearly didn't have a problem with that; it's just her parents would look at her and shun her. Rowan hated her parents for it. She has tried so hard to get them to understand that it's not a choice. The thing is, Nika and Jamie can look and act straight. Paige looks gay and there is no changing that. Not that she should. 

Later at basketball practice with Nika and Paige 

The sound of the basketballs hitting the ground was the only thing that was keeping Paige out of her head. Rowan freaked out over a meet up. Why? 

“Alright girls we are going to do some ball handling and passing drills partner up.” 

Nika and Paige stood facing one another and started passing. “So I need to ask you something. Today for Bio I asked Rowan to be my partner. She said yes and was all excited until I mentioned that my house was not an option. And she freaked and left. Like what's up with that?” Nikas' face dropped and she took a breath. “Well I guess it's not really my place to share her home life but I'll give you like a spark notes digest. Basically her parents are hella catholic and you're like the first friend she's made in a long time. I guess she doesn't want her parents to ruin that. But personally I think it's more…” 

Suddenly it all made sense. Rowan wasn't mad; she was scared her parents would hurt Paige. 

That night Paige decided to text Rowan and hear it from her. 

Paige: Hey i'm sorry about today Nika told me a little of why you walked out and i'm so sorry that that's how things are at home. 

Rowan: i'm sorry i walked out i just am not good at talking about my emotions but yeah i just don't want them to hurt you. It's so clear you are gay lol and they would antagonize you. You would be lucky to walk into the house if they found out actually scratched that you would be lucky to ever talk to me again…

Paige: i'm so sorry look when I come over nothing will happen 

Rowan: i'm scared for you paige

Paige: nothing bad will happen promise 

That next day they had planned a meet up. Rowan was terrified. 

Ding Dong 

“Ill get it!” Rowan called out 

When she opened the door she saw Paige but let's be honest it looked nothing like her. This ‘Paige’ had straight blonde hair with a pink headband on, a skirt and a tank top. She even had a little makeup on. “Hey Ro! Like my fit?” Rowan was folded in half laughing. “You look sooooo amazing Paigey!” 

“Hello dear you must be Paige. It's good to meet you.” Sarah extended her hand in which Paige shook it. “What church do you attend?” “The one down the road with Father Rob.” Paige had said it so clearly and so smooth. 

“Oh Paige, I'm so glad that she didn't kill you.” Rowan said almost sarcastically and they headed into her room. 

The two girls had been working on the project in silence only talking when the other had a question. 

Rowan's eyes kept wandering to Paige. All she could think of was the “I miss you” text. She tells her friends she misses them all the time, why was it different here? 

“Paige?” She said watching as Paige lifted her eyes to meet hers. “Yeah?” “What did you mean by ‘this might sound weird but I miss you?’ text” Paige looked caught. Like she had done something wrong. 

“Oh nothing I just missed you. I guess I just like being around you Ro.” Paige smiles

“I like being around you too, Paigey.” Rowan took the sweet moment and leaned her head on Paige's shoulder. She could feel Paige stiffen but she never moved. Paige wouldn't dare. 

Rowan was leaning her head on Paige's shoulder watching as Paige was typing the final data into the chart. All of the sudden she heard her mothers footsteps down the hall. She was coming. Rowan jumped away from Paige and made herself busy. She wasn't sure why she felt like what she was doing was wrong. They were just friends and plus she was straight. 

“Paige I think it's time for you to get a move on. We have dinner tonight with the Parker family down the road.” Sarah said as Paige was packing her things. 

“I'll miss you Rowan. We did good work today.” Paige said facing Rowan back turned to the street. “I'll miss you too. I think we will get this A!” Paige turned around and made her way to her dads car. 

“Wait Paige one more thing!” Paige turned around and was met with a big hug from Rowan. She stepped back so that she wouldn't fall and lifted Rowan up off the ground. “I'll see you tomorrow Ro!” 

Paige’s dad Bob gave Paige a knowing look in the car. “Stopppp dad it's not like that” 

That night: 

Text Paige and Rowan

Paige: Can I ask you a weird question?

Rowan: of course

Paige: do you like anyone 

Rowan: idk i kinda like this guy louis from my yearbook class why

Paige: jus wondering :)

The next day

“Hey Ro you coming to our game tonight?” Paige said standing next to Nika. “I mean I think so if Jamie is going.” Rowan said, looking at Jamie. “Dude of course i'm going it's my girlfriend's opening night. I'll be there!!” “Okay then i'll be there!” 

“Here you go babe.” Nika says handing her practice jersey over to Jamie. “AWE, it's so cute I love it!” 

It was a tradition, summer league, school game. Jamie always wore Nika’s jersey. Jamie took Rowan's hand and they walked to jamies mothers car and headed off to the mall. 

“Nika.. I have an odd request.” Paige said, taking something out of ehr bag. “What's up?” nika said tilting her head slightly. “I want to give Rowan my practice jersey but I don't want to make it weird.” Paige said almost blushing as she handed Nika the jersey. “OOOOO I'm excited for this one! YES YES YES I LOVE THIS Ill get it to her.” Nika jumped up and down. 

Later at the mall while Paige and Nika are at the gym. 

“Rowan do you ever think despite your family's outlook of the queer community, you might be gay?” This was always a sensitive topic for Rowan. She hates talking about being gay because in her mind she couldn't be. She did hate gay people, she really loved them, she just couldn't be gay. “No, I like men, you know this. Plus even if I was gay there is nothing I could do. My parents would disown me.” Shut down. Just like all the other times. “Look I get it but the way you look at Paige is just how I looked at Nika early on. Like you're trying to figure something out.” Rowan sighed part of her in agreement but she would never admit that. “I like men.” 

