#I was going to do a video but it wasn’t working

[drowning-in-paragraphs]

PLAYING DANGEROUS

jude bellingham x gf!reader

warnings: tension, tension, tension... Maybe (a bit) toxic.

summary: After weeks of fighting over a campaign Jude worked on that sparked jealousy in you, your frustration grows as he dismisses your feelings. Fed up with being ignored, you decide to give him a taste of his own medicine. As expected, your boyfriend sees red—his control slipping as the night unfolds, and the tension between you two reaches its boiling point. But, of course, you are having so much fun.

The car ride was thick with an uncomfortable silence. Jude gripped the wheel, his jaw set, eyes fixed ahead. You could feel his frustration radiating off him, each sigh and subtle shift a quiet reminder of the tension simmering between you two. After all the back-and-forth arguments you’d had this week, you were both tired of hashing it out—but the hurt and resentment lingered.

You looked out the window, trying to lose yourself in the nightscape rushing by. The bright lights of the city blurred, but your mind was fixed on one image: that campaign photo. The one that had sparked this entire mess. Jude and a stunning model in a luxury campaign, his arm casually slung over her waist, their smiles too bright, too intimate. When you’d seen the ad, it had stung, but what has stung more was the behind the cameras videos. They had chemistry, and she was just as extroverted as him.

It hadn’t helped that when you’d brought it up to Jude, he brushed it off, rolling his eyes and calling you “dramatic” for making a big deal out of nothing. He’d practically laughed it off, leaving you feeling unheard and dismissed. That was the worst part: not just the jealousy, but the way he’d treated it as if it was meaningless.

“Can you not just sit there like I don’t exist?” Jude’s voice broke the silence, low but tight with irritation. “We’re going to this dinner. Can we just act like adults?”

You turned to him, biting your tongue to stop yourself from saying the first sharp thing that came to mind. You’d been here before, and you were too tired of the fighting to start again.

“Jude, you know why we are in this situation,” you said quietly. “I just wanted you to take me seriously and acknowledge my feelings.”

“Acknowledge?” he said, a hint of disbelief in his voice. “All I’ve done this whole week is listen to you accuse me of something I didn’t do. It’s a campaign. That’s it. Nothing more.” He resisted the urge to say, "End of discussion," and focused on the road ahead instead.

“But you didn’t make me feel like it was nothing, Jude. You made me feel like… like I’m stupid for even bringing it up. You think I don’t know that it’s part of your job?” Your voice quivered, and you hated that you sounded so emotional.

Jude’s face softened for a moment, but then he hardened his expression again, as if not wanting to give in. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I thought you knew me better than that, honestly.”

There it was—another subtle jab. The conversation felt like a seesaw, tipping between blame and defense, never quite reaching a point of understanding. You crossed your arms, pressing yourself against the passenger door, feeling miles away from him, though he was just a few feet to your left.

“I just wanted to feel like you cared that I was upset. That’s all. Not for you to laugh it off like it was something stupid.”

He clenched his jaw, as if forcing himself not to retort. His hands tightened on the wheel again. “Look, I get it now. You don’t trust me, and that’s fine. I’ll do my job, you can stay mad at me, and we’ll just keep doing this every week.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, and it hurt. “This is getting ridiculous...”

You two were tired of fighting, but something in you, something sharp and bruised, couldn’t let go of the last few days’ arguments. It wasn’t enough for him to be hurt. You wanted him to understand.

“Fine,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady but feeling anger prickle under your skin. “If it’s so ridiculous, then maybe I’ll make sure you get a taste of what that feels like. You’ll feel as ‘ridiculous’ as you’ve made me feel this week. We’ll see if it’s still a joke then.”

Jude’s head whipped toward you, a mix of shock and anger flashing across his face. “What? Are you serious right now?” His voice was tense, a low warning.

You felt a pang of guilt, but you held his gaze. “I just don’t think you’d understand it any other way.”

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head. He stared back at the road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. The quiet between you was no longer uncomfortable but electric, charged with a bitterness that hadn’t been there before.

The car finally pulled up to the restaurant where you were supposed to meet your friends. The weight of what you’d just said hanging heavily between you. Jude cut the engine and just sat there, staring straight ahead, as if he didn’t trust himself to speak. You didn´t move either, not knowing what was he going to do. After a beat, he climbed out, moving around to your door without a word. When he opened it, he didn’t look at you, just held the door and waited for you to step out.

You could see the tension in his posture, his usual warmth and confidence replaced by a coldness that made your heart ache. But you were both too proud, too angry, to say anything.

As you neared the entrance, Jude’s hand shot out, gripping your waist with a firm possessiveness. The touch wasn’t gentle or affectionate as usual; it was more of a declaration. Despite the anger simmering between you, he wasn’t about to let you carry out your threat to make him jealous. You tensed at his touch, your own anger rising as you felt him draw you in as if he could control you with a single motion.

Without thinking, you shrugged him off, shoving him away just enough to make your point. Jude halted, cursing under his breath, as he fought to keep his temper in check. The sharp click of the car lock sounded behind you as he pocketed the key, jaw clenched, but his eyes held yours for a moment. You both understood each other’s challenge, an unspoken line drawn that neither of you wanted to cross but couldn’t seem to avoid.

With your heads held high and expressions perfectly composed, you stepped into the restaurant, slipping on your masks of calm as you approached your friends. Your forced smiles and quiet greetings betrayed none of the tension between you, and you fell into the comfortable rhythm of small talk.

Back at the table, the spark of defiance inside you had turned into a full flame. Watching Jude as he laughed and charmed his way through conversations, acting as if your argument had never occurred, only fueled that fire. He didn´t get to act as if nothing happened. His face was relaxed, his posture easy—but you knew him well enough to sense the barely hidden tension in his movements, the occasional dart of his eyes toward you, checking, warning.

Fine, you thought. If he wanted to pretend everything was fine, you'd go along with it. In fact, you’d be the most composed person at the table. But where was the fun in that?

You turned your attention to the friend sitting beside you, leaning closer with an easy smile as you laughed at his stories. Your hand brushed against his as you reached for your drink, letting it linger just a second longer than usual. The warmth of his arm pressed lightly against yours as you angled your body toward him, giving him your full attention. Jude was watching, and you knew he was watching. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see his mouth tighten, his easygoing demeanor slipping just a bit. His brows furrowed, and whatever his friend beside him was saying no longer seemed that interesting.

Good.

As the evening wore on, you let your laughter come a little too easily, smiling at your friend’s jokes, resting your hand briefly on his shoulder as you leaned in, your face just inches from his. Jude’s gaze was practically drilling into you, a dark intensity that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, thrilling and defiant all at once.

You were loving it.

His hand came to rest on the table, fingers drumming an agitated beat, his knuckles white. At one point, he leaned forward to reach for his drink, and the subtle brush of his shoulder against yours sent a shiver down your spine. You caught his eyes, holding his gaze in challenge.

“You okay, baby?” you asked with a smile—the prettiest smile you could offer, eyes shining with a hint of mischief.

In response, his hand drifted under the table, finding your thigh and gripping it firmly. The heat of his palm burned through the silky fabric of your black dress, his fingers possessive, unapologetic. You swallowed, trying to focus on the conversation in front of you, but the pressure of his hand sent your pulse racing, a blend of anger and something far more dangerous surging through you.

Ignoring his grip, you shifted slightly and crossed your leg, pulling away just enough to let his hand slip, but not before his fingers tightened in a quick, heated squeeze. He didn’t let go; instead, he moved his hand further up, his fingers now grazing your upper thigh, daring you to push him away. You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of reacting. Instead, you leaned even closer to your friend, laughing softly as you let your hair fall forward, just brushing Jude’s arm in the process.

You could feel the heat of Jude’s glare on your skin, the simmering anger in every tense line of his body. You risked a quick glance his way, only to find him staring back at you with a look so intense, so darkly possessive, it was almost predatory. You'd seen this look before, but only when you had pushed him too far, ignited something in him he couldn’t control. It was a fire you both knew too well, one you had stirred with every challenge, every teasing word. And now, that fire was about to consume everything.

“Come on, keep pushing me, love.” He muttered sarcastically, each word perfectly pronounced, making sure you heard him loud and clear.

He lifted his glass, fingers curling possessively around the stem, and took a slow, deliberate sip, never once breaking his intense eye contact. As he set it down, his gaze trailed down to your lips, full and inviting, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then, his eyes moved lower, lingering on the soft curve of your breasts, which you had purposefully exposed just enough to rile him up when he wasn’t looking. His stare lingered there, hungry, possessive, making your stomach tighten with a mix of anticipation and anger.

No. No. He didn't get to be in control. This time, you were the one leading. Why did he manage to make you so nervous with just a few touches and his confident smirk? It wasn't fair.

His hand drifted higher on your thigh, and you fought to keep your breath steady. The weight of his touch sent a rush of heat through you, but you refused to look his way, keeping your attention on the friend beside you. Due to all the bickering and pointless arguments, it had been far too long since you’d been close to each other. Now, his touch sent a butterflies to your stomach, its effect magnified—three times more intense than before. Jude’s fingers tensed, his grip growing firmer, sending a clear message, a silent warning. But you leaned in again, touching your friend as you laughed, your fingers trailing along his, knowing exactly how it looked.

