#raw nerves ch 3

[mariasont]

Our Minds Entwined-----------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8, ch 9, ch 10, ch 11

MDNI-----------------------------------------------------------------

pairings: aaron hotchner x oc x spencer reid

summary: in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest, youngest member

warnings: wet dream between 2 men, evelyn needs to be spayed or smth, fainting, creepy men

A/N: hiiiii gorgeous, lovely, beautiful human beings thank you so much for the support on this fic, I LOVE YOU ALL!!!! <3 let me know if you want to be adding to the tag list

ALSOOOOOO my requests are open for aaron hotchner and spencer reid!!! I would love to write some drabbles/one shots so shoot me a message! <3

HAPPY READING!

Chapter Ten:

Gasping for air, Evelyn emerged from the depths of her dream, the vividness of it lingering like a second reality. She swiftly pressed her back against the headboard, her fingers weaving through her sweat-soaked hair. The dream's details were smeared in her memory, but the visceral ache it left behind was crystal clear. Hotch and Spencer--their hands that were insistent upon her, their mouths that explored every inch of her. She scolded herself for the image--what is wrong with her? She felt like a pervert, imagining both men in such a way.

Her legs brushed against the fabric of the sheets, her actions freezing as she became aware of the dampness enveloping between her legs. Her mind turned to Spencer--his hair a soft curtain on her skin. His hands, always in motion, leaving no fragment of her unexplored. His mouth, the way his tongue felt inside her.

Evelyn's fingers instinctively started to play with the waist band of her pajama shorts, moving closer to the swollen bundle of nerves. Her thoughts drifted to Hotch--his shoulders and build, how easy it would be for him to overpower her, and she secretly wished he would. This was crazy, she thought. Despite her mind's protests, her fingers continue to wander, tracing gentle circle against her clit. 

She let out a puff of air, her back arching slightly off the mattress as light began to seep into the room. She thought of Hotch positioned behind her, showing her no mercy, finally pounding her attitude out of her. She pictured Spencer before her, his cock working its way into her mouth. Her fingers pushed into her gently, her gasps coming out short and desperate as she pictured her own fingers being replaced by Hotch's.

The imagine coaxed a moan from her, a sound that seemed too loud in her own ears. The knock at the door was abrupt, freezing her in place, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. Evelyn's heart hammered against her ribs, panic seizing her as she scrambled out of bed. Her feet barely touched the carpet as she rushed to the door, flinging it open with a force that echoed through the silent hallway.

Hotch, a study in precision, stood there--impeccable in a charcoal-gray suit that made her want to drool. And his tie, a navy silk affair that lay flat against the white shirt, hinted at meticulous order. But it was his face that betrayed him--a subtle furrow of his brow, the pinch of annoyance around his mouth that suggested he'd been waiting longer than he card to admit.

Evelyn's heart did a clumsy somersault, her cheeks betraying her, turning a shade that rivaled a traffic light. One-half of her fantasy--or rather, the less enthusiastic version--stood there. "Hotch," she managed, "what are you doing here? And, um, what time is it?"

Evelyn's heart-shaped pajamas clung to her, the soft fabric revealing more than it concealed. Her cheeks flushed with urgency, mirrored to disarray of her hair. The hallway light caught the faint smattering of freckles across her nose, delicate constellations that bloomed when she eschewed makeup. 

Hotch's annoyance ebbed, replaced by a reluctant fondness. What had she been doing? Hotch's gaze lingered on her--no makeup, no artifice--just raw, unfiltered beauty. He was unsettled by how much the sight affected him. The flush in her cheeks, the softness in her eyes. 

Hotch willed his demeanor to snap back into place, his voice clipped. "Evelyn," he said, each syllable a warning. "I've called you five times. We need to be downstairs in 15 minutes."

Her pulse raced, and her tongue tripped over her words. "Oh, shoot, sorry," she blurted out, her voice echoing in the narrow hallway. The disheveled room behind her seemed to mock her--sheets tangled, alarm clock blinking accusatorily. "My alarm must've never gone off." She gestured toward the half-open door. "Do you want to come in and wait? I promise I'll be super speedy."

Evelyn's cheeks were ablaze, a canvas of mortification. She could feel Hotch's scrutiny lingering, a laser beam that could dissect her every flaw. She ushered him inside, the hallway suddenly too narrow, too confining. She slipped into the bathroom and shed the pajamas. Her fingers waged a silent war with buttons and zippers, a clumsy ballet of haste. Each click and snap was a resounding echo of the dream that clung to her thoughts. She tried to shove the images aside, to bury them under layers of fabric, but it seemed inescapable. Because now, he stood outside, annoyance etched in every line of his impeccable suit.

"Hotch," she began as she waved at the alarm clock, its digital numbers blinking like a guilty accomplice. She pulled her hair into a hasty ponytail, the elastic snapping against her skin. "I'm convinced my alarm clock is broken." The words tumbled out, a desperate attempt at distraction. "But hey," she continued, her eyes meeting his, "I think I just won that bet--the one where the team bet you'd never get mad at me." Her lips curved into a half-teasing smile, her nose scrunching at the action. "Soft spot, my friend."

Hotch said nothing as his gaze followed the hurried sway of her movements. Stepping closer, he surveyed the bed's solitary disarray amidst the room's order. The blankets lay in a tangle of turmoil. How much does she move in her sleep? he wondered. His eyes honed in on a small corner of fabric peeking out from under the pillows.

There, nestled among the tangled sheets, sat a small teddy bear, its pink bow a splash of color against the tan. Hotch's expression softened as he lifted the plush toy, turning it over in his hands, a smile tugging at his lips. Of course she slept with a stuffed animal. 

The warmth of mortification spread across Evelyn's face. "Oh, um," she mumbled with a forced chuckle, plucking the bear from Hotch's grasp. "That's my... strategic sleep ally. Because, you know, every good agent needs a backup. Totally standard-issue."

"We'll circle back to your... bedtime tactics," he said with a hint of a smirk. "For now, conference room. Let's go."

Evelyn and Hotch made their way down to the conference area. The room hummed with anticipation, bathed in the soft glow of fluorescent lights. Rows of round tables faced a raised stage, where a large screen displayed the conference logo. Agents in crisp suits mingled with academics in tweed jackets. Some wore glasses, other carried tablets or leather-bound notebooks.

A spark of excitement ignited within Evelyn, her gaze darting from face to face, recognizing those who were like celebrities of their field. 

"Hotch, do you see who that is?" Evelyn's voice was on of awe as she nudged Hotch, her gaze fixed on the figure across the room. 

Hotch's eyes followed her line of sight and landed on a distinguished-looking woman who, upon noticing Hotch, raised her hand in a casual wave. "I do," Hotch confirmed with a nod, acknowledging the silent greeting with a subtle nod of his head.

Evelyn's mouth fell open slightly. "You're actually so cool," she said, the words slipping out before she could filter them, a smile spreading across her face.

Hotch's mouth twitched in a semblance of a smile. "I'm going to choose to not take that as an insult," he replied, his eyebrow arching in mock offense. "Stay here, I'm going to check us in."

Evelyn acknowledged Hotch's departure with a quick nod and an 'okay boss'. She was still orienting herself in the conference's bustling atmosphere when two familiar faces approached from the crowed. Mr. Weller, his suit a bit worn at the elbows, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a practiced gesture. Dr. Reeves, his hair slightly disheveled, was animatedly discussing some policy change in data privacy. He quickly roped Evelyn into the conversation who listened intently, interjecting only with thoughtful nods.

Evelyn's muscles relaxed slightly as Hotch returned to her side. His hand rested momentarily on her back, a professional gesture by all accounts, but Evelyn couldn't help but feel a spark of awareness ignite. She fastened the name tag he handed her with fingers that suddenly seemed less steady, the metal's chill doing little to dispel the soft heat that had settled between her shoulder blades. 

As Professor Lewis swept in, she bypassed Evelyn's attempted greeting as if it and her were invisible. The professor's laser focus cut her off with surgical precision as it landed on Hotch. 

Her voice carried an urgent edge as she addressed Hotch. "Aaron, can I pick you brain about something?"

Evelyn's greeting hung suspended, and a familiar twinge of frustration pricked at her--the kind that came from being eclipsed again by the professor's selective attention. With a quick nod, Hotch vanished into the crowd with Professor Lewis, leaving Evelyn grappling with a sudden, unsettling sensation in her chest. She exchanged pleasantries with the two men before her, their words weaving through her consciousness without taking hold. 

Her gaze, however, was glued to the sight of Hotch and the professor, their heads bowed in earnest conversation. A surge of jealously, uninvited and irrational, twisted inside her. It was a confusing betrayal of emotion, given her casual relationship with Spencer. But she realized if it was Spencer in that Hotch's position, she'd feel the same about the professor, if not worse. The dream from last night was the culprit, she decided.

Left alone as Dr. Reeves and Mr. Weller departed, Evelyn sank into the chair at her table. The sight of Professor Lewis, so at ease with Hotch, gnawed at her. Why did it bother her so much? Maybe she just needed a nap.

As if summoned by the sheer force of her thoughts, Hotch appeared, his presence a sudden weight beside her. The question erupted from Evelyn before she could stop herself. "What did she want?"

His eyes took on a discerning quality, the subtle narrowing revealing his assessment. "She asked for my opinion on a theory."

"Hmm," came a soft murmur from Evelyn, her lips briefly pressing together in contemplation.

Hotch's gaze drilled into hers, probing. "What?"

"Nothing," Evelyn dismissed, her shoulders lifting in an indifferent shrug.

The morning's panel had unfolded with a deceptive ease, allowing Evelyn to shelve her simmering jealously. Yet, as the shadows shifted to signal the afternoon's approach, her anxiety crept back, an unwelcome companion. 

In a separate room, she paced, her fingers tracing over her notes, each word etched into memory. "You've got this, Evelyn," she murmured, a mantra against the fatigue that seemed to drape over her. "You are prepared. You are intelligent."

Evelyn's grasp to the chair became white-knuckled as a sudden dizziness swept over her, unannounced and unwelcome. The room swirled into a blur, the ground beneath her seemingly shifting as her breathing became uneven and rapid. She looked up to see Hotch. Caught mid-affirmation and near-collapse, a rush of warmth flooded Evelyn's face. She righted herself with a silent plea, willing the black dots to vanish from her vision. 

His eyes locked onto hers with a piercing intensity, studying her--the subtle shift in her posture, the way her hands trembled. "Evelyn," he said, reaching out to steady her with a firm hand. "What's wrong?"

Her words stumbled out, a clumsy cascade of denial. "Just nerves," she claimed, offering a faltering smile and a brittle laugh to conceal the tightening in her throat. Hotch's steady, searching gaze didn't waver, his disbelief hanging silently in the air.

His voice held a note of insistence. "Have you eaten today?"

Evelyn blinked, realization dawning. "It slipped my mind," she admitted. 

Hotch's next words were lost on her as darkness seeped into her field of view. She felt the world tilt, her knees buckling as she was swiftly cradled in a secure, urgent grasp. Blinking away the disorientation, Evelyn found herself cradled in Hotch's panic-stricken gaze. His eyes were wide with alarm, his cool facade shattered as his hand hovered over 911.

"Hotch," she managed, her voice soft but her sarcasm intact. "Impeccable timing as always."

There was a softening in Hotch's gaze, a subtle shift from concern to mild exasperation. "Evelyn," he chided softly, his finger's tap on her hip a punctuation to his words. "You're anemic. You can't just skip meals like they're optional."

Evelyn's effort to sit up sent the room into a dizzying tailspin, each movement threatening to yank her back down. They found themselves grounded in an intimate proximity--she, half-laying in a disoriented haze, and he, crouching by her side, arms wrapped around her in a secure hold, one hand cupping her head to shield her from the hard ground, the other laid upon her waist. 

"Didn't event cross my mind," she confessed, her voice a fragile thread. "Been so busy."

Hotch's hand emerged from his pocket, clutching a compact, foil-wrapped package. "Here," he urged, extending the snack towards her with a gentle authority. "It's good for anemia."

She squinted at the package. "Do you always carry this around?" she questioned, her voice tinged with genuine surprise.

He nodded, no-nonsense. "Yes."

Inside, her heart did an unexpected leap, touched by his silent care.

"You're a sap, Hotch," she teased, her voice light. "Who knew? I bet you've got a whole stash in that suit."

His eyes bore into hers, and for a moment, the room dissolved and the air thickened. And despite her playful words, Evelyn's fingertips tingled, her skin hyper-aware of every pore. The anemia-induced weakness faded into insignificance all because of a stupid snack he carried around. A snack he had thought to carry for her, based on a single, fleeting confession. 

"Stop talking and eat."

And so, she did.

Evelyn's body protested with each step towards her room. She'd argued, of course--pleaded about missing her speech, about the importance of being present. But Hotch, with his hands guided her with a careful touch, wore an expression that left no room for debate. The lines of his face were drawn tight, a clear reflection of the worry that silenced her objections. 

"Rest," was a firm directive, and though Evelyn balked, she ultimately yielded to his authoritative concern. Promptly, room service materialized at her door, courtesy of her favorite unit chief. The tray was abundant with foods rich in iron, and she'd devoured it with an eagerness, only pausing for sips of water.

As the sun made its descent beyond the horizon, its lingering rays casted a golden spotlight on the outdoor hot tub. Evelyn's silhouette blurred against the steam rising from the water, her skin kissed by the fading light. Her hair, a cascade of disobedient curls, crowned her head and softened the contours of her face. The night air nipped playfully at her heated skin, a refreshing counterpoint to the liquid warmth that welcomed her as she dipped into the water.

As her gaze lifted, her room came into view--the curtains drawn, the soft glow of lamplight seeping through. But then she turned her head, and there he was.

Hotch stood on his balcony, his gaze fixed on her. His expression was inscrutable, and for a moment, Evelyn's heart raced. She could sense it--the unspoken command that she should be in her room resting. But her half-wave was genuine, a flicker of happiness at seeing him. He acknowledged her with a curt nod. Evelyn's gaze returned to her book, her fingers tracing the book's creases, her focus slipping. 

A stranger's appearance disrupted her quietude. He had a tailored physique, the kind that hinted at gym memberships and expensive cologne. His eyes, though--too probing--made her uneasy. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, easing into the water.

Evelyn's responses were polite, but she kept her distance. Yet, he persisted, inching closer with every comment. Evelyn's spine prickled, a frosty warning that crawled from nape to tailbone. The book now lay abandoned on the tub's edge. The distant city lights blurred as she feigned interest, but his nearness--his breath, his questions--made her skin crawl. 

Evelyn's eyes scanned the balcony, hoping to see the reassuring figure of her unit chief. But it was empty--the moon's glow casting eerie shadows on the tiles. 

And then, as if summoned, he materialized. Hotch stood there, his expression unreadable. The moon's glow painted his features--sharp jawline, a hint of stubble. But it was the swimsuit--a sinuous second skin--that stole her breath. The fabric of his shorts traced every contour, leaving little to imagination. Evelyn's gaze lingered on his chest, the hair that spread across of it, the rugged masculinity that defied office walls. Her mouth went dry, pulse racing.

"There you are, babe," she murmured, her tone laced with artificial sweetness. Her pulse raced, her eyes seeking Hotch's with an intensity that begged him to read between the lines.

Confusion creased Hotch's forehead as he processed the scene, his eyes flitting from Evelyn to the stranger, the gears turning. "Sorry honey," he said, his voice a low rumble as he approached the water's edge. "Had to take a call. Work stuff."

The word 'honey' lingered in the air, sweet and potent, leaving Evelyn lightheaded. She felt a flutter in her chest, a realization dawning that with the use of such a word, she'd gladly drawn in paperwork if he asked.

With Hotch's arrival, the water created ripples that reached Evelyn. His eyes, deep and searching, locked onto hers with an immediacy that bridged the distance between them. As he settled next to her, the subtle heat of his presence enveloped her. She nestled against him, her whispered explanation cut off by his lips grazing her ear. 

"I know," he murmured, his breath sending shivers down her spine. Evelyn's heart stumbled over itself, a drumbeat out of sync. "You look so good tonight, honey," he announced, ensuring the words reached beyond their intimate circle. His eyes darted to the supple swell of her breasts on display, a quick, silent exchange that left her heart fluttering wildly, even as her mind reminded her it was just an act.

The man's eyes widened, bouncing from Evelyn and Hotch like a pinball. "Oh," he stuttered, a hint of embarrassment coloring his tone, "I didn't realize you were with someone."

"Yeah," Evelyn said, her voice a soft murmur as she settled into the curve of Hotch's lap, her ass planted firmly against his front. The warmth of his body seeped through the thin veil of her bathing suit, causing her cheeks to set flame. Her heart skipped, reveling in the proximity she knew was off-limits. Hotch's arms, both protective and dangerously intimate, encircled her waist.

"This is my husband," she introduced, the word foreign on her tongue. "Aaron, meet...?" His first name rolled of her tongue, a sweet liberty taken in a moment of pretense, as she left the space open for the stranger to introduce himself. 

The barest hint of a smile threatened to disrupt the stoic lines of Hotch's mouth, a silent admission of pleasure of the sound of his name from Evelyn's lips. The intimacy of the act, hidden behind the guise of necessity, wasn't lost on him. He should have been irked by the ruse, yet he found himself savoring the moment. He cleared his throat, a quiet struggle for detachment, even as her voice echoed in his ears.

"Nathan."

Hotch extended his hand with a blend of authority and subtle warning, introducing himself, "nice to meet you," with a tone that cloaked none of his conviction.

Meanwhile, Evelyn's touch traced a path over his chest, a touch that betrayed the unfamiliarity of the act. Her other hand tangled gently in the hair at his nape, a tender exploration that drew an involuntary shiver from him. 

Hotch's voice was hushed against her ear. "You're laying it on thick," he murmured, his breath a warm caress that belied the sternness of his words. His grip on her hip tightened imperceptibly.

Evelyn's lips quirked, a silent acknowledgement of her tactic. "Necessary," she whispered back, her voice a playful lilt. "For my safety." 

Nathan persisted, undeterred. "So, what are you two down here for?"

Hotch's face remained impassive. "A work conference," he stated, the intensity of his eyes fixed on Evelyn.

"So you both work together?" Nathan asked, his tone probing. "Is that how you met?"

Evelyn's smile unfurled like a victory flag. "Oh, yes," she purred, his voice dripping with faux innocence. "He's my boss actually--totally inappropriate, I know. But bless him, the poor man never stood a chance from the moment he laid eyes on me. He just couldn't help himself. It was a HR disaster, of course, but it all worked out."

Hotch's brow furrowed in disapproval, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, curling into a reluctant grin. "That's true," he conceded, his voice gruff. "She's... something else, a handful to say the least."

"That's what hands are for!"

Nathan fidgeted uncomfortably as he gave the couple a tight-lipped smile. "Well, I ought to head out," he declared, darting glances between Evelyn and Hotch. "Aaron, you've hit the jackpot, my man."

Hotch's voice was tight, barely containing his exasperation. "No doubt," he managed, "I'm living the dream."

Once Nathan had disappeared, Evelyn leaned closer, her voice a soft, playful murmur. "Guess I owe you one," she teased. "You really sold that doting husband role."

Hotch's response was a single raised brow, his face a mask of feigned solemnity. "Necessary," he echoed, the word rolling of his tongue with a hint of irony. "For your safety."

"You caught the weird vibes he was giving off, right?" she prodded, her elbow gently jabbing his side. "I mean, talk about strange, huh?"

"You're like a magnet for guys like that," Hotch observed, his mouth curving into a half-smile "but, yes, you made the right call."

Her grin was infectious. "Always do," she said with a wink. "You know we make a pretty good team, don't you think? Maybe we should look into undercover work."

"A good team, yes," Hotch agreed, his tone dry. "But undercover? I'd have to start practicing my 'shushing' gestures now."

"Aaron Hotchner, did you just make a joke? Where's my notebook?" Evelyn's giggle rang out, loud and unrestrained as she clutched his shoulders. "And if I talk too much, it's only to balance out your brooding silence."

Her laughter was a living thing, wrapping around Hotch, nudging at the corners of his usually impassive facade. The sheer delight in her voice, planted a seed of contemplation in Hotch, a consideration that maybe, just maybe, a joke here and there wouldn't be such a bad thing, especially if it elicited such a reaction from her.

For a fleeting moment, a genuine, toothy smile flashed across Hotch's face, an uncommon display that he quickly concealed with a downward shake of his head, not wanting to boost her ego any more than necessary. 

"You know, aren't you supposed to be resting up in your room?" 

Evelyn's gaze lingered on him, savoring the rarity of his wide smile. She couldn't help but marvel at the sight and it stirred in her an urge to see it again and again.

"I don't know, Hotch," Evelyn replied, her voice as light as the air around them. A stray lock of hair drifted across her face, and she huffed it away with a puff of breath. "I'm quite content right here."

Hotch raised an eyebrow, disbelief playing on his words. "Oh, really?"

Suddenly, Evelyn's casual demeanor crumbled, replaced by a flustered clarity as she realized her position, perched unceremoniously upon his lap. "Oh, um," she murmured, her voice trailing off into a stammer as a warm flush of embarrassment spread across her face. "I mean, not in an inappropriate way! That came out wrong, sir. I just meant the hot tub is relaxing--like a warm hug for my muscles. Not that I'm hugging you. I mean, I am, but not intentionally. It's just the--"

The shrill ring of Hotch's phone sliced through the air, a timely interruption to Evelyn's frenzied monologue. He leaned subtly to the side, his hand extending towards the intrusive device, his movements fluid and composed. Meanwhile, Evelyn's departure from his lap was anything but graceful; her cheeks burned with a fiery blush as she mumbled an apology, her limbs betraying her as she hastily disentangled herself.

"Sorry," she stammered, her words trailing off into the chaos of her movement. "I'll just--"

With a simple lift of his hand, Hotch stilled her spiraling apologies, his attention shifting seamlessly to the caller on the line. Evelyn perched beside him, her cheeks still painted with the flush of embarrassment, feeling the residual heat from their embrace. His voice was the epitome of calm and control, his gaze lingering on her as he spoke into the phone.

"Hotchner," he announced into the phone, his voice a steady command. Evelyn breath steadied, her hands playing at her bikini strings as she willed calm to wash over her. The call ended with a decisive click, and she tensed anticipating his next words. "We have a case. We're going to meet the team in Somerville, Massachusetts."

NEXT

taglist: @aceofspades190 @nonamevenus @lukesaprince @doigettokeepyou @tequilya

[fivestar-outlaw]

New Horizons (Park Seonghwa) (Ch. 4)

Chapter 4: Dreaming [Final Chapter]

Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Fem!Reader

Words: 16.5K+ (OOPS)

Warning(s): Discussion of insecurities, some swearing, Ateez is a menace (lovingly) to reader and Hwa.

SMUT (18+) WARNINGS: Multiple orgasms, oral (M/F receiving), a hint of cockwarming, condoms and birthcontrol are used (not sure if this is needed here, but i know some people enjoy reading characters hitting it raw), PiV penetration, cumshot??? (i dont know if thats the correct term for what happens LMAO). I think thats it here.

A/N: FINALLY CHAPTER 4 IS HERE. Life kept throwing curveballs but I came through!! I. Love. This. Chapter. SM. A lot went into it and its just fluffy, silly fun time with some spice. I originally was going to write a smut scene for the epilogue but it just works here. also apologies if it isnt good, im a lil rusty with smut writing. ANYWAYS enjoy! <3

Reader is implied to be living in the US bc uh TIMEZONES ARE FUCKY and i didnt realize how reliant i was on mine (PST) when looking up KST

Summary: Attempting an all-nighter while playing Animal Crossing alongside your bias, you didn't expect your turnip prices to be such a high amount... nor did you expect Park Seonghwa to actually accept your offer to sell his turnips on your island.

Series Masterlist | Navigation

"Can you stop pacing?" Jongho sighed, watching Seonghwa going back and forth in the living space of the MinSanHwa dorm. Everyone in Ateez were currently residing there, waiting for your arrival in this somewhat warm afternoon.

He felt confident with you coming over. He was excited and ready to start laying down hints about his feelings and hopefully catch any signs from you. But the second they got the text from their manager and you that you'd been picked up from the airport, Seonghwa was up on his feet nervously spot cleaning and pacing. He felt confident at the start of the day, but now? He was on edge.

"What if she suddenly doesn't want to see me?" The eldest asked out loud, feeling anxiety creeping up his spine. "What if she'll not want to stay with me then?"

"Well, she'll still want to see me and stay with me then." Wooyoung teased. Seonghwa shot him a glare.

"Not helping, Woo." Mingi hissed to the younger male. "What happened to the confidence you had earlier?"

"I don't know why I am freaking out this bad." The eldest groaned and started pacing quicker.

"Hwa, you should sit down. Pacing isn't going to help your nerves." San suggested, getting up from his spot on the couch. He gently grasped Seonghwa's arms and pulled him over to take the spot he once inhabited. The younger male made him sit and gave him a reassuring squeeze to one of his arms.

"(Y/N) is just as excited and probably just as nervous to meet you too." Hongjoong attempt to reassure. The eldest nodded, taking a deep breath, as a smile grew on his face.

"Thank you, guys. I am feeling a little less stressed now."

"And if you two need San and I gone, just give us a heads up and we will bunk with the others." Mingi cheekily grinned. Wooyoung bursted out laughing, with San and Yuhno chuckling. Honjoong, Yeosang, and Jongho had a scandalized look before they too laughed along.

"Why would we- Oh my god." Seonghwa groaned loudly. Everyone smiled at flustered expression on their oldest friends face all while Mingi looked proud.

A series of rhythmic knocks had the room go silent.

All of Ateez looked at Seonghwa, who simply stared at the front door with wide eyes. No one moved a muscle. Wooyoung, who was sitting next the eldest male, practically pushed Seonghwa to his feet. He gulped and approached the door. Taking in a deep breath, he turned the several locks and opened the door.

There you were, with a half drank beverage in one hand and your phone in the other. Your suitcase rested just behind you and your carry on hung over your left shoulder. You wore clothes comfortable for travel yet still looked as good as ever. Neither of you spoke. You both just stared at each other.

"(Y/N)!" Hongjoong's voice snapped the two of you out of your trances. He walked through the threshold and grabbed your suitcase with a grin. "Come inside."

"Hey everyone!" You smiled walking into the dorm, waving. All of Ateez stood up from their spots with wide smiles. Wooyoung was bouncing in his spot; San, Mingi, and Yuhno excitedly waved; Yeosang and Jongho looked calm, though one could easily discern some nervousness in their glances; and Hongjoong went and set aside your luggage so it was out of the way for now.

"(Y/N)..." Seonghwa's soft voice stole your attention. Before you could speak he pulled you into a tight embrace. You easily melted into him, the smell of his cologne and the warmth of his body invading your senses. You immediately wrap your arms around him just as tight and you could hardly hear the faint awws from the others.

"It's good to see you in person, Hwa." You whisper.

"Likewise." He slowly moved away, though kept his hands resting on your shoulders.

"Stop hogging her, hyung!" Wooyoung was almost instantly right by your side with a pout on his face. He removed Seonghwa's hands from your shoulders like a child and once they were off you, a big grin broke out on Woo's face. "We are so happy you're here!" He placed his hands on your cheeks, squishing your face, before pulling you into a hug.

Soon enough, everyone was around you. Each member took turns greeting you and pulling you into a hug. Seonghwa couldn't help but smile at the friendliness between you and the others. Even Jongho gave you a very brief hug with a gummy grin on his face.

"It's almost surreal being here with you guys." You admitted, wide eyed, looking at each one. Although, your gaze lingered on Seonghwa's form more so than the others. "It feels like just yesterday I invited Hwa to sell turnips on my island."

"Yeah, and now he won't ever stop talking about you." Yeosang teased with an almost deadpan expression, which soon melted into a smile.

"You all live to embarrass me." Hwa rolled his eyes while fighting the urge to smile himself.

"Not to further embarrass you, or you (Y/N), but we should probably settle sleeping arrangements. I assume your staying in our dorm." San inquired.

"You can always stay with me." Wooyoung suggested, leaning against you.

"I figured I would be taking the couch." You shrug.

"No, you can have my bed. I'll stay on the couch." Seonghwa asserts.

"Hwa, it's your bed."

"(Y/N), your our guest." Hongjoong interjected. "You should sleep on the bed."

"He is the idol. He should be well rested and the best shape, especially if you guys are practicing and learning new choreography and he can't do that if he isn't able to sleep comfortably."

"Ah, well, you aren't wrong there."

"Joong." Hwa gave him an incredulous look.

"You guys could always take turns." Yuhno suggested with a quiet chuckle.

"You both could always just share the bed." Mingi interjects with a cheeky look on his face. That resulted in a light smack to the back of his head from Hongjoong. Mingi yelped and glared at Joong.

"Seonghwa and I can figure it out when we get there. I have a feeling we will be here all day." You say, feigning slight exasperation. "We talked briefly about ideas of what to do, but now that we are here..."

"Well, we would love to bring you to the dance studio while you stay." Yuhno smiled.

"And I asked my vocal coach, he said it was alright for you to listen in on a practice if you still want to." Jongho beamed.

"We can also take you places for sight-seeing and to grab food. We will have to be careful and go in small groups after practice but it should be fun. We have a photoshoot Thursday, which you're welcome to join us for." Hongjoong added. "There are limits as to what we can do outside the dorms and the KQ building, but overall we want to spend time with you."

"We all have Switch's too, so don't think about playing only Animal Crossing with him." Woo playfully glared at you and Seonghwa. This had the others wanting to already play games like Mario Kart or Smash Bros with you.

After a day of playing different party games, laughing at how competitive each of the guys were, and having delicious takeout from one of their favorite places, the nine of you were crowded around the tv in the MinSanHwa dorm. You decided on what movie to watch via rock, paper, scissors; the winner got to pick the movie and sat out from the rest of the game.

You won the first pick. You decided on a movie you enjoyed that you have been meaning to rewatch. San won next and he picked out a film no had seen before. Yeosang was after him and decided on a classic Korean film that you hadn't watched. Now Yuhno's choice was playing, which was Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse.

You were practically forced to sit on the couch, right in between Seonghwa and San, while the others occupied desk chairs brought out from either San, Mingi, or Seonghwa's rooms or the floor. They insisted it was because you were the guest, but Ateez really wanted to make sure you and Seonghwa were seated next to each other for movie time.

After all, operation 'Hwa+Y/N' (Wooyoung's idea) was officially set in motion the second you knocked on the door. It was their way of helping you and Seonghwa to hopefully confessing to one another.

It was midway through the film when you started feeling like you were about to fall asleep. Lingering drowsiness had been present since Yeosang's movie but you were able to keep it at bay. Now, it felt like you were struggling hard to keep your eyes open. Travel exhaustion and your sleep schedule now being thrown off further must have finally caught up. You felt your breathing start to slow as you couldn't keep your eyes open any longer.

Seonghwa's eyes widened when felt weight on his shoulder. Craning his head, his face softened and his heart fluttered at the sight of your head resting on his shoulder. He couldn't help the large smile on his face as he stared, not paying any attention to the movie.

"Aww." Wooyoung cooed softly. He held up his phone and leaned away from you and Hwa to snap a few pictures. 

"Send me those." The eldest murmured. Wooyoung nodded and made sure to send them to Hwa. He also sent them to the group chat he created without you or the oldest male he lovingly named the ship name he and Yuhno coined for you and Hwa.

"Here, I'll pause it-" Yuhno lifted the remote to pause the movie but Seonghwa cut him off.

"Let her sleep through the rest of it." He kept his voice low as to not wake you.

"You just don't want her off you, hyung." Jongho teased. Hwa simply rolled his eyes and focused his eyes on the screen. He would be lying, though, if he were to say the rest of his attention was focused in on you. He wanted nothing more than to place a chaste kiss to your hairline and interlock his fingers with yours, and he almost would have if he wasn't keenly aware of his friends not-so-subtly watching him.

When the credits for the movie started playing the tv was shut off. Everyone awake except Seonghwa got up from their spots and stretched, a few yawned in tandem. San and Mingi started moving their desk chairs back into their rooms. Seonghwa blinked back the sleepiness creeping up on him as he ever-so-slightly shifted, reaching over with his free hand. He gently tapped and shook you as he called out your name.

"Hmmm?" You mumbled, your eyes slowly opening. You lazily raise your head from his shoulder but shift your body closer to his. If you weren't half-awake you would have caught how flushed his ears were becoming. "Damn. Did I sleep through the movie?"

"Just half way through."

"All the excitement and traveling must of finally caught up to me." You gingerly move away from Hwa, much to his disappointment, and lift your arms about your head. Your stretched them and your spine as a big yawn escaped your mouth. "We never did figure out sleeping arrangements."

"Seonghwa-hyung, you can have my bed and (Y/N), you can have his for the stay." San smiled as he came back into the living area. "I'll stay with one of the others."

"San-"

"You guys can't argue against me on this." He held up his hand, effectively cutting you and Seonghwa off, and eyed the rest of the group. "Who am I bunking with first?"

"You can stay in my bed tonight, Sannie. I have some work to do anyways." Hongjoong offered. "Oh, by the way, we are going to be heading out early tomorrow for practice, (Y/N)."

"Sounds good. I can't wait. Thanks for," Your own yawn interrupted you, making the others faintly chuckle, "the heads up."

You slowly stand up from the couch alongside Hwa and start to make your way to your bags, but the more awake Seonghwa beat you to it. He lifted your carry-on over one of his shoulders and already started moving the suitcase towards his room. You simply roll your eyes and smile before bidding the others goodnight.

"As you know I got the smallest room but its still nice." Hwa said as he set your things down near the end of his bed. "All I ask is just make the bed each morning and be careful around those." He gestured to his display cases of his Lego figures, which he had lovingly showed you many times over video calls. "You seem like you're about to pass out. Do you need anything before you sleep?"

"I think I am good for now, thank you Hwa." You smile. He gives you a soft smile and turns to leave but you stop him. "Wait, can I... can I have another hug before bed?"

"You don't have to ask, you know." Hwa gingerly wrapped his arms around you. One of his hands rested on your upper back while the other found purchase on the back of your head. You took a deep breath and held him close. It was a warm hug that lasted for a good moment. You both slowly pulled away.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, (Y/N)." He exited his room, closing the door.

You exhale and quickly got changed. You quickly exit the room to the bathroom to brush your teeth. When finished you promptly went back to Hwa's room and pulled back his covers, slipping into the soft bedding. The mattress was extremely comfortable and as you nuzzled your face into the pillow, you smiled and drifted off to sleep.

---

It has been a couple of days since you had arrived and its been a joy. You've gotten to try different foods and snacks with Ateez and got to have a tour of the KQ building. You even got to meet some of  BBTrippin briefly which was amazing.

You mostly were with Ateez when you went to the building, just like now. You were currently sitting on the floor of one of the dance rooms, sipping on a drink you and Wooyoung went to get in the canteen area. The boys were all dancing to older choreography before they started working on their newer songs.

You could feel the floor shake when they danced Hala Hala, which made you quietly giggle.

It was something else seeing them dance in person. Your eyes wandered to each person. You admired how each person moved and danced as if they were on stage performing for thousands. Your eyes stayed on Hwa's form the most. Everyone was extremely skilled in Ateez, but something about his presence while performing drew you in.

When Hala Hala finished, the boys decided to take a five minute break right as the choreographer walked in. Wooyoung and San decided to collapse by you while the others talked to their choreographer.

"What did you think?" Woo asked, practically draping his sweaty self over you.

You grimace, "I think your getting me all sweaty."

"You probably stink too." San teased, poking the younger males arm.

"I do not stink!" Woo gasped while pretending to be offended. His lips formed a pout as he laid down on the floor, resting his head on your lap, his face was towards your stomach. He glanced up to your face. "I don't stink, right (Y/N)?"

"No, you smell like your cologne." You patted his head and chuckled at his behavior. He shifted his head a bit so he could glance at San, letting out a small 'hmph' before returning to his previous position.

San moved himself closer to you and leaned in to talk to you both quietly. "How are you holding up with the whole crush thing?"

"Shh!" You hissed, glancing over to Seonghwa. He was still conversing with the choreographer. San had asked if you had a crush on Hwa when you both went and got snacks together during your first time at KQ. He knew the answer since that phone call Woo had in front of everyone but needed to set it up like he figured it out on his own. You tried to deny it but the knowing smile on his face told you he already knew the answer.

"Have you thought about confessing?" Wooyoung asked.

"I...I thought about doing it sometime over this stay but being in person has made it a bit more intimidating."

"How so?"

