#and its not much different from how they dress on stage.

[dobadoo]

˗ˏˋ ꒰ DON'T HUG ME. I'M SCARED꒱ ˎˊ˗ be with me

• pt I - pt II

characters — yandere!scaramouche/fem!singer!reader

sum — Scaramouche loves you - painfully, incorrectly, abnormally. As if he were putting out cigarettes and licking burns, breaking bones and knitting them in his own way. He throws from one extreme to another. warnings — dark comtent, dead scene, unhealthy attitude, angst, psychological abuse a/n — I want to portray it not as psychopathological madness, but as selfishness and tenderness in one bottle and control of emotions over actions. On the victim's side, there is a heavy contradiction, doubts and Stockholm syndrome.

4.234 words

Enjoy and be careful reading! I hope some moments will not confuse you. The work will be changed, edited and improved, but without plot changes.I want you to set boundaries in time and take care of yourself first and foremost.

Scaramouche is not one to sacrifice his time, running through the shadows of alleys and trying to be more attentive for the sake of a foolish mortal girl.

Someone inside him laughs sarcastically - a pathetic lie.

This is exactly what the harbinger does. At first, quietly, completely unnoticeably, he watches from afar, being carried away by the color of your eyes, or the shimmering ringing scattering of your voice. Scaramouche catches with his gaze the girl's half-smile, the sliding gait and the heap of unruly hair, braided into (your hairstyle)

You appear every shift in different corners of the island of Narukami and the main city, one way or another near the village of Konda, and for a long time you sing intricate tunes with a fairy-tale flair, while you are showered with mora

The balladeer finds it as pitiful as it is natural, because the ringing of the coins, their shimmer and shine when they are next to your slender legs, dressed in attractive stockings, all merge with your shining skin, your alluring eyes and interesting appearance, with an image worked out to the last detail.

A well-planned show. And one cannot help but notice how you, seemingly opening up to people, while your gaze is just as cold and far from participation, preserve your mystery.

Your little mortal soul sees him for the first time out of the corner of its eye and does not even attach any importance to it. He, leaning against the wall in a large hat and dark clothes, is erased from memory like a haze on the surface of the water. And Scaramouche can no longer deny himself the mischief and get to your hidden essence.

And more to come. He follows on your heels, finds you in all parts of Inazuma.

With each subsequent day, the harbinger appears more often. Now you can't just forget him, and now you allow yourself to watch him back, squinting invitingly as you shower everyone with your beautiful voice, moving to the music on stage. He smiles slyly back, a silvery glint in his gaze. You mistake it for curiosity.

Scaramouche is really trying to be gentle with you. As much as he can.

The lanterns are lit in Inazuma as you finish your song and, to the satisfied hum of the crowd, you gather your mora, disappearing between the houses and exiting the city onto the main path. His voice bounces off the expanses of Teyvat in a dull echo.

"Aren't you afraid of running into a wild kitsune at such a late hour?" - "What? Feel like keeping company?" - You immediately slyly respond to his mockery.

To all the sarcastic comments and stinging reproaches, you willingly echo him in the same way. Puppet laughs to himself: it is so funny that you perceive his words as a challenge.

Y/N…

Your name spills on his tongue like a viscous, bitter molasses.

And it is the only name in his entire life that he will carve into his memory until bloody scars.

Scaramouche is not one to place such a high value on mortals.

However, he understands that he is not so much captivated by your mischievous eyes or your melodious voice, as by all of you.

"I visited Ritou recently," you say casually.

Balladeer of course, knows.

You turn to him and slyly pull the corners of your lips.

Inside, Scaramouche trembles as the sun reflects off the chrysalite of your eyes and illuminates your face as brightly as you illuminate his darkness with a smile.

"I met a guy, he seems nice," he tilts his head in anticipation.

"Nice?" He looks falsely surprised.

"Do you really think so, sunshine?"

You shrug. "His eyes are beautiful, like amber gold."

"It's stupid to play with fire," Scaramouche exhales into your neck, very close. "And don't even try to disappear, deciding to run away."

"I didn't plan to," you grin, but After a long look from Scaramouche, you add: "Okay, okay, I promise not to run away. Any more instructions?" You ask mockingly.

"Don't let yourself be shared with others."

You roll your eyes. You should take this more seriously, but you're too used to this kind of commanding tone from Scaramouche. You, stupid fox, perceive it as a game that tugs at the strings of your soul.

"And where do you even get the right to be jealous.."

Your feigned indifference and arrogance mix with bright flashes of sympathy and traces of embarrassment on your cheeks. You admit to yourself that you like him - not with a passionate hurricane feeling, on the contrary, routinely, but inevitably. This knowledge brings the harbinger to an exciting saturation.

He creeps up on all the bolts of your soul like a predator, and someone else's sincerity is a sweet poison. Help yourself, my dear demons in the dark. Demons willingly accept and ask for more, only everything suddenly falls out of their hands and bursting at the seams, seeing you with that worthless man. Again.

Wasn't he merciful to you?

Scaramouche takes his eyes, as if he were plucking ripe berries from a bush, and crushes them in his hands, melting this amber gold with his icy rage.

He wrings someone else's neck under the screams of the victim and your frightened look.

He is not one to forgive a mistake.

And despite this, puppet gently cups your face in his palms, leaving bloody streaks on your skin, and says irritably:

"I warned you, didn't I?" You look at him nervously and see nothing but blood stains and cruelty. You can't breathe in or out.

"Oh, so you can't say a word because you feel guilty?" Scaramouche adds caustically. His fingers slowly, almost lovingly stroke your cheeks, but you feel nothing. You yourself seem to be at the bottom, completely lost. You stop feeling your body and are left alone with a visual nightmare and a dry throat.

"I," you exhale with titanic efforts, "got it."

"I won't do it anymore.." You forcefully pull the words out of yourself as if with pliers.

"Ha-ha-ha!" His laughter, sincere, condescending, the kind that happens when a child does stupid things, thereby amusing you. You glance sideways and see behind Scaramouche, the lifeless body of a familiar guy. You feel nausea approaching.

"Don't act like an fool,little one, it doesn't suit you. We both know that I can't trust you anymore." You know, but you don't want to believe it. How could this happen? How could you cross paths with the wrong person. How could you — feel lovestick to him — how?!

Scaramouche brushes your hair away from your face, smearing blood across your skin and staining your hair, and peers into your face with his indigo eyes, which you used to look at so lovingly.

"Don't tell me you felt sick from the sight of blood and someone else's death," He sarcastically pulls and rolls his eyes. — "Forget about him and let's go, you look bad."

And he pulls you like an obedient doll. You are scared of what has fallen on you and chained you, but you are even more horrified by the familiar, harmless tone of the harbinger, as if everything is as before. He is just as kindly sarcastic and playful, and you — caustic and sharp-tongued. A stunning symbiosis.

Only the system was initially flawed - Scaramouche never tried to appear kind.

in the third part it will be… tough, it will be really tough.

@anantaru @hitomisuzuya @lavandulawrites @himasgod @neuvigroove @quimichi @rsventhesecondd @anemoswirlsmyheart @nil4everheartz @kujiba @genshingorlsrevengeance

[wolverineblues]

in recent metal twitter happenings, guy gets upset death metal band looks like a death metal band and gets absolutely clowned on for it

[the-mononoke-facade]

Nevermind trying to figure out whether they're talking about flowers or one of the characters (the o in front of Hana actually makes that quite obvious, who'd've thunk it)

Are these little girls or are they young women? Are you talking about a dad or a husband? Which girl's perspective are we even dealing with here? Augh!

[timemachineyeah]

Takarazuka Revue is so funny because it’s like we are a fine upstanding institution of good family values, like homophobia. Please ignore the lesbians making up the majority of people both on stage and in the audience.

Takarazuka Revue is like: we enforce only the strictest gender roles in our troupe as is right and proper, sorting them into the two genders: women who are women, and women who are men. How dare you suggest there’s anything queer about that.

Takarazuka Revue is simultaneously the queerest thing and the least queer thing to ever exist. Takarazuka bucks tradition and is tradition incarnate. Takarazuka is like

and then is like, “no homo”

and maintains itself as one of the most hierarchical artistic organizations in the world with intense control over its performers. This alternate reality where the talented (and lucky, and connected) few can gain the right to openly perform queerness in the one setting comphet capitalism has carved out for them as long as they follow a different even stricter set of rules for dress and behavior. It dissembles traditional gender by its very existence and so must reinforce it at every turn.

And yet despite being the product of a conservative capitalist railroad owner who only really sought to exploit women for entertainment aimed at men (and their hetero families) that remains loyal to those deeply normative puritanical roots, it was and is also one of the most liberating theater and media experiences of queer Japanese people for decades. You can tell from all the queer art about it, by queer people. By the fact that the audience who flocked to it were not (cis) men.

Trying to untangle the mutual influence of shoujo manga to takarazuka is even more difficult that trying to untangle something like the history of modern Broadway and Disney movies. We wouldn’t have The Little Mermaid without Little Shop of Horrors, but we wouldn’t have Wicked without the Disney renaissance, but we wouldn’t have Frozen without Wicked, and going back further to things like Cinderella and Rogers and Hammerstein and they are intertwined but listen to me. Takarazuka and shoujo manga, especially yuri, are more intertwined. And then so much western media has been inspired by shoujo anime. Rose of Versailles the manga was inspired by Takarazuka and then in turn was adapted into their most famous play which then in turn influenced so many more artworks. Uranus and Neptune are an otokoyaku and musumeyaku. Utena and Anthy (and honestly that whole ass show. The stairs?? C’mon). And all the works and creators THOSE works inspired.

We owe so much to Takarazuka but also if we tried to thank them for their role in queer history they’d be like “we’ve never been queer in our lives!!!!!!!!” and then say a slur to your face while taking your money. Incredible. Wish more people knew what the fuck it was and I could get fansubs.

[jellojelli]

Fontaine Boys: Calling them by their names

Lyney

This guy pretty much made it a thing after you started using pet names that you no longer knew a Lyney, only a baby, sweetie, honey, sugar, etc. So, don't think that pulling this prank will go over his head or that he'll let you off easy for trying to tease him like this. Because Lyney? He will never forget this injustice until he can return that favor tenfold

When you say it, just as he is leaving for work/practice with Lynette, he stalls in the hallway as he tries to process what you just did to him, because surely his sweet, loving, and gorgeous lover would never stop using his pet names without a justifiable reason. This man goes through 4 stages of grief in .2 seconds and basically sprints to the nearest calendar to see the date, anniversary, or birthday he surely must've forgotten

Because, surely, he missed something, right? right?

"Love... did I forget something?" Lyney sounds so different from usual. Almost panicked really.

This can go one of two ways:

If you can keep a straight face and keep calling him Lyney he gets more and more panicked, basically begging at your feet to tell him what he did to deserve such cold, heartless, and diabolical treatment until you give and tell him its a prank

If you can't keep a straight face Lyney can see the devious little smile on your face and pretty much gawks at you in disbelief

either way it ends with him giving you a taste of your own medicine for the rest of the day. Because really, how could you do this to him right before his practice?

So if you can't handle that, don't do that to Lyney because he can be just as teasing and mean about it no matter how much he loves you, and if you keep it up through the whole day too he will continue it into the next day until you stop

or maybe he'll do something about that attitude of yours? ;)

Freminet

Are you a monster?

Genuinely why would you do this to him after all the work it took to get him to accept and also call you petnames?

Fremi thinks the world is ending tbh. He was on his way out to go diving and you just??? dropped this on him?? Are you breaking up with him?? Is he in trouble?? Please tell him it is a prank immediately or he will cry

Just like his brother he rushes to a calendar and checks every box to make sure he didn't miss anything today and for the last month or so just to be sure. And the panic that sets in when he sees that he didn't, now he's really sure you're about to say you don't love him anymore

It doesn't even matter if you can keep a straight face or not because he is in full panic mode and can't think straight enough to see that you're just pulling his leg

This poor boy is taking off his backpack and shoes and either sitting across from you or standing right in front of you with the most pitiful face asking you what's wrong

"My little marintine rose.... y/n honey....what's wrong? Did I... make you angry? Is it the diving? You can come with me, you know I love it when you come with me" Cue the biggest puppy eyes with tears

Please tell him soon that this is just a prank because again, he can and will cry if you keep this up any longer than a few minutes.

Neuvillette

He deadass walks out the door and takes a few minutes outside before he turns around and makes his way back inside calmly. Neuvillette is positive he misheard. His mind is playing tricks, or maybe he's getting old and his hearing is failing him because there is no way you just called him Neuvillette, his full government name, and not Neuvi, baby, honey, love, or something like that

He'd even accept a weird pet name like your fridge or your little hilichurl

The thing about Neuvillette is he knows he didn't forget anything. He will not rush to a calendar or even think to do so because he remembers everything you tell him, even things you say in passing. Like that dress you told him about 2 months ago, or the cute sea otter that you said reminded you of him

"Mon amour.... my love, my life, I think I forgot to tell you that I love you and that I'm leaving" He tries to play it cool, Nevi thinks if he can pretend he forgot to say anything that you'll correct yourself

When you don't, you're pretty sure you can hear thunder rumble in the distance as a storm tries to roll in

Say it's a prank right now or it'll storm for a week straight, he may be a big and tough dragon but he cannot handle this from you

If you crack and smile or start laughing Neuvi is not pleased, he's not pleased regardless when you reveal it's a prank

The storm is rolling in for different reasons now

He won't play the prank back on you but expect some long, displeased stares and some major frowns from him

You almost made his heart beat out of his chest in panic

Wriothesley

Wriothesley almost laughs when you call him by his full name and not at least a Wrio

like there is no way he doesn't know you're being a menace right now

so please be prepared for the entire next week because Wrio is ruthless when it comes to payback and he will get his just desserts

I mean really, Wrio is vicious when it comes to throwing this back in your face

"Oh hey there y/n, buddy, pal, my best friend" for a week straight...

So rude....

He will tell you upfront before he leaves for work when you do this that since he's just some guy you know now that he'll call you his friend from now on

and he will just walk right out the door after that. Not even a glance back or a teasing smirk, just leaves the house and goes to work unbothered for the rest of the day

that's what you think anyway, even though he knows this is a prank he actually is really bothered and talks to Sigwennie about what happened and he's pouting and sulking at work

even the inmates at the fortress can see that their boss is bothered by something

Please say sorry soon and start calling him his cute pet names or he's going to struggle at work and Sigwinne can't deal with this for anymore than a day because Wrio can be insufferable

[plutoasteroids]

PAC - How Will Your FS' Siblings Feel About You

This is a general reading so take what resonates and leave what doesn't. Especially because not everyone's FS has siblings so if you aren't drawn to a pile that could be why or there are just no messages for you in this reading.

THIS READING IS ALLEGEDLY FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY. I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY CHOICES MADE IN RELATION TO MY READINGS!

Pile 1 is the picture of Alexa Demie in sunglasses

Pile 2 is the Black and White picture

Pile 3 the picture with Fairy wings

Pile 4 The picture with her holding a knif3

PILE 1

Okay I do feel like your FS' siblings may be unsure of you at first because you might be someone completely different from their usual type for example you could be of a different race or background that they aren't used to so they may feel a bit sceptical about you especially at the very early stages of them getting to know you. Regardless of a tough first impression I feel like most of their siblings will eventually like you but there is one sibling that will hate your guts and the reasons could vary from person to person but overall it's just this vibe of them feeling like you aren't good enough for their sibling (your fs) and to be honest I don't think that specific sibling will ever like you there is a lot of deep-rooted jealousy and insecurity that you trigger in them without you knowing but anyways it won't affect your marriage/ relationship with your fs or the rest of their family. For the actually nice siblings of your fs, I feel like you will all have a lot of fun together going on adventures and trips and just enjoying life. At some point which will be pretty early on they might even start seeing you as their sibling and it will feel like things aren't complete if you aren't there too (sooo sweet). To be honest I feel you will have a specific one of your fs sibling that you will be super super close with just the connection is flowy and fun, it will feel like you guys are life long best friends. Don't worry about the one hater they genuinely won't matter, it will be annoying but it won't matter. Your fs family will be on your side and your fs side so they will immediately shut down the bs every time they act out of line.

