#and hes a fucking ballroom dancer

[egyptianking]

I said this after the last euros I think and it's like 1am so excuse my thoughts being a bit all over the place but I do feel like the stats thrown around another domestic violence are very well meaning in trying to open up people's eyes to the prevalence of domestic violence, starting that conversation and also signposting to helplines and resources BUT I do feel like it's kinda?? Unhelpful in some way in that it really reinforces that a domestic abuser is the stereotypical bigoted, drunken working class football fan coming home from the match or the pub...when on reality domestic abusers take all sorts of forms? They're from every walk of life, every class, racial and religious group, part of the country. They watch football, rugby cricket, they do theatre they do..idk? Tap dancing.

I'm not saying we shouldn't share those stats I just think we need to move away from the idea that 1) football causes domestic abuse (abusers cause domestic abuse.) 2) domestic abuse is some sort of English specific thing 3) you can tell who domestic abusers are bc they fit the stereotypical bald, sunburnt, stella-drinking ingerland til I die description.

Keep sharing resources and keep the conversation going, absolutely!! But idk these are just my thoughts..

Phone numbers for anyone who may need them or to share:

[jeankirsteinsgrlfrnd]

🤍a completely random modern au headcanon for each aot character 🤍

eren jaeger’s idea of late night fun is going to walmart/target/etc. he likes to walk around with his friends and be absolutely childish. bonus: he’s banned from a certain store for kicking an inflatable ball across the store.

armin arlert is self conscious of his body. it’s only really his torso though. when him and his friends go to the beach, he’s always the last one to take his shirt off. he doesn’t even have anything to be embarrassed about, he’s just disappointed he’s not as muscular as eren or reiner.

mikasa ackerman’s favorite color is a dark red. the blood, cherry type of red. she’s got a lip tint in that color and her nails are painted too much. she also chews her nails. she hopes the nail polish is enough to break the habit but it isn’t.

connie springer’s favorite fast food restaurant is burger king. he thinks it’s underrated. you can count on him to fuck up a whopper. he also always gets the cardboard crowns to wear.

jean kirstein loves night time. he loves the solitude, the way nobody expects anything from him, and the fact that he can just be. he doesn’t get lonely during his late nights but he wouldn’t mind somebody to share it with.

sasha braus smells really good. she doesn’t use any super fancy products, though. she’s just one of those people that naturally have a good aroma. her skin is also really soft.

ymir tans really easy in the summer. she never burns or turns red. she’s genetically blessed. the sun also makes the freckles on her face pop and clusters of them pop up on her back/shoulders.

historia reiss loves milkshakes and soda floats. she always orders them with a whipped cream and cherry. she prefers milkshakes from a diner rather than a fast food place.

marco bodt really likes plants. he has a collection of houseplants. they line his window sills and he even has a special little rack with a special little light. he’s got a super green thumb.

reiner braun drinks protein shakes religiously. he pretty much sticks to a diet of shakes, meat, vegetables and rice. there are few times where he breaks his routine, usually just joining his friends for a night of drinking.

bertholdt hoover has a surprisingly high tolerance when it comes to weed and alcohol. at least that’s what it looks like on the outside. he’s pretty cool, calm and collected. nobody’s sure if he’s immune to being drunk, or if he’s too anxious about acting a fool to show any signs of inebriation.

annie leonhardt owns a german shepherd 100%. she’s had it since it was a pup and it’s one of the most well behaved dogs. they’re oddly similar in their mannerisms. bonus: it’s named marley.

pieck finger is the type of girl to sit on the floor. like, at all times. when she’s sad, she’ll lay down completely and just stare at the ceiling. it’s peaceful and it makes her feel relaxed.

porco galliard goes through an ungodly amount of hairgel. his hair is hard like those ballroom/ballet dancers in competitions. he has trouble growing facial hair.

zeke jaeger gets his weed flown to him from another state/country. it’s the best shit around. he’s also never home because he “runs a business.” always found with a blunt near by.

levi ackerman doesn’t like energy drinks or coffee. if he needs caffeine, he gets it from tea or some kind of health drink. he doesn’t understand how kids hearts don’t give out with all their monsters and red bulls.

erwin smith is so friendly despite his appearance. he finds joy in little things like a heads up penny or when the barista remembers his name/order. he’s a pretty easy going guy.

hange zoe breaks her glasses all the time. they either sit on them or step on them. it’s easy for them to lose their glasses because their room is a mess. books, papers, knick knacks everywhere.

my jean fic

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

options for if vaggie and alastor found out about each other's dancing skills

Alastor better at dancing than Vaggie and everyone can see it - Boring. - Changes and challenges nothing. - A crime against Alastor simps and Vaggie simps alike.

Vaggie and Alastor both better than each other at dancing their specific preferred dance styles but no one else can tell - Better. - Both get a chance to show off and get shown up. - Unwillingly bonding over being the only ones at the hotel who can fully see the other's skill and being a little nauseous over it.

They're equally matched in everything and both know it. - Getting juicy. - Dance off of increasing frustration. - Everyone can tell they're hating every minute of it and are only trying to beat the other but also no one can get them to stop until Charlie literally steals her gf away.

Vaggie is slightly better but only Alastor notices - Yessss. - Vaggie can tell he's getting even more high strung and dramatic than usual but they're literally just dancing so what the fuck. - Alastor casually announcing that was the most unpleasant dance of his life and one he will NEVER be repeating again while Charlie steps in for the next dance with Vaggie very confused bc her gf is a great dancer??? What?

Vaggie is clearly better than him and everyone sees it - ITS A M-M-MENTAL BREAKDOWN!!! - He refuses to accept this outcome and keeps asking (challenging) her to another dance. - Great B-plot gag potential, Vaggie's exasperated, Alastor's cheering himself up by annoying her about it, by the end of the night Vaggie stalks out of the ballroom firmly telling the radio demon No! You stay! STAY! Don't follow me! while he trails after waving her forged dance card with his name rewritten all over it.

Vaggie is WAY better than him, sees how much that unsettles him, and is SMUG about it - A quiet Alastor is a Alastor who's going through it. - Husk is not quiet, Husk is CHEERING. - "viscerally disgusted at the thought of anyone actually being his superior in anything" Alastor meets "always the follower who rarely gets shown any damn respect even by herself" Vaggie - Vaggie switching between using Alastor like an inanimate prop and uno reverse guiding him into steps he has to stumble through, smirking the whole time. - Alastor says nothing until the very end, where he bows politely and askes who or what VAGGIE uses dancing to try to forgetting about. - Charlie doesn't hear that part but does see her gf hurry outside right afterwards and goes worriedly after her, which Alastor watches before going to sit quietly at the bar and get drunk while a now terrified Husk pretends not to exist. - Heading upstairs later with an extra few bottles Alastor passes by a partly open door and catches a glimpse of chaggie slow dancing inside in the dark, with Vaggie's exorcist wings out. - he leaves them one of the liquor bottles before moving on - Up in his radio tower Alastor puts on a record labeled mother's favorites and has it on repeat for the rest of the night. - Vaggie handles complaints the next day from demons banging on the hotel door screaming about being driven half out of their minds by the looping broadcast that affected every audio device for several several city blocks around the hotel last night. - She tells them all it was a hard night for some people and to get fucking lost. - Vaggie dropping an empty bottle off at Alastor's door with some black coffee and a note reading "thanks for the hangover asshole" - he puts the note in the bottle and keeps it. probably in the mouth a decapitated deer head. - Alastor and Vaggie and the horrifying idea they might have more than a love of dancing and multiple murders in common. - Charlie changes their official hotel status on the official hotel enemies / frienimes / alliances chart board to "FRIENDS!!!" afterwards and they both physically cringe back at seeing it.

[immortalbutterflycos]

Can someone out there write a Jegulus competitive ballroom dance AU? I've been watching those videos where there are 2 people at an improve competition and they've never met before let alone danced together and then they end up having immaculate chemistry and decide to be each other's dance partners.

I would write it myself, but i know absolutely nothing about dancing. Competitive or otherwise. But I would kill to read this.

In the meantime, I guess I'll just have to reread 'You Signed Up For This' by Sollmussa because honestly, the dancing in that one wrecked me beyond repair.

.

.

Okay, I thought was done, but I'm so not. Here are some things about the AU that I desperately crave:

Latino James. Dance is actually his 3rd language and he's fluent.

Effie and Monty met each other in a dance class when they were teens, and then they were paired up with each other by the teacher. They had a bit of a rivalry at first, but then as they started dancing together more and more, they fell in love. The two ended up becoming very famous competitive ballroom dancers and retired when they had James. They never stopped dancing though and they engrained that love into James

Former Ballet dancer Regulus. He stopped dancing ballet after he finally left his family home to live with Sirius. He still loves dancing, but ballet has too many bad memories attached to it and he lost his love for it.

Sirius introduced him to this type of competitive dance via Effie's class. He still doesn't meet James until he's actually at a competition though. ^.^

Bonus:

Pandora and Evan did ballet with Regulus and Sirius when they were kids but left to do other types of dance before they were even teenagers.

Evan and Panda used to dance competitively together until Regulus needed a partner for his first competition and Pandora volunteered. Evan was cool with it, because it's Regulus, but there's a tiny part of him that's just like, 'Well who am I going to dance with then?'

Enter Barty, someone who is known among other dancers for being notorious for scaring away his dance partners.

Holy shit guys I take it all back. I need to write this. Forget the fact that I don't know anything, ja boi is gonna have to fucking learn.

Stay tuned because I might have some brainrot about this one as things progress~

[yearning-for-autumn]

Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease do Eris x reader where the reader is chubby and Eris absolutely lives a thicc woman 🫶

(Just read your Eris series and omg you’re my new fav acotar fanfic author)

Little Black Dress

Summary - Eris hasn't been able to take his eyes off you all night, he decides he's had enough of watching...

Warnings - This is basically just smut

Pairings - Eris x Chubby!Reader

Word Count - 1,300

Eris licked his lips. That little black dress hugged every curve of your beautiful body. He was finding it incredibly difficult to focus on whatever Cassian was droning on about, although the general’s eyes were frequently wandering to his own mate.

You stood with Feyre and Vivienne, laughing at something, and sipping from a tall champagne flute. Eris’ mouth went dry at the thought of your tongue somewhere else.

“And then, I was banished from the Summer Court.” Cassian finished, “Can you believe that!”

Eris blamed you entirely for his current situation. You were Feyre’s friend before you were his mate, living in Velaris after the war as an artist. After your mother fell ill, you had moved back to the Autumn Court, where you had met Eris, and the mating bond snapped.

You were smiling to yourself, completely aware of your mates gaze roaming your body and getting frequently stuck on your breasts. Looking up at Eris from under your eyelashes, you sipped your champagne knowingly. He knew he was being obvious with his staring, but who could blame him when you looked that good.

“Yeah, yeah that’s unbelievable.” He said, waving Cassian off. Whilst you wanted him to make an effort to befriend your Night Court friends, he still didn’t like them.

A male from the winter court offered you his hand, and with a wink in Eris’ direction you took it. His hands balled into fists.

The Winter Court male was a good dancer, he led you across the floor in a graceful waltz. He wasn’t as good as Eris. In one move he had unlaced the males hand from yours and replaced it with his own, pushing him to the side with his shoulder so that he was now leading you around the ballroom without missing a beat. You smiled up at him with a playful roll of your eyes.

“Eris, he was being polite.” You said, humour dancing in your voice. Eris huffed.

“You’re mine.” He said simply. “No one else gets to have you, to dance with you,” He leaned down to whisper in your ear, “To ravish you.”

You giggled, music to his ears and he leaned down to kiss your soft neck. Your tits teased him from this angle, pushed up by your dress they looked even more tempting than usual. His breath was hot against your skin.

