#bugs in drag: never fails

[el-ffej]

Alternate method to get past Gates of Mordor:

BTW, feels like there's a lot of overlap between LOTR Mordor and What's Opera, Doc?:

Bugs Bunny could have simply walked into Mordor. He would have shown up at the gates of Mordor in a disguise and been like "Evil volcano inspection unit" and flashed a fake ID badge to the confused orc.

[fizzyghosts]

Vitalis has his own home but he always ends up showing up on Alain's doorstep after having ditched his guards somewhere in the woods and he overstays his welcome every time. Alain fucking hates him <3 #worsties

[boricuasirena25]

cute little painfully nerdy 2000s ellie williams x popular bimbo fem reader part 3

since yall hornballs wanted smut so badly 🙄

cw : smut, public sex in class, degradation, ellie’s horny fantasies, wet dreams, plot twist kinda

the bell rings. you don’t rush to your seat—you never do. you glide in late like always, cherry gum in your mouth, tight hot pink juicy couture velour zip up barley zipped up with your black lacy VS push up bra peeking through. a boy stares. you don’t care. you’re too busy reapplying your gloss with your middle finger.

ellie sees you before you see her, she recognizes your heavy, dreamy scent of the love spell body spray from 5 miles away.

she’s already at her desk, hood up, legs bouncing under the table like she’s got an energy drink in her bloodstream. which, honestly? she probably does. her fingers are smudged with pencil and her notebooks half open, little doodles of swords and boobs peeking through the lined paper. she’s not ready. for anything.

mr. brooks clears his throat.

“alright, students. group projects. DNA replication and genetic variation. pages 94 through 99. picked your partners for you.”

groans ripple across the room. you roll your eyes, zoning out as he goes on to list random pairs of students in the class… “david and rebecca, ashley and karen, adrian and braxton, becky and jared-“ then suddenly.

“y/n and… ellie.”

you look up from your manicured hands in your lap instantly, silence. you make a disgusted look. brows furrowed, lips pouted.

but ellie? she jerks in her seat like someone pulled a string in her back. her eyes snap up and lock on you, wide behind her crooked-ass glasses. her whole face goes red—forehead, ears, even her damn neck. she freezes. then immediately starts fumbling with her the spirals on her notebook, like she thinks if she looks busy enough, maybe you’ll ignore her.

you don’t.

you sigh heavily as you take your time walking over, swinging your hips just enough to make two boys whisper. you drop your bag next to her desk. she looks at it like it’s a bomb.

you sit down.

“so,” you say, voice flat, bored, already annoyed. “you gonna write the whole thing or just f*ck yourself to it?”

she chokes. like physically chokes, hand flying to her chest, eyes bugging out. she tries to answer, fails, tries again, and somehow makes it worse.

“i—i don’t—i wasn’t—f*ck mysel-?—no—what—”

you stare. blow a bubble. let it pop, then giggle in her face.

her face is ruined. her mouth opens and closes like a fish. she looks like she wants to die. and then crawl under the desk. and then die again.

you lean in, just a little, enough for your perfume to hit her nose.

“i still remember that sketchbook from last week by the way.”

ellie flinches.

“i wasn’t—you know.. it’s for anatomy,” she blurts, which makes no sense, and she knows it. “not like, your—i didn’t mean your anatomy, just—like—the concept of anatomy, which, like, technically—f*ck—”

you tilt your head.

ellie covers her face with her hands and groans, long and low, like she’s in pain.

“do you touch yourself to those with your hoodie on, or do you take it off to set the mood?”

“please,” she whispers. “please shut up.”

you giggle again, soft and wicked.

adrian—your adrian—is three rows in front of y’all, hearing the whole thing. you haven’t even acknowledged him since class started either.

ellie peeks through her fingers. she’s twitchy. sweaty. miserable. and when you pull your chair closer, she damn near leaps out of her skin.

“we’re gonna get an A,” you hum, dragging her open textbook toward you. “you’re gonna do all the work. and you’re gonna keep your nasty little sketchbook zipped up tight.”

she nods. small. frail.

“say ‘yes, ma’am.’”

“…yes, ma’am.”

you smile. pop another bubble.

this is gonna be fun.

ellie keeps her eyes locked on the textbook. she hasn’t spoken in five minutes. not since the “yes, ma’am.” her handwriting’s shaking. her cheeks are red. her hoodie sleeves are halfway over her fingers again, clenched tight like she’s praying.

you lean back in your seat, legs spread just a little wider, flipping your hair over your shoulder. her eyes flicker for a second—just a second—to the inside of your thigh under the desk.

you catch it.

“are you even paying attention?” you ask, fake sweet. “or are you too busy trying not to cum in your boxers?”

her pencil snaps in half.

“i’m—i’m paying attention,” she mumbles, head down, the tips of her ears red like she’s been slapped. “mitosis. cell cycle. S-phase. DNA replication. i—i know it.”

you hum. press your knee against hers under the desk. she jerks back like she’s been shocked. you look down at her shaky hand on the table. long, twitchy fingers. drum and guitar callused.

slowly, you reach out. grab her wrist. guide it down.

“wh—what are you—” she tries to pull away, but she’s weak. pathetic. you’re stronger. meaner. so much prettier. you press her hand against your bare thigh, just above the hem of your skirt. warm skin. smooth. soft.

she stops breathing.

“f*ck,” she whispers, wide-eyed, voice cracking. “you—you can’t—i’ll f*cking—”

you don’t let go.

“don’t be a p*ssy,” you murmur, eyes half-lidded. “it’s just a little skin, right? nothing you haven’t seen in your nasty little sketches.”

her fingers twitch.

you push her hand higher. just a little.

the edge of your thong peeks out. she squeezes her eyes shut, like she can block it out. but her fingers stay.

shaking. burning. gripping your thigh like it’s keeping her alive. ellie whimpers.

you smile, slow and wicked and keep her hand right where it is. she doesn’t move at first.

your fingers are still around her wrist, soft but firm, like a leash she doesn’t want to escape. her palm is pressed flat to your thigh, skin burning hot, nails barely grazing you. you’re looking ahead like nothing’s happening. like you’re so fucking bored. like her hand being between your legs is just part of your routine.

ellie’s brain? completely fried. ‘f*ck. f*ck. f*ck’ she thought.

she doesn’t know where to look. her eyes are flicking between the worksheet and your lip gloss and your thigh and the window and the corner of the floor like any of it will help her not lose it.

her face is flushed. her mouth’s dry. her hoodie’s too hot and her fingers are twitching because all she can think about is—

‘she’s soft. she’s so soft. i can’t—f*ck—i can’t.’

you’re right next to her. in the flesh. warm. sighing softly. looking down, pencil in hand while pretending to read the textbook like her hand isn’t right there.

and now?

her fingers start to move.

slow. slight. like she doesn’t even realize at first. like muscle memory. like her horniness has taken over completely.

she slides the tips up, just a little.

then down.

tiny little strokes. featherlight. testing you. seeing what she can get away with.

you shift in your seat.

press your legs together.

you don’t look at her. but you don’t stop her either.

so she keeps going.

and her heart is slamming in her chest.

she’s so wet in her boxers, her clit becoming a rapid beating second heartbeat to the point it’s actually painful. ellie thinks she might cum just from this.

her fingers dip slightly beneath the curve of your thigh. under the edge of your thong. just barely.

her breath stutters.

you’re wet. not soaked. not dripping. just warm and soft and slightly damp and f*ckf*ck—

she bites the inside of her cheek to keep from groaning. her forehead hits the desk. just for a second. to ground herself.

you look at her finally. say nothing. just smirk. and she knows you know exactly what you’re doing.

she doesn’t say a word. she just keeps stroking.

slow, pathetic, desperate.

and no one can see a thing.

yet, her fingers go still when she feels it. the way your c*nt clenches as she pushes past the edge of your soaked thong.

how easy it is to slip in.

how tight you are. how f*cking warm you are.

like you’ve been waiting.

ellie lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding—shaky, low—and stares at your face like it’s the only thing that matters.

you’re still looking at your notes. like this is nothing.

like her fingers aren’t buried inside you right now, moving slow, dragging against that soft spot she’s imagined so many times her body could do it with her eyes closed.

and it kinda is.

her fingers start working in that perfect rhythm she’s practiced—on herself, in the dark, in the shower, during her breakdowns after seeing you in a mini skirt.

she curls them just right.

presses deep.

slides out slick and slow, then back in, faster.

you twitch.

your thighs shift.

but you don’t look at her.

and that’s what makes her lose it.

“f*ck,” she whispers. her head is down, lips barely moving. “you’re gonna make me cum in my f*ckin’ boxers, sh*t.”

you don’t flinch. you just turn the page in the textbook, lip caught between your teeth.

ellie’s eyes flicker to your mouth.

her fingers thrust deeper. faster. the sound is obscene but muffled by the low hum of the class, the hum of the lights, the buzz of old ac.

“this p*ssy’s so f*ckin’ warm,” she whispers, voice cracked. “you’re gonna—geez—you’re gonna ruin me.”

you pulse around her. her legs shake.

she’s gritting her teeth. trying not to grunt. trying not to moan.

“can’t believe i get to finger you in bio,” she breathes, nose brushing your shoulder. “you’re so mean to me—so f*ckin’ mean—and you’re so wet. you like this? letting the loser do this to you?”

your pencil scratches across the paper like nothing’s happening.

you’re breathing harder now. lips parted. eyes still down.

but your hips start moving—tiny little rocks forward against her fingers—and that’s when ellie knows you’re close.

she curves them deep, presses her palm against your clit, and starts pumping harder.

you clamp your thighs.

grip the edge of your worksheet.

swallow a whimper.

“good f*ckin’ girl,” she mutters, barely audible. “take it. just take it. i’ll make you cum so hard you won’t walk to 5th period.”

and you?

you turn your head just slightly.

lips brush her ear.

“then do it, perv.”

ellie’s gone. she’s imagined this so many times. in her sketchbook. in the shower. in her f*cking dreams.

you sitting on her lap, whispering in her ear, your lip gloss smearing on her neck, your tits bouncing while you ride her neon green strap—

you calling her a freak while grinding on her face—

you licking her fingers while sitting on her bed like a brat—

suddenly, she jerks awake with a sharp inhale, eyes wide, hoodie tangled around her arms, face flushed, sheets kicked off the bed.

her room’s still dark, lit only by the faint glow of her lava lamp and the blinking red light of her PS3. her sketchbook’s open next to her—flipped to a half-finished drawing of you sitting on her lap with your thong around one ankle.

her hand’s still in her boxers.

and yeah… they’re soaked.

disgusting. tragic. predictable.

ellie groans. drags her forearm over her face like it’ll wipe the sin away. mutters to herself.

“f*ck”

her voice cracks. she rolls onto her back, staring at the popcorn textured ceiling. her stomach flips. her hips twitch.

and suddenly she’s grinding her hand into her boxers again—again—because the image won’t leave her brain.

your face when you bit your lip.

your whisper in her ear.

your p*ssy squeezing her fingers like it needed her.

it’s too bad this is one of them. just another one of her pathetic dreams.

taglist : @deliciouslydeviantsatan, @valeisaslut, @dollinrehab, @l0veylace, @velvetinkbym, @liztreez, @elliesgffrfr, @sleepingwasp, @brooks-lin, @lovelessswan, @cherrylipsmakerss, @shookkatofthat, @mars4hellokitty, @jaydonisnothere, @ellieslittleslutt, @pussyeatercunt, @livvietalks, @angelsglitch, @robiceps, @lesb4ellie, @sparkle-jump-rope-queen, @sweet-anonyme, @mylettterstoyou, @pinkpigtailedjoy, @pink7princess, @nahcala, @mascspleasegetmepregnant, @sincerlykelsss

lmk if uu wanna be added. :)

[marvelslut16]

Robby's Biological Clock

Pairing: Dr. Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x resident!reader

Synopsis: Robby opens up to the reader that he realizes that he wants a child after finding out that he almost had one.

Word count: 2k+

Warnings: Mentions of abortion. Standing a little to close to the edge of a roof. My poor writing, felt cute might delete later.

A/N: The writing bug has bitten me yet again. And I have another Langdon one half done already. Wrote this over the course of 2 days and I didn't proof read it, so I really hope it makes sense!

You keep your eyes trained on Robby after he passes his caseload off to Abbot, you’ve kept an eye on him for the last few hours really. Something shifted in him a few hours ago, and he went from his stern but friendly self to closed off and distant. With everybody. You’ve been watching, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for him to snap completely. Or have a breakdown.

You watch as Robby slips out a side door into the stairwell, and you know right away where he’s going. You’d never seen it with your own eyes, but it was a poorly kept secret in the ED that after a long grueling shift either Abbot or Robby would go up to the roof and the other would talk them down. Everyone who knew, knew they wouldn’t actually jump, it was just a release for them. 

This time you can’t ignore Robby’s obvious distress, watching Abbot get dragged into South eight by one of his residents for a consult, you make up your mind to follow Robby. Up and up and up the stairs you go, until the wind is rushing past your face. Taking a deep breath, you let the cooler air wash over you after a long shift, and a part of you understands why your two favorite attendings come up here. 

“I don’t want to talk tonight, Jack,” Robby’s voice floats to you with the wind at the sound of the door shutting, never bothering to turn around.

“It’s a good thing I’m not Jack then,” you walk over to the railing, looking at the sunset, not at your attending. 

“(Y/L/N), what are you doing up here?” Robby turns around at your voice, and you reach out your hand a little for him to grab if he needs to be steadied.

“Thought you could use someone to talk to, you’ve been off the past few hours,” he sighs at your words, and turns back to the sunset. “Can you at least come back on this side of the railing? Please?”

“I’m fine,” he ignores your plea, and your offer to listen to him, leaning back against the railing.You stand in silence with him for two minutes- you counted- before deciding to do something you have absolutely no interest in and, frankly, scares the shit out of you. Hiking one leg up, you swing it over the railing and slip to the other side beside Robby.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he whips his arm out in front of you to keep you from slipping or stepping too close to the edge. 

“The same thing you are,” you sass at him against your better judgement. 

“So if I jumped off a bridge you’d do it too?” he matches your sass, sounding just like your mom when she would talk about the dangers of peer pressure.  

“No, I’d be waiting at the bottom for your dumb ass so I could save you,” your voice is harsh, wanting to nip any conversation where he could possibly die in the bud. “So…”

“So?” he mimics your voice causing you to roll your eyes at him.

“Are you going to tell me what's wrong?” you shift slightly to face Robby, back to the pink hues of the sunset.

“I found something out today,” he pauses, sighs, and rubs his forehead. “My world got turned upside down.”

“You aren’t dying, are you?” you tried, and failed to keep your voice neutral, fear lacing every word.

No,” he leans forward, and you clutch onto his arm desperately to make sure he doesn’t go tumbling if there’s a strong gust of wind. “Nothing like that.”

“Do you have a secret kid, or something?” you tease, and by the way his lips pull down into a frown, you know you’ve struck a little too close to home. “I’m sorry, I was just joking.”

“It’s fine,” his voice is gruff, but his soulful brown eyes give away that he is in fact, not fine. “Today a woman I used to date admitted that while we were together she became pregnant, and made the decision to terminate the pregnancy.”

“Robby-” he stops you before you can start pitying him.

“It really is fine. I understand. It was her decision and I support that, I would have supported her decision in the moment, too. But now I can’t stop imagining what my life would be like if I had a child,” he glances at your face, before looking back over your shoulder at the descending sun. “I love Jake like he’s my own, but any day now he could decide he wants nothing to do with me, and never talk to me again. For years I put off the idea of having kids, I didn’t want the burden while I was still in medical school, then I was focused on advancing my career, then I met Janey and she had Jake, and with Jake I felt like I didn’t need my own children.”

“But now you feel like you do?” you ask cautiously, surprised that by talking he’ll remember you’re here and clam up.

“I have to have a child soon if I want to see them grow up and see them off to college, my biological clock is ticking,” he tries to ease the tension with a stupid joke. “Since I found out this afternoon, all I’ve been thinking about is how I’d have a toddler now, I’d be taking my child for their first day of kindergarten, I could be signing them up for dance class or little league. I would actually take days off to take them on vacations, and go to waterparks, and fairs.”

“Well when you’re ready and announce to the world that the great Michael Robinavitch is ready to have children, there will be a line of women at least two blocks long offering up their ovaries for you. I’ll have to fight them off and keep them out of the ED so we can still treat patients.”

“You’re more confident than I am,” he locks eyes with you, finally. 

“Oh please, you’re kind, caring, funny when you want to be, and you have fantastic genetics!” you don’t know what you’re thinking, you aren’t thinking really, and reach out to brush your fingers lightly through his salt and pepper hair. “You still have a good head of hair, and gorgeous brown eyes that would look so adorable passed down to a baby. You’re going to be a fantastic dad someday soon, Michael.”

The door to the stairwell creaks open, both you and Robby jolt out of the little moment you’re having. You wobble a little and Robby practically throws himself at you to catch you and keep you upright. 

“I’m okay,” you whisper, face closer to his than it’s ever been before. You could just lean in two more inches and your lips would be on his. But you can’t do that, you can’t take advantage of him and his vulnerability he’s shown you tonight on the roof, and especially not when someone else has joined you two. 

“Am I interrupting something?” Jack barks out a laugh from the doorway. 

“Nope,” your voice cracks, and you carefully step away from Robby this time.

“Just trying to keep (Y/L/N) from falling,” Michael answers at the same time.

You thought the stairwell door opening was jarring, but nothing matches the cold feeling of reality washing over you at the use of your last name. It’s not like you expected him to fall to his knees and beg you to give him a child, but you at least thought after bearing his soul to you Robby could call you by your first name in front of other people, especially his best friend.

“Well I won’t take up anymore of your boyfriend's time,” you try to cut the tension, but it’s so thick you can’t even hack away at it.

“Myrna calls us the same thing,” Dr. Abbot shakes his head and offers you his hand.

“Thank you,” you smile at your second favorite attending as he helps you climb back over the railing. 

~

Everyone you worked with in the Pitt knew that you were having a tough time deciding if you wanted to be an ED attending or go into pediatrics once you graduate. You’ve always had a soft spot for kids, and they seem to always be attached to you, no matter how shy they were when they walked or were rolled through the doors. And that’s why Dana always makes sure you take the cases involving children. Today for instance, there’s a two year old back in the ER for the third time in just as many months because her fevers keep spiking and causing her to have seizures. 

Robby watches you with the girl, Eliana, you recognized her right away from her last few visits. He watches the way you crouch down to her height when she wants to ask you a question, making sure that you’re eye level with her. Watches the way you pull a dumdum out of your scrub pocket, you always have some in there in case a little comes in. The way you effortlessly scoop her into your arms to get her to stay still long enough to check to see if she bit her tongue or cheek too hard. 

Today you’ve promised Eliana that you’ll stay after your shift and sit with her until her parents arrive, both were at work when Eliana had her seizure at daycare. When Robby looks back over at you, you're curled up on a chair that he brought into the bay just for you, and Eliana is sitting daintily on your lap, both of you engrossed in the picture book Cassie’s son left in the break room a few years ago. If he strains his ears just enough, he can hear the different voices you give each character.

“Dude, you’re obviously in love with her,” Jack appears out of nowhere, waiting for Robby to hand off his cases.  Michael scoffs in denial, but his words are cut off, “even Gloria is betting on you guys.”

“Probably so she can send me to HR and fire me for dating a subordinate,” Robby pushes his readers back up, going back to the chart he was pretending to update while he stared at you.

“She won’t be a student anymore in one month man, I hate to break it to you, no one cares that you're her attending. Just you,” Jack sighs at his friend's stupidity. “So stop trying to come up with excuses for why you can’t go for it. I saw you two on the roof, the tension was palpable.”

“What are you, some kind of walking romance novel?” Robby puts his tablet down, the guise of updating a patient's chart long forgotten. 

“I’m just saying, if I had a woman as caring and as gorgeous as her offering to carry my babies, I would jump at the opportunity,” Jack throws his hands up in surrender at the glare Michael is sending his way. 

“How long were you out there?” 

An hour later you can finally leave, Eliana’s parents arrive with apologies, their eternal gratitude, and promises of them stopping by with donuts in the morning for the whole crew. Slowly, you trudge to your locker, doing mental math to figure how much longer it’ll be until you can slip into bed after a nice, long, steaming, shower. 

“Do you want kids?” Dr. Robby corners you by your locker, you thought he had left over an hour ago when his shift ended. 

“I’d have one in nine months if I found the right guy,” you refrain from swearing at his sudden appearance. “Why? Do you know a guy?” 

“I do,” Robby nods, backing you up into said locker. “With your nose and his gorgeous brown eyes, you two would have the cutest baby around.”

“You think?” your body relaxes into his when he rests hand on your hip, thumb sliding under your scrub top. 

“Most definitely,” he whispers, breath skimming across lips.

“Well Dr. Robby, your biological clock is ticking, we should probably get started now,” you laugh as he fumbles to open your locker, having given him the code over a year ago so he could grab you your cardigan when he grabbed his sweatshirt. He rips your purse out of the locker, grabs your hand and drags you out of the hospital. 

[truly-quirkless-a]

Type: Lore/History Timeline: Start of MHA, S1 (A few hours after This Writing) Location: Musutafu, Japan

So.

This ended up being double the length of the previous one- (it's about 4k words long). Yet again, open at your own risk.

[]

"...no fuckin' way..." Fin trailed off.

They'd finally noticed it, after waving All Might off after the inspection- their Words had been glowing. They had stared, mind reeling over the day. Had their Words been glowing when they woke up?--- No, they remembered petting Prism before leaving for work- watching the feline bump her head against their wrist, a soft meow filling the apartment before they'd disappeared.

They'd only spoken to their coworkers, today- those who worked under and alongside them in repairing the sites for when classes began the next week. Of course, Fin would be drowning in paperwork tomorrow- but they weren't about to shuffle that off to their subordinates. They found their breath catching, even as the white light began to fade as it settled in.

Useless.

...they'd found their soulmate...they sat down in their car, for a moment tempted to look the Hero's name up-- but they could wait until they got home. Prism would be a welcome sight after such a long day...their vision snapped to the time.

18:54. It was nearly seven.... A breath out.

Their phone unlocked, the screen flickering towards a picture of a beach at night- the waves glowing a faint blue. For a moment, they thought of that man's eyes- sky-blue hidden by shadow...or so they assumed. Though- the smile felt... Wrong. Like a show...

[All Might]

May as well go down the rabbit hole...

[]

He was...famous.-- More than famous, it seemed their soulmate- this 'All Might'- was unparalleled. A beacon- a Symbol of Peace- keeping the world safe for years...and always with such a bright smile on his face, surrounded by so many other Pro Heroes...

"....I..."

If it weren't for my generosity, you'd be dead.

He was marred.- Of course he was. He was the top of the top- the pinnacle of humanity. Earth's No. 1 Hero. The strongest. And always with a damn bright smile, telling everyone they'd be okay.

And he was tied to them.

Weak, useless Finley Well.

They wanted nothing more than to rip the Words clear out of their skin. They didn't deserve him- they didn't deserve anything. He was surrounded by so many like-minded peers- why would he- no, he wouldn't. Some- some soulmates...

He'd reject the tie.

Of course he would...

They were Quirkless- related to a villain- they were nothing. Less than nothing. Knowing them- it was a liability. That...was probably why he hadn't said anything, wasn't it? It was a silent rejection- content to let them never know...but they'd found out.

Useless bitch.

He'd reject them for sure, if they ever brought it up. He probably already had a partner- surrounded by so many amazing choices, there was no chance in Hell he was single. Even if he was...soulmates didn't necessarily go that path- and he hadn't even- he hadn't SAID ANYTHING.

Even their soulmate....

You're worthless.

They'd just...not bring it up.- Avoid him. If he spoke to them...they'd respond, but that was as far as they'd go. They'd respect his decision...even as their stomach twisted in painful knots. It was stronger than the lingering pain from years of untreated internal injuries- enough to make them worry they'd repaint their car's interior...but they tried to ignore it as they turned the ignition in their car.

Maybe they'd just...

Buy a tin of cookies, and drown themself in it when they got home.

This would pass- they just had to hold on.

[]

Of course Nezu had made sure their phone number was in the file...up until that day, he hadn't believed some of the speculated rumors about the mouse- that he just knew who was tied to who...but it would seem he did, that gleam of knowing in the principal's eyes taking on a fresher meaning as Toshinori sighed. Even though he tried not to, the number was already seared into his head- as was their smiling face, freckles on their cheeks...the gently outstretched hand, looking at him like just another person- not some pedestal to reach up to...not some lowly rat in the dirt.

They just saw a man...

He was walking back towards his apartment. It had been a few hours- and he'd used up more time he thought he didn't have as All Might, anymore. A robbery here, a car crash there- all dealt with in record time. The sun was disappearing on the horizon, night falling inch-by-inch... The streetlights flickered on.

He should really pick up some more food, before he got home... A cursory check of his phone revealed the time- 19:31. Yeah, he was overdue to eat. Yagi didn't bother with checking those around him. There was usually a slight berth around his person when he was in his True Form- nearly like he was riddled with some disease. He supposed, to the people, he looked it- frail, unnaturally tall, with a face like a skeleton's, eyes a pitch-black that was unheard of, even in such a Quirk-prominent society.

He had long-gotten-rid of his suit's jacket, draping it over a shoulder as he walked through the streets. At least like this, he wouldn't be mobbed...