Text from Nika to Jamie:

Nika: J come pick up P’s jersey for Ro. 

Jamie: EKKK no way did she dead ass actually give Ro her jersey. That's so cute. OMW

Nika hearted the message

As Jamie put her phone away the most devious smile appeared on her lips. “What are you smiling about?” Rowan said curious but also amused. “Oh nothing, just need to pick up something with Nika.”

When Jamie and Rowan arrived at the gym the handoff was subtle and quick. Jamie went to the locker room and so did Nika. Within 1 minute Jamie was walking out with her bag a little bigger than before. The devious smile never left her face as she grabbed Rowan's hand and walked back out the gym. 

“Alright so  I have something to give you.” Jamie said as Rowan was putting on her jeans. She handed the jersey to Rowan and her eyes widened. In royal blue the grey jersey said Bueckers 5. “This is Paiges?” Rowan said. “Yeah she gave it to Nika for you to wear. How cute!” Rowan would never admit it but a huge smile appeared on her face. Jamie watched as her face turned a dark red shade. “This is so sweet.” Rowan slid it on easily. There she was for the first time wearing Paige's Jersey. 

Sunny says: Im sorry for this one being so short. I am posting another chapter tn:)

[7arami]

Totally Bats: Child Soldiers Version Pt 1

dun dun dunnnnnnnn!

GUYS! I finally did it. I have achieved the most useless and brain dead achievement to be achieved. I watched the first 6 seasons of Totally Spies (I even took some notes and wrote down ideas I had while watching [pathetic, I know (✌ﾟ∀ﾟ)✌]) within a week. I am a useless burden to society ๑(◕‿◕)๑!

Special thanks to @akuri-shinsou2nd for reminding me Jerry already had a twin; you lowkey triggered this binge watch by helping me to realize how much I've forgotten lol. Rewatching, I also realized I've never watched the 6th season lol. Also I'm gonna like expand on literally like offhanded comments made throughout the show, and like hyper fixate on them. Anywhoozles, onto the part yall are probably actually reading this for.

So, in the early years of WOOHP, Terrance has taken control and Jerry Lewis flees to Gotham under the alias Alfred Pennyworth. He still becomes the butler for the Waynes and has been with Bruce since the beginning. Terrance now has access a multi-billion dollar world organization with both endless resources and all of Jerry's weapon/machine blueprints. (I like the idea that Alfred/Jerry, both being retired spies, has helped Batman design his gadgets pre-Lucius.) Because I want the girls to be closer to age to most of the bat kids, Terrance is the one to discover the girls' potential. But none of that 'Spy/Villian-Gene' bullshit, he just somehow found them. I'll think of a better explanation later, I mean he could have literally just have cameras set up in random places scoping out potential soldiers like Jerry did. Also I dunno if I'll just keep the name WOOHP and just try to figure out a new acronym or come up with something else entirely, because they are not gonna be called the L.A.M.O.S. (doesn't even work for this organization).

Sam, Alex, and Clover were abducted from their families when they were kids by Terrance because he saw their potential and decided to train them to be his spies/soldiers. I'm thinking Terrance uses them for a variety of reasons, whether it is for his own personal missions/goals/vendettas or to offer them up as mercenaries for hire to other villains. Like I'm thinking he transforms WOOHP into his own criminal empire, that its hq is out in SoCal but they do work everywhere and anywhere.

There training and treatment was much harsher when they were younger, I don't think I need to go into gruesome detail for you to understand that Terrance's training for these children to become his personal soldiers was inhumane and torturous. The girls have even tried to escape, but it has only led to punishment. After like the third or fourth try, Terrance in a moment of fury decided that punishing the girls directly wasn't enough. Because Alex is my favorite, I'm gonna give her special treatment (◡‿◡✿) . . . as in I'm gonna kill her dad (whoopsies, what can I say, I like to see my favorites suffer [but don't worry, Sam and Clover will also have their own unique character development moments (•‿•) {don't wanna discriminate}]).

I'm thinking Alex just had poor timing and happened to be the unlucky failed escape attempt that received the brunt of Terrance's anger, and was subsequently made an example of. Terrance made Alex, and Sam/Clover, watch as they killed her father and said that if any of them continue with these attempts he will kill each and everyone of their family members. Also I had this idea that Terrance originally brought Alex's mom, but the Inventor got a little crush on her and ended up begging Terrance not to kill her, Terrance had to instead go for Alex's father. But this is just a dumb little background detail I thought of when I was watching 'Totally Busted 3', I found it funny how quickly/brutally Carmen (Alex's mom) shot the Inventor down even though he literally had her trapped.

As they got older, the girls' lack of will to escape began to stem from a disbelief that there was anything left for them to return to rather than the fear of their families being harmed. It was hard to care when they could barely remember them. And at that point years have passed and no one has come to help them, and they are also very aware of the many crimes they have committed over the years (though they tend to not dwell on it). Along with this change in mentality, Terrance has become a bit more lenient with them as the girls have grown to become more compliant with his orders. Their small room (they share a room) is not as sterile as it was the first time they had woken up in it. Terrance has allowed Sam a few books, Alex is allowed a stuffed turtle (Ollie), and Clover got some fashion magazines. Those fashion magazines will be the main reason the girls' are able to pass for normal teenage girls at a cursory glance. It is what makes them dream of shopping, the boys on the cover are their first silly little crushes, and it has played a role in how they speak. But besides that these girls are fucked in the head.