Jude’s jaw clenched, his leg brushing firmly against yours under the table, his knee pressing against you with an undeniable possessiveness. His hand squeezed your thigh, almost painfully, and you knew he was at his limit.

So, you laughed again, but this time harder at your friend’s joke.

“Something funny?” Jude muttered in a low voice, his words quiet enough that only you could hear, laced with irritation and a hint of warning.

You turned to him, your expression innocent, even sweet. “He’s just hilarious,” you said with a slight, shy and cute smile, raising your glass and meeting his eyes in a silent challenge.

His gaze darkened further, his fingers moving in a slow, heated drag along the inside of your thigh, and for a brief second, you fought to keep your composure, refusing to let him see how much he was getting to you. His touch was a slow burn, each inch of contact sending a shiver through you that you tried to ignore.

Jude’s hand dropped back to the table, and for a moment, you thought he might finally let it go. But when you laughed again and casually complimented your friend with a teasing remark—something along the lines of, “You always look so good, I do not understand why are you still single,”— Jude’s expression darkened, his breath hitching slightly. He choked on his drink, fingers gripping the glass so tightly you half-expected it to shatter. You could practically feel the heat radiating from him, his control slipping just a little more with every word.

You pressed your lips together, trying to stifle a laugh. He set his glass down hard, his voice a rough whisper. “May I remind you that you are not the one who’s single?” he asked, his eyes flashing with a dangerous glint.

You raised a brow, unfazed, and turned back to your friend. “Am I pushing it?” you murmured, more to yourself than to him, a sly smile playing on your lips. But just as you were about to rest your hand on your friend’s arm for the fifteenth time that night, you felt Jude’s hand slip over yours—this time grasping your wrist, his fingers rough and insistent, stopping you before you could touch another man.

“Do not, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice like steel, laced with something electric that sent a thrill up your spine.

Without a word, you twisted your hand free and crossed your legs again, your knee brushing his leg as you did. His fingers found your wrist again, pulling you closer this time, his lips near your ear as he muttered, “You think this is a game?”

The heat of his breath against your skin made your heart race, and you felt your pulse quicken as he held your gaze, daring you to keep this up. His fingers lingered on your wrist, and for a second, you wondered if he might actually kiss you right there, just to make his point, in front of everyone, as if he didn’t care who was watching.

God you wanted that. Like, a lot.

At last, as the evening wound down and you both stood to say goodbye, Jude didn’t let you slip away. His hand slid possessively around your waist, holding you close as you say goodbye to the group, his grip firm, almost punishing. Once outside, he pulled you aside, finally away from the prying eyes of your friends.

Without a word, Jude pushed you gently against the side of the car, his eyes blazing with frustration, anger, and something else you couldn’t quite name. He stepped in close, his hands framing your waist, pressing you against the cool metal. His breath brushed against your neck, his voice a low, dangerous murmur.

“You think this was funny?” he asked, his fingers pressing into your hips, his gaze intense, unyielding.

You lifted your chin, holding his stare. “No,” you whispered, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “I thought it was fair.”

Jude’s eyes darkened, and his grip tightened, his hands possessive, nearly desperate, as he pulled you even closer. The air between you was charged, tense, and thick with unspoken words. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart against you, the warmth of his hands sending shivers through you.

“You’re being…,” you started, trying to keep a teasing smile in check, though your amusement slipped through. His anger was palpable; he glared at you with narrowed eyes, locking onto you with an intensity that was thrilling, even a little dangerous.

“Mmm, what was it?” you asked, pretending to struggle to remember the exact word that had lit the fuse in this absurd, yet undeniably thrilling standoff. You paused for effect, watching the way his jaw tightened. “Oh, right—dramatic.”

You knew that would push him right over the edge, and sure enough, he leaned in, his expression hardening as his gaze burned right into yours. You could almost feel the warmth of his breath, the faint scent of his cologne enveloping you, as if he were drawing you into his orbit. He hadn’t even said a word yet, but somehow, he had you on edge, just as he always did, effortlessly.

“But you know,” you added with a smirk, leaning up on tiptoe to press a playful kiss on his heated cheek, “I think it suits you.”

Then, with all the nonchalance you could muster, you turned on your heel, heading for the passenger seat as though nothing had happened. For a moment, he didn’t move; you could practically feel his stare following you. But then, before you could even open the door, he grabbed your arm, pulling you back to him, right back into that same charged position, his grip firm but unmistakably possessive. And despite yourself, you couldn’t help but let a thrill run down your spine.

“You have no idea what you just started,” he murmured, his voice thick with a dangerous promise, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

And as you looked up at him, feeling the heat, the thrill, and the tension swirl between you, you realized you didn’t regret a single thing.

Jude’s smirk deepened as he held you there, his grip possessive and firm, his gaze dark with intent. You could feel every inch of space crackling with tension, every breath laced with challenge and defiance. He wasn't letting you go, not after what you'd just put him through. And part of you didn't want him to.

“You think this is a joke,” he muttered smirking, his voice low and edged with a dangerous sort of amusement. His fingers traced along your arm, each touch purposeful, as if to prove just how much control he still held. You raised your chin, meeting his gaze with equal defiance, a small smile on your lips.

“I think it is a taste of your own medicine,” you replied, your voice soft but unyielding. He leaned in, his lips so close they brushed against yours as he spoke, sending a shiver straight through you. He couldn’t resist the urge to kiss you.

“You’re going to regret this,” he murmured, his words a promise as his thumb skimmed along your jaw, tipping your face up to meet his.

[burntheedges]

Pas de Deux Chapter 6

Din Djarin x f!reader | 2.5k | fic masterlist | main masterlist | ao3

chapter summary: You can't avoid it any longer -- it's time for you and Din to talk.

a/n: I feel like this is the moment many of you have been waiting for, lol. I'm very excited to see your reactions! See my notes at the end and on the masterlist about reader in this fic and ballet in general. Thank you @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta, as always!!

chapter tags/warnings: gen, ballet terms (see end notes and the masterlist for definitions and videos), a bit more angst (sorry), but they are going to talk!

Chapter 6

You thought about your conversation with Kuiil as you walked to your rehearsal with Adrian, as you stretched and practiced in your morning classes, and as you took the stage over the weekend in Vince’s piece in the mixed program. You thought about it as you watched Din and Yuna in the Balanchine ballet and as you did your PT for your ankles and as you talked with Talia about your role in Midsummer. You thought about it as you sat on the bus home at night, so tired and achy that you needed something to think about to keep you awake.

You thought about it so much you barely had time to think about anything else.

Was Kuiil right? Was Din more uncertain than frustrated? Was he finding it difficult to communicate and connect in a way he hadn’t before, at CBC? You thought about seeing him on stage with Yuna, and how effortless that had seemed. But Balanchine’s choreography, more than so many others, was so technical, so focused on precision. There was so much less room for the dancer in a ballet where all of the space was taken up by striving for technical perfection. 

In class, you let your eyes stray to Din for the first time in two weeks. You watched as he stretched and jumped and wondered if perhaps you had just been talking past each other.

What if he’s trying, and you simply haven’t realized it? What if he just doesn’t know how?

He’s never done this before, you reminded yourself. 

Your mind was swimming as you stepped into the studio for your fourth rehearsal with Kuiil. You found Din was already there, as usual, and tried not to stare as you worried over your questions. You resolved to be more observant, this time.

And this time, because you were looking for it, you finally saw what Kuiil was talking about.

More than once, as you danced, Din reached for you, literally and figuratively. You leapt past and he oriented his body towards yours, echoing your movement. He turned, but kept his eyes on you as he did. You could see him trying in the ways he knew, to shape his movements around yours, to showcase his partner on stage, but his discomfort with improvisation shone through. The problem was that all of his movements were so stylistically different from yours, that there was little for you to hold on to. And so the two of you struggled to react to each other, as Kuiil had asked.

You tried. You tried to respond to him, to react, but it threw both of you off. He clearly wasn’t expecting you to improvise so drastically. Suddenly the dance was disjointed, and you fell so badly out of step in trying to turn towards him when he moved away from you that you stumbled. 

The music stopped.

Din turned to look at Kuiil and you spun around to do the same. 

Kuiil simply looked at you both for a moment, and then sighed. “I have pushed you too much, I think, and forgotten the basics of partnership. And you will need to work together, to connect more deeply, as we begin the second movement.” You started to shake your head, but Kuiil held up his hand. “No. Here is what we will do, as you prepare for Midsummer and Swan Lake.”

And then he gave you homework.

…

“So, what, is Kuiil going to lock you in a room until you talk to each other?” Adrian’s voice was teasing, but you could tell he meant it.

“Not quite,” you said. “But instead of rehearsal next week we’re supposed to try to get to know each other. To talk.”

He smirked at you. “Ooooh, to talk.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Yes?” You poked him in the side and he yelped. “Stop teasing me and help me figure out what to talk to him about.”

He laughed. “I think you know what to talk about. You just have to figure out how to get him to talk at all.”

You shook your head. “He’s talked to me. Just not about… this.” You waved your arm at all of the problems you’d been having in rehearsal.

Adrian seemed to consider that for a moment. “You know, you’re right. He does talk to you, in a way he doesn’t talk to anyone else.” He furrowed his brow. “Maybe all you need to do is ask.”