"...maybe soup, tonight..." Though he'd probably have to go the fast-and-easy route...he could purchase a few Nutri-Grain bars to tide him over until then. There was a store near his house, so he'd just drop by on the way. His plans set, the male found himself walking a little faster. At least now, he knew what he was doing.

[]

Fin had put in their earbuds. They'd managed to dry their tears, and swallow the panic...but it was brimming, just underneath the surface. They were jittery as they parked their car outside of a store near their home. It wasn't the best place- but it wasn't the worst. Hazel orbs were full of slight panic as they tried to focus on the music- not on the people.

I'm okay.

No one here really knew about their status as a Quirkless individual- but they still felt eyes on them as they wandered through the store. They'd found a display full of cookie tins, at the back of the place- and had smiled, reaching out for their favorite. Chocolate chip...what a flavor to drown in.

Danger.

Their anxiety just running wild.- But that was when their wrist began to ache. Fin glanced around. There was no way All Might was there- but they still felt concern stick up their throat. They spotted four other individuals in the store- besides the cashier and themself.

A tall, gangly blond at checkout- his back turned to them as he handed yen over...and three men near the doors, eyes shifting towards the blond. They'd like to consider themself an expert on this sort of thing- they'd been singled out plenty in their time...and the looks the men were tossing the blond's way...

They got in line behind the blond not a moment later, refusing to look in the direction of the strangers. Their music continued to blare, filling their ears and numbing the world around them. When he'd paid, and turned to leave- they had caught a split-second glimpse of his eyes... Burning bright blue. A sunken cheek, limbs thin, but strong...

He's pretty.

Of course they'd be that pathetic. They met their soulmate today- and now here they were, finding the first unconventional dude and thinking he was pretty...damnit. They pressed their yen down onto the counter with a very quiet 'thank you', unable to hear the cashier's response- instead reading their lips. They took their tin of cookies as they left the store- intent on just going home, and eating cookies until they passed out.

Or vomitted.

Whichever came first.

That was when the burn became exponentially stronger- their Words blazing to life with a fire that had one eye twitching. He was in danger. LOTS of it.

Fin pulled out an earbud, trying to be nonchalant- but that was when they caught the voices under the low-lying pain in their eardrums.

[]

Of.

Fucking.

COURSE.

Of course, he had to run into his soulmate while like this. It had only been for a moment, but he'd caught sight of them out the corner of his eye as he'd left the store. Dark brown hair, tousled from that construction cap from earlier- earbuds in both ears. Their Words were black, again. They knew.

They knew All Might was their soulmate.

Which meant they would hate him.

Of all the things Yagi had prepared all these years for, rejection wasn't amongst them- but it was quickly entering the realm of possibility. Fin wouldn't like him as he was- they would hate him, he was sure. They'd take one look- one damn look- at what they'd one day be stuck with...and cut it all short.

Words were incapable of destruction- an eternal bond to signify one's other half....

But there were some- who rejected it.

Rejected each other.

There was no way in Hell they'd accept him as he was. All Might? All Might could have anyone- but he'd held out, probably in the vain hopes he would one day find his other half...but now, they only knew him as the Hero. The dwindling Symbol of Peace, who would one day burn out.

He would be handing them an empty shell.

"Hey, old man!"

Shit.

He had started down an alleyway... A rookie mistake in the dark of night. He sighed softly, turning around to face the three youths now approaching him. The alleyway's stink was slowly beginning to shift-- turning... Sweet? One of the would-be robbers smirked, apparently thinking he had an easy target.

"Give us all your cash, and nobody gets h-"

"No." He didn't even bother to let them finish. Even if he was in his True Form- he was still a formidable force... Weak, yes- but he had training.

"You losin' your hearin', old timer?" One of the men stepped closer- a flash of something glinting in the darkness. It didn't take a genius to see the curve of a knife. Really.... They thought that would scare him? "He said GIVE US YOUR MONEY."

He'd already run out of time as All Might today- but he couldn't just transform and defeat these kids for their transgressions. He might get found out. The chances they'd be believed were low- but he didn't quite want to risk it. He would just take them on as he was...his eyes narrowed- an uneasy silence brimming in the air.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!"

Before the young men could react, an aluminum tin crashed into the ringleader's face- breaking open on impact and showering the trio in chocolate chip cookies. Yagi blinked, his eyes flashing towards the source-

"The Hell-?!"

"IT'S A KID!"

"GET HIM!"

"I'M TWENTY-SIX YOU SHITS!"

[]

"But I wonder, where were you?"

The song had switched as they'd stepped out of the store. The burning was gradually getting worse- their anxiety crawling further into their veins. They figured they were slightly pale by now, wanting to expel their stomach's contents from the worry burning in them. They wished they'd never met him. Ever.

All Might..

I'm so sorry.

"When I was at my worst, down on my knees?"

They took out an earbud, intent on changing the song- to something that would hopefully either lift their spirits, or drag them into a sobbing fit. Either path would work--- but when they took out the black tech, words drifted into their ringing eardrums.

"Give us all your cash, and nobody gets h-"

"And you said you had my back, so I wondered-"

"No." They made their way to the alley's entrance, hazel hues flickering over the scene. That tall man from the store- the pretty dude- with sunken cheeks and blazing blue eyes, was glaring at three men that seemed to be trying to corner him. Fire began to burn in Fin's mind- dragging across their thoughts.

Get away from him.

"--where were you, when all the roads you took came back to me?"

"You losin' your hearin', old timer?" One of them had stepped closer- and Fin could easily figure out the weapon from the hold. A small pocket knife, like the one screaming in their own pocket. It didn't occur to them that they'd begun to pull their cookie tin back- eyes narrowing.

GET AWAY FROM HIM.

"He said GIVE US YOUR MONEY."

"So I'm following the map that leads to you."

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!"

Fin's scream was accompanied by the feeling of the tin leaving their hand. They were already charging into the alley, moving faster than they remembered being able to. They felt sick to their stomach- rage blazing across their mind. Their pocket knife had flipped into their hand, open and ready, before they could comprehend it. Quirk users-- they didn't know the powers before them, but they weren't about to take the time to sort it out...not when all the men were already turning their way.

"The Hell-?!"

"IT'S A KID!"

"GET HIM!"

"I'M TWENTY-SIX YOU SHITS!"

Their abandoned earbud hit the ground, somewhere behind them. They leapt- slamming into the front-runner without a second thought. Horns...they'd seen dandelions. They didn't bother to sort it out. Everything was narrowing down in their head- you'll die if you lose.

"Pick on someone who can fight BACK!" Their knife slashed up. They could feel it slice through skin, kicking off the first body- only to slam back into another. Fin's foot smashed back- there was a pained squeal that filled the air. They rolled, dragging the heavier body with them.

That body had grown hard in seconds- coated in something that was ever-so-faintly sticky, and made the alleyway smell heavily of a candy shop. A candy Quirk? That could pose trouble-

A headache burst behind their eyes. They bit back a pained growl, spinning on impulse. The third man was currently glaring, a hand outstretched.

"BITCH!"

FIN- Yagi's voice caught in his throat. He took a step back as the trio engaged against the smaller human. It wasn't difficult to follow- but his own Words had begun to blaze, lighting up his arm in fire. Danger- save them--- but he didn't have- what---?

"Fin--?" His voice was strangled, barely a whisper in the air full of blows landing. Some people knew how to fight, yes- but this...this fighting--- the style- it was like an animal that had been backed into a corner- a familiar corner. There were no holds barred- he could see Fin's body twitch each time they had a split-second without an attack, their eyes lost in the heat of combat.

They raced towards the third- he'd begun to back up. Fin dove down, sweeping his legs out from under him. The headache instantly dissipated as the male fell on his ass, grunting from surprise. Couldn't let him get them again. Before their foot could connect--

SLC-

Their eyes snapped to the elongated slash on their left arm. It stopped just short of their Words- but it smelled- like chocolate. Great- candy poisoning. Lovely.

Take out the first one. They slammed their foot into the side of the downed psychic's head, not waiting to see if his eyes had snapped closed. They spun- just barely jumping high enough to avoid a sweep to their legs.

They leapt at their attacker- the male with dandelion-horns- and smacked the hilt of their knife into his forehead. His eyes went cross, before he fell. That just left the candy-maker--

"YOU LITTLE SHIT!"

Tell me something I don't know.

Their soulmate deserved better.- They weren't worth it. But they could at least help this stranger, if only for a few minutes. A fist connected with their arm- a loud CRACK filling the sky. They blinked, tears brimming in their eyes- but still standing.

"YEAH! YOU WANT SOME MORE, BRAT?" Fin was before him in a second- a startled yelp flying from the man's mouth before it abruptly jammed shut, lower teeth slamming into upper from a solid uppercut. His body went flying a single foot before crashing to the ground...leaving an injured, bloodied Fin standing in an alleyway, three grown men groaning on the dirty concrete.

They turned to the stranger, that harsh look in their eyes quickly melting into an attempt at a comforting smile. They felt weak- fire blazed up and down their arm, blood beginning to collect around the edges of the candy that had been lodged into their open wound. It burned. The rest of their body was aching, as well- but the adrenaline kept them upright, so they'd be grateful for that, at least.

"Sorry about that- are y'okay, dude?"

"....why'd you..." No one ever helped him, like this.- No one save actual Heroes, and even then, it was generally because he had called out to them, not wanting to deal with his opponents himself. He could've handled the men- easily- but Fin...they had... "...do that...?"

"Huh-?" Fin paused. "....why'd I...-" They chuckled, looking away. In the moonlight...their skin looked a bit paler than it had at the site, earlier that day. His Words...they still ached. "....because I wouldn't be able t'forgive myself if I let some assholes beat up such a pretty man."

Absolute silence.

Fin realized what they'd just said- what they'd admitted- only after it was already in the air, too late to take back. They leaned against the wall of the alley, trying for all the world not to look like they were about to collapse. Shit.- They couldn't die in some back alley- not when All Might hadn't even retired, yet--- the world needed him. And, they'd just betrayed him. Called this random man pretty, this random person they'd only just met-

Their mind was swirling.

Toshinori had gone utterly still, his breath snagging in his throat. There were a lot of things about him to dislike. Gods knew, he'd gotten really good at thinking of them in the (rare) spaces of downtime he had left. Unattractive, old, falling apart- he wasn't even sure if he'd live to see three years in the future. And he'd long given up on finding his soulmate- after all, who'd even want him?

And then they'd gone and said that, not knowing the connection- not knowing him for him.

"...do you have anyone I can call? A friend- family- soulmate?" The last was spoken out of reflex...and it occurred to him as he said it- he was their soulmate. He hadn't even given them his number- goddamnit- well, giving out All Might's number would've been a bad move either way.

"WE'LL GET YOU FOR THIS!" One of the men had cried out as he grabbed his downed comrade- but a deathly glare from Toshinori sent him sprinting for the alley's exit. He turned his attention back to Fin- the brunet of whom was giving him a quiet once-over.

"....no, no,- and he's probably either on a hot date, or beating the shit out of something way worse right now." Fin counted off. Yagi felt as though he'd been hit by a brick- hot date-?! He slapped a hand over his mouth, coughing wetly into it as blood surged over his tongue. The familiar taste of iron flooded his taste buds as he devolved into a coughing fit, right in front of the other.

"Oh shit-!" Fin pushed off the wall. They closed the distance in seconds. He could easily make out the droplets of crimson as they splattered on the ground- the cut that had his own Words throbbing. Injured. His soulmate was injured- badly- and they weren't even flinching---!

They'd taken down three men with Quirks, without having one- just using a knife...!

They hadn't so much as flinched when they'd gotten hurt...

And now here they were, worry flooding their face as their hands hovered near his arms, as if wanting to steady him but unsure how.

"...I'm alright...-- But...why do you think your soulmate would be on a date right now? He has you, doesn't he?" Fin took a step back. Shit. Shit, shit shit shit shit... The questions were beginning to pile- but the feeling of his Words... The cut....

Plnk.

"...he's surrounded by folks that're better for him." Fin's voice had quieted. "...don't tell him, but-...y'know, he's just...more?" They scratched at their cheek with their good hand. "I mean- the guy's...well- he's pretty famous, far as I can tell. I figure- y'know, he won't want some random fucker like me. I basically...marred him- with my Words..." They were beginning to feel faint. "...shit...--I gotta..." They took a step back. "...needa get home..."

Toshinori took a step forward- one hand rising. He didn't quite touch them- but he was close. His soulmate did, in fact, look pale...seriously so. That was why his Words were still aching.

"You need a hospital." He did grab their arm, that time. "Please- let me help you." The hints were there- he thought he'd been protecting them- for years... But the way they fought- the way they reacted...those weren't the reactions of someone with a peaceful, safe life. "This is going to hurt- but just for a second." He reached for the candy...and ripped it out in one fluid motion. The bloody-sweet concoction fell to the ground as he grabbed his suit jacket, and tore off a shred of fabric.

"...this should help stem the bleeding, until I can get you to one..."

"Dude- woah- dude-!" Fin's hand landed on Yagi's wrist. "-it's alright, I can take care of this myself- you didn't have t'rip your jacket...!!" He was already tying it around their injury...the yellow fabric was quickly beginning to stain red. Their head was swimming....fuck... "....agh.."

Worse.

There wasn't time- not at the rate Fin was getting worse. Well. Maybe there was- but worry was beginning to overpower logic.

"Fin,- I...I'm going to do something, but I need you to trust me- and not tell a single soul, alright?" Their eyes had caught on the inside of Toshinori's left arm- two Words, written in handwriting they knew too well.

Oh, hi!

"How do you-"

"Do you trust me?" The two met eyes. For a moment... Fin felt...safe. Like they were looking into something so familiar-- their thoughts were fogging further, growing faint around the edges. They were going to collapse, soon- Fin knew this feeling way too well to not know.

"...yes." That was all the confirmation he needed. He didn't know how much time was left- meeting Fin had probably increased the timer, but he wasn't sure by how much...but in this moment, he didn't care. He had to get them to a hospital. Smoke flooded the alleyway- coating him for a moment. Fin's confusion mounted as they felt the skeletal fingers gripping them gaining size, muscle filling in between bone and skin.

They coughed, the smoke burning their lungs- before strong arms pulled them close. They were pressed to a muscular chest, hazel eyes beginning to drift. Damnit...

"You're going to be okay." That voice--- where was the rough one? The scratchy cadence from that skeletal frame? This- it sounded...different, but they knew it. Like the pretty man's voice, it rang through their skull- a tuning fork that obliterated worry, that felt safe and familiar- their haven. Hands gripped them, gentle but strong, a body curling slightly-

Before, in a blast of air, they were airborne. Their vision was flickering in and out- but they could see him. Their soulmate, All Might....

Dressed in the same suit as that stranger, holding them close.

Their vision went totally black- but it took over a minute for their nerves to follow suit, their body gradually going numb.

There had to be a hospital nearby- there just had to... C'mon...!--- It took a few seconds to register, but the moment he recalled the exact location... His next landing, he changed trajectory- still holding Fin's body in his arms, his Words like Hellfire.

He was supposed to keep them safe.

And yet...

They'd gotten hurt...

Trying to save him.

[redbird-tf]

All you need

Dean Winchester x toddler sister reader x sam Winchester

Synopsis; As your 4th birthday approaches, all you want is to spend it with your dad. But when he shows up only to leave again, it’s your big brother who proves he’s all you truly need.

Word count: 2.7k

Notes: reference the gif for the main scene

Warnings; daddy issues, daddy issues

“Da!”

“Da!”

You tugged at Dean's pant legs, desperate to grab his attention. Across the table, Sam looked up from his book to Dean and let out an exaggerated cough, “Dean i think she wants you” he remarked. “then she can say my name” he replied flatly without looking up from his journal. Sam shook his head“Add ‘unavailable brother’ to her therapy list” Sam muttered under his breath. Dean rolled his eyes, then finally turned his chair to face you. He leaned forward and tapped his chest in emphasis “De or dean.” He enunciated firmly. “Not ‘da’ not ‘dad’. Dean”

You stared at him with those wide, doe-like eyes. “de…” you repeated softly. “Yes, y/n?” He asked, His tone losing its edge. “I want color, and TV” you demand excitedly, yanking at his jeans. “Alright, I’ll grab you your colors,” Dean said, standing from his chair. Once you were settled in front of the TV with your Scooby color book Dean returned to the table. Sam, who had silently watched the exchange, let out a chuckle. “what?” Dean irritatedly questioned. “I just don't get why it's such a big deal to you” Sam commented. Dean exhaled sharply, trying to keep his voice low. “She knows I'm not dad, Sam.” his patience was wearing thin. “Does she?” Sam hesitated “She sees you a lot more than dad”. “Then why doesn't she call you dad? your with her as much as i am” Dean scoffed, roughly shutting his journal. Sam raised a brow “Because i was at Stanford for the first year of her life” Dean couldn’t argue and remained silent. His gaze wanders to you, engrossed by cartoons, oblivious to the conversation happening behind you.

Sam let out a heavy sigh, following Dean's gaze towards you. “Her birthday tomorrow…” his voice was laced with concern. “I know.” Dean mumbled, “you think Dad remembers?” Sam practically whispered. Dean's jaw tightened “He said he’d be back by tomorrow” Deans tone was flat, rehearsed almost. “Thats not what-“ “i don't know Sam” Dean snapped, his chair scraped against the hardwood as he stood abruptly. Without another word he turned and walked out the door, leaving Sam alone with his unspoken thoughts.

Dean's hand dragged down his face as his chest rose and fell. “Hey y/n” he heard Sam's voice call from inside. “Hi, Sammy”. Confused, he glanced over his shoulder to see the window he cracked open earlier. He hesitantly inched closer, peaking in through the blinds. Inside Sam was now sitting with you in front of the TV. You hadn’t even bothered to look up from your coloring book as you greeted him. Sam watched you for a moment “Y/n why do you call Dean dad?” Sam asked carefully. The scratching of crayons against thick paper had suddenly stopped. You shrugged dismissively “i don't know,” you said, unnaturally high-pitched. Sam knew there was something you weren’t telling him. Sam studied you and chose his next words carefully. “You know deans our brother right?”. Your shoulders slumped and your lips formed a pout.

“But… he acts like the dads on TV…” you mumbled. Sam let the silence sit, hoping you'd say more. “He's always here, he's strong, he loves me…” your voice wavered and before Sam could react, tears started to pool in your eyes. “Ok ok, I'm sorry bug, no need to cry” Sam cooed, swiftly scooping you into his lap. He rubbed slow circles into your back. After a moment Sam moved to cradle your face in his large hands, before speaking “you know brothers can do that too” he spoke gently, not wanting to upset you again. “Really?” You asked, blinking at him with those big round eyes, that never failed to make Sam's heart melt. “He’ll always be here, even when dad can't” Sam replied with a smile. His smile quickly faded when your pout had no intention of turning upside down like something was weighing you down. “What's wrong?” He asked with furrowed brows.

“Does Daddy remember my birthday tomorrow?” Sam’s heart shattered. Outside the window, Dean's head dropped. Guilt gnawing at him. he felt like he was already failing you, he was supposed to protect you from those thoughts. Sam wouldn’t shield their father’s image for you like Dean would, he couldn’t lie to you. “i don't know” Sam admitted, his voice cracking. His arms opened out to you again, waiting for you to seek comfort. But you didn't move. You stayed planted in his lap. “Dos dean….?” Your voice wavered, thick with sadness. “Of course he does” was quick to reply. “Because he's my brother” you mumbled, sam couldn’t tell if that was a statement or question but nodded his head anyway. “Because he's your brother” he repeated, lifting you gently off the floor. He pressed a kiss to your temple and held you close. “Let's get you to bed”

—————

You began to stir, the sunlight was bleeding warmth into the room and the birds chirping soothed you softly from your rest. With a yawn, You pushed yourself upright, rubbing the sleep from your heavy eyes. The faint voices caught your attention. Blinking away the last trace of sleep you turned your head. “Daddy!” You shouted, your eyes had landed on John who stood in the middle of the room between the brothers. Their conversation had halted, watching you dart towards John. “Hey kid” a rare smile tugged at his lips, as he swept you up into his arms. You wrapped yourself tightly around him“It's my birthday!” You announced. “The big 4” he added. Your smile widened, he remembered. “Do i get a gift?” You questioned, tilting your head to the side. “You know i was a little busy, but….” his hand began to rummage around in his pocket. “But this will get you whatever you want” he stated handing you a crumpled twenty-dollar bill. Sam rolled his eyes, a quiet scoff escaping him. John lowered you back to your feet “Now why don't you go play? i need to talk to your brothers” You nodded eagerly at his request, clutching the bill in your hand before scurrying off.

You had decided to occupy your time with more TV, letting their voices become background noise. Until the familiar creak of the door hinges caught your attention. The three of them were walking out the door, with their backs turned to you. You scrambled to your feet, to meet them in the parking lot. “Daddy! Where are we going?” You called out, your small feet smacking against the pavement. They hadn’t even noticed you following them. “I've gotta go to work baby” he explained crouching to your level. You frowned “But it's my birthday!” You nagged with a stomp of your foot. You tugged at his shirt and began to beg. It didn’t matter what he was saying-you just wanted him to stay. Your tantrum wore thin on John's patience “This is more important” he snapped, prying your hands from his collar with a sharp jerk. Your lip trembled uncontrollably, and before the first tear could fall you turned your heel. You ran back to the room, shoving past Sam when he tried to hold you. Sam turned back to face his dad with a cold stare. John returned the glare “Don't give me that look” John warned. “Dean help me with the bags” he ordered. Dean nodded, silently he grabbed a bag and followed their father to the truck.

John closed the tailgate with a thud then turned to Dean, his hand gripping his shoulder “Take care of your siblings” Dean nodded with a commonly repeated “yes sir” and turned back to the motel where he saw Sam standing, his arms crossed with a scowl on his face. Dean moved to stand next to him while they both watched John's truck pull out of the lot and disappear down the road. A faint sniffle broke the silence. Dean glanced down and was surprised to see your trembling form wrapped around Sammy's leg. With a sigh, Dean stepped forward, detaching you from Sam and pulling you into his arms. You didn’t resist and rather pressed your body tightly against your big brother's chest. The safest place in the world. His large hand rubs up and down your back while whispering comforting words in your ear. You shifted slightly, your head moved from resting on his shoulder to being tucked beneath his chin.

“You're my real daddy, De,” you said sternly, outweighing the tremble in your voice. Deans jaw clenched. His heart ached for you, for the little girl who had learned far too early what it felt like to be abandoned. There was nothing he could say to fix things, nothing he could do to shield you from the hurt. He just held you tighter, like it was the only thing holding you together. “Can we get McDonalds?” Your voice broke him from his trance and a small chuckle escaped his lips. “I got twenty dollars” you added, holding up the crumpled bill. A genuine laugh rumbled from his chest, shaking the heaviness of the moment. The girl who was just pulling on his heartstrings now wanted nothing more than McDonalds. Your brows furrowed in confusion, widening his smile even more. He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I'll get you all the McDonalds you want” he promised, voice steady. Dean couldn’t fix things with their father, but maybe he could be everything you needed.

[shomixremix]

HERDING THE CATTLE ♥︎

i saw something about this prompt on here like two years ago and it's been stuck in my head ever since ♡︎

tags: Arataki Itto, afab! reader, cow hybrid! reader, smut, fluff, marking, mating, rough sex, petnames, cowgirl, breeding, creampie

-> you are a small cow hybrid auctioned off to a slaughterhouse since you couldn't produce enough milk and were never calm. the arataki gang saved you, and your new master - the one and oni Arataki Itto - knows just how to keep you in check.

reqs open ♡︎ | minors DNI

"Ahh!! Itto! Itto-ooh! Mh! I-Itto!"

You whined as the Oni bounced you on his cock like you were weightless, watching in amusement as you cried in overstimulation. What was this, your ninth, tenth time cumming? You lost count. Itto never let you rest, not even for a second, bouncing you on his lap through every orgasm.

"Aww, you'r' so cute, love bug... Such a cute little cow, ain't ya'? Don't cry now, sweets, this is what ya' wanted, yeah? Only way I can tire you out, baby~"

Your master cooed, teasing you about being so restless. Oh, how you wished you could take everything back! No, you weren't bursting with energy like you said earlier, no, you couldn't go on forever - your legs were practically jelly at this point, your limp body completely at mercy to Itto.

He used you like a cocksleeve, dragged on his dick whenever he wanted and for however long he wanted - and you loved it. Life was good in the Arataki gang: you always had food, a place to sleep and protection provided to you, at all times. You also had a very tall, very strong and very handsome demon filling you up and breeding you almost daily, making sure your cushy womb was never empty.

The space where you connected was a mess. A glorious mess of both your and his juices seeping out of your hole, being fucked back in each time Itto would trust back. Just as every other day, your gummy walls pulsed around his length, making him shoot yet another load inside you.

"Fuck, baby... Makin' me lose my mind and shit..... So good.... Give me a little taste of that milk, will ya'?"

His large palms left your hips, greedily grabbing at the fat flesh of your boobs. As soon as he squeezed down just a tiny bit, a small stream of milk burst out, hitting Itto in the face. You were instantly mortified. Itto was your master, he saved you from certain death, and now you embarass him like this-

"I'm s-sorry Itto-! So sorry! Didn't mean to, I r-really didn't mean to!"

Instead of scolding you like you were sure any other owner would, the Oni burst out laughing. His laugh was like a roar, shaking his entire body - and with him, you as well.