"I don't know. I think it makes it feel more real?" Your brows furrowed as you tried explaining the feeling you have been experiencing. "It felt real through our chats and video calls, but now that I am here in person... I feel like it'll hurt more if he-"

"Don't be negative." San gently reprimanded. "Just follow your heart, okay? The right moment will appear so don't ignore it."

"Okay, your right." You exhaled and were about to say more when Hongjoong and the choreographer called everyone to start practicing the new dance. Wooyoung got up with a groan but a big smile on his face. San followed suit and you gave them playful taps to their calves as they walked to the middle of the room.

You look to the mirror wall and you suddenly lock eyes with Seonghwa in the mirror. He gave you a sheepish smile, his ears and cheeks blushing faintly from being caught staring. You give him a reassuring smile and thumbs up, mouthing the word 'fighting'. He bowed his head with a bashful smile before returning eye contact with you, repeating that same word.

The choreographer began teaching them the next steps to Ateez. You watched intently, following the instructors moves and then looking at Ateez mimic him.  You noticed Wooyoung, Mingi, and Yuhno were quick in picking up the new dance. Though, you were aware of how much the choreographer was correcting Hwa today as well. You could see him deflate more and more which would cause him to make more mistakes. You could feel your heart clench when you saw his dejected look.

Two and a half hours of teaching passed. An extended break was called by the instructor for the guys to refill their energy. You got up from the floor and stretched, wincing at how numb and achy you butt and lower back felt. You were about to head out with the others who were going to get snacks and food, but stayed still when you saw Seonghwa wasn't joining. He seemed to be lost in thought as he stared at the hardwood floor.

You took tentative steps towards him. Your chest tightened as you got closer. You slowly reach out and place hand on his bicep. Your touched snapped him out of his stupor. His blinked rapidly before he glanced towards your face.

"Are you okay, Hwa?" You asked softly.

"Yeah... I am." His tone and a smile were anything but convincing. You didn't want to push him but you wanted to make sure he was alright.

"You don't have to tell me what's bugging you. And yes I can tell something is." You smile. "I just wanted to let you know I am here for you. Hwa."

"Thank you." His smile this time was genuine. Although, that smile quickly turned into a frown. "I am just angry with myself for how much I am messing up. I was doing fine yesterday and the day before but today... It's like I can't get the steps or the timing down like the others. I know I can do it but for some reason I am just not getting it."

"I see..." You took a moment to think when an idea came to mind. "Why do you teach me the new stuff yourself? Maybe speaking out loud will help the process and you can catch where you've been having trouble."

"Do you think that will really help?"

"Can't say for certain, Hwa, but it helps me when I get stuck writing essays or doing homework."

"Then lets try it."

You felt sweat drip down your face as you danced the first section of the new choreography with Seonghwa. Your advice did indeed help him. As he went over the steps with you, you saw how his eyebrows would raise on certain steps. His face would brighten each time he taught the counts and steps. He was patient with you, especially since Ateez dances were very intense. When he gave you the counts you noticed him catch an error he had been making beforehand and would proceed to explain it the right way.

Now, he smiled proudly at himself in the mirror at the end of the small practice session while you tried keeping your labored breathing to a minimum. The build up of sweat at your brow made you want to swipe it off with the back of your hand but you resisted. Though you did you feel your heart flutter when you saw how proud Hwa looked about himself.

Seonghwa looked at you and his eyes widened. "Let me get you some water and a towel." He hurriedly went to the edge of the studio and picked up a clean towel from the bench and then the half drank bottle of water he'd been drinking from. He made his way back to you, handing off the water. You expected him to give you the towel.

Instead, his free hand rested on your shoulder while the other gently dabbed your face. You tried your best to mask your shocked expression and hoped he couldn't discern the heat from your face was from his actions and not from the dancing. Seonghwa's touches were gentle as he cleaned your face. You felt your breath hitch when he dragged the towel around your neck.

You couldn't help but stare at him, his face concentrated on dabbing your skin. He eyes flickered to yours which caused his movements to halt. You swore you saw his attention briefly moved to your lips before they were back on your eyes. You both ever-so-slightly move closer to each other and again, his eyes wandered to your lips and neck.

He leaned in, eyes hooded, and you couldn't help but follow along-

"(Y/N)! Hwa!" Wooyoungs loud voice deeply cut through the moment. Instinctively you both moved away from each other and looked to see the younger male carrying in two paper bags. "We brought you guys lunch since you weren't there."

"(Y/N) was helping me out with the new dance. I think I got a good grasp on it now." Hwa quickly went to join his members while you followed along, your throat dry. Both of you missed the pointed glares Yuhno, San, and Jongho sent Wooyoung as they pulled out their phones.

'We told you to wait Woo. They were clearly having a moment!' Yuhno messaged their (Y/N)/Hwa-less group chat. Jongho and San quickly followed up his message with angry cat emotes.

---

It was the day of the photoshoot. Apparently, it was for a big magazine that would come out during promotions for the new album.

You were hustled into the building with the stylists while Ateez went in elsewhere. Tiredness lingered on you while you still adjusted to the time zone difference but you didn't let that stop the excitement. You hardly caught a glimpse of the boys when their manager had you sit in the back corner of the shooting room. He gave you a smiled, handing you a badge that shows your allowed to be there, and placed a chair next you for himself before going off to the dressing room.

You waited for a while until you heard the people working the photoshoot call for the boys. Your eyes widened when you saw them walk out of the room. Every single one of them almost too handsome to be human.

Your attention, though of course, stayed on Seonghwa. He wore a loose, knitted grey sweater that was purposely distressed in some areas. The sleeves were long and reached past his hands but the hem was short, exposing just enough of his stomach. If he were to raise his arms, more of his midriff would be shown. His hair was styled down and loose and his charcoal grey top was matched with a dark belt and blue jeans.

You couldn't stop staring. Seonghwa always looked handsome to you, but this look? It was as if the stylist wanted you to keel over. The whole look made your heart race as you scanned over his figure again. 'Is he aware how hot he looks right now?'

You didn't even realize Seonghwa was watching at you. Your face immediately heated up. You gave him a sheepish smile and look away, an embarrassed warmth spreading through your being at being caught obviously checking him out. You focused on one of the studio lights. 'What a neat brand...' You glance back at him in the corner of your eye and immediately looked back at the light when you saw he was still looking your way.

A small, shy smile grew on Seonghwa's face. There was a mix of feelings within him. He felt bashful his crush was eyeing and admiring him so openly, but he also a sense of pride. His heart beat fast against chest.

Seonghwa always brushed off any thought he had of you loving him back. He never could tell over video calls you were ever admiring him in the way he wanted you to, and despite the small glances he had caught you stealing, he tried not to over think it... which actually was him overthinking it. His past insecurities coming up to tell him he was wrong. That little voice in his head always downplayed it. A part of him believed you wanted to kiss him back in the dance studio. However his internal voice dismissed it.

But now? Now he feels almost certain. This had to be one of those signs the others were telling him. There was no denying the expression you wore... how your eyes trailed over his figure... the way your barely sucked in your bottom lip between your teeth... or the embarrassed look as you put your focus elsewhere when he caught you. His smile turned into a faint smirk.

"What's up with you, hyung?" Wooyoung asked with a raised brow.

"I apologize." Seonghwa said in a low voice, that small smirk still present.

"For what?"

"For always doubting you about (Y/N)'s feelings towards me."

"What finallygave it away?"

"She was checking me out." Seonghwa looked to his friend while crossing his arms over his chest, the bashfulness starting to kick in at what he was about to say. "We also may have almost kissed the other day-"

"What?!" Woo shouted, making a silence wash over the room. He sheepishly smiled and apologized. The two waited until the photoshoot crew was talking again as they got the final lights ready. The rest of Ateez huddled around them with curious gazes. Wooyoung made sure to fill them in quickly before signaling for the eldest to continue.

"Listen. I wasn't sure whathappened then. I just... moved on my own and she leaned in too before you guys came back in." Hwa raised a brow when both Yuhno and San smacked Woo. "But I just watched her blatantly check me out."

"You two havebeen affectionate with each other since she got here." Yeosang notes, soft hums of agreement were heard from the others. "Whether each of you recognize it or not."

Seonghwa nodded slowly to that. His mind recalling all the light touches between you both, the nightly hugs before bed,

"Haven't we been telling you she is into you for how long?" Mingi said while crossing his arms.

"I know. I feel foolish now. I know that feeling of doubt may come back up- and I hope it doesn't because I feel really happy right now- but I do feel sure about it now." The elder sighed.

"What will you do now?" Hongjoong asked

"I haven't thought that far." Seonghwa looked away from his friend.

"Leave it to me, hyung." Woo winked.

"Jung Wooyoung-" Hwa started to protest but the photographer called him up for a few solo shots. The eldest gave Wooyoung a pointed look before making his way to start the shoot. Woo grinned and immediately went over the wait by you. The others followed, both curious and excited to see things finally progressing forward.

You were watching Seonghwa get into position for the first picture they wanted when you saw in the corner of tour eye the rest of Ateez joining you. Wooyoung sat in the managers unoccupied chair and gently bumped you. The rest of the boys were able to grab chairs of their own to join you.

"Oh hey guys." You smile. "You all look great. Thanks for inviting me."

"We appreciate you coming." Jongho smiled.

"I caught you checking out Seonghwa~" Wooyoung said in a sing-song voice, cutting straight to the chase. You were unaware of the lie.

"Woo!" Your eyes widened and you looked to the others.

"(Y/N), you haven't been exactly subtle. Well, at least to us. Hwa is oblivious." Yuhno told you, slightly relieved you never figured out Wooyoung told them back in February.

"And don't take this as the rest of us teasing you like Wooyoung, okay? Because we aren't." San added.

"So not only Seonghwa saw me, but you all did too." You groaned and tilted your head back, closing your eyes as you felt the familiar feeling of embarrassment creep up in your system.

"If it makes you feel any better, he didn't seem to mind it." Woo shrugged. "Anyways that's not the only reason why I came here. I wanted to do a dinner party tonight."

"Dinner party?"

"Yes. After the shoot I want to cook everyone a meal, share some soju, and have fun. I plan on keeping my makeup on a dressing up, and I'll make sure the others will be dressed up as well. You should too."

"Sounds like it would be fun, as long as I get to help."

"You are our guest..." Yeosang tried to argue but it trailed off at the look you gave him.

"I want to help. I think it would be fun to learn from Wooyoung."

Your eyes wandered back to the shoot as the others discussed the dinner plans and who all would go shopping for ingredients.

Your eyes widened when you watched Seonghwa raise he hands up and place them behind his head. The hem of the grey sweater indeed raised up enough to show off more of his waist and stomach.

"Close your mouth, (Y/N)." Woo nudged you, but your eyes stayed on Hwa posing. "You'll catch flies."

---

"Wash the rice and vegetables, hyung." Wooyoung gestured to Hwa, his voice firm. However, he switched to an overly sweet tone when addressing you."(Y/N), my dear, can you start cutting up vegetables when he is done."

You laugh and grab the cutting board. You moved to stand next to Seonghwa so you could easily get ahold of what needs to be chopped. You eyed the overly cutesy apron Woo made him wear. You glanced down at your own, it was simple with a cute cat printed on it.  Seonghwa gently leaned over and bumped you with a smile before setting down a bell pepper for you start cutting.

Hongjoong, Yeosang, and Mingi were in the living area working on different things on their laptops while Jongho, Yuhno, and San say on the barstools at the kitchen island. Mingi also offered to help but Wooyoung said three people in the kitchen was enough.

The close proximity with Seonghwa in this moment had you recalling your stay with them thus far. Small moments of affection from Hwa were really becoming obvious to you.

Thinking back to when he got done with his solo shots, he practically pulled Woo out of the chair next to you and sat down, much to the younger male's and their manager's (who got the chair for himself) dismay. His arm stayed against yours until he had to get up again for the group pictures. When he came back from the dressing room after getting changed into a new outfit and hairstyle, he stood behind you and rested his hands on your shoulders until he was called again.

When you all left the photo studio and were crammed into the large van, Seonghwa had you both in the very backseats with San. You were sat in the middle, away from windows, but he kept himself close to you. He was showing different things on his phone all while leaning against you. This wasn't the first time either. Sitting next to each other while playing Animal Crossing, during a movie, or simply sitting next to each other for mundane things... he'd lean against you whether or not he was aware of it.

Then there were the times you'd be coming back to the dorms. You and Ateez would get back from KQ, he would rest his hand on your upper back whenever everyone loaded into the small elevator up to the dorm floor. He would keep himself close to you, which you assumed at first was due to limited space. However, even when it was just the two of you, he'd stay close with his hand between your your shoulder blades.

And then the dance studio moment. If the others hadn't of came in, you almost swore he would have kissed you and you would have definitely kissed him back. Your mind at first tried playing it off as your imagination but the more you thought about it, the more it seemed likely.

And you were ecstatic.

You had to keep yourself calm as you helped out in the kitchen but the blooming smile on your face gave you away.

"What has you all happy, hmm?" Woo asked quietly. You glance over your shoulder and saw Hwa was conversing with the others at the island.

"Just thinking how much I was a fool."

A smug look came over his face. "Explain."

"Woo..." You whined.

"You have to be specific because I don't know what you mean." He simply shrugged and focused on stirring one of the sauces.

"You were right, I think, about Hwa... I think he likes me."

"You think?" Woo gave you a deadpan look. You smacked his arm, which made him yelp and laugh.

"What's happening over there?" San laughed and grinned at the two of you. Seonghwa sent you both a curious look.

"Nothing, Wooyoung is just being Wooyoung." You sent the younger male a glare to signal he should keep quiet. Thankfully he didn't say anything further but he still held that smug look.

There came a point where Wooyoung didn't need any help further so he shooed you and Hwa out the kitchen. You decided to head back to Hwa's dorm to change into a nicer outfit and to freshen up your appearance. It didn't take you long and you went to the bathroom to go over your appearance in the mirror. You heard the front door close and heard Hwa's door close as well. You couldn't help but smile when you thought of him.

You felt your heart beat quicken as you thought about your feelings and confessing to Hwa. You were sure now he returned your feelings, but now taking that next step seemed daunting. You were also not fond of confessing in front of the others, if you had the courage to confess at all.

You smoothed out your clothes and left the bathroom, only to run right into Seonghwa, who had his hand up as if he were about to knock on the door.

"Oh sorry."

"My bad." You both laughed.

"Wooyoung sent me to get you and grab the soju we have here." Hwa lifted up the bottle of the yogurt flavored soju from the fridge. "You look good."

"You do too." You noticed he also changed his top. You gulped when you saw it was very similar to the grey top he wore at the photoshoot. It was black, not a knitted looking top with a purposely distressed look. The hem wasn't as short and the sleeves weren't as long as the photoshoot top, but it still looked good. His hair was worn down now and his face was bare, having took a quick shower when everyone got back from the photoshoot.

There was awkward silence as you both stared at each other. You felt your phone buzz, which you were sure was one of the guys telling you dinner was ready.

"We should probably get back." Hwa spoke in a soft voice, his eyes never leaving yours as a small smile appeared on his face.

"Y-yeah, we should." You nod. You both quickly left and re-entered Wooyoung, Hongjoong, and Jongho's dorm. You saw the others were already sitting at the table. It looked cramped but there was enough room for everyone and most of the food in the middle. There were two spots open next to one another.

You both took your spots, Yeosang was next to you while Hongjoong was by Seonghwa. Once you both joined, everyone started putting food onto their plates. You felt giddiness for some reason whenever Seonghwa would get food for you when he got his serving. The soju bottles started getting passed around for those that wanted to drink. You decided to partake, hoping it would calm your nerves.

Your very belated revelation had you feeling more at edge around Seonghwa than ever before.

You hadn't realized you were tapping your fingers against your thigh until you felt Hwa's hand clasped around yours. You tensed but relaxed when he gave your hand a light squeeze.

"Are you okay? You seem on edge." He asked as quietly as he could. Everyone else chatted and some were loud, but he wanted to make sure you had some privacy. You appreciated that.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just really happy to be here." You smile and lean against him for a few moments. He unfortunately let go of your hand so you both could eat with ease, but he shifted in his seat so his thigh stayed pressed against yours.

It was getting later in the night now.

You stopped drinking alcohol when you felt a nice buzz. While drinking with your friends sounded fun, you also didn't want to potentially embarrass yourself in front of them. Besides those who weren't as drunk as Hongjoong, San, Mingi, and Wooyoung, who were all flushed in the face and neck, needed to keep an eye on them.

"Sannie isn't that strong of a drinker." Hwa chuckled next to you as you both watched him and Mingi sing loudly to some ballads.

"Hyung you have no room to talk." Yeosang rolled his eyes as he sat next to you. He crossed his arms and rested his head on your shoulder.

"Hwa's a lightweight?" You ask with a smirk, looking to the man in question.

"He gets as bad as Sannie." Yeosang wore a faux pout. "At least San doesn't scream in your face."

"Hey, we were playing a game. Don't make it sound worse to (Y/N)." The eldest grumbled and followed the younger in resting against you. You simply chuckled at their antics.

You nearly busted out laughing when Wooyoung and Hongjoong loudly joined San and Mingi's singing. Their voices were very loud and their singing was slightly slurred. You watched as Wooyoung climbed onto the wooden coffee table, singing his heart out to the room.

"Woo get down before you hurt yourself." Yuhno sighed, approaching the scene.

"Let him perform!" Mingi and San said at the same time.

"I don't want to hear it from the two that got us a jumping ban." Yuhno struggled to get Wooyoung off the coffee table but managed to do so despite the younger one's squirming.

"Ah, he is such a handful even when he is drunk." You heard Jongho say from behind you.

"Glad I stopped when I stopped drinking when I did." You chuckled. "I probably would have been up there with him."

"Oh that would be fun to see." Hwa acted like he was about to get up off the couch. "Should we get more to drink ?"

"I don't want to be yelled at." You scrunch your nose at him teasingly.

"I would never." He places his hand on his chest and faked offense.

"Although I wouldn't mind one more shot from that bottle with the purple cap. That stuff is delicious."

Yeosang decided to get off the couch and grabbed the bottle and three of the shot glasses. He poured you each a glass, the bottle now empty. You tilted back the small cup and down the smooth liquid easily.

Yeosang chose to sit back at the table, leaving just you and the eldest on the couch. You moved in your spot so you could rest your head on Seonghwa's shoulder now. You started to feel tired, likely from the alcohol in your system, but you felt at peace. Well, for the most part. When four men were loudly singing ballads right in front of you, it was hard to actually fall asleep.

"You should get some rest, (Y/N)." Jongho spoke softly. He was resting his arms on the back of the couch where Yeosang was once residing.

"I don't want leave you alone with dealing with the drunks though."

"Don't worry about us. We got this handled." Yuhno grinned. His arms were still around Wooyoung as they swayed to the song playing.

"Alright. I'm heading back over then." You pat Hwa's leg and got up from the couch. You stretch your limbs and start the head over to the door when you noticed Seonghwa got up and was following you.

"I'm tired too." He had a light blush on his cheeks.

You both told everyone goodnight as you went back to the MinSanHwa dorm. You didn't catch how the rest of sober Ateez gave Hwa a thumbs up before the door closed.

"Ugh, I don't want to take off my makeup." You groan as you both walk through the front door. Seonghwa chuckled from behind you as he closed the door.

"Why don't you sit on the couch. I'll be back out." You gave him a questioning look but he was already heading into his room. You sit down on the couch and take in a deep breath. You felt a little more buzzed now that your last shot had been in your system for a bit.

A few minutes pass when Seonghwa came back out from his room. He appeared to have changed into nightwear. In his hand was a bottle of makeup remover and two clean towels. He sat next to you on the couch, his legs crossed as he faced you.

"Hwa, what are you doing?" You ask with a slight chuckle.

"Turn and face me. I'll take off your makeup." You gave him a puzzled look but did as he asked.

"Why do you want to take off my makeup? I have two hands, you know?" Your tone was playful, but there was genuine curiosity there. "You're always taking care of me."

"Is it an issue?"

"No, it isn't."

He uncapped the makeup remover and dabbed it onto one of the face towels. He gestures for you to close your eyes and you do.

"I am about to touch you." He murmured and just a moment later you felt the expected cloth on your face. You felt him start to clean off your forehead first. His fingers of his free hand gently held your jaw as he moved your head when he needed to. His touch was electrifying. "Let me know if I am too rough."

You mumble a response. Both of you sat in silence as he slowly and carefully cleaned your face. Your mind was taken back to that day in the dance studio when he cleaned your face then. It made your heart flutter.

"I like taking care of you." His voice cut through the silence between you two. He carefully started removing your eye makeup. "That's why I wanted to take off your makeup right now."

"Oh." Was all you could say. Your mind swam with different thoughts and feelings, all clouded by your buzz. You gulped and took a deep breath. "Why?"

"You can open your eyes now." You did so and saw he was smiling at you. With his free hand, he tilted your head back, making sure to clean under your jaw and your neck for any left over makeup. His motions were careful, his free hand stayed at the base of your neck. "I like taking care of you because I carefor you. I like seeing you happy. Hongjoong told me it's my love language for those I am close with."

Seonghwa finished cleaning off every part of your face and neck. He set the towel down on the coffee table and placed both his hands on the sides of your head, guiding you to face him. His hands lingered for a second longer before he moved them to rest on his legs.

Hwa gave you a look full of fondness and sincerity. His smile was warm and you felt safe under his gaze. You smile back and scoot closer to him. You caught his dark brown eyes staring at your lips, and this time it was blatant. Your breath was caught in your throat and your face felt on fire. And yet, your mind, while racing, wasn't telling you to overthink. It wasn't downplaying the situation like it would do before. Everything in the moment, you and Hwa alone having a sweet moment, felt right.

This has to be the right moment, like San told you.

"May I?" His voice was almost a whisper but you heard him loud and clear.

"Yes, before someone interrupts again." Seonghwa let out an amused 'hmph' sound. He scooted himself closer to you, one of his legs now was angled off the couch. As if you were made of glass, Seonghwa gently placed both his hands on your jawline. His thumbs softly petted the skin of your cheeks while his eyes roamed over your face. Your hands found their spot on his waist and you smile.

He gave you a look, asking for permission again. And when you slowly nodded once his soft lips were pressed against yours. You smiled against him, your heart raced and beat rapidly against your ribcage. You could feel the corner of his lips curl up words. The kiss was almost fleeting, a quick moment between you two.

Seonghwa pulled away, only to rest his forehead against yours. He let out a shaky breath, his eyes were still closed.

"I've wanted to do that for a while now." He let out an airy laugh.

"Me too, Hwa." You chuckle, your voice trembling ever-so-slightly.

"Can I...?"

"You don't have to ask, you know." You repeated that phrase he told you your first night there.

Seonghwa kissed you again. This time it wasn't short. It didn't have a tentative feel to it. He kissed you passionately and you returned the feeling. He swiped his tongue against your bottom lip, making your lips part slightly. His tongue slowly slipped inside your mouth. You both move to be closer to one another.

You could feel him press himself more against you. Hwa briefly broke the kiss to place softer kisses from the corner of your mouth to your jawline. He pulled his face away from you, his warm smile still on his lips. You expected him to make out with you more, but you notice him glance back at the front door.

"I want to continue..." He started to speak.

"But the risk of a drunk San or Mingi coming in tonight is the issue?" You finish.

"Exactly." He laughed. He hugged draping himself over you with his face nuzzling into your neck. "I'm sorry. The risk of nosy roommates."

"Don't be." You hum, moving your hands. You rested one on his back and the other at the back of his head.

"How are you feeling?"

"Honestly? Tipsy and over the moon." You felt his chest rumble with his laugh. Seonghwa pulled his face from your neck and his hands were back to cupping your jaw. He stared at you for a few moments. He took in a deep breath, building up his confidence for what he was about to say.

"I figure the kiss would show you but let me tell you." He smiles. "I have feelings for you, (Y/N). I care immensely for you. I find you charming and so, so beautiful. I enjoy talking to you and being in your presence. I am glad to have taken that chance when we first met. You've become such an important person to me."

"Oh, Seonghwa." You felt stinging in your eyes and tears quickly filled then.

"Why are you crying? Did I say something wrong?"

You lean in and place a soft kiss to his lips, effectively silencing him.

"I am just happy you feel the same as me. You know, I always pushed away my feelings for you. I was worried you only saw me as a friend. Which would have been fine by the way." You add with a slight nervous inflection. "I feel like an idiot though. When I look back at it now, everything seemed so obvious we both felt the same."

"I had the same revelation today when I saw how you were looking at me today at the shoot."

"Ugh, don't remind me of that." You groan and lean forward, resting your forehead in the crook of his neck.

"Don't be embarrassed." You felt him laugh and rest his hands on your back, one rubbing small circles. "You should of heard all the teasing the others did towards me.".

"Yeah, they teased the hell out of me too." You couldn't help but chuckle, now knowing the rest of Ateez knew about both yours and Seonghwa's feelings. "No wonder Wooyoung was so adamant you liked me back."

"It all makes too much sense now." Hwa almost scoffs, his shoulders shaking in a silent chuckle. There is a pause in the conversation. The silence didn't cause any discomfort between you two. Though, Seonghwa had a question he needs your answer to. "It may seem like a dumb question but..."

"But?" You prompt him to ask.

"Would... Does this mean you'd like to be in a relationship with me?"

You pull away from him, just enough to look at his face. You initially wanted to tease him, ask him sarcastically if it wasn't obvious you were head over heels for him... But you saw the vulnerable look in his expression. You knew he needs reassurance right now.

"Park Seonghwa." You gently take his face with both of your hands. You inhale and shakily exhale, a tender smile on your lips. "I love you, okay? I would absolutely love to be in a relationship with you."

"I love you too." He smiles brightly, almost making you melt on the spot. He wraps his arms around you, one snaking up so his hand could cradle the back of your head, before kissing you again. You slid your arms around his neck in the moment.

"How can you be so perfect?" He murmurs against your lips.

"I should be asking you that, Hwa." He chuckles softly in response to your words.

"How are you feeling now?" He asks again. "You did take that extra shot."

"I still feel a little on the tipsy side, but I am doing good, Hwa... And everything I said and every kiss I gave was of clear conscious too. I would do those things again, just less confidently."

He chuckles, "Well, we should probably get you some water and start getting you to wind down."

"Hwa, I don't think I can wind down after finding out my crush loves me back and now we are dating."

He tilted his head back and laughed in response, making your chest feel warm at the sound.

"Come on." He stands up from the couch and helps you to your feet. He hands you the bottle of makeup remover while he holds onto the dirty towels. "Get some comfier clothes on, do what you need to before bed, and I'll meet you in my room."

You gave him a curious looks but did so. You popped back into his room for some nighttime clothes and went into the bathroom to take a very quick shower. You didn't know you could get as clean you did that fast but you did. When you entered back into his room, you saw Hwa sitting in his desk chair scrolling on his phone. He looked up and smiled seeing you enter. He gestures to his bed, which already has the covers pulled back.

"I figure we could watch something before bed. If you would like to."

"I would love to, Hwa." You smiled and laid down on the side closest to the wall. Seonghwa followed suit in the spot next to you and pulled the covers over both of you.

He grabbed his tv remote and turned on the screen, putting on something you've both seen at a low volume. He kept his back propped up by the headboard while you had an arm wrapped around his midsection, curled up next to him with your head on his chest. He had an arm wrapped around your shoulders while his hand softly traced patterns into the skin of your arm.

It was quiet except for the tv playing, but two questions lingered in Seonghwa's mind.

"(Y/N?)" You glance up when you hear him softly call your name. "When did you realize you started having feelings for me?"

"When I had that shitty week at the end of last semester and your voice helped calm me down enough to sleep... why do you ask?" You felt a tinge of anxiety peaking through. "Is it because I was a fan-?"

"No, don't worry about that." He placed a soft, short peck to your hairline. "I could tell from the start you didn't have any negative intentions and I always appreciated you letting me initiate things."

"Oh, I didn't realize you picked up in that. I just never wanted you to be uncomfortable."

"I pick up a lot, as untrue as that seems." He jokes, making you snort. "No. I was just curious. That night was when I realized I liked you more than a friend as well." There was a shared silence between you two for a moment, though it felt like minutes, until he spoke again. "If you liked me then, why did you agree to go on that date with that guyfrom your class?"

You blink and shift to sit up so you could look at his face. You scan over his features but didn't catch any sign of anger or any negative emotion. He was genuinely curious.

"Insecurity mostly." Your voice was quiet. Hwa nodded his head for you to continue and gently took hold of your hand. "It seems silly now, but I was just insecure about a lot of things, which made me so sure you never liked me more than as a friend. I saw it as a way to hopefully get over my crush."

"Oh, jagiya." He hums softly. "I got too wrapped up in my mind to think you'd want to pursue a relationship with me as well." He leans in and gently kisses you. "Looks like we really were fools... and Wooyoung is going to remind us whenever he gets the chance."

"Why don't we hold off on telling the rest of them as-"

"What?" He furrowed his brows, a look of confusion and a flash of hurt was on his face.

"Don't over think and let me finish" You gently 'tut' and move to hold his hands. He gave you a sheepish smile. "Since they knew about both our feelings, have gotten super invested in getting us together, Woo's going to gloat, and I know if we ever attempt to go on dates one of the others will try and tag along... let's just have a short time period of just us. Would that be fine?"

"Having one over the others? Not letting Wooyoung say he was right? A pinch of privacy?" He raised his brows, a smile growing on your face. "More than fine."

That made you laugh.

---

Yuhno sighed as he took Mingi's dorm keys from his drunk friends grasp. He would have just let him crash in his room since Jongho had his hands full with Hongjoong, Wooyoung, and San, but Mingi was insisting on sleeping in his own bed. Plus, you had left your cellphone behind. He just hopes neither of them will wake Seonghwa or you.

He got the door open and with Mingi's arm around his shoulder he walked through the dark apartment.

"YuYuuuu." Mingi mumbled.

"Shh..." Yuhno whispered, helping him to his room.

"I'm not drinking again after this."

"I'll help keep you to that, let's just get you to bed for now." Yuhno got the younger male to his room, turned around as he changed into his pajamas, and tucked him in.

"Thank you."

"Uh huh, go to sleep, princess." Yuhno snickered and patted his friend, leaving his room with a yawn. He fished your phone from his pocket and approached Seonghwa's room. When he saw the light was still on and heard the tv faintly playing, he figured you were still awake. He glanced back to Sannies door and saw it was dark there.

"That last shot must of done him in." He mused to himself with a small smile.

Yuhno did a quick knock and opened the door.

"(Y/N), you left your- Oh." Yuhno's eyes widened, not expecting to see you and Seonghwa mid kiss. You both were sitting up against the headboard, your hand on his neck while his hand was on your side. You and Seonghwa were frozen and heads slowly turned to the taller male. There was a big grin on Yuhno's face. "I was just, uh, dropping Mingi off and your phone."

"Yuhno sit down, please." Seonghwa sighed pulling away from you. His ears were bright red.

"No, no. Don't let me interrupt you both." He waved his hand, gently tossing your phone onto the foot of the bed, and went to leave.

"Yuhno." The eldest uses a serious tone, making the younger male sit.

"What is it?" He looked between you two, his voice soft.

"We wanted to keep this secret, just for a bit. You know how the others get, we just wanted to have this to ourselves for the rest of the trip."

"Plus," You add. "Wooyoung can't gloat and you get bragging rights of knowing first." You offer to him, making Yuhno laugh and Seonghwa roll his eyes with a chuckle.

"Your temporary secret is safe with me. The thought of telling everyone didn't even cross my mind. You guys decide when you want to tell everyone." Yuhno states sincerely. "But I am curious when this happened."

"Tonight, like 20 minutes ago."

"Ah, I'm happy for you both." Yuhno grins and gets up. "I'll leave you both alone now, I need to check on Jongho before going to bed. Goodnight and make sure to sleep."

"Goodnight, Yuhno. Thank you." Seonghwa smiled at the younger male, who simply smiled and shook his head before leaving the room. You both looked at each other and sighed.

"That went well. At least he knocked..."

"No privacy." Seonghwa rolled his eyes and moved enough to flop on his back.

"Hey, he is keeping it to himself. He was sweet about it."

"I don't care." Seonghwa turned on his side with a slight pout, wrapping his arms around you to pull you down to lay partially on top of him.

"Hwa!" You quietly yelp.

"I'm getting all the intimate affection I can in our alone time." He chuckled, and holds you tightly. "And we are locking my door every night until you leave."

---

Wooyoung and San practically cornered you the next day during a break in practice, asking if you two confessed. You were getting a drink from a nearby vending machine when you felt Wooyoung's arm wrap around your waist while San's was around your shoulders.

"So, (Y/N)... Did you two do anything last night?" Woo asked in a hush tone in your ear.

"No, Wooyoung. He practically passed out when we got to the dorm and I didn't have the confidence to talk to him about my feelings." You sigh, finally deciding on what drink you wanted. "I don't think I can confess at all this trip."

"Let me help you." Woo whined.

"No, it's fine. Maybe one day it'll happen... but not now." You shrug off their arms and squat down to get your drink.

"Don't worry about it. Just don't neglect your feelings." San patted your back as you stood back up. "We are going to get drinks for the others, would you mind helping us?"

"Sure!" You were grateful San took the attention off you. The older of the two tapped his card to the machine and the three of you started picking out drinks for the Ateez members and the BBTrippin crew. Once there were five drinks, San delegated Wooyoung to get them to the studio, which left you two alone.

"So how did you confess to him last night?" He asked while picking up a drink.

"I told you, nothing happened." You try and give him your best confused look. He kept a knowing smile on his face as you both stared each other. It felt like a minute and it was clear he wasn't relenting. You groaned, making him laugh. "How do you know?"

"You both just seem very happy today and I can tell there is something different. You both don't look at each other with hesitation. It's sweet to see." He pats your back again. "You didn't tell me how it happened... though you don't have to. I'm just curious."

"It was the right moment, like you said would happen."

"I'm glad it worked out. Like we all told you it should."

"Ugh this is why we are waiting to say anything." You whine, playfully smacking his arm which made him laugh. "Do you think anyone else knows?"

"Hmm, I'm not sure. I haven't heard anything from the others."

"Good." You huff with a laugh. You and San gather up the rest of the drinks and head back to the dance studio. "You're not allowed to say anything."

"Cross my heart."

---

Later in the day it was just Seonghwa and Hongjoong in his studio. The captain wanted his older friends inputs, both because he valued Hwa's opinion and because Mingi wanted to take some time freestyle dancing with Yuhno and Yeosang, on some of the final minor edits he made to the tracks. The others were still in the dance studio while you joined Jongho for one of his vocal lessons.

"I like the addition to the dance break for this one, though I think the end should be tighter." Seonghwa gestured to the screen.

"I was thinking the same." Hongjoong hums and focuses his attention on the small changes. Seonghwa felt his phone buzz on the table and he quickly unlocked it. A smile grew on his face at the cute selfie of you and Jongho sent to the group chat. He quickly saved the picture and couldn't help but stare at your face.

The call of his name had him looking back up.

"Yes, Joong? Is there something else you need help with?"

"You confessed to (Y/N), didn't you?" The younger male smiled.

"What? No. She passed right out once she got her makeup off." Seonghwa furrowed his brows and hoped he was convincing enough.

"Hwa, you are terrible at hiding your emotions and secrets. Your eyes always give it away." The captain laugh and playfully flicked the older males arm. "I can see it in the way you look at her and how you 'try' to act shy. Your eyes don't hold the same longing. They say something different now."

"Please don't tell the others." Hwa sighed and looked to his friend, silently pleading to him.

"I won't... but why keep it a secret?"

"We just want some privacy about it. Everyone is so integrated with one another. We do plan on telling everyone soon."

"I see." Hongjoong nods and then smiles, a hint of smugness there. "So we were right? You both overthought everything between you two and now everything fell perfectly into place."

"And that's also why we don't want to tell everyone yet."

"Ha! You're just prolonging the inevitable teasing." Hongjoong grinned. A curious glint was in his eyes now. "So how did it go?"

"The moment is ours alone so I won't share any details, but..." A fond smile grew on the eldest's face. "It was sweet... really, really sweet."

"I'm happy for you, truly, Seonghwa, even if I plan to tease you about it. You deserve this, especially with (Y/N)." Hongjoong reached over and gently grabbed Hwa's hand, giving it a firm, quick squeeze before slowly dropping it. Seonghwa couldn't help the bashful smile on his face. The two scooted close to each other, nudging each other as they got back to working on the finishing touches of the song.