…

You followed Adrian’s advice and started with simply asking Din to meet you at the rehearsal studio, without Kuiil, to talk. He agreed readily and you decided to take that as a good sign.

It was the week of Midsummer’s debut, and you were focused to the point of distraction on your role as Hermia. You appreciated it for taking your mind off of the disaster that was the pas de deux, though, and by the time you found yourself outside of the studio where you’d meet Din you realized you’d barely thought about the meeting at all.

(Well, not much. Not as much as the week before, at least.)

He was, as usual, already inside.

You closed the door behind you and dropped your bag and shoes before moving to join him where he sat with his back to the mirror. As you slid down beside him, he nodded in greeting. 

“So,” you said, when it became obvious Din wasn’t going to jump in first. “I think we both know what the problem is, but where do we start?”

You looked at Din and took a moment to observe him up close. He was staring straight ahead, but you didn’t think he was looking at anything in particular. He seemed too inside his own mind for that.

Just when you began to worry that you’d have to push him, that this wasn’t going to work because he wasn’t going to meet you halfway, he spoke.

“I’m sorry.” 

You blinked, startled — you weren’t sure what he was apologizing for. Did he think you meant he was the problem?

“What? Din, no—”

He shook his head and finally turned to look at you. His expression was as closed to you as always. “No, I want to say this. Let me… let me say this. I should have told you this weeks ago, but I can’t…” he trailed off, but this time you didn’t interrupt. You turned slightly towards him on the floor, extending your left leg and drawing your right knee to your chest. You gave him your full attention. He looked down at his hands and continued, softly. “I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve been so worried that I won’t be able to… to let go of my training. To dance in any other way. To do anything else.” 

You wanted to reach out to him, but you were worried he would startle if you did. You laced your own fingers together and squeezed your hands around your knee.

“I can see the problems, but I don’t know how to fix them. I don’t know how to move like you do. I don’t know how to do anything but what I’ve always done. I don’t know…” Suddenly he looked up at you, and you sucked in a sharp breath at the sheer emotion in his eyes. “I want to dance this with you. I want to partner with you. But I can’t seem to figure out how — not because of you. Because of me.”

You were reaching before you could stop yourself and lightly rested your hand on his forearm. He didn’t startle, but he did look down at it, brow furrowed. You forced yourself to leave it there and squeezed his arm lightly. 

“Din, I…” you weren’t sure how to reassure him. You’d seen his discomfort in rehearsals and you knew this was new to him, even if he hadn’t told you so before. You decided to share your own worries instead, since he had just been so open with his own. “This is the biggest role I’ve ever gotten. I mean, you know I’ve got Hermia, and then the spring fairy in Cinderella… but I’ve never been chosen for something like this before. I’ve never had a chance like this.” He lifted his head and met your eyes again, and this time his eyes were soft. It encouraged you to continue. “And you’re so good, I’ve been so worried that I’m not…” you bit your lip and squeezed his arm again when he opened his mouth. You shook your head and he nodded, letting you continue. “That I’m not good enough. I’ve had bad reviews before and I’m not even a principal and I know there are people out there who think I’m not good enough to be one. I—”

This time, Din cut you off. “That’s absurd.” His tone was flat, like his point was so obvious he couldn’t believe he had to say it.

You blinked. “What?”

He tilted his head, his gaze dancing over your face. He covered your hand on his left arm with his right and squeezed. “Of course you deserve to be a principal. They should have already promoted you. Karga clearly wants to, anyway. You’re a beautiful dancer.”

Your mouth dropped open. “What?”

The corner of his mouth lifted in that barely-there smile and you felt your cheeks start to heat as his praise continued. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice me watching you. It wasn’t just for our homework. You’re… amazing. I don’t know how you put so much emotion into your dancing at the same time as so much such skill and technique. Like in Midsummer, everything you bring to Hermia, it’s…” His eyes scanned your face again, and you wondered if you were gaping at him. It felt like it. “It’s so real. And connected. I feel like a robot, compared to you. I’ve been trying to find that connection for myself, but…” he trailed off again and let his hand slip from where it covered your own. You took your hand back, too.

A connection, he said. “Um, thank you. Maybe…” you started, hesitant. He looked at you again. “Maybe we can help each other. Practice together, outside of our rehearsals.”

He nodded. You nodded back, and then you both laughed, a little. You’d never seen him laugh before and couldn’t help but stare.

You felt a bit shaky after all of that honesty and decided to lighten the air a little. “Ok, well, one thing we definitely need to do is get to know each other, right? So we’re comfortable together.” He nodded, and his expression was so open you had to force yourself to keep going, rather than to simply marvel at the fact that he’d dropped his mask. For you. “So. How about we each get 10 questions, but we can pass if we need to. Ok?”

One side of his mouth lifted in a smile. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

You shrugged. “It’s a good way to get to know someone, especially when you have to dance with someone new.”

Din nodded. “Alright. You go first.”

Over the next half hour you learned that Din’s favorite color was black (“come on, really?” “Fine, my second favorite is green.”), he hated smart technology (“I don’t want my fridge to talk to me. I want it to be a fridge.”), and his favorite ballet he’d ever been in was, surprisingly, Giselle (“it’s not in the normal repertoire there, and they didn’t like how I danced it. But I did. It was the most free I’ve ever felt on stage.”).

You wanted to ask more about why he’d left CBC, but that felt like too much for your first real conversation. You did learn, though, that he had a son.

“Grogu,” he said, “that’s his name. He’s five. He loves watching ballet.” Din smiled a little, looking off into the distance. “I don’t know if he’ll want to dance, but at least he likes watching me do it.”

You smiled. He was more open when he talked about his son, who must have been the little boy you saw him with, back in December. “Sounds like he sits through it better than my family.”

Din laughed, and shook his head. “We’ll see if it changes as he gets older.”

“Is that why you’re always in such a hurry?”

He nodded. “My friend takes care of him during the day, but I hate leaving him for so long. She lives close by so I try to go home for lunch, on the weekends, or to pick him up from school.”

That made sense. A new understanding of Din was forming in your mind — not an avoidant, aloof principal dancer, but a father who wanted to spend time with his son as much as he wanted to dance. Someone with more on his mind than fitting into this new company — you imagined the move must have been difficult on Grogu, too. 

“How’s he settling in here?”

Din looked at you, that little half smile back on his lips. “Just fine. He likes his new kindergarten, he’s made some friends. Better than I even hoped, really.”

You nodded. “That’s good. I’m glad he’s liking it. I bet that was a difficult transition for him. And you.”

Din sighed. “A bit. But it was necessary.”

Before you could even consider asking what he meant by that, you both heard commotion in the hall. You checked the time and realized you needed to get to your next rehearsal. Din stood first and offered you his hand.

You slid your hand into his, and he squeezed it as he pulled you up. 

“This was a good idea,” he said, squeezing your hand again. “Do you think next week will go better?”

You nodded. “I think so. But do you want to meet beforehand, to talk about the choreography? Maybe figure out where we can find each other instead of missing each other.”

He nodded. “I’d like that.”

…

You felt lighter after your conversation with Din. You hadn’t solved the problem, of course, but you’d at least talked to each other. It felt like the air was clearer, now that you both knew the other was struggling in some way. Neither of you was alone in it.

Over the weekend you focused on Midsummer — it was a big deal for you, getting cast as Hermia. You were excited to dance through her turmoil. She was so torn, as a character, and you wanted to portray that on stage. 

As you prepared and stretched on Friday night, you thought about what Din had said — that he couldn’t figure out how to dance in a new way, and that he felt like a robot. You shook your head. A robot? You weren’t sure what he was feeling while he danced, but Din never looked like a robot when he was performing. He’d said, too, that he loved being in Giselle, an overall more emotional performance than much of CBC’s usual repertoire. That he’d felt free. 

You thought about his face, every time you’d seen behind the mask, and you knew he could do it. You just had to help him figure out how to find that connection again, and how to lower the mask more while he was performing.

As you stepped out on stage that night, you let that certainty ground you. As you performed your variation, you’d never felt more like you were floating.

...

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a/n: they talked!!! what do we think?

Pas de deux & partnering -- Partnering in ballet is hard! There has to be a lot of trust and communication between partners, even though you don't necessarily need to be like best friends. These two are so advanced and have been in companies for so long that they are able to jump into something like this, but they still have to establish a partnering relationship, which is tough! To give you an idea of just some of what goes into partnering, here's a video of "beginning tips" (skip to around ~12:00 for some interesting stuff on balance). Din is used to verrrrry formal partnering, and that is some of the reason for their communication issues.

Midsummer - reader is dancing the role of Hermia in A Midsummer's Night Dream, which can go to either a principal or a soloist, just depending on the company. Here's a nice overview of the two acts and the ballet from the San Francisco Ballet. Here's a video of a dancer breaking down the role. Here's a couple examples of Hermia's famous variation (solo): one, two. Hermia has other big moments in the ballet but I've mostly been mentioning reader prepping for the solo. Companies might also spread out the roles over different nights or weekends -- in this case reader has Hermia for one weekend, like Adrian has Puck for one weekend (which isn't really mentioned in the fic because I didn't think it was relevant). (Is it a little unbelievable that reader is so unsure about her possible promotion if she got this role? Maybe. Soloists could get this role, especially a first soloist!)