“I’m taking you home.” He announced, giving you just a moment to gasp as he pulled you towards him and winnowed you away.

As soon as you got home, Eris pushed you down onto the bed and took you in. Cauldron you looked good enough to eat. Your thick thighs were parted slightly, hands resting on the curve of your stomach. At the beginning of your relationship you had doubted, only for a moment, that someone like Eris would want a girl like you. You doubted nothing now. Not with the way his eyes roamed your plush body.

Eris liked big girls, and he fucking loved you.

“Eris, stop staring and do something about it.” You complained, “You know, I was actually enjoying that ball, you better have something good planned.”

“Oh, trust me, what I have planned for you is much better.” He promised.

He tapped your thigh, and you rolled over onto your stomach, presenting your ass. You arched your back slightly and Eris growled low in his throat. His hands kneaded your ass gently as he shifted you just where he wanted you. You had no warning before he pushed your panties to the side and swiped his fingers through your wetness.

He paused to dip his own fingers past his lips, sucking your juices from his fingers, eyes rolling back at the taste of you.

“Fucking soaked for me.”

You let out a breathy moan, unable to drag your eyes from him as he bowed his head and drank you straight from the source. Heat engulfed your core, legs shaking as you tried to keep from clenching around his head and burying him in your pussy. It was becoming increasingly hard as he growled into you, lapping at your wetness and sucking hungrily at your clit. Pressure was building at the base of your spine, white hot heat lapping at your stomach with every pass of his skillful tongue. Whining, you pulled on his hair, trying to pull him back, to pull him up your body and have him fuck you, but the tight pain in his scalp only wrenched a deep groan from his chest and urged him on.

“Eris, Eris,” You panted, “Please, fuck me, please.”

You knew you were babbling, but his relentless tongue was hindering your ability to think straight. He had scrambled your brain. With a devilish smile, he relinquished his feasting and drew himself up to kiss you, gentler than you were expecting. You frowned,

“I want you to ride me, sweetheart.” He said. A low moan escaped you as your pussy clenched hard around nothing, begging to be filled. You squirmed under him, and he ducked his head, sucking a mark into your neck, grazing his sharp teeth against the tender spot just under your ear. The throbbing in your core only intensified.

“Come on sweetheart,” He huffed in your ear, hips grinding against yours as he lost the last few shreds of his self control, “I need to be inside you. Baby. Come on.”

He rolled off of you, propping himself up slightly against the pillows. Pulling his pants off, he patted his naked thighs, and you crawled over him, sitting down gingerly on his legs and rocking your clothed heat against him absent-mindedly. He tore your panties down the sides and chucked them over the side of the bed, ignoring your rolling eyes as you whined at the contact of your wetness with his throbbing cock. You made to unlace your dress, but his hands over yours stopped you.

“No, you look—” He broke off with a moan as you dragged your hips down over his hardness, “Fuck, I want you to fucking ride me in that dress, sweetheart. Show me how you fuck yourself on me.”

You took his cock in your hands and eased yourself onto him, letting out a low, ragged moan as he filled you, every nerve on fire as you clenched around him greedily. Eris watched with hungry eyes as you bounced with abandon in his lap, your tits right in front of his face. He pulled your dress down to latch onto your nipple, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin, sending sparks down your spine to your tightening core, heat pooling low in your stomach. You moaned unabashedly, not caring about any guards that might be passing in the hallway, and Eris bit down harder.

Pushing him back, you pulled your dress down further so that your tits spilled free, bouncing in time with your body as you dropped yourself down hard onto Eris cock. His hands came to knead the swell of your thighs, fingers close to leaving bruises. You panted, the tightness in your core becoming almost unbearable. You needed to come. Needed Eris to come deep inside of you. But the precipice was just out of reach. Whining, you rocked forwards, grinding down and trying to find some pressure on your sensitive clit. Eris growled, reaching down and circling your clit with a teasing finger.

“You look so pretty baby,” He said, voice strained with pleasure, “Come for me, come on my cock.”

“Need you,” You breathed out, “Need you harder, Eris.”

Eris was lavishing attention on your swollen clit with one hand, and the other tightened around your plump waist, taking the opportunity to massage the softness of your skin before pulling you down hard, bucking his hips up furiously as he brought you closer and closer. You moaned impossibly louder, hands raking down his chest, pulling on his hair. He whimpered, and the helpless sound pushed you over the edge. Your hands tightened against his scalp as you came with a scream, clenching rhythmically around him. Eris followed quickly after, burying his face between your tits.

You eased yourself off of him, and curled up into his side, kissing his shoulder. He smiled, a dreamy and fucked out look in his eyes.

“I’m so glad you wore that dress.”

A/N - I hope you enjoyed and I hope I did your request justice!! Also I got a new divider thing from @saradika-graphics !! Doesn't it look amazing!!

[kombuuuu]

oh I have a request! Miguel x reader where he teaches you how to dance? your so bad at ballroom and Miguel was trained in it when he was younger and can't help but intervene when he sees you messing up the steps.

Hold my swaying Heart.

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

“I don’t know how to dance..” “I’ll teach you.”

i had to research how to waltz and why is it so confusing

He’s so baby 😻 (there’s bugs whispering in my ears)

To say that Miguel didn’t like a lot of people would be an understatement.

He thought most of the people he was protecting, the people he’d risked his entire life for—,

,We’re at best naïve, and worst, plain stupid. Believing that they were out of harms way because of the gift they’d been given.

You were an exception.

He didn’t see you as a burden, or an idiot. Naïve, maybe a little. But not in the way where you could get hurt physically, but more emotionally.

He rather saw you as someone he could care for, as you had done rather terribly caring for yourself.

Being dependent and trusting compared to the Spidey people he met day by day. You were sweet, loyal, and god you would not leave his head.

So when Peter had invited him to some stupid dance, and said you were coming with a sly smile on his face, he’d begrudgingly agreed.

Which is what led him to right now.

—

God you looked gorgeous. A sleek white dress complimenting your features, slit running down from your thigh. It hugged every sweet form of your body, giving him a view he was rather thankful for. Sheer white gloves covered your hands, and the pearls you wore sat nicely against your collarbone.

You looked elegant, and he couldn’t get enough.

Off dancing with Hobie, stumbling and stepping on his toes. Laughing with him while he told you how dancing was just a social construct, anyways. Though he laughed with you.

The scene was pretty, he’d admit. It was a gorgeous hall, oak wood floor expanding enough room for eight seat rounded dining tables with tea light candles on white cloth, and a dance floor. The band was set on the elevated stage at the corner of the room. Playing nice, easy classical.

Roses and fancy spoons, along with an over the top chandelier.

Everything looked rather expensive, it suited his taste.

He caught Hobies stare from across the room and the brit smirked.

Miguel glared at him.

Don’t.

He watched as Hobie leaned down to whisper in your ear, making eye contact with him the whole time. His fingers twitching in anger and jealousy.

The brunette’s back straightened, his figure hulking over most in the room. Adorned in such a restricting suit probably wasn’t helping his case. Biceps straining against the thick fabric, he wondered if something had gone wrong at the tailor, or if the woman who had done his measurements had also done this on purpose.

His attention refocused when a new song had started, a song he knew very dear to himself. Years of his childhood as a dancer paying off, his memory jerking at the familiar notes.

Waltz of the Flowers.

He watched as Hobie tried to lead you through the steps, a sort of urgency running through him. You stumbled again, further into the brit before you, and Miguel gave up trying to stop himself.

Slowly making his way over, he did nothing to stop the confident expression Hobie wore, the kid was doing this on purpose, this was bait.

And yet he can’t stop himself.

“Mind if I step in?”

You looked up at him in surprise, eyes twinkling. “No, of course not,” Hobie snickered for a second before covering it with a clear of his throat. “,Be careful with ‘is one. She needs a little teachin’.” “Hey!”

You lightly smacked Hobie’s arm, grinning all the while. And as Hobie detached himself from the both of you, he clapped a hand over Miguel’s shoulder, not having to lean to whisper to him. “Don’t fuck it up, mate.”

Before Miguel could reprimand him, he waltzed off somewhere to find Pavitr.

Turning his attention back to you, he’d realised you’d been staring at him. Getting caught leading to your eyes quickly darting to his chest, before you realised that kind of made you look like a creep and ended up just shutting them for a moment. He laughed lightly, stepping closer to you. “You ok to dance, Conejita?”

“Yes! I uhh—,” Your sentence broke for a second and you opened your eyes, clearing your throat. “,I don’t know how to dance.”

“I’ll teach you.”

“Okay.” Breathless, you agreed.

He hummed, settling his hands in yours and guiding your feet into position.

“You know how to Waltz?”

He looked down at you, eyelashes fluttering pretty against his cheeks as he blinked.

“Didn’t spend 17 years learning not to know.” He chuckled, a lighthearted jab, something you were both comfortable in participating.

“Hmm..—“ You giggled before you could stifle it, “,Damn.. If it took you 17 years to learn, I think I might want a new teacher.”

“Oh—,” He laughed a challenge. “Oh, you wanna go down that route, Querida?”

You hummed through your humour.

“No— No.. I’ll learn.” You looked up at him, the light of the chandelier haloing his outline.

A smile danced across your sweet face.

“Good.”

His voice dipped lower, hand squeezing yours just a little tighter, a little more possessive.

“Now pay attention.”

“I am paying attention.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yeah—, I’m not.”

He snorted, redirecting his focus to where you were slowly swaying to the song.

“Move your feet just like this, C’mon.”

“Like this?”

“Perfect, you’re doing good. Follow my lead, just like that.”

The praise made you shiver, you willed away the feeling to focus.

“Good, you’re a quick learner.”

“Thank you.”

“Mhmm.”

He watched the fabric of your dress sway when you moved with him, tripping over your steps every now and again and muttering simple apologies to him. Which he promptly shut down.

He guided you through the waltz, telling you when to break off and when to halt in a pause. He talked you through every step, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t have an effect on you. By the end of it, you were a flustered mess.

The song came to a close, Miguel leading the whole way through it. When there was no more music, and the other dancers around you had started to disperse—,

Miguel dropped on of his hands from yours, letting it come to rest on hi shoulder, the other sliding to your hips.

“You’re pretty good, for a learner.”

You snorted, “Yeah?”

He hummed his affirmation.

“Well, you’re a pretty good teacher.”

He scoffed back, rolling his eyes and smirking.

“Think I should become a dance instructor?”

“For spider people?”

“Well, feel like they’d be a bit more clumsy.”

“Mm, it’s either that or save the multiverse so—, choice is basically already made.”

“Dance instructor.”

“Definitely.”

He smiled and laughed, avidly ignoring the relieved expressions of the small group of teens, along with Peter and Jess.

When another slow song started up again, instead of waltzing you. He’d decided just to let you slow dance with him.

Your head resting on his chest, and your deft hand in his—, something changed at that moment.

He knew you both felt it, a spark of some kind. And if five years in future “Waltz of the Flowers” was the song he chose for a wedding, it would only mean so much to you.

—

this probably SOOO ooc i have no clue how to write babydoll 😖

(pookie bear 🐻 ⬇️)

[howlingday]

Y'know what? I'd think i'd be pretty funny if Cinder forgot and/or didn't care to lear Jaune's name

EX:

Cinder: Ruby. Weiss. Blake. Yang

Cinder, squinting at Jaune while trying to remember his name: ...Jacob

Cinder: Nora. Ren

Cinder: All of you are gathered here today to witne-

Jaune: My name is Jaune

Cinder: That's what I said, Josh. As I was sayin-

Jaune: My name is JAUNE!

Cinder: Whatever you say John.

Jaune: RRRRAAAGHH

Cinder: Emerald, who was that young hell-fighter?