"Hah, those jerks at the farm jus' didn't know how to milk ya', sweets, 'cause you look full of milk to me!"

It was true - even though you were sold to a slaughterhouse for failing to produce milk, you started leaking like crazy the moment Itto took you as his. That vet back at the farm you grow up on always said that you'd start producing milk if they paired you with a bull, and what better bull than a large, demon one?

Their loss, anyway. Now, all your milk belonged to Itto and his warm mouth, and not to some sketchy farmers who were only interested in selling it.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of his sharp fangs on your nips, greedily sucking at the flesh and gulping down the sweet drink. His dick twitched inside you as he continued feasting, your own arms tightening around his head to pull him closer.

The second he detached himself from your chest he thrust out harshly, in the process accidentally completely pushing you from his lap. Even though Itto was mighty and strong, he wasn't exactly the sharpest. There was a slight possibility that he was so occupied with whatever he was doing that he forgot you were on him.

You watched as he stood up, leaving you sitting on your knees on the ground. The Oni spit a bit of your milk on his palm, then using that same hand to roughly jerk his cock. It was more than obvious that milk was one of his kinks.

Oh, but why would he jerk off with milk as lube when you were right there...? On your knees, right next to him, ready and waiting and... Oh, Archons, were you not enough for him anymore..?

When Itto first saved you, the deal was that you'd stay in the Arataki gang until they found you a new home. However, Itto insisted they keep you, even proclaimed you as his own "pretty girl that no one can touch!" He kept you all to himself, fell asleep with you in his arms at night, brought you any awesome flowers he found, even took you on good, honest dates when he'd get a little Mora! He even acted on his demon urges and sunk his fangs into your neck, mating you!

But what if he didn't want to spend the rest of his life with a little, useless cow? What if that wasn't even enough for his sexual urges any more..?

"I-Itto..." You cry, big tears pooling up in the corners of even bigger eyes, threatening to spill at any moment.

At the mention of his name the Oni turns to you, shocked to see you crying.

"Hey, hey, hey! Baby, what's wrong?!"

"Need you.... P-please..."

Not another word needed to be said. Itto immediately reacted, grabbing your soft, much smaller body and seating it once again on his lap, entering you in one swift trust until his tip was snuggly kissing your cervix.

"Shhh, sweets... Let your Oni take care of ya', hm? No need to cry! I thought you couldn't go on, love bug, that's why I stopped! But you really are a restless one, huh, calfie?"

You smiled warmely at the nickname as your head went fuzzy. You laid your pretty head on Arataki's chest - like always - and let him have complete control of how he fucks you.

Each one of his thrust was faster and more brutal than the last. Your pussy was already crying out, threatening to cum just from the first few thrusts. Itto noticed, pinching your puffy clit between his claws and rolling it around.

"OH, ITTO!" You scream in ecstasy, riding your high.

Your master wasn't going to be able to last much longer. With you bouncing on his cock the way you were and how your sweet little cunt was so tight that it was milking him dry, Itto lasted only a couple more thrusts.

"Hah... Haaah... Fuck, love bug... Really wanna milk me too, don't ya'? Ahh... Mmm.. Gonna breed you.. Hah... Gonna breed ya' so good, sweets.. You'll be all nice and full, and you'll get pregnant with my calfs, yeah? Put all that milk to good use, hm? Yeah, yeah!"

He started cumming as well, shooting rope after rope after rope of his sweet release inside you. You were filled to the rim, juices leaking out of your satisfied hole. Arataki didn't let any of it go to waste, his fingertips catching whatever's left and pushing it in.

As soon as you were filled, your hands reached for him, seeking comfort in his warm arms. Itto obliged instantly, carrying you like you were weightless, to the nearby camp they set up. Your master entered his tent, the biggest of the bunch, wrapping your body in a soft blanket and once again settling you in his arms.

"There ya' go, love bug. Comfy?" You nodded, which made Itto break out in a toothy grin. "Well, of course it is! The great numero uno Itto is at your service, baby, of course everything is awesome!"

You chuckled at the way he tooted his own horn, kissing his cheek and hiding your face in his large neck and shoulder.

"G'night, Itto.. Thank you..."

The Oni found your actions adorable, cooing at you: "Awww, sweets, no need to thank me! You know I always gocha. Thank you for being so good f' me, yeah? You're such a good, pretty little cow... I don't know how I got so lucky!"

He pressed a loving kiss on your forehead, caressing your legs with his large palm.

"G'night, baby.."

[cinnbar-bun]

Part 4 Jotaro going to Morioh only to find you, a former Stardust Crusader on accident. I imagine they fell out of touch/didn't have time to talk. (Maybe they had feelings for eachother??)

A/n: I LOVE THIS REQUEST SO MUCH I WENT NUTS!!

Reunion in Morioh

Relationship: Jotaro 4 x GN!SDC!Reader

Rating: SFW

Word Count: ~1.4k

Notes: Reader is GN! Some discussions of spoilers for P3 and P4. A brief P5 mention (ifykyk). Jotaro is currently divorced in this fic, and it features some cameos of the Duwang crew. Some mentions of trauma from P3 but overall pretty soft all things considered.

Read in my AO3 here!

Taglist (if you'd like to be tagged, please fill out the form on my pinned!): @child-ofdust @starr-l1ghtt

Jotaro isn’t necessarily the best at communicating. That was always the case with him, as he felt he expressed himself just fine. Surely anyone could tell what he was thinking with just one look or a quick sentence. 

Even when you two traveled together with the rest of the Stardust Crusaders, he assumed you knew him well enough. It did seem that way, at least. You practically became the Jotaro translator to the rest of the team. 

His relationship with you was different from the others, a more close and intimate one compared to the others. It was clear that he valued your presence in the crusaders even more than he did, say, Kakyoin’s or Polnareff’s. 

Jotaro, despite his rough and tough exterior, really did care for you. Even in his more immature state, he had a habit of protecting you and focusing on your comfort than he usually spared the others. 

He knew what he felt inside, that the feelings he held for you went beyond platonic or just mere friendship. It was a genuine want for a closer relationship with you. 

But Jotaro, ever the stoic seventeen year old who had never been in a relationship before, did not really know that his feelings were not easily read as desiring a romantic relationship with you. 

To him, he was dropping hints left and right and showing obvious signs that he had a crush on you and wanted to be with you. 

To you, he would just hand you the last bit of water before Polnareff attempted to chug it down. 

To him, he was standing closer to you and signaling he liked being next to you, while also keeping watch of you to make sure you weren’t too far behind. 

To you, he was gruffly telling you to hurry the hell up. 

Despite the untold feelings you both had for the other, neither of you ever went out and told the other of them. It was the one time you had failed to read Jotaro correctly, one that he spent the next few years believing to be you rejecting him and his ‘advances’. 

So when it came time to part, he believed that your rejection of him (misunderstanding his cues) was your real feelings and decided to stay away from you, figuring you’d rather not be around him after he confessed (throwing easily misinterpreted signals at you). It was another of his silent ways to make sure you were comfortable, but he didn’t realize that you would take it as a sign of him rejecting you as if your relationship meant nothing. 

Well, that was ages ago. 11 years later and he’s no longer the 17 year old delinquent who could smoke five cigarettes at once, but a 28 year old marine biologist who had gotten divorced from his first marriage. 

He didn’t want to be in Morioh, but considering Joseph’s colossal screw-up and the mysterious events taking place, he knew he’d have to stay far longer than he had anticipated. 

Morioh is fine and all, but he didn’t find any worthwhile reason to stay. That was, until Okuyasu and Josuke accidentally destroyed a part of your fence, leading Jotaro to drag them to you to apologize. 

“Come on, do we really have to?!” Josuke cries.  

The commotion outside obviously bugs you, and you swing open the door, complaining about the noise when you gasp as you come face to face with Jotaro again. Time has really been kind to him, and even with his older appearance, it’s easy to tell it’s him. 

“Jotaro?” You ask, making sure it’s really him, while Josuke and Okuyasu eye up Jotaro to explain what’s going on. 

Jotaro keeps it curt and polite, feeling some fondness for you after all these years but still not wanting to overstep your presumed boundaries. He ignores Josuke and Okuyasu’s wide eyes and comments and gives you a brief nod. 

“(Y/n). It’s been a while.” 

“11 years, to be exact…” 

Knowing that you’re here makes the trip significantly different in his mind. Your stand is quite useful, and he asks to recruit you one more time to aid him in finding Kira. He is being truthful about wanting your help, but admittedly, a selfish part of him wants to see what you’ve been up to. 

You agree, feeling somewhat similarly to Jotaro. He has changed a lot since you two last said your goodbyes at the airport, and it’s made you curious how he may have grown. 

Jotaro doesn’t really like to discuss much of what occurred in Egypt to the Duwang group. Josuke and Okuyasu mostly want to hear about how you two became friends and knew each other. Koichi recognizes that you two have some mutual respect for the other and that you seem to know a lot more about Jotaro than meets the eye. Rohan, however, is the one who knows something must have gone down for you two to be this awkward around the other. And he will be annoying and try to get sneaky about finding what happened. 

“Call it a hunch of mine, but something tells me that there’s an interesting story to be told between the two of them.” 

Joseph is the one that breaks the ice for you and Jotaro by being his usual self. 

“Oh, (Y/n)? Is that really you? Don’t tell me I’m hallucinating this!” Once you assure him that no, you are not an illusion and that it really is you, Joseph embraces you and blabs on. 

“You’ve grown well! Haha! I didn’t think I’d see you in this little old town. You know, it breaks my heart that you and Jotaro didn’t stay in touch after all that with Dio. I was sure you’d become part of the family!” 

You can practically hear glass shatter as everyone gawks at Joseph, who is humming casually and doesn’t realize what he just admitted, while Jotaro is fuming internally and attempts to drag Joseph away. 

“Ignore him. Old age has taken a toll on his brain.” 

It’s both a blessing and a curse that Joseph spoke so freely. It stopped both you and Jotaro from thinking the other hated you, but it also left a reminder that once upon a time, you two were that close. 

Still, Jotaro doesn’t want to push his luck- for pete’s sake, it’s been 11 years, why would you care for him like you did when you two were dumb teenagers?- so he tries to keep it professional. 

But unfortunately, even he can’t help the way he gets more protective over you during an ambush from stand users. Or how he gets stern with the boys if they make a poor joke or something negative about you. Or the way he finds himself feeling nostalgic. 

It takes a while but you two eventually begin to talk again beyond surface level greetings and battles. Jotaro finds out that Polnareff used to send you letters, but one day just stopped sending them all together without warning. You find out Jotaro pursued his dream of becoming a marine biologist and was currently writing a thesis on starfish. You moved to Morioh after the trauma from Egypt, living alone and being unable to connect with ‘normal’ people after being so fundamentally changed by the trip. He had a wife and daughter in America, but due to his time away from home, was divorced from her. 

Some things haven’t changed. The comfortable air between the two of you still remains, giving the two of you a break despite Kira being on the loose. Jotaro thinks to himself that he hadn’t felt this at ease in years. 

As the days pass, the feelings he had for you slowly resurface, but this time, he’s much more aware of relationships and wants to correct his mistakes from the past. He won’t be the same misunderstood boy from back then. 

So with a casual and stoic expression, he puts his hands in his pockets and turns to you. 

“How do you feel about going to grab a meal with me tonight?” he asks, hoping that him being upfront will give you two another chance to start anew.

[duck-a-doodle]

COD IMAGINES

TACTICAL BUDDLE BUG 4/4

Chapters 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

TF141!reader x 141

WARNING: Angst, Death, Comfort

A/N: I could not think of any other way for Ghost to accept your hug. I apologise for the trauma in advance. :'-)

Masterlist

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The most serious member of the 141 is secretly a very affectionate person.

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The mission was rough, one that pulled you under and dragged your bloodied knees through dirt and gravel.

It was a ground search and rescue operation which lasted for weeks on end, and one which tested the limits of the human body, bending your sanity to the brink of a clean snap.

The streets were coloured in violence, and the grounds were a tangle of rubble, vehicle parts and severed bodies.

Wherever you stepped, there would lay a limb or a head, of which you could no longer tell if they belonged to an enemy or hostage. It no longer mattered, not when your boots must travel the roads of a thousand stripped souls.

You saved several hostages from the scene, but there was one that you know would haunt you til the end of your days.

It was a little girl. Small, young, with her favourite doll that was caked with remnants of dirt and coagulated blood, the latter of which should never have made its mark upon such a pure soul.

You had to coax her to climb down from the roof, to bring her to safety, and you had failed to realise that you were not the only one to notice the child.

A bullet tore through her chest, and another through her side, bringing her down from the roof, soft and limp into your arms.

Not every hostage can be saved. Not every enemy will be found. Ghost, who buried the young girl you in the aftermath, had watched you ruin every unfriendly sight with a fury unmatched.

He witnessed the angry flames that swallowed up every dead man as you pulled them straight down to hell with you.

Your body had moved blindly when you heard the roaring sound of your captain's orders to return to the plane.

Gaz was adjacent to you, resting quietly while Johnny sat on your other side, watching you carefully; you refused to look at him, knowing that his eyes would look right through you.

The captain said nothing, and Ghost, who propped himself opposite to where you were, was unreadable.

There was no banter, no questions, and only a silent prayer remained.

You cannot remember whose hands have rested on your arms or shoulders in an attempt to calm you; all you recall was the chill and bile that rised from within you. You could not remember the debriefing that felt like seconds but passed like hours.

You could not remember how you got back. Not how you got into your fresh clothes, not how your wounds — once bloody and inflamed — were now patched, and not how you found yourself standing at Ghost's door, waiting.

Why were you there? What were you waiting for? And as soon as the question arose, the answer made itself clear; because of all people, he would know.

As if sensing a presence, the room opened with a click, and Ghost appeared in the doorway, taking a moment to register your presence. He moved to one side. Stepping in silently, the door closed shut behind you, enclosing you in a box of white noise.

He stood before you, saying nothing. He did not need to say anything. In fact, he need not even ask. He simply knew.

"You did what you could."

The reality of his words were a dagger to your beating chest. You lived. You lived, and you were grateful. But you lived at a cost, with the price of blood on your hands.

You took one step. Then another. And Ghost, who did not anticipate what you were about to do, stilled as you wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight.

Fingers tangled tight into the fabric of his shirt, and you press your face deep into his body, seeking — begging — for a reprieve. The darkness was a comfort. He was a comfort.

For once, you want to feel a life that you can hold in your hands, that will not disappear under your touch, that is living and breathing. To hear the heartbeat of a soul, to get rid of the memory of cold, colourless skin that rest unmoving against your arms.

"Breathe, cub."

You could not move. You did not want to move. You cannot bear to move. Not an inch, not away from him who you knew understood better than anybody. His hands were placed on your back. Warm. Alive.

There were no use for words as both of you held each other in silence, resting in the comfort of a feeling near-forgotten.

That was your last memory of that night before you knocked out cold, and in your sleep you dreamt of a hand that wiped the warm corners of your eyes, rough yet gentle.

Unbeknownst to you, a storm in Ghost had calmed when you chose him of all people to seek comfort in, and silently grateful he was for the team to have a most sensitive heart on board.

You were the most affectionate person of the 141, and you cared and loved unconditionally. Those qualities made you the most lethal one of them all, for despite any rankings or titles, you commandeered them all with a piece of your heart — and the day your heart dies is the day they raise hell in your name.

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FOOTNOTE(S):

Ghost likely has only hugged the captain once or twice and Johnny, several times but not of his own volition.

Your heart reminds him of his better days with his brother Tommy and it makes him want to punch you (cuteness aggression), but he will take that knowledge to his grave.

[13uswntimagines]

Rainbowfish (Leah X Alessia X child!r)

Request: R calls Leah mom for the first time.

Part of the Big Emotions universe- find more here.

Warnings: none. Cute Kid Fic.

Author's note: TBH I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this one, and the ending is a bit short, but I wanted to get it out. Also, I know in the UK it's Mum and not Mom, but that's a plot point I want to explore later Lol. Please enjoy and let me know what you think.

Your bedtime story was very important business in the Russo-Williamson household. 

It was the one part of your routine that never ever changed. The one part that you would refuse to sleep without (aside from a few weeks during the World Cup). 

It was your absolute favorite part of the day, being cuddled into your Mama’s side with Squirt as she read you the book of the night. She did all the little voices and gently scratched your back. it never failed to send you straight to sleep. Most of the time you didn’t even make it through the book. 

Alessia treasured it. 

No matter how busy your days were, she made sure she got to read you your story. In the days with Manchester United, it had been the only time she really got to spend with you regularly. Things were better with Arsenal and since you had moved in with Leah, but your routine had stuck, and Leah respected that it was your special time with your mama.

“‘Thank you! Thank you so much!’ The little blue fish bubbled playfully, as he tucked the shiny scale among his blue ones,” Alessia read, watching as your tiny fingers traced the tiny shimmering scale on the blue fish on the page, made of a different material than the rest. 

It was your favorite part of The Rainbow Fish. 

His scales were different from the pages, so they shimmered in the fairy lights around your room. 

“Is Leah Rainbow Fish?” You asked, running your fingers over the fish. 

Alessia’s eyebrows pulled together, a crinkle forming between them (identical to the one you always got). “What do you mean bug?”

“Is that why people always stop her?” You glanced up at your mama, meeting eyes that were identical to your own. “So she give them a shiny scale,” 

You wondered how she hid them all under her clothes. Maybe that was why people always wanted her and your mama to take their shirts off, to see their shimmery scales. 

Alessia hummed, rubbing her hand through your messy curls. “Leah is kind of like a Rainbowfish, but instead of giving away scales, she reminds people that they’re special too,”

A little crease appeared between your eyebrows as you processed the thought, and you dragged your little finger from the Rainbow fish towards the larger fish on the page. “Is Leah my mommy like Rainbow fish has mommy?”

Alessia eased another curl from in front of your eyes, tucking it behind your ear. “Do you want Leah to be your mommy?”

You nodded. “She does bath time, and plays with me, And never forgets the popcorn for movie night,”

“She does,” Alessia agreed, her lips turning into a fond smile. 

“And she loves us,” You continued, meeting her eyes. 

They shined in the fairy lights of your room, glimmering with an innocence that Alessia would protect until the day she died. 

You mama hummed. “Very very much,”

“Then that means she’s mommy because she does all the mommy things,” You said, with a sense of finality, and understanding that was far beyond what Alessia thought a 2-and-a-half-year-old could understand. 

“Hmm,” She paused, brushing a curl from in front of your eyes. Her and Leah had never fully discussed titles, but she could see that you were right. That the defender had slotted perfectly into the role. That Leah had earned it. “I think Leah would be happy with whatever you decide to call her,”

You nodded like it was a done deal. “Finish story now?”

Alessia swallowed, unable to stop the fond smile from curling across her lips. “Yeah bug, well finish the story,” 

She would let you be the one to tell Leah about the discussion. 

She was sure the defender would appreciate it more coming from you anyway. 

******

“Come on bug, the sharks are this way,” Leah said softly, adjusting the ear defenders that accompanied you on most outings as you stared at the tank of Seahorses. 

These were painted with tiger sharks, sea turtles, seahorses, and jellyfish, a perfect accomplishment to the atmosphere of the aquarium, and the reason Alessia had them made.

It was probably a toss-up between the aquarium and the zoo for your favorite one-on-one activities with Leah. The carefully selected outings that weren't too loud, or overstimulating that Leah could take you on to distract you while Alessia had an obligation you couldn’t accompany her on. 

The seahorse tank was just inside the entrance to the building, small and lit with a variety of colorful LEDs. It never failed to catch your attention, and you could/would stand in front of it for hours if Leah let you, listening to her read off the information plaque several times. 

She would usually let you, but she spotted a school group bustling through the coral-shaped entranceway. She didn’t fancy being shoved aside by a bunch of screaming schoolchildren, and she knew you wouldn’t either. 

You didn’t enjoy crowds unless there was a barrier between you and them. 

You dragged your eyes away from the tank to meet hers, your head tilting as you squeezed Squirt more tightly to you.“Turtle?”

“And the turtles,” Leah agreed, catching your hand. “We can’t go through without seeing Rocky, Bella, and Culver now can we,”

You nodded seriously at the names of your favorite turtles, holding her hand tightly as she guided you past the seahorses and to the next tank. 

It was smaller, filled with 20 little fish milling about, their scales glinting off of the artificial light in the tank. 

“Rainbow fish?” You asked, looking up at Leah for confirmation. 

Leah squinted at the familiar plaque. “It says that these guys are Flame Angelfishes. They come from Hawaii, and they like to hang out on coral reefs,”

You frowned, turning back to the tanks as one of the smaller fish swam by. 

You knew they weren’t called rainbowfishes, but you still asked Leah each time, hoping for a different answer. 

“No rainbow fish?” You pouted, leaning closer to the tank, but not touching it. 

You knew it was important not to bang on the glass so you didn’t scare the fish. They wouldn’t be your friend if you scared them. 

“We can call it a rainbow fish,” Leah said, squatting down next to you. “I don’t think they’ll mind,”

You made a low sound, your fingers creeping their way past your lips. 

“Hey, none of that,” She scolded gently, pulling your fingers from your mouth. “We don’t know where those little fingers have been,”

It was a bad habit her and your mama were fighting hard to break, how everything from your fingers to your shirt collars ended up in your mouth. 

“Does rainbow fish give out his scales?” You asked, looking away from the tank to briefly meet her eyes. 

“Hmm,” Leah hummed at the familiar question, glancing back at the little fish curiously swimming in front of you. “I think they would share their scales if one of their needed friends needed one,”

“Like you give out your scales?” You asked, your eyes never leaving the tank. 

Leah frowned. “What do you mean bug?”

“You’re mama’s Rainbowfish,” You said earnestly, turning away from the fish to meet Leah’s eyes again. 

“I’m your rainbow fish too,” She said with a very soft smile, running her hand through your messy curls. 

You nodded, as though her words confirmed something for you. What, Leah wasn’t entirely sure. 

Several fish swam by, and you watched in wonder as they did circles around each other, and Leah felt herself fall a little more in love with you. 

In the beginning, she hadn’t been entirely sure how things would go when Alessia warned her that you two were a package deal. She always wanted kids, but she didn’t know if she was mother material now. 

Then she met you, and you wrapped your little hand around her finger and she knew you had her hooked. 

Now, she couldn’t imagine her life without you, or Alessia. She treasured getting to see your excitement and wonder at simple things, like fish swimming circles around a tank. 

She would stand here all day if that’s what you wanted. 

You did for a long second before you looked back up at her. “Turtles?”

She smiled down at you. “Yep, let’s go see the turtles,” 

You looked back at the tank, waving to the fish. 

One of the little fish swam across the face of the tank as though he was waving goodbye to you. 

You waved back at him, and Leah refrained from telling you that he probably didn’t understand what bye-bye rainbow fish meant. 

You took Leah’s hand and let her lead you deeper into the aquarium. 

********

Leah could tell you were getting tired as you finally made it all the way through the shark tunnel. Your little legs were dragging, and your fingers kept trying to find their way past your lips with increasing frequency. 

You had skipped your nap, and she knew you had a limited amount of time before you got grumpy, even if you were at one of your favorite places. It was always a balance of letting you experience the things you wanted and keeping you from getting overtired. 

“How about we see the rays and then go get some lunch?” She asked you, wiggling your hand. 

“Otay,” You mumbled, leaning into Leah and letting her pull you through the shark-shaped archway and into one of your favorite parts of the aquarium, the stingray touch tank. 

“Hello miss Y/n!” The peppy blonde worker smiled widely at you as soon as you rounded the corner and sent a wave to Leah. 

The two of you came here often enough that she knew you quite well. 

You sent her a small wave, making sure Squirt didn’t slip from under your arm. “Ello Kara,”

“Do you want to feed the stingrays today?” She asked you, gesturing towards the touch tank that you always visited. “Rocky and Dibs are in a very friendly mood,”

She knew you well enough to know that there were days when you liked to pet the rays and ones when you just wanted to watch. 

You perked up, nodding excitedly, turning to Leah and holding out your stuffed turtle. “Mommy, hold squirt so he no get wet?”

Leah blinked at you, making no move to take the turtle. “Say that again my darling?”

“You hold Squirt so I feed Rocky and Dibs?” You repeated, holding out the blue and green stuffed turtle. 

Leah blinked again and squatted in front of you, bringing her hands up to cup your jaw. 

“No bug, what did you call me?” She asked, her thumbs brushing your cheeks softly. 

“Mommy,” You said, your eyebrows furrowing. “Mama said be ok cause you my Rainbow fish,”

Leah hummed. 

Of course, you had talked it over with Alessia first. She would have been more surprised if you hadn’t. 

“It’s very ok,” She assured you, swallowing away the lump in her throat, and pulling you close so she could kiss your forehead. “I’m your Mummy and your rainbow fish,”

You tolerated her lips against your hairline for a very long second before you pulled away, holding your turtle out for her. “Hold squirt so he no get wet?”

It amazed her how… casual you were about all of this. How you said it as if it just made sense. She swallowed down the swelling in her chest, knowing you wouldn’t react well if she started crying, even if the tears were happy. 

“Sure, bug,” She smiled gently at you, taking the offered toy and holding him close as she released you. “Do you need help washing your hands?”

You shook your little head, turning back towards the blonde Stingray keeper. “No, Kara help me,”

She watched you as you toddled towards the sink, immediately talking to Kara about how the Rays were doing. 

She would watch over you forever. 