So for Sam I'm thinking of a scientist who lacks ethical boundaries, she lets her morbid curiosity take control and it leads to her doing some cruel acts in a completely objective and unempathetic manner. For instance, she used/experimented Dr. Gelee and Max Exterminus to her hearts content (with Terrance's approval of course), and though she won't admit it, her carelessness is somewhat fueled by their creepy treatment to Alex and Clover

Alex tends to bounce from mania to inattention. She can be very reckless and brutal when it comes to attacking her opponents, more focused on the adrenaline rush she vies for anytime she's on a mission. But when she's not in the middle of a fight, she's tends to be in her own world. Similar to how Alex usually is with her ditziness and giggly behavior. She barely acknowledges anything besides Sam, Clover, Terrance (reluctantly), and fighting/her mission. Basically she's an adrenaline junky.

Clover can be very vengeful and conniving. Many of her actions are fueled by spite, but she never let's that side show. Clover is able to hide this behind a mask of charisma. She can trap her target in a false sense of warmth and security solely through her words and expression, only to kill them the next second without a sliver of remorse. You'll never know when she's lying.

The only people these girls care about is each other, the one thing they'll stand against Terrance on is each other. They have no problem abandoning anyone else from their organization, but they refuse to be split from each other, they refuse to leave each other behind. They can rely on no one else besides each other, they are the only family any of them know anymore.

Now, where does the batfamily come in with all of this?

Let's say the girls are 16. (The Totally Spies Wiki says they were 14 at the beginning of the show, but I swear to God one of them talked about their learners permit, meaning they had to at least be like 15 and half or something, but whatever. This is my Au and I say they're 16, mainly cause I want to put them in Gotham Academy. Otherwise I'd just keep them as college students.) Terrance sens them on a personal mission to Gotham, their target is the Wayne's butler. Not any of the Waynes but their butler. Terrance had just recently found that his brother had faked his death and has actually been hiding out in Gotham in the shadows of the Bruce Wayne. Terrance enrolls the girls into Gotham Academy with an apartment they share. They are meant to infiltrate Wayne Manor by any means, and eliminate Alfred Pennyworth. Terrance decides to not tell the girls that Alfred is actually his twin brother Jerry, because that is not information they need to be privy to, and it's not like they are gonna assume they're related with all his plastic surgery work.

The girls had initially just planned on breaking into the house, but when they went to scope out the area before hand, they come to realize how fortified the manor really is. To an excessive degree for some rich dude, like 10x more than the security for the average billionaire. This not only intrigues the girls, but also irritates them cause now this mission is gonna take way more work to complete. This is what leads to them being enrolled into Gotham Academy, with the hopes of befriending at least one of the bats in order to get closer to their butler, who they have noticed to be very attentive to all the Wayne children.

As the girls get closer to the Wayne kids, they begin to notice how odd they act. Constantly rushing here and there, throwing flimsy excuses, consistently achieving impressive feats very casually. And this feeling is mutual. Tim notices how extensive Sam's computer knowledge is, maybe even Oracle gets a surprise cyber attack from Sam. Duke watches in awe as Alex dominates every sport during P.E., even experiences first hand as she absolutely breaks his ankles during soccer. Cass has a very off feeling about Clover, a feeling that, for once, she cannot decipher.

This all leads to both parties keeping a keen eye on each other. And of course because this is Gotham, the girls don't escape the chaos that riddles this city.

Personally I'm imagining Joker breaking out deciding to do a biochemical attack on Gotham Academy with an excessive amount of Joker Venom. While the batkids try to resolve the situation in a more low profile manner, the girls fall back on their instinct. Thanks to many of their gadgets looking like normal everyday objects girls would have (Compowder, Ultrasensitive Earring Microphone, Expandable Cable Bungee Belt, Laser Nail File, etc.) they have an easier time taking down all of Joker's goons (though they don't really need their gadgets to take them down cause they kickass :)). Sam soon is able to figure out a cure in the schools Chem Lab. Tim watches in shock, he had sent and S.O.S alert to Bruce, Dick, and Jason beforehand. Now, though, he is watching as they new kids rip through Joker's goons and even make a cure just from a school science lab, a rich school science lab but still.

Also, while I was watching I noticed that on multiple occasions Alex has straight up just not hesitated at all to just eat random chemicals she comes across. Like if it weren't for Sam, she totally would have. So I'm thinking, Alex is watching as Sam analyzes the Joker venom and just this compulsion to have taste of the bright neon green liquid. Sam, distracted by her work, didn't notice and Tim had noticed too late. It was just a drop, so the effects aren't too serious but Alex starts giggling like a maniac. Tim is trying to talk her through it, Sam has noticed at this point but just sees it as sign to work harder on creating an antidote. Not a moment later the lab door is busted open and more henchmen begin to charge in. Sam doesn't even look up, instead calmly delegating the task to Alex, who does so gleefully. Tim watches in horror as Alex happily mangle their attackers with too much accuracy. She almost looks like Dick with all her flips, Tim can't help but be impressed as he watches her do a back flip into kick at the back of one of the clowns head and into one the desks, practically curb stomping the man. Clover on the other hand has slowly but surely been making her way to the Joker, effectively sneaking up behind him and with no hesitation drives the Laser Nail File into both his eyes and fires the laser into his heart. Yes queen! Slay!