Emerald: Jaune Arc, ma'am.

Cinder: Arc, eh? I'll remember that name...

"Cinder did not remember that name"

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

Cinder: Who is that honor student, Emerald?

Emerald: Jaune Arc, ma'am.

Cinder: Arc, eh? How odd. My research specifically calls him out as an academic failure!

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

Cinder: Hm~. Who is that bathroom ballroom dancer, Emerald?

Emerald: Jaune Arc, ma'am. One of the... Pokémon card trainers from Beacon's first year.

Cinder: Well, he's certainly got a foot loose or two~! Perhaps I've found someone who's hotfoot enough to dance with me?

Emerald: Oh, his foot isn't as hot as yours, ma'am. You've never lost a dance competition! Except for that time when you let Mercury win on his dad's birthday. It was very sweet of you, ma'am.

Cinder: Oh, he just looked so sad, Emerald. With his, "Oh... My dad used to hit my feet with a steel pipe like that..."

Emerald: (Giggles)

Cinder: Hm... I wonder if this Jaunem Arcury shares any relation.

Emerald: Unlikely, ma'am. They spell and pronounce their names differently.

Cinder: Bah! Arrange a game and I'll ask her myself!

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

Cinder: Excelsior to you, Mr...

Cinder: (Whispering) Emerald, what's the name of this lounge lizard?

Emerald: Jaune Arc, ma'am. One of your Baby-Alives from Beacon's first year.

Cinder: Yes! Arc~!

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

Cinder: I'm sure your replacement will be able to handle everything. Who is he, anyways?

Emerald: Uh, Jaune Arc, ma'am. One of your Target Practices from Beacon's first year. All of the recent events of your life revolved around him in some way.

Cinder: Arc, eh?

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

ATTENTION! FIRST YEAR PROBLEM ON TEAM JNPR!

Cinder: Team JNPR?! Good god, who's the team leader there?!

Emerald: (Typing into scroll) Uh, Jaune Arc, ma'am.

Cinder: Arc, eh? Good man? Intelligent?

Emerald: Uh, actually, ma'am, he was enrolled on a dare by Professor Ozpin.

Cinder: Oh, well, thank you very much, Salem!

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

Jaune: You know what I think of this exam?! (Rips) This! (Rips) And this! (Wipes butt) And some of this!

Cinder: Who is that champion of injustice, Emerald?

Emerald: That's Jaune Arc, ma'am.

Cinder: Arc, eh? New man?

Emerald: (Chuckles) Actually, ma'am, he thwarted your campaign for Fall Maiden. You shot his partner. He saved Beacon from falling. His teammate, Nora, painted you in the nude.

Cinder: Hm... Are you sure? I think I'd remember all that.

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

Emerald: Oh, god, he's being dropped into the Deathstalker nest!

Cinder: The fuck's a Deathstalker?

Jaune Dummy: (Perforated repeatedly, Scrapped into a heap)

Cinder: ...Emerald. Who was that corpse?

Emerald: Jaune Arc, ma'am. (Sniffles) One of the finest, bravest first year ever to bless at Beacon Academy~! (Sobs)

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

Jaune: (Walking down the hall, Hallucinating)

Cinder: Emerald, who is that idiot?.

Cinder: Emerald, who is that doofus?.

Cinder: Who is that fashion disaster?.

Cinder: Who is that deadweight?.

Cinder: Mushbrain!.

Cinder: Dorkus Maximus!.

Cinder: Dirtstain!.

Cinder: Goofball!.

Cinder: Sextant-deficiency!.

Jaune: STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP IT!

Cinder: LOOK OUT!.

Jaune: Huh? (Falls off cliff) AAAAAAAAAAA

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

Jaune: (Chuckles)

Cinder: (Opens office door, Sees graffiti)

I AM JAUNE ARC

Cinder: ...And who in Salem's name are you?

Jaune: RRRGH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Jaune: (Shakes Cinder) JAUNE ARC! JAUNE! ARC! JAUNEARC! JAUNE ARC! MY NAME IS JAUNE ARC!

Jaune: (Pulled off, Dragged away) Oh, you're dead, Cinder. You're dead! YOU'RE DEAD, CINDER!

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

Cinder: I've decided to start carrying my weapon closely after I was assaulted last night by an unknown assailant.

Jaune: (Distant) DAMMIT!

[whimsimille]

VACANT ROOM

Lee Dong Wook x fem! reader

"My dear, could you perhaps verify it one more time?" You asked, mustering the most charming smile you could manage in the face of the disinterested and nonchalant receptionist, who seemed more interested in her nails than her job. "I find it incredibly hard to believe that a reputable company like Starship would commit such a glaring oversight."

At half past midnight, the hotel was teeming with actors, singers and idols. Positioned in the center of the lobby, the luxurious building housing the assistant's desk was where you were standing. The interior exuded an atmosphere of old-world elegance, with polished marble floors, ornate chandeliers, and plush velvet drapes adorning the walls. Soft candlelight cast a warm glow over the dining room, illuminating tables adorned with crisp white linens and sparkling silverware.

Guests, dressed in their finest designer attire, mingled and conversed in hushed tones in the grand ballroom. Their quiet laughter pierced the air, merging in perfectly with the sweet notes of a Mozart sonata that drifted from the grand piano in the corner, played by a virtuoso whose fingers moved like dancers across the keys.

"I regret to inform you, ma'am," she retorted, her eyes barely leaving the glossy pages of an article about the latest trends in Seoul's fashion week. "But your company specifically requested a grand suite with a panoramic view spanning across the sea, located on the 16th floor. One king-sized bed, presumably for you and Mr. Lee Dong Wook."

"But that can't be right! There must be some kind of mix-up." Instant panic set in, your pulse going haywire as images swarmed in your mind—you sharing close quarters with him—definitely not on your wish list.

With an exaggerated sigh, she ditched her magazine and leveled her gaze at you for the first time since this little chit-chat commenced. “I assure you, there is no mistake. Everything has been arranged as per the request we received. The company was very explicit about the arrangements."

"Explicit about throwing me into a room with my ex-husband? That doesn't seem like a professional request."

"That's not for me to comment on, ma'am," she replied curtly, picking up her magazine again. "My job is to ensure our guests have the best experience. If you have a problem with your arrangements, I suggest you take it up with your company."

"But that's... it's... preposterous!" you stammered, feeling the blood drain from your face. "There must be some way to rectify...”

"I'm afraid all other rooms are fully booked. Perhaps you could address your grievances with your company, ma'am.”

"Aish…"

You turned your head to the side, spotting Dong Wook standing in the doorway of the lobby, dressed in a new, crisp navy blue suit with trousers tailored to his frame, complete with a matching tie and polished leather shoes. God, he had become insufferable since he discovered fabrics imported from Milan. This was where all the money had been going before the divorce.

Crushing the last of his half-smoked cigarette under the heel of his polished Italian leather shoes, he looked down and saw the flickering neon sign from the hotel entrance reflected in the trail of smoke.

"What the fuck is going on?”

“You ought to watch the language you use, old man,” you retorted, your thumb and index finger nervously smoothing out creases from the Chanel dress handpicked for the company's decadent birthday celebration held at this isolated high-end dwelling. “Prayers should dominate your vocabulary rather than swear words at this stage in life.”

His sharp gaze turned to you, and you could see the frustration simmering beneath his usually calm exterior.

Unmoved or maybe portraying so, you played along, “Just stating the obvious.”

A dismissive snort escaped him as he ran his hand irritatedly through otherwise meticulously groomed locks. “And if I don’t?”

You rolled your eyes, masking the unease creeping into your voice. "Then you'll just be an old man with a foul mouth, won't you? A grumpy, divorced, aging actor with nothing but a string of B-list movies to his name?"

"Better than being a frustrated little girl who got pissed by losing an award to me,” he retorted, his tone dripping with sarcasm and a bitter bite. "A little girl who can't accept that she's not the best and that someone else could actually outshine her brilliant talent."

A sharp retort tipped the tip of your tongue as you hesitated, but you swallowed it down, heart palpitating. If only the hotel was closer to your home, you'd escape this uncomfortable situation. You'd rather risk wandering down a dark, unfamiliar alley at midnight than share a room with your ex. But you were stuck here, trapped in this ostentatious lobby, miles away from any familiar comfort, forced to face whatever the night would bring.

"Can't you sleep in the same bedroom as your best friend? You two are usually tied by the hip, practically inseparable at every social event," You taunted, eyes glinting under the harsh lobby lights.

“Gong Yoo has a wife and you know it. And I'm not about to impose on their space. What about you? Don't you have other friends that came other than scripts and books? Or did they all get scared off by your charming personality?”

“Oh, you better bet that I'm charming. Maybe that's why our daughter decided to stay with me.”

Before he could respond, a bitter laugh escaping his lips, the woman at the desk cleared her throat, extending a key towards the two of you with a look of forced patience. "I believe this is what you two are fighting over, correct? Perhaps you could decide who gets the bed and who gets the sofa without causing a scene in the lobby?"

You took the key from the receptionist's hand with an exaggerated sigh, turning it over in your fingers. The weight of it felt heavy in your palm, like a lead boulder pulling you down into the pit of despair.

“Yes, of course. Thank you so much; your help was really indispensable.”

Turning back to face Lee Dong Wook, you could barely contain your humiliation as he stood stoically by your side, staring out at the dark ocean beyond the hotel's glass walls. Along with the sound of the ice cubes in his drink and the scent of his expensive cologne, the lobby was filled with the sound of the waves crashing against the coast. You couldn't help but wrinkle your nose at the cloying smell that reminded you too much of your past.

"I suppose we have no choice but to make do," you said finally, motioning for him to follow you towards the elevators.

As he settled into step beside you, the click-clack of your high heels on the marble floor created an odd harmony with his steady gait.

It was almost impossible not to gag at the stale, rich smell of warm metal and coffee that pervaded the elevator. Pressing the button for the sixteenth floor, you peered up at the metal ceiling.

A few seconds later, the doors opened with a soft hiss and you stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, feeling Lee Dong Wook's hot breath on your neck. He seemed to be waiting for you to take the lead, as if this were some kind of game, a cat-and-mouse chase that you just couldn't seem to win.

Swallowing hard, you walked ahead to the suite number indicated by the keycard.

When you finally turned the handle and pushed open the door, you found yourself face-to-face with an opulent display of luxury: plush red and gold carpets underfoot; crisp white linen tablecloths adorning an ornate dining table; fluffy duvets piled high on a king-sized bed; and a decadent bathroom beyond.

It was too much like the honeymoon suite he'd gotten you when you were still married, and your heart skipped a beat as it registered.

Butterflies filled your stomach as you set your luggage down on one of the side tables.

You turned around to face Lee Dong Wook, who was standing in the doorway, watching your every move intently, reminding you of the way Yeosin would look at you when she was planning a prank. 

Well, she was his mini version after all.

You held your breath as he stepped inside, taking in his tall frame and perfect nose. 

He took a deep breath before reaching up to his necktie and loosening it ever so slightly. "It's going to be a long night," he muttered under his breath as he moved closer towards the window, pulling back one of the heavy curtains to let the cool sea air and the sound of waves splashing against the shore gently lap at his face.

"I'll take the couch. It's not like I haven't endured worse accommodations while filming on location.”

He turned to look at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, an all-too-familiar gesture. “You have had back pains all the time since giving birth to Yeosin.”

“I don’t," you snapped back immediately, an automatic response honed by years of bickering.

“Yes, you do," he insisted, his tone softening. "I may not have been around recently, but I do remember. You’d wince every time you thought I wasn’t looking. But if you want to play the stubborn card here, if it makes you feel stronger, be my guest. In the meantime, you can freshen up. I'll make a makeshift bed for you, kid.”