PILE 2

Okayyyy so you guys are my controversial pile lmfaooo. So, upon first impression your fs' siblings will definitely find you confident, sexy alluring, badass and just glamorous. You take care of yourself and dress well and they can see that some more than others. I feel like you won't necessarily have a friendly relationship with your fs' siblings it will be more civil than anything especially because I feel like you won't see them much, so you won't get the chance to build a deeper relationship with them. I also feel like you have your fs wrapped around your little finger and they do notice this it's honestly obvious to everyone that your fs worships the actual ground you walk on but anywayssss. To the controversial bit I do feel like your fs will have a sibling that will have a bit of a crush on you but its nothing more than an innocent crush and it won't develop into anything more and I do feel like it will be something that will be joked about for a long time. My pile 2 I feel like you will be marrying into money. So overall this will be a very civil relationship with them no hate, no jealousy, you just get along with them well especially on the few ocassions that you do and will see them.

PILE 3

Okay, they will view you as pretty innocent. They may be the type to make overtly inappropriate jokes and you may not react to them, or you will seem confused making you innocent in their eyes. I feel like your fs' siblings are more on the loud, fun, obnoxious side and you aren't like that so to them they will view you as quite shy and reserved because you aren't acting as loud and carefree as they are. I feel like you are the type to use logic and be more observant in situations involving people which will extend to them feeling like you are quite cold towards them which isn't the caseagain because oyu are more of an observer than someone who will engage inw hatever they are doing. They may not necessarily like you nor will they ahte you because you will still be quite polite it's just that you won't engage in their version of fun which may make them see you as stuck up and a bit boring. Overall, the relationship here feels a bit rough round the edges but it will get better with time as you all learn each other they will understand that it's just how you are and there is no bad blood between all of you.

PILE 4

This pile is not afraid to get down and dirty. You are outspoken, confident and the no bullshit type. You may like things direct and straight to the point which might honestly catch people off guard and in this case your fs' siblings. I feel like they may have grown up in a setting where you have to always be polite or pick your words carefully, but you aren't like that which might come as a shock and will take a lot of getting used to on their end. I feel like there is equal learning, you learning to be more sensitive because not everyone takes being overly direct well ad them learning that you mean well but you are just very open and outspoken. I feel like overall though they will like you and you will get along quite well with them it will just take some getting used to each other. I wouldn't say you will be the best of friends, but you will certainly get along well with each other, and you will make good memories together. They will learn to let loose, and you will have wild, childlike fun...eventually.

[morphids]

false pretenses, hange zoë

so im absolutely obsessed with this thank you for putting this idea in my head😰😵‍💫wish i could tag u anon </3

original request here [X]

pairing: college au - engineering student!hange x student!female reader - they/them pronouns for hange, afab anatomy for both

summary: the best way to get what you want is to do it yourself right?

warnings: listen this is real slutty ok, explicit sexual content 18+ minors dni - loser lesbian!hange (hange has that autistic nerd rizz), its always the quiet ones, r thinks she’s slick af, poc friendly- no physical descriptions of reader, kinda-bratty/switch!reader (r gets v subby) top-leaning!Hange (im a top i swear), strap, dirty talk, nicknames, munch activities, fingering, finger sucking, cunnilingus, praise, brief asphyxiation, i cant think of anymore

wc: 4.9k (not proofread)

an: excuse the shitty engineering attempts im not a stem girl!! hope y’all enjoy <3

—

You watched Hange from across the library, gazing over their features as they frowned. Brow creased as they solved equations that your professor had so kindly left everyone to complete after your seminar. Sometimes you’d catch their teeth nip at their bottom lip, in pensive thought.

Hange wasn't around many people, not that you saw anyway, usually kept to themselves or with the same two friends you'd seen them with. Their head often deep into a book or back hunching over a desk working some form of assignment, headphones placed over their hair.

Looking over their face, you studied Hange's strong jaw, the way their slender hand held up the weight of their head as the other scribbled down notes into their notebook. The sluttiest black tank top layered underneath an unbuttoned white dress shirt, draping over baggy brown straight-leg pants. Hair up with so many layers resting against their cheeks, framing their lovely face as multiple strands plumed out from within the hair tie. Their amber eyes lay under small, thin, glasses atop their nose. God, that nose. Perfect to sit on. Perfect to ride to holy heaven.

If it wasn’t clear, you'd had a bit of an eye on Hange for the last semester, they had transferred from a different university a while back. Upon seeing them for the first time, you wanted to speak to them. Their slightly introverted nature had made you keep your distance, though, but it was getting harder to fight the urge to go talk to them. I mean, how weird would that be? Hi, I know you don't know me but I've been obsessed with you since you transferred here? Yeah right.

No, you had to be more creative than that.

You needed a valid reason to speak to Hange so that you didn’t come across as the world’s biggest creep. Luckily for you, Hange was by far the smartest person on campus. Grades always incredibly well above average, scoring top marks in every assignment they’d submitted. So much so, that the professor had pretty much already taken them in under his wing. Due to their helpful nature and extensive knowledge in a fair range of fields, your professor was preparing Hange to be his TA after graduation. Oftentimes, passing Hange over to tutor students in his classes that lacked the grades that were expected of them at this stage in the course.

And even more luckily for you, you seemed to be really struggling with the new module. Or at least that’s what your alibi was. Who needed to know that your grades had actually been consistent passes? You were pretty strong at your theory, but you had only slightly slacked off in your classes during your professors teachings of mathematical methods and linear equations. It couldn’t hurt to get a bit of extra assistance to fill in the missing gaps.

Deciding to bite the bullet, you walked up to Hange, they barely noticed a presence beside, music blaring through the headphones, until your shoes came into their peripheral vision, spotting the black boots right beside the chair.

Their gaze followed up your bare legs, eyes slightly widened as they realised you were indeed about to induce a conversation with them and not just wandering past to get to an actual destination. They removed one cup of their headphones off their ear, holding it up with their fingers so they could listen to you. You noticed the multiple bands resting above their knuckles, bulky metallic rings varied with different patterns and weldings.

“Oh, um— hi?” Hange spoke, slightly confused, they had been deeply distracted into their equations, not anticipating someone coming to speak to them. Definitely not you, of all people.

“Hey, um— sorry to ruin your flow, but I was wondering if you could,” hesitance struck you, feeling your carefully planned script fall apart under Hange’s gaze, eyes still wide and nodding their head as a prompt for you to finish, removing the headphones fully to rest the band on the back of their neck. Why are they so hot, you thought, fumbling over yourself. “If you could tutor me with this module, you’re the smartest person in this place according to Mr. Fritz,” You joked, softening your words with a meek giggle. An attempt to make not make it seem like a big deal even though you could feel your heartbeat thump in your ears and throat.

“You can totally say no, of course,” you quickly added, after realising you didn’t actually offer them an out, not wanting to pressure Hange into having more on their plate than there already was.

Hange’s eyebrows pulled together, lips split as a wash of suspicious perplexity strained their features, only for a second before returning to normal. Back to their friendly warmth with an amiable smile stretched on their lips.

“Sure, I’d love to help,” Their eyes held yours, you to let out a faint breath of relief. “I’ve got a few things to do on campus for a while, but, I can meet you after?”

“That’d be great, thank you!” You offered to exchange phone numbers for ‘easier communication’ to plan around Hange’s schedule, before duly proposing that they come over to your dorm, as the library closed after five o’clock, and your roommates were gone for a week-long field trip.

“I’ll let you know when I’m on the way, then,” They smiled, an amused smirk etching itself on their lips before they could help it.

“That’s perfect, I appreciate it,” You beamed, “I’ll, um, leave you to your equations,” You stepped away, turning around to make your exit from the library. Hange didn’t miss the way your eyes fell onto their lips for just, perhaps, a little bit too long than was deemed socially conventional, or the way you seemed to grow flustered as they stimmed with their fingers. Hange’s gaze followed you as you walked on, trailing down to your exposed legs underneath a short skirt that hung over thick, sinuous thighs. Hange looked back down at their notebook, as they chuckled, shaking their head with endearment at your crafty deceit.

Hange certainly isn’t stupid, due to their proximity working with the professor, they were painfully aware of the more… problematic students in Mr. Fritz’ class. You were never one of them. In fact, he had even used some of your past assignments as example guidelines for the newer students. Needing help with the easiest part of the module? No way were they believing that.

—

A knock at your door, and you smoothened the fabric of your clothes, hoping to reduce any lingering creases or maybe even just to calm your nerves. You had tidied up, making your bedroom look more presentable and less like a cove of disordered chaos.

Opening the door, there stood Hange, handsome and ravishing in all their tall glory. A hand reached up to stabilise the one strap of their backpack that hung on their shoulder, the other strap dangling behind. You tried to stop, you really did, but you trailed over their figure, lured into their nonchalant stance that just exuded casual confidence as they looked back at you, an eyebrow cocked up.

Breaking contact, you welcomed them in, Hange dropped their backpack onto the floor to relieve the weight of all the heavy textbooks from their shoulders. Hand raising back up to remove the headphones from their neck, placing them atop their bag, hooked on the top handle.

You sat at your couch, leaving enough space for Hange to comfortably place themselves on. Trying to be discreet, you watched as they took off their dress shirt, hanging it on the arm of the couch, you presumed Hange was using the layer against the slightly cooler breeze outside— you couldn’t lie, you were kinda glad to see it off. Hange’s bicep was well sculpted against their black tank top as it melted into toned forearms. Tanned and strong. There was a brown cord bracelet dangling from their wrist as they rested it on their propped up knee. God, I’m no better than a man, you thought.

“So, what’d you need help with?” Hange pushed up their glasses with their ringed index finger, you wondered if that was something they often did subconsciously before beginning a task.

“Linear algebra and probability theory,”

“Hmm,” Hange nodded, a short tug at the corner of their lips, leaning their elbows on the top of their thighs, “Yeah, that stuff is pretty hard, but,”

“What did you score on the last exam?” Hange turned their head your way, amber eyes meeting yours, with a devious look.

You froze, shit. It felt like a trick question, surely Hange didn’t know the score you totalled? Surely, Hange didn’t know that you were just seven marks from a full score? It almost felt as if they were luring you into a trap; to see if you’d double down with the lie and continue with this facade or if you’d crack and admit defeat. Lose-lose either way, you’d end up embarrassed or having to make yourself look incredibly foolish.

Voice breaking in your throat, you held eye contact. Whereas Hange’s was steady and sharp, yours felt like you were just exposing yourself further the longer you remained silent.

“I-I don’t remember,” A neutral answer, you decided, totally not because you had been rendered nonverbal, clearing your throat and seeing the way Hange’s lips stretched fully into a knowing smirk.

“Hmm, you don’t remember,” They were definitely mocking you now, voice low, humming and melodic as you felt the thunder in your chest beat. You looked down at your thighs, fingers fiddling with a loose hem on your skirt.

“Getting the impression I wasn’t invited over for some homework,” They chuckled, leaning back against the support of the couch, arm stretching over the top.

One sentence and it was out in the open, the illusion you thought was so deceiving completely shattered as your true intentions came to light. Yup, embarrassing, just as you thought.

“So, why don’t you tell me the actual reason you invited me over,” If the last sentence was a stab to your confidence, this one was an extra twist in the wound. Hange was smirking at you, the mirthful look in their eyes showing you that they were relishing in your embarrassment and flustered face.

You swallowed a deep breath, feeling your skin ignite both with anticipation and nerves so lethal you almost wanted to bury yourself underneath the seat, never to be seen again.

“I, uh—“ you mumbled, the script had truly crumbled, you had no plan B apart from just spewing out the truth. You’d die before you had to do that.

“You seem a bit flustered,” Hange hummed, leaning on the back of the couch, as their thighs came to spread, “Why’s that, hm?”

The unlevelled confidence that radiated from them just seemed to further your own unease. It wasn’t often you felt that way, usually being the one to initiate flirtations with others. Yet, everything about Hange just seemed to drag you into a state of bashfulness, totally out of character as you failed to make eye contact.

“Will you look at me, love?”

You ceded, eyes meeting, as you let out a sigh. Hange placed a testing hand upon your bare knee, tentative runs of their thumb over the skin. Soft, Hange thought. The feeling eliciting shivers down your spine, warm waves down to your core, reducing you to a state of feeling unreasonably touch-starved. Hange gazed down your thighs, deliciously covered by the fabric of your skirt, moistening the edge of their upper lip with the tip of their tongue, before flickering their eyes back to you.

“What is it you really want?”

Fuck. A short gasp escaped your throat as their hand trailed up, fingers reaching underneath the hem of the short skirt. Hange was toying with you, no doubt about it.

“I… I wanted to speak to you,”

Humming, their hand moved further, “Why?”

“I found you…” you paused when their fingertips skimmed over your panties, your thighs twitched. “C-captivating, needed a reason to speak to you,”

Hange chuckled, as they leaned forward to reach the bottom of your ear, your breath hitching as their lips ghosted over the skin.

“You could’ve just asked, pretty,” Hange’s voice whispered against your ear, as you closed your eyes. You were so down bad.

“Think I haven’t noticed you, huh?” One light kiss at your skin, “Think I haven’t seen the way you stare at me?” Another kiss, ever so gentle that you almost melted into them, biting back a needy groan. Hange’s hand squeezed at your thigh, fingers towards your centre, just barely grazing over the fabric.

“I mean—god, darling, if you wanted me to fuck you that badly all you needed to do was ask nicely,” Hange’s teeth nipped at your lobe, drawing out the skin with it.

“So, ask me nicely,”

Another squeeze at your inner thigh, and no longer could you withhold the groan that you’d been holding back. You were fighting so many demons right now, hesitant to verbalise your inner desires. Hange remained near your ear, licking at the soft skin. Fuck it.

“I want you so fucking bad,” Your voice came out so much whinier than you expected, used to hearing that tone from others, but never from yourself.

“Aren’t you gonna say please?” They chuckled, dragging it out, teasing. Hange eyed the pout at your lips, the slight frown in your brows—could tell you were used to getting what you wanted easily, to not submitting. They planned to fix that.

“Fucks sake—please, Hange,” You pressed your thighs together, trapping Hange’s hand as they gripped you, as a prompt for them to do something, anything.

“Better.”

With their other hand, the one not currently trapped in between your legs, Hange grabbed at your hip. Kneading over your hip bone, where the dainty zip of your skirt dangled. The sensation caused your thighs to loosen autonomously, as Hange opportunely released their hand an inch. Slipping underneath the hem of your damp panties, fingers teasing at your slit, collecting your slick.

“You this messy just for me?” Their sinful, warm words made you shiver, goosebumps down your arms as they hit your ear. You wriggled, skirt rolled up to your hips, exposing your panties. Messy, indeed. You were growing impatient as you attempted to roll your hips into their hand, craving contact. Hange’s fingers recoiled, pushing from your slit pulling the fabric with as they tutted. Tightening their other hand on your hip once more, stilling your movements.

“C’mon, surely you’ve figured out how this works by now,” Hange’s words sounded so sweet, if it wasn’t for the absolute torture lurking underneath. Eager to tease and play with you for as long as it would take for you to actually listen and cede. With a brattish groan and a sigh, you nodded.

“Words, darling, use them.”

“Y-yes, shit—all for you, Hange.” Voice breathy, avidly impatient. Your core leaked more slick when it clenched, totally ruining your panties as it clung to your folds. The sight absolutely delectable. “I need you so bad—can’t take it,”

There it was. Finally.

“Was that so hard?” Hange hummed, a satisfied smirk creeping over their lips as they teased a finger down your slit, only slightly breaking through your entrance. Pressing your lips against theirs as you whimpered into the kiss, biting at Hange’s plump bottom lip.

“Now then, be a good girl and stay put.”

Hange pressed their finger fully into you, soon adding another two once they saw how keenly you were taking them already, walls wet and ready. Your head fell into Hange’s neck, meek moans spilling from your mouth as their slender fingers hit the back of your squishy walls.

Without removing themselves from your warm heat, Hange cased a hand at your ass, pulling you on top of their lap. Using their clothed thigh to rut their fingers up even further, other hand forcing your hips into gyration against them. The friction from their jeans hit against your sensitive clit and with their fingers inside you, you were a hot mess already. Needy and desperate from their heartless teasing.

“Ah—that’s…fucking good,” You hissed, as Hange lapped their tongue down your neck, before sucking, branding you with many dark marks leading down to your chest.