Batman and Nightwing finally show up to see Alex giggling as she jumps up and down on the back of an unconscious goon, Sam administering a cure to all the students, and Clover filing her nails with a bloodied nail file. Joker's unmoving body is thrown off to the side and Bruce turns to Tim for an explanation, who just stares at the three. He wouldn't let them go, insisting they needed to stay. Alex didn't really care, Sam was already in the middle of something, and Clover wasn't gonna just leave without them.

Tim explains everything to Bruce and Oracle bring up whatever security footage she could salvage from the event. The girls are escorted out by Batman, trailing behind them is Nightwing, Tim, Steph, Cass, Duke, and Damian. The other Wayne kids had followed Dick under the guise of Nightwing getting their perspectives of the event. Tim had already been with Sam, Duke followed Alex when she had bolted to find her sisters, and Cass & Steph were the ones to come across Clover standing over Joker's corpse; Damian's just following the rest of his family (he's in middle school or something, so he was in a different part of the school). They reach a more secluded area, away from the police cars, firetrucks, ambulances, and news vans. They reach a lone and sleek car, in front of it is an old man, standing with impeccable posture. Clover and Sam instantly recognize the guy as their target, sadly for them so does Alex.

Alex: *still giggling gleefully, one arm wrapped over stomach, almost doubling over, the other pointing at Alfred* Hey! Isn't that the guy Terrance wants us to kill? Batfam: . . . Sam & Clover: *deadpanned, side eyeing Alex* Sam: *groans* goddammit Alex Clover: *punching Alex over the head* Great job Alex! You want to say it louder! See if you can get Superman's attention next?! Batman: You girls definitely need to come with me- Alfred: *making quick strides to be in front of the three girls* Did you just say Terrance, as in Terrance Lewis? Alex: *laughing even harder now, almost falling over* Terrance has a last name?! Sam: *arms folded and looking blankly at Alfred* We don't know a Terrance. Sorry. Clover: *clenches the nail file that is still in her hand, (Bruce had tried to get it off of her, but she hadn't budged)* Alfred: *notices this and looks to her hand, instantly recognizing it as one of his designs, now looking at the with furrowed brows* All three of you work for Terrance Lewis. And he sent you here to kill me. Sam & Clover side-eye each other as if having a conversation in their minds, while Alex finally collapses in a fit of hysterical laughter. Steph: *steps up* Who the fu-rick is Terrance !?! Everyone looking between the girls and Alfred Alfred: *sighs* . . . He is my twin.

That's all for today, I still have some little ideas I want to add to this, mostly background detail stuff and I might write a few scenes we'll see. This idea also got me thinking about if the girls were taken in by Amanda Waller, so like they are still child soldiers but I guess not as bad yknow. I will also edit the errors in this later. Toodles!

[lunshimmer]

her village

summary: ellie williams and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day

❀ fandom: the last of us

warnings: vomit, blood, being sick, ellie lowkey has ptsd from the hospital incident

❀ a/n: none :)

❀ word count: 2,458

❀ divider by @firefly-graphics ❀

Ellie wakes around 2:30 am in a cold sweat.

She feels off-- there's no doubt about that. If it weren't for the persistent headache, the scratchy throat, and the sudden inability to breathe through her nose, Ellie would just assume that last night's spaghetti was the culprit-- Her stomach churns and she adds that to the list of current problems.

She turns, hands reaching for the window. She finds the little handle and closes the window. Their house was an old one, so the windows were ones that cranked instead of ones that opened from the bottom. It was a hell of a lot more work to put in the elbow grease to turn it all the way. With all the effort, her head throbs more. Stupid fucking window.

Ellie reclines back on the bed once more, eyes closing. They shoot open again and the sudden need for water. She glances towards her nightstand, where there would usually be a glass for times like this-- there isn't one. Of course.

She sighs heavily, wondering if Joel is awake. Probably not. This means she's on her own to retrieve it.

In military school, there was no adult to call if you needed something. Most of the adults who worked for the school were assholes.

There was one lady who worked in the infirmary who wasn't an asshole. Probably the only person in the whole damn school.

When Ellie would get sick, she'd go see her. The woman had a motherly quality about her-- one that Ellie craved. She'd give Ellie one of the shitty packaged dry rations and a tiny paper cup of water and send her off with a feel better soon, dearie.

The next time Ellie got sick, they'd replaced her with someone else. A man. An asshole one, at that.

Ellie makes a small effort to move herself off the bed, weary legs and limbs aching as she did. Her feet finally find the floor, and then--

Thud. The rest of her body finds the floor, hard. Especially her face.

She groans, thinking that the noise had definitely woken Joel-- until she hears snoring coming from the room down the hall. Guess not.

Ellie plants her hands firmly on the side of her bed, attempting to pull herself up. Her legs are weak-- she chalks it up to the fact that she's probably coming down with something. The thought is reinforced when she successfully pulls herself onto the bed, but lands back on the floor in a coughing fit. She rolls onto her back with a sigh.

Ellie contemplates staying on the floor for the rest of the night, but remembers she's got school in the morning. She didn't want to be sick and tired at school. Even though she was sick and tired of school in general. Pun intended.

Shit. She knows she's not going to be able to do this herself, as much as she doesn't want to wake Joel. Maybe he'll even get her a glass of water.

"Joel?" She calls, the name coming out much weaker and hoarser than she intended. "Joel!"