There you stood, in the silence that followed, absorbing the sight of him.

It wasn't fair, an inner voice protested, as you took in the jawline you had kissed and nibbled countless times, the tantalizing constellations formed by the moles adorning his neck, each one a landmark you could identify even with your eyes closed, like a child eager to please and win a candy.

In the end, it wasn't fair that he could still find his way into your heart, the way a worshiper finds their way into a long-abandoned cathedral, kneeling in reverence among the dust and the decay, and still find it holy, still find it beautiful that there’s a vacant room waiting for him to lay his head.

He was the prodigal son returning to the home he once renounced, and you? You were the father left to wonder if welcoming him back was a show of futility or a sign of welcomeness.

"You always were stubborn," you retaliated, folding your arms across your chest. "Always thinking you knew best. Well, I'm not that same naive 23 year old girl you married. I can take care of myself.”

“Stop it. I have a headache right now.”

"You were always quick to jump in and play the hero, weren't you? But this isn't a drama, Dong Wook. There's no director yelling cut, no script to guide us. This is real life. And in real life, I don't need you to save me."

"I never asked to be your hero," he retorted, the quietness of his words cutting through the tension like a knife. "And I never wanted to be one. I just wanted to be there for you. But you always made it so damn hard." 

Frustration bubbled inside you, "You think I made it hard? You were the one who walked away. You were the one who gave up on us." 

“She’s only six,” he countered weakly. “She doesn’t understand what’s happening.” 

“You’d be surprised, Lee. Kids are smart. They pick up on more than we give them credit for. She knows something’s wrong. She misses her father. She misses us being a family.”

As the words left your mouth, you could see a flicker of pain cross his eyes. But you didn't care. You were too angry, too hurt to care about his feelings. 

With a huff, you turned on your heel, leaving him alone in the bedroom. As you slammed the door shut, the metal clanged loudly against the wall, echoing through the otherwise silent room. You hear the latch click into place, sealing you inside the small, enclosed space.

The bathroom was spacious and modern, with a luxurious glass-enclosed shower stall and his-and-hers sinks. 

Before you was the daunting task of turning on the water to run a hot bath. The faucet gave a small shudder, like a beast waking from slumber, as it sputtered to life, filling the room with the biting smell of chlorine and the comforting warmth of hot steam. A bottle of expensive shampoo, perhaps a gift from one of his many sponsors, sat on the vanity counter. You uncapped it, and its scent—a tantalizing blend of jasmine and sandalwood—tickled your nose as you sniffed it slightly.

The room began to mist up as your fingers fumbled at the buttons on your dress as if they had a mind of their own, desperate to get out of this suffocating fabric that reminded you too much of happier times when he'd slide them down your spine slowly and carefully, making you gasp under the cover of darkness.

Heat flooded your cheeks, remembering how those fingers had once traced your entire body—the pulse point at your wrist, where his wedding ring used to be, now replaced by a thin silver band around your third finger.

Stepping into the tub, the water was scalding hot—almost too hot to touch—but you reveled in it nonetheless.

As you slipped into the tub until it was almost full, feeling it lap at your neck and shoulders, you let out a long sigh of relief.

Closing your eyes, you breathed heavily as you began to scrub the last few days off yourself. 

Memories flooded back—years' worth of memories that had led up to this moment: the late-night movie marathons where you both would cuddle on the couch, the way he would laugh at your comical impersonations of movie characters, the way he would always keep the last slice of pizza for you, the way he would read bedtime stories to your daughter, his voice imitating various characters, making her giggle. You remembered his bright smile when your daughter took her first step, his eyes filled with tears of joy, the proud look on his face when she called him 'Daddy' for the first time.

But alongside the sweet memories, the bitter ones also found their way: the arguments that lasted till dawn, the slamming of doors, the sound of shattering glass, and the cold silence that followed. You remembered the canceled family trips due to his sudden shooting schedules, the forgotten birthdays and anniversaries, the vacant spot beside you in bed getting colder each day, late-night calls from agents about last-minute script changes, and sleepless nights spent worrying about Yeosin while he was off filming some romantic comedy filled with clichés and air kisses towards irrelevant starlets.

You scrubbed until your skin began to redden and sting from the heat, until all that was left was residual anger and resentment. Then you climbed out carefully, reaching for the plush white towel hanging on a stainless steel rack.

After drying off, you slipped into your silk pajamas and brushed your teeth with Totoro’s brush, the one Yeosin insisted on bringing so that you could remember her while she stayed with her Nana.

Stepping back into the suite, you expected to see Dong Wook, but he was nowhere in sight. The room was empty, save for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the distant murmur of voices from the television.

You walked towards the window, peering out into the darkness. The moon was a thin crescent in the night sky, casting a faint glow over the sea. Lee was probably out there, taking one of his late-night walks along the beach, letting the cool sea breeze clear his mind.

Turning around, you noticed the makeshift bed he had prepared on the couch. The cushions were arranged neatly, with a soft blanket folded at one end and a pillow with a fresh case. Beside it, there was a small side table with a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers—for your bruised ankles and sore legs, no doubt. Despite everything, Dong Wook was still considerate.

You walked over to the couch, running your fingers over the soft fabric. It wasn't a king-sized bed, but it would do. 

Lowering yourself onto the couch, you winced slightly, feeling the day's exertion catch up with you.

You slowly stretched out your legs, trying to find a comfortable position. As you did so, you could feel the soreness in your muscles easing slightly. 

Curling up on the couch, you wrapped the blanket around yourself, pulling it up to your chin.

Lying there, you found yourself mimicking Yeosin's favorite position—curled up like a small ball, waiting for her father to come home and pick her up. It was a bittersweet feeling, a reminder of the simpler times, when the lines between work and personal life hadn't blurred, when the word 'divorce' hadn't been a part of your vocabulary.

As you closed your eyes, the events of the day replayed in your mind: the party where he'd been eyed by other women, the looks he gave you when you seemed more interested in your Champaign than his speech, the receptionist's words, the look on his face, the tense silence in the elevator. But despite the turmoil, you felt a strange sense of calmness. Maybe it was the fatigue, or maybe it was the realization that you could handle whatever life threw at you.

With that thought, you slowly drifted off to sleep, the soft hum of the air conditioner and the distant sound of the sea lulling you into a deep, peaceful slumber.

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

As the first rays of dawn creeped in through the slats of the blinds, you stirred from your sleep.

Slowly blinking your eyes open, you adjusted to the soft morning light, feeling something different.

Under you was not the stiff fabric of the couch, but something softer, more yielding. You didn't know when or why, but here you are, in the king sized bed that was supposed to be Dong Wook’s.

Confusion clouded your sleep-laden mind as you tried to piece together the puzzle and heat hushed to your cheeks as you felt something nuzzling your neck, the soft sensation making you bite back a groan.

Suddenly, you felt a warm presence between your legs, a muscular thigh that was solid yet comforting. It took a moment for you to register the protective arm draped securely around your waist, pulling you closer against a firm, muscled chest.

"Wha--?" you started, your voice cracking as surprise jolted you fully awake.

Before you could react, a chill coursed through you as your shirt was ridden up, an audacious hand slipping underneath to splay across your bare skin.

"Shh, it's just me, baby," a deep voice whispered in your exposed left breast before sucking it into his mouth softly, tugging at the pink flesh with his teeth while rolling the other hardened nub between his fingers.

As he slid down even further, his tongue softly licking the valley between before finding its way into your cleavage, your mind reeled from the situation. You gasped at the feeling of his cool tongue tracing circles around the right nipple, tickling it lightly as it hardened even more under his touch.

Your hand instinctively reached up, fingers tangling in the soft strands of hair. It was familiar—too familiar. The scent of sandalwood and sea salt filled your senses—a scent you had known for years, a scent that brought back a flood of memories, reminding you of all the times he had made love to you on a beach house's balcony after one of his late-night strolls along the shore.

"Dong Wook…” you breathed out, the sound more like a plea than anything else. The name felt foreign on your tongue after so long, tasting bitter and sweet at the same time.

"Yes, it's me," he replied, his voice a soothing hum in the quiet room. "I missed you."

"I--I don't know what to say," you stammered, your mind reeling from the sudden turn of events.

"Just relax. All you have to do is open up those pretty legs and let me fuck this pussy once again.”

His tongue found its way into your mouth; you tasted the remnants of the Merlot from last night. You sucked on it eagerly, feeling him groan softly as he pushed deeper into your throat.

Hungry. You were hungry for him, starved for this intimacy that had been denied to you for too long. 

You couldn't believe it—this was Lee Dong Wook, the man who had once claimed not to know how to please a woman properly, who had once slept with dozens of nameless starlets and models just to forget your name.

Letting go of your lips, his head found its way into your neck and his hand slid further up, pressing against the mound hidden by your silk pajamas.

You didn't trust yourself enough to speak, fearing your voice would betray the growing need twisting inside you. Instead, you responded by parting your legs slightly, granting him access to your cunt.

Expertly unbuttoning your pajamas with his other hand, Dong Wook spread the fabric apart, revealing all of you to his hungry gaze. 

Your pussy glistened in the dim light, a testament to the tangible evidence of your arousal. He swept away your slit with one broad thumb, gathering slick and marveling at how wet and ready you were for him.

"That's my good girl.”

Unable to resist any longer, he dipped two fingers into your slick folds while his thumb continued its sensual assault on your swollen nub. Pleasure started to unfold in waves of white heat, and the combination made you utter moans.

With a devilish smirk, he withdrew his hand and brought it up to his mouth, sucking on one finger. 

"Fuck, you're so wet and sweet for me, honey. Tell me, didn't any of your flings with those little boys in the set make you cum like I used to? Or were they so young that the only things they observed were these lovely curves and a treat for their hands?

His words stung, but the ache between your legs pulsed with need, completely drowning out any traces of regret.

In the haze of his touch, you were lost. It was obvious that you ought to halt him, shoo him away, and remind him of what he had done to you—severing all ties, abandoning you while he toured the globe filming and failed to remember you existed.

But the truth was that you missed him, missed the sensations his mouth could create in your mouth, and missed the way his hands could change from being rough to being gentle in an instant.

“Shut up, Lee.”

There it was, the opening salvo of a fight, but he ignored it, knowing that once you got past this hurdle, you would be his again.

He rewarded your honesty with a devilish grin before sliding his hand back between your legs, slipping his fingers deeper inside you. "Such a dirty mouth on such a pretty girl," he murmured against your skin before pressing his index and middle fingers deeper, crooking them to find your g-spot with practiced ease. “I guess I'm the only one who teaches nice manners to our daughter, huh?”

You moaned long and low, bucking against him. Your whole body felt like it was shivering underneath the touch, like a fever dream that turned into reality.

"Drop this shit before I decide to leave you with a purple dick."

"Calm down, darling… I'm just playing with you, hum?"

He pushed you down into the mattress then, holding your hips in place as he began thrusting his fingers in and out of you in a rhythm that had your body trembling with need. 

You could feel the bed squeaking beneath you as you arched into him, craving more contact as he thrust faster and harder into your pussy, sliding off on to his fingers as if they were a big, thick dick. 

It was perfect; it hurt and felt amazing at the same time.

“Jesus…”

A whimper escaped before you could stop it, betraying how much you needed him inside of you again.

"Yeah, that's it. Just take it," he encouraged, watching with dark eyes as you moaned his name while his fingers plunged deeper into your slick folds, finding that spot that always made you come apart.

"You need this; you need me."

He was right. You did need him in this moment, in this bed, even if it was wrong and twisted. You needed him to make you forget everything else—the cameras flashing, the public scrutiny, the anger. He'd always been good at distracting you from all that.