Catching the hem of your shirt, you threw your arms up to discard it, revealing your breasts to the room’s cool air, heaving up and down with heavy breaths. Hange almost moaned at the sight of you, shirtless with a short skirt pooled around your hips, draping over their knees. Of course you weren’t wearing a bra, they thought. As Hange thrust their fingers into you, their mouth wrapped over your nipples, flicking over them with their tongue. Nipping lightly over the peaks. You arched your back into them, feeling yourself grow closer, the tension in your abdomen building as you bit your lip.

Your hips lost their rhythm, aimlessly chasing the feeling of Hange’s fingers deep within you. Languid gasps and breathless moans escaping your lips. So, so close to your peak until the sensation was suddenly stripped away, leaving you totally empty. Hange removing their fingers, you could hear your own slick cry as they did, your walls tensing.

“Wha-“ You were a bit dazed, a truthfully a little annoyed, you had been so close.

“You’ve not earned it yet,” Hange laughed, clearly relishing in your frustration. They liked this, liked making you destitute, left wanting. Hange had every intention of fixing that sugared insolence they could see within you. Had every intention of tearing it inside out.

Hange reached down to their leather belt, maintaining eye contact as they unclasped the metal peg, lifting you up off their knees slightly to pull their jeans down, before removing their tank top. Their chest rose up and down, bound beneath a black binder. You could see their own centre soaking through their underwear. You ogled their figure, groaning as your sinful thoughts worsened. The kind of imagination that would surely commit you to purgatory indefinitely.

Hange pecked your charming pout away, before bringing their soaked fingers up in front of your mouth. Spreading your lips open with their thumb, shoving it inside so you could taste your own slick on it. Their other fingers followed suit.

“Clean up your mess,”

Hange watched you, your lips bruised and plump as they split to allow entrance for their index and middle finger. Sucking your juices off them as you moaned, gagging as they hit the back of your throat. Brows pinched and eyes brimmed with tears from the hot burn. Hange’s thumb pressed against your bottom teeth, pulling your jaw open, a line of drool slipping out from the corner of your open mouth. Hange would kill just about anyone for you, they thought. Irreversibly addicted to you, your needy eyes and the way you fell to follow their orders.

“So beautiful,”

Hange hung over you. Looking into your glassy eyes, with the hold against your jaw, pinky finger at your chin, they held your mouth open, spitting on your tongue.

“Swallow.”

You did. Quite happily as you groaned, muffled as your mouth was stuffed. Feeling yourself grind against Hange’s bare thigh, your core clenching around nothing as you yearned for the feeling of their fingers back inside you. Your inner thighs completely soaked, spreading it all over Hange’s bare legs.

“Such a good girl—so obedient for me,” They hummed, relieving their attack on your mouth, taking their fingers out and grasping the back of your neck, “Wonder if anyone else has ever slut you out like this, hm?”

You shut your eyes, leaning into their touch as you whined out a passive ‘No’, shaking your head to Hange’s question, not fully trusting the strength of your own voice. Fuck, you were totally gone, lost in salacity and paralysed by your own thirst. Almost brain-dead as your desire thumped in your ears, and throbbed at your core. About to explode from your own ardour as it’d eagerly been building up. Hange was divinely addictive, a substance you should never have risked trying. You could never possibly go back now, too ruined to ever possibly go to anyone else. Totally and utterly hooked on Hange.

“Aw, look how docile you are now, pretty.”

Hange kissed at your neck, coming back up to meet your lips again as you mewled against them.

“H-Hange— please, need more,” You squirmed against their lap, “Can’t take it, need to cum so badly,” You were finally begging, hesitation leaving you to fend for yourself as Hange had you right where they wanted.

“Yeah? How do you want it, baby?”

In between strained breaths, you pointed to your drawers. Strategically placed next to the couch, as Hange reached over. Chuckling once they saw your strap in its resting place.

“This what you want?”

Nodding, you rutted against Hange’s thigh, forcing some friction to rub against your clit.

“Please, fuck,” You sobbed, visions of Hange stuffing you with your strap forcing you to squeeze your thighs against Hange’s lap.

“Since you asked so nicely,”

Hange gently nudged you off their lap, to allow them to slide the harness over their thighs. You sat beside them, legs folded underneath yourself. Hand placed delicately on the side of their head, pressing sweet kisses down the skin of their neck as they adjusted the harness to fit around the circumference of their thighs. Hange shivered under your lips, eyes shutting as they indulged in the sensation for a moment, cursing as you began to lick under their lobe. You were delightful.

Hange’s hand danced along your thigh, fingers streaming past your slit as they groaned at how unbelievably wet you were.

“You’re fucking sublime,” They groaned, dragging you over their lap, hands ripping both the skirt and your ruined panties off your legs. Hange laid their back on the couch, folding your bare thighs over their jaw. You bit your lip in keen anticipation, it was almost as if you had manifested this.

“Fuck—Hange, I’ve dreamt about this for so fucking long,” Your legs twitched above Hange’s face, as a radiant smirk shone on their lips.

“Yeah? Thought about this?” Their hands clung around the plush skin of your ass, fingers squeezing tightly. They pulled you on to a steady stream along their face, teased a lick up your folds before your slit was pressed down against their flat tongue, lapping up your slick as their nose rubbed over your clit.

“F-fuck, so much—was just like this,” You gasped as you rode Hange’s face, watching dumbly as their face contorted with gluttonous solace. Eyebrows creasing as they focused on eating you out. You crumbled, finally feeling some release after being teased for what felt like many unbearable hours. Truly, it was better than you could have imagined, Hange’s fly-aways catching on their cheeks and the sides of their face as they grew dampened, your slick slapping their cheeks and fogging up their glasses from splatters and wet heat.

Resting your hand on their knees for stability, your fingers acted on their own as you came to reach underneath the strap that was dangled in the air, waiting to be used. Your fingers came to meet Hange’s folds, sliding easily past their sensitive labia, nearly as wet as your own, aching. Having been unbearably turned on since they saw your body’s visceral responses to them.

“That’s—so fucking hot, shit,” You whimpered, lost in the feeling of Hange’s insistent tongue slowly flicking deep against you and the way their centre seemed to just suck your fingers right in. Hange let out a muffled, guttural grunt into you, the vibrations making you clamp your thighs tight against their head. You almost felt apologetic, if it wasn’t for Hange, who seemed to get riled up by the very prospect of being choked out by your luscious thighs. Oxygen supply decreasing as amber eyes rolled into the back of their head, toned arms pulling you closer against them. Leaving behind marks on your skin that outlined where their fingers had been digging in.

Whilst simultaneously, you were plunging your fingers knuckles deep into their entrance. Your body leaning back as you bucked your wrist against them, fingers curling inwards against their walls. Hange’s eyes were stuck on you, watching as your body rocked against their mouth. Head hung back and breasts perked up as beads of sweat trickled down, illuminating your skin, the fine hairs around your stomach standing upright. Looking properly, they spotted a few moles scattered on your stomach, your lips were swollen as they bit out mutters of curses under your breath. Still trying to return the favour even despite feeling ruined. How divine.

The sight alone brought Hange to their knees, hazy pleasure erupting through them as they felt their body tremble. Truthfully, Hange seldom let people touch them, opting to typically give rather than receive, yet they felt like giving you permission to do whatever you wished with their body. They were so hypersensitive, extra responsive under your ambrosial touch. Debauched gasps melted into your core, still lapping at your slick as they rode through their own peak. Shuddering, as they seized their thighs against your wrist.

“Did you cu-“ Your excited, breathy voice was cut off by Hange grabbing your wrist, ripping your fingers out of themselves from overstimulation, their centre tensing with arousal dripping down their folds. Hange nodded as an affirmative, you could tell they were slightly stunned. Hange held your wrist against your back, elbow folding over as they lifted themselves up. Disconnecting your slit from their mouth, and moving you around as you returned to facing each other, your legs resting over their lap once more.

Hange’s spare hand caressed your jaw, uniting your lips together as they melded over yours. Sloppy, open-mouthed kisses, slipping their tongue into your mouth. You whined as they angled the tip of the strap over your folds, your slick lubricating the plastic. Hange was frenzied, desperately needing to see you stuffed with the silicone length. Elated from their own high, their words grew more depraved.

“Need to fuck this pussy,” They rasped, voice at the lowest frequency you’d heard from them, “Prettiest fucking pussy I’ve ever seen,”

Your lips parted as Hange slipped the tip inside, stretching your walls out as you gripped onto their shoulders. Hissing as you adjusted to Hange burying themselves into your tender flesh. Sinking yourself down on the strap as your hips undulated against them, pressure building up again within your abdomen as Hange fucked the strap deep into you. Tip massaging over your inner walls, repeatedly hitting that same spot that made your breath catch in your throat and your vision go white.

“Fuc—keep going, pleas—please,” Mewling, you shut your eyes, eyebrows furrowing as your nails came to scratch at Hange’s back. Your words coming out in broken sobs, tears spilling down your cheeks as you were split apart on your own strap.

“So full—Hange—“

Hange sucked against your neck, then licking over the sore spots.

“Taking me so well,” Hange praised, voice sweetly laden with saccharine honey, “Sat so pretty on my cock,”

“ngh—Shit-I-I’m gonna come,” You were shaking, thighs trembling and abdomen twitching. Finally about to release after being so cruelly edged twice. The expression on your way was picture-worthy, fucked out and wanton.

“That’s it,” Hange kept rutting up into you, muttering praises, “Come all over me, baby,” A nibble at your earlobe and you were done for. Your climax reached you, tensing up your spine, mouth agape as you shuddered, face contorted.

“You look so pretty when you come,”

Your core tightened as you spilled out your release; the force pushing the strap out from inside you, squirting all over Hange’s lap. The hardest you’ve ever come in your life.

Hange didn’t relent just yet, making sure to fuck you through your peak so you could ride every second of it. When you finally stilled, your head fell onto Hange’s neck, murmuring softly against their clavicle. Sighing, you lifted your head up, greeting Hange’s half-lidded eyes with your own. A beat and Hange reconnected your lips together, gently kissing you as you came down. Mind still fuzzy and reeling. Their hands caressed your hips, thumbs running down your skin.

“You’re beautiful,” Hange whispered, pressing a tender peck down against your swollen lips, “Wish you would’ve talked to me earlier,”

You laughed, breathy and uneven, as bashfulness struck again. Once the cloud of lust had settled, you were left with nerves, that doe look back in your eyes as you weren’t quite sure what to do now. What if Hange never wants to see you again? After all of this, you don’t think you could handle being emotionally ghosted. It was unlike you entirely, but the interest in Hange remained, simmering as you relished in their tight hold— a hold that almost promised you it wasn’t going to leave. You dared to dream.

“What are you thinking about?” Hange muttered, resting their forehead against yours, eyes closing.

“Um…” You hummed, hesitant, “This, I guess, I’m a little… nervous,”

“I guess I am, too,” They chuckled, pressing their head closer, hands still setting your skin aflame, “But, i-if you’d like to, I wanna take you out,” Pausing, “On a real date, that is, not under false tutoring pretences,”

You pulled your head back, trying to suppress the smile that threatened to stretch, an attempt at masking the hopeful beam in your eyes.

“I’d love that.”

—

listen u guys 😭 someone pls sedate me or give me a lobotomy cos what am i meant to do when i PINE over 2d characters

let me know if u guys enjoyed <3 i love to read ur comments and inputs

[eilishalways]

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

all you wanna do is kiss me

summary: billie eilish runs into her crush at the grammys 😻

warnings: a LOTTTT of blushing LMAO

a/n: so billie came out???!!!?? also - part two is out!!

billie was nervous. very nervous. not because she was at the grammy awards, but because you were gonna there. billie had a massive crush on you. since 6 months ago. it was all because of one cheeky insta post you had made. billie remembers freaking out when she saw it, and that’s when she knew. you two had talked to eachother at events before but weren’t actually friends or anything like that. billie was really hoping that something would change tonight.

as she took her seat beside finneas at the table, she half hoped you’d be on the other side of the hall, and half hoped you’d be sat beside her. the second part of her was happy. as you sat down, billie tried to suppress her giddy smile. she quickly noticed though, your perfume. musky and wet - you were wearing eilish no 2. billie freaked out in her head knowing that YOU were wearing HER perfume.

“hey billie!” you said. billie said hello back, and you greeted the rest of the table. “how are you?” you asked billie, a smile forming on your face. billie blushed slightly and replied, “i’m good - kinda nervous though. how about you?” “i’m nervous too. i really hope i win something tonight.” you laughed. last year’s grammys had been a bad one for you - you didn’t win anything. “i’m sure you’re gonna sweep it tonight,” billie reassured you, “your album was fucking amazing. i was listening on repeat for a week after it released.” she laughed, before regretting the oversharing she had done. you seemed eased though, and thanked billie for her support.

a waiter came round with flutes of champagne. you reached one, and billie did the same. you both reached for the same one, before billie removed her hand from your hand and grabbed a different one. you both laughed but you were both left blushing. billie didn’t notice this though.

“i like your dress.” billie said to you, trying to keep the conversation going. you smiled at her and replied “thank you!! i wasn’t sure if i liked it too much, but my stylist insisted. i’m so glad you like it.” billie blushed again at your comment, and became hyper aware of how red she must be at that point. you two continued to talk about your outfits, hair & makeup until a photographer came up to your table looking for photos. everyone at the table smiled for the group photos before the man moved on to taking photos of pairs. he waited to get a picture of you and billie until he was done, and billie tried not to all out scream when you pushed yourself into her arm to get in frame. the man went on to the next table, but you remained on her arm for a few seconds, saying to her “you look really good, by the way.”

billie was about to lose her cool at that point, so she was excused herself to the bathroom. she came back just in time for the awards to start being presented. she hasn’t put anything out that year, so she wasn’t nominated for anything, but she watched as the winners received their awards and made their speeches. the night was nearly finished and the final, biggest award of the night had its nominees announced - album of the year. you were among one of the nominees, alongside some very big names. you didn’t think you had any chance at all, but billie reassured you that everything would be fine.

“and the winner is… y/n l/n - (album name)!” the woman announcing the award said. you screamed in delight, and hugged billie. you slowly made your way up to the stage, accepted the award, and started your speech. you thanked your team, family, friends - all the usual stuff. but then, you thanked billie. you said into the mic “and i wanna say thank you to billie eilish. girl, you’re one of my biggest inspirations. i love you. i wear your perfumes every day! and thank you for being my hype girl tonight!!”, and then you walked off stage and back to your seat. you winked at billie before she blurted out “can i have your number?”

[okay-babe]

Saw your Alastor request game and HAD to give it a try

A wholesome “ZIP ME”. Alastor helping with getting ready for the day or assist and just shows appreciation 🥰🥰🥰🥰

In love with you for requesting this prompt because I am in such a fluff writing mood rn <3

(Also for my anons who also requested this prompt, I still plan to write something for those as well, so they should be out before too long!)

Morning Routine

tags: alastor x fem! reader, established relationship, extreme levels of fluff, domestic bliss, soft alastor

Throughout your life (and death) you had woken up to many a nice view, from the rivers and lush wetlands of Louisiana to the sight of the city hundreds of feet below you.

And yet, none compared to the view of your beloved when he was half-ready for his day, which was typically the stage at which he woke you from your always deep and well needed slumber.

And today was no different.

Alastor hummed a distantly familiar tune from behind your still sleeping form as he slid in beside you on the bed you shared, body resting atop the covers as he leaned forward to press a kiss behind your ear. In response, you shifted slightly, nose scrunching the smallest bit as your lover's breaths tickled the soft flesh he had so very recently offered his affections to.

Alastor chuckled slightly under his breath at the sight, raising a gloved hand up to the exposed portion of your upper arm to run a feather-light touch down its length, immediately causing you to shiver.

After a few more moments of tickling breaths and nearly fleeting touches, your breathing pattern shifted slightly, eyes blinking open and squinting at the sudden invasion of light that was always there to greet you each morning.

Groaning softly, you were quick to close your eyelids once more, brow furrowed with displeasure at your wakefulness as the Radio Demon laughed beside you.

"Why good morning, dearest, how lovely to see you!"

He teased exuberantly as you huffed in reply, just barely opening your eyes enough to make it obvious that you were glaring at him before closing them once more to yawn.