The snoring stops. Heavy footsteps sound from down the hall.

For being an old man who was half deaf, Joel could hear Ellie extremely well.

"Ellie? Where'ya at?"

"Down here." She mumbles, peeking out from the other side of the bed to look up at him. From this angle, he looks funny-- hair all spiked in different directions, one pant leg accidentally half tucked in his sock. She would laugh, but can't find the energy.

"What happened?" He asks, crouching down to her level.

"My legs stopped working."

"What?" He asks in that tone of voice that goes all serious when he gets worried. Like when she says I got hurt or I punched Carson Whittle in the face again.

"It's fine, just..." She waves a hand, sitting up. Ellie kicks her legs half-heartedly to tell him that they aren't fully broken. "they keep givin' out on me."

In one motion, Joel scoops her up and places her back on her bed. She appreciates the feeling of the soft mattress under her butt instead of the hardwood. He sits next to her, feeling her forehead with the back of his hand.

"Jesus, girl." He mumbles, standing up. "I'll be right back."

Joel rushes out of the room before she gets the chance to ask him for some water. Dammit.

She plays with a loose thread on her blanket. A few moments later, Joel comes back, the thermometer and a glass of water in tow.

"It's like you read my fucking mind." She mumbles, taking the glass from him and downing it in one go.

"Pardon?" He asks, uncapping the thermometer. Maybe he can't hear her that well after all.

"Nothing," She dismisses, bringing the stick to her lips and wedging it under her tongue. It tastes cold and metallic. The temperature reads 102.6.

"You're burnin' up," Joel says, taking the device back from Ellie and capping it. That can't be right. She's been fucking freezing all night. Stupid thing is probably defective.

"That ain't safe, Ellie," he states, standing up. "not for a little girl."

"I'm not a little girl." She retorts. She's fourteen. She's not fucking little.

"For this, you are." He pushes. "Can you stand?"

"Where are we going?" She asks, watching as Joel moves to grab her shoes from the corner of the room.

"The clinic."

Fuck.

---

The next few hours pass by in a haze.

One moment, Joel's got her in his arms. The next, she's on a hospital bed and the doctor's having her breathe into this weird little pulley thingy. She spends the rest of it curled in a ball on the bed.

Ellie hadn't realized she'd developed a bit of a phobia of hospitals since Salt Lake. Hell, she was unconscious for most of it.

Still, the whole people touching her and doing tests on her bullshit didn't sit well with her. Rightfully so.

At sometime around 3 (she guesses), the doctor says her lungs are weak. That she's got mild pneumonia and would need medication.

On the walk (or carry, in Ellie's case) home, Joel had told her that the doctors didn't think it was too severe. She would just need to take it easy for a week or so, then judge from there. Ellie didn't want to take it easy. That wasn't her.

She was worried about missing all that time in the stables and wondered if Jesse and Dina would forget about her if she wasn't around for a week. She leaned on the side of Jesse, maybe, and Dina, no.

When Joel's feet finally stop in front of the house, Ellie's relieved. She had almost dozed off in Joel's arms a few times on the trip back and swore that she'd be asleep as soon as her head hit her pillow.

She's dissapointed when Joel plops her down on the couch instead of her bed. "Dude, what the hell?"

Joel shoots her a look. "I'm keepin' you here because I need to keep an eye on you."

Ellie doesn't get it. It's not like she's gonna run away. Her legs decided to stop working.

Joel covers her with her moose quilt, placing a throw pillow on one end of the couch. "Go on, get comfy."

Ellie obeys, snuggling up in her quilt and laying her head down on the pillow.

"Need anything? Tea? Soup?"

"No." She replies, watching through half-lidded eyes as Joel places a small trash can next to her head. Just in case, she thinks. She knows this isn't his first rodeo with a sick kid.

---

Joel and his stupid fatherly instincts were right.

Ellie had been up at all hours of the morning (and afternoon), either sobbing or heaving into the trash can. This pnemo-whatever she had was taking its toll on her. She was absolutely miserable.

"I hate this." She mumbles, watching as Joel empties out the trash can for the thousandth time that morning. "Stupid body. Stupid newmo-whatever the fuck it's called. Stupid stupid stupid--" Another round of bile making its way up her throat. Joel catches it just in time.

She wipes her mouth with the designated cloth sitting on the coffee table. More tears flow down her cheeks as Joel brings her another glass of water.

He looks at her with that sympathetic dad look. "I know, baby." He brings a hand to her back, rubbing circles four or five times. She hated this side of Joel-- not that she hated that he cared for her like this, she hated being coddled like a child. She much preferred normal, grumpy Joel-- when she was feeling better, of course. "Can I do anythin' for you?"

Ellie only groans in return. "If you can magically heal me with some secret magic wizard powers I don't know about, then no."

Joel chuckles. "Unfortunately, that's out of my expertise." He crouches down, looking at Ellie in the eye. "Listen, I have to go work on some electrical wirin' for the Hoffman's. Tommy's gonna look after you for a little bit."

Ellie murmurs an okay, too tired to produce a smartass comment. She barely feels the kiss that Joel presses to the top of her head. Her eyes flutter shut and she drifts.

---

When she wakes again, the nausea is gone. Thank god. Unfortunately, it's replacement is an incessant need to piss.

"Back from dreamland, kiddo?" Tommy asks from the recliner.

She rubs the sleep from her eyes. "Who the fuck says that?"

"I do." He states. "You need anything? Tea, water, a puppy?"

