#and they showed a clip of the baby’s death | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

parkerslatte · 9 months ago

Text

Fighter

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: blood. injury. near death experience.

Summary: Azriel was severely injured on a mission and his chance of survival is low and his mate and wife refuses to leave his bedside.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

Azriel was laid motionless in his bed. The only indication of life was the shallow rise and fall of his chest that seemed to get slower and slower day by day. On the left side of his bed, Rhys and Cassian sat looking helplessly at their brother before them. There wasn’t anything they could do for him no matter how much they wanted to.

Sitting on the right side of Azriel’s bed was Y/N. Her hand clutched his still and cold one between hers tightly. There were dried tears under her eyes as she looked at her mate and husband before her. The blanket covering his body did little to show the large scar staring from his hip and ending at his shoulder. It was an angry red but Madja had calmed everyone that the redness would go down with time.

“If only I didn’t send him on that stupid mission,” Rhys mumbled. “Then he wouldn’t be here.”

No one responded. The only sound heard was the rain hitting the window outside.

Y/N brushed Azriel’s hair away from his forehead. After the mission it had been caked with blood and grime and now after many washes it was soft to the touch. She only wished she could listen to his small content sighs as her fingernails scratched his scalp.

“Don’t blame yourself, Rhys,” Y/N replied after a while of silence. “He would have gone on that mission regardless.”

“But I could have gone with him,” Cassian said. “I could have protected him.”

“And possibly gotten yourself hurt as well,” Y/N responded, finally lifting her gaze to meet Cassian and Rhys. “Then we would be in a position where both of you could have been severely wounded.” Y/N’s gaze returned to Azriel. “I don’t wish for Nesta to feel the way I am right now.”

“You shouldn’t be feeling like this at all, Y/N,” Rhys said. “You two should be in your own house safe and sound.”

“Well that is an impossibility right now, Rhys.” Y/N’s tone was clipped and short. “I’m sorry to ask you this but could I be alone with him?”

Rhys and Cassian immediately got to their feet. “Of course,” Cassian responded.

“If you want or need anything Y/N, make sure to ask,” Rhys said as he placed his hand upon Y/N’s shoulder.

“I’ll be okay.” It was all Y/N said. It was all she could say.

When Rhys and Cassian left she barely heard them as she let fresh tears fall. “Az, you need to come back to me, baby.” Y/N shuffled her chair closer to the bed, her knees knocking painfully against it but she didn’t care. “I need you to wake up. I need you to open your eyes.”

There was no movement from Azriel and it only made Y/N’s tears fall in a more rapid succession.

“Madja healed you the best she could but she made no promises that you would wake up. But I need you to, my love. Please, just give me a sign that you are in there, please, just anything,” Y/N’s voice was full of desperation and she spoke to her husband. Y/N didn’t even know that something could be as painful as this.

Y/N watched Azriel for any sign of him listening to her. But there was nothing. No flicker of his eye under his eyelids. No stutter in his breathing. No twitch of his finger. There was absolutely nothing.

Y/N screamed.

***

The sun was high in the sky and Y/N stepped through the gate to her and Azriel’s cottage. It was on the edge of Velaris, far from the centre of the city. In her small wicker basket, Y/N had two fresh bouquets of flowers, courtesy of Elain. The blistering heat made Y/N wipe the sweat from her brow as she approached her front door, fishing the keys out of the basket.

As she went to place the key in the hole, she found that the door was open the smallest amount and Y/N’s guard immediately went up. As her grip tightened on the basket, she pushed the front door open. Their living room was large but cosy, filled with many blankets and pillows of all different textures. The windchimes hanging just beside the front door sounded out as a small breeze blew bast.

“Hello?” Y/N called out, reaching for the dagger concealed behind a painting Feyre gifted her.

However, Y/N immediately dropped the dagger and basket as her mate walked around the corner. A smile immediately spread across Y/N’s face as she launched herself at him.

“Hi, baby,” Azriel’s low voice whispered in her ear as she wrapped her arms around him. His arms making their way around her, his hand cradling her head.

“You weren’t meant to be back yet,” Y/N said.

“I finished what I needed to do early,” Azriel mumbled into her shoulder. “The first thing I did was come here, even Rhys doesn’t know I’m back.”

Y/N gripped onto him tighter, afraid that if she let him go, he would disappear. It had been two months since Rhys sent Azriel on a mission and it had been two months since Y/N had spoken to Azriel. The only contact she had with him was the wave of love he sent through the bond each night, but that was never enough. Y/N craved to hold him within her arms.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Y/N replied. “I would have stayed here to wait for you.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Azriel said.

“Well it has been the best surprise ever,” Y/N said, pulling away from the hug to capture Azriel’s lips with her own.

Azriel dropped his arms to her waist, wrapping them around her tightly. Y/N pulled away and rested her forehead on his. “I missed you so much,” she said looking into his eyes. The colour ingrained into her brain.

“Well you’ll be happy to know that I won’t be going on any missions for a while,” Azriel said.

“Why? Are you okay? Did Rhys tell you to take some time off?” Y/N asked, her eyebrows furrowing as she thought of the worst possible reasons.

Azriel smiled brightly. The smile only Y/N got to see. “I’m fine, Rhys doesn’t know that I am taking time off yet.”

“Then why are you? Not that I’m complaining or anything,” Y/N said, pecking his lips.

The smile on Azriel’s face only seemed to light up his face further. “Well since you and I are going to be planning a wedding, I will have no time for my duties.”

“Wedding?” Y/N asked. “What wedding?”

Azriel reached behind him. “Ours.” He revealed the most beautiful ring Y/N had ever seen. It was simple but it was perfect.

Y/N stumbled back. “Az, you can’t be serious?”

“I’m completely serious,” Azriel said. “Will you marry me, Y/N?”

“But we have already been mated for years and you have never mentioned anything about getting married,” Y/N said.

“I saw how you looked when Elain and Lucien got married,” Azriel said. “And I’ll be honest that I bought this ring nearly a year ago, long before the wedding.”

“You want to marry me?” Y/N said, tears springing to her eyes.

“I want nothing more in my life,” Azriel replied, taking her hand in his. “It would be an honour to call you my wife.”

A single tear fell down Y/N’s cheek but she smiled wide. “It would be an honour to call you my husband.”

“So is that a yes?”

Y/N nodded. “Yes, Azriel. I will marry you.”

***

Y/N awoke with a smile on her face as she reached to the other side of the bed, searching for her husband’s warmth. Only when she opened her eyes did she realise what her reality was. Azriel was still laying in the bed and his breathing seemed even shallower than it had been before she fell asleep.

Her chair scraped the floor as she leaned closer to caress his face. His dark eyelashes rested delicately on his cheeks, Y/N had always been jealous of them. There was no small flutter of them at all. All Y/N wanted him to do was open his eyes. His beautiful eyes.

“Please,” Y/N whispered, her lips brushing his cheek. “Please wake up.”

“Y/N?” Feyre’s voice came from the doorway. Y/N hadn’t heard her open it. “I brought you some food.”

“I’m not hungry,” Y/N said, her voice void of emotion.

Feyre sighed and made her way further into the room. “You need to eat something, it’s been days.”

“I’m not hungry,” Y/N said, settling back in her seat but kept Azriel’s hand firmly clasped between hers.

“At least have a drink of water,” Feyre said, offering a glass to Y/N.

Y/N tore her gaze away from Azriel and looked at the glass Feyre was offering. She didn’t want to take it but her mouth was dry. With great reluctance, Y/N released one of her hands from Azriel’s and took the class of cool water.

“Have you been here all night?” Feyre asked.

“I haven’t left since he was brought in here,” Y/N answered. “I can’t leave.”

“I know that you don’t want to leave him, Y/N, but you need to take care of yourself too,” Feyre said gently. “Why don’t you get dressed in some clean clothes? I will stay here with Azriel and if he moves, I will immediately come and alert you.”

Y/N looked at her mate and husband laying on the bed. “I can’t leave because I know that if I do, there is the possibility that he stops breathing.” Tears glistened in Y/N’s eyes as she looked up at Feyre. “And I will regret for the rest of my life that I was not there with him while he passed.”

Feyre placed her hand on top of Y/N’s and gave it a small reassuring squeeze. “I have not known Azriel as long as you, Y/N. But what I do know about him is that he is a fighter. And above all, he will always fight for you, he will always fight to come back to you.”

Y/N sighed. “I know. And I will always fight for him. But this time it is different, Feyre. I have seen Az injured beyond what I thought could be possible. I have seen wounds like you would ever believe, but he powered through it. You never saw the look on his face when he appeared on the doorstep. He was scared, Feyre. I had never seen that look on his face before.”

Y/N took a shaky breath and stood from her chair and perched on the edge of Azriel’s bed. Her hand gently cupped his cheek.

“I had never seen such fear in his eyes. When he collapsed in my arms he whispered one thing in my ear, ‘I will always love you both’. He did not believe that he would survive. He risked everything so he could see me one last time.” Y/N said.

“‘I will always love you both’? What did he mean by that?” Feyre asked.

“I’m pregnant, Feyre,” Y/N said and allowed the enchantment that concealed her scent to fall. “We were going to tell everyone after he was home and we had a few days just to ourselves. But it seems like we will never get the chance. I can feel the bond fading every single minute. It feels like I am clutching at air trying to hold onto it.”

“He will wake up, Y/N,” Feyre said, determination lacing her tone. “Even if I have to wake him up myself, I will make sure he comes back to you. I will make sure he will meet his child.”

Tears fell freely down Y/N’s cheeks. “I really need him to come back, Feyre. I can’t do any of this without him.”

“He will wake up, Y/N. Az would never leave you alone. In the years I have known you both, I have never seen two people so in love with one another. Whenever you walk into the room, he lights up. Whenever your name is mentioned he listens in. Whenever you smile at him, his shadows always seem happier. He thinks no one notices but we all do.”

“I love him so much, Feyre,” Y/N sobbed. “I need him so badly.”

Feyre shuffled closer and hugged Y/N. “He will come back. You will get to hold him in your arms again. He will meet his child and the two of you will live happily. There is no possible way on this planet where Azriel would let you live in a world where he isn’t in it.”

Y/N nodded into Feyre’s shoulder. “You make him sound like a stalker.”

Feyre let out a quiet laugh as she pulled away and wiped the tears from Y/N’s face. “Now let’s get you some proper food. Because you know that Azriel will kill you if he finds out that you are not taking care of yourself.”

Y/N smiled. It is small and barely there but it was a smile. “Yeah, he would.”

“I need to make Nyx his lunch so what do you say about sandwiches?” feyre asked.

“Sandwiches are fine with me,” Y/N answered.

As Y/N began to pull her hand away from Azriel’s, she felt his fingertips curl around hers. He head snapped to where they were connected. A small gasp left Y/N’s lips as she clutched his hand a little tighter. In return she was greeted by his grip twitching within hers.

“He moved,” Y/N said. “He moved Feyre.”

A soft smile appeared on Feyre’s face. “He knows you’re here,” Feyre said. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

As soon as Feyre was out of the room, Y/N sat back down by Azriel’s side. “Hey, baby. I miss you and love you.” Another gentle squeeze of Y/N’s hand. She smiled, tears in her eyes. “I can’t wait until you wake up. It may be many months away, but our child is desperate to meet you. They’re desperate to hear your voice again. And so am I. I can’t wait to listen to you tell me about your day, about how much you love our small family. I can wait to hear a stupid joke you heard that you will only ever tell me. I just can’t wait until you wake up.”

Azriel didn’t squeeze Y/N’s hand again but deep down Y/N knew that he heard it and knew that she was there. She brought his hand to her lips and pressed a gentle kiss against his knuckles before placing it down by his side once again. “I love you and I will see you later.”

***

It had been three days since Azriel had first squeezed Y/N’s hand and he had been making more movement since. His chest rose and fell in a healthier succession and there was the occasional twitch of his fingers, always in the direction of Y/N. Azriel was always reaching out in the direction of his mate and wife.

Y/N still constantly remained by Azriel’s side, but occasionally took breaks to look after herself and the baby growing within her. Y/N had taken the time to inform the rest of the Inner Circle about her pregnancy and the news was greeted with congratulations but Y/N could tell they were holding back. The one other person who should have been celebrating with them could not be there.

“I’m just saying that if it's a boy, you should name him after me,” Cassian said.

Y/N had found herself once again in the company of Rhys and Cassian. Both of the males wanted to sit beside their brother in hopes he would wake up. Unlike the first time the three had sat together, the atmosphere seemed to be a little lighter.

“Az is certain that it's a girl,” Y/N responded. “He wants to name them after his mother.”

Y/N looked down at Azriel with a small smile on her face. She could still picture his excitement when she told him that she was pregnant. Almost immediately he wanted to go out and start buying things for their child.

“That’s sweet, but Cass can still be a girl’s name,” Cassian remarked, a teasing grin on his face.

Y/N shook her head, a small amused smile creeping onto her face.

Cassian groaned. “Rhys, when you and Feyre have another kid, what about the name–”

“I’m not naming our second child after you either,” Rhys replied. “Maybe go and pester Elain and Lucien next.”

Cassian laughed. “I still think it's a great name. You are missing out.”

“I’m not naming my child after you, Cassian,” A new voice entered the room. It was quiet and groggy.

Y/N’s gaze immediately shot down to the bed and noticed that Azriel’s eyes were opening and the grip he had on her hand tightened.

Tears sprung to Y/N’s eyes. “Az…”

Azriel groaned as he shifted his head to look at Y/N. As soon as his eyes met hers, Y/N felt the bond come to life and that was when she broke down. So many emotions filled Y/N within seconds and she threw herself down on the bed, her head resting on Azriel’s chest.

“My love, I thought you were gone,” Y/N wailed.

Azriel slowly moved one of his hands to caress the back of her head. “I would never leave you. Either of you.” His voice was quiet and hoarse, yet Y/N could hear the love within it.

Y/N lifted her head to look at Azriel and noticed both Rhys and Cassian slowly making their way out of the room. She noticed the tears shining in their eyes.

“I never thought I would see you again,” Y/N said.

Azriel slowly pushed himself up on the bed, wincing in pain as he did so.

“No, no,” Y/N said, placing her hands gently on his shoulders. “You need to rest.”

“I’ve done enough resting,” Azriel said, settling back against the headboard. “All I want to do is look at my wife and hold her in my arms.”

Azriel gently tugged Y/N forward until her forehead rested on his. “I heard everything you said to me.” He revealed. “I tried to move, I tried everything but I couldn’t. I had no way to reach you. I never thought I’d ever see you again. I never thought I would meet our child.”

A single tear fell down Azriel’s face and Y/N hastily wiped it away.

“It’s okay,” Y/N said, gently cupping his cheeks. “All that matters is that you are here and you are okay. We don’t need to think about that anymore because you are awake and here.”

“I love you,” Azriel whispered. “I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too,” Y/N replied. “Just promise me that you are not going on any missions for a while.”

“I won’t be,” Azriel said. “I will not be leaving this court at all until our child is born and probably long after. I don’t want to be put in this position again. I don’t want you to ever nearly lose me again. I want to see our child grow up. I want to be by your side for eternity. No mission or job could ever come before my family.”

Y/N gently pecked his lips. “I am so glad you are here, my love.”

“I will always fight to get back to you, Y/N,” Azriel said, nothing but love in his tone. “I love you too much to ever let you go.”

Y/N didn’t respond verbally, instead she gently shuffled forward and wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her head into his shoulder. Azriel’s arms immediately latched around her, keeping her pressed against his body. Even when Y/N tried to pull away slightly to not hurt him, Azriel refused to let her. Y/N just relaxed into him.

“Madja will need to come and check on you at some point,” Y/N mumbled.

“Not right now,” Azriel said. “I just want to hold you right now.”

“Rhys and Cass will want to see you too,” Y/N said.

“They can wait,” Azriel said. “And all the others can wait. Just for tonight I want to spend my time with my family. Just you and our child.”

Y/N pressed a soft kiss to the side of his neck. “Then let’s just lay here all day then. I can’t think of anywhere else I would rather be.”

“I cannot believe how lucky I am that I have you in my life, Y/N,” Azriel said, the stubble on his face scratching her bare shoulder from where her robe had fallen.

“I am the lucky one, Az,” Y/N said. “I am lucky enough to have someone who would fight so hard to come back to me.” Y/N leaned back from the hug and placed his hand on her stomach. “To us.”

“I love you,” Azriel said, wrapping his arms back around Y/N’s body. “I love you both.”

Y/N only hugged him tighter and that was the way the small family remained, completely wrapped up in their own little world.

#azriel angst #acotar x reader #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #azriel fluff

980 notes · View notes

coco-loco-nut · 7 months ago

Text

Wreck

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Sister Reader

Summary: Charles has a racing inchident with his sister

A/n: sorry for modifying the request, I couldn't bring myself to send baby leclerc to the hospital

requests open masterlist

——————

“Let’s go, Y/n, we are going to be late,” Charles bangs on your hotel room door. You open it, giving him a death glare as he walks in.

“I might actually murder you,” you scowl, pulling your hair up into a pony tail. Charles looks all fashionable heading into race day while you just wear a Mercedes polo.

“No you won’t, you love me,”

“Not more than Arthur and Enzo,” you say, the former stands up from the couch in your room.

“Ha, I knew she loved me,” Arthur says, shoving your team backpack into your hands.