---

It was late at night. You were laying in bed, watching Youtube on Seonghwa's tv before you fell asleep. You heard soft knocks on the door. Pausing the video, you get up and open the door, revealing Seonghwa. You let him in and make sure to lock the door. You felt him wrap his arms around your waist, his chest flush against your back.

"Mingi went to bed." He leaned in and placed a chaste kiss to your temple. He removed himself from you and flopped onto his bed. "What were you up to?" 

You laughed and joined him. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to him. "Just catching up on some Youtube. I can put something else on-"

"No, this is fine." You nodded and started the video over for him to watch. It was nice, curled up under the covers with him, feeling warm and comforted in his arms; and you were sure he felt the same when you rested your arm over his stomach. You didn't want to break the peacefulness but you knew he should know that another members knows.

"Hwa? Can I tell you something?" You pause the video again.

"Go ahead, you can tell me anything."

"Sannie knows about us." 

There was a brief pause before he chuckles.

"Hongjoong knows too. How did San figure it out?"

"He said he could see us acting different around each other. How did Hongjoong?"

"He told me my eyes gave it away." He then rolled his eyes for dramatic effect. "At least he said he won't tell the others."

"Sannie promised too. So that's a relief."

Another moment of silence.

"You're leaving soon." There was a sadness to his tone. Seonghwa briefly tightened his arms around you. 

"I know." You sigh, snuggling into his hold more. "But, there will be more visits again."

"But now that we are together... now that you're in my arms..." He shifts away from you. You felt his hands on your shoulders as he gently maneuvers you down the bed so he could guide you onto your back. Hwa then moves himself to hover over you. "I don't want to let you go."

"Hwa." You smile, placing a hand on his cheek. "No matter the distance, you have me, okay?"

Seonghwa smiled sweetly though you could see a hint of something else in his eyes, something lustful. 

Honjoong was right. His eyes do give away a lot.

 He lowered himself down, pressing himself against you and you could feel he wasn't putting his full weight on you. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips and trailed his lips along your jaw and down you neck with opened mouth kisses. You hummed pleasantly, giggling softly at how he focused on kissing your neck, his teeth grazing your flesh.

"Seonghwa, weren't you concerned about nosy members?"

"Front door and bedroom door are locked." His breath felt hot against your neck, making you pleasantly shiver. "Mingi sleeps like a log." You felt his teeth gently nip your skin, not hard enough to leave a mark, and then his tongue swiping over the area. You couldn't deny that there wasn't arousal slowly building inside you. He pulled his face away from your neck and stared down you. "I can stop if you want me to."

You stare into his eyes. You can see the love and adoration he holds for you. Your heart flutters in your chest.

"Keep going." You murmur, placing your hand on the back of his neck and pull him back down. His lips met yours in a feverish kiss. His tongue explores your mouth and brushes against yours, all while you feel him press himself against you. Your hand stayed on the back of his neck while the other was on his side, gripping the fabric of his shirt.

Seonghwa lifted himself from you again now straddling your hips. His fingertips grazed your stomach, barely moving underneath the hem of your shirt. He gave you a look as if he was asking for permission, in which you nodded slowly. You take in a sharp breath of air feeling his hands glide against your skin under your shirt.

His soft hands slowly cupped both your breasts and he starts to gently knead them. You take in a deep breath and smile up at him, enjoying the feeling. You see he was biting his bottom lip and suddenly you felt a small shiver run up your spine when his thumbs brushed over your nipples. You can see he was getting lost in moment. Slowly he removed his hands from your chest and you missed feeling his warm hands fondling your breasts.

Seonghwa helps sit you up and them assists pulling your shirt off your body. He stared at your bare torso with wide eyes, a blush creeping up on his cheeks and ears. 

"I'm feeling a bit under dressed here." You laugh, making him blink out of his dazed state. He chuckled, and took off his shirt as well. 

"You are gorgeous, jagiya." He speaks softly. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against him. He placed more wet kisses in the crook of your neck. He shifted himself so he could go lower, until he guided you on your back again. He trailed his kisses from your neck to your collar bones. His mouth moved lower and when he got to your breasts he started biting and sucking on your skin.

"Seonghwa, love..." You murmured, worried about the others seeing the hickeys.

"Don't worry. I won't leave any in visible places." He kissed where he bit. He left scattered little marks of your breasts and along your stomach, kissing each one when he was done while his hands caressing your body. When he was finished he took a moment admire all the little marks he left in his wake and you knew they would show up more prominently tomorrow. He smirked as he stared at your body.

You let out a soft gasp when you feel his mouth latch onto your left nipple. His hand went to your other breast and squeezed your flesh, his fingers played with your other nipple. His eyes looked to your face as he gently sucked and you feel his tongue swirl around the harden bud. He kept his mouth latched to you as if his life depended on it. You comb your fingers through his dark hair which caused him to make a noise similar to a hum. You made a soft moan at the sensation.

He released his mouth with a slight 'pop' noise, a string of saliva still attached to the pebbled skin and his lips. He moved over and repeated the process to your right tit. You let out a soft whine when you felt him gently bite around your nipple, making him chuckle and remove his mouth. He looked down at you with pride on his face, seeing how worked up by his actions you were.

"Too bad we have to be quiet, I would love to hear what noises you make." Seonghwa trailed his fingers down your stomach and shifted so they rested at the hem of your sleep shorts. 

He craved to taste you and further use his tongue on you.

You glance down to where he now sat on your thighs and saw a clear bulge in his pajama bottoms. You bit your bottom lip knowing you weren't fairing any better, you could feel how wet your panties were already. His other hand rested on your hip and he gave you another look. You nodded and appreciated his subtle way of asking for permission. He smiled and started pulling down your shorts and underwear. You raise your hips to help him and soon enough, you were completely bare.

A sense of heat flushed your face at the realization, shivering at the lack of covering over your core. You move to close your legs but Seonghwa's hands gripped your thighs and gently keeps them parted. You saw the tip of his tongue peak out of his mouth. 

"Don't be shy." He breathed, taking in everything. "I'll get fully undressed in a moment... Let me admire you first."

"Seonghwa!" You huffed. The embarrassment you felt was clear as day on your face, which made him smile more. His hands gently squeezed your thighs as he took in how wet you were. He never felt this turned on before, he could feel his cock throbbing against his underwear.

"Let me have a taste first." He murmurs, almost too quietly. He maneuvers himself to lay on his stomach, his arms wrapped around your thighs. His face was mere inches from your soaking cunt and you swear you could feel his breath against you. "May I, my love?"

Your face felt on fire at how seductive he looks right now with his head between your thighs. It was such a turn on to see how eager he was to eat you out and please you. You could feel a sensual heat pooling in your lower belly.

"Hwa, please touch-" You couldn't finish your sentence as you let out a low whimper; Seonghwa licked up your slit with his tongue. He delved in and his tongue flicked over your clit. He practically buried his face in your pussy as he worked your sensitive nub just right. You cover your mouth with your hand as you tried to suppress the noises threatening to escape from your lips.

Seonghwa groaned as he lapped your cunt and messed with your clit. His eyes stayed watching your face and he nearly smirked seeing you cover your mouth. Never had he tasted something sweeter. His arms around your thighs tightened, though he was so tempted to start using his fingers soon. He moved his mouth from your clit, nuzzling his nose against it, before he plunged his tongue into your wet hole. 

"Oh God, Hwa..." You moaned quietly, muffled by your hand. You glance down and see he was still staring at you with his face buried into your cunt. He was devouring you as if you were his last meal. The sounds coming from his mouth on your soaked pussy were downright sinful. The feeling of his warm tongue thrusting inside you with the tip of his nose brushing against your clit felt almost too good. Your other hand found purchase in his dark hair, gently gripping it with your fingers as you start to roll your hips against his face, making him hum. You could feel an orgasm inching closer and closer.

Seonghwa felt euphoric as your started losing yourself to the pleasures he was providing you. He loved the feeling of your hand in his hair and they way your hips moved. He let out a moan of his own as he kept going, paying no mind to the tiredness he felt in his tongue. His mind was only focused on getting you to come. 

Hwa moved one of his arms from holding your thigh, barely moving his mouth off your slit for just a moment, before he went back in with his tongue playing with your clit. You felt him slowly enter one finger, feeling around, before entering a second one given how he further turned you on from his ministrations. He curled his fingers just right inside you as he started thrusting them at steady, quick pace, causing you to nearly cry out. Your voice was strained to stay quiet whilst your hand over your mouth kept it even quieter.

He pulled his mouth away again. 

"That's it, jagiya..." His voice was low and smooth. He resumed his tongues motions on your clit, and the spring that was coiling tightly in your lower stomach finally came undone. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, tossing your head to the side as you whimpered as quietly as you could; you came hard. Seonghwa could feel you clenching around his fingers and he could hardly contain the moan of satisfaction. He slowed his fingers down, prolonging your orgasm, before slowly removing them and his mouth from you. He sat back up on his calves, your juices and his saliva coating his chin.

He slowly inserted the two fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean. Hwa's dark eyes never left your face as he slowly crawled over you. His mouth met yours in a sloppy kiss and you could taste yourself on his lips and tongue. You whimpered softly into the kiss. Your shaking hands gripped his shoulders and you pulled away to take in more air, recovering from your climax.

"How the fuck are you so good at that?" Your frazzled brain had you slip back into English for a moment. Seonghwa laughed and admired your face for a moment. You stared back, your breathing soon falling back into a stable rhythm. 

A thought popped into mind when you glanced down.

You shifted yourself downward ever-so-slightly and placed your hand at the hem of his sweatpants.

"Can I return the favor?" You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

"You don't have to." He smiled softly as he felt a pleasant shiver up his spine.

"I want to, Hwa." You smile when he then answered a soft 'yes.' You gradually dipped your hand into his sweatpants, your hand going over his underwear. You cup his hard cock, feeling a patch of wetness from precum, and give him a very gentle squeeze. You heard him take in a sharp breath which made you smile and bite your lips. You palm him for a few moments and capture his lips in a heated kiss. His hips rocked, rutting himself against your hand.

You remove your hand from him, leaving him softly whining for your touch again. You guide him to sit up and take your spot against the headboard, not before his sweats underwear joined your discarded clothes on the floor. You smile at his blushed cheeks and ears. You straddle his lap and press yourself against him.

Your hands gently cup his jaw and you lean into a passionate kiss. You could feel his hard erection brush against your pubic mound and lower belly, making him softly moan into your mouth. You repeated what he did to you earlier and started trailing kisses from his lips, all the way down to his collarbones. You had to move yourself continuously to go lower. You didn't dare leave any marks that would be visible, much to your disappointment.

Soon enough you found yourself on your stomach, face dangerously close to his dick. You kept your eyes on his length while you could feel his eyes watching you. In a teasing manner, your fingers gently messed with his velvet-y soft tip. Seonghwa moaned softly and he caressed the side of your head. You collected his precum onto your fingers, letting it coat your your hand, before wrapping your fingers around his shaft. You stroke him at a languid pace and you could feel his member twitch in your hand.

You lean in and place a tentative kiss to the crown of his cock. You glance up and see him watching you intensely while biting his bottom lip. You give him a few teasing licks before slowly engulfing him into your mouth. What you couldn't fit comfortably in your mouth you used your hand on as your slowly bobbed your head, hollowing your cheeks in the process.

Seonghwa let out a low moan and swallowed hard at the sensation around his cock. His hands could hardly stay still. He managed to keep one against the side of your head but his other hand caressed and gently squeezed your shoulder, his fingers brushing against your neck. Your tongue would swirl around the tip as you continued to move your head. You couldn't exactly look up at him from where you were but you could tell by just how hard he was breathing he was feeling good.

"You're so beautiful..." Hwa tilted his head back against his headboard and quietly moaned. His eyes peered down at the sight of you with your now swollen lips around his cock. He admired how your nude body looked right now and he wanted to reach down and give your ass a firm squeeze. You bobbed faster, taking him in a little deeper, and it nearly drove him crazy. Seonghwa's hand found itself on the back of your head. He gently guided your head but didn't push down harshly.

He carefully took hold of your head in both hands and lifted your head, stopping you from sucking him off.

"Something wrong?" You swallow and sit up.

"If you kept going I wouldn't have lasted." Hwa helped you sit up on your knees and pulled you into a tender kiss. "I wanted to go further, if you want to."

"I want to but," You murmur against his lips. "Well, this may be a bad time to ask but do you have condoms?" He chuckles and rests his head against your collarbones. He placed a soft kiss to your neck, moving away from you and getting off the bed. You watched him walk to his closet and reach inside on the upper shelf. He grabbed a box near the back and came back, sitting on the edge of the bed. In his hands was an unopen box of condoms.

"Before you think I was presumptuous with these, Mingi and Woo bought them for me before your visit." He snorts. "I think they are the right size... I'll be slightly concerned if they are."

"I'm on birth control if we just want to forget the condoms-"

"If they make you more comfortable, I will wear one for you." He gave you a reassuring smile and looked over the box. Hwa hummed softly as he opened the box, taking out a wrapped condom. He tore open the rapper and slid on the condom with ease. He then kissed you deeply, moving you back on your back. You didn't need words to know where things were going now.

Seonghwa placed one of his pillows under your lower back and helped maneuver you into position, his hands gripping the backs of your thighs. He teased you by dragging his tip up and down your slit. You whine softly and playfully tapped him with your foot, making him laugh.

"Alright, jagiya." He smirked and lined himself up at your entrance. Slowly he pushed himself inside, inch by inch, until he was fully buried inside. You moaned quietly as he deliciously filled you up while he groaned, feeling pleasant tightness and heat around his length. Your hands squeezed his shoulders briefly as you took a moment to adjust. He stayed motionless for a few moments and you both were enjoying the moment. "Feels good."

"Move, Hwa." You pleaded, desperate to chase a second orgasm. His hands found themselves holding your hips as he pulled almost all the way out and, languidly, he rolled his hips forward.

His thrusts were slow and sensual to start, slowly building up that arousal between you both again. His cock gently massaged your walls and it felt so good. You were having a hard time already keeping your noises at bay... you were worried you wouldn't be able to stay quiet if he went faster. Still, you crave more.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, his voice slightly hoarse and strained.

"Feeling good... Feeling really good." You moaned. You wanted to feel more. You threw out those previous concerns. Your voice was a hushed whisper, but the needy tone was clear. "Faster, love."

"Of course." Hwa rasped. You feel him pull out, making you whine. He softly cooed and re-adjusted himself and yourself so his face was barely above yours. Your hips were at more of an angle now with your legs folded into your chest and your calves on his lower back. Your arms were loosely around his neck.

Seonghwa captured your lips in a bruising kiss, his tongue rolling against yours, as he entered you with one quick thrust. Your moan was muffled by his mouth or else it would have been loudered than you meant.  His set a quick rhythm as his hips snapped against you, the not-so-subtle sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the small room. His cock was hitting a new, deeper angle and it felt amazing.

You both broke from the kiss to breath. You bit your bottom lip in an attempt to control your whimpers and moans.

"Shh... you're doing so well." Hwa praised, his voice a hushed whisper by your ear. Though his own moans and groans indicated to you he was also struggling to stay quiet.

"Hwa-!" You cried softly. You feel his arm move and next thing you knew his hand was cradling the back of your head, pushing your face into the crook of his neck. He pressed his upper half against yours, further folding your body together, as he fucked you at a fast tempo. Your noises were muffled by his flesh and you could feel the vibrations of his strained moans against your face. You could feel heat slowly crawling up your legs and you knew a second orgasm was close.

"God, I'm close, love." You murmur, your lips brushing against his hot skin.

"Me too, jagiya... Me too." Seonghwa whispered. "Can... Can I come on you?"

As you were about to speak Hwa just barely shifted his hips, his cock hitting your g-spot just right.

"Y-yes!" Your moan was low. The build up had you feeling like your nerves were on fire. You felt your breathing quicken a numbness-like feeling crawl up your legs

You pushed your face further into Seonghwa as waves of pleasure washed over you. You choked out moans against him and without realizing, you bit on his flesh. Your body trembled and your walls clenched around his length as you came hard.

Seonghwa continued his thrusts, though you can tell he was just about to lose it too. You felt your muscles twitch and tremble with every stroke of his hips as he prolonged your orgasm. Hwa is chasing his own release and you could feel his thrusts getting sloppier and his moans were getting huskier.

Suddenly, he pulled out of you, your walls fluttering around nothing. He got the wet condom off of his length and he moved his upper half to hover over you. You watch, nearly breathless, as he strokes his cock at a fast pace. He lets your lower half drop against his thighs. His eyes stayed trained on your dazed face, biting his bottom lip.

Seonghwa's body went rigid and soft, whiney moans escaped his lips. You can see eyes roll slightly back as he came. Pearly white ropes of his cum lands on your stomach and chest, a little even lands on your neck. He slowed his hand down as he came, stopping once all of his seed was out.

You both were breathless, feeling hot and tired. Seonghwa moved and let your body lay straight down before he hovered over you again. His lips met yours in another kiss. It was soft and tender, full of love and adoration.

"How are you feeling, jagiya?" He asks softly, kissing your cheek and forehead. "Do you need something? A warm towel? Some water?"

"All of the above, love." You lazily smile, making him laugh.

"I like you using that English pet name for me."

"I thought was fitting with you using a Korean pet name." There was a pause in the conversation. "I think we need a shower actually."

"Agreed, I made a mess." He gave you a cheeky look, as if he was proud of himself, lifting himself up to sit on his calves. His eyes roamed your body with a small smirk tugging on his lips. "You look beautiful."

"I'm covered in sweat, cum, and probably look like a mess." You deadpanned.

"And you still look beautiful." He smiled and placed a chaste kiss to your lips. He got up off the bed and slowly helped you to your feet. He grabbed you some new clothes from your suitcase before grabbing clothes for himself. "Mingi should still be asleep, so we need to be quick."

"You... You want us to go out in the rest of the dorm and to the bathroom without any clothes on?" He simply nodded and you sighed but nodded. You didn't want clothes on right now until you were clean. 

Seonghwa peaked his head out of the room, noticing all the lights were still off. With haste, the two of you get to the bathroom with ease. Hwa started the shower and you both waited for it to warm up. Your fingers trace the small red mark you left right by his right collarbone.

"Hopefully that doesn't linger. I'm sorry, I tried not to leave any marks on you." You mused, not sounding all too apologetic.

"I don't care if it does linger. Idol image be damned." He joked. "Come, the water should be warm now."

The shower was quick but it was very much needed after an intense moment. Seonghwa took it upon himself to wash you off. His hands gently caressed your skin, his gaze on you was caring. You closed your eyes whilst savoring the moment. 

It was sweet and it made you two all the more closer. 

---

You groaned, covered in sweat, in the dance studio. Wooyoung insisted you join him, Yuhno, and Mingi for dance practice while the others were off doing lives or something else. You probably would be in better shape to dance if you weren't feeling the least bit sore from last nights activities with Seonghwa. They were teaching you the choreography to Wave in an easy manner, but the ache in your hips and legs made it difficult.

"What's the matter, (Y/N)?" Mingi chuckled, handing you a water bottle. He and the others were sweating, but they weren't

"I don't know how you guys dance like this all the time." You pant and take a sip of water.

"We are teaching it to you slowly though, you seem more tired." Wooyoung remarked. He approached you and placed both hands on your cheeks, his eyes scanning over your face.

"I'm fine, just a little tired is all." You move out of his hold and gave his shoulder a gentle pat. He gave you  a inquisitive look but dropped it. 

After a small pause, the dancing resumed. Yuhno stood by you as he taught you the next steps. The move had you moving your arms up in the air and you followed almost perfectly. Though, when you repeated the motions your hand caught the hem of your loose shirt, exposing some of your midriff. You hoped that no one in the room saw your blemished skin from a particularly big hickey Hwa left on you. However, hoping got you nothing.

"(Y/N), what the hell happened?" Woo gasped. "Why do you have a bruise on your hip?"

Your face flushed with warmth and you saw Yuhno in the mirror press his lips together as he tried not to laugh. Clearly, he immediately figured out were the mark came from. Mingi also looked at you in concern. You wanted to send a glare to Yuhno but kept your cool. 

"I needed to use the bathroom last night and bumped into the handle in the dark is all." You replied smoothly.

"Dummy." Woo laughed and so did Mingi.

"I didn't realize you were so clumsy, (Y/N)." Yuhno teased. You rolled your eyes and insisted they keep teaching you the choreography before you die from embarrassment. 

---

Seonghwa and Hongjoong finished up their live together. Hwa had fun though he wanted to help teach you a dance to one of their songs. He and Joong got up from the table in the small room and left with the staff member who was behind the camera. The two went off on their own to Hongjoongs little studio room.

"Something happened between you and (Y/N) last night, huh?" The younger male asked with a teasing tone. 

"What? No." Hwa replied, almost too quickly, as he took a seat in one of the chairs.

"I can tell by your eyes-"

"What can you tell now?" The eldest quirked his brow and gave his friend a glare, his ears and neck started to blush.

"Oh... did you two..." There was a mischievous look in Joong's eyes.

"Kim Hongjoong, do not finish that sentence." Hwa leaned back in the chair, not realizing the motion pulled his shirt in a way where the collar of his shirt exposed more of his skin.

"Well if that little mark right there didn't confirm it for me, your reaction did. Congratulations." Hongjoong teased. Seonghwa looked down and quickly readjusted his shirt more. His face felt on fire as he looked to his friend with a flustered glare. "Sorry, my teasing may have went a little far there. I'll buy you some ice cream as an apology."

"Two ice creams."

"Fine."

---

It was nearly time for you to head out to the airport. Ateez's manager texted everyone earlier he was on his way to the dorms to get you. Wooyoung practically clinged to you as you sat on the couch while Seonghwa's hand lingered on your knee. Everyone was already throwing out ideas and plans for when you could visit next. You felt sadness knowing you were going away after having an amazing week with them... you were going back to your job and your classes across the Pacific ocean. 

Another text came and their manager was outside the door. He told you in his message he will give you guys time to say goodbye. 

You stood up by the door and everyone practically lined up to see you off. First was Yuhno.

"It was fun having you here. We should do dance video calls, you were fun to teach and dance with." He smiles and pats your head before hugging you. 

"Yeah we definitely should." You reach up and ruffle his hair making him laugh. Next up was Sannie.

"I'm going to miss you. Please, visit as soon as you can." He had a large grin, eyes full of unshed tears, as he pulls you into a tight hug.

"I will definitely try." You say softly in his ear, returning the tightness of his hug. Mingi approached you next.

"I'll definitely miss your presence in the dorms." Minig hugged you, his hands patting your back.

You pulled away and smiled. "It's going to be hard not having one of my favorite giants around anymore." That made him and Yuhno laugh. Hongjoong was up next.

"If you ever need something, (Y/N), don't hesitate to call me." He placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed it. He then gave you a quick hug as well.

"You too, Joong. I'm all ears if you need something." 

Next in line was Yeosang.

"I'm glad we got to spend more time together." He spoke softly with a kind smile, hugging you. "Please visit us again, I liked having you around over those two." He pointed to Wooyoung and San, teasing them both as they looked fake offended.

"Of course, Yeosang." You laughed as he joined the others.

"Ah, it was nice having you with us, (Y/N)." Jongho smiled. He wasn't sure what to do with himself. "Hopefully I can call you when I am doing my vocal practices?"

"Of course you can... Would you like a hug goodbye?" You asked him and he nodded. You two hugged and you took a mental note of how nice his hugs were. It was brief but he gave you another smile and stood off to the side.

You nearly lost your balance when Wooyoung hugged you tightly, his cheek pressed against yours. You chuckled and held him tightly, neither of you said anything. You could feel his shoulders shake ever-so-slightly.

"Aww, Woo, don't cry. You'll make me cry." You cooed softly.

"I'm not crying." He mumbled and pulled away. He had tears in his eyes as he smiled. "We'll text everyday, right? Even if it's just a random meme or a simple hello?"

"Of course." You rubbed his back as he hugged you again. He reluctantly moved away and stood with the others.

Now it was just Seonghwa left.

He slowly approached you and those who didn't figure out what happened between you two watched in bated breaths.

"This isn't goodbye, you know?" You ask softly as you noticed his eyes were also close to leaking tears. You could feel the stinging sensation in your own eyes as you stared at his face.

"I know." He replied with a smile. He took your hand in his and gave it a squeeze. "Still, I will miss you."

"I'll miss you too, Hwa." You smiled and he stepped away. You glance over to the others and saw how disappointed Wooyoung, Mingi, Yeosang, and Jongho looked. You look back to Hwa with a slight smirk. "You want to tell them or show them?" You say quietly, making him laugh.

Seonghwa stepped forward again and immediately cupped your cheeks, brining you into a kiss. You heard Wooyoung and Mingi exclaim in surprise and you just knew Jongho and Yeosang looked shocked. The eldest pulled away and peppered light kisses to your face. 

"Alright, love. I think they get the idea." You giggle, your face feeling flush with warmth.

"What?" Wooyoung shouted. "How long- When did-." He was almost in shock. "And neither of you told me?!"

"I figured it out first." San said smuggled.

"No, I think I did." Hongjoong playfully crossed his arms. The two were about to start bickering but then a certain someone spoke up first.

"I actually did the night they got together finally." Yuhno said with a smug tone. "I walked in on them." That made even more chaos and loudness between everyone now.

"Yuhno!" You nearly shrieked from embarrassment, poor Seonghwa's face was pink. "You didn't need to word it like that."

"What? You said I had bragging rights for being the first to know." He teased. 

"He simply saw us kissing." Hwa tried to clear up.

Wooyoung started to scold you for keeping this from him but he expressed his happiness for the both of you. You felt bad for their manager, who was still outside the door and could probably hear all the commotion. 

"Can we say we told you both so, now?" Yeosang asked with a raised brow, making you and Seonghwa groan. Despite the teasing and the 'we told you so's' coming out, you and Hwa were happy. Hongjoong and San still argued between who out of the two of them figured it out first.

You held his hand and leaned against him as you both observed the rest of Ateez. Despite the embarrassment of their statements and jokes, you two felt satisfied at having one over on most of them. That lingering sadness was no more despite your soon departure. Never did you think you would have such a close knit friend group like this nor did you think you could find someone as lovely as Seonghwa to be your partner.

All thanks to some high turnip prices and a little squirrel in a video game.

-----

Taglist: @stopeatread @hee0soo @tridkeys @pocketjoong-reads @seonghwaddict @lelaleleb @acciocriativity @h-nji

[entomolog-t]

INSTAЯ (2)

Prompt 2 Discovery for Promptober!! The speed at which I pumped this out is uncanny.

Dawn investigates - Honey ... does her own thing.

General warning, this chapter is still fairly horror oriented, and a few scenes can best be described as "Yucky." The content warnings are not extreme, but be wary of you're sensitive to any of the topics.

- - - -

Previous Chapter: Chapter 1

Next Chapter: Chapter 3

Word count: 1685

CW: Gore/Gross out (Blood/viscera, mild body horror, vomit) Mentions of firearms, Adult language.

The silence persisted, yet I sat still- back pressed firmly against the dresser. Time seemed to slip by me. I sat in wait, certain that if I moved an inch- if I made even the slightest sound- the creature would come crashing against the door. I stayed motionless, my every nerve firing with adrenaline. Anticipation weakened my grasp on time, minutes slipping by like sand through my fingers. Minutes turned to hours, and the night turned to dawn. 

As the first rays of soft orange light drifted through the window, my room was cast in a paradoxically comforting glow- a subtle shift in atmosphere occurring. The morning sun breathed life into the world outside; Birds chirped- swooping and diving to catch insects in the early morning mist. It was calm- comforting even. A beautiful and serene atmosphere bent on putting me at ease- which was exactly what I feared. 

Eyelids heavy, my head dipped for a split second, nearly lulled to sleep by the surrounding tranquility- only for me to jerk awake with a gasp- a jolt of fear snapping me back to consciousness. Despite the fear, despite knowing that thing could be right outside, I couldn’t help but nod off in the quiet serenity of the early morning after the toll of last night's events. 

I shook my head. No. Stay awake. 

It was quiet- it had been for hours now. I chewed at my thumb, nervously picking at the skin as I considered my options. I had to get out of here, and there was no way I was getting far without my keys. As if in protest, my mind conjures up memories of the creature catching the bat- crumpling it like tinfoil. Though… that thing had also crumpled… I thought back to its staggered steps, the way it had begun to fall apart right in front of me…  The agonized wails…

The way it had seemed almost scared…

I tasted blood on my tongue as I chewed the skin of my thumb raw. 

Was it dying? Maybe it’s already dead… 

I clenched my teeth, tension growing as I considered what to do. It had been quiet- and I needed those keys. My heart pounded in my chest, anticipation pushing away the exhaustion. 

As quietly as I could manage, I nudged the dresser back, teetering it side to side to walk it back quietly. I paused- met with nothing but silence. A part of me hated that. A cowardly part of me longed for the excuse of needing to stay put- clinging to temporary shelter at the cost of the long term. 

Carefully, I eased the door open- praying that the hinges were good and oiled. Once again, I was met with silence. My hands shook, bracing for whatever sight would great me on the opposite side of the door. My heart thundered in my chest so aggressively I was worried it would summon the creature straight back to me and- 

Honey shoved past me, pushing herself through the door and into the hall as if the events of last night had been wiped clean from her brain. 

No. No. No.

“Honey!” I hissed, whisper yelling through gritted teeth “Get back here.” She turned her head to me briefly in acknowledgement, tongue lolling out to the side before completely disregarding me- instead choosing to sniff a trail down the hallway and out of sight into the living room. 

That fearless fucking idiot. 

After a moment's hesitation I follow after her, steps hasty but light as I power forward. Honey comes trotting back before I can make it down the hall, tail wagging as she carries something in her mouth. 

What does she- 

As she gets closer realization dawns on me- I watch in disgust as she shakes a thick chunk of the creature's shell back and forth as if it were one of her numerous toys. A thick liquid is flung to either side of her as she shakes it, and I can only hope that it's drool and not whatever vile ooze had been seeping from the creature. 

Honey bows down in front of me, butt in there air and tail wagging so aggressively her whole body shakes as she gnaws on it. I suppress a gag. 

“Fuck- ew. No. Honey. Drop it.”  

Honey drops the thick chunk to the ground with a clatter and I flinch at the sound. Even still, the silence persists. I reach down and pick up the chunk. It's thick and heavy- though I don’t take the time to inspect it any further as I toss back into the bedroom, landing it softly onto the bed. 

Honey chases after it. I press on forward. Somehow, despite all the fear and anticipation, I feel a growing sense of annoyance. An emotion that only grows in potency as I hear the clack of her claws against the hardwood as she follows after me, placing the slab of shed exoskeleton in my hand. 

Oh, for Fuck’s sake. 

I open the bathroom door and stick the shed armor on the counter- promptly shutting the door before Honey could retrieve her new found toy. Not in the least bit dissuaded, Honey trots off ahead again, much to my frustration. Though, the silence and the carefree demeanor of my fearless idiot seemed to ease some of the tension. Had it left? 

Was it dead? 

A crunching sound breaks through the silence, my heart lurching into my throat. My pace quickened. 

Fuck. Was it still here?

I rounded the corner and was greeted with a grisly sight. A mixture of relief and unease filled me as the creature itself was nowhere to be seen- well… At least not all of it. 

Honey rolled in a pile of gooey exoskeleton, disturbing the horrific stench of stale rot with her every move. Her warm yellow fur coated in a sickly ooze, a putrid combination of a pussy looking substance and the bloody viscera it had thrown up the night before.  She joyfully wriggled on the floor, its shell crunching beneath her as she chewed at whatever was nearest to her mouth. 

I threw up.

A small heave was all the warning I had before I doubled over, bile and the acidic remains of last night's dinner spilling past my lips- hot and wet. Through teary eyes, I glared at Honey. She stared back happily, moving to chew on a chunk of what seemed to be a part of its arm as if it were a bone. I gagged. 

Fuck it. Let her occupy herself. 

Shooting my dog one last disappointed glare, I passed through the livingroom and into the kitchen. The floor was littered with more chunks of the creature, yet nowhere near the volume of that of the livingroom. Blood and ooze was slick against the linoleum and I carefully watched my step as I tiptoed around the carnage.  

I flinch at the clicking of Honey’s nails on the floor. She struts over, tail wagging as if this is the best day of her life, another gruesome chunk in her mouth- stringy bits of flesh hanging off the piece. I feel bile rise in my throat and forcefully swallow it back down. 

“Get,” I hiss, shooing her away as I peek my head in the dining room.

Nothing. 

Behind me I can hear as she tosses the chunk around, clamoring after it with a yip. 

So much for staying quiet. 

I surveyed the room. Not a single thing was out of place. I shiver- something felt off.  

Just where the fuck was the rest of it?

A clatter in the livingroom nearly sends my heart skyrocketing out of my mouth, as Honey continues to play with the carnage. I shudder at the very idea of how I was supposed to clean up the aftermath of whatever had occurred last night.

No… not aftermath.

Something was still very off. Where could that thing have crawled off to…

I feel a chill creep up my spine. Scenes from various horror movies of monsters crawling on the ceiling forcing themselves into my head. Slowly, I look up, heart thundering in my ears- 

Nothing. 

I force a laugh. Guess it's not that much of a horror movie. Though even as I chuckle, the unease doesn’t subside- a voice at the back of my mind urging me to go get the gun from the garage. 

As I go to slip out the side door I freeze. The handle doesn’t budge. Dread settles in my gut. I never lock the side door- why was it locked? Realization dawns on me- that persistent off feeling coming to a climax… Hastily, I double back through the kitchen toward the entryway. Honey joins me, her whole body wagging as she carries another chunk of the creature in her mouth. 

My eyes fall on the door and my mouth goes dry. 

The front door is closed- locked from the inside. 

It was still here. 

Another, much more unnerving thought followed. It had known to lock the doors. 

I found myself biting my thumb- regretting the nervous habit after realizing I’d touched that thing’s oozing shed body parts. Where the fuck had it gone? Did it just evaporate under its shell? Some crash landed alien rapidly expiring under earth’s atmosphere? My spiraling thoughts are interrupted by Honey leaning up against me, oblivious to anything other than wanting to play with her new “toy.” 

I exhale. 

That fearless idiot. As I patted her flank I felt as logic eased away some of the tension. Honey would have alerted me if it was in the house, right? I was barely able to call her off that monstrosity last night.

I look down at her, her sweet puppy dog eyes staring back up at me as she wags her tail hopefully. 

Fuck it. 

I place my hand in front of her, signaling her to drop it. 

Excited by the prospect of fetch, Honey eagerly acquiesces. 

The moment the weight hits my hands, I immediately feel something is off- Movement. Whatever the fuck she had grabbed was moving. 

I scream.

[merrhea39]

Trans masc Dom Dom ch 3-2

Dominik had a week to ponder what Rhea had said to him. Did everyone see Dominik as a nepotism hire? Did everyone think he was bad? He couldn’t get these thoughts out of his head and before he knew it it was raw again. Before the show started Rey noticed that something was wrong with Dominik. “Mij-o what’s wrong man?” Dom was deep in thought so his father approaching him with a question startled him a bit. “Oh uh nothing I’ll be fine papa.” Rey frowned with a bit of concern on his face before leaving. His fathers 20th anniversary in the wwe was today and there was a party. The family even found one of Rey’s old outfits his father thought went missing and giving back to Rey as a gift.. He was happy for his father but still had Rhea on the mind. Dominik got his gear on to have a tag match against the Judgment Day but the nerves this time were different. Before the match could start Rey grabbed the microphone to give a thank you speech. The crowd was chanting “Thank you Rey!” over and over again Dominik was proud even though he could only wish to get this. “20 years this is special man, really special. Now lemme give you a backstory, I was 14 years old when I had my first match in Tijuana, and I never imagined then in a million years that one day, I would perform inside in a WWE ring.” Rey started off his promo strong and emotional trying to get the fans into what he was saying. “Travel the world, make money and create legendary rivalries for all-, each and everyone of you could enjoy.” Rey slipped up a bit but it was ok he was never the best at talking on the mic. “Now the truth, the truth is guys my size back then weren’t part of the business, but I was able to break that stereotypes. I broke that so-called blueprint of what a superstar should look like.” Dom started to look jealously at his father also realizing how he’s been talking about himself highly. “Now as… as a smaller guy, and as a damn proud latino, I became world champion at Wrestlemania 22!” Dom absent-mindedly nodded along with a desire growing in him to become a champion like his father… better than his father. “And I made a lot of friends along the way, friends that I wanna thank for helping pave the road for me in my career. You might know some of these names, Dean Malenko, K Dog orale arriba mi raza! Batista, Kurt Angle, how about Edge? We can not forget the great Eddie Guerrero!” This made the entire arena chant ‘Eddie’, the same man who claimed that Dominik was actually his kid, but Rey continued. “Eddie I love you man and I miss you every damn day. I wouldn’t be here without you, and I know you’re always watching over me, thank you Eddie!” Rey got more and more emotional throughout his speech. “So the truth is tonight I stand before you and feel truly humbled and appreciative for all the love and support you guys have given me for the past 20 years.” The crowd liked Rey appeasing them and chanted ‘Thank you Rey!’ again. “You know this is special, to be able to, to be able to live all that with my family it just means much more.” Then the people in the crowd chant ‘you deserve it’, even though Rey’s first thing was to gloat, thank his friends, thank the fans and then thank his family. “Angie, Aaliyah I know you’re watching backstage. I just wanna say thank you for always being there. I love you both. Dom I’m proud of you son, I am proud of the man you have become, and I know one day when I’m no longer here, you’ll be representing the Mysterio legacy to the fullest.”