"I'd like that last one, bartender." Ellie jokes, removing the quilt from her body. She reaches her arms above her head and stretches.

"No can do, partner. We're fresh out." Tommy rises from Joel's recliner and gets her a glass of water from the kitchen tap. Guess it'll have to do.

She takes and chugs it. When she tries to sit up, Tommy's right there, helping her. Seems like this whole sickness ordeal sent Tommy into dad-with-sick-kid mode too. "Help me stand?"

He nods, grabbing her by the elbows and slowly helping her rise to her feet. She wobbles a bit at first, but ends up being completely fine to stand by herself. Success.

Ellie slowly but surely hobbles to the downstairs bathroom. "I'll be right here if you need help walkin'." Tommy says, sitting back down on the recliner.

"That's what I'll be sayin' to you in a week, old man." She tries to yell, but it ends up coming out as a croak. Oh well. Still a great joke.

When Ellie finally reaches the toilet after her years of hobbling from the living room to the bathroom, a stain on her underwear catches her eye-- a bright red one.

Oh fuck. Of all of the times that her first period could've made it's arrival, it had to be fucking now? This day couldn't possibly get any worse.

Ellie had always been told that she was a 'late bloomer', whatever that meant. She didn't look like the other girls at fourteen. She certainly didn't look as womanly as Dina did.

What the fuck was she supposed to do? She didn't know the first thing about this. Maybe Joel would, but definitely not Tommy. She needed someone who had the same 'parts' as her. Ew.

"Uh.. Tommy?" She calls, cracking the door a smidge so her voice would carry.

"What's wrong, honey? Y'okay?" He answers, hurrying around the hall.

"I'm fine, you don't need to come in, it's just..." She grimaces. Why was this so awkward? "can you ask Maria to come?"

"Oh." Tommy states. A moment of silence passes. "Is it... woman problems?"

Ellie figured that she's a woman, Maria's a woman. So yeah, she guessed. "Um.. yeah."

"Okay. Stay right there, I'll get her."

Ellie brings her hands to her face, sighing heavily. She was glad that Tommy and Maria lived right next door.

---

"Ellie? It's Maria. Can I come in?"

Ellie sniffs, opening the door slightly. In comes Maria, with a fabric bag full of supplies.

She's super pregnant and barely fits in the tiny bathroom. Ellie wonders how she deals with her own period like this. She couldn't imagine being pregnant and on her period.

"Hi, baby." She smiles, placing the bag into the sink. "Feelin' okay?"

Ellie sniffs again. "No." She was feverish, tired, and had her period. How would she be feeling okay?

Maria takes a seat on the little folding chair they keep in the bathroom behind the sink. "Is this your first period?" Her tone is gentle, motherly. Ellie knows she'll be a great mom. She already is.

Ellie nods.

"Okay," Maria nods, hands folded across her bump. "That's normal, nowadays. Stress can be a big factor in delaying your period, and I'm sure you've had a lot of that on the road. Do you know what to use to help the bleeding?"

She huffs. "They didn't teach us this shit in school."

"That's okay," Maria assures her. She reaches inside the bag and pulls out a little rubber cup and some strips of cloth. "You're going to fold this in half and push it in until it expands," she says, gesturing to the rubber thing. "and when you don't want to use the cup or it's a little lighter of a flow day, you'll put one of these pads inside your underwear."

Ellie takes the cup and strips of fabric from Maria's hands. "So... I wash these after and reuse 'em?"

"When you've used all those, bring them to me and I'll give you new ones and wash those." Maria says.

Guilt gathers in Ellie's chest. Maria didn't have to do this for her-- she wasn't her mom. Ellie didn't have one of those. All of a sudden, she feels like a burden. "You don't have to do that--"

"Ellie," Maria starts, voice grounding and calm. "you are my kid just as much as this baby is. Do you understand?"

Tears prick at the corners of Ellie's eyes. "I mean, yeah, I just--"

"If you have any concerns or issues with this type of thing and you don't think Joel would understand, I'm here." She interrupts, taking Ellie's shaking hands in hers. "I know how much periods suck. That's the bright side of this--" She gestures to her belly, "no periods for at least nine months."

Oh. That's good to know.

Ellie nods, eyes scanning over the products Maria had brought. "Thank you."

Maria smiles, hands coming to rest on her bump. "Of course, sweetheart. Us girls have to look out for eachother."

Ellie sniffles, feeling a little better than before.

[steviewashere]

WIP Word Game

Rules: You will be given a word. Share one sentence/excerpt from your wips that start with each letter of that word.

Thank you for the tag @sidekick-hero and @ataliagold, y'all gave me some freaking words this time, so here's hoping I can actually do them all.

@sidekick-hero gave me the word DEMOCRACY and @ataliagold gave me RECREATIONAL

All snippets under the cut because this one will be long!!! The first half, which is highlighted by green, will be from my Steddie Big Bang project (which is currently still nameless). And the second half (in blue) will be from the WIP chapter two of my Hanahaki AU fic.

CW: Major Character Death (It Is Temporary), Grief/Mourning, Blood

D

Disembowel him. Oh, they’d laugh as they did it. Finally trapping the last of his father’s legacy—him, the only son.

E

Edward hums. Assessing. “Hmm…a mysterious druid. An alone druid. One who isn’t afraid of a little blood and mishap.” He grins, teeth digging into his lower lip. “You are certainly quite the…interesting individual.” The man huffs something close to a bear’s low growl. “Keep your nose out of my endeavors.”