“Alright, let’s go. Someone has an F2 race to drive in,” you take a quick glance around the room, making sure nothing was left behind. The three of you enter the paddock and cameras capture your banter. You don’t even stop in the F1 motorhomes, the three of you walk with Arthur to his garage. Lorenzo is waiting for you three.

“You two go back to the F1 paddock, you have your own races to prep for,” Enzo tutts, you roll your eyes lovingly at your older brother.

“Good luck out there, Arthur. I’ll be watching,” you hug your baby brother, who is more than happy to return the hug. Due to his association with Ferrari, you usually only see him on race days when visiting Charles unless there is a support race.

“I’ll see you later,” Arthur tells you, waving goodbye to you and Charles.

“Meet me in Ferrari to watch the race,” Charles says when your reach the Mercedes motorhome.

“There are the best siblings in the paddock,” George greets the two of you.

“We do have the best relationship in the paddock,” you laugh. “I’ll see you later, Charles,” you wave as you walk in with George.

“I think we have a real shot today,” George says, grabbing two coffees.

“Thanks, I agree. The car feels great this weekend and it’s a weaker track for Red Bull. Ferrari are also feeling good, so it will be a strategy fight,” you hum.

You and Charles cheer your little brother on during his feature race, celebrating when he makes the podium. Unfortunately you can’t watch it due to the Drivers’ Parade. Your PR team shows you that you and Charles are trending thanks to your ‘perfect sibling bond’.

“Charles, apparently we have the perfect sibling bond,” you tell him. Your garages are beside each other, which is only a little confusing for some staff.

“If only they knew the truth,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Good luck on the track today,” you hug each other like always.

“You too, may the best Leclerc win,” you smile, shaking his hand, then going back into your garage to talk with your team.

“Our strategy is sound, how are you feeling?” your race engineer asks.

“Have we looked at an overcut? The tires have been good and the car has good pace this weekend,” you suggest, looking at data from the support races.

“That is something we can look at,” Toto agrees. Having Toto in the garage is oddly comforting, he is an active member of your conversations.

“No worries if we don’t go with it, just thought I’d throw it out there,” you nod. the last bit of time before the race flies and before you know it you are in the car, waiting to release the brake and hit the gas.

A good start and good strategy has you fighting for second. As you are approaching your last pit stop later in the race, your engineer informs you that they are going with your overcut idea. You push the car as Charles pits. You were right, a beautiful overcut puts you in P2.

As you are approaching the end of the race, you are fighting with Charles. To you he is just a Ferrari and to him you are just a Mercedes. You feel your wheel get clipped and your car spins out, sending you into the wall. You confirm that you are okay and climb out of your car, frustrated beyond belief. It doesn’t take too long for someone to pick you up and take you to the medical station to get checked out.

“Y/n, are you okay?” Lorenzo and Arthur rush in.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just sore. Is Charles okay?” you ask in return.

“The race just ended, we haven’t gotten a chance to speak with him yet but he sounded upset on the radios,” Arthur tells you, making you move over on the medical bed so he can lay down.

“Y/n! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to clip you. Are you okay?” Charles rushes in, clearly distressed.

“That depends, where did you finish?” you grin.

“P7, I took damage,” Charles says a little confused.

“Then yeah, I’m fine. If you had finished top 5 it would’ve been different. Relax, it was a racing incident, the track narrowed and we both didn’t leave a lot of room. I may not be the FIA, but I don’t blame you,” you ramble a little, trying to stop Charles before he spirals.

“But I hurt you, oh god, what if you died? I shouldn’t ever race again,” you look at your brothers to help, “Arthur do you want my seat?” Charles has tears in his eyes, not quite believing you.

“Ye-” Arthur starts before Lorenzo cuts him off.

“Charles, Y/n is fine. Look at her. She’s a little banged up but that’s nothing that painkillers and a couple days off won’t fix. Quit offering Arthur your seat any time you mess up,” Lorenzo says firmly.

“No, keep offering Arthur your seat. He deserves it more,” you tease, an evil grin on your face. Charles notices and snaps back to reality.

“Next time you say that it’s on sight, I will run you off the track,” Charles pouts.

“Alright, let’s stop before the FIA hears something and holds it against you, even if it’s just sibling banter,” Lorenzo huffs, a little tired of being the parent of the four of you.

"I really am sorry," Charles reiterates, forcing Arthur off the medical bed so he can have the spot.

"I know, it's why you are going to take us out for a really nice dinner," you grin. "Smile," you take a selfie of you and Charles to post on your socials to let the fans know that you are fine. Naturally, you captioned it "nothing, just an inchident."

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc

535 notes · View notes

szasfuckingwife · 5 months ago

Text

thinking about widowed!reader struggling after Johnny’s untimely death. And trust me when I say it was really untimely.

You’d nearly saved up enough money to move from your (not-too-bad) high end apartment to a countryside house, You were days away from your 3rd year anniversary and then there was the whole daughter situation.

As in, the daughter you both raised. The very same daughter he promised he’d return too after this mission.

It almost makes you chuckle. Especially when watching his video logs. Some of them he’s just talking to himself, same old Johnny talking about how the clouds seem slightly greyer for a day in June. Or one where he’s sat on the balcony of your old apartment sipping a latte.

Then you find the one of him after you told him you were pregnant. It’s clear that it was midnight, the sky looks pitch black, you had to have been asleep. You hold your breath as you see him adjust the camera and sit on the toilet seat.

“Where do I even start?” He says to the lens, his thick accent echoing through the bathroom. Johnny’s eyes look a bit teary but he clears his throat anyway.

“Y/N’s just told me some news. Some life changing news actually..” He sighs. “And you know, I’m happy. Who wouldn’t be, it’s a great thing.”

He continued, “But I’m scared. I’m not worthy of her, let alone a baby. I dunno…The kid may hate me. I’m gonna be away on these crap missions, away from their mum…It’ll be rough.”

You watch as he lets out a tired groan. He’s so beautiful, the thought crosses your mind. You’ve never not been lost in his eyes, “I hope it’s a girl. Too many lads in our family. I’ll be breaking a curse. And I know Y/n will be a great mum. That’s what soothes me.”

A tear escapes your eye before the next video plays automatically. The clip shows Johnny with your baby girl on his chest. Moments of caring for her after the premature birth flashes in your mind as you watch him stroke her back.

She’s sleeping snug on his chest as he records her. “She sleeps like her mum.” He whispers, making sure the bass in his voice doesn’t wake her up. Johnny was thoughtful like that. “So peaceful, aren’t you, bonnie?”

He places a kiss on her forehead which causes her to stir lightly, “No no no! Don’t wake up…If your mum knew you weren’t in your crib because of me, she’ll kill me.”

But much to Johnny’s dismay, his baby girl begins to cry and it is loud. A laugh escapes your lips as the video ends abruptly.

A couple of more videos play, one from your daughter’s first birthday, to him secretly filming the engagement ring next to you whilst you were sleeping to honeymoon vlogs. It felt like a trip down memory lane.

But then a particular video began to play.

It was the Cyprus holiday. You remember that day because your daughter begged to go one the beach as you were leaving the next day to return to the UK. Even more bittersweet as Johnny left for another mission when you returned.

The video starts and Johnny is sat on the sand in his trunks, sun glasses resting on his head, “My girls are playing in the water and I am far too tired to join them.”

“Daddy! Look!” Her angelic, tiny voice shouts and Johnny turns the camera to her. Swiftly, she picks up a bucket of water and splashes it on Johnny’s toes. “You devil! Come here you-”

The sound of Johnny’s teasing along with your child’s giggles earns another tear. But you don’t notice it. You smile.

And then Johnny sits back down and points the camera at you, who is also in the water. Against the blushing sky, your silhouette is immediately the focus of the video.

“My beautiful wife…She’s so pretty..” He sighs. The compliments earns a smile from your lips.

“Look at that ass. Wow, that’s all me!” He chuckles, and so do you. “We might have a second one on the way sooner rather than later.”

Your husband turns the camera back to him, “Well, bye for now, I’m gonna go spend time with my family.”

The camera is propped up against some object as Johnny runs up to you and picks you up, peppering you with kisses before his daughter begs for her dad to prop her on his shoulders.

From another pair of eyes, they’d see the perfect family, or the goal. But your eyes won’t ever be the same after seeing his autopsy, his funeral, his badge.

But you smile regardless. Because he’s there.

He always will be.

BONUS:

“Hey, dad…” She whispers, staring at the grey headstone. The tulips rests next to his name as the sun shines down on her. It’s quiet, like how mornings with her did used to be.

She hasn’t visited his grave in years, not coming to terms with him really being gone. But with her wedding quickly approaching, all that was on her mind was some one on one time with her daddy.

“You would like him, dad. He’s great. Mum loves him because he can cook..” A chuckle leaves her lips, “Mum says that his carbonara may be a little better than yours but…I never trued yours so I can’t compare…”

Her voice dies down as she continues. The absence of memories is what really gets to her. She should have had father days, she should of had christmases with him, she should’ve had her father/daughter dance for her wedding.

But she’ll never have that.

“Uncle Riley and Uncle Price like him…took them a while. It was a lot of questions..” She smiles reminiscing on the nearly 5hr sit down they had with her fiancé.

Unbeknownst to her, a tear left her eye. She stroked the headstone and sighed, “I’ll start to visit more, I promise. I just can’t…”

The steadiness of her voice breaks as a mini sob erupts from her, “I don’t like seeing you like this. I miss you so much, daddy.”

i remember seeing a tiktok/reel of a woman with stones that were made from her dads ashes and it made me tear up

#cod modern warfare #cod #cod mw2 #cod x reader #johnny #johnny mctavish x reader #johnny mctavish x you #johnny mctavish #john soap mactavish #soap cod #soap x reader #soap mw2 #soap x you #soap call of duty

173 notes · View notes

rivetgoth · 1 year ago

Text

Black Alternative Music Recs

Not being Black myself, I hesitate to make myself a spokesperson specifically for Black alt artists as I don’t want to be tokenizing or reductive and I’d rather, like, uplift the voices of Black alt people than just make my own lists, BUT, I keep seeing people in the comments of recent posts about Death Grips asking for recs for more Black alternative artists, and I do know a good amount, so as a really basic list I wanted to throw out a few artists I really like—

Light Asylum: Darkwave. Really incredible vocalist, and openly queer. “Dark Allies” is a huge goth club hit but all of her work is great. I’ve seen her live twice and her live concerts are incredible too. One of the bigger Black goth artists.

Ho99o9: Punk/Industrial Hip Hop. Another big one, they’re pretty well known at this point but if you DON’T know them you should. Huuuge variety in sound here, all of it is so fun and solid, absolutely amazing energy.

clipping.: Industrial/Experimental Hip Hop. Really fun and catchy, great lyrics, great mixing, great experimental electronic sound.

Void Palace: Industrial/EBM. Local LA-based act with an amazing industrial dance club sound and vibe. Seen them live and they bring such cool but crazy energy. Really really solid.

O. Children: Darkwave/Post Punk. Really classic gothic sound, amazing vocals, really underrated, theatrical, fun, and moody gothic rock.

Izzy Spears: Industrial/Experimental Hip Hop. Openly gay alternative hip hop artist with a heavy and super danceable beat. I saw him live and he sounded great and had awesome punky energy.

LUSTSICKPUPPY: Punk/Electro-Industrial. Has almost a hyperpop sound sometimes, super high BPM high energy danceable electronic music with a really crazy theatrical style to their performances (kicking myself for missing them last year!). ETA: LSP uses they/them pronouns, corrected now but apologies for missing that irt any older iterations of this post floating around.

Baby Storme: Darkwave/Ethereal Pop. I think she got a bit of popularity on TikTok recently? I don’t use TikTok so idk, but she’s great. Really well mixed, fun, super solid dreamy darkwave with a dancey pop sound intermixed.

Grizz: Darkwave Hip Hop. I JUST discovered this artist, he’s another LA local who just put out a new single that’s getting some attention and he’s really good. Super cool goth fusion sound with really great classic darkwave electronic backing. Check him out!

Cold Gawd: Shoegaze/Post-Hardcore. Iconically sells merch that says “ABOLISH WHITE SHOEGAZE.” Absolute powerhouse of sound; I saw them live and their music sounded torrential, like this intense, powerful storm.

Debby Friday: Dark Electronic/Experimental Hip Hop. Really really haunting and dreamy gothic sound. Collaborates with artists like Boy Harsher. Superbly mixed. Lots of variety in sound but very consistently strong.

Dre Robinson: Industrial/Experimental Electronic. Longtime cEvin Key/Skinny Puppy collaborator. He was on stage with Skuppy during the recent live tour, doing sound and playing the maggot maracas (iykyk). He’s also been involved in a ton of cEvin’s solo work and accompanies him on stage for his live solo shows.

Charles Levi: Industrial/Industrial Rock. Wax Trax!/90s industrial icon, did work for My Life With the Thrill Kill Kult and Pigface. He’s recently had a bunch of serious health problems and has a GoFundMe up of you’d like to donate. He contributed to so much classic industrial rock, it’s crazy.

There’s a billion more. These are just some artists I genuinely really like personally who are Black, and I think all of them deserve a ton of support and recognition as contributors to the alternative scene. There’s so many amazing Black-fronted alternative bands and projects, and I’m just scratching the surface with artists I know and enjoy, Also considered listing some larger names like Yves Tumor and Tricky, but I feel they’re slightly more well known in the mainstream with ~1mil+ listeners on Spotify and I wanted to highlight some slightly more underground voices (to varying degrees—obviously some artists here are more well known than others).

Check them out!! Support Black alternative music!

#goth #industrial #alternative music

428 notes · View notes

delusionaldeadgirl · 2 months ago

Text

I’d Bleed Myself Dry For You

Spencer Reid x Famous Singer!reader

Summary: Spencer’s ex is a famous singer. Penelope’s favorite to be exact. After what happened to Maeve, Spencer didn’t share his love life. The team finds out after the fact.

Warnings: Sad, Use of Y/N

Excitedly, Penelope runs out of her “lair” up to Derek with her laptop. Seeing as though there weren’t any cases, the team was just doing paperwork at the BAU.

“Woah slow down Baby Girl. What’s going on?” Derek asked. “ONLY MY FAVORITE SINGER Y/N LIVE-STREAMING HER DC SHOW!”

Spencer’s ears perked up at the name. No one knew their history. He didn’t want to seem suspicious at the mention of her so he just went back to what he was doing.

Penelope opened up her laptop. The lights of the venue twinkled like stars. Almost as if they were shining on her through the screen. She knew every one of Y/N’s songs, everything about her, except her past shared life with their very own Boy Genius.

As the music began, Penelope leaned closer to the screen, her heart racing. The first few songs flew by as the crowd was loud with excitement. But when Y/N introduced a new track, an immediate hush fell over the audience.

“This next song is about love and loss, and how the memories still linger”. By now Derek, Emily and JJ had all surrounded Penelope’s laptop. As the music started, Spencer couldn’t help but look up from his work to listen to Y/N’s song. As soon as it started playing he noticed he didn’t recognize it. Which isn’t common given his eidetic memory.

“Pull the plug in September”

“I don’t wanna die in June”

As the song went on, those around couldn’t help but be captivated by her performance. Even Spencer. What really captured their attention was soon, on a screen behind Y/N, home videos began to play.

“And the funny thing is I would’ve married you if you had stuck around”

Y/N sang with tears in her eyes.

In the series of clips, moments unfolded—sunlit days in the park, laughter over coffee, and momentary glimpses of a tall figure with curly brown hair. The hand on Y/N’s shoulder, the way he fit in frame. Penelope recognized those slightly awkward mannerisms anywhere.

“Wait is that…?” She whispered, shifting her eyes to look at Derek. “What’s going on?” he asked as he noticed her shift in demeanor, JJ noticing as well.

“That’s Spencer! It has to be!” She whispered, not very quietly. Emily leaned closer to the screen, piecing it together. “So that’s why he gets quiet when we bring up his love life” She said.

Spencer unbeknownst to what they were saying was entranced by the sound coming out of Penelope’s speakers. The marriage lyric hitting the hardest. He knew she was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He let his traumas and doubts get in the way of what for the first time ever, felt like true love.

As the song continued, the lyrics tugged at Spencer’s heart. It was clear that this song was about a love that slipped away, a love that still held weight. Their love, she missed him as much as he missed her. He felt so stupid.

“I had no choice in the matter. Why would I? It’s only the death of me”

The final lines washed over them like a wave, and when the applause erupted from the audience, Penelope sat back breathless. “I can’t believe this. How could he keep this from us?”

Spencer rushed out of the bullpen. Derek crossed his arms, “Looks like Pretty Boy has some explaining to do”.

Penelope nodded, sympathy settling in her chest. “We need to make sure he knows we’re here for him.” JJ added.

“Very true. However I am rooting on getting them back together” Penelope said.

They all share a giggle at a classic Penelope anecdote, wondering how Spencer is processing this.

a/n: this is a common fic theme i love so i wanted to add something of my own to it. i’m not a writer so please be nice.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #mgg #spencer reid x y/n #matthew gray gubler x reader #Spotify

113 notes · View notes

eternalstateofoctober · 3 months ago

Text

— 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔦 𝔴𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔞 𝔟𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖙 𝖔𝖓𝖈𝖊 | AMC’s IWTV

also known as ”local woman is roused to learn editing to deliver everyone this fandom classic” (the video's synced better on desktop)

transcription/video description under the cut:

[video description: a fan video/edit of amc’s ”interview with the vampire” by tumblr user @eternalstateofoctober (me!!) set to a shortened version of lenka’s ”everything at once”. the video clips are cut to the rhythm of the song and its changing lyrics. the song is catchy and upbeat with a light, bouncy rhythm and a whimsical but also slightly melancholic vibe at times. it has a steady beat with repeating piano notes and some xylophone. the video clips are muted so only the song is playing, save for a few voiceover lines and sound effects.