Spring fairy - reader is dancing the role of the spring fairy in Cinderella, too. This and Midsummer are big story ballets that would draw an audience. Here's another two performances of the spring fairy variation and all of the fairies in one video from a 2003 Royal Ballet production. Spring starts ~2:30. The wiki page has a nice overview of the numbers in each act, so you can see where the fairies come in. The wiki lists 4 acts, though, and most companies do it like ABT I think -- with 2 acts. And here's a full length recording.

Giselle - Din mentions this briefly and we'll learn more later, but here's an overview of the ballet. (it's one of my favs)

tag list coming in a reblog!

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

If you weren’t a royal watcher back then, then how do you remember - 7 years later - all those details so clearly to be able to have formed, and maintained, such a specific opinion?

I'm just putting together all the articles I've found.

Don’t do that, anon. If you say “I wasn’t a royal watcher then but (repeats a very popular argument Sussex Squad has been making since 2016)”, you’ll be treated like a squaddie and it won’t be fun or go well here for you. Just ask the question.

First, it is not “famously known that William strayed.” It is “famously known” that William went out with some friends and was photographed in the presence of other women. (Man interacts with women other than his wife. 😱 Shocking)

Second, you sound very confident and very sure that William absolutely “strayed” that night. Show me your proof. Because I’ve made it very clear here - unless you have cold, hard, fact-based proof, receipts, and evidence that William cheated (as in actual messages, actual videos of him kissing/fucking/what-else-have-you with other people, actual witnesses and not blurry photos taken from across the restaurant), that narrative is not tolerated or accepted here. I draw the same line with Harry and Meghan.

We can talk about rumors but what I don’t, and won’t, accept are narratives that declare it truth when there has been no proof. Which leads me to:

Third, there is absolutely zero evidence today, or previously, to make the rumor that Louis is a “save the marriage” baby plausible in even the slightest remote factor. In fact, it is more plausible and more realistic that William and Kate had a third child to delay becoming full-time working royals than it is that their marriage was in trouble and the baby was a last-ditch effort to save the relationship.

Finally, just because you weren’t a royal watcher 7 years ago doesn’t mean you’re absolved of repeating Sussex Squad rumors. It means that you’ve bought their PR - and yes, this is PR. How else do you think this became “famously known” to the point that, according to you, KP did damage control with their own PR spin? Because people who don’t like William or who hate his very existence - including Sussex Squad - used PR to bring attention to it in the very first place.

Like I said, we can talk about rumors of William cheating but as it seems you have accepted this narrative as confirmed fact, you’re best taking it somewhere else.

[bathic]

⌜KHJ/FR/JWY⌟

It wasn’t like McDonald’s wasn’t hiring, or the grocery store down the block didn’t blast on every job-finding website about how they were in desperate need of young, fresh, youth with little to no experience to bag customers purchases. And while you and your two housemates wouldn’t knock it for the ones pursuing those opportunities; that line of pay was just not enough to make it work. And sex sells so much better than burgers. ↳ Warnings: Camera sex, Frottage, mentions of threesome, filming sexual acts, hand-jobs, two dicks in one hand (lmao), some cum.

“Could you just… yeah… a little to the— no, too far. Okay, keep going… stop!” You switched your sight on the viewfinder, fingers adjusting the focus and leveling the brightness out.

“I get we are amateurs, but shouldn’t you have had the camera at least set-up and ready before we got our cocks out?”

“I just bought this thing yesterday, cut me some slack, Joong.”

[Camera zooms in; focus blurs]

“Dammit—“

“Should have spent the rest of the afternoon yesterday figuring out how to work that thing instead of running off to hook-up with San at that stupid frat party.” Hongjoong looked at you with a very mild expression of exasperation. Propped back on his elbows with the bottom of his long-sleeved shirt shoved above his pecs to display his entire abdomen in all its fleshy glory— from dusky nipples to the barely visible happy trail that paved a nice little path to his flaccid cock.

“He’s got you there.”

You fixed Wooyoung with a half-hearted glare, “I wasn’t ‘running off to hook up’ with San… okay, I was— at first. But when I got to his fraternity house, the poor guy was in total freak-out mode.”

[Camera focuses]

“Shit, I think I got it—“

“Finally!”

“Why was he freaking out?”

When you look back up, Wooyoung is mirroring Hongjoong’s pose; laid back on elbows, legs bent at the knees up and spread to give a hood eyeful of his thick tanned thighs, soft cock and the dark bush at the base of his shaft. He chose to not roll his black t-shirt up but plucked the bottom of it up and mouth so that every bit of skin below his belly button was visible.

“Apparently,” You shift to position your hand comfortably into the holding strap, finger perched at the ready against the recording button. “Jongho and his roommate had decided to use his room for some fun and got caught using one of his stuffed animals as a knee cushion.”

Wooyoung seemed to know exactly what you were talking about despite having asked the inquiry to San’s emotional state, snapping his fingers with widened eyes. “The blowjob video! Remember,” He faces Hongjoong with his lips pursed outward, eyebrows raised excitedly. “I mentioned that Jongho and his roomie had sent a recording of her sucking him off to rile me up. That was that!”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes, shifting his gaze back to you.

“Are you ready? The draft in here is making my foreskin cold.” He grimaced at the chill causing his skin to pebble up on his exposed stomach.

“Ready when you both are.”

Wooyoung grumbled under his breath, pouting slightly at having the conversation completely stunted before it even got good. Leave it to Hongjoong to be a buzzkill.

“Wooyoung, the lube.”

The younger of the two men reached an arm back blindly to grab at the abandoned bottle of non-scented lubrication, popping the cap with his thumb and squeezing a copious amount of clear goop onto his palm. You swooped in to collect the bottle and tossed it out of frame. Wooyoung looked over at Hongjoong to see him eyeing the slight bubbled blob with a curled lip.

“What?”

“You’re jerking us off not sticking your fist up my ass. Was that much really necessary?”

Wooyoung groans, head flopping back dramatically. “Do you have to complain about every little thing someone does?”

Before Hongjoong could settle into ‘not everyone, just you’ speech, you interrupted with a shove to both of their knees. “Save it till after we’ve filmed this, yeah?”

“Whatever.” Wooyoung without further comment, scooted closer to Hongjoong until the back of their bare thighs touched and balls lightly pressed together. His hand curled around his own soft cock first, giving it a couple tugs before moving to curl his long fingers around Hongjoong’s. All three of you watched the tricky finessing, the lube making it harder to really wrangle both cocks into Wooyoung’s fist.

“Joongie, move a bit closer. Can’t grab your cock—“

Hongjoong huffed, ignoring the heat burning at his ears and neck as he inched closer. The feeling of his skin shifting and pressing tight against Wooyoung’s made his cock twitch, something he chose to ignore in favor of adjusting himself back onto his elbows and letting his legs widen for the camera in your hand. You gave him a thumbs up, peeking from over the viewfinder.

“Lookin’ good.”

Wooyoung, with his lubed hand now properly wrapped around both of their cocks, gave the signal for you to press the record button.

[Red light blinks on; timestamp appears onto screen of viewfinder; camera recording]

Hongjoong looks at the camera, at that red indicator for a good long second before shifting his gaze down at his lubed cock, held firm in Wooyoung’s fist. Seeing the slightly flushed head disappear then reappear alongside his roommate's bulbous tip, wrinkled skin tugging back like the wrapper on a push-pop, made every grievance he had for this ludicrous idea burn up into thin speckling’s of ash. The sight was undeniably hot, to you, to him, to Wooyoung who had let pretty little whines fall past his self-bitten lips without a single care.

“Fuck—“ Wooyoung flexed his fingers a bit, adjusting some to bend closer to his inner hand so that the blunt ends of his nails lightly scratched against Hongjoong’s shaft.

You watched them through the viewfinder with rapt attention, sucking your bottom lip between teeth. It doesn’t take a scientist to admit how downright good-looking your housemates are, both tanned, nicely built without the overdone bulging muscles of some steroidal chemical, pretty thick lips and shapely noses. You remembered briefly after a long night bar hopping with a couple of your girlfriends— one slurring over her words as you stumbled to maintain not only her deadweight but your own decline in equilibrium, that she thought you were not only the luckiest person to be alive and the most stupid… to also be alive.

At that point, you had been housemates for about two years with Hongjoong and Wooyoung. And only that.

To her— that made you the biggest idiot on campus. Living with two of the finest men and yet all you ever did with them was watch reruns of SNL and play ‘who can chug the most seltzer water within thirty seconds without throwing up’— Hongjoong holds that title quite proudly, even if he ended up vomiting just a moment after you did. Wooyoung didn’t even last the first three gulps before blowing the drink out of his nose and subsequently choking on the remainder that escaped down the wrong pipe.

No, you didn’t sleep with them… at first.

But now all three of you had just passed the mark of four and a half years of living together and somewhere down the hazy path did you end up with Wooyoung’s cock far down your throat while taking up one of the few stalls with a working toilet in some grimy underground club, knees bruised with small squares of toilet paper you thought would help cushion them imbedded into your skin. Hongjoong, an idea that wasn’t so grand, ate your pussy out on the couch after eating extra spicy jjajangmyeon (curtesy of you and your need to bet on everything) which caused an unfavorable burn to light up between your legs. And while both instances weren’t exactly ideal, they did open the doors into something physical between the three of you.