She was your Mum and your Rainbow fish.

[ink-stainedkiss]

Intertwined

Pain in the Ass —> next chap

Sukuna has been a pest to you since for as long as you have known, but his hateful cover always seemed to crack around you.

Word Count: 2.7k

Contents: Bullying, childhood bully/friend, sorta confession (not really), cute Sukuna,

Summer was in full swing. The sun shined brightly above you, showing off the ultraviolet colors of nature. From the blooming flower or the evergreen trees, it seemed to be at its prettiest state. It was also a perfect time to spend your childhood days outside and you showed no hesitation with taking a box of chalk to the park. Your mother sat on a bench shaded by a tree, flipping through her book and taking short glances at you. While your hands worked hard on the concrete, constructing a large pink flower and many more daisies to accompany it.

Were they the best drawings? Definitely not, but you were only six, so no one was expecting perfection. Humming a soft tune, you set your stick down, hovering your hand over the other colors. Despite the happy day, someone always had to be the terrible guy. It only took a second of you looking away when a small foot stomped on your pink chalk and crushed it to bits, all over the center of your flower. You gasped, watching as their foot dragged against your drawing, ruining it inch by inch. A mischievous giggle sounded from above you and instantly, you knew who was trying to rain on your day.

“That drawing was ugly anyway,” A spiteful voice called. Sukuna. God, how you hated him and hating at six years old is pretty unnatural, but he deserved it. Even from the day your mothers introduced you two, Sukuna made it his life’s mission to destroy any happy or joyful feelings you expressed. You never knew why, since you never gave him a reason to be so terrible. In the end you guessed he was just full of hatred. An angered growl forced its way through your gritted teeth,”Why would you do that!?”

Sukuna stood there, arms crossed, a smug expression resting on his face,”It was gonna ruin the sidewalk, I did the town a favor.” Maybe it was because he was a year older than you and he had some sort of superiority complex, but it still gave him no right to bully you. So with all the strength you could muster, you shoved him back, wishing he would just disappear,”You are so rude!”

Because of his shock, the boy stumbled back a bit, but quickly regained his balance, a vengeful sneer on his face,”Yeah? And you’re a brat!” You were about to tackle the boy again, but then you caught a glimpse of your smudged drawing. Sadness overtook your anger and you slowly walked away from Sukuna, sitting down in front of your ‘art’. What you didn’t see was the twinkle of guilt zip past Sukuna’s eyes. He stared down at your somber face, staring sadly out at the mess he created, but no amount of guilt would ever make him apologize to you.

To Sukuna, you were odd. He didn’t like being around you, hearing your name, or even seeing someone with the same hair color as you because you were so infuriating. Everything about you. Your personality, how stubborn you were, your dumb face, your kindness, how bright your smile was—Nevermind. You just wrap yourself around Sukuna’s brain like an obnoxious parasite. Sukuna would never apologize to you…but he would grab a blue chalk stick and start drawing over your failed attempt at a flower,”Watch how I draw. I’m a lot better at it than you.”

And no, Sukuna didn’t like how you got all surprised and impressed at his shark drawing. Nor did he like the fact you bugged him into teaching you how to draw one. He just wanted you to stop pouting like a baby, it made his chest feel weird, but that happens to everyone. Right?

✮⋆˙

Middle school is when Sukuna grew more annoying and more confident. For some reason, people liked Sukuna, and it led to him being able to bully you with group approval. You kept your head up, no matter what dumb insult he threw your way.

“You’re such a moron.”

“Who would ever want to be friends with you?”

“Don’t talk to me. I don’t want people thinking I actually interact with someone like you.”

Sukuna also grew more mean in the years that passed. It wasn’t a great feeling when he would spit something out then a chorus of laughter followed after from his loyal followers. His quick popularity was like a persistent bug flying around you and no matter where you went, the constant buzzing of his greatness swarmed you. The harassment made it hard for you to find a good companion, because who would want to sit next to the girl who is getting bullied?

The realization that you didn’t have a friend came when it was your birthday. You wore the nicest outfit you owned, let your mother place a pretty bow in your hair for the occasion, but when you arrived at school, there wasn’t a singular ‘happy birthday’. As the day progressed, your happiness drained, everyone was talking and acting normally, because they thought it was a regular day. It was your last class and at this point you just wanted to run to your mother and cry. It seemed that no one was going to give you the joy of saying two simple words.

A rough nudge to your side had you shooting up at your desk. You must have been thinking pretty hard because you didn’t even realize the bell had rung. Your classmates were picking up their stuff, already existing,”Hey,” Ugh, what did he want? You let out a sigh, facing your tormentor, and expected him to do his usual bit. However, there was something softer in his features, Though it was hard to tell since he was barely making eye contact with you. Sukuna mumbled something under his breath, something inaudible,”What?”

The boy groaned as if it was your fault you couldn’t hear the words he said just under his breath,”I said, happy birthday, or whatever.” Your eyes blew open, shock hitting you like a freight train. Was Sukuna the first to say happy birthday to you? He glared at you harshly, mumbling another quick sentence,”My mom forced me to give this to you.”

It felt like a fever dream, like you had to be imagining it, but it was indeed real from the way he shoved a small box into your hand. It was aggressive and short, his gesture, and you didn’t have time to thank him before he was racing out of the classroom. You were stunned in place, hands frozen on the present. You were the only one left in the classroom and you were a bit scared to open the box. Knowing Sukuna, you hoped that it wouldn’t be a dead insect or a rock, but wouldn’t he wait around and want to see your reaction if it was that?

Throwing caution to the wind, you lifted the lid, jaw dropping at the sight before you. Inside the container was an adjustable ring, one with a heart charm etched on the smooth metal. It was simple, but it meant the world to you. Racing home, you eagerly busted through your door, darting to your mother to see the piece of jewelry. She bent down, examining it with a cute pout on her lips,”Well that was nice of him,”

You blew raspberries at her,”Yeah right, it was his mom who got it, or at least that’s what he said before he ran off.” What you weren’t expecting was for your mother to pause, mid cut through vegetables, and give you a confused look,”Ryomen’s mother? She didn’t say anything about getting you a gift.” Your face dropped and you stared at the ring in horror. If what she was saying was correct, then Sukuna had gifted you the ring just because he wanted to.

No. That was insane to even think. You denied, denied, denied the notion, but you mother only had a knowing look on her face,”You know, he may have a crush-“ “I gotta go upstairs! and do homework!” There were a lot of things Sukuna did; bully you, ruin the things you liked, belittle your accomplishments,but to say he would ever like someone was enough to make you laugh. Your mother was just being a cliche mother. There is no way, not in a million years, that Ryomen Sukuna would fall for you.

✮⋆˙

Your first years of high school was a rocky journey. Being completely new to the school and system entirely, it was anybody’s ground to find their clique. Of course Sukuna immediately grouped with the unstandable jocks, fitting perfectly with their gross personalities. Sadly, you were still trying to put yourself out in the middle of the chaos and find yourself, but Sukuna was always there to make you stumble.

“It’s kinda sad watching you fail to make friends,” Sukuna hummed next to you on the bleachers. He was your ride home and was already able to drive, so you had to play nice or it meant walking. Unfortunately, he was the captain of the male volleyball team, so you had to sit in on their after school practice,”Can you shut the hell up?”

He chuckled deeply, always finding your anger amusing. You would like to say your ‘friendship’ with Sukuna got better after middle school. It’s probably because he was too busy with his team to worry about you and it felt pretty nice. That’s not to say he stopped all together being a pain in your ass, but it just dialed down—for now. The squeaking of soft leather pounding the ground echoed in the large gym, the team’s warm up session coming to an end. Sukuna hopped off the bleachers, jogging to his teammates and yelled out for them to create two teams.

You got comfortable against the plastic seats, scrolling on your phone to pass the time. Even past your headphones, you could hear the gruff voice of Sukuna, barking orders and compliments to his team. There wasn’t just a change in his demeanor, but it was clear Sukuna was going to the gym. He had grown bigger, more bulky, and his voice was a huge shift. Going from crackly and high pitched, to a gravely baritone. His face was growing sleeker, his jawline more sharp, and you hated to admit, but he was good looking. All the girls in the school had already decided this, doing whatever it takes to grab a sliver of his attention.

God, it sucked having to sit in for these boring practices. It also sucked having to see Sukuna play in a mock game, racing around the court and spiking the ball with a vicious smack. He always grew sweaty and would wander over to the water fountain. Somehow, your eyes had fallen off your screen and over to where he was lifting his shirt to wipe the droplets off his forehead. It felt like a sin to stare at his abs, but you just liked to call it window browsing. If he was putting them on display, then who were you to turn away?

“Alright, practice is over, Go home. You all stink.” That definitely wasn’t an overstatement. You sighed, going back to your phone as they all skittered into the locker room. Only a few more minutes and i’m out of here, You reminded yourself. Five minutes turned into ten and you curiously stared at the opening door, hoping it would be Sukuna that exits, but it never was. Ten turned into fifteen minutes and at this point no amount of social media was saving you from your level of boredom. As the timer struck twenty minutes, you were fed up. The entire team had to be gone already, but for some reason Sukuna was just taking his sweet time.

You’ve yelled at Sukuna in front of his team before and vice versa. Since you were always there for the dumb meetups and what not, there was a small friendship you grew with them. Not enough to just walk up and start a conversation with, but enough that they would sit next to you if they weren’t playing. So when you opened the locker door, you were about to call out in the middle of the doorway, but then you heard their voices.

“Not trying to be noisy, but who’s that chick you always leave with?” A voice questioned, earning a few agreeing sounds.

“None of your business.” Sukuna’s gruff tone answered back.

“What, is she your girlfriend?” The boy raised his pitch and mocked his captain, a few chuckles following his words

“No. Don’t be stupid.” Sukuna huffed,”If you couldn’t tell, she hates my guts, and I'm perfectly okay with that.”

Another voice spoke up,”Aw, captain’s having girl problems.”

“Tch, she’s not my damn girlfriend. She never will be.” His response was so stern and clear, but it was truthful. Still, why did your chest feel so painful?

“Too bad. She’s gorgeous,” Another player said,”Maybe I'll try and get her number.” A few wolf whistles and chuckles sounded from the room.

“Are you sure you don’t want her to be your girlfriend?” One of them pushed

You were just about to close the door, in hopes to block out the inevitable answer, but you were surprised to hear a sudden softness in Sukuna’s voice.

“Can’t say I haven’t thought about it, but I'm sure she would laugh in my face if I asked her.”

You inhaled sharply. Did you hear correctly? Before you could listen more, collective footsteps wandered around the corner, about to exit the locker room. You scrambled back, landing in your original spot and just in time for the door to swing open. It wasn’t Sukuna, thankfully, and you had to pretend you weren’t in a crisis as they walked past.

‘if I asked her.’

‘Can’t say I haven’t thought about it.’

What did this mean? Was there a genuine possibility that Sukuna thought of you more than a nuisance? It was crazy to even think. You were so focused, that you didn’t even notice Sukuna standing next to you until he flicked your forehead.

“Don’t think too hard, your brain might light a fuse.” He teased, but instead of your usual irate response, you just stood quickly. Muttering something for only yourself to hear, Sukuna stared at you with confused eyes,”Why are you acting so weird?” Again, you just skittered toward the doors, already exiting the gym. Sukuna didn’t think he made you wait that long.

The drive to your house was eerily quiet. There was no banter or petty back and forth, it made Sukuna shift uncomfortably in the driver's seat, but he tried to make you go back to normal,”Man, it’s kinda peaceful, this silence.” He heard a vague scoff from beside him and it was enough for him to poke you again,”It should stay like this.”

“It would be better if you shut your fat mouth.” A cocky grin fell onto Sukuna’s mouth,”Now you wanna talk.” Your fight to remain silent ultimately failed and you relaxed into your seat. A comfortable conversation started up,consisting of you just judging Sukuna’s music taste and him threatening to swerve you both off of the road.

However, you couldn’t help but notice how happy you felt. Maybe you were just cocky since he basically admitted to not hate the idea of dating you, but you swore something was different. You stared at the man beside you, realizing how pretty he looked with the setting sun casted over his face. The thought made you blink harshly, facing the front again and trying not to freak out. Was there truly something between the two of you? You had been around Sukuna all his life and same goes for you, but you swore he hates your entire being. Was it all an act?

The true question was why weren’t you disgusted? Appalled? And more importantly, why didn’t you just go up to him and ask? Maybe if he had told you, he wouldn’t have watched as you slipped from his fingers.

[blarshwritezz]

This one was inspired by this post by @suiana <3

Yandere Beauty x Beast Reader

M yan x GN reader

TW - obsessive behavior, mass murder, maybe mild stalking(?), people are meanies

You've grown so tired of this life, but it was all you knew. You've been trapped like this for years with nothing but your own rage to accompany you. Many of the once priceless paintings in your palace were now destroyed. It didn't matter. No one remembered this place. No one remembered you.

And it would stay that way until you die.

Every now and then some adventurers or travellers would find your palace, hoping for a place to stay the night, only to run away in fear. They'd rather take their chances with the wolves than with such a terrifying beast.

You expected another one of those interactions when you heard a knock at the doors. Some didn't even have that much decency. You weren't expecting such a beautiful man to he the one at your door. Nor were you expecting him to get down on one knee and ask to be your husband.

"You are the most stunning creature I've ever seen...please, allow me the honor of marrying you!" Of all things, did he have to call you a creature? You were technically a person! At least, you were a long time ago.

Not wanting to go through with whatever he could possibly be planning, you slammed the door in his face with a firm "No." He was probably trying to make a fool of you, or perhaps even kill you. Even though you hated this life, you didn't want to die. Not quite yet

How you wished that was the end of it.

He started sleeping outside the door of your palace, insisting on marriage if he ever saw you. Whether you we stepping out on the balcony, looking out a window, or tending to the garden he'd beg for your hand in marriage.

Even though his appearance became disheveled after the many days he spent outside your palace, he was still more beautiful than any woman you met as a human. Such a beautiful man surely had plenty of eligible bachelors and bachelorettes lined up at his own door, so why did he insist on a life with you? A life of solitude and silence. A life without a single friend. Even your servants were long gone. Broken mirrors, dusty furniture, spiders and bugs infesting the least visited corners, was that really a l8fe to beg for?

You finally got agitated at all his begging and pleading, of all the surely empty promises. As he followed you through your garden on day, you lost it. You turned back and gripped him firmly by the jaw, smooshing his rosy cheeks together as you demanded an explanation.

"You're amazing, your majesty! You're my greatest dream." He admit, a deep blush growing on his cheeks as your grip tightened. "I'll admit, I wasn't planning to propose, so I failed to bring you a proper ring. But I came out here, curious if the rumors were true...and the second I laid eyes on you, I was in love!"

It sounded more ignorant than you expected.

"I fell to my knees once I beheld you. You were too perfect for me to handle, and I knew it was a sign that I had to marry you!"

You really didn't know what to say. Was this guy all beauty and no brains? You didn't realize those kinds of people really existed.

You dropped him, firmly telling him to get lost and marry someone else. Someone better. But he instantly feel to his knees, gripping your legs and begging with tears in his eyes.

"Please! At least give me a chance, my love!" You never realized someone could be so pathetic.

You dragged him away. First you tried tossing him off the palace grounds, but he came crawling back. Then you dropped him half way through the forest. Again, he refused to leave your side. So you left him the last place you wanted to go.

You dragged him all the way back to the village, and instantly received the backlash you expected. You tossed him to the crowd, and they instantly took him. And as for you? They threw rocks, rotten food, and whatever else they could easily throw. The assault lasted until you were out of their sight.

At least now you could continue your days in peace.

Oh, you thought. You wished, you prayed. Your peace didn't even last a day.

That night, when you went out to you balcony to stare into the night, an unfamiliar sight caught your eye. The bright light of a fire. A large fire, consuming everything in its path. A horrible fire, turning the village to dust.

You gripped your balcony, crushing the metal of the railing. What were you to do? The villagers hated you. They loathed your very existence. They didn't remember you as you once were, only the beast you were today.

You were still supposed to be their ruler.

They were still your people.

You had to protect your people.

Without another second of hesitation you rushed out of your palace and through the forest. Only to find one person on the path there. The beautiful man you gave back to them earlier.

"I got rid of them for you, darling. Those barbarians didn't see how absolutely beautiful you are, and they can't keep us apart any more." He knealt down on one knee, pulling out a black box and revealing a stunning ring.

"Now let me do this properly...will you marry me?"

I WAS INSPIRED, OKAY? I know I have requests to get to 😭

[sanemiss]

Sanemi is Jealous (of your friends Tomioka and Obanai)

If she can get past your deplorable character, she's all yours.

+ short bonus Sanemi comforting you while crying

+ bonus Obanai/Sanemi ~friendship

Part 2: Sanemi has a Crush on you- and asks for advice (ft. Obanai and Tomioka)+ confession

>fluff, fluff, fluff

TW:

>cursing

>slight angst //v short & it is not central to the story

1.5K

Sanemi really thought he could not hate Tomioka even more, but here he is. The whole hashira group is laughing at something you said, loud laughs bursting and echoing around the room. Ugh, that always happens, ever since you got here.

He can't help but stare at Tomioka and his stupid fucking laugh, his face lighting up in your presence, so close to you, evidently the closest person to you, as if you were complementary parts of the same piece. Sanemi feels like he could smash his dumb fucking face through the wall right about fucking now.

"Punch him already or calm the hell down. I can feel you vibrating", Obanai observes his friend distantly.

You're all having a little gathering with food and drinks, just to take your minds off of trauma, missions, or recovery. To relax, just for one moment. Of course, it was your initiative, strongly supported by Mitsuri and Tengen, both who then dragged everyone else to the event without leaving room for a "no".

"I fucking hate being in the same room as this guy. Fucking Tomioka and his little fucking friend who forced us to be here."

Obanai would normally agree, he hates gatherings. And Tomioka. But he gets to see Mitsuri outside of work, and maybe he could even talk to her today. Or maybe he's just repeating the words you told him in order to convince him to come. You've been bugging him to make a move for some time now.

"She's pretty cool, you know? The new girl", Obanai comments absently.

"You're such a fucking idiot, shut up."

"Aw...", Obanai says mockingly, "is Shinazugawa upset that the new girl is friends with everyone but him?"

"First of all, I'm gonna fucking kill you. Second of all, what, you consider yourself her friend now? As if!", he scoffs.

"Actually we've been spending most of our evenings together for more than two months now."

"Wow, have a great fucking wedding, then", Sanemi barks in response. He's scanning the room for an exit but-ah, he would have to pass by the entire group of loud people. He knows they would make a fuss if he tried to leave. Annoying.

Obanai is amused. Is this dumbass actually jealous or something?

You guys truly became very close. As loud and outgoing as you seem, you are very much like Tomioka on the inside. Gloomy, hanging from a deep, heavy emptiness. One night, you finally dropped the mask and let Obanai see this version of yourself, and your vulnerability gained his trust. Hell, he could relate to your intricate emotions so much. This grew into a connection that he'd never had before, where now he actually feels so safe that he openly talks about himself, where he actually trusts someone, a woman, and even has...fun? But you guys are basically like siblings now. In private, you even swear at each other, lovingly but harshly.

...

"Hey, guys! Can we sit here? All the other seats are taken", you're almost excusing yourself, because you know Shinazugawa doesn't like Tomioka and you're pretty sure he's not that fond of you either.

"Yeah, sit down, we were just talking about you", Obanai says cheekily.

...-and Sanemi wants to shove a fist into Obanai's face.

"You were?" You're slightly worried.

"Shinazugawa here wants to be your friend, it seems", Obanai responds, playing dumb.

You can sense Giyuu get uncomfortable, holding his breath. The air is now thick and cold and screeching. Awaiting an explosion.

Suddenly, Sanemi breaks the anticipation by sending Obanai flying right through the outside wall, an explosion of thick smoke rising and blocking everyone's sight. You could only hear the sounds of an exasperated Sanemi trying (and failing) to attack Obanai again and again.

Well, people are pretty impressed it took so long for a fight to break out today.

+++

Life continued as usual for another 3 months. Trainings, missions, trainings, missions. You had no time to rest, your free time didn't sync with neither Giyuu or Obanai and the lack of connection with the people you can be yourself around has been getting to you.

You just drop to the ground. You feel so physically and emotionally exhaused, so stressed and so incredibly alone that it all starts to feel unbearable. Loneliness starts tearing at your heart and in no time, it's starting to rip it. Spiriling under the night sky, you're crying cascades, the heaviness in your heart growing and moving through your entire body, your senses blinded by exasperation, pain, fatigue.

"Hey, hey, what the hell, look at me, y/n!"

The presence sends shivers through your body, immediately embarrassed that someone is witnessing this.

"Hey-", you wipe your tears and you see Sanemi's face, worried and alert at the sight of your breakdown.

He's squating, holding your hands tightly, his eyes turning into a deeply kind, caring gaze.

Instinctively, you try to force a smile, "Sorry, it's okay, you don't have t-"

He pulls you in a hug, to his chest, and now his big, tough, warm body is shielding you.

"It's okay, I got you", the powerful, yet calm voice reassures you. His chin is gently pressing on the crown of your head, holding your body firmly with one hand while carefully patting your head with the other.

+++

"-anything right, you fucking idiot?! If you're so high and mighty and better than us then why can't you even take care of her?!"

The screaming outside has been going on for a couple of minutes now, only to finally open the door and see Tomioka- just having arrived from his mission- staring, confused, at a screaming Shinazugawa.

He sees you coming behind Sanemi's back and makes the kind of eye contact that translates to "Help, what the fuck is his deal now?"

"Hey", you say loudly, trying to cover the screaming, hoping that if you start talking normally, the screaming hashira would just stop. "Good to see you're back, Giyuu! How was the mission?"

Sanemi is taken aback, "Fine, whatever! Do whatever you fucking want, idiot!", he yells, then storms away.

He's furious, fuming, could tear the entire world apart- so he's going training.

...

"What the fuck is up with you now, Shinazugawa?", the familiar voice interrupts his determined walk. He doesn't need to look up to the tree, where the sound came from, to know who it is.

"Not in the mood. Unless you wanna fight."

Obanai shrugs, climbs down the tree, and takes out his sword. "Sure, let's go."

After around an hour of sparring, Obanai tries again, "So are you gonna tell me what happened?"

In-between metal clinks and dust rising up from the heavy steps, he says, "I just hate incompetence. You'd think trusting someone to be your boyfriend or whatever would mean they'd actually be worth it."

Obanai stops, moving out of the way right before the blade was about to strike.

"Huh, what are you talking about? Who has a boyfriend?"

The thought that it could be Mitsuri passed his mind for one second and it honestly made him want to fucking burn and die. But no way, why would Sanemi be so bothered by that?

"Stop being stupid, you know fully well I mean y/n and fucking Tomioka."

Obanai remains stunned, and with the risk of getting decapitated, he throws his blade to the ground and starts laughing, so absurdly out of character, so hard he's basically screaming, so loud and wide that he even risks ripping his bandages.

"Oh my god, Shinazugawa...", he continues, "Wow, I knew you were fucking stupid but this is incredible."

Sanemi's growing a new thick layer of confusion and anger, still charging attacks at a defenceless Obanai who just casually avoids his increasingly violent attempts.

"I didn't know you were such a sensitive, jealous loverboy. What, you can't stand Tomioka being close to her?," he's enjoying this childish torment so much. "I thought she was my girlfriend though? What happened with that? I thought you had a wedding planned for us, no?"

Sanemi's veins cannot hold onto his face any longer, and the angrier he gets the more satisfying it is for his sadistic friend.

But eventually Obanai's empathy wins. "Okay, okay, stop. Listen to me, loverboy", he chuckles mockingly.

"Tomioka is not her boyfriend, no one is her fucking boyfriend, okay? If she can get past your deplorable character, she's all yours."

+++

┈➤・❥・

Part 2: Sanemi has a Crush on you- and asks for advice (ft. Obanai and Tomioka)+confession

[ilguna]

☼ mixed signals (Johanna Mason) ☼

summary; it’s been years since you met Johanna, and her opinion about you has never changed. it isn’t until the night before you're supposed to be thrown into an arena, does she begin to realize her true feelings.

warnings; swearing, talks of starvation, kinda death mention, a hint at prostitution but its not explicitly said, usual hunger games stuff.

wc; 4.8k

--

It feels like it was only yesterday your name was being pulled out of the girls’ glass bowl for the Sixty-ninth Hunger Games. It’s almost impossible to believe it’s been six years since then.

You were freshly sixteen, and so very optimistic this reaping would be no different than the ones you attended in the past. Especially since you had just five paper slips mixed in, compared to the thousands of others.

If you knew what was to come…

It doesn’t feel like it’s been that long. You can still remember every movement you made, every thought that passed through your mind, and every breath you took as you made your way to the stage.

The way you struggled to lift your feet, as if weights had been attached to your ankles, and you were being forced to drag them through the gravel. Your eyes were bugging out of your head, which had been displayed on the big screen for everyone to see. All you could do was wonder if you had done anything to deserve such a cruel fate. You hadn’t put your name in extra in return for food, even with how tempting it had been at times.

Was it just bad luck?

Unfortunately, it had to have been. Like how it was for the dozens of the poor girls and boys from your district that came before you. And while all of them tried to make it out of an arena alive, most of them failed to do so. No matter their background, or the head start of skills they honed, they eventually fell to another’s hand.