(instrumental intro, repeating piano notes)

the théâtre des vampires orchestra starts playing and another member checks the projector. a watermark with the username @eternalstateofoctober flashes on screen and disappears at the same time as a projector light flickers.

🎵 as sly as a fox 🎵

two clips of daniel after the trial script reveal. first he tosses the script to louis, then he pushes his glasses up and casts a hard look at an off-screen armand.

🎵 as strong as an ox 🎵

armand uses the mind gift to make the coven fall asleep at the dinner table in 2x04, voiceover of him yelling ”enough!” angrily and banging the table. table settings clattering. then lestat using the mind gift at the trial to manipulate louis’ sentence. his left ear starts bleeding. VO lestat: ”banishment...”

🎵 as fast as a hare 🎵

louis sprints at daniel in ’73, making him stumble back.

🎵 as brave as a bear 🎵

clips of young daniel being tortured by armand. first he lifts his gaze, then there’s two clips of him being slammed down by armands powers. last clip is him closing his eyes while armand holds his face. VO of daniel’s grunts and whimpers.

🎵 as free as a bird 🎵

claudia on stage as baby lu mimes opening a window made of projections happily.

🎵 as neat as a word 🎵

claudia writes in her diary in season 1, the clip has a double exposure effect with her pen moving on the page.

🎵 as quiet as a mouse 🎵

a wide shot of the sewers the children of darkness inhabit.

🎵 as big as a house 🎵

establishing shot of the théâtre des vampires building. suddenly the screen flashes black and there’s a quick flickering shot of the talamasca logo on daniel’s laptop screen and a glitching sound effect.

🎵 as mean as a wolf 🎵

close-up of santiago on stage in 2x02, he looks right at the audience seductively.

🎵 as sharp as a tooth 🎵

shots of the vamps baring their fangs. lestat ripping the priests throat out in 1x01, claudia in madeleine’s shop, louis in ’73 showing off to daniel, armand hissing at lestat in 2x03.

🎵 as deep as a bite 🎵

extreme close-up of lestat biting louis at the altar.

🎵 as dark as the night 🎵

madeleine lights a candle that illuminates her face during a power outage. she’s watched from outside her shop window by a curious claudia.

🎵 as sweet as a song 🎵

young daniel embraces armand after armand has manipulated him to accept death. armand strokes his hair and there’s armand’s calm whisper as a voiceover: ”i’ll hold you…”

🎵 as right as a wrong 🎵

claudia’s real turning. lestat looks up from an off-screen louis who’s begging on his knees. in the second clip he’s kneeling next to claudia on the floor and lifting her upper body while louis’ back is still turned to them.

🎵 as long as a road 🎵

louis’ finger taps a spot on a map in the warzone.

🎵 as ugly as a toad 🎵

the vampire bruce cocking his head.

🎵 as pretty as a picture, hanging from a fixture 🎵

lestat’s portrait hangs on the wall in the théâtre’s green room in 2x02, jumpcut to it in flames in 2x08.

🎵 strong like a family 🎵

the de pointe du lac and frenière families pose for a portrait at grace’s wedding. the clip changes to the next with the camera’s flash going off.

🎵 strong as i wanna be 🎵

VO Madeleine: ”mais j'ai survécu.” (”but i survived” in french). shots of madeleine’s past, the trial by mob. extreme close-up of her crying face, the angry crowd surrounding her, her screaming while her hair is shorn. the segment ends with her throwing an iron through her shop window where a group of locals has just painted a swastika. sound effect of glass shattering.

🎵 bright as day, as light as play 🎵

madeleine’s vision of claudia as she’s turned. claudia in a yellow dress in madeleine’s shop, smiling to the camera—at madeleine—and turning to the mirror. the whole scene basks in warm, bright afternoon light.

🎵 as hard as nails 🎵

grace looks up at a slightly off-screen louis in 1x05, a hard, difficult look. they are at louis’ fake grave at night and grace is holding a funeral bouquet.

🎵 as grand as a whale 🎵

two clips after one another. first is louis being buried alive in 2x07, a silent scream as the rocks rush to cover his face. second one is his feet stepping onto the rocks in the penthouse’s sundial room. VO old daniel: ”where’s your coffin?”

(the music quiets and slows down slightly for the next line.)

🎵 as warm as the sun 🎵

close-up of claudia burning in the sun at the trial. she is turning into ash but still looks at an off-screen lestat.

🎵 as silly as fun 🎵

several clips in rapid succession. murder family laughing at a movie theatre, them dancing together—holding hands, claudia cheering riding the sidecar of a motorcycle in paris during the théâtre’s group hunting, armand smirking wearing malek’s glasses, vamp daniel’s tv interview, him laughing at the host.

🎵 as cool as a tree 🎵

real rashid steps slightly forward, hands clasped behind his back with a neutral expression.

🎵 as scary as the sea 🎵

two clips of armand in ’73. first his eyes shake as he slams daniel down with his powers in the background, then him turning slowly—eyes wide—to face daniel that’s sitting in front of him.

🎵 as hot as fire 🎵

three clips showing fire in the show. first: daciana throwing herself into the flames, second: armand’s fire gift, him looking at a flame in his hand, third: the théâtre’s fire starting behind louis as he looks into claudia’s mirror backstage. the mirror reads ”tweedily deedily dead”.

🎵 cold as ice 🎵

louis cuts off santiago’s head, louis smirking, looking down. VO: louis’ satisfied chuckle.

🎵 sweet as sugar and everything nice 🎵

VO louis and old daniel: ”would you like a sample?” ”i’m a savory man most days.” with first a clip of armand-as-rashid’s blissful expression as louis drinks from him at the dinner table in 1x05, then three clips of sweet treats: the strawberry dessert from 1x02 being set in front of daniel, daniel taking a bite of it, then young daniel sipping his grasshopper at mary’s. the clip ends with old daniel’s hand pushing his coffee cup forward, requesting a refill.

🎵 as old as time 🎵

armand stares at a painting depicting him in the louvre, eyes wide, brows slightly furrowed, head slightly turned.

🎵 as straight as a line 🎵

the recording on daniel’s laptop flatlining, him looking at armand, armand smiling warmly at him.

🎵 as royal as a queen 🎵

lestat basks in all his king raj mardi gras costume glory, he smiles widely up at the camera positioned above his head.

🎵 as buzzed as a bee 🎵

lestat on stage in 2x03, wiggling his shoulders, smiling playfully, flipping his coat tails up and bending over for the audience.

🎵 as stealth as a tiger 🎵

estelle and celeste spying on louis and claudia in paris.

🎵 smooth as a glider 🎵

armand floats up the louvre floors as louis and dreamstat take the stairs.

🎵 pure as a melody, pure as i wanna be 🎵

first, a shot of louis and paul dancing at grace’s wedding, smiling at each other. then, a close-up of paul sitting of the roof, turning to look at an off-screen louis as the screen slowly fades to black and another watermark appears. the voiceover is paul and louis’: ”i love you, louis.” ”i love you too, baby brother.”

/end video description]

#iwtv #iwtv edit #amc iwtv #interview with the vampire #amc interview with the vampire #SURPRISE!!!#not actually because i’ve BEEN talking about this hehe #i drop this at 1am and go to sleep #idk if there’s ever a perfect time to post art but hey. it’s here now!!! yay!!#HAVE AT IT!! ENJOY!!#my firstborn and my first time touching any editing software so if needed approach accordingly i guess #i wanna talk about my thoughts n choices while making this but i’m saving that for another post if i feel like it lol. enough tags for one #ost i think.#louis de pointe du lac #lestat de lioncourt #armand #claudia iwtv #daniel molloy #madeleine iwtv #jacob anderson #sam reid #assad zaman #eric bogosian #delainey hayles #bailey bass #roxane duran #luke brandon field #if this gets any notes i’ll be excited as hell but even if it doesn’t i’m still happy because I MADE IT MYSELF #i have a few favorite parts personally that i think are like the standouts. tell me if you have one 👀#ok bye goodnight lol <3

93 notes · View notes

abbysimsfun · 23 days ago

Text

🎃👻☠️ Happy Halloween! 🍬🎃👻

And a happy Life & Death day to those celebrating!

Between yesterday and today's post, Lavender aged up to infant! (I needed to get through all storyline during her newborn stage just so I could dress her as a tiny unicorn for Halloween, yes.)

I pulled the Nesbitt-Gordons together to pose with a bunch of their hard-earned Reaper Rewards swag. I had to do something with it, since this isn't their usual vibe and they're not going to use it for too much going forward. They were always in it for the ambrosia and it's safe to say they got plenty out of the quest!

I love this kind of event and I want more. If they keep fitting into my storytelling I'm even more excited about them!

(More photos without the alien eyes after the cut!)

Lavender looks like Heather's little mini but there's still so much Conrad in this face, I can't get over it.

Ash and Lavender's Halloween costumes are from @adjusted-karma's Baby 1st and Baby's 3rd Halloween costume sets! There's also one for toddlers, too, which is where I got Ash's bunny costume ears and facepaint when Spooky Day came up in-game! Heather's glasses are a purple shade of a style Heather's worn before in green by @stargazer-sims-cc!

Poses are a mix of two from @rebouks Infant Insanity Family Photos pack, which is a big favourite of mine! Such amazing quality without clipping. I love it so much. Check out the detail with Lavender's tiny hand grasping Heather's finger. It's so perfect! It shows off Heather's (temporary) Grim tattoo really nicely, too.

I also gave Heather a braided hairstyle to show the earrings, but this pose doesn't really do it, so here are some Heather selfies. Still not great since she hates photography!

Tomorrow's post is basically just infant Lavender picspam because she's too cute. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

#simblereen #reapers rewards #family photos #sims in bloom #ts4 legacy #sims 4 legacy #happy halloween #wcif

57 notes · View notes

dairy-farmer · 2 months ago

Note

Wilderness survival/Stranded au (watched a clip from Yellow Jackets the TV show and got this idea))

Maybe Tim by himself and a plane goes down somewhere he’s like super isolated.

Has to survive for ages by himself because no one knows his missing or is going to look for him. (Maybe he’s on his Bruce quest)

This is fine he is more than able to survive in the wilderness. Except he’s pregnant and has no idea. He realise once he’s been there for a while and maybe he was already a few months along when he got stranded. He goes into labour all by himself and he’s so scared. Either way he has the baby early and or its sickly and he tries his best but it dies after a few days :(

He never tells anyone about it went he gets back to :(

maybe one day in the future when he’s under the effects of fear toxin he cries and screams for hours about his baby :( he just wants his baby

tw//cw: pregnancy, child death.

🥺 the fact that tim would've ended up in that situation because he was just so desperate to save bruce. tim chartered the plane so he could avoid using commercial where he'd face delays, be easier to track, risk losing his gear during random searches, waste time because of delays, weather, and general airline bullshit.

but tim, in his rush to get to new clues, rushed through the maintenance check.

he's lucky he gets out of the crash with both limbs in tact. when the engines failed the wind had been in his favor and he'd been able to glide and crash in some thick brush in the mountains. but that's the last lucky thing that happens to tim in awhile.

no one knows where tim is. he didn't tell them, and just before leaving gotham he'd made a stop at a gas station bathroom where he cut out every tracker he'd allowed bruce to inject into him so that no one could show up where he was and shuffle him home by force or try to "talk" him out of it. tim had burned bridges when choosing to look for bruce.

no one was coming.

tim knew how to survive. he'd been trained. he can read the constellations and know approximately where he was and could navigate his way back to civilization. tim isn't as hopelessly lost as any other person would be.

but just because tim survived the crash didn't mean he was unscathed. tim took a bad hit to the head. the concussion is a severe one. when tim went down the sun was out but when he wakes up its dark. so dark he can't even see his hand in front of his face and he's hit with a fear so sharp when for a moment he thinks he's been blinded.

it's only hours later when the sun begins to rise that tim can feel some relief fill him.

tim can only make it a few inches before the dizziness is too much and he vomits. the force of the movement and his body's resulting trembling makes the pain in his head worse. for a few days tim is forced to stay in his downed plane which thankfully hasn't been badly damaged. the wings have been ripped off but the body was good enough to protect tim from the elements.

tim manages to survive with emergency thermal blankets and the rations he'd been carrying with him.

afterwards when he can move around a little more freely is when he decides to find out how badly he's fucked.

tim is in the mountains, likely somewhere remote. tim had been flying over a national park when he'd gotten the engine light flashing and unless he'd been lucky enough to land near a well traveled trail help wasn't coming.

tim gets better but not well enough to begin the trek back to civilization.

so he does his best to survive.

he collects firewood, searches out fresh water.

he gets lucky.

he finds a small forest ranger cabin. he almost misses it, it's so overgrown with green the forest has practically swallowed it. the latch is rusted and tim needs to use a rock to break it which makes his head spin for a few minutes.

the inside is small and dusty. but its warm and dry with a fireplace.

tim manages to find old magazines and cracked books in a trunk along with a few sealed cans of hardtack. the cabin has carvings on the inside with names of old forest rangers and dates which stop after 1940. given the state and how it looked abandoned tim assumed the cabin was probably used up until world war 2. any ranger that had known about the cabin had probably joined the army or been drafted. maybe it'd even been forgotten when all resources and attention were redirected to the war.

either way tim has a cabin full of old camping equipment and a place to recover until he was good enough to make the journey back to civilization. only that doesn't happen. even after the concussions symptoms lesson, tim gets sick.

a mild fever and chills that he uses his limited medical supplies to soothe.

tim has been foraging his food so far. berries, nuts, some mushrooms.

it's not much but its something. he starts setting his sights on bigger game. laying snares with broken fishing wire and traps. he has to.

because it's getting colder.

winter was going to cover the mountains in snow and once that happened it didn't matter if tim knew which star pointed north, he didn't have the gear to trek through the mountains in the winter.

had he not found the cabin he would've been deeply fucked.

so tim is focused on chopping enough wood with a blunt axe and storing as much food as he can.

he's tired all the time, vomiting still from bouts of dizziness. sometimes he throws up his food because he messed up with his mushroom identification.

tim is already sick and feeling bad. he doesn't notice he's pregnant until he's showing.

until his front is rounding out a little more and he realizes that he hasn't had his period for months.

and thats bad. for so many reasons but mostly because tim is in the mountains, alone, miles from help, and about to be snowed into the cabin for the rest of winter.

tim is worried. and scared.

he speeds up his foraging. drying berries, roasting nuts. he gets lucky and catches a deer in a pit he dug. it breaks its leg and tim only feels a little bad when he puts it out of its misery.

he uses its meat for jerky, smokes some of it. uses its intestines for bait to catch fish and then pickles the catch using the glass jars he finds in the cabin.

tim is worried about having enough, about being able to make it through the winter once the baby is born. because the baby is going to be born in that cabin and there's nothing tim can do to stop it.

it's started snowing and tim is out working every day until it gets too hard to move through the snow and with his rounding belly - that's when he starts staying within the cabin.

reading, eating, tending his fire, curling up in the moth eaten blankets and the emergency thermal blankets he sewed together.

he drinks teas made from melted snow, crushed up berries, and some mint he found growing in a wild patch by the south side of the cabin.

tim is trying his best. he's not straining himself anymore, he's resting, eating, staying hydrated, staying warm.

he grows heavier with his baby, marks the days using a knife he found to carve under the names of the cabin's past inhabitants.

he wakes up one morning feeling...odd.

a feeling that does not go away for the entire day. and then- in the middle of the night, it happens.

tim is straining and gasping and whimpering on his knees, hands pressed blindly between his spread legs growing warm with blood and clear fluid. its too soon. far far too soon.

tim's baby is small. very small. worryingly small.

tim does his best, he gathers all the blankets, sits closer to the fire, winces through the pain.

his baby is slow, lethargic, they aren't crying like normal babies. tim tries to feed them, keeps them pressed close to his naked skin.

they're alive for three days before they just stop making any sound at all.

the grief that hits tim is immeasurable.

all the loss he's had. his father, his friends, bruce.

but its his baby that breaks him.

the ground is frozen solid. tim can't even bury them. and even if he did tim was terrified an animal would dig his baby up.

winter made animals desperate.

so tim does the next best thing.

wrapping his baby in his warmest blanket, tim builds a pyre. its a small one.

and tim sits beside it as it burns. he doesn't leave until the flames have consumed everything.

the rest of the winter tim is in a daze.

spring comes and the weather warms and tim takes his pack of prepared supplies and he follows the stars. after a few days he finds a road. he walks along it and 20 minutes later a couple going camping find him and ask if he needs help.

tim knows how he looks. dirty, tired, skinny. and there must be a look on his face because both the driver and passenger get out and approach him slowly, speak gently, and ask if they can drive him to a hospital, a police station.

tim just asks for a ride to town.

the first place he goes is the bank for some money to afford a hotel room using one of his aliases. he showers, gets some new clothes and a first aid kit.

and in the morning he buys a ticket to europe.

bruce was still waiting for him after all.