"Oh, fuck," you moan into the pillow, feeling the pleasure coiling inside you like a snake ready to strike. Your wetness pours down his hand and fingertips before it drips onto the comforter beneath you. 

You open your eyes to look at him, seeing how he bites his lip in concentration as he works you open with his fingers, tongue and teeth. His dick twitches against your leg, eager and ready. There's no one else who can make you feel this way; there's no one else who could make love to your body with such precision even after all these years apart.

"Squirt for me, baby. I know you can, hum? Like old times.”

“I… I can't…” you whimper, but he doesn't let up.

“Shhhh, baby… Come on, you can let it out. Soak me. Soak the sheets. Show me how much you want me.” He urges, his words acting like a spell, pushing you further towards the edge.

His fingers worked faster, his thumb pressing down on your clit in relentless circles while his other hand gripped your hip hard enough to leave a mark. His other hand slides up to your throat, fingers closing around it lightly, the threat of pressure making your pulse race even faster. 

Overwhelmed, you felt yourself let go, your walls clenching around his fingers as a rush of warmth gushed out of you. Your body arched as you squirted, your release soaking both his hand and the sheets beneath you. 

“Dong Wook!" you scream, the words echoing in the room as you come apart under his touch.

The sensation was too much; your body was sensitive and overstimulated. You whimpered, but his fingers didn't relent, continuing to stroke your swollen nub even as your body twitched and shuddered.

As you came down from your high, your mind felt foggy, and your body was limp. The surroundings softened into a comforting mist as you sank deeper into subspace. But he wasn't done yet.

Even as your body begged for a reprieve, he moved over you, his body pressing down on yours as he positioned himself at your slit.

“W-What are you doing?” You ask, your voice weak and shaky.

“What do you think, wifey? I'm going to pound into you until you're begging for mercy. Going to fill you up so good, you'll be begging me for another baby. Want to give Yeosin a baby brother. Want to make a little version of me for her to play with. Can you imagine our son running around the house, causing trouble just like his father? But first...” he trails off, the hand on your throat, applying such pressure that dark spots form behind your eyelashes.

“First, I'm going to fuck you senseless."

Suddenly, your phone rings, the sound piercing the silence like a gunshot. You glance at the caller ID and see Gong Yoo's wife, Ji-Eun, name flashing on the screen.

Well, he'd have to wait then.

"Dong Wook, it's Ji-Eun," you try to protest, but he ignores you, his eyes dark with desire.

"Let it ring. She can wait," he growls, and before you can protest further, he thrusts into you, burying himself to the hilt inside your wet heat.

But the ringing never stops.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four calls.

With a sigh, Dong Wook grabs your phone from the bedside table, places it on the pillow next to you and answers.

Before the line could finally connect, he changes positions, seating himself against the headboard with you straddled in his lap. Your breasts bounce with every single movement, and soft moans spill from your mouth as he continues to thrust into you.

"Hello?" He breathes into the phone, his voice steady as if he isn't buried deep inside you. His free hand grips your hip, guiding you up and down his length at a relentless pace while he talks to Gong Yoo's wife, Ji-Eun.

"Dong Wook, what the hell were you thinking?" She scolds from the other end of the line. "You can't just arrange for you and your ex-wife to share a room, no matter how many strings you pull!"

Dong Wook chuckles lowly. “Well, it seems our plan worked perfectly then," he murmurs in your ear, his warm breath fanning over your skin. His words surprise you, making you pause.

He planned this?

Ignoring your shocked expression, he continues his conversation. "Listen, I appreciate your concern, Ji-Eun, but there's no need to go yelling at the manager or looking for another room. We're adults; we can handle this." He punctuates his words with a particularly harsh lift of his hips, ripping a breathy moan from your throat.

Meanwhile, Ji-Eun continues her rambling, her words becoming background noise as you frown, scratching his shoulders and trying not to lose your shit. It would be humilliating coming all over his dick only from seeing it poking your belly.

Suddenly, Dong Wook pulls the phone away from his ear, offering it to you. "I think she wants to talk to you," he murmurs, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he kisses your nose.

You glare at him, about to protest, but his hand encircles your bruised neck again, making you relent.

With a huff, you take the phone, pressing it to your ear as you try to keep your voice steady. "Hello?"

Dong Wook smirks, his hand dropping to join the other on your hips, guiding you up and down his length like a well-used doll again.

This man is the devil.

"Oh, thank God, you're there, honey." The older woman exclaimed, relief evident in her voice. "I was worried about you! I'm on my way to your room now. We need to sort this out."

Panic set in; the last thing you wanted was for her to see you in this compromising position. You had to dissuade her.

"No, wait! You don't need to do that. We're handling it. We're...we're talking things out," you lied, hoping she'd buy it. 

"Are you sure? I can be there in five." Her voice was filled with concern, but you could detect a hint of suspicion.

"Yes, we're fine. Really," you insisted, biting back a moan as Dong Wook hit a particularly sensitive spot. "We'll...we'll talk tomorrow, okay? Goodnight."

Abruptly, you ended the call, tossing your phone onto the nearby bedside table, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest.

Turning your wrath on him, you struck his chest with all the strength you could muster. "I swear I'm going to kill you, you absolute jerk!”

"Oh really?" He groaned in response, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smirk. "But darling, before you commit homicide, don't you think you should let me leave a lasting heir on this divine body of yours?"

Before you could lash out again, his other hand darted out, capturing your wrist mid-air. His grip was firm effectively stopping your hand from making contact with his broad chest again.

“I want you.”

“You’re crazy, Lee! Delusional, old, out of your damn mind!”

“I’m yours too and I still love you.”

His eyes eyed you hungrily, his gaze dark with desire and something else. Something that made your heart pound out of your chest, something that made you weak in the knees. He loved you once, and he loves you still.

Or maybe it wasn't love anymore—maybe it was possession, maybe it was lust—but it felt real in that moment. You couldn't resist him, no matter how hard you tried.

“L-love me?” you husk, staring at him in disbelief as you feel his cock pulsating inside you. He pushes deeper, but you don't resist. You feel an odd mix of anger and desire, pain and pleasure, all mingling together into an intoxicating brew.

His tongue flicks out, licking your lips as he leans down, his face close enough that your noses touch. "Yes, I do," he murmurs against your lips. "And I always will." His voice is low and rough with want as he kisses you gently before plunging his hips once more.

In the end, you realized that it wasn't about fairness. It was about acceptance. Acceptance of the past, acceptance of the present, and acceptance of the potential of the future. It was about opening up that vacant room in your heart once more, dusting off the cobwebs and letting the light in.

Maybe it was welcomeness. Maybe it was time to let go of the pain of the past and embrace the possibility of a new beginning. Maybe it was time to let Dong Wook find his way back not as a prodigal son but as a cherished guest. Maybe it was time to let love bloom once more.

And just like that, the vacant room wasn't so vacant anymore.

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Dark Things are to be Loved - Part 1

A/N: This fic is dedicated to my dear friend @clonethirstingisreal. Happy birthday, Carol! A gigantic thank you for hyping me up and letting me scream about Savage in your DMs while I was writing this fic; I couldn’t have written it without you.

Pairing: Bodyguard!Savage Opress x Reader (Fem; has hair and wears a dress)

Fic Rating: M (mature content intended for readers 18+; minors DNI) Note: there’s no smut in this chapter, but it is absolutely intended for an adult audience, as it deals with heavy themes. 

Wordcount: 2.5k

Fic Warnings and Tags: angst; language; toxic, controlling, and possessive behavior; discussions of violence and violent ideation; Reader is in a deeply unhealthy relationship with Maul; allusions to abuse; infidelity but it’s complicated; Savage is down bad, but he’s still a Sith and acts like one.

Chapter Warnings and Tags: jealousy; pining; violent ideation; allusions to drug use; collaring; misogynistic language from an antagonist; negative self-image.

Summary: After months of serving as your bodyguard, Savage is at his breaking point.

Suggested Listening:

This fic smells like: Jasmin Rouge by Tom Ford (heady, rich floral jasmine)

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I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,

in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

-Pablo Neruda, “Love Sonnet XVII”

A Shadow Collective party could be described in a great many ways, but understated and restrained were not among them. Hundreds of guests had assembled in a commandeered villa overlooking the sea on some planet whose name Savage didn't have time to commit to memory. It didn't matter. They would move on soon enough, and nothing would be left in their wake but chaos and ruination.

The ballroom was packed, hazy with smoke, and unbearably hot. High above the crowd, a troupe of Pantoran aerial dancers writhed and undulated, their naked bodies glistening with sweat and glitter as they dangled from long swathes of shimmersilk in a display that was as impressively athletic as it was erotic. 

Nor were they the night's only entertainment. A Devaronian fire dancer was set up near the throne, spinning torches with dexterity and skill. If Savage hadn't been otherwise occupied, he would have started a betting pool on how long it would take some drunken fool to stray too close and get their ass lit on fire. As it was, he had no interest in the fire dancer, nor in the various other performers who were set up on small stages with poles throughout the ballroom, dancing in varying states of undress.

His attention was focused on someone far more fascinating.

His eyes tracked you closely as you wove through the throngs of guests. He stayed far enough away to not be driven out of his mind by your scent, but close enough to tear the arms off anyone who dared to touch you. He doubted anyone would be so suicidal, even under the influence of the spice that hung densely in the air. 

Pykes. Black Sun. Hutts. Death Watch. They were all present, and every one of them knew you belonged to Maul.

Even if they hadn’t recognized you as mistress to the lord of the Shadow Collective, they could not miss the sheer black and red shimmersilk gown he’d dressed you in—its plunging neckline deliberately chosen to frame the heavy, ornate gold necklace around your throat, just as the high slits in the skirt were chosen to display tantalizing glimpses of your legs. 

“Look,” the dress screamed, even as the necklace whispered, “but do not touch.”

Maul’s colors. 

Maul’s collar. 

Savage hated it.

He’d seen the marks it left on your skin: indentations deep enough to remind you of its weight even when you took it off. The first time he’d seen them, he’d nearly lost control and touched you. His fingers ached to brush across your neck; to soothe your angry, irritated skin; to feel your softness and warmth. Your neck was made to be kissed, not collared like a fucking pet.

But you belonged to his brother, and Savage had no right to touch you. In the months since Maul had ordered him to guard you, Savage had watched, always from afar, always careful to maintain his distance, never trusting himself enough to get too close. 

It should have been easy. It would have been easy, if only you’d been just another pretty face, another fawning sycophant jockeying to ingratiate yourself with Maul. Force knew there was no shortage of such beings simpering their way through the Shadow Collective. Any of them would have happily jumped into bed with Savage for the opportunity to get close to his brother.

He knew, because he’d taken full advantage of their ambitions.

But not you.

In truth, Savage wasn’t entirely certain what you saw in Maul that had made you agree to be his mistress in the first place. But he knew exactly what Maul saw in you. The perfect hostess; the perfect trophy. Brilliant, captivating, and beautiful. A prize to be displayed. 

A possession. 

Even now, as Maul surveyed the crowd from his throne on the dais, you circulated through the stifling, oppressive room, charming the powerful crime lords who’d assembled for the night’s revelry. They looked at you and saw Maul’s show pony. None of them noticed that there was something fragile—almost brittle—about your beauty that night. But Savage noticed. His keen eyes spotted the subtle evidence of stress and fatigue: the tension in the graceful line of your shoulders; the hint of darkness beneath your eyes that makeup couldn’t quite conceal; the slightly strained quality of your smile.

“She’s wasted on that freak.” The words bore the sibilant tones of a Pyke. “I’d like to get my hands on her and show her what a real man can do.”

“Don’t let the beast hear you say that,” their companion tittered. “Do you see the way it watches her?”