Something that came with a whole inner circle of friends and a long conversation of not-so exclusive exclusivity.

You were free to sleep with whoever you wanted whenever you wanted— as long as it was only with those in that inner circle. Which meant the mutual friends that bridged between Hongjoong and Wooyoung were fair game, something they themselves agreed on, except for Jongho whom preferred to keep his ‘benefits’ with his own roommate. You had no objections so long as they also kept to the inner circle and even encouraged them to try things with a few of your own friend's (Wooyoung to dabble with Jongho and his roomie for example).

Hongjoong parted his fingers down the center, using the triangular space to slot the base of his cock into, a huffy moan rattling up from his throat. He squeezed— once, twice, three times with every downward drag of Wooyoung’s hand, his nails igniting a tingling path in their wake.

“I can feel your balls twitching against mine.”

You would have laughed if not for the heavily erotic situation. Wooyoung fisting their combined cocks while panting roughly, eyes lidded and focused solely on Hongjoong across from him.

Hongjoong fared no better. His skin flushed from his cheeks down to his neck and along his exposed abdomen, nipples hard where they catch against the crumpled fabric of his shirt lying sloppy against his upper chest. He watched the camera, giving the lens sultry looks and unabashed moans. It made you feel like he was looking at you through the camera.

“Yeah? Feels good… shit, your hand feels good on my cock.”

Wooyoung rolled his head back with a perfect view of every knob along the column of his throat, a gravelly groan shifting his Adam’s apple.

“Don’t— Don’t say things like that, might blow my load early. Wanna… fuck… wanna come together.”

You figured that Wooyoung was playing it up a bit but taking a real good look at his raised brows and parted lips, the sweat on his upper lip and forehead telling enough of how much he was truly into this. Mutually jacking off his roommate and himself struck a profound nerve somewhere within him— it almost made you just a tad bit envious.

Hongjoong’s toes curled, the dribble of precum he could feel at his tip caught on the camera. If you tried hard enough, you could practically imagine the taste of it on your tongue. That thought alone was enough to make your shift a bit, careful not to shake the camera out of focus.

“‘M getting close, Youngie. Go faster.”

Wooyoung’s slicked up hand moved quicker along their cocks, tightly squeezing both shafts and jerking from the base to the tips in one long drag. The rubbing, the moaning, the heat and the skin contact from one underside to the next was enough to throttle Hongjoong over the edge, his cum bubbling up in short spurts that coated his roommates hurried fist. Wooyoung befell to his own orgasm, shuddering enough that his leg accidentally kicked out and shook you from your kneeled position. His cum shot up like a milky geyser, splattering over his shirt and both of their lower extremities.

You gaped at the amount before clicking the stop button and moving the camera from away from your face.

“Dude… I think we might have just made something that’ll pay next month's rent in full.”

Hongjoong huffs, head lolling to the side to lay on his shoulder. “You think?”

Wooyoung plops back, his chest heaving and soiled hand rubbing mindlessly across a clean patch of his shirt.

“I can’t feel my legs— or my arm.”

You scooch closer to them, knees knocking into the sides of their lower legs. “I don’t think— I know. Definitely one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen before. To be honest, I’m a bit jealous.”

Hongjoong reaches a handout to gather some of his and Wooyoung’s cum from his inner thigh, presenting his evenly coated fingers to you with a sly curl to his lips.

“Can’t forget to pay the camerawoman.”

And you wouldn’t dare dream of rejecting such a lovey offer.

[papil0nglegs]

ok but like I loved ur mercy!reader post and considering my love for crossovers ESPECIALLY character interactions I was wondering if u could do more???

Nerf this!🐰

Tf2 x Dva!Reader

A/n: If you’re not familiar with Dva then I suggest watching the Dva Cinematic. It’ll sum her character up and she’s a fun one at that ^^. A lot of my tf2 x ow fics are platonic so unless I outright say that it’s romantic you can imagine it however you’d like, enjoy <33

Warnings: None

Divider creds: Sister-Lucifer on Tumblr

Engineer

Since you guys were forced to share a workshop it looks pretty similar to the bedroom from Sam and Cat, one side being dull and grey with little to no decorations while the other is pink with cute plushies/figurines around the place.

After a bit you grew closer, sitting around in silence while working on your projects got pretty awkward so it was about time before someone broke the ice.

“You ever name your bots?”

“Huh, don’t think so.. you?”

“Yes! I call her Tokki, she’s cute isn’t she?”

“And one hell of a shade of pink”

Engineer is really competitive when it comes to you, being that you both are engineers/inventors. You guys have fun 🫶

“That’s 10 kills! Can you do that grandpa?”

“Haha! Just wait til’ you see what my other babies can do”

Will gladly show you some old tricks that he’s learned over the years since he’s more experienced. Plus he’s the only person you’ll ever trust your dear Tokki with.

Speaking of which-your self destruct sequence is always done by him, any of the other mercs will FUMBLEEE

“how do I friggin do this?? Is there like a joystick I can move around?”

•

“Too many dæm buttons on this zing! I zon’t know what I’m doing”

•

“pulls out glasses your mouse controls the small pointer on ze screen, use it to-WHAT DOES ANY OF THIS MEAN?”

“IT MEANS YOU’RE STUPID HEAVY.”

Interactions/Voicelines 🎤

Team kill with Self Destruct

“How’s that for a shade of pink?”

•

“Definitely haven’t seen somethin’ like that in my years.”

•

“Thanks Tae-I mean!-Engie!!”

Domination

“Too slow, peepaw!”

•

“Hope that wasn’t hard on your arthritis -3-“

Medic

Medic gets so excited when you’re on a mission with him. Loves pocketing you, partly because you’re the nicest when it comes to asking for help

“CMON THEN DOCTOR”

“HURRY ON DOCTOR”

“DOCTOR, HEAL NOW”

“heals plss 😚”

He also enjoys how you’re full of surprises, he thought you were gonna die when your mech broke down but no! You jumped out that thing and pistol whipped the whole team’s faces off like the diva you are.

“PISTOL TO THE FACE!!”

“Y/n slow down 🙂”

He loves you but you overstimulate him.

Interactions/Voicelines 🎤

Ubering

“LETS GO!”

•

“RAHHH!! GET OUTTA MY GAME!”

Spawn Interactions

“You gonna surprise me out there, Hase?”

“Of course! You know I always do ^.^”

•

“Nett mech”

“Nett coat!!”

“Aw, vy thank you”

Spy

This ho won’t stop talking shit. Every time he opens his mouth about you it’s him complaining about how “you’re too young to be on this team” or “your ‘experience’ with video games doesn’t serve a war” or “stop playing video games y/n we’re in the middle of battle”.

He avoided you for the most part until you decided to make some small talk while you both awkwardly stood in an elevator, big mistake 😬

“I bet your gun does a ton of DPS”

“Must you always muster up your video game vocabulary with reality?”

“Must you always be so petty?? 😒 old Frenchie fuck you and your dps gun”

Clearly he’s not fond of youngin’s joining the team. Though he does find you more “tolerable” than scout since you at least have some experience with fighting in a war (kinda)

He hates that he has to crawl to you for tech help, he doesn’t know what he’s doing-you’re the tech expert!!

“Y/n.. something is wrong with the radio.”

“..oookkayyy??”

“Can you help?”

“LOL!!”

Meetings with you always end up in him taking your game console away, he just won’t leave you alone 🙄

“Hey! I was in the middle of beating a boss!!”

“You’ll have it back once you listen to what I have to say, girl.”

“Ughh fine”

Interactions/Voicelines 🎤

Spawn interactions

“Don’t you think your little pink robot will be a distraction?”

“That’s.. just the way I like it!”

Blaster light gun kill

“See that, Spy? Pure skill.”

Spy callout

“Ping!Ping!Ping! Spy around here!!”

[sturnswrites]

back to you - pt. 1

Matt Sturniolo x Fem!Reader

⤳ angst, angst, more angst, crying, breakup

⤳ you and matt break up after you leave for college but when summer break comes around you both can’t seem to shake the feeling of one another away.

---------------------------------------------

The room felt colder that day, despite the California sun pouring through the windows. Y/N sat cross-legged on Matt’s couch, her heart racing as she tried to make sense of the words coming out of his mouth.

“I don’t want to do this,” he finally said, his voice low but trembling.

“Then don’t.” Your voice cracked, and you hated how desperate you sounded. “Matt, we can figure it out. Long distance isn’t the end of the world.”

“I just think… with you going to New York and me staying here with Nick and Chris, it’s going to be hard,” Matt said, his hands twisting nervously in his lap. He wasn’t looking at you, his gaze fixed somewhere near the carpet.

“Hard?” she repeated, her voice catching, eyes stinging with tears. “Matt, we’ve been together for two years. We’ve been through everything together. Why can’t we at least try?”

He finally looked at you, his blue eyes clouded with something that looked a lot like pain. “Y/N, I’ve thought about this a lot. I don’t want to hold you back while you’re starting this new chapter. And I don’t think I can handle being so far away, not knowing if—if we’re still the same.”