#answered asks #asks #anonymous #⚠️pregnancy

75 notes · View notes

ofmdrecaps · 1 month ago

Text

10/15-17/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; David Jenkins/Kinga, Rhys Darby: The Cryptid Factor; Darby Family Foster Kittens; Taika Waititi; Joel Fry; Samba Schutte; Alex Sherman; Ruibo Qian; Matt Maher; Anapela Polataivao; Cohen Holloway; Guz Khan; Rachel House; Damien Gerard; Momentus Reminders: Drag Your King, Oodles of Revenge; Death by Cheese; Signed Samba Photo; Articles; OFMD Rewind w/ Adopt Our Crew; Bluesky Migration; Crew Spotlight: Never Left Podcast, Citizen Dame Podcast; Love Notes

== Cast & Crew Sightings ==

= David Jenkins / Kinga =

David and Kinga are out in the Cat Skill Mountains! Parenthood on the way! They look happy <3

Source: Kinga's Instagram

= Rhys Darby =

More daily doodles from Rhys on his free substack!

Source: Rhys' Substack

= The Cryptid Factor =

The 100th Episode of The Cryptid Factor is now available on Patreon!

In honor of the 100th episode -- there's new merch on The Cryptid Factor Website as well!

Halina, (Buttons daughter) also upgraded things and even added a Cryptid Museum section! And if that wasn't enough, Dan decided to drunk dial Buttons and Halina, in celebration of the 100th episode release! Shenanigans ensued-- including a guest appearance from Rosie! (Rhys was jet lagged and asleep so he wasn't able to join).

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Dan Schreiber (@schreiberland)

instagram

= Darby Family =

James and Kippy are still available for adoption! ! Hand raised by the Darby's and being fostered for @kittenrescuela! If I could easily get to CA to adopt them, I'd do it! But if you're nearby, please consider adopting these two adorable babies! Rosie says you can "Go to the Kitten Rescue website and search James and Kippy to fill in an application."

Source: Rosie's Instagram

= Taika Waititi =

You can see a clip from the George FM Breakfast interview tih Taika below!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by George FM Breakfast (@georgefmbreakfast)

instagram

Source: George FM Breakfast Oh, and Just Taika and Rita being goofy.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by ꧁*:･ﾟ✧Kacper☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ꧂ (@ritaora.poland_)

instagram

Source: RitaOra Poland - OG Source: Rita's Tiktok

= Joel Fry =

Our Fabulouos Frenchie, Joel Fry, and the Doctor, Jodie Whittaker are staring in The Dutchess of Malfi! Playing in the Trafalgar Theatre in London! It's playing until Dec 20th if you're in town! To learn more, check on this Review / and Instagram!

Source: Dutchess Play Instagram

= Samba Schutte =

Samba is joining the voice cast for Nickelodeon's Monster High!

Source: Samba's Instagram

Samba's joining Netflix's Jurassice World: Chaos Theory as Ousmane!

Source: Samba's Instagram

= Alex Sherman =

Our crewmate @smudgeandfrank;s kitty stickers are in, and she offered some up to our guardian angel Alex Sherman and he's all too excited for the little kitties! You can check out her stickers here!

Source: Alex Sherman's Twitter

= Ruibo Qian =

Wise and Kind words from our Pirate Queen Ruibo. "pleasure is an act of rebellion. happy full moon. 🌝♾️✨❤️"

Source: Ruibo's Instagram

= Matt Maher =

Our favorite Pete was featured in a screenrant article recently for his role in American Horror Stories Season 4!

Source: Adopt Our Crew's Twitter

= Anapela Polataviao =

Our dear Auntie was out in Seoul!

Source: Petmal Petelo's IG

= Guz Khan =

Guz running into friends <3

Source: Salman's Instagram

= Rachel House =

Rachel's Directoral film The Mountain (Te Maunga) was nominated for a 2024 Asia Pacific Screen Award for Best Youth Film!

Source: APSA Instagram

= Cohen Holloway =

Pop-pop's latest show-- Dark City: The Cleaner is available now on Neon in Aotearoa!

Source: Neon_NZ Instagram

= Damien Gerard =

Our father Teach, Damien Gerard became a US Citizen this year, and he's already out doing his civic duty! He also shared some of his cat babies which are still so darn cute.

Source: Damien's Twitter

== Momentus Events Reminders ==

= Drag Your King =

Drag Your King with Vico is this Saturday the 19th! You can still sign up! EVENT DATE: OCTOBER 19 EVENT TIME: 10AM PT/1PM ET EVENT LOCATION: ONLINE Get tickets here!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Vico Ortiz (@puertoricaninja)

instagram

Source: Vico's Instagram

= Oodles of Revenge =

You can still get the Oodles of Revenge merch on Momentus as well!

Source: Vico's Instagram

= Death By Cheese =

You can also still sign up for Death by Cheese with Samba! EVENT DATE: NOVEMBER 9 EVENT TIME: 10AM PT/1PM ET EVENT LOCATION: ONLINE

= Signed Photo! =

You can also get a hand signed photograph of Roach on the Momentus website!

Source: Stands

== Articles ==

Source: Adopt Our Crew Twitter

== OFMD Rewind ==

Our friends over at @adoptourcrew were back today the 17th with episodes 6 and 7 of S2! If you have access to twitter, please visit Adopt Our Crew's Twitter! If not, and you'd like to still read through their thread, you can check it out here!

Source: Adopt Our Crew's Twitter

== Bluesky Migration ==

After the latest privacy change announcements on twitter, a lot of folks are either completely or partially migrating to the bluesky app! Are yall on there? I'd love to follow you! Recaps: ofmdrecaps.bsky.social Personal: aspirantabby.bsky.social

== Fan Spotlight ==

= Never Left Podcast =

New episode of Never Left! This time discussing Wee John! Choose your favorite listening platform on their linktr.ee!

Source: Never Left Podcast Twitter

= Citizen Dame =

If you're a Patreon subscriber of Citizen Dame, there's a new episode covering OFMD S2.2 Red Flags!

Source: Citizen Dame Podcast Patreon

== Love Notes ==

Tonight's love notes were recently share by our dear Pirate Queen Ruibo. It really helped me get through the last couple days so I wanted to share it. I hope you all are staying safe and being kind to yourselves.

Source: LexyFlorentina's Instagram

58 notes · View notes

wintersera · 1 year ago

Text

rockstar!winter x f!reader

notes: completely self indulgent as you will be able to tell from all the screaming- i’m blaming that clip… drove me insane LIKE ACTUALLY INSANE

cw: dom winter, sub reader (OMG SURPRISE), daddy kink, is calling reader a ‘whore’ degredation? it’s also not proofread i just wrote this on autopilot-

word count: 0.8/0.9k i forgot….

showing up to your girlfriends performance for the first time ever was going to be the death of you.

the lights were dim, loudness of the bass shaking your skeleton? you didn’t even know that could happen. it was a bit overwhelming for you because honestly... you weren’t even into rock that much even though your girlfriend is a rock genius.

it was definitely worth your time. seeing the spotlight shine on her while she plays with her guitar. and in all seriousness you didn’t really give a shit about the music AT ALL. your focus was completely on her fingers, the way she was tapping and strumming the strings had you in a trance, and oh my! you’re panties are soaked through.

you didn’t even last one second into the song thag was playing, all that was in your mind was her fingers, oh my god her hands, her fingers should be in me right now, i want her fing- yeah…

“baby you did so good on stage” running to the back of the stage. you just couldn’t wait anymore

“of course, you were there. i had to put on the best show for my girl” standing there with sweat dripping down her face. “did you like my guitar solo? dont tell my fans, but i practiced it just for you”. your girlfriend, minjeong, was so sweet. the main guitarist of the band aespa and the hottest person to ever cross this universe. whatever you did in your past life must be crazy to bless you with such a fine ass girlfriend.

“no one is in this room right?”

“what are you implying y/n?”

“oh nothing, i just wanted to say that you looked so hot on stage daddy” seducing her by slipping the string of your top down your shoulders.

not expecting that, she dropped everything she was holding right at that moment and cornered you. locking the door just in case one of her bandmates decide to waltz in. “oh don’t you dare start this now. not with those skimpy ass clothes you're wearing” now you knew wearing a mini skirt and a tight top would do you justice even tho your ass was so cold waiting outside the venue 😭, and well today you couldn't help being turned on, seeing your girlfriend work her guitar with her skillful fingers on that electric guitar had your pussy throbbing.

“turning me on after my performance, oh my baby is such a whore for me” hiking up your skirt to reveal you pretty much soaked thong “and you’re wearing a thong? all dolled up for me? you’re so kind” tugging the thong that rubbed your clit all in the right ways.

“a-anything for you daddy” god you turned her on so much. she just wanted to fuck your pussy so hard rn, and thats what she’s doing 🤭 pumping not one but three fingers into your sopping wet hole while she messily makes out with you, her tongue dominating over yours with ease. the noises you were making were anything but holy, thanking the interior designers for the very good choice of making the room sound proof because god, you are literally screaming out her name, moaning, groaning, literally all the noises are coming out of your slutty mouth. and if the noises coming from your mouth weren’t enough to show that she had you wrapped around her fingers (PUN NOT INTENDED) your wet pussy definitely showed. sticky, wet sounds were definitely escaping out of you. oh my god she was making you so unbelievably wet, your juices literally spilling all over the floor coating her hands and dripping everywhere on your legs.

AND SHES NOT FINISHED WITH YOU, breaking your kiss to make you face the wall and bend over so she can see your pussy in full view!!! her licking your lips before she fully makes out with it. licking and sucking so violently on your clit it makes you squirm and buck your hips into her face, while also shoving her fingers back into your pussy, slamming them into you without any mercy. it doesn’t really take that long to make you cum, with the whole build up during the concert you were pretty much standing there in awe on the verge of cumming JUST BY SEEING HER PERFORM?? she’s so rough with you but that's how daddy minjeong likes it anyways, seeing you turn into her personal sex doll and treating you as such as well, slapping your ass as you're bent over like a whore, repeating to you that she’s “your daddy”. she would open the door to show the entire crowd her lovely baby being finger fucked with a stupid slutty fucked out face, but she’s overprotective like that you know.

when you finally, cum it’s so violent yet so so so good. legs shaking, BODY SHAKING, you’re on the verge of blacking out as you’re hitting the walls screaming “daddy- ah, daddy m-minjeong your fingers feel so good” biting down on your lip as you feel the ecstasy course through your entire body.

of course once you’ve had the most craziest orgasm of your life, you fall to your knees.

picking you up she just smiles at you, kissing you on the lips then whispering in your ear “let’s continue this at home”

#wintersera #aespa smut #aespa x fem reader #aespa x fem reader smut #aespa winter smut #kim minjeong #fem! reader #kpop smut #girl group smut #gg x reader #kpop girl group smut #girl group x reader

570 notes · View notes

azrielslightintheshadows · 1 year ago

Note

can i please request something with eris x reader where reader is the sister of Rhysand and she’s secretly meeting him and they’re in love and mated. She becomes pregnant and her instincts wants her closer to her mate so she finds every excise to go to the autumn court, claiming that since eris is a new high lord they need to make good connections. Rhysand tells her to stay there for a month and she leaves. Thst one month she fakes letters to them and tells everything runs smoothly when she knows that eris wouldn’t ever declare war against his mates home. Eris hates that she’s not with him and they decide to tell the inner circle. They’re angry at first but them reader explains that eris and rhysand are the same, wearing a mask. So they accept him when they see how extremely protective he is of her, defending her when rhysand yelled at her. They’re accepted and leave for the autumn court for the baby where she becomes high lady👀

Everything is going to be okay.

Eris x f!Reader

Masterlist.

Warnings; angst, swearing, mentions of death, clipping, abuse and sex

Okay I was really excited about this. Thank you for the incredible request. I hope you enjoy it!

Velaris was your home, and it wasn’t just the beautiful and peaceful city that made it your home, it was the people there… your family. You had barely escaped death, your mother was able to hide you and you had watched her and your sister howling in pain as their wings were ripped from their backs, you were almost caught when they chopped off their heads making you throw up. The noise caught the attention of one of the males, but you quickly placed your hand over your mouth and nose keeping you silent. You only left your hiding place when you heard your older brother’s -Rhysand’s deep and soothing voice, you ran into his arms crying and screaming. Sometimes when you are feeling scared or sad you can still feel the ghost of his hands, engulfing you tightly and his warmth keeping you safe.

The trauma never faded, especially for Rhys… he became paranoid about your safety and at some point, he even locked you in the house of wind, warding it so only Cassian, Azriel, Mor, Amren and he could get in or out. When Rhys was trapped under the mountain everything changed, you became the ruler of the court of dreams with your cousin’s -Mor’s help. You both worked hard day and night to keep Velaris hidden and the people safe, you both felt that you owed this to your brother who so selflessly traded his life for your freedom and happiness.

Then Rhysand came back, and took control of the Night Court again, but this time he noticed how strong you became and made you his emissary. That’s how you met your mate, the heir of the Autumn Court, the prince. He had come to Hewn city to make a bargain with your brother, and the moment he stepped in front of your brother’s throne and his eyes fell on you on Rhysand’s right side the bond snapped. You sent him a thankful look when he didn’t say anything and later that evening he found you alone, trapping you between his strong body and the wall. He cupped your face and snorted.

“A princess for the prince” he had said with a smirk.

You knew you had to stay away from him, you knew that if your brother ever found out he would lock you in the house of wind again and probably murder your mate slowly and painfully. But you couldn’t, you immediately saw through Eris’ mask, you could see how his eyes softened when he looked at you and how his hand trembled by the power he used to keep it from touching you. He showed you so much respect and affection that at some point made you wonder if he really was Beron’s son. Other than that, his looks didn’t help with staying away, the Autumn heir is a sight for sore eyes. Strong and sculpted body, sharp face decorated with the most beautiful amber eyes you have ever seen and full lips that look so soft and biteable. You craved him, you wanted to devour him. Every night you would dream about him, about the things you wanted him to do to you and when it all became too much you pulled the bond and sneaked out to find him. You kept meeting him secretly and after a few months you accepted the bond, asking Lucien to put a glamour on you so your family wouldn’t smell Eris’ scent on you and making him swear not to tell anyone. Lucien kept his oath and covered for you when you sneaked out to find his brother.

It had been a year since you accepted the bond when two things happened at the same day. Rhysand helped Eris kill Beron and you found out you were pregnant.

Eris was busy with his new duties and the night court was on lockdown until they figured what your mate’s plans were, so sneaking out to find him wasn’t an option anymore and your pregnancy making you yearn for your mate wasn’t helping at all. You were completely frustrated, and your anxiety had reached its peak, you knew that your baby bump would be visible in a few weeks, and you dreaded your brother’s reaction.

“I can send Mor there its too risky for you” Rhysand used his high lord’s voice as he spoke to you. “Are you kidding me? You want to send Mor to the Autumn Court? After everything that she went through?” you threw your hands up in the air and yelled.

“She forgave Eris a long time ago” Rhys argued.

“Our court’s relationship with the Autumn is fragile, if you send your sister there it’s a message of trust and respect. After all I’m one of your most trusted emissaries, you know that I will never betray you.” Your face was red, you were so frustrated, and your body shook with need. Need to touch your mate, to be close to him, to feel his warmth and affection. Your baby needed its father, and you wouldn’t let it down.

Rhys rubbed his face and sighed. “Okay, you are right. You will go there for a month, I expect you to write to me every Friday and if you sense something wrong you will come back immediately.”

You smiled and ran to him, hugging him tightly. “Thank you! I won’t let you or our court down” you promised and hurried off to pack.

After saying goodbye to everyone you winnowed right outside of the Autumn court’s palace, Eris was waiting at the gates a smile on his face as he saw you.

“Finally, Rhys wrote to me three hours ago” he rolled his eyes and smirked.

“I had to pack” you smiled and shrugged.

He took your bags and guided you to your room. The moment the door closed and no one could see you, Eris threw your bags on the bed and picked you up, spinning you around and kissing your neck. “I missed you so much little fox” he murmured between kisses.

“I missed you too my lord” you replied, and he growled at the new title. His arms tightened around you and the kisses became bites. “How do you wish to be taken little fox” he breathed and carried you to the bed.

“Wait” you gasped as he laid you down and crawled on top of you. He froze and kept himself higher, not a single part of him touching you. You always loved how respectful he is whenever you tell him to stop or wait.

“I want to tell you something” you continued, and he tried to stand up. You quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him down on you. “What is it baby?” he asked and stared at your eyes anxiously.

“We are not alone” you smiled, and he furrowed his eyebrows.

He watched as your hand grabbed his own and placed it on your abdomen, pressing slightly. He blinked, realization hitting him like a brick.

“Are you?” he whispered.

“Your heir is in there” you replied, your voice soft and filled with love. “My heir…” he repeated, and his thumb caressed your soft skin.

You teared up at the feelings he was shoving down the bond, happiness, love, pride and fear.

“Everything is going to be okay” you reassured him.

“Does your brother know?” he asked after the initial shock.

“Not yet” you replied, and he nodded.

He pushed your shirt up and moved so he was on the same level as your belly, he left small kisses there. “I will always protect you.” He glanced at you “Both of you”.

You spent the rest of the day in your room with Eris making love to you and worshiping your body.

He left early in the morning not wanting someone to see him and you pressed your head on his pillow, needing to feel his warmth and scent. His words kept replaying in your mind.