[ash-isnt-writing]

“On a scale of one to ten, how much pain are you in?”

“Please just kill me.”

Cole chuckled at the pleading, pained tone in Rayan’s voice, almost sadistically so. “Now now, be sensible, would you?” He responded, before crossing one leg over the other as he sliced the wound open further, eliciting a cry as sharp as Cole’s scalpel from Rayan’s throat as blood spilled out, staining Rayan’s baggy white shirt and the testing bench beneath him. “We have an audience.”

Rayan just whimpered, eyes drifting to Helix, who was standing over in the corner. Of course, it made sense that Helix was watching Cole - his son - with a judgemental eye. But it didn’t make him hate this any less. “Tough crowd” He hissed out, resting his head back.

Cole chuckled, before easing - or more, ripping - the cut open, making Rayan cry out again. The whole point of this test was if they could figure out what made Rayan so.. different. They’d tried everything else, and had decided an internal exam might give them the answers they needed.

But Cole just had more questions than anything. Nothing was different, or out of place. Everything looked how it was meant to..

“Impossible..” Cole muttered, leaning forward slightly. No. He couldn’t accept this. His father was watching. He had to turn up with something…

“Is something wrong, Cole?”

“…Ah- no, uh” Cole swallowed nervously. “I think we should take samples, for the lab boys of course.”

“Of course, brilliant idea.”

“What- no, not brilliant, what do you mean samples?!” Rayan yelled, tugging at his cuffs. “What fucking samples?! Where-?!”

Before he could finish the question, a searing pain shot through his nerves as Cole began cutting off a part of the organ tissue from his heart. He screamed, a raw, fearful sound from his throat. Cole made the Survivors seem like a daycare.

Rayan just kept screaming as Cole continued taking tissue samples from here and there. He couldn’t even think. It was just pain. Blinding, searing pain, that made Rayan see red.

This wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t.

Not that STS staff would ever care. Especially not after Gale’s death, and Simon’s leave.

He was in so much pain that he’d barely noticed when it had stopped. It lingered so strongly that he felt like he could just curl up and die, right there. Even as the cut was stitched back up carefully. It hurt, and it hurt bad.

But he knew that, even if he wanted to, he couldn’t die. But it hurt so, so bad.

“Now, we ask again,” Helix spoke, as Cole sorted the samples. “On a scale of one to ten…”

=====================================

A/N: oh boy this is. so rushed. idk i’m still getting used to writing whump stuff i can never quite get it right without feeling icky.

anywho!! Rayan belongs to the spectacular @v-3-ll-1-ch-0-r (a.k.a @v-3-ll-1-g-0-r-3 ), and the prompt is courtesy of @rookthebird.

[effervescentdragon]

Hi hi hi so im like all keyed up and like have the biggest smile on my face rn and thats jus cause i read in the reflection and OH MY GODD i forgot how could it was (is) but yeah so like i read it frm the first chapter again and lemme tell you i fell in love all over again . I really forgot how good this was . Okay so lemme tell you about my favourite parts (or like things that i absolutely loved and want to like pick your brain (with your permission obviously) because how can someone come up with something that good) so 1. The fact like Charles always runs and like barrels into Carlos and hugs him everytime (everytime is a stretch but he's done it a couple times so ) like that is just so sweet to me and it brings me so much joy. Right also idk if im making up things but that scene in ch 1. where they all talking about the leclerc brothers and Sebastian blushes and something lewis says am i reading too much there ? Oh and i love how you like told the background of the leclerc family like it was all so seamless. And the part where they say monte carlo is their city that was so tender like my heart was hurting. Oh oh also the part where lando kisses carlos and i had to like pause for a minute and i was like honestly worried what was gonna happen next like the anticipation was bad i was so nervous and charles playing the piano for carlos when carlos is like semi panicking is so so tender and sweet and everything nice like i was swooning oh and like my favourite part was finding out the marc you were talking about in brazil was MARC MARQUEZ like i thought about it but wasnt sure but when you mentioned alex i was like yayyy like yess im starved for marc crumbs but yeah and seb just being overall such a good character and i live how you incorporate the red bull seb because yes at his core his always redbulls like thats him and the part where you were like marc dragged alex with him is such a good line or like thinking because yeah redbull is cruel and and lorenzo was such a suprise character like he was so kind and you jus made me fall in love with him the whole scene with carlos and him was jus chefs kiss and this whole part "No, I’m not okay. I’m a failure, and a coward, and I am wasting my life..." just broke my heart in pieces like it was so raw and this part also "So Carlos raced in his new Ferrari and learned everything he could from Sebastian..." is so good because of how if you put it next to how he felt in the start its so different and it kinda shows how carlos changed like the parallels are insane like mind blowing insane i think that was one of my favourite things . And lets not forget the whole elevator scene that was just like nerves i was so excited to see what happens next and all the reactions like they were all so spot on and the fact that charles might have been the first person (outside his family i guess) that stood up for him is something so personal to me . This story is good good that like im not sure how to tell you like i dont even know if i have enough words and last but like my most most favourite thing when they finally kiss i wanted to like scream like yess and you ended it on such a good note. And im like so sorry that you feeling the way you are i think i wish i could just give you a hug (with permission again) and i hope you feel alright soon.♡♡♡ PS. Im so sorry if this is like stupidly long but i just wanted to like tell you everything and if this sounds like rambling and if doesnt make sense i am also sorry it is like 3 in the morning. But yeah :) :) :)

D

ive read this like 7 times since i woke up, thank you SO MUCH FOR THIS! dont apologize for it being too long, there is no such thing as too long when it comes to feedback on my writing, it just makes me sooooo happy!! and of course you can pick my brain about things, permission granted i LOVE talking about my writing and i love when people like it!!! :DDD

okay so yes, they are just generally very touchy with each other and i tried to show it. also charles is a flirt and he likes being manhandled so he used every chance to have carlos manhandle him :)) and yes, i know i had sth about seb and lewis in this verse somewhere, but i have no idea what or where. we'll see how things develop, because i know seb will be a big part of it in general with being carlos' teammate and charles'.. whatever he is. friend. mentor. something :D

lando kissing carlos was the first thing i wrote for this chapter, and that was back in october or so. i remember asking misa about whether my carlos' reaction to it was right because i wasnt sure about my carlos characterisation. and YES. i got into motogp, and by that i mean i got into marc (i wish vice versa was also happening) and then i couldnt resist at least mentioning him :D bcs it fit so well with the whole red bull thing :D

yes im so glad you noticed! i tried to show carlos' progress as a person throught he fic, in his racing but also in how he looked at himself and the world around him! and yeah, charles standing up to sr wasnt supposed to happen now, bcs my notes for the next chapter were atually "charels&sr, charles isnt impressed", but it just fit narratively, and im a big fan of letting the story tell itself.

i am accepting all the hugs and thank you so so fucking much for this, i was grinning the whole time i read it, every time, it means the world! <333 im feeling a bit better now, so thank you for asking! <3 i hope oyu have a wonderful day, you made mine!

[lullabyes22-blog]

Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO - Ch: 9 - Powder

Summary: Zaun is free—and must grow into its unfamiliar new dimensions. So must Silco and Jinx. A what-if that diverges midway through the events of episode 8. Found family and fluff, politics and power, smut and slice-of-life, villainy and vengeance.

AO3 - Forward, But Never Forget/XOXO

FFnet - Forward, But Never Forget (XOXO)

Playlist on Youtube

Chapters: 1| 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48

CH 9: Vi and Caitlyn bite off more than they can chew.

Tw: aftermath of war, violence, police brutality, hazing, parentification, implications of sexual abuse.

Gonna get my pound of flesh Burn it 'til there's nothing left Think you you can handle this? Yeah, you wanna bet?

~ "Mutiny" – Neoni

It smells like rotting rainfall.

Exiting the air-conditioned oasis of the Hexadraulic Elevator, Vi is engulfed in the stench. It is one she'd always associated with the Undercity. The smell of home. The first thing that hits is the humidity: like being folded into a sodden body-bag. The second is the texture in the air: slick and gritty at once.

Above, there is a scudding of storm-clouds. A hazy ring of green smog traces the skyline.

For a moment, Vi just—breathes. Her heart is beating fast; she'd put it down as nerves. Her gait feels unsteady; she'd dismissed it at the same. Now she realizes it's the change in the atmosphere. In Piltover, she'd been caught off-guard by the cleanness. Or better put: the absence.

The Undercity is different. A presence, so palpable she can feel its foul density pushing into her lungs.

Vi takes a slow breath, and exhales.

It's just air. She'll get used to it.

Six months since she's been down here. Things have changed. The aftermath of the Undercity's standoff with Piltover still irradiates the atmosphere. It stains each surface, from the crumbling old mortar buildings at the Promenade, to the patched-up neon casinos piled gaudily along the Riverside harbor, right down to the construction cranes and cyclone fencing beneath the shadow of the Old Hungry. Here and there, Vi glimpses bombsites, unnerving in their emptiness; like holes blasted into a beloved face.

Life is already creeping through their cracks. Catastrophe robs Fissurefolk of everything but their will to keep living.

Vi nearly smiles. But sorrow has calcified her muscles. Her lips barely twitch.

Her two Enforcer escorts—big of muscle and stupid of eye—step beyond the checkpoint. One coughs and fishes for a gas mask. The other breathes audibly through his sleeve.

“Cho'Gath on a cracker,” he grunts. “It’s bad as ever.”

“Like raw sewage.” Jerome wheezes into his mask. “With potato fries.”

Vi scoffs. "You'd eat 'em anyhow."

They crack into laughter. Not because they have a sense of humor. Their laughter is just a way to prove their manliness. Or whatever the hell passes for pride with Piltie menfolk. They try too hard. It makes them easy marks.

Thank Janna Vi is making the trip alone.

"You must be happy," Jerome sneers. "Home sweet home, eh?"

"Home stinky home, you mean," Timothy sniggers.

Vi deadpans, "Yep. I'm all choked up."

They burst into laughter again. She lets them. She doesn't care what they think. She never cares about the opinions of people who look down on others for being different. And these men are soft, on top of stupid. None of them would survive a night in Stillwater, or a bare-knuckled brawl in the Lanes.

Or, let's face it, a sip of the tapwater.

"Now remember," Jerome says, wagging a finger. "No insubordination."

"Right."

"You follow the rules down here. Ours. Not theirs."

"Uh-huh."

"Go straight to the local liaison. Like the Council ordered. No detours. No delays. Got me?"

"Got it."

Timothy sets a hand on Vi's shoulder. "Be a good girl, Vi-pie"

Vi meets his eyes, and congratulates herself for not decking him. There's no friendliness in the gesture. Just another attempt to assert dominance.  Play the big man to the little woman. The high and mighty Piltie lording it over the lowborn Sumpsnipe.

She pastes on a false smile. "Sure." A beat. "Timmy-Wimmy"

His face flushes an ugly color of purple. Vi's smile turns real.

Shoving her hands deep in her pockets, she shoulders past them. Their angry stares burn into the back of her neck.

She doesn’t care.

Nothing matters except why she came here.

Beyond the steel barricade sit the Boundary Markets. Late evening, and the city throbs with life. To the left, the bright-glassed storefronts and festooned awnings of bazaars. To the right, the green-gray slice of the Pilt between monochrome office buildings. Practically anything of value—iron, glass, wood, leather, wire—has been salvaged from the disaster sites for resale. The sidewalks are crowded with pedestrians: clerks spilling outdoors after work with loosened ties and unbuckled galoshes, shopgirls collecting their laundry in brown paper parcels, families on trips to the grocer with children squabbling at their heels.

Language is a familiar medley. Vi shuffles through the voices like a deck of cards: Standard, Shuriman, Ionian, Va-Nox. High on variety, low on content. Just the usual brays of, "How much?" "D'you want to get a drink?" "Shit—there's gunk on my shoe!" "Is this a good club?"

The anthem of post-apocalypse.

All the hurly-burly can't conceal a haze of shellshock in the air. Or maybe the shellshock is all Vi's? She'd barely slept the night before. Her dreams were disorienting—a hellish redness like at the Bridge. She'd turned her head to where Mom lay crumpled on the cobblestones, her eyes staring glassily. Except it was Vander, his hulking coat of muscle unzipped into spoiling purple meat.

Powder was crouched beside him. Everything about her was misshapen—her braids too long, her skin etched with tattoos, her smile too wide. She'd been whispering as she played with something. Vi couldn't see what. Maybe a gadget? A toy? Pow was always talking to her toys, remarks that used to crack Vi up. Sometimes, she'd stand outside their shared room at the Drop’s basement, listening in. Sometimes Vander would be there, his eyes shining as he mouthed, Where's she come up with this stuff?

Then Silco stole everything.

Stole Powder, and broke her, so now whenever Vi remembers her sister, it's from inside the eerie glittering shell of Jinx.

The rage builds in Vi like a strangling scream. At the Bridge, she'd seen Jinx's carnage unfold. The firelights. The bombs. The bodies. She'd let Ekko handle Jinx—I’m so sorry Ekko—and crossed with Caitlyn to the other side. She'd felt the rumble of the grenade blast in her bones. She'd stood trapped behind bars of striped shadow while the smoke faded. She'd watched Enforcers swarm the scene.

She'd done nothing.

Meanwhile Silco took her sister, and she'd let it happen. Again. She'd failed to protect Powder, and failed Ekko, and Vander, and everyone in the Lanes, and she could never take it back. She couldn't take back the past, but she could change the present, the same way the past had changed hers.

She wasn't the girl thrown into Stillwater. The girl whose family was devoured by a monster. The girl who ran away when she should've fought. That girl is gone, and she'd grown into someone who has survived, and bided her time, and grown stronger. She won't run this time. She'll face the monster.

No.

Scratch that.

The monster will face her.

In the sky, the clouds thicken and the green drains into gray. Raindrops begin pattering the pavement. Within moments, like a bucket upending, it becomes a downpour.

Vi ducks under an awning. There is a pocket umbrella stowed inside her jacket, but she doesn't fish it out. She uses the moment to catalogue her surroundings. A sumpsnipe's reflex that the Peacekeeper Academy has layered with more sophisticated tricks. Evasive maneuvers. Vigilance. Stealth.

The Peacekeeper Academy.

Vi would never have set foot inside the place. Not unless handcuffed. And yet violent circumstances belowground had compelled Vi to make a choice once unthinkable.

She'd joined the Enforcers.

The Enforcers, who'd amputated her and Powder from their parents. The Enforcers, who'd spread brutality in the Lanes. The Enforcers, who'd kept the Undercity in squalor for the sake of safeguarding Piltover.

The Enforcers, who had access to Piltie funds, government databases, and legal resources. The department was mired in corruption—but the Council, under the pretty-boy Talis, was finally doing something about it. The Peacekeepers were a newly formed division, meant to serve as both liaisons and buffers between Piltover and neighboring territories. They could act with a measure of diplomatic immunity, and had clearance to pass between nation states.

Including Zaun.

Vi could say her reasons for enlisting were rational. Pragmatic, even. She knows better. The weeks of carnage between Piltover and the Undercity were horrific. She'd seen bystanders blown apart by shelling. She'd seen an old man twitching in death throes at the Bridge. She'd seen a little girl floating facedown in the bloodied Pilt. So much death and suffering. She needed to protect people, people like Powder, and she felt diminished, powerless, by what she couldn't do for them.

During the conflict between Piltover and the Fissures.

During the reunion with her sister.

During the disaster at the cannery.

None of those events transpired in a vacuum. A monster created them. The same monster who sat at Zaun's pinnacle, ready to hurt more people. Ruin more lives. She hated him. She needed to stop him. Not just his schemes and stratagems. She needed to take down his empire.

And save her sister.

The Peacekeepers were a means to an end. But Vi never expected to land the position. Sometimes she wonders if Caitlyn's mom pulled strings. Something to get Vi standing on her own feet, with a salaried job and a place of her own. Her two-week layover chez Kirraman had already stretched to a month. Caitlyn would have let Vi stay longer. She'd told her plenty of times, with that sweet confiding smile that could've melted chocolate.

But Vi refused to survive off charity. She'd survived off worse.

So she'd applied with the Peacekeepers. She'd endured a battery of interviews. Then came the tests: physical fitness, background checks, polygraphs. Her criminal record had been expunged by the Council for information on Silco, and an insider's view into the Undercity. Caitlyn had pulled all-nighters with Vi to prep her for the written portion. The physical, she'd passed without breaking a sweat. There was nobody she couldn't crush on the mat or outpace in the obstacle courses.

The polygraph gave her a little trouble. She'd practiced saying the right things. She'd done a trial run with Caitlyn on equipment that they'd… borrowed… from the office's interrogation unit. She'd passed with flying colors. During the real interview though, she'd had blips on a few questions: Have you committed any major crimes? and Have you ever inflicted physical injury to a child in your care?

The indicia weren't enough to trigger alarms. But the interviewer brought them to Vi's attention. She'd stuck to her answers: No, on both counts.

Afterward, she'd broken down sobbing in an empty alleyway, and cracked the wall with her bare fist.

The rainfall skitters off the awning like marbles. Vi takes a slow breath, and leans against the wall. She observes the oily froth of traffic, attuning herself to the rhythms of the Undercity. 

Zaun.

To look at her, you might believe she was still a local. Her street clothes are nondescript: red-striped jacket, white undershirt and jeans, the labels cut away. Her boots are the same: plain, but with strong grip. Good for staying on her feet during 12-hour patrols in downtown Piltover, but also for vaulting to the closest rooftop in an emergency belowground.

Low-key in all but one respect: she is armed to the teeth.

Beneath her untucked shirt, clipped with a belt at her spine, she carries a spool of grappling wire. A switchblade is tucked into the specially-stitched pocket of her pants, and an Emerson folder is concealed in her wallet.

Hardly her full freight. But the precautions are necessary.

She wasn't allowed to take the Hexgauntlets. She didn't have the clearance with the Wardens. Even if she did, she was less concerned with administrative crap than with personal headaches. It already took a month of back-and-forth bullshitting—oops, her bad, diplomacy—between Councilor Medarda and Silco to let her set foot belowground. Next they'd taken forever on the regulations for Piltovan firearms within Zaun's borders.

In the end, Vi was allowed a pen-sized canister of mace. Not Academy-issue. The kind of crap a tourist would carry.

Well, Vi thought, Fuck you too.

At the final checkpoint, Zaun's blackguards had searched her top-to-toe. But she'd still managed to smuggle the contraband inside. A security guard—a schoolmate of Caitlyn's—had stashed the weapons in the Hexadraulic Lift. Vi had collected them during the last leg of her journey. Zaun's security was none the wiser.

It might blow up in her face later. But she doesn't care. She doesn't care about anything except getting to Powder.

Raindrops hit the bridge of Vi's nose and trickle down her cheekbone. On a surge of bitter nostalgia, she shuts her eyes.

(Soon, Pow-Pow.)

(I'll get you out of here.)

The rain softens to a luminous mizzle. Vi takes her cue. She palms a cherry-sized gizmo from out of her pocket. And tosses it into the air.

It leaps high—and flits off.

Likewise, Vi pushes off the wall and takes off. In her ear, Caitlyn's voice thrums. "All clear."

"Okay," Vi says.

They are keeping touch with a tiny pair of microprocessor earpieces. A Hex-technology that hasn't yet gone public. Each earpiece operates in burst transmissions to preclude eavesdropping by a surveillance team. The equipment is a convenient proxy for other methods of communication, like radios, which can be jammed.

Vi can't ignore the prickling paranoia that this is an elaborate setup on Silco's part. Nor, apparently, can Caitlyn. To preempt the possibility, Caitlyn is currently dawdling at the vibrant night-markets by the Boundary. She has a video-fed controller wired to a cherry-sized Hex-drone. The same one that Vi just tossed skyward. Through it, Caitlyn can observe the periphery.

For tails.

Or threats.

Vi moves smoothly, fitting through the small spaces in the crowd. So far, no one has set off her radar. But that means nothing in and of itself. If Silco is having her shadowed, his crew will be pros. They won't favor the soft-target strategy. Most likely, one half will handle recon, the other half action. The last few will stay back, potentially with reinforcements, and serve as a makeshift mission-control.

The natural question is, Will they hurt me?

Vi ignores it in favor of what's more relevant to her survival, How do I get rid of 'em?

She knows, if she puts her mind to it, she could evade them as long as need be. She knows the terrain. But why bother? She's not interested in a game of cat-and-mouse, always looking over her shoulder and second-guessing. Nor is she interested in politely contacting the Zaunite liaison.

She's not here to play by Piltover's rules. Or Silco's.

If there are tails, she's ready to disorient them. If there are threats, she's ready to trounce them.

Vi passes beneath the colorful awnings and smoking chimneypots of Nosh Avenue. It was named after the coffee-stalls, patisseries, delicatessens and tea houses glowing through its hivelike streets. Nothing fancy. The poky little establishments would've appalled any Topsider daring a closer look. But for Vi they always held the powerful allure.

She remembers wandering the jumbled paradise with Mylo and Claggor. Sometimes Powder would tag along, little fingers folded through Vi', her eyes aglow with childish glee. They'd laugh together, boiling over with restless energy: Mylo and Claggor jostling, Powder making cute little wisecracks, Vi keeping her eyes peeled for a spot they'd liked the last time.

Shops popped up and vanished so quickly in Vander's heyday. Most were driven out of business by gangs. Others lost custom because Enforcers prowled the streets, regularly stopping and frisking anyone who looked at them cross-eyed.

Nosh Avenue looks so different now. The hodgepodge of stalls have been swept clear as if by a gale. Instead, there is a glossy honeycomb of dinettes and cafes, tier upon tier, festooned in neon and brightly glassed. A declaration of a different future, one where the grime of the Undercity will be replaced by a Zaun that's no different from Piltover: posh, paved and pristine.

It would be almost attractive. Except, of course, it's Silco's handiwork

Vi wends her way through the increasingly dense crowds. Stopping to eye the barbecued wares behind the soot-flecked glass, and the reflections of the moving pedestrians, she says, "Nothing so far."

"Stay alert."

Vi drifts on, her gait steady, while a small piece of her gut chews itself to pieces. She doesn't like to think of Caitlyn, alone, her unarmed body at the Boundary like a living vein of vulnerability. She's taking risks on Vi's behalf. Too many risks. If something happens to her—

Vi pulls the plug on the thoughts. She has to stay focused.

She has to get to Powder.

She is near the intersection when she spots the first tail. A long-boned male, with a bald head and an intricate geometric tattoo on one sinewy arm. The man is at a noodle stand, the semi-shaded booth offering both privacy and an unobstructed view of the streets.

Vi thinks, That's #1.

Outwardly, she stays relaxed, offering no sign that the man has even registered on her radar. Her tail is similarly discreet. When Vi stops at the traffic light with the other pedestrians, the man maintains a safe distance. Once the light goes green, he doesn't follow Vi so much as bob in and out of the margins, a cork in the tide of the crowd.

Halfway down the street, Vi spots the second tail. A woman, in a brightly-patterned caftan, her hair gelled into green cornrows. She lounges at the outdoor dining patio of a café. She meets Vi's eyes only in passing, exhales something under her breath, and looks away.

On the mental tallyboard, Vi marks, That's #2.

Her heart judders in her fingertips and temples: the first lick of adrenaline.

Casually, she strolls along the glossy shopping district, where sleekly-groomed women and sharp-dressed men spill in and out of an emporium's revolving doors with oversized bags. Watching them gives Vi a pang. Following the war, there were rumors of riots and curfews in the Fissures. Piltover's border patrol, from their vantage at the arrow-headed promontory, reported bursts of flame from the darkened city stretching below.

Now it’s like nothing happened. The meandering strip of the Promenade is contoured in neon and flush with trade. And yet there is still so much poverty—beggars, homeless bums, children practically in rags, some toiling away as slop-cleaners, others as bootblacks.

They were around in Vander's tenure too. But the fancy shops and flashing lights make their presence that much starker.

Silco may have brought more money to the Undercity. But it's only for a special few.

Vi pretends to browse the luxury goods on display in the storefronts. She pops in and out of a few more downscale shops, before reemerging with a blue shopping tote in one hand. To onlookers, it seems as if she's picked up a last-minute gift.

In the periphery, her pursuers keep pace. She pegs them as the reconnaissance unit: logging her routes and giving their counterparts the run-down. The latter won't converge until she is well clear of the tourist district. They are still too close to Piltover. The number of uniformed Piltie patrolmen at the Boundaries would inhibit even the ballsiest hit-team—no matter how Silco spins it afterward.

From a vending machine, Vi buys a bottle of cherry soda. Popping the top, she takes a sip, and murmurs, "Just made two tails."

In her ear, Caitlyin says, "All clear on your left and right."

"I'm crossing into Entresol. Can you gimme a visual at the next chokepoint?"

"I can, and will."

"Thanks, Cupcake."

Gradually, the seething crowds grow sparser. The street cuts sharply south, spanning a narrow incline that splits into a spider's web of alleys. In the distance, Janna’s Temple looms. Vi remembers it as a bare stone façade with leftover scorch-marks from Bloody Sunday—the night Enforcers flung grenades at six-dozen worshipers, killing mostly women and children. The bloodbath had triggered riots and culminated in the Day of Ash.

The night Vi lost Mom and Dad.

The Temple isn’t bare now. It is a world of mirrored lanterns and brightly colored smoke against a darkening sky. In the small courtyard, worshipers throng, hands reaching toward the painted golden gates in invocation. Drumbeats stir the air in a hypnotic rhythm. Vi catches the sweet whiff of hashish and the more savory aroma of stew bubbling in the open kitchens.

The goddess’ maxim, Janna Omnia Amat—Janna Loves All—glitters on a plaque festooned in cavern-blossoms. 

Janna can afford to love all. She’s a damn goddess.

Vi’s own life hinges on nastier choices.

As her route progresses, she switches tacks—from nonchalant strides to increasingly aggressive twists and turns, no longer luring her tails, but forcing them to either retreat or come out in the open.

Within minutes, her two pursuers fall back. It signals no relief. Now the secondary team—the bone-breakers—will come out to play.

Sure enough, once Vi turns a corner, footfalls echo after her.

Vi doesn't glance around. She moves down a narrow potholed alley. In the late-evening hours, it is a remote green-lit dreamscape, lined on each side by ashen buildings. They give off the dank, weeping smell of old gravestones. There is no other sign of life anywhere.

Then, in the puddles along the cobblestones, Vi glimpses the reflection of a flitting shape.

The Hex-drone.

In her ear, Caitlyn says, "Two targets spotted. One behind you at thirty meters, one ahead at fifty meters."

"How long 'till they converge?"

"One minute and ten seconds."

"I'm signing off," Vi says.

"Vi—please be careful."

"I will."

She sips her soda, the adrenaline icing up her spine. At the same time, she makes her first offensive move, finesse inverting to speed. Breaking rhythm with the footsteps behind her, Vi darts to the right. There are a cluster of neon signboards below an old-fashioned alcove in the alleyway, half-enveloped in darkness. Eye-blink fast, Vi vaults the farthest one, and climbs the gritty walls, using the crevasse of pipes as footholds.

There, she crouches in darkness, balanced on a dusty overhang. An aluminum vent bellows on her left, its outline a hellish orange. A heat exchange whooshes to her right, sucking air into the brickwork building. The sounds, like the wings of monstrous metal birds, muffle the crinkling from Vi's shopping tote.

From inside, she fishes out a pair of pantyhose, in black nylon. Into each toe, she slips two identical souvenirs, heavy-duty metal and shaped like oversized dice, then ties the material above the ankles, so their weight clacks solidly together. Then she takes another sip of her soda.

Below, her first pursuer passes the jumble of signboards. Vi listens to his footsteps, clattering in the dark, then fading as he crosses Vi's hiding spot. Taking a steadying breath, Vi gives the man five seconds to realize that he's lost his target. At the opposite end of the alleyway, the other goon—now face-to-face with his counterpart—will come to the same conclusion.

Their surprise offers Vi a critical window.

Now.

Vi drops like a shadow. The moment her boots touch the cobblestones, she charges.

Her periphery blurs into blackness. There is only her unstoppable momentum and the whistling wind and the red-lit halo of the alley's mouth where the two heavyset goons stand below a neon wire artwork—a pair of red boxing-gloves—in featureless silhouettes.

They turn towards Vi as one. The first goon's mouth drops on a ragged, "Oh fu—" while the second, with better reflexes, lifts his right arm up and out. A snub-nosed chem-taser glints in his fist. He flicks the switch.

A whorl of purplish energy punches through the air, streaking towards Vi.

Vi dodges left, feeling the blast buzzsaw millimeters from her ear. It slams into the wall behind her, shards exploding in all directions. Vi doesn't falter or slow, but leaps forward in the same path of movement.

Before the goon can fire off another shot, Vi lashes out with the weighted ends of the pantyhose. They collide with the side of the man's jaw, a satisfying crunch. The goon staggers back in shock, his eyes losing focus, and his lapse buys Vi enough time to whirl in the same movement, kicking out at the second goon's knee. The man howls and lurches forward, his head at an angle for Vi to spit a mouthful of tepid cherry soda right into his eyes.

With a cry of pained disgust, the goon lifts a hand to swipe at his face. Vi's own hand is faster. Her fist slams against the man's nose, and tendrils of blood pop off her knuckles. The K.O. is instantaneous. The man jerks like a marionette, eyes rolling back, then drops as if his strings were cut off.

Blam.

A second walloping of energy nearly catches Vi's left shoulder with enough force to shove her sideways. She feels the fabric of her shirt singe, feels a streak of blood spread hot and slick against her skin. She rolls, drops down sideways, her stance low and narrow.

The first goon has recovered from the blow with the dice. Now he braces his chem-taser like a beretta fired straight from the hip. The energy blast shoots out with a strobelike flash. Vi evades, and a hole punches through the wall behind her, plaster flying to reveal corroded metal undergirding.

The goon torques his torso to fire off a third shot. By then, Vi has already struck, lightning-fast and going for broke, her grappling wire whipping out to wrap itself around her opponent's upraised arm. She yanks, and he stumbles face-first.

Right into her slamming kneecap.

The impact drives itself so deep into the man's face that it nearly inverts itself inside-out. In the next breath, his head caroms off her knee and he stumbles backward. His expression is dazed, as if he has utterly no frame of reference for the magnitude of pain he is experiencing.

Tough shit.

Vi hits him with a rapid-fire one-two. The man drops to the pavement with a boneless thud. Out cold. Meanwhile, his partner twitches to life. Vi steps over the first body and goes to him. He is stirring feebly, his shallow breaths intermixed with retching sounds. When Vi approaches, he tries to crawl away. Vi plants a foot between his shoulderblades and slams him back to the ground.

Time is short. In the next five minutes, the recon duo will notice their teammates' radio silence. Alarms will be raised, and back-up deployed.

Vi needs to complete her interrogation in that time-frame.

Five minutes in total.

With a quick efficiency, Vi pats the man down for hidden weapons or wires or wallets—something she'd never have considered before the Academy. He's unarmed. But from the pocket of his trousers, she retrieves the wallet. She flips it open. No ID, but a business card. Kieran Marshall, a captain of Zaun's blackguards.

Beneath Vi, the man croaks, "Wait—you—you—"

Vi comes down hard on top of him, knees pinned to his hips. Snatching up a fistful of damp hair, she yanks the man's head up and back, throat bared to the enfolding vise of her elbow.

"Any special reason you guys were following me?" she asks.

The man makes a wheezing sound, working his jaw back and forth. Vi's attack probably dislocated it. Still, it's hardly an excuse to turn shy. He is just stalling for time.

Keeping arm around his throat, Vi makes a wedge of three fingers in her other hand, jabbing them hard into the man's side. There is a burbling noise like someone flailing in the deep-end of the pool. The blackguard spasms, then forces himself to still.

"All right," he pants, "All right. We—we work for the head of War and Treasury—"

"Who?"

"Sevika," he groans.

Vi cocks her head.

Sevika? In charge of war and treasury?

Shit—Silco really is turning nepotism into an art form. What's next? Will that tatted-up henchman from Stillwater be Minister of Education? This entire business—Zaun—is as rotten as Silco, and the stink will seep into every square inch of her home unless she can stop him.

Conversationally, Vi says, "You still haven't explained why you're following me?"

"We're s'posed—to keep an eye on you."

"Why?"

"I d-don't know. My orders were to—"

Vi slams the blackguard's chin to the cobblestones, his teeth colliding with a brittle crack. The man yowls and struggles, but with his arms pinned, he's like a fish flopping furiously towards the water's surface.

"You got three minutes left," Vi says. "Make 'em count."

"Okay, okay." A rivulet of blood pools the corner of the blackguard's mouth. "We're here on Sevika's orders. To keep you busy. Keep you away from Jinx."

"Jinx." The name sours in Vi's mouth. "You mean Powder."

"Whichever. Look, I'm just—"

"Shut up." She digs her knee pointedly into his kidney. "Listen."

He obliges.

"You're gonna tell me where Silco's keeping my sister. You're gonna tell me fast."

The blackguard works his jaw. Either testing the damage, or anticipating worse.

Finally, he nods.

"She's at Bridgewaltz. The Lodging Project. Top floor."

"What? The Last Drop didn't cut it anymore?"

The blackguard gives Vi a blank, blindish look. "Well—yeah. It blew up."

Vi absorbs this in shocked silence. An unpronounceable feeling bubbles in her chest. No. Please no. Bad enough Silco had stolen their home like he'd stolen her sister. Yet Vi had still counted on the Drop being there, as if it was part of some potential future that she didn't halfway believe in anymore, but clearly hadn't rejected either.

Now that's gone.

Like Vander. Like Benzo. Like Ekko.

Fuck.

Must Silco destroy everything he touches? He's like a wasting illness. Just when you believe you're in the clear, the next bout hits you, worse than before, a paroxysmal sucker-punch right to the guts.

Worse, it spreads to everyone in your life.

Vi stares down at the blackguard, weighing her options. She needs to knock him out. Then she needs to haul ass to Bridgewaltz. Reinforcements will arrive soon. Then it's only a matter of time before they realize Vi's up to no good. To assume otherwise would be stupid.

Powder. The name is a pulsebeat in the aching debris of Vi's heart. I need to get to her.

To the blackguard, Vi says, "Tell Silco I said Hey."

His eyes bulge. "Wait—don't—"

Matter-of-factly, Vi squeezes her elbow around his throat. The man's liquid gurgles fill the alleyway. Once she feels the barest thrum of pulse, Vi lets his unconscious body fall.

Dusting off her hands, she rises. Scattershot plans gather at the edges of her mind. Bridgewaltz. She needs to get there before the inevitable secondary attack. She needs to cover her tracks so the reinforcements can't trace her. She needs to reach Powder, and convince her to escape. She needs to—

A little voice, the same pitch as Vander's, pops into her mind:

Steady, girl.

One thing at a time.

Vi turns and starts walking. The further she gets, the faster the adrenaline leaks out of her body. Suddenly, she feels the heaviness of moisture in her jacket. A rivulet of sweat runs down her spine. She takes a moment to drag in a breath and wipe her face. Then she presses her fingertips to her temples, to clear them of the high-pitched buzz.

The same sensation she grew up with in the Undercity—breaking bones and winning brawls and yet so fucking scared of losing herself.

The sensation she never wants to feel again.

(Soon, we won't have to.)

(Neither of us will, Powder.)

(I promise.)

Nightfall.

The rainfall has slowed. There is barely a smattering of isolated water-drops, the neon striking off them. The street-lit world is no longer dominated by brilliant marketplaces, or the background clamor of hundreds of people eddying in and out.