"Ah ah ah,"

Your lover tutted from beside you, his grin wide and immensely amused as he continued,

"I'm afraid the time for rest is over, my dear. No more exhaustion allowed."

You scoffed in response, only just barely fighting off the urge to flip him off as you sat up slightly, tugging your knees toward your chest and blinking your blurred vision away to the sound of barely moving water and a whispered breeze that always seemed to flow through the far less inhabitable side of the room you and your husband slept in.

Satisfied with your vague efforts to get up for the day, Alastor hummed in contentment, standing just as he always did after waking you so he could continue his typical routine, allowing your hungry eyes to follow him eagerly.

It was like this every morning, and you'd be a fool to believe he didn't know and find some semblance of amusement within it, but even still you couldn't bring yourself to care.

You gained far too much enjoyment from watching your love's lithe and nimble fingers do up the buttons of his shirt and tie the fabric of his bow tie to feel any shame over it.

Or, at least, enough shame to make you stop.

You continued your enraptured staring for several more minutes, eyes trained heavily on the view of the overlord rolling up his sleeves and sliding his belt through the loops of his dress slacks as if he were a modern art exhibit designed to utterly enthrall you.

Your gawking continued all the way up until Alastor turned back toward where you were sitting upon the bed, his head tilted slightly in mock curiosity as he began to approach you once more, donning all but his coat, a sight which made you blush in spite of yourself.

Sure, you had known the demon for an extremely long time and had seen him in far more compromising and promiscuous positions and outfits than this, but still. There was just something about the sight of him, dress shirt sleeves rolled up over his elbows and svelte torso and legs so clearly in view, that made your heart rate quicken inside your chest.

"You're going to be late, you know."

Alastor all but crooned suddenly, snapping you out of your reverie with a few quick blinks and an awkward clear of your throat.

"Huh?"

You asked, sitting up slightly further as your lover began to leisurely unfold the clothing he'd laid out for you at the foot of the bed earlier that morning, no doubt all too aware of how slow you were prone to waking up and hoping to save some time.

The overlord chuckled, a subtle shake of his head highlighting his amusement as he looked in your direction once more, red eyes lingering in a manner that reminded you of just how tremendously the being standing at the end of the bed adored you.

He regarded you with a gentle and exasperated fondness as he replied,

"The reopening is today, dear heart."

He purred, grin as wide as ever as he approached further, extending his hand outward and helping to maneuver you so your legs were hanging off the side of the bed, ignoring the sudden panic in your expression brought on by his words and quickly silencing it before it could be vocalized with a quick press of his lips to yours.

He pulled away slowly afterward, index finger curling beneath your chin and lifting it to ensure you were looking him in the eye,

"And whatever would we do without our darling front desk receptionist there to woo our guests on sight?"

His tone was teasing now, lilting and oh-so amused as he took both of your hands in his and slowly pulled you upward and onto your feet, humming that same distantly familiar tune from earlier all the while.

"Not to worry though."

Alastor continued with a mocking tap of his index finger against the tip of your nose,

"With my help you'll be up and ready with time to spare."

He winked at that, instantly causing you to roll your eyes before knowingly bringing your arms up above your head, causing your love's grin to widen further at your immediate understanding of what was to come.

"Well look at you!"

He cried with feigned surprise and delight as he grasped gently at the hem of your sleep shirt, tugging it upward and over your head with a flourish before he knelt down before you and pulled your underwear downward just the same, his eyes never once leaving yours as he did so.

"You're becoming a regular pro at this, darling."

You scoffed a bit at that, though your lack of exasperation was made clear by the lifted corners of your mouth, never quite able to lay flat with your Alastor around.

Humming a different tune now, the sinner reached behind you on the bed to grasp at a new pair of undergarments for you, holding them open to make them easy to step into before pulling them up and rising with them, laying the fabric flat upon your hips before moving to help you with your bra.

Far too used to this process by now, you simply sighed and let your lover do as he would, your still tired body leaning into his every touch as he ran skilled fingertips up and down your spine and pressed them dexterously into the tense muscles of your shoulders until he felt you were sufficiently relaxed beneath his hands.

Once that was finished, he was quick to have you sit upon the bed, long fingers grabbing at your stockings and garters and bunching them up expertly before sliding them onto your feet and up your soft legs and thighs with ease, though he was notably slower with this task than he'd been with the previous two, taking his time to admire you and allowing his hands to feel your skin before covering it with the fabric in his grasp.

When he was finally satisfied with the state of your stockings, Alastor leaned back slightly, taking in the sight of you with a pleased smile and an ever adoring look in his eye before he placed twin kisses against the skin just above where your garters held your stockings into place, as if in farewell.

It was then and only then, with his desires to admire you satisfied (at least in part) that your beloved grabbed your work attire from the bed. It was something he had chosen for you himself when considering the concept of uniforms, a sweet yet professional looking black dress that you knew from having tried it on a few days prior fit you perfectly, (no doubt because your lover had long since memorized your measurements and given them to the tailor himself).

Pooling the rich fabric at your feet, Alastor looked up at you expectantly, and immediately, you stepped into the middle of it, allowing him to once more pull another garment up your body, rising with it as he had previously with your underwear until your arms were in the sleeves and all there was left to do was zip up the back.

Feeling the cool breeze upon your spine, you shivered slightly, the difference in temperatures striking.

"Al,"

You murmured, adjusting your hair to ensure it wouldn't get in the way of what came next,

"Would you mind?"

Immediately, the overlord was nodding in almost enthusiastic agreement, motioning for you to turn around for him to provide access to the still unzipped portion of your dress.

"Why of course not, dear heart. Let me see."

Blushing at the nickname in spite of it having seen years of persistent use, you did as you were told, turning 180 degrees until you were facing away from your lover, back bared to him so his deft fingers could easily find the gold trimmed zipper there.

Grasping onto the metal between his thumb and forefinger, the demon slowly began to tug it upward with a notable level of patience, his opposite hand moving to your shoulder to push at some of the fabric there until he'd created a patch of bare flesh to press a few soft kisses to, his teeth nipping at you ever so gently from time to time just to make you jump in surprise at the unexpected sensation.

This continued for a few quiet and very much appreciated moments until finally, the overlord moved away with a dramatized sigh, pulling the black fabric of your sleeve back over your shoulder before he finished zipping your dress up the rest of the way.

Hearing your darling take a step back from where he'd been standing just behind you, you were quick to turn around to face him, your smile growing brighter when you saw the immediate fondness and adoration in his eyes, that thinly veiled softness he reserved solely for you so very apparent that it made your heart lurch happily inside of your chest.

"What do you think, Al, am I presentable?"

You asked lightheartedly, giving him a slow spin as if wanting to make sure he saw every possible angle.

Alastor all but scoffed in response, though his eyes betrayed his affections far too obviously, making it easy to tell just how much he was enjoying your slightly slower morning together.

"Don't be silly darling, you're always the belle of the ball."

He teased, reaching out to take one of your hands in his eyes as he spoke, using it to tug you closer until you were nearly chest to chest with him, eyes widened in surprise.

The next thing you knew, his lips were on yours, warm, loving, and slow, before he finally pulled away with a sigh, expression contented and smile exceedingly genuine.

"Come on then, dear."

He said after a moment of silence, stepping away once more to guide you toward the bathroom attached to the room the two of you slept in,

"Let's finish getting you ready before Charlotte sends poor Vagatha after us for being so late."

[m0chisenpai]

Mochi what do you think about 90s model reader (think brandi quinones) and loumand (they 100 percent watch fashions shows in modern days)?

Its cannon that they like people who capture attention (*coff coff* lestat). I think they would meet her in a show and would send her flowers and letters to court her and all that jazz

Sorry if this is weird :/

vogue

˚｡⋆ louis de pointe du lac x black!fem!reader x armand

in which your pefermonce off and on the runway catches their attention

author note: I ate this up so much, I literally scoured Pintrest and fell down a rabbit hole and have to fight every desire in my body to do another multipart series for this

The production people move like flies past your eyes while you sit in your regal beauty. Eyes unblinking, legs crossed perfectly, your hair now braided pulled up into a bun with a few pieces falling and curled.

You hold the hand of Armand, his finger runs over and over. You've come to learn this calms not just your nerves but his as well. Louis remains off to the side, he is weary of cameras these days. Preferring to leave you and Armand to such matters.

But when you pout those lips and flutters those ethereal eyes he relents to sit to the sides.

When the interviewer settles in the chair he has your attention and your back straightens.

"Runway, Vogue and Dior, red carpets, music videos. But your most recent appearance in the critically acclaimed rock star The Vampire Lestat's music video put's you back in the public eye when you should look much more...different." That breaks your picturesque facade with a light giggle that crinkles your dark lined eyes,

"That damned name'

'Calm yourself my love.' You catch Louis' fleeting gaze.

"How does the face of the 80s and 90s reappear in the 2000s rained in blood and completely untouched by age?"

"Hmm I think I have my wonderous loves to thank for that, there are only so many things that can hide the thief of the night that is time. But I seem to be lucky to have escaped its grasp." Armand places a languid kiss to the back of your hand while Louis raises his glass from the side.

"I believe the Gift only encapsulated the beauty she had from the moment we first met." Armand speaks up.

"And this would be during your rookie years as an athlete may say?"

"Yes at the beginning of my runway career in my early 20s, though I would not turn till 30. Around the mid 80s I was found by my lovely companions when I was at my lowest. Watching from the sides. And I did everything to ensure not to fall in love."

"Cheeky." Louis coos in your mind.

"Let's go back then, how were you back then? You say you were at your lowest but your face was desired by so many."

"Beauty, fame, money, sex is all so fleeting. And the fashion industry sucked every bit out of you till you were a husk for them to drag along until the needles and knife was needed to hide any evidence of your decline."

Armand will never admit it out loud but he was particularly fond of the 80s and 90s. He loved the fashions o each era, but he fell in love with runway. It was theatre in an entirely new facet. Louis can recall, though his companions face was stone cold, the glimmer of warmth in his eyes that watched each and every model. Catching every small finite detail.

Louis was more than happy to donate and invest in the ocassional piece for Armand who returned the favor. Until one evening they are encaptured by a beauty amount the sea of tall skinny legs.

This angel that graced the runway one evening of Paris Fasion week. It was dull, Armand confided in Louis as they dressed for the show they and and a few exclusive members were invited to.

One by one Armand began to count them like sheep until she entered. A sheer black tube tob pencil skirt dress with a billowy white blouse beneath. Your eyes are smoky and sharp and your lips a bright chery red. When you walk, you lack the stiffness the other girls move with, no no you glide. The runway is your stage, you dance so beautifully.

Armand sits up as you walk past. He neded you then, he neededyou now.

When you are off you brush past the fussy designers who bark orders in French that is too fast and English far too broken. All you care to know is you have a period of relief to indulge in a smoke and soon after a bump from one of your acquaintances.

You slump in your seat, a cigarette warms you up as you enjoy the momentary silence until you are up again. You grow tired, bored of this. You see it boiling in your eyes, past the makeup, the eye liner and rouge.

From your side one of the assistants carefully moves to your side.

"For you ma'am a gift from some of our most generous investors of the arts."

"M' not sleeping with them" you mumble around the still lit cigarette which dangles from your lips as you open the card tucked into the dozens of fresh roses.

"A rose for a rose." You grumble putting out your cigarette on the card and getting up to squeeze into the sheer scandalous dress though you would hardly call it that with the pièce de résistance being an intricate veil that twists and covers and is encrusted with diamonds around your face and binding in the back.

As you go to line up, standing still for any changes and a quick make up touch you are nudged to get in line. But a thought lingers in your mind.

When you walk you can't help but wonder, which one of you wants to sleep and tell the tale, hm?

"On the contrary my dear." You almost falter when you turn to walk back. That man's voice sends shives down your spine as you carefully make sure not to falter. "We would prefer to have you more than just in the flesh."

His partner to the left flashes you a cocky smile. He's lucky you are being watched otherwise you would have scowled.

"Aw, don't scowl like that chere."

They follow you to London. Your picture is in all the tabloids and paprazzi is stationed outside of your hotel where you quckly find the bar. In an act of defiance, and trying to add your flare, you stopped during midwalk to kiss the collar of your mysterious suitor leaving a perfect red stain.

Since then your manager has been bombarded with numerous calls for editorials, spreads, and interviews.

"Another glass for her please."

Your eyes cut to the beautiful man whose eyes look enchanting through the fog of smoke he carefully clows away from your direction. A black turtle neck tucked into a pair of slacks to battle the chill.

But no words can describe the work of art that are his eyes which stare deep into your yours,

"I don't sleep with fashion fanatics, not anymore at least" you mumble into the dirty martini before a new one is placed in front of you.

The corner of his lips twitch into a mix of a smile and a smirk.

"Nah I'm not into the whole art of fashion. Just a simple collector is all," he watches how your luscious lips leave a red imprint along the rim of the glass.

"Oh? And do I fit your collection?"

He hums, "I'd dare to say you outshine it."

"Let me guess," you rest your cigarette in the ashtray to give him your undivided attention. "Your wife wants to watch doesn't she?" Your eyes look pass his shoulder at the women and some of your fellow workers.

"Your far off. Got no wife, but my companion does enjoy to watch ocasionally." Louis leans forward, his chin on your shoulder and his cold lips touch your ear. "And he's been watching this entire time my dear."

Your head quickly turns and sure enough, a man watches at the end of the bar. A gass half filled, his both arms rest on the counter and his eyes remain unmoving on you both.

"Put her tab on my card will you?" Your mysterious heart throb drops a card that clanks and you catch a glimps of the name.

"Louis de Pointe du Lac" you read it to yourself as he stands to walk languidly to the man. Placing a hand don his shoulder and sitting beside him.

You should be unnerved by their constant appearances, but you enjoy this game of cat and mouse. Sharing words at afterparties, drinks at hotel bars, and one night together in the satin sheets of Milan.

Your room is always filled with flowers when you arrive. Champagne and chocolates await by your bedside. You never fail to find their eyes in the crowd, you dare to say this is what love must feel like.

You keep the notes and letters from Armand. His way with words are what bring the light back in your eyes as you walk and model.

Whatever it is, your agent tells you one day, keep it up. because you begin t see a spike in your career and appearances. Leading you to walk your first large red carpet event.

When you step out of the shining vintage car immediately you are met with flashes, clinging to your sur shrug for comfort imagining their arms as you walk and pause for questions and for photographs.

"Can we be under the assumption you have a special someone?" Your interviewer asks over the roar of paparazzi and photographers at a red carpet event.

"Hmm, I guess you could continue to speculate." You give a cheeky grin to the camera as you walk off with a flurry of questions at your leathered heels.

When you enter the museum hosting the charity event they await you. Your drop your shrug into the arms of one of the attendants while Armand takes hold of your clutch. You walk in between them looking at the beautifully restored and donated pieces. The theme is very rococo and you adore it, the artwork, pottery and ceramics and the beautifully restored gowns on display.

"Oh my goodness look at this one, it reminds me of a Monet" you coo as you stand before the water lily pond. Your hand on your chest as you pause. You wish it were yours. Though it is not the original you want it still.

And that's enough for Armand to place a red sticker near the artists name.

"Oh you didn't have to, Armand." you pout at him as he cups your jaw looking into your eyes.

"You clearly desired it, did you not?" When all you do is nod he hums. His thumb begins to stroke the soft skin of your jaw. "Then you shall have it."

"We would travel the cities I was in. And during the off season I spent here or in the comforts of one of our other homes. I believe Berlin will be our destination this year for the holidays, right my love?"

And how can Armand no to those eyes.

They gleam with mischief, golden flakes sparkle in your bright eyes. "Whatever her hearts desires I have assumed the duty to fulfill each ofthem, we both do."

You shush him, had you still been mortal you swear your cheeks would be flushed.

The interviewer

"But I believe this Gift would have to be my most treasured one."

[taylorswiftstyle]

The Eras Tour | Acoustic section | Version 8

Roberto Cavalli custom

The acoustic set dress has now had three design iterations, but eight total variants (accounting for different coloured versions for each design). The first was a ruffly, high/low, cold-shoulder number by Jessica Jones - a longtime costume designer for Taylor who did many of the costumes on the 1989 Tour and all of them for the reputation Tour. To have brought her back into the fold for the Eras Tour felt like such a warm and lovely nod, indeed, to eras past. 