“I can’t wait for your belly to grow.” “Fuck you’re going to be so beautiful.”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 🍁 🍂 ☁️˙✧˖°

You spent the rest of the days exploring the palace, getting to know Lady Autumn and the people there. Every night Eris would sneak into your room and stay there until the morning. The first Friday you wrote a quick letter to Rhysand explaining that Eris is way too busy handling the problems in his court to even care about the other courts. He responded quickly “Okay be safe, I love you”.

You felt guilty for lying to him, but every time Eris would come and lay his head on your belly, talking to the baby and kissing your soft skin your guilt would turn into anger. How could your brother not see the mask Eris wore? They were practically the same. You shouldn’t have to hide your mating bond just because Rhys doesn’t want to see the truth.

Next Friday came and you went into Eris’ office asking for his help to write the letter.

Eris seems to want to keep the peace between Autumn and Night for now.

You wrote and sent it to Rhys. The reply came a few moments later.

Find out his plans for the future. You can do this, I believe in you. I love you.

You sighed and stared at your mate.

“You know that I would never attack your court, right?” he asked with a frown. “Yes but I can’t say that to Rhys, he will ask me how I know that… what will I say? Because he is my mate and I’m pregnant with his child? I’m going to give him a heart attack!”

“I know but he will find out eventually” Eris sighed.

“Eventually” you repeated and sat on his lap, hiding your face in his neck.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 🍁 🍂 ☁️˙✧˖°

The month passed way to quickly and Eris watched as you packed your bags with a sad smile. His eyes stayed on your covered baby bump.

“Okay, I think I’m ready” you announced, and he growled.

His eyes became darker, his stare possessive and the candles in the room flickered.

“No.” he yelled “Enough with this shit. You will stay here by my fucking side as my wife and the mother of my heir! If Rhysand has a fucking problem with that then I will start a fucking war!” his voice was lethal as he spoke. The primal need to protect his mate and child taking over. You had never seen him look so feral and you took a step back.

“Baby calm down… please” you softly said.

“I can’t stand this anymore y/n. I want my mate by my side.”

“Okay then come with me. We can tell them together.” You offered your heart breaking by the sadness in his eyes.

He nodded and took your hand. You winnowed to Velaris and dropped in the house of wind. Eris glanced around curiously, and you both walked inside.

Cassian, Azriel and Nesta were sitting in the dining room all of their eyes widening as they saw Eris.

“What is he doing here?” Cassian growled while Azriel’s eyes unfocused, you knew he was calling Rhysand. Eris snorted but didn’t speak as you squeezed his hand.

You ignored Cassian and pulled Eris with you towards the table, you both sat down next to each other and waited.

“Y/n I asked you something” Cassian spoke again and stared at you.

“And I didn’t reply.” You shrugged “I’m waiting for my brother -your High Lord”.

Everyone kept staring at the two of you, Cassian and Azriel were gripping their daggers ready to attack if Eris made a wrong move. Your mate had a bored expression on his face, completely ignoring the two Illyrian warriors. His hand was holding your own tightly and his thumb was rubbing soothing circles.

Rhysand appeared a few minutes later with Feyre, he scowled when he saw Eris and moved gracefully to the chair at the head of the table. A statement.

“What’s going on?” he asked as everyone took a seat around the table, their eyes never leaving you and Eris. “Eris is my mate” you announced.

Feyre and Nesta gasped while Rhysand let a low growl.

“We found out the day he visited Hewn City to make the bargain with you. At first, we kept our distance, but the bond was so strong that I sneaked out to find him a few days later. We’ve been together ever since.”

You could see hurt flashing into Rhysand’s violet eyes and you sighed.

“No!” Rhysand snarled “I won’t let my sister get involved with a monster. His father abused his mother daily, and what do they say? Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?”

Eris was seething and you stood up abruptly. “Are you serious right now? I didn’t expect you out of all the people to be so blind. Can’t you see that everything he does is a façade? You do the same fucking shit every time you visit Hewn city. Guess what… Eris doesn’t have a dreamy court where he can stay and be himself, he has to wake up every day and wear the fucking mask in order to keep his court from falling apart!” You were screaming so loud that your face became red and all the veins in your neck popped.

Eris cursed under his breath and got up too, he wrapped his arm around you and cupped your face with the other. “Can someone get her some fucking water?” he growled, and a glass appeared in front of him. “Its okay little fox, calm down” he whispered in your ear, leaving a kiss on your temple as he pushed your shoulders down making you sit.

“Rhysand” Eris spoke “I don’t care about your opinion, she is my mate and the laws of Prythian allow me to claim her, I’m only here because I care for her, and I don’t want her to lose her family.”

Rhysand scoffed. “I don’t care about the stupid laws, all the other High Lords will stand by my side. They will understand that I want to protect my sister.”

“Not when she is carrying my heir” Eris smirked.

“What?” your brother yelled and got up. His dark power was flowing into the room making you shiver. Cassian and Azriel jumped on their feet ready to support their High Lord.

Eris growled and a shield of fire appeared around you, leaving him defenseless against your brother.

Rhysand stared at the scene in front of him, he could see the worry in Eris’ eyes, not for his self but for you. He saw how your arm stretched to grab your mate and the shield pushed it back.

“Do you love her?” he asked.

“More than my heart can handle” Eris responded immediately, not a hint of hesitation.

“Do you love him?” your brother glanced at you. You nodded and let the tears flow.

“Do you swear to keep her safe and happy?” he asked Eris.

Your mate nodded and you saw a small tattoo appearing behind his ear. You watched as the rest of the inner circle nodded and relaxed.

“Okay. If I find out that you mistreated her in any way, I will let Azriel find you and do as he please”.

Eris scoffed. “You are welcome in my court to participate in the ceremony”.

Your mate paused and looked at you “I’m going to swear her in as my High Lady” he continued with a soft smile. You almost choked on air and stared at him with wide eyes.

Everyone smiled at that and suddenly the shield of fire dissolved and Eris offered you his hand.

You both walked out and you glanced at Rhysand one last time.

“ We will be there” Rhysand said.

Everything is going to be okay indeed.

I have received 11 requests and I'm so happy but also stressed. Please excuse any delay my poor brain can't make so many stories in one day!

345 notes · View notes

westside-rot · 4 months ago

Text

Kill For You

Authors note: This was intended to be my first drabble but my brain wouldn't let me stop and here we are with all these words. I'll get it right and stop rambling eventually lmao

Also, I'm dipping my toe into fanfics, having fun with ideas and seeing what sticks so please be nice. It's never that serious. This has light editing so excuse any errors.

Minors dni. I do not consent to my work being copied/reposted anywhere. Stealing is lame so don't do it. Reblogs and comments are always welcome after you hit like lol

Protective husband Toji

Mentions of violence and smut *sorry not sorry*

Choosing an outfit is never easy for you. Most days it’s more like a chore and less like a first step in having fun. The way Toji’s eyes tear away from the video game he’s playing to shamelessly appraise your body is confirmation you made the right choice. Going out tonight was a last-minute decision. With limited time to get ready you opted for a backless navy-blue halter dress that showed off plenty leg without having to worry about your ass being exposed. A modest selection for the club. There’s nothing modest about the way Toji admires your curvy frame.

You pretend not to notice as you drop your phone into your purse and inform him of your plans for the evening.

“I’ll see you in a few hours. Enjoy your game. I love you.” It’s foolish to think you’d get away with a rushed explanation and a quick kiss goodbye. When Toji’s large hand catches you by the wrist you aren’t the least bit surprised to have your departure interrupted. You huff and scrunch up your nose to hide your amusement. The charade ends the moment you lock eyes. With a smirk on your face you melt into his broad defined chest and the kiss accompanying his possessive hold on your waist.

“Now let’s try this again Mrs. Fushiguro. Where do you think you’re going in this dress?”

You can’t answer right away as your husband leads you into one kiss and then another. Soon you’re in a full-blown make-out session. When he does finally let you up for air it’s a miracle you can speak. An even bigger one that your panties haven’t melted right off your ass. You explain how one of your girls is going through a bad breakup and you and the rest of the friend group have decided to get her out of the house for a night of drinks and dancing. Toji hums in what you assume to be understanding. The way his lips ghost over the creamy brown skin of your collarbone, tongue dipping between your boobs says otherwise.

“You look gorgeous my love. Maybe you should change. I don’t think I want you wearing this dress without me around.”

“Baby, I can’t. The girls will be here in five minutes. Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve felt pretty in a dress.”

He knows you’re being genuine just like he knows you don’t fault him for the long work hours and long overdue date nights. Giving you his blessing is the first step in making amends. Even though he raises you to your feet and readjusts the bottom of your dress back into place you can see the conflict happening behind his dark green eyes.

“I promise to be good.” You pout and run your fingers over the clipped black hair hanging over his forehead. He growls and pulls you closer.

“Keep your phone on. Should any man dare speak to you let them know disrespect is a crime punishable by death. Your husband is the executioner.”

“Yes sir.” You purr against his lips and erupt into a fit of giggles when he sends you on your way with a firm smack to the ass that stays with you long after you join your friends in the rideshare. It requires some convincing not to fake an illness to stay at home with your husband. Nurturing your friendships is important to you. The last thing you want is to become the friend who forsakes all others for her man. A night away from him will do you both some good. And so you turn your thoughts away from him and focus on the night ahead.

Hours later you’re regretting your decision. It’s not that you haven’t enjoyed yourself. After spending weeks going from work to home you loved every second of existing in your own bubble with your girls. The music had been on point and the drinks were nice and strong. That seemed like a good thing in the moment. By 1am you remember why you could only handle the club in small doses. The men had officially lost any sense of decency. While you understood wanting to end the night in good company, you were tired of having to relay Toji’s message to every man occupying your personal space. The massive ring on your finger should’ve been effective fuck boy repellent. Yet here you were on your fourth insincere apology. To their credit, they eventually cut their losses and backed away. There was always one that refused to take no for an answer. This particular jerk refuses to accept your no, going as

Deciding you’ve reached your fill on corny pick up lines, you and your girl decide to wait for the rest of your group outside. You've dealt with your fair share of thirsty men, none crazy enough to get physical and call you an uppity bitch for dismissing him. Pulling away only gives him reason to tighten his grip on your arm. Before you or your friend can respond with a swift kick to the balls a strong pair of hands pull the man off his feet and cast him aside like a rag doll. Your eyes practically fall out of your head when you realize it’s Toji. He’s too busy making good on his word to acknowledge your shock. While the dumb ass puts up an impressive defense he’s easily overpowered and pummeled to the ground. Every punch he throws is reciprocated with two more that land directly in his face until he's unrecognizable. Toji shows no sign of stopping. Even though you'd bet money you weren't the first woman this piece of shit has put his hands on, he isn't worth a prison sentence.

It's your voice pulling Toji back to his senses. One more punch and a kick to the ribs and he's snatching the man up by his collar to hold the man's bloody face in your direction.

“Apologize for putting your filthy hands on my wife. I’m only sparing you because she asked.

He complies and stammers out an apology through the stream of blood running down his nose into his mouth. You’re disgusted by how little you care about the beating he’s taken. Unlike the idiot before you, no one is going to force you to apologize for noticing how well your husband is filling out his thermal. In the hours since you last saw him his corded muscles appear larger and more defined underneath the black fabric. It looks painted on. The color has always been your kryptonite. Toji is wrapped in it, from his jeans down to his work boots. It’s the black beanie tugged down over his ears that turns you feral.

Toji’s voice cuts through your thoughts with a clear directive you can’t ignore. “Let’s go. All of you. NOW.” He leads you out of the club with your gaped mouth friends trailing closely behind, the crowd parting like water to let you pass. Some women gawk, one gave you a thumbs up, while other voices agreed with Toji’s methods. You have the urge to remind everyone he's your husband but decide against it.

Once in the car Toji instructs you to put everyone’s addresses into the GPS. After that the ride is tense and mostly silent. In the group chat your friends are remain crazy and undeterred as they unanimously decide Toji’s deserves immaculate head on everyone’s behalf.

You bite down a laugh then respond in chat, assuring them you will but you can't pinpoint Toji’s mood. He seems upset with you. Despite being grateful for his presence you’re somewhat annoyed with him for infiltrating your girl’s night out. Exactly how long had he been spying? Why hadn’t you noticed him before? Was he being protective, or did he not really trust you?

It pisses you off that while you’re stewing in emotions you shouldn’t feel Toji is being the perfect gentleman, not only driving your friend’s home but escorting them to the door to ensure they make it inside safely. Upon arriving home you decide you're going to sleep off your frustrations and be a responsible adult tomorrow.

Toji has other plans. Resisting your inner brat, you allow his firm yet pleading tone to keep you in your seat with arms folded across your chest.

“I’m sorry for not getting to you sooner baby. I was trying to be respectful to the hoe asking me dance and got distracted.”

The way your jaw clenches at the mention of the faceless woman proves Toji isn’t alone in his unhinged behavior. In your defense your patience runs a bit longer than his. You certainly haven’t beaten any women to a pulp for getting close. No woman had dared to touch what belonged to you either.

“Sure.”

“I got this bad feeling after you left that I couldn’t shake. Maybe it was nothing. But I rather have you upset with me than ignore my gut and something happens. You’re my entire world. I can't exist without you.”

Suddenly you’re climbing into your wonderful man’s lap to shower him with appreciation one kiss at a time across his beautiful face. You’re a brat that needs to correct her attitude. To further drive home the point you drag your tongue over his scar then back down to his chin, bearing your teeth and latching on. Toji’s lips curve into a vulgar smile but otherwise appears unfazed.

“How do you intend to make it up to me brat?”

His dick, hard and restricted against the crotch of your panties sends a message to put action to words. You comply with eager hands fumbling with his belt as you lean back on the steering wheel. “By letting you use me. You can start by fucking me right here in the driveway.”

He groans as though he’s already inside of you. What you mistake for passion on the verge of release is restraint to keep both hands firmly at your waist. He refuses to touch the intimate parts of you with soiled hands. Another reason to despise the piece of shit from earlier. But you’re too horny to argue. You practically race up the driveway, fumbling with keys to unlock the front door. The kitchen to wash your hands or a shower. You can’t decide. Toji makes the decision for you.

“Take off your panties.” Pulling them down your shapely legs, you toe the lace off to the side along with your heels. You abruptly clamp on the taunt you’ve prepared when you see him kneel before you, presenting his shoulders as a thrown he wishes you to occupy. Always mindful of safety you drape one leg across him and keep the other on the ground for leverage until he demands your trust. You comply. Your husband is a strong man. You’re reminded how much when he straightens his back, hoisting you off the ground, trapping you between the door at your back and the tongue in your pussy.

You close your eyes and surrender to weightlessness, tugging at his hair and mewling your pleasure, vocal but not too loud. You want to hear him lewdly slurp at his meal, burying his face in it like he’s eager to drown and die a satisfied man. His tongue is just as big as the rest of him. You love the way he alternates between the wavelike motions against your clit to stuffing your needy walls. It doesn’t take long to come like this. You whimper his name on its arrival, shudder then relax on his shoulders with your feet set firmly at the center of his back. When he finally sets you on the ground with a suckling kiss to each thigh you follow him on shaky legs into the kitchen.

The energy shifts from two wantons chasing pleasure to comedic and downright absurd. Toji has you pinned in front of him at the sink, his burly figure towering over you in playful competition for his share of the running water all while he struggles to penetrate you handsfree. You wish you could see how silly he looks with his jeans below his ass grinding near your entrance like some inexperienced teenager. The failed attempts have given your abs the workout you haven’t asked for. You’re the drunk one. Toji has no excuse for his antics but you’re honored he trusts you with this silly version of himself, a side the world doesn’t know exists.

"Spread your legs a little wider—push your ass up."

"Give up please." Laughter splutters from you when he notches the head between your folds, almost but not quite. The way he dips and rolls his hips as if he's sure it'll get him where he needs to be put tears in your eyes. "You’re trying to kill me." Resting your head on the counter, you give up attempting to wash your hands to fully commit to laughing. Toji joins in while taking full advantage of the water.

"Not at all gorgeous. I’m trying to fuck you." He doesn’t bother to dry off his now thoroughly washed hands as guides himself to your entrance. He reaches his target on the first try. Neither of you is laughing anymore.

The first thrust is always the sweetest. Especially when you’ve gone deprived for so long.

"There ya go. Shut that pretty fuckin mouth and let me inside." He kicks your legs apart to widen your stance and ruts into your ass. You nearly submerge your head under the water from the impact but recover quickly, stretching your soapy fingertips into the water instead and deepening the arch in your back. It gives him a full display of your ass bouncing off his pelvis and aligns him with just the right spot. He drills you for several heavenly minutes then fucks you into a standing split. Somehow you manage to cut off the water and just in time because he's snatched you off your feet, locking your knees over his elbows to fuck you midair.

There's nothing gentle about the way he fucks you. He fucks you like he's upset, like he's secretly harboring a grudge he doesn't want to speak on. You love it but feel as though you owe him another apology.

Toji isn’t giving you the chance to speak. Even as he walks you into the living room, he’s slamming you down on his dick, knocking the words right out of you. He’s relentless even in the way he places you back on your feet and jerks you around by the hair to segue right back to hard thrusts in one disorienting motion.