M

“My name is Edward. Use it.”

O

“Oh calm your hysterics,” his father cooly speaks, “as if you were anything like the men among me. There’s a reason—stark in this tiefling—that you do not belong here. Your mother and I should’ve rid of you before you could speak, think, and feel.”

C

Closed off in the dark. Right where he thought he could escape from.

R

Remains—I scoff at the word—you are eternal.

A

And here he was, instead, failing the only soul he’s dared to consider in the long existence he’s thrived through.

C

“Considering your little jars of wares, you’d most likely save yourself against whatever you’re running from.”

Y

You’d have my head if you knew my state. But I awake with the stark picture of your corpse. Between my arms. Bloodied beyond the hells. I awake with your blood on my palms—the phantom of your warmth, but I had no mind to know, my love. So distraught I was, that I bent over my clean palms and thought you were there. Warm and crimson. I licked my palms, I kissed them, licked and cleaned and licked and licked. Until I could no longer sense the metal in my nose, rather the salt of life—of loss on my tongue. What man am I? What has love turned me to? I want you so deeply, I consume the imagination of you. To put you in the safety of my body, back beyond my ribcage. Stay in there. Where it is safest, you must remain. Alive in half-memories. In the terrors of night, rest with me.

—————

R

Robin wanted to sit with him through the appointment, which she had also scheduled outside of his fears. But if he’s being told he’s dying, he’d rather hear it first. Regurgitate it later.

E

Eddie has taken full expanse in his thoughts, each meal tied to him, the way his chest expands, the way his body expels. All of it belongs to him.

C

Can Eddie ever forgive him, if they meet somewhere outside of all this? What if they come face to face and—somehow—Steve’s defaulted to King Steve settings and goes batshit fucking evil on Eddie?

R

Robin would know what to do, he thinks, but it’s not her that’s in love with Eddie.

E

Eddie won’t forget him, though. He’ll see Steve and know every intricate thing about him. Steve will be nothing more than a stranger, though. Pleased smiles and small talk. They can maybe bond again. Steve shakes his head, sighing.

A

All empty with the only anomaly being the shadow standing straight in front of Steve. A shadow he can’t name or give shape to. Strangers occupying his breathing day to day. And he’ll have no clue what to do with them. He can’t lose Eddie.

T

That’s so many days without Eddie, though. So many movies without him and his rambling and his love for the grotesque, cheesy gore. Dinners made prim because there isn’t mustard spilling from something Eddie’s trying to choke down around muffled words. Seasons of change where somebody isn’t threatening to throw himself into piles of leaves or go ice skinny dipping or trying to crisp himself alive on the back porch. Too many open windows, nobody climbing through them. Every room going dimmer and dimmer.

I

“If you think this person will reject you, you’ll die,” she had said, “but if you don’t want to take the risk of rejection, we have another route that’ll work for you. If you want to do it, that is.” He’d lurched at the opportunity. Answer? Surgery. They’ll force the roots and the stems and the leaves, thorns—all of it from his lungs. Which is great. He can be cured. The downside, however— “You’ll forget everything about this person. Every interaction. The way they look at you. Their favorite things. Their name, age—everything. You can’t undo this surgery. You can’t go back after you make the decision. Choose wisely which risk you’re willing to take.”

O

Only he can make this choice. To live…to die…to forget…to just face the music. Rip off the bandaid. Yet he can’t move from his spot in the doctor’s office.

N

Nobody should have to do this, he thinks, but of course it’s me. Of fucking course it’s me.

A

Asking for feelings will only further complicate things. Castrate the entanglement right at the source, forget everything that’s been the last several months since rescuing the world, and move on with his life. It should be a simple decision. Why is it not? He wants to live, doesn’t he?

L

Love is the only thing he’s never been able to properly win against. He’s been hungry for it all his life. Whether it’s in the form of a simple pat on the back from his dad, his mom making his favorite cake on his birthday, Robin breaking in just to lay with him when they have nightmares, every joking remark he and Dustin shoot at each other, the letter Max gave him—all of it. He accepts it like he’s starving; because he is and he’s not ready to spend a lifetime without the one person who should be there. Eddie loves him, at least Steve thinks so, just…not in the way it matters. He loves him, but he doesn’t like him. So maybe it’s not even the touch or the kissing or the other messy things held within it, but rather…it’s the closeness that Steve needs from Eddie, the craving choked all because Eddie’s willing to put up with Steve for a little while longer in the world. He needs Eddie to like him first, Steve realizes. That’s not going to happen, no matter how much he wishes for it.

Okay, oh my god that was a challenge. Hell, I started writing the second chapter of my hanahaki fic just for this. But it's getting somewhere...hehehehe. And I'm being evillll.

Some no pressure tags:

@ataliagold (tag back) @sidekick-hero (tag back) @wheneverfeasible @marvel-ous-m @queenie-ofthe-void

@scoops-aboy86 @hotluncheddie @adverbally @alwaysurvalentine

Your word is:

DOMINO

[fussypaws]

Tiger :3

[huellitaa]

i'm so surprised she hasn't realised i want her like girl are you BLIND wait im sorry ily

[lesbiansanemi]

Currently trying not to vomit over the fact that I essentially just lost almost a thousand dollars brb

[doubleedgemode]

I wanted to go on a drawing spree yesterday, but I could only muster these two before dozing off.