“Fifty credits says it does more than just guard her body.”

“I’m not high enough to take a bet I know I’ll lose,” the second Pyke retorted. “Toss your credits to the brute, and maybe it’ll let you have a round with her.”

Savage didn’t need to tear his gaze from you to know the identity of the speakers. He could sense them in the Force. The thought of removing their heads on the spot was remarkably tempting, but he restrained himself with some difficulty. He would deal with them after the party, when everyone was flying too high on spice to hear their screams. There wasn’t a single guest room in the villa that he couldn’t access, and they all had balconies overlooking the ocean. Very convenient for disposing of corpses.

The Pyke was wrong. Maul hadn’t let his lack of certain anatomy stand in his way when it came to you, based on the sounds of pleasure that made Savage’s stomach twist and churn as he stood guard outside your bedchamber every time his brother visited you. No one could accuse him of lacking imagination. 

When Maul would emerge, hours later, his smirk revealed that he knew exactly what Savage had heard, and that he wanted it that way. Savage was content to let his brother think he merely craved your body. It was safer than letting him discover the truth.

Because the truth was that Savage awoke early each morning to ensure the servants made your caf exactly the way you liked. The truth was that every day since he’d discovered your favorite flowers, a fresh bouquet had been delivered to your bedroom. The truth was that he knew your scent well enough to identify it in a room filled with hundreds of people. The truth was that he dreamed of the color of your eyes and woke up rigid and aching with need. The truth was that if he ever touched you, he might lose his mind and do something insane, like telling you that he saw your face when he closed his eyes; that when he prayed, it was you he named as his goddess; that he would bathe the galaxy in fire and destruction only for the chance to kneel at your feet.

The truth was that he hated that fucking necklace.

Even now, he saw the way it dug into your soft, delicate skin, the weight of it pressing down on your neck. It was too tight, and he wondered how you could even breathe. Had Maul had it altered to fit so tightly? It wouldn’t surprise him. The gaudy, flashy gold was to remind everyone else in the room who you belonged to, but the weight, the discomfort—those were just for you.

 Savage was not so lost in thought that he didn’t notice you working your way strategically toward the wide doors that led to the terrace overlooking the villa’s expansive gardens. As you neared the exit, he drifted toward you, navigating the crowd with surprising ease, considering the number of guests who were already so wasted that they barely knew their own names.

He glanced toward the throne where Maul sprawled with a look of boredom on his face. Kriff. Maul was never deadlier than when he was bored. He needed a distraction, or his attention would soon fall on you, and the results would be grim. Savage unobtrusively keyed a command into his vambrace, instructing the guards to send in a few more dancers to entertain their lord. 

He was fully aware that he was likely throwing the dancers to the wolf, and he didn’t particularly care. Their safety was none of his concern. Yours was.  He waited patiently, keeping one eye on you, until he saw that Maul was thoroughly distracted by a pair of Twi’leks wearing costumes that were somehow more provocative than if they’d been fully nude. Once he was certain that you were unlikely to be summoned before his brother, he faded into the crowd and followed you out into the night.

He stepped out onto the deserted terrace and immediately felt some of the tension dissipate from his body. The night air was crisp and cool, and it smelled of sea salt and the dense, lush scent of night-blooming flowers. It was a welcome respite from the suffocating heat of the ballroom. 

He spotted you at once. You were alone in the darkness, your form silhouetted by the moons’ light against the vast gardens below. He pressed a button on his vambrace to activate the ray shield across the exit, ensuring that no other guests would wander out and disturb your solitude, then he leaned against a pillar, cloaked in shadow as he kept a silent, distant watch over you.

You gazed out over the gardens, your back turned to him. He didn’t need to see your face to sense the turmoil within you as you leaned against the balustrade. Your hand drifted slowly to your throat and rested against the necklace for a moment. Abruptly, you ripped it off your neck and hurled it into the darkness.

“No!” you gasped, your regret at your impetuous act immediate and obvious.

Savage shoved himself off the pillar and crossed the terrace in three strides, catching you by the elbow with his cybernetic hand just as you turned to hurry down the stairs into the garden.

“Where did it land?” he growled.

“I don’t—I don’t know,” you whispered hoarsely, staring up at him with wide, panicked eyes.

“Focus,” he said curtly. “Which direction did you throw it?”

You turned back toward the garden, looking back and forth frantically.

“There, I think,” you replied, pointing into the shadows.

He scanned the area you indicated, but even his predator’s eyes could not make out any sign of the jewelry among the luxuriant vegetation. He stretched out his hand, concentrating with all of his mind.

There.

The necklace clinked faintly as he pulled it to himself with the Force. You watched him silently, your lips parting slightly as the hideous thing landed safely in his hand. He turned to you, knowing that he was about to make a mistake, and no longer caring. He lifted the necklace and placed it around your throat, his knuckles grazing over your soft, warm skin.

His mouth went dry as his heart began to pound. Up close, he was surrounded by that damned rich, intoxicating perfume that made his head swim—made him want to do dangerous things, like lean closer to you, bury his face in your hair, slide his hands down your body, hold you against him. His hand trembled, and he fumbled with the necklace. Stifling a curse and forcing himself to pay attention, he peered closely at the choker, and his stomach plummeted.

“The clasp is broken,” he said quietly.

“Oh, gods,” you rasped, horrified. “If he finds out—”

“He won’t,” Savage interrupted. “You were walking in the gardens.”

Your breath began to spiral out of control, your chest rising and falling quickly as your fear took hold. Savage rested his hand on the side of your neck, raising your jaw with his thumb as he tilted your head back to meet his eyes.

“Look at me. You were walking in the gardens,” he repeated. “You tripped over a root. The clasp failed when you stumbled. I’ll have it sent to the jeweler for repairs in the morning.”

He dropped the necklace into his pocket without ever breaking eye contact. Your eyes looked enormous in your face as you stared up at him, panting slightly. He wasn’t sure you understood him until you replied in a ragged whisper.

“I was fortunate you were there to catch me. Otherwise, I might have been seriously injured.”

He felt a muscle in his jaw spasm, and for an instant, he felt nothing but pure, unadulterated rage at his brother. Lurking beneath that rage was a sick, twisting sense of guilt at his own complicity. But you were still gazing up at him, and his hand was still cradling your jaw, and in that moment, nothing existed in the universe except your face. He brushed his thumb across your cheek, and your eyes drifted closed.

“It’s a collar,” you whispered so quietly he almost couldn’t hear you even though he was standing closer to you than he ever had allowed himself to do before.

“I know,” he replied.

“He doesn’t like people touching his things,” you said.

Savage drew in a short, sharp breath through his nose. 

“Things?” His voice was dangerous.

Is that how he thinks of you? Is that how you think of yourself?

“You are not a thing,” he rumbled. “You are…”

He trailed off, and when he did not continue, you whispered, “What am I?”

“You are,” he began again, then hesitated. “... Perfect. And you deserve better.”

Your breath caught, and he felt your pulse begin to race beneath his fingertips as they rested against your throat.

“I had a plan, you know,” you said quietly. “To leave.”

Savage momentarily forgot how to breathe, and he had a brief, unworthy thought. Leave? But then you’d be gone. It was selfish, and he knew it. He didn’t want you to leave. He wanted you to stay. With him. But he knew it would never happen—could never happen. Maul would hardly permit Savage to steal his mistress out from under his nose and flaunt you in front of the entire Shadow Collective. And what reason did you have to stay? It wasn’t as though you returned his feelings.

“What was your plan?” he asked.

You took a deep breath. “It was risky.” 

You began to shiver, and you swayed almost imperceptibly closer to him, tilting your head slightly to lean into his hand. He nearly kissed you then, but he held himself back with supreme effort as you continued to speak, your voice barely a murmur, soft and low.

“I was going to lure you away from the crowd, fabricate an excuse to get close enough to steal your lightsaber, then put it through your heart and escape through the garden.”

Savage blinked. In a flash, his hand left your face and flew to his hip, only to find nothing. His eyes snapped downward, and he saw his lightsaber hilt, clutched in your hand. Slowly, he raised his eyes to yours. 

Fool, snarled the voice in his head bitterly. You fell for it like the pathetic weakling you have always been.

Anger and self-loathing flooded him, but worst of all, beneath the nauseating swirl of humiliation and disillusionment, he felt the cold stab of betrayal.

Next chapter

[gunnrblze]

Alex V. “Ajax” Johnson moodboard + random headcannons

-his middle name is Vance

-from southwest USA area (Arizona/New Mexico/Nevada/Texas)

-middle child, had two sisters that he loved so so dearly (“my girls” is how he’d refer to them. everyone that really knew him knew about his girls back at home)

-had the best sense of humor amongst the Ghosts, next to Kick and Rorke (and Merrick, believe it or not)

-epitome of stubborn, absolutely didn’t give a fuck (view: him flipping the Feds off while being tortured). was both a gift and a curse for him

-knew Keegan since they were teens (canon bc of Sand Viper, but I like to think they go back a little further than that)

-blues/punk/rock/industrial/hip hop/classical/alternative listener. 70s music lover

-first in his family to join the military. his mother nearly had a heart attack

-favorite Ghost aside from Keegan was Rorke, big mentor for him. made the betrayal sting even more, watching the man abandon the values he helped instill in him

-had the gene that makes cilantro taste like soap

-Sand Viper felt like a fever dream to him, and it took a while to even remotely calm his nervous system down. he had nightmares for a while, like most of them did, and would sleep near Keegan whenever possible

-^he considered it what made him a man rather than a boy

-used to prank Rorke and Elias on base with the other guys. if anyone got caught, it was usually him (you could always hear him snickering off in the background somewhere)

-was pretty close with Torch before he went missing

-being the youngest/least experienced member during the Legends Never Die mission was daunting to him. Keegan, although only by a year, was always the youngest, so he felt a ton of pressure for that reason

-mediocre dancer, except for classic ballroom type dances actually. grew up watching his parents do the foxtrot and waltz, so his tango skills were swoon worthy

-^which was a weapon because he’s also very very charming. flirted in an either lighthearted and jokey way or an absolutely bewitching and alluring way. typa guy to quite literally charm his way into your pants

-very ironically used to dress up as a ghost for Halloween when he was a kid a lot. he wondered if maybe he was always destined to be one, either as a part of the task force or his inevitable demise

-had a wide and pretty smile, naturally straight teeth that lit his face up when he grinned (like I imagine Hesh would have too)

-looked the best of all the Ghosts with the standard military issue buzz cut. could pull off any hairstyle he was given (cus he was handsome lmfao, that’s it)

-did band in middle school. his sisters teased him for being a flute player instead of doing sports but bless his heart he was good at it!

-was a littleeee bit of a nerd. Could bond with Kick over techy stuff sometimes

-would dream about the sunsets from his hometown when shit got particularly rough, especially during his early marine days. the desert skies brought him peace

[bakudekuficlibrary]

Hii! Do you have any fics with either Izuku or Katsuki as dancers?

BakuDeku: Dancer AU 1 Series. 15 Works. 1 Illustrative.

Dance with Me by astralchaos ( T | 30,159 | 10/10 )

Mina pulled up a video of a young man, seemingly teen, dancing to a popular new hit, and Izuku felt his heart drop to his stomach. His skin prickled and felt clammy as he started sweating nervously, not daring to move or make a noise. His eyes were glued to the screen but he didn’t see anything – his brain was too busy going into overdrive and freaking out.

Because Mina was showing him a video of himself. The one he uploaded last night.

How on Earth did she find this? He had barely a few thousand views, he wasn’t popular, and it’s not like he was even any good, especially compared to her or Kacchan–

“That move was sexy as hell,” Kacchan said, and that was when Izuku realized that his childhood friend – his longtime crush – also leaned in to watch the video Mina was showing him.