He paused for a second leaving the room with enough silence to hear a pin drop. “You’ll be out there meeting new people, having new experiences. And I’ll be here, stuck in the same routine. It’s not fair to either of us.” he continued. 

“It’s not fair?” you repeated, your voice breaking. “What’s not fair is you deciding this without me. What’s not fair is you giving up on us before we’ve even tried.”

His shoulders slumped, and for a moment, you thought he might take it back. That he’d tell you he was being stupid, that you’d find a way to make it work. But instead, he shook his head, his face etched with pain.

Your chest tightened, the weight of his words sinking in. “So that’s it? You’re just giving up on us?”

“I’m not giving up,” he insisted, his voice breaking. “I’m letting you go because I love you too much to keep you tied down.”

You stood up abruptly, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. Your hands were trembling, eyes blurred with tears, but you didn’t want him to see how much he’d broken you.

“I never felt tied down, Matt,” you said quietly, her voice trembling. “I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be—with you.”

And then you walked out, leaving behind the only person who had ever made you feel completely whole.

-

The months that followed were nothing short of excruciating.

New York was everything you had hoped it would be—bustling, exciting, alive, a blur of classes, new friends…and trying desperately to move on. No matter how many new friends you made or how many late-night adventures you went on, there was a constant ache in your chest that refused to go away.

You threw yourself into school, keeping yourself so busy that you barely had time to breathe, let alone think about Matt. But he always found his way into your thoughts. You’d hear a song he loved, or pass by someone wearing a hoodie like the one he used to wear, and suddenly it felt like you were back in his room, begging him to choose you.

You’d see his face in your memories—the way his nose scrunched when he laughed, the way he used to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, the way he’d whisper “I love you” like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t fair. You hated how he still had this hold on you, even after he’d been the one to end things.

Meanwhile, in Los Angeles, Matt was unraveling.

At first, he convinced himself he’d done the right thing. He told himself that breaking up with you was selfless, that he was giving you the freedom to thrive without any ties holding you back. He was still filming videos with Nick and Chris, smiling for the camera, cracking jokes like nothing was wrong.

But as the weeks turned into months, that resolve began to crack.

He’d lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment he let you go. He’d watch old videos on his phone of the two of you laughing together, and it felt like a punch to the gut every time.

Nick and Chris noticed, of course. They weren’t blind to the way Matt had become quieter, more withdrawn. But every time they tried to bring it up, he brushed them off, burying himself in their work.

Still, he couldn’t stop himself from reaching for his phone late at night, your contact saved under “My Favorite Person.” His fingers would hover over the keyboard, crafting and deleting messages he’d never have the courage to send.

- 

By the time summer rolled around, you’d convinced yourself you were over him. Or at least, you told yourself that enough times to believe it.

​​One of your friends, Emma, had decided to throw a party for everyone to reconnect after their first year of college.

“It’ll be fun,” Emma had said. “I promise!”

You weren’t so sure about that, but you went anyway, hoping the night would distract you from the lingering ache in her chest.

“Everyone’s going to be there,” Emma had said, grinning as she handed you the invitation. “It’ll be like old times.”

“Sure,” you had replied with a forced smile, pushing down the nagging thought that “everyone” might include the one person you weren’t ready to see.

When you arrived at the party, the air was filled with the familiar buzz of laughter and music. You slipped easily into conversations, catching up with friends you hadn’t seen in months.

You were in the middle of a story, a drink in your hand, when a voice you hadn’t heard in far too long made your heart stop.

“Y/N?”

You turned slowly, your breath catching as your eyes met Matt’s.

He looked… different. His hair was a little longer, his face a little sharper, but his eyes were still the same piercing blue that had haunted your dreams.

“Oh, hi,” you said, your voice carefully neutral. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

He shifted on his feet, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “Yeah, Nick dragged me along. I didn’t know you’d be back.”

“Just for the summer,” you replied, your chest tight.

An awkward silence stretched between you, and for a moment, it felt like you were strangers. But the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the room, made your heart ache in a way you weren’t prepared for.

“Well,” you said finally, “it was nice seeing you.”

“You too,” he murmured, his gaze lingering on you as you turned back to your group.

But the night was far from over.

-

You couldn’t stop noticing him.

Every time you glanced across the room, Matt was there—leaning against a wall, talking to Nick, or laughing with someone you didn’t recognize. And every time, you felt his eyes on you, as if he was just as unable to look away.

You tried to ignore it, focusing on your friends and the easy rhythm of their conversation. But it was impossible not to feel the pull, the magnetic force that had always drawn you to him.

Matt was losing his mind.

Seeing you again was like a shot of adrenaline to his system, every memory he’d tried to bury rushing back with brutal clarity. He wanted to talk to you, to explain, to apologize. But every time he tried to muster the courage, the words got stuck in his throat.

Finally, as the night began to wind down, he couldn’t take it anymore.

You were standing alone on the back porch, the soft glow of string lights casting a halo around you. He stepped outside, his heart pounding as he closed the distance between you.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice soft but urgent.

You turned to face him, your expression guarded. “Matt.”

“Can we talk?” he asked, his eyes searching yours.

You hesitated, your emotions swirling in a storm of hope, fear, and anger. But something in his gaze made you nod.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Let’s talk.”

And with that, he led you away from the noise and the crowd, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy between you.

---------------------------------------------

ok now this one got me excitedddd

⭒ margot

[american-horror-whore]

life update (tw assumed almost kidnapping, possible stalking, etc)

I should really be forcing myself to go on temporary hiatus but this is really my only safe space. i’ve been treated very roughly recently, and what happened yesterday just added. don’t worry about me leaving you all, i’m not taking a temporary hiatus

so i’m honestly just gonna start off with a message. Men, women, minors, anyone: please be vigilant of your surroundings. No matter where you are, densely populated places or scarcely populated places, day or night, be vigilant.

My car is currently in a different state, being lent to a family member (which has been going on for about a month), meaning i have to take public transport to and from college since i’m not doing dorms. Where the bus stops is just a short walk from my house, probably only 5 or 6 houses down, 5 to 10 minute walk.

Just for anyone who’ll have questions about why I wasn’t able to defend myself, Massachusetts colleges prohibits carrying firearms or concealed weapons, meaning i’m not able to take my pocket knife or any form of defense i have. The only exception is for law enforcement officers who are authorized to carry weapons. There is also no way in hell i’m leaving any sort of defense on public transport until I come back at the end of the day.

A few weeks back, I had seen an inferno orange-reddish toyota truck slowing down near me. driving it, was an older man. I didn’t think much of it at the time, chalking up to pure coincidence or misunderstanding. maybe i was someone he thought he knew? maybe he had to take a turn? i live in a scarcely populated area, only about 4,000 people live here. probably someone one of my parents knew.

Earlier yesterday, my final class ended around 2. I got off the public transport at 2:30-2:40 and started walking. I had one airpod in my ear, still semi-vigilant of my surroundings. everything was fine. Until i saw this truck again. Okay, it was slowing down, same as last time. Except the man was staring me down this time. And pulled over on the opposite side of the road. I stop, turn around to face the truck to let him know i was aware of what was happening. Shakily, i pull out my phone, pretending to take a video. The man sits in his car for a bit as i walk backward, still holding my phone out. I was too scared to even take a real video or a photo of the plates. He half-pulled out onto the road, looking like he was going to turn onto my side. Instead, he pulled away, most likely when he saw I had a phone. I had called my boyfriend when he had slowed down, just to have someone on the phone.

With all that being said, when the man drove away, I ran up the hill, back to my house. Out of fear, and not wanting to call anyone else, I call my stepfather, anything i was saying was barely audible. He told me to calm down, asked me if i was okay, and asked what happened. I told him what had happened, to which he had asked if I had the plates. I told him no. He said that was okay, talked to me a bit more, and told me to call the police. I called my local station, talked to someone, and I could tell they weren’t just brushing it off as a woman being crazy or attention seeking. They told me they understood I was afraid, but there wasn’t much they could do without the plates. I told them that was okay, and if i saw it again, i’d take photos.

I’ve been extremely shaken all night and this morning. My stepfather put in to get out of work early for the next however long to come pick me up from the stop, which I am so grateful for. But it got me thinking, what would’ve happened if the guy got ballsy enough to get out of his truck? what would’ve happened if he took me? And I have nothing to defend myself with except punches, kicks and bites, which of a 5’3, 98lbs college girl, there’s not much force behind those.

I always want to keep you guys updated in my life, because I feel transparency is important with people you care about. I apologize for how long winded this was, and if you made it this far, thank you.

tags to those know i know will care about something like this:

@fear-is-truth , @newwavesylviaplath

@taintandviolent @marchsfreakshow @cxndiedvi0lets

[selunesdreams]

Chapter 5: Honorable Intentions

“So how does Spite feel about Illario?”  “SPINELESS. WHINY-” “About how he feels about most people.” “And that is…?” Taking his coffee from the counter, he sipped it slowly before responding.  “Impatient.” “Even me?” She batted her lashes. “Do you ever think he’ll just get fed up and-” “Why don’t we talk about something else, mm?”

Pairing: Lucanis x Fem Rook/OFC x Spite???

Summary: With both Spite and Rook keeping him on edge, Lucanis looks for distraction in meal prep...