When the tour kicked back in for its revamped set during its European stint, Taylor swapped her acoustic dress design out for one by Roberto Cavalli. This second design did away with the sleeve detail (too many Errors Tour moments during an on-stage quick change) but kept the high/low silhouette. It also reworked the ruffle design into something lighter and breezier - a chiffon that I guessed might work better for humid summer nights in Europe. 

Which brings us to this third version. This iteration takes the second design by Roberto Cavalli, slightly shortens the front of the high/low for an even more dramatic effect, adds a ton of glittery crystals, and dip dyes it into an ombre of “magenta, purple, petroleum, and midnight blue” according to the designer. The ombre effect very much reminds me of some of the fringed dresses Taylor would wear on the reputation Tour which had many iterations and colours. At first, a part of me wondered if the ombre element was a way of nodding to how the acoustic section provides the opportunity for a song from just about any album to be played. But if so, I think there was a more elegant and all-encompassing way to nod to all the colours associated with the eras. I think the crystals were a great addition (they sparkled beautifully as she made her swan dive exit) but I think this is giving more betta fish than anything else. 

Photo by John Shearer/TAS24 via Getty Images

[upsidedownwithsteve]

A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [5.9K]

THE TIMELINE

"Oh no, you know you know I'd be lying if I said I wasn't dying, For someone I could die for, someone I could try for Fall apart and cry for, go 'head, risk my life for."

-Someone I Could Die For by Lewis Capaldi

II. ROME, ITALY: 49 BC

The roar that came from the bowels of the Colosseum never became easier to hear. 

The noise seemed to make the city shake, the streets empty, the market stalls abandoned in favour of bloodshed. The games took place in the summer, when the skies were an endless blue and there were no clouds to tamper down the climbing heat. The sun bore down on the sandy pit of the enormous Amphitheatre and the seats were filled, the doors that had already been closed still surrounded by regretful stragglers who were forced to listen to the chaos from outside of the walls. 

Fourteen men had died already, three from the jaws of the lions, two from the bears and eleven from the swords of other imprisoned slaves. The cheering from the crowd made your stomach curl. The floor of the stage was covered in red, the sand streaked with spilled blood and the animals that were bullied back into their cages had their jaws tinted pink. 

It wasn’t a joyous occasion, no matter how many people celebrated in the name of their emperor. The leader of Rome was sitting mere seats away from you, dressed in ruby robes that were slung like a cloak over his white toga and his laurel crown glinted with golden beads that sat tucked into the olive wreaths. He was drunk on wine and violence, and your father sat next to him in the royal box, ever eager to please as he clinked his chalice against his kings. 

Being the daughter of Rome’s most beloved senator certainly had its positives. You were dressed just as finely as the royalty around you, the fabric that was made to fit your frame swept to the floor and only yesterday, the emperor’s cousin had gifted you a necklace made of the finest gold, inset with glittering emeralds, pretty enough for a princess. 

The same cousin smiled at you from across the row, each seat in the royal box made from plush velvet, the high backs ornate and cushioned, unlike the stone carved benches the rest of the civilians were sitting on. You smile back, uneasy but polite, and your father nodded approvingly. 

You were expected to marry, you knew that much. You were already considered too old to be unwed and you knew the rest of the court whispered about how you would now struggle to bear a child. But the man that was expected to be your husband wasn’t who you loved. He wasn’t unkind, he wasn’t cruel - not like you’d heard men could be. The girls in the kitchen would tell you stories of how their husband made demands. Shouting each night for their meals, their baths, how their shirts weren’t stitched right, how their beds would lay cold because their wives were too tired. 

Some men visited the bath houses, you knew that much. Seeking out a lupa for the night, the ladies that were called she-wolves, with their painted lips and robes that showed so much skin. Some men decided that they didn’t need to listen to their wives at all, you were once told, horror etched on your face. Some men took what they thought they owned. 

So no, the emperor’s cousin seemed kind enough. But you weren’t in love with him. You weren’t sure who you were in love with. A dream, perhaps. One that kept returning to you from a young, young age. A dream about a different town, one you’d never been to before. But in your sleep, it felt like home. White buildings and green gardens with tall, tall trees and pretty, ornate gazebos made of stone on the edges of shallow ponds. You were by the sea there, a blue-green ocean that seemed so calm. 

Sometimes monsters came, the marble statues that guarded the city came to life and turned your dream into a nightmare. There was always fire and fury, storm clouds and too big waves and a man with skin the colour of death would try and take your hand. But even when the dream turned bad, there was  always someone else.  

A man, with a blurry face and a mess of almost too long hair. It hid his eyes from you and you could never make out too many details but you burned when you looked at him, you could weep when he touched you. Sometimes he led you through the burning town, his hand clasping your own as you both tried to run and run and run. 

Other times, you lay in a bed with him, skin bare and your head on his chest as he murmured the sweetest poetry to you, words that made your heart race. Your dream was encased in white linen sheets, a hazy, soft light that always made it look like early morning and when the man’s lips met yours, you always woke up. 

Him. You loved him. 

You hadn’t been in love before, but whenever you dreamed of the stranger, you were sure that must have been what love felt like. 

“Have some grapes, darling,” your thoughts were interrupted by your father as he thrust a plate of fruit and cheese under your nose. 

But the fifteenth gladiator was being dragged through the gates by the armpits, a clawed hammer still sticking out from his chest and your insides turned over at the idea of eating such sweet treats as blood poured from the men in front of you. The emperor’s box was almost nauseatingly close to the fights. 

You shook your head before you remembered your manners, smiling politely and murmuring, “I’m quite alright, thank you.” You blew out a breath, shaky and faint. 

From your other side, one of the young girls who had been gifted to you on your sixteenth birthday waved a giant fan. A large peacock feather, a huge plume of colours that merely wafted the too warm air back and forth but you smiled your thanks at your lady in waiting, a pretty girl who’d turned into a prettier young woman. She was small and lithe, angular in the face with curls that came to her sharp jawbone and she smiled back. 

Nancy, as she’d introduced herself to you a week after she’d arrived at your fathers house, from the Wheeler family of Liguria. She didn’t like the gladiator fights anymore than you did, always murmuring about the rights of the animals and how inhumane it was later in the night as she drew you your bath. 

“—from Verona,” your father was saying with a mouth full of provolone. “One of their best, so they say, His Majesty simply had to have him.”

You blinked, frowning in confusion at your fathers words. You hadn’t been paying attention in the slightest and nothing you’d caught made any sense. “Sorry?” You grimaced apologetically and took a few pomegranate seeds from the plate of food in apology for your rudeness. “Who is from Verona?”

Your father rolled his eyes, a sure sign that you’d be lectured in his study later for your lack of respect. “The next gladiator, child.” He gestured to the stage where the soldiers were locking the gates to the tigers, each big cat growling with menace when the men came too close to the bars. “They say he’s unbeatable. Our Highness offered a more than generous helping of coin for his papers but Verona’s general didn’t seem to want to part with him.”    

You frowned again. The crowd seemed to be aware of this man and his presence, murmuring and shifting in their seats in anticipation. “If that is the case,” you prodded. “Then how is he here? If the gladiators… owner—” the word left a terribly bitter taste in your mouth and you felt heavy with guilt when Nancy’s fan brushed your shoulder. “If his owner didn’t want to sell him?”

Your father snorted, an unattractive sound that made Nancy wince beside you. “No one tells the emperor of Rome ‘no’, dearest.” Your father shrugged. “The gladiator cannot be owned, if his owner is dead.”

Bloodshed. Always bloodshed. 

A man came from the east side gates with chains around his ankles and wrists. You couldn’t quite see him for your seat, not yet, but the crowd above and around you roared, eager for the final fight to begin. The man already looked beaten and tired as soldiers stepped forward to unlock his manacles and you sat forward in your seat for the first time since you entered the Colosseum that day. 

He had messy hair, dark brown and hanging just past his chin. It was already damp looking, matted and dirty from being kept god knows where as the emperor's new toy. He was shirtless, his body lean but corded with muscle. He had wide shoulders and a lithe waist, powerful thighs and skin that was tanned from the sun, a sure sign he spent too much time outside, training hard in the Italian heat. 

As he moved closer to the middle of the stage, you saw the marks on his body, leftover scars and new slices in his flesh that still looked viciously red. The crowd got louder as a sword was thrown at his feet, a large, heavy looking thing with a bronze handle. Some cheered for the new warrior, hoping for some excitement, while others jeered and booed, already too attached to their darling reigning champion. 

The gladiator picked up his sword and the crowd became wilder still, but he gave them no mind. He didn’t put on a show like some of the others, he didn’t flex his muscles or raise his weapon like it was already a prize. His leather loincloth was a deep wine colour, the tan leather pleats looking far from newly made and the material was already streaked with blood and dirt before his first opponent arrived. 

Your heart felt heavy for him, as it did for all the others who were forced into the Colosseum - prisoners, slaves and animals alike. You watched the gladiator flex his wrist, testing the weight of his weapon just as the gates in the west cranked open. 

Rome’s current champion strode out from the shadows and into the bright sun, his bare chest glinting with sweat and Hargrove held his hands aloft, grinning as the crowds went insane. He beat his chest, his long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail and when he was handed his own sword, he wasted no time in running towards the new fighter, the steel blade glinting. 

You gasped, moving closer still to the edge of your seat and you couldn’t find it in you to bear much mind to the looks your father and Nancy shot you. It wasn’t like you to take such an interest in the sport, never mind be so heavily invested. You didn’t like to watch the wounded, preferring to close your eyes when the screams began, hiding cowardly behind Nancy’s fan when the blood turned the sandy stage pink and red. 

But this new gladiator, he was fast. 

He dove at the last second, dodging the tip of Hargrove’s blade and he rolled towards the section where you sat. Dust kicked up from the move, his sword tearing into the wreaths and sashes that hung from the Emperor’s box. You grasped the edge of the wooden frame, peering over the side and down to the stage, hoping to not see blood already. 

Instead you found the gladiator looking back up at you, his sword still in his grasp and when his eyes met yours, they widened. Something like recognition hurtled through you, a feeling that sucked the breath from your lungs and you felt dizzy, like lightning itself had struck you from the sky. You thought the man perhaps felt the same, a frown on his face telling you that he felt just as confused as you did. 

But before you could consider where on earth you could have possibly seen his face before, Hargrove attacked again, bringing his blade down to where the gladiator's shoulder should have been, if he hadn’t rolled once again. 

You were on your feet now, the stares of your father be damned. Your eyes were wide, your heart beating far too fast, like you yourself were on the stage, being hunted for sport. Wood splintered into the space under your nails as you watched the man run, his muscles pumping, his eyes narrowed. 

“Darling, are you quite alright?” Your father placed a hand on your arm, more confused than concerned. 

“Yes, I just— yes.” You cleared your throat and sat down again, albeit back to the edge of your chair. You could feel the rest of the royal party staring at you. “Where did you say the man was brought from? The new gladiator?”

“Harrington?” One of the Emperor’s councilmen interjected. He pointed a pudgy finger at the brown haired gladiator, who was now swinging his sword with as much power as Hargrove. “Steven Harrington of Verona, best of his breed I heard. His general didn’t take too kindly to the King’s offering and well— you know what happens when his Highness is made to feel upset.”

The metallic clink of the swords filled the arena as everyone held their breaths. Not many had lasted this long against Hargrove before. 

“Rumour has it that he didn’t take too kindly to his general being beheaded. Took six men to get him into the back of the cart, even more to make him train. He’s been refusing food all week.”

The idea of it made you feel unwell, a sickly, creeping kind of pain curling around each of your ribs and suddenly you were starving, just as much as you were sure the man would be. But still, I didn’t seem to make him move any slower, it didn’t hinder him in bringing his sword down any harder. 

But strangely, every time the new gladiator was struck, every time his knees hit the raw sand, every time he got close enough for you to see him suck in a gasping breath— you felt it too. 

It was a battle like you’d never seen before, more vicious than the others from that day, a showdown under the blazing heat of the high sun. No tiger seemed as powerful as Steven Harrington of Verona did. There was something animalistic in the way he moved, all power and lean muscle, a steely glint in his brown eyes that you didn’t dare look away from. He moved too quickly for Hargrove’s blade, dodging and diving as he flung up sand, blinding his opponent and slicing at his legs. Each move was a blur, the stage bleeding with fresh red, the blonde gladiator on his knees. 

But Hargrove was ruthless, grappling with the newcomer until they were both wrestling in the dust cloud and the crowd went insane, people chanted and stomped their feet, the amphitheatre shaking down to its very bones. The imperial box quaked with the energy, but truly, you weren’t present enough to feel it. 

Your eyes never left Steven’s fighting figure. 

The swords seemed to be forgotten, the steel blades rusted with blood, both fresh and new, and they lay in the sand. Fists flew, knees pressed to chests to keep the other down and it was brutal, it was harsh, it was deadly. 

You wanted to vomit. You feared you might. 

You wondered what would happen if you leapt from your chair, if you let your skirts get torn and bloodied in the mess of the stage, if you threw yourself down onto the sand and begged for Hargrove to take his hands away from the new gladiator's throat. 

Would you be punished? Beaten? Locked away? Killed?

You weren’t sure but somehow, all the options felt worth it. You couldn’t watch this man die before you. Not when it felt like you’d already witnessed his death before. 

But Steven wrestled himself out of Hargrove’s hold, twisting and tumbling whilst he gasped, one hand clutching at his reddened neck and the other grappling for his blade. He swung it through the air, arching wide, his wounded shoulder ripping with effort it took but the sword landed where the warrior intended it to. 

Silence settled over the colosseum, the air still enough for you to hear the surviving champion heave out gasping, heavy breaths. There was blood on his hands, his chest, his face. 

His right eye was already bruising, red and lilac coming to the surface of his skin like fresh blooms in spring. His shoulder was a mess, his right leg causing him to buckle slightly as he rose to his feet.  

The man turned, jaw slack, his sword falling limply to the ground once more, his opponent still and at his feet. His eyes found yours and time stilled, at least, to you. The crowd erupted, an explosion in its own right, the entirety of Rome cheering for their new champion. 

A man you were sure you already loved. 

By the time the fight had ended, you felt beaten and bruised. There were no marks on your skin, no blood seeping through your gown, but something inside of you hurt all the same. It felt like something was clawing at your heart, a memory that was banging on the front of your skull, screaming at you to remember. 

When the guards dragged the gladiator from Hargrove’s limp figure, he dropped his sword to the sand and spat a mouthful of blood towards the ground at the royal pit. The Emperor merely chuckled as others around you gasped and before you could even hear your fathers protests, you were on your feet. 

Steven Harrington was shackled once more, the metal chains clinking around his hands and feet. And as he was led away back into the arches, the gears of gates making an awful protesting noise, his eyes found yours once more. 

A burning gaze, too intense to look away from and you could’ve sworn on the gods, on the stars above, that something inside of you tugged sharply. Like the pull of a string, tied in a bow between your ribcage, urging you forward. 

Telling you to go. 

So you did. 

You gathered your skirts in your hands and made your way to the exit of the box, too focused to hear your fathers objections until the guards at the doorway halted you with their spears. The wooden stalks crossed themselves over your chest and you froze, the string tied to your heart pulling tighter and tighter and tighter— 

The Emperor was staring at you, with cold eyes and a smile that wasn’t really a smile. He spoke to your father, not you. “Where, my dear senator, is your lovely daughter running off to?” The king turned back to you, brows raised. “Doesn’t she know that more wine will be served soon? My cousin is looking forward to her company.”

Your father stared at you, a stricken expression on his aged face because everyone in the royal box could read between the lines of the Emperor. 

You cleared your throat, eyes still trained on the sharp metal points of the spears that were very much in your face. “Forgive me, father - your highness - I was merely hoping to get some fresh air.”

“The sight of all that blood makes her rather delicate,” your father agreed and the crowd of councilmen, generals and their wives tittered in their jewels. “She isn’t one for conflict.”

The Emperor stared at the side of your face, something you could feel despite bowing your head in his presence. You stared at the floor and waited, heart racing. 

The royal tsked. “What a pity,” he declared but he waved a hand, each finger heavy with golden rings, and his soldiers stepped aside. “Be back in time for the parade, child, you have company to entertain.”