This made you terrified at what your future would look like. Either you would die within the next two weeks, and everything you had done to live would be for nothing—or you could win, and be forced to live with the monstrosity of your actions for the rest of your life.

Neither option seemed right to you, but it’s not like you had a choice anymore. You were going to participate in the President’s game, and you had to be smart in the way you did it to avoid digging yourself a deeper hole than you were already in.

The week you spent in the Capitol was easier than you thought it was going to be. From the outside, the events that take place every year seem to be taxing, when really there’s nothing to it. 

It’s so simple to dress up as a character for the citizens and be wheeled around the City Circle. The only miserable part had been in the Remake Center, where they ripped off every inch of hair they deemed didn’t belong on your body.

Or the Training Center, where you felt no pressure to succeed in gaining sponsors because… well, honestly, it’s not like you had any killer skills to begin with. There was nothing to hide from your peers, just too much to learn in such a short span of time. 

When your private one-on-one session with the Gamemakers came around on the third day, you spent thirty minutes trying to be resourceful by crafting items that could hypothetically help someone in an arena. A backpack, a cloth to clean water, a sleeping bag, a blanket—whatever you could with what you had at hand. 

While doing this for them, you knew it would be pretty useless to show them such a skill. Not only was it likely typical of a District Eight tribute to do so, there wouldn’t be any need for it unless there were bundles of cloth lying around in the Cornucopia in the arena.

Still, you earned a pretty six for trying. You took it as it was, and accepted the fact that you wouldn’t be lasting for very long in the arena. Maybe a week, you’d be lucky if it was any more. 

Which is why you decided not to put much of an effort into your interview, either. Why would it matter? You were just another accessory to the Games at that point. The Careers—and everyone else who had scored high—casted a shadow over the rest of you.

The truth is that even with all you had been doing for a week, you felt underprepared and at a disadvantage compared to everyone else. You had no hope.

However, while it initially felt like you were being punished for your actions in the past, it turned out that wasn’t the case at all. At least, looking back at the situation now, you don’t think it was.

The Sixty-ninth Hunger Games played out like a walk in the park.

Despite the fact you felt like you had been abandoned by the world, there must have been someone or something hovering over your shoulder, guiding you to the end of the Games. At times, it even felt like it took you over. Knowledge that you didn’t even know you had came out of the depths, saving your life on multiple occasions.

You were incredibly fortunate. You made it to the final few without having to do much of anything. All you did was survive in the trees, scavenging for what you needed, and hiding when night fell. 

And when it was time to act, the Gamemakers made sure you did. You ended up being corralled into a fight you didn’t want to participate in, and somehow found yourself the winner of it. 

Within the matter of seconds, you were announced as the winner of the Hunger Games. It was like you were standing on a stage, the lights shining down on you, presenting you to the whole world. You were their victor.

It wasn’t until you stepped off the Capitol train and you were back on District Eight soil did it finally feel like they had closed the curtains. You were no longer on display for everyone to see, and you thought that was it. You were done, forever. You were never going to be put back in that bowl again.

You weren’t supposed to be.

The rules of the Hunger Games are pretty easy to understand. First, you have no choice in the matter. Almost everyone will be put into the bowl at some point, unless there's a special circumstance and the person can’t participate. Second, you do everything your Escort tells you to do while in the Capitol, otherwise you’ll find it hard to get through the week because they’ll make your life a living hell.

Third, while you’re in the arena, don’t do anything that would make a fool of the Gamemakers. It’s non-negotiable, and you could find yourself or your loved ones in a position you can’t get out of. Further on that subject, you need to give them a show, because that’s what the whole thing is about, anyway.

Fourth, there is only one winner of the Hunger Games every year—or well, it’s supposed to be that way. This rule was broken recently by the former Gamemaker, Seneca Crane, in order to preserve the structure, but all it did was lead to an unfortunate end for him.

Fifth, you belong to the Capitol, always. While you have not experienced this one yourself, you know too many people that have fallen in the hands of President Snow and most of the elite class. And there’s nothing you can do to get out of it, unless you’re willing to sacrifice everything you love to do it.

Finally, the sixth rule, which is the most important one; you cannot be reaped for the Hunger Games twice.

And yet, for the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games, the third Quarter Quell, it was announced by President Snow that the tributes would be reaped from the existing pool of victors.

If you had told yourself six years ago that all her efforts and pain would go to waste and she would find herself being reaped to go back into an arena, you don’t think she would’ve tried as hard as she did. Or at all.

In fact, you’re pretty sure you would have done so much more. The nights you starved because your family couldn’t afford dinner for three nights straight—easily could’ve been solved with tessera. But you didn’t want to take the risk if there was even a sliver of a chance you could avoid going into the Games.

You could’ve saved yourself a lot of grief.

Instead, you’re back in the Capitol. You’re back to fake smiles and half-hearted conversations with people that are excited for such an eventful Hunger Games. As if you’re not human. As if you’re just another toy for them to play with until they get bored.

“You’re free to go.” Danika tells you, interrupting your thoughts.

She’s the newest stylist for District Eight. She was recruited a couple years after you had won your Games, the one before her had been a man. Apparently he was very successful following your victory, so he retired and opened a shop downtown to sell his clothes, or so they say.

“Anything I should watch out for?” You ask, stepping down from the pedestal she had you on.

“No, you’ll be able to move freely.” She begins to clean up the jewelry on the vanity. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Thank you.” You murmur, opening the door to escape into the hallway.

Danika’s not a fan of conversation or keeping company around for longer than she has to. She’s a recluse, and there’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, you respect it more than anything. In a place like this, it must be hard to keep to yourself without someone stepping on your toes, one way or another.

As you head to the warehouse, you take some deep breaths, calming your nerves. 

The idea of being in front of hundreds of Capitol citizens while wearing a ridiculous outfit is not nearly as daunting as the fact that you’re about to be surrounded by twenty-three other victors. Who all won their Games through blood, sweat and tears, while you had to do half the work and the rest was handed to you.

It makes you nervous for what this year will look like, especially considering the lineup is a killer. Cashmere, Gloss, Enobaria and Brutus are the main faces of the Career pack. Finnick and Mags would be included, if it weren’t for Mags’s age. 

Then there’s Wiress and Beetee, two infamous geniuses you have heard about countless times from Cecelia–your mentor. Johanna’s here, although you’re less thrilled about her because of her attitude towards people, namely you. There’s a bunch of nameless faces in-between, but you remember who Seeder is because she mentored last year for Thresh and Rue.

At the very end of the room will be two very important teenagers who have sparked a lot of controversy as of late. Katniss and Peeta were the reason why Seneca Crane got into so much trouble. If the Twelve victors had eaten the nightlock berries, there would have been no victor, which would be unheard of. So, he saved them instead, and caused a bigger issue to come to light.

And then there’s you and Woof. 

When you step into the warehouse, there’s a line of chariots and horses, with a few people tending to them, getting ready for the ceremony that’ll take place soon. There’s not many victors and mentors down here just yet, besides the tributes from Seven, simply because their stylist has been doing the same outfit since she started the job. You’d bet she handed the costume to them and told them to get dressed on their own.

You play with the bracelets around your wrists as you make your way to the chariot to the left of them, where you’ll need to be. As you get closer, Blight takes notice, giving you a half-smile. You met him once or twice during your first year of mentoring, the next he was gone and replaced by an older victor who seemed a lot less friendly.

“(Y/n).” He says.

You give him a smile back, “Hey, Blight. It’s been a couple years since I’ve last seen you.”

“You’ve grown up quite a bit since then.” He nods.

“A little bit.” You agree, tucking your dress beneath you as you take a seat on the chariot. “Not enough, it seems. The mentoring job is harder than it looks.”

“Ah,” He nods, looking down at the cement floor. “You’ll get a hang of it. What you can and can’t control. It’s not as easy as it looks.”

A scoff comes from behind him, Johanna pops her hip out, appearing from behind her tribute partner. “Much harder for her, I can imagine. She doesn’t have anything going for her in the first place.”

You blink for a long moment, a forced smile on your face. “It’s nice to see you as well, Johanna. How was your vacation?”

“A lot more productive than whatever it is that you do.” Johanna looks you over. “Do you ever consider that your tributes would actually live if you quit?”

You stare at her for a long moment, not really wanting to engage with her today. She makes it difficult to keep the peace when you’d love nothing more than to show her the pent up frustration she’s caused within you. What you’d give to throw her down and strangle her until she turns red and purple.

Even if you were given the opportunity, you’d never actually go through with hurting her. You don’t hate her. In fact, she doesn’t bother you as much as she thinks she does. You’ve got some pretty tough skin, thanks to her. Anyone else listening to her insults would have probably crumbled from the inside out years ago. 

You’re more disappointed by how she’s taken such an aggressive stance with you, when you feel like you’ve done nothing to deserve it. You must’ve offended her somehow the first time you met her, which was the Seventy-second Hunger Games. All you did was introduce yourself and you got snubbed. It was the quickest you’ve ever been rejected by someone in your life.

You’ve tried not to take it personally, but it really is you. With everyone else she interacts with, she’s more mellow. As if she has more respect for them for some odd reason. And with you, she manages to treat you the same way she does the Capitol staff. It’s no secret that she thinks of them as lesser beings.

The saying is to kill them with kindness, but your well is beginning to run dry after dealing with her for the past three years, now going on four. 

“No, I haven’t, Johanna.” You tell her, raising your eyebrows.

“Of course not.” She looks away, taking a step back. “Cecelia was a much better mentor than you.”

Your face twists. “How would you know? You’ve never had the chance to work with her.”

Johanna’s face begins to turn a shade of red, either out of anger or embarrassment, lips pressed into a thin line while she glares at you. Blight shakes his head slightly, tired of the conversation already. 

All she does is argue with people, and while you shouldn’t be engaging, you’re tired of just taking it all the time. She treats everyone as if they don’t have feelings of their own, which she could very well be hurting. But why would she ever care?

“Shut up.” She snaps at you.

“Good one.” You murmur, looking away from her to the other chariots.

You can hear the sound of her heels clicking against the ground as she walks around Blight to stand in front of you. You stare at her boots, which have been designed to resemble the base of a tree with thick roots twisting out, before you slowly look up at her.

“I’d be careful making enemies so soon.”

“Enemy.” You correct her. “Singular. It’s just you, Johanna.”

She crouches down, getting to your level as if you’re a child. “Even if that was remotely true, I wouldn’t need help to track you down in an arena.” She tells you. “You’re so gullible and soft. Don’t think for even a moment you’ll be able to hide your way out of this one, pansy. You got lucky the first time.”

You stand, jaw set, shoulders squared. She slowly stands at her full height again, which is right at your eye level, thanks to the heels Danika has you wearing. You raise your voice, “Are you threatening me?”

This catches the attention of the Peacekeepers, who turn in your direction immediately. They hesitate, not necessarily moving quite yet, gauging the situation first to see if they really need to intervene. 

“Clever.” Johanna looks unamused. “I should’ve guessed you can’t fight your own battles.”

You shake your head. “You don’t want me to. So, get the fuck out of my face.”

—

If the Gamemakers previously thought for even a moment that the Capitol week would go as it normally does, it’s clear to see they don’t think that’s the case anymore. The way they reacted to the attendance on the first day in the Training Center as opposed to the third is telling on its own.

If you hadn’t been encouraged by Cecelia to go represent District Eight to the Gamemakers, you wouldn't have gone at all, like many others. Especially since Woof got the pass to stay in the apartment since he’s elderly, and moving him from one place to another takes more effort than it's worth.

Only about half of the victors showed up, most of them you already know. It appeared like it was going to be a waste of time being there if you couldn't make new connections. And it would’ve been, if it weren’t for the fact that Katniss and Peeta were there.

Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, residents of District Twelve. The two new fresh faces to the victor world, the reason why rule number four—only one winner per Games—had been broken. Due to a tactful last-minute suggestion by Katniss, herself.

Katniss is a skilled hunter, or well, it’s speculated that she is. From what you’ve gathered based on body language and the way she carefully phrased the way she talks about hunting, it must be incredibly illegal to hunt outside the fence. You think she mentioned in one interview the fence that surrounds Twelve is electrified, and everything she has caught has been inside.

She was very specific when she talked about it. As if she didn’t want to lie about how she survived all these years, but she didn’t want to get herself in trouble in her district and risk getting arrested. 

Either way, whether she hunted inside or out of the fence, she must’ve picked up a knack for identifying plants. She was able to navigate her way through the arena well, at one point she’d even peeled bark off of a tree to gnaw on while exploring the trees, a move that you haven’t seen before.

On the final day in her Games, the Gamemakers decided that they would revoke the previous announcement of a rule change they had made a week or so prior. Which was basically if both tributes from the same district survived until the end, they would make an exception and bring them both home. In hindsight, this was a ploy by the Gamemakers to bring Katniss and Peeta together to continue to play into the star-crossed lover look. 

When Katniss and Peeta realized they had been led on by the Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane, they took the situation into their own hands. Or rather, Katniss remembered she had a handful of poisonous berries in her bag. At the time of watching this happen, you had no idea which berry it was.

You would later come to find out it was nightlock, a berry you also have in District Eight, way out past the fields.

Katniss made the decision that if he wouldn’t go home, then she wouldn’t either. And right before it touched their lips, Seneca panicked, and allowed them both to win, anyway. It saved her and Peeta’s life, but you can’t imagine the repercussions that came along with it.

Especially if Seneca’s punishment was death.

So, when you saw the teenagers in the Training Center, you knew you wanted to be a friend of theirs, at the very least. If they didn’t want to be your ally, it was fine with you, but you wanted them to see you as a friendly face, before and during the Games.

You didn’t approach them, you let them come to you, one at a time. They split up after Atala, the Head Trainer, had made her usual speech on the first day. While you went to go learn first aid, they had gone off to do their own thing. Before you knew it, you had Katniss and Peeta learning beside you, having light conversation, before they went off on their own.

It worked out in your favor, because yesterday morning, as you were leaving the apartment to head to the Training Center for day two, Cecelia stopped you. She said, “I don’t know what you said to those kids in District Twelve, but Haymitch wanted me to pass along their offer of being allies. It was extended to Woof, as well.”

You would say they’ve taken to you since then, but that would be a lie. They’ve been very polite, as if they’re hoping that if they’re well-mannered, they’ll be able to convince you to say yes. However, against your better wishes, you’ve been learning towards telling them no.

And it has something to do with Johanna.

“Come on, (Y/n).” Finnick has his arms crossed over his chest, he’s leaning against one of the many concrete pillars, watching you look over the knives on the table before you. “It’s important.”

“I know, you’ve told me several times.” You tell him, pressing the tip of a blade to your finger.

“And you’ve still yet to give me an answer.” Finnick tilts his head. “We have two days before the Games, we need to know if you’re with us or not.”

You let out a sigh, lowering the knife to look at him. “Finnick, I would be more than happy to join the cause, if you can guarantee she won’t be a part of it.” You point the blade at Johanna, who’s swinging an axe in the air.

Finnick follows your gaze, and doesn’t move for a long moment, as if he’s actually considering your ultimatum. Then, he looks back at you, face twisted into a puzzled look. “You don’t like Johanna?”

“Nope.” You tell him, popping the ‘p’.

“But you like everyone.” Finnick says, eyebrows still pushed together.

“I like everyone?” You repeat, a little offended. “No, Finnick, I like people that treat others with respect and kindness. Does that sound like Johanna to you?”

You stare at him, waiting for a response. Finnick shakes his head, looking down at the concrete flooring.

It’s a shame that Johanna and Finnick are such good friends, because he doesn’t have the same personality she does. With no cameras and no strangers looking in, Finnick had a completely different persona. He’s funny, he’s talkative, he’s smart. He’s much more than the holier-than-thou casanova the Capitol has made him out to be.

While Johanna—being rude is her entire personality and it’s gotten old. 

“Johanna is a hypocrite.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Finnick, she likes to talk about how District One and Two are privileged and need to get off their high horse, and then went and called me a bad mentor and a pansy.” You set the knife down on the table, tilting your head at him. “Just because I don’t advertise my trauma doesn’t mean I’m any less of a victor. That final fight did numbers on me, I almost died before they even got me in the hovercraft.”

“I know.”

“Well, I’m glad.” You tell him sarcastically. “But she doesn’t seem to get it. And until I get an apology, I’m not doing anything that involves her.”

—

The final interview with Caesar is by far your least favorite activity the Capitol has you do before they send you into the arena. By the time it comes around, you’re always sick of the antics around you. Although, usually you’re a mentor looking in.

You love Cecelia, but she will not let the alliance offer go. You knew that it would be a mistake mentioning it to her as soon as she told you that she was going to ask for more details from Haymitch, since he’s the one organizing it. Now that she knows what it really means and what it’ll entail, she’s insisting for you to take the offer and push through your growing hatred for Johanna. 

She seems to think you’ll regret not joining, and while that may be true, your time in the arena’s already going to be miserable. And you told her this, you even asked why would you intentionally make it worse by being around her for the duration of it? And then you made the bigger mistake of saying, “Especially since Johanna only brought herself to give you a half-assed apology after Finnick had to tell her to do so.”

It’s been a miserable couple of days.

“Final touches.” Danika tells you, pulling out a spray. “Close your eyes and suck your lips in.”

“What is it?” You ask, following her directions and holding your breath for a brief moment while she sprays a cold mist over your exposed skin.

“Glitter.” She murmurs. “Open your eyes and look in the mirror.”

When you see yourself, your breath hitches in your throat. Danika really went out of her way to make you look beautiful. It’s nothing compared to what she’s done in recent years. Maybe it has something to do with the fact this may be your last. 

You run your hands over the silky dress, taking time to look over every inch of fabric that has been sewn to look like a dress that belongs to a princess. The only thing you’re missing is the crown, which you suppose you had at one point, placed on your brow by President Snow, himself.

“Thank you, Danika.” You smile, looking at her. “It really is your best work.”

“I know.” She tells you, voice soft. “I’ve been saving it for a special Hunger Games, I never thought I’d have to use it so soon.”

“Look on the bright side, if I win, you’ll be really famous.” You laugh.

She gives you a smile. “You’re free to go.”

“Thank you, again. It was nice being able to work with you, both as a mentor and as a tribute.”

“Likewise.”

You leave the dressing room, heading into the hallway. You’d be confused on where to go if you haven’t been down here a hundred times. It all looks the same in the Remake Center, with the white brick walls and the concrete floor. There are no signs on the wall to direct you where to go.

Since you know this place like the back of your hand, you turn to the right, and follow the straight hallway until it ends. There, you turn left, and find the gathering of colorful victors on the other side.

Finnick spots you right away, and standing beside him is Johanna. There’s a brief exchange between the two of them before Johanna hikes up the bottom of her gold dress and begins to come in your direction, determined. 

You can’t help the irritated sigh that escapes you, you come to a stop completely, letting her come to you.

“What is it?” You ask when she comes within earshot.

“(Y/n), I’m sorry.”

“So?” You ask, watching her face drop. “Johanna, what do you think an apology is going to do when you’ve decided to torment and threaten me repeatedly?” 

She shakes her head, raising her shoulders to shrug but doesn’t drop them quite yet, “I’m going to drop out of the alliance. You’ll be safer with them than you’ll be by yourself.”

Your face scrunches, “Why do you care if I’m safe or not? I can handle myself.”

“I know you can. I just…” She clenches her teeth, sighing through them. “I’m sorry, I never meant to go that far. Find Finnick in the arena, he’ll take care of you…” She trails off, turning around to leave.

While she walks away, you swear you can hear her murmur under her breath, “For me.”

[buddies-bitch]

Dating Evan Buckley Headcannons💕

Mostly SFW but a couple of NSFW

SFW

He gets jump-scared easily so you love to scare him

Like those compilations of people constantly scaring their spouses is totally something you would do

Whether that be yelling when he comes around a corner or hiding underneath the bed to grab his ankle. And it never fails to make you laugh until you pee

He’s so dramatic it’s insane

Like flopping onto every available surface like a faintly Victorian woman with that cute little pout of his

Puppy dog eyes GALORE

He will try and guilt you into things (like wanting to do something for you without your involvement so you can relax) with those goddamn eyes and fuck if it doesn’t work every. single. time.

He loves having you in the kitchen while he’s cooking/baking-as long as you’re not in his way

Luckily for him you’re much more content to just sit on the counter and watch him cook. Inbetween tasks dragging him between your legs for a quick smooch

He gets you tattoo pens so you can straddle his waist while he lays down and draw him new tattoos, usually incorporating his lightning scars-kissing all the while

He loves looking up at your focussed face and loves the feeling of being beneath you. He also loves the feel of your hands on him no matter what you're doing. 3/4 of the time this leads to sex

Occasionally you’ll do his makeup (you’ll always do his skincare) and you always make sure to accentuate his birthmark

The first time you did, all you had was a glittery pink and when you showed him, he hugged you and cried-no one had ever seen him before the way you did

You love finding new nicknames to call him or ways to hit on him that make him blush and stutter

You greeted him one time with a small “hi gorgeous” and he stuttered so bad he just walked away

“Gorgeous”, “baby boy”, “sweet boy”, “stunning”, “sweetheart/ness”, “blue eyed wonder”, “firehose”, “pumpkin”, “honey” literally anything and everything, progressively getting more wild at times just to make him laugh and blush

Buck absolutely has some kind of slutty thigh tattoo (I have nothing else to add to this but I feel like I should share)

He finds it strangely endearing at the amount of time/effort you put into doing physical therapy for his leg, even years after the accident

Plus, always making sure to put sunscreen on him as well as ointment for his scars because you know he’ll forget

Doing hair masks and getting new products for him to protect/define his curls

He's such a cuddle bug it can get annoying on hotter nights but you love him too much to move him

He doesn't mind being big spoon or little spoon but most of the time he pretty much just lays on top of you, having thrown himself over you haphazardly as if to protect you in his sleep

He loves it when he reads to you because you'll play with his hair till you fall asleep, AND he gets to yap to his favorite person.

Because he has adhd, when he reads to you he’ll get distracted and go off topic at some point and just winds up becoming a personal podcast

NSFW

PRAISE KINK

He’s such a vocal bitch

Moaning and groaning constantly, he loves to let you hear him

When drawing on him turns into sex, he LOVES to mark your body with hickeys the way you marked his with ink

He is such a muncher

Like actually drowning himself in your cunt ‘cause he refuses to come up before you come til you physically can't anymore

He likes to tease you until you're begging him to fuck you

He LOVES when you scratch your nails through his hair, especially when you pull it harder the closer you get to coming

He takes SO much pride in the scratch marks up and down his back

^hickeys too, much to your embarrassment sometimes

Anytime you wear lingerie, it gets torn to shreds. But its ok because Buck will happily buy you a new pair so long as he gets to do it again

Buck is absolutely a power bottom. He loves to be in charge but he also loves you on top of him

[justbelievinginmagic]

like a waltz⎯ part 3: emboîté.

pairing(s): ateez ot8 x fem!reader; this chapter is heavily woosan x reader with some reader x yeosang & reader x hongjoonnngggg. series summary: when 8 mysterious bachelors arrive to town and fall for your charms, will you be able to reach your goal to be prima ballerina or be dragged into a selfish waltz between love and obsession? glimpse: Having a patron for the first time in your ballet career, you knew things would change but certainly not so fast. With your dues paid, extra change in your pocket, you are slowly pulled into Wooyoung and San's orbit - outside of the ballet opera house! warnings/tags: inspired by Ateez’s Ice on my Teeth MV & Teasers, Mafia AU, Ballet AU, early 1900’s AU with some divergences in tech advancements (i.e if i think itd be cool to include, this world has it earlier than irl), 3rd person POV, use of YN, mxm, polyteez, MATURE topics, allusions to sex work in ballet, allusions to exploitation in ballet, implied sexual themes, stalking, voyeurism kinda, guns, strong language, angst, fluff, flirting, suggestive topics, lies, manipulation, medical drugs, traumatic foot injury, unequal power dynamics, injuries, alcohol, smoking, lots of smooches, threatening situations, pain, reader discretion advised, +18 readers only. let me know if there are any more tags i should add. a/n: hi! another chapter im posting and running away from lol. it took so long to edit this chapter and i am so sleepy. this chapter had developed far from its timeline. im happy with the beats butttttt i had wanted to add in more yunho and jongho by this point but it was feeling a smidge rushed. next chapter will have some yunho for sure!! let me know what you thought!! word count: 15.9k previous chapter <- -> next chapter series masterlist read on ao3!

emboîté ; french pronunciation: [em·​boî·​té]; ‘fit together’

Things had changed after that night.

Not only were her ballet company fees paid each week with a check bearing the prettiest signature from San’s hand, but, soon after, Wooyoung had invited her out on an outing. As in, outside.

Outside of the ballet. Outside of work. Outside of being the role of patron and protégé.

“He asked you to go out of the ballet house?  Julia with the red hair queried with a cocked brow, uncertainty in her tone.

It made a flicker of worry cross over the YN’s face as she stretched, preparing for the triple show they had that day. But, that was short lived as one of the loudest gossipers known to man chimed in with a screech.

“You’re going on a date?!” Tiny exclaimed, sliding into the conversation in a dramatic splits.

Her eyes were lit up like spotlights, loving the new development for her favorite ballerina to bug. The young girl kicked her feet in excitement, the noise drawing the attention of the other ballerinas warming up – if they hadn’t already been drawn in by her screeching.

A date she had said.