Momentum by meteormind ( T | 59,588 | 3/3 )

"You be the girl," Katsuki tells him.

"But... we're both boys," the dummy says like Katsuki doesn't have eyes.

"So? There has to be a girl. And I'm taller." Katsuki skates his hand over the shrubby mess of Twig's hair to his own cheek. "See?"

"Why do you get to be the boy just because you're tall? There are tall girls too." Twig looks around the room at all the poofy-skirted girls. "I don't want to be the girl."

"Someone has to be the girl, and you already look like one so it might as well be you, ya girly twig-boy."

Twig gasps. "I am not a girly twig-boy!"

[Hiatus] I Dance For You by claramemories, fericide ( E | BKDK | 257,647+ | 24/35 )

Izuku Midoriya danced all his life. Born without natural talent, he devoted all his time to being the best and equal to his lost childhood friend-current rival Bakugou Katsuki.

Or ex-rival, more like.

After Izuku heard the news that cancer was eating him alive, he stopped dancing. He kept quiet, pulling up a fake smile, an act he thought went unnoticed by everyone around him.

But fuck, he was wrong, wasn't he?

In which Izuku Midoriya is running out of time, and Katsuki Bakugou is trying to revive what he has broken.

Dancing to a Love Song by EyndsOfTheEarth ( T | 13,349 | 1/1 )

Katsuki can’t stand Izuku, it’s just a fact. Yet somehow they still get paired together for an upcoming dance competition.

Oh my god- and they were rival dancers.

Fancy Footwork by GreenEyesSublime ( E | BKDK | 13,549 | 2/2 )

Izuku is a ballet dancer preparing for the biggest audition of his life - a spot with the acclaimed UA Ballet Company in Tokyo! After a nasty run-in a few months ago, his mother insists on his school hiring a bodyguard to keep him safe during the trip. Too bad the man they hired is hunky ex-boxer Katsuki, who has a fiery gaze and the bullish personality to match.

Will Katsuki prove to be more of a distraction or a motivation?

-- Or, dancer!Izuku is practicing for a big audition and bodyguard!Katsuki gets inspired to show off some of his own moves - both on and off the dance floor.

[Series] Steps of Us by schrijverr ( G&T | 21,642 | 2 Works )

Bakugo and Midoriya used to dance competitive ballroom together. When nightmares keep them awake they start dancing again and finding their friendship back as well. Until a dance lesson brings it to light.

Penché by QueerPinoy ( E | BKDK | 1,133 | 1/1 )

Midoriya is supposed to look delicate. The long arch of his back leading into slim legs and pointed toes is supposed to be elegant.

To Bakugou, it’s sexy.

From the darkness of the audience seats, he feels no shame staring blatantly as his ass, the bulge of his dick in his leotard, watches how high his leg can go and oh god, he wants him. He wants to devour the unblemished curve of his neck, break down everything that is graceful about him. He wants to fuck the angel right out of him.

Balançoire by SkantySkylar (SkarySkylar) ( E | DKBK | 27,951 | 3/3 )

“They will all love you,” He closes his eyes, listens to the applause. The roses at his feet smell like copper. Adoration glistens on each petal. “They will all love you.” . . . Katsuki is a ballerina. Izuku is a Classics Major. They fall in love. Somebody dies.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

tendrement by bazookangel ( T | 1,283 | 1/1 )

Being the first nationally recognized male pointe dancer in Japan, Izuku tends to push his wrecked body to the brink. Luckily, his partner Katsuki is always there to catch him.

‧₊˚˗ˏˋ 🩰 ˎˊ˗˚₊‧

tendrement: (adv.) tenderly, fondly, softly

To Dance With Moonlight by StevieBanks ( T | 8,675 | 1/1 )

Izuku steadies his breathing and wills his roaring heart to calm down. The blonde holds one of the red earbuds in his hand. His head tilts with a question.

"You dance?"

A silly question, but a question nonetheless.

"Nope," Izuku shrugs. "I just know the entire routine of 'Giselle, ou Les Wilis' for shits and giggles."

The blonde snorts a sound of amusement. "You know any other routines for shits and giggles then?"

"If you're here for the Summer Solstice Recital, then I know every act, scene, routine sequence, and musical number."

"Huh." The blonde gets to his feet and steps closer. He tosses the left earbud in Izuku's direction. "Then dance, nerd."

Izuku catches it with a quick hand. A smile on his face and a quip on his tongue. "You gonna join me, pretty boy?"

Only Wanna Dance With You by FatalFanfiction ( E | BKDK | 3,652 | 1/1 )

“AND THE WINNER IS…”

Katsuki knew this was his— it had to be. The tension in the air was suffocating and if he had a less level head under stress, he probably would have fainted from forgetting to breathe. He was standing on stage, an audience in front of him and his dance crew behind him. This was the first year in his ten years of competitions that Katsuki competed in a mixed tournament— Ballet, Ballroom, Tap, Hip Hop, and Jazz all competed against one another. 

Katsuki never fuckin’ lost, okay? 

(Hint: He loses.)

[AUgust Writing Challenge: Dance]

Sing a Song of Symphony by Justanotherorange ( T | 3,796 | 1/1 )

Oneshot for the UADA AU created by Kinnme on tumblr. Inspired by the song "Symphony" by Clean Bandit.

Katsuki figures out his feelings towards a certain green-headed boy with an annoyingly admirable and heart-pounding taste in musical inspiration.

[Abandoned] You Keep Me on My Toes by Fawn_Eyed_Girl ( E | BKDK | 30,474+ | 7/10 )

After seven years in the States, contemporary dancer Bakugō Katsuki has returned home to audition for the prestigious Endeavor Dance Company, with hopes of scoring a principal position. He’s trained long and hard for this moment, giving up a chance to audition for American companies, to stand in the spotlight on a home stage.

But the day of his audition, he’s astonished to see a shock of green curls, and a face he left behind years ago: Midoriya Izuku, his former best friend and dance rival, who Katsuki had once said didn’t have what it took to be a dancer.

How did Izuku get there? Why is he, all of a sudden, so ridiculously good? And, most importantly… Why is he now so hot?

Katsuki doesn’t know, but he’s determined not to allow lingering feelings in his heart to overcome his ambition…if he can help it.

With incredible art by MeowMonster!

[Abandoned] Moonlight Sonata by Silver_Weasel ( M | 16,164 | 3/5 )

As Izuku follows the smooth rhythm of Katsuki's fingers on the ivory keys, his moves slow down with the music. He finishes with a raising of his arm, reaching for the ceiling and his fingers are loose, but not without purpose. Nothing was ever done without purpose as he danced over Katsuki's music like it was Mozart's most inspiring piece.

In which Katsuki, a young ambitious pianist, is forced to serve as an accompanist for ballet rehearsals. That's how he meets Izuku, a promising dancer who'll be quick to change everything he thought he knew about music.

Pas de Deux by orabid_rabbito ( T | 2,830 | 1/1 )

Bakugou Katsuki is devastated by his growth spurt.

It came before the other kids. His legs are too dangly, his arms are too long, his chest is bigger now. All of those new changes in his body are messing with his sense of balance and his weight distribution.

A cardinal sin for a ballet dancer.

Stubbornly telling himself he would not let this come into his way, Katsuki did his very best at all rehearsals, coming early for his dancing class, and leaving after everybody else, trying to minimize the effects of his precocious puberty of affecting his dance.

Still, he wants to cry when he sees shitty Deku name selected for the Pas de Deux in the next performance.

Katsuki trains more than anyone else, and now, he does it to the point of exhaustion, the knot at the bottom of his stomach pushing him forward. He won't lose again. He can't.

What the dancer doesn't know, is that Izuku watches him. Every day, every time he stays behind to work on his stance, the greenette stays behind as well, transfixed by the raw talent and power unfolding in front of him.

Come Dance With Me by oolongmilktea ( E | BKDK | 4,966 | 1/1 )

When discussing who's going to be in which team for their second U.A. school festival performance, Katsuki claimed that he's going to be on the dance team this time around. With no one believing him, the class taunts him to show off his dance skills. Not backing down from a challenge, Katsuki drags Izuku into the demonstration, reminding him of their history as competitive Latin dancers back in their younger years.

Things get heated.

*October Prompt Fic

*P.S. I suck at summaries.

UA Dance Academy by Kinnme ( WIP | Street Dance AU )

Story in illustrations that takes place in an alternative universe where the characters have no quirks, they're just normal human beings who dance. The main Academy is a school of arts and dance. WARNING, story contains KatsuDeku and TodoDeku, male/male, also angst, stay away if you don't like the subject please.

Other Links: Character Designs

To see the original 2018 post, click here.

[booburt]

dance au save me....... i really just wanted to draw pretty dress hibari and koby just wears fucking suits w a gayass bowtie. type of guy

- he doesnt even pick out his own suits the girls and helmeppo do

- helmeppos partner is tashigi (they both wear suits)

- stupid little ballroom man who has a crush on the ballet dancer in the opposite studio i want him DEAD

speaking of ballet dancer

i want you to ignore the text wooooahhh wwoooahhh (waving my hands over your eyes magically) ignore the text i write on my drawings like its a diary im normal i swear

- luffy is sanjis pas de deux partner bc sanjis not allowed near the Women

- luffy is trans, he prefers wearing the more feminine ballet wear bc its more freeing i guess

- he wears hairclips to keep his hair out the way while hes stretching bc its ANNOYING! nami was first to start buying them for him and now he has a plethora of cutesie hairclips because all his friends followed suit

i havent thought of what everyone else would do yet if you have any input please feel free to add idm at all, my asks are open if you wanna suggest stuff

[blindmagdalena]

YOOO, my mind is plagued with professional dancer reader. They can dance a lot of styles: hip-hop, modern, breakdancing, swing, ballroom, ballet. They teach Homie and Ryan these dances and quietly chukle as they see Ryan eagerly trying to learn while Homelander's already complaining about muscle pain (can he have it? I mean, indestructibility doesn't have to mean he won't get sore muscles after intense stretching. My headcannon is that his muscles are very stiff) and cursing under his breath, tripping and falling every five seconds. It would be such a hit to his ego. But when he finally learns, and he sees recording where Reader, Ryan and him are happily dancing without a care in the world, I think he'd love it. Maybe even cry. (Lol, imagine the absolute shock of the Seven and Ashley when they see Homie with disheveled hair, flushed, sweaty face, wearing loose old T-shirt with some stupid print and worn out sweatpants, dancing his soul away in salsa).

I also think it would be funny if Reader and Homelander were dancing tango or waltz, and by the end of it, they suddenly dip Homie with a smug grin and maybe a rose between teeth. What a flustered mess he would be. And do you think his reactions would be different, if Reader was romantic or platonic?

AAHH this is so fun!!! and you know what. you're completely right about muscle tension. like, we already know based on some BTS knowledge that the homelander suit is NOT easy to maneuver in, so he definitely doesn't get a lot of flexibility training there.

now that he's getting older he's probably also getting stiffer. i love the idea of ryan being the one to suggest they do this together and homelander's like eugh... no.... i don't... want that... but ultimately he's compelled by his own aging body feeling worse and worse.

it makes sense to me that the only thing that could really exert him is fighting against the tension of his own body. the inhuman strength of his taut muscles. like lifting a semi? no problem! stretching his hamstring? makes him want to fucking die.

omgggg getting dipped would equal parts fluster and emasculate him so good. he'd be so worked up. worse than that, he'd like it. 🤭

[vieramars]

Making this its own post bc it wasn't getting seen as a reblog

Re: a very niche oddly specific fluffy TMA au

So I'm in a swing dance club and I started thinking about what if the characters of the magnus archives were all in a swing dance club. Absolutely no regard for canon, just all the characters hanging out having a time.