The Emperor’s cousin leered at you, his wine glass empty, his lips stained ruby but none of it mattered right now, not when you were taking off once more, skirts dragging across the dust and sand, your chest heaving as you tried to navigate your way through the crowd that was already dispersing. 

More guards, heavily armoured and with their swords drawn, were too preoccupied with a fight that had broken out between the arches, two lower class men arguing over a coin they found on the ground. Taking your chance, you moved with your head down, your face hidden as you slipped through a door that was normally carefully watched. 

The heavy wood slammed shut behind you, the sunlight swallowed whole. Burning torches lit the narrow corridor, a maze of them leading you underneath the Colosseum. The hypogeum was almost damp as you tried to navigate its many walkways, a gasp leaving your throat as you took a wrong turn and ended up face to face with the iron bars that separated you from the animals. 

A huge tiger growled at you, bloodied teeth bared in a snarl, the stench of raw meat and faeces hanging in the cool air. You backed away, eyes flickering from cage to cage, each one filled with another poor creature. Lions, bears, a rhinoceros and its offspring, and beyond them, an even larger cell holding prisoners. They all stared at you, men and animals alike, but nothing was spoken. 

You backed away, unable to breath, turning on your heel and walking quickly enough to spot the familiar grey robes of the healers used after the battles. You followed, your steps light, and watched him enter a small room. Between the door opening and closing, you spotted the gladiator perched on a wooden table, his head bent low and his face hidden behind his damp hair. 

You weren’t sure what possessed you, but before you barged into the room too, both men staring at you from the table where the healer held a ragged cloth to the gladiator’s shoulder. 

“Miss, you have no need here,” the healer announced, his voice strict and cold. He narrowed his eyes as he gestured to the door. “This is no place for—”

“My father sent me.” It was a lie, of course. A bold and bare faced one at that. But you stood a little taller and lifted your chin, the emerald necklace at your throat shining in the low light that came from the small fireplace in the corner. “The senate has questions I’ve been asked to deliver. I shall not leave without the appropriate answers.”

On the mantle, beside bottles of acids and other medicinal vials, sat a small statue of the goddess Veratis. Her marble eyes seemed to judge you and your lies and you swallowed down the bitter taste it left on your tongue. But looking at the man - this stranger from Verona - the need to speak to him, to be alone with him, was overwhelming you to the point of senselessness.  

The trouble you could be in if you were to be caught in your lie… or worse, down in the hypogeum. This was no place for a woman of your standing, never mind to be alone with a gladiator, both of you unspoken for. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat. 

“If we may have some time alone?” You added with more authority than you should have held. “Unless you’d prefer that my father leave the Emperor’s side to ensure his orders are fulfilled?”

The healer sighed but placed down his tools. He flashed you a smile that was all crooked teeth, more bite than kindness, but he made his way to the door. “That won’t be necessary, My Lady,” he told you and he left, closing the wooden door behind him. 

The silence was a deafening thing. The crackle of the fire was still there, the distant roar of some poor, wounded animal, but whatever was held between the two of you took on a life of its own. It seemed to suck the rest of the world into it until there was nothing left but you and this man. He was staring at you still, brown eyes wide and so familiar, looking as confused as you felt as you stared right back. 

It felt too easy to take a step forward, but the warrior flinched. Your next was slower, softer, more cautious. Your hand found the rag that the healer had once held, what little water it had been soaked in was cold, the material harsh. It didn’t take you long to find a new cloth in one of the drawers of the apothecary table and you took your time to warm some fresh water over the hearth. 

Honestly, you didn’t know too much about medicine, only the basics that your father’s head servant had taught you as a young child. You found the small bottle of alcohol with ease, plucking it from the shelf and adding it to the warm water before soaking the new rag. 

You held it up in offering to the man, still far enough from you that his dirty hair hid most of his face. His tanned chest was streaked with sweat and dust, marred with old cuts and fresher wounds from Hargrove’s weapon, but for the most part, he seemed okay. 

“Can I?”

The gladiator lifted his head then, his hair falling away from his cheeks and you took in a sharp breath at the sight of his face. He was handsome, painstakingly so, but over and above all else, he was someone you were sure you knew. 

The man nodded, just once, lips pressed together and as you came closer, his nostrils flared and his large hands gripped the edge of the table. His eyes raced across your features, recognition coming to the surface and before he could ask the questions that were clawing at his throat, you lifted the cloth and pressed it to the cut on his shoulder. 

He hissed, teeth bared and you frowned, hushing him softly, apologies murmured just as quiet. “I’m sorry,” you told him and gods, he knew you meant it. “I need the alcohol to soak the wound.”

Your heart stuttered when he let you, shoulders tight and back ramrod straight, but his eyes were on your face the entire time you worked. “You’re not a healer,” he said. It wasn’t a question. 

His voice rung through you, a deep timber that was hoarse and scratchy, no doubt from refusing to speak since his capture. You hoped he’d been drinking enough water. 

You shook your head as you pulled away, dipping the bloodied cloth back into the bucket. “No, I’m not,” you confirmed. 

Another swipe at his skin had him jerking in response but the blood and dirt was finally clear of the cut. It would need stitches, you were almost sure of it, but your skills started and finished at the basics. 

“Then why are you here?” The gladiator’s eyes were trained on your necklace, a sure fire way to recognise nobility and you were overcome with the urge to rip it from your throat. “Why did you follow me?” He spoke like he already knew the answer. 

You were hesitant about it, but you couldn’t stop your hand from lifting to his neck, fingertips brushing two beauty marks on his skin. They felt electric under your touch and you were impossibly warmer now, despite the old cell lacking the heat from the summer above. 

“I feel like I know you,” you whispered. Your voice cracked with an emotion you didn’t quite know the name of. “I feel like I’ve mourned you.”  

The gladiator looked back at you from behind his damp hair, the long strands matted with his and his enemies blood. He didn’t look as concerned as he should have been at your strange words. In fact, he leaned into your touch, lashes fluttering at the sensation. 

“What an odd thing to say to someone who hasn’t died,” he answered quietly. But his gaze roamed over your features and something about being so close to him felt cosmic, it felt like a catastrophe waiting to happen. “I think I’ve met you before,” the gladiator whispered. He sounded reverent now, his own hand shaking as he brought it to your face. 

He cupped your jaw, your chin, his rough fingertips trailing over your soft skin and when his thumb dragged across your bottom lip, you gasped and pressed closer. 

“I think I meet you when I sleep,” he said and he frowned at his own words, at how confusing he must’ve sounded. “Every night, when I close my eyes. You’re in a garden and then you’re in my arms.”

Flashes of a bed came to mind, white linen sheets and too much bare skin. A man’s chest, tanned and muscled from hard labour, your hands that roamed the expanse of his back. You remembered how he kissed you in your dreams, with a longing so intense it could waken the gods. 

Like he had enough love for you that he could end the world. 

You could only nod. His thumb was still pushed to your bottom lip, your mouth parted as if you were waiting and his stare was so intense you felt warmer than you had in the stadium above. 

Who was this stranger?

And why did it feel like something inside of you was being stitched back together by the sheer sight of him? His touch felt healing, it felt like home. Like it was only made for you to feel. Like he was made only for you. 

Above, something boomed. Loud enough to be heard underneath the hypogeum, over the roars of the unsettled animals. If you had been outside, you would’ve witnessed the blue sky turning grey, shades of moody lavender and navy, storm clouds rolling across Rome from seemingly nowhere. 

Thunder rumbled,  threatening noise, something that made you and the man move closer to each other, like you both knew you were in danger. 

That you knew something bad was coming. 

“I don’t understand,” you said, eyes blurring. You weren’t sure why you were crying but Steve didn’t seem to question it. He merely swiped away the tears that slipped down your cheeks. “You’re a stranger— we’ve never— we’ve never met.”

Despite your words, the gladiator moved closer, standing from his seat on the wooden table to lean his forehead against your own. Your eyes slipped closed, nose bumping his. He smelled like metal, like blood and dirt and sweat but underneath there was something like fire there, like molten iron, like lavender fields and fresh cotton. Like a daydream, like something you weren’t sure was real. 

His bottom lip touched your top one, only just, only barely. A whisper of a kiss, a small insight of something that could’ve been, of something that maybe once was. 

Thunder rolled again, louder than before, as if it was right above you both. Even over the din of the crowds above, you could hear the heavy patter of rain that was now flooding the colosseum, the stage soaked. Another warning, something you’d seen before in a dream just before it turned to a nightmare. 

“I was meant to find you,” Steve murmured. He had your face cradled in his hands, an overwhelmingly gentle touch despite the dried blood under his fingernails. His voice grew in urgency then, like he knew something was coming. Someone. “I was meant to come here. I can feel it. I understand now.”

“Someone once told me you’d come back,” you suddenly remembered, your voice eager, your eyes wide at the memory. “I don’t know— was it you? From before? From—”

From another life, you wanted to say. 

How ridiculous those words were, how silly, how stupid. But there wasn’t any other way to explain. Logic didn’t seem to exist when everything you felt from this touch of this stranger led you to believe that somehow, someway, you’d spend a lifetime together. 

Like you were supposed to spend this one with him too. And it didn’t seem long enough, decades wouldn’t make up for the time you’d lost searching for him, for this stranger who only came to you in your sleep. But he was very real now, solid flesh and bone underneath your own hands, brown eyes that seemed warmer than the Italian summer. 

You didn’t want to let him go. 

“In here, my King,” a voice interrupted. The door was open and the healer had returned, a cold look on his already stern face. The Emperor was behind him, ruby robes collecting dirt from the old floor. Four soldiers flanked him. “I have every reason to believe the Lady sold me lies, Your Highness.”  

It happened too quick. Too fast. 

The Emperor studied you, Steve’s hands still on your face as you stood too close, ready to kiss, ready to fulfil something neither of you were sure of. It felt catalytic. 

“Seize him,” was all the Emperor said, one lazy flick of his wrist sending all four guards at you both. 

There was too much movement in the tiny room, bottles of medicinal wares clattering to the ground and smashing at your feet. The table groaned as Steve was shoved into it, his own reactions too slow from his injuries. He grunted and reached for you too late, his hand slipping from your own, fingers barely touching, as he was shoved at from either side. 

One soldier shoved the butt of his sword into Steve’s wounded soldier, the other bringing his armoured knee into his bare stomach. The gladiator doubled over, a gasp leaving his chest before he fell to his knees on the stone floor. 

“Stop this!” You yelled, urging forward, trying your best to throw yourself into the mix of it all but someone’s arms - another soldier - caught your round the middle. “Unhand him! Your Highness - please - he hasn’t done any wrong, please—”

The Emperor just looked at you blankly before he picked at the jewels around your neck. He tutted, as if it were a shame, a waste. You could hear the shackles being placed back on the man, the low groan he gave as the metal was tightened around his sore wrists. 

“He won,” you whispered, your voice low and choked. You were ready to beg. “Please, he won. He doesn’t deserve this—”

“I don’t like anyone else playing with my toys,” the Emperor interrupted. He said it like he was discussing what to have for lunch. “And my dear cousin doesn’t like anyone playing with his.” He motioned to the guards once more. “Take her back to her seat, where you make sure she stays. This isn’t any place for a Lady,” he told you mournfully.

You didn’t get to see what happened to the gladiator as you were escorted out of the room. But you did hear his yells when the door slammed shut, the dull thuds of impact that you were sure were on his already bruised and broken body. You hadn’t even told him your name, or that you dreamt of him too. That during your worst night terrors, he was the one that saved you. 

When you reached the imperial box once more, your skirts dirtied from the sand, your face tear stricken, you felt broken. Like you’d been snapped in half, like someone had found that wound Steve had stitched up and pulled it apart again the seams. Like someone had ripped something important from you, half of your heart, perhaps. 

You didn’t even notice that it had stopped raining. The skies were blue once more, the sun shining, the only evidence of the sudden storm were the drops of rain that had soaked into the pillow on your chair. 

Steve was gone and the thunder was too. 

[meazalykov]

seeing you on screen

kika nazareth x actress!reader

summary: you love seeing your girlfriend on the screen as much as she loves seeing you

love, fluff, long-distance

the phone rings, its familiar tone cutting through the background tv noise in your hotel room in tokyo. 

kika’s name glows on the screen, and you answer immediately, your heart doing that little flip it always does when she calls. it’s late where you are, but the exhaustion from another long day of filming disappears the moment you hear her voice.

“hey, baby,” you say, settling back against the pillows, a small smile already tugging at your lips. you can hear the excitement and nerves in her voice before she even speaks. 

her first ever champions league final is just days away, and even though you’re thousands of miles apart, you can feel her emotions like they’re your own.

“i’m nervous,” she admits, her voice softer than usual, and you picture her pacing around her hotel room in lisbon. her hometown, but somehow, that makes it even more intense for her. 

“i don’t know why, but this feels different. bigger.”

you let out a soft laugh, the sound warm and reassuring. “of course it feels bigger, kika. it’s the champions league final. but you’ve been preparing for this your whole career.”

there’s a pause, and you can almost hear her thinking on the other end of the line, probably running over her game plan in her mind like she always does. 

kika is meticulous, always studying, always planning. but underneath that precision is a player with instinct, with heart, and it’s one of the many reasons why you’re so endlessly proud of her.

“you’ve got this,” you continue, your voice firm, because you believe it with every part of you. 

“you’re good with the ball, calculated. no one on that pitch can read the game like you. you’ve played in big matches before. this one’s just like those. you just need to do what you always do.”

“i wish you could be here,” she murmurs, the words soft but carrying so much weight.

your chest tightens, and for a moment, the distance between you feels unbearable.

the champions league final is in lisbon, her hometown, and you’re halfway across the world in tokyo filming for the marvel movie that’s going to be your biggest project yet. 

it’s a dream come true for both of you, but dreams sometimes come with sacrifices, and right now, that means missing out on one of the biggest moments of her life.

“i wish i could too,” you say quietly, the sincerity in your voice wrapping around the both of you like a warm blanket. 

“but i’ll be watching, cheering you on from here. i promise i won’t miss a second.”

“you better not,” she teases, her voice lighter now, and you can almost hear the smile on her face. 

“i’m gonna need all the support i can get.”

“you’ll have it,” you promise, smiling as you imagine her standing on that massive stage, under all those bright lights. “you always do.”

the morning of the final, you’re up before the sun rises, the time difference making it an early start in tokyo. your hotel room is still, but the excitement bubbling inside you is anything but calm. set is buzzing, too. 

word’s gotten around about the match, about how invested you are in it, and people are giving you knowing smiles, quietly cheering for barcelona in solidarity.

you’re in the dressing room, getting your hair and makeup stuff done. this will take three hours, giving you enough time to watch your girlfriend. 

the champions league final. barcelona versus bayern munich. 

you’ve watched kika play so many times, but this—this feels monumental. the first time she’s reached the final, after years of hard work and dedication. you know how much this means to her, how long she’s dreamed of this.

you’re glued to the big macbook screen, barely blinking as the match unfolds. the intensity of the game has your heart pounding in your chest, and it feels like you’re right there in the stands with the rest of the crowd, even though you’re thousands of miles away.

when ewa scores in the 65th minute, you can’t help but jump up as the hairstylist goes to reach for her tools, the rush of adrenaline coursing through you. 

but it’s when kika scores just five minutes later, in the 70th minute, that you completely lose it. 

she moves through the defense with the precision you always knew she had, the ball hitting the back of the net with a clean, unstoppable strike.

“yes!” you shout, your voice filling the trailer. 

the costume designers and your makeup artists look at you in awe. your heart swells with so much pride, it’s overwhelming, and your eyes sting with tears. watching her run across the field, celebrating with her teammates, her face alight with pure joy—it’s everything.

your kika, shining on the biggest stage, showing the world what you’ve always known she’s capable of.

you’re so proud of her, you can hardly put it into words. 

the tears in your eyes blur the screen as you see her lift the champions league trophy with her teammates, her smile bright and unstoppable. it doesn’t matter that you’re not there in person. 

in this moment, nothing else matters but how incredibly proud and in love you are with her.

when kika finally comes home to you in barcelona, medal and all, you don’t even let her get through the door before you’re wrapping her in your arms. 

you got home a few days before she did. the second she steps inside, you pull her close, your arms tight around her as you bury your face in her neck, inhaling the familiar scent of her. the warmth of her, the weight of her in your arms—it’s everything you’ve missed.