"I’m sorry. I’ll burn the dress—Don’t be mad." You wail over the sound of his balls colliding with your ass and frantically attempt to leverage yourself on the couch. He’s quick to restrain both arms behind your back, locking them at the elbow in a one-armed restraint. His free hand snakes your throat. There’s nowhere to run even if you want to. You don’t. He slams into you numerous times before his brain processes what you managed to say.

"What? No baby--just need to feel you and remind myself you’re mine... beautiful and all fucking mine."

"All yours. Only fucking yours." You echo the words. It earns you more sharp thrusts in powerful succession, the intensity forcing you on to the tips of your toes. You chant the words through your delirium and yield as he cranes you backwards by a makeshift ponytail to roughly kiss his way into your mouth. Not the most comfortable position but you love being treated like his personal doll. It doesn’t matter that you watched him mark his territory in the most violent way possible or how ridiculous it might seem to need the reassurance. He's a man, your man, the person you vowed to spend your life with. If he needs his ego stroked, you'll gladly stroke it. Perhaps not in the way he’s stroking your insides but close enough for him to feel cherished and irreplaceable. He deserves it after giving you some of the best orgasms of your life.

All you can do is scream your praise when the third one hits. Every nerve ending in your body feels like tiny focal point detonating at once. The pleasure overtakes you, seizing control of your limbs and coherence. You topple over the couch’s armrest to sob face first in the cushions below. Tremors ripple through your fingers down to your toes now arched and pointed at the ceiling. You fear any sudden movement will remove you from this new blissed out existence. So you don’t. You remain in your wilted position, crying and fully possessed by endless quaking yet aware enough to sense Toji kneeling at eye level. Warm hands caress your face, coaxing a gratified drunken smile to confirm you hadn’t passed out.

"Did I break you?"

“Uh-uh.”

His thumb catches your bottom lip and pries your mouth open. "I’m putting you to bed."

Instantly you muster the strength to speak. "Nooo. Just gimme a minute."

His laughter soothes your rapid pulse and puts breath back into your lungs. You think you won’t need the minute you requested. Not anymore. You only need him to find his way back home. Toji ignores your pleas with soothing kisses to your nose and lips. He guides you out of the awkward position you landed in and carries you to your bedroom.

It's a welcome change to be returned to your plush bed with your husband looming over you, gaze imbued with love you'll never get tired of seeing, removing the dress still gathered at your waist as though you'll break if he handles you poorly. He removes what remains of his attire and rejoins you on the bed. Finally you’re both gloriously naked. You pull him down on top of you, hard lines melding with soft russet contours and entangled limbs sharing a single heartbeat.

He fucks into you slow, takes his time delving to where your soul resides, whispering his devotion against your damp skin. When you reach orgasm for the last time he isn’t far behind you, filling you with his cum, marking you as his. It isn’t until he pulls out, when the urge to watch his cum leak from your spent body is too great to ignore do you realize how turned on you were watching him defend your honor. It’s toxic to wish for such things but it’s a subject you refuse to drop until you’ve talked it out with your husband. Toji will have to be the one to put a stop to your fantasy, that or replace it with something different, something better. Until then you drift back to the present, shut your eyes, and plan out your next outfit.

#Rosegold Writes #Toji Fushiguro #jjk toji #toji fushiguro smut #jjk fushiguro #x black reader #x fem reader #fushiguro toji x reader #fushiguro toji x black reader #Toji XXL Drabble

56 notes · View notes

scribbleseas · 2 months ago

Text

Straight Laced, Chapter XI: To Be A Perfect Heroine…

Description: After the London’s Royal Ballet company’s prima ballerina goes missing within a string of mysterious disappearances among the ballet’s young ballerinas, you finally get your chance to debut in the leading role, taking on the position’s physical toil and immense social pressure. Although this role was supposed to be your grand jeté into the spotlight, it is quickly complicated when these disappearances catch the eye of Ciel Phantomhive — the Queen’s Guard Dog. He is a captious and shrewd man who also happens to be one of London’s most eligible bachelors.

For enough profit for you to secure your freedom for the first time, Lord Phantomhive double casts you as both his accomplice to solving these dancer disappearances and… his pretend lover. While debuting as London’s new prima ballerina, you must perfect a brand new routine: deceiving all of the nation’s polite society while actively searching for a serial killer — all while being an immigrant from France with a dancer’s reputation.

What could go wrong when you realize this off-stage performance of yours may not be an act at all?

Story Warnings: detailed description of gore, pain, and violence, detailed death, smut & explicit sexual scenes, allusions to non-consensual sex, objectification, prostitution, allusions to under-aged prostitution, smoking, drinking, eating disorder tendencies (food restriction, frequent references to wanting to maintain a certain weight, over-practicing & exercising), infidelity, fake courtship, swearing

EXTRA TW: MENTIONS OF suicide (just in terms of the Swan Lake storyline!) And again this is a reminder to read the general trigger warnings. This is a heavier chapter that hits MOST of those warnings and your safety and comfort comes before everything! Please don’t hesitate to reach out to me if you would like clarification about this chapter’s subject matter.

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! It’s been a long time coming for this chapter. I hope this one can finally answer some of the questions you’ve all been having…in more ways than one <3. I hope you find somewhere comfy to read this and get a snack because this baby is over 10,000 words. More than 18 pages, 11-sized font on my Google Docs. Some of these scenes I’ve had in my mind for 2 years!! Hope you love this one.

Happy Reading,

Dan

⇐ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ⇒

MASTERLIST

November 11, 1895

The Royal Opera House’s Backstage, Your Dressing Room

Just as you warned the stubborn Earl, his insistence to speak with you made you late. If you wanted your makeup to be flawless for the final performance, you couldn’t stretch for your usual 30 minutes. And you did want your makeup to be flawless. It wasn’t an option, under Natasha’s leadership.

At least your pre-performance routine was just as ingrained into your subconscious as the show itself was. Every step you took to ready yourself helped you submerge deeper into Odette, a desperate attempt to comprehend the last two days of your turbulent life. Starting with your stage makeup, you spread rosewater across your face to rid it of debris. Natasha used to handle this routine for you, but Ciel asked you to start taking care of your own makeup, purchased by him. It was a precaution he insisted upon, given that Amelié died from a poison that invaded through the skin.

You made careful eye contact with your reflection in your vanity mirror, noting your bitten lips and tired eyes. You sighed, eyes darting to the clip of stationary attached to the corner of the glass. Ciel’s home number was still adhered there, the Earl adamantly refusing to remove it in the event of an emergency.

You pressed your face into a towel, drying it. The familiar smell of rosewater alerted your senses; awaiting the stage was like electricity crackling through your veins, despite your melancholy. Still, your mind was rightfully conflicted, overdrawn.

William Wood was not the killer you had been chasing all this time. Ciel suspected that Natasha was. Gwen had apparently lied to you to harm your relationship. But even still, Ciel once warned you that he was a liar. A manipulator who tended to work people like the game pieces his company manufactured. Only the best were so difficult to decode:

“I care about you more than you know, Y/n.” Ciel always sounded so at ease, so sure. You felt that he always had a perfect arrangement of words sitting on the tip of his tongue, to falsely promise, to serenade. To lie.

“You do not,” you had insisted, ignoring the earnestness in his sapphire eye. It couldn’t be real. You felt a flare of stubbornness in your chest, urging you to shove him away.

“I do.” He refused to blink. Adamant in spite of the weight that his accusation had.

Natasha Wood was one of the only people in your life that believed in you. He didn’t know her like you did.

Before Natasha, you had your mother… Until she died about four years into your studies at the Paris Opera School of Dance. You were nine years old. On top of your enrollment, she couldn’t afford the medication that the doctor’s prescribed for her cough. It had only grown more severe week by week, until she was coughing up blood and her lips tinged with blue. Your father only gave your mother so much money to encourage her to keep their rendezvous— and you, of course —a secret.

“Waste this money on my end of life care? When my shining star of a daughter has her whole life ahead of her? I will not do it,” your mother always insisted. You remembered how her cold hand felt against yours, it was iron, despite being clammy with oncoming death.

After she died, the dance school allowed you to continue studying there, your talent promising enough to be worth fostering. By the time you were fifteen (or fourteen, was it?) you were old enough to make the school a profit through its dance foyer to make up for your free education.

You’d never forget the final rasp of her breath.

Following the curve of your cheekbones, you highlighted your face with a soft shade of pink. The spotlight tended to wash out ballerina’s features. Now, you stared back at Odette, the White Swan. Y/n Y/l/n was the star hidden beneath, but no matter how seasoned a prima ballerina you were, not even you could shove the complete extent of your worries far beneath your costume.

You remembered the shock that pounded at your chest when Violet told you about William quite well, how most of her allegations were true. You thought you knew the owner of the opera house. Could you have been so misdirected by your mentor, too?

Until the second Ciel stopped you from entering the carriage, you had a practiced apology for Natasha waiting on your lips. You were supposed to be so sorry for not telling her about her husband’s infidelity and crimes, for your means of investigating her husband being so intimate. For imprisoning him without her knowledge.

Now? You felt as if you were prosecuting your older sister. Her every word, her every glance. Once it was in search of approval, now, it was for…bloodlust? You couldn’t see it. Natasha could hardly walk without assistance—how could she kill anyone?

Why would she hurt anyone? What motivation would Natasha have? Killing her own cast members? For her husband’s violence against them? It was unfathomable. No version of an explanation would stop bile from creeping its way up your throat–each new explanation that came to your mind was only more vile than the last.

Though, you had to ponder: why would Ciel make such a claim if he was not sure? Your mutual need to solve the case was one of the first feelings you had in common. You should have put aside your pride and joined Ciel to interrogate William, or at the very least, listened to the Earl’s concerns. He had something he needed to tell you, but you simply wouldn’t hear it, too occupied with your own hurt.

It was too late for regret, you supposed. You could only meet him after the show and hope for the best.

Mechanically, you rolled your performance tights up your legs, carefully inspecting them for pulls or tears in your body-length mirror. Satisfied, you slid on your ivory pointe shoes, ensuring they were straight laced and spotless, free of grime. Lastly, you stepped into one of your Odette tutus, this corset flaring into a feathered shirt with gold detailing lining the neckline and bodice. It only felt right to wear for your last Swan Lake performance— it was the first iteration of the costume you wore after inheriting the role from Janet.

Janet’s lifeless face flashed in your mind, painting over that fond opening night memory with a new coat of guilt. The young woman had been a beautiful dancer, and a nice person who provided for her family. And her sick mother’s prescription, you made yourself flinch, dry mouth relieved when you took a drink of Sauternes. You poured yourself half a glass, the previously unopened wine bottle a precaution you tucked in the back or your wardrobe for emergencies. If this evening didn’t qualify itself as an emergency, you weren’t sure what would have.

Perfectly on time, your dressing room door flew open, never following a knock. Approximately 30 minutes before the curtain ascended, Natasha always made sure to lace your bodice for you, always finding fault when another cast member did so. The director pushed the door open with the bottom of her cane, her cool seagreen eyes scanning your makeup, dragging down your figure.

Looking for notes to make, you noticed.

“It is good to see you, Y/n,” Natasha said, her expression unchanging from stormy indifference. You couldn’t place when the director had lost her supportive smile, the warm, yet authoritative way she would request for more—for better—and when a frigid insistence stiffened that inspiring patience. When did fear settle in your stomach instead of admiration? “I was worried about attendance today, after Maisie. Quite a tragedy—she was talented.”

The apology you practiced died on your lips, killed by your surprise and uncertainty. Until now, Natasha never addressed any company losses— she attributed them as disappearances from a ballerina being unable to handle the pressures of the industry. You had assumed she didn’t know better because the press was restricted from covering the mysterious company deaths, the Queen fearing public panic, according to Ciel’s acquaintance in the press. After Maisie Stannard died near the steps of the British Museum’s gala, the press had no choice but to cover the incident.

Therefore, Natasha had no choice but to address it with her employees. It was a loss to the company, now well-known by the rest of the country.

That being said, she certainly wouldn’t reveal that William was currently pacing the confines of a holding cell. All the public knew was that Maisie Stannard was killed—no one knew of any of the other company deaths. William’s arrest was only knowledge of Ciel’s (and his accomplices, of course), the State, and Natasha’s. You couldn’t imagine what the director told the rest of the company in order to explain William’s prolonged, sudden absence—especially after he’d only been back from France for about a week prior to you and Ciel arresting him.

Ciel suspected Natasha of shooting Maisie. Of poisoning Amelié, forcing Janet off of the Tower Bridge–you didn’t even know the gruesome details from Eliza’s body, when they found it. Your guilt for suspecting the currently lacing your feathered corset in her usual meticulous way was so consuming, you forced yourself to think of Violet’s distressed cries to remind yourself of who you were being cautious for. You had to solve this for the victims, their loved ones, preventing any more murders. You had to justify yourself—it was a serial killer investigation, after all.

You would have to touch base with Ciel.

“I cannot imagine who could have done this to her,” you mumbled evasively, finishing off your wine glass with a flourish. You welcomed the selection’s competing tastes of acid and sweet butterscotch, and tried not to lament over the untouched cigar in your drawer. The smoke would have done better to soothe your nerves, but arriving late had limited you.

“A young, beautiful woman, a ballerina who was married to a successful man,” Natasha mused purposefully, “you would be surprised, Y/n. Ugliness lurks everywhere and there are always sacrifices to be made. As Odette, should you not know that? The perfect heroine always does.”

Ugliness lurks everywhere and there are always sacrifices to be made. You were unsure of what to make of Natasha’s words.

Ciel once told you that you needed to make your target speak in an investigation. They already had their agenda—evading you—and sometimes, what they refused to say was more telling than what they did.

Natasha had to be aware of your role in her husband’s arrest; that to some degree, you were an accessory to the Queen’s Guard Dog’s investigation. She was gauging you— whether or not that was in defense of her crimes, as Ciel would have suspected, or looking to get a sense of what Ciel made of Maisie’s death. After all, they’d arrested William, in part, because they believed he was the killer. Was she attempting to learn if they had their suspicions turned elsewhere? If she was their suspect, she would want to know if her cover was still intact.

You needed to control yourself, put on the facade of a sad, yet trusting employee. Blissfully unaware and shallow—the purse dog of a wealthy Earl. Limited, materialistic, uncaring. Almost as if you were reprising the woman you were prior to starting this investigation. In your own way, you could be the perfect heroine.

“I do, of course,” you answered, double-checking the measured bow that Natasha pulled the lace into, each cross section between the eyelets matching perfectly. The director was nothing if not precise, now turning to fasten your headpiece’s clips into your hair, already twisted into a braided ballerina bun. “Odette is too trusting, putting her future in the whims of a man who only just met her,” you admitted, the words making you feel like a hypocrite.

“Speaking on the subject—unexpected ugliness—I want to apologize. I heard about Mr. Wood’s —” you started, deciding that the smartest way to protect yourself from Natasha’s probing was to behave exactly as you had initially planned to. Apologizing would convey the submissive guilt the director would have expected from you. In doing so, you would assure her that there was nothing amiss between you, shielding the fact that Ciel had cautioned you in the first place.

“Twenty minutes to Act One, I expect my company members to be focused on the show. Especially my principal dancer,” Natasha’s piercing eyes flashed, her words dipped in ice, no matter how she tried to inject warmth back into her face. She looked older than she did three months ago, her worry lines more prominent in her fair skin. Exhaustion showed itself in deep bags beneath her impatient stare.

“The Sugar Plum Fairy has the highest jumps, the widest turns. She is the embodiment of grace and poise. I would much prefer you to be spending your spare time on a barre rehearsing instead of surveying my personal affairs. You will be able to continue being my prima ballerina, yes?” She pulled her lips into a wry smile, an expression that was close to pity.

You didn’t expect Natasha to engage with you about her husband’s arrest, but you wanted to watch her. Decode how she decided to evade you, seeing that she didn’t so much as let the words escape your mouth.

Not to mention, you weren’t surprised that Natasha chose to demean your talent. She knew your dedication to managing her opinion of you well, having fostered your need to please alongside the rest of the company’s. All of this to say: Natasha chose to turn the focus of the conversation back to you, denying your disguised request to discuss William.

“Yes,” you repeated, forcing your gaze to fall downcast and self-consciously hesitate to return to meet her eyes. “I do appreciate this opportunity, Natasha,” you added pathetically, watching the director’s warm authoritarianism resettle in her face confidently, reinforced by your obsequious behavior. Her thin lips managed a smile. You had reassured her, and that in of itself, worried you. It proved she was hiding something. “You won’t hear anything more of it from me.”

“Focus is a crucial asset for ballerinas,” Nastasha assured you too brightly given her stormy entrance. She gestured to her cane with her chin—it leaned on your vanity behind you, since she needed both hands to tie your costume and affix your headpiece. You obediently handed the medical accessory to her, more than familiar with the director’s gestures.

“Remember to stop by Polly’s office after tonight’s performance. She wishes to triple check your measurements for a spare Sugar Plum costume. We were hoping to have these appointments finished after practice yesterday evening, but with you here now, I would like it complete,” Natasha said, plucking a stray hair of yours off your shoulder and letting it fall to the floor.

“Of course. I will see her immediately after the performance,” you answered simply, biting back your frustration at her dig. Natasha was subliminally critiquing your decreased amount of time at the opera house. Before Ciel roped you into his investigation, you spent most of your time in the opera house’s studio, fiercely guarding your promotion by rehearsing as much as you could manage. Now, you attended your mandatory rehearsals and classes, but nothing more. Instead, you opted to rehearse in the safety of the dance studio Ciel had Sebastian create for you.