No, no, no. Dates were for romance and this wasn’t … Was he seeking romance? He was her patron… or well, he and San were. In itself, that was odd according to the other proteges. Sharing a protégé… never ended well. Typically, it failed within a few days. Jealousy, envy, annoyance, lack of money. Usually, they have all of that as they leave the budding ballerina in the dust, without a penny.

But Wooyoung did flirt with her. Wooyoung hadn’t suggested being her patron, not really, even if he had visited for nearly a month and a half religiously. San had. Wooyoung did press the occasional kiss to her cheek. He did… like her, he had said so. But didn’t all patrons say that. Was it more? Could it even be more if she wanted it to be? Why did the idea of a date with him send butterflies fluttering in her stomach, icy hot excitement coursing through her veins. Giddy.

But, she’s seen each ballerina with a patron fall into this. The idea it was something more. Julia, Mina, Imara, Lali, even the current belladonna of the ballet – the prima ballerina – had once thought her patron was her love. And it had always been proven wrong.

“It’s an outing,” she insisted to the others. For her own heart.

“It’s a date!” the younger screeched again. “What are you wearing?” her hands slapped to the wood floor.

She hadn’t even thought of that! Oh gosh. What did she have that could even impress? She’d wear her pearls, of course. But what of her dress? What was the newest thing nowadays? Was it rouging your knees? Or the Gibson Girl hairdo? Was that out of style? Was she out of style once she was out of her scandalous costumes and caked on make-up? Most things YN had were upcycled from scraps, occasionally the old costume the costumier discarded, or her mother’s old dresses revitalized by embroidery. It wasn’t anything like the ladies of the upper class with their haute couture from far beyond here. She could doll a dress up with some flowers she supposed. 

“Don’t wear anything red!” another girl exclaimed, revealing herself to be listening in. “Red is bad luck.”

“No, its good luck,” one ballerina said aside.

“Wearing black will look like you’re mourning,” said another older girl while applying her rouge.

“But he always sees you in white, so don’t wear that,” chimed in another.

So, the entire ballet knew apparently about her date now and all of them were listening in and giving advice. Theirs words overlapped one another in conflicting, contrasting advice.

“Wear what you like,” Imara insisted from nearby. The long-featured ballerina offered a reassuring nod.

“Is this normal?” YN queried quietly towards her, although, it wasn’t for an attempt of privacy. Every girl was listening and watching her now with keen eyes.

The few girls with patrons glanced at one another, brows raised.

“I’ve never been invited out of the boudoir,” Julie said firmly, glancing aside as she leaned into a stretch. “And its not wise to be out and about with them.”

“Nor I,” Mina agreed.

“So, it’s…” YN trailed off with a furrowed brow. “Strange?”

“Kid,” Julie sighed out; her tone making YN feel like a child, begrudgingly and uncomfortably so. She hated not being trusted to make choices. Belittled. Underestimated.

“Everything about you and your new patrons is strange. Their appearance in town, them both sharing you… you.”

It felt backhanded; like she wasn’t anything special. It reminded her about how so many thought she wasn’t worthy simply because she was the eldest of the ensemble, simply because she hadn’t risen to starlet yet.

Yet now she had two patrons. No one had that. For once, she nipped that feeling of oddness, of nervousness, of embarrassed scrutiny about her relationship with Wooyoung and, now, San in the bud, and refused to let it bother her. She’d embrace it she said. She was special. She was special. This was special. Even if it wasn’t a date… It was just an outing. He hadn’t said date. It was an outing, she proclaimed. Not a date… an outing. Or was it a date? It drove her mad, her thoughts going in circles just like her own pirouettes on stage. Just like her stomach when he touched her oh so sweetly.

He wanted to see her more though… that’s all that matter, right?

-

San and Wooyoung were attached at the hip when they were in the boudoir. They walked through the Opera House like they owned the place. And while their movements weren’t in sync, they flowed into one another easily like they could read one another’s minds. Wooyoung would flitter this way and that around San, talking about anything, but San would redirect him, hands on his shoulders or lithe waist, and smile in agreement.

As they approached her in the boudoir, she heard the very-end of their conversation.

“I swear, if it were you, it’d be done like that,” Wooyoung encouraged as he snapped his fingers in emphasis.

“Wooyo,” he hummed low, smiling at him fondly. Dimples pierced his cheeks. His arm swept over the other’s shoulders, squeezing him close. “I’m done with all that. Captain’s orders.” It was a firm reminder. Steady.

“Captain’s orders,” Wooyoung mimicked back, sneering a bit. “Captain is keeping his best fighter ou-“ his words trailed off as his sights were set on his ballerina. No longer in her tutu but in her ordinary clothes. “Swanette! You’re already in your dresses.”

“Disappointed?” she teased and flirted.

She had hurried tonight – hoping to finish wiggling out of her costume before their arrival. San swinging by the bar to grab his customary drink had given her a smidge more time. Her body ached more than ever. Her legs felt crackly and pained. Her head pounded with worry. It’d been a long day and, with the ever-present chill in the boudoir, she worried she was getting sick. And she couldn’t get sick… ever.

Wooyoung insisted on her to spin, gesturing in reverence, as if she was still dressed up in dripping fake jewels. Her day-dress was a simple frock – a dark black drop skirt with embroidered berries at the hem. Her hair was still in it’s too tight bun, but she had grown used to it now after two shows. It didn’t help her headache she was sure but, alas, she did what she could in the time she had.

She spun in a gentle circle, only to easily get swept into Wooyoung’s arms.

“Gorgeous as always,” Wooyoung whispered, his cheek pressed against hers almost like a cat nuzzling their owner to claim possession of them. His warmed cheek squished and nuzzled, hot minty breath wafting over her.

“And disappointed? Never, because we can steal you away for the rest of the night now,” he hummed into her ear before pressing a quick peck to her temple, nearly catching the corner of her eye. She shivered in surprise. Kisses were still new and sent her heart racing and body trembling.

He pulled back, hands rubbing up and down her goosefleshed arms. “Chilly, baby?”

Baby! Her eyes widened in surprise. If only he knew! San laughed nearby, drawing her eyes.

“Hel-Hello, San,” she greeted, flushed and smiling.

San nodded, smiling so sweet that his dimples remained on display. They looked like cat whiskers in the golden gas-light of the boudoir.

“Hello, honey. Beautiful performance… You tired?” he drawled out.

San always asked these questions since his arrival in the boudoir. He was utterly observant. He was caring and kind and all things sweet despite his looming almost dangerous aura. It made her feel safe as Wooyoung shifted her this way and that, half dragging her along to a nearby settee. San followed along, hands reaching into his pockets to pull out and light a cigarette. The flame of his custom lighter illuminated his face for a brief moment before he pulled the cigarette away, eyes shut as he inhaled deeply.

His brows furrowed; his face statuesque. Beautiful. He was so beautiful. Her heart thrummed as she felt Wooyoung’s chin rest on her shoulder, bringing her back to her body.

“I’m okay,” she replied, voice forcibly light. She was tired; he had hit it on the nail. But, the other ballerinas warned against telling their patron that. Any truth about exhaustion, sickness, health. Tired ballerinas get hurt. Hurt ballerinas are a waste of money.

Blowing smoke out aside, he watched her carefully as Wooyoung plopped down, dragging her down to sit beside him. He took another puff of his cigarette.

“Honest?” he pressed once more, smoke billowing from his mouth.

She didn’t answer him, but instead pressed hand to the spot next to her.

“Join me?” she asked as he stood hovering above them, almost protectively shielding them from view.

Wooyoung watched their interaction with intrigue. He knew his San. He knew how strategic he was – in different ways from the rest of his ‘brothers.’ San’s gaze was a force of nature, his form accompanying it as he leaned over them ‘til he and she were eye and eye. Slow and steady. He did not sit yet. He pulled the cigarette from his lips. YN flinched gently, preparing for him to blow his smoke in her face. Some boys got a laugh out of that, rude and crass. But the smoke seeped from his nose like a dragon, slow and controlled, as he kept eye contact with her sincerely, if not a bit intense.

“YN. Honesty, please.” San encouraged. “If I’m asking, I am interested.”

Wooyoung squeezed her waist. “Sannie doesn’t pull punches; he likes no nonsense. He’s…soft like that.”

It was a tease.

“I’m not soft,” he retorted to Wooyoung, smile returning, before his gaze settled back on YN. “I care.” He emphasized.

Her lips pressed together, glancing about the boudoir. The other girls had warned her not to. Everything – even in the boudoir – was a show, just as much as the ballet was a show. But here he stood, staring with soft brown eyes. Gentle yet burning brown eyes.

He says he cares.

When had she and her patrons followed the unspoken rules anyways.

“I’m a bit tired; my--,” she admitted, quietly before glancing aside. “The cold doesn’t help the joints.”

His eyes warmed, pleased, as he ground out his cigarette into the polished wood floors without a care in the world before he sat, sandwiching her in-between him and Wooyoung. Closer than he had ever been. He was so warm like a furnace.

“Our girl is so cold,” San frowned. “We can’t have that.”

Her cool skin worried him, and he joined Wooyoung in warming her up with soft touches and a close embrace. Her cheeks were a rubied red at their shared attention. Wooyoung and San’s eyes locked above her head. Wooyoung had a flare of surprise in them before he smirked.

“I don’t know,” Wooyoung jested, glancing at her rosy cheek. His finger rose to stroke it delicately. “She looks warm to me.”

Her cheeks warmed ever more and she hid into the one she was more comfortable with after weeks of meetings. Her face pressed into Wooyoung’s expensive suit that smelt of a tangy-woodsy mix of Wooyoung and San’s colognes intertwined. San grinned at her actions. He liked her blush. Like how she let them make her blush so helplessly.  

“We’ll just have to warm you up, honey.”

While the rest of the night was full of fleeting touches, they maintained one truth: respect. San was careful with her, always meeting her gaze before touching over her arms, her waist. Wooyoung was more lax, pressing kisses to her cheek every so often; each one sent her stomach into a whirl, and heat burned at her face.

They certainly warmed her up.

-

Walking home was always a cautious event. Performances took hours and, after entertaining San and Wooyoung in the boudoir, it was late into the evening. Even if they encouraged her to leave earlier than usual, it was deep into nightfall.

In the chill of winter, the walk felt longer. Previously, on some nights, Wooyoung would insist on taking her home, but, once San joined him in attending the shows, it seemed they left together most times. She wondered if they had an automobile… or did they take a carriage? She imagined a car. Something sleek and metallic. Leather interiors with that new polished smell.

And warm.

Her body trembled as she continued her path, hugging her old coat closer to her body. She was hyperaware, glancing this way and that as she exited the prettied town-center with their big banks, busied offices, shiny nickelodeons, and grand opera house. Her side of town was less glamourous with its stacked upon stacked apartment buildings, looming factories suffocating the last remaining cozy homesteads, and broken cobblestone streets. The scent of smoke and smog and gasoline overpowered the light aroma of winter breaking through the city of Cromer.

While the town center quieted in the evening, the streets around home never did. There were folks walking to and from work; some went to the mines or docks for early shifts; others were crawling out of darkening bars with the reek of alcohol on their mouths. Alley-ways shifted with figures and shadows. It wasn’t unusual.

So, she had to be aware as she wandered between flame-lit lamp lights and crossed busied streets. When there was a commotion that sounded frightening, she’d jump and quicken her steps. But, even she eventually grew lazy, grew comfortable, as she saw her apartment front. Quaint despite its chipping paint and old bricks.

A wrought-iron fence kept the small shared garden of the multistoried complex private; the dirt was barren with the chill of winter inching in and less time from the occupants of the apartment to spare with their new jobs in factories. Not many were able to work from home, like her mother had once done with her mending business. Still, it was weeded and prepped from spring when it did come.

The newest edition was the mismatched, criss-crossing collection of wires and cords that decorated the exterior of the building. Trailing in and out of each apartment’s windows and down its façade in a haphazard mess. With those ugly wires came electricity. Electricity, that admittedly was a new cost that was difficult to find the coin for and was often unusable from blown fuses across the crowded streets. But, seeing her bedroom window lit with an electric lamp, warm and waiting, made her sigh out in relief. Home. Comfort. Warmth.

Distracted, she never noticed the tall figure trailing her. Not close, no, he was far from her, but he was watching her. A sparkle in his grin grew as he saw her own smile light up at the sight of her house.

Cute.

Finding a home with the shadows, he tucked his hands into his pockets, hiding his expensive rings and Rolex watch from view as he leaned against the brickwork and kept his dark gaze on her. Watching her closely. He watched as she unlocked her front door and shut it tight behind her. He watched as the movements of her cast shadows of her feminine form against the curtained windows of what was her living room, her kitchen. Lights one by one flickered off as she climbed the interior of the flat to her room. He waited. Watching.

He stayed until he saw her dark silhouette, one that matched his in the shadows, reach her bedroom, taking off her coat, her dress. He watched her undo her hair, one pin at a time. Eyes looking up and down her illuminated skin whenever she got too close to the window. Drinking her in like a fine whiskey. Until the curtains were drawn tight, and her electric light extinguished.

She was safe at home, only then, he proclaimed as he crept towards the docks of Cromer.

-

Wooyoung hadn’t come to the ballet that night, the day before their ‘outing’, their ‘date’, their whatever you’d call it. And at first, it sent a zing of fear. It reminded her of the weeks without contact. But, when she entered the boudoir, she saw the little letter resting on the vanity. Waiting for her patiently.

Wooyoung’s handwriting wasn’t as neat or as pretty as San’s. It was clunky, a mixture of uppercase and lowercase. Nothing like a typical upper-class man’s hand. But it was his. In his way, he reassured her that he’d be there on her doorstep, tomorrow afternoon at golden hour, 5:30 pm sharp, to pick her up for their adventure. Wait in anticipation to see him once more, he had written. She swore there was even a spritz of his cologne; the paper seemed to ache of him.

Cocky. Ever so Wooyoung.

San had come to watch her regardless, watching attentively from Box Number 8. She liked sneaking peeks at him during the performance. Like Wooyoung, his gaze rarely left her form, but his eyes were different. It was an admirable look. Wooyoung was entertained by her she knew that. But San… she wasn’t sure what was different, but it was.

That night after the show, he came to the boudoir and, rather than approach her with boldness in his step, he sat upon a settee – a pristine gift box sat beside him. And waited. It was a startling difference to Wooyoung’s eagerness. And at first, YN’d scurry to him, but he simply smiled up at her, almost cat-like with his eyes shutting in content.

“Take your time, honey.” He encouraged. “I’m not going anywhere.”

A small yet somehow powerful hand encouraged her to turn on herself, almost doing a small pirouette with him pulling her strings, and was urged to go back to the vanity across the boudoir with a gentle pat on her lower back. Uncertain eyes jittered towards him; pouty lips licked in confusion. A ‘but’ was about to tumble out of her lips when he let out a soft rumble. His hands urged her again like a mama bird nudging a birdling out of its nest.

“Go; it’s late and chilly,” he cooed out, soft and slow. “Get dressed into your skirts, get comfortable – then we can talk, honey.”

Honey. That was what he was like. Slow, tantalizing, sweet. Comforting like a drizzle of honey in your tea. There was a patience in him that Wooyoung didn’t have. He was okay with waiting.

YN was still unfamiliar with his behavior, so used to Wooyoung’s familiarity to balance her and guide her with San. Back at the shared vanity, the other ballerinas looked between her and her patron. A touch judging, a lot confused. Still, she obeyed him. Her dress was shrugged off to reveal her bared shoulders and cinched corseted waist for only a moment as she tugged on her dark skirts and matching blouse. Her makeup was thick and cakey from sweat and reapplication but, with no running water in the boudoir unlike the private dressing rooms, she was forced to keep it on or risk smearing it about unattractively. If she was alone, she’d attempt it, but her eyes flashed to see San once more through the mirrors. Waiting. Her head ached with the pricks of a million-and-one hair pins. Her fingers prodded at them, scratching satisfyingly, but she didn’t let her hair down. It’d take too long. He was waiting.

Waiting.

That wasn’t normal.

Her eyes kept glancing into the looking glass, in any of the mirrors that framed the entire boudoir in. Everywhere she looked he was there. Tapping his glass with his finger, licking his delicious looking lips. At every turn, as she returned her costume and as she slipped her pointe shoes off and replaced them with sensible heels, she was always looking to see if San was still there. And he was.

Lounging back, broad-shoulder and broad-chest, making the settee look smaller with his large muscular form. His eyes shut as he swirled his drink in a crystalline tumbler. He hadn’t left. Was he bored? Was he going to leave if she wasn’t quick enough? Why was he so odd compared to the other patrons who were all up on their protégés as soon as the performance was done?

In the mirror, she could see Julia in the arms of her Lord, still dressed in her costume. Mina’s was buried in the side of her neck, leaving whispers and hickeys, as she tried to wriggle out of her outfit. Some new patrons, young men with some money to burn, were talking to the youngers. All the men were occupied. Except for hers.

But San still sat, waiting patiently.

He was going to leave, he had to, he had to. The men would get frustrated. Why wasn’t San? She sped up, buttoning her blouse up and tying the ribbon in a bow on her front as she walked his way. A smile painted on her face.

“Two minutes, and 8 seconds,” San recounted, his head tilted back unmoving, as she came to stand in front of him once more.

Her chin shifted a mimicry of defiance as she swallowed. San sighed out through his nose as he shifted up. Feline eyes opened to meet hers with their burning warm. Like embers in a fireplace. Was he angry? Should she had stayed? Been faster?

“Honey.” He cooed the sweet nickname for her once more with warm affection. His hand reached out for hers, pausing until she shifted her hand to rest into his gloved one. A thumb rushed over the back of her hand soothingly. “When I say take your time, I mean it.” He raised her hand up and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“Did you enjoy the show?” she said in divergence. He steadied her with a gentle gaze. He squeezed her hand again.

“I mean it, YN,” he insisted seriously. “And yes, I did. You did beautifully.”

She nodded softly. His hand tugged her closer with a questioning brow, his other hand shifting to make sure her skirts didn’t tangle as she sat beside him.

“I’ll take it slower next time.” She promised as she crossed her legs.

“Good girl.” He praised.

His words sent a zing through her.

“How was your day?” she asked.

“Better now that I’m with you.” He flirted.

“You and Woo have the same flirts,” she teased.

His eyes crinkled. “Well, we both flirt with one another often.” He admitted.

Her cheeks flushed at his comment – did it mean what she thought? They were awfully close for best friends. “Where is Woo?” she asked.

“Sad to see just me?” he prompted.

She shook her head quickly. “I’m happy to see you. Just wondering where or what he could be off doing.”

He smirked, adjusting how he sat to wrap an arm around her waist. “You looking forward to your date?” he teased.

Date. He said date. It was a date! When was the last time she went on a date? Her stomach danced with butterflies. San’s smile grew, cat-like, as if he could feel the excitement bounce around in her bones.

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Good. He’s excited, too.” San reassured, thumb going up and down her waist. “Would you like to go on a date with me too, honey?”

Her ears burned at the thought of two men sharing her, but she nodded softly. Because she did want. She wanted San and Wooyoung. San was intriguing and kind and attractive. Different to Wooyoung but not better or worser. Her shame burned her ears just as red as her blushing bashfulness.

He grinned wider.

“What would we do?” It was strange to be asked these things as if her time wasn’t one he paid for, as if she wasn’t going on a date with his best friend tomorrow.

Still, she replied.

“I’d want to get to know you more,” she said truthfully.

He was interesting but she knew so little of him. He leaned forward, a different sort of magnetic energy pulled her closer.

“Ask me, honey.” He urged. His dark eyes met hers. He pulled her a smidge closer. “I’ll answer most anything.”

So, she did. 

She asked about his favorites, things that she had learned at first about Wooyoung. Safe things, easy things. He liked purple. He liked cats. He favored sweets over savory things. He liked the seaside. He said he’d take her to a pier when it warmed up. He favored dancing over singing. Eventually, she asked:

“What’s in the gift box?” She eyed the box beside his feet.

San grinned. “It’s from our Wooyo – and me.”

Our. Our. Our. He liked saying that, she noticed. His hands left her form to hoist it up, onto her lap. It was heavy.

“Is it for tomorrow?” she asked tentatively. One of the ballerinas said their patron liked getting things for them to wear.

“Open it and see,” he encouraged instead of answering.

So, she did. And inside was the most soft, warmest dark jacket she had ever seen. It was fluffy and furry on the inside. It looked like it was made of the darkest midnight black fabric she had ever seen, a soft metallic shine to it. There was no tag or name brand. Was this custom made to her?

It was large, but not oversized. It smelled of warm pineapple, something sweet like jasmine flowers, a musky woodsy oak, and a hint of sea-salt.

“Oh, San, it’s beautiful,” she cooed.

“And warm,” he said with a chuckle. “Let me help you.”

He stood, offering his hand like a gentleman to her, before sliding the dark coat over her shoulders. He fixed her hair delicately.

“Beautiful; fits you like a glove.” He hummed appreciatively, fixing the top button so it was snug. “Perfect for cold nights walking home.”

That night she walked home warmer than ever with a tropical scent engulfing her. But it was also the first night she had felt frightened in a long time.

There was fighting in the streets. Figures punching and spitting and yelling. No, the city had never been perfect. There were rougher parts and her side of town was certainly not protected from turf wars between adolescents and old families claiming land.

She was used to walking fast and not looking down alleys in case there were things she shouldn’t be seeing. But it felt different today. She was used to punks fighting between themselves. That was normal, but today they were all frightened it sounded. The group all cowering and whispering and biting out words, scared.

“Please, please, I promise – I’ll--!”  

YN was in the wrong place, wrong time, she knew it deep in her stomach as she peered around a corner only to see a tall figure pressing a gun against another’s jaw. Shadows cast over him, hiding their face from view, but when she heard the shadowed figure asking ‘where the fuck his money was’, she quickly looked away and scurried away. Unknowing, that there was a shadow figure of her own trailing after her, glancing down the alley way at the scene for a moment too long.

The equally tall figures’ gazes rose and locked for a moment. One with his ringed fingers holding a lit cigarette, the other with his ringed fingers gripping the gang member’s hair harshly. The man on his knees whimpered, pleading for help as the barrel of the gun pressed deeper into his temple. Her shadow man glanced nonchalantly at the crying man before looking back at his captor. A glitter of a smirk shined as the man with the cigarette raised his fingers to his head in a casual lazy salute. The captor snorted out a low rumble of a laugh before her shadow-figure left the alley.

“No, no, please help, please!” He didn’t listen; his sights were back on his doll. His long legs allowed him to catch up easily, always keeping her in his sights once more. He abandoned his cigarette once he came to a stop in his familiar alley-way. A polished boot crushed down on the cigarette butt as he fixed his rings casually, tracing over one in particular.

He watched as she entered her home and locked the door with a click. He watched until he saw her in her window once more, like he had most nights now. But there was one difference. She, in her sweet little nightdress with her hair pooling around her so temptingly, came into view of her window. He pushed back into the shadows, dark eyes drinking in her figure. How did San and Wooyoung control themselves around her? He wasn’t sure.

Looking out onto the dark, foggy streets of Cromer, she swallowed nervously. YN hoped she hadn’t been spotted as she entered her home. She closed the curtains with a swish as if they’d protect her. Stretching her limbs this way and that in nervousness, she tried to push those images of violence from her mind and keep her mind focused on something better.

Tomorrow. Her date.

-

It was Friday, a rare day off for the opera house. And the day of her and Wooyoung’s date. Date, date, date! It was all she could think of since her eyes flickered open. Last night’s fearful encounter nothing but a nightmare compared to the excitement buzzing through her.

“Do you think he’ll bring flowers?” she asked her mother as she dusted herself with powder.

“He should,” her curt-mouthed mother chimed. “It’s only proper.”

“Oh, I hope so!”

She had been dolling up for most of the day (after aiding her mother in some sewing assignments for the factory; they gave her way too much to handle YN thought…). First, she had a scalding hot bath where she splurged and used a long-saved gifted bottle of floral body oil. Her hair was washed and dried by the fireplace. Her closet was a proper mess as she chose between this dress and that. She debated going to get fresh flowers from market to help spruce up her old linens, but, after counting her coins, she realized she didn’t have enough to spare. Her pearls would have to make due.

Her new jacket from WooSan rested on the sofa beside her.  It still smelt of that strange cologne, not San’s nor Wooyoung’s. She wouldn’t need it today. Luckily, there was no snow outside. She’d know after all. She kept peering out her windows, waiting, waiting, waiting. When sunset began to peak over the buildings, she held her breath. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

She was oddly excited. She hadn’t expected the genuine excitement. Would he be romantic and bring a bushel of flowers? Or would he see this as nothing? Where would he take her? The park-side, a restaurant… what if he was joking, what if he didn’t show?

No, no. San knew she was excited. Wooyoung was excited, too.

When she heard the knock at the door, she jumped from her spot on the sofa, abandoning the book she was barely reading.

“Coming,” she called as she crossed the small living room to open the door, the locks clinking and clattering as she did so.

Wooyoung’s outfit was more casual than she had seen at the opera house, but he still reeked of expensive fabric and his heavenly cologne. Dark linens and his hair slicked back attractively; he smiled at her with a boyish expression. The same one she remembered him flashing the day they met. Somehow it did more to her heart now than then. Perhaps, because this one felt genuine. This one felt like a boy she had met and was trying to win her heart, jittering with nerves. His hand went to fix his perfect hair and she smiled a megawatt smile.