First one, even if I'm not that sure about how I drew her face shape in this angle (and most importantly I forgot her neck and torso bandages OOPS) I do really like how most of the drawing came out. And at least it isn't a bland bust this time, though I'm pretty sure I've already drawn a pose like this before. (Oh no the next drawing is a 3/4 bust again..)

Second, yesterday I saw an artist draw some of the coolest redesigns ever for a different media piece, and thought about the many awesome gg redesigns I often see so I wanted to give A.B.A a spin... Except I was out of ideas so most of this drawing is her regular design haha. I got too tired to even try to attempt to draw the rest of the body and half-assed the key but I like the vibes and pose (even if I.. think I made her neck a bit too long? Old habits die hard... Necks are my enemies when drawing!)

I like the idea of her having a key take on the classic frankenstein bolts (though wait, her head key is referred to as a screw. Would this also be a screw or key shaped bolts??-)

[altoskh]

Imso tired man. I'm so tired. Why do I work this hard I am so FUCKING over this shit

[musical-chick-13]

Also I want to point out that there ARE some horrible women in fiction that I genuinely don't like. Like the girl from fucking Oreshura.

[slayerdurge]

god... the durge play through is so much fun so far... just now my durge, face absolutely covered in worg dung, intimidated a goblin into kissing her feet and earned simultaneous approval from lae'zel, shadowheart, and astarion

[hotroadkill]

today 2 years ago i was in america and i had the worst hangover of my life and i was in a waffle house with my friend in awkward silence bc we’d fought in a stranger’s kitchen the night before and the server refilled my water for the 5th time while i fought to swallow half a forkful of hashbrowns and she said “i know that look, y’all had a good time at the superbowl last night” and i was thinking actually we had a mediocre time at a nerd bar where u throw darts and all the drinks r named weird things and anyway my friend gives the fakest laugh ive ever heard followed by “yep we sure did” like are we in a CW show right now what was that line delivery and also what even is the superbowl i was born here and should know but honestly i’ve always just pictured everyone gathering at a comically large bowl of cereal but her nametag says leslie and she’s really nice and she’s refilling my water for the 6th time so yeah sure whatever i’m a red blooded american i’ll be anything for leslie in this moment and she tells us stories about working at bars downtown and my friend tells me bad jokes and i feel a little better even though my heart is kind of withering away because my flight is in 17 hours and theres not enough time never enough time i won’t see him for another year and a half and i won’t ever see leslie again and if i ever run into the italian stranger who fell in love with me over darts then it won’t be the same because we won’t be dancing and i’m sitting in a waffle house while the sun sets and i’m sweating gin and tequila and my flight is in 16 hours and i have so many goodbyes to say in this

city because when i was fifteen somebody threw my glass heart onto the floor of my childhood house and bits of it shattered everywhere and fell into the cracks of the floorboards and behind the fridge and i’ll never ever get them out much less back together but i feel like ive been trying for eight years all the same and my flight is in 15 hours but maybe if my friend brings me home now i can spend three of those looking for more shards even though i’ll cut my hand because time never wore down any of the hurt because time might heal wounds but it cant really do jack shit about a metaphysical glass shard its still gonna make me bleed and my friend brings me home and we curl up beside each other in my childhood bedroom thats too small for us it was really a supply room but it became my bedroom when i was eleven and i painted it blue and put up stickers of fish and never took them down but someone someday will take them down and hopefully the house burns to the ground before anyone can touch them theyre mine i grew up here theyre mine dont touch them dont please dont please please please i grew up here and my flight is in 12 hours now because i fell asleep beside my friend and he let me because he knew i needed it he kept watch even though we dont have time we never do because he has to go now and all i can give him is a hug and my hoodie to keep safe until i can see him again and fight him in a stranger’s kitchen again and the sun is gone now and i go and i sit with my dad and my flight is in 10 hours and im trying

not to cry im trying to stare at the stickers because maybe if i look at all of it hard enough i’ll get to stay but i dont because thats not how it works and now my flight is in 4 hours because i fell asleep in my childhood loft bed and now i have to leave i have to pack up and go for the fifth time and it never never gets easier and i know i only have a few more trips left until someone takes my stickers down and paints over my ocean but for now my best friend’s stepmother comes with me and my dad to the airport because my best friend is in college two states away and my flight is in 3 hours and i cry i cry so much and she cries too because she loves me and i think it is such a beautiful blessed thing that i am so loved but oh it is so painful too because i spend more time in its absence than its presence and my flight is in 2 hours and i have to go and my dad is waving goodbye and i see it because i looked back because im stupid i always look back i never look forward i’m forever walking blind through my life because i’m looking back and i can tell my dad is crying and now i have to go through TSA sobbing and it’s awkward because they ask are you okay kid and im not but i cant tell them sorry its just that when i was fifteen somebody threw my glass heart onto the floor of my childhood house and bits of it shattered everywhere and fell into the cracks of the floorboards and behind the fridge and i’ll never ever get them out i cant tell them that so i nod yes im okay and i go and my flight is in 1 hour and i hope it fucking crashes and my flight is in the air and im so far away from all those shards on the kitchen floor now but they’re hurting me all the same and i think i look kind of insane sobbing in the middle seat but how can i miss so many people and so many rooms at once and not lose my mind a little bit? i was going to tell you a short witty little joke about the time i realized i was 21 and didnt know what the superbowl was but i think i slipped on a shard. i’m sorry. maybe next time i’ll get it right. maybe in another two years. maybe you’ll never see me again. maybe this is all the time we had.