Word Count: 2.6k

Things of note/warnings: 18+ fic, MDNI! warnings: I use the word cock ONCE. (sorry) Please read on AO3 if you need to track warnings, they will be inevitably detailed better there (or just want to be real sweet and give me hits/kudos/comments).

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Aunt Viama stood barefoot on the couch, peeking through the window nervously. 

“Viago, take Fiamma to her room!” She hissed, “Dante, what is she doing here?”

“Relax, she doesn’t bite. It’s probably a contract,” said Fiamma’s father, as the two children snuck to their favorite eavesdropping spot in the hall and exchanged a look.

“Are you kidding me? My sister’s been in the ground one week! You’re grieving! We’re grieving!”

He motioned her aside and opened the door, ignoring her objections.

“Caterina, to what do I owe the honor?” He beckoned her inside with a polite gesture.

Calm and collected, the First Talon entered the den, her cane tapping against the wooden floor. A boy, roughly Fiamma’s age, clung to her coattails as she walked. Lucanis trailed behind them, his head bowed. 

“I’m sorry to trouble you during such a painful time, Dante,” she kissed him on each cheek in greeting, “but my grandson has gifted your daughter something that was not his to give away.” 

“What did you do, Fiammetta?” Viago demanded, pinching her arm.

“It wasn’t me. It was Lucanis!” she whispered, slapping his hand away and running to her bedroom. Throwing herself under her bed, she retrieved one of her mother’s old hat boxes and pried off the lid, sifting through her trinkets in search of the opal. The sound of Caterina’s muffled voice carried through the wall from the next room.

“I encourage my grandson to steal whatever his heart desires, if he can get away with it, presuming he’d go after sweets or knives. Instead, he takes books and gems.” She huffed. 

“The makings of a good Crow,” Dante said. “An eye for knowledge and beauty.” 

Caterina made a noise of disapproval. “Any other would have been inconsequential, but this one…has history. I was having a new setting made for this one and he swiped it before I could get it to my jeweler…”

With a pounding heart, Fiamma carefully took out the gem and cradled it in her palm one last time, before she closed her fist around it, stashed the box back under her bed, and shuffled into the den.

“Miss Caterina.” She straightened her posture, extending her hand. “Please don’t be mad. Lucanis just wanted to make me feel better.”

Dante’s mouth fell open in surprise as Caterina bent down and plucked the opal from his daughter’s hands. His eyes widened as she held it in the light, examining it. “Is that…”

“Yes.” Caterina retrieved her coin purse from inside her coat and slipped it inside. “You are a very honorable girl, Fiammetta. My grandsons could learn a great deal from you.” 

Behind her, Lucanis raised his head, his brown eyes heavy with embarrassment. “I’m sorry for getting you in trouble, Fiammetta.”

“Nonsense, Lucanis. She isn’t in trouble for your oversight.” Caterina snapped.

Fiamma’s father crouched beside him. “It was a kind gesture, Lucanis.” He said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure you meant well.”

Caterina nodded. “I apologize for the intrusion, Dante. My deepest condolences…but if you don’t mind lending me just a bit more of your time, there’s some Crow business I’d like to discuss.” She glanced around. “Is there somewhere we can chat?”

Dante rose to his feet. “Of course. I’ll have Viama put some coffee on.” He turned to Fiamma and kissed the top of her head. 

“Why don’t you take Lucanis and Illario to play with Viago? I’m sure he’s not far...” her father murmured, frowning with gentle disapproval as his gaze drifted toward the shadow in the hallway. 

As the adults departed, Viago emerged from the hall, nudging Lucanis with his elbow and gesturing towards the front door with a subtle tilt of his head. With a shameful look, Lucanis tore his eyes away from Fiamma’s and followed her cousin outside. 

Charging forward, the youngest Dellamorte seized her hand, shaking it a little too hard.

“I’m Illario.” He said earnestly. “Can I see the rest of your house? I bet it’s not as big as my Nonna’s!”

Fiamma blinked, her gaze moving past him to the door as it shut behind the older boys. Forbidden from leaving the house without her father’s escort, she had no choice but to stay behind.

“Um…sure.” She said, trying to hide the disappointment in her tone. “Do you like art? My papa has lots of paintings in his office.”

Illario grinned, giving a charming bow, as if reenacting something he’d seen an adult do. 

“I like whatever you like.”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Not even a dragon attack could close the Treviso markets. The following day, they opened as usual, with a nervous undercurrent of chatter among the merchants. Lucanis browsed the stalls, taking the opportunity to shop while Rook slept in. Viago and Teia had already left to handle Crow matters at the casino, and he needed some time to clear his head.

Spite’s unpredictable nature gave him an aversion to sleep these days, and thanks to Rook, he wouldn’t have slept last night even if he wanted to. Lying on Viago’s couch, he stared at the ceiling, struggling to dismiss the images her words had evoked as his cock strained uncomfortably against the front of his trousers. Worse, Spite took a maddening amount of delight in Lucanis’ discomfort, and even more so at Rook’s mischievousness. It worried him - how would Spite react to Rook the next time he took control? He couldn’t risk sleeping, couldn’t risk Spite climbing into bed with her when she was inebriated, vulnerable, alone…

“MAYBE ROOK WANTS YOU IN HER BED. SPITE IS JUST HELPING.”

He shuddered and deposited a few gold coins in a merchant’s palm, wrapping up his purchase and heading back to Viago’s apartment. If he was lucky, Rook would wake with a nasty hangover and have forgotten the entire evening.

Upon his return, the house was still quiet. Lucanis deposited his groceries on the counter and lit the stove, setting a kettle of water atop it, before venturing down the hall to knock softly on Rook’s door. He cracked it open, knowing if he let her sleep any longer, she’d be furious at him for not waking her. 

Through the gap, he watched her lift her head, brushing her tousled hair from her face to look over her bare shoulders at him. Her white sheets slid down, settling just below the curve of her waist, and he shifted uncomfortably in the doorway. Holding them over her breasts, she squinted at him and rolled onto her back. 

“Lucanis?” She muttered, shielding her eyes from the light pouring in through her windows, “What time is it?”

He averted his gaze, preferring to stare at the sun than endure this any longer. 

“Midday.”

She jerked forward. “Why did you let me sleep so late?” 

“I thought you might need it.” He said, turning back to the hall, “Get dressed and come get some coffee. I’ll make breakfast.”

Lucanis moved with measured steps, his eyes glued to the floor until he reached the kitchen. He prepped Viago’s glass coffee maker, admiring the craftsmanship, and pulled out a cutting board, peeling and mincing several cloves of garlic. 

Rook wandered in soon after, hair freshly brushed and clearly having capitalized on the availability of her old wardrobe. She wore a lace-necked blouse, a crow brooch pinned at the base of her throat, and a pair of loose, black trousers. Around her shoulders, she had draped a velvet purple cloak that fell just above the soles of her leather boots. 

He glanced up with a raised eyebrow, then returned his focus to the tomato he was coring.  

“I made coffee.” He said stiffly. 

“Of course you did.” As she went to pour herself a cup, her hip brushed against his. 

“SMELLS LIKE LAVENDER AND CITRUS BLOSSOM.”

He cleared his throat, picking up another tomato. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Morning hangover aside?” she sat down across the counter from him and took a sip from her mug. “I appreciate you trying to relieve me of some of my guilt yesterday, but let’s keep the vintage away until after we’ve killed a few gods, hmm?” 

He smiled, letting a huff of air escape from his nose. “Of course.”

“How did you sleep?” 

“Fine.” He lied, dicing a bell pepper while admiring Viago’s kitchen knives. They were sharp enough to make a clean kill if they needed to. Maybe that was the point.

“Can I help?” She nodded towards the stove. Did she remember a single thing she said last night? Was she toying with him? Or too embarrassed to bring it up? 

“YOU BRING IT UP!”

“The pan should be warm enough. You can oil it.”

She stood and rummaged through Viago’s cabinets, retrieving a bottle and uncapping it. “So how does Spite feel about Illario?” 

“SPINELESS. WHINY-”

“About how he feels about most people.” Lucanis scraped garlic and onion into the sizzling oil, adding an assortment of spices. 

“And that is…?”

He incorporated the tomatoes and a dash of cream, stirring as he tried to ignore her curious gaze over his shoulder. Taking his coffee from the counter, he sipped it slowly before responding. 

“Impatient.”

“Even with me?” She batted her lashes. “Do you ever think he’ll just get fed up and-”

“Why don’t we talk about something else, mm?” Lucanis suggested, pulling out one of his market bags and retrieving a few eggs. He steered Rook aside, placing his hands on her shoulders so he could reach the stove.

“THE COUNTER. SHE’D LIKE TO BE BENT OVER-”

“Oh. Sure.” She returned to her seat. “Thanks for making me breakfast.”

“It’s not entirely unselfish. Viago has a nicer kitchen than the Lighthouse does.” He said, breaking the eggs into the stewed tomatoes.

Rook rested her chin on her hands. “True.”

“Is it nice being back?” Lucanis asked, removing the pan from the stovetop and dividing its contents across two plates. He gave her one, then took out a baguette and sliced off a few pieces for them to share. 

“In some ways. When I was on Viago’s bad side, it wasn’t always so nice.”