“you were incredible,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion as you pull back just enough to look into her eyes. her hands are still clutching the champions league medal, the one she worked so hard for, and you can see the pride in her eyes, the happiness still radiating from her.

“i did it for us,” she says, holding the medal up, her voice trembling slightly. there’s something so vulnerable in the way she says it, and your heart swells with love for her.

you smile, reaching up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear before leaning in to kiss her softly. 

“you did it for yourself, too. and you deserved every second of it.”

you spend the rest of the evening curled up together on the couch, kika recounting every moment of the match, her excitement bubbling over as she describes the goals, the celebrations, the emotions that came with winning. 

you hang on to every word, still in awe of her, still unable to believe that the woman you love is now a champions league winner.

a year later, it’s your turn in the spotlight. the huge marvel movie that you are in is premiering, and you’re in los angeles for the big event. 

it’s your biggest project yet, the culmination of months of hard work, and you’re buzzing with excitement. you have a decent amount of minutes so you shine at the premiere. but there’s a small part of you that wishes kika could be there with you, standing beside you on the dark burgundy carpet.

she’s back in barcelona, but the two of you have been texting all day, sending each other messages filled with love and support. 

kika never misses a chance to remind you how proud she is of you, how much she believes in you.

“you’re gonna kill it tonight,” she texts, her words making you smile as you get ready for the premiere.

you send her a selfie of you in your dark purple dress, wishing she could be there to see it in person, but knowing she’s got something planned.

later that night, as you’re walking around the venue before the movie premieres, your phone buzzes in your hand. you sneak a quick glance, and the message you see makes you stop in your tracks, a wide grin spreading across your face.

it’s a picture of kika with aitana, esmee, ewa, ingrid, mapi, and ellie, all of them crowded together in a movie theater, grinning like a bunch of kids. 

“we’re watching you on the big screen,” the message reads. 

“even if most of them don’t watch marvel, they’re here for you.”

you laugh softly, your heart swelling with love for her. she’s dragged half the barcelona team to watch your movie, even though you know most of them don’t really care about superhero films. but they’re there, supporting you, because kika made sure of it.

later that night, when you finally get back to your hotel, you call kika, and the moment she picks up, her voice is filled with pride. 

“you were amazing,” she says, and you can hear the genuine excitement in her voice. “everyone here thinks so too.”

you smile, feeling the warmth of her love from across the miles. “you dragged all of them to see my movie? you must really love me.”

“i do,” she says softly, her voice filled with so much love, it makes your heart ache in the best way possible. “also, i didn’t know that you could be so scary.”

you laugh, you played a anti-hero type in avengers: doomsday. 

“it is my job.” you giggle.

you’re quiet for a moment after, just soaking in the moment and kika’s words, the truth of them wrapping around you like a blanket. 

it’s moments like this that remind you how lucky you are, even with your crazy schedules and time apart.

“i love you,” you whisper, your voice quiet but steady, knowing she hears it as clearly as if you were right next to her.

“i love you too, stargirl.”

masterlist

[littlelamy]

hey I don't know if you do requests but I got an idea after reading the dress starkey x popstar! reader. So you know how sabrina carpenter does like sex positions in one of her songs during each concert, she say 'have you tried this one' during juno. I had the idea of reader singing that song but ringing out drew and doing the position 🤭 Obvs drew is a busy guy so each time he goes to her show she drags him up to the front for a different position. please thanks sorry xxx

i hope i wrote it right! ⭐️ the concert was reaching its peak energy as the night drifted closer to the much-anticipated performance of “juno.” the lights dimmed, casting the stadium in a warm, dusky glow as the first notes of the song thrummed through the speakers. the crowd roared in response, and you felt a familiar thrill of adrenaline spark in your chest. but tonight was different. tonight, you had something planned.

just down in the front row, your boyfriend, drew, leaned casually against the barricade, his tall frame relaxed as he looked up at you, eyes crinkling with a hint of amusement. he looked effortlessly cool—wearing a simple black tee and jeans, his hair a little messy from his quick arrival. despite his long day, he hadn’t missed the chance to make it to your show. you couldn’t help the grin spreading across your face as you spotted him. little did he know, he’d be in the spotlight soon enough.

“alright, everyone,” you announced into the mic, your voice carrying smoothly over the music. you shot a wink at the crowd, and their excitement grew, sensing what was coming. “i think we have a very special guest here tonight…drew, baby, how about you come up and help me out?”

the camera panned over the crowd, catching drew just as he raised a hand in mock reluctance, lips curved into a smirk that made the audience scream louder. he shrugged with a playful air, laughing as he accepted your invitation. security guided him up to the stage, and when he finally reached you, the two of you exchanged a look—a private, knowing glance that had the crowd erupting in anticipation.

you motioned to the single chair placed under a spotlight at center stage. “take a seat,” you said with a sly grin, and drew chuckled, eyeing you with that familiar glint of mischief. he settled into the chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him as he got comfortable, his gaze never leaving yours.

“so,” you purred into the mic, stepping in close as the beat continued to pulse around you, “have you tried this one?”

drew’s smirk deepened as he leaned back in the chair, his eyes gleaming with intrigue. “i think i could learn a thing or two,” he replied smoothly, his voice low enough to make your pulse quicken.

the crowd screamed as you straddled his lap, your hands resting on his shoulders as the music filled the stadium. the camera zoomed in, capturing the way drew’s hands instinctively moved to your waist, his fingers spreading to hold you securely. his expression softened, though his grin remained as he looked up at you, his gaze as steady as ever. from his vantage point, he was completely in the moment, focused only on you despite the sea of fans watching.

you leaned in close, your faces mere inches apart as you swayed to the beat, your bodies moving in perfect sync. drew’s hands were gentle but firm on your waist, anchoring you as you rolled your hips to the rhythm, the tension between you both crackling under the stage lights.

you caught his eye, biting your lip as you tilted your head, letting a little teasing smirk play on your lips. He matched your grin, that familiar look of challenge and affection mixing in his gaze as he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear, “think you can keep this up?”

with a laugh, you pushed the playfulness further, letting the music take over as you wrapped your arms around his neck, rolling your hips in rhythm, feeling the heat radiate between you two. the audience was in a frenzy, but you barely heard them; all you could focus on was the way drew’s eyes followed your every move, his gaze never breaking from yours.

at one point, the camera zoomed in on drew’s face, catching the way he glanced from your face to your hips, his smirk deepening as he gave a small shake of his head, amused, impressed, and just a little bit captivated. the screen above the stage flashed his expression to the entire crowd, and their response was instant—an eruption of cheers and laughter as they caught his reaction.

drew chuckled, his hands tightening just slightly on your waist as he whispered, “they’re not going to let me live this one down, are they?”

“guess not,” you replied with a grin, moving even closer until you could feel his breath on your cheek. you let the rhythm slow, leaning into him just a little more, your fingers playing at the collar of his shirt as you sang the chorus, your voice soft and intimate, as if the words were meant only for him.

he looked up at you, his gaze unwavering, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade. his hands traced slow, steady circles on your lower, his thumb brushing just under the fabric of your one piece, sending a shiver through you. you could feel the thrill radiating between you both, heightened by the audience’s anticipation.

as the song neared its climax, you leaned back slightly, arching with a graceful dip that had the crowd roaring. drew’s grip tightened just enough to hold you steady, his strength and warmth grounding you as you found your balance. he looked up at you with that same spark in his eyes, a mix of pride and admiration that made your heart skip.

when the song ended, you straightened up, breathless and flushed, grinning as you glanced back at him. he rose with you, giving your ass a quick, slap and gently grab before stepping back, flashing one last amused look at the audience as he left the stage.

backstage after the show, you found him leaning against the wall, waiting for you with a smirk and that familiar, endearing look in his eyes.

“so,” he murmured as you walked up to him, still riding the high of the performance. “think you’ll have a chair ready for me at the next show?”

you laughed, slipping your arms around his neck. “only if you’re willing to learn more moves,” you teased, tilting your head to meet his gaze.

drew’s grin softened as he leaned closer, his voice a low murmur. “for you? I’ll make time for as many shows as you want.”

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @dinakisser @rafecameroninterlude

[bengals-barnesbabe]

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Singer!Fem Reader

Summary: Venus goes on live after rehearsal and lets her fans take a glimpse into what her and Joe's nights together are like.

Chapter 24: Mr. Perfect

#Track9 Masterlist | Main Masterlist

TW: implied smut, language, haters.

WC: about 2k

Part 1 🖤

₊˚ପ ⊹ ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ꕥ

@musicbyvenus has started an Instagram Live! Come join!

“Hello, all you beautiful people. How are my babes doing tonight? I haven’t done this in a hot minute, so be patient with me. I had a really long day and thought the best way to unwind would be for me to unload onto my darling fans.” The woman chuckled to herself while watching the viewer count grow by hundreds per minute.

Tell us all about your day bestie!

How are rehearsals going?

Are you gonna release the set list yet?

How’s Joe doing?

Where’s Joe?!?

“Wow these are coming in fast. I’m going to try and answer as many of your questions as possible, but thank you guys for just being here with me. I know I tend to go a bit awol with my public appearances, so I appreciate everyone here. Rehearsals are going great, I’m very happy with how the show is looking.”

 @MarsOfficial Im expecting a least two Hamilton songs while I’m in attendance 

“You always expect so much of me; you’re starting to sound like my mother, Y/Bff.”

@MarsOfficial then maybe you should start listening to me

A light-hearted giggle makes its way into the air as she reads her best friend’s comment. “I always listen to you!”

@MarsOfficial fat liesssss

“Y'all listen; the only reason I am in a relationship right now is because Y/Bff and Riana, two of my best friends, literally pushed us together. None of this would’ve happened without them.”

“What wouldn’t have happened without who?” A deep voice coming from behind her says.

OMG ITS JOEY

Joe said shit i have to work lol

PLEASE ASK HIM TO STAY

ON GOD HES SO HOT

I DON'T KNOW WHY I expected him to walk in shirtless, but I’m kinda disappointed 

IS HE COMING TO THE LA SHOW???

“I was talking about how we got together.” Y/n peaks behind herself to watch the quarterback snicker while fishing through their kitchen cabinets.

“Oh you mean when your friends pretended to be my ex to make you jealous? Yea they were a great help.” Joe rolled his eyes while grabbing a snack and a bottle of water. “I’ll have you know, I was fully capable of doing that on my own.”

@Riri.intl24 why is he lying, he had almost two years to make a move and DIDNT

“Riana begs to differ. Can you grab me-“ Y/n’s cut off by her own water and snack being dangled in front of her. “Thank you.”

WHAT A GENTLEMAN 

UGH I WANT ONE

IS THAT A CLIFF BAR

Y/n we’re judging you so hard right now

Joe takes a seat next to her but slightly out of camera. “Of course, and tell Riana I was trying to time it right.”

“Ok Mr. Time-Is-Of-The-Essence.” She smirked, then turned back to her phone. “Why are you people roasting my cliff bar?”

@MarsOfficial because you once said it tasted like good dirt then proceeded to inhale one

“I’m going to ignore that. Let’s answer some questions! Yes, Joey’s going to be at the LA show. I am not releasing the set list, but I do have an announcement regarding it. I’ve decided that my show will be about 2 hours long and each show will have 3-4 different surprise songs. I’m very excited about that. If yall have been keeping up on X, then you’d know the first show’s theme is ‘Slumber Party’. Unfortunately I can’t kick anyone out if they don’t dress up-“

ARE YOU ACTUALLY GOING TO PERFORM HAMILTON SONGS?

Is Walk Like This on the Set List

“Fantastic.”

THE NERVE

“You are not anyone, you have to dress up.” She pointed at the man.

YESSS SIS

You should bring him on stage with you!

WALK HIM LIKE A DOG

Joey shook his head and sighed, “I was joking babe, kinda.”

“Uh huh sureeee. Whoever asked about Walk Like This, this answer is 100%. I absolutely love that song and the choreo, ugh amazing. I can’t wait to perform it.”

What song is Joe most excited for?

What songs will you absolutely NOT be singing?

Is ‘The One’ on the no list?

“I don’t even have to ask him which one he wants to see the most. Joey?”

“Crazy for You.” He smiled.

“See, he’s extremely predictable.”

scripted

“Ok hold on, I also like what you did with Tell Me You Love Me.” He so kindly added.

“Why thank you kind sir.”

@lahjay10_ gross

We love a supportive boyfriend 

Husband Material

Get married please

ADOPT ME

Not all of Team Shiesty being in the comments

It's in their dating contract

“Yall are too funny.” Y/n looks over at Joe to see him with his head thrown back laughing. “What is it?”

“Your accent.” He coughed out.

“Joey, I don't have an accent.” She pouts.

Nahhh we know a southern belle when we hear one

Someone forgot she’s from Georgia

You’d think it’d get weaker the longer she stays up north

orrrr maybe she still has it because she doesn't actually live in Ohio

“Yes you do, but don’t worry I think it’s absolutely adorable.”

“I can’t with you.” She rolled her eyes, but the smile spreading across her cheeks told him otherwise.

@MarsOfficial I KNEW IT 

@MarsOfficial I knew he had a thing for your country shit

“Aight, we are getting off task! Is there a No list? Technically yes, but no ‘The One’ is not on it. And before any of you start, Joseph, please tell the people how you feel about ‘The One’ once and for all.” Y/n turns the phone so the fans have a full picture of him.

“I feel like people have been waiting and praying for this moment.” He chuckles brushing his fingers through his hair. 

CAUSE WE HAVEEEEE

TELL USSSS

WE NEED TO KNOW

He raises his right hand. “Ok, everyone listening. I, Joe Burrow of the Cincinnati Bengals.” 

“Oh my god.”

“I’m trying to deliver an address here, princess.” He said sternly. She pretended to zip her mouth shut and throw away the key.

Stop making me feel singleeee

“Ok where were we, right. I, Joe Burrow of the Cincinnati Bengals, solemnly swear that Track Nine is one of my actual favorite songs that Y/n has put out. Now all the commotion stops here, thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.” As he finishes, they lock eyes and simultaneously burst into fits of laughter.

I knew it wasn’t that serious

We were clickbaited

THEY FOOLED US

Social Media is the devil

@MarsOfficial I tried to tell you

Her next project is gonna go so crazy

Hiiii from Canada

Instead of turning the phone back towards his girlfriend, Joey gently cuffs her waist and pulls her over to himself so she can continue her job. Then rests his hand over her shoulder.

Yoooo if you couldn’t see the height difference then, you def see it now🤭

Ugh they look so damn good together 

Yall should do an whole day in the life

What happened to not liking cameras Joey???

“Okay guys, I think I’m gonna take a few more questions then call it a night.”

Noooo

Has Joe seen the entire show?

Booooo

Yes get off so Joe can get off from work and see his real girl

European fans here!!!

What is your ideal date night?

“I know I know, but our dinner’s almost here so we gotta wrap this up. No, he has not seen the whole show. I need my man to be surprised too. More importantly, he has no clue how Crazy for Me is being set.” She smirked as she felt his hand move down to her thigh.

Oh they gon wrap something else up tonight too

“Oh but does my mind wonder.” He bites his lip, no longer able to pay attention to anything but the woman on his right.

Omg the sexual tension is brewing

His hand continues to stroke her thigh until his phone goes off. “Fuck, food’s here.” He gets up and rounds the couch, but before he completely passes her their dark eyes meet and he makes a quick stop. 

@MarsOfficial I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, they are literally CRAZY for each other

Dream vacation??

I’m sorry why can’t a man look at me like that

She was right about this not lasting very long

Shiiiiii I wonder how long HE lasts👀

@lahjay10_ yalls comments are getting out of hand

A strong but gentle hand lightly pulls her head back and they smile before he connects his lips to hers for a shy but sweet kiss, then he pecks her forehead and leaves the frame. 

AGAIN A MAN LIKE THAT PLEASE

GOD WHOEVER IS LISTENING THANK YOU

That looked mad forced

You make me feel so single🤧

If you weren’t famous, what would you be doing?

Y/n quickly clears her throat before looking back at her comments. 

@lahjay10_ oh god, get that off of my phone

She’s so flusteredddd

Girl we understand whewwww

“Uno, go away. Okay um, speed round. Dream vacation is definitely Greece. Ideal date night depends on how we’re feeling, but you can’t go wrong with a nice restaurant then coming home and getting in the hot tub. If I weren’t famous what would I be doing?”