And while this wasn’t the first time he’d seen her bare-faced, hair-down, in her drop-waisted day-dress, he stared at her like it was. The pale sky-blue dress complimented her faintly rouged knees and white silk stockings. Her hair rested in carefully done wave-curls – her mother had sat with a red-hot curling iron helping form the curls one by one into pretty sections.

“Hi,” she greeted.

“Hello, my beautiful swanette,” he breathed, enamored. He reached for her hand to press a gentle kiss to her gloved knuckles. Gentlemanly. Her heart swirled like it was a record in a player, swooning for him ever more. It felt like a romance novel; it felt like a dream.

“Hi,” she said again, sweetly.

He smiled against her knuckles, eyes flashing to meet hers with a Wooyoung-coyness.

“This is him?” she heard her mother crow from behind her.

YN’s shoulders jumped a bit. She hadn’t thought her mother would want to meet him. Despite her help with preparing, her mother was oddish. A mixed case of approving and disapproving. She liked that her daughter danced but didn’t like that she didn’t work. She liked that she was going on a date but didn’t like it was with a man from the boudoir. She didn’t quite approve of the boudoir’s politics, but she knew he was paying for her fees now. It made her worry.

Wooyoung’s grin only grew as he peered over YN’s shoulder.

“Hello ma’am,” he greeted politely, bowing his head. He kept a hold of YN’s hand, guiding her a step hi way to face her mother with him.

Her mother, firm-faced, glared at him before diverting her eyes to the bashful looking YN.

“You take care of my YN?” she queried, crossing her arms.

“I do,” he said easily. “I think she’s wonderful. Talented, too.”

She made a hmph noise in the back of her throat, glancing between the pair again.

“Be safe,” she pressed with a hand pushing YN forward. “Be smart.”

“I’ll take good care of her,” Wooyoung promised as he squeezed YN’s hand in his and pulled her towards him fully. His hand swept her arm into his properly as he offered a smile to her mother once more as the door closed.

There were no flowers she noted, not even a single rose, and she couldn’t help the buzz of disappointment from fizzing over her. Still, the smell of him and the excitement she had brewing with her kept her optimistic.

“Let’s go, my swanette,” he beamed, patting her arm linked with his as he led the way.

“What are we doing, Woo?” she asked, and her excitement made him beam.

 “It’s a surprise,” he teased before stealing a kiss on her cheek.

He took her to a cinema, a nickelodeon where they looked at the moving pictures from viewing boxes. It was mostly excuses to huddle close together and giggle at the provocative films. One even featured a couple kissing on a train scandalously – he quickly tried to mimic it, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Scandalous for the public eye but sweet for her heart. He loved to hear her giggles ring out. 

As they sat in the darkened theatre of the cinema, the black-and-white film jittering as the projector rattled along. A live band played a lively tune, a made-up soundtrack to the film. Still, he held her hand and kept whispering in her ear. Sweet things, compliments, comments about the film. He was talkative even in the fairly-full theatre. He didn’t mind the curious glances or the whispers. In fact, it was like YN was the only thing in the world for Wooyoung. Everything else was secondary. The film barely held his attention; only she did.

“Woo, are you even watching?” she whispered to him, giggling undertoning her words.

He grinned at her, leering down at her as he fussed with her pretty hair. “I’m watching you.”

She smiled glancing aside, her gaze leaving the film about a train. So many things in film were about trains apparently.

“Pretty,” he chimed, tucking a curl around her ear.  His hand cupped her jaw and redirected her gaze. “Thank you for coming with me.”

Wooyoung was intense in everything he did. But it was a pleasant intensity. Like gravity. The magnetic pull between him and her felt natural. Like she was his Earth and he was her moon.

He leaned close til their noses brushed, til they shared the same hot breath.

“It’s fun,” she whispered to him. “Being with you.”

He smiled and leaned ever closer. 

“I like being with you. I like you, YN.”

Their mouths locked for the first time beneath the loud clink-clanking of a projector of the cinema, highlighted by its glow.

It wasn’t anything hot and heavy, but she could taste him on her mouth for the first time, breathe him in so close. His hand cupped her cheek, pulling her ever close like he could devour her. He wished he could. He wished he could lick into her mouth, pull her over his lap, muss her hair and make her lips flush as red as the lipstick she wore at the ballet.

But Wooyoung knew it wasn’t the time yet.

Still, each press of his lips to hers felt addicting to her and made her body hotter than the projector’s lamplight.

-

“Extra, extra!” A newsie cried as she passed him on the streets; his voice piercing her ear with its loudness. “Man shot dead after sports match – conflict uncertain! Suspect jailed.”

“Who’s the suspect?” a woman with a much too large hat babbled at the boy.

“Buy one and see, Miss!” he encouraged.

Such a good salesman, YN snickered as she passed by. She wondered if maybe one of the girls at the ballet would buy an edition. A man killed at a sports match… must’ve been a rich man if it was being reported about. She wondered what happened. A bet gone wrong perhaps?

A breeze made her shiver and pick up her pace towards the opera house.

-

There was a large bushel of flowers on her vanity the next performance. Wooyoung’s handwriting graced the letter.

‘Thanks for the date, beautiful swanette. See you later.’

She nearly melted. How did he know she had wanted flowers? It was fate, romance, everything. He was such a gentleman.

He and her were different. San, her, and him.

Yes, she felt it.

-

Wooyoung and San were interesting when they were in the boudoir together. They had their own magnetic energy that couldn’t be denied. They were close. Closer than normal men. But when it came to her, it felt like their interest on her was equal. A shared obsession – their eyes would lock onto her and never falter once in the boudoir (unless it was to give one another knowing looks.)

She was looking forward to their visits. Some of the girls asked if the date led to more, but it hadn’t. Wooyoung was the perfect gentleman. San was the perfect patron, paying her fees for the pair of them. For the first time, she had money to spare in her pockets. More days trickled by and each visit brought her closer and closer to them. Nights of whispers about the city, the gossip Wooyoung loved to hear about, about her, and shared embraces that left her buzzing.

She’d dreamt about them a few times. San’s touches became more teasing, daring as he kept his bespectacled gaze locked on her as his hand grazed over her waist. Right after Wooyoung pressed a kiss to her. Burning eyes, burning hands. Her dreams were wild that night.

-

Box #8 was full once more. It had Wooyoung and San in clear view, but it was harder to spot the others. When she could, it was only blurred visage. A strong nose peaking from beneath opera glasses. Sparkling rings on someone’s hands. A gleam of a smile.

At intermission, it was just Wooyoung and San; walking side-by-side as San whispered something, a grin forming on Wooyoung’s face. Wooyoung was mid-reply when he approached her.

“I said it should be something less known, so it’d be—” 

“Hello, you two,” she greeted, her skirt a full thing of feathers for the next act.

“Swanette,” Wooyoung lit up, easily swooping her into an embrace per usual. Except now, he pressed a kiss to her lips, sweetly.

“Wooyoung!” Her surprised cry of his name came out muffled against his lips.

He giggled before turning so they faced San. “Sannie, I think we should go out all together.” He argued.

“Soon,” he agreed before he greeted her. “Hello, honey.”

“Who’s with you tonight?” she couldn’t help but ask.

Wooyoung chuckled lowly, swaying her this way and that.

“I told you she’d ask,” he hummed. “She’s a jealous vixen.”

He buried himself in her neck and she let out a giggle knowing he was simply teasing her. Teeth grazed over her neck, and she jolted in his arms, shrieking quietly. Her hands raised to her mouth.

“She’s not; she’s inquisitive.” San corrected, watching the display with a pleased expression.

“Curious about a lot of things,” Wooyoung whispered tauntingly. As if he knew her brain. Her cheeks flushed red.

A low rumble of twin laughter mingled in the air as San stepped towards the pair in embrace.

“They’re our friends,” San countered. “Yeosangie wanted to visit you, but he has a match tomorrow. He insists on practicing the night before. He could only stay so long for the performance.”

“And the others?” she asked, curiosity lingering on her face.

San’s gaze flickered to Wooyoung’s for a long moment. Wooyoung nodded. “Seonghwa is in attendance. He won’t be able to visit. He sends his warmest regards.”

“Which one was he?” she queried, brow pursing.

“On my left,” Wooyoung commented. “Yeosang and San are like two peas in a pod around one another. Can’t unglue them from each other”

He hushed Wooyoung’s comment by coming close and squeezing his best friend’s neck and crowding her in pleasantly. There was a faint smell of coffee and vanilla… and popped champagne.

“He’s jealous,” San teased. “He likes attention almost as much as you do, hm?”

Her cheeks flushed and San smirked. Sighing out, he wrapped a hand tentatively around her waist, squeezing reassuringly.

 “They’ll visit soon, I’m sure. They’re busy is all.”

Wooyoung pressed a kiss to her temple and she swore she saw San inch forward to do the same before he stopped himself.

-

“Imara?” she asked during practice between plie-ing on the barre and stretching their legs.

“Yes?” the other girl replied, offering a smile.

Ever since she’d gained patrons, she had noticed a change. A nicer tone towards her. Not quite respect but something more. It was strange. Still, YN smiled and continued her question.

“Do you know of a Seonghwa in society?” she asked.

Despite all their shared experience with the upper-class, some were more aware than others. Most ballerinas acted on the edge of the rich, floating like asteroids in their orbit. Some were comets, pretty to watch for a moment but a fleeting fancy. The only ones with more insight, a more hands-on experience with the rich were those with a patron. Proteges particularly were informed about high-society, usually due to the drunken rambles of their patrons.

Imara paused, leaning further into her stretch. “Last name?” she prompted.

“Kim? Or-or Jung?”

YN had yet to find out why Wooyoung had given her a false name… or how the newspaper had a false name.There was a low hum as the woman shifted this way and that.

“No to both… but-“, she clicked her tongue. “I’ve heard of a Park Seonghwa from Dohyunnie—I mean Mr. Kim.”

“Oh, what have you heard?” YN queried; intrigue piqued.

“Nothing that amazing,” Imara snorted. “Just that he was doing business with him. Dohyun sounded frustrated though. But he’s frustrated most days now.” Her face fell into something of concern, of care. One might even say love.

Park Seonghwa? Hm…

-

“Hey, honey.”

San was waiting for her outside of the Opera House back against the wrought-iron street lamp. Snow dotted his perfectly coifed locks like it was salt-and-pepper hair - a sneak peek of what was to come down the line for him. It made her think of things too domestic and too fantastical for a dancer. Waking up to him, children running between their legs. Home. Love. Family. Things that were too taboo to think about considering their relationship.

Her dancer friends were always quick to remind her that he was paying for her.

But now, on a non-show day, she was surprised to see him waiting outside for her. Rehearsals weren’t too long or intensive, especially once they were performing a show for as long as they had been, but still YN wondered how long he had been waiting.

“San!” she exclaimed, padding up to him with a grin. “How long have you been out here?”

Her hand went to wipe at the accumulation of snow on his coat. He smiled at her fondly.

“Not long,” he reassured.

“You’re covered in snow,” her voice relented, pouting at him. “If I’m to be honest, shouldn’t you be?”

She teased him easily and he grinned, almost a side-smirk as he fixed her, their, coat to make sure it was buttoned up all the way.

“I guess so. That’s how these things work, hm?” he teased back.

“What things?” YN couldn’t help but clarify.

“Relationships.” He replied back. “Right?”

It made her heart flutter like a hummingbird’s wings. Relationship. That meant… not just a business relationship, right? But what of Wooyoung? Did he know? Was this alright? Her stomach bubbled with nervousness, worries but also a wave of excitement.

San had always been straightforward, so the fact he danced around the topic made her nerves only grow. But… she wanted it. She wanted him. Guilt and intrigue and want clashed in a whirl. Like snow tumbling in the air.

“Right,” she replied, her voice soft. There was a gentle tremor of excitement, nervousness, anticipation.

His fingers that had just made up her coat’s buttons shifted to tuck hair behind her ear. She didn’t flinch at his icy touch. “And in relationships, they can… kiss,” he stated, warm fingers trailing up her neck to cup her jaw.

It was then she realized his face was blushed not from the cold, but bashfulness. Shyness. Him – shy! It baffled her, but the more she was around him, the more she learned how soft he was. Like Wooyoung had warned. He was soft and caring and gentle. Loving.

San leaned in closer, head ducking and shadowing her from the flame-lit lamp light. His breath was visible in the chill, fanning over her face in a whirl of warm mint and medicinal rosemary.

“They do,” she replied equally gentle at his touch.

He cupped her cheeks, his hand surprisingly small and yet she felt so sturdily safe in them.

“May I?” he asked, eyes meeting hers.

She nodded, a quiet noise of agreement breathed out as he got closer and closer.

Their kiss was something slow, not like Wooyoung’s and hers. Hot and eager beneath the equally warm projector a cinema. San’s kiss was slow like he had all the time in the world. It was cold out in the snow, but the icy chill felt nice mixed with his hot breath fanning over their locked lips.

They kissed for far too long beneath that lamplight, a figure across the streets watching on as he always did.

-

She barely slept a wink that night. Her worries about her and Wooyoung and her and San… and honestly San and Wooyoung! Was she wrong for kissing San? He had seen Wooyoung press kisses to her cheeks. They both had manhandled her and stroked her and tickled her. They had been closer in some ways than a simple kiss already. Her body was comfortable with them; she liked their attention, their warmth, their presences.

Oh gosh, what if this ruined everything?

But, they – San and Wooyoung - had to talk? San didn’t seem like someone who would go behind his best friend’s back. And Wooyoung had never objected to San’s careful gaze and wandering hands. Wooyoung could never keep his mouth shut either! She tossed and turned in her bed, obsessing and worrying, until she simply stood and switched on her lamp.

Her shadow, watching from the alley way with a lit cigarette in between his teeth, twitched. What was she doing awake? She’d be exhausted. He frowned. The shadow of her form paced this way and that in the dark of night. Worrisome.

And he worried for her. He worried for his doll, biting at his plump lips, chewing on them before bringing his cigar back to his lips.

-

In front of the grand Cromer Opera House, a newsie cried out. “Disappearance by the docks! Four workers never check out of their shift! Details are shocking!”

“How shocking, kid?” one of the ballerinas countered as they approached the building, arms crossed.

“Extremely so, Miss.” He exclaimed.

“You said that last time and there was barely anything added to the story!” cried out the ballerina beside YN, her arm interlaced with hers. “Just a stupid name that we didn’t even know – some Yunho fellow!”

“I don’t make the stories; I just sell them,” he argued, hands raising.

“Sell them that’s for sure,” she huffed. “Not today, Jack. You aren’t getting any of my coins.”

It almost made YN laugh if only the content the boy had cried out about wasn’t so alarming. Disappearances? There had just been a man shot a few weeks ago and now disappearances. Mother had mentioned disgruntled workers at the factory as of late too. With pay being as it is, some of the younger girls got into worser things, her mother said.  And the gangs had been acting up. Memories of the man’s deep voice in the alley way threatening the young boy made her shiver.

Even if her mom didn’t quite support her as a ballerina, always saying it was an easy way up to fame despite the many nights of pain and many, many years of empty pockets, she had to admit now that she was relieved YN wasn’t working beside her in the textile factory. It seemed like things were up to no good in this town.

YN sighed out tiredly as she walked up the steps of the opera house only to blink in surprise. On the framed poster outside the opera house, there was a new notice. Swan Lake’s performances were coming to a close – so the ballet could prepare a new show for its patrons of the arts. What could it be? No one, not even the girls knew yet.

-

The show had been canceled for the day and for tomorrow! A shock for the ballerinas already prepared for the early afternoon matinee performance. It was then they were dismissed, claiming there was a gas leak.  Some said they were being kicked out for a new owner to tour. Other girls said it was for deciding the leads for the next show.

Nonetheless, YN felt herself sag in relief. Maybe she’d get some shut eye.

-

A surprise day off was rare. In fact, she couldn’t remember an unplanned day off since she was 10. But it didn’t mean lazing around all day. No, she was prepared to help her mother with extra orders.

Bright and early, she was awake, more rested but certainly still worrying about her patrons. Her lips had been bitten raw in anxiety, but her mind was set to try to not think of them today. Not getting to talk to them yesterday felt strange and it didn’t help her worries still ate at her like a leech.

Her hair was tied back in a pretty braid, her outfit simple, as she exited the front door with a large basket of orders from her mother, ready for delivery.

“I’ll be back, ‘ma!” she called. “I’ll try to be back before you leave for your shift.”

There was a call back in agreement, hard to hear over her mother’s sewing machine whirling with her steady foot-pedaling. Turning, she was met with a surprise.

“Swanette,” Wooyoung crowed out from the nearby sidewalk, his hands wrapped around the gate as he grinned up at her.

“Woo!”

“Are you free today?”

It was still strange to see Wooyoung outside the ballet. Her bare face burned and felt sticky, wrong. She was used to the stage-makeup hiding her flush of nerves. Her hands fiddled with her outing gloves, half shifting her basket to her arm. “Today, I was supposed to-“

“She is, Mr. Wooyoung,” her Mother crowed out from the window – pushing it open.

“Mother,” YN insisted, looking her way.

“I can handle the orders for today; go – before you’re old and grey,” the woman tutted.

Wooyoung laughed out, hyena-like, as his hands banged against the gate in excitement. “Mother’s orders, sweet swanette.” He added.

Her sharp look only made his bright grin grow.

“Go,” her mother pushed once more. “Leave the delivery by the door.”

Huffing, YN hopped up the steps of the apartment. She placed her orders down and grabbed her hand bag. She slid her nicer heels beside the door on, leaving her old shoes there in its wake, and tip-tapped down the apartment’s steps.

“Thank you, Miss,” Wooyoung chimed out to her mother. “I’ll take good care of her.”

“You better,” her mother replied before snapping the window shut.

“She’s lovely,” Wooyoung said to YN with a grin that she could only describe as a cat who got the cream.

“You like her, because she played into your plot,” she teased.

“And she raised a gem like you,” he flirted back.

A gem… was she? She felt her multiple days of anxiety cling to her back like a sleep-demon on someone’s chest. Heavy and painful.

With grandiose, he offered his arm her way. She took it with ease. It surprised her how even in her worrisome she felt comfortable so close to him. A part of her wondered if the neighbors were watching as she walked along their rickety pathways with a man who could buy their land twice over.

“What are we doing today?” she asked quietly.

A date was something she could predict. A visit to the cinema, or a diner, or even the sea-side pier amusement park. But a day outing…

“I must attend something dreadful,” Wooyoung sighed out dramatically, his arm squeezing tighter around hers. In this open public, he was the picture-perfect man, no wandering hands up and down her waist. No cuddling embraces. No kisses that left her breathless. It was strange that she missed them.

“What?” she feared.

“A tennis match featuring my dear Yeosang.” He sighed out. “Tennis is so boring, you know?”

She did not know, unfortunately.

Glancing over his dresswear, she noted his fine linens; was she not dressed enough for this? Her outfit was a sensible attire, not at all as seductive as her costumes at the ballet and not a smidge high-end. It wasn’t even like her day-dress she wore the last date with the ultramodern drop-waist and frills. She was in a simple deep purple skirt, down to her ankles, sensible heels, and her dark blouse was high necked with his pearls looped around it as an accent. The only whisper of wealth. Would they think she was some whore? Wasn’t she? She was jumping between patrons, jumping between San and him.

“Little swan,” he nudged her with his hip. He had been yapping along and she hadn’t caught a word.

“Sorry,” she apologized quickly, shaking her head as she tried to push down the feeling of being used. Wooyoung didn’t think that. Didn’t look at her like that.

“Sannie will be there, too. But he may be preoccupied.” he continued. “Tennis just doesn’t have the thrill of other sports - don’t tell Yeosang that.”

That made her chuckle.

“What sports do you like, Woo?” she asked, trying not to think of San and his warmth and his medicinal cologne mixed with cigarette smoke and his slow kisses.

“Boxing.” It was an immediate answer. “And horse-racing. I’m starting to like baseball, too. Aurora had no stadiums, but Cromer’s is nice.”

All brutal in her mind. She knew of a few girls who dated boxers; their lovers’ faces were bruised and beaten most days. At least with tennis, there was no gore.

“I’ve never been to a tennis match,” she admitted. “Or many sports games.”

He wouldn’t judge her; he hadn’t yet. Instead, his eyes lit up.

“Lucky girl,” he hummed. “You’ve got me as a perfect guide then.”

“What should I expect?” she asked.

“Long boring minutes,” he lamented. “But it’s less sports-focused for us. Think of it like a show.”

“In what way?” she retorted.

“The audience, us, are all there for different reasons, right? Some are there to watch the performance; some are there to watch the audience, hm.” He added.

“Do rich people do anything except people watch?” she mumbled.

Wooyoung crowed out a laugh. Her face burned. She shouldn’t have said that in front of him. “Some,” he countered. “But we are here to people watch today. That’s the fun of sports like this.”

-

She was sandwiched between Wooyoung and San – who had met them at the gates of the tennis court. One of Wooyoung’s hands pressed on her knee as he turned in to face her, occasionally whispering things in her ear. San’s arm was warm around her shoulders.

What she couldn’t ignore were the looks. On stage, she yearned for the attention, the limelight. But now with the elite’s gazes all zoomed in on her and her patrons… her face felt hot. A hand fiddled with her pearls. She looked away from their repeating blank stares.

“Shh,” San cooed after a few moments.

Her eyes flashed to him. He looked cool and casual in his dark fitted vest and pinstriped pants. A white silk shirt was open beneath it and rolled up to his elbows, showing off his tan skin. San’s glasses were absent from his nose for the first time. It made his attitude seemed stronger; the flat planes of his face sharp. But his eyes were still a soft brown, soothing her as his hand rose to rub at her shoulder blade.

“You’re okay.”

Her stomach whirled. Was she so transparent? Her tongue peeked out to lick her lips.

“I’m okay,” she tried to reassure him.

Her fingers played with a pearl, tip tap tapping it. San smiled at her, encouragingly patient. His other hand placed his drink down; the crystalline glass clanking onto the table as he did so. He reached for her hand, fingers caressing down her phalanges and stopping her fussing.

“Honey,” he hummed. “Don’t lie to me.”

Her face felt warm.

“I’m not,” she whispered, eyes flickering to watch as he stroked up and down her fingers soothingly.

She could feel Wooyoung’s gaze on them; he lifted his drink to his curled mouth. His fingers tightened on her knee, almost warningly.

“I’m not,” she repeated looking over at Wooyoung.

He cocked a brow as he swallowed down his liquor; his gaze directed her back to San silently. San’s gaze had hardened enough that she pouted. His grasp was still ever gentle as he tugged her hand away from her necklace and interlaced their fingers with a questioning tickle of his fingers against hers. She let him.

“I can read you like the back of my hand,” he told her, squeezing their entwined hands. “Ignore them. They don’t matter.”

She glanced up at him, questioningly. How easy they could say something like that? Approval meant everything.

He sighed out a bit, leaning closer. “They don’t. I promise.”

All that matters is them; a subtle reminder. She nodded mutely; his eyes crinkled at her before he raised the back of her hand up to press a fond kiss to it. Her eyes flashed to Wooyoung to see his expression but he barely blinked at the action, his thumb going over and over her knee.

San had begun to ask a question: “What’s wrong—”

Thwack! The sound of a black-leathered tennis ball hitting the clay-court’s floor dragged her eyes away from her patrons and back to the action for a split second.

Yeosang swung and made another point with ease. Wooyoung cheered from her side, excitement lighting up his face as the Chair Umpire announced Yeosang’s point. Her gaze was drawn back to his visible excitement. Despite Wooyoung’s dramatics, he seemed eager when there was winning on the line.

Her gaze shifted from her patron back to Kim Yeosang. The athlete was lean; his muscles only showing when he made a swing. Bulging from his white tee, his triceps and biceps were built. His hair was long, half tied up in a small ponytail. Even so, there were strands of dark-brown hair that flickered in front of his face. Every now and then, he’d blow the tresses away with a huff.

“The other opponent hasn’t even made a point,” YN commented. 

“Yeosangie hasn’t lost a match in a long time,” Wooyoung revealed. “He’s the Champion of Ateez.”

San snorted out as if Wooyoung had said something funny. His hand adjusted hers in his as he took another long sip of his drink.

Yeosang had turned to grab a cup of water presented to him; theyd reach a pause in the game apparently. He took a deep sip of the drink. His biceps flexed, drawing her eyes over the muscle down to his elbow up his forearm to his pretty mouth. His Adam’s apple jumped every so often beneath his damp tawny skin as he swallowed over and over. Stray droplets dripped from his pouty lips, carving rivulets down his chin, down his neck, over his chest. She had to stop herself from looking him up and down even more.

YN wondered if this was how San and Wooyoung felt at the ballet. Watching another so intently, she took in everything of Yeosang. The tousled look of his sweeping hair, sweat that dripped down the side of his face, the way the sun glinted off his bared collarbones, the way his eyes looked as he opened them from drinking.

His eyes weren’t like San or Wooyoung’s – even from this distance, she knew that. He had a strange forcefulness in them, an intensity she usually only saw when someone furrowed their brow at you. A darkness, a cruelty, a seriousness. He glanced back at his opponent. His face was unsmiling. Cold, cruel, calculated.

“How long has he played?” she asked her duo. Her eyes hadn’t left him as he returned to his spot on the court.

“A while,” San answered. “He had been training since childhood and quickly rose in competitions.”

She hummed. There was a trickle of envy in her veins; she wanted that. She bet he hadn’t had to play up to men and women; he didn’t have to feel like an object. Even if the men with her insisted she wasn’t.