“Do give tonight everything you have, Y/n,” Natasha pressed her weight back into her cane, giving you a final once over before she opened your door, preparing to leave. Each night, Natasha helped you with the finishing details of your costume and circulated through the rest of the company to solve any last-minute issues. “The end of this run also sets the tone for the beginning of Nutcracker season.”

“I will never give a performance that I cannot be proud of,” you replied truthfully, painting on an Odile-inspired devil-may-care smile for Natasha. “Allow me to remind you why you chose me for this role.”

“You know what I like to hear,” she answered, casting a wink at you from over her shoulder. She opened her mouth to speak again, but before she could, Antoine, the dancer performing as Prince Seigfried, interjected with a clear question on his face. Knowing better than to wait for Natasha, you showed yourself to the backstage wings.

In the chaos that took place backstage, you always focused on the excited chatter of the audience and the pre-performance orchestral music from the other side of the curtain to fuel your adrenaline. You could feel their energy, it radiated in waves. For the next three hours, you were Odette, Queen of the Swans, and Odile, the deceptive daughter of sorcerer Von Rothbart.

You could meet their hardships with the same honesty and emotion you faced your own, and step off the stage to put a real end to this investigation.

That was what set you apart as a professional.

Two Hours Later

The Royal Opera House’s Main Stage

This was the final scene of the show. The Lakeside, Odette’s last stand.

You were poised in the air, the music growing severe as Von Rothbart carried you, pulling Odette out of Prince Siegfried’s protective arms. Until this second, your characters had been entangled with one another, dancing intimately in forgiveness. The music had been soft, portraying a delicate, damaged love slowly on the mend as Siegfried pleaded with Odette, guilty of falling for Odile’s ruse at the ball.

Now, the dark stage flickered, illusions creating the look of lightning and crashing drums replicated rolling thunder.

You entered this scene with a heavy premonition in the pit of your stomach, and you allowed yourself to wear that alarm on your face like an accessory to better portray the story. You were just as distressed as your character, the innocent White Swan. Moments ago, she returned to the lake, heartbroken because Prince Siegfried professed his love to the wrong woman. He had been fooled, but the curse still forced Odette back into her swan form, leaving her to mourn her humanity with the rest of the cursed swans. In spite of her forgiveness, the damage had already been done.

The curse may never be lifted. They could never successfully be in love. It could never be—a sentiment that was familiar to you. Even so, it stung like a fresh wound, never seeming to dull night by night.

The lovers shared a brief dance, only to be torn apart by the sorcerer. Now, the prince reached, his fingers only managing to graze hers longingly. Your eyes followed the missed touch, your head jerking upwards as if you were further panicked by the failed attempt.

Now you were caught between both dancers, each hand held by opposite forces. Love and death, Prince Siegfried and Von Rothbart. At this point in the performance, Odette was dancing on the line between her life and death, breaking the curse and succeeding through love or not breaking the curse and succeeding through death.

Ugliness lurks everywhere and there are always sacrifices to be made, you couldn’t keep yourself from thinking over your old mentor’s words. You always thought of Natasha when you danced.

The woman was everything you wanted to be: a self-starter in spite of her immigrant status, a brilliant talent, thoughtful, confident. She had landed a marriage that had appeared loving and fair, and she was still a dancer, in spirit.

The foreboding melancholy settling on your shoulders, your Odette was more skittish than she normally was. She was rather unsteady as the two men guided and pulled her every which way, one trying to hold, one trying to capture. You allowed yourself to feel weightless: it was the best means for Odette’s dancing to look just as induced upon her as it was in the moment. You even allowed your head to fall lazily in line with your neck with every turn, constructing the facade of a woman succumbing to her curse, tired of begging for a way out of the cursed life that held her hostage.

For a moment, you let the tension leave your body, draping lifelessly over Von Rothbart’s supporting clutches. The sorcerer had successfully pulled the White Swan out of her prince’s hand. Odette was exerted within her life. She knew that her curse was permanent, and yet, she craved her self-determination. Her right to love. The right to live as she wanted to, everlastingly.

The perfect heroine? Were there truly always sacrifices to be made? You wondered, flicking your wrists and positioning your fingers as your Odette confidently broke free from the sorcerer’s grip and stepped up the short stairway. Without another second, she threw herself into the lake. The orchestra played dynamically, the swell of music portraying the death of Von Rothbart, the antagonist collapsing and dying from Odette’s sacrifice.

Their deaths left the prince to follow Odette, preferring to die and reunite with her in spirit rather than live without her. The cast of swans—the rest of the company—remained on stage, watching in equal parts awe and horror. Both you and Antoine, the prince’s dancer, jumped into a stage opening that the stagehands kept lined with mattresses to make the short fall as safe as it could be as the group had a final intricate dance number. You realized that this would be your last time getting back to your feet after making that show-stopping jump.

Now, you were made of energy as the both of you ran back behind stage to the wings to make your final entrance for the season. You could never see the audience under the blinding stage lights, but you could always feel it. The opera house always held its breath, the silences between Tchaikovsky’s masterful creations were always punctuated with quiet sniffles from the audience.

Swan Lake was a tragic love story, after all. You would know—you felt well-acquainted with the idea of tragic love. Falling head over pointe for a stone cold, callous Earl without ever meaning to. In fact, while trying not to in the midst of a murder investigation. The very investigation that you felt you were on the precipice of closing.

Would your story end like Odette’s? you wondered. A young woman making her final stand in the face of heartbreak.

You supposed, this performance was nothing more than a storyline. A fable. Nothing to build silly premonitions over, in spite of the danger of your situation.

After your music cue, the spirits of Odette and Prince Siegfried stepped back out onto the lit stage, hand in hand. You shared one last jeté, jumping across the stage in perfect sync, before the audience to show that their plan had succeeded, ending the show in each other’s embrace in the afterlife.

To signify the official end of the story, the stage lights faded out to allow the company to arrange itself for final bows alongside another passionate swell of Swan Lake’s theme from the orchestra. You and Antoine remained still until the stage was completely black, unwilling to ruin the intimacy your characters created for the audience. Lovers who couldn’t bear to be without one another.

Only when the lights flickered back on, the both of you faced the audience to accept their cheering with gracious smiles, wiping away the bittersweet beauty your characters evoked. The rest of the company quickly filed in around you, mechanically dropping into a curtsy on the same note. The minor characters took turns bowing next, including Wolfgang, the prince’s tutor; the Queen Mother, and the four little swans. In order of prevalence, the main characters swept into bows.

Following Von Rothbart and Prince Siegfried, you took five measured steps in front of the rest of the cast and swept yourself into a deep curtsy. The spotlight burned your skin, the hair pins that kept your headpiece fastened dug into your scalp, and your feet throbbed in your pointe shoes. Sweat rolled down your neck and your lungs felt as if there was fire in them, given how hard your chest heaved, but you were elated, nonetheless. A cheering audience was nothing short of a drug. All of these people were here to see you and your company dance. It was an honor, almost enough for you to ignore the disappointed sting in your heart that Ciel would never see you perform in these roles.

Still, stared into the crowd, beaming. You survived. Only now, another confrontation awaited you. One much more dangerous than a bit of acting.

You never thought you would find yourself cutting off a standing ovation on a closing night of a show. This moment, hearing the appreciation and wonderment you gave to legions of people was supposed to be one of the most euphoric parts of your career. Knowing that the hours of labor, exhaustion, and hunger could culminate into a moment this fulfilling. You had just closed a run of Swan Lake as London’s foremost company’s only principal dancer—by all definitions of the word, you were at your prime as a dancer.

But that didn’t matter to you as much, not at this moment. Instead, you righted yourself from your curtsy, blew the faceless audience a kiss, and exited the stage.

You had an investigation to solve, at last. This fitting would be the last step, you were as certain as Odette, though you hoped your ending might be more merciful.

In your haste, you didn’t bother to stop by your dressing room—there was no need.

Polly would have to make her rounds to collect all Swan Lake costumes, anyway, and by going to her office in this ensemble, you saved her the trouble of looking for one of your corsets. Besides, the last you wanted was Natasha in your dressing room to help you unlace it and there was no reason to waste time walking to the other side of the backstage wing. Especially since there was no possibility of Ciel arriving at the ballet tonight.

Entering Polly’s office helped settle your jumbled nerves, at least for a moment. The space never changed; the aging woman was extremely particular with where she kept all of her tools and materials. Each one had its own exact space in her workstation, and nothing was ever a centimeter out of place. As always, the costuming director’s frail shoulders were hunched as she counted silently to herself, measuring a piece of scarlett fabric. She counted to herself, meticulous eyes narrowing before she cut the piece off the rest of the fabric roll with sharp scissors.

“Hello, Miss Y/n,” she greeted you warmly. Her back was to you, but she always knew her visitor before she turned. “Are you well?”

Without this woman, there would simply be no ballet. In two weeks, she had five variations of Odette and Odile costumes for you each, all perfectly tailored to your dimensions. You imagined that the woman could give Sebastian a challenge in terms of clothing creation and tailoring—she was an institution at this ballet. Typically, no one could manage a lie past her.

You couldn’t settle on how to respond, the silence causing her to turn, standing from her short seat. Polly was short enough to have you looking down at her, somewhat.

“How are you?” you tried for a weary smile, knowing it was thin and unconvincing.

“You look like Natasha, when she was your age,” the woman commented, eying you skeptically. She gestured towards her full-length tri-mirror, and you obeyed, knowing the routine for confirming your wardrobe measurements well. You had to strip from your costume, and Polly took careful measurements of your body, well aware that these corsets had to forcefully enforce a ballerina’s trained body.

You felt yourself redden, uncomfortable with the comment. Until now, Natasha was all you wanted to be.

“All lovesick, is all I mean. Don’t you think William put her through it too? All men do it,” Polly said sagely, helping you unlace the tight knots Natasha twisted your corset into. “Especially with beautiful women like you, who haven’t lived here very long,” she chided, hanging the corset on a wire hanger for you.

“Lovesick?” Your mouth felt dry. Of course you were. You were just as confused about your feelings towards Ciel Phantomhive as you were about your thoughts on the true killer. It might’ve been Natasha. There was a chance, and the thought of such a reality took the air out of your lungs. “I am not,” you tried for another smile, laughing weakly. You always smiled. You always laughed. It was supposed to work.

But with Polly, it didn’t. Your weak smile flickered off, unencouraged by the costume director. Of course—she worked there longer than Natasha did. 18 years, you once heard. 18 years of handling fittings like these for stars on the rise, stars about to implode. Stars in the process of doing just that, leaving disappointment and heartbreak in their wake. An ache for what could have been. You suspected that without Polly’s comforting nature, the company would lose ballerinas much more often due to Natasha’s unfailingly brutal honesty.

In response to Polly’s raised, skeptical eyebrows and set line her mouth fell in, you sighed. Still, her eyes sparkled as if she was amused by something in you. That look made you think of Ciel.

You unfastented your head piece self consciously, “I think it may be Natasha, actually,” you ventured, using one of Ciel’s tactics, at the thought of him. “Share an insecurity, it will create a false sense of intimacy, and they might overspeak. People who feel comfortable with you are more likely to make a mistake.”

“I feel concerned about her,” you made a show of admitting, like you were guilty of mentioning her.

Polly also allowed you to undo your pointe shoes, giving you a spare pair of soft socks for your bare feet. They ached, as they always did after performances—sometimes they throbbed in protest to carrying your weight. At least the clean, soft material was more welcoming than the wood of Polly’s step riser would have been. You stepped up, only clad in your undergarments, but you didn’t mind with Polly.

“I thought she was certainly…spread too thin, but I thought she’s been quite well lately,” Polly answered ponderously. She wrapped her small measuring tape around your waist, pulling it in to match its perimeter. You tried not to think about what you ate that day—there were many more important concerns at stake. Polly knew Natasha better than anyone else, perhaps she knew something you did not. “She wanted me to keep this between her and myself, but I think that more of us oughta know the good news: she started massage and manipulation therapy for her hip.”

Massage and manipulation therapy? That was a practice where doctors had injured individuals strategically stretch and work their healed limbs after a long injury put them out of use. Only, you didn’t know Natasha’s injury was healed enough to qualify her for it—you were under the impression that the director could hardly stand without her cane, much less withstand massage and manipulation therapy. Her mobility was supposed to be almost entirely extinct.

“What use would Natasha have for therapy? I believe she cannot walk or stand without help,” you mused.

“Oh, no, dear,” Polly shook her head, writing your waist measurement on a notebook. She put the pad of paper back down before you could catch the number she wrote down. “She can walk and stand without a cane, and that is all. No running, no dancing, none of that, after what happened. The cane only helps her manage. Now she’s going three times a week to rebuild strength, she told me.”

“What exactly happened? Do you know?” You risked the question, your intuition begging you to press forward. You felt your palms grow sweaty with anticipation. This was what you were missing, you were convinced. One of your biggest uncertainties regarding Ciel’s theory was: how could Natasha manage to kill all of these people without being caught on top of mobility challenges? You tried not to seem too desperate to know, scanning over your curious expression in the length mirror. Polly was measuring the widest point of your hips.

“I tell you this as a warning, only. As something to learn from,” Polly insisted, meeting your eyes in the mirror. You gave her a resolute nod, taking an uneasy breath in. Natasha rarely spoke about her injury, its exact name, the incident that caused it. You assumed she considered it to be a weakness—a failure of hers.

“It was a complex hip labral tear. From over practicing,” Polly told you, noting down your measurement. She continued to repeat the process for the rest of your body. “She was the principal dancer in Sleeping Beauty, recently married to Will. Here all night, all day, few breaks. She was scared, I think, to lose the life she found,” she recalled, painting a fond picture of a dancer not unlike you. Hungry for her spotlight. A moment of appreciation. Wanting to love and be loved by everyone and more.

“But she wouldn’t hear anything about stopping—even after the doctors told her to take the rest of the Sleeping Beauty season on break. She refused,” Polly said, shaking her head. “And then, she tore her hip, ruining her range of motion. They told her if she tried to do anything more than walk, the damage could leave her in a wheelchair.”

A wheelchair. Your blood ran cold, chastened. Natasha was less than five years older than you; not even 30 years old yet. Technically, she would have had half a dozen more years as a ballerina, if she had been more careful.

Still, Natasha’s injury came in her prime. You couldn’t imagine the pain of being in the midst of your breakout role, only to have to stop for an unknown period of time. The thought of having to willingly surrender the euphoria of curtsying to a cheering crowd made your chest hurt. Natasha probably felt as if her life was ending. Dancing was the only part of your life that kept you alive, at least.

“But now, I suppose, she’s rested long enough to start getting help again. And as long as it’s helping her, I don’t mind holding down the costuming fort, so to speak,” Polly chuckled, wrapping her measuring tape around your shoulders. She always liked to ramble when she worked, and you didn’t expect it to work in your favor. You couldn’t believe you didn’t think to speak with Polly sooner.

“And she has three appointments in a week?” You asked, swallowing in spite of your dry mouth and throat. You thought of the calendar you saw at the Yard’s headquarters with Sebastian and Ciel. Where you noticed a pattern. The very pattern that you and Ciel had believed to implicate William.

Thursdays, Fridays, and Sundays. All days where the full cast and crew were at the most occupied with full-Nutcracker rehearsals. These were supposed to be nights where Natasha stayed at the Opera House late to handle costume construction with Polly, influencing every step from the sketches to the final clothing ensemble. Nothing went on The Royal Opera House’s stage without her approval, making her take the time to stay late so frequently.

Unless she wasn’t truly with Polly. William would otherwise have no way of knowing where his wife was if she wasn’t at home—he wouldn’t care to verify where she was, so long as he was confident she wouldn’t be looking for him. The only person in the Opera House after hours was Polly, making only her word Natasha’s alibi.

“Yes! He seems like a smart man, Doctor Wallace. She started seeing him in August,” Polly answered, blissfully unaware.

Unless she was truly pursuing physical therapy— which you doubted this timing — she successfully convinced Polly to maintain this lie for her. Telling the whole company that Natasha was assisting her these nights when she was either on a futile mission to restore her leg or killing her employees.

“So she has not stayed late with you since August?” You could have sworn your heart stopped, in that moment.

“She usually stops in one night a week, at some point. But otherwise, it’s just me. And that’s alright with me, dear, I promise,” Polly misinterpreted your indignation as frustration on her behalf. “More hours is more pay,” she gave you another laugh and wrote down another measurement, blind to your distress.

You felt Natasha’s lies crash down upon another like a house of cards. You gasped, feeling your heartbeat raise in alarm. The world seemed to stall for a moment, hesitating alongside you as your chest tightened with just as much rage as it did surprise. You could’ve sworn your reflection in the three-way mirror was shades lighter in panic.

“Polly, I need to leave,” you said urgently. Still in your undergarments, you pulled a robe off of a hook in the wall, tying it around your waist as you walked. You ignored the costuming director’s protests, her asking if everything was alright. You couldn’t falsely assure her. Not when you felt the sky falling down.

“I have something I need to do now. We can finish another time,” you could hardly recognize your serious tone, it was non-negotiable and about the angriest you’ve heard yourself. Tears brimmed your eyes.

You had to finish this. You couldn’t leave her office without finishing this. No one else was going to die in the hands of this woman.