Lucanis settled beside her, mopping at his eggs with his bread, letting the yoke bleed into the tomatoes. 

“I might still be on his Viago’s bad side. Who knows?” Fiamma said and took a bite of her food. She uttered a soft moan of pleasure, and Lucanis dropped his silverware. Rook remained oblivious and continued eating. 

They finished breakfast in silence, the hallmark of a well-prepared meal, and Lucanis rose, picking up her plate and mug and taking them to the washbasin. They needed to get out of here, for more reasons than one. 

“I told you, Viago is used to picking up after me,” Rook said with a grin. 

So she did remember last night. 

“If he has a good side, I’d like to stay on it.” Lucanis said, scrubbing the dishes clean. Rook joined him near the sink, grabbing a towel and holding her hand out. He passed her a plate, and she dried it carefully. 

“Are we…good?” She asked, pushing the plate aside to take the next one. 

“We’re good.” Lucanis said, shaking water from his hands and wiping them on his pants. “Let’s get back to work.”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

The days that followed dragged on. Devastated by Neve’s absence, Bellara became determined to find a dragon hunter and a Veil Expert, furiously taking notes and charging ahead with renewed vigor. And find them she did. After excursions to Rivain and the Necropolis, Emmrich Volkarin, a Mortalitasi, and Taash, a Qunari with a talent for fire-breathing, joined their team. Emmrich arrived with an animated skeleton assistant, Manfred, who was quickly becoming Rook’s favorite recruit. More odd, but enjoyable personalities, to add to their collective. 

“So Lucanis, you’re an Antivan Crow?” Taash asked, their feet kicked up on the dinner table as Lucanis prepared dinner.

“Yes. Like Rook.” He replied from the stove. Rook could feel his disappointment from across the room - he undoubtedly missed the accommodations of Viago’s kitchen. 

“Do all Antivan Crows have demons?”

“What? No!” He spun around. “Spite was put into me by the Venatori.”

Since their arrival, their new companion had bombarded Lucanis and Rook with endless, bizarre questions about Crow customs. Varric would have relished the chance to spin his wild tales for Taash. Unfortunately, he took most of his meals in his chambers and wasn’t keen on visitors other than Rook.  

“Demons typically infect mages through manipulation, but Lucanis’ situation is…rather unique.” Emmrich explained. 

“Oh. That’s messed up.” Taash removed their feet from the table and leaned forward. “What’s Spite like?”

“Angry. Impulsive. Annoying.” Lucanis said, taking the soup he was making off the fire. 

“If he’s so unhappy, why doesn’t he just leave?”

“It would likely kill me.”

“No offense, but why would he care?”

Lucanis hesitated. 

“Because we have a deal.”

Rook’s head snapped up as she set Emmrich’s bowl down in front of him. “You made a deal with a demon? ”

Manfred let out a hiss of discontent, stomping his feet in a panic. 

“Oh, Lucanis…” Emmrich lamented, shaking his head. “That was a very foolish thing to do…”

“Zara was waiting for Spite to break out of my body like a moth in a cocoon. I convinced him we wanted the same thing and promised I’d give it to him.”

“And that was that?” Asked Taash. 

“Her. Dead.” Lucanis said, bringing the soup to the table and ladling it into the bowls Rook had set out. The large doors to the kitchen swung open, and Davrin entered, Assan playfully nipping at his heels. He took the furthest seat from Lucanis at the head of the table. The two hadn’t gotten on particularly well ever since Davrin found out about Spite. 

“Play nice,” Rook warned in a low voice, handing the Grey Warden a goblet and filling it with port. She took a seat beside Lucanis, whose end of the table always filled up slowly, everyone wary of his demonic passenger. 

As she blew on her spoonful of soup, Rook caught sight of Bellara entering with Harding and, to her astonishment, Neve. The three appeared to be mid conversation, putting her slightly on edge.

“Are they really gods, though?” Harding asked, looking up at the detective.

“They’re gods. Or the closest thing to them.” 

“Neve!” Rook breathed, setting down her silverware and bracing her hands on the table. “You’re back.”

“Yeah.” she said, not sparing her so much as a glance as she took her seat next to Davrin. “I am.”

The cold shoulder stung, and Rook lowered her head, taking a measured inhale. Neve’s feelings were her own, and she had the right to be disappointed.

“A couple of new people have joined our team since you left,” Harding, seeking to ease the tension, chimed in. “This is Professor Emmrich Volkarin, he’s our fade expert. That’s his assistant beside him, Manfred. And there’s Taash, our dragon hunter.”

“Hey.” Taash said.

Emmrich gave an elegant wave. “Charmed.” 

“A dragon hunter?” Neve asked Taash, “Minrathous could have used you.” 

Rook stiffened as something grazed her knee beneath the table. Startled, her eyes flicked to Lucanis, who offered a tight smile and reassuringly squeezed her knee.

Mierda. This was trouble. 

“So what’s going on?” Rook asked Neve, tearing her gaze from Lucanis. He withdrew his hand and glanced down awkwardly, returning to his dinner.  

“Back home? What isn’t?” Neve sighed, mustering all the civility she could. “Look, you made an impossible call without enough information. I get it. It’s the corner the gods put us in. It just…might take time to shake off.”

Rook dipped her chin. “Of course.” 

“You are back, though, right?” Bellara asked. 

Neve lifted her wineglass and took a deep drink. 

“Yeah, Bel. I’m back.”

[rosicheeks]

🫣

[shewhoeatssand]

I want to befriend Kaneki and meet with him and email him forever

[trash-bin-ary]

It sucks when you’re in a can’t formulate a sentence right mood and someone says something that you want to respond to but you can’t

[spideyhexx]

read some older interviews with tom and his Juilliard story is crazy

[zodiacsea]

ANOTHER coworker i love is leaving AND i have a bunch of shit i need to get finished at work before i go to vegas next week and not enough time to do it AND the zipper on my favorite jeans broke AND i woke up half an hour late this morning i actually want to go home and curl up in a ball forever. thanks

[boomerang109]

just saw a video that was like “do you even know who your grandfather’s father was?” YES?! i KNEW him! he died when i was 16!!!

[regallibellbright]

“Regalli, do you really think Game Freak intended for the Link Cable thing in Delta Episode to imply every Pokemon cartridge is its own unique pocket universe, and that every generation exists in its own continuity where their Pokemon and mechanics now retroactively Have Always Existed?”

To the second, absolutely. You don’t have a plan to move a meteor to another universe get shot down when another character asks “but what if we moved the meteor to a universe without Mega Evolution? Wouldn’t they be screwed?” WITHOUT intending to imply exactly that. To the first…

Listen, I don’t care if they INTENDED for the ‘every cartridge is its own universal iteration’ thing, it makes SENSE, okay? Like. Think about version differences. Starting in Gen III they impacted the route the story took. Why is that? Which is canon? Pokemon multiverse, all of them are. Some universes have Maxie screw up, some universes have Archie, some universes they BOTH cause mayhem and Rayquaza needs to get the fuck down there and tell everyone to knock it the hell off. Why is the Ultra Beasts plotline replaced with Rainbow Rocket from SuMo to USUM? Pokemon multiverse, Anabel and Looker only show up in SuMo variations and Giovanni only gets the Rainbow Rocket idea in USUM ones.

Why do version exclusives exist? Pokemon multiverse, they only live in this region in certain universe iterations.

Why can Leaf never challenge you at the top of Mount Silver in HGSS and you never get the choice? Pokemon multiverse, all HGSS cartridges come from a universe where Red exists, and for that matter they are separate from universes where you the player character did because of his specific team. Hell, that’s the case for any game where Red and Blue make battleable appearances, isn’t it.

Come to that the only individual cartridges that actually directly connect in continuity to each other, the only Pokemon games built on an assumption that not only did the EVENTS of the previous game take place but that they occurred under the guidance of a Player Character, specifically YOUR Plaher Character, are Black 2/White 2 and then only if you link your own save file. Every other Pokemon PC does not explicitly exist in every other game so they may just have generic versions of their character like Red and Blue and Green from Let’s Go or the Hilda/Hilbert Battle Subway NPC. But what about trading and cross-game transfer, you ask?

You guessed it! POKEMON MULTIVERSE. Canonically thanks to naming the plot device in Delta Episode a Link Cable, you can make a case that every instance of trading Pokemon back to the start of the series was multidimensional travel. (And, in Gen II-Gen I, canonically also time travel.) Union Rooms and the like actually connect distinct universes together. Hisuian Pokemon can show up in ScarVio without any explanation because they’ve been dimensionally transferred and anyway, in this universe they may never have actually gone extinct. Hell, we don’t technically know they actually WENT extinct, they just didn’t exist in the DPPt and BDSP universes. Maybe in the PLA universe they’re known as Sinnohan Goomy or whatever. Or maybe in the PLA universe it’s still known as Hisui. We don’t know. That whole “previous life” thing in ScarVio with the phone cases has the woman never having heard of Hisui (despite a photo of Laventon being visible on the board for history class).

It’s Pokemon Multiverse all the way down, folks. I don’t care what Gamefreak intended in this case, the end result actually holds up enough on reading I just accept this as canon.

[pebblezone]

Idk how welcome home has overrun literally all of my social media but I guess I welcome it