Joe Burrow.

The man right behind you

That one Cincinnati quarterback maybe🤭

regular shit because they wouldn't even know each other

yall are unhinged 

Her eyes widened and she looked over her shoulder at her boyfriend setting up their dinner. “Hmmmm yes to the first three.”

QUEEN

@Riri.intl24 Girl focus!

@MarsOfficial Ridiculous.

“Ok but for real if I wasn’t famous I guess I’d be trying to put myself through school.” She shrugged.

“Nope, you’d be in your residency program like you’re supposed to because I’d take care of everything. Now sign off of there so I can have my dessert.” He stated from the background.

“We didn’t order any dessert.”

Joe darkly smiled, “we didn’t have to. Everything I want is already here.”

HOT SHIT

OMG

thats so scripted🥱

I THREW THE PHONE

MSKSKFYCYHC

GIRL GO

“Fuck me.” She says under her breath, then reaches for her phone. 

“I’m trying.” 

SCREAMING

@lahjay10_ imma clown his ass for this so much

@MarsOfficial Venus you need to move faster

@Riri.intl24 Esa comida no se comerá pronto

(translation: that food is not getting eaten anytime soon)

“Jesus, bye babes. Love yall, and I can’t wait to meet you soon.” She stands, blows the camera a quick kiss, and turns off the phone.

As she walks toward the dining room, he meets her half way and backs her up against a wall. “Fucking finally, I’ve wanted you since I first walked in.” 

His hands go straight to her soft waist and his lips meet hers with an intense fervor. Breathless moans are smothered against his lips and her fingers tangle in his hair. “Wha-what about the food?” 

Joe grips her ass, his lips pull off of hers, and they begin to suck purple bruises on her neck and behind her ear. “You always say it tastes better after it's reheated anyway.” 

He pecks her lips and smiles at his handy work: her lips swollen and red, eyes burning with a dark desire, neck glistening with a shiny magenta hue and knees trembling from the pressure. “You’re so beautiful.”

Her face heats up as she takes in the sight of her lover with a matching set of glossy lips. “I love you.”

“I love you more than anything, and I’m about to show you exactly how much.” He smirks then throws her over his shoulder and takes off towards the bedroom. 

“Joey!”

₊˚ପ ⊹ ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ꕥ

a/n: part two this weekend♡

<<< Ch. 23: Tour Countdown | Part Two >>>

[joemama-2]

THE BALLERINA

synopsis: Gojo Satoru is a man of power, status, and strength. nowhere in his life does he have time for relationships, let alone love. but he starts to question his boundaries when a pretty ballerina catches his attention.

tags/warnings: gojo x fem reader, minor fluff, angst, major character death, depression, strong language, sexual content, self-harm

word count: 2972

divider credit @cafekitsune

This story begins with a man and a woman. These two are from completely different worlds. They were brought together by nothing more than a simple bump-in occurrence. At least, that’s what the woman thinks. In reality, the man has been watching her for a while now. A man like him shouldn’t be nervous, but the woman makes him feel just that. She doesn’t even know she does it, it’s natural. And that scares the man.

Anywho, there’s a man and a woman. 

This man is named Gojo Satoru. The woman….is you. 

Now, this is not about how two strangers fell in love. It’s about how time got the best of them. How simple mistakes led to a downfall. Pay close attention because as soon as you think you have him, you don’t. Or maybe…it’s him who doesn’t.

Gojo first sees you while you’re on stage. You look beautiful, stunning, shining (literally). There’s others on stage with you, but his eyes stay on you for some odd reason. The auditorium is large, many of its attendants dressed up for the formal occasion. They watch on in awe, some even recording subtly. There’s others who whisper amongst themselves about the entertainers. 

“Wow, look at that one, her form is excellent.”

“Oh my, I love this part.”

“So beautiful.”  

The last part is muttered by him. He says it to no one, considering he’s alone. But a small part of him hopes you can hear the praise that’s directed at you. Of course you can’t. But he hopes. Hope is something funny to have, isn’t it?

His arms are crossed over his chest, a small smile on his face as he focuses on the way your body twists and twirls, toes pointed high in the air. There’s a smile on your face too, it’s fitting for the setting. The white fabric looks stunning on you, but you know what looks even more stunning?

Your eyes.

Gojo Satoru admitting someone has prettier eyes than him? How comical. But really, he’s right. He almost jumps in his seat as your eyes make the briefest of glances to scan your audience and he swears you saw him. Again, he hope you did. 

Hope will be a recurring theme in this story, you’ll come to find out.

Gojo is the first to stand and clap once the performance finishes, the rest of the attendants following soon after. You and your other girls smile, giving a small bow of appreciation. And just like that, the curtains close and the lights slowly start to turn back on. He wants to rewind time and watch it from the beginning, watch you from the beginning. If only being the holder of the Six Eyes and Limitless allowed him to time travel, that would’ve been very helpful in this story. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Here you are.” Gojo’s arm reaches up to grab the canned pineapples the employees just had to put on the highest shelf. 

You’re a little shocked by the presence of this strange man, but ultimately smile politely. “Oh, thank you so much.” with a nod, you grab the can from his hand and place it in your basket. “Don’t know why they do that, it’s a bit of an inconvenience.”

He chuckles, head tilting. “I bet. Luckily I was around, huh?”

Your laugh almost puts him in a daze. “Yeah, luckily.”

You thought that would be the last time you would ever see the man, you were wrong, of course. At first, it was creepy. You remember calling him out on it.

“How come you’re everywhere I turn?”

“I’m a magician, that’s why?”

“Or a creepy stalker?”

“More like a curious one.”

After that conversation, it didn’t help your suspicions. But he never went further than talking. Your optimistic, or maybe naive, side took over. So eventually, you let it be. If Gojo was there, that would mean you weren’t too far away. Days turned into weeks, then months, then a year.

A whole year since you met him. It’s almost baffling how time moves so quick. Just like Gojo, you wish you could go back. He never misses a recital, practice, anything. Gojo is always there to support you whether that’s on the sidelines or helping you stretch. 

His hands feel too warm for you, like it’s a familiar sensation that you haven’t yet recgonized where from. That thought throws you off a little bit but you’ve been pushing it away for a while now. Within the year you’ve known each other,you’ve come to learn that not only is he incredibly handsome, but he’s incredibly secretive. You don’t like secrets. You never have and never will. Secrets for what? What is that other person hiding? The uncertainty draws you away and the fact that he’s not even comfortable telling you. When in all honesty, you’ve told him too much.

He’s only told you he’s an only child and that he’s loaded. Well, he didn’t exactly tell you the first part. But the second he pulled out his black card when buying you a new pair of slippers after you others ones have been used for too many years, that was when it clicked. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gojo and you became close, maybe even too close. Labels and boundaries have been lost anf thrown to the wind. Maybe you’re friends. Maybe you’re more than that? I mean, do friends really touch each other like you guys do? Say the things you guys say? Well scratch that, there’s one boundary Gojo has set in place.

He doesn’t do relationships.

You were okay with that, really. Because at the same time, you weren’t looking for a boyfriend. You were too focused on yourself, learning the new dance for each upcoming recital, making sure you’re form was the best of the best. You were a perfectionist. So essentially, you agreed to his terms.

But can you really blame yourself? Who wouldn’t begin to feel a shift with the way he held you and fucked you like you were his lover, his wife, his soulmate? Never did you voice your opinions because you were conflicted. He was the first man who showed you everything, he was your first. You tell yourself it’s normal and that if you get involved with others, these weird feelings will fade.

However, you should’ve thought twice about saying this to Gojo while he was balls deep in your sweet cunt.

“I…I have a date tomorrow night.”

He freezes mid thrust, muscles automatically tensing. When he pulls his head back from the crook of your neck, the looks in his eyes in different, unrecognizable. Theres a frown on his face, a stark contrast to what it was before and he almost seems angry.

“You what?”

With hazy eyes, it’s hard to focus on him as his face hovers above your own. His hand holds your jaw, titling it up. The silence is tense. You suddenly get the feeling that you made a big mistake because although there’s anger in his eyes, you can see a hint of betrayal hidden underneath. Your lips part but words fail you.

“What did you just say?”

“What’s….what’s wrong?” you ask back, wincing as he pulls out completely. Immediately, you clock in on the fact that he’s turning around, reaching down for his boxers and pants he discarded on the floor. Panic sets in and you sit up hastily, using the duvet to cover your bare form. “Satoru, why–what are you doing?”

“Getting dressed.”

“But why? I thought we were–”

“Have some things to take care of.”

His response scares you and you almost want to cry with how things have changed so quickly. Your hand reaches out for his arm. “Are you mad at me? Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

Gojo hates how your voice can make his expression falter, but he pushes through, gently removing his arm back as he stands. “It’s not you, I just realized something.”

“Satoru–” you stand with him, tears threatening to fall down. He doesnt turn around to face you, even while buttoning his shirt back up, grabbing the dark glasses he left on the bedside table. You don’t even realize you’re trembling before a broken sniffle leaves your lips.

He hates the sound, hates when you’re like this. He hates that he caused this. For a moment, he closes his eyes and he turns around, forcing his casual smile back on his face. You see right through it, he knows you do. So why is he still faking? “Don’t worry, okay? I’ll see you around.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was weeks until you saw him again. And when you did, you knew things weren’t the same. His touch never lingered longer than it should, no more stupid flirty remarks, no more winks, no more sex. It was strictly…..friendly. 

You didn’t know if you hated it.

You fall to the ground with a frustrated huff, shaky hands clenching into fists at yet another failed attempt of a cabriole. The recital is in five days and you can’t get this part right. It doesn’t help when the others have moved way past this point, sometimes regarding you with looks of concern and impatience. You were disgusted with that, but you were even more disgusted with yourself. You force yourself back on your feet and walk back to the starting position.

“Maybe you should take a break. You’re obviously frustrated and you won’t be able to–”

“I will.” your sharp voice cuts off his, gulping down the lump that has formed in your throat. 

Satoru knows better than to try you when you’re like this, so he swallows down his words and keeps off to the side, a water bottle in hand. His glasses are still on and when you give him a glance, your irritation skyrockets. Did he really not even want to look at you? Has he become that repulsed by you? He has some nerve, blowing you off and treating you like a stranger. You didn’t even do anything and he’s being a complete asshole about everything for no rea–

Your thoughts are cut off by a sharp pain shooting through your ankle. You hadn’t even felt your body move, it was as if it had a mind of its own. While your thoughts were filled with vile insults, you failed yet again. Why are you failing so much all of a sudden?

Your form crumples down to the floor with a shriek, instantly holding the injured limb. Satoru’s body moves on its own too, within the second he’s by your side with wide concerned eyes.

“Shit, are you okay? Where does it hurt?”

His words don’t do anything. You can’t even offer a response because you’re too preoccupied with pain and anger. You can’t do something that you’ve been spent years dedicating yourself to. Sleepless nights and injury upon injury, this should be a slice of cake. It should be easy. But just like with Satoru, you feel different. Forcing yourself to dance, forcing yourself to a blind devotion, forcing yourself to be unhappy. But, since when has ballet made you unhappy? You didn’t know.

“Get away.” you mutter quietly.

His brows furrow and he leans closer. “Wha–”

“I said get the hell away from me.”

Using your upper body strength, you push him away. You wished you hadn’t. But he pushed you away that night, so why can’t you return the favor? “Get out and don’t come back. You’re making me mess up.”

He doesn’t speak for a moment. Gojo Satoru speechless is a funny sight, if this were a different situation, you would’ve laughed. But you don’t, you can’t. He finally finds his voice. “You’re not serious.”

That pushes you even more, gritting your teeth as you look up at him. “I’m dead serious. Get the hell out. Don’t touch me and don’t even talk to me. Your entire presence is a distraction and I hate you for it.”

You knew what you were saying was wrong and hurtful. You were aware of that fact. But they still tumbled out. You still cried in front of him once more. And he still turned his back on you.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Working with an injured ankle isn’t for the weak. It isn’t for anyone. Your teacher and doctor would’ve advised you not to, but they didn’t know. You didn’t even remember the last time you slept or ate properly. Everything disgusted you and you intentionally avoided the mirrors in your apartment, covering them with blankets. 

However the pain of forcing yourself to use your ankle, the pain of starving yourself, the pain of just existing is something you started to savor. You would laugh to yourself wondering what went wrong. How long have you been feeling like this? Was meeting Satoru just the catalyst to your inevitable destruction? 

As you stand on stage in front of the suddenly blinding lights in a suddenly uncomfortable attire, you pray in your head to whatever god that’s listening to save you. To take you away from whatever hell you were being subjected to. You’re holding your tears in so it won;t ruin the makeup you spent hours on. Your movements feel stiff and forced, hands tembling while you can barely even present a smile on your face.

You just had to have a solo segment. You just had  to say yes to it. You’re people pleasing even to the end.

Gojo Satoru just had to be in the crowd. 

You two just had to make eye contact.

And you just had to fall in front of everyone. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A sudden call too late at night alerts Satoru while he’s sitting at is dining table that’s too big for one person. He almost doesn’t want to answer, but as soon as he sees the familiar name, he’s answering on instinct.

It’s silent on the other end for a second and he begins to think you buttdialed him. That’s until he hears your voice for the first time in who knows how long. And God, you don’t sound like yourself at all. “Satoru?”

His heart is cracking while listening to you. You sound defeated, almost scared. But why? “Y/n.”

There’s a breathy chuckle on the other end. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

“Of course not.” he wants to say it’s because he can barely sleep at a regular time, but he holds back. “I’ve been up.”

More silence. 

“Ah, I see.” he can hear the contemplation in your voice. “I didn’t mean to call so suddenly, I’m just….thinking.”

“About what?”

“You.”

Satoru’s heart clenches and twist in an ugly manner. “Funny, I was just thinking about you too.”

And you laugh again, so does he. For once, it felt nice. For once, it felt like how it did before.

“Are you busy right now?”

“No.” is his automatic response. 

“Okay, I’m glad. Can you…come over?”

Come over? He hasn’t been over since that dreadful night. Anxiety porus through his veins and he gulps, hesitating for a small second before nodding. “Of course I can.”

“I’ve just….I’ve missed you. Wanted to hear your voice.”

He’s already grabbing his keys and heading out. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His long legs lead him to his car quickly, getting in and balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear. “I’ve missed you too.”

You smiled and you wish he could’ve saw it. 

“I’ll see you then.”

“...See you.” 

Three words are on the tip of you guys’ tongues. Three words. But even three words can be hard to admit. So, you hung up on him.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your apartment is empty when he walks in, confused using the spare key you know he knows about to get in. For some reason you always left it there. It’s like you wanted him to come and see you even when you said you didn’t.

After some wandering, he goes into your bedroom. Flashbacks and nostalgia hits him like cold water. His legs feel shaky all of a sudden and his breath hitches. There’s a small box on your bed that draws his attention. It’s white and wrapped with a red ribbon. Carefully he unwraps it, dread filling his stomach and heart pounding fast. Static is the only thing he hears.

As he opens the box, a pair of ballet shoes greet him.

Yours. 

Not just that, but a small letter.

He opens it with too much force, hands shaking. 

“I’m sorry. I really hope you don’t stay mad at me.

I had so much fun meeting you and giving you everything I had.

Please, live on for me.”

His feet are moving before he can fully register it, calling you as he searches through the apartment for you. Tears fill his pretty eyes and short labored breaths are emitted from his mouth.

His world stops spinning when he hears your phone ring in the barely open bathroom door. In truth, Satoru had a feeling he knew what he was going to find once he entered. His mind knew, but his soul didn’t want to.

Because before him is a sight he can never erase from his memories. 

A bathtub filled with dark water. A bathtub he would bathe with you in sometimes, rubbing your back and combing shampoo through you hair while you giggled.

You’re in it still.

Laying upright with no life in your eyes, a knife in your hand that has toppled over the rim.

If you asked Satoru what he thought in that moment, this would be it.

He wished he died with you.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And so that’s it. The story of the man and the woman. Happy endings are something neither were familiar with. 

The man now only has a memory that he’ll keep burned into his brain forever, of the woman.

The memory of,

The beautiful ballerina.

a/n: this story was loosely based off the korean film "ballerina". i loved it so much and it was just SO beautiful to watch. anyways, thank you all for reading! much love!