The Entresol block is quietly lantern-shaded, with a maze of high-arched rowhouses and cobbled streets that are reminiscent of Piltover's upscale neighborhoods—except they are stained black with decades of soot. At the corner glow a modest collection of shops, their signboards flashing in the gloom. A chop-house serving sump-vole flanks with river herbs. A tavern exuding gin fumes and piano skirls. A respectable-looking dry-goods store, the kind of place where you can buy loose cigarettes with a carton of milk. In the periphery is a rusted playground, where children are playing keep-away beneath the sprawling branches of a neon-wire tree that throws a surreally blue glow over the space.

It's cleaner than Vi remembers. But why wouldn't it be? This is the milieu of Silco's headquarters. All of Zaun's big-wigs have probably congregated here. They like things to be nice for themselves. But in the lower reaches, there are likely still shabbier neighborhoods and poorer Fissurefolk, grubbing for scraps.

Silco can pretty up the façade to his heart's content.

Inside, it's as hollow as he is.

Vi keeps to the shadows. At intervals, she carries out countersurveillance moves. In semi-private spots, she checks in with Caitlyn for a visual via the Hex-drone—and for a morale booster. She can hear the stress-notes in Caitlyn's voice the deeper Vi travels into Zaun. But her steadiness never wavers. Talking to her always steadies Vi in turn.

It had scared Vi at first; tried to make her keep Caitlyn at an arm's length. It didn't last long. The first time she'd kissed Vi, something unfurled with the slide of Cait's lips against her own: soft, sweet, breathless. It was like the first time Vi had seen sunlight at the blue skies of the Boundary, its glow limning Piltover's cityscape.

A dizzying sensation of flight.

Sex would've made their dynamic easy to nail down. Or not nail down. Even as a teenager, Vi was used to wielding the physical stuff as a shorthand for no strings attached. But with Caitlyn, it was more than that. They both knew it. Sometimes, tangled together in the cool cotton of bedsheets, Vi joked that Caitlyn must've reincarnated from a past life as a turd-polisher. Caitlyn would shush her with good-natured impatience.

From the start, she'd say, kiss-shaped against Vi's shoulderblade, There was something about you.

Oh yeah?

Your eyes. A softening sigh. They didn't match the rest of you. There was this… hurt in them. It was like a puzzle that didn't fit.

You like puzzles, huh?

I like you.

Just a little?

Yes. A thumb tracing the ridge of Vi's knuckles. Or a lot.

The memory makes Vi smile.

She needs it. She's too keyed up. She needs something positive to focus on. As the hours wax, she wonders if this is a rescue mission—or a suicide run. She remembers the carnage at the Bridge. She remembers her sister's crazed laughter. She remembers Ekko's warning: All that's left is Jinx and she belongs to Silco.

What if Powder is upset to see her? What if she lashes out? What if Vi can't convince her to come back?

Vi grits her teeth. She realizes that something about being in the Undercity, its gloom and grit, is draining away the hopefulness she'd felt in Piltover. It's making her feel like her old self, the teenager who'd lost everything. She'd thought that girl was gone, and lived on only as a lesson, a warning to do better.

She'd been wrong. That girl is still there.

But if she is, then maybe Powder is too?

Vi can still reach her.

Silco's headquarters loom in a glittering twist above the cityscape. A skyscraper shaped like a helixing braid of burnished metal. The chrome surface is new; there is no tarnishing of soot. At its zenith, a glowing green triangle, like a shark's fin, slices through the clouds. The effect is both surreal and unnerving. The building might as well be its own insignia, like the tacky Eye of Zaun.

A message to the masses: If you cross me, I will cut you.

The headquarters are fringed by a neighborhood of low-slung architecture. Vi scans them, first with a sumpsnipe's eyes, then with a Peacekeeper's. One of the primary attractions of this spot for Silco’s security team must be the multiple points of egress: through the main roads, through the side-streets, through the alleys. The second is that the narrowness of the district obstructs any attempts at large-scale ambush. Third, there is a refreshing absence of the electrical wires otherwise tangled across the Undercity's rooftops, thus curbing any acrobatic hijinks.

Vi's heart sinks a little. She'd hoped Powder would be somewhere out in the open. Except Silco wouldn't let his prized prisoner loose. Not as Zaun's First Chancellor. He'd keep her close—and closely hidden.

But nobody is unreachable.

Vi squeezes through an arterial-thin alleyway—a ginnel, Vander used to call them—between two buildings. Her senses stay tuned to sounds. It is harder than it seems. The airwaves of the Undercity are different from Piltover. In the latter, residential districts are so hushed you can hear the leaves dropping from the trees. Here, there is an ambient tide of generators and music and motorcars, rolling in and out in waves.

Vi had grown up memorizing this soundtrack. Once, she'd barely paid it mind. Now, every little noise makes her jumpy.

Easy.

You can do this.

Vi takes a deep breath. Fixes on the building that is tallest and closest to the skyscraper. Then she catches hold of its piping, and climbs. It's a slow ascent. Blackguards are roaming the streets. She'd glimpsed their shadows as she'd woven in between the buildings. She'd heard their footsteps, so sickeningly similar to the marching boots of Enforcers from her childhood. Like an army of darkness, they flooded the area, so nothing felt safe.

Nothing was safe. Not in Silco's nation.

(I won’t lose you to him, Powder.)

By degrees, Vi hauls herself up and across the roof's edge. She crouches low, chest heaving. The humidity is suffocating. Her body is lathered in sweat. She hasn't realized how accustomed she's grown to the pleasant climes aboveground. Her past had toughened her to a different world; oppressive and violent and dark. A ration on food. No hot water. Threadbare sheets and summer blackouts. She'd never forgotten it. Certainly not in Stillwater—which was barely a cut above, and in some ways, a cut below.

Now she realizes staying in Piltover has unfitted her from her old life. Her real life?

She'd expected everything to click seamlessly back into place. Instead, it takes effort. Like a conversation with someone you no longer have much in common with.

Focus.

The discomfort doesn't matter. Her insecurity doesn't matter.

Nothing matters but Powder.

Vi slinks toward a good vantagepoint. A sniper's aerie, but that's Caitlyn's expertise. Vi isn't here to shoot anyone. She just needs the elevation, so she has a perfect line-of-sight to Silco's headquarters.

And the top floor.

The blackguard said it's where Powder was kept. But Vi isn't going to take his word for it. She needs to check. Her location is ideal: near-total darkness, with just a little secondhand radiance from the shops below. The air is perfectly still. She wipes her face with a shirtsleeve, then fetches a narrow tube from her jacket.

A monocular telescope.

Vi kneels, perfectly balanced, elbow braced on one thigh. She aligns her eye to the scope, and sights along the cityscape. It takes a moment to zoom in on the skyscraper's top floor. Its triangular peak is distinctive. The eye-popping green. Vi flicks the switch to magnify the lens. For a moment her vision is studded in pixelated dots. Then the images sharpen. The headquarters' top floor is an atrium, she realizes. More than that. A penthouse suite. She can see the intricate scrollwork of stone masonry. She can see tall casement windows covered in heavy swagged billows. She can see the elegant curling banister of a balcony.

Vi's pulse skips.

Was the blackguard telling the truth? Is Powder there? In the highest tower?

She flicks the magnification switch again. Her view enlarges. The balcony has a smooth-tiled patio set into it. Fancy. The kind of thing she'd see in a Councilor’s digs. There is an oblong-shaped pool, its underwater lights casting a dreamy undulation of blues. The water looks so pure. A glittering temptation in the nighttime boil.

Vi sees someone there.

A girl.

Vi's pulse doesn't skip. It stutters wildly. Her breath rasps through her nostrils.

In her ear, Caitlyn's voice crackles: "Vi—what's happening?"

Vi can't answer.

Powder is there.

Right there, miles away and yet up-close. She is perched on the diving board, legs dangling playfully. Her small body is clad in a black two-piece swimsuit. The lens is so sharp that Vi can see each detail. The underwater ambience throwing eerie ripples across the tattoos on Powder's arm and torso and thigh. Her skin glowing-white and gleaming-wet. The insanely long blue braids undone and dripping around her face.

Oh, Vi thinks.

A tsunami of love and grief and pride engulfs her. She forgets her surroundings. She forgets the last time she and Powder squared off on the Bridge. She forgets the brutality and bloodshed. She forgets Jinx, and Silco's tainted darkness oozing from her pores.

She just sees Powder.

Gods, she looks so grown up. Seventeen now, right? Same age Vi was when she'd gotten sent to Stillwater. Except Powder has none of Vi's scruffiness. In the fall of her loose hair, her graceful profile, Vi sees their Mom. She is the replica of her, but daintier. It's crazy. Her smart, funny, amazing little sister, who has grown up in six short months into such a—

In her ear, Caitlyn says, "Vi?"

She jerks back to the moment. "I'm here."

"What's happening?"

"I—I've got a visual. On the headquarters. Top floor." She swallows dryly. "Cait—she's there."

"She?"

"Powder. She's right there. Now I just need to—"

"Vi. Hold on." Caitlyn's voice is rigid with strain. "You have a clear view?"

"Right into Silco's bougie-ass balcony."

There is a beat. Then Caitlyn says, "I'm circling the drone across your location. Don't move."

Her stressed-out tone cuts through Vi's euphoric fog. "What's wrong?"

"Stay put." She hears Caitlyn's forcible calm. "I need to check for sentinels nearby."

"Caitlyn—"

"You shouldn't have an unobstructed view into Silco's balcony. Not unless your location is also a guardpost for his network."

Despite the heat, a chill crawls across Vi's scalp. "What're you saying?"

"I'm saying it's too easy. Practically an open invitation to snipe your sister."

"Maybe I got lucky?"

It's a joke, and a poor one. It's also a stalling tactic. Vi knows she should hightail it. Except her eye is still glued to the telescope. She can't help it.

Powder is there.

Right fucking there.

As Vi watches, she slithers off the diving board and into the water with barely a ripple. Cuts across the pool in smooth strokes, then climbs out, dripping wet. She shakes herself like a cat coming out from the downpour, her hair shimmying around her body. Vi recognizes the motion from their childhood, when she'd haul Powder out of the old metal wash-tub as a kid, then bundle her into a towel.

Someone is waiting with a towel.

Vi's equilibrium crashes like a freight train. Shock—then rage.

Silco.

The shuttered balcony doors have swung open. He stalks out. Fully-dressed, in a three-piece suit, a towel slung over his arm. He moves in the same prowl Vi remembers: loose-limbed and languid. Predatory. The nightmare shape she'd seen from the casement window at Benzo's, coalescing out of green fog to wreck her world. Take Vander away.

Take everything away.

Powder doesn't shy from him. She walks over to him. Not just a walk—a—a fucking sashay. Like a showgirl across a stage. Like the girls at Babette's beneath the blacklights. Vi remembers one girl saying that the trick was to pick a spot above the crowd's heads and focus there—so they wouldn't have to look at all that sick crawling greed oozing everywhere.

The same greed in Silco's eyes.

Vi's mind spins. She watches as Powder takes Silo's hand. She lifts it high over her head and turns a playful pirouette, like a ballerina in the music box from Caitlyn's dressing table. She radiates the innocence of a little girl. Except nothing about her and Silco together seems innocent. Not the way he drapes the towel around her shoulders and pulls it closed over her near nakedness. Not the way he takes her wrist and tugs her back indoors. Not the way she clings to his side, rubbing her cheek against his arm.

Nausea bubbles in Vi's gut.

Sevika had called Jinx Silco's daughter. Yet as far back as Stillwater, pounding Silco's goons into mincemeat, Vi remembers rumors. The kingpin and his loose cannon. The girl he'd taken off the streets. Someone he'd groomed into an asset in more ways than one. Someone who rested her bones in Silco's lap, and broke bones at his command.

They'd called her Jinx.

Big deal, Vi had thought. Just another of Silco's mad dogs.

She'd never fathomed who the girl would be.

Powder.

Fuck—there is no way. Powder wouldn't let that monster touch her. Not that way. It is obscene to imagine it, when he's already brutalized her into becoming Jinx.

Brutalized them all. Their family. Their home.

Suddenly, Vi wishes the telescope was a sniper's scope. Wishes she could put a bullet right between Silco's freakish eyes. Wishes she'd brought her Hex-gauntlets, so she could smash through his headquarters and pulverize him into a smear on the balcony.

It's the least of what he deserves.

"—Vi!"

She snaps back to reality. "Wha—?"

"Vi—something's wrong!"

"What is it? Is there someone nearby?"

"Blackguards."

"Where? Above me, or below?"

"No—they're here. Where I am. At the Boundary."

Adrenaline cranks up Vi's body like a furnace. "That's—that's impossible. That's Piltover's territory."

"They're with Enforcers. They're all heading my way. Shit. Vi—get out of there!"

"Caitlyn—"

"We've been made! Silco knows you're there!"

"I—"

"Run."

It sounds like Caitlyn says something else. But the words are strangled off into static. The connection cuts off.

Vi stays frozen. Staring into the scope, into her sister's sweet smiling face.

Then Silco shuts the balcony door.

The effect is like being clubbed with a two-by-four. Suddenly she is hyperventilating. Something splits down her center: terror for Caitlyn, terror for Powder. Worse is the sickening déjà vu. Her memory rewinds so she's back at the old cannery, eye-to-eye with Vander. She still remembers the way his body, strapped in the chair, went completely still, his face ashen where it wasn't streaked with blood.

"Oh Gods. You have to get out. Now."

Spots dance in front of Vi's eyes. She'd done it again. She'd been reckless, an idiot; she should have planned all the way through. Now Caitlyn is in danger, and Vi needs to get to her, get moving, before—

Something glitters on Vi's wrist. Something alive. A firelight? No, it is too big for that. A dragonfly, or something resembling a dragonfly. How long has been clinging to her? Vi squints in the half-dark. Then she gasps. The creature's shimmering thorax with its shroud of translucent wings is all copperplate and gears. A machine. Something Powder would design.

No—not Powder.

Jinx.

Vi jerks her wrist. The creature skitters off. She braces herself for an explosion. Instead, the contraption's wings flicker. In an eyeblink, it vanishes. Maybe it's jumped off the roof. Or flown off into the muggy atmosphere. Whatever: it's gone.

Vi needs to get gone too.

She stashes the telescope away. Keeping low, she creeps along the ledge, and over it. The climb up the building hadn't felt long. She was so juiced on adrenaline. Now, the adrenaline is replaced by a clammy dread. The Undercity throbs around her, no longer a familiar presence but a sinister one. In the variegated neon glow, the streets seem alien: the air itself seems to whisper about the interloper in their midst.

Vi's boots hit the concrete. The alleyway is empty. She hears no footsteps of prowling blackguards. It's thirty minutes from Entresol to the Boundary.

If she redlines on the last of her endurance, she can—

A rustle in the background.

Vi turns, and comes face-to-face with Sevika. Her muscled shape is folded into a form-fitting black suit, jacket wide open, pimping d-cups and a hardbelly in a tight maroon crop top. She radiates a tough sleekness, hair cut short and shiny, lips licked a nasty shade of red that matches the sharp twist of her smile.

Seeing her, Vi glowers her old defiance before falling perfectly still.

Fanned around Sevika in a semi-circle are six blackguards, their tac-suits contoured by the stark red neon of the streetside signs. Their guns are out and ready.

Aimed right at Vi.

"Officer," Sevika greets.

Then she punches Vi.

It is a brutal overhand fired straight from her hip. It connects with Vi's solar plexus, sending her sailing back several feet. She hits the alleyside wall and slumps in a heap. Pain rebounds through her ribcage. Sevika had used the mechanical arm. The kickback is like taking a shot from an elephant gun.

Sevika struts closer. Her steel-toed boot prods Vi's shoulder. Reflecting the red neon lights, her eyes seem to be the color of blood.

"Get your ass up," she says. "Silco wants a word."

[stateofsport211]

Porto Alegre Ch R1: Gonzalo Villanueva def. Luis (Guto) Miguel [WC] 6-2, 6-0 Match Stats

📸 ATP official website

G. Villanueva might have used his experience as he overpowered Luis from the start of the match, which affected the latter's groundstrokes. Luis possibly had the raw power, but the accuracy can still be developed as the former tried to extend several points, but some slight depth helped him to secure several crucial early returns, which outhit Luis' third-shot forehands in general. As a result, G. Villanueva converted 83% of his 6 break points as Luis wasn't able to convert 2 of his break points from the second set.

The service game also did not do much to Luis this time, while G. Villanueva stayed stable. It might have been due to nerves, but the former double-faulted 8 timee than the latter's 1, which faded his second serve winning percentage to 30% compared to G. Villanueva's 65%, further questioning his balance. On the other hand, the Argentinean stood out through his first serves by winning 66% of his first serve points even though he scored just one ace throughout the match.

In the second round, G. Villanueva will face lucky loser Daniel Dutra da Silva, who defeated Gonzalo Oliveira 7-5, 4-6, 7-6 in a 3-hour-20-minute classic. A possible tussle that could end up being another kind of classic, this match would test their offensives and depth, to some extent, as their consistency in this regard became crucial. Should be one of those intriguing matches to continue their campaigns!

[reddogf13]

Raw nerves ch 3

Pennywise x Beverly

summery:   7 years after pennywise tricked those kids into thinking they won, he unintentionally explodes a gas pipe. he wakes days later to discover hes being treated by Beverly. too weak to even walk he is forced to live under her roof. questioning her reasons for keeping him and why none of the other losers have come to end him. without knowing, the two join a path to heal each other.

status: complete

rated: M - fowl language and gore

previous chap: Raw nerves ch 2

next chap:  Raw nerves ch 4

_____________________________________

~ch:3 Scars~

The new morning rose to fill the webbed den in a yellow glow. Beverly sitting on the chair while he rested nearby. Hearing her get up to leave he opened his eyes, anxious that she was heading off to escape his reach and tell others about the night.

Stopping her with a question. “where are you going?”

Beverly turning to look back to him. “to work.”

“stay here.”

“I have to pay bills. I can't afford to take any days off.” her restless night shining through in a tired voice.

“you were here yesterday.”

“yes, because that was my normal day off. After my hospital visit I have to do lots of overtime. I'll come back late tonight and every other night.” taking a jab at this partially being his fault. Leaving while he was left grumbling over the fact. Her body language didn't say she was lying leaving no choice for him but to believe her. Hearing her take a quick shower to redress in fresh clean clothing for the day. Heading back toward his room to check on his bullet wound. About to shift the bandages when he snapped at her.

“leave it!”

shouting back at him out of frustration. “can you stop being a dick so I can check!”

“why are you even bothering? Go to work already.” shifting to where she couldn't check the wound. “how'd you even find me after that explosion? I thought I would surely be buried under the rubble.”

“because I am not a dick who leaves someone to die a miserable death. I was walking home when I spotted you in the scar.”

“the scar?”

“the big chasms made by the tunnel explosions. Some call it the scar or the canyon since it turned a few blocks into long ditches. Killed some people inside the houses that were destroyed aside from all the workers who were in the tunnels. Almost half of Derrys streets are closed now that I don't believe will ever be fixed with how deep the damage goes. Lots of rain afterwards didn't help the search for people. Washing away rubble or sinking it deeper into the building mud.

Maybe that's what made it easier for you to be found. Sticking out of some rubble I first thought you were one of the missing construction workers until I got close. I dug you out anyway and saw you were still breathing so I took you home. I was really hoping to get you healed up in a day or two and free you back into the wild.”

“HA! Keeping me from a miserable death?!” he laughed. “after you all threatened me with starvation?”

“I don't blame a wolf for needing to eat.” her tone serious. “that does not mean I am going to sit on the dinner plate or let others be eaten if I can help it. Besides, you don't look very starved to death.”

“fuck you! Get away from me before I snap your other arm!” threatening through the fatigue catching up to him being aggressive again. Beverly taking him by surprise by shoving him down into the bed. Shifting him into laying fully on his back to reach the bullet wound. Pushing a hand up under his bottom jaw to restrain him from lunging back up. Pennywise ready to retaliate by shredding into her if it weren't for where she decided to settle. Straddling over his hips to sit down in restraining him further. His body going lax on its own from the intimate interaction pacifying him.

His head laying back she slowly removed her hand from his bottom jaw. “don't move and I'll get through this quick!” already checking through his wounds. What she was doing flying over his mind focusing on something else a lot lower. The shifting of her hips over his developing a building arousal he hadn't felt in a long while. Ever since he first landed on this space rock there was something interesting to him about the females here. All their soft flowery smells made them more tempting a meal to dine on. It was only when he bedded one that he captured the true feel of them. Taking a chance on the disgusting creatures after a night of accidental courting and drinking.

Excited by the play he couldn't do between the rare numbers of his species. Learning over time how delicate they were to handle. Holding back his bites to nurture forth an excitement at their core a sweet taste that far more addictive than fear. Unfortunately for every female he sweetened to taste they never lasted long. Devoured to ultimately satisfy his hungering addiction of their taste. Belly filled quite the while after swallowing down the last bloody bite. Compared to fear it filled his stomach greater, but took too long to develop for a payment that was so easy to lose. Females lost interest if you don't pamper them enough. Humans fragility in general that had them die at any moment. Unpractical enough in the long run that he never committed to keep it up. Defaulting to terrorizing humans for a seasoned meal.

Thinking back on it all had his dick excited for some fun. Twisting around in his pants to rub against Beverly seated right above. At the rubbing between her legs she halted in treating his wounds. Pennywise waiting for her to leap off feeling repulsed by the action. Aware of her past negative sexual encounters when she was younger. Inhaling a deep breath leading him to heavily swallow a mouth full of drool. Her flowering lavender fragrance shaping to let him be aware of her excitement. A fiery smoked cinnamon he already wanted to grab a taste of. Denied all possibility of that today as she slipped off him. His check up for the morning finished that she was ready to leave for work. Heading out of the room faster than most mornings.

Taking in another deep breath to enjoy her scent in sitting up. Stunned to know he could cause such feelings in the girl who tried to kill him. Enjoying the image of her riding him to the point of screaming his name. Able to arouse her left the way open to make that a future possibility. How was he to do this with someone so guarded? Gentle coaxing during his treatments that perhaps a deal could be made. Staying an obedient patient as long as she stayed on him like before. Shifting it toward something more each day to test how willing she was. Eventually he could convince her to try something a bit more risky.

The thrill of his plan causing him to watch the clock through the rising heat of the summer day. The sound of the car late in the day announcing her return. Displeased that she skipped seeing him right away to go shower. Shifting in bed to lay stomach down creating a difficult position for her to work with. A start to his plan intending for her to fight him back into the past position of pinning him down. Tapping his fingers on the bed impatiently during her time redressing in the bathroom. Coming into his room dressed in a pair of shorts partially covered by a long short sleeved t-shirt.

Jump starting the life in his pants over the tempting sight. Thankful that today had been extra hot to give him this lovely view. Attention brought up momentarily from her legs by her talking to him for his treatment.

Her voice sounding tired after a long day of work. “nothings bled through the new bandages. Does anything hurt?” partially up lifting the larger bandages for a glance under them. Her lethargy during the check over leading to a costly mistake. Stepping within the reach of his hungry jaws drooling for a taste of her.

Gazing over her soft thighs that would be a tender sweet bite. Swallowing down so much drool to the point he couldn't hold back anymore. Mouth opening for what he considered to be a small nip. Arms wrapping around her to be pulled close. Catching her releasing a hiss of pain by teeth piercing her inner thigh to let blood flow. Her hands planted on his shoulders in keeping herself steady during the situation that would have many panicking. Helpless by the bite directly over her major artery that left her life in Pennywise's jaws.

One pull back in ripping the artery open would end her life here. Lucky for her he only wanted a taste, not a bite to swallow down. retracting his teeth to lick over all the blood droplets pooling over the skin. Lapping over the fresh bite long enough to close a few of the marks. The once bacteria infectious bite turning into a cleaning fast healing treatment. Good for small injuries, but took forever to help the larger ones shrink. In spite of the bleeding coming to a stop he kept licking along her thigh. Tasting higher to a more sensitive area under the edging of her shorts. Tempted to tear the fabric away enough to lick somewhere more private. Leaving behind a layer of drool in savoring the heated scent this treatment eased her into.

Arms wrapped around to rub the tops of her hips. Face buried to lick between her legs so long he felt them shivering. Her hands gripping his back through heavy heated breaths. Making no attempts to pull away when his bite released past a few minutes ago. His grip releasing around her hips freeing her to slip out of the room. His smile spread from ear to ear in self gratification as she ran to the bathroom. Hearing the shower start up briefly set on a temperature lacking the steam he saw escaping the door. Shut off when Beverly headed back to her room without heading down to start herself dinner.

Snickering to himself at what he did. “no treatments today after I couldn't help myself. Tomorrow I'll have to be nicer to my in house carer.” bedding down for the night.

The morning golden glow didn't come this time as a storm clouded the skies. Pennywise didn't mind it too much at first. It was when he noticed Beverly being much more hesitant to enter the darkened room. Nerve wracked enough by the narrow death funnel before his den, that the now entirely dark room was off limits for her. Avoiding the space after waking to go make herself breakfast instead. Leaving the clown upstairs fearfully worried she would not be coming in today. Paying close attention to where she was moving around the house. Ready to accept this day as a failure he laid back down to rest.

Alerted by Beverly coming up the stairs to stop at his doorway. Taking deep breaths to gear herself to enter the room. In a hurry down the narrow path to his den where she took a quick peek of him around the corner. Exchanging a glance to one another for a brief moment. When she turned right back around to head out he jumped to get her attention back.

“not going to check up on me?” relieved to hear her steps stop to reply.

“I am not looking to be bit today.”

“I won't bite.”

“how do I know that's not a lie?”

“I promise to be nice the entire time.”

“will you let me use alcohol?”

the liquid had him grumbling but accepting. “yeeees.” satisfied that she was convinced to come back. Taking some cotton to soak in one hand. The other holding the full bottle of alcohol that he could read off her wasn't just for medical reasons. It was a defense to throw in his face if he reacted aggressively toward her. Standing by the bed she held a distrusting look to him about ready to treat the first wound.

Passing her a sly grin in gesturing across himself. “take a seat.”

receiving a questioning look of suspicion. “why?”

“easier to check over.” which he was right about as otherwise she'd have to move around the bed for a full look over.

Beverly mumbled in debating something while standing nearby. Glaring back at him in warning. “stay down and don't move!” pointing down toward the back of the bed.

Doing as he was told when she moved to straddle his hips. Her legs spread far apart over his muscled body far larger than anyone she knew. Working through the creeping sensation of Pennywise's hands settling on her hips. The hands tensing their grip each time she cleaned the wound with stinging alcohol. Shifting underneath her to work off the pain into a better sensation. Catching the scent of her excited body enjoying the small friction he was causing. Hands pressing her hips down for a more solid feel between the two. Something hard rubbing against the fabric between them looking for a way around it.

Finishing up her treatment she gave one last look over the wounds. Gingerly feeling a hand across his smooth skin. Dipping along the rolling curves of the tight muscles finely showing themselves. Pennywise keeping quiet on the fact her attention was traveling elsewhere. Enjoying that she was marveling his body through delicate touch. Displeased when she caught on to what she was doing with her hands.

Rising off him to rush out of the room while saying a quick excuse. “have to go to work or I'll be late!”

he huffed over the spoiled fun of the morning, but he was able to start something. Having her approach him that allowed more intimate interaction. Keeping it up to break down that wall of her avoiding him due to his past actions. Shifting over in the bed to get comfortable with a look over some of his closest wounds. Burns scabbing over as the edges healed further inward over the course of his stay. Scrapes now being pale healed patches soon to fully disappear. The deeper gouges taking longer to seal themselves past multiple reopenings.

Resting down for Beverly to eventually come home. The common schedule of the boring day passing toward the night by the time she arrived. Starting a small dinner for herself to sit out of place in the living room.

“why there?” he questioned. Tuning in to how her emotions were stressed from something. The sounds of flipping through paper pages as she talked to herself about a few. Certain parts he caught her saying “how can I pay for this?” “tips can't cover this.” her emotions shifting from stress to fearful nerves. Heading to bed to lay awake haunted by those same feelings. By the time she truly went to bed the early morning was not long off.

Pennywise shifting himself to lay back in waiting for Beverly. Who didn't even check on him that morning by rushing straight off to work. Angry that he wasn't visited, with questions filling his head as to why she was in such a rush today. “oh well, there's always time after she gets back.” her return filled by quiet anxiety radiating off her. Her steps drained of all their energy since rushing that morning. Skipping dinner straight to bed to repeat everything the next day. She didn't visit him, headed straight to work and returned home straight to bed. To him it didn't appear she was avoiding him on purpose. Her anxiety's aimed elsewhere taking all her attention away.

What should he do? Cause a bit of trouble to grab some attention that way? That wouldn't last before the room was rubble after multiple scenes made. Then there was his hunger drawn back to the surface. Tempting her to bed would allow him to feed off the energy of her heat without need to harm her. However he needed to coax her into that and she was still incredibly distrusting of him. Far out in the countryside left no other options for food unless they came like those burglars. Hunger tempted by the sound of Beverly leaving her room to start a shower in the hall bathroom. His body telling him to hunt the meal present as who knows when a meal would be available. A short walk down the hall where he could corner her in that small room.

The drool collecting in his mouth oozing out during Beverly's shower. She wasn't just showering based of the overwhelming scent escaping the bathroom. His stomach painfully empty on top of this was too much. He had to take a taste to get something into his body or else he may not last long. Standing from the bed to follow the hall to its end. Taking long enough that Beverly was finishing up her shower by the time he reached the door. Inhaling a deep breath of the escaping scent in savoring it. Gathering up the energy to step through the locked door up behind the unaware girl. The mirror in front of her far too steamed up to reveal his presence. Focusing on brushing out her wet hair as she stood in front of the sink. wrapped from below her shoulders down to her knees in a large blue towel that made her wet red hair stand out all the more.

Finishing up her brushing she set the black brush down to wipe the mirror clean. Surprised at seeing his reflection staring at her from the mirror she whipped around to face him. “what are you doing in here?!” regaining the breath startled from her.

Swallowing down his drool. “what are you doing in here?”

“showering?” raising an eyebrow to his question. Tensing by him stepping closer to leave little room for her to move. Backed up against the sink where his arms surrounded her sides while his hands leaned against the counter edge. Leaning down to deeply scent at her neck for a fresh breath of it. His actions causing the heated scent to turn all the more appetizing.

“smells like you were doing something else.” his call out firing up a bright blush across Beverly's face.

“umm-” her wavering voice cut short by a hand rubbing up along her inner thigh. Swallowing heavily by a gentle squeeze to her thigh with his sharp nails pricking the still wet skin. Rubbing upwards closer to the end goal he wanted so badly. The scent he breathed in burning his nose down into his lungs as a roaring fire would. That fire snuffed out to a bitter black smoke when she stressed at his pressing hand.

“don't! Don't!” she repeated speedily. He retracted his hand to help her feel comfortable again. Without arousal from her he wouldn't be able to get any sort of meal. Making the task of keeping her aroused and comfortable highly important to him.

He thought of what to do next. “pushed too hard. Still far too early for her to be comfortable with me.” accepting that he wasn't going to get anywhere he readied to step away until Beverly mentioned an important detail.

“it hurts.” she mumbled out.

“hurts?” curious on why when he knew that wasn't normal. When she nodded he shifted back to take in the current situation. He could still smell the lovely heated scent off her. Moving forward he offered to do some doctoring of his own. “let me take a look.” picking her up to seat her on the sink counter. Careful to take everything slow for her not to feel like cornered prey. Her heated scent covered in the developing anxiety as he spread her legs to slip close. Kneeling down to get closer under the towel spreading across her legs. A mere look finding nothing wrong, but he'd know more by taste. Stretching his long red tongue changing to a black color further along its length. He gave a tender shallow lick to her that had her tense from the mentioned pain.

The small lick was all he needed to catch the tearing of her walls. Whoever she was with last had been viciously rough to her. He waited for her to ride out the pain as his spit did some healing. The next lick going deeper didn't cause as much pain, but Beverly tensed anyway due to the stinging. Relaxing after the next few licks healed most the painful injuries. Building back up the sweet taste he wanted the first time. His drool dripping tongue lapping up the delicious nectar she was making for him. Taking hardly any time to heal her as he licked every part of her inner walls. Burying his face between her legs pressing her further back against the mirror. Her legs hiked up over his shoulder with fists gripping the fabric there. Moaning along to the greedy licks he repeated in filling his hunger. The close interaction letting him leech away enough energy to feed his body to a healthier status.

He wanted to do so much more, but held back to keep it slow. Pulling away to claim his doctoring finished in licking his salivating jaws clean. He had to remind himself that human females had limited energy to spend for such activities.

Beverly panted to catch her breath.“fuck.”

Pennywise chuckled at her reaction. “night Beverly.” he smirked while opening the bathroom door to leave.

“yeah, night to you to.” joking about the casualness to his leaving. Shutting the door again to finish readying for bed.

He returned to bed on a fuller stomach no longer aching to hunt. Sensing his healing already picking up its pace using the overflow of energy available. Thinking about how he could be back to normal in a few days if he kept this up.

[sweetdreamsofgelato]

Midsummer Misadventures: Chapter 6

(Henry pic credit. The rest are Google.)

[CH 1] [CH 2] [CH 3] [CH 4] [CH 5] [CH 6] [CH 7]

Pairing: Henry x Female!Reader (you)

Word count: 4392

Warnings: RPF; Enemies to Lovers. Slow Burn Smut (not yet). Snark. So much snark. Olympic-level bickering. Adult language and themes, etc. Somewhat arrogant Alpha-male Henry because I have questionable taste in men. Plot holes and predictability abound.

Disclaimer: Henry is probably nothing like this IRL. This is 100% fiction. Don’t take it seriously and don’t come at me with hate.

Summary: Henry hires you as his property solicitor and you go on a misadventure in Scotland.

A/N:

So I finally succumbed to better judgement, set my perfectionism aside, and split up the massive chapter I was working on into smaller chapters. It was getting excessively long (three scenes and the first is 4000+ words, so you can imagine!) and it's just better this way. A 12,000+ chapter would have been a slog for everyone, I'm afraid.

Also, I just wanted to post something, so this chapter is mostly introspection and dialogue, but not as much action as we would've if I hadn't split up the scenes. However, I hope you all enjoy it anyway. You all are so gracious and patient, I just 🥺 I don't deserve you.

As a personal update, I am juggling A LOT right now and this will continue for the next few months at least, but I am still writing and will update when I can. Thank you all so much for understanding!

Unbeta-ed. All mistakes are my own.

Reposting my works on other sites or platforms is prohibited. Reblogs, likes, and comments are, as always, greatly appreciated.

Whether it was purposeful or merely a shred of long-awaited good fortune, Henry hadn’t returned before you fell asleep. He definitely came back at some point during the night, as you had vague, semi-conscious recollections of him slinking in, shuffling about the pitch blackness and silently slipping into bed, only to sneak out again as the first traces of dawn peeked through the windows.

You woke alone, though despite Henry’s physical absence, you didn’t feel alone: The pillow smelled of him, as did the sheets and—you sniffed at your shoulder and your nose crinkled—you. You were completely surrounded by a scent that’d become far too familiar in such a short span of time. The constant reminder of him flung the memory of the storage cupboard straight back to the forefront of your mind.

Not that it’d never left.

The previous evening, you’d tried to push it away, to relegate it to the deepest recesses of your mind and write off the sudden, impetuous lust as some unfortunate trauma response. However, despite your best efforts, it lingered whilst you’d showered, lurked in the background when you’d enjoyed the most amazing savoury pie and raspberry cranachan, and persevered when you’d stared at the slip of paper Jack had given you, wondering if you ought to send him a message.

You hadn’t.

“If you need a friend” had hit a particularly raw nerve. You really could do with one, and you were unable to think of a single person with whom you felt close enough to confide your circumstances, let alone these new and unwanted…

It was impossible to even name them. What they were, you didn’t know, but what you did know was that they were completely unexpected and entirely unwelcome.

Henry had tossed you over his shoulder not two days ago and you’d felt nothing more than annoyance and now the mere memory of his hands on your skin sent your nervous system into a tailspin. You wryly wondered if he somehow dislocated your sense of reason when he tackled you into the cupboard. Your judgement was clearly compromised, and the fact that you couldn’t think of anyone with whom you trusted enough to confide in about all this was salt in an old wound.

Henry’s rise to fame made being even peripherally connected to him lonely and isolating, and over time you’d become resentful. With the proliferation of social media, privacy was all but nonexistent, and though you’d never chosen to be in the public eye to any degree, you were continually thrust into it by association.