In fact, you hadn’t thought through your destination until you found your knuckles rapping intently against Natasha’s office door, only several doors down from Polly’s. Technically, the space was William’s office, but he rarely used the space, causing Natasha to commandeer it for her own purposes. You were pleased she did—it wasn’t close to your dressing room, making the private space even more of an oasis free from criticism.

“Natasha! I need you. This is Y/n,” you said, knowing the director was there. She never remained in the foyer long. After she finalized patrons’ payment and ensured that each one was satisfied, she retreated into her office to analyze that performance’s sales revenue. She would stay until she finished adding those numbers to the opera house’s monthly financial records.

“You can—” she started from the other side of the door, but you were wiping your eyes, twisting the knob, and entering before she finished giving you permission. Startled, the director regarded you with irritation hardening her angular features. “Come in… You know to knock, please,” she reminded you, intentionally finishing the statement you interrupted. “Now what might I do for you?”

Being face to face with Natasha made the encounter feel all the more petrified. You felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. It was almost as if you forgot how to put your incensed words into English. You had so many accusations, so many questions to aim at the woman, you couldn’t decide where to start.

“I only… wanted to thank you. Again. For this opportunity,” you said, starting off the safest way you could think of, yet probe her as subtly as you could dare. “I would not be at this point in my career without you.”

Natasha tilted her head, setting her fountain pen down on her desk. You watched her wrestle with her response: acknowledging your gratitude, subtly poisoning your confidence regarding your career, wanting to gauge if you were investigating her, despite your efforts before the show. Of course. She had to be careful around Ciel Phantomhive’s partner.

“Y/n, you have to remember that you find yourself opportunities. Life is not kind to those who wait for opportunity. That is especially important for you to remember with Lord Phantomhive at your side, now. Never allow yourself to rely on anyone,” Natasha said, fulfilling your prediction and criticizing you. How did it take you so long to notice this pattern in your director?

“These rich men...they are never forever,” she snorted bitterly, taking an uncharacteristic drink out of a wine glass. You never saw Natasha drink. “They use you. And lie,” she continued, hesitating before fixing her posture and rising from her office chair. Natasha picked up her cane and used it to help support her as she walked to her cabinet and picked an open bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.

“Though we should commemorate the end of this season,” Natasha told you with a new degree of stiff friendliness in her voice. She poured some of the dark wine into a clean wineglass for you, offering the drink to you. “You worked hard to make yourself worthy of Odette and Odile. On top of this drama that Phantomhive dragged you into,” she said his name like a curse.

“I appreciate that, Natasha,” You accepted the glass, but you didn’t take a drink, wary of the wine’s contents. “I did work tirelessly, and–”

“And you do handle the scrutiny well,” your director continued, interrupting you. “Better than I ever did.” She only could have been referencing the disdain she faced for marrying William Wood, though he wasn’t a noble like Ciel, he was from an incredibly wealthy family. You doubted British elite society would ever treat a foreign ballerina kindly, much less five years ago.

You were silent, unsure of what to say. In just minutes, Natasha managed to gain control of the conversation, grabbling the upperhand from you. It was effortless for her. The woman was the very picture of composure. You couldn’t help but wonder if she considered herself to be the perfect heroine from her own description.

Was Natasha manipulating you now, too?

“I try my best to ignore them. They do not and will never know me, so I should not concern myself over what they believe,” you replied noncommittally, forcing yourself not to break eye contact with your director. The air was tense. You felt as if she could see straight through you, and right into the real reason you were there.

Natasha hummed begrudgingly, “it is big of you to know that, and so young. Not too long ago, I would have done anything to live your life.” Her smile unsettled you, and at this point, you trusted yourself more than you did her.

“Why don’t we toast?” the director asked, picking up her glass in one hand and again, using her cane to help her walk to you. “To your career. Your partner. Your success.”

“Fine,” you agreed hesitantly, tapping your wineglass against hers. You watched Natsha take a short sip of wine, but you couldn’t force yourself to do the same. There was no way for you to know it was safe.

Naturally, Natasha had been monitoring your hesitation, her smile—which started out thin enough for you to feel suspicious—wavered. “Is there something wrong?”

Your eyes darted to the office door behind you. Suddenly, you deeply regretted your impulsivity. You might have been out of your depth, confronting her without a plan or any support. This was what Ciel had feared when you were arguing with him about your plan to trap William: a situation where you were in danger with no easy way out.

“No! No, of course not,” you said unconvincingly, painfully aware of the symptoms of a long day beginning to encroach on you, as well. Your feet still throbbed, despite being in Polly’s soft socks, made specifically for aching feet. Your eyelids were heavy which was no surprise, since you hadn’t had proper sleep in days. Especially not last night— how could you have slept after Maisie? “I simply…do not feel much like drinking.”

“You? Not wanting a drink?” Natasha replied incredulously. “Come on. Have a toast with me. Why are you being so uptight with me, now? You do trust me, don’t you? I am your director,” Her long nails tapped on her glass, her face molding into hurt.

It was one sip. What was one sip? The wine bottle was already open—it seemed to be the only open selection in the cabinet. How would she only poison yours?

You paused, realization dawning on you. She was manipulating you.

You wondered if Natasha guided you into that line of thinking as she so often did, pointing out when a corset appeared tight on you to motivate you to eat less, asking you when the last time you considered cutting your hair was to inspire you to cut it. Telling you to enjoy Ciel as a subscriber as if sex work was your choice. All you ever wanted to do was dance.

“Are you the one killing us, Natasha?” The question slipped out between your lips before you could stop it. Tears welled in your eyes, and you couldn’t keep the tremor out of your voice. You stared down at the wine in your hand, a tear streamed down your cheek and made a ripple in the blood-red liquor. Your face felt hot.

“What are you asking me?” Natasha’s questioning laugh was hollow. She finished off her drink and left the empty glass on the desk. She was being clear: this was your last opportunity to drop the question.

“Did you kill the missing ballerinas? I mean they’re dying in other companies too, but m-mostly…this one,” forming words felt impossible. You didn’t know how you were controlling your tone so well.

She laughed again, tones of disbelief making the sound sound rough and condescending. Her eyes were ablaze with rage and disbelief. “After everything I’ve done for you, you accuse me of murder?” Her knuckles were white, fingers tight around both the cane and the glass in her hand. “I have half a mind to kick you out of my company right now for this insult!”

This was the only way, you braced yourself. You thought of the victims you were avenging, not of the danger that stood in front of you. And if you died, you were fairly certain Natasha had no way to evade the consequences. There was a backstage full of company members. You trapped her.

Still, you need to commit to guiding her rage. Natasha was too logical for a mistake. Her emotions needed to overtake her.

“I’m not sure why I just asked that, I’m so sorry,” you lied, “we can just forget about this,” you suggested, backing up towards the door. Your hand reached from behind you to blindly search for the doorknob, only for Natasha to put all of her effort in swinging her cane in the slim space between your fingertips and the doorknob.

You scrambled away from the swing—and from the doorknob, unfortunately. In your fumbling, you dropped your wineglass on the floor. The glass shattered on the floor, its contents spilling in a burgundy pool around the fragments. Only in socks, you stumbled on the spilled liquid, making it easy for the director to usher you away from the door. You struggled to stand back up, feeling the full impacts of your performance and the miserable way you treated your body, compiling and attacking you with just as much vengeance as your director did.

You were decently certain that all you had to eat that day was a quick slice of quiche and some fruit. That fuel ran out well before your performance’s intermission and was nothing but a distant memory to your body, now.

“No,” Natasha’s face was devoid of all kindness. In looking into her cold eyes, you had no doubt that she was a murderer. Not anymore. “You asked for honesty. How is this for honest?” She locked the door, continuing to back you further into the wall by the cabinet she took the wine out of, driving you away from the exit and further into the office. Silent tears fell down your face, but you refused to let her see you sob.

“I liked you, Y/n. I thought we were kindred spirits in a world of weak, spineless, nobodies, who want to try to become dancers when they cannot even stand up straight,” Natasha snapped. She didn’t bother using her cane to walk, merely holding it like a weapon. But she cast it aside once she had you against the wall—not unlike the submissive position her husband forced you into in your own dressing room.

You were approximately the same height—if anything, Natasha had a centimeter or two on you. She still had a bad leg, even though she could clearly walk, but clearly, she had a deep wealth of lethal knowledge.

“I never would have thought you would be one of them,” she continued, casting her cane aside for a pocket knife that she fished out of her skirts. You were strangely calm, despite the panicked, rapid pace your breath came and the hot tears that still spilled down your face. “But if it’s you or me, I will always choose me.”

That wine had to be poisoned. You thanked your instincts.

“You have made that outstandingly clear, Natasha,” you retorted. “You even managed to put yourself before your own interests by screwing yourself out of a career!” you yelled back at her, channeling your rage. Every time she snapped at you, each time she disparaged your dancing, the way your body looked, each time she prepared you for a new patron. “And now what’s left of you is nothing but a bitter woman past her prime. And that is your fault. But y-you take out your f-failure on us!”

“And you? You’re an ungrateful bitch,” Natasha hissed back at you, sliding a thin pocket knife against your throat, causing you to cry out. So close to her, you could smell the wine on her breath and her eyes looked bloodshot. Her pupils were dilated.

You needed to find help. Soon, if you wanted to live. Continuing to taunt Natasha in her office would surely end in your death. While such a sacrifice would surely be enough to convict her, you hoped to see it through. You, in your own way, were the perfect heroine. You knew there was a sacrifice to be made, but if you could help it, you hoped to live.

Swan Lake was only a story, after all.

“And you plan to try to kill me in here?” you asked, gasping as she pressed the blade deeper into your skin. You could feel the painful sting across your nerves, down to your fingertips and as pressure against your windpipe. “H-How will you… get away with it?”

“Shut up,” Natasha laughed again, catching on to your efforts to disregulate her. Painfully smart, she was.

You tried to speak again, but Natasha pressed the blade harder to discourage you. You were at a loss, having allowed yourself to get here by storming in with no plan. Fueled by nothing besides rage, betrayal, and regret.

She looked pleased, content with the way she had managed to turn your attack on her into your demise.

Until there was a knock at the door.

“Mrs. Wood? Is Y/n in there with you? I have been looking for her— I must escort her home.”

You would know that voice anywhere, anytime. No matter what. It made goosebumps erupt on your arms. Ciel had come to the opera house in search of you, despite your best efforts to push him away. Despite your best efforts to convince yourself that he was lying and he didn’t care for you, or anyone, save for himself. The accusation felt shallow, now that a real narcissist had you at knifepoint.

“Ci—!” You started, only for Natasha to shove her hand against your mouth before, forcing her to let go of the collar of Polly’s robe, which she had balled in her first to keep your neck close to her weapon. You had both of your hands to fight her knife hand, trying to pry the small weapon out of her thin—frustratingly strong—fingers. Your arms shook with effort.

“No, Lord Phantomhive, she is not here!” Natasha called over her shoulder, allowing you to use one of your hands to push her face further away, hoping her body would follow her head. You had no combat experience, limited to knowing choreographed fighting on stage. “Why do you have to make everything so difficult?” She mumbled in your ear, hardly having stumbled from your efforts.

The doorknob rattled as Ciel likely realized it was locked.

You had to get her off of you. Well aware that your arms were locked in a stalemate with her knife, you brought your knee up and dug it into her stomach, causing her to curse, holding her stomach in surprise. You used her surprise to push her away and take steps towards the door as quickly as you could manage, only for Natasha to catch your wrist and pull you back.

“Ciel, please!” A sob that had been building in your chest ripped out of you as Natasha pushed you back into the wall, only this time, you were poised on the wall next to the door.

“Y/n!” It sounded like Ciel kicked the door. “On behalf of Her Majesty, let me in there this instant, Natasha!”

“Get him to leave, or I will kill you. Here,” Natasha whispered, taking hold of your chin to force you to look into her eyes. This was the face that 11 ballerinas saw before they died. Natasha’s bloody hatred of you looked just like William’s, irate and predatory. You had no doubt that the woman would kill you.

“Y/n, do what you must to get her off of you! You can handle her!” You heard Ciel call to you, now that he was decently sure that you were with Natasha—against your will. “I need to break this door open. I don’t care if it’s your bloody director’s office—”

“Why are you doing this to us, Natasha?” You whimpered, repeating the question when she refused to answer. You felt blood bleed down your neck where she pressed the blade, but you couldn’t stop asking. You deserved to know. It didn’t feel as if she was pressing hard enough to kill you—you suspected she wanted leverage over Ciel.

“Why are you hurting us?” you demanded. “Why, why, why?”

“Because I should still be the prima ballerina of this company! Like the rest of you ungrateful whores! My husband should want me in the way he wants the lot of you! I should have my applause! My life back! Give it back!” Natasha yelled, slamming your back against the wall by your shoulder. Black spots danced in your eyes, from your exhaustion. Your head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

“I want my life back! You don’t deserve my life! I’m brilliant. Bloody brilliant. The lot of you—you’re nothing, but me? Me? I am a real ballerina. You all are nothing, useless little rodents you all are! In spite of my best efforts to teach, you all can never just learn!” tears raced down Natasha’s face, as well.

Her words, her tears, ignited a fresh anger in you. You worked most hours out of the day for this woman’s approval, only for her to feel this much contempt—no, resentment, towards you. She tore you down at every step, masquerading it as support. And blamed you for her vitriol. From an injury she brought upon herself.

“I took nothing from you,” you rasped, “none of us ever did. We all worshiped you. And you kill us for it. You. Are. Deranged.” you said strongly, in spite of your pain. You used the rest of your strength to curl your hand into a fist and push it forward, aiming for her nose to stun her. Ciel, for emergency’s sake, took the time to show you how to throw a proper punch. You made certain your thumb was untucked and….

Immediately, your hand erupted in pain, starting in your knuckles and expanding outward. You felt her face yielding to the force more vividly than you thought you ever could, the sound making a dull thud. Clearly, however, Natasha was in more pain, the shock causing her to drop her knife.

Natasha swore in, presumably Russian, and doubled over. She held her face, recoiling with pain. You caught blood dripping down her lips, coming from her nose. Her face immediately swelled.

Before she could recover, you unlocked the door, revealing a panicked Ciel. He seemed to be bracing himself to kick it down, his left leg braced into the ground while he was aiming to drive his right heel into the bit of wood next to the lock. Of course, he knew how to kick a door down. You couldn’t keep yourself from laughing at how absurdly good the Earl was at everything.

You felt delirious, looking at Ciel with your director behind you, bleeding. Because you punched her. Because she was the serial killer you had been looking for all this time. The seriousness on Ciel’s face made your smile crumple, re-recognizing the importance of what had just occurred. You hadn’t stopped crying at all, your face was soaked with tears as much as it was with sweat.

There was some of your own blood smeared on your chin and cheeks from Natasha’s hands—you could smell the iron, you could see Ciel’s gaze investigating the stains to ensure they weren’t open wounds. He had already sized up the cut on your throat the moment he righted himself and pulled you into him, away from the director.

Immediately, you were safe in Ciel’s warmth, shuddering as he put his wool jacket over your shoulders. He was speaking to you, but you could barely bring yourself to register his words. Ready to collapse, your head heavy and gloomy. You hadn’t noticed you were shivering, and yet, he did. Ciel let you hide your face in his neck, the height difference between you was always minimal.

Sebastian stepped inside from behind Ciel, a pleasant smile on his face.

“Sebastian,” Ciel snapped, knowing the butler was behind him without turning around. He had his stare fixated on Natasha as some company members moved to restrain her, despite her cursing and thrashing. Ciel had made a scene in demanding the door be opened, and Natasha must have been loud enough for onlookers to hear. “Take care of this. I don’t want there to be a media scene. Find us in Y/n’s dressing room when you’re finished.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Sebastian replied. “Very well done, Miss Y/l/n,” he said, his dark eyes sparkling. He put his hand on his heart and bowed to Ciel, but this was the first instance he bowed to his master with you standing next to him.

You could have been persuaded that you imagined it.

“Ciel…” you spoke as he guided you away from the rest of the company, the arriving officers, and Natasha as she protested her arrest. You felt weak. Almost empty for idolizing a woman who hurt you and so many others. Who thought so little of so many who thought she was the template to success.

Natasha and William hurt you all, and without Ciel, you never would have come to know that. And he had warned you. But you didn’t listen, when you needed to.

“Thank you for coming here, anyway. I appreciate that you would…come. After everything,” you said, the apology was difficult for you to say, but needed. “I cannot know why you would be so kind to me, but you saved my life again.”

Ciel took your arm in his, more than aware that you were exhausted. “What do you mean you cannot know why I would be so kind to you?” He asked, an eyebrow raised at you. “I thought I was clear earlier today: I want to be with you. And I should apologize, too, honestly.”

“Mutual forgiveness and we can have another talk, later?” you requested, settling into your chair. Ciel locked your dressing room door behind the both of you for privacy’s sake. He pulled out your First Aid kit from under your vanity to start caring for your neck.

“Mutual forgiveness,” he agreed, settling down next to you.

#anime fanfiction #black butler fanfic #historical fiction #ciel phantomhive x reader #historical romance #ciel x reader #sebastian michaelis #black butler #black butler x y/n #black butler x you #black butler x reader #black butler ciel #black butler fanfiction #black butler x female reader #kuroshitsuji #ciel phantomhive x y/n #ciel phantomhive x you #ciel phantomhive #straight laced 9

47 notes · View notes