“Go Yeosangie!” Wooyoung cheered, almost disruptively. All eyes flashed to them. Yeosang included. But instead of annoyance like YN had expected, he smiled.

Wow, his smile. Her breath was stolen at the sunshine bright grin that he offered. He looked sweet then and there before turning to face his opponent once more. The grin fell and he was once more a cold calculating persona. A star turned icy.

The game began again with the opponent whacking the tennis ball towards Yeosang’s side. Yeosang was quick, agile, as he slid to hit the ball back.

Back and forth, back and forth.

After some time, she realized how Wooyoung could find this boring. He had grown antsy, already. He’d shifted in his seat, glancing around the stadium with intrigue. His mouth began to chatter once more, especially when all that was left in his glass was ice.

“Do you know anyone about, swanette?” he asked.

His hand had shifted from her knee to rest around her waist, casually. Occasionally, he fiddled with her skirt’s belt loop teasingly, but was mostly stagnant. He tapped her waist at his query; his many rings clinked delicately against one another with the motion.

Licking her lips, she felt San squeeze her fingers softly, almost reassuringly she realized. Gazing across the tournament’s audience, she recognized some familiar faces.

Henry Young, the police chief of Cromer, sat across the court in the shade, discussing something with a tall suited man. The bespectacled man looked red-faced, puffy cheeked as he argued with the other.

Her gaze shifted from him over the sea of folk. Her eyes widened at the sight of Julia, red hair piled upon her head and dressed in some gaudy purple dress. Lord Frederickson was returning to her side with a sly smirk. What the fuck? She said she never went out with her patron. Her brows crinkled, her lips frowning as she glanced away.

Why did she lie?

There was Kim Dohyun who often was all over Imara at the boudoir. He now stood beside his wife, a bedazzled silken lady with two small children tugging on her arm as she drank her champagne.

“Yes,” YN admitted. Her chin gave a soft nod towards the bank conglomerate of Cromer. The man had smiled brightly at a friend before leaning in to whisper something to his wife. Who smiled at him with glee and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

Did she know that he was pressing kisses to Imara’s cheeks just a few nights ago? Did she know that he spent nearly a fortune for Imara’s dues? That she almost had enough to have her own dressing room? Her own solo?

“He’s cheating on his wife,” she said coldly under her breath. “Yet she doesn’t even know.”

Dohyun chuckled at something another one of his cohorts said as he adjusted his wife’s hand on his arm. YN glared.

“They all do it,” she muttered, glancing aside. For once, she wished she had taken up Wooyoung’s offer for alcohol.

San sighed out lowly. “I don’t understand men who do such things,” he admitted, taking a sip of his drink. His thumb rubbed soothing circles. “Unless she is aware.”

“I doubt it.” she admitted. “Imara would be in on it; she knows everything about high society.”

“I’d never do that to the ones I love,” Wooyoung said solemnly. Seriously.

His grasp tightened on her waist as he shifted to sit closer. San hummed in agreement. They watched as the man captured his wife’s mouth in a kiss, curt and aggressive. They’d seen him do the same thing to the pretty featured dancer at the boudoir.

There was a flicker of a question in the back of her head. How were they okay with sharing her then? Was it not the same thing? When Wooyoung kisses her under the glow of a cinema’s projector, was it not cheating when San pressed a warm smooch to her lips beneath the lamp post outside the opera house?

She licked her lip and tentatively tried to phrase her dangerous query. “San kisses my hand,” she stated. A simply edge into her question – a question that held more gravity than a simple kiss to her hand.

There’s a pause.

Wooyoung laughed out, his eyes crinkling as his attention shifted from the crowd to her. His affection burned in his chest. He wished he could press kisses over her cheeks. He was tempted to do so despite being in the public. San hummed in his chest, almost purr-like as he shifted his position to sandwich her tighter between them.

“I know that,” Wooyoung laughed. His eyes flickered to San and back to her. “I know everything, pretty girl. I thought we made it obvious. We know and share everything.”

Her cheeks burned a bit at the thought of them talking of her but San simply grinned.

“You are so sweet, honey.” He cooed close to her ear. “Wooyoung knows of our shared kisses. I know of your little rendez-vous at the cinema as well. Everything is alright.“

Her burning cheeks were only tripled as they both chuckled and daringly pressed twin kisses to her natural-rouged cheeks.

“Cute.” Wooyoung fussed.

She giggled out as they continued to tease and flirt under their breaths; half paying attention to the match and half paying attention to the folk watching their fancies. Soon, there was a chiming bell, ringing out to signify the end of the match. Their attention was stolen once more, letting YN breath out a shaky breath. San chuckled mischievously. The Umpire rose from his seat, declaring Kim Yeosang the winner.

“Finally,” Wooyoung sighed out, his arm leaving her waist for a moment as he stretched in his seat before rising to his feet.

“Let’s go visit our beloved Yeosang,” San encouraged, patting her hip before rising as well.

The two men walked ahead of her, pushing between the crowds easily. In fact, she realized that the crowds practically parted for them and half-swallowed her. It isn’t until her fingers slip from Wooyoung’s that they paused.

“Baby!” Woo chimed out, looking her way to catch her getting squished between men and women who wouldn’t even glance her way. Rough jabs and pushes made her huff out.

Wooyoung pushed back at a figure who had just shoved past her, losing the edge of respectability and gentleman flair. When the fine-suited man turned in outrage, his face paled at the sight of Wooyoung’s furrowed brow – the picture of an angered god in a Renaissance painting but the man who was shoved looked at him with wide eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sorry,” he pleaded, bowing his head.

“You better be,” Wooyoung’s voice was unlike anything she had hear. Scolding, firm, and unwavering. Gone was his boyish charm and instead was a soft of cruelty she saw Yeosang carry on the court. But when he shimmied over to her, an arm went to her bicep ever so gently. Wooyoung’s dark eyes grazed her up and down with care. He couldn’t care less about the groveling man except to send him another dirty look. His darkness faded as he looked back at her each time.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“Just lost you,” she said simply, a smidge shell shocked.

“Never,” he whispered back soft as cotton candy, taking her hand in his again. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she reassured with a furrow of her brow.

He smiled at her, warmly, squeezing her hand. “I’m your guide, aren’t I?” he teased. “I’ll keep you closer this time.”

He tugged her close to him, almost inappropriately so for high society, but he only let out a crow of a laugh at her surprised face. Just as suddenly, he had her arm in his, polite and proper as always.

“C’mon, let’s catch up to Sannie,” he encouraged, squeezing her arm.

Now, he kept her by his side, close and tight. The ocean of people parted for both of them to reveal Yeosang, patting his forehead dry with a pristine white rag and San smiling and cooing over the athlete.

“You did a good job today!” San beamed, cheering the other on.

Yeosang nodded, almost timidly, but offered the larger man a close-lipped smile.

“It was a good day.” Yeosang agreed. “You win anything?” he asked, offhandedly.

Yeosang’s voice matched his face; not dainty but tender. It held a deep tone that seemed warm and pleasant despite its quietness. He spoke not with a booming haughtiness but a humble hum. His very voice encouraged people to shut up and pay attention – just in a different way.

San rubbed his neck, adjusting his suit a bit. “I wasn’t in charge of betting today,” he admitted.

Yeosang’s eyes widened, his brows jumping with the motion. “Oh. Who else is here?”

He leaned in close to whisper something that she couldn’t catch as they approached the duo. Wooyoung’s arm was strong around her.

“Congratulations,” Wooyoung praised.

“I lost you both,” San crowed out as he pulled away from Yeosang – the athlete flinching at the noise. At that sight, San cooed out an apology, a thumb pinching the other’s ear affectionately.

Yeosang tried to dodge away from the other but couldn’t and he succumbed to his babying. She hadn’t seen San baby someone so much – even with Wooyoung, it was a different sort of coddling. Like a firm hand keeping him on track.

“How dare you leave us?” Wooyoung dramatically whined.

San played into his dramatics, apologizing for abandoning them. It made her giggle a bit at their shenanigans, their comfortability. It made her nerves lighten at meeting a new person. Yeosang’s gaze had laid solidly on her the entire time, calculated, and intrigued.

“Yeosangie,” San started, his hand going to pat the other’s back. The well-awarded athlete’s brows raised as if at attention, flickering his gaze between him and her. “This is Miss YN LN.”

“Hello,” he greeted, properly. His hand outstretched and she shook it politely. His hands felt rough against hers but not unpleasant as he squeezed her hand as he pulled away. Yeosang smiled.

Yeosang looked at her like he did his opponent – despite his smile shining brighter than any paparazzi’s camera flash. He looked at her like she was a challenge. Butterfly wings fluttered against her rib cage and she wasn’t sure if it was excitement or red flags warning her to stay away. With her rose-tinted glasses, she ignored it and continued talking to him. Wooyoung’s comforting form was still with her even if San had disappeared at the beckoning of a bulky gentleman she had never seen before in a pin-striped suit bearing a firm facial expression.

Their discussion was led by Wooyoung; babbling on about the game, about the winnings that had been announced via the loudspeakers, about how Yeosang deserved much more. He went on bragging about the athlete, much to his blushed cheeks. His cheeks so red made her only find him more charming. The sun shifted in the sky as they all talked.

“I’ll be right back, Swanette,” Wooyoung promised, arm vacating her waist and leaving her feel exposed. “Yeosang here will keep you company while I try to find our Sannie. He’s been gone for far too long.”

Both Yeosang and YN had little to no time to say anything before Wooyoung had disappeared into the throngs of the upper-class.

YN chuckled faintly, her hand raising to tuck hair aside. “He did this during San and I’s first meeting, too. Left us alone.” she admitted bashfully, a sense of déjà vu crashing over her at the thought.

Yeosang’s laugh felt false, a distict “het-he” of a giggle. “He’s like that. But he’s right,” the tennis star reassured. “You are safe with me, YN.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you,” she praised. Licking her lips, she tried to push down the anxiety of talking to someone new. Despite the boudoir teaching one to say ‘yes and-‘ to any requests, she wasn’t quite sure what was appropriate outside in upper society.

“You were the first tennis match I’ve seen,” she admitted, searching for something to discuss.

“Oh?” his eyes lit up. “And what did you think?”

“You are very good,” she chuckled. “The other man had no chances of winning.”

Her praise seemed to make him stand taller, proud of his accomplishments. “Thank you.” He waited a beat. “I feel like we are similar that way. Skilled, dedicated, caring. I’ve never seen someone perform like you do. Forgive me for never greeting you before or after a show; things have… been untimely.”

“You mean your games,” she added nodding. “Wooyoung told me you’ve had to leave in order to prepare – I understand. Especially after today’s performance --- match… game?” she corrected herself from using ‘show’ terminology.

Gosh, she felt like a fish out of water. Especially without her Wooyoung and San. Hers… she had never thought of them like that… but it felt like second nature.

Her Wooyoung and San.

He laughed again and this time she realized his giggle was not forced but natural. A little het-he escaped him and his hand rose to cover his mouth, muffling his giggle. It was cute. She let out a giggle of her own, laughing at her own mistake.

The initial awkwardness faded away as they both laughed and sighed out their nerves.

-

Far into the crowd, Wooyoung felt a form press against his back, firm and hot. If it wasn’t for the wave of medicinal herbs burning at his nose, he would’ve elbowed them in the gut.

“Sannie,” he cooed out, wriggling a bit. “I was looking for you.”

“Yunho had a lot more to talk about than business,” he sighed, his nose buried into Wooyoung’s shoulder.

Wooyoung gave the other man’s hands a squeeze, reassuringly. Silently giving him support.

“About YN?” he guessed. 

“Yunho wants to meet her,” San said into Wooyoung’s ear. “Alone.”

“Why?” Wooyoung countered with a frown.

Shifting in his lover’s embrace, he glanced over San’s shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of Yunho walking away from the tournament. Jealousy clung to his bones like a disease. He already was getting used to sharing his swan with San – and while it wasn’t unfavorable or irregular for the men to share things, he liked having his dates and time with YN.

“Not that he’ll take away the coins we use; Captain would never let him, but -” San reassured, massaging the back of Wooyoung’s neck reassuringly. He leaned forward, whispering into his ear.

“But he is curious why we are spending money on some doll.” His lips pressed to the shell of Wooyoung’s ear.  

Wooyoung didn’t like that, teeth baring and eyes hot. “She’s not some doll.”

“I told him that,” San retorted quick. “She ain’t.”

Wooyoung settled at that and shut his eyes, head twitching as San’s fingers dug into a tight muscle deliciously painful.

“Not Mingi?” Wooyoung tried to pitch. Mingi, despite his cold demeanor, was the softer of the duo.

“Captain’s orders,” San stated, resolute.

He sighed out at that, growing limp in his San’s embrace reluctantly. San continued to massage the fine knots at the back of his neck. 

“How?” Wooyoung followed up after a few moments.

San glanced over at the sight of their dancer, talking to Yeosang easily as the man covered his mouth in a giggle. He had an idea.

-

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Wooyoung asked as they strolled along.

She smiled over at him, bright, as she hugged his arm. “I did. You made it seem like it’d be like pulling teeth. Yeosang was nice!”

More than nice, he was charming. After WooSan left them alone, they had kicked it off, falling into conversations about their childhood devotion to their individual crafts. She learned how he began playing tennis at age five and was shipped from Aurora to Hala to Paradise growing up to compete and train. He was in the limelight alone for so long and while he was good at conversing and playing his part he was dreadfully shy. He admitted it bashfully to her and she felt a wave of comradery.

She liked him. Almost immediately.   

Wooyoung huffed dramatically, liking how close she was as she teased him.

“It is when you aren’t there,” he lamented. “I swear, it’s a boring affair once you do it a couple million times. And Yeosang isn’t always trying to impress us, pretty girl.”

She laughed and he smiled. There was a comfortable lull in the air as they continued their walk. The sun was beginning to set and, while the sky was a frosty shade of grey, there was no snow on the ground or in the air. Few folks were out braving the chill but, with Wooyoung closer to her and San’s oversized coat over her shoulders, she was warm.  

(San had chastised her about forgetting the gifted jacket, but she saw as he preened as he took off his over-coat with much dramatics. Flexing and shifting his tie around his neck to tempt her, she swore. His jacket swallowed her up pleasantly and she saw his ears burn red. He liked her in his things. He imagined her in a fur coat; he fixed his tie again, swallowing hard.)

“Thank you for inviting me.” She breathed after a moment. Her chest felt lighter after everything. “It was better than sewing and delivering things all day.”

“I’m glad I did,” he replied gently. Even if his mind was circling over how he was going to have her meet Yunho, he decided to do what he did best: live in the moment. He’d figure it out how to handle his lovers’ piqued interest. “You seem happier. I can always get you out of trouble, or into trouble.” He jested his arm tugging from hers to wrap around her waist, inappropriately for the public eye (But, there was no one about, Wooyoung decided. Besides he wasn’t for rules anyways.) His fingers tickled over her ribs making her laugh out and cry out his nickname in giggles.

A picture-perfect snapshot of young love, so the figure from the alleyway thought. Ducking his head, he crept out of his spot after the couple passed by. His dark coat blended in with the brick walls and the steam that pillowed out of the nearby apartments’ heating unit hazed him. The dark silhouette of a man watched as they continued along for a moment before turning on his heel and walking the opposite direction. The only evidence of him ever being there were his footprints in the snow with the impression of the name brand emblemed into the snow.

Faith.

-

San looked like some statue from the Renaissance. Carved in ivory. Laid back on a gold-gilded sofa, he was draped in an all-white attire, long pants with an open-vested shirt that revealed more golden skin than it hid. Ever since their kiss, she swore he wore more tantalizing outfits – was this his way of flirting?

He grinned at the attention of the other ballerinas; each one eyed him up, but were unable to approach. If they did, they learned he would openly ignore them. The only one he had an eye for was her. Only YN could approach him. And that’s what he wanted in the end.

Unlike Wooyoung who would wait at her vanity, San wanted YN to search him out in the boudoir. Willingly. And when she did, he had a flare of butterflies dancing in his chest. He took a deep swig of his drink, eyes half-lidded as he watched her in her little feathered tutu.

“Hello honey,” he smiled, resting the drink on his outstretched knee as she approached. “Looking gorgeous as always.”

“Thank you,” she said. With a gentle hand outstretched, he encouraged her to join him on the velveteen sofa. He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, sweet and warm.

“How much time do you have to spare?” he asked, feline-like eyes not even glancing at the nearby grandfather clock in the corner of the foyer de la danse.

“As much as you’d like,” YN said. The words were what the other girls insisted their patrons adored. Attention and control.

San’s lips twitched.

“Do you have other things to attend to before Act 2?” San queried.

“I’ve changed already – with Wooyoung, it takes twice the time,” she admitted.

Wooyoung, while he kept his hands to himself and his eyes averted when she changed, loved attention. He loved to talk talk talk about nothing and when he caught her attention shifting to things such as her makeup or her hair, he’d insist to doing it. While applying her lipstick, he’d steal a kiss, staining his mouth red more often than not. While charming and kind, it slowed her process down. With San, she had been prepped for Act 2 in a matter of minutes and now well had all the time in the world (approximately twenty minutes.)

San chuckled lowly, his thumb brushing over her waist gently almost questioningly. Behind his spectacles, a brow raised. Tap, tap, tap. May I? She’s learned his silent questions; his gentle ways to check with her what she was thinking before initiating anything. She scooted a bit closer. His smile was genuine, soft, and warm as his arm wrapped around her waist more. He pulled her half onto his lap; the smell of his cologne encompassing her. He smelt warm, like a forest on fire, with a hint of something medicinal biting at the back of her nose. Familiar yet dangerous.

If there was one major difference between her two patrons, it was this; San always asked of her rather than did for her. His touches were always slow and deliberate and never pressing. Not that Wooyoung was overtly so, but he was less careful. He’d leap before asking, taking her rouge pot into his hand to dab it on her cheeks softly. San would ask, would lean close, and would smile his sweet smile. “May I?” San’s voice rumbled and she couldn’t help but feel her heart tremble in her chest. He’d pull his leathered gloves off with his teeth before warm fingers would smear the red over already-blushed cheeks. He’d always take pride in her flush.

As they sat, he liked to listen to her. He’d take sips of his drinks, occasionally offering her a sip. Sometimes she’d take a gentle taste, her lipstick leaving a red halo on the rim. His lips would cover that ring with a smirk as he took his next gulp.

“Wooyoung distracts,” he admitted. “He used to distract me a lot when we worked together.”

“How did you two meet?” YN asked, legs slung over one of San’s legs.

San’s hand stroked over her waist. “We met as kids. Got into trouble together, but we ended up alright.” He hummed. “Yeosang was there, too. We weren’t as talented as him… skilled.”

YN still smiled, trying to imagine a tiny Wooyoung, Yeosang, and San running through the streets… would Aurora have the layered upon layered apartments like Cromer or was it open sands? Their skin was a tawny gold in the gas-light of the boudoir, but were they even warmer in the golden sun of Aurora’s beaches?

“How did you get into all of this, honey? Woo said your mother is a factory worker?” He didn’t mention her father. “How did a pretty girl get looped into the ballet system?”

It was a shame it was seen so negatively in his eyes but, after their discussion the night they met, she assumed San saw all of this as false glitz and glamour for the obscene. Even if he did compliment her talent and strength often.

“I started at the age of three. My mother was a seamstress for the Opera occasionally. I’d cause havoc… bug the performers. It was then I started to practice with the others. I thought it’d be easy to become like the Prima Ballerina. She seemed so beautiful and happy and strong.” YN commented. She wondered if the childhood hero ever suffered under her Madame or a patron. She tried not to imagine so. Her childhood dream could remain spotless for now.

Flexing her toes in her pointe shoes and lifting her leg from his lap into an arabesque, she giggled temptingly. “It’s much harder.” Her leg was at eye-level with his gaze. She was sure the others were glaring daggers at her back. She was acting scandalous, but with him there was nothing to scandal. He’d look at her with reverence, regardless.

If he looked close at her leg, he’d see bruising from practices or whacks from the Madame’s cane. Like always, he proved himself to be observant, more observant than Wooyoung she thought. Giving her a single glance, his fingers wrapped around her ankle, encompassing it. She didn’t jolt or yelp or shift. Her eyes stayed locked on his as he placed his glass down to press a supportive hand over her back now. His fingers danced over her leg; his hand glided up her calf, over her knee, and barely grazed her thigh. Just a faint tip, tap, before his gaze settled back onto her. It sent gooseflesh over her in a whirl. Intimacy. He was stroking her skin with such teasing lightness as if it was any more respectable.

His eyes were intense. Intriguing and magnetic and kind. Despite his bulky form, despite the hint faint scarring she could see over his masculine face, he didn’t frighten her. 

“Your pretty skin bruised is the last thing I want to see,” he commented lowly, thumb brushing over a particularly large splotchy patch of green-purple skin on her knee. Guiding her leg higher and higher, his gaze watching hers as he pressed a soft kiss to the skin, as if his lips could heal her. It made gooseflesh burst forth on her legs obviously now. He took in the sight with silent approval.

“Do you ice your legs?” he asked as he lowered her leg to his lap.

“I try,” she admitted, voice trembling from her wooing. “We all do, but when practice or a performance goes over, I can’t ice them until late at night or in the morning.”

He frowned at that. His thumb brushed over her knee again before lifting his hand to grab his icy drink once more. “If you need to ice while we talk, you will,” he insisted. “All I want you is healthy and happy, honey.”

He tutted, eyes glancing aside as if remembering things he didn’t share.

“You need to ice it as soon as the injury happens.” He added. “From now on.”

He raised his glass, finishing his drink. The ice clinked against the crystal as he lowered it to the sofa before he reached inside to grab the ice cube with his bare fingers. Picking up the large ice cube, he pressed it against her bruised skin suddenly. YN jumped against the cold, against the sudden chill that made more goosebumps rise to her skin. Her arms and legs were covered, on alert. Yet he didn’t even flinch as the frost bit at his fingertips.

He hummed, watching as her eyes squinted shut in shock from the cold. As she shivered… maybe in pain. San had smiled, shifting the now-melting ice cube over her large bruise in a slow circling motion.

“It’ll feel better soon,” San reassured.

-

Pain crashed up her legs in an icy cold torment. Stabbing, hot yet chilling pain. Both ankles were in casts, elevated by firmly place pillows, but, in her agony, she shifted this way and that. She couldn’t help the whimpers that overtook her. Like an ocean, she was swallowed up by the pain as she was thrusted awake.

“Oh, angel,” there was a soft, almost sing-song of a voice.

A cool hand brushed over her hot forehead soothingly. In her delirium, she could barely make out his face. Just a blur of familiar slicked hair and familiar eyes. Sweat tumbled down her face; baby hairs sticking to her skin. Tears poured of her flushed cheeks, over-heated and sticky. Everything was blurry. She was all sweaty. He swept them away with deft hands.

Somehow in her whirlwind of pain and tears, she could still smell him despite congestion in her nose.  That tropical aroma that followed him around like Aurora was chasing after him. Hot pineapple sweet and pungent, thick jasmine blossom rotting in the summer sun, the stink of sea salt tangled around her throat. She let out a cry as a particular sharp pain shot up her left leg; she curled inward, moving her legs. It only forced out a wail as they stung with agony. Any movement hurt. How could the pain be that bad? Something had to be wrong. It hadn’t been like this before.

“Yunho.” His name was spoken firmly, almost a bark.

“He’s on this way, Captain,” Yunho’s voice reassured. A hand pushed aside the covers over her feet. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Someone rearranged her legs, whispering apologies as they did so. Her cries made their chest ache.

“She’s on medicine,” San’s voice was a sob. “I gave her it myself.”

“I don’t doubt it,” the soft voice of their Captain cooed to the distressed muscle of the gang. There was a sniffle.

“San, Mingi.” his tone was one of a leader; solid and firm and focused. “Go to Seonghwa; he’ll need you. Keep Wooyoung away.”

He hadn’t stopped caressing her forehead. Her eyes blinked blearily up at him. Full of tears, full of pain, his face remained cool and collected. Almost clinical in the way he looked over her. Pain was no stranger to him.

Yet in her eyes, he looked angelic, she swore. Like something from a Renaissance painting, haloed by the light of the roaring fire. Her delirium painted him in a cherubic way. An angel coming to save her. Protect her as he tugged her into his arms, cradling her broken burning limbs. Soft round cheeks she had loved to press kisses to. She couldn’t process his furrowed brow, his dark eyes. Just her Hongjoong.

“Joong,” she murmured, her voice cracking.

Even now, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’m here,” he reassured, voice loving.

She felt aflame, a woman on fire. A fever crashed through her.

“Hurts.” She whined out.

“I know, I know,” his gentleness felt foreign. He was always gentle with her; why did it feel like a farce? How did she end up here? Her mind was a blur. She heard him bark out another order, another command. “Bring me that damn doctor now! Jongho, do you have it?”

Her throat closed up in a gasp as she trembled in his arms; a sharp stab to her waist was barely felt compared to the pain radiating up her legs. Blink, blink, her eyes could barely make out Hongjoong staring down at her. A look of disappointment, fear, and anger hazed any love for a moment even as she tried to find his name in her mouth. Lips moving in the shapes of his vowels and consonants failingly until exhaustion washed over her once more.

“Joo—n—ng” His nickname faded from her consciousness as she felt her entire body, sluggishly slow, fall into a honeyed rest.

“I’ve got you, angel. It’ll feel better soon. I promise.”