It was never something you voluntarily disclosed, but everyone in your life knew you had ties to Henry. Even though you’d tried to distance yourself and bury the connection, people managed to dig it up eventually: The few joint family get-togethers or outings you both attended inevitably got papped or some bygone childhood memories immortalised on the internet got dredged up and recirculated for public consumption, especially when he was promoting his latest project. Whilst curiosity from strangers generally faded once it was discovered there was nothing salacious to gossip about, it was impossible to ignore how the people in your orbit treated you differently.

Romantic endeavours either ghosted you or interrogated you on how close you were with him, ultimately succumbing to insecurity and jealousy that ended relationships before they began. People who took only a mild interest in your existence suddenly invited you to lunch or out for drinks in an attempt to jockey for some sort of favourable position. Colleagues who typically treated you with haughty indifference started asking your professional opinions whilst not so slyly digging for dirt on Henry, ultimately inquiring if he was single and looking—personally or legally.

The worst, the absolute worst, were the ones who played the long game. Months or even years of emotional investment (something that was already incredibly challenging for you) in someone you’d thought was a friend, only to have them ingratiate themselves into the most protected corners of your life for their own perceived gain.

Somehow explaining, ad nauseam, that you and Henry had no meaningful relationship on any level was not the slightest deterrent, and the repeated violations of your inner sanctum inflicted lasting damage. To say you had trust issues was putting it rather mildly.

It was bad enough when the media identified you as a family friend or, erroneously, as “perhaps a distant cousin,” but now, with a false rumour that you were his secret wife: The commentary, scrutiny, and conjecture would be far-reaching and a thousand times worse than ever before. It would be invasive and relentlessly cruel, and your resentment took an even more bitter turn. Part of you felt guilty for not rising above, but it was difficult to be the better person when the mere existence of someone you actively avoided routinely upended your life. To add insult to injury, frustration with yourself was now equal to your resentment because, like an idiot, you’d willingly placed yourself into the line of fire by agreeing to this job.

Yes, it was your poor decision and you owned that, but Henry wasn’t guiltless in the grand scheme of things. He wreaked considerable havoc and he was far too perceptive to be ignorant of it. The only explanation that made sense was that he simply didn’t care, and anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in the crossfire of his fame and ego was considered an acceptable loss.

It shouldn’t be surprising; he’d always played fast and loose without a thought to the consequences, but perhaps you’d held onto some absurd hope he would grow out of it, if just for everyone around him. One would think being a public figure necessitated developing a certain sense of prudence, but you supposed he didn’t have to when he was able to pay a whole bloody team to clean up after him.

The sour cherry on top of it all was that you now had to contend with the aftermath of whatever had happened in that blasted cupboard. Even sleep had offered no escape; the memory of being completely wrapped up in him had invaded your dreams with such illicit efficiency it’d be admirable if it wasn’t so fundamentally distressing.

Not to mention complicating.

Stifling.

Crawling out of your makeshift blanket fort, you reached over to the bedside table and once again picked up your phone and the slip of paper that rested under it. Of course, if Jack had meant “friend” in an entirely different context...

…the fleeting, emotionless, with no strings attached kind of friend.

Nope. You unceremoniously dropped the paper and phone back onto the bedside table. No, there were too many eyes on you at the moment for any good to come of it. Impossible for many reasons, including the fact that every time you tried to envision yourself with Jack—and by God, you’d clung to that fantasy with embarrassing desperation—the memory of being tangled up with Henry, with his warm breath on your neck and deep rough voice in your ears, repeatedly razed it to the ground.

Just as you let out a frustrated and mortified groan, you heard the door swing open. The unmistakable sounds of Henry shuffling and then stopping abruptly, followed by rattling dishes and low cursing cut through the air.

“Am I interrupting?” Henry called out from the doorway. He sounded more cautious than sarcastic, though the insinuation was obvious.

“If I say yes, will you go away?” you answered.

“Is it safe to come in, yes or no?” he replied impatiently. “This shit is heavy.”

You pressed a finger to your temple and sighed wearily. “I’m neither naked nor in any compromising positions.”

Henry promptly bustled in and made a discouraging noise when you immediately retreated back into your blanket fort.

“Arise,” said Henry with a tired sort of amusement, “for the end is nigh.”

“That’s not the slightest bit encouraging.”

“But it is the truth,” Henry replied matter-of-factly. “Were you not the one who gave me a proper dressing-down yesterday for not being honest and forthcoming?”

You winced. He just had to phrase it like that. Dressing-down.

“Plus if you don’t get up, you can’t have this.”

As if on cue, enticing aromas wafted in your direction, deftly slipping through the tufted defences of the bedding. You peeked out from under the edge of the duvet to see Henry had moved your side of the bed (good lord, there was now a “your side of the bed”), and in his hands was a hefty serving tray laden with a generous breakfast and a very large, steaming mug.

You reached a hand out from under the covers but Henry slid just out of reach.

“Nice try,” he chided, “but I’ll need more commitment than that.”

You were sorely tempted to kick him out, but knowing Henry, he would take breakfast with him just to be spiteful. Regardless, there was no way you would relax even with him gone. Your own mind was no longer a safe haven, so with a distinct sense of self-loathing, you dragged yourself upright, brushed the sleep-mussed hair from your face, and immediately took the proffered coffee. “I thought you weren’t an enabler.”

Henry smiled and shrugged in a way only a man with a mercurial conscience could. “When it suits me.”

You took a sip, eyes fluttering closed on a moan. It was a heady, indecent thing, but you didn’t care. After the exceedingly exhausting day before and subsequently restless night, it tasted like heaven and you didn’t care who knew about it.

After another sip and satisfied hum, you remarked, “So much for moral superiority.”

Your gaze flicked up to find Henry’s face tightly drawn. His knuckles whitened around the handles of the tray, and his expression shifted in an odd progression from dazed, panicked, to horrified. Surely this wasn’t the first time someone questioned his moral compass. You were fairly certain you’d done so on at least a half-dozen occasions.

Hell, there was sufficient evidence to question whether said compass even existed.

“Sorry?” he asked, sounding rather froggy. Bereft of his earlier swagger, Henry clumsily sidled away and slid the tray onto the sideboard.

You eyed him curiously before indicating the mug and the breakfast. “Bribe.”

“Ah, yes…sadly there is no high ground when it comes to public relations.” He cleared the residual grit from his voice with an awkward cough. “Survival of the fittest. Kill or be killed. It’s all quite Darwinian.”

“Rather grim for this early in the morning.”

“Welcome to my life.”

You shot him a caustic look over the top of your mug. He didn’t miss it.

“What now?” he snapped defensively though didn’t give you the time to answer. “Do you think I find all this enjoyable?”

“It would explain some of your questionable decision making.” Admittedly, calling him out may be the pot calling the kettle black, but it was still true.

“My life is not as charmed as you like to think it is.”

“If you think to give me some sob story about the woes of being rich and famous in the unfettered patriarchy, I’m not interested.” You knew celebrity was not all rainbows and roses—you were currently suffering some of the worst of it after all, but honestly, check your privilege.

Henry’s jaw twitched but he quickly changed the subject. “I ran into Caroline downstairs last night.”

Both your blood sugar and tolerance levels were too low for whatever Henry had to say next. Your eyes flitted woefully from the breakfast across the room to your phone beside you, and your mind drifted again. Henry droned on in the background, though what he said was lost in the haze of your own thoughts. You’d set the mobile to mute long ago and thankfully all of your socials had always been private, but the missed calls and unread messages were increasing exponentially. Henry may have said it was best to stay off the internet until this all blew over, but you wondered if you ought to check. Just rip off the bandage and witness the carnage firsthand. As frustrating as this all was, it didn’t pay to be ignorant; the more you knew about the lies being bandied about, the better you could prepare a response.

Anxiety pinched sharply in your chest. Okay, maybe you weren’t ready for it, but you really needed to get in touch with your family, if only just to warn them not to believe anything they may hear or read. And definitely not to answer any calls from journalists, reporters, or internet randos.

“Are you even listening?”

“Hmm?” You looked up and blinked Henry back into focus.

He glowered down at you from the end of the bed, spine ramrod straight and his arms folded tightly across his chest. Something in the authoritative posture, the shimmer of irritation that shadowed his sharp gaze, and the hard edge of his voice sent a thrill down your spine. To your horror, everything became uncomfortably warm.

Was this a thing?

Was this your thing?

“Sorry,” you muttered, quickly taking a drink in an attempt to smooth the parched rasp that’d clawed out of your throat.

“I said,” frustration drew out his words, “I have our costumes.”

Henry stalked into the sitting area and disappeared to the right. When he reappeared, you immediately choked on your coffee as he produced what could only be described as an utter abomination masquerading as a gown.

It was horrifying: The snow-white sleeve puffs were larger than your own head and the heart-shaped corseted bodice was embellished with so many rhinestones and sequins it would surely burn the retinas of everyone within a three-mile radius. A matching taffeta overskirt was pinned back with string pearls and oversized bows, revealing a comically voluminous underskirt made of layers upon layers of satiny bubble-gum pink trimmed with white lace.

It was amazing that the original lead hadn’t abandoned the play long ago.

Tears welled in your eyes as hot liquid seared your nose and throat. You gave your chest a few sharp whacks to dislodge the coffee and your disbelief. “You can’t be serious,” you wheezed through a cough.

Henry slid you a humouring look, one a condescending adult might give a small child when explaining a simple concept. “Did you really expect to not wear a costume?”

“That is not a costume,” you said severely, “it’s a crime against humanity.”

“It will help you get into character.”

“What character would possibly wear something so ghastly?”

You weren’t sure if his refusal to answer came from a place of provocation or self-preservation, but there was a mischievous sparkle in Henry’s eyes that you didn’t like it one bit.

“Regardless,” you pointed emphatically at the dress, “this twisted, outlandish roleplay was not part of the deal.” As soon the words left your lips, you inwardly cursed. His earlier expression, eerily reminiscent of an exasperated professor scolding an inattentive student, had apparently taken root in the most indecent corner of your mind and made for the worst Freudian slip.

“Curious choice of words,” Henry murmured smoothly in return, the corners of his mouth lifting in a devious smile. It was gone in a flash, and he spared a contemplative glance at the gown in his hand before he looked back to you. “You have a role in a play. It is quite literally the definition of roleplay and part of the deal.”

The heat that burned the tops of your cheeks as your already racy thoughts intensified at his suggestive remark.

“Technically,” you ground out, “I didn’t make a deal.” When Henry moved to confiscate your coffee, you clutched the oversized mug closer to your chest and made a threatening motion with your free hand. “It’s ridiculous and I’m not wearing it. I’ll look like a fussy, bedazzled cupcake.”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, Cupcake, but it’s not a matter of choice.”

Something simmered low and dangerous in your belly at his sarcastic use of the pet name; you jerked your gaze away and did your best to tamp it out.

Henry twisted around and picked up a short stack of papers from the sideboard. He cleared his throat and read dramatically: “For I am our hero, the dashing Lord Thane, revered knight of the realm—”

“Sure you aren’t the villain?” you muttered harshly into your mug.

Henry levelled an impatient look at you before continuing, “Mighty and courageous slayer of dragons. Honourable and true—my costume is over there, by the way.” He pointed to a perfectly reasonable, theatre-issue knight’s garb draped over the chaise longue and you wanted to wail at the injustice.

“And this lovely confection,” he waved the flouncy, beribboned monstrosity in your direction, “belongs to the singularly enchanting Lady Mariella, a soft-spoken damsel in perpetual distress who spends her days picking wildflowers, randomly breaking out into song, and reciting poetry to her personal—”

“What?” you shrieked. Not waiting for him to answer, you clumsily deposited your coffee on the bedside table and scrambled across the bed.

“I know,” he remarked with feigned gravity as you snatched the script from his hands, “such a character is a bit of a stretch for your first performance. Have you ever been accused of being soft-spoken?”

You shot him a fiery look, rolled up the papers and whacked him on the arm.

“Read for yourself,” Henry’s chest shook with a self-satisfied chuckle and you loathed how your attention pulled to the movement. “I suggest starting with Act Two.”

Focusing on the imminent doom at hand, you frantically flipped through the crumpled pages.

“Scene Five.”

You froze and your gaze jerked to his. “Have you already memorised this?”

He brandished a smug smile. “Professional.”

Grumbling something terribly insincere, your attention slid back to the script in your hands. Henry rocked forward in an outward display of impatience as you read; he craned his neck over the script, then turned the page and pointed toward the middle.

“Unicorns?” Your voice rose with disbelief. A whole herd of them, evidently.

Henry let out a commiserating noise. “It could use a bit of editing,”

“This is absolute madness,” you muttered as you continued skimming. No wonder Jack refused so adamantly; this is nothing short of total public humiliation. A dark trend as of late. Your stomach churned uneasily and you handed the script back to Henry. “This is a bad idea.”

Drawing attention to themselves, as this spectacle certainly would, seemed the last thing they ought to do.

“This is reality,” Henry stressed as he dropped the papers onto the rumpled bed. “Word of the play has already spread. To back out now would make for massive disappointment and even more negative press.”

Of course he was worried about his image. To be fair, you were as well, but not for the same reasons. Henry was a professional actor with an entire resume full of successes. While you both may be forced to assail your dignity, the general public would ultimately consider Henry’s sacrifice endearing, and though his colleagues may give him a good-natured ribbing for the whole ordeal, you (professionally speaking) would be lucky to get out of this with your reputation intact. Not great when you were trying to strike out on your own.

Personally…well, you didn’t even want to think about it. The internet vultures were no doubt already picking your whole life apart.

“Massive disappointment?” You rolled toward the wardrobe, ripped it open, and rummaged for fresh clothes. “You’ve got a terribly high opinion of yourself.”

A few agitated footsteps sounded around the bed. Henry’s fingers gripped the wardrobe door and pulled it back, bringing him once again into full view. His voice dropped low and grew serious. “If we renege, we won’t be the only ones dealing with the blowback.”

Understanding arrested your movement. Terrible idea as it was, crying off would leave the locals to deal with the disgruntled public who would undoubtedly accuse the townfolk of exaggerating for attention or profit. To a small village like Muirford, the resulting scandal would leave its mark. In the aftermath of last night, you felt little sympathy for overzealous fans or parasitic media; they could stay mad as far as you were concerned, but the thought of leaving permanent scars on the reputation of the locals and their village left a bitter taste in your mouth. Still, you still felt entitled to your resistance.

You gathered your outfit in your arms and turned, and nearly collided into Henry’s chest.

You slid to the side and he parried, blocking your path once again.

“Move.”

“Not until you hand over your clothes.”

Your eyes widened with shock. Perhaps it was his choice of words or his coarse and insistent tone—or just your wayward hormones, but in that instant, every phantom tingle and needy ache you’d held back surged forward with the force of a tsunami, rolling over you in ever-intensifying waves. He held firm, his eyes locked on yours in this absurd game of chicken you always fell into, and every inch of you felt hot and desperate for something staggeringly unwise. You knew in your bones that feeling any sort of way about him was not just a bad idea, it was the worst idea, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to convince your body of it.

You let out a breathy gasp, at his sheer audacity and your maddening inability to control your own misguided desires. Unfortunately, it didn’t sound nearly as outraged as you would’ve hoped and that was positively mortifying. “You must have a death wish.”

“Funnily enough, you aren’t the first person to accuse me of that,” he said rather flippantly, seemingly unaffected by your internal disquiet, “but regardless, we have a dress rehearsal.” Henry smoothly propped one arm against the top of the wardrobe door and lifted his free hand, the hook of the dress hanger dangling from his fingertip; the dress gently swayed heavily back and forth as he said, “Think of the children.”

Oh, that was low. Never mind that he was parroting your exact words from the day before.

He angled around the dress to look at you. “Or perhaps think of Jack,” he said with a slow smirk.

You’d already tried and a fat lot of good it’d done.

Determined to regain some sort of control, you gracelessly shoved past, clothing firmly in hand. “Why don't you just find someone else? We could go down to the pub right now and ask your adoring fans, and I guarantee you won’t lack volunteers.” Jack may have run them off last night, but you were certain that they were lingering, instilled with the hope of a new day.

“I’m not getting some stranger’s hopes up by feigning interest just so you can get out of a situation you put us in.” You turned and sputtered at the accusation, and his voice rose over your indignation. “More importantly, how’s it going to look if a happily married man goes pub crawling for a stage partner?”

Your fingers tightened on your clothes and for a moment you feared you may rip them to ribbons. “We are not married.”

He’d reiterated it just to stoke your irritation, you were sure, but you were about three seconds away from throwing open the window sash and screaming it to the world. Not that anyone would bother to listen, apparently.

“Eternally grateful for it, but the reality is that rumour has unfortunately become conspiracy.”

This was it. This was the hill you died on. “And whose fault is that again?”

Henry shoved away from the wardrobe and toward the sideboard, letting out a long string of curses along the way, a sure sign of rising frustration. “Does it really matter at this point?” he muttered and rubbed at the back of his neck.

Even if he had agreed to try to set it right, the situation was beyond fixable now, and the desire to feel put out was completely elemental. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if you had just an ounce of self-restraint.”

“Really?” He rounded sharply, forbearance snapping as he aimed the end of the dress hanger in your direction. One brow rose in a dark, accusatory arch and there was no shortage of sarcasm in his voice. “I’m the only one in this room who lacks self-restraint?”

Taut silence expanded between you and shame immediately dampened your ire. His expression was humourless when he silently thrust the dress toward you once more.

You swallowed thickly around nascent guilt; heat crawled up your neck and proceeded all the way to the tips of your ears. Loathe you were to admit it, your juvenile attempt to one-up him had played a direct part in your situation. His retaliatory question laid blame quite squarely where it belonged, and you hated him for it. You stamped over and snatched the dress from his hand and hated his self-righteous, triumphant smirk even more.

“Truce?” It sounded more like a statement than a question. He still looked rather stormy, but the tension in his voice eased somewhat when he added, “If only for the sake of our sanity?”

Grudgingly, you couldn’t argue with that. Survival mode made sense and more could be accomplished working together than snapping at each other’s throats. Hadn’t you made the same point just yesterday morning? Given the finality of your situation, perhaps it was better to focus on a solution rather than who was at fault.

Realistically, the likelihood of success was low. Cooperation always seemed short-lived with antagonism ultimately winning out in the end.

You let out a tired sigh. “Fine, but I still don’t think this…” you gesticulated wildly, the massive dress rustling loudly with the movement, “...is going to do any good.”

Henry picked up his own costume, sagged against the wall, and hummed soberly as you proceeded to the bathroom. When you turned to close the door, you caught sight of hard resignation creasing his face. His eyes were unfocused, fixed onto some unseeable point in the distance of his mind; he looked tired and deeply conflicted, and it gave you pause.

He suddenly caught your gaze. It was as intense as the words that followed, and a flash of something acute once again fizzled up your spine: “People tend to believe what they want to believe regardless of the truth. Trying to convince them otherwise is wasted energy.”

[sylverstorms]

Cassandra x Maiden ----Anonymity Ch. 8

Ch.1      Ch.2      Ch.3      Ch.4      Ch.5      Ch.6      Ch.7

It has come to a point where you can’t even pretend to yourself that you don’t care for her.

All the time you spend with Cassandra every evening has made certain feelings impossible to deny, though you are too scared to name them all.

You don’t name the smile you can’t contain when she excitedly pulls you to the armory to show you her collection of blades –and explains, in a very animated fashion, about the optimal use for each one. You don’t want to know what the stutter in your heartbeat means, every time she genuinely laughs, pale neck thrown back, nose slightly scrunched and all. 

And it’s not just Cassandra you grow a tad closer to.  

Bela comes to you whenever the two of them have argued and goes ‘Tell my sister’ this or that. Daniela is apparently not allowed within a twenty meter radius of you, but she approaches to poke and prod at you whenever she wants to annoy Cassandra. She never manages to do either, because the middle sister always swoops in, fuming, dragging her away by the hood of her robes like a kitten.

Lady Dimitrescu is the only one as distant as the day you first saw her –and it’s probably for the better. You don’t see her much, anyway, not with how Cassandra takes you to empty castle wings to have you all to herself.

Tonight is different.

After dinner, Bela leaves with her mother and you go to help the other maids present clean the table. But your lover steps in the way and grabs your elbow, instead, hurriedly pulling you along.

“Do not tell me you’re seriously thinking to make me wait longer.” she says.

Of course, you promised to watch a movie you found on your phone with her and she’s been buzzing with impatience since.

That is, until a certain redhead blocks your way. 

“Daniela, move.” Cassandra huffs. 

“What are you doing? Take me with you.” the younger sister replies, brimming with childlike curiosity. 

“No. Go bother Bela.” A shooing motion is made. 

“Bela’s no fun. I wanna come with you and Alexia.” she drops your name so casually it’s startling.

“Wait give me a moment to think about it –moment over. No.” Cassandra states, fast.

But Daniela shoots forward and grabs your arm like a koala. Your eyes go wide at the same time as Cassandra’s, for different reasons.

The brunette immediately grips her sister’s robes, none-too-gently. “Don’t touch her, she’s mine!”

“If you don’t take me along I’m telling mother where you found that music player and phone!” Daniela answers, her hold enough to cut off your blood flow.

You send Cassandra a pleading look before they break your arms with how they’re tugging at you.

“On one condition.” the elder sister holds a finger up to her sibling’s face. “You sit next to me and you don’t move around.”

“…she’s warm, though.” Daniela says, all but pouting. “Mother says sharing is caring~”

“Find your own human.” Cassandra growls out as the three of you make your way to the main hall and the couch adjacent to the fireplace there.

“You and Bela have gotten the prettier ones!”

“You snooze, you lose.”

Cassandra quite literally pins you to the arm of the couch with her body, to keep Daniela as far away from you as possible. Even as the movie starts, you can feel her sulking by your neck for not being able to touch you the way she wants.

You are not as focused on the movie as you are cute way she plays with your hand throughout its duration.

-

-

It’s getting harder and harder to remind yourself of what they are.

Especially when, ten minutes after the credits have rolled, Daniela is still crying over the death of the protagonist. Even Bela comes to the hall and asks Cassandra what she did to her.

By the time she’s done dealing with her sisters, your lover comes to you sporting a headache.

“We’re leaving this wing right now.” Cassandra says and that is about all the warning you get.

The next second you feel a rush of air and your stomach leaping to where your heart is supposed to be; Your eyes only make out a blur and an augur of black flies.

When she comes to a halt you crash into Cassandra’s side with a gasp. Your arm aches from the pull. The world spins for ten solid seconds.

She laughs by your ear. Low and satisfied as it is at your disorientation –it reminds you of drinking wine by a fire in the heart of winter— you can’t help but bask in the timbre of her voice so close.

“Ugh, why is it so cold in here?” she complains in that same quiet tone you love.

It is very cold compared to the more lived in parts of the castle, but your body is warm enough from your sustained proximity and the rush of adrenaline she always causes in you.

“Oh, well, I can bear it for a little while if it means we won’t be interrupted.” Cassandra trails off and lifts your chin with a chilled finger.

Your lips meet and slide together in a practiced tango. Her manicured nails run over your throat and shoulders, making you shiver for reasons that have nothing to do with the temperature.

Both of you are starting to get really into it when Cassandra walks you back into the nearest wall. It happens to be a window, covered by a flimsy curtain. You have half a mind to realize it’s probably been forgotten slightly ajar, judging from the frost that graces your shoulder, but you have more important matters to focus on, like the brush of her tongue over your bottom lip.

Until Cassandra braces her bare hand over the unseen opening, to box you in like she usually does.

And-

She shrieks.

She jerks away so powerfully her back crash-lands into the painting on the far wall, knocking it down with its frame broken. You’re left there still and mute, watching in frozen horror as her face distorts into pure, raw anguish.

“Shut it!” Cassandra screams at you. “Shut it now, now!”

Your nerves suddenly kick into overdrive and you pull the window closed like your life depends on it.

What just… happened...?

In slow, cautious steps, you approach her. She’s clutching her hand like a wounded animal, baring its teeth to hide its vulnerability. It is the first time you see her like this. Void of control, bent over in hurt. Gasping.

Something in your chest breaks.

You look at her hand, to find her pale skin nearly crystallized, grey and breaking apart —like cheap china, like weak porcelain— into flies that drop to the floor, faintly twitching.

You thought… you thought they could just control the insects. That dissipating into swarms was just a trick allowed by their mutation. But now you realize, the flies are her body.

All this time trapped under the looming terror of the daughters… and escape was as easy as opening a window on them.

“Cassandra…?” you ask in a wavering voice when the initial burst of rage leaves her form.

She looks up at you, torn, when you hear the heavy sound of heels rapidly approaching.

“Cassandra?!” a different voice calls, this time, deep and authoritative. When Lady Dimitrescu rounds the corner in her immense height, your instincts scream to run.

But one look at Cassandra makes you stay.

Alcina halts for a moment to take in the scene. Then her lips curl downwards and bladed claws extend from her gloves, easily half your body in length. 

Oh my… God…

“What did you do to my daughter?!” she demands and advances on you, but Cassandra gets in front of you before she can truly threaten your life.

“I brought her here, mother. It’s my fault.” she hurries to explain.

Alcina stares at you like she wants to crush you underfoot… but then softens, somewhat, at the look her daughter is giving her.

“Come with me. Now.” She says in a stern motherly tone that leaves no room for objections.

You clutch Cassandra’s uninjured hand, silently asking if she’ll be alright. She turns, looks at you for a moment, then nudges your head with hers.

“...I’ll see you later, Alexia.”

But, as it turns out... “later” is subjective.

 -

-

 In Alcina’s Private Chambers…

It is not often that Cassandra is reprimanded by herself. 

She has never before been the only one at fault. She’s used to having her sisters beside her while Alcina scolds the three of them… except this time they’re outside the closed door and she is there to face their mother’s ire alone.

She can’t stay still under that yellowish-grey, narrowed gaze. Her fingers fidget with the edge of her robes’ sleeve to keep occupied, while Alcina takes that deep, calming breath she knows heralds no good things. Ever.

“Cassandra. Do you understand the severity of the situation?”

“Yes, mother.” She keeps her gaze downcast.

“Even if the maid didn’t harm you on purpose, she now knows your weakness. Yours and your sisters’. You were careless to allow this.” Cassandra feels anxiety rise up from the pit of her stomach and threaten to swallow her whole at that tone.

“I know, mother. Forgive me.” she replies quietly.

She wants to say that Alexia won’t use this knowledge against any of them, but she cannot bring herself to lie to Alcina. Because the truth is, Cassandra doesn’t know for a fact that she will not.

Why was that window open? Why?!

“You didn’t let me fix your mistake. I assume that means you will do it yourself?” her mother asks and Cassandra’s gaze snaps up.

What…?

At first, the temptation to chain Alexia up and watch as her blood drained from her lithe body had been sweet and strong. But now, at the thought of killing her –losing her— in whichever way, Cassandra is sick to her stomach. It is strange, because she feels like she is hyperventilating when she isn’t breathing at all and the world has tilted and—

Please don’t.

“Since when did you ever hesitate to kill, Cassandra?”

“…If.. that is what you ask of me…” she replies but she doesn’t sound like herself at all, not even to her own ears.

“How can I ask that of you and break your heart?” Alcina throws her arms up in exasperation. “I should have stopped this months ago but I thought it a fleeting fancy. I never imagined you would end up so attached.”

“I’m- I’m not-” she tries to protest, but her mother is having none of it.

“You’re not? You’re with her every day and she barely sports scratches anymore. Your eyes follow her everywhere when she’s in the same room. You instinctively lean closer whenever she comes over to refill your wine. Do you think I do not notice?” Of course. Of course she noticed.

Cassandra swallows, silent.

The memory of laying, too weak to move a single finger, on her deathbed along with Bela and Daniela pierces through Cassandra’s brain like a bullet. Her hand gives a violent spasm and flies break off to buzz frantically around her as she drops her forehead into her palm.

She’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown and it’s just so difficult without her sisters there. They’ve always been together, since the very beginning.

They were born together, learned to control their powers together, they died together-

Alcina is on one knee in front of her the next millisecond, stroking her hair and gathering her into her arms.

“Shh, calm down, my love.” she coos. “I’m sorry to be so harsh on you. I only want the best for you three.”

Cassandra doesn’t talk because she can’t, because she cannot wrap her head around what that flash inside her brain was.

“Oh, my Cassandra. I will not harm the maid if it will harm you, too.”

She waits for the eventual ‘but’.

“But I cannot let this dalliance continue any longer.”

It’s probably for the best. Her mother knows best. It is true, after all, that she has not been acting like herself, lately. So, yes, this decision is for her own good.

But.

Cassandra’s heart has the same reaction upon hearing it as being exposed to sub-zero winter air.

[get-shiggy-with-it]

Ch. 2

Shigaraki Birthday Celebration! 18+ MINORS DNI

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x fem!reader 

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: reader is marked fem cause Tomura is a little sexist and hates you cause you’re a woman, no pronouns, incel!shiggy, collage au/no quirks, tomura is an asshole, gratuitous swearing, like so much, shiggy has a dirty mouth, mentions of shigs being anxious, brief male masturbation, tags will be added for smut in the next two parts

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6

Summary: In which studying is done, unwilling connections are made, and Tomura thinks about the way you smell a totally normal amount. 

AO3 mirror

Taglist: @dillybuggg​ (just shoot me an ask if you want to be tagged!

Tomura hadn’t stopped staring at his phone since he left the apartment. It was second nature by now—head down at a nearly ninety degree angle, hoodie pulled up to hide hair he hadn’t bothered to comb in weeks, and phone out, held just far enough away that he could see the pavement behind the screen. 

He’d found that people tended to naturally avoid him this way and he didn’t have to risk accidentally making eye contact. It was still a bit nerve wracking to venture into buildings he didn’t expressly have to for classes, so he was still hesitant to make the voyage from his apartment to the library.  But he’d made the mistake of mentioning plans to his roommate and the bastard wouldn’t leave him alone about it afterwards until he was practically shoved out with the door locked behind him. 

He was half tempted to make up some excuse last minute and go hide out at the only cafe on campus he could tolerate, but Tomura knew he was just delaying the inevitable. Biting the bullet now would help to not prolong his suffering. 

Your text thread glared up at him in stark white on blue as he pushed past a crowd of students by the library entrance and flashed his ID to the attendant. 

Group Project Bitch:

— hey I got us a room on the third floor, all the way in the back

—text me when you’re here I’ll wave you in, it’s kinda hard to find T-T

                                                                                                     sounds good— 

He shot off a quick text to you that he was hoping on the elevator. The other two guys in the lift may have given him a dirty look for only going up to the third floor, but Tomura sure as hell wasn’t going to risk the physical exertion of stares when just the thought being stuck in a small room alone with you for god knows how long already had him sweating. 

When he stepped out, you were leaned against one of the 90s-green shelves, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. He panicked momentarily, thinking he’d have to get your attention cause just walking up without saying anything would be weird right? 

He wasn’t sure. 

He didn’t do shit like this. 

Thankfully, you looked up at the chime of the lift and waved him over. His red sneakers squeaked as they scuffed the linoleum floors and he already regretted choosing his tighter fitting pair of sweats. The tapered legs that hugged his ankles and thin calves rubbed against his skin and stung the raw patches. 

“Hey, thanks for coming,” you said softly and he nodded, following as you began to weave through the stacks. “Sorry it was short notice, graduation’s coming up so I'm swamped with meetings.”

“It’s fine, I didn’t have anything going on.” 

He cringed internally at the way his voice cracked, trying to keep the usual rasp to a minimum. His roommate said it was from the innumerable hours he spent shouting at his monitor or on discord, which was probably true but to you he was sure he just sounded like a fucking teenager. 

“Cool, I’ve been set up for awhile so feel free to move some stuff,” you talked a bit louder now that you’d both stepped into the study room and shut the door. 

Tomura looked around. You’d snagged one of the nicer ones at least, with the big monitors he could cast his screen onto and those comfy chairs he liked but could never beat anyone too on the lower floors. 

You were right, there was shit all over the big table at the center of the room. Notes and printed out readings with highlights galore and sticky notes littering the pages were scattered all over. What a show off. You probably tossed all this stuff out so he’d think you were actually intelligent or some shit. 

Kicking a pile off of the nearest plush armchair, Tomura took a seat and pulled his laptop out. There was a jack in the middle of the table and you plugged yours in to cast onto the big monitor. 

You made a fucking power point for him. 

This couldn’t be real. 

“So I know I ran some stuff by you in class but essentially I was thinking we make like a simple Twine type thing using the rhetorical argument Swift is making…” 

You started rambling again and Tomura almost immediately tuned you out. His eyes drifted between the rough outline you were flicking through on the board and the laptop you had your nose buried in. 

It was covered in stickers, pretty obviously stereotypical for someone as obsessed with being ‘cool’ as you clearly were. But as he scanned through the various old meme phrases and aesthetic shit, he caught a couple of game references he recognized and a panel cutout from one of his favorite manga. 

He almost fell into your trap for a moment, feeling a rush at the prospect of someone—much less a chick—being into his main hyperfixations. 

But it was quickly crushed under everything his years trolling subreddits had taught him. People like you didn’t actually have interests beyond the attention and dick it got them. Plus that manga was pretty popular anyway, you probably didn’t even read it, just thought the line was funny or made you sound quirky. That had to be why you felt the need to drop it in your first texts. 

“What do you think?” you asked, making good on your new habit of startling the hell out of him. 

Tomura blinked, gaze instinctively turning to you but the blatant way you stared made his mouth turn to sand paper, so he looked resolutely back at the color-coded bullet points on the screen. 

“Look’s fine,” he mumbled. 

The more he glanced over it, the more it actually did look fine. A bit more than fine, really, which pissed him off even more. The little choose-your-own debate style story was not a terrible way to make fucking Whatever Swift interesting and it kinda looked like you’d bothered to google some simple coding which gave him a better idea of what you were looking for. 

It was...good. 

And that so fucking annoying. 

Well, he wasn’t sure if annoying was the right word for it, but the proposal coupled with your apparent lack of disgust at working with him made his face hot and that only ever happened otherwise when his roommate left the dishes out for weeks or when some newb on his server fucked up their raids. 

Then, you had the audacity to plop down in the chair next to him and— 

“You can tell me to fuck off if you want,” you began, shuffling in the chair to cross your legs on the cushion, “but I was hoping you’d be willing to show me how you do some of the coding stuff? I tried on my own, but I have literally no clue what I’m doing.” 

He could smell you again, like the whole fucking health and beauty aisle at the grocery store. When he turned his head a bit to look at you around the curtain of his hair, you were crooked—back against the armrest and facing him. 

“Why do you want to know?” he asked, sounding a bit less rude than he would have liked to. 

You just fucking stared right at him though, didn’t wrinkle your nose at how greasy his roots were or how he was wearing the same hoodies as yesterday. 

“I’ve always been interested in it, but my program is kinda stressful and I don’t have much free time so I never learned,” you offered and for once Tomura found he didn’t feel his skin crawl under your unwavering gaze. 

The dry, cracked area around his eyes burned though as sweat beaded on his forehead and he quickly wiped at his face with a loose sweatshirt sleeve. The garment hung off his shoulders, bought a size too big that he never ended up growing into. 

“What’s your major?” 

He found the words slipped easily from him. It was the quintessential question you asked of anyone in college when you met, but he’d never been interested in the answer before. 

You babbled a bit about your specific area of study and your voice was surprisingly not as infuriating as he remembered it being before. It was softer, he thought, than when you were soapboxing in class about the sexist implications of old as fuck poetry—it had a less grating quality and was almost pleasing to the ear. 

Or Tomura would have said that if he thought you deserved the compliment. 

But, obviously you didn’t. 

So he didn’t. 

He just pretended to care about what you were saying and didn’t hang onto every word at all. Actually he was more enraptured in the way your lips moved when you talked. You used your hands a lot too, but his eyes were ensnared on the way your mouth quirked and dipped, at the occasional flash of your tongue between strong teeth. When he leaned in a bit, he could smell your breath too: fruity gum and the remnants of whatever you were always drinking in that loud as fuck cup. He wondered now what exactly it was, so he could buy it and get a better idea of what you mouth might taste—

Nope. 

No, see this was exactly what he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about. How were you doing this to him? What a fucking slut. 

Tomura steeled his nerves as you started explaining the extracurriculars you did on the side. 

“My roommate freshman year actually started a gaming club and so I’ve gotten more into that over the years,” you explained, pointing at the stickers on your laptop case. 

“Are you talking about The League?” 

“Yeah, I didn’t know if you’d heard of it,” you shrugged.  

He knew of the gaming club on campus. He’d thought about joining when he enrolled but the allure of anonymity online gaming provided was too strong. Plus his discord server didn’t have annoying weekly meetings. 