Half the characters do not know how to dance. Some are really good at it. Elias is the club leader who thought having a position of authority would be fun but now he's stuck managing a room full of chaos gremlins with fear powers.

Half the playlist is mechs songs. Nikola insists on doing live music every few meets.

Jon watches tons of videos on swing moves in order to learn them and is constantly watching his feet to make sure he's doing the steps right. He's a follow and almost exclusively dances with Martin. Even though he helped form the club he perpetually has new awkward member energy. Still, once he's had plenty of time to practice a move, he can do it perfectly nine times out of ten.

Martin is a much more confident dancer than someone who'd just met him would think. He's a lead and his musicality is on point. He's really good at songs with tempo changes, and his favorite move is probably swing kicks.

Tim and Sasha are terrifying on the dance floor. Sasha's the lead and every dance she's trying to beat her own record for how many times she can spin Tim consecutively. They prefer open position and every other move is a basket turn. 

Michael showed up one day and just became part of the club by being there, then later invited Helen along. Both of them like to dance with pretty much everyone, and both of them love sliding doors. Sometimes involving actual distortion doors. Their dance moves are reality bending and they always have the flashiest outfits. Michael is ambidancetrous (comfortable leading or following) and Helen is a lead.

Agnes wears very thick gloves so that she can dance with people without burning their hands. To avoid accidents she's also very good at no-contact moves. Sometimes she brings Jack over for club meetings. She's a lead and her favorite move is sugar pushes though she also likes line dances and does the best charleston out of the whole group.

Daisy and Basira are inseparable. But they are both leads. Rather than dancing with other people they just solo jazz and line dance together.

No matter who she's dancing with or what moves they're doing Nikola is killing it. Her favorite dances are steal dances where everyone's rapidly switching partners. She's always the fastest to find a new partner and get back into step. She does everything with a flourish and is an expert at dips of any kind.

Melanie and Georgie are just vibing. Probably the calmest dancers in the room despite being far from the calmest people. Georgie can dance the entire length of the meeting without taking a break.

Gerry mostly only dances with Michael, Mike, or Tim because they can match his energy the best. He loves fast-paced songs and complicated moves, and can absolutely fuck it UP at the shim sham.

Mike Crew also really likes fast-paced dances and loves spinning his partner until they might as well be in the vast for how dizzy they are. Dancing with him comes with a spin at your own risk disclaimer.

Oliver is more of a slow song enjoyer, and he joins Jon and Nikola in the live music performances. While Agnes is the best at many variations of the charleston, Oliver is the best at the cowboy charleston specifically, and he can do it while playing a fiddle.

Peter Lukas REFUSES to dance except for rarely when Elias convinces him to, in which case they have a vibe that's somewhere between overly formal ballroom dancing and Morticia and Gomez doing the most. 

Jane Prentiss is mostly here for the snacks and the vibes but she joins in for warm-ups and line dances. The only person she'll dance together with is Agnes cause they both prefer the least amount of physical contact possible.

Annabelle Cane is the main dance instructor and she's a phenomenal teacher. She knows all the moves by heart and she's rocking the roaring 20s aesthetic. If she's leading a line dance, everyone's in perfect sync.

If I missed anyone lmk, this is all coming directly out of my brain so some characters might've gotten lost in the stream of consciousness. I'm open to asks about dance pairs, who leads/follows in that pair, and what songs they would pick if they had the floor 👀

By the way, dance pairs do not equal ships! I do ship a few of these pairs (and it makes sense to me for couples to gravitate towards dancing together), but anyone can dance with anyone!

[thestarfishface]

How would the crew handle a formal event? Such as, say… a ball? 👀

Sooooo this has actually already happened in the campaign, but 3/5 didn't get to attend (bc they're dead) and the exact circumstances behind the ball made it STRESSFUL AS HELL for the remaining 2 (Verity and Rodin). The other members of Verity's current party had fun though xD

Now, if we went back in time and made them all attend some kind of fancy function... That may or may not include dancing...

Darius refuses to dance and just spends the evening drinking fancy little drinks and having conversations with fancy people. Really doing his best to seem important.

Mira is bored out of her skull. She is sitting near the buffet manspreading in the fancy dress Willow and Verity forced her into and exuding an aura of "Do not talk to me" while she chows down on tiny rich people foods. When she gets bored she probably fucks with Darius by making stupid faces at him to throw him off or make him laugh mid conversation with nobles. He gets very annoyed at this and lectures her several times but she does not stop.

Willow is in her element. She is the life of the party and she is playing with the band and she is dancing and she is the most interesting person in the room. She is also desperately trying to hide that she's actually a country girl and roleplaying like one of her high court romance novels.

Verity wants to be doing as well as Willow, as she also reads and loves the same romantic novels with fancy ballroom scenes and it's a dream to actually GO to one, but she's not as outgoing and struggles to talk to people she doesn't know. She probably spent the weeks leading up to the party making fancy jewelry for everyone and helping to plan their outfits, though.

Rodin is indifferent to the fanciness of the event, but he wants to dance with Verity so bad. However, while they were preparing he kept hearing her talk about wanting to dance and be twirled, and he's like half her height so he can't really do that and feels real bad about it. But when it gets close to the end of the night and he sees how sad she is about not having danced yet, he finally works up the courage and asks her to and they... make it work, somehow.

When I was in middle school I did a few slow dances with a friend who was like a foot shorter than me, and we made it work by having him stand one step up on the bleachers which made us roughly the same height. And now I'm imagining Verity and Rodin doing that on some grand staircase in a noble's manor and I'm getting real emotional about it and maybe he can actually twirl her then!! AHGHGDGvfnso

EDIT: We have updates from the DM

I would like to respectfully suggest two changes: Darius wants to dance but doesn't primarily because he has been told he is not as graceful as an elf should be. (Star note: OW MY HEART) And, Mira absolutely knows how to dance, and probably enjoys it when it's a competition. Dancing is a huge part of learning swordplay, and it would be a point of pride to be a good dancer.

[onthepyre]

He's overplayed, but sometimes, Glenn Miller just hits the fucking spot. You hear the song for the first time and maybe you aren't quite sure where it's going, but Mickey's danced to "In The Mood" every weekend for the last year. He's got it down to a science.

The girls come and go. He has favorite partners, that's for sure - ones that let him fling them in the air or send them flying out in light-speed spins, or even the ones who can just really groove. But sometimes they're there and sometimes they aren't, and ultimately, it doesn't make much difference to him. It's not about the girl at the other end of his arm. It's about Mickey and the music. He can feel it - the trombone in his feet, trumpet in his arms and sax in his shoulders, bass and drums thumping in his chest.

His ballroom isn't a popular one. It's a few regular faces and a handful of out-of-towners, passers-through who dance with an accent; on an average Saturday night, though, most of the attendees are the sort that rotate in and out of five or six different floors. It's hard to get them all in one place. But the band is decent, the admission cheap, and the bartenders heavy-handed. So it's Mickey's.

He's making his way off the floor after the night's fourth Miller track, panting, chatting lazily with the brunette who'd stepped on him a minute ago. She's got two left feet, but they exchange niceties - great dance, love that song, all the things Mickey says when he doesn't have anything to talk about. She wanders off when he makes it to the bar and doesn't offer to buy her a drink.

He sits silently, sipping whiskey, listening to the band's approximation of Count Basie. They're doing a shitty job with this one and people are falling off the dance floor left and right, doing whirlygig turns into their seats. There are only six dancers left on the floor by the middle of the song. Two of them are an ancient married couple, barely able to keep up with the inconsistent tempo. There's a pair of teens who keep losing the beat, but the third set are the ones that catch Mickey's eye. The girl is cute in a kiddish sort of way, round rosy cheeks and a big smile. She dances young, too, inexperienced but with flair. The man seems far more seasoned - he hits every accent and anticipates every pause like he's a member of the band. He leads the girl, green as she is, through some pretty complicated shit with ease. They're both ginger. Siblings, probably, Mickey thinks.

Mercifully, the song ends, and the redheads laugh their way out of a dip. The band kicks off another tune, one Mickey doesn't know the name of, and other dancers begin to trickle back onto the floor. He loses sight of the siblings until the man appears next to him and asks the bartender for some frilly cocktail Mickey's never heard of.

"Those were some neat tricks," he says to the man. "That your sister?"

"Yeah," the man answers, "Debbie. I'm Ian."

"Mickey."

"This is one of Deb's first nights out. Our other sister's been teaching her the ropes, but you can only get so far in a kitchen. She's getting way better with real music and real people."

"Band's havin' an off night tonight. I think the usual drummer is out."

"We'll have to come back when they're better equipped," Ian says with a grin. The bartender sets down his drink - he finishes half of it in one swallow.

"You ever tried to follow? Dance the girl's part for a night?" He looks over at Mickey out of the corner of his eyes.

"Hell would I do that for?"

"Makes you a better dancer." Ian shrugs, starts sliding off his stool. Mickey scoffs. "Here, c'mon. Give it a shot."

There's ice in Mickey’s veins. To ask that - and in a public place, no less - risks a lot more than his lindy-hopping skills. But Ian’s hand, open and waiting in front of him, is enticing. So Mickey can't rebuke him completely.

"Lotta moxie, you got."

"Wouldn't be here without it."

He's not sure what Ian means - here on this earth, here in this room, or here asking another man to dance. Mickey can't read his expression; he wears a good-natured, joking grin, but there's something else in his green eyes. Something pleading.

"Promise it won't be weird," Ian says. "I get ya, I swear."

Fuck.

Mickey can't say no, so he doesn't say anything, just drops his hand heavy into Ian's. He lets himself be led out onto the floor, willing them invisible to prying eyes at the bar. Ian drops the handhold and slides his arm around Mickey's back to start marking the beat, exaggerated, almost silly. They're late to the floor, left behind as the other dancers set off and running with the music. Still, within seconds, it's some of best chemistry Mickey's ever felt. Ian's giddiness is contagious and so is his rhythm. When he folds Mickey in so they're face to face, it's like greeting an old friend.

Ian's dancing is an open book, and Mickey can tell he's holding back at the start. He keeps them up to tempo, but only leads the boring shit - the kind of stuff the newcomers pick up first. The way he does it, though, high kicks and full-body pulse, is enough for Mickey to be suppressing a smile. When there's a heavy hit in the music, the kind that would have Mickey tossing a girl over his head, Ian pauses for a split second. It's clearly intentional, like he's waiting for Mickey to do something, but he's got no clue what girls do in moments like these.

He takes control instead - uses the tension in their arms to send Ian sliding across the floor under his legs, and Ian lets him do it. He pops back up as Mickey spins around, and just as the song hits its climax, the roles flip.

Back where he's comfortable, Mickey lets loose. He brings Ian in and sends him back out four times in a row, lightning-fast with the trumpet player's run. It gets Ian laughing, so Mickey's laughing, too, and it feels like his feet are floating an inch above the floor. They move in tight, near-violent circles, narrowly avoiding the other dancers close by.

The end of the song is building up - Mickey can tell in Ian's careful attention to his feet that he's anticipating it, too. The whole band crescendoes, the trombone digs into a slide, and Mickey dips Ian so low his head almost brushes the ground. Ian trusts him with it, kicks his foot up and lets his weight fall, his back arch. They hold there, eyes meeting for the longest few seconds of Mickey's life.

When they pull out of the dip as the band pauses, it feels wrong. To be around Ian, still linked at their hands, and not be dancing with him - Mickey feels uncoordinated, off-balance. But when Ian cracks a smile, Mickey's head is back on his shoulders, his feet back underneath him.

"Not so bad, right?" Ian asks.

"Guess not."