The thought of you, up late and illuminated by the blue light of a tv screen, tucked away in one of the basement rooms in the media building was...strange. It also prompted an array of new images—you in those fucking cat ear headsets, seated in his lap as he trashed you in Mario Kart which was even stranger. 

Tomura had to physically shake his head to dislodge the thought. 

“Uh, we should probably work on this right?” he cringed at the way his voice cracked compared to your own, smooth tone. 

You should narrate those fucking sleepy time mediation things. His roommate used to hide wireless speakers in his room and blast those when Tomura stayed up too late. It was annoying as shit then, but if it was you talking, he probably wouldn’t have minded so much. 

Or no, no he would definitely mind. 

Yes. It would have been worse if anything. 

“Oh shit, you right. It’s been like two hours.” 

He glanced down at his laptop and saw that it had, indeed, been two hours since he got there. He’d willingly spoken to you for two goddamn hours. It felt like no time had passed at all, but the sun was definitely setting, the overhead fluorescent bulbs taking over as the main light source in the room. 

Weird. 

So you settled back in your chair, typing away like you always did, but the sound wasn’t nearly as frustrating as before. Occasionally, you’d glance over his shoulder and ask questions about what he was working on, but mostly the two of you settled into a comfortable silence. 

This pattern continued for the next few weeks. As the weather warmed, you began to show a bit more skin. He never worked up the nerve to comment on the thick expanse of bare thigh that tapered off nicely into your calf, or the curve of your arms not hidden behind knit sweaters—hell even your fucking shoulders were hard not to look at. 

Maybe all those high school dress codes weren’t actually so full of shit after all. Cause he was definitely distracted by the way your neck swooped into the exposed skin of your shoulder and down your back on more than one occasion.

Did all girls know that? Was it some kind of massive conspiracy to crumble the patriarchy or some crap to go flashing bare shoulders everywhere? 

Regardless if you really were trying to hypnotize him into liking you, Tomura stayed resolutely in his monochrome, long sleeved attire, and if you noticed the behavior you never said a word. 

Never said a word about his allergy ridden skin, peeling lips or scarred throat. Never commented on his terrible posture or said his eyes were creepy. Even when he’d occasionally toss a negative remark your way, you never retaliated maliciously. Just brushed him off with a jovial ‘don’t be a dick’ and a playful, but hard slap to his chest or the back of his head. 

The two of you always met in the same, secluded room on the third floor. You’d talk with him in class sometimes or shoot him texts about random bits of inspiration or a late night game memes, but for the most part, your conversations were confined to that room. He found he preferred the study room ‘you’ best. You weren’t as stiff. There was more of a solidity to you, like he’d seen when you told off that Kai bastard. 

It...grew on him. 

He was irrationally anxious that there would be a time when you couldn’t secure this particular room—with it’s big monitor and comfy chairs and less annoying ‘you’—but he’d been reassured after your third work session. 

Someone had knocked softly at the thick, wooden door and a head of wild, bright pink hair peaked around the crack. 

“Sup bro,” the intruder quipped, as they stepped fully into the room. 

“Hey, Spinner,” you mumbled back, looking up momentarily from the essay portion of your presentation before going back to typing. 

Spinner had seemed to notice him at that point and offered a small wave in his direction. “Oh hey, sorry, thought you were alone,” he said quickly. 

“Nah, this is Tomura,” you said, glancing up again and jerking your thumb in his direction. 

Tomura nodded and tugged at his hoodie strings to stop from scratching under the newcomer’s gaze. He’d gotten used to you, but other people still made him a bit nervous. 

“Nice to meet you,” Spinner had a nice smile, bright and flashy when he spoke. He leaned against the door and crossed his arms, looking around the room. “You got the nice one, huh. How’d you manage that?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” you half closed your laptop and stretched a bit. “Jin was working the front desk, so I’ve just been bribing him with vending machine snacks.” 

“He hasn’t gotten himself fired yet?” Spinner laughed incredulously, but not unkindly. 

“Surprisingly not, but he’s completely corrupt now,” you were picking at the cuticle of your thumb and Tomura fixated on the way the skin split off at the nail. Just like his. “A couple packs of chips and a Monster and I get the most bitchin study room whenever I want.” 

“Damn,” Spinner chuckled again and Tomura really wished that he’d leave already. He was beginning to feel himself fading into the upholstery as the conversation left him in the dust. The divergence of your attention away from him or the project was even more annoying that you were. “Well, are you coming to The League meeting tonight? We’re busting out a Smash tournament.” 

“That’s tonight?” you asked, eyes perking up but sliding subtly in Tomura’s direction. “Sorry, I think Tomura and I are gonna be working on this project for a while longer and I’m kinda burnt out. But next time, yeah?”

Spinner rolled his eyes but nodded and kicked off the wall. “That’s not very sexy of you,” he chided and waved a hand in parting. “Gonna work yourself directly into the fucking grave.” 

“Jokes on you, I welcome death.” 

You buried yourself in the screen again and Tomura actually felt a bit grateful for you ending the conversation before he got too painfully awkward. 

But Spinner stopped before he left, looking Tomura up and down from the frayed strings of his black hoodie to the tips of his worn red sneakers. 

“Nice to meet you, man,” he said with a wide grin. “Feel free to tag along next time if you want, we always need more players.” 

The door clicked softly shut behind him and Tomura relaxed back into the silence.

He did end up tagging along—though he spent most of the time hanging off your heels like a lost puppy—to the next meeting of your gaming club and the one after that. Frustratingly enough, he learned that your interests did also extend into skills as you almost bested him in a few rounds Smash. Your profile, lit only by the flashing screen lights, was even more striking outside of his imagined imitations. 

So much so that it found its way into his head late at night when he was too tired to log onto his server. So much so that it had his cock growing firm and tenting his grey sweats without even the visual aid of his go to porn clips. So much so that sometimes, he felt inclined to do something about the throbbing between his legs. So much so that he thought about the way you picked the skin by your fingers. How it looked like his. How your hand might feel like his but softer. Smoother around the edges. With your sweet voice whispering in his ear, making him whine and pant and spill white ropes of release onto his stomach. 

But it was only because you were hot. 

And you were practically begging for him to jack off to the thought of you with those outfits and liking all the shit he liked and noticing when he shrunk away from conversations or including him in them when he started to feel that awful sense of fading into the background. 

Yeah. 

Everybody jerks it sometimes to their group project partners if their ass is nice enough. 

Right?

[weishenbwi]

A Lesson Learned Ch. 11 “Cataclysm”

Group: BTS (AO3 Version)

Pairing: NamJin

Chapter: 11 Seokjin/Namjoon (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12)

Words: 2452

CW: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat (click on ao3 link for all tags & triggers)

Summary: Read tags and read at your own risk. Messages that disregard this will be ignored. Inspired by Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

The steady rhythm of a monitor displaying the patient’s vital signs pleads with Seokjin that the man is still alive. His heart beats and it’s possible he may even dream or have nightmares, visions tangled somewhere between the active and dormant recesses of his mind. But then so do all who will succumb to the weakness of mortality. The wind will calm, the snow will melt, and the man whose heart beats will stop.

Someone has left an open view to a canopy of snow enveloping densely lined trees and a trail of footprints that leads to the staff parking lot, the window just large enough to appreciate the natural maturation at the posterior of the old hospital. He notes how the view contrasts from the methodically lined snow-covered cherry blossoms, trimmed bushes, and sculpted cement benches of the hospital entrance- to lull the nerves of those with a fear of getting sick or dying. It’s why, Seokjin surmises, they placed this patient at the end of the dimly lit fluorescent hall. A stasis relic of the past.

He’d come by, as he does every year, to bring the long-term patients gifts. For this last one, his longest-term patient, he delivers a souvenir from his and Namjoon's childhood; a green fiber optic Christmas tree. An envelope, covered in red velvet, is placed beside it with the words "A Gift for the Staff" printed in a stylish cursive font. If he hadn’t been caught humming to himself, they might not have been obligated to provide this comely caricature.

“It’s not a farce, Jin. It’s a great idea! We'll sing together in a mixtape of sorts and deliver it to the hospital." Namjoon wouldn't take no for an answer, not when the idea itself was so brilliant. "It will reinforce the personalities we’ve built. It's humanizing. Just surprise them at a time that’s most effective.” Namjoon had said as much with such a zealous nature and that look he gets when something excites him. The look that has always reminded Seokjin of a child opening their first birthday gift to a sea of strangers among familiar faces. But Seokjin had nodded and laid back allowing Namjoon to fuck into him in all his excitement.

Namjoon, at least, knows how Seokjin likes it. Coarse and raw. He’s not brutal like Jungkook occasionally gets when he’s drunk or when Daddy or Jimin experiment with narcotics, but he’s rough enough and it satisfies the younger. It’s not like he could say no and even if he did, what would it lead to? Denial is useless. It’s a small price to pay for everything the leader provides. So when his body betrayed him with small grunts of pleasure as Namjoon turned into Daddy and littered his body with bite marks and blood, he moaned louder and thrust his hips higher.

The blood is a constant. He demands it through unspoken words and an arrangement of trial and error. It’s the only way this act is tolerable.

But Namjoon is forgiving and Seokjin has a purpose.

He had said “Daddy” more times than he counted, until it didn’t mean anything anymore. Until the words slurred off his tongue and Daddy swallowed them. When Namjoon had Seokjin on his knees with his back arched, the way he knows Daddy likes it, he pulled out his belt and hit until there were hot tears falling down reddened cheeks. An outlet for both. Seokjin sanitized Namjoon’s desolation with a clean tongue and, with a fisted cock pulled hard enough on himself to bruise, released his ever simmering volatility.

It wasn’t long after that Seokjin chose the winter holiday when everyone is more forgiving, more off guard. That made the song choices easy at least. Another ease of choice was choosing the last room at the end of the forsaken hall because, as Namjoon says, they are family.

“Family, little brother, it’s what we are.” He says to no one in particular as he straightens a jade ivy that he’ll propagate in the late spring. The tiny plant has grown beautifully and could continue to grow but there are other plans and better uses for it. The deep green of its healthy leaves pairs in harmony with Seokjin’s pressed, black pants and emerald turtleneck. A freshly shaven petite face with thick onyx hair is combed up and slightly over, accommodating his unsuspecting persona. To anyone else, Seokjin is the standing picture of perfection— though he imagines if the man knew of his intentions and could speak, he’d beg “Please don’t do this.”

“Thank you for that Seokjin. It’s nice to walk into a room and see something so thoughtful.” Dr. Kim, the Chief Medical Officer, who has enjoyed a long, healthy life, smiles kindly and reminisces as those his age tend to do. “Even when you were a child, you’d come read to him and some of the other patients. Do you remember? You tried to find out his favorite book and when no one knew, you read him one of yours. I’d only seen that one other time. Had to stop and make sure I was looking at you and not his brother. You were so close in age, you see.” The doctor is pensive now, his old age evident in the lines by his eyes, the white strands peeking through peppered hair, and the thoughtful consideration of death. “You might be the only other person that will miss him or feel his absence. He’s been in a permanent vegetative state for so long now anyone that used to come here has either passed on or simply stopped coming. Everyone but you and Namjoon.” He looks now at Seokjin, motioning to the plant that will grow and flourish even in dim lighting. “When you come, you bring life.” He smiles again, his heart warm at the thoughtfulness he so rarely sees.

“Yes, I remember. It’s how I met Namjoon. He was here reading to his brother.” He’s at a comfortable distance from the doctor, intimate and friendly but not uncomfortable for either. He uses honorifics and a soft mask of retrospection.

“I’ll never forget the look when you saw someone else reading to one of your ‘patients’. I glanced between you and Namjoon and nearly had myself a good chuckle because he had the same look on his face. But you two bonded easily - and over plain water if I remember correctly.” This time he does laugh lightly, a sight not often seen by Seokjin, who smiles in turn. “You two have been close since.”

Another cue and so Seokjin lets out a mirrored laugh to match the doctor’s own. “Bottled water and the same taste in literature.”

A lie that without consequence.

“The same taste in plant life too, it seems.” The old doctor nods toward the ivy and Seokjin echoes him, but only slightly. Enough for it to be believable, pleasant. It had taken years of practice to learn and perfect the appropriate reactions. It’s something he still studies and is one of the reasons he spends time with the locals. There are also certain privileges to being a beloved member of the community. Beloved to all ages alike, Seokjin thinks, as the older doctor continues his reminiscences. “You know when Namjoon was a child, he used to come read to the patients with his mom and this one would always be their last stop. Of course, you can see why. When his mother got sick, and that was really such a terrible thing... It seemed to change the boy. The little guy would take a bus every day after school to come here. He’d always come alone and of course, at the time it made sense. But then he stopped talking to anyone and just withdrew into himself.”

He turns toward Seokjin now and places a firm hand on his shoulder with that same kind and tired smile Seokjin has become accustomed to seeing from the other elderly residents. “I hope you know you brought color to his life Seokjin. Before you, he’d spend hours in this room doing homework, watching movies, and reading… but he was always so alone. That lively boy… Then you came and there was laughter in the room again and more plants to fill patients' rooms -through propagation, no less. You’re both saints if you ask me.”

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to interrupt but you have a call, Dr. Kim. I believe it’s your daughter, sir.”

Dr. Kim bows and makes his way out as another doctor stands alongside Seokjin. He wears a similar white, embroidered physician’s coat and ID badge designating name and place of employment. He’s young and attractive with bright eyes and a peeking dimple that would make a person swallow poison if he asked. But to Seokjin, he is the one that's almost always eager to help and doesn’t ask too many questions.

All of his questions are reserved for his personal research.

Doctor Choi Soobin.

“Is there something on your mind, Seokjin? You look contemplative.” He smiles again, friendly, and Seokjin wonders if he’s ever asked anyone to drink poison and if they obliged. He chooses to pocket the question for later and share what’s on his mind for the sake of retaining a search history.

“Yes, Doctor. Does the patient feel pain?” He sounds earnest and thoughtful. Even if Soobin knows what happens behind the doors of their residence, Seokjin has every reason to feign concern in public.

Soobin smiles, surprised for a second by Seokjin’s question until he gathers why. “Ah, for his family. It’s difficult to answer. Tests are performed to monitor brain activity or a lack of, but brain activity doesn’t necessarily equate to feeling pain or pleasure. Sometimes the patients will seem to respond to painful external stimuli so it appears they are feeling pain. Some patients in this state who are administered ongoing pain relief seem to relax facial expressions and, in some cases, the heart rate will increase until the pain relief is administered. It depends on the patient and the trauma. A person’s family or caregiver might believe they’re seeing subjective awareness when it’s more likely involuntary reflex movements.” He turns to the patient, placing a hand over his head before smoothing down his hair in soft, careful strokes. “Some research has shown a consistent response to painful stimuli but it will take something more conclusive to evolve current definitions which, of course, involve the presence of consciousness. It’s an answer we’ll get in time... with further research and greater advancements in technology.” He adds as an afterthought, “It is when brain activity ceases that a person is taken off life support.”

Seokjin nods before walking to the other side of the bed and leaning forward, an utterance of hushed words that would make the patient flinch if he had the ability, “Do you think he’ll feel what I’m going to do to him?” It’s spoken with such discretion that even if someone were to walk in now, they wouldn’t hear him. As those who hide what they do, he’s a veteran of the cautious and exact, but the familiarity of the patient before them and the apex of his coming existence lulls him as if a siren’s song, croons at him the way Hoseok's bruised and naked body begs for more amid the sea of lies and denial of his metamorphose. He gives in and feels the patient’s demise washing over him, bathing him in the same ecstasy Namjoon forces him to endure.

They both know the answer will not sway Seokjin from taking the patient and memorializing him. He will not wait for the young patient to be taken off life support as the years, though cruel, have still found a way to be kind to him in plenty. The plan has been detailed at great length and as much as Soobin will miss the patient’s blooming and wilting as his age slows to a crawl, the decision is not his to make.

“I’m curious what you’ll discover and look forward to having lunch or dinner together where we can discuss your findings.” Soobin's subjective outlook in his objective, professional experience has led him to conclude that it isn't a yes or no question. Despite the current medical consensus, which borders on archaic, it’s dependent on an assemblage of factors that isn’t always quantifiable with current technology. He treats patients as if they can understand or perceive something in their environment. In every encounter, he greets the patient by name and tells them his own. He’ll describe what he’s doing, the implications or importance, how it will help them. If it’s complicated, he’ll rephrase so they can understand better in case the patient can perceive him- something he tries not to consider in his personal research experiments.

“I look forward to it, Doctor.” Seokjin straightens and steps back, pulling a chair closer to take a seat. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to read to the patient. I’ll send out an invite for Namjoon’s anniversary. You are invited, of course.”

Soobin nods and smoothes out his coat. Presentable. Innocent. His figure is beautiful against the backdrop of sun and snow. “I hope to take you up on that offer. It’s always a pleasure to see you, Seokjin.”

“The pleasure is mine, Doctor.”

Seokjin pulls out an old book, timeworn and well-loved. He runs his fingers over the softened spine and discolored pages, taking in the scent and memories that accompany it. It’s the first book his father read to him, as his mother recalls with tears in her eyes which Seokjin emulates perfectly, when his mind couldn’t grasp even the concept of language. ‘One day he’ll understand’ and so Seokjin would climb up to sit on his dad’s lap as he read slowly, weaving in explanation and action, until his son could recite the concept of life and those in it. His father was a good man and his mother a good woman. They taught him about love and what it should look like when you’re happy and wholesome. Or maybe just whole. His patient had this opportunity, about as many years as Seokjin had in all those lessons he learned so young. Namjoon had learned those lessons too; he was happy once. Happy until fate fluttered its cataclysmic wings and chaperoned two families to the forgotten end of a dimly lit hospital wing. Fate in the form of a little boy whose curiosity wondered if his dad could taste the difference in his morning coffee.

In a few weeks, it will be the last time Seokjin turns the pages of this book for Namjoon’s little brother.

[vesuvian-american-fics]

better with time. Ch 5

everything stays.

Everything stays, even the trauma you experienced 107 years ago. Battling pneumonia brought those memories back. The very beginning of the story. (AO3)

(PTSD[?] and needle/syringe mention)

Words: 1,577

You were jolted back to wakefulness as your head dropped onto the plush pillow of the infirmary bed rougher than Erwin had intended. You could tell not much time had passed since Hange was rushing frantically around the room in search of supplies and medicine.  

Your breathing was shallow, hot panting breathes wheezed out of your throat painfully. The taste of iron fresh on your tongue. A sickening flavor you had hoped to never taste again after becoming human. You were afraid, after everything, were you really about to die over fever? Is it really just a fever, what is going on?!  

Levi stood at the foot of the bed ordering Hange to calm down. Erwin checked your pulse; it was beating a mile a minute. You strained to slow your breathing and calm yourself, afraid of fainting again and not knowing what was going to happen next. Hange crouched beside you, petting your hair and comforting you. They were guiding your breathing to slow your pulse as Levi tied a string tightly around your arm, your veins appearing ready to be pricked underneath the skin.  

That’s when you saw it. Hange raised a large needle into your field of vision. Your eyes bulged and you gasped loudly, shaking your head in protest so hard Levi worried you’d break your neck in the process.  

“Relax,” Hange cooed, they explained it was just penicillin to help you get better. For whatever reason you had a deep, primal fear of needles. Flashes of your deepest darkest memories flashed. The very last memories you had as a human.  

<3

Your wrists were tied tightly behind your back but you fought against them relentlessly tearing your skin raw. You screamed and cried as a man walked behind you with a criminally large syringe filled with a cloudy liquid. You’d seen what it did. It was turning people into titans. You fought the best you could given your circumstances but you knew you weren’t making it out alive .  

You begged and wept for forgiveness, you thrashed and kicked but, in the end, you felt that familiar prick in your shoulder. He just injected you with whatever that liquid was. Next was a harsh kick to your back and you were falling to the sandy dunes below. The last thing you saw was the late afternoon sun, birds flying, fluffy clouds painted orange. Men in military clothes laughing, others in rags crying as they feared that they would soon share your same fate.  

A jarring crescendo and a firm calloused grip on your forearm brought you back to the present. Hange was mere inches away from sticking you with the needle. However, on instinct and pure animalistic fear you screamed and thrashed. A new wave of tears streamed down your face, you rippedyourself from their grip but before you could get away Erwin’s much stronger hands were weighing you down.  

You continued to kick, scream, and howl, Hange couldn’t get the needle in your arm as Erwin couldn't hold you still enough. Suddenly, there was a swift swat at the back of your neck and you were engulfed in darkness again.  

Your body went limp in Erwin’s hands, light bruising already apparent on your arms. He sighed, calming his fried nerves before frowning at Levi.  

“Knocking her out won’t make her trust us.” He said, stepping out of the way so Hange could quickly administer the medicine.  

“She would have given herself a heart attack if I didn’t.” Levi  stated plainly, crossing his arms over his chest. Erwin could tell, by the way Levi’s brows were knitted together her was quite shaken up by what just happened. Levi’s eyes were glued to your closed ones, watching as your face twitched and frowned in your sleep. He sighed before stepping into the hallway, thoroughly ignoring the barrage of concerned questions from the young scouts.  

“What the hell was that?!”  

“What happened?”  

“Is she alright?”  

Levi continued his trek down the hall before shutting himself away in his office for well needed quiet time. He needed it for just a moment before going back there to keep an eye on you, who knows what state of mind you’ll be in when you wake up. He’ll need any rest he can get right now.  

Hange collapsed into a chair in the corner of the infirmary, wiping sweat from their brow and letting their head fall back. They heaved a heavy sigh before wiping their eyes free of any of their own anxious tears. Breathing shakily, they stood to wet a rag with some cool water and lay it across your forehead.  

Erwin placed a heavy hand on their shoulder, it did well to immediately comfort and reassure Hange.  

“You did well. None of that was your fault.” He said, giving a knowing smile. Hange sighed patting their own hand over his before covering you with a thin sheet.  

“Thank you.” Was all Hange replied with. Their mind was racing, true, but for now it's best to just breathe. You’re okay, and Hange is vowing to themself to do as much as they can while you’re out so that they can avoid triggering you any further.  

<3

Just before the sun rose the next morning you opened your eyes. Your whole body was sore like you had just ran a marathon. You groaned a bit before silencing yourself, sitting next to you was Captain Levi. Of course, he’d be the one to watch you, but right now he looked to be sound asleep.  

Your eyes scanned over his relaxed face, lips slightly parted and looking soft. His breathing was slow and hushed, raven black hair fell haphazardly over his forehead but still looking perfect and tamed as usual. He had long black lashes that dusted over his cheekbones, you were so distracted at taking in the details you hadn’t noticed his eyes opened.  

“It’s rude to stare brat.” Levi scolded smugly. You huffed before wincing at the pain in your neck. You reached back to massage there, noticing out of the corner of your eye how Levi’s features softened just a bit. So little you almost worried you imagined it.  

“Turns out you had pneumonia.” He said, his dark eyes raking over your chart. He listed off your symptoms and any medicines Hange administered. That’s when the memory hit you like a ton of bricks.  

You were screaming and fighting, the memory mortified you but you didn’t blame yourself or anyone for your reaction. No one else but that man who’s face you can't remember from over a century ago.  

You sighed, rolling over and placing your face into the pillow and letting out a low moan. Levi chuckled silently.  

“Drink this, its medicinal tea.” He said, holding a cup towards you in that odd way he does. You nodded and hummed as the warmth spread through you. You both sat there in a comfortable silence before a light knock sounded against the heavy wooden door.  

Hange stepped through and their eyes glossed over seeing you awake. The two of you smiled at each other, and that smile of yours grounded Hange. So, you weren’t upset, thank goodness.  

Hange pet your head, before apologizing for the syringe incident but you shook your head to stop them. You gave their hand a squeeze and there was mutual understanding. It was no one's fault. No one could have known that would happen. Again, your reassurance made any tension melt away from Hange’s shoulders and they released a trembling breath before clearing their throat and getting down to business.  

“So, we’re dealing with pneumonia. Seems your immune system is weaker than normal probably since you’ve been a titan all these years. That damp moldy cellar did a number on your lungs.” They stated, you placed a hand over your chest, the familiar prickling of building anxiety present there.  

You nodded for Hange to continue and they explained what your healing process would look like. It can take anywhere from a week to a month, but they’re predicting a slower recovery due to your compromised immune system. You sighed in defeat, but you expected this, at least you were alive.  

“I’ll be watching so don’t try anything funny when you can walk again.” Levi said, feigning intimidation, but you could tell this was his way of trying to assure you’d feel better soon enough. You shook your head at him before returning you attention to Hange who had a pair of small white pills for you to swallow.  

“Just a pain reliever.” They said with a smile. You chuckled, slightly embarrassed for being so skeptical but dutifully you swallowed and chased the medicine down with your hot tea.  

“Erwin will be back with a special book for you to read, but for now rest up!” Hange exclaimed and with that, they were back out the door. You could hear them shooing away the scouts and answering any questions they could. Just as the door was closing, again you got a glimpse of those bright emerald eyes and the way they lit up when they saw you. It was nice hearing their concerns, you smiled to yourself before laying your head back down on your pillow.  

Levi’s bored eyes locked on yours a moment before he turned away to drink a cup of his own steaming tea. And with that, you drifted off yet again. Resting well into the early afternoon .

[spaceclefairy]

Bringing Home the Rain, Ch. 11

Pairing: Joel/Original Female Character; Tommy/Maria

Summary: Joel doesn't talk about his feelings, and Lucy's just as bad. Tommy's about as frustrated as a brother can get. But Tommy knows one thing: if Joel's not gonna chase what's right in front of him, Tommy's just going to have to lead him to it.

Maybe a five-hundred mile trudge through the ice and snow surrounded by wild animals and clickers will help with that.

Author’s Note:  Clap your hands if Knife Dad deserves a little happiness.

It’s on Ao3! Drop a comment/kudos if you feel so inclined.

Ch. 1  |  Ch. 2  |  Ch. 3  |  Ch. 4  |  Ch. 5  |  Ch. 6  |  Ch. 7  |  Ch. 8  |  Ch. 9  |  Ch. 10

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

August 2036 – Jackson, Wyoming

There had been many times over the past couple of years where Joel had been grateful to see the front gates of Jackson. After spending days out in the wilderness on patrols, camping trips, work detail, and all manner of fun and not-so-fun trips, those gates were the most beautiful sight he could see (well, one of them at least). As he and Ellie approached the front gates after Ellie’s birthday camping trip, he felt that familiar flood of relief. Not because the trip hadn’t been fun - it had. It was just that Ellie was uncharacteristically quiet the last day of the trip, almost sullen, and Joel was at his wit’s end on how to fix it. 

Though Ellie had lately been prone to teenage moodiness (and unfortunately picked up some of Joel's bad habits, which only made it worse), her mood was deeper than simple melancholy. Her sadness was physically pervasive, marking her delicate face with a semi-permanent frown. She hadn’t smiled once over the past day, not even to make fun of his dumb dad jokes. 

Despite his best efforts, Joel couldn't manage to snap her out of it. Ellie had gotten caught in a loop, and he was pretty sure it was because of what they’d found in the museum. To be fair, the Firefly sigil in the museum had caught them both off guard. Joel didn’t quite know what to make of it, but as was his practice, he shoved it to the back of his mind. Still, the sigil had clearly dragged up something. Ellie clearly couldn’t keep it off her mind, though if she suspected what happened at Salt Lake City, she didn’t say. 

Maybe after a day or two back in Jackson, she’d feel better. She had Jesse and Dina to occupy her time (and that Kat girl who Joel wasn’t entirely sure he liked), and Lucy was a pro at taking her mind off of things. Surely something would work.

In any case, Joel was certainly glad to be back in Jackson. After five days in the woods, his entire body felt like a raw nerve - sore and screaming. Stubborn as he was, he refused to accept that maybe, just maybe, sleeping on the ground for five days hadn’t done his back any favors. Not that he would ever admit it. (But maybe if he asked really, really nicely, Lucy might rub his back.)

The guards must have seen them coming and alerted since Lucy was waiting for them just inside the gate. She’d shown up in faded jeans and work shirt that Joel was quite sure was actually his (sore and tired though he may be, that sparked a bright little pinpoint of need in the baser parts of his brain), hair piled up in the usual functional bun. Likely, she was on her way to the hospital for the day. At least, Joel hoped she was just headed to the hospital; if it were the power plant, she’d be gone for the next few days.

Lucy got to Ellie first. She pulled the girl into a hug and kissed the top of her head, holding her there for just a second too long. Surprisingly, Ellie didn’t complain - not even the good-natured huffing to which she usually subjected them whenever they hugged her in public.

Lucy held her at arm’s length, peering at her face with artfully disguised concern. “How was the trip?”

“It was fun,” Ellie said, sounding very much like the tired sixteen-year-old she was. “Do you know where Dina is?”

Either Lucy mistook Ellie’s tone for exhaustion rather than melancholy, or she chose to ignore it until later. “Yes, but if I tell you, you’re not going to go home and go to sleep like you should.”

“Lucyyy-”

“No.” Lucy raised an eyebrow at her, unaffected by whining. “Dina and Jesse are both coming for dinner later, just like you are, so go home and sleep. You’ll see them later.”

“Fine.”

“That means now, grumpy,” Lucy said gently, patting her on the back. “Before I drag you there.”

Ellie rolled her eyes but didn’t huff. “Okay.”

This was one of those times when Joel very much appreciated Lucy’s attempts at co-parenting, even more so than usual. When Lucy told Ellie to do something, generally, she actually listened (probably because, unlike him, she didn’t usually tell her to do anything).

After sending the girl on her way, Lucy beckoned Joel over closer to the gate where they’d be out of sight from prying eyes. She wrapped Joel into a hug, then stood up on her toes to kiss him. Her kiss was soft, welcoming, and the weight of her arms around his shoulders left him warm and brought a comfort he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.

Lucy took his face in her hands. "Glad you're back."

Joel’s chest tightened, heart squeezed by an invisible hand. He wished she'd gone with them. He understood why she hadn't - she’d wanted to give him and Ellie time together. Still, it hadn't stopped him from missing her the past few days. "Glad to be back."

“How was it?”

Joel paused, and he could tell she sensed his hesitation, no matter his answer. “Good. It was- it was good.”

“Are you sure?”

He knew better than to think she wouldn’t catch that, but he nodded nevertheless. “It was fun.”

Lucy stretched up to kiss him again - another offer of comfort, this time a little sweeter and softer. "Well, I want to hear all about it later."

And Joel would tell her - even about the Firefly sigil. He still wasn’t great at talking about the things that bothered him, but he’d made real progress over the past couple of years. Old habits die hard, but he’d learned to form new habits. But talking about it would have to come later when they were alone.

Maybe much later because Joel really wanted another kiss. Another several kisses, in fact. Alone, as in, not right next to the front gate with people around (even if they were currently out of sight, there was nothing stopping the guards from popping up). He didn't want to be forward about it because Lucy was making a point to be sweet, probably because she could tell something was bothering him, and he especially loved when she wanted to be sweet… But he'd missed her quite terribly, and he was itching to be really, really sweet in return.

Joel leaned in next to her ear, voice dropping conspiratorially. "Why not now?"

Worth a shot, especially if it worked. 

Lucy grinned, the soft curve of her mouth impossibly smug. She tightened her hold around his neck. "I've got to get over to the hospital.”

"You sure you can't take the day off?" he asked, and he knew that if he pushed just a little bit, she might say yes.

Hesitation colored her response. "Very sure, unfortunately. The hospital is full up. I’ve got multiple bodies down in the morgue.”

That sounded bad. Oh, well. He could sleep until later.

Joel nodded. "Alright. I’ll come by tonight."

"Well, we'll have plenty to talk about,” Lucy replied, “after I get home and you get some rest.”

Again, in that same low, conspiratorial tone that almost worked, “And then I can tell you all about how much I missed you.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes at him but didn’t reply, and if she lingered too long in the kiss he gave her before she left, she wouldn’t admit it. 

Rather than head straight home (which he really should have done), Joel stopped at the front gate watchpost. There, he found Tommy working on cleaning guns from the stockpile.

Tommy looked up from the rifle in his hands as Joel took a seat. Tommy was an incorrigible morning person, but he seemed out of sorts, tired and almost a little haggard. He lacked his usual cheerfulness and had barely touched the coffee in the mug next to him.

Once Joel had gotten comfortable, Tommy went back to cleaning the rifle. “How was your trip?”

“It was good.”

Clearly, he’d been about as convincing with Tommy as he’d been with Lucy. Tommy cocked his head, searching his face. He knew when big brother was lying. 

“What’s with that tone? Did something happen?”

Joel was silent for a long moment. How did he tell Tommy they’d missed something in the museum when they’d done the safety check without it sounding accusatory? Tactfulness wasn’t one of his better skills, but he’d learned.

“Ellie found a Firefly sigil painted on a wall in the back. She ain’t been right since.”

“You think she figured out what happened at that hospital?”

“I don’t know,” Joel shrugged, leaning forward in his seat. He rested his elbows on his knees, hunched over his own lap. “Don’t see how she could’ve, but she was quiet the whole way back.”

“Maybe you just need to tell her, Joel…”

And tell her what? That he’d slaughtered half a hospital to keep the Fireflies from killing her? And then lied to her about it? Yeah, that would go over well.

“No,” Joel snapped. “She doesn’t need that hanging over her head.”

Tommy knew well there would be no convincing Joel to do something he didn’t want to do. Best not to get into it. “Whatever you think is best.”

Joel cut his eyes at Tommy but didn’t fight him. This had been a point of contention (one of many) between them since Joel had told him over a year ago about what happened in Salt Lake City. They’d worked through a lot of their problems, but Joel’s sheer stubbornness kept them from fully making amends.

So, as was his practice, Joel changed the subject. “Anything happen around here while we were gone?”

Tommy kept his eyes trained on the rifle in his hands. “Mm-hmm.”

Tommy didn't expound on that, which was weird, so Joel prompted him. 

“Well, what?”

His answer was impossibly delicate - forced nonchalance. “You seen Lucy yet?”

“Yeah, she met us at the gate,” Joel said, narrowing his eyes. “Why?”

“She say anything?”

“No, Tommy -” He was about to confront Tommy for being shifty, but it hit him. “She said she had multiple bodies down in the morgue.”

Oh, that wasn’t good.

Tommy kept right on cleaning the rifle. “She and Maria came up on a group of them hunters who attacked us last year. A bunch of infected got them.”

Joel sighed and rubbed his temples. “I knew we should have gone looking last year.”

“We would have just been sending people out into the snow with no idea what they’re looking for,” Tommy said. He finally set the rifle aside, clearly not done cleaning it. “They’re coming whether we like it or not.”

“Did they say why they were coming back?”

“They were already dead when they found them,” Tommy replied. “But… I am under the impression they want something… From Lucy.”

“What are you not telling me?”

“I don’t know for sure what they want with her, Joel. But I think they want her to make a vaccine.”

“Well, they’re being awful aggressive if that’s all they want.” 

“Plenty of people are willing to kill for this, Joel-”

Joel cut him off. “There’s more to this, and I don’t know if you’re not telling me because you don’t know or you don’t want to-”

Finally, Tommy set the rifle off to the side, the resounding clunk of metal on wood more forceful than necessary. “Did you ever think it’s not my place to tell?”

“So you do know?”

“You need to ask Lucy.”

Joel stood and stalked over to the door. “Yeah, I think I will.”

--- --- ---

Joel went home to sleep but sleep never quite came. He tossed and turned like he always did, irritated by the light spilling out between the cracks in the curtains and the never-ending staccato of his own thoughts. Finally, he crawled out of bed and went downstairs, milling about to the same fretful rhythm of his inner thoughts.

He'd long since guessed that Lucy knew more than she let on, and he'd long since figured out she knew something about a vaccine. But to hear it - to have it confirmed - left a brand of fear burned into his brain just as sure as if it had been left there by a hot poker. Because that meant there was someone out there coming to get her, and Joel couldn't lose her.

Not only that but knowing she hadn't just told him left him feeling like she didn't trust him. And that, if possible, was almost worse.

Once the sun had burned itself out and slipped closer towards the horizon, Joel left for Lucy’s. He didn't know how this conversation was about to go, considering his famous way with words, but it was a conversation long overdue.

Joel hesitated at the door for just a moment. He could just drop it and enjoy his night - there was definitely food on the stove, and fans running to keep the place cool, and a woman who wanted to spend a quiet night with him waiting on the other side of the door. But they would have to have this conversation eventually, and it might as well be now. So, instead of dropping it, he shut the door gently behind him and went to find Lucy.

Joel found Lucy next to the kitchen sink, back pressed against the countertop. She smiled when she caught sight of him, but at the look on his face, the smile faltered.

He paused in the doorway to the kitchen. “You want to tell me what happened the past few days?”

Lucy hesitated, searching his face for a hint of where this was going. “Kind of sounds like you already know.”

“I do,” Joel replied. He took a half-step into the kitchen. “What do they want with you, Lucy? And don’t tell me you don’t know because I know you do.”

Lucy's silence, while short, was deafening. The silence wasn't careful, or calculated - it was loud, almost lewd, and impossible to ignore, cumbersome in its depth, and frustrating all around.

Finally, she answered. “I suspect they want me to create a vaccine for the infection.”

“Can you?”

Lucy looked down at her feet. “Theoretically, with the right resources, yes.” 

While Joel had long since guessed that she knew how, before that moment, he’d never asked her directly if she did. With that one answer came another damning rush of frustration. There were so many layers to dig through, he didn't know where to start. How did she know? Why did she hide it from him?

Joel rubbed his temples, both exhausted and exasperated in equal measures. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

The change in her demeanor was abrupt.

"I wasn't hiding it from you, but how do you think people around here would take it if they knew? They'd think I’m crazy, or I'm lying, or they’d fucking kill me," Lucy snapped. The tendons in her jaw tightened. "The whole fucking world is overrun with infected, and I'm one of the people who failed to get it under control. Do you really think I want to talk about that?"

Joel had to admit she had a point. Her guilt was misplaced, but it was a burdensome guilt to carry nonetheless. And for the same reasons they kept quiet about Ellie being immune, she'd kept quiet, too.

What Joel didn’t expect was for Lucy to turn his line of questioning around on him. “But while we're at it, why didn’t you tell me you were in Salt Lake City two years ago at the same time half that Firefly faction was killed?”

Joel kept silent and wouldn’t meet her eye. Of course she'd figured that out - it wasn't hard to guess he'd had something to do with the massacre. All it took was a little bit of math to figure out the timeline - something that she could easily calculate. 

Lucy bit her bottom lip, this time tasting blood, sensing she wouldn’t get an answer out of him. She wasn't quite ready to resign herself on this, but she could concede for now. Even if he wouldn’t tell her his secrets, she could at least get a step closer by divesting hers. “I helped research the original vaccine - the one that actually made it to human testing - until we ran out of resources and our program was shut down.” 

Joel remembered the radio newscasts about it. The program had been shut down by FEDRA ten years ago when the government had finally given up. It had been too late by then anyway - in fact, it had been too late to get things under control within the first year. The infection rate had long since gone out of control, and the death toll was now insurmountable. 

She kept on. “Gideon Johns - the hunters’ commanding officer - was the chief medical researcher for the team I worked for at the CDC in Atlanta.” 

Joel took a seat at the kitchen table, looking up at her from his new position. "So, you do know him?"

Lucy nodded. "Yeah, I do. Marlene promised him that they had the resources to research a new vaccine, so he ran off to join the Fireflies and took everyone who would go." 

It seemed like Marlene was the root cause of a lot of problems in Joel's life. Even in death, she was still causing them.

Joel looked up from underneath his eyelashes, hunched over with his elbows on the table. “Why didn’t you go with him?”

“We had different ideas,” Lucy stated simply. "Last I heard, they were going to some hospital in Salt Lake City. I think you know the one I'm talking about.”

Again, Joel didn't reply.

Lucy held up her hand where the bracelet she’d gone to find from the hospital in Cheyenne glittered. “This wasn’t the only thing in my bag I wanted back from the hospital. One of those old books was a notebook with all my research notes.”

Today was full of surprises. That, Joel wouldn’t have guessed. “So, not only do you know how to create a vaccine, but you’re also sitting on a recipe for it.”

Not a question – a statement.

"I don't know, Joel," Lucy shrugged. "Maybe. I was the only one left - I couldn't test it. We'd been shut down, FEDRA confiscated our resources, I got forced out of the building so they could level the place. There was nothing left by the time they finished bombing Atlanta."

“Jesus Christ…” Joel huffed, stroking his hands over his face. “Well, why don’t we just give this guy your notes?"

"He doesn't want my notes - he wants me because I know how to use the equipment."

"Maybe he’s got the resources…”

“No one has those resources anymore, except maybe FEDRA - and that's a big stretch.” 

Joel shrugged. "Maybe the Fireflies do."

He knew well and good that the Fireflies quite literally didn't exist anymore - all because of him.

"If they told you that, they lied," Lucy said. "Besides, Gideon thought we needed a human subject with immunity to the virus to create a vaccine." 

A vicious memory of Ellie in a hospital gown played in the back of his mind. He asked one of many dreaded questions. "Do you?"

"That's what a lot of people thought for a long time. We’d found a few people with immunity over the years and tried to figure out why the virus didn’t affect them - Gideon snatched their brains right out of their heads and never gave it a second thought.”

Joel cocked his head. "But you think differently?"

"Yes," Lucy stated. "But it doesn't matter what I think. Gideon thought he needed someone with immunity to reverse-engineer the vaccine, so, either he’s found someone who’s immune, or he’s looking. And if he's looking, I think I know who he’s looking for.”

Joel’s blood ran cold. "Who?" 

“It’s Ellie, isn’t it, Joel? She’s immune," Lucy said. “That's why you were in Salt Lake City with her two years ago, right? Around the time that the Firefly faction was murdered?” 

Joel didn’t reply. Again, this was one of the things he'd long since guessed she'd figured out for herself, but she'd never mentioned it.

“You don’t have to tell me - that's fine. But what’s one little girl to the Fireflies if it means making a cure? If he gets his hands on Ellie, he’ll kill her.”

Joel had, over the course of his life, made a habit of avoiding whatever he didn't want to deal with. This was one of those things. In a fantastic show of stonewalling, he stood and shoved his chair under the table before stalking out of the house. 

Lucy didn't run after him.

--- --- ---

February 2036 – Jackson, Wyoming

Tommy's still hesitant to send Lucy out on overnight patrol, even though it’s been months since the attack at the gates, but as long as she's with Joel, he supposes she'll be alright. Besides, she's been down at the power plant all week, and Joel’s been noticeably cranky the whole time. An overnight patrol alone would probably do them both some good. So, Tommy puts them on the schedule and sends them on their way.

The watchpost on the northern route is a tidy little cabin with running water and a fireplace - luxury compared to watchposts on other routes. It's a nice stop for the night, small and cozy and comparably clean. By the time they arrive, the sun is going down, snow is piling up at the door, and they're both itching to get inside where it's warm. Once they settle the horses, they barricade the doors and windows to settle in for the night.

Joel concentrates on lighting a fire while Lucy drags an old mattress out into the main room so they can sleep where it's warm. He’s struck by a sense of familiarity and a warm comfort - they've done this before, not only on the trip back from Cheyenne, but whenever it’s too cold to sleep in Joel’s upstairs bedroom, they pull out an old mattress to sleep in front of the fire.

It's not long after they lay down for the night, buried under blankets and cozy by the fire, that Joel feels her fingertips dragging along his scalp. Her movements are gentle and leave goosebumps all across his flesh. She rubs his neck sometimes to help him sleep, but he's sure that's not her game tonight.

It takes a solid two minutes before she's crawling into his lap, hovering over him while he stares up at her. She's picking open the buttons of his flannel before she's even settled on top of him, and his hands find her hips and hold her steady, fingertips digging into the soft material of her thermals. 

(He really, really loves this.)

Joel’s flannel hangs open, useless and limp and itching at his skin wherever it still touches. Her hands are on his chest, nails dragging gently up his exposed skin (this might be the end of him, he swears), dragging up further to squeeze his shoulders, before finally coming to rest on either side of his head. She bends to kiss him and he’s absolutely done.

The soft slide of her lips against his - equal parts teasing and somehow still too much - is more than enough to short-circuit his brain. When she puts her weight fully on him, and he can feel every dip and curve through her thermals, his wiring is completely shot. If he ever again thinks on a level higher than the dumb reptilian part of his brain will allow, he'll be astounded. At the moment, all he can think about is her scent filling his head, the warmth of her pressing down on him, and getting closer than clothes will allow.

Joel can't help but tease, though, because he's incorrigible when he wants to be (which is always). He pulls back, breathless and grinning, to ask, "Can't wait until we get home?"

"Nope," is her simple, quick answer. 

Her next kiss burns, all teeth and tongue, but Joel kind of wants to take her nice and easy. She softens when he hooks a finger under her chin to make her look up at him.

"Slow down, honey," Joel says gently, and by the look in her eyes, he knows she wants to sass him. "We got all night. I'm all yours 'til tomorrow."

Her answer is enough to break him, and he knows he’ll do whatever she asks.

“I know you want me to slow down, but please, Joel,” she pleads more quietly than he would have expected, "this is the first night I've gotten to see you in a week. I need you.” 

Well, he can’t say no to that. Those are the magic words for him – that she needs him. He can't stop the soft chuckle at the back of his throat - it’s not like he hasn’t been thinking about this, too. 

“Well, come here, then.”

Joel takes the wonderful opportunity now that Lucy has let her guard down to flip her over on her back. Her squeak of surprise is muffled by his mouth on hers, and it gives way to a quiet moan when he shifts against her. He makes quick work of the buttons on her thermals, unsnapping them unceremoniously while he grinds his growing erection against her thigh.

With practiced ease, he slides the offending fabric away from her skin and gathers her breasts up in his hands. He thumbs her nipples until she's sighing his name, soft and sweet in his ear, and he leaves deep bruises all along the softness with his mouth. She digs her hands through his hair, nails scratching greedily at his scalp, and it sends a sharp lance of heat down his back.

He pulls away more and more of her thermals as he goes, sliding them away so he can run his tongue down the soft plane of her stomach, leaving scratchy kisses in his wake. 

It takes some creative maneuvering to pull them off of her legs, but he manages to do so without moving too far away. He settles down between her thighs and hooks one leg over his shoulder, opening her up to the heat of his gaze. He hasn't pulled her underwear off yet, but he'll do that in short order once he's got her moaning his name.

He leaves a trail of kisses from one knee up to the juncture of her thighs, her hands all but yanking at his hair, before doing the same to the other side. She's trembling and twitching under his touch, canting her hips up at him in a vain attempt at finding friction for some amount of relief. She goes to put her fist in her mouth to stifle the short moans, but he catches her before she can.

"It's just us, baby," Joel says, easing her hand back to his hair. "I want to hear you."

Lucy’s answer is barely a whimper, and closer to a sob than anything. Joel decides to give her a little relief.

He slides his thumb along the front of her underwear, noting that she's already soaked them through. With short, steady motions, he finds her clit through the fabric and teases her in slow circles. He resists the urge to grind down against the mattress for some relief of his own, though barely. Instead, he focuses on pulling those pretty sounds out of her mouth.

Finally, he tugs her underwear down, leaving them somewhere on the floor next to them, exposing her cunt to him. He slides the knuckle of one finger up the dripping line of her pussy, then follows with his tongue. Without resistance, he slides two fingers in, curling them to massage the deepest parts of her.

She arches up against him, grinding against his mouth, and he doesn't stop her. He loves it when she does that – grinding her cunt against his mouth. The demand of please and faster might be the sweetest sounds he’s ever heard.

"Joel-"

She presses down on the back of his head, urging him deeper, and he fucking loves that, too. His tongue follows his fingers, dipping in to taste what's his and only his (and only ever will be his). He takes her right up to the point where she's almost begging him, so close to finishing in his mouth, when he stops.

Lucy’s displeased whine is so close to a sob that it actually hurts him a little to hear it, but he has other plans.

Joel has patience (for moments like this, at least) and stamina, but he wants to watch her finish on his cock (and, honestly, the pressure of his cock straining against his pants hurts now). He makes short work of stripping his flannel bottoms and underwear off before he's settling down between her thighs again. He hooks one thigh over his forearm, spreading her wide for him, and works his unoccupied hand between them.

With practiced ease, he slides himself in, and the static in his brain keeps him from hearing the groan of relief spilling from his own mouth. She's absolutely dripping, squeezing tight around him, and it’s fucking impossible to concentrate. He settles in as deep as she can take him, and she's so tight around the thickness of him.

Lucy’s demand comes in a short gasp. "Move, Joel, please-"

But Joel doesn't move. He's distracted by the sheer effort it's taking not to fuck her into the mattress. As much as he’d really, really like to, it wouldn't be the wisest decision. He's broad and muscled, though parts of him are softer now where he's gained enough weight to be healthy, and she's not small, but she's still dwarfed by him. It always takes a little work to get her used to his size, and besides, he likes feeling her stretch around him.

Though, Joel supposes, he's made her wait long enough. He rests a hand next to her head so he can lower his weight down on her, then he presses his lips to her ear.

"You ready?" Joel asks, grinning when he feels her clench around him.

"God - fuck, Joel, yes-"

He licks the shell of her ear, shifting for a better angle but still not moving. "You want me to fuck you, honey?"

"I swear to God, Joel-"

He cuts her off with a kiss, and then he moves.

Lucy likes it faster than this and a little rough, but Joel wants it slow and easy. So, he compromises. Each thrust is slow and deep and rough, lacking refined control but still intentional, and he hits the spot that makes her claw at his back with every movement. The soft, wet sounds of him sliding out and thrusting in have them both flushing red.

Joel’s close, but Lucy’s closer. She grabs him as she finishes with a whimper, nails digging into his biceps. He stills for a moment, teetering on the precarious edge with her cunt fluttering sharply around him, and comes with a harsh thrust, filling her up.

Lucy yanks him down into a fierce kiss, still just teeth and tongue. Joel doesn't move, doesn't pull away or pull out, and just enjoys the feeling of her wrapped around him.

When he finally relaxes onto the mattress next to her, he pulls her against his chest. Her hair tickles everywhere it brushes, against his shoulder and under his chin. 

This feels like home.

[thetomorrowshow]

unless you take your army back ch. 5

First  -  Previous  -  Next  -  Read on AO3!

yo once again giving you guys a chapter how’s everyone doing? My posting dates will never again be on tuesday lol expect wednesdays or fridays when possible <3

anyways other business if you see an A/N in here somewhere (it’ll be between brackets) lmk and I’ll edit it out

Enjoy :)

cw: food, eating disorders, discussion of injuries

~

Jack didn’t leave to sell papes the next morning, instead bringing a cup of coffee and some porridge to Crutchie, then settling in beside him with a real fancy sketchbook and a charcoal pencil.

The coffee wasn’t that great, but Crutchie drank it all, hoping the energy would distract him from the uncomfortable tightness of his fresh bandages. Only one of the cuts that had split open was one that had needed stitches (Katherine had snipped the thread and pulled it out three days ago), but they would all probably scar. At least he already liked to wear long shirts and pants.

The porridge was fine, but rich. After about four bites, Crutchie rested the bowl on the windowsill. Just weeks ago, he would’ve been able to scarf down twice that amount in a matter of minutes, but now he could barely handle eating enough to feed a baby. He was sure he’d get better faster if he’d just eat more, but he just--couldn’t.

This wasn’t even the first time Crutchie had seen kids have trouble eating. At least half the newsies who did a stint in the Refuge came back uneasy around food, too accustomed to there being too little to go around. A lot of food was a trick, just the right amount was too much to stomach, and the little bit that they felt they needed wasn’t enough to keep them going.

So Crutchie knew that what he was going through with his food aversion was normal--expected, even. The frustrating problem was that Crutchie knew how to fix it. He had seen the others go through this, had watched Jack and Race and Specs help others, had even guided Tommy Boy through recovery himself just a few months ago. He knew the signs, he knew how to work through it, and yet he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t snap himself out of it.

Just the thought of food made him queasy, scared, uncertain of what was to come. When the guards brought food, it meant the respite was over. It meant scraps shoved down his throat as quickly as possible, followed by a day of grueling, pointless work with no breaks. He didn’t have the time to finish this bowl of porridge. More than a few bites and he was going to be tardy, the guards were going to beat him and he would fall and he wouldn't be able to get back up, not again not again not again--

“Crutchie, you gonna finish that?”

Crutchie looked up from his lap to see Jack, concern creasing his brow. He shrugged, not sure if he could even pretend to smile. “I didn’t see you eat, wanted to save some for you.” He didn’t need anyone’s help. He knew how to handle this.

Jack frowned. “Nah, I ate on the way up, nicked a bun. Is there some . . . other . . . reason?”

Stupid Jack Kelly and his ‘subtle’ prodding. Crutchie stretched his arms out a bit, affecting a casual look. A bandage rubbed against a raw patch of his chest, but instead of burning, it . . . itched.

That meant he was starting to get better, right? Or was it infected or something? Whatever it meant, it was a good excuse.

“Not really, just been itchin’ all mornin’, so I ain't all that hungry,” he explained, scratching his stomach for emphasis. “Bit bothering, y’know?”

He was sure he didn’t quite have Jack convinced, but it was enough for him to drop the matter. After all, Jack was under the impression that Crutchie had eaten a whole apple the morning before, and he’d been fairly good at emptying bowls of soup all week (not necessarily into his mouth, but Jack didn’t need to know that).

After a moment’s hesitation, Jack smiled. “Hey, itchy, huh?” He lightly punched Crutchie’s knee, which also didn’t hurt like he expected. “That’s good, means stuff is startin’ ta close up and heal.”

Crutchie nodded, feeling something in his chest try to jump excitedly. Even after falling so badly last night, he was getting better. That meant that maybe soon, he could be right back out there, hawking headlines and getting enough pity from his regulars and strangers to make twice the amount he usually did.

Thinking of it-- “Jack, why ain’t you out sellin’?”

Jack looked away--ashamed? Guilty? What? Had he gotten in trouble with the bulls again already? Jack muttered something, then buried his face in his new sketchbook, the tips of his ears burning red.

“That ain’t gonna cut it,” Crutchie said incredulously. “Who d’ya think I am, Race? I ain’t distracted that easy.”

Jack huffed, but didn’t drop his sketchbook. In a barely audible voice, he said very quickly “I soaked the Delanceys yesterday and the fellas think I oughtta stay away from ‘em and maybe take a day off ta give ‘em time ta forget about it.”

Okay, but attacking the Delanceys was something Jack did on a weekly basis. The Delanceys weren’t bright enough to carry a grudge overnight, and they were in a constant state of goading Jack, so what was different about this time?

Then Crutchie remembered their argument last night, what Jack and Davey had told him about how Oscar and Morris had been talking.

“Have they, uh,” Crutchie started, quiet, “been talking about . . . uh, ‘bout me . . . all week?”

Jack stiffened from behind his sketchbook, but nodded jerkily. “Tha’s what Specs said, anyhow.”

“Right.” Crutchie swallowed, looking away out the window. Buttons was out there, looped around a fire escape, calling something through cupped hands. The Delanceys were somewhere out there too, and could be talking about him that very moment, maybe even making plans to come after him. There was no way he could stop them, no way anyone could stop them. After all, Jack couldn’t be here all the time, and Kloppman was old, wiry but feeble compared to Oscar and Morris. They could take the man down in no time, then be up here and Crutchie would have nowhere to go and no way to escape.

Crutchie was suddenly very glad that Jack was here.

There were a few moments of silence, during which Crutchie continued to watch Buttons. His grin was visible even from this distance, growing wider any time he managed to sell a paper or two. Buttons had been having trouble selling lately--he was a little timid, too shy when it counts--so it was nice to see him having some success.

The lady talking to him now seemed nice, by the way Buttons was nodding and had fully disentangled himself from the fire escape to converse with her. The lady turned slightly, her face visible under her sun hat, and--hey! That was one of Crutchie’s regulars! She bought a paper on her way to visit her mother-in-law every other day, and always passed Crutchie’s selling spot on purpose. It was nice to see her again, almost . . . sentimental. Crutchie never thought he would feel almost misty-eyed over some lady whom he briefly interacted with a handful of times a week, but here he was. More than miss her, he missed being out there, he supposed.

“Hey, Crutch?”

Crutchie startled out of his thoughts. The woman was no longer there, Buttons once again attaching himself to the fire escape. Jack was watching him, a carefully disguised look of something on his face. Crutchie raised his eyebrows.

“Uh, so, I missed a union thing, what with last night,” Jack said. “So I’m gonna hafta do it today sometime. That cool with you?”

“What sorta thing?” Crutchie asked suspiciously. If it involved reporters and pictures and all that, Crutchie was not going to allow it to happen in here.

Not that you could stop it, a nasty voice in the back of his mind whispered, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand up. Jack could do anything to you right now. He was pretty angry last night, after all. You know what anger leads to.

Crutchie swallowed drily. He didn’t need to think about that.

“Oh, just a guy I gotta meet with,” Jack said, far too casually. He made a show of scratching his head. “He might bring another couple o’ fellas with him, so I’s just . . . lettin’ you know.”

Okay, so this wasn’t something he could stop. Great. That calmed him down so much. Crutchie gripped the blanket over him tightly, trying to not show that his hands had begun to tremble. He was fine, he didn’t need Jack getting all worried over nothing. It was just some . . . unknown guy. With bodyguards. Coming into the room to have a discussion with Jack.

“Hey. Hey.”

Crutchie pulled himself from his spiral to see Jack laying his hands over his. “It’s okay,” Jack said seriously. “I can chat with ‘em in another room, or outside. You don’t oughtta have guys in here that you ain’t know.”

Crutchie released his grip, more to assuage Jack than his nerves. He nodded, not sure what he was even expected to say. What if a fight broke out? And Jack was all alone, against three or four guys? He couldn’t let Jack be alone.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Crutchie said hoarsely. Wow, he needed something to drink. He hadn’t noticed his throat drying up. “I uh, I can be your second?”

The words were barely out of his mouth before he regretted them. Of course Jack didn’t want him as his second! He was just some stupid, useless, injured cripple, and Jackhad to still be mad at him for last night. He’d want Davey there, probably--Davey was one of the union heads too, right? And Davey was so good at talking things through and being all smart. All Crutchie could do was make people laugh or feel bad for him--great for selling papes and living on the street, terrible for union business.

“Would ya?” Jack asked. He almost looked a little bit relieved, which took Crutchie aback. “You know how I can get. It’s--it’s nice, havin’ somebody backin’ me up. ‘Specially you, Crutch, you’s real good at talkin’ to folks.”

The air left Crutchie’s lungs. Was he? He was pretty good at selling to just about anyone. Jack used to joke that he would be able to sell a pape to Pulitzer himself for a dollar, without the man even realizing it was his own paper or too high a price. Jack would say that to just about anyone who would listen, actually.

How had Crutchie forgotten that?

“Who’s these folks, then?” Crutchie asked, shifting a bit so that his head was almost level with Jack’s. He liked to think that he was pretty accustomed to the broken ribs at this point--they hurt, but he could now sit up without even breathing heavy. After the week he’d had, Crutchie counted that as a win.

Jack’s carefully casual air was back, clear in the stiff lines of his body and the forced half-grin on his lips. “Just some guys who got a say in newsie union stuff, y’know? From one o’ the other turfs.”

That made sense, actually. The Manhattan newsies weren’t the only ones in the union, after all. In fact, if what Elmer had excitedly told him was true, Davey had shook hands with Spot Conlon and led him straight to Pulitzer’s office, after Conlon had spoken at Davey’s rally--

Oh.

Oh no.

“You’s bringin’ Spot Conlon to the place we sleep?!”

“It was--”

“No no no, lemme get this straight,” Crutchie said, incredulous. “Spot Conlon, leader of the Brooklyn borough, is comin’ here. To Manhattan’s lodging house. Now I know that Brooklyn joined the strike, but there is no way we’s become friends with Brooklyn in the two weeks I ain’t been around, and ya don’t show allies where ya sleep.”

“They already knows where we sleep, there’s a huge sign on the buildin’!” Jack shot back. He dropped his work and gestured widely. “Manhattan newsboys lodgin’ house, in big ol’ letters, smack on the front! Was it s’posed ta be a secret? Or do ya think they just can’t read?”

“It’s the principle of the matter,” Crutchie replied stubbornly. “Ya don’t invite them into your home, you hold ‘em at arm’s length for when they in’vitably scab!”

“Well, that ain’t no way ta treat your allies,” a voice said from the doorway.

Crutchie and Jack both looked up to see the man himself, an unimpressed Spot Conlon, with two lackeys--and also Racetrack. Race waved casually.

“Hey Jack, hey Crutch!” Race said. “Spot’s here ta meet with ya.”

Jack strode across the room, spat and shook with Spot, anxiously adjusting his hat with his other hand. “Nice ta see ya, Conlon,” he said, the geniality in his voice a stark contrast from his heated arguing moments before. Crutchie snorted. Jack shot him a glare.

“So, what’s sayin’ we get straight ta business, Kelly?” Spot suggested, walking further into the room without invitation. Race tipped his hat at them all, then stuck his cigar in his mouth and took off. “This here’s Hotshot, and the other’s Sharpshooter,” Spot threw out, gesturing at the two guys with him. They each nodded in turn.

“Right,” Jack said, “This is Crutchie, he’s my second.”

Spot turned a piercing gaze on Crutchie. Crutchie felt his face heat up as Spot’s sharp eyes took in the patchwork of yellow-brown bruises on his face and throat, the scabbed-over gash on his temple, the splint wrapping his left arm. Finally, he turned away to face Jack.

“You met with Joe of late?” Spot asked. Jack nodded.

“Saw ‘im yesterday. No complaints from his side--he’s sayin’ they’s already noticed circulation goin’ up. You’s been meetin’ with the Journal and the Sun, yeah?”

Spot gave an affirmative nod. “We got ‘em where we want ‘em,” he said with a chuckle. Crutchie waited for him to elaborate. He did not.

Jack seemed sort of disconcerted--Crutchie wondered if Spot could tell. This was all happening so suddenly. Moments ago, Crutchie hadn’t even known anyone was coming. Now there were three Brooklyn newsies standing over his bed, and he couldn’t do anything to defend himself or make them leave. Brooklyn was always angry, always jeering, doing nothing to strengthen the tentative peace they had come to a few months ago.  Really, Crutchie had good reason to be wary. Brooklyn newsies had more than once kicked his crutch out from under him.

Spot and Jack were talking about something, but Crutchie couldn’t really pay attention to them. The one called Sharpshooter was staring him down, in a way that said both I’m-trying-to-intimidate-you and I-don’t-need-to-intimidate-you-weakling. Hotshot was doing the exact same thing to Jack, but Jack seemed unbothered. Crutchie was pretty sure he wasn’t pulling that off near as well. He hadn’t been stared at like that--like he was a piece of dirt that stubbornly remained as you scrubbed at a window--since he’d been . . . there. The Refuge.

Crutchie turned his gaze to the window. Buttons was out of sight, the fire escape likely blazing hot in the sun. There weren’t very many people visible whatsoever--it was stifling out, which was probably why Brooklyn was already here. Selling would have to be done in a very particular fashion today--morning, at the coolest, when everyone was headed for work, then around the lunch hours, then the last few in the evening. Crutchie felt bad for the likely sunburned newsies, frantically trying to sell all their papes in those short windows of time, clothes sticking to them with sweat and the hot air weighing them down.

“Hey, Crutch?”

Crutchie looked back to the conversation. Jack was watching him expectantly, as was Spot. Crutchie tried to not look clueless--he had really been zoning out, hadn’t he? How much time had passed? Why was everyone looking at him?

“D’you mind answerin’ any questions Spot has? I’m gettin’ us all some water.”

Crutchie nodded. It couldn’t be that hard, right? He had totally lost track of the conversation, but he knew a fair bit about what had happened and what was going to happen with the union, mostly from Jack rambling in the afternoons when the silence became too much for one of them.

“So,” Spot said brusquely as soon as the door closed behind Jack. “All that from the strike?”

Crutchie blinked. All what? He needed a bit more context. He should’ve been listening. He opened his mouth to ask, then saw Spot vaguely waving at his body. Oh.

“Nah,” Crutchie mumbled, uncomfortable under the scrutiny. “Some of it, yeah. Mostly the Refuge, though.”

Spot sucked a breath in through his teeth, and Hotshot turned away. “Looks like you was lucky to make it out alive.”

“Oh, yeah,” Crutchie said bitterly. He almost laughed. “By the end there I was ’lucinatin’ so bad I thought I’d been buried already. Probably I was hours from bein’ gone forever.”

Silence. He’d made it awkward, hadn’t he? Crutchie tried to come up with some useful purpose for Spot Conlon to know this, like maybe he’d get pity or sympathy or something and the Brooklyn newsies would leave him alone, but it honestly sounded worse than Conlon straight up hating him. Crutchie was tired of being pitied. He was tired of being a charity case.

“How long?” That was Sharpshooter, his voice pitched a lot higher than Crutchie expected. It didn’t quite match his height and dark eyes.“Was you there, I means.”

“A week, I think. It’s sorta blurry.”

Spot whistled. “Snyder musta had it out for ya. All that in just a week? I’s had boys in there for months come out lookin’ better.”

Again, Crutchie almost laughed. “Everybody has it out for the crip,” he said bluntly, his eyes on his hands as he twisted the blanket between his fingers. “Throw in my personal connection ta Jack Kelly union leader, and a week is a long time ta be lastin’.”

Crutchie looked up. Spot was giving him a strange look--it wasn't pity, like Crutchie expected. It wasn’t disgust. It wasn’t even shock that he was still alive. It was--he didn’t know. And then it was gone.

“Crutchie, right?” Spot asked, glancing out a window aloofly. Crutchie nodded. “You’s a good kid. If you ever finds you in some sorta trouble . . . you’s welcome in Brooklyn.”

What?

He understood that they were allies, but allies did not mean that anyone from either turf was allowed to just go wandering over. The only person who had ever been allowed to was Race, who sold in Brooklyn--why, Crutchie didn’t know. Crutchie didn’t think anyone knew. There were plenty of good spots in Manhattan--why did Race trek all the way to a hostile turf just to sell papes? The point was, this wasn’t something that just happened. Ever. Brooklyn and Manhattan had been on bad terms for as long as Crutchie had been a newsie, and before that as far as anyone could remember.

Crutchie didn’t have much more time to think about it, though, as Jack reentered the room, balancing three glasses of water carelessly enough that it made Crutchie tense up, as if ready to catch one when it dropped. One he handed to Spot, one to Crutchie, and the last to Hotshot. Sharpshooter rolled his eyes and swiped it, half-draining the glass before handing it back.

“Crutchie clear anything up?” Jack asked. Spot continued to stare at Crutchie, a slight crease between his brows.

“Yeah, a few things,” Spot answered absently. “A few.”

The discussions continued for another ten minutes or so, Jack eventually convincing Spot that they were not currently trying to lower the price even further (“I’ve already got Bill down ta fifty-two per hundred, why should I stop?”), and got him to agree to work closely with Davey when Jack wasn’t available. That seemed to be all they could resolve for the time being without attacking each other, which was probably the most that had ever been done by a Manhattan newsie and a Brooklyn newsie working together. When Spot went to leave, though, he turned to Crutchie.

“Ol’ Jack ever oversteps, ya know where ta find us,” he said with a firm nod. “Any guy from Brooklyn will bring ya to me, jus’ say the word.” With that, he was gone, Sharpshooter and Hotshot marching after him.

Jack froze, halfway to gathering the two glasses from where they’d been set on the floor, his mouth agape. “Wh--” he tried. Crutchie could have laughed. He didn’t. But he could’ve. “Did Spot Conlon jus’--” he whipped around to stare at Crutchie. “What’d you talk about?” he demanded. “How’d ya get Spot Conlon ta make you an honorary Brooklyn boy?”

Crutchie shrugged. He wasn’t quite sure what had passed between them himself, and he also wasn’t sure that he wanted to know. It wasn’t like he’d done anything. Spot barely knew who he was. The first time they met had been today.

“W-well, if you isn’t gonna eat that, hand it to me.”

The change in subject took Crutchie by surprise, but he passed the partly-eaten bowl of porridge to Jack, who gave him one last suspicious glance before leaving the room.

Crutchie hated being alone these days--the only things worth doing were sleeping and practicing walking. The second one was off the table after yesterday, and he was sick of sleeping, but when there was nobody around there was nothing to do but think. Nothing to do but fall deeper and deeper into a dark chasm that yawned open in his mind. Nothing to do but slowly become more and more paranoid. . . .

He wished he had asked Jack for some more water before he left. Not that Jack wasn’t coming back or anything, it just would’ve been nice to not force him to make another trip.

When Jack returned some ten minutes later, though, he was not alone. Holding his hand was Katherine, laughing at something Jack had said before they entered the room. Crutchie shrunk away. He didn’t want to see Katherine--she would try to pay for a doctor to come see him or insist on checking each of his wounds or something equally mortifying.

“Look who turned up!” Jack said brightly, and Crutchie tried not to frown too obviously.

“Hi, Katherine,” he said politely. “How’re you?”

“Oh, Crutchie, you look so much better!” Katherine exclaimed. Crutchie examined her face carefully. Mostly the truth, but something in her eyes told him that she was still worried about him. “Look at you, sitting up and everything!” a pause. “Have you, um, been eating well?”

There it was. Crutchie hadn’t seen himself in the mirror in a while--every time someone carried him to the washroom, he’d resolutely avoided it. He knew that his face was still multicolored from the various stages of healing his bruises were in, but he hadn’t even thought that he might look malnourished. Elmer’s bracelet was pretty loose on his wrist, now that he was thinking about it. His unwrapped elbow practically jutted out of his skin.

Great. He’d spent a week in the Refuge and had come out looking like the most pitiful creature ever. He was so weak--it had been such a short amount of time! And now he’d been in bed for just as long, when he should’ve been recovered by now!

“Been workin’ on it,” Crutchie managed, trying not to let his thoughts show too obviously. “Hard ta get back up ta where it’s s’posed ta be, y’know?”

“Yeah, he’s been eating less,” Jack added. “It happens, but he’s been tryin’ ta eat most everything I bring him.”

Crutchie resolutely did not blush or look away. There was no reason for Katherine to believe anything to the contrary. Still, she and Jack watched him carefully for a few moments, then exchanged a look. Was he supposed to say something?

“Jack said there was quite the scare last night,” continued Katherine. “Are you feeling okay after your fall?”

Crutchie nodded. He wasn’t lying, actually. He did feel better than he had all week, even if all of his injuries felt raw from falling. Nothing was hazy anymore, nor particularly sharp. It felt almost normal, if the pain could be ignored. He was getting better.

“Why’re you here, Kath?”

Katherine’s smile strained. “Can’t a girl check up on her best friend?”

Crutchie leveled a stare of his own at her. This was the first he’d heard of being best friends. She had to have some sort of ulterior motive--a doctor or a medicine or something stupid like that. He hated to think it, but couldn’t she just leave him alone?

“Okay, I came--of my own volition, by the way--to ask you if you’d be willing to be seen by my family doctor--”

“Nope, thanks,” Crutchie said loudly, glaring hard enough to bore a hole in Katherine’s head. “As you can see, I’s healin’ up just fine.”

“It wouldn’t cost anything, my father--”

“I won’t be botherin’ your father, if it’s all the same ta you,” Crutchie retorted. “Nor no one. I’m gonna be out there sellin’ again soon, an’ if I decides I need a doctor, I’ll save up the cost myself and see ‘im when I feel like it.”

Katherine and Jack exchanged another look, one that told Crutchie they thought he was being stubborn. And so what if he was? Stubbornness had kept him alive countless times. His particular brand of stubborn had been considered both adorable and inspiring in the past. Maybe he was being annoying, but so what? Was it why they wouldn’t listen to him? Did acting annoying really mean he was stripped of his worth to them, his autonomy?

After a long staring contest with Jack, Katherine huffed and rolled her eyes. “Boys,” she muttered, turning away from both of them. Jack sighed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. The lines of Katherine’s shoulders were sharp and tight, radiating tension that was echoed in Jack’s nervous stance.

Crutchie picked at the blanket. Why did every conversation seem to turn into a fight lately? He just wanted people to respect his choices. Heck, maybe he would take Spot up on that offer. It sounded nice to be around people who had no history with him, a fresh slate, a new standard to set. He would get to prove he was strong to them, instead of being cooped up because they were too afraid of how broken he was.

“Well,” Katherine said, straightening her shoulders and facing them again, “take off your shirt, then.”

Crutchie choked. So did Jack. “Uh, what?” Jack sputtered.

“Buy me dinner first,” Crutchie managed.

Katherine rolled her eyes. “You want to be back out there, don’t you?” she asked Crutchie. He nodded, a little scared of where this was going. “I need to make sure you’re healing well enough, if you won’t see a doctor. Then I’ll tell you when you can continue to sell newspapers. And Jack? Get us